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.
Sunday, 5 September 2010
Sunday, 29 August 2010
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.
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.
Friday, 27 August 2010
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.
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.
Arthur and the Witch
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.
Thursday, 26 August 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, 24 August 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, 22 August 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, 8 August 2010
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.
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.
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.
Saturday, 7 August 2010
Friday, 6 August 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, 5 August 2010
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.
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.
Monday, 2 August 2010
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!
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!
Tuesday, 27 July 2010
Dionne Quintuplets and Fecal Coliforms Updated
**********************************************************************************
My sample was 100 ml ... so while the acceptable parts per 700 ml for all the fecal bacteria (fecal, E. coli and eneteritis) is 0, my counts are, respectively, 6, 6, and 1 per 100 ml.
Now I really hope that my shocking the system twice with javex worked!
I can't get the re-test done till mid-August now.
I have been bringing my drinking water from the Wakefield spring ever since I received the telephone message that my water was not potable.
**********************************************************************************
Lately I have found some very cheap ($3.99) good Canadian made movies about moments in Canadian history. I mentioned the Marilyn Bell one a while ago. I found the one I just watched at Giant Tiger. It was about the Dionne Quintuplets. The male lead was the Quebec actor who played Maurice Richard in The Rocket, and the film was directed by the NAC symphony orchestra conductor.
Surprisingly good, but unrelentingly bleak ... about five little girls taken from the parents and raised unnaturally and institutionally. None of them managed to find happiness.
On a happier note, Kenya, Sadie and I played and swam for about an hour after I returned from running errands. The very best place to be on another scorcher of a day.
Even my errand running was not too onerous: I found the components for a new deck to water ladder in someone's garbage, stopped in at River Echo and learned of two other tutoring possibilities, and then went to Masham where I bought luscious juicy peaches and freshly harvested local wild blackberries, and then picked up the things I needed to have a second water test done.
I just received the written results of the first test... I sure hope that my two flushings of the system with javex and the new ultraviolent light do their job. The really nasty e-coli bacteria count was 6 parts per 700. The form is entirely in French, but I think the acceptable maximum is 0.
After the swim I took an ice cream cone down to the deck and read for a while.
You will no doubt notice the absence of any mention of tidying and cleaning ... tomorrow!
Update on the water testing:
My sample was 100 ml ... so while the acceptable parts per 700 ml for all the fecal bacteria (fecal, E. coli and eneteritis) is 0, my counts are, respectively, 6, 6, and 1 per 100 ml.
Now I really hope that my shocking the system twice with javex worked!
I can't get the re-test done till mid-August now.
I have been bringing my drinking water from the Wakefield spring ever since I received the telephone message that my water was not potable.
**********************************************************************************
Lately I have found some very cheap ($3.99) good Canadian made movies about moments in Canadian history. I mentioned the Marilyn Bell one a while ago. I found the one I just watched at Giant Tiger. It was about the Dionne Quintuplets. The male lead was the Quebec actor who played Maurice Richard in The Rocket, and the film was directed by the NAC symphony orchestra conductor.
Surprisingly good, but unrelentingly bleak ... about five little girls taken from the parents and raised unnaturally and institutionally. None of them managed to find happiness.
On a happier note, Kenya, Sadie and I played and swam for about an hour after I returned from running errands. The very best place to be on another scorcher of a day.
Even my errand running was not too onerous: I found the components for a new deck to water ladder in someone's garbage, stopped in at River Echo and learned of two other tutoring possibilities, and then went to Masham where I bought luscious juicy peaches and freshly harvested local wild blackberries, and then picked up the things I needed to have a second water test done.
I just received the written results of the first test... I sure hope that my two flushings of the system with javex and the new ultraviolent light do their job. The really nasty e-coli bacteria count was 6 parts per 700. The form is entirely in French, but I think the acceptable maximum is 0.
After the swim I took an ice cream cone down to the deck and read for a while.
You will no doubt notice the absence of any mention of tidying and cleaning ... tomorrow!
Pruning in Progress
I decided yesterday when it was cool, when I didn't have to teach, and when I had some energy, that I would tackle my den, a room that, like my garden, had become a jungle. That decision involved trimming back the enormous plant that had covered the window, getting rid of several pieces of unfinished furniture for children, sweeping up mounds of dog hair, moving almost everything in the room to a different location, and generally creating far more chaos than had been there originally. The hallway and my bedroom also became involved.
I now have a much more civilized Paw plant in my bedroom and several pieces rooting on a tiny round table in front of the den window. Two bookcases have migrated to the large walk-in closet in my den, and several books have been consigned to boxes to be sold or given away.
I am not finished yet... I suspect I will still be at this on Wednesday, but I am past that first awful indecisive stage, past the absolute chaos of everything sitting in a pile in the centre of the room , piled on a bed, or shoved out into the hall.
Coincidentally, while I was immersed in my own cleaning process, a woman was being interviewed on CBC about her book Thrifty, which is all about pruning your life down to its essentials ... not to just what you need but to the things that truly enrich your life. She got rid of books she had kept since university, and photos that babbled at her. She recommends clearing 1/3 of the stuff from every room so that you gain a sense of peace rather than busyness. I think I will look for the book.
My reading lately has been omnivorous. This will fit right into the eclectic mix.
I used to think that I was a pretty good person. Now I realize that we all make mistakes, that we are all just doing the very best we can ... at any particular moment. Sometimes we mother, teach or behave better than at other times ... but we are simply human so we are imperfect beings.
I have just finished re-reading Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant by Anne Tyler, a woman born a year earlier than I was. She understands. And everyone who deludes herself into thinking she is doing everything right should read this novel ... and some of her others like A Slipping Down Life. She writes beautifully ... no preaching ... just revelation of truths.
I have just started reading An Imperfect Offering by James Orbinski of Medecins sans Frontieres ... he too writes well, and he also understands that we just give what we can ... we just do our best ... and sometimes our best is not perfect.
So ... back to my still very imperfect den cleaning ... who knows? Maybe by the weekend I will be able to start civilizing the garden. Or maybe not :-)
I now have a much more civilized Paw plant in my bedroom and several pieces rooting on a tiny round table in front of the den window. Two bookcases have migrated to the large walk-in closet in my den, and several books have been consigned to boxes to be sold or given away.
I am not finished yet... I suspect I will still be at this on Wednesday, but I am past that first awful indecisive stage, past the absolute chaos of everything sitting in a pile in the centre of the room , piled on a bed, or shoved out into the hall.
Coincidentally, while I was immersed in my own cleaning process, a woman was being interviewed on CBC about her book Thrifty, which is all about pruning your life down to its essentials ... not to just what you need but to the things that truly enrich your life. She got rid of books she had kept since university, and photos that babbled at her. She recommends clearing 1/3 of the stuff from every room so that you gain a sense of peace rather than busyness. I think I will look for the book.
My reading lately has been omnivorous. This will fit right into the eclectic mix.
I used to think that I was a pretty good person. Now I realize that we all make mistakes, that we are all just doing the very best we can ... at any particular moment. Sometimes we mother, teach or behave better than at other times ... but we are simply human so we are imperfect beings.
I have just finished re-reading Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant by Anne Tyler, a woman born a year earlier than I was. She understands. And everyone who deludes herself into thinking she is doing everything right should read this novel ... and some of her others like A Slipping Down Life. She writes beautifully ... no preaching ... just revelation of truths.
I have just started reading An Imperfect Offering by James Orbinski of Medecins sans Frontieres ... he too writes well, and he also understands that we just give what we can ... we just do our best ... and sometimes our best is not perfect.
So ... back to my still very imperfect den cleaning ... who knows? Maybe by the weekend I will be able to start civilizing the garden. Or maybe not :-)
Sunday, 25 July 2010
The People We Are Inspired to Emulate ...
I think we all liked the people who taught the subjects we loved. They were the teachers who gave us our best marks. We looked forward to their classes because they provided a respite from the drudgery of the subjects we disliked. Even their homework was fun to do.
I had been a very good student in junior high school, but when the move to Quebec was foisted on me, I found myself floundering in French and Latin, subjects I had loved. I was 7 years behind in one and a full year behind in the other. Math had also been a subject in which I had excelled, but suddenly math became algebra and geometry. Algebra was do-able but geometry was impossible. I was attempting to do Book 2 without ever having seen Book 1, and my impaired sense of spatial relationships made the challenge even greater. I began to hate school. I went for tutoring in French and geometry, and managed a bare pass from grade 10 to grade 11, but by then I saw myself as a loser.
The one subject I never stopped loving was English. I was still getting good marks in Dr. Smith's class, so I liked going to her classes, liked doing her homework, liked her.
Another child might not have reacted as I did, but I had loved school, and my sense of failure in an area where I had been successful was devastating. I decided that, rather than be seen as stupid, I would begin behaving as if I didn't give a damn. I would fail because I skipped classes, because I thumbed my nose at homework, because I was baaad ... not because I was trying hard and too stupid to learn.
.
In grade 11, I started skipping French classes because I felt like such a dunce. The teacher, Ray Bolla, was strict and reported every absence. So I began skipping school altogether. To make a long story short, I quit school in November and got a job.
Three years later, after Christmas, with two babies and separated from my husband, I returned to the school I had hated. Now I was even further behind in everything. Besides the gap in time, I had lost a full term, so I was scrambling.
I had a terrible French teacher, so I went to Mr. Bolla for tutoring.
I didn't attempt Latin this time round, opting for North American Literature and geography instead.
Geometry was just as hard, if not harder, than before. I was in an enriched math class because there was no room in the regular stream classes. Now I was doing Book 4 without Book 3. My attitude however was very different at 19 than it had been at 16, so I worked rather than giving up, and ended up passing with grades high enough for university acceptance, even in French and geometry.
Dr. Smith was no longer my English teacher. Instead I had Michael Witham, a teacher I also loved. He didn't have a PhD but his MA was from Cambridge and he too was an inspired teacher.
Shortly after I returned to school, Dr. Smith asked me to come to see her. We had a surprising conversation, and she was nearly in tears during it.. She had thought about me often over the years, she said. She wondered whether something she had done had caused me to drop out. I had auditioned for the school play in grade 11, shortly before I quit school entirely, and she had given the part to another girl, not because she had read better, but because she could be counted on to show up for rehearsals.
I too had thought about that a few times, and wondered if it might have made a difference, but I didn't tell her that. I am glad now that I didn't. I am glad I told her that she probably did the only thing that made sense. I said I didn't know whether I would have let her down, but it was certainly a good possibility.
Alana Smith was a good teacher, an inspired and inspiring teacher, but even more important, she was a woman who cared enough to worry about the effect of her decisions on her students.
Like all the really good teachers I have known she tried to give us her best. Sometimes, like all decent people, she undoubtedly made mistakes, but those mistakes were not made with any intent to harm. She was doing her best to do what was right.
I went into teaching because of good teachers like her. The ones who stand out were: in Halifax, Mrs. Shatford, my grade 6 teacher at Quinpool Road Public School, and Miss Hilchie, my English teacher at Cornwallis Junior High; In Pointe Claire, Quebec, Alana Smith, Lloyd Patch, Win Dixon, Michael Witham, and John Jared at John Rennie High School; and, at Macdonald College, the education faculty of McGill, Paul Nash.
All of these people helped me in important ways, and all set wonderful examples for any teacher to try to follow.
I had been a very good student in junior high school, but when the move to Quebec was foisted on me, I found myself floundering in French and Latin, subjects I had loved. I was 7 years behind in one and a full year behind in the other. Math had also been a subject in which I had excelled, but suddenly math became algebra and geometry. Algebra was do-able but geometry was impossible. I was attempting to do Book 2 without ever having seen Book 1, and my impaired sense of spatial relationships made the challenge even greater. I began to hate school. I went for tutoring in French and geometry, and managed a bare pass from grade 10 to grade 11, but by then I saw myself as a loser.
The one subject I never stopped loving was English. I was still getting good marks in Dr. Smith's class, so I liked going to her classes, liked doing her homework, liked her.
Another child might not have reacted as I did, but I had loved school, and my sense of failure in an area where I had been successful was devastating. I decided that, rather than be seen as stupid, I would begin behaving as if I didn't give a damn. I would fail because I skipped classes, because I thumbed my nose at homework, because I was baaad ... not because I was trying hard and too stupid to learn.
.
In grade 11, I started skipping French classes because I felt like such a dunce. The teacher, Ray Bolla, was strict and reported every absence. So I began skipping school altogether. To make a long story short, I quit school in November and got a job.
Three years later, after Christmas, with two babies and separated from my husband, I returned to the school I had hated. Now I was even further behind in everything. Besides the gap in time, I had lost a full term, so I was scrambling.
I had a terrible French teacher, so I went to Mr. Bolla for tutoring.
I didn't attempt Latin this time round, opting for North American Literature and geography instead.
Geometry was just as hard, if not harder, than before. I was in an enriched math class because there was no room in the regular stream classes. Now I was doing Book 4 without Book 3. My attitude however was very different at 19 than it had been at 16, so I worked rather than giving up, and ended up passing with grades high enough for university acceptance, even in French and geometry.
Dr. Smith was no longer my English teacher. Instead I had Michael Witham, a teacher I also loved. He didn't have a PhD but his MA was from Cambridge and he too was an inspired teacher.
Shortly after I returned to school, Dr. Smith asked me to come to see her. We had a surprising conversation, and she was nearly in tears during it.. She had thought about me often over the years, she said. She wondered whether something she had done had caused me to drop out. I had auditioned for the school play in grade 11, shortly before I quit school entirely, and she had given the part to another girl, not because she had read better, but because she could be counted on to show up for rehearsals.
I too had thought about that a few times, and wondered if it might have made a difference, but I didn't tell her that. I am glad now that I didn't. I am glad I told her that she probably did the only thing that made sense. I said I didn't know whether I would have let her down, but it was certainly a good possibility.
Alana Smith was a good teacher, an inspired and inspiring teacher, but even more important, she was a woman who cared enough to worry about the effect of her decisions on her students.
Like all the really good teachers I have known she tried to give us her best. Sometimes, like all decent people, she undoubtedly made mistakes, but those mistakes were not made with any intent to harm. She was doing her best to do what was right.
I went into teaching because of good teachers like her. The ones who stand out were: in Halifax, Mrs. Shatford, my grade 6 teacher at Quinpool Road Public School, and Miss Hilchie, my English teacher at Cornwallis Junior High; In Pointe Claire, Quebec, Alana Smith, Lloyd Patch, Win Dixon, Michael Witham, and John Jared at John Rennie High School; and, at Macdonald College, the education faculty of McGill, Paul Nash.
All of these people helped me in important ways, and all set wonderful examples for any teacher to try to follow.
Saturday, 24 July 2010
Escapism
It is very tempting to try to escape to a conflict-free paradise, but one cannot stay out of the fray forever except through death. Maybe that is what vacations from life are really ... small deaths. Orgasms have been called petits morts because they too provide an escape from life.
I guess I hoped that I could spend my old age, at least my still active old age, here is my own little paradise. And then I discovered that few real places offer complete absence of tension. Sentient beings cannot completely escape the fray forever.
My friend Claire posted part of a poem by Charles McKay we had both learned in high school. (No I didn't remember the poet's name. In fact I could never have quoted the lines half as accurately as she did; I googled her quote.) The poem's message was that people who are fully engaged in life must take stands, some of them unpopular, and so they make enemies.
I tried unsuccessfully to find a poem that has stayed with me all my life. I think it was about Ulysses ... perhaps Alfred Lord Tennyson ... perhaps another English poet from that era. He and his men were shipwrecked on an island where some lovely, tranquillizing, mood enhancing drug grew wild in the fields. All of them, sailors, officers and captain, were sorely tempted to remain in this drug-induced state of bliss forever, but the captain knew that one cannot escape the burdens placed on us by life and so he insisted that they leave their paradise and gird themselves to face the difficult journey home to the harsh reality they would encounter when they finally got there. He forced them back to life.
Of course, if they had stayed, reality would have found them anyway. Power struggles would have ensued. Differences of opinion would have occurred. Schisms would have developed. Even in an opium-hazy environment, something would have crept in to tempt someone. Isn't that the story of the Garden of Eden after all?
The human condition is simply that: you cannot stay in the garden forever; one day you either have to enter the wilderness, or the wilderness will encroach upon the garden. Either way, eventually it will become clear that lions do not lie down with lambs; they eat them.
I guess I hoped that I could spend my old age, at least my still active old age, here is my own little paradise. And then I discovered that few real places offer complete absence of tension. Sentient beings cannot completely escape the fray forever.
My friend Claire posted part of a poem by Charles McKay we had both learned in high school. (No I didn't remember the poet's name. In fact I could never have quoted the lines half as accurately as she did; I googled her quote.) The poem's message was that people who are fully engaged in life must take stands, some of them unpopular, and so they make enemies.
I tried unsuccessfully to find a poem that has stayed with me all my life. I think it was about Ulysses ... perhaps Alfred Lord Tennyson ... perhaps another English poet from that era. He and his men were shipwrecked on an island where some lovely, tranquillizing, mood enhancing drug grew wild in the fields. All of them, sailors, officers and captain, were sorely tempted to remain in this drug-induced state of bliss forever, but the captain knew that one cannot escape the burdens placed on us by life and so he insisted that they leave their paradise and gird themselves to face the difficult journey home to the harsh reality they would encounter when they finally got there. He forced them back to life.
Of course, if they had stayed, reality would have found them anyway. Power struggles would have ensued. Differences of opinion would have occurred. Schisms would have developed. Even in an opium-hazy environment, something would have crept in to tempt someone. Isn't that the story of the Garden of Eden after all?
The human condition is simply that: you cannot stay in the garden forever; one day you either have to enter the wilderness, or the wilderness will encroach upon the garden. Either way, eventually it will become clear that lions do not lie down with lambs; they eat them.
Friday, 23 July 2010
A Little Like Herding Chickens ... but Fun
Yoshiko and I spent a couple of hours painting, and then picked up Rowboat Flo and went to Subway for lunch. Afterwards, we went shopping together. By 4 p.m. I was exhausted but it had all been worth it. Flo bought groceries. Yoshiko bought jeans for $7. I bought DVD's. At Subway we talked to somer old women from the States about food and sandals. (Don't ask)
And Yoshiko was delighted with her tray.
Isn't it wonderful that old women from very different backgrounds can truly enjoy one another?
Beneath the Surface ...
When I awoke this morning I found a valuable reminder in my in-box. I have been wishing I had closed my eyes, bitten my tongue and written nothing about what lies beneath the tranquillity of our lake's unrippled surface. And then I read this.
Earl Nightingale, a radio broadcaster and thoughtful man was quoted as saying that the opposite of courage was not cowardice but conformity.
The writer, Bob Proctor, continues:
It takes courage to break away from the crowd, to go your own way, to do the thing which may be unpopular. It takes courage to stand up for the person who is being unjustly criticized, rather than agreeing and going along with the crowd. It takes courage for the teenager to say no, when all the rest of the kids begin going down the wrong path.
Earl Nightingale was correct - the opposite of courage is conforming. It is one reason so [many] people ... go along with the large group ....
The next time you are encouraged to fall into line, to be a sport, and everything in you says no - be courageous and go your own way. There is no compensation in conformity
I decided to publish the piece I wrote in the middle of the night.
A Very Different Post From Yesterday's
written in the earliest hours of July 23, 2010
At 2:42 a.m. this morning I was trying unsuccessfully to get back to sleep when a loud noise sent Kenya bolting downstairs to her hidey hole and made me leave my bed.
On Wednesday night the young people next door had been playing music till about 3 a.m. The kids were quiet, but the music was loud enough to awaken me. Today my neighbour called to tell me that she too had been awakened at 1 a.m. despite the fact that my house and a cottage stand between her bedroom window and the source of the music. We both had trouble getting back to sleep. I spent the next two hours grumbling to myself. I had closed my windows, filled my ears with silicon, and finally I blanked out. I have insomnia so I hate anything that sets it in motion.
Last night I went to bed at 9:30 with the windows open for air but my ears plugged against sound. When I awoke on my own at 1:30 or so the lake was quiet. I lay in bed for a while reading. Kenya climbed up with me, snuggled in, and fell asleep. At about 2:30 I turned off the light again and lay awake thinking.
Then the shot rang out.
I could hear voices from the young people next door, and their waterfront was lit up.
What would they have shot? The half dozen visiting geese haven't been seen for a few days. But I think geese and Mergansers sleep at night. I hope it wasn't one of the turtles that come at night to graze along that shoreline.
Surely not one of the loons whose calls often haunt the darkness.
Were the kids just very drunk and playing with a rifle?
Or did the shot come from the other end of the lake, from the only house I could see whose windows were still lighted at 2:42 a.m., the one owned by one of the strident voices at the meeting; one of those determined to wipe the lake clean of ducks; someone unable to appreciate the antics of this year's silly splashers; a man who thinks that the mergansers are eating all the fish and poisoning the lake?
I have no idea where the shot came from. This little tea cup lake plays tricks on ears, sending sound echoing from one rock wall to another, so it becomes impossible to be sure of the source.
That single rifle shot kept me up for an other hour in the middle of the night, pondering humans and their propensity for destruction; their headlong rush to obliterate the creatures that make this world a wondrous place to be; their great and grave foolishness; and yes, their refusal to consider any other way to do things.
I do hope my peace was shattered this time by drunken boys who will outgrow their thoughtlessness, but I think back to that meeting, and wonder ...
I have a feeling that the smooth mirror surface of life has been forever shattered ... that peace is a mirage in this world I live in.
Earl Nightingale, a radio broadcaster and thoughtful man was quoted as saying that the opposite of courage was not cowardice but conformity.
The writer, Bob Proctor, continues:
It takes courage to break away from the crowd, to go your own way, to do the thing which may be unpopular. It takes courage to stand up for the person who is being unjustly criticized, rather than agreeing and going along with the crowd. It takes courage for the teenager to say no, when all the rest of the kids begin going down the wrong path.
Earl Nightingale was correct - the opposite of courage is conforming. It is one reason so [many] people ... go along with the large group ....
The next time you are encouraged to fall into line, to be a sport, and everything in you says no - be courageous and go your own way. There is no compensation in conformity
I decided to publish the piece I wrote in the middle of the night.
A Very Different Post From Yesterday's
written in the earliest hours of July 23, 2010
At 2:42 a.m. this morning I was trying unsuccessfully to get back to sleep when a loud noise sent Kenya bolting downstairs to her hidey hole and made me leave my bed.
On Wednesday night the young people next door had been playing music till about 3 a.m. The kids were quiet, but the music was loud enough to awaken me. Today my neighbour called to tell me that she too had been awakened at 1 a.m. despite the fact that my house and a cottage stand between her bedroom window and the source of the music. We both had trouble getting back to sleep. I spent the next two hours grumbling to myself. I had closed my windows, filled my ears with silicon, and finally I blanked out. I have insomnia so I hate anything that sets it in motion.
Last night I went to bed at 9:30 with the windows open for air but my ears plugged against sound. When I awoke on my own at 1:30 or so the lake was quiet. I lay in bed for a while reading. Kenya climbed up with me, snuggled in, and fell asleep. At about 2:30 I turned off the light again and lay awake thinking.
Then the shot rang out.
I could hear voices from the young people next door, and their waterfront was lit up.
What would they have shot? The half dozen visiting geese haven't been seen for a few days. But I think geese and Mergansers sleep at night. I hope it wasn't one of the turtles that come at night to graze along that shoreline.
Surely not one of the loons whose calls often haunt the darkness.
Were the kids just very drunk and playing with a rifle?
Or did the shot come from the other end of the lake, from the only house I could see whose windows were still lighted at 2:42 a.m., the one owned by one of the strident voices at the meeting; one of those determined to wipe the lake clean of ducks; someone unable to appreciate the antics of this year's silly splashers; a man who thinks that the mergansers are eating all the fish and poisoning the lake?
I have no idea where the shot came from. This little tea cup lake plays tricks on ears, sending sound echoing from one rock wall to another, so it becomes impossible to be sure of the source.
That single rifle shot kept me up for an other hour in the middle of the night, pondering humans and their propensity for destruction; their headlong rush to obliterate the creatures that make this world a wondrous place to be; their great and grave foolishness; and yes, their refusal to consider any other way to do things.
I do hope my peace was shattered this time by drunken boys who will outgrow their thoughtlessness, but I think back to that meeting, and wonder ...
I have a feeling that the smooth mirror surface of life has been forever shattered ... that peace is a mirage in this world I live in.
Thursday, 22 July 2010
The Little Village That Does
Wakefield is a village with a big heart and a small population (1000 souls), so it is a bit of a miracle that Wakefield just won $25000 to build a skateboard park, outdoor skating rink and basketball court for its youth. It was in competition with many Quebec towns that were much larger and when it finally narrowed down to the face-off:, Beauce and Wakefield, the little village that was 1/10 the size, won. It came down to votes on the internet. Everyone was encouraged to vote and we all did ... some many times ... some thousands of times ... and when the final tally was counted, it all paid off.
The sense of community that encouraged people of all ages to put in a little effort for the kids is the same reason that a language school like River Echo manages to function. People come back again and again from Germany and Japan and Switzerland ... because the people of Wakefield make them feel welcome; because the villagers take the time to try to understand their varying levels of competency in English. They invite them to join their hiking group. They spend time with them in their restaurants.
Today, Rowboat Flo who is 80 shared with Yoshiko who is 84 how she stays in shape mentally and physically. They chatted about their puzzles, their gardens, and their diets as they drank coffee and ate rhubarb pie with ice cream. Tomorrow they will shop together. I am the verbal link but Flo and Yoshiko are the energy that flows from the community to the visitor.
By the way, Yoshiko's tray is going to be beautiful. Photos tomorrow.
The sense of community that encouraged people of all ages to put in a little effort for the kids is the same reason that a language school like River Echo manages to function. People come back again and again from Germany and Japan and Switzerland ... because the people of Wakefield make them feel welcome; because the villagers take the time to try to understand their varying levels of competency in English. They invite them to join their hiking group. They spend time with them in their restaurants.
Today, Rowboat Flo who is 80 shared with Yoshiko who is 84 how she stays in shape mentally and physically. They chatted about their puzzles, their gardens, and their diets as they drank coffee and ate rhubarb pie with ice cream. Tomorrow they will shop together. I am the verbal link but Flo and Yoshiko are the energy that flows from the community to the visitor.
By the way, Yoshiko's tray is going to be beautiful. Photos tomorrow.
Wednesday, 21 July 2010
Hidden Truths
Just some reminders that it is important to take time to smell the flowers; that life can still be exciting and learning can continue at 84; that even the toughest looking can be scared of thunderstorms and other loud things; and that in the messiest tangled jungle of life, jewels can be found.
Life Passes By
Noticed in Passing ...
July 21, 2010
... a beautiful small dead fox on the highway ... shiny coat, luxuriant tail that with each passing day changes into remnants of itself ... greyed ... scruffy ... hanks of hair and ... but after three days the tail is still vibrant ...
... a large group of playful Mergansers who splashed one another ... chortled ... and walked on water ... well ... really more like stomped on water ...
... two tomato plants that have grown to tree size and are dripping with green fruit ... two grape tomatoes beginning to turn red ... I have them supported from all angles now ... the box has become a jungle with 1 cucumber, 1 arugula, 1 nasturtium and 2 tomatoes. The little guys are all hiding (lettuce, carrots and onions)
... grass I cut before I went to Montreal now a meadow ... with far too much strangling vine that seems to have choked out the clover I planted ...
... a wild abundance of black-eyed susans, those lovely lavender bells, golden rod and orange day lilies ... and almost ready to bloom ... the ones I call Golden Glow ... tall plants that grow in hedges producing masses of chrysanthemum like flowers.
... friends working on the main floor of their new home ... strong and bronzed and happy against a magnificent blue sky ...
... another friend swimming peacefully, as she followed three red headed ducks ... apparently unafraid of their toxicity ...
... an artist of 60 years who wanted me to place the first brush stroke on the tray she was painting ... at 84 she is strong and vibrant and able to throw herself off mountains and hurtle down slopes ... but her confidence sags when she tries something new ... I love the fact that she will leave us after this week with more confidence than she had when she arrived. I suspect that she has had to build each level of confidence one step at a time just as she has as she learns to paint funky furniture.
... and when I said I would pay for lunch she was shocked ... insisted on paying because I am the teacher ...
... a large bearlike dog who is terrified of thunderstorms ...
,,, the rumble of rockslides across the lake ...
Photos will follow ...
July 21, 2010
... a beautiful small dead fox on the highway ... shiny coat, luxuriant tail that with each passing day changes into remnants of itself ... greyed ... scruffy ... hanks of hair and ... but after three days the tail is still vibrant ...
... a large group of playful Mergansers who splashed one another ... chortled ... and walked on water ... well ... really more like stomped on water ...
... two tomato plants that have grown to tree size and are dripping with green fruit ... two grape tomatoes beginning to turn red ... I have them supported from all angles now ... the box has become a jungle with 1 cucumber, 1 arugula, 1 nasturtium and 2 tomatoes. The little guys are all hiding (lettuce, carrots and onions)
... grass I cut before I went to Montreal now a meadow ... with far too much strangling vine that seems to have choked out the clover I planted ...
... a wild abundance of black-eyed susans, those lovely lavender bells, golden rod and orange day lilies ... and almost ready to bloom ... the ones I call Golden Glow ... tall plants that grow in hedges producing masses of chrysanthemum like flowers.
... friends working on the main floor of their new home ... strong and bronzed and happy against a magnificent blue sky ...
... another friend swimming peacefully, as she followed three red headed ducks ... apparently unafraid of their toxicity ...
... an artist of 60 years who wanted me to place the first brush stroke on the tray she was painting ... at 84 she is strong and vibrant and able to throw herself off mountains and hurtle down slopes ... but her confidence sags when she tries something new ... I love the fact that she will leave us after this week with more confidence than she had when she arrived. I suspect that she has had to build each level of confidence one step at a time just as she has as she learns to paint funky furniture.
... and when I said I would pay for lunch she was shocked ... insisted on paying because I am the teacher ...
... a large bearlike dog who is terrified of thunderstorms ...
,,, the rumble of rockslides across the lake ...
Photos will follow ...
Sunday, 18 July 2010
The week that was ...
I enjoyed our last (at least I hope last for a while) days of our heat wave.
A few days with friends who live near Montreal and have a backyard pool and air conditioning ... Kenya and I both enjoyed our visit with them. Then back home with company over the weekend ... canine and human.
I hear that Russia's fish stocks have been hard hit by their heat wave ... and I suspect that our lake's fish have probably gone much deeper than usual to escape the bath tub temperatures of the water. But those same tepid temperatures provided us with great swimming last night. Rob and I worked on getting Charlie (the 9 year old black lab who was afraid of the water) to swim. By the end of the play time he was having fun and swimming well. Rob and I ended up covered in long scratch marks. Rob's are all over his legs, chest and arms. I have four bruises and a deep surface scratch mark from Charlie's fearful first attempts.
Even Carlos went in last night ... and he has a Mediterranean horror of swimming in water that is less than body temperature.
Shea gave Tammy and me rides and Kenya swam with all of us.
I never stay up past 10 p.m. but it was after 1 when I headed up last night. Good food, flowing wine, and great company.
This afternoon I heard two explosions and thought that our local yahoos were making good their threat to kill all the mergansers on the lake. The meeting did not go well ... and I do not enjoy being outvoted by people who are wrong ... they grudging agreed to allow us to try alternative ways of getting rid of the Canada Goose menace next spring ... but clearly intended to shoot to kill if it didn't work ... and then they brought up the merganser menace as well ... blaming the absence of large minnows on the ducks. In view of what is happening in Russia and also taking into account the blasting that has shattered the peace of the lake, I would be more likely to blame things on disruption of habitat.
Today when I heard the explosions, I phoned my buddies who also feel that wild life have a right to co-exist with us ... and then heard from one of them that he had been setting off fire crackers to scare away some Canada Geese. His method worked ... let's hope it keeps on working.
Rob, Scott and I played tourists in the village yesterday ... while the train was in. Whew! Not my favourite place to be on a sweltering afternoon, but interesting for a change.
Tomorrow I start a week of accompanying Yoshiko, the 84 year old Japanese student who is back again this year. We are starting out here at the lake tomorrow and deciding what we want to do with our time together.
It will be fun, I expect.
I hope you enjoy our break from sweltering temperatures and some cooler nights.
A few days with friends who live near Montreal and have a backyard pool and air conditioning ... Kenya and I both enjoyed our visit with them. Then back home with company over the weekend ... canine and human.
I hear that Russia's fish stocks have been hard hit by their heat wave ... and I suspect that our lake's fish have probably gone much deeper than usual to escape the bath tub temperatures of the water. But those same tepid temperatures provided us with great swimming last night. Rob and I worked on getting Charlie (the 9 year old black lab who was afraid of the water) to swim. By the end of the play time he was having fun and swimming well. Rob and I ended up covered in long scratch marks. Rob's are all over his legs, chest and arms. I have four bruises and a deep surface scratch mark from Charlie's fearful first attempts.
Even Carlos went in last night ... and he has a Mediterranean horror of swimming in water that is less than body temperature.
Shea gave Tammy and me rides and Kenya swam with all of us.
I never stay up past 10 p.m. but it was after 1 when I headed up last night. Good food, flowing wine, and great company.
This afternoon I heard two explosions and thought that our local yahoos were making good their threat to kill all the mergansers on the lake. The meeting did not go well ... and I do not enjoy being outvoted by people who are wrong ... they grudging agreed to allow us to try alternative ways of getting rid of the Canada Goose menace next spring ... but clearly intended to shoot to kill if it didn't work ... and then they brought up the merganser menace as well ... blaming the absence of large minnows on the ducks. In view of what is happening in Russia and also taking into account the blasting that has shattered the peace of the lake, I would be more likely to blame things on disruption of habitat.
Today when I heard the explosions, I phoned my buddies who also feel that wild life have a right to co-exist with us ... and then heard from one of them that he had been setting off fire crackers to scare away some Canada Geese. His method worked ... let's hope it keeps on working.
Rob, Scott and I played tourists in the village yesterday ... while the train was in. Whew! Not my favourite place to be on a sweltering afternoon, but interesting for a change.
Tomorrow I start a week of accompanying Yoshiko, the 84 year old Japanese student who is back again this year. We are starting out here at the lake tomorrow and deciding what we want to do with our time together.
It will be fun, I expect.
I hope you enjoy our break from sweltering temperatures and some cooler nights.
Monday, 12 July 2010
Update on Dashed Hopes and Some Memory Jogging
Back from the clinic ... good lord ... 1 ½ hours of driving there, 2 hours at the clinic seeing the nurse practitioner, the doctor subbing for mine and the technician ... and sitting around the waiting room a lot in between, and then 1 ½ hours driving home.
Five hours altogether ... but they sent me home with my hearing and thinking processes intact. My ear was swooshed out with very warm water and I was told to treat both ears with oil twice a week for the rest of my life. Because I thought it was likely swimmer's ear I had been drying the wax out with aluminum drops and making things worse rather than better. The difference in my hearing was not as startling or sudden as I thought it would be. You know I kind of expected a giant pop as the plug loosened and jumped out of the canal ... but no ... nothing nearly as dramatic, although I did feel woozy and had to be helped to a chair. The technician said it was a common reaction. After all she had just sent my balance centre into a merry go round spin. At any rate, my little inflamed drum became visible and was able to vibrate again. I regained my balance and my hearing ... and with them my ability to think.
One thing I noticed when I got home was that the dehumidifier makes a very loud noise ... and those machines across the lake were making me want to tell Kenya to move over and make room for me under the boiler and the water tank!
Imagine how awful it must be for a creature with super sensitive hearing!
At the best of times my hearing is just so-so. I was born in the era before medicare and instead of getting a prescription for antibiotics my father blew warm breath in my ear when I had an earache ... and I had lots of them until I had my tonsils and adenoids removed when I was seven.
My older kids were also pre-medicare kids, but I remembered being sick and made sure that they were looked after by a doctor ... and that they received antibiotics rather than being subjected to my breathing in their inflamed and aching ears or hoping that bronchial pneumonia would heal itself..
My tonsillectomy took place on the kitchen table in my foster home with my foster mother administering the ether. I was horribly nauseated and had a blood clot in my throat which had to be removed ... but a brand new black English sidewalk bicycle leaned against the bedroom wall encouraging me to get well quickly.
My children went to the hospital for their operations., and were treated much younger. They were too young for bikes, but I couldn't afford bikes anyway. Instead I took a bus to the hospital and brought single rose buds ... and special cuddly toys.
Funny I can remember the rosebuds but I can't remember how I managed to pay for those doctor's visits, the antibiotics I seemed to have to buy weekly, or the surgeries and hospital time.
I was making $1800 a year. To give you an idea of just how little that was, someone in middle management was making $18000 at that time. I guess you just do it when you are a single parent and you don't have a choice.
Five hours altogether ... but they sent me home with my hearing and thinking processes intact. My ear was swooshed out with very warm water and I was told to treat both ears with oil twice a week for the rest of my life. Because I thought it was likely swimmer's ear I had been drying the wax out with aluminum drops and making things worse rather than better. The difference in my hearing was not as startling or sudden as I thought it would be. You know I kind of expected a giant pop as the plug loosened and jumped out of the canal ... but no ... nothing nearly as dramatic, although I did feel woozy and had to be helped to a chair. The technician said it was a common reaction. After all she had just sent my balance centre into a merry go round spin. At any rate, my little inflamed drum became visible and was able to vibrate again. I regained my balance and my hearing ... and with them my ability to think.
One thing I noticed when I got home was that the dehumidifier makes a very loud noise ... and those machines across the lake were making me want to tell Kenya to move over and make room for me under the boiler and the water tank!
Imagine how awful it must be for a creature with super sensitive hearing!
At the best of times my hearing is just so-so. I was born in the era before medicare and instead of getting a prescription for antibiotics my father blew warm breath in my ear when I had an earache ... and I had lots of them until I had my tonsils and adenoids removed when I was seven.
My older kids were also pre-medicare kids, but I remembered being sick and made sure that they were looked after by a doctor ... and that they received antibiotics rather than being subjected to my breathing in their inflamed and aching ears or hoping that bronchial pneumonia would heal itself..
My tonsillectomy took place on the kitchen table in my foster home with my foster mother administering the ether. I was horribly nauseated and had a blood clot in my throat which had to be removed ... but a brand new black English sidewalk bicycle leaned against the bedroom wall encouraging me to get well quickly.
My children went to the hospital for their operations., and were treated much younger. They were too young for bikes, but I couldn't afford bikes anyway. Instead I took a bus to the hospital and brought single rose buds ... and special cuddly toys.
Funny I can remember the rosebuds but I can't remember how I managed to pay for those doctor's visits, the antibiotics I seemed to have to buy weekly, or the surgeries and hospital time.
I was making $1800 a year. To give you an idea of just how little that was, someone in middle management was making $18000 at that time. I guess you just do it when you are a single parent and you don't have a choice.
Dashed Brains and Hopes
I had hoped that my hearing and balance problems might have been resolved by today so that Kenya and I could escape the construction noise and visit a friend who lives near Montreal for a couple of days, but no such luck. My hearing is still almost nil in the left ear and I continue to feel strangely dislocated in time and space. I am also making odd decisions. For example I used an enormous butcher knife to break apart frozen hamburger patties ... and stabbed myself rather badly in the process. I seemed to have lost some brain cells.
Just as I was writing the above I got a call from my doctor's office telling me that the nurse practitioner would see me today. So ... perhaps I will be fully functioning soon.
Paddy and Tom came over last night and blasted the hornet's nest inside the hydro meter house. This morning I inspected the premises and broke up the remains of the nest and squashed the writhing white sluglike hornet larvae ... yecch ... their hopes and brains were dashed suddenly too!
More when I have a fully functioning brain. This has been a week that has been hard on bodies and brains!
Just as I was writing the above I got a call from my doctor's office telling me that the nurse practitioner would see me today. So ... perhaps I will be fully functioning soon.
Paddy and Tom came over last night and blasted the hornet's nest inside the hydro meter house. This morning I inspected the premises and broke up the remains of the nest and squashed the writhing white sluglike hornet larvae ... yecch ... their hopes and brains were dashed suddenly too!
More when I have a fully functioning brain. This has been a week that has been hard on bodies and brains!
Saturday, 10 July 2010
The week that was ... I think
The heat wave is over. The temperatures will continue to be higher than we are used to but the humidity will be much lower than it has been. Thank goodness!
Kenya is becoming more and more freaked out by the blasting which was supposed to be finished this past Monday but which, in fact, has continued all week. Yesterday I couldn't find her when I was setting off to get the mail and I thought she must have gone outside when I hung out laundry. But no. She was nowhere to be found. I called and called. I went back indoors and called some more. I went all around the house looking for her. No Kenya. I headed off in my car and asked a neighbour if he'd seen her. No, but he would bring her home if he saw her on his way to the village. I returned and did one more check everywhere ... down at the lake and indoors.
That's when I discovered her curled up under the shelf that holds the water heater and the boiler. Curled into an impossibly small ball among the tubes that feed the in-floor radiant heating. A black ball of a dog in a dark spot where she shouldn't have fit.
I am not sure just how the blasting is affecting her physically, but psychologically it is certainly having a deleterious effect. She is frightened the whole time the workers are across the lake. She recognizes the horn honking signal that a foundation-shaking blast is imminent. She doesn't want to be outside or in the lake when the workers are there, and she sticks very close to me whenever she can.
.I wondered if she had been deafened when she didn't respond to my calls.
We went off to Erin's Meat Party after I found her. The humidity had tripped the power bar in the barn
where her freezers are plugged in. The meat at the bottom was still solidly frozen but the upper layers had started to thaw, so she decided to have a meat party. Lots of people bearing beer, wine, soft drinks, salads and desserts ... and dogs ... arrived and spilled out onto the deck. Ed did the barbecuing, and we all feasted.
Kenya was delighted to be surrounded by dog people, and happy to have so many canine buddies. She was particularly popular with the big boys, Jesse, Connor and Cole. She knew C and C from three years ago when we looked after them. Their owner, Andrea, brought photos of her new baby ... a nine week old foal. I think we will go over and visit him soon.
I am not sure whether it is the blasting or all the swimming without ear plugs, but I have gone deaf in my left ear. A party is an odd occasion when you cannot hear on one side. Last night I felt a bit as if I were watching a silent movie with a lot of static on the sound track.
This morning I treated it with hydrogen peroxide and then with almond oil mixed with tea tree oil . I hope whatever it is clears up soon. I don't want to have to see my doctor who is 1 1/2 hours away, and it isn't a medical emergency which could be treated here in the village.
My Swiss student, Sibylle, has headed off to British Columbia for the next stage of her vacation. I have enjoyed her company, and will miss her. I have one free week and then I will be spending time with Yoshiko, the 84 year old Japanese artist, the following week or so. Yoshiko was here last year and amazed all of us with her energy and youthfulness. She still downhill skiis for goodness sake!
She is in better shape than I am these days ... deaf in one ear ... exhausted by the heat wave ... and swollen up with a reaction to a hornet sting. A neighbour's son visiting here on the lake this week has promised to help me blast the two nests I have here: a wasps' nest under the first step from the parking area, and a hornets' nest in the cute little box housing my hydro meter. Because I reacted so strongly to the hornet's sting I received the other day, I am afraid to try to get rid of them by myself.
Oh ... and before I forget ... for those people who were following the doggy taste test ... I bought a bag of Pedigree Dentabones at Costco the other day. They are made by Mars, the makers of the Natural Defense bones that Kenya loved. They smell the same but are smaller and are to be fed daily rather than a couple of times a week. And Kenya loves them too. They cost $18.99 plus tax .
The list of ingredients:
rice
sodium caseinate
rice flour
vegetable oil
tapioca starch
natural poultry flavour
propylene glycol
wheat bran
calcium carbonate
dicalcium phosphate
potassium chloride
sodium tripolyphosphate
microcrystaline cellolose
iodized salt
potassium sorbate
'choline chloride
eucalyptus
zinc oxide
vitamins A, D3 and E
zinc sulphate
iron sulphate
magnesium oxide
d-calcium pantothenate
niacin
copper sulphate
riboflavin
Vitamin B6
Vitamin B1
Folic Acid
Vitamin B12
I will have to find the post I did on Natural Defense but I think this list is longer than the ND one was. I will check and edit this post.
UPDATE:
Natural Defense definitely had a shorter, and, I suspect, healthier ingredient list:
Ingredient List:
corn starch
potato starch
glycerin
water
natural flavour
dehydrated myrtle leaf
sodium tripoliphosphate
salt
potassium sorbate
a number of vitamins
rice hulls
chlorophyll
What do you think?
Have a great weekend.
Kenya is becoming more and more freaked out by the blasting which was supposed to be finished this past Monday but which, in fact, has continued all week. Yesterday I couldn't find her when I was setting off to get the mail and I thought she must have gone outside when I hung out laundry. But no. She was nowhere to be found. I called and called. I went back indoors and called some more. I went all around the house looking for her. No Kenya. I headed off in my car and asked a neighbour if he'd seen her. No, but he would bring her home if he saw her on his way to the village. I returned and did one more check everywhere ... down at the lake and indoors.
That's when I discovered her curled up under the shelf that holds the water heater and the boiler. Curled into an impossibly small ball among the tubes that feed the in-floor radiant heating. A black ball of a dog in a dark spot where she shouldn't have fit.
I am not sure just how the blasting is affecting her physically, but psychologically it is certainly having a deleterious effect. She is frightened the whole time the workers are across the lake. She recognizes the horn honking signal that a foundation-shaking blast is imminent. She doesn't want to be outside or in the lake when the workers are there, and she sticks very close to me whenever she can.
.I wondered if she had been deafened when she didn't respond to my calls.
We went off to Erin's Meat Party after I found her. The humidity had tripped the power bar in the barn
where her freezers are plugged in. The meat at the bottom was still solidly frozen but the upper layers had started to thaw, so she decided to have a meat party. Lots of people bearing beer, wine, soft drinks, salads and desserts ... and dogs ... arrived and spilled out onto the deck. Ed did the barbecuing, and we all feasted.
Kenya was delighted to be surrounded by dog people, and happy to have so many canine buddies. She was particularly popular with the big boys, Jesse, Connor and Cole. She knew C and C from three years ago when we looked after them. Their owner, Andrea, brought photos of her new baby ... a nine week old foal. I think we will go over and visit him soon.
I am not sure whether it is the blasting or all the swimming without ear plugs, but I have gone deaf in my left ear. A party is an odd occasion when you cannot hear on one side. Last night I felt a bit as if I were watching a silent movie with a lot of static on the sound track.
This morning I treated it with hydrogen peroxide and then with almond oil mixed with tea tree oil . I hope whatever it is clears up soon. I don't want to have to see my doctor who is 1 1/2 hours away, and it isn't a medical emergency which could be treated here in the village.
My Swiss student, Sibylle, has headed off to British Columbia for the next stage of her vacation. I have enjoyed her company, and will miss her. I have one free week and then I will be spending time with Yoshiko, the 84 year old Japanese artist, the following week or so. Yoshiko was here last year and amazed all of us with her energy and youthfulness. She still downhill skiis for goodness sake!
She is in better shape than I am these days ... deaf in one ear ... exhausted by the heat wave ... and swollen up with a reaction to a hornet sting. A neighbour's son visiting here on the lake this week has promised to help me blast the two nests I have here: a wasps' nest under the first step from the parking area, and a hornets' nest in the cute little box housing my hydro meter. Because I reacted so strongly to the hornet's sting I received the other day, I am afraid to try to get rid of them by myself.
Oh ... and before I forget ... for those people who were following the doggy taste test ... I bought a bag of Pedigree Dentabones at Costco the other day. They are made by Mars, the makers of the Natural Defense bones that Kenya loved. They smell the same but are smaller and are to be fed daily rather than a couple of times a week. And Kenya loves them too. They cost $18.99 plus tax .
The list of ingredients:
rice
sodium caseinate
rice flour
vegetable oil
tapioca starch
natural poultry flavour
propylene glycol
wheat bran
calcium carbonate
dicalcium phosphate
potassium chloride
sodium tripolyphosphate
microcrystaline cellolose
iodized salt
potassium sorbate
'choline chloride
eucalyptus
zinc oxide
vitamins A, D3 and E
zinc sulphate
iron sulphate
magnesium oxide
d-calcium pantothenate
niacin
copper sulphate
riboflavin
Vitamin B6
Vitamin B1
Folic Acid
Vitamin B12
I will have to find the post I did on Natural Defense but I think this list is longer than the ND one was. I will check and edit this post.
UPDATE:
Natural Defense definitely had a shorter, and, I suspect, healthier ingredient list:
Ingredient List:
corn starch
potato starch
glycerin
water
natural flavour
dehydrated myrtle leaf
sodium tripoliphosphate
salt
potassium sorbate
a number of vitamins
rice hulls
chlorophyll
What do you think?
Have a great weekend.
Monday, 5 July 2010
An Exhausted Post
I understand why they talk about heat exhaustion ... and I am here at the lake ... not in Toronto without power ... or even in Ottawa. I can jump in the lake and cool off or kayak and create a damp cool breeze as I move ... or I can even tip myself into the lake when I am careless getting into my kayak ... as I did this afternoon on my way to the mail.
That became an adventure of sorts. My glasses flew off my face and I didn't notice immediately because I was busy getting the kayak right side up and bailed out.. Then I went for the mail and discovered a couple of overheated intruders on the private beach ... Betsy's Beach ... she would not have been pleased if she had noticed ... hmmmn.
Anyway then began the mad search for my glasses ... or for a second pair ... I became overheated and sweaty and went out one last time in only underpants and a short silk wrap. There they were just past wading depth but visible. I finally managed to snag them with my toe and in the process became a silk kimona version of a wet t-shirt demo.
It is hot even here ... but not in the downstairs part of the house. A cement slab creates its own cooling system.
My new student is lovely ... and we are having tomorrow's class out here at the lake. We will break up the academic parts of the class with swimming and boating.
I hope you are surviving our latest heatwave, but if you need a respite at a lake, give me a call. I have always felt I was too lucky to keep this to myself and still feel that way.
That became an adventure of sorts. My glasses flew off my face and I didn't notice immediately because I was busy getting the kayak right side up and bailed out.. Then I went for the mail and discovered a couple of overheated intruders on the private beach ... Betsy's Beach ... she would not have been pleased if she had noticed ... hmmmn.
Anyway then began the mad search for my glasses ... or for a second pair ... I became overheated and sweaty and went out one last time in only underpants and a short silk wrap. There they were just past wading depth but visible. I finally managed to snag them with my toe and in the process became a silk kimona version of a wet t-shirt demo.
It is hot even here ... but not in the downstairs part of the house. A cement slab creates its own cooling system.
My new student is lovely ... and we are having tomorrow's class out here at the lake. We will break up the academic parts of the class with swimming and boating.
I hope you are surviving our latest heatwave, but if you need a respite at a lake, give me a call. I have always felt I was too lucky to keep this to myself and still feel that way.
Sunday, 4 July 2010
More Ketchup
While I was busy filling in imaginary words and thoughts for speech balloons, I missed the real excitement. A tree fell and hit the top hydro line (that's the only live one) and caught on fire. Only Hydro Quebec could resolve that situation, and they arrived 16 hours later when I was already out for the night (around 10 p.m. on Thursday). They brought their poles and left them on the side of the road and used their cherry picker to lift the tree (its fire long extinguished on its own) off the wire. I don't know how I missed it. Apparently they had several big vehicles and massive lighting units operating right across from my bedroom window! Even Kenya slept through it. And through the fireworks that my next door neighbours set off.
Of course Kenya is sleeping through a lot these days and nights. She is exhausted by all the swimming and playing she's been doing. She chased sticks thrown by the little boys most of the weekend, and for the last couple of days I have been exercising her with the kayak. Yesterday I whipped across the lake to deliver dog fur to a neighbour who has a pesky groundhog. Kenya swam behind me and while I visited she chased sticks into the water. Then we headed home. She was finally beat enough to say no to retrieving a stick. I still had enough energy to go for a long refreshing swim that relaxed me.
On Friday night I joined a group of people at a local restaurant ... interesting but a little strange. The woman who invited us all failed to show up and the odd assortment of people who were there were somewhat bemused by her absence. We ended up doing what people usually do ... found those people with whom we had most in common and chatted. Nice break from talking to Kenya and bearing the noise of machinery.
My box garden is becoming a rainforest of tangled vines. Lots of nascent tomatoes and nasturtium flowers. Just leaves on the pepper plants and leaves and vines on the cucumber. The onions are doing well. I ate one yesterday. The second crop of radishes is coming along nicely. And I have given up on the chard and the leeks. The Thai basil and the arugula are quietly doing their thing and providing me with salad ingredients nearly every day.
I nurtured a weed in my chard square for a few weeks, but when I went to the market yesterday morning I asked the farmer from whom I bought Swiss chard what she thought had happened to mine. She said that I would definitely have chard by now if the seed was viable and had not been killed off by heat or eaten by a bird. So I went home and uprooted the very healthy weed I had been growing and transplanted a lettuce into that square. I think I will transplant one of my regular basil plants into the leeks' square.
Outside the box, the zucchinis are producing lots of flowers but far fewer zucchinis ... I think I have a plethora of male blossoms. Apparently you can deep fry them.
All the herbs except the basil are doing well.
The beans, nasturtiums, and morning glories are all madly climbing the trellis to the deck railing and I have a riot of green foliage and lots of blue and red flowers but no bean flowers or beans yet.
Tonight I am entertaining Tom and Marlene. I am not sure what I will prepare but I do know that my herbs will be part of the meal ... and the Dutch ginger cake I bought at the market will be served with an iced coffee drink that is wonderful. You make double strength coffee and blend it with ice cubes and vanilla ice cream and then chill. It is very refreshing but not calorie free.
Tomorrow I start another week of teaching. I expect to enjoy it ... two hours a day with a middle aged Swiss woman who would like to have some of her lessons in a canoe. We may ask Conchita who is married to one of the men on the lake to join us. She is not too sure about cold Canadian lake water, so we will see.
I have been reading another travel book called The Female Nomad and Friends. It is a combination of adventures and recipes picked up along the way by an interesting and varied group of solo women travelers. Almost all of the women have websites to visit and several have recommended SERVAS as a good way to meet interesting people as you travel. A few weeks ago I decided to become a host for SERVAS and if I ever get my act together will jump through the necessary hoops. And then I may register as a traveler as well. All this reading about adventures is making my feet itch again.
So that's it ... the weekend dollop of ketchup ... hope your weekend has been enjoyable and that you are looking forward to a week of blistering heat in a pleasantly cool environment.
Of course Kenya is sleeping through a lot these days and nights. She is exhausted by all the swimming and playing she's been doing. She chased sticks thrown by the little boys most of the weekend, and for the last couple of days I have been exercising her with the kayak. Yesterday I whipped across the lake to deliver dog fur to a neighbour who has a pesky groundhog. Kenya swam behind me and while I visited she chased sticks into the water. Then we headed home. She was finally beat enough to say no to retrieving a stick. I still had enough energy to go for a long refreshing swim that relaxed me.
On Friday night I joined a group of people at a local restaurant ... interesting but a little strange. The woman who invited us all failed to show up and the odd assortment of people who were there were somewhat bemused by her absence. We ended up doing what people usually do ... found those people with whom we had most in common and chatted. Nice break from talking to Kenya and bearing the noise of machinery.
My box garden is becoming a rainforest of tangled vines. Lots of nascent tomatoes and nasturtium flowers. Just leaves on the pepper plants and leaves and vines on the cucumber. The onions are doing well. I ate one yesterday. The second crop of radishes is coming along nicely. And I have given up on the chard and the leeks. The Thai basil and the arugula are quietly doing their thing and providing me with salad ingredients nearly every day.
I nurtured a weed in my chard square for a few weeks, but when I went to the market yesterday morning I asked the farmer from whom I bought Swiss chard what she thought had happened to mine. She said that I would definitely have chard by now if the seed was viable and had not been killed off by heat or eaten by a bird. So I went home and uprooted the very healthy weed I had been growing and transplanted a lettuce into that square. I think I will transplant one of my regular basil plants into the leeks' square.
Outside the box, the zucchinis are producing lots of flowers but far fewer zucchinis ... I think I have a plethora of male blossoms. Apparently you can deep fry them.
All the herbs except the basil are doing well.
The beans, nasturtiums, and morning glories are all madly climbing the trellis to the deck railing and I have a riot of green foliage and lots of blue and red flowers but no bean flowers or beans yet.
Tonight I am entertaining Tom and Marlene. I am not sure what I will prepare but I do know that my herbs will be part of the meal ... and the Dutch ginger cake I bought at the market will be served with an iced coffee drink that is wonderful. You make double strength coffee and blend it with ice cubes and vanilla ice cream and then chill. It is very refreshing but not calorie free.
Tomorrow I start another week of teaching. I expect to enjoy it ... two hours a day with a middle aged Swiss woman who would like to have some of her lessons in a canoe. We may ask Conchita who is married to one of the men on the lake to join us. She is not too sure about cold Canadian lake water, so we will see.
I have been reading another travel book called The Female Nomad and Friends. It is a combination of adventures and recipes picked up along the way by an interesting and varied group of solo women travelers. Almost all of the women have websites to visit and several have recommended SERVAS as a good way to meet interesting people as you travel. A few weeks ago I decided to become a host for SERVAS and if I ever get my act together will jump through the necessary hoops. And then I may register as a traveler as well. All this reading about adventures is making my feet itch again.
So that's it ... the weekend dollop of ketchup ... hope your weekend has been enjoyable and that you are looking forward to a week of blistering heat in a pleasantly cool environment.
Friday, 2 July 2010
Peace and Quiet
Today they didn't show up at seven .... and here it is, almost 9, and the lake is still lovely and quiet.
Kenya awoke with a start at 8 ... a Merganser was on our deck ... she went out and shooed it back into the water with its two siblings and then lay there in the sunshine guarding the deck from any more intrusions. it was quite sweet watching her lying there watching the trio of scruffy headed ducks swimming nearby. Kenya recognizes territory quite clearly, and understands that the lake is to be shared ... but not the deck.
All the time the blasting and noise has been going on, the Mergansers have been absent from the lake ... likely hiding in the furthest corner away from the noise. The loons are a little more comfortable with human noise so I have seen them more often.
Twice this week I have dreamed about hugging absent loved ones ... and both times I have awakened feeling at peace. Nice that the peace will not be shattered today!
Kenya awoke with a start at 8 ... a Merganser was on our deck ... she went out and shooed it back into the water with its two siblings and then lay there in the sunshine guarding the deck from any more intrusions. it was quite sweet watching her lying there watching the trio of scruffy headed ducks swimming nearby. Kenya recognizes territory quite clearly, and understands that the lake is to be shared ... but not the deck.
All the time the blasting and noise has been going on, the Mergansers have been absent from the lake ... likely hiding in the furthest corner away from the noise. The loons are a little more comfortable with human noise so I have seen them more often.
Twice this week I have dreamed about hugging absent loved ones ... and both times I have awakened feeling at peace. Nice that the peace will not be shattered today!
Thursday, 1 July 2010
Filling in Speech Balloons
It's been really quiet on the other side of the lake ever since a good sized landslide occurred about an hour ago.
Five men are gazing up at the spot where it occurred.
I can't hear what they are saying of course, and I feel a bit as if I am looking at a cartoon and waiting for the speech and thought balloons to be filled.
"Duh, do you think if we dig a little more out in the middle those trees up there will come down with the earth?"
"Yeah, and then we could just scoop everything up with the shovel and cart it away. No need to dig any more or blast."
"Those are pretty big trees."
"We could get chainsaws and haul them away. No problem."
"Yeah ... but look where the hydro lines are."
So they ponder the problems they have created on this Canadian holiday when they probably all wish they'd stayed in bed.
A Little Later:
Well, they've decided to go ahead and hope for the best. A tree came down and hit the hydro line but did not break it and they were able to nudge it away with the shovel ... and that seems to be the plan ... uproot and guide.
Not sure what happens when they leave at the end of the day with trees in jeopardy ... but we will see.
They have an enormous pipe with them and intend to use it to build a tunnel on the inner side of the road. They hope it will catch falling rock before it hits the road. So far they have spent twice as much money as they thought they would and they are days, perhaps weeks, away from concluding the work. The hydro men were supposed to move their poles and erect higher ones than originally intended ... and their visit has been postponed till July 17. Maybe, just maybe, my peace of mind will be returned to me by the end of July.
Five men are gazing up at the spot where it occurred.
I can't hear what they are saying of course, and I feel a bit as if I am looking at a cartoon and waiting for the speech and thought balloons to be filled.
"Duh, do you think if we dig a little more out in the middle those trees up there will come down with the earth?"
"Yeah, and then we could just scoop everything up with the shovel and cart it away. No need to dig any more or blast."
"Those are pretty big trees."
"We could get chainsaws and haul them away. No problem."
"Yeah ... but look where the hydro lines are."
So they ponder the problems they have created on this Canadian holiday when they probably all wish they'd stayed in bed.
A Little Later:
Well, they've decided to go ahead and hope for the best. A tree came down and hit the hydro line but did not break it and they were able to nudge it away with the shovel ... and that seems to be the plan ... uproot and guide.
Not sure what happens when they leave at the end of the day with trees in jeopardy ... but we will see.
They have an enormous pipe with them and intend to use it to build a tunnel on the inner side of the road. They hope it will catch falling rock before it hits the road. So far they have spent twice as much money as they thought they would and they are days, perhaps weeks, away from concluding the work. The hydro men were supposed to move their poles and erect higher ones than originally intended ... and their visit has been postponed till July 17. Maybe, just maybe, my peace of mind will be returned to me by the end of July.
Happy Canada Day
Canada Day at the Lake
July 1, 2010
7:01 a.m. Two red trucks arrived followed by a black car. Five minutes later the whole damned crew was back across the lake and the earth moving machine was revved up and rarin' to go. I groaned and began to wander around the house turning on taps.
7:15 a.m. I have now let all the taps run again. The object is to clear the chlorine from the system so that the pipes will not be corroded. Last night Ryan (my plumber) installed the new UV lamp, showed me how to do it next year myself, and left instructions to pour Javex through the system again. I did it at bedtime stripped down to my undies and slippers so that I would not damage my clothes again. Good thing because I forgot to close the bottom of the filter container and pure Javex sprayed all over the floor and my slippers.
7:33 a.m. I am still half asleep in my grey polka dotted slippers and my jammies and robe wondering if I should escape to Hull or Montreal or if I should make yet another attempt to prepare lessons for next week.
7:37 a.m. I think I will grin and bear it yet again. I am still not feeling A1 ... possibly because of the E-coli in my water?
8:21 a.m. Email and such finished for now. Better get at something productive ... or at least get dressed and have breakfast. I want to take Kenya for a good walk, get into the village at some point because there will be festivities and I need to buy a sympathy card for a friend whose husband died yesterday, and start a writing project based on my recent reading. What I don't feel terribly inspired to do is plan those lessons! But that is what I should be doing.
July 1, 2010
7:01 a.m. Two red trucks arrived followed by a black car. Five minutes later the whole damned crew was back across the lake and the earth moving machine was revved up and rarin' to go. I groaned and began to wander around the house turning on taps.
7:15 a.m. I have now let all the taps run again. The object is to clear the chlorine from the system so that the pipes will not be corroded. Last night Ryan (my plumber) installed the new UV lamp, showed me how to do it next year myself, and left instructions to pour Javex through the system again. I did it at bedtime stripped down to my undies and slippers so that I would not damage my clothes again. Good thing because I forgot to close the bottom of the filter container and pure Javex sprayed all over the floor and my slippers.
7:33 a.m. I am still half asleep in my grey polka dotted slippers and my jammies and robe wondering if I should escape to Hull or Montreal or if I should make yet another attempt to prepare lessons for next week.
7:37 a.m. I think I will grin and bear it yet again. I am still not feeling A1 ... possibly because of the E-coli in my water?
8:21 a.m. Email and such finished for now. Better get at something productive ... or at least get dressed and have breakfast. I want to take Kenya for a good walk, get into the village at some point because there will be festivities and I need to buy a sympathy card for a friend whose husband died yesterday, and start a writing project based on my recent reading. What I don't feel terribly inspired to do is plan those lessons! But that is what I should be doing.
HAPPY CANADA DAY TO ALL OF YOU!
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