Is this Armageddon? Today's news reports certainly suggest so.
Kenya was anxious all night because of the high winds ... and as a result I was too. Twice I crept downstairs to make sure that the wet snow was not forming a river ready to invade my house. The last time it was caused by a tree felled across the stream. The winds are shaking the biggest trees here.
I gave Leonard a container of the beans yesterday. They taste like candy. Today Peter will be helping me get the staircase ready for painting, and I will package his food and send it home with him. I will likely tuck in a helping of pasta with meat sauce for Leonard as his luck needs a boost these days.
But ... on the bright side, the little box is coming along and I am liking what it is evolving to. I was asked to make a jewelery box for a baby. It's not that easy to think of ideas for a grown-up present for a baby, so it has taken me a long time to figure out what to do with the jewelry box I found last summer at a garage sale in Wakefield. I took it apart and sanded and primed the exterior ages ago but was hesitant about how to proceed. I think it will be whimsical enough for a baby but grown up enough to last till she is older.
And here is what Robert Genn says about painting and art in general ... he says it well ...
Art establishes and makes tangible a time, a place, a thought, an idea.
Art, properly made, enhances and enriches the lives of others.
Art gives an opportunity to endow new life and new meaning into the ordinary.
Art gives an opportunity to design your own world, and, as in your children, create a significant immortality.
Art is hard-earned work that is its own reward and has a degree of permanence.
Art, because it's so easy to do, and yet so difficult to do well, encourages humility in the human soul.
Art is an apprenticeship that can be stretched into a lifelong education.
Art thrives on democratic ideals, freedom of expression and rugged individualism.
Art permits you to step out of the labyrinth and into a quiet corner of your own private joy.
Showing posts with label weather. Show all posts
Showing posts with label weather. Show all posts
Friday, 11 March 2011
Tuesday, 23 November 2010
November Rain ...
This morning Robert Genn, a BC artist, wrote about his teaching experience in a kindergarten class. I copied two excerpts because I liked them.
I began to think about why children derive such uncomplicated total pleasure from art ... why they hate a food, a colour or a smell ... or love it .... just as violently. Part of the reason, of course, is that every life experience is still so new. The rest of us have immunized ourselves to strong sensory reactions.
But it is also because all their senses are still so acute.
Most of us rely far too heavily on the sense of sight, ignoring the other more subtle sensory information we receive continually. Our hearing becomes less acute, our tastebuds dull, and our sense of smell fades, but when we habitually ignore those other senses, we help to kill them.
And that is too bad, because it is those smells and tastes that can evoke memory instantly.
When I smell puffed rice in milk I remember a dark pantry in Mimico. The taste of Scott's Emulsion can take me back to that same kitchen. I was six when I lived there with my foster family, when Mom Hall dosed us every winter day with the stuff that made me gag, and fed us cereal for breakfast. Those memories are nothing more. Just memories of a time long ago.
But some memories are far more evocative.
The smell of fresh air and sunshine, for example. When I bring laundry in from the line or sink into a freshly made-up bed, I am instantly back in my thirties. It is a smell that is both wholesome and incredibly sexy.
I don't use perfume any more. It makes me sneeze.
When I was young, my father gave me Chanel #5 every Christmas. I loved it, but I knew a woman years later, a school secretary, then in her sixties, who wore Chanel #5 better than anyone else. On her skin it smelled like fresh dewy rose petals. On mine it just smelled like nice perfume.
Once in a doctor's waiting room, I caught a whiff of a spicy but fresh scent of something Eastern and exotic when a young pregnant Muslim woman stirred beside me. I thought it was just as sexy as the fresh air and sunshine of air-dried linens ... just as perfectly in harmony with her skin as the Chanel had been with the older woman's ... but far more mysterious than either.
Early this morning I decided to take a walk in the rain to try to remember the feeling of mist on skin, to pay attention . At first the cool wetness did feel dewy, but the droplets chattering against my yellow slicker before sinking into the sodden leaves on the ground, were louder than I had expected. My boots were still fitted with ice walkers from yesterday and the steel studs crunched on the gravel. The streams rushing down the mountain to the lake almost drowned out all other sounds.
I tried to ignore the noise, to pay attention to the feeling of rain on my face, expecting caresses. Instead the drops felt like I were being splattered by innocuous birdshot. Occasionally a large splat landed on my cheek when a leaf dropped its larger puddle. It felt a little like one of those unexpected gifts from birds. The ones that are supposed to bring luck.
And then we were out of the woods and walking along the road. The outlet stream from the lake was swollen, the muddy water almost spilling over its banks. I watched a brown stick being swirled around by the current, and then, in the time it takes to blink, it came alive and darted away ... a muskrat, I think.
On the other side of the lake I let Kenya run free. Stretching her limbs, she began to play and cavort like a puppy, dashing here and there looking for sticks. Then, as suddenly as the rat had done, she tensed and veered toward me, sensing danger from above. Less than a second later a large rock splashed into the ditch water, pushing the puddle over the road. I heard the swoosh as it hit, but Kenya heard its movement past the rock face. Her senses are still intact, still childlike.
After a while the fresh sweetness of rain on my face lost its appeal. My hair was sodden and hanging in my eyes, annoying me. I had taken off my glasses long before because they steam up in the rain. Now I just wanted to get home. The yukk factor had set in.
But I am glad I walked this morning, glad I didn't wait for the wind and sunshine to dry things before heading out.
"One boy came very close and said, "I like you. I really like you." I asked him why and he said it was because I let my glasses hang from red strings."
"The kids went to their tables where gobs of colour and actual stretched canvases were provided. Then the fun began. Within a few minutes some had their paint up each other's noses. Paint was flicked, spattered and drizzled. The tables themselves became Jackson Pollocks."
"The kids went to their tables where gobs of colour and actual stretched canvases were provided. Then the fun began. Within a few minutes some had their paint up each other's noses. Paint was flicked, spattered and drizzled. The tables themselves became Jackson Pollocks."
I began to think about why children derive such uncomplicated total pleasure from art ... why they hate a food, a colour or a smell ... or love it .... just as violently. Part of the reason, of course, is that every life experience is still so new. The rest of us have immunized ourselves to strong sensory reactions.
But it is also because all their senses are still so acute.
Most of us rely far too heavily on the sense of sight, ignoring the other more subtle sensory information we receive continually. Our hearing becomes less acute, our tastebuds dull, and our sense of smell fades, but when we habitually ignore those other senses, we help to kill them.
And that is too bad, because it is those smells and tastes that can evoke memory instantly.
When I smell puffed rice in milk I remember a dark pantry in Mimico. The taste of Scott's Emulsion can take me back to that same kitchen. I was six when I lived there with my foster family, when Mom Hall dosed us every winter day with the stuff that made me gag, and fed us cereal for breakfast. Those memories are nothing more. Just memories of a time long ago.
But some memories are far more evocative.
The smell of fresh air and sunshine, for example. When I bring laundry in from the line or sink into a freshly made-up bed, I am instantly back in my thirties. It is a smell that is both wholesome and incredibly sexy.
I don't use perfume any more. It makes me sneeze.
When I was young, my father gave me Chanel #5 every Christmas. I loved it, but I knew a woman years later, a school secretary, then in her sixties, who wore Chanel #5 better than anyone else. On her skin it smelled like fresh dewy rose petals. On mine it just smelled like nice perfume.
Once in a doctor's waiting room, I caught a whiff of a spicy but fresh scent of something Eastern and exotic when a young pregnant Muslim woman stirred beside me. I thought it was just as sexy as the fresh air and sunshine of air-dried linens ... just as perfectly in harmony with her skin as the Chanel had been with the older woman's ... but far more mysterious than either.
Early this morning I decided to take a walk in the rain to try to remember the feeling of mist on skin, to pay attention . At first the cool wetness did feel dewy, but the droplets chattering against my yellow slicker before sinking into the sodden leaves on the ground, were louder than I had expected. My boots were still fitted with ice walkers from yesterday and the steel studs crunched on the gravel. The streams rushing down the mountain to the lake almost drowned out all other sounds.
I tried to ignore the noise, to pay attention to the feeling of rain on my face, expecting caresses. Instead the drops felt like I were being splattered by innocuous birdshot. Occasionally a large splat landed on my cheek when a leaf dropped its larger puddle. It felt a little like one of those unexpected gifts from birds. The ones that are supposed to bring luck.
And then we were out of the woods and walking along the road. The outlet stream from the lake was swollen, the muddy water almost spilling over its banks. I watched a brown stick being swirled around by the current, and then, in the time it takes to blink, it came alive and darted away ... a muskrat, I think.
On the other side of the lake I let Kenya run free. Stretching her limbs, she began to play and cavort like a puppy, dashing here and there looking for sticks. Then, as suddenly as the rat had done, she tensed and veered toward me, sensing danger from above. Less than a second later a large rock splashed into the ditch water, pushing the puddle over the road. I heard the swoosh as it hit, but Kenya heard its movement past the rock face. Her senses are still intact, still childlike.
After a while the fresh sweetness of rain on my face lost its appeal. My hair was sodden and hanging in my eyes, annoying me. I had taken off my glasses long before because they steam up in the rain. Now I just wanted to get home. The yukk factor had set in.
But I am glad I walked this morning, glad I didn't wait for the wind and sunshine to dry things before heading out.
Monday, 22 November 2010
The frost is on the pumpkins ... and everywhere else ...
I took these shots across the lake while walking Kenya yesterday.
I haven't ventured out any further than the bird and squirrel feeders today. Busy making pumpkin loaves. But that appointment is at 1 so I am keeping my fingers crossed that the weather man is right; that the temperature will be up to 10 by then.
Tuesday, 25 May 2010
Natural defense to the Rescue
It is stinking hot here ... even here ... and Kenya and I have both been swimming as much as possible this afternoon. Now I have the dehumidifier on downstairs and a fan blowing 26 degree air around upstairs.
I was happily ensconced on my bed reading a novel ... after doing some obligatory reading for tomorrow's lesson ... when Kenya set up a frantic howl and headed up the road to the mountain. The last time she behaved like that she ended up with $300 worth of porcupine quills in her face.
I took off after her, barefoot, a Natural Defense bone in my hand ... I waved it around and told her I had something very special for her ... and ... she turned her back on whatever she was chasing and came back to the house like a docile lamb.
The last time we were in that situation I used every wile I knew ... including raw beef ... nothing worked like this magic just did.
Congratulations, Natural Defense.
We are almost at the end of the trial ... just the breath tests left ... To be honest I don't really notice a difference in her breath ... but I will pay close attention and report. What is absolutely clear though, is that both she and Remi thought these treats were to die for.
I was happily ensconced on my bed reading a novel ... after doing some obligatory reading for tomorrow's lesson ... when Kenya set up a frantic howl and headed up the road to the mountain. The last time she behaved like that she ended up with $300 worth of porcupine quills in her face.
I took off after her, barefoot, a Natural Defense bone in my hand ... I waved it around and told her I had something very special for her ... and ... she turned her back on whatever she was chasing and came back to the house like a docile lamb.
The last time we were in that situation I used every wile I knew ... including raw beef ... nothing worked like this magic just did.
Congratulations, Natural Defense.
We are almost at the end of the trial ... just the breath tests left ... To be honest I don't really notice a difference in her breath ... but I will pay close attention and report. What is absolutely clear though, is that both she and Remi thought these treats were to die for.
Sunday, 9 May 2010
Mother's Day 2010
It's a good thing I haven't got around to changing my heading picture yet. The hermitage looks exactly like the photo. Snow blankets everything. Thank goodness I was feeling too ill yesterday to shop for impatiens to plant in the strange attempt at a well that sits in a large patch of tiger lilies that also had the sense to wait till it was really spring before blossoming. And thank heavens I am still nurturing indoors the basil plant I bought last week.
A strange year, this one.
Unseasonably warm this spring. Far less snow and frigid temperatures than is usual this past winter. And now this ... a real snowfall on Mother's Day.
Kenya was very sweet this morning ... and she finally broke her mother's heart. Here is your Kenya story ... or is it the Crunch'n'Clean story?
Kenya went out to pee, and returned expecting a cookie. I handed her a C&C which she tossed on the rug with a dismissive fling of her head. I retrieved it. (Yes, I know, she is the retriever, not me.) We did the shake-a-paw trick thing. She shook my hand and then went over to her food dish and rattled it loudly on the slate floor. I said she had a C&C there, and pointed. She gave the canine equivalent of a shrug and tossed the C&C around for a minute or so. Then she ate it and went straight back to her food dish. The message was clear to any mother. "All right. I've eaten my damned carrots. NOW can I have dessert?" I fed her, and went back to the fire and my tea. When I came back she was sitting under the treats shelf looking up longingly. She noticed me and gave that groany "PLEASE" thing she has perfected.
It worked. I gave her a Dentistix. She took it with a look that can only be described as joyful and bounded off to her couch to savour it.
To all you mothers out there ... and to any dads, single or not, who play the role ... have a great day, even if it is snowing where you live. Enjoy your children.
A strange year, this one.
Unseasonably warm this spring. Far less snow and frigid temperatures than is usual this past winter. And now this ... a real snowfall on Mother's Day.
Kenya was very sweet this morning ... and she finally broke her mother's heart. Here is your Kenya story ... or is it the Crunch'n'Clean story?
Kenya went out to pee, and returned expecting a cookie. I handed her a C&C which she tossed on the rug with a dismissive fling of her head. I retrieved it. (Yes, I know, she is the retriever, not me.) We did the shake-a-paw trick thing. She shook my hand and then went over to her food dish and rattled it loudly on the slate floor. I said she had a C&C there, and pointed. She gave the canine equivalent of a shrug and tossed the C&C around for a minute or so. Then she ate it and went straight back to her food dish. The message was clear to any mother. "All right. I've eaten my damned carrots. NOW can I have dessert?" I fed her, and went back to the fire and my tea. When I came back she was sitting under the treats shelf looking up longingly. She noticed me and gave that groany "PLEASE" thing she has perfected.
It worked. I gave her a Dentistix. She took it with a look that can only be described as joyful and bounded off to her couch to savour it.
To all you mothers out there ... and to any dads, single or not, who play the role ... have a great day, even if it is snowing where you live. Enjoy your children.
Thursday, 10 December 2009
The Perfect Storm
At my age, the perfect storm is beautiful, exciting and does not leave me stranded or exhausted.
This was the perfect storm. It had a violent monochromatic beauty with no terrible repercussions.
Before the storm, a thin skin of slate grey ice had formed on the lake near the shoreline. When I woke up on Wednesday the skin was several feet wide and pure white.
All day long the wind howled in the treetops sending Kenya scuttling in under my desk, swirling snow in fierce whorls that scudded past my windows. It churned up the lake water and sent it rushing from one end of the lake to the other. This was no ordinary wind. It didn't seem to have a specific source or purpose but rather changed direction frequently, and paused for breath often.
The ice skin was torn away from the shore and shredded into fragments that were scattered over the lake creating islands shaped like crescent moons and boomerangs.
The boats which had, I thought, been carefully stored for winter, the canoe over the kayak, a chair leaning against both holding them against the railing, were now scattered all over the deck. I made my careful way down the 22 stairs to the lake, pushing snow aside with each step I took. The wind tore at my clothing as I turned both boats over again, but did not attempt to pile them neatly this time. Kenya, who is usually first onto the deck, hung back.
The quietest place during the storm was in the woods. Kenya and I made the trek to the mailboxes twice. Sixty feet above our heads, the wind shrieked as it buffeted groaning tree branches. On the road we saw several dead branches that had been ripped from the trees: new sticks for Kenya to play with, but even so, there was a kind of peace as we walked in that white arched passage between the open parking area and Pike Lake Road. I felt completely safe. Kenya was likely more realistic as she cringed and cast baleful glances up into the treetops. But then Kenya is always the one who barks and maintains watch while I relax and enjoy my hermitage safe in the knowledge that she is here, that the only people who venture in here are friends, and that our home is secure.
I shoveled the 39 steps once yesterday, and Leonard plowed the road once and then came in for coffee and banana bread. Today, the finest possible dusting of snow is sifting down, and I will take my shovel and go out to play in the snow in a few minutes.
I hope your storms was as perfect as ours if you were experiencing your first storm of the season.
This was the perfect storm. It had a violent monochromatic beauty with no terrible repercussions.
Before the storm, a thin skin of slate grey ice had formed on the lake near the shoreline. When I woke up on Wednesday the skin was several feet wide and pure white.
All day long the wind howled in the treetops sending Kenya scuttling in under my desk, swirling snow in fierce whorls that scudded past my windows. It churned up the lake water and sent it rushing from one end of the lake to the other. This was no ordinary wind. It didn't seem to have a specific source or purpose but rather changed direction frequently, and paused for breath often.
The ice skin was torn away from the shore and shredded into fragments that were scattered over the lake creating islands shaped like crescent moons and boomerangs.
The boats which had, I thought, been carefully stored for winter, the canoe over the kayak, a chair leaning against both holding them against the railing, were now scattered all over the deck. I made my careful way down the 22 stairs to the lake, pushing snow aside with each step I took. The wind tore at my clothing as I turned both boats over again, but did not attempt to pile them neatly this time. Kenya, who is usually first onto the deck, hung back.
The quietest place during the storm was in the woods. Kenya and I made the trek to the mailboxes twice. Sixty feet above our heads, the wind shrieked as it buffeted groaning tree branches. On the road we saw several dead branches that had been ripped from the trees: new sticks for Kenya to play with, but even so, there was a kind of peace as we walked in that white arched passage between the open parking area and Pike Lake Road. I felt completely safe. Kenya was likely more realistic as she cringed and cast baleful glances up into the treetops. But then Kenya is always the one who barks and maintains watch while I relax and enjoy my hermitage safe in the knowledge that she is here, that the only people who venture in here are friends, and that our home is secure.
I shoveled the 39 steps once yesterday, and Leonard plowed the road once and then came in for coffee and banana bread. Today, the finest possible dusting of snow is sifting down, and I will take my shovel and go out to play in the snow in a few minutes.
I hope your storms was as perfect as ours if you were experiencing your first storm of the season.
Wednesday, 9 December 2009
Random Thoughts While Home with the Flu
"The more anger towards the past you carry in your heart, the less capable you are of loving in the present." Barbara De Angelis
I read this today and was glad it was one of the truths I discovered a long time ago. I think my profession helped me understand it back when I was very young, still in my early twenties. If a teacher harbours grudges she will not be happy in her job. A classroom is one of the situations in which a short memory is an asset. Every day has to be a new day.
Oh, I have forgotten the lesson at times ... I'm still not very forgiving toward the incompetent doctor who misdiagnosed and mistreated my broken dislocated finger ... and I still do not trust the Hull and Gatineau hospitals ... but generally speaking I forgive easily ... and indeed, often forget as well.
Old spouses and lovers have long ago been forgiven. As have my parents. I think once I understand why an adult acts as he does, it is easier to get over a hurt, a fear, or a bit of cruelty.
Thank you, Barbara De Angelis, for the reminder.
I am nursing a flu bug. Well actually, I am treating myself very gently, and enduring the flu bug, swatting it with regular blasts of Cold FX which bolsters my white blood cells' ability to do the actual fighting. I am also fueling my immune system with Vitamin C and drinking plenty of hot teas and water ... (and just a little wine). As well, I am dressing in cozy snuggly bugglies and an old cashmere turtleneck I brought back from Mongolia ten years ago.The sore throat began on Monday and my choice of treatment seems to be working well, as I am already feeling better today than I did yesterday.
And now we have our first winter storm arriving so I will be snowed in until I have the energy to dig myself out. This means that I likely won't be doing much besides resting and pampering myself until Saturday.
I do hope that we don't lose power. These winds are very strong and gusty ... the kind that hydro poles seem unable to withstand. And my wood supply has not yet arrived. I have a few bags of logs ... but not enough for any lengthy outage.
If necessary I will get Peter to help me pick up more logs tomorrow. I think he will be coming. And now that we have snow I can get my big order delivered next weekend.
I think I will start my gift for Le Hibou today ... the base coat anyway ... and then it will become something to play with. I am planning a Zentangle owl with just a single splash of colour.
Good thoughts needed by Pat, who is getting heavier doses of a stronger antibiotic to help her weakened immune system, and by Shea (Tamarak's dog) who is having surgery tomorrow. We hope it will be to remove the lump, not the front leg. Dogs are great at adjusting to three legs, but Shea loves to swim and that might be harder to manage than walking and running. Maybe we could fit him with a small rubber flipper-like prosthesis if it became necessary. Now there is a puzzle for an inventive engineer to solve!
I read this today and was glad it was one of the truths I discovered a long time ago. I think my profession helped me understand it back when I was very young, still in my early twenties. If a teacher harbours grudges she will not be happy in her job. A classroom is one of the situations in which a short memory is an asset. Every day has to be a new day.
Oh, I have forgotten the lesson at times ... I'm still not very forgiving toward the incompetent doctor who misdiagnosed and mistreated my broken dislocated finger ... and I still do not trust the Hull and Gatineau hospitals ... but generally speaking I forgive easily ... and indeed, often forget as well.
Old spouses and lovers have long ago been forgiven. As have my parents. I think once I understand why an adult acts as he does, it is easier to get over a hurt, a fear, or a bit of cruelty.
Thank you, Barbara De Angelis, for the reminder.
I am nursing a flu bug. Well actually, I am treating myself very gently, and enduring the flu bug, swatting it with regular blasts of Cold FX which bolsters my white blood cells' ability to do the actual fighting. I am also fueling my immune system with Vitamin C and drinking plenty of hot teas and water ... (and just a little wine). As well, I am dressing in cozy snuggly bugglies and an old cashmere turtleneck I brought back from Mongolia ten years ago.The sore throat began on Monday and my choice of treatment seems to be working well, as I am already feeling better today than I did yesterday.
And now we have our first winter storm arriving so I will be snowed in until I have the energy to dig myself out. This means that I likely won't be doing much besides resting and pampering myself until Saturday.
I do hope that we don't lose power. These winds are very strong and gusty ... the kind that hydro poles seem unable to withstand. And my wood supply has not yet arrived. I have a few bags of logs ... but not enough for any lengthy outage.
If necessary I will get Peter to help me pick up more logs tomorrow. I think he will be coming. And now that we have snow I can get my big order delivered next weekend.
I think I will start my gift for Le Hibou today ... the base coat anyway ... and then it will become something to play with. I am planning a Zentangle owl with just a single splash of colour.
Good thoughts needed by Pat, who is getting heavier doses of a stronger antibiotic to help her weakened immune system, and by Shea (Tamarak's dog) who is having surgery tomorrow. We hope it will be to remove the lump, not the front leg. Dogs are great at adjusting to three legs, but Shea loves to swim and that might be harder to manage than walking and running. Maybe we could fit him with a small rubber flipper-like prosthesis if it became necessary. Now there is a puzzle for an inventive engineer to solve!
Monday, 16 February 2009
A March Day in February
It feels almost like spring up here at the lake. I am still wearing a parka but I can take off my mitts, and once I get down from my own road where winter is still in full command with icy roads, frozen waterfalls and lots of snow, every drop in altitude brings more signs of spring. Pike Lake road is still icy but many of the puddles are covered in brittle skins of ice under which muddy water gurgles. Kenya breaks through scattering fragments of ice and soaking her leg feathers in wet mud. At the cottage belonging to people living in Africa year round there are new roof trusses sitting on the deck waiting for spring. The stream out of the lake is now ice-free, and on the far side of the lake where the sun is strongest, the puddles are really mud-puddlicious ... until Kenya shakes and my freshly washed floor is splattered with mud droplets.
On my road only the decaying quality of the snow lets me know that spring is just around the corner.
But it is only February. It can't last. Old Man Winter will give us at least one more reminder that we live in Canada.
On my road only the decaying quality of the snow lets me know that spring is just around the corner.
But it is only February. It can't last. Old Man Winter will give us at least one more reminder that we live in Canada.
Saturday, 17 January 2009
I Have Invented an Oven
I am so excited. Hydro Quebec has been warning about brown-outs during this extended winter freeze period and advising us to use as little power as possible between 4 and 8 p.m.
I wanted to bake fish with a veggie and rice in parchment in my oven, but since it is a recipe that calls for 400 degrees I decided to figure out a way to do it on the wood stove which has been running steadily since Wednesday.
After one false start I used my medium sized iron pot as the oven, popped in the packet, put on the lid and voila! a complete fish dinner in less than 20 minutes.
This may not seem revolutionary to anyone who is "mechanically ept" or to someone who learned over campfires how to bake without an oven, but for me, the least competent person I know when it comes to anything to do with the sciences, it was a source of great pride.
And it was a really important thing to have learned because now, if the power fails again, I will be able to do far more cooking on the wood stove. I could even bake bread or a cake
And this method is much cleaner than any other so I could avoid having to wash the most difficult of the prep items at a time when I have to ration water.
Yesterday I worked on a tea cozy all day, and organized my escape. I have been a prisoner of the cold since Tuesday night with a car that won't start blocking a road that cannot be plowed. Tomorrow I will call CAA to start the car and while I am running errands, charging up my battery and filling my gas tank to avoid any empty spaces for condensation, Leonard will find another tractor and plow my road. His has a slow leak and is frozen solid like my car.
One of the places I will be going is to the pharmacy to find a remedy for the ulcer-like symptoms I am experiencing as side effects of the Prednisone. The pain is almost constant and every two hours I put something into my stomach to sop up the acid. (And of course I am likely stimulating the production of hydrochloric acid by so doing.)
By the time I am off this drug I will be enormous and will have have a pickled and perforated digestive system. A glass of wine or two would allow me to forget my misery but unfortunately wine is one of the the things that causes pain.
I wanted to bake fish with a veggie and rice in parchment in my oven, but since it is a recipe that calls for 400 degrees I decided to figure out a way to do it on the wood stove which has been running steadily since Wednesday.
After one false start I used my medium sized iron pot as the oven, popped in the packet, put on the lid and voila! a complete fish dinner in less than 20 minutes.
This may not seem revolutionary to anyone who is "mechanically ept" or to someone who learned over campfires how to bake without an oven, but for me, the least competent person I know when it comes to anything to do with the sciences, it was a source of great pride.
And it was a really important thing to have learned because now, if the power fails again, I will be able to do far more cooking on the wood stove. I could even bake bread or a cake
And this method is much cleaner than any other so I could avoid having to wash the most difficult of the prep items at a time when I have to ration water.
Yesterday I worked on a tea cozy all day, and organized my escape. I have been a prisoner of the cold since Tuesday night with a car that won't start blocking a road that cannot be plowed. Tomorrow I will call CAA to start the car and while I am running errands, charging up my battery and filling my gas tank to avoid any empty spaces for condensation, Leonard will find another tractor and plow my road. His has a slow leak and is frozen solid like my car.
One of the places I will be going is to the pharmacy to find a remedy for the ulcer-like symptoms I am experiencing as side effects of the Prednisone. The pain is almost constant and every two hours I put something into my stomach to sop up the acid. (And of course I am likely stimulating the production of hydrochloric acid by so doing.)
By the time I am off this drug I will be enormous and will have have a pickled and perforated digestive system. A glass of wine or two would allow me to forget my misery but unfortunately wine is one of the the things that causes pain.
Tuesday, 13 January 2009
The Adventure of Living Up Here
Everything is an adventure when you live here. Today the sky is grey with thick flakes floating down. Tonight the wind will pick up and the temperatures plummet. I hope that we don't end up with hydro wires down again.
I spent the first part of the morning taking my car to Chelsea to have the muffler re-installed or slung and the underside of the car oiled. Denis said when he drove me home, "My God, you really are out of the way. You have stepped back in time," and wondered how I managed.
Yesterday when I was going through the adventure of bottling the wine, I wondered how many more batches I would be able to do before the effort outweighed the advantages. Oh, when you go to DeFalco's all you see are old couples puttering about with their bottles and corks, so it is not that old folks can't make wine. The man bottling next to me had made special wooden cases with handles for his. I was envious, and I worried about the state of my cardboard cartons once they had endured the whole adventure.
This adventure began in early December when I started the two batches.
A week before I was to bottle I spent a morning washing and soaking the labels off six cases of bottles. I needed at least 60 but took an extra dozen just in case some were unsuitable.
The morning of the bottling I loaded three cases of empties on the sled and hauled them up the hill and then up the road for 1/4 kilometre to the car. After arranging them on the back seat, the dogs and I headed back down with the empty sled and repeated the process with the second set of three cases. Then I brought the dogs in and got ready to go to town.
The hour long drive to town was sane and simple and I arrived early. After getting a cart I loaded up the six cases and took them in to start the bottling process. First the sterilization, then the actual bottling and corking. Then the boxes were re-loaded onto the cart and taken out to the car, and I drove home with one abortive stop for wool at Wabi Sabi (they are closed on Mondays) and a fruitful one at the IGA at Farm Point for produce.
Then began the boxes' last trip through snow. I hoped they would all hold up. It is easier to bring full bottles back from the car to the house than empty bottles up to the car. It is all down hill, and even if you have to be a bit more careful to avoid upending the sled on the speedways, their weight acts as a steadying ballast. I made the first trip alone and the second with dogs.
Remi was so excited to see me that he made a leap at me when I was climbing the first steep hill with the sled. He landed heavily on my breast, almost pushing me all the way back down. As I scrambled to keep my footing on the slippery path I decided to teach him not to do that again because his owner will have very tender breasts when he is most excited about seeing her again. Later, on the second hill, he jumped up to give me a kiss and managed to bruise my lips with his skull. One more sharp reprimand and he settled down.
We got the second sled load of groceries and wine down without incident and I trucked them into the kitchen. I was too tired and hungry to do more than brush off snow before getting some lunch.
Then began the labeling. These labels were self adhesive peel-offs ... much easier than the old type I was used to, so that went well, except that there are six bottles of indeterminate type because I got some Shiraz mixed up with Amarone ... oh well, mystery red.
Shrink wrap next. Every time I do this I wonder whether to use a hair dryer, a kettle or a pot of boiling water. After trying all three (in the wrong order) I discovered that the pot of boiling water works best. One bottle made an alarming fizzing sound (likely over-filled) but the others were fine.
Last step, all the bottles went upstairs to the cool closet in my den. In the spring when the heat is turned off, they will make the return trip to the main floor where they will rest for the summer months before heading back upstairs for the last part of their year long sojourn.
I hope the boxes survive intact. I would sure like to make some of those wooden carrying cases.
I will likely make more wine in another couple of months. Maybe I can design and build the cases before those are ready for bottling. It might be an investment that would make the adventure a little more pleasant and secure.
Post Script:
Denis was supposed to come and get me at 4:30. The car was not ready and he couldn't get away and it was 7:30 when he drove through the blizzard on almost impassable roads to get me. He was really worried about my driving home ... but I managed ... almost all the way. I had to park at the junction of my road and the municipal road as my road was not plowed. I called Leonard to tell him that the key was in the car so he could move it to plow. He informed me that he had a slow leak in his tire and probably would not be plowing tonight.
Tomorrow is garbage day and they won't come up without a cleared road.
Dan is coming for Remi at 6:30 a.m. and will have to walk in through knee deep snow as I did.
I HAVE to get to the pharmacy because my prescription has run out. That will be relatively easy. I just have to dig out behind me where the municipal plow has gone by and back out.
Oh well ... what would I do without the problems that create the adventures I live with?
I spent the first part of the morning taking my car to Chelsea to have the muffler re-installed or slung and the underside of the car oiled. Denis said when he drove me home, "My God, you really are out of the way. You have stepped back in time," and wondered how I managed.
Yesterday when I was going through the adventure of bottling the wine, I wondered how many more batches I would be able to do before the effort outweighed the advantages. Oh, when you go to DeFalco's all you see are old couples puttering about with their bottles and corks, so it is not that old folks can't make wine. The man bottling next to me had made special wooden cases with handles for his. I was envious, and I worried about the state of my cardboard cartons once they had endured the whole adventure.
This adventure began in early December when I started the two batches.
A week before I was to bottle I spent a morning washing and soaking the labels off six cases of bottles. I needed at least 60 but took an extra dozen just in case some were unsuitable.
The morning of the bottling I loaded three cases of empties on the sled and hauled them up the hill and then up the road for 1/4 kilometre to the car. After arranging them on the back seat, the dogs and I headed back down with the empty sled and repeated the process with the second set of three cases. Then I brought the dogs in and got ready to go to town.
The hour long drive to town was sane and simple and I arrived early. After getting a cart I loaded up the six cases and took them in to start the bottling process. First the sterilization, then the actual bottling and corking. Then the boxes were re-loaded onto the cart and taken out to the car, and I drove home with one abortive stop for wool at Wabi Sabi (they are closed on Mondays) and a fruitful one at the IGA at Farm Point for produce.
Then began the boxes' last trip through snow. I hoped they would all hold up. It is easier to bring full bottles back from the car to the house than empty bottles up to the car. It is all down hill, and even if you have to be a bit more careful to avoid upending the sled on the speedways, their weight acts as a steadying ballast. I made the first trip alone and the second with dogs.
Remi was so excited to see me that he made a leap at me when I was climbing the first steep hill with the sled. He landed heavily on my breast, almost pushing me all the way back down. As I scrambled to keep my footing on the slippery path I decided to teach him not to do that again because his owner will have very tender breasts when he is most excited about seeing her again. Later, on the second hill, he jumped up to give me a kiss and managed to bruise my lips with his skull. One more sharp reprimand and he settled down.
We got the second sled load of groceries and wine down without incident and I trucked them into the kitchen. I was too tired and hungry to do more than brush off snow before getting some lunch.
Then began the labeling. These labels were self adhesive peel-offs ... much easier than the old type I was used to, so that went well, except that there are six bottles of indeterminate type because I got some Shiraz mixed up with Amarone ... oh well, mystery red.
Shrink wrap next. Every time I do this I wonder whether to use a hair dryer, a kettle or a pot of boiling water. After trying all three (in the wrong order) I discovered that the pot of boiling water works best. One bottle made an alarming fizzing sound (likely over-filled) but the others were fine.
Last step, all the bottles went upstairs to the cool closet in my den. In the spring when the heat is turned off, they will make the return trip to the main floor where they will rest for the summer months before heading back upstairs for the last part of their year long sojourn.
I hope the boxes survive intact. I would sure like to make some of those wooden carrying cases.
I will likely make more wine in another couple of months. Maybe I can design and build the cases before those are ready for bottling. It might be an investment that would make the adventure a little more pleasant and secure.
Post Script:
Denis was supposed to come and get me at 4:30. The car was not ready and he couldn't get away and it was 7:30 when he drove through the blizzard on almost impassable roads to get me. He was really worried about my driving home ... but I managed ... almost all the way. I had to park at the junction of my road and the municipal road as my road was not plowed. I called Leonard to tell him that the key was in the car so he could move it to plow. He informed me that he had a slow leak in his tire and probably would not be plowing tonight.
Tomorrow is garbage day and they won't come up without a cleared road.
Dan is coming for Remi at 6:30 a.m. and will have to walk in through knee deep snow as I did.
I HAVE to get to the pharmacy because my prescription has run out. That will be relatively easy. I just have to dig out behind me where the municipal plow has gone by and back out.
Oh well ... what would I do without the problems that create the adventures I live with?
Friday, 9 January 2009
Cold Weather Makes Good Hermits
It is bitterly cold. I have started a fire and intend to finish unloading my car when it is light. Yesterday in half light I unloaded the meat and things that would not withstand freezing and carted them in on the sled but when I nearly lost two white packaged cartons of yogurt in the snow, decided the other purchases could wait till dawn. By the time I had cut, sorted, packaged, labeled and deposited everything in the freezer I had no desire to head back out anyway.
Apart from doing that, I just want to huddle around the fire with my dog and my book.
Well, I also want to finish the second slipper sock.
And I want to look through some old notebooks for poetry starters for new tea cozies. And maybe pull up some of Tamarack's Georgian Bay images and copy them for another series of cozies.
Frigid days make for happy hermiting. Is that a word?
Apart from doing that, I just want to huddle around the fire with my dog and my book.
Well, I also want to finish the second slipper sock.
And I want to look through some old notebooks for poetry starters for new tea cozies. And maybe pull up some of Tamarack's Georgian Bay images and copy them for another series of cozies.
Frigid days make for happy hermiting. Is that a word?
Monday, 15 December 2008
Weathering Life
Weather ...
Yesterday was glorious ... fluffy snow and mild temperatures ...
Kenya and I met Stella, the 7 month old Bernese Mountain Dog. She is so very puppyish ... hair sort of unkempt and lots of barking excitement. She still chews EVERYTHING, but Kenya wasted no time telling her to get the hell down off the kitchen counter where she was checking out the fruit bowl, and when she attempted to eat a leaf from a plant she was all over her with bitchy scolding. Stella's owner went home with new hope that her puppy might come home after her holiday here with good manners. I will make sure that all the decks are as clear as possible by the time she arrives ... not just for her, but also for the Sprout who is 15 months old and a human mass of fast moving mayhem.
Rain today ...
Maybe I can finish clearing the 39 steps ... I hope I will be able to get out and back up my hill with antihistamines ...
Maybe I should call Wabi Sabi again ... yes I am definitely allergic to the wool for Mud Mama's slippers ...
Maybe I will make shortbread, dog biscuits and bread (in my just finished bread baker).
Maybe I will finish the tea cozy I knit last night ... a prototype.
Maybe I should plan meals for when everyone is here and make grocery lists.
Maybe I should see about some almost free long distance plans to replace the Bell one.
Maybe I will pay my bills.
Or maybe I will just go back to bed with my sore eyes and head ache that kept me awake most of the night.
Yesterday was glorious ... fluffy snow and mild temperatures ...
Kenya and I met Stella, the 7 month old Bernese Mountain Dog. She is so very puppyish ... hair sort of unkempt and lots of barking excitement. She still chews EVERYTHING, but Kenya wasted no time telling her to get the hell down off the kitchen counter where she was checking out the fruit bowl, and when she attempted to eat a leaf from a plant she was all over her with bitchy scolding. Stella's owner went home with new hope that her puppy might come home after her holiday here with good manners. I will make sure that all the decks are as clear as possible by the time she arrives ... not just for her, but also for the Sprout who is 15 months old and a human mass of fast moving mayhem.
Rain today ...
Maybe I can finish clearing the 39 steps ... I hope I will be able to get out and back up my hill with antihistamines ...
Maybe I should call Wabi Sabi again ... yes I am definitely allergic to the wool for Mud Mama's slippers ...
Maybe I will make shortbread, dog biscuits and bread (in my just finished bread baker).
Maybe I will finish the tea cozy I knit last night ... a prototype.
Maybe I should plan meals for when everyone is here and make grocery lists.
Maybe I should see about some almost free long distance plans to replace the Bell one.
Maybe I will pay my bills.
Or maybe I will just go back to bed with my sore eyes and head ache that kept me awake most of the night.
Saturday, 13 December 2008
Brrr!
This is a day to burrow in and play with my toys. No snow shoveling for me today. My home is toasty warm and filled with partly finished projects that tempt me.
... four new books.
... a half finished pair of felted slippers for Mud Mama (I tore out the first one and started over)
... a raft of Christmas ornaments I made in pottery class ready to paint
... a couple of other pottery projects to do something with.
... and three more pairs of slippers to design and make before Mud Mama's gang arrives. I may not get them done but the floor is now really warm underfoot so I don't feel as if I have to do it right away.
I am well equipped to stay home and play.
And my larder is stocked after yesterday's shopping excursion so we will eat well this weekend.
... four new books.
... a half finished pair of felted slippers for Mud Mama (I tore out the first one and started over)
... a raft of Christmas ornaments I made in pottery class ready to paint
... a couple of other pottery projects to do something with.
... and three more pairs of slippers to design and make before Mud Mama's gang arrives. I may not get them done but the floor is now really warm underfoot so I don't feel as if I have to do it right away.
I am well equipped to stay home and play.
And my larder is stocked after yesterday's shopping excursion so we will eat well this weekend.
Wednesday, 10 December 2008
Busy Bird Feeder
The bird feeder is a busy place this morning. The chickadees have been joined by another species I can't locate in my bird book. It is larger than a chickadee with a slate grey/black back and a white breast. I think we called them snow birds when I lived in Cumberland.
A lone woodpecker has also come to feed today. I don't see him as often as the others. I guess he can still find insects in the trees most of the time, but the 35 centimetres of snow we received overnight may have covered his regular eating places.
Several jays are being almost polite but not quite as patient as they were yesterday when they whiled away their time waiting for the chckadees to finish feeding by flirting with one another.
Three black squirrels are eyeing things and one zipped along the line upside down to get to the feeder, but scampered back to a tree when I knocked on the window. Kenya, bossy as always, barked furiously at the interloper who had to be scolded by me. I've just let her out to maintain some semblance of order at the feeder. She lets the birds come without any concern although she sometimes seems to think the jays are big enough to be something other than birds.
I have been up since 6 getting garbage up the hill, checking the road, going for a toboggan ride, shoveling and doing laundry.
I suspect I will be shoveling at intervals for a few days. We have received one big dump of snow and I had to hunt for the steps to clear them. I hope I can find my car after being snowed one and then likely closed in by Leonard's plow.
A lone woodpecker has also come to feed today. I don't see him as often as the others. I guess he can still find insects in the trees most of the time, but the 35 centimetres of snow we received overnight may have covered his regular eating places.
Several jays are being almost polite but not quite as patient as they were yesterday when they whiled away their time waiting for the chckadees to finish feeding by flirting with one another.
Three black squirrels are eyeing things and one zipped along the line upside down to get to the feeder, but scampered back to a tree when I knocked on the window. Kenya, bossy as always, barked furiously at the interloper who had to be scolded by me. I've just let her out to maintain some semblance of order at the feeder. She lets the birds come without any concern although she sometimes seems to think the jays are big enough to be something other than birds.
I have been up since 6 getting garbage up the hill, checking the road, going for a toboggan ride, shoveling and doing laundry.
I suspect I will be shoveling at intervals for a few days. We have received one big dump of snow and I had to hunt for the steps to clear them. I hope I can find my car after being snowed one and then likely closed in by Leonard's plow.
Saturday, 1 November 2008
Powerless at Pike Lake
November 1, 2008
Sorry I haven't been blogging .... and the photos will come later ...
But I spent two days falling in love and a third getting my life back together and then the adventures started again!
On Tuesday night we had our first snow storm, which turned out to be a howling success. The snow piled up against my back door and froze it shut, but I was snug in my bed and happily oblivious.
Until, that is, a fireball shot across the sky startling both Kenya and me into an agitated state of complete wakefulness. The clock on the radio blinked and died.
Suddenly everything went eerily silent and black except for the wind in the tree barely audible through the closed windows.
I went downstairs to ensure that the floor heating pump was turned off, pulled out a few plugs, gathered flashlights and candles and returned to bed.
I lay there for a while with "must do's" winging their way into my consciousness ... must get a battery for the radio so that I know the time at least ... must keep candles and lighters on both levels from now on ... must get a new cannister of bbq fuel ... must start the wood stove in the morning.
Then the "oh shit's" started. Why didn't I pick up that wind-up radio I saw the other day? I won't be able to have tea in the morning. Hell, I won't have water. I wish I had insisted that O. move the bbq back to its original sheltered spot before he left. I wish I had drinking water stored or that I had got my snow tires on earlier so I could go and get some.
Then a "whew, thank goodness" breeze floated in. I won't freeze. I have sources of light. There is a large bucket of water with javex in it in the utility room that I can use to flush the toilet. I have accessible food. I can heat snow on the wood stove and make bad tea.
And of course Hydro Quebec will fix everything soon. I should phone to report the outage but it's very cozy here so I will wait till morning.
A few hours later I awoke to a cool, still pre-dawn world that was incredibly lovely. I took the flashlight and made a call to Hydro, discovered it was 6:53 a.m. and that we'd have power by 8:15. The electronic voice of the Hydro message was friendly and comforting. I returned to bed and at first light was up taking photos of our first storm of the season.
That's when I discovered that my back door was stuck shut, but a good kick solved that. The fire started immediately and the room temperature V8 juice didn't taste too bad. Certainly it would do till 8:15 when I could make a good cup of tea.
As soon as the stove began to give off heat I started melting two pots of snow. I made the tea as soon as the second pot began to simmer. It was bad tea. Surely it must be nearly 8:15, I thought, and called Hydro. The message was now saying it was 8:11 and we'd have power by 6 p.m. Desolé ... an equipment failure.
A wave of anger swept over me ... don't they know that all my equipment depends on power? Then a deep breath as the realization dawned. Of course I could manage without power for a day.
Once I assured myself that I was okay physically, the day stretched itself out ahead of me ... and it seemed interminable. No real meals. No radio. No computer. No DVD player. What would I do? The thought that I could call Tammy to rescue me with her 4WD flashed briefly and sputtered out. I looked at my to do list for the day. It was all about baking.
Kenya was outside bounding through the drifts and coming to the window every few minutes to invite me to join her.
Yes ... I could go out and shovel and play with her and go for a walk. I could deliver a new movie to Claire. But I couldn't see myself spending the whole day walking around in the snow. I could work on a knitting project that was down to the last ugly stage of sewing in ends and doing seams. I could start a felting project. I could read. I could write ... with a pen.
That is what I ended up doing. Here are some notes from the two days we were without power ...
**************************************
Wednesday, Day 1
Flo came and took a banana and a pair of boots with her.
I received phone calls from different friends, and Kerry and I talked several times.
I poached an egg and made toast on the wood stove. Imagine being able to do that!
Outside, walking with Kenya, my breath was quite taken away ... snow clotted evergreens ... glimpses of the lake through frames of bowed white branches ... huge tree limbs laden with loads of snow-covered ice swaying in the wind. My summer fence around the newly seeded area had been no match for the weight of snow.
Back at home, hovering near the comforting warmth of the fire at 1 p.m., I poured myself a glass of wine, cooked a piece of the very rare roast I'd had for supper the night before and re-heated some squash soup. This is a very good stove, I thought. Everything tasted better than it had the day before.
Hydro's message by afternoon was that they had no idea what or where the problem is. Who knew when we would have power?
By 6:30 it was dark and I was living by candle and fire light. Clusters of candles in the living room and dining room, single tapers in the kitchen and a few tea lights upstairs to provide navigational light. The only sound was the crackle of the flames in the wood stove. It was warmer than usual and Kenya was bunked out in her crate by the front door, the coolest spot in the house.
I realized I would have to try to eat up anything perishable in the fridge. If it continued I would begin to worry about the contents of my freezer.
Sharon and Tammy both offered shower facilities, but I could not drive yet. Besides Kenya and I were quite comfortable with our bodies and their odours.
I thought about how good it was to know I wasn't completely alone, that I had friends and Kenya; that I could write; and that this subdued light made everything beautiful
I made a phone call to a friend in another city who told me they had trouble with their tv reception because snow coated their dish. Hmmn.
I realized I was in pretty good shape because of my wood stove. One of my neighbours had not got her wood yet and was refusing to get any and start a fire until she had her chimney swept. She was planning to eat and sleep in town rather than being hungry and cold in the dark. I offered her a refuge and suggested she get the wood and have the chimney swept later, but she seemed determined to be angry and uncomfortable.
*****************************************
Thursday, Day 2
I began my day at 6:45 by lighting candles in the bathroom and upstairs hallway and calling Hydro. Same message.
I wondered why we had seen no hydro truck up here. Our neighbours a mile away had power. It seemed to be only this little enclave that was still in darkness.
I began to be a little ticked off. Were we less important than Wakefield villagers?
Kerry talked about how hydro is a big grid and little enclaves often get sacrificed for the greater good during an outage. Personally I was still going with the idea that they hadn't found us yet.
However; the annoyance passed quickly. Walking around the lake I realized that we all seemed to be spending less time indoors and more time out on the road with our neighbours.
And this wood stove! What a blessing. I had not been uncomfortable at all yet.
Kenya has eaten her daily dentibone and is out gallumphing in the drifts. She chases moles and pounces when she finds one. She never catches them but the fun is all in the chase anyway.
What was I missing most? The radio. Funny because I often forget for days to turn it on. It is the absence of outside information and of a voice other than my own, I think.
Marta called to tell me how many gazillions of people have been without power. The hapless folks in some places will be freezing in the dark till the weekend.
Everything that was perishable in the fridge has been taken out to the porch and I am treating it as a larder. I am also experimenting with iron and steel pots on the wood stove. The tiniest iron pot is a Creuset I picked up at a second hand store in Grand Pre this summer. The shop was owned by an eccentric woman in her late fifties who loved to talk. The place was a complete jumble but she knew every book and its publication history and introduced me to the story behind Beautiful Joe. It was written by a Nova Scotian woman for a contest run by the American SPCA. As a result it is heavily laced with references to that organization and the Canadian setting is obscured. A few days later, at a used book store in Wolfville I bought a copy for Arrow. Before I finished reading it to her I was gagging on the saccharine sweetness of the prose and the blatantly fawning references, but I remember it as a childhood favourite. It is likely one of the reasons I love animals ... one of those seeds planted early.
The lake is absolutely lovely in a monochromatic and mystical way, and the two of the Mergansers still in residence sail by, dark shapes against grey water in a white world.
I am always fascinated by the stages landscape goes through as its details emerge in early dawn. From the blackness, like a developing photo, come outlines, then shapes, then shades of grey, and finally colour.
The iron pots win hands down because they hold the heat better than steel. At noon I made myself a grand dinner of Greek meat sauce and rice and decided to make a foray out into civilization to buy water and to fill a jug at the spring. After some difficulty navigating my own road, torn apart from Leonard's enthusiastic plowing, I did that.
Home again, in the darkness, I noticed that Kenya was confused by the silence and the flickering ever changing patterns of light we live by. She was also bored.
It is as if the heart of the house has stilled and only our basic needs are being met. We are forced into a routine in which life happens between dawn and dusk. I feel as if we are in life support mode.
I also need a shower, or at least enough water to take a real sponge bath.
And then suddenly the beep of a smoke alarm ...
It is 7 p.m. and life is restored.
**********************************
Friday ... the aftermath and anti climax ...
I went to pottery class, ran errands, did dishes and laundry, and generally got my life back on track. I must say I didn't eat any better than I had when the wood stove was the centre of my existence, and I felt less connected with and grateful for each meal.
Still it is lovely to be able to watch a film and use the computer again. And to have a bath in a tub.
At midnight, exactly 48 hours after being rudely awakened by the ball of fire that took away the power, I was awakened by light flooding my bathroom and hallway. What the...?
I got up. Some big truck with enormous lights was at the top of my laneway.
Leonard? Getting sand and salt mixed because he couldn't sleep and didn't want to be caught unprepared for the next storm?
I put on my pink fluffy housecoat and went to the door with Kenya. As I opened it allowing her to spring outside, ears pricked, voice at full volume, looking like a dangerous creature, I saw two men descending the unshoveled steps.
Who are you?
Incomprehensible mumble.
Where are you from?
Hull.
Not very reassuring.
Are you Hydro?
Yes. Are you 47?
No. That is one of the cottages past me.
They went back up the steps and I ended up following them to tell them that no one lived in those cottages in the winter; that they must have the wrong place. A sort of conversation ensued. It turns out they were lost. At one I returned to the house and they pulled out at 1:15. I was wide awake and Kenya was more confused than ever.
**********************************
Oh ... who did I fall in love with? My wood stove. Reliable, comforting, warm. Not very sexy, but oh my ... just the companion you want when the power goes out, the winds howl, and you are isolated.
************************************
Conclusions
I have learned a few things and re-learned others in the past few days.
Water is essential ... for drinking, cooking, washing and basic comfort. I reveled in the hot water that poured out of my tap onto greasy dishes and pots left from the two days I was without. I was able to deal with melting snow and cooking with bottled water I had on hand. I was fine with one flush per day using water I had stored in a large pail. But the comfort I derive from a shower or bath and the convenience of having hot water emerge from the tap are remarkable. I have a poster in my kitchen depicting an African man carrying jugs of water on his bicycle. I chose the photograph long before I was without power during this storm, but now I understand water on a far deeper level than the intellectual or the sympathetic.
The human voice and news from outside become far more important when you are isolated by weather or a power outage. I didn't expect that since I am usually quite content with being a hermit.
But I also learned that with something as basic as a wood stove you can attend to most of your needs pretty well as long as you have a cache of food and fuel.
I have learned that I must prepare for the next outage by storing water, ensuring that I have such things as candles and batteries, and by learning how to hook up the small generator to run the fridge and freezer if things go past the first 48 hours. And I have to make sure my car is ready to go when needed, and that means parking closer to the public road once winter starts in earnest.
I think the most important thing I learned is that even without power I am not powerless.
Sorry I haven't been blogging .... and the photos will come later ...
But I spent two days falling in love and a third getting my life back together and then the adventures started again!
On Tuesday night we had our first snow storm, which turned out to be a howling success. The snow piled up against my back door and froze it shut, but I was snug in my bed and happily oblivious.
Until, that is, a fireball shot across the sky startling both Kenya and me into an agitated state of complete wakefulness. The clock on the radio blinked and died.
Suddenly everything went eerily silent and black except for the wind in the tree barely audible through the closed windows.
I went downstairs to ensure that the floor heating pump was turned off, pulled out a few plugs, gathered flashlights and candles and returned to bed.
I lay there for a while with "must do's" winging their way into my consciousness ... must get a battery for the radio so that I know the time at least ... must keep candles and lighters on both levels from now on ... must get a new cannister of bbq fuel ... must start the wood stove in the morning.
Then the "oh shit's" started. Why didn't I pick up that wind-up radio I saw the other day? I won't be able to have tea in the morning. Hell, I won't have water. I wish I had insisted that O. move the bbq back to its original sheltered spot before he left. I wish I had drinking water stored or that I had got my snow tires on earlier so I could go and get some.
Then a "whew, thank goodness" breeze floated in. I won't freeze. I have sources of light. There is a large bucket of water with javex in it in the utility room that I can use to flush the toilet. I have accessible food. I can heat snow on the wood stove and make bad tea.
And of course Hydro Quebec will fix everything soon. I should phone to report the outage but it's very cozy here so I will wait till morning.
A few hours later I awoke to a cool, still pre-dawn world that was incredibly lovely. I took the flashlight and made a call to Hydro, discovered it was 6:53 a.m. and that we'd have power by 8:15. The electronic voice of the Hydro message was friendly and comforting. I returned to bed and at first light was up taking photos of our first storm of the season.
That's when I discovered that my back door was stuck shut, but a good kick solved that. The fire started immediately and the room temperature V8 juice didn't taste too bad. Certainly it would do till 8:15 when I could make a good cup of tea.
As soon as the stove began to give off heat I started melting two pots of snow. I made the tea as soon as the second pot began to simmer. It was bad tea. Surely it must be nearly 8:15, I thought, and called Hydro. The message was now saying it was 8:11 and we'd have power by 6 p.m. Desolé ... an equipment failure.
A wave of anger swept over me ... don't they know that all my equipment depends on power? Then a deep breath as the realization dawned. Of course I could manage without power for a day.
Once I assured myself that I was okay physically, the day stretched itself out ahead of me ... and it seemed interminable. No real meals. No radio. No computer. No DVD player. What would I do? The thought that I could call Tammy to rescue me with her 4WD flashed briefly and sputtered out. I looked at my to do list for the day. It was all about baking.
Kenya was outside bounding through the drifts and coming to the window every few minutes to invite me to join her.
Yes ... I could go out and shovel and play with her and go for a walk. I could deliver a new movie to Claire. But I couldn't see myself spending the whole day walking around in the snow. I could work on a knitting project that was down to the last ugly stage of sewing in ends and doing seams. I could start a felting project. I could read. I could write ... with a pen.
That is what I ended up doing. Here are some notes from the two days we were without power ...
**************************************
Wednesday, Day 1
Flo came and took a banana and a pair of boots with her.
I received phone calls from different friends, and Kerry and I talked several times.
I poached an egg and made toast on the wood stove. Imagine being able to do that!
Outside, walking with Kenya, my breath was quite taken away ... snow clotted evergreens ... glimpses of the lake through frames of bowed white branches ... huge tree limbs laden with loads of snow-covered ice swaying in the wind. My summer fence around the newly seeded area had been no match for the weight of snow.
Back at home, hovering near the comforting warmth of the fire at 1 p.m., I poured myself a glass of wine, cooked a piece of the very rare roast I'd had for supper the night before and re-heated some squash soup. This is a very good stove, I thought. Everything tasted better than it had the day before.
Hydro's message by afternoon was that they had no idea what or where the problem is. Who knew when we would have power?
By 6:30 it was dark and I was living by candle and fire light. Clusters of candles in the living room and dining room, single tapers in the kitchen and a few tea lights upstairs to provide navigational light. The only sound was the crackle of the flames in the wood stove. It was warmer than usual and Kenya was bunked out in her crate by the front door, the coolest spot in the house.
I realized I would have to try to eat up anything perishable in the fridge. If it continued I would begin to worry about the contents of my freezer.
Sharon and Tammy both offered shower facilities, but I could not drive yet. Besides Kenya and I were quite comfortable with our bodies and their odours.
I thought about how good it was to know I wasn't completely alone, that I had friends and Kenya; that I could write; and that this subdued light made everything beautiful
I made a phone call to a friend in another city who told me they had trouble with their tv reception because snow coated their dish. Hmmn.
I realized I was in pretty good shape because of my wood stove. One of my neighbours had not got her wood yet and was refusing to get any and start a fire until she had her chimney swept. She was planning to eat and sleep in town rather than being hungry and cold in the dark. I offered her a refuge and suggested she get the wood and have the chimney swept later, but she seemed determined to be angry and uncomfortable.
*****************************************
Thursday, Day 2
I began my day at 6:45 by lighting candles in the bathroom and upstairs hallway and calling Hydro. Same message.
I wondered why we had seen no hydro truck up here. Our neighbours a mile away had power. It seemed to be only this little enclave that was still in darkness.
I began to be a little ticked off. Were we less important than Wakefield villagers?
Kerry talked about how hydro is a big grid and little enclaves often get sacrificed for the greater good during an outage. Personally I was still going with the idea that they hadn't found us yet.
However; the annoyance passed quickly. Walking around the lake I realized that we all seemed to be spending less time indoors and more time out on the road with our neighbours.
And this wood stove! What a blessing. I had not been uncomfortable at all yet.
Kenya has eaten her daily dentibone and is out gallumphing in the drifts. She chases moles and pounces when she finds one. She never catches them but the fun is all in the chase anyway.
What was I missing most? The radio. Funny because I often forget for days to turn it on. It is the absence of outside information and of a voice other than my own, I think.
Marta called to tell me how many gazillions of people have been without power. The hapless folks in some places will be freezing in the dark till the weekend.
Everything that was perishable in the fridge has been taken out to the porch and I am treating it as a larder. I am also experimenting with iron and steel pots on the wood stove. The tiniest iron pot is a Creuset I picked up at a second hand store in Grand Pre this summer. The shop was owned by an eccentric woman in her late fifties who loved to talk. The place was a complete jumble but she knew every book and its publication history and introduced me to the story behind Beautiful Joe. It was written by a Nova Scotian woman for a contest run by the American SPCA. As a result it is heavily laced with references to that organization and the Canadian setting is obscured. A few days later, at a used book store in Wolfville I bought a copy for Arrow. Before I finished reading it to her I was gagging on the saccharine sweetness of the prose and the blatantly fawning references, but I remember it as a childhood favourite. It is likely one of the reasons I love animals ... one of those seeds planted early.
The lake is absolutely lovely in a monochromatic and mystical way, and the two of the Mergansers still in residence sail by, dark shapes against grey water in a white world.
I am always fascinated by the stages landscape goes through as its details emerge in early dawn. From the blackness, like a developing photo, come outlines, then shapes, then shades of grey, and finally colour.
The iron pots win hands down because they hold the heat better than steel. At noon I made myself a grand dinner of Greek meat sauce and rice and decided to make a foray out into civilization to buy water and to fill a jug at the spring. After some difficulty navigating my own road, torn apart from Leonard's enthusiastic plowing, I did that.
Home again, in the darkness, I noticed that Kenya was confused by the silence and the flickering ever changing patterns of light we live by. She was also bored.
It is as if the heart of the house has stilled and only our basic needs are being met. We are forced into a routine in which life happens between dawn and dusk. I feel as if we are in life support mode.
I also need a shower, or at least enough water to take a real sponge bath.
And then suddenly the beep of a smoke alarm ...
It is 7 p.m. and life is restored.
**********************************
Friday ... the aftermath and anti climax ...
I went to pottery class, ran errands, did dishes and laundry, and generally got my life back on track. I must say I didn't eat any better than I had when the wood stove was the centre of my existence, and I felt less connected with and grateful for each meal.
Still it is lovely to be able to watch a film and use the computer again. And to have a bath in a tub.
At midnight, exactly 48 hours after being rudely awakened by the ball of fire that took away the power, I was awakened by light flooding my bathroom and hallway. What the...?
I got up. Some big truck with enormous lights was at the top of my laneway.
Leonard? Getting sand and salt mixed because he couldn't sleep and didn't want to be caught unprepared for the next storm?
I put on my pink fluffy housecoat and went to the door with Kenya. As I opened it allowing her to spring outside, ears pricked, voice at full volume, looking like a dangerous creature, I saw two men descending the unshoveled steps.
Who are you?
Incomprehensible mumble.
Where are you from?
Hull.
Not very reassuring.
Are you Hydro?
Yes. Are you 47?
No. That is one of the cottages past me.
They went back up the steps and I ended up following them to tell them that no one lived in those cottages in the winter; that they must have the wrong place. A sort of conversation ensued. It turns out they were lost. At one I returned to the house and they pulled out at 1:15. I was wide awake and Kenya was more confused than ever.
**********************************
Oh ... who did I fall in love with? My wood stove. Reliable, comforting, warm. Not very sexy, but oh my ... just the companion you want when the power goes out, the winds howl, and you are isolated.
************************************
Conclusions
I have learned a few things and re-learned others in the past few days.
Water is essential ... for drinking, cooking, washing and basic comfort. I reveled in the hot water that poured out of my tap onto greasy dishes and pots left from the two days I was without. I was able to deal with melting snow and cooking with bottled water I had on hand. I was fine with one flush per day using water I had stored in a large pail. But the comfort I derive from a shower or bath and the convenience of having hot water emerge from the tap are remarkable. I have a poster in my kitchen depicting an African man carrying jugs of water on his bicycle. I chose the photograph long before I was without power during this storm, but now I understand water on a far deeper level than the intellectual or the sympathetic.
The human voice and news from outside become far more important when you are isolated by weather or a power outage. I didn't expect that since I am usually quite content with being a hermit.
But I also learned that with something as basic as a wood stove you can attend to most of your needs pretty well as long as you have a cache of food and fuel.
I have learned that I must prepare for the next outage by storing water, ensuring that I have such things as candles and batteries, and by learning how to hook up the small generator to run the fridge and freezer if things go past the first 48 hours. And I have to make sure my car is ready to go when needed, and that means parking closer to the public road once winter starts in earnest.
I think the most important thing I learned is that even without power I am not powerless.
Monday, 23 June 2008
This ‘n that on another rainy day ...
This has got to be the rainiest June I can remember. It comes after a winter with near record snowfall, and the gardens are thriving. I have planted one hill with mint and it loves the rain, and the ferns and other forest growth are beginning to remind me of the lushness of a rain forest.
I have a fire going downstairs and have spent my morning making phone calls, responding to email, combing Kenya's tangled undercoat over her tail bone ... the part she can't reach, and reading The Book of Negroes by Laurence Hill.
I received a note from "The Perfect Man" ... the one who was just TOOO perfect. He said he really liked me but got the impression last year that I was not interested. But then he decided to try again. Oh dear.
Someone emailed me to tell me that one of the victims in the tragic fire in Labrador was the twenty year old niece of a former colleague. Suddenly the news reports became more meaningful. That shouldn't happen, but it does all the time, to most of us. We feel sorry when we hear bad news but we keep our hearts at a distance.
Only the massive destruction of lives in a 9-11, a tsunami in Thailand or an earthquake in China ... natural or manmade disasters that attract the attention of the whole world seem to make us empathise.
We feel the pain of the victims because the media inundates us with their images and tells us their stories. We cannot ignore the fact that we are all human and that the tragedy belongs to all of us. Paul Coelho would say that we are suffering with them because we are all part of the Soul of the World.
Stephen Lewis reminded us during the tsunami that there are people whose suffering is hidden away, people whose suffering is no longer news, and we must not forget them either.
Our humanity is what connects us to all human beings ... our souls to the Soul of the World.
I have a fire going downstairs and have spent my morning making phone calls, responding to email, combing Kenya's tangled undercoat over her tail bone ... the part she can't reach, and reading The Book of Negroes by Laurence Hill.
I received a note from "The Perfect Man" ... the one who was just TOOO perfect. He said he really liked me but got the impression last year that I was not interested. But then he decided to try again. Oh dear.
Someone emailed me to tell me that one of the victims in the tragic fire in Labrador was the twenty year old niece of a former colleague. Suddenly the news reports became more meaningful. That shouldn't happen, but it does all the time, to most of us. We feel sorry when we hear bad news but we keep our hearts at a distance.
Only the massive destruction of lives in a 9-11, a tsunami in Thailand or an earthquake in China ... natural or manmade disasters that attract the attention of the whole world seem to make us empathise.
We feel the pain of the victims because the media inundates us with their images and tells us their stories. We cannot ignore the fact that we are all human and that the tragedy belongs to all of us. Paul Coelho would say that we are suffering with them because we are all part of the Soul of the World.
Stephen Lewis reminded us during the tsunami that there are people whose suffering is hidden away, people whose suffering is no longer news, and we must not forget them either.
Our humanity is what connects us to all human beings ... our souls to the Soul of the World.
Sunday, 22 June 2008
Yikes! Yahoos!
My blissful peace was shattered yesterday. The next door cottager had a weekend party. By noon everyone on the lake could judge the amount of alcohol that had been consumed by the level of noise. Even Kenya was offended, and found an alternate route back to shore with the sticks she was retrieving in order to avoid all contact. Kenya is a remarkably communicative dog, but this was the first time I had seen this particular body language.
Especially hard to take was a middle-aged woman with brassy bleached hair and a laugh like a hyena with lung cancer. Vulgarities streamed from her mouth all afternoon. I kept wishing she'd go under, but her pool noodle kept her afloat until she switched to a rowboat and went to visit the cottagers on the other side of me.
They were pleasant to her and her companion, saying that the noise was not bothering them, but I noticed that Carol Anne and her daughter headed out on an inflatable raft and an inner tube to leisurely navigate the lake until she went back home.
The drinking really stepped up once night fell and all the voices became somewhat intrusive, but hers still managed to stand out from all the others.
I closed the windows and tried to sleep, but at 12 and 1 and 2 they partied on. At 2:30 the crass woman was down to tears and recriminations. I heard some man's soothing voice ... then silence.
I am discovering that I have very little tolerance for that kind of intrusion on my privacy. I was angry that they seemed to be so inconsiderate of anyone else on the lake. This is a lake which does not allow motors because we value our peace. We chose this lake because it is such a peaceful retreat from life. Surely anyone who owns property here would be aware of that. Mind you I am not sure how she is related to the cottager who owns the place. I suspect she is his sister. I hope she lives in Calgary and won't visit often.
My spam filter spat out these headers today:
*Impress all in the locker room
*Replica Handbags
*Last Longer in Bed
*Enlarge
*You look really stupid bjscott
*You look really stupid bjscott
*Naked true. Best proposal of medicines
I understood the first six, but years of reading often illiterate or second language offerings has not been of much help in deciphering the seventh.
Who sends out these things? And who reads them? People like the blonde next door might be interested in the replica bags, I suppose. I overheard her conversation with the woman rowing the boat yesterday ... and it contained tidbits about how many purses and bags women need ... apparently in defence of her disputed clothing allowance. But nasty comments on your appearance? Or all the sexual aid ones?
I've figured it out ... the seventh! The unvarnished truth! The best possible deal on prescription drugs!
Maybe I could get a job editing for the people who send these out.
Today is a grey rainy day ... good thing I rescued the laundry yesterday. Today I will finish the cleaning and light a fire in the wood stove. Or maybe I will catch up on the sleep I didn't get last night. Yahoos till 2:30 and then the birds at 4 ... I may not last the whole day.
Especially hard to take was a middle-aged woman with brassy bleached hair and a laugh like a hyena with lung cancer. Vulgarities streamed from her mouth all afternoon. I kept wishing she'd go under, but her pool noodle kept her afloat until she switched to a rowboat and went to visit the cottagers on the other side of me.
They were pleasant to her and her companion, saying that the noise was not bothering them, but I noticed that Carol Anne and her daughter headed out on an inflatable raft and an inner tube to leisurely navigate the lake until she went back home.
The drinking really stepped up once night fell and all the voices became somewhat intrusive, but hers still managed to stand out from all the others.
I closed the windows and tried to sleep, but at 12 and 1 and 2 they partied on. At 2:30 the crass woman was down to tears and recriminations. I heard some man's soothing voice ... then silence.
I am discovering that I have very little tolerance for that kind of intrusion on my privacy. I was angry that they seemed to be so inconsiderate of anyone else on the lake. This is a lake which does not allow motors because we value our peace. We chose this lake because it is such a peaceful retreat from life. Surely anyone who owns property here would be aware of that. Mind you I am not sure how she is related to the cottager who owns the place. I suspect she is his sister. I hope she lives in Calgary and won't visit often.
My spam filter spat out these headers today:
*Impress all in the locker room
*Replica Handbags
*Last Longer in Bed
*Enlarge
*You look really stupid bjscott
*You look really stupid bjscott
*Naked true. Best proposal of medicines
I understood the first six, but years of reading often illiterate or second language offerings has not been of much help in deciphering the seventh.
Who sends out these things? And who reads them? People like the blonde next door might be interested in the replica bags, I suppose. I overheard her conversation with the woman rowing the boat yesterday ... and it contained tidbits about how many purses and bags women need ... apparently in defence of her disputed clothing allowance. But nasty comments on your appearance? Or all the sexual aid ones?
I've figured it out ... the seventh! The unvarnished truth! The best possible deal on prescription drugs!
Maybe I could get a job editing for the people who send these out.
Today is a grey rainy day ... good thing I rescued the laundry yesterday. Today I will finish the cleaning and light a fire in the wood stove. Or maybe I will catch up on the sleep I didn't get last night. Yahoos till 2:30 and then the birds at 4 ... I may not last the whole day.
Wednesday, 18 June 2008
Ouch!
I have ONE SORE BUTT ... I just fell on the wet wooden stairs outside (I was going to plant a couple of herbs I had left at the top of the 39 steps yesterday) .
The muscle has swelled up like a rock that my hand cannot close around. It feels like a ledge.
You know how we work out to get rock hard butts? Well I have now have one and would trade it for the familiar squishy one any day.
Debbie just called and said the same thing happened to her on the steps at the farm and it lasted for months! When it happened, Rob said, "Oh, I think you just hurt your feelings," and she whipped down her pants saying, "Does that look like my feelings?"
Anyway I didn't want to hear that it took weeks to stop hurting or months to go back to normal ... I leave in a week and a bit, and I can' t sit down.
The muscle has swelled up like a rock that my hand cannot close around. It feels like a ledge.
You know how we work out to get rock hard butts? Well I have now have one and would trade it for the familiar squishy one any day.
Debbie just called and said the same thing happened to her on the steps at the farm and it lasted for months! When it happened, Rob said, "Oh, I think you just hurt your feelings," and she whipped down her pants saying, "Does that look like my feelings?"
Anyway I didn't want to hear that it took weeks to stop hurting or months to go back to normal ... I leave in a week and a bit, and I can' t sit down.
Tuesday, 10 June 2008
Sunrise at Pike Lake
My day began early ... before 4 a.m. ...
when the birds began their day.
Just before 5, I took these shots, and forgave the birds.
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