What year is this?

As we come to the end of Black History Month, I'm left scratching my head over a 'decoration' I spotted in a nearby neighbourhood. It looked like an odd way to celebrate Christmas, but worse, I couldn't help but wonder who lived in that house. 

No, I didn't stop and knock on their door. In truth, I'm not sure I would have wanted to get to know them. 

Nonetheless, it made me question whether anything at all in our world has actually changed. 

Time to exercise your Freedom to Read

It's been slow seeping out, but news keeps circulating that libraries--especially those in schools--are getting rid of books. 

The reason for many of these culls has been absurd-sounding blanket rules that anything published before 2008 must go. 

Some of the glib reasons offered for these moves are that books before then weren't culturally sensitive enough to qualify in today's woke world. The overall excuse has been called an "equity-based weeding process" but under that banner books such as Anne Frank's The Diary of a Young Girl have been tossed. Isn't it worth knowing what it must have been like to be a young Jew in hiding from Nazis?

I can't help but also think of Joy Kogawa's Obasan, the first book that really shone a light on facts of the internment of Japanese-Canadians during World War II.

How many other important books have been tossed in the name of this absurdity?

This week is the 40th anniversary of Canada's annual observance of Freedom to Read Week. Maybe it's a good time--quick, while you can--find a book that's been banned (or 'challenged' if you feel like using the current newspeak), and try to figure out what's so darn scary about it. 

So what really happened?

It was a year ago today that the world learned of the death of Alexei Navalny. He'd been jailed in Siberia for trumped-up charges that he and his law team continued to challenge. 

The jail, above the Arctic Circle, was part of the old 'gulag' system from days when the USSR still existed. Not surprisingly, conditions there sounded miserable. 

Although officials claimed that Navalny died of a blood clot, this has been questioned. 

I suppose because I remain somewhat of a paranoid type, I have my own belief of what the circumstance was. Maybe you do too. 

How 'bout those brrrds!

It's been colder than normal here for over a week now. Apparently, it's one of the longest spells of zero-ish weather the Lower Mainland of BC has experienced.  

Those whose lives keep them outdoors must be having a miserable time. 

The only ones I've been able to help are the hummingbirds, accustomed to their fix of sugary nectar at our feeder. But in temps like the ones we've been having, that sweetened water would have frozen for sure. And really, a lot of good a block of sweetened ice would do any of them. 

So when it gets cold around here, a low-light lamp serves as a mini-heater for the feeder. It seems to be just enough to keep the nectar from freezing without letting the liquid get too hot for those little beaks. 

These past few nights, before going to bed, I've been peering out the window, and sure enough, there have been a couple of hummers perched on the feeder, heads bowed and resting, but overall, staying a bit warm. 

Must admit, it breaks my heart, thinking how much they look like unhoused folks who've found themselves a grated heater, a feature on many sidewalks in Vancouver. 

I have a feeling I'm not the only one who doesn't put out any kind of heating unit for those unfortunate souls with nowhere to live, or maybe even to spend a warm night. 

Standing on guard for thee

This is the day for the introduction of tariffs on items shipped to the US from Canada. 

According to much of the analysis I've been seeing, the plan seems ill-conceived and quite possibly even illegal--not that the person behind this decision cares about such matters, after all, he's been declared above the law, immune.  

About the only positive slant I can find in any of this is the fact that many Canadians have determined they won't be travelling south--maybe not for the next four years. And, of course, that we'll be more than ever, buying our own products, especially the tasty treats in the photo above. 

Lucky or yucky?

I've never been a big fan of snakes, and I suspect I'm not alone in this. My shoulders go up a bit even as I type these words. 

My dislike of them is, I am pretty sure, unfair. They can't help it if they have to crawl on the ground (or, worse, in my mind, through the branches of trees where they might 'jump' down onto me). 

The little face looking down at you from the top of this post is the head of a piece of art I bought when I lived in Australia--itself a land where snakes are as common as...maybe as mice (or raccoons?) are here. They're around, but you don't often (whew!) encounter one. 

The snake in the photo (I'll admit that I call him the not-very-original 'Snakey') lives high on a shelf in my office and looks down on me as I work at my desk. He was made from a root found in the Outback desert by an Aboriginal artist. The most challenging part of getting him back here to Canada was finding a box that would accommodate his length for the long flight to his new home. 

Finally, Snakey has made his way to being included on this funny little blog because in the Asian Zodiac, this is the year of the Wood Snake, a distinction that only gets celebrated every sixty years. So I guess my friend who's turning sixty this year should be in for some special times. 

One of my worst (and still most vivid) memories of snakes was the result of a 'favour' done by a well-intentioned friend. I'd been working as a substitute teacher for her, for a week when she couldn't be there. Because one's pay rate as a substitute went up after a full five days' work, she wanted to help me stick it out for the full five days. To make my Friday afternoon easy, she arranged for a visit that was bound to keep the children enchanted while I could sit back and relax. The only problem was that the guest presenter happened to be the 'snake lady' and her entourage of reptiles. 

I seriously considered bailing out and going home after lunch--could the pay rise be worth it??

Despite my fears, I stayed, and must have pulled out my best acting chops as I recall (shuddering inside even now) needing to demonstrate how friendly the python was by 'wearing' him across my shoulders. Ugh!

My own wood snake remains my friend, though his relatives who live in the garden and the forest can still sneak up on me (why aren't they called 'sneaks' instead of snakes?) are sure to give me a start. 

Let it bee...

Earlier this week I heard how many bees' lives it takes to make a teaspoonful of honey. Even though it remains my favourite number, I was shocked to learn it takes twelve. Not simply twelve bees, but the entire life's output of twelve worker bees (all of whom are female, ahem). 

If nothing else, this has given me a new respect for the little jars of golden sweet that I rely upon, especially as part of my breakfast. 

Each of the jars in the image are in steady rotation here. 

The tallest is from a pair of friends who live on Vancouver Island and who have been teaching themselves how to raise bees as part of their large, bountiful garden. 

The one on the right comes from Hornby Island, again thanks to the generosity of friends. 

The other, on the left, is plain old 'store-bought' though it too comes from Canada, but from far-off Ontario, so it's the one I consider more 'utilitarian' and I use it when the honey is an ingredient rather than a mainstay (like on toast or yogourt) as when I make salad dressing or barbecue sauce. 

Besides loving the taste of honey, I love the fact that it keeps so well, pretty much forever!

 

By Jove, that moon is big!

I think I have always been a fan of the moon, whether it's cutting the sky with a skinny crescent or giving us a full-on blast of redirected sunlight when it's full. 

I know the track it takes across the sky above our house, and how it's higher or lower in the sky, depending on the season. I even admit to a few personal traditions I follow, though howling isn't one of them. 

When I'm travelling anyplace near the Equator, I love how its crescent shape seems to lie on its back, rather than 'standing' upright, like a giant "C" in the sky, the way it does here in northern climes. 

Last night's, called the Wolf Moon, was so bright, I actually tried to take photos of my hand in its shadow. The moon's light was so intense, I thought it might work. But no, my little camera couldn't quite manage it; I only got a bunch of darkish blurs which I chose to delete. 

As for the moon itself, even taking a photo of it through the skylight (probably not as clean in winter as it could be) looked pretty great to me. 

And if you look closely (maybe click on the photo to enlarge it a bit), you should actually see the rounded ball of our solar neighbours, Mars. 

A confluence of dates

It was always a bit of a mystery to me how it was that Pierre and Margaret Trudeau managed to have two of their three children on Christmas Day. Both Alexandre ('Sasha') and Justin were born on December 25th, some kind of miracle, eh. 

So now that same son Justin has decided to resign (at last!) on, of all days, the feast of the Epiphany (as in I'm having an epiphany), the day the Wise Men arrived with gifts for the infant Jesus. 

So today it seems Justin has arrived with gifts of sorts for all of Canada. Right now it may look like a tangle of crossed wires, as we are all left to wonder just who may step forward and become the new leader of the Liberal Party of Canada. And yes, lucky thing there's a rainbow on the horizon. 

Believers

Once, long ago, there were two little girls--not Heidi and Lulu, but Heidi and Lisa--sisters, who believed in all of the magic of Christmas. They believed so hard that one Christmas Eve, the two of them stood beside the bedroom window and watched, hoping. 

And then, it happened. They saw it together: a sleigh pulled by reindeer, gliding through the night sky. 

It flew past quickly, but both of them knew they'd seen it, and to this day both can recall what a thrilling sight it was.

Simply the power of suggestion? Or, the power of belief made real. 

Whatever you choose to believe, here's hoping your holidays are magically wonderful.  

The Big Countdowns

When I was little (and same for when my kids were small) we'd count the number of sleeps until Christmas. 

These days I'm more inclined to count the days until Solstice, when the darkness finally begins to recede. With sunsets these days happening around 4, the days can feel mighty short. 

This year will see Solstice occur on the 'traditional' date for it, the 21st of December which means, I suppose by Christmas, sunset will occur a wee bit later, though I'm sure we won't notice much until sometime early in the new year. By mid-month in January, the sun will be rising before 8, and not setting until closer to 5. 

Which means, I suppose, we'll be feeling the return of light, though I'm not sure, following events scheduled for January 20th that things will feel much brighter. 

Remembering

My little vase of winter roses looks pretty sad. But then, today is a day they have reason to look that way. It's the anniversary of the day when a shooter murdered 14 women, all because he decided that feminists were ruining the world. 

For many years Montreal has shone 14 beacons to memorialize those women who were killed, but this year they've added a 15th beacon--this one on behalf of the many women who continue to be victims of violence. 

Maybe those brave little winter roses that reign on the ledge above my kitchen sink (where yes, I spend plenty of time) have reason enough to look a little sad. 

Another Surrey joke

And one that's not at all funny. 

The image is what's called 'public input' in Surrey, the city where I live (though wow, there are days when I wish I could move someplace else!). 

The City has decided to expand one of its cemeteries into a forested area where there are many trails, including the Semiahmoo Trail, one they themselves have designated as 'heritage'. In an area that's in the midst of a development explosion, cutting down trees and removing side trails is about the last thing our community needs. 

The room where last night's meeting was held was packed with people, many of us doing our best to engage with representatives from City Hall, trying to get straight answers. 

But straight answers don't seem to be what Surrey is all about anymore. One of the questions none of those reps could answer was why this meeting hadn't been advertised better. So many of us were there only because we'd heard about it from neighbours or friends. 

Those of us who were able to ask direct questions mostly received run-around replies that sounded like double-talk. In his all-too-prescient novel, Nineteen Eighty-Four, George Orwell called this kind of lying talk 'Newspeak'. His vision of distorted communication seems to have become the all-pervasive language here. 

As one of the comments on last night's boards suggested, the future is going to need more trees, not fewer (Surrey's canopy keeps declining every year). If you care about trees, you might want to think about adding your name to this petition. 

Poetry and Art and Friendship

The other night I was lucky enough to be part of a group of writers invited to read at the Sidney and Gertrude Zack Gallery in Vancouver. Our challenge was to find inspiration in the artworks on display, a kind of exercise in ekphrastic poetry. In the past, I've explored this method of writing, but previously the art works were landscapes or abstracts. All of the paintings in this show, while not technically portraiture, were faces of women. 

The artist Therese Joseph was in attendance at the event, and answered a number of questions posed by audience members--mostly about her process (which turns out to be a combination of methods). 

It's worth taking a look at her website, and to view the images we worked from (click on Faces).

I hadn't been in one of these readings at that gallery since pre-pandemic times, so this felt like a kind of homecoming or even a family reunion, as so many friends were there--including the reader and our emcee in the photo above. 

Among the poems I read were ones reacting to the recent US election--not particularly happy pieces, but then, part of my job as a writer is to reflect on the times, even when they're not happy ones. 

I'm hoping 2025 will bring more such opportunities, ones that leave me feeling 're-filled' with warmth and with hope. 

Shaken, not stirred

Shock. That's the state I've been wandering in since last night. I can only think that those who voted for the new president-elect of the US must count themselves among the wealthy or, sadder yet, the duped. 

Hearing reports of folks who think gas will go back to two dollars a gallon or that bread will soon be 99 cents--well, it would be nice if it turns out that you're right. 

But I dread what the reality might be, especially for those of us who still can't understand how a convicted felon, rapist, and non-stop liar could have possibly been elected. 

Dark days ahead, with clouds about to offer who-knows-what. 

The time of year...

...when some contend the 'curtain' between the here and the hereafter is thinnest. In other words, this is reputed to be the time of year when those who have gone before us may find it easy to visit. 

I won't attempt to dispute a belief either way, though I'm not one to dismiss such thoughts lightly, especially when I may well have received a gift from a loved one on the 'other side' earlier this week. 

Ghostly? Spiritual? Or simple coincidence? 

I'm not pretending for a minute to know for sure.  

Coming soon!

It won't be long until Halloween is here, and what do I have for decorations? Nothing besides a pumpkin who still doesn't have a face. Luckily, we have neighbours who make up for these shortcomings. Even the skeletons look excited. 

What I do have is treats for any brave, costumed visitors we might get on Thursday night. Juice boxes for little ones, pop for bigger kids, along with chips or Rice Krispie treats (store-bought, of course, gone are the days of handing out anything homemade) as a bonus. 

We don't get as many Trick or Treaters as we once did. I think many of them go to the mall where the prizes are likely bigger. And I don't think the costumes are as good as they used to be. I've always preferred the homemade (maybe last-minute) ones where somebody has too much lipstick on, along with bangly earrings and a witch's hat for contrast. 

Maybe the best costume ever was when a neighbour boy showed up as Kim Jong-Un, right down to the over-the-ear haircut, complete with a passle of would-be bodyguards. I think we probably gave them extra treats for their efforts. 

It won't be long until the holiday arrives, and I'm sure the pumpkin will be smiling by then, probably with the traditional 'missing-tooth' look. Until then I'll be doing my best to keep the treats up on the top shelf of the closet, and not keep giving myself permission to test them. 

The sky says it all

Gloomy looking, with the promise of rain--and today, rain is what's been falling all day. (For the record, the photo is not a black-and-white; that's how the day really looked.)

I heard a rather startling comment during a weather report: that today brings the province's first atmospheric river of the season. I thought such phenomena were a once-a-year (if that) event, but no, that's apparently no longer the case. 

I'd also thought the term was fairly new, but no, it seems it's been around for a while. 

Today's weather seems complicated, as today is also Election Day here in BC, with the possibility of a new provincial government. 

And yes, I can only hope those dark skies aren't promising anything worse than more than wet weather. 

More of the same to come?

Earlier this weekend, this black screen and its message showed up on our tv. Blame for this disruption of service was placed on the sun and an extreme solar storm--as if the storms we're experiencing on Earth aren't enough. A few days ago it was Milton, barely a week before it was Helene.  

Unlike a hurricane which pummels an area with wind and drenches it with rain, a solar storm has an effect on electrical signals like the digital ones that have become more prevalent with every technological advance. 

As we continue digitalizing (or should that be digitizing?) our world, there are bound to be more such messages from our various providers. 

Though annoying, this is yet another example of what we must remember is truly a First World problem--not something to really fuss about, especially on this Thanksgiving Day, when nearly all of us have so very much to be grateful for. 

Comparative wipes

Nope, not what you might first think--not toilet paper. Newspaper. 

Yes, I still subscribe to a hard copy edition of The Vancouver Sun that's delivered here just about every morning. But I also am the recipient of a couple of other papers, shared by a friend after she's read them for herself. 

Today I decided it was time to wash the windows, and I remain a proponent of the vinegar and newsprint school of doing this job. 

The Sun was fine, no streaks or smears; so was The Globe and Mail. But oh dear, the New York Times -- it broke apart into tiny shreds that would be great for making papier-mache, but not good at all for washing windows. 

Some days we discover things we never dreamed of, and this day was one of those. Hardly earth-shaking, but fun.