The Piano Recital

Certain events envelop you in the spirit of Christmas, and last night's piano recital was one.

It was a perfect wintry night, crunchy snow, and -23 degrees as we approached the white farm house (my piano teacher's home) with its wraparound verandah. Old and young entered, breath steaming, stamping their boots, to be warmly welcomed by our teacher and D, her mother, and the four wide-eyed little girls each one head taller than the other, taking in each person as they arrived.

Ushered through the kitchen warmed by an incredible stove that looked from another era, we deposited the goodies we'd made to contribute to the festivities on a huge, long kitchen table.

Their giant Christmas tree resided in front of the bay window, obliterating it with its lights and decorations. Kids abounded, all pressed and shiney, girls and boys in bright colours, all eager to listen or play the piano which sat in Christmas splendor for it too was dressed up in a swag topped with red ribbon. Moms, dads, siblings, grandparents, aunts and uncles and in my case, a husband, found themselves spots in comfy chairs and sofas. The kids sat here and there on the floor making happy the huge grey barn cat which circulated amongst the many little bodies and hands reaching out to him. I'd met him earlier in the year, trying hard to squeeze by me at the door when I'd enter, but he's not allowed in until mid-November.

A colourful fruitpunch loaded with summer berries found its way to my hand, thanks to B's father. C, her brother, in his bright red shirt, black pants and suspenders also welcomed us. The show began. Our young teacher, B, looked like a Victorian beauty: her long hair pinned up to fall freely down her back to her waist, a pretty white blouse and vibrant full length skirt layered in reds swayed over her shiney black boots. She outlined the proceedings: she would draw a name, that student would play, then in turn s/he would take a lollipop, draw another name and so on. I felt nervous and wondered if the kids did too. No one looked it. B herself was the first to play. She made a few mistakes which she said were on purposed to relax the rest of us. It worked. And so the evening progressed, little voices announcing the next player, little players tackling their tunes, some shyly, some with great gusto, other with determination. Some with legs hanging over the edge of the piano bench, some with their toes barely touching the pedals and one (me) having to push the seat back to accommodate my height in this concert of Lilliputians. It was wonderful. We even learned a little anecdotal music history!

People beside me commented on the progress made by the students since last year. I was told I'd be amazed at my own progress by next year. I certainly hope they're right. It seemed my name would never be called but then it was. My cold hands shook; I was surprised at being so nervous. B introduced me as her first and only adult student. I hoped I wouldn't be her last. I also hoped no one had great expectations. I sat, caressed the keys and began. "Still, still, still" became shrill, shrill, shrill as my fingers found some wrong notes but I persevered. As luck would have it, the name I drew was my own so I had to play again. By this time, the nerves had dissapated and I aced it. The applause felt warmer for the second time.

The other students ranged from about 4 or 5 years old to 13 or 14, I guessed. Their diligence and hard work was evident. Little J, a very neat and self-possessed little boy, kept patting his shirt pocket where he'd amassed four lollipops, one for each of his performances. I couldn't keep my eyes from B's little sisters, four little stepping stones sitting almost at my feet. All were dressed in lovely Christmassy dresses with big sashes and bows, leotards and tidy little shoes, their hair as shiney as their bright eyes. They whispered amongst each other, pointed, laughed, petted the cat, gave each other little kisses and hugs, having a fine time. One could crawl up to Granny's lap from time to time for a better view. I had to step carefully through these delightful little girls to wend my way to the piano.

Before you knew it, our concert had come to an end. We trooped into the warm kitchen, working our way around the table laden with goodies then socialized in the large living room. I met a man who'd help create the Highlands golf course back in 1952. I didn't dare tell him that was the year I was born. He still golfs 4 times a week and his wife nodded knowingly when I told her I knew what it was like to be a golf widow. They were there supporting their lovely teenaged granddaughter who'd played one of her pieces by memory.

I also met B's grandmother whose mother had been a concert pianist. She herself, now in her 70's, did play as well but no longer. Gave away her piano, she said. I told her I'd learned that to master anything, one must devote at least 10,000 hours to it. At that rate, I told her, I'd be in my 80's. At that, she expressed regret she'd ever stopped playing. I hope I never do.

We left the farm embued with a wonderful sense of fellowship and warmth, happy and grateful for the open hands, hearts and minds we'd just spent time with. The Christmas spirit is truly alive and well and living in Kinburn. I look forward already to next year's recital.

Merry Christmas - 2008 - Happy New Year!

Christmas is a comin',

our snowshoes are on the rack.

We'll soon be wearing golf shoes,

& we ain't a lookin' back!

So when the temp hits 80, we will think of you with cheer!
We'll both sit back, some beer we'll crack.

...Hope you have a great New Year!

Cheers,
W & D!

Road Rage

It's always a joy running the four lane route from the city to the lake.

Hubby's rolling along not so fast in the fast lane.

Lights illuminate the backs of our heads. A truck is almost glued to our license plate.

Uh, hon, you might want to get in the middle lane...?

What for?

Well...that truck looks like he's gonna run us over. It might be prudent...?

If he wants to get ahead, he can go around us!

Well...how 'bout you pull over one lane, let him through....?

I'm driving in this lane cuz the middle lane closes down up ahead.

[yeah, in 3 or 4 kilometers...the truck careens around us on the right as we lollygag in the fast lane. I'm sure a saw a finger behind the muddy windshield]

Well...if he'd been doing this to you, you'd probably be mad as Hell. You hate people who do what you're doing. You were probably giving that trucker road rage...

Why the Hell do you always criticize my driving?

I'm not criticizing. I'm just asking. You'd do the same to me if our seats were reversed.

Silence reigns as the radio plays "Joy to the World!"

I Am Harper

Sung to the tune of "I am Woman"
-Words and Music (and apologies to) by Helen Reddy and Ray Burton

I am Harper, hear me roar
My seats? Too many to ignore!
And I know too much to go back and pretend
cause I've heard it all before
Down there on the Commons floor
No one's ever gonna try to take me down again

CHORUS:
Oh yes I am wise
But it's wisdom born of pain
So Canada's paid the price
But I'd do it all again
If I have to, I can do anything
I am bilingue (bilingue); I am très partisan (partisan); I am Harper

You can bend but never break me
'cause it only serves to make me
More determined to achieve my final goal
To stay in power long, yes longer!
Still a bully, but less stronger
since coalition's burnt a hole deep in my soul

Oh yes I've screwed up big
But it never was my fault
Yes, Canuck's'll pay the price
But look how much I gained
Cuz I have to, I can face anything
I'm getting grey (grey); I wear my sweater (vest); I am Harper

CHORUS
I am Harper, watch me grow
See me standing toe to toe
With Steph, Jack, Gilles and good old Mike Ignatieff
But I still run the PMO
With a long long way to go
Until I make Canadians understand


While the economy goes to Hell
I will quit, my dear Michaelle
If you don't prorogue the Commons when I say
I've bought time til January
When things will get even more scarey...
No, I'm not wrong (wrong); I'm not Obama (Obama); I am Harper!

An Ode to Joy

Only in walking a dog who's been pent up for a while, can one truly enjoy a freezing, windy but sunny day. T and I pull on our woolly socks, wrap ourselves up the eyebrows, then pick up Spencer who is beside himself with joy at our coming to take him out for a walk. He stands still (sort of) only to have his little red coat and halter put on. Then we're off. Him looking like Santa's dog (all red and white).

When Spencer pulls you around the park and almost off your feet, you know it's been awhile since he's had a good run. And the snow. There's barely enough to cover the grass but it's enough for rolling in, and roll he does in doggy ecstacy! His head, his back, his belly. He licks it. He can't get enough then it's off on the run again. He outruns his nose, which stops immediately at an interesting scent but his body swings around as it receives the signal to stop a second later than the nose. You gotta laugh at his shenanigans.

We gingerly step out on the ice of the lake. Is it solid? How strong? I throw a big rock; it bounces off the ice. We step out and skate around, entice Spencer to skate a bit. He's not sure about this lack of sure footing.

We revel in his joy and enjoy the day so much more because of it. Our laughter chuffs steam in the cold, wintry air. Life is good.

Metronome

Yes, I need a metronome. Keeping time is just another element to piano playing that adds to the challenge. Especially those tricky little eighth notes! I have a built in "beat" on the old organ so I make do with that but maybe one of those new fang-dangled metronome is what I need. They're no longer triangle shaped with the old tick-tock thingie: they're like little cell phones, for Heaven's sake. And you can program them with different beats and different beat sounds. Oh how we love to complicate simple things.

And the music is getting more complicated. Now, we've got the foot pedal introduced (as if just playing the notes wasn't hard enough, now I have to think about what my feet are supposed to be doing). Who invented piano playing anyway? Now, comes tricky beats. Now we're on notes that push fingers from five to seven. Didn't know piano players had 14 fingers, didja? Well, we do. Thumbs and baby fingers have to work a little harder than the others - they each gotta extra notes (poor things, especially the little baby fingers). They gotta stretch!!! And stretch they do. Who knew you could have lactic acid build-up in the muscles of your fingers!!?? Sheesh. But I am learning. The songs are getting a little trickier. This week's challenge is "Blow the Man Down" and how I'm working on blowing that one down. It sure isn't easy. But it's coming.

The next big challenge is the Christmas concert. I'm not concerned (yet) about what I'll have to learn to play...it's getting over being the biggest in the class. OK, I'll admit it. Not only the biggest, but the oldest. Ok, not only the oldest but the one with the grayest hair. Not only with the grayest hair but with the most flatulence. Awww, do I HAVE to do the Christmas concert?????

Organ vs Piano but there's progress

My organ is lovely and has a history: R bought it for his lovely wife, E. However, sadly, E died and R doesn't play so he let it go for a song to me (who also doesn't play). But I'm determined to play, hence my signing up for piano lessons even though the instructor had reservations about my playing on an organ, not a piano.

At first it didn't matter. The notes were simple and I simply stayed in "piano" mode on my organ taking care not to touch any of the 80+ other buttons available to me. But as I progress I realize playing the organ in preparation for my session on the instructor's piano is akin to practising on an electric typewriter then taking an exam on a manual. Somehow the fingers get lazy: they are used to the ease of the organ keys whereas the piano demands of the fingers some stamina, some muscle, some pressure! More speed. Aghhhhh!

I've checked out Lionel Pauzé's piano store in Almonte where there are some very lovely new and refurbished (my price range) pianos of a size suitable to my small digs. Dilemma: stick with the organ or switch to a piano? When one doesn't know what to do the best thing is to do nothing which is my choice of the moment. There is definitely starting to be a large gap where such things as crescendo and diminuendo (dynamic signs) cannot be done on the organ (or maybe I just haven't figured out how). The pedals (3) on the piano can't compare to the multiple pedals on the organ (all of which scare me).

And so the disparities in my two musical vehicles are starting slowly to pose little problems.

But what's wonderful is my reportoire is expanding. Incredibly, I can now play:

• Ode to Joy
• Aura Lee (aka Love me Tender)
• Rock along and Mexican Hat Dance
• Au claire de la lune and a Tisket, a Tasket (what are those things anyway?)
• Good King Wencelas & Jingle Bells (getting ready for Christmas!)
• Brother John and Here's a Happy Song and Merrily we Roll Along
• Largo, Mary Ann (a toughie), Rockets (easy) and What Can I Share?
• My favourite - When the Saints (the only one I have actually memorized)
• Love Somebody, A Friend like You
• The animal songs: Donkey and the Cuckoo. Note: animal songs are HARD!
• My lifestyle song: Money Can't Buy Everthing
• The lovely and serene Harp Song
• The almost impossible Beautiful Beautiful Brown Eyes (Dear Lord, why does this song give me such grief?)
• Good morning to You and...wait for it...
• Happy Birthday to You which arrived just in time for me to torment my poor husband to death as it was my personal challenge the very week of his 60th birthday!! Quelle coincidence!
• Now I'm "Standing in the Need of Prayer" trying to master eighth notes. But there's a trick to it and I think (hope and pray) I've figured it out. Tomorrow night's lesson review will tell the tale.

Amazing progress don't you think? Next we explore the Metronome!

Never too Old to Learn

I have started taking baby steps toward fulfilling a personal goal: to play the piano. Yes, I'm in week 5 of my lessons and am starting to sweat.

At first it was a piece of cake. But now the chording and coding is getting more challenging. My teacher is excellent. Only 18, she's at the Grade 10 level in the Toronto Conservatory of Music. She's very patient and kind. The only problem is: seeing her only once per week means I have an entire week to practise, oftimes in error as there is no one about to tell me I'm getting it wrong. Of course, it all sounds good to me!

Humility, they say, is good for one's soul and I'm becoming more and more humble every week. But: I have mastered When the Saints Come Marching In and even had a few singers join in when I played it for a friend in a seniors' residence last week. So what if it's the only song in my repertoire? My challenge this week is "Beautiful Brown Eyes"...tricky little piece...but who knew?

Next, my organ vs piano dilemma.

Name that Harley!

This story is for all my motorcycling friends. Enjoy.

While walking with L and Spencer around the park, we came across W who, wanting to stop raking leaves for a few minutes, shared this story.

Having lost his way to a new golf course, W stopped in at a ladies' gym to ask directions. The lady at the desk knew exactly what course he was looking for and told him this:

"You're on the right road. Keep going straight until you come to the Suck-Bang-and-Blow, then make a right, it's right past there."

Not sure he heard her right, W repeated the instructions, then asked (trying to keep a straight face, and thinking the worst), "What exactly IS the Suck-Bang-and Blow?"

"Oh," she said, "I guess you're not from around these parts?"

"No," he admitted, "we're Canadian."

"Well," she told him, "the Suck-Bang-and-Blow is the motto of our local Harley Davidson shop."

And sure enough, as W followed her directions, he drove right past a Harley dealership with this huge sign that read "Suck, Bang and Blow."

Fall Reflections

Fall is upon us. She's showing herself in so many ways...it makes me wistful. The geese have started their long journey and not a day goes by that I don't look up and wish them safe journey. Pumpkins and mums are popping up by everyone's doorsteps. Yet there's still the odd vibrant rose and shasta daisy competing for attention here and there. The "dollyhocks" are in full bloom and I am enjoying every single one as they're not perenniels thus won't be seen until the summer after next, same as my foxgloves.

The lake reflects all the hues of the golds, oranges and reds of the soon-to-fall leaves. I've filled two pumpkin-faced bags with those already fallen and moved four other bags already to the compost area. Yes, to Hell with yoga for the moment - I'm into raking big time!

I've cleaned out the garden except for the carrots and swiss chard which are still bravely growing. My tomatoes, red, green and my favourite - yellow, are gifts from my garden which we're greatly enjoying.

I've yet to take down the hummingbird feeder, but it is time. Maybe today. Chickadees and finches are begging at the feeders already and the jays have done their work on the nuts from nearby oak trees. Spencer and I still find the odd frog who hasn't yet gone underground for the winter. The snake he was so interested in is no longer; unfortunately, someone ran over it and now it's a leather S on the pavement (poor thing). But that one aside, this had to be a good year for snakes. I've never seen so many snake babies as this year (most of them on golf courses).

The sail boat is still in the lake and I must go down today and bail as we've had rain. I can't bring myself to take her out just yet and hope tomorrow will bring wind so we can have one last run across the bay. Speaking of rain, I am rain-ready having bought a brand new pair of rubber boots - red plaid! They make me feel jaunty just writing about them.

Next to store are all my garden goblins and junk. I stash all kinds of things here and there in my garden but there comes a time when it must be re-stashed in the shed. One poor item, a blue trumpet-playing frog - a gift from my friend P - has barely had time to adjust to his new digs and now he'll be mummified for another 7 or 8 months. Just saying that arouses the spectre of Winter!!!!

The days seem grimmer somehow. The sun shines here and there when the clouds manage to spare the space. The north wind prompts hat and coat attire. Yes, it's autumn, that season of winding down. It's election time here in Canada which is also rather depressing. But, it's all part of the cycle. The beauty of the trees all around certainly do arouse the spirits, particularly when spotlit with sunshine. The golf courses are at their peak as is my golf game. Pity, as that'll soon end. It's hard to believe it's October already. Truly a time to give thanks despite headlines full of doom and gloom.

I'm Still Listening

I often listen to the radio, specifically CBC. Yes, that likely puts me in the nerd category as I personally know very few of my friends who are amongst my fellow listeners even though I know CBC radio is popular with many Canadians and non-Canadians. Recent statistics cite a definite dearth of listening teenagers in radio (let alone the CBC versions) as IPods and internet steal them away. Seems the audience is mostly us "oldtimers" but who really knows for sure? All I know is CBC radio gives my brain food for thought. It teaches me things I never knew before or presents views that open up my mind. It challenges me, and for the most part, keeps me optimistic and proud to be Canadian. I think CBC radio is one of the best things going on out there and talk of changes to it make me quake.

My favourite radio time is 8:45ish, Wednesday nights when Outfront comes on. Invariably, I'm in the car either returning from nine holes with the girls or coming back from piano lessons (yes...more about that on a subsequent blog). It's always dark on the country roads I travel and I love the sound of the various voices of other Canadians telling me their stories - fascinating snippets of the voices and sounds of their lives -- against a backdrop of stars. I'm tempted to apply to Outfront to present my own version of "sounds like Canada" but have yet to be inspired. Tune in to Outfront one night - I guarantee you'll like it.

Radio's a funny thing. It doesn't take much to stop you in your tracks and wish for an instant replay button. Listening to The Current the other day, I heard a commentator refer to the "boogey people." Now perhaps the context of the phrase should have clued me in but it didn't. My attention to his point stalled on that expression. Boogey people? Who the Hell are boogey people? A new dance troup? A nose picking group? Yes, I'm a little slow but suddenly I got it: he was just being politically correct. Aghhhh! He meant bogeyman; that monster that scares the bejesus out of us all. See what I mean about having to think? Ok, not too cerebral but hey! I wish someone on the panel had had the chutzpa to pick up on the silliness of his PC-ness.

It's said radio is losing ground to TV and internet. I hope not. As kids, we regularly listened to the radio. Every noon, when Dad was home for lunch (good grief! how many kids can say that today?), everyone had to be quiet, had to listen as Parliament Hill bells chimed the hour. For the longest time, I thought the radio program was called "Shits, the News" but eventually I figured it out: "Shhhh. It's the News!" The program would start with the ticking of a clock as Eastern Standard Time was established for all to re-set their watches. On our radio station, I also seem to recall (I hope someone can verify this) the recital of the Hail Mary in French although all programming was in English. Now this could just be a result of one of my faulty brain cells hence my wish for confirmation by someone with a better memory than mine.

Regardless, at that time, the 50's and 60's, radio engaged our brains, our imaginations and expanded our world. As there are still many corners of the world with little illumination, I can only hope radio will continue to play its part: shedding light.

Keep Leaping

To paraphrase Wikipedia, a leap of faith may be seen as a transition from one state of being (or other quality) directly to another without any overlap, that is: without possessing or occupying both qualities at the same time.

Some of us look before we leap and others just leap. We take intellectual leaps of faith every day…in traffic for example. We assume everyone hurtling at us from the other side of the road is as caring, well-trained and attentive as we are. And if they’re not, well…we’re defensive, aware and responsive. So we’ll be safe. Daily we leap into the automatic “all is well” mode.

Some leaps, by nature, are physical. On a zip line at Tremblant’s Acrobranche, for example, I had to convince myself the caliper and line would hold me if I stepped off the platform into thin air. My brain screamed “Can I trust it?” and my instincts via heart palpitations, fear, and sweating advised “Don’t do it!” in the many minutes it took before I simply inhaled and leapt into space. Or stepping again, into falling, falling, falling 14 feet into water off our local pier. I trust that it’s safe, that I’ll land safely. As would any bungee jumper.

Some leaps are metaphysical, for instance: marriage. I’d chosen my spouse, and he’d chosen me. He wasn’t my parents’ choice however. Nor was I his mother’s choice. They’ll grow to love him, I thought; I’ve made a good choice and wondered if he thought the same. And I leapt into marriage without a backward glance. After all, he had everything I was looking for. It was a leap of faith that's still paying dividends as we continue to enjoy each other's company and head into our 39th wedded year.

During a recent exercise, my yoga instructor commented on my willingness to let go. I had to trust her with my body as she contorted, massaged, and stretched it. Once again, I took a leap of faith and just let myself totally relax. I trusted her not to hurt but to help me, and she did. What a wonderful session it was!

Of course leaps of faith most often refer to faith itself. Faith in God, believing in God. Leaping from non-belief to belief requires one to suspend logical, rational, reasoned thought. Or does it? I’ve watched some of my contemporaries grapple with that leap. Many, like my husband, make it fully across the gap, and simply believe as it comforts them. Many are believers from childhood; they leapt early. Some are left straddling the gap hoping for the relief belief in a Divine Deity can bring but calling it by other names they’re comfortable with. That comforts them but they’re in that awkward almost-transition, not really having leapt at all. And some never take the leap, never approach the gap, but are comfortable living within the realm of their own rationalizations and feeling of rightness.

Take a moment to think about and reflect on your own leaps of faith. Have you leapt lately?

The First Time

I confess: I love golf. But my introduction to it wasn't the best. Picture this:

Mother's Day, 22 years ago. Without a shred of self-interest, my husband and my brother-in-law decided the best gift they could give to their wives (my sister and I) was a round of golf. On a BIG course. That being a full eighteen-holer, not an Executive (or short) course. Oh no. Go big or go home.



God, how I wished we'd gone home. Now, know that my sis and I had never held golf clubs before. We swiped and whiffed and trudged valiantly behind our dear husbands until finally, somewhere on the 18th hole, we simply gave up, sat down under a large elm, and refused to go any further until the boys vowed to take us out for Chinese food. That was a deal.


I remember being too hot, too tired, and a terrible golfer. Of course, what else to expect? Without a single lesson and not being naturally gifted, I couldn't expect otherwise. But that day, that round...unbeknownst to me...was to be the beginning of many more rounds. All of which, have been so much more enjoyable!

Writing in a Void

Sometimes, when I'm writing to this blog, it feels like sending a missive out into space. Who knows if it'll be read? Who knows if anyone will read it or take a moment to comment? Why do I even bother? But bother I apparently continue to do if to ensure the memories stay fresh.

We're experiencing wonderful weather right now. It's as though Summer has finally decided to show her face in days bursting with sunshine and heat, just as Fall is starting to show his face in the odd lawn dappled with fallen maple leaves and apples.

Yesterday, I was the only one in my yoga class. P, my instructor, gave me such personalized attention, I felt like a million dollars when I left. What a treat it was.

Then, some of us local girls met and chatted over coffee on M's new deck. It was so hot, we had to move indoors. After lunch, three of us threw our kayaks into the Madawaska and paddled idly down river, taking in nature, cottages and the beauty of the day reflected in the mirror of the river's surface. We stopped and swam at a sandy beach - the water was so warm! What a wonderful September treat. We are so lucky to be living in such an incredibly beautiful and peaceful land. Sometimes I feel like pinching myself: it's Heaven.

Hubby and I had had a most lovely weekend which started Thursday golfing with friends at the fiendish Smugglers' Glen. It's not for the faint of heart. Friday saw rain so the Casino at Gan welcomed us in and gladly took what money we would've spent on golf. Our friends headed for home up the 416 but we dawdled up 32, hitting wonderful little shoppes.

We spent too much at Kilborn's on the Rideau (what an awesome place to shop), ate too much at the Stagecoach Restaurant (cinnamon buns, anyone?) and played just enough at Rideau Lakes golf course. Dinner at the Opinicon Lodge was to die for (no calory counting there) and hubby even saw a deer strolling near the parking lot! The Stirling Lodge put us up for the night in an old manor that looked like something out of a Trish Romance painting (12 foot ceilings), and next morning threw in a very satisfying breakfast to boot! We then golfed Evergreen GCC near Westport, with some very nice people, then dined in Perth at the GoodWood Oven...ummm! And, of course, it's always good to return home feeling totally spoiled by that husband of mine. I am such a lucky woman in so many ways.

Dolly (1988 - 2008)

Yesterday, a tiny but wonderfully spunky spirit passed from our lives. Dolly, our dear little spitfire of a cat, has died despite our thinking she’d be with us forever. Dolly suffered from renal failure; a common ailment of elderly cats according to the vet. Also, given her age - 20 human years - she was, plain and simply, old. Old and worn out.

She signaled her resignation from life by refusing food and water. Even cheese, her favourite. We knew it was bad when she passed on the cheese, although trooper that she is, she did make a valiant effort to taste the itsiest bitsiest piece. In retrospect, it wasn’t so much refusal as simply her not being able.

We knew it was bad when she stopped talking to us for she was a very verbose cat. Her conversation usually took the form of orders. As in “Get out of my shower!” She believed she owned the shower and my husband’s or my presence there was barely tolerated. You had to be careful stepping out for the Shower Nazi would be sitting directly at the door giving you her sternest glare. Or “Get to bed!” when I stayed up too late, the vocalization undeniably an order while she’d sit in the hallway glaring at me like an irritable old grandmother. Honestly - it was unnerving. Or her relentless “Get out of bed” at 5:29 am every morning. 5:30 am is hubby’s usual wake-up time but she’d always manage to beat the alarm by a minute which, during the week, was OK but not very welcome on weekends. Ignoring her meant a parade of paws up and down your body on the most vulnerable spots (still a welcome change from pushing things off the dresser or side tables).

We knew it was bad as she got thinner and thinner over the past year despite our best efforts to engage her appetite: freshly cooked chicken, various types of fish, special cat food. All to little avail. Her digestive system was failing and the gurgles embarrassingly loud – she’d simply ignore them. At her last vet visit, she weighed only 5 pounds and I hesitate to estimate what that delicate little skeleton enrobed in silky-soft fur weighed.

We knew it was bad when she stopped grooming herself. No doubt she knew her coat was in disarray; still, she showed her appreciation and love of being groomed and stroked with her favourite brush every day by constant circling back to ensure a good chin rub and then follow through from head to tail-tip. Until her legs could no longer hold her steady.

She stopped playing around. In July, we played our last game of Catch My Tail where she’d sit still with her back to you and allow you to pet her tail before whipping it away only to waft it gently over your hand again and again, temptingly. She had incredible control of that tail. Nor had we played Who’s Under the Door in quite a while…she loved to chase your hand or whatever was at hand from the opposite side of a shut door. Suffice to say, there was just enough leeway for her polydactyled paw to tap blindly at whatever caught her imagination, and she was faster than lightening! Thursday, in her guise as "littlest pony," I saw her take one last mad dash up and down the hallway. Maybe trying to outrun how she was feeling.

On Friday, her decline was bad, Saturday was worse and Sunday was unbearable.

I had a bad moment at 2:30 am one night when I saw a green light emanating from the bathroom. Half asleep I wondered when spirits move on, could they generate light? Had Dolly just died? I must have dreamed it. But no, there it was again, a very faint green glow. Knowing we have no night-lights in that room, I nudge hubby. “My shaver’s recharging,” the sleepy reply. Ahhhh.

We debated our responsibility. Was it better to allow her to pass away on her own or God’s timetable or to euthanize her? Neither felt right.

We knew it was bad when we didn’t recognize her voice, a few weak croaks of dissent as I picked her up, then acquiescence and total silence as we drove down the road to the vet’s. As there’d been a last minute emergency, we had privacy and extra time to say our goodbyes, to touch and love Dolly a little longer, and to thank her for being such a joy in our lives.

The vet and her assistant were wonderfully supportive, explaining what would happen, what to expect. A general anesthetic “to take the edge off,” a quick but gentle shaving of her forearm, then the vet expertly finding a vein, despite Dolly’s dehydration, to administer the heart-stopper. It was over. Her spirit and life gone in an instant.

We grieve her passing. We’re grateful for this last summer and the pleasure it brought her. We’ll miss her beauty, her other-worldly emerald eyes, her attitude and her presence, and the loss of her cheerful chirrups welcoming us home. We'll miss her touch, that gentle tap-tap on face, hand or knee to signal her need of attention, and her barely discernible purr. We feel her lack in all rooms of our house. Memories are strong and tears assail us when we least expect it. Dolly was very special, being intelligent and loaded with personality and chutzpa. She didn’t seem to know she was just a little cat. Feisty as hell, she took on those bigger and better, be it cats, dogs or people and she usually won. Just being herself, she touched our lives and those of our relatives and friends.

We pray she’s frolicking and enjoying all the mint in the Big Catnip Patch in the Great Beyond. Goodbye, sweet Smidge.

Our Rustic Arbour

I love rustic things, furniture, birdhouses, plant holders – you name it. My dream of building my own rustic arbour began while kayaking on Lake Mindemoya on Manitoulin Island. I’d spotted a vine or tree of some sort which had twisted upon itself in climbing another stronger tree onshore. And so the seed of a design began for my arbour. But step one was convincing my husband and brother to retrace my kayak path but in the boat with a saw to retrieve it. That obstacle was more easily overcome (with much explanation, of course) than expected. My brother thinks twisty wood is really tag alder…anyone know for sure?

But once you spot twisty wood once, you see it everywhere! Hubby spotted some on our cottage landlord’s land; it was even more incredible than the wood we already harvested. With the landlord’s blessing, we harvested that too with a little more difficulty. It required climbing on the roof of the car, my hubby hanging like a gorilla for the thing was hard to take down.

These several large pieces of twisty wood accompanied us home and lived in the garage over the fall, winter and spring (my deadline for creating the harbour was this summer). As luck would have it, I also found some old cedar fencing long abandoned in a swampy area. Again, poor hubby was recruited to help me load up the station wagon. And the twisty wood had the cedar pieces for company over the long cold winter.

Walking Spencer one day, I spot more “twisty wood” down by the Fire Hall. My reluctant recruit, poor old hubby, once again came to the rescue, sawing and hacking off a few more pieces to better enhance the arbour.

People were beginning to doubt my dream. “Are you really gonna build something with that stuff?” I’d be asked. Sometimes I wondered myself. In a moment of doubt, I asked a renown wood man up the road if he'd like to have it, and while he was tempted, he encouraged me. Just listen to the wood, he said, it'll tell you what to do. So I drew up a vague plan, once again recruited Old Faithful (hubby) - we listened to the wood and just did it!

It’s a pretty basic structure: four pieces of cedar standing upright, connected top and bottom by other cedar cross pieces. And the twisty wood? Well, it’s the décor down the front, down each side and across the top. I’ve added to rustic birdhouses, a couple of tin birds and a humming bird feeder. Ants are drawn to it and so, of course the birds love it: chickadees, woodpeckers, wrens, and finches. It frames my neighbour’s garden of summer flowers beautifully. There are some twisty pieces reaching up into the sky which I wanted to cut off, but hubby like them and so we compromised - now the birds have a nice tall perch with which to serenade the world.

It isn’t the steadiest structure in the world but we’ve done our best to reinforce its stance with pieces of rebar pounded into the earth and securely attached.

Maybe next summer I’ll add a creeper of morning glory or a phalanx of holly hock but for now it stands in its own plain glory, drawing the attention of birds and neighbours, and pleasing the eye of those who bathe in our hot tub.

Framing neighbour's garden



More detail (other side)

More on life and death: Road Kill

No one is insensitive to the amount of roadkill seen every year May through October. One would think a "developed civilisation" such as our's would have managed to address this problem by now. Unhappily, no, we have not. According to Mahatma Gandhi: "You can judge a society by the way it treats its animals."

The human view is: better to kill them than ourselves. The advice is standard: if one cannot safely brake, then it is better to collide with the animal than risk injury or death in trying to avoid it. Statistics are rampant throughout the Web as to the number of human and animal deaths. Human injuries and vehicular damage (and resultant insurance costs) are also tracked but animal injury is not, given those who survive the initial impact retreat to nature to either heal or die...so animal deaths stats should include a + sign.

In my family, we've hit (and obviously survived) a moose, and a deer. The moose -- hit first by another car, then us -- was toast. The deer we're not sure as it bounced off the car and then was no where to be found. In both collisions, we count ourselves lucky. The cars, not us, were damaged. My husband narrowly missed hitting a large buck as it bounded from one ditch to another, and I was lucky when a deer ran between my car and an approaching car at dusk. My brother-in-law and his co-worker recently avoided killing a bear, not seeing, therefore running over, the two small cubs following her out of the ditch. People my sister knows avoided an animal collision but were badly injured themselves in doing so.

I used to think since we paint the roads, why not put some kind of scent to deter animals in the paint? According to some websites, animals quickly become inured or "habituated" to such deterrents so they work for a little while but not long. According to the Canada Safety Council, others are working on other means such as:

• Corridors like the 8-foot high Parks Canada fence along the Trans-Canada Highway through Banff National Park and the 22 underpasses (culverts) and two 164 foot wide overpasses built. Highway kills dropped 96 per cent.
• Designating high risk road sections may cause drivers to slow down
• The Wildlife Warning System, developed by Saskatoon-based International Road Dynamics Inc., uses proven technologies that sense approaching vehicles and then activate deterrents such as sounds or lights to warn animals in the area. The Saskatchewan government, testing the system on a stretch of highway notorious for wildlife-vehicle collisions, has published no official results yet, but its first year of operation has seen deer-vehicle collisions drop.
• Similar NASA infrared technology called NightVision (TM) is available in some General Motors cars. This helps the driver to to detect potentially dangerous situations, such as the presence of animals or pedestrians, beyond the range of the headlamps.

In CFC's words: there is still no substitute for a defensive driver.

Species most at risk are frogs, snakes and turtles. In my area, from my own day to day survey in my area, the majority of the dead are frogs, raccoons, porcupine and deer. In the case of frogs, entire species are at risk of disappearing.

For more tips on this topic, visit this wonderfully helpful site Wildlife Collision Prevention Program from the province of British Columbia in Canada. Learn to reduce the chance of a collision, what to do if you hit an animal, and where and when collisions might occur.

I stop to move slow-moving turtles out of the way (unless they happen to be snappers). I drive more slowly in high risk areas and pull over to let others pass if I'm too slow for the other road warriors.

I utter a little "God bless" under my breath everytime I see some hapless animal obliterated by a vehicle, and pray we find some way to stop this carnage.

On Managers: the good and the not so good

It's an overcast day, humid and hot, and promising rain. It's a good day for reflection which is what I'm doing instead of bringing in the washing from the line.

I'm reflecting on managers I've had in the past. Those I've loved best trusted me, and in letting me shine, they shone. Those I didn't love at all tried to bully or or victimize or stifle me...they couldn't or wouldn't let me shine and tarnished themselves as a result.

What distinguishes a good manager from a bad? Here's my admittedly simplistic take on it:

A good manager is, simply put: a good human being. She or he...

• communicates the goal, and the work needed to achieve the goal
• trusts you and your abilities to get the job done
• is not threatened by you or your abilities but uses these in a positive way to achieve the organization's goals
• advises or guides but does not to do the work assigned to you
• is constructively critical (but not mean) when necessary to help you redirect or improve your efforts
• recognizes your limitations and encourages ongoing development or change
• appreciates and recognizes your efforts
• has a healthy approach to life in general which in turn is reflected in healthy relationships with others be they above or below him or her in the hierarchy
• has the betterment of the organization at heart
• has a sense of humour to make fun a part of working life and workplace "fun"damentals.

People who work for good managers themselves improve as human beings. They become successful people in their own right, often as well-liked leaders and achievers. They develop others who continue to contribute to the health (and wealth) of the organization or to the world at large.

On the other hand, a bad manager is usually a human being still developing or needing to develop their own self to become a better human being. She or he might...

• not communicate or does communicate but on inappropriate matters, not work-related
• mistrust staff, double-check their work or re-assign work without explanation
• take steps to discredit or remove employees by whom he or she feels threatened
• take credit rightly due to staff
• bullies or victimizes staff due to own feelings of inferiority, vulnerability or importance
• gossips about staff or asks employee's opinions about other co-workers
• offers employees affection (favouritism) or gifts to compensate for his or her own destructive behaviour
• is obviously dysfunctional and lacks a healthy approach to life overall. In other words, is no fun
• creates a noxious or toxic work environment
• has his or her own goals at heart, not the organization's

People who work for bad managers (BMs) can

• experience ill health or setbacks or achieve nil to slow advancement in the workplace as their efforts focus on attending to the stress and negativity of the "bad manager experience" OR
• they become bad managers themselves, not having experienced or learned any better thus continuing to populate the world with BM's OR
• they improve as human beings in resolving not to emulate the bad manager. They too can be successful people in their own right, often as well-liked leaders and achievers, by choosing the good manager profile and rejecting the bad.

As I write this, while I've used the term "manager", I can't help but see this good/bad parallel exists everywhere: parents/children, relatives, coaches, friends, neighbours. How are YOU doing in this good manager/bad manager scenario?

I'm proud of Canada

This is about as blatantly political as I get. I find it ironic that 2 days after unanimously celebrating Canada's birthday, we're divided about celebrating Canada's choice to receive the Order of Canada.

The abortion issue has always been highly controversial and divisive in Canada, and I would add, throughout the world. Today, in Canada, people are reacting to the news that Henry Morgentaler, MD, has been named to the Order of Canada.

Some think it's an abomination, a day of shame for Canada. I think it's a day of pride for Canada and I congratulate those who decided Dr. Morgentaler merited this honour. Seldom does one see a person who puts himself and his family on the line for his beliefs.

I won't enter the discussion of when is a life a life and whether one has the right to take a life. I'm sure to get a few comments pro and con and I respect those who would argue with me.

I believe Dr. Morgentaler's work has saved lives. His work brought abortion out of the backstreets and into safe, clean clinics. His work has brought the word "abortion" into the open. It has been and will continue to be the source of much controversy and dispute, and his receiving the Order of Canada won't change that. But let it be a good thing as we, society, continue our evolution and our struggle in dealing with choices.

More on the story: http://www.cbc.ca/canada/story/2008/07/02/f-morgentaler.html

What is the Order of Canada? http://www.gg.ca/honours/nat-ord/oc/index_e.asp

Where did June go?

I'm really not sticking to my original intention - to blog daily. Here a whole month has gone by and I'm blog-less! No, I don't intend to make up one month with this blog but perhaps my daily agenda can help renew my memory.

June saw me

• leave my temporary job where I made new friends, found a new purpose and learned new things.
• have another wonderful weekend with my friend, Pat who helps with the annual garage sale and we enjoy re-introducing her dog, Reilly to Spencer. Reilly's the boss, of course!
• escaping to Toronto for a mother/daughter theatre outing with my sister, her daughter, my daughter and me. Dirty Dancing was every bit as good (if not better) than the movie. We all tried not to cry at the end - such sucks we are!
• enjoying the company of my brother Tom and his wife Julie who arrived unexpectedly on their noisey old Harley for a quick visit.
• getting my hair cut
• lunching with my sister Syb who is recovering from an operation
• gardening...is there any end to the weeds I can manage to grow? I ended up with some kind of dermatitus on my fingers that has seriously eroded the skin on my hands. That'll teach me to pull weeds without gloves!
• golfing...although we've had so much rain, it's hard to run between the raindrops
• decorating R & P's golfcart for the July 1 (formerly Dominion Day, aka Canada's Birthday) parade...they were a great big hit, especially Spencer who sat regally with a Canada fag rag dangling down his back.

I still haven't gotten into the kayak nor put the sailboat in the water. Am trying to be diligent about walking dear old Spencer and loving dear old Dolly to bits given she's running out of lives.

Life is good here at the lake. The grass is green (how can it not be with all the rain we've had?), the loons make their nightly love calls, the robins are worming for their youngins and I'm re-retired!

It's......Froggin' time!

It's nights like these that remind why we choose to live by a lake. The sun had set, the sky was beautiful, painted as only God can. From the sounds of their honking, Canada geese were on the fly way down the lake. Closer, a pair of mallards did a very fast fly by. The martins were performing their acrobatics, on the hunt for bugs of which there were plenty over the water. The surface of the water steamed as warm met cool. It was quiet but not. Several families of martins had recently re-possessed their homes, a high apartment house beside the shore, and they were celebrating big time. But there was no human nor car traffic, just the wonderful stillness of Nature and Her sounds.

Spencer, unusually, walked beside me. He's not himself, suffering from an internal bug that's had him down the past four days. Usually, he's well ahead, beside or behind me, racing this way and that. To have him walk beside me is most unusual, poor lad. As the road rounds the corner away from the lake, it crosses a drainage ditch open at either end. This is where frogs be found. Could it be too early? Methinks not. "Frogs, Spencer? Frogs?" He's immediately at the search and is rewarded with one the size of my fist who is not afraid. Watching them nose to nose makes me laugh out loud. The frog jumps, Spencer jumps and the chase is on (Spencer being careful not to step on or bite at his little green buddy but on the scent nonetheless)! We find one more sitting kamikaze-like in the middle of the road. Spencere almost lost interest but then the leap-frogging began.

Despite those moments of fun, once the frog found the ditch, Spence was back to his listless self. He even let me win the race from the corner up to the house - which we all know he can win without the least amount of effort. Yes, my little white curly-haired friend is truly ill but he sits most gracefully awaiting his treat. Most days, this little guy has so much energy his coat can barely contain it; it's worrisome to see him so listless. P and R, his people, took him to the vet today for a shot; let's hope he feels better soon.

Back to her old self!

A few days ago, I wrote I thought our dear old Dolly was dying...and she was. A five pound cat can't afford to lose too many pounds! We took her off the antibiotic even though we didn't see the prescription through as prescribed. What good is healing when it kills?

I decided to discontinue her meds and immediately Dolly's appetite woke up. She's eating regularly now, no more blood in her urine and she's filling out nicely. The second bottle of meds sits coldly in the fridge; there, if we need it but I pray we won't.

No longer is she isolating herself on her favourite mat in the bathroom. No longer is she avoiding us (the bearers and imposers of bad medicine!). She's back to her chatty self, caterwauling to wake us up at 5:14 am, sitting in my lap, pushing our buttons to open the door - any door - so long as it leads to the out of doors. Her eyes are shiney as is her coat. Best of all, her appetite has returned. Dolly is back!

Such a good line...

One of my co-workers, KM, has been vacationing back home in Newfoundland. He came back with a saying that's priceless: "You're so smart, you should go away!"

Of course it's layered with meaning. If you're smart you will leave Newfoundland for greener pastures, better jobs, better economy. At the same time, it's insulting: "Get out of here, you smart-ass!" Of course, Newfoundland needs to keep its smart young people - what province can afford to lose them?

I've never met a people (and I'm counting all the Newfoundlanders I've ever met which is quite a few) who are so clever at word play, who have such a charming sense of humour, whose expressions tickle one so. KM says he'll have to re-adjust his accent to Ottawa again having been exposed to Newfoundlandese for several days.

If you like words from different origins, check out the Dictionary of Newfoundland English; there are some wonderfully different words. One can't help but think of other influences. For instance: "alley-coosh" meaning "go to bed". If you know French, it's almost phonetically the same as "allez coucher" which is pronouced: allay coushay...ummm. Not much detective work there. EH, another NFLD friend has told me about brewis: sea-biscuit or 'hard tack' soaked in water and then boiled with salt cod and fat pork. Ya know you're a Newfoundlander if you've tried brewis!

When I visited St. John's, I was advised "Yous got to try cod cheeks or cod tongue!" (Yes, "yous" is another delightful Newfoundlandism.) Well I have to admit cod cheeks are delicious! I wasn't there long enough to found an establishment serving cod tongue tho.

If you haven't been, go visit Newfoundland one day. I promise: it'll be unforgettable!

Don't Phone & Drive!

I guess it wasn't my time - thank God. Driving to the theatre for rehearsal a couple of weeks ago, I sat at a red light awaiting the flashing green. I got my green light but I also almost got hit by a driver, totally oblivious to his red light, blithely talking on a cell, looking for all the world like he was having a very enjoyable conversation and totally, totally unaware he'd run a red.

For God's sake people, no phone call is worth someone's life. Shut down your cell and save a life. It might be your own, your family's or someone else's family. No conversation is worth it.

Sick old girl

Dolly's been listless, not herself. I notice a minute spec of blood on the floor. In her litterbox, more. The vet is kind but says old girls of 20 like our Dolly quite often suffer from renal failure. The tissues gets thin. They're more susceptible to problems. She tells me Dolly's lost 1.5lbs since her last visit. I don't need to be told. You can easily see how thin she is, feel how thin she is. Doc prescribes an antibiotic: "If it gets better, come back for another prescription."

We give it a go. It's Hell. Dolly's feels attacked as we corner her, cries weakly as we gently pry open her mouth and drop in the meds. We notice it reduces her appetite. We notice it illiminates her appetite. We notice it makes her withdraw from us. No petting. No lapsitting. Not even the too early wake-up calls. When I hold her, it's like holding a skeleton wrapped in fur. We watch her fade away in front of our eyes. She is dying.

Soon the bottle is empty. We pick up another prescription but decide to give her a day or two off. Almost immediately, Dolly's appetite is back and with a vengeance. No more blood in her urine. Things are improving. But the new bottle is yet to be administered.

Woe is me

Maybe it's the weather. Maybe it's hormones. Maybe it's my personal electro-magnetism. Maybe it's my brain. I don't know what the Hell it is but I'm have an out and out angry day. I don't have 'em very often - thank Heavens - but today it was full bore. I'm angry that the @#$%&**#!! computer crashes just as I finish a sensitive, well-thought out note. I'm angry that the PC can't keep up with my typing: I look up and I'm two-thirds into a paragraph and the darn things is stalled on my second word! I'm angry that the vacuum cleaner brush attachment won't work all of a sudden just because I'm at the end of the wand. I'm mad as Hell that my MP3 player won't play to alleviate my anger while I vacuum. I'm pissed off that the @#$%&*(!! cell phone is always dead when I pick it up or goes dead while I'm using it [my husband never has this problem]! The only electrical things that appear to work well for me are the TV and the lightswitch! And watches. Let me tell you about watches.

As a kid, I loved Eva's watch. Eva was my mother's best friend and she wore a very elegant black and white watch with an extremely large face. She was always way ahead of her time when it came to fashion. After she died, I inherited the watch. I had it inspected, cleaned and wound (this watch was made before batteries). I wore the watch. It never worked on me. Reluctantly, I gave it to my younger sister. It worked perfectly on her and continues to do so. I continue to covet it as I did all my younger years but know now that watch is just not for me.

While visiting my younger sister, we commented on the watch story and she offered me Mom's watch. Mom had passed on several years ago. My sister likely thought this would make a nice replacement to the watch I had given her. Well, here we go again. The watch won't work on me. Now I haven't completely given up. Maybe the battery is simply dead. I'm going to give that a go then hold my breath.

But I do believe there is something to personal magnetism or some such. I've had a terrible history with computers and it still surprises me that they work for me at all. I've found when I'm under pressure, angry, upset or on fast forward, they do everything they can to stall me...to the point I want to throw them out the nearest window. I'm a super-user yet I can really get a computer to dig in its heels so to speak. I've gotten in the habit of taking my hand off the mouse the second I give it a command - that seems to work even though it sounds really crazy. But, of course, it doesn't work for the keyboard. Guess I'll have to check into one that takes voice commands. For more on personal magnetism, check this article out.

No Dogs, Please!

I loved Florida. I love the warmth of the sun, the water, the beaches, the golf courses...the escape of it all. The people are ok too but it was hard to find an actual Floridian. Actually I don't think I ever did. Most were "come from aways" as Newfoundlanders fondly describe non-Newfies.

But there was one thing that perplexed me while I was there: the no dog signs that people had allowed to proliferate in one particular community. Now, I can understand people don't want dog excrement on their lawns - who does? But why in the world would you put up a painted wooden cut-out sign that in shape, size and demeanor looks exactly like a dog making a sizeable deposit? And why would you put it right on your front lawn where you and everyone else has to look at it? Every. Single. Day. These offensive signs had proliferated like mushrooms in one community we visited. Either it shows appalling bad taste or simply no taste whatsoever. Trouble is, I don't think we can blame the Floridians...this one is sticking like you know what to the "come from aways"!

April Summer Day

As per usual, Canada has gone from winter-almost-spring to full-fledged summer! In the space of one day, people have shed their parkas and jumped into shorts, for cryin' out loud! Everyone has to wear sunglasses just to compensate for the brilliant white skin being exposed everywhere.

People also have this overwhelming urge to rake (ok, let's be honest...scrape) the cruddy carcas of winter off their lawns even while there's still big gobs of snow, for cryin' out loud!

The streets of Ottawa went from deserted (I know cuz I walk the streets every day except on weekends and no, I'm not a "street-walker" of that ilk!)...to over-populated in the space of a few hours, for cryin' out loud. And everybody, I mean everybody who wasn't walkin', bikin' or sitting around on the stairs of L'Esplanade Laurier eating hotdogs and/or fries, were in their cars cruisin'. For cryin' out loud! We are such a winter-overdosed population! We're so pathetic.

I'm tired. Walked old Spencer for an hour today. BTW, he looks like new Spencer. Ron and Pauline finally got him groomed. I guess the groomer finally had her baby and is back in business. In the meantime, he looks like a new dog, almost puppy-like. I hardly recognized him. He must have lost 10 lbs of fur! But he remembered me alright. Nothing wrong with that little guy's memory!

Hubby's watched hockey all night punctuated with the odd bit of golf. Geez, I know I'm not truly Canadian because - wait for this blasphemous statement: I can't stand hockey!!!! So I retreat to cyberspace, read emails, research a little of this and that, post this and try to fend Dolly off from eating my Persian Noon bread whilst I chug a Corona! Yes, that crazy cat is trying to eat my bread. I've never seen her do that in her entire 19 years. Must be meno-paws!!!

Good night, all. Gotta try to keep my eyes open whilst I watch Juno. No, not the Canadian Juno Awards, the movie: Juno. Then off to bed with the window OPEN...who can believe it? OPEN, April 19! This craziness must have something to do with the full moon. Aaaarooooooo, werewolves of White Lake!!!!

Never Say Die, Dolly

Ok...this is the real reason why my Mistress has sooo much trouble blogging!

If I really beg, she sometimes stops typing to give me a chin rub...

Yeah, that's it...yeah, right there....lower, over, over....ahhhhhh. Oops, drooling a little, heh, heh...feels so good!

Thanks! I needed that!

Cell: Hell's Bells

I've been living a sheltered existence out here in the country. Birds don't walk around with cell phones; nor do dogs and cats. Retirees are pretty good at avoiding them too. We like to listen to birdsong, creeks gurgling, the wind in the trees, and the water lapping the dock. But now that I'm back downtown on a regular basis, it amazes me how many people walk around with a cell glued to their ear, some even have handy little ear lugs. Not to mention the idiots driving (or attempting to drive) with them.

But I wonder...who are they talking to? Is it business, friendship, shoring up relationships, gossiping, getting instructions to pick up a loaf of bread? How can people be so engaged? Why do they want to be so connected? I followed a woman down the street today as we were headed in the same direction and happened to be walking at the same pace. I couldn't help but overhear the entire one side of the conversation. She kept looking over her shoulder at me as though I were eavesdropping (well, I was but purely involuntarily) or as though I should pass her. She talked and walked for 2 blocks before we parted ways.

I have a cell phone but I don't give out the number. It's intended for emergencies or the odd "Why are you late?" kind of call. I don't want to be called. I don't relate to people who do. Maybe I don't have enough friends or family...now, that's a stretch...I'd hate to start counting! I wonder if it's a sign I am finally getting old-fashioned. Ironically, I was voted Miss Telephone in high school because of the amount of time I spent on the phone but times have changed. Now I relish silence. Now, I relish time to think. Now, I want to control how I spend my time because I value it so. I don't want to be a slave to a machine. Oh, excuse me....gotta go blog now!

Memère

I've been thinking of Memère, my deceased mother-in-law, lately. She had little sayings that seem to have stuck with me. For example, she always said, "Never two but three." Usually in reference to people passing on. Well, it's been exactly like that lately. First we received news a former neighbour had lost his battle with cancer. Then our play's director lost his aged Dad. And like the proverbial 2nd shoe dropping, it wasn't long before we learned of the death of a friend's sister whom we'd known for years. Never two but three. All will be missed.

After Memère's sister, Cora, died, if anyone was sick but, more particularly, cut and bleeding, she told them to think or pray to C'coon - Cora's nick name. Cora, from on high, would staunch the bleeding. Well, sure enough everyone in the family would incite C'Coon's name at anything greater than a pin-prick. I think the family's attitude was "Well...it's worth a try." I hope Pierre who is recovering from heart surgery is giving Cora some thought these days so his sutures heal quickly!

Then she'd say if you cut your hair outdoors, birds would line with nests with your hair which in turn would cause you headaches. Now, not too many of us cut or have our hair cut outdoors so there's little risk...but I found it one of Memère's oddities and often wondered where that one came from. Perhaps the children got the scissors out one day and she was prompted to come up with a good one. Who knows?

Memère was amongt the last of her kind: a staunch Catholic of French Canadian descent. No birth control for her, she birthed fourteen children. It's hard to imagine but it's true: I married her 14th child. Suffering what no mother should, she endured the loss of several children, losing one to a childhood disease, another to a car accident, another to cancer, and the loss of her husband when she still had children to see through to adulthood. She managed by sheer determination, strong faith, an incredible work ethic, and the help of her many children. She could bake bread unlike any other. Everything she cooked was cooked with love and loved for its marvelous flavour. She loved cards and gambling, even travelling once to the gambling mecca of the world - Vegas! She had a ball.

There are now 7 adult children left, only half of her nest. All good people, they've passed Memère's values on to their own children. And her voice echoes still when we hear her favourite sayings oft repeated.

Spring is definitely here!

Spring announces itself in so many ways. The birds at the feeders are usually chickadees, bluejays and the ubiquitous woodpecker swaying on the suet feeder. Suddenly, hordes of grackles appear. Robins flit about as do some other as yet unidentifiables. Crows are seen flying overhead, even seagulls. Then we see the Canada geese on the fly yet again even though the fields are full of snow and the ice is still on the water, be it river or lake.

Dolly-cat, as I've said, is struggling mightily with her "spring fever" - sudden spurts of energy drive her pounding, bounding down our long hallway (she sounds like a mini-pony race); she swerves and verves along the edge of the patio door, the verticals flying out of her way! Incredible action and speed for a geriatric cat! It's really a miracle. If you could see her getting off her chair every day in slow motion, you'd think she was half-way dead. But no, there's lots of spice in the old girl yet!

I leave the patio door open for her; it's so sunny and warm. Where can she go? And as we all know: rules are rules and no one is supposed to leave their cat on the loose! Heaven forbid!

The stone deck is still surrounded by snow as is the hot tub. But she finds a way, making herself thin and crying a little in complaint as she brushes in between the squeeze-space twixt snow bank and hot tub. Where in the world is she going? I drop down to see...the snow has melted a foot of yellowed grass along the south side of the house and she's headed for her favourite spot: the cat nip plant.

She pauses along the way, to look or maybe sniff at the purple crocuses which are already in bloom. But alas, the cat nip is barely breaking through the ground. She sniffs the budding plant longingly, then returns - reluctantly - at my call. Yes, spring is definitely here.

Sunning deer

To help pass the time during our daily hour-long commute, I look for deer. There's a place just outside the city where the highway threads its way through a limestone rock cut. A railroad cuts under the road and wraps its way around the outer perimeter of the National Equestrian Centre. In the large open fields fringed with sparse woods are snow-covered jumps for the horses who'll be challenged by them once the snow melts.

Often, I'll see deer, one, sometimes two, standing on the railway tracks. Nose to nose, they look like they're conversing. More often, I watch for, in the weak spring sunshine, a deer, her legs folded under her, sitting in utter stillness on a large plate of limestone, watching the traffic go by and enjoying the little warmth the sun is starting to provide. All God's critters, including us, like their creature comforts. She watches us, but I wonder how many people notice her up there.

The other day she was nibbling on some sumacs at the base of her "seat". Again, I almost missed her, she blends in so well. Her coat is the colour of the wet limestone and is very thick. It's amazing that thousands of car are zooming by, oblivious to this little bit of nature 20 feet from the road who has the potential to be a danger to us, and of course, us to her.

Exercise is where you find it!

With the spring thaw, I've resolved to walk every day to compensate for the lack of dog walking to which I've grown accustomed. Today, downtown, was an icy, slush mess. Plus it was raining! Where to go?

Around the corner I find Place Bell, an office tower where lawyer types hang out [the court house is right across the street]. Sure enough as I enter, a lawyer with his funny robes and a coat over his arm is running in right behind me. License plates on nearby streets, start with LLB.

I decide Place Bell is large enough for me to walk around it indoors; I'll do the shopping concourse but keep my eyes straight ahead so as not to ruin the walk with looking at any window candy. I do two tours then realize there's a downstairs. Down the escalator I go only to find in one of the basement hallways, a very lively aerobic exercise class going on. I wonder if it's restricted to building workers. On my way back upstairs, I realize I can get a really good workout (à la Biggest Loser) by walking up the down escalator! I check for cameras, then hop to it. Yes, my dears: it is an aerobic workout. I step off periodically as ladies are coming down the escalator with yoga mats under their arms. I chat up one who tells me Marj welcomes anyone in the vicinity to her exercise classes around the corner and down the hall.

I go see Marj. True enough: $30 buys you a month of daily exercise or 3 months for $75 - what a deal! There are washrooms around the corner to change in and showers down the hall! Whooo! I take Marj's handout thinking I really should indulge - after all exercise deals like this one don't come by very often!

But on the walk back to the office, I rationalize. It's almost April. May is even better weather-wise and June even better. Why exercise in a basement hallway when the outdoors is calling your name? I decide to decline but if I'm working in this area come late fall or winter: Marj, I'll be there for you!

In your heart, time stands still

Officially, our wedding anniversary is tomorrow Mar. 31. That's how close we came to being April Fools 38 years ago! We celebrated with friends and a nice dinner tonight because of other commitments tomorrow.

It's almost unreal that we've been married for so long. I still feel 18, let alone feel married for 38 years! Umm, a 20 year time warp. But it's true. My man and I are still joined at the hip, still enjoying each other's company. He still spooks me when he articulates the thought I'm about to utter. He tells my own stories better than I do. He makes me laugh. He still makes my heart beat faster with a look from those dark eyes, and I love how he looks in jeans!

So, do I have a secret for a long, strong marriage? Maybe. Keep kissing, hello, goodbye, goodnight and for any old reason or none at all. Keep talking and listening. It doesn't matter if it's important or mundane - just keep at it. Share your thoughts, worries, yourself. Keep touching, keep spooning. Don't forget to...caress his bald spot, hold his hand, fondle his earlobe, stroke a cheek, embrace him with all your might. When you think you know his body as well as your own, think again. There's always more to learn. Respect and honour him - he's your life mate, your children's father. Keep your loud voice to a minimum; it helps with the respect. Don't laugh in the wrong places. Live together as fully as you can. Always be honest.

We celebrate differently and it amuses us. I say, "I have no card but I have this for you," and hand him a T-shirt that reads: "Gimmie my Timmies and no one gets hurt!" It's a joke between us how much he loves his Tim Horton coffee which I myself can't stand. He says, "I have no gift but I have this card for you," as he hands me this, his choice, from Carlton Cards:

For my wife:

Many anniversaries from now when we have been together for a very long time,

I wonder what it will be like...

Will we share extra blankets to keep warm?

Count the stars from our front porch rockers?

Dream older, wiser dreams, or be contented with the memories we've made?

Of course, I can't predict the future, but I'll tell you what I do know --

I'll still need to hold you close.

If we sit in our rockers, mine will be right next to yours.

And no matter how old or wise we become, I'll still want the feel of your gentle hand in mine...

I guess what I'm trying to say is,

I look forward to whatever the future may hold --

as long as my future holds you.

Wuss of a puss

Spring did arrive on time, March 21. How do I know for sure? Easy: Dolly, our cat, started that very day, caterwauling to be let out. Somehow, exactly on cue, Dolly intuited or her wild cat instincts kicked in: she knew it was Spring, and she knew she’s gotta get out!!! If she were wild, she’d be gonzo!

But she’s not wild; she’s domesticated, poor little girl. And even when we open the door, she sniffs disdainfully as if to say “I only wanted to check the weather, silly. It’s still far too cold!” and turns her back on the sunshine. She knows she can soak up all the rays she needs in a sunbeamed hot spot in the bedroom without the frigid air. Her actual exit will have to await a far warmer day. Yes, she’s a wuss of a puss!

The Littlest Bed-maker

Dolly, the cat, used to be wonderful bed maker. Ok, not exactly a bed maker but a bed-maker’s helper. As soon as the sheets were being pulled, it was part of her routine to jump right in there, try to stay on the bed despite the sheets disappearing and to supervise the arrangement of the incoming sheets. This meant occupying the very centre of the bed in a proud lionesque pose as if to say “This is my turf – I ain’t moving!”

Of course, we would put on the sheets, corners and all and a very visible bump in the middle would start to cry pitifully. “Let me out; I can’t get out!” We’d pull the sheet up high enough for the “bump” to escape. And it would start again. She’d stake out the centre of the bed, while the top sheet was shaken out and allowed to fall around her like a collapsing parachute. We’d tuck it in, only to have the pitiful occupant sealed underneath plead again for help to escape. If you tried to push her off the bed prior to being sealed in, it was just no go. She was the mid-bed owner and that was that!

On it would go, with the layering of the duvet and coverlet. We couldn’t help but laugh at her and ourselves for indulging her. This was the routine for years. But over time, like any of us who gradually lose interest in a past-time that used to spellbind us, Dolly lost interest in helping to make the bed. We miss her “help”.

Lollygagging

Now that I’m working again, I don’t have time to walk Spencer daily but trust his master, Ron, will get him walking out to the mailbox and back. When my hubby and I pick him up tonight, the sun is settling in the West and Spencer is dragging along behind us. Definitely not in walk mode – most unusual! Normally, he almost pulls me along because he’s use to the faster pace of my being on skis. But today, you can almost see his spirit is down. He’s lollygagging along, not skipping along the tops of the snow banks as is his habit lately.

I run a bit and try to entice him with his favourite treats. Finally, as I release him to run in the summer park, he perks up a bit. But he’s still lollygagging. Then! He remembers a favourite scent spot along a line of cedars, and the energy level is right back up there! He levitates to the top of the snowbank and flies! He sniffs, rolls and cavorts with everything he has. Spencer is back!

We cut into a trail of footprints left in the crusty snow by someone daring enough to come check on the state of their summer trailer. Spencer skims over the snow; he’s light enough not to break the crust. We’re not as lucky. But Lady Luck does show herself when we find a crusty snowshoe trail to follow which leads us back to the main road without our sinking up to our knees.

Back home, we find out the problem: thirst. I guess the poor little guy hadn’t had his fill before we left and he was plain and simply thirsty! Lesson learned!

FREE Weight Loss Program!

1. Just say "no" to: ...well, you know exactly what you should "no" to... it's all those things you usually say "yes" to...chips, pie, cookies, big ole hamburgers, fried anything, pop...the list goes on and on and you know it by heart. SAY "NO THANK YOU" TO WHAT YOU KNOW CONTRIBUTES TO YOUR LOVE HANDLES! In my case, it's sweet things.


2. Just say "yes" to all those things you usually say "no" to...vegetables, salad, fruit, fish, chicken, anything on the lower GI list. Shop the outer perimeter of the grocery store. EAT FRESH, NOT PROCESSED!


3. Exercise! Walk the dog, walk yourself, take the stairs, bike, sign up for any kind of class or sport that gets you moving! GET MOVING! You'll enjoy it, and your body will love you for it.


4. Forget the pound or kilogram! If you must measure, then check progress by your waist measurement. Ladies: get your waist under 35 inches! Men, under 40 inches! USE THE TAPE MEASURE, NOT THE SCALE!


5. Remember the rule of opposites: if you say you're on a diet, you and people around you tend to try to feed you more! So don't say you're on a diet, just LIVE AND EAT AS THOUGH YOUR THINNER, HEALTHIER SELF DEPENDS ON IT...because it does!


6. Serve or order smaller portions. Look at your usual plate and half it! At a restaurant, take half home in a doggy bag. At home, use a smaller plate with no refills. It's that easy and is a way to say yes to your progress! EAT SMALL - BE SMALL!


7. Be aware of your posture. This may seem funny but if you stand or sit "tall", you'll work those stabilizing muscles. Hold in that tummy (it's exercise!). Improved posture = improved "look". STAND TALL!


8. While it's laudable to have a goal, what typically happens after reaching a goal is a celebration. Celebrations lead to falling off the wagon. This may go against everything you've been taught but why set a specific goal? Or else, let your goal be simply a new attitude. Now, celebrate your NEW ATTITUDE with something non-food related when and as you need it! A new piece of smaller-sized clothing, a piece of jewellry or art, a contribution to a wonderful charity, a call to a friend. LET YOUR MIRROR BE YOUR REWARD (not your punishment)!


9. Work on your self-esteem, not your weight. Treat yourself: a new hair cut, a new colour (for hair or wardrobe), a mani-pedicure, a new friend, a new spiritual experience, a new world. Focus on something beyond yourself. Throw out your cigarettes. CHANGE YOUR OBSESSION! and learn to accept compliments and attention because they're coming your way.


10. STAY ON THE 1-9 PATH. Never stop, never give up. This is your mantra: This is how I live now...not just for today or this week or this month or this year. This is my life, my journey, and I only pass this way but once. This is the rest of my long and beautiful life! I want to be the best I can be!

You'll be amazed at your own results, the change in you and your life, and the people around you. I know you can do it. Start now!

More Signs of Spring

As I sit in my sunny nook, Spring announces itself in the window…lady bugs – about 10 of them! – are ambulating hither and yon on the interior glass of my window. They’ve awaken from Heaven knows what little hidey-hole, and in the heat of the wonderful spring-warm sun, are cavorting on my window looking to escape. Some unfold their wings and fly-hop here and there, practicing for release.
It’s very Zen-like watching them walk about with no discernible path or destination. They don’t hurry, they amble and never in a straight line. They don’t collide.

Of course, here comes my moral dilemma: release, leave alone or…kill? If I kill them, I’ll feel bad and they’ll be dead. If I release them outdoors, they’ll die in the snow and cold, for despite the sun, it still is pretty much winter here. If I keep them, will I be inundated with a plague of lady-bugs?

Plus, I don’t know if they bite. When I was growing up, ladybugs were lady-like and did not bite. But since then, good old Canada has been inundated with a type of very UN-lady-like bugs who definitely bite!

Remember your childhood chant?

Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home.
Your house is on fire and
Your children are alone!

What about mine?
Ladybug, ladybug, from where did you come?
My house ain’t your house so
Go back where you’re from!

Any solutions gratefully received!

Photo thanks to Jordan McClements, Portaferry County Down, Northern Ireland!

Happy Easter 08!

I am sorely falling behind in my commitment to blog daily. A couple of barriers: I've take a job so time is of the essence, and my service provider's service has been "tetchy" to say the least.

The job: am now working for the Canadian Association for Independent Living, a non-profit organization which seeks to provide the ways and means for disabled people to fully participate in life. They're a national organization serving as the hub for a series of 28 independent living resource centres across Canada. Be sure to visit their CAILC site and learn more!

We were happily surprised yesterday when Jan and the twins dropped in on their way to visit Jan's sister in Ottawa! The boys are taller than ever with feet the size of snowshoes! Unfortunately, Jesse had to work so he wasn't with them. We had a lovely visit and learned that Jan will be taking the boys to Cuba next year!

We dined with Lyn and Paul then while the guys reclined, Lyn and I got her laptop connected to her service provider so she could retrieve her email. We ended up consulting some teckies in Delhi who are wonderfully helpful once you get past their accented English and the phone line cutting in and out. E-mail will likely become Paul's job and I can envisage him sitting at the kitchen table, emailing the world and laughing maniacally at the all the jokes his extended family (most notably Jack and Sybil) will be sending. Welcome to the e-world, Lyn and Paul!

Hi Ho Hi Ho

It's off to work I go. Yes, am biting the bullet and returning to ye olde worke force tomorrow morning. No telling how this will affect my intent to blog daily. Time (available time, that is) will tell.

Getting up in the dark will be an effort, I admit. But that will be offset by travelling with my dear hubby every day instead of lying in bed worrying about him on his hour-long commute to town.

Starting a new job is like a mystery tour. What will it be like? Will I succeed at my work? Will I get along with my co-workers? Will it be rewarding or fun or just plain hard work? Tomorrow I'll know some of the answers or at least have an inkling. Stay tuned.

Today, the sun gave us a glimpse of spring as snowbanks sagged and icicles dripped. A friend says the sap is already running in the maples. He knows this for sure as his buddy had him out tapping what trees they could in thigh-deep snow. Good old dog, Spencer, noticed too as the roads are slushy interspersed with puddles and gobs of mud. He's so fastidious about where he puts his paws he has trouble deciding where to walk. So, yes, Virginia, Spring is real and is on her way.

Who the heck is Suzi May Blackfly?

I grew up in a very tiny closed Northern Ontario community "Abibiti Canyon" whose people served Johnny Hydro (aka Ontario Hydro). It was a horse-shoe shaped town which, at the time I lived there, comprised approximately 100 families and a few single men housed in the staff house. Thanks to the muddy brown Abitibi River coursing through the dam, our product was electricity. Our role? Feed that electricity to Ontario, and anyone else willing to buy it, e.g., the States.

Before a road was built connecting us to the real world, we were connected by rail -- a spur line at Fraserdale abutting the main line of the Ontario Northland Railway, also known as the (misleading) Polar Bear Express, that connected Cochrane to Moosonee on the shores of James Bay. In other words, we were smack-dab in the middle of northern scrub bush, on top of our portion of the pre-Cambrian Shield. Yup, we're as Canadian as moose.

My dad was an operator at the dam; my mom a stay-at-home, keep-it-all-together-at-any-cost woman supporting her man and her family. My family were 6 other siblings, 3 boys, 3 girls and a numerous assortment of animals, domestic and/or wild depending on my brothers' adventures: dogs, cats, crows, flying squirrels, snakes, crayfish and even, yes, even a baby bear. But that's a story for another time.

I was only 4 or 5 and there was no kindergarten at that time, so I occupied myself then as children do, outside the kitchen door, in a sandbox where mom could keep an eye on me. My biggest problem in life was thinking up a response to Mr. Vern Riddell who sauntered by me daily, swinging his lunchpail, greeting me with a big smile and a "How are ya today, Suzi May Blackfly?" It drove me nuts. First of all, my name is not Suzi May Blackfly, and second, I didn't have the ingenuity or vocabulary to give him the verbal blast I so ardently wished. I was a very frustrated kid. At that age, you're pretty much limited to calling someone a boogey-man or some such inadequate insult that certainly didn't do justice to what Mr. Riddell was calling me!

In hindsight, I view little old Suzi May Blackfly with great affection. She's a little piece of the "Canyon" who still occupies my being. I think of her and I think of the Wade Hemsworth's Black Fly song which Miss Glendinning taught us in public school. I think of the black fly hats mom made me wear which consisted of making two knots in either corner of dad's handkerchief, slipping it on my head and tying the other two ends under my chin. The blackflies made a feast of any exposed skin!

I'm still gullible, easily non-plussed and never have the right vocabulary at hand when I most need it. Hence the change to my blog name...I'm reverting to type. Or maybe it's simply regression.

Daytona, Florida: Pix 2

Some abstract shots...balcony, plant, wall mural at the Peabody (like our NAC).

View from our balcony: the strand and the strip...

Octopussy...and Den doing his Forrest Gump imitation:

The Bubba Gump Shrimp Co Restaurant is a must-go!


T-shirts targetted to bikers...(try not to be shocked).