On Writing or The Freedom to Emit Brain Farts

Someone borrowed a number of writing books from me last year and has yet to return them, but has been kind enough to quote advice from one of them: On Writing by Stephen King.

The advice goes something like this:

You take two totally unconnected headlines or news stories and create the plot for a story or novel.

Today's CBC on-line headlines:

Marriages of convenience problems persist

Obama: 'India has emerged'

The melding of these two could lead to a story about massive immigration problems for the Indian sub-continent.  Just imagine all those Indian men being tempted by economic refugee women desperate for a better life.  Imagine the birth rate that could result.  Remember that India has a caste system and no one-child policy to prevent a population explosion.  And what about the social problems caused by the skyrocketing divorce rate.

My father married a woman from Czechoslovakia ... a Hungarian by birth ... who thought he was a rich Canadian.  (He was on an expense account and lonely on his annual three month business trip.)  The marriage lasted a year or so and then they began to split the assets.  She got half the record collection of  Shakepearean plays; he got half the wine glasses they had received for Christmas; she didn't like Shakespeare and he drank only whiskey.  It was not an amicable break-up.

Now try setting that in India in an age of computers.  An American hard hit by the recession meets an Indian man on-line.  They marry as soon as she arrives.  He has cleaned himself up for the occasion, but in real life he is of low caste and living in poverty.  Their honeymoon results in a pregnancy and by the time she learns that he doesn't even own the computer he used to propose, she is trapped on the sub-continent.  No credit card.  No return ticket. Nothing but a worthless American passport.  And no help to be had from her embassy because India has "emerged".

What does she do?
Imagine their conjugal life.
She hates him, the country and her life ... and she especially hates Obama for giving her the news that India had emerged ... until he told her, she had no idea where India was, let alone that it was submerged or encapsulated ...

So how will the story end?
Madness?     Murder?      Infanticide?     Political assassination?    Suicide?

Almost like the last scene of Hamlet which my father's ex-wife probably never managed to discover.

Or maybe you believe in happy endings.  Try to find one here.  She's probably wandering the crowded streets of Delhi among the revered Brahmin cattle, hand outstretched, mumbling, "Where's the beef?" 


The other two headlines contain gems of stories when examined singly.  Whatever might happen if they were combined?

Pope met by gay protesters in Spain
Oops!  They were wrong about him.

Queen Elizabeth joins Facebook
However will she learn to write in disjointed splurts at her age?  Or maybe dementia has already set in and this is her answer to the problem?

And together?

A Facebook correspondence between the two conducted on their walls for all the world to see.  And by god,  they have high speed, so the correspondence could be voluminous.  At least it's not likely to spawn a marriage of convenience or unwanted babies.

... and then there was the article that arrived in my in-box this morning ... all about how laptops are frying testicles ...

Just imagine how that piece of information might make its way into either of these stories.

You can see why I have abandoned my Nanowrimo attempts.

I do wish I had my Stephen King book back though.  I miss it.  Maybe I could get some more ideas to play with.  God knows I need something.

Lazy Weekend

I have done everything possible to avoid writing this weekend.  I hate my Nanowrimo novel attempt this year.  I have decided to stop and simply write short travel pieces instead.

So, how did I manage to procrastinate this weekend?

I read a good bit of Great Maria by Cecilia Holland. It is an historical romance (all history should be written this way) about a woman who lived in France during the era of Christian knights fighting the Saracens.  Maria is the focal point of the novel and is a fully realized character.  We see the woman, the wife and the mother, but we also understand the time and place through her story.  I found the juxtaposition of cruelty and kindness; of harshness and gentleness, of strength and weakness most striking.  All the important characters are very believable partly because Holland shows how these extremes of human nature co-exist in them.  The setting brings out the extremes more clearly than a modern day environment would, but  of course  people today are equally complex and contradictory, just more sophisticated, and therefore better able to mask their true natures.

On Saturday I had the underside of my car oiled. I was delighted to learn that despite the filthiness of the vehicle, the old girl is still pretty rust-free.  Next summer Denis will do a thorough cleaning ... steam and shampoo ... before oiling.

I took Kenya for a long walk while the job was being done.  Hadn't been to that area for a long time.  Lots of memories of walking dogs and kids there.


Kenya and I walked here daily, but the walks have not been as energetic as they usually are, because I have been forced to keep her leashed.  When hunting season ends next weekend, it will be a relief for all of us ... the dogs which must be restricted, the humans who don't dare walk in the woods, and the deer which are constantly being harried.

I unpacked the pieces of a Muskoka chair kit and then wondered whether I really wanted to attempt putting it together or whether I should paint it first.  After checking with a friend who will likely do the actual construction for me, I decided to paint the pieces..  That is how I will avoid writing next week!  It will be good to get back to painting furniture again.

And I watched three movies ...

On Friday it was Coming Home  (the sexiest movie I have ever seen ... one steamy scene in the 2 hours and 19 minutes ... and that between Jon Voight, a man who returned from Vietnam dead from the waist down and the woman he loved played by Jane Fonda..) The other two hours were filled with compassion, empathy, love and laughter. 

On Saturday, I watched The Young Victoria, a very different love story. 

Tonight I watched The Queen, a portrayal of Queen Elizabeth II at the time of Diana's death.  The contrast between Elizabeth and Victoria was remarkable.  Elizabeth was about my age and had been reigning since she was not much older than the young Victoria.. Both women were vulnerable, but Victoria had yet to learn to hide her vulnerability beneath an iron exterior.  Both were bound by the restrictions of rank. Both had prince consorts, but, oh how much more human and humane Albert was than Philip.  Many of the differences  between the two women were the result of  the times and circumstances, I suppose, but also of the disparity in their  ages.  Elizabeth had carried her burden most of her life and her character had been fashioned by her responsibilities and disappointments, whereas Victoria had still to experience life and loss.

I also tidied up my catalogue of films and the actual shelves where they are kept.

And I played a bit with the format of this blog.

I moved the feeders around and established a little centre for the squirrels where I placed pecans.  When I looked out later, the nuthatches, chickadees, and sparrows were darting from the woods to the line and the feeders.  Two grey squirrels and a red squirrel were scrounging around on the ground cleaning up the mess left earlier.  And the table was alive with blue jays.  The nuts had disappeared.

A weekend filled  to the brim with  the mundane  but at least I have extricated myself from a thirty day time waster which was giving me no pleasure or satisfaction at all.

Indoors and Out

More ways to put off getting on with the day ...

Waking up over tea and email on a Saturday morning ...

Coutresy of CBC News

Edmonton police guilty in 'sweatbox' case Two Edmonton police officers were found guilty Friday of insubordination and discreditable conduct in the so-called 'sweatbox' incident, where police rounded up homeless people in a police van to dump them on the other side of the city.

Flesh-eating disease alert for Calgary's homeless Calgary homeless shelters are being told to be on the lookout for anyone with symptoms of flesh-eating disease after two cases surfaced.

Sure wouldn't want to be poor in Alberta!

Kenya chases the squirrels as requested ... but now that I have foiled their attempts to get all the food, and, in the process, destroy the feeders as they leap onto them from chairs and tables, I am feeling sorry for them ... especially for the soft grey one that reminds me of Bambi, the only grey squirrel we fostered.  He comes up and knocks on the window pane ... driving Kenya mad and touching my heart.

Do you get these spam emails with just a few words in the heading?  I like finding them there, especially when my strange brain makes connections among the words.  Today I wrote a silly poem using three that arrived in the night.

WORDS THAT COME IN THE NIGHT
a bunch of e's and an f

exuberant     erected     estranged
 all arrived last night


I thought

what about ...

excited    evaluated       elusive   

and later

empathetic         enchanted         engaged
   
but surely not ...

enigmatic   evasive     enslaved

or ...

edgy    expendable   ejected

maybe ...

enticing   electric   emotional

definitely don't want to be left ...

empty   embittered   exploited  

or for you to be ...

extraneous   extinguished   ephermeral

just want us to find something ...

enduring   eternal

and most of all ...

fun







And now I really have to get on with the serious business of living my life.  There is tidying to be done, a Nanowrimo novel writing session to get through (god it is awful this year), and bird seed to be allocated ... and yes ... peanuts to be strewn.This afternoon I will get my car oiled for winter and then protest the possible loss of the Wakefield spring.  In the middle of the night (I have insomnia) I brought in a Muskoka chair kit I bought three years ago  ... it needs some loving paint strokes and then I will assemble it ... or maybe enlist the help of a friend.


Have a wonderful weekend, everyone.

Procrastination by Strawberries

I am having trouble attending to my Nanowrimo duties today.  It has a lot to do with having nothing to write ... or too many possible ideas ...  and being unable to commit to any of them.  In the course of doing some research anmong old novel starts and other writing, I came across this poem written about 5 years ago.

I still like strawberries at 70 by the way.

barbara's strawberries

today i ate
strawberries
savoring their fresh
red.

heather reminded me
i should be thinking about Wednesday,
poetry and
strawberries.

my unblocking book tells me to face
my inadequacies, my fears,
my fears of inadequacy.
so i am.
the memory
on my tongue of those
strawberries.

thoughts intrude
quite unsuitable to
strawberries
especially
at my age.

in two months, an old
age pensioner, and
strawberries
just another high
fibre food.

better than prunes, i suppose:
strawberries.

strawberries,
the birthmarks, are aberrant, but
wrinkled prune faces are
simply ubiquitous.

cast my mind back to the sixties
to other, wilder
strawberries.

bergman's. and
those given to me
by children with stained hands.

so many hours spent picking
enough wild
strawberries
to make a single jar of jam
a gift of love.

later domesticated
strawberry
patch in kinburn
baskets and baskets
filled counters, freezers, jam jars,
became my spending money
like hagar's eggs.

ripe then, fecund,
milk leaking from breasts whose
strawberry
nipples brought joy.

now other things are supposed to
like poems about
strawberries.

clear now, the origin of
the raspberry.
that snort of derision
should have been called
the strawberry.

Nimble

Nimble:   such an old fashioned word, but exactly right in certain contexts ...

Jack, be nimble ... Jack, be quick.  Jack, jump over the candle stick!

What is the effect on you when you recite this?

It makes me jumpy, unable to concentrate.

In an interview with CBC this morning, a political scientist used the word nimble.   It was in the context of the US constitution having been designed to create gridlock, a situation that forces hot headed political opponents to slow down, discuss, and reach compromises.  He was saying that this might not be such a good thing in today's world of instant communication, a world in which swift decisions are being made by impatient up-and-coming nations like India, China and Brazil.  Our world, the one that always waited for the US behemoth before acting, is changing.  The US president and his Democrats, now that conservative forces have so successfully changed the political scene, may not be nimble enough to make decisions quickly.

In the seventies when I was in university I needed to see something from a personal point of view in order to understand the bigger picture. I needed to imagine how a law would affect me.  I needed to empathize.  It is hard to do that when you are talking about whole nations, about numbers. It is the reason that I made the decision to do my degree in English instead of political science, even though I loved both.

Now I find myself moving in the opposite direction: starting from the concept of a country and going from that to my own small reality.  I too am often immobilized by gridlock.  Sometimes I feel as if I no longer govern my life.  Like the US constitution, my mind is no longer nimble enough to make snap decisions.  And I too live in a world where things move far too quickly.

I don't like being battered by several  demands for my attention.

When I write I do so in silence.

I find too many simultaneous images distracting.  My limit is movie sub-titles and it is hard to knit even then.  If I owned a television I would likely mask the bottom part of the screen so that I would not be distracted by those coloured headlines that scroll beneath the news reportage and film coverage.

I find many websites truly annoying because it is impossible to concentrate my attention.

I am saved from Facebook and Twitter by being forced geographically to endure a dial-up connection.

Our whole world seems to have speeded up and left me behind.

And you know what ...  I don't think it is an improvement over the slower pace that used to prevail. 

Is it really that important to hear something immediately?

Do we need instantaneous reactions or could we wait for thoughtful coverage of world events?

Do teenagers really need to be so connected that they cannot ignore a cell phone or a text message while driving?

I once saw a young Toronto woman answer her calls during a VSO interview day.  Not only was it inconsiderate because VSO works with whole groups of candidates on these days, but it definitely worked against her.  How could someone so dependent on instant communication manage two years of living and working in the low tech world inhabited by VSO volunteers?

And maybe that's part of my discomfort.  Not only do I feel that we need time to reflect in order to make sound decisions and to be healthy human beings, but I think that many people who have no technical know-how at all, just plain, common sense, practical knowledge, are living fuller lives than those of us who are more  connected.  They don't spend a third of their lives in front of a small screen.   They are the people who will survive in a disaster because they know how to live with very little.  They are the people who can manage without electricity and computers.  They can make fires, build shelters, grow and find food ... and write with pens to record the experiences. 

They are the people who will create communities because they already know how to interact with real people in real time in real places.

And maybe all this is simply the foolish rambling of a seventy year old woman who has chosen a much slower life style and who complains but really prefers the speed of dial-up, the challenges of power outages and the enforced isolation of snow blocked roads.  Maybe it is simply the squeaking of an old.country mouse who  who lives more reflectively now that she is less nimble.

7 Jays

This morning I was up with the jays ... seven of them  ... two or three at a time rocking the feeder at the front and scattering sunflower seeds to the others on the snow covered ground below.  On the lake side, sparrows ate more sedately, one fluffed up little soul huddling in the seed tray itself.  Kenya bounded out the front door and chased the jays who then took over the back feeder.

First snow up here ... a dusting only that rests on branches, ground and porch roof.

I just received word that a very old friend has died.  John was a good family man, husband, teacher,and friend.  We were all young and poor and in our twenties when I knew him and his wife best.  We sustained each other through some pretty hard times back then.  Heather taught with me at Briarwood Elementary School while John was off work. 

I was a single mom with two kids and very little education;  they were a little better off because they were a couple with one baby and the good sense to have got their education before embarking on a family, but those were pre-medicare days, and John was very ill for a time. We all lived in an apartment building on the wrong side of the tracks ... and practically on top of them.  We provided each other with practical help, like rides to work, the occasional loan of a car or babysitting.  Cups of sugar, recipes and samples of baked goods passed freely between our households.  But it is the shared laughter I remember best.  We giggled while tumbling down hills with our children at the Arboretum  or dressing up for a Hallowe'en party.  We went on picnics with our kids.  Those were the years when we were money poor but rich in youthful energy and dreams.  I haven't seen them for several years now, but they were a  large part of my life ... and I am saddened that John is gone; that he will live on only in such memories.

Procrastination

October 29, 2010
Organizational Friday or Procrastination Depot

I have just finished tidying my chest freezer and inventorying its contents in order to discover what I need to buy to stock up for winter.  (I have been told I am the only person in Christendom who has a catalogue of her DVDs ... and now this!) 

What I discovered:     I do not need to buy ground beef or sausages until 2020.

            Likewise chicken thighs and pork tenderloins.

I am not terribly keen on chicken thighs and that is likely why I have a surplus, but I suspect that the reason for everything else is that I can never find what I am looking for in the cavernous depths so I always eat from the top down.

Does anyone out there have a simple solution for keeping a chest freezer's contents under control and available?

I am thinking of boxes or bins of some kind.



The birds are busy emptying the feeders ... jays, chickadees, red breasted nuthatches, snowbirds, downy woodpeckers, and sparrows so far.  The red squirrels continue to be foiled by the cds that hang along the line between the trees and the feeders ... or maybe they are simply content with the seed that the jays deposit on the ground.


My next task is to organize the bins and satchels containing teaching paraphanalia.


And then I will get down to writing based on last weekend's writing workshop.

Maybe.

I just read an article about procrastination.  Apparently we procrastinate because our various selves are thrashing things out.  The first step we need to take is to identify those different warring selves.  Blogger Oma is often at odds with Lazy Oma who cannot abide my tidy self.  My persona that detests such things as bills and taxes is always at loggerheads with most of the others.  Then there are Funky Furniture, Reader, Movie Buff, Gardener, Dog Walker, and...  and...  and .... 

And that is why we clean out a freezer rather than go through a sloppy in-box (the real tangible wooden kind  that contains bills) or sit down to write a travel piece.  Of the three, the most enjoyable is undoubtedly the writing assignment ... but it requires time and effort .... concentration ... whereas the freezer just is ...

I am trying to clear the decks of distractions ... so that I can write.  Maybe the travel pieces.  Or maybe start something for NaNoWriMo.  Monday is November 1, the beginning of the next challenge. I might decide that it won't be a novel this time ... and ... if I do it ... I won't subject you all to the throes (and vile prose) of daily first draft NaNoWriMo writing.

Instead my blog posts might become 5 minute warm-ups for the contest.  Or maybe they will be become a means of putting off writing the book. NaNoWriMo Oma foiled once again by Blogger Oma.


Procrastinator Oma who has played a game, hung out a load of laundry, spent an hour on the phone, cleaned out  the compost pails, and packaged the outdoor solar lights and their batteries after sorting according to viability ... instead of getting on with the business at hand ...

Whooo .... Spooky ...

Morning Walk

Happy Haunting

Grey Day Wake-up Call

I spent most of yesterday at a travel writing workshop given by Laurie Gough.  There were about a dozen of us there ... all but one were women.  Laurie did not start with one of those artificial circle introductory sessions ... she let things unfold naturally by creating situations in which we chose different partners with whom to interact, so we all met a variety of people and shared our passion for travel and writing.

Laurie relies on the same books I use when I teach writing skills ... Nathalie Goldberg's Writing Down the Bones; Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird ...  and on the work of some travel writers who have published books about travel writing.  But mainly she reaches into her own experience as a travel writer and as a freelancer. 

It was a very good workshop, not only because of the solid content base but also because of the people involved.  Writers all.  Travelers all.  Interesting people with stories to tell, experiences to share.

Often these local workshops are peopled only by Wakefielders, but this one attracted a range of people from as far away as Montreal.  And they brought with them stories of backpacking in the Himalayas, years spent in India or Indonesia or the Fijian islands.   Most of them had traveled solo, and all their stories revealed a sense of adventure.  I heard stories of trips gone bad, youthful naivete resulting in terrible mistakes, miraculous rescues, and discovery of one's roots far from home.. 

We spoke of honest writing and balanced observation; of ways to structure our chronological memories so that they would hold together as stories and maintain interest. Laurie views travel writing as stories with plot lines, set in interesting  places ... and most important, peopled by fascinating characters.  She touched on things like effective dialogue, concision and vibrant prose, and the workshop contained elements of teaching, group interaction and individual writing.  The course could have been much longer than the 6 hours she had allotted.

At the end, people wanted more ... more opportunities to work together ... more chances to share with one another. We hope to create a writing group, perhaps on-line, maybe getting together once a month or so.

I spent a good part of today walking Kenya and later taking a friend to the Ottawa terminal ... so more tomorrow when I am up for writing again.

The house felt emptier than it has for the past while ... and greyer.  I will have to fill it with colourful words and paint, I guess.  It's time ... and maybe I will start with one of the ideas birthed by the workshop.

Life in the Slow Lane ... again ...

So ... yesterday I got lost in a parking garage ... well actually it was my car which was misplaced ... finally I asked a young man what one did if one lost one's car ... and he said, "Report it stolen."  After my first stunned reaction I laughed and he said it had also happened to him.  Then he explained the strange layout of this garage and wished me luck.  I began again and this time I saw my car on a level below me.  How to get to it though was not quite as clear but I managed.  My left brained reasoning worked where my right brained sense of direction had let me down and the old girl and I were finally reunited.

The other parts of the day were a lot less stressful and the highlight was holding Lily who stretched, yawned, snuggled into my neck, and pooped contentedly, all the while making soft little whistling and snorting noises.

My garden is almost tucked away for the winter, the steps I've fallen down twice now have a hand rail, another hand rail has been fixed, and two new bird feeders are feeding the gluttonous jays.

I am thoroughly enjoying my vacation from teaching and stress ... and sleeping through the night ...

Life is good but it does not make for very exciting blog posts.

I am beginning to feel the faint stirring of artistic urges again ... pumpkin carving and small postcard sized paintings of ideas for furniture are beckoning, tempting me to get out my paints.

Have a great weekend. I will be at a workshop on Sunday but the rest of the weekend is blissfully empty so far.

New Beginnings

I could also have called this post "Life After Teaching:".

In 1997 I discovered that there was a wonderful life awaiting me ... one that centred on enjoyment without deadlines, reports or marking loads ... I retired.  Oh ... I kept on being active.  In fact I kept on teaching ... but in places like Jordan, Mongolia and Kenya.  It was also the era of discovering just how much enjoyment could be derived from things that cost little or nothing ... writing ... rollerblading ... kayaking.

Then came the big change ... an end to a life filled with travel and volunteering opportunities ... a beginning to a life with a puppy ... a life that occasioned the building of this house with all its related problems ... a life that demanded money, often more than I had.

This past  June  I re-entered the work force almost full time and discovered during those five months that I still loved teaching ... and this time really enjoyed the students ... all older international travelers who were interesting people.  But I also realized again ... or was reminded of the fact ... that life in the work force robs you of time and energy ... and at 70 both of those are in short supply.  Anything that is in short supply is far too valuable to be traded for money.  And besides, my house is comfortable now and so I can live on what I have without having to make more.

I have decided to limit my teaching from now on ... Enough to give me the pleasure.  Not enough to deprive me of my daily walks with Kenya, my leisurely mornings at the computer, my relatively clean house, my attempts at art and writing ... but most of all, I am reclaiming the freedom to get up in the morning with a blank calendar page to fill in all kinds of pleasurable ways.

I am rearranging my life starting today.

And the first things on my calendar are a dinner party at Erin's this evening,  two weeks with a new friend to just have fun and get things done around here to prepare for winter , (we are planning to carve pumpkins) ....and a travel writing workshop with two friends and six other people. 

And you never know what will emerge from an artist's date, time to develop a little boredom, days spent with new folks, or stirring up your intellectual curiosity, do you?  Perhaps the next phase of my life will be very different from the last one.  Or maybe it will simply be the last happy one spiced up a little ...

Lily after a night's sleep in the real world

... another reason to believe there's more to life than meets the eye ...

Hard not to believe in heaven these days ...

BJ, the Good News Bear

Yesterday I saw Lily's pre- and post- arrival photos ... sweet with a masses of hair ... exhausted happy mom, grandma and "auntie" ... delighted dad ... and smiling grandpa ... Lily has entered a loving family circle.

I stopped taking my Vitamin D and am beginning to regain my energy ... had the second test yesterday ... will get the results next week ...  it seems you can't believe anything you read about how to keep healthy these days.  I had read that 2000 units of Vitamin D was a healthy level to take daily ... everyone from the cancer society to the osteopaths were recommending it  ... so I got my dosage up to 1800 ... and may have freaked out my calcium. 

I really am beginning to think it is better to simply eat properly, exercise, keep your weight reasonable and keep dogs if you want to stay healthy.  Then throw in a little human companionship, intellectual stimuli, and a garden ... and you have paradise.  I hope that my doctor concurs when she gets the test results!

Olive and Chelsea arrived this morning and will be with us for five days.  Olive is staying outside till she is sure of her new surroundings, person and dog.  Chelsea is inside sharing an uneasy truce with Kenya.  You may remember that Chelsea is the very old lumpy English Lab who is an incorrigible food thief and is on medication for tremors.  They are both nice girls and in a few minutes I will speed up the adjustment process by taking them all for a long walk.

Then I will make a pot of chili con carne using local beef, my own tomato sauce and other stuff from the garden ... my own and that of local farmers.

I am going to take a break from teaching after Helmut and Ottilia leave, entertain a friend and fellow writer for a week or so, and take a travel writing course during that time. I plan to relax and live a healthy stress-free life for a while. I want get back in the habit of sleeping at night, playing during the day, and working when necessary.  Maybe get some of the outstanding chores accomplished.  Maybe start writing and painting again.  

And now I am off to dress and walk puppies.  Enjoy your day.

Lily has arrived

8 lb. 6 oz. ... by Caesarean ... finally ...Jesse, Eric, Lily and Tamarak all doing well and madly in love despite sleep deprivation ... Congratulations everyone ...

High Calcium Levels

So ... my doctor's office called ... they want to do more blood tests because  my calcium levels are too high.  I always thought it would be a good thing to have lots of calcium.  Nope ... it always means there is a problem.  The most common one is hyperparathyroidism ... 98% of cases of high Ca ... The second cause is cancer ... but ususally not the cause if you are not really sick with a malignancy. 

So ... what is this hyper parathyroidism?  I am not quite sure but I do know it is fixable ...

And these are the symptoms ... I have starred my own ...

Symptoms of Parathyroid Disease
    *Loss of energy. Don't feel like doing much. Tired all the time. Chronic fatigue.
    *Just don't feel well; don't quite feel normal. Hard to explain but just feel kind of bad.
    *Feel old. Don't have the interest in things that you used to.
    *Can't concentrate, or can't keep your concentration like in the past.
    Depression.
    Osteoporosis and Osteopenia.
    Bones hurt; typically it's bones in the legs and arms but can be most bones.
    *Don't sleep like you used to. Wake up in middle of night. Trouble getting to sleep.
    *Tired during the day and frequently feel like you want a nap.
    Spouse claims you are more irritable and harder to get along with (cranky, bitchy).
    Forget simple things that you used to remember very easily (worsening memory).
    Gastric acid reflux; heartburn; GERD.
    Decrease in sex drive.
    Thinning hair (predominately in middle aged females on the front part of the scalp).
    Kidney Stones.
    High Blood Pressure (sometimes mild, sometimes quite severe; up and down a lot).
    *Recurrent Headaches (usually patients under the age of 40). (*just starting agai after years of being headache free.)
    Heart Palpitations (arrhythmias). Typically atrial arrhythmias.



So ... at least there's a reason for being exhausted all the time ...


Now to get things back to normal.

Appreciating Weekends Again

It is clearly time to retire again ... should that be re-retire?

I am tired.  I wake up thinking about sticky grammar problems and how to fix them.  But most of all, I look forward to weekends because they are opportunities to get caught up on rest, house cleaning and dog walking.

Except for the fact that my friends are not all retirees like me, weekends were almost indistinguishable from weekdays before I started teaching again.  Back in those days weekends were times for visitors ... dinner guests ...  house guests ... and invitations to spend time playing or eating with working friends. 

These days my house is so grubby I feel as if I cannot expose it to any but the blindest, friendliest and most forgiving eyes.   Besides I have no energy left to entertain or even go out to play.

This weekend is the first of the local Artists in Their Environment tours.  I would like to visit the places in the village and close by ... and may do that. It will be on again next weekend but that is Thanksgiving and I really would like to do something special like sharing a meal if possible.

Lily is now overdue so we are all looking forward to her entrance into the world.  I haven't had a chance to do the high chair for her but I gave her the little elf artists' cupboard.  Jesse can store her diapers and such in it for now ... and later Lily can use it for art supplies.  I just assume that she will, like all her female relatives, be artistic and that she will need storage space.

Helmut and Ottilia will finish up in two more weeks.  My longed for vacation will be bitter sweet though, for   I will miss them when they return to Europe.  Helmut 's warmth and gentleness remind me of my father.  He is also about the same size as Dad was, and has the same baldness patterning and accent.  Ottilia is as outgoing and talkative as Helmut is quiet but she is wise and funny ... and they provide a counterpoint to one another ... and they brighten my life as well. 

So ... two more weeks of sporadic (at best) blogging, I am afraid ... and then my quiet life will resume, and with it, the energy and the time to write.

Almost Back to Normal

Whatever normal is ... spent most of yesterday at the West End Artists' Tour with Helmut and Ottilia ... and had fun.  Came home with enough energy left over to take Kenya for a real walk and to make dinner ...

I bought another sculpture ... this one the polar opposite of "Grief".  "Grief" is hard, grey and a realistic rendition of sorrow.  "Alley Oop" is a soft felted sculture, brightly coloured, and on springs which almost allow him to leap with joy.  He has a smile that inspires me to say, "Don't worry; be happy".  Grief's strength derives from the body and its language.  A great deal of the charm of Alley Oop is in the facial  details.  It is a sculpture by Edwina Sutherland.

I have placed this one on my desk in front of a wall dedicated to flights of the imagination ... paintings and prints that make me want to soar ... to let my imagination fly free.

Happy September, Everyone!

Tarnation ... Hibernation

It's been a while ...and this post will be short, I am afraid.

I have no idea yet why I am so tired. Teaching four days a week is undoubtedly a factor, but this exhaustion far exceeds normal tiredness.  I was felled by a short but severe case of food poisoning the Saturday before last, and since then have faded a little more each day.

I finally went to the doctor on Wednesday and she suspects anemia , a possible side effect of the food poisoning as I lost quite a startling amount of blood.  I can't get  blood tests done here until mid-October so am going in to town on Saturday to have them done ... (have to fast for 12 hours so can't easily go tomorrow after class ... but that is a possibility since I am up in the middle of the night) .  My blood pressure keeps falling to about 102-110/ sixty-something  as well, so the next step if I am not anemic would be to adjust my blood pressure medication again.

Right now I am teaching a lovely thoughtful man about my age from a town just 200 kilometres away from my family's roots in Germany  ... and next week the other teacher and I will switch, I think, and I will work with his friend who is a Swiss German and very different ... bubblier and much more carefree.  I like them both but when they are together Helmut is as silent as a spring, and Ottilia lapses into German rather than attempting to work her way through things in English.   I think we will switch each week so that they have two different kinds of teaching throughout their four weeks.  I wish I had more energy because I do love teaching.

I will be happy to get to the root of this sudden exhaustion for a number of reasons ... not the least of which is that I hate the state of my house these days.  Kenya will be delighted to have regular and strenuous exercise once again.  (She is reacting to my inertia by being very naughty when she does get out with me ... Yesterday she pulled me right off my feet when she went streaking after one of Rowboat Flo's cats.  My weakness and the wet grass were also factors, but the main one was that she has an excess of energy as a result of my energy deficiency. Today she took off halfway home from Rowboat Flo's where we had had dinner, and returned to Flo's to steal one of the bones put out for those same cats.)  My students who likely have no idea what they are missing will also benefit.  And I guess my loyal readers will be glad to have me back blogging ...

So ... not much of a post ... just an explanation for my absence.  There will be another hiatus ... to be broken when there is either a recovery or I have something else to add.

Ketchup and Relish Time ... or time is still a luxury

This has been a busy week!  I will give you one of those over the shoulder views ...

I am off to a barbecue-potluck tonight and so I have prepared a real harvest dish to take with me ... zucchini topped with chopped tiny tomatoes and croutons and then sprinkled with Parmesan cheese and baked at 400 degrees.

Before that I made corn relish with corn left over from the lake's horseshoe tournament and barbecue which fizzled rather badly, especially for me and my gang ... but for everyone because of the weather.

My students were supposed to come with one of their house mothers.  She completely forgot and so I waited till seven and then walked over carrying my chair and chocolate zucchini bread.  Imagine my surprise when I discovered that most of the people had eaten and left early, and the other half were just finishing up the last of the desserts and were about to head home.  Lise cooked me a hamburger, Tom invited me to his table and got me a plate, and Rowboat Flo who was staying at my place this weekend, had prepared me a plate to take home.  I shared my wine and zucchini bread, and, when the cold wet wind made staying truly uncomfortable, we all went home.  Not even a bonfire because of the wind and rain ... maybe the annual corn roast is becoming a thing of the past.

Flo and I toddled off to bed. after a game of Scrabble

Earlier on Saturday I made the chocolate zucchini loaf, and several herb jellies.  By the time I was finished, I had sticky surfaces everywhere and had to thoroughly clean the stove.  Do not let your apple jelly boil over! Whew!  I had forgotten what harvest time was like.  It has been years since I lived in the Ottawa Valley and canned and pickled and made jellies and jams until my shelves were full and I never wanted to see another cucumber, tomato or berry of any sort.

On Friday I  put up 9 large jars of Nana Sully's cucumber relish so my distaste for preserving is now complete for this year ... and ... I still have tomatoes and more zucchini coming ... as well as more cucumbers than I can possibly eat in sandwiches ...

On Friday night I had dinner with Tom and Marlene ... yummy treat.

Thursday I took the car in for an oil change and the answer to a question about the gassy smell ... and came away from the experience with an even greater regard for my mechanic who cut out the rotted piece of gas line and, for a pittance,. re-tooled it  They take very good care of their most inept clients ...

Monday to Wednesday I taught every day ...

It has been a long week and I was really looking forward to the Labour Day holiday ... but my students have asked me to come in on Monday ...  I told them I couldn't promise ,,, that I was going to a second barbecue tonight and all would depend on whether I felt energetic enough.

It will also depend on whether I have anything prepared!


That is what I plan to do this afternoon ... plan lessons, make worksheets and tests, create games, and rest up before the party!

I hope you are all leading somewhat less hectic lives than I am and that your Labour Day  weekend has been fun.

The Luxury of Time

Yesterday I wrote a bleak essay about losing the luxury of time ... about exchanging it for something of lesser value.  I decided not to post it and made up my mind to simply enjoy my weekend of freedom from teaching.  I love teaching ... the people ... the intellectual excitement it generates ... but I have been missing my long days and the peace that comes from being on top of things in my life.

So ... here is my Saturday recollected ... plus a photo of me taken on the first day of teaching last week ...

.. . the view as evening sets in ...














.... the satisfaction of a table finally cleared of hours of work
... a glass of wine to celebrate
... a bed made up fresh with air dried linens waiting for me
... a new bathing suit after being christened in a kayak and in the waters of the lake with Kenya by my side
... a tub filling for a relaxing bath

It has been a good day ... hope yours was too.  And just think ... there is still one more weekend day left before life begins to spin by again, and the luxury of time disappears.

I Couldn't Resist ...

This lovely little tale arrived in my mailbox this morning ... and rather than respond to a comment on an earlier post, I decided to post it for you to read.

Arthur and the Witch

Young King Arthur was ambushed and imprisoned by the monarch of a neighboring kingdom. The monarch could have killed him but was moved by Arthur's youth and ideals. So, the monarch offered him his freedom, as long as he could answer a very difficult question. Arthur would have a year to figure out the answer and, if after a year, he still had no answer, he would be put to death.

The question...? What do women really want? Such a question would perplex even the most knowledgeable man, and to young Arthur, it seemed an impossible query. But, since it was better than death, he accepted the monarch's proposition to have an answer by year's end.

He returned to his kingdom and began to poll everyone: the princess, the priests, the wise men and even the court jester. He spoke with everyone, but no one could give him a satisfactory answer.

Many people advised him to consult the old witch, for only she would have the answer.

But the price would be high; as the witch was famous throughout the kingdom for the exorbitant prices she charged.

The last day of the year arrived and Arthur had no choice but to talk to the witch. She agreed to answer the question, but he would have to agree to her price first.

The old witch wanted to marry Sir Lancelot, the most noble of the Knights of the Round Table and Arthur's closest friend!

Young Arthur was horrified. She was hunchbacked and hideous, had only one tooth, smelled like sewage, made obscene noises, etc. He had never encountered such a repugnant creature in all his life.

He refused to force his friend to marry her and endure such a terrible burden; but Lancelot, learning of the proposal, spoke with Arthur.

He said nothing was too big of a sacrifice compared to Arthur's life and the preservation of the Round Table.

Hence, a wedding was proclaimed and the witch answered Arthur's question thus:

What a woman really wants, she answered....is to be in charge of her own life.

Everyone in the kingdom instantly knew that the witch had uttered a great truth and that Arthur's life would be spared.

And so it was, the neighboring monarch granted Arthur his freedom and Lancelot and the witch had a wonderful wedding.

The honeymoon hour approached and Lancelot, steeling himself for a horrific experience, entered the bedroom. But, what a sight awaited him. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen lay before him on the bed. The astounded Lancelot asked what had happened.

The beauty replied that since he had been so kind to her when she appeared as a witch, she
would henceforth, be her horrible deformed self only half the time and the beautiful maiden the other half.

Which would he prefer? Beautiful during the day....or night?

Lancelot pondered the predicament. During the day, a beautiful woman to show off to his friends, but at night, in the privacy of his castle, an old witch? Or, would he prefer having a hideous witch during the day, but by night, a beautiful woman for him to enjoy wondrous intimate moments?

What would YOU do?

What Lancelot chose is below.
BUT....make YOUR choice before you scroll down below.
OKAY?


Noble Lancelot said that he would allow HER to make the choice herself.

Upon hearing this, she announced that she would be beautiful all the time because he had respected her enough to let her be in charge of her own life.

On sitting in judgment

I read a blog post the other day that saddened me. The author is a highly intelligent person whose writing style is impeccable. She is an eclectic thinker and writer, and I like the way she pulls ideas together and reflects on life.

But whenever she writes about mothers her writing deteriorates into what seems to be loathing for her own mother. The tone becomes ugly, the perspective distorted. I can almost imagine her face twisting as she writes. And yet when I have read what she has actually written about her childhood, she seems to have been raised by a hardworking woman who did her best. Maybe I am missing something.

This skewed perception also comes through when she writes about old people generally, but I recognize this as  typical of young people who have not yet experienced the infirmity of aging. In fact I remember my own smugness and squirm.

When I was younger and had all my faculties and strength, I too sneered at the incompetence of teachers on the cusp of retirement, at the stale smells of older women who used public toilets ahead of me, at the even staler anecdotes told by old people who were remembering the years when they were competent, attractive and sometimes powerful or sexy, stories that showed them in a good light.

I too vowed never to become old in the ways they had.

But the reality is that we do. All of us. Even those of us who are intelligent, beautiful and powerful.

Infirmities of various kinds begin to take over.   Incontinence becomes chronic, and hormones dissolve leaving women decidedly unsexy, and men weaker and less virile.

There comes a day when most of us are not getting enough sleep, when it becomes harder to leap straight from bed to  shower, and when we do get up we sometimes forget one or more of the daily routines.

Sometimes it is the blood pressure pills.  Other times it is the shower.

It isn't often breakfast.

We reach a stage when we know that we are invisible  and we don't have anywhere important to go, anyway, so we don’t worry as much about appearance.  Does it really matter  whether our hair style is actually a style?  Somehow it seems less important to spend money on the impossible task of making ourselves attractive.

First we lose the youthful energy, and then the confidence that comes with it, so we are no longer as good at what we do (or did) for a living. Our minds are no longer as elastic as they once were, and our synapses begin to fray and snap.

Our short term memories deteriorate, leaving us with the longer term memories of better times.

So, yes, our conversations often take the form of truncated wisps of thought, meandering threads of back story, and remembered glory days.

It isn’t terribly attractive, but the alternative is worse, so unless dying at fifty is a choice we make, we will all get older ... and most of us will also become poorer at the same time.

The other day I met a lovely older woman who was missing two front teeth. My own father died with a gap in the front of his mouth. They probably both made their decisions to forego dental work based at least partly on the expense involved. I need $1500 worth of dental work myself, and I am having a tough time making the decision to go into debt for a partial plate I expect to hate wearing, especially since I am at that invisible age anyway.  Will Kenya really care whether I have a mouth full of teeth or whether I am nicely dressed and coiffed?

I have read posts recently in which young people have mentioned with some disdain that old Ontarians pay very little for their prescriptions. I sure wish I were an old Ontarian instead of an old Quebecer. Us old folks need more prescriptions than those younger folks. And those young folks are going to be old one day themselves. Bet then they’ll be glad that they are being given a break on prescription drugs!

And I bet that old Ontario woman with the missing teeth wishes she had a dental plan that would help her out.

Sorry about the lapses in grammar here ... just realized I was beginning to sound like a toothless old woman.

At any rate, income level does matter to the old. It helps determine whether they will try to keep themselves attractive.

Every time I step on a scale I remember feeling superior to my seventyish grandmother who weighed then what I do now. Every time I catch a whiff of urine, morning breath, or stale sweat, I squirm, thinking about my youthful distaste for the smell of old age. Every time I find myself telling a stale tale of long ago and see the boredom, or in one case, the distaste that spread over the face of someone who once loved me, I close my mouth and wish that it were either twenty years earlier or later than it is right now.

I love some things about aging. I am more reflective than I ever was as a young person. I am becoming more empathetic. I am also more courageous in some ways, more willing to take chances, less afraid of making a fool of myself.

But I am also heavier, weaker, more tired, and less mentally agile than I would like to be.

Yesterday I met a legally blind man who wears an insulin injecting device. He is active in three organizations which attempt to educate people about blindness and disabilities generally. His work spills over to concerns about poverty and the health system and to political action. He is almost ten years younger than I am, and still has most of his marbles, but he has far less freedom and mobility than I have.

He told me about an annual dinner that one of his associations puts on for business people called "Dinner in the Dark".   When people arrive they are blindfolded, seated, and served dinner. They are told where things are located on the table and on their plates, and then they eat blindly. Most people, as they grapple with knives and forks and food they cannot see, begin to understand blindness.

Maybe the young need to be given opportunities to experience the diminution that occurs in aging before they will be able to understand.

And most of them will.

Grief

Here are several views of Claire Hogenkamp's  sculpture, Grief.  It was part of a series at her show this spring, and, although I really couldn't afford it, I knew I needed to have it close to me.  I love sculpture better than any other art form because it reveals something new each time you look at it.  I like multi-dimensionality in art as well as people.  (Is that a word?)

Waxing Moons and Waning Hopes

Tonight at 1 a.m. the August moon will be full.  I think I will try to get out there to see it ... either in my kayak on the lake or on the bridge over the Gatineau River.  I am glad I live in a safe place where such ventures are not madness ... and I am glad I am still up for such hijinks.

Which brings me to the waning hopes ...

I guess the preamble to all this should be the disclaimer that I don't really move through life hoping to "find someone" I have found a lot of someones over the years, some wonderful, some not so ... and I have now reached a stage in life that is very comfortable ... I have found/discovered/learned that the only person who will always be with me is right here now ... and I finally like being with her.  So I am not really looking for someone any more.

But ... that said ... there is always the niggling doubt ... the one that says, "You are not truly complete alone.  It would be nice to share meals with someone you love.  It would be nice to shake him awake at 1 a.m. and say, ‘Let's get dressed and look at the moon.'"

However, the chances that I will find a partner I can love are becoming slimmer all the time.   For one thing sex is no longer making demands in that insistent way it did when I was younger.  Now it takes time to show its face, and then it merely flirts with the idea.  I have to like the person before I even notice him that way. And I finally understand what all that fuss was ... you know the one where women said, "I'd rather be cuddled."  Me ... I'd rather share laughter and conversation ... ideas and adventures ... and yes ... cuddles and kisses too.

The problem is that men my age are falling apart. I  met a very nice man about a year ago but he has so many disabilities that I can't imagine us spending much time together.  It is exhausting being with him.  I would rather exchange emails.  I am going to meet another man this week, but he too has physical and linguistic limitations that make it unlikely that he will be the one.

And then there are the men who are younger ... who are likely looking for women younger, slimmer and more athletic than I am now.

One day bodies will be superfluous and there will only be meetings of minds.  When that particular rapture comes, age and infirmity will be a thing of the past.  But until then I need to find someone who is just right for me.  Not too smart ... not too stupid ... not too silly ... not too serious ... not too active ... not too infirm.  Someone who can climb 39 steps, shovel snow, and get up at 1 a.m. to see the full moon, but who has no desire to crack a whip behind me asking me to ride faster or ski further.  I am past wanting anything to do with a man who sees women as projects to get into shape.

I suspect  tonight my moon-gazing companion will be a black furry friend who also likes to nap between adventures ... if we wake up in time ... a friend who loves me just as I am.

After the Hiatus

I have been busy teaching, entertaining and visiting ... and now I am home.  Before I start preparations for next week's lessons, I will fill in some of the blanks.

My friend Erma is just back from a visit to Kenya so we had a great gossipy visit last weekend.  Layla, who sent money off with Erma on this trip, joined us for dinner on Saturday.  Layla is 20 and has been raising money for disadvantaged kids to help them get an education since she was a young teenager.  I met her when she was fifteen.  She has helped to build kitchens and dormitories at the Daisy Centre for kids with disabilities, sent a crippled girl off to have a necessary operation so that she could attend high school as a CHES scholarship girl, and used her funds for a myriad of other small projects.  Erma taught in Western Kenya from 2001 - 2003.  She made it her business to discover where help was needed, and has been raising money and awareness in her Canadian church and high school ever since her return.  She has been back three or four times, each time discovering more projects to help, and so her Kenyan work continues to grow.

Dan, Sarah, Lucas and Remi spent a few days here while I visited Techwood and Scootz.  We all enjoyed shaking up our lives a little, and I came home to a clean house, fewer weeds and a mowed lawn, to a stream free of a tree that threatened to block it, and to a clothesline that works like a charm again..

While they worked and played here at the lake, I went off on missions in the Lanark area, and managed to fill my three days in interesting ways. 

I walked every day a few times with Kenya and old Charlie and discovered just how friendly Lanark is ... and how beautiful the gardens and river are.  Charlie loved his walks and hip-hopped along beside Kenya despite his arthritis.

At the annual Balderson sale I picked up bathing suits that will last me for another few years.  In Perth I found a wine cup that smooths out rough wine, and a bar of natural soap that smells good enough to eat.  I also attended a great outdoor concert in the rain with a new friend. 

Before I left, the boys and I went off to McDonald's Corners where I discovered the nicest Saturday Market I've ever been to.  Listening to conversations around me while I drank fair trade coffee, I was reminded of a recent trip to London when I marched against the Iraq War with hordes of little old grey haired ladies and men ... all from the peace protest era.  I bought quiches and fudge from little girls raising money for autism, and, when I asked why they were so interested, was told by the younger one that her older sister looked after a little girl who was on the spectrum. I don't think I have ever met nicer kids, and when I told their camera-toting grandfather, he said that it had to be his wife's influence because he was a bad actor.  Then I wandered over to talk to a goat lady ... and was reminded of my own experiences with goats ... another tale from the depths of memory.

After eating our way around the market, we drove to the dump where I found books and blouses at the recycling centre, and then visited the woman who bought Techwood's old place.  I like her ... and her dogs.  She too has a Charlie with the oddest colouring imaginable.  He looks ferocious but hides behind her skirts as soon as you speak to him.  It took Scootz a few minutes of gentle stroking to convince him to come out from under the desk once we were inside.  A friend of his owner described him as a cut and paste dog because his cross breeding has not created a harmonious blend at all.  Rather he has a shepherd size and shape, a pit bullish head, some dalmation freckles, a spectacular grey diamond on a white forehead, and his front half is white, the back half dark.

I was glad to get home, but I am very glad I spent a few days with my boys.  And it was nice to meet a new friend with whom I have so much in common.  Maybe next time I visit he will give me a ride on his Harley.

Last night I made the mistake of retreating from the steady rain into a movie.  Have you seen "The Weatherman"?  I found it terribly depressing ... good ... but hard to watch the protagonist's repeated failures and unremitting sadness ...

And now I must start work on my lessons for next week.  I am teaching Monday, Thursday and Friday this week.  Roger, the young Swiss carpenter, will be joined by a handicraft teacher in her early fifties and another younger Swiss woman.  I want to work with their common interests and the things they can teach one another.  I picked up some second hand books on handicrafts in Lanark ... so I think I will start there.

Have a great week ... and I will try to make more regular appearances than I have lately.

For Barbara Carlson ... who gets this ...

    Like September Women

In September the world turns beige.
Do you know how many shades
Of brown exist?

Toasted wheat gold.  Dusty grass dun.
Greenish milkweed pod bronze.
Speckled fern ginger.

Rusty dried blood of old sumac.
Tan burrs explode, scattering
Pale creamy down.

The strongest colours now are seen
In fruit.  Scarlet berries.
Purple clusters.

Some September weeds still blossom
With dusty blue flowers
Or dull greyed mauves.

But by September, past their prime,
Mere husks for next year's seeds,
Most weeds are dull.

But only in comparison
To summer's lively shades.
Seen on their own,

There is great variety,
Considerable beauty,
As seed cases

Burst, sending forth winged messengers,
And textures grow softer,
More touchable.

Some are prickly in the autumn.
Most are more fragile.
But still lovely.

Like September women.

On seeing that forests are made of trees ...

This morning Kenya, Tango and I set out at 6:30 and walked for a mile or so along Mountain Road before turning to return home.  It was a lovely cool morning ... not even a hint of the enervating heat and humidity that have drained me of my essence lately.  As I walked I followed Alain deBotton's advice ... I paid attention.  And I discovered once again that those who pay attention reap rewards.

On one side of the road are farmers' fields; on the other,  bush that slopes sharply down to a stream.  We could hear it far below us and the dogs would like to have been free to explore it and get a drink, but Mountain Road is not Pike Lake Road.   There is traffic occasionally on Mountain Road and people drive fast and carelessly, usually making the assumption that they won't meet another soul.

Mixed forest or scrub brush grey with road dust doesn't usually merit much of my attention, but today I noticed the different trees ... oaks, sumac, poplars shivering in every breath of wind,  some enormous cedars, their branches drooping with the weight of seed pods, a tree whose branches were completely festooned with what looked like grape vine.  I picked one of the fruits in order to examine it later to see whether it was an unripe plum or a crab apple.

On the farmer's side of the road an apple tree long gone wild yielded a bounty of almost ripe fruit.  The dogs remained still in the culvert, fooled into thinking they were prisoners because I had looped their leashes over a twig that could never have held them back had they decided to test it, but maybe they were just happy to stay close to me.

Tango is like most of the dogs I look after; he stays very close, as if afraid I too will abandon him.  While they waited patiently, I gathered enough apples to make applesauce, and carried them home in one of the bags all dog walkers carry.

Golden rod, chicory, and the blood red of the sumac provided the only respite from the green of the vegetation and the dust of the dirt  road, but even the greys and greens showed a range of  hues.  I almost picked up another rock for Teddy's cairn. It was beautifully shaped and  pink mottled the grey, but it was too heavy to carry back.  By now I was carrying the bag of apples and holding the leashes of  two large dogs who outweigh me, and it was likely that the visiting greyhound would be awake by now.  His appearance always startles the dogs.  I have a feeling that they can't quite figure out what kind of animal he is.  At any rate I was not sure I could manage to hold them back if I carried anything else, so I  left the rock for another day.


It was a lovely walk ... and  ... for a change, I was able to see the trees in the forest .  Almost made me want to spend a few weeks traveling the northern route to Thunder Bay again ... a route that takes you past endless miles of northern Ontario scrub brush ... this time paying attention to the details.

Almost.

Teddy's Life by Tamarak ; His Resting Place by Oma .

Doggone it

My day began at 5:30 a.m. with a dog's wet nose next to mine.  I had slept soundly since 7:30 the night before exhausted by teaching and the humidity.  I like moderation ... especially now that I am older.  I dislike intense heat and sopping wet humidity, but I am not a great fan of frigid temperatures or winter-dry air either.  I like having something to keep me alive intellectually but I become stressed by too many demands on my time.  I hate crowds but like people in small doses; value privacy but like to have the silences broken occasionally.  This morning at 5:30 I realized that we were being granted a reprieve from the rain forest climate we have been enduring this summer.  I headed off with the dogs for the first walk I have actually enjoyed for ages. Kenya bounced for the first time in a while, and the two dogs, Kenya and Tango, dashed ahead in typical doggy fashion zigzagging from woods to lake all along the road. I chatted with a friend I had hardly seen all summer while the dogs rooted about in his garden for mice and feinted with one another.

Roger arrived a little late to class yesterday.  He had slowed down to accommodate Kiwi who was exhausted by her very long run in the humid air.

On a much sadder note:  This afternoon we will be burying Teddy in a lovely spot near the gravel pit owned by friends.  He always loved this lake so it is fitting that he will rest here forever. I will post photos of Teddy and the spot later.

Teddy was always one of those special dogs ... the sweet natured ones who wanted nothing more than love and the occasional cookie.  He walked with a spine twisted by a car accident when he was a puppy, and lived with pain from all kinds of probably related health conditions for nine years. 

All of us who loved him will miss his smile.  Yes, Teddy smiled, and wagged his whole body  even when he was suffering.  And he loved blonde female dogs right up till the end.

My father's grave marker says simply, " At rest in the mountains he loved" ... I am glad that Teddy too will be at rest in the hills that he loved.

Lessons My Students Teach Me ...

One of the things I love about teaching is that teachers are always learning from their students. 

This year I have had more adult students than I had last year and they have taught me different lessons than the ones taught by adolescents.

Sybille and Roger have taught me a great deal about a basic Swiss characteristic that is ingrained because there is such a deliberate effort to ensure that children and later adults adopt the idea that consensus is far better than conflict in solving problems  It makes sense that a neutral country would  be non-confrontational, of course, but Sybille and Roger made me really understand this.

Sybille says that one of the problems with always having to resolve conflicts consensually at home or in business is that meetings run by the Swiss are very very long.  Sometimes it is a relief to have a German chair a meeting  -- more efficient -- and everyone gets home to dinner on time.

Roger was doing some improv in class the other day, simulating an argument between two men at a market.  Very abruptly the smaller man ended the argument by giving in, and giving up his right to the location for his stall.  Roger said, "There is a Swiss proverb that says that in a tug-of-war, the intelligent person gives in; the stubborn mule or ass refuses to."

Yoshiko taught me many lessons about healthy longevity, some by example; others directly.  The Japanese tend to be longer-lived than people in the west.  I realize now after spending a week with the 84 year old Yoshiko that diet and exercise are largely responsible.  Yoshiko eats four very small meals a day, and seaweed, fish, fruit  and vegetables are her staples.  She drinks green tea and stays away from alcohol.  Last winter she spent 80 days on the ski hills..

She also leads a stress-free life surrounded by beauty and intellectual stimuli.  She is an artist so she is not bored, but she says that her life is not work-filled.

When she and Rowboat Flo discussed their healthy longevity, they talked about physical activity.  Flo gardens and used to walk miles.  Yoshiko skiis.  When they discussed keeping their minds active and alert, both women agreed that we need to exercise our minds as well as our bodies.  For Yoshiko  that means painting and travel and eating a diet rich in brain foods.  Flo uses puzzles of various kinds in the same way, and, although her diet is very different from Yoshiko's, it too is healthy, and much of what she eats she grows herself.

I am reading a superb book on travel called  The Art of Travel.    It is about why we travel, and how we can  enrich our lives through travel.  By the end of the book it becomes clear that physically going to a new place is just one way to travel.  The real secret to enriching one's life lies in learning to see with new eyes; taking the time to study nature and life in general.  Travelers, artists and writers who notice the details bring back new ideas and  experiences that they can bring to bear in their everyday lives.

Teaching travelers is just another way of learning things that can make life more interesting, and more fulfilling.

Every day I experience something wonderful and surprising.  This week Roger taught me how to make apple fritters and  how to design a Swiss roof  that will never leak.  He also reminded me that Shepherd's Pie is delicious,  so i am having that for supper tonight.  Perhaps most exciting for me is watching him figuure out some knotty language problem,.  When he gets it  I see a a light dawn.  He has once more allowed me to see how language learning takes place.

Life in the Slow Lane ...

I drove a very long way through countryside on Sunday to deposit a cheque in my account.  My bank has few branches in this part of Quebec.  I bought gas for the same price I pay in Ontario. It's not that Quebec gas got any cheaper; just that Ontarians are now paying the HST so they are being hit as hard now as Quebecers always have been.

On my way home I saw a sight that warmed the cockles of my heart, but would probably have horrified people from the generation raising children.  A grandfatherly man on a large riding mower was cutting the grass in the culvert adjoining his property.  Clutched tightly and protectively in one of his arms was a little grandson.  I suspect that both will remember that experience for the rest of their lives. 

This morning I began teaching Roger, a young Swiss carpenter with a good sense of humour and a weak grasp of English tenses.  I like him, and I suspect that we will have as good a time as Sybeille, Yoshiko and I enjoyed.  The dog from his home stay followed his bike all the way and slept under the table while we had our lesson.  Sweet dog ... a border collie called Kiwi.  Roger decided that so many Canadian pets were named after foods that perhaps we ate our dogs ...   Muffin, Pumpkin, and Tootsy Roll. were three he mentioned in addition to Kiwi ... he was kidding.

When I got home I made turkey soup broth from the leftovers from last night's dinner with Tammy and Carlos, and then Tango arrived.  Tango has been here a few times.  In appearance, he reminds me of  Chance, the dog I adopted in Eleuthera.  Kenya treats him with kid gloves unless he does something really bad.  This is because his first response to a new dog is to growl menacingly.  She has decided that he is the alpha male ...  and she even  lets him get the sticks when they both go to retrieve them in the lake, but she will not allow him to growl at me ... or at Sadie.   I think he is responding to a new situation with an attitude of "the best defence is a strong offence" ... and by tomorrow or the next day he will relax and just enjoy being at a doggies' holiday spa.  Today after a long walk with both dogs, I played in the lake with the two of them.  Part of my time was spent teaching Tango that he is not to mob me in the water.  I was just recovering from Charlie's claw marks and now I have more.  Charlie acted out of fear.  I think Tango, who is very comfortable in the water, might have been trying to save me from drowning.

So ... August is beginning to look like both a socially active and busily profitable month here at the lake.  maybe I will get that dental work covered after all!