Week Gone

Ian left to return to Calgary this morning but it was such a nice week. We worked hard but got a lot done. He put in the new floor, which looks wonderful; he took out part of the wall between bedroom and bathroom. This was originally done so Gary could get my new washer and dryer into the bathroom.

The original door was too narrow. But once we got the doorway opened we realized that a 27" door is far more practical than a 19" one. For example, if either of us ever requires a walker or wheelchair again it wouldn't have fit through the old door. Now the bathroom is accessible from the bedroom. We bought a folding door to install there. Not my favorite door, but practical in this application.

It's now two weeks to moving day. I'm hoping to have all the "jobs" done in the next week and be able to start moving our stuff in the last week.

The cherry trees are beginning to have tiny buds on the branches. I looked out this afternoon to see about a dozen quail in the two trees in front of the Tinpalace. I couldn't understand why they were there, as they rarely fly into the trees. But it was soon apparent. They were eating the emerging buds, shades of their eating apricot blossoms last spring.

I took a picture looking up through the branches of the one tree, just to have to remember how beauty can be found even in plain things.

And, as I remarked in an earlier post, I've been feeding the stray cats all winter. There were three to start with, but two have disappeared - we have an active coyote population, and they prey on house cats. We're left with one extremely beautiful long-haired calico girl who has been too terrified to allow anyone to approach her all winter. But finally starvation over fear and I found her trying to dig a few morsels of food from the dish about a week ago.

I came in, got a can of food and filled the bowl. She dove in and wolfed the food down, shaking and trembling all over. I talked to her in a quiet voice and after a couple of days she allowed me to stroke her very gently with one finger. Over the next couple of days she relaxed a bit and allowed me to pick her up and carry her to the food dish, and now I can pick her up and carry her and pet her.

She is absolutely knife-thin and to make it worse she's pregnant. I'd estimate that she weighs three or four pounds. I can't imagine the hunger of that little body, as her kittens pulled the few calories she managed to scare up.

If I can tame her sufficiently in the next two weeks Salvador will have a sister. After her kittens are born we will have her spayed. She will also need to be shaved, for under her floor-length sweep of soft multi-coloured fur she has matts the size of ping-pong balls. I've decided to call her Yoo-gyar'-uhs which means "Smoky Girl" in Skarure. "Yugi" for short.

Sal is very dominant so I hope he will accept her. She's very submissive and extremely gentle, so hopefully he will share us with her without inflicting damage on her to begin with.

So that's been the week, work until we drop into bed at night, then get up early to do it all again.

Wurk wurk wurk....

Ian arrived late Saturday. Yesterday afternoon we tore out the old carpet and underlay (mostly him) and hung more wallpaper (me).

We started the day with breakfast in town. As usual the service was excruciatingly slow but the food - when it finally arrived - was good. While we waited we had a chance to catch up on the last few weeks, which have been very busy for him.

Once we were fed and back home we started in on the trailer. The carpet was dirty, but not as nasty as it could have been, considering that it's been in place for 12 years.

Today we got a late start, but hey, the poor guy is on "holidays" so sleeping in is to be expected. After a good home-made breakfast we went to town for supplies. When we returned he finished up cutting out the bits of carpet along the edges of the walls and I got busy with the staple gun and put the Relectix in place behind the cupboards and closets.

We keep getting visitors, as everyone wants to see the new TP. It's fun to show them through, and wonderful to actually have a place to sit and visit!

Ian did some prep work on the floor in order to get ready to lay the new floor tomorrow. It's super-duper stuff, very realistic wood grain finish. I'd say the molds were cast on hardwood planks, because the grain is textural, not slick like laminate, which is basically a photo of a hardwood floor stuck onto a backing. Can't wait to see the floor down!

The wallpaper looks really good too, despite a couple of cutting errors which I had to patch. You can't really tell unless you look closely. I have some to do still, but hope to get it finished in the next day or two.

What is so nice about working with Ian is that we discuss the larger issues of life as we work. He's practical and insightful, and we have wonderful conversations. I loved it when my boys were small, but I love it now that they are adults too. They are both wonderful men and I am so proud of them.

It's the Silly Season

And I'm not talking politics. This is important stuff! In spring the English sparrow's fancy turns to love! The males are busy gathering nest material. It's pretty funny to see them play tug-of-war with a dry blade of grass, and roll head over heels when it finally breaks loose. One flew into the cedar hedge (sparrow condos) trailing a spray of tumbleweed. The tumbleweed caught on the cedar branches, the sparrow kept on going, or at least his body did. He wouldn't let go of this prize, so his flight came to a rather sudden stop. I hope birds don't get whiplash.

As I may have remarked a dozen times already, sparrows must be the evolutionary remnants of T-rex, or at least some particularly vicious raptor. They are aggressive, violent and downright nasty, especially in the spring.

Scenerio on the lawn this morning. Female sparrow pecking seeds, perfectly happy, sweet little thing. Male sparrow lands next to her, squats slightly, extends his wings out to give him that buff and ever-so-chic Arnold Sparrownator look, and hops around her in a demented sort of dance.

She doesn't even look up, but with persistence he gains her attention. She is NOT IN THE MOOD! and has no reluctance to tell him so. She lights into him, grabbing his wing in her beak and thrashing him about.

His ardor is undimmed. In fact he seems to like her feistiness. Maybes he's into domineering chicks. At any rate he throws even more energy into the dance, and thus attracts another male sparrow.

The pair becomes a trio, which enrages Ms. Sparrow even more. She goes after each one in turn, pecking, biting, pulling feathers, slamming them with her wings and doing karate kicks with her little feet.

The dancers get even more excited by her rejection. But now the first one decides number two suitor is one competitor too many. One attacks Two and knocks him to the ground. They roll around screaming curses at each other.

The lady sparrow flies away but the fight continues. I go out to break it up but they just fly far enough away for comfort and start hitting, pecking, kicking and screaming again. Oh well, what do you do? I get the feeling that sparrows are not good candidates for Buddhahood.

News Flash

Woman takes advice and avoids a great deal of work.

Yesterday when neighbours Flo and Yvonne toured TP II they had individual and collective fits over my plans to paint all the (many many) cabinets and cupboards in TPII white.

Friends Pat and Claude, who'd seen the trailer shortly after we bought it had said, "Paint it white! Oak cupboards and you are going to paint them white??!!

This morning I went over to continue fitting Refectix into the cupboards, and neighbours Jim and Bill asked for a tour.

"White!," they said incredulously, shaking their heads like two bobble-head dolls on the back shelf of a 4 x 4. "You can't paint those beautiful oak cabinets white! That's a crime! A little polish and those oak cabinets will be show stoppers."

Okay, okay, I get it. Everyone but me thinks I am crazy (which is a subject for another discussion altogether).

After Jim and Bill left I sat in my little rocker, stared at the flames in the red stove, and looked at the approximately 65 running feet of cabinet. One brush stroke and I can't go back. I think about the time I have to finish this job. I think about my energy level and how it cannot be depended on. I decide to leave the oak cabinets oak. I can always paint them - next year - if I find I can't live with the wood.

Suddenly there's a lot less to do and my stress level has dropped by a factor of 10. I still plan to replace the carpet with hard floors and paper the paneled walls in the living room and bedroom. But papering is quick and very easy, compared to removing the cabinet doors and hardware, stripping, sanding, priming and painting, then replacing the hardware and doors. (What was I thinking? I must have been CRAZY!)

Gilding the Lily

Our neighbour Mike moved Tinpalace II from storage into a space almost directly across from us this morning.

First a systems check, and so far everything we've checked looks and functions fine. (Knock on wood) We haven't turned on the water yet, so that is yet to come.

As soon as it was set up I took a screwdriver and removed an oddly placed magazine rack which was preventing me from putting the little electric firplace/stove where I wanted it. I tried to take out the cabinets we are going to remove, but my arms are not long enough to reach the screws.

I was itching to do something, so Tony suggested that I could begin cutting and fitting in the Reflectix insulation. Oh happy day! A project!

We are insulating inside every cupboard, as we did in TPI. So I went to work and within a couple of hours I had the insulation cut for the living room cupboards, the upper kitchen cupboards and part of the lower cupboards.

My neighbours Flo and Yvonne had a tour and both said they'd leave the kitchen cupboards in the original wood, but I want them white, and white they shall be. I am not fond of dark wood cabinetry.

So that was my day, the start of gilding the lily. Hopefully I won't be too sore to continue with the reflectix tomorrow.

How Zen

The hours are ticking down until we move Tinpalace II from storage to a lot her in the park, and start working on her. I can hardly wait!

I've made several buying trips... eeek... but we have most of the basics in hand now, primer and paint, some wallpaper, new bedding since the bed is a queen-size and we got rid of all our queen-size bedding ages ago.

Today we worked very hard organizing the several boxes of loose hardware we have accumulated. You know, when you have a box of 100 3/4" wood screws, but can't remember where, so you buy another box of 100? Well, I got one of those 60 drawer plastic hardware organizers and we spent several hours separating the various types of hardware, putting them in drawers and labeling them. Now, unless we lose the entire cabinet, we are organized.

I packed about half our books into a couple of boxes and got rid of a stack of old magazines. What possessed me to buy a copy of "Hobby Farmer" do you suppose? I have no idea. I have neither a hobby or a farm.

All around us neighbours are preparing to move. One couple has bought a home in a nearby town. Another lost her husband a month ago, and is doing the clean-out and pitch routine in preparation to move to a condo near her children back east, others are just thinking ahead a few weeks, when they will be pulling out and heading for the "summer" home.

This means a lot of stuff is changing hands. "Could you use this?" is a phrase heard frequently. I am the owner of a brand-new and very expensive French "Plein-Air" easel, as a neighbour had two and prefers the other one. I've drooled over these easels for years but never had the $200-$300 to spend on so frivolous a purchase. But it is a beauty and I will enjoy using it! It may motivate me to take up my pastels again.

The other thing I'm dreaming about is the potential gardening in the new site. It's a tiny site. My space for gardening is probably no more than eight feet wide and 35 feet deep. It's sure to have deep shade much of the day, as we have two large trees in the site and a third right behind us. Not many flowers thrive in such deep shade, but for years I've longed to build a Japanese garden, primarily moss, stone, raked gravel and a few specimen plants. This ought to be just the ticket.

I had to have been a Japanese monk in a former life. There is nothing else that evokes in me the profound sense of recognition I find in old Japanese houses and gardens. I guess Buddhism was an eventuality, although it took me almost 60 years to come to that point, though I began to study it while still in high school about 1000 years ago.

Anyway my garden plans will almost certainly be a challenge. There's nothing any less architecturally "appropriate" to a Zen garden than a travel trailer parked on a tiny lot in an RV park. But I can't wait to get there and sit down to design the whole thing. Oh, this promises to be a fun summer!

A Moving Post

I hate to jinx anything, but I think we may have turned the corner on winter and are heading into spring! Hooray!

It was warm yesterday, not just not so cold if you are bundled up and walking briskly, but warm enough to sit on the bench outside in the sun and enjoy it. Along the wall of the cabin next door the daffodils are poking little green blades up through the ground.

A week from today we move the new trailer over from storage and begin working on it. We will paint, paper, install new flooring, put in shelving and have a washer and dryer installed. We have three weeks to complete the redo, then we start moving our stuff from here to there. Once it is empty we will touch up and clean Tinpalace I and get it ready for its new owner. March will be a very busy month!


I feel like Sal's expression in this photo of him. While the idea of being in the new trailer is enticing, the idea of moving is less so. I have to admit it. We're losers. We put things away and lose them, sometimes for years at a time, especially when we move. Our favorite trick is to so efficiently put something away that we have to buy a replacement for it. This is usually a sure-fire way of finding a lost item.

So this time we did something we've often threatened to do, but have never had time for. We bought a photo album with plastic sleeves, the kind you slide the photos into. We assigned each drawer, cabinet, cupboard, closet and cubby in Tinpalace II with a number, and made up an index card for each one.

The theory is that we will make a note of what is stored in each spot, and mark it on the corresponding card, so that instead of unloading every closet and cupboard every time we misplace something, all we will need do is look at the index cards. I hope this works.

I'm not sure what to do at this point. Thinking about it gives me a headache. I know there are things that need to be done, but doing them is a bit of a challenge. I'm thinking boxes - pack things we don't need right now (like extra towels, linens, books, etc.) into boxes, in categories, noting where each item should go into in the new trailer. Where to start? (You would ask!) I don't know. Maybe I'll go into retreat until this is all over, but if I did that it would never be over.

I bought a very brightly coloured photo album, so I'm less likely to lose it. (Or so the theory goes.) Check back in six months to see if the system works.

Eagle Eyes

The last few days have been good ones for birding. Even though it's still way too early for nesting the snarky little purple finches have begun to scrap over girlfriends. We were treated a spectacular aerial dogfight yesterday morning as three bright red male finches vied for the attention of a lone female.

Right now there's a male English sparrow doing his darndest to have a dust bath in the frozen ground. For a few hours, as the snow melted, there was a small puddle in the garden. The water must have been a near-freezing, but you'd have thought it was a world-class spa. There was pushing and shoving as sparrows and finches fought for splashing space.

We have an orange house finch. He is a beautiful clear orange, almost orange sherbert colour. House finches are usually red and look much like the purple finch. The orange colour is a variant, apparently rare, caused by a lack of carotenoids in the diet. Researchers studying House Finches in captivity found the red feathers were replaced by yellow ones unless a carotenoid pigment was mixed in with their food during molt. The pigment was mixed in to determine the cause of the color variation. House finch females are supposed to prefer red males over orange ones, but I can't see why. This guy is a stunner!

The day begins with the dark-eyed Oregon juncos showing up as the sky lightens. They are early risers and begin feeding as soon as you can see. Flickers are back and forth daily. We see their vibrant golden-red wings as they fly over. Chickadees come and go as well. They dart in, grab a sunflower seed from the feeder and dart away.

The Canada geese have been doing fly-overs several times a day, in groups of three or four to 50 or more. Wednesday I watched two trumpeter swans sail past side-by-side, huge white wings doing a slow downbeat. They winter on nearby Vaseaux Lake.

Newcomers to the garden this week have been a red-winged blackbird and two Townsend's solitaires birds I'd never seen before. They sat for a very long time on the brush pile, giving me plenty of time to get the bird glass and take a very close look.

On our way to Penticton on Tuesday we saw a bald eagle flying low over the lake, probably doing a spot of fishing. And just as you enter Penticton, on the beach, sat either an immature bald eagle or golden eagle. Huge, but brown-headed. It was sitting on a thin ice-sheet just beyond the water's edge, with a few gulls. No doubt all looking for a fish dinner.

I am already thinking about what I can do to make my new garden in Summerland attractive to birds. Water - maybe a small birdbath with a circulating fountain, cover - I think a lattice shelter, sort of a cube set on the ground beneath the feeder, would serve both as a landing spot and refuge from predators. Flowers and grasses which hang onto their seed for winter. Something fragrant for hummers and butterflies... I'm having fun in my mind. Lots easier than the hard work of actually building a new garden.

Speaking of work...

Susan and Things That Go Bump in the Night

My friend Susan at A Thousand Wordsworth mused in her latest post about the friendly spirit that seemed to live in their previous home, and her encounter with him.

It's a nice story, and brought to mind my own propensity for seeing things which aren't (technically speaking) actually there.

This little quirk of mine began in childhood, and it's happened quite a few times, but this story happened one bitterly cold February night in Calgary. I was sitting in the living room in my rocker, reading. The living room and dining room were one long space, there was an arched doorway about midway down the wall leading to a short passageway, with stairs going up to the left to the upstairs bedrooms. The other side of the passageway opened into the kitchen, where Tony and the boys were at the table working on some kind of project. The kitchen door opened onto a set of stairs which went down to the garage level, where the outside door was.

I looked up from my book to see a boy of six or seven standing in the archway, one hand on the door frame. He was dressed in woolen pants which buckled just below the knee, dark socks and high-topped brown shoes, a short woolen suit jacket, a white shirt and a sort of "pork-pie" billed hat.

He was not dressed for the -30 temperatures outside and my first thought was he was a neighborhood child who'd found himself locked out and had come to our house for shelter. But he was dressed so strangely. And he hadn't come through the front door to my left, so he must have come through the kitchen, yet Tony and the boys hadn't said anything.

He just stood there looking back at me with steady dark eyes. I laid my book down and stood up, I don't remember exactly what I said to him, something like, "Are you okay?" or "Are you cold?" because I thought he must have come in from outside.

I began to walk toward him, a distance of some 10 feet. But with each step he seemed to grow more transparent until by the time I reached the spot where he'd been standing he was entirely gone! I flipped on the light to the stairs and went up to the bedrooms, but he wasn't there. I went into the kitchen, where Tony and the boys said they hadn't seen him, and he certainly hadn't come through the kitchen door.

It was years later when a cousin dropped off an old suitcase she'd found in her mother's attic. In it were photos from the 1860s onward. In one, taken about 1912 my father and his brothers were dressed exactly as that little boy had been. I can't say that the child in the doorway was my father, who had passed away the previous November, but it certainly looked like him.

That house was a duplex. We were in one side and Tony's mother was in the other. It certainly had its share of spooks. One morning my mother-in-law got up and reported that Tony's father, dead 20 years, had come into her room in the night, sat on the bed and talked to her, telling her they'd be together again soon.

And another winter evening I was in my rocker, this time working on a quilt, when I saw Tony's mother's cat Hobo run the length of the dining room, run past me in the living room, jump onto the fireplace mantle and disappear through the wall. I looked up at the clock and it was 7:30.

The only thing that made this remarkable, aside from the fact that Hobo jumped into the wall and went right through, was the fact that he'd died the previous summer. He was a sweet little guy, a blue-eyed white cat and deaf as a post. Tony's mom felt so badly about his death. He caught his collar on the top of the fence and hung himself.

The morning after I saw Hobo's ghost, with his little blue collar, I went over to see Tony's mom, as I often did. We had a cup of tea and chatted, then she said, "You won't believe me, but I was lying here on the sofa last night with a book, and suddenly Hobo jumped right out of the wall over the mantelpiece, jumped down, ran across the room, jumped onto the dining room table, to the buffet and right out through the wall!"

I asked her what time, and she said, "7:30." I told I had no trouble believing her, because he'd run through our place first.
---

Years later we lived in an apartment in a high-rise. We had two cats, the smaller Freddy and larger (dominant) Patches. Tony was going through a difficult time and tended to have violent seizure-like attacks during sleep. So we slept in separate beds. Freddy liked to sleep with Tony but Patches took exception to that, and would chase Freddy out of the bedroom.

But in the night I'd often feel a soft little bounce as Freddy jumped on my bed and nestled in the crook of my knees, purring and kneading the covers. I thought nothing of this until one early morning when I awoke to find Patches curled up at my side, and saw Freddy nestled next to Tony in his bed.

With a bit of a start I realized that "Freddy", or a cat I'd taken to be Freddy, was stilled curled into the crook of my knees. I reached down and though I could feel the weight against the covers, and the purring, there was no cat there.

This happened so regularly I lost count. The little invisible cat would come to sleep in the curl of my knees several nights a week, and we soon called it "spirit cat". I felt kind of bad when we moved, and hoped the next tenants wouldn't mind being snuggled by a spirit.

----

When Freddy was a kitten and young cat he loved anything red. Red flowers were his favorite thing. He would pull a flower from a bouquet and carry it around for hours, crooning to it, licking it, batting it back and forth. To save my flower arrangements I finally bought a spray of red silk rosebuds. I plucked them off the stem and when he'd love one to pieces I'd give him a new one. He never seemed to tire of red flowers.

But time passed and he grew older and a great deal more serious. His red flower days were left behind. When he was 14 he got lymphoma and with great sadness we had to say goodbye to this sweet boy. I was devastated by his loss. I get really very attached to my animal companions and losing them is very hard.

The morning after his death I came out of the bathroom and there sat Freddy in the doorway to our bedroom, sleek and healthy, young and beautiful as he'd ever been. He was there for only a second, then he vanished.

But in the spot where he'd been sitting was a single red silk rosebud.

------

Courage in the Face of Teeth

Yesterday was sunny, warm and quite lovely. Predictably the marmalade-colored cat asked to go for a walk, so I put his harness and leash on and out we went. He was interested primarily in his own space, so he went from place to place in the front garden - sniff sniff sniff.

Then my neighbour Florence came along, walking another neighbour's very large mutt, a dubious combo of German Shepard and visitor-in-the-night named "Tex". This is a huge, young and very hard-to-control animal, and the neighbour is 74 and small.

Salvadore had been investigating a tree, in front of our truck, at the front end of the trailer, and was out of sight of the dog and Florence. So Flo came over for a chat.

"I've got the cat here," I said to her several times. "Don't bring the dog over! Don't let the dog get closer, don't bring the dog....."

At this point Tex saw Salvador and bolted for him. Now there are some things in this world that are just plain stupid, one of them tiny dog leashes the diameter of a pencil lead. These may be fine for a four-pound poodle, but they are not appropriate restraints for 100 pounds of excited dog.

Flo had these wee leash wrapped around her right hand, and a loop of it caught around the little finger and sliced as effectively as a knife. It wasn't so much a matter of her holding onto him, as not being able to let go.

Tex ran to within a foot of Salvadore, who had inflated like a blowfish and was wild-eyed and growling, fangs showing. Tex bared his teeth but stopped to consider his options. This cat-thing wasn't running, it was standing its ground and threatening him!

In that instant I grabbed the dog's collar, and while I struggled to restrain him Flo untangled herself, holding up a blood-filled palm, dripping. While I held the dog Salvador backed away, still puffed and spiky. When he'd reached the far side of the trailer her turned and ran. A few seconds later he reappeared at the other end of the trailer, obviously trying to make it to the door and safety.

Tony had come out by this time and, at my urging, calmed Sal a bit then picked him up and took him inside. With the cat gone Tex relaxed. Flo ran for a towel and we surveyed the damage. Her pinky finger was open to the glistening white tendons for three-quarters of its circumference. I offered to drive her to the hospital but another neighbour had just come home from town and the car was out and ready.

In the ER she was given a tetanus shot, but the wound wasn't stitched closed. It would have been hard to do, as it was right in the crease of the joint. She has gone back to have the wound checked, to make sure there's no infection. We'll see how it goes. It was pretty sore last night.

Salvadore was visibly upset by this encounter, and required a lot of mama-time afterwards. He didn't ask to go out today. He was content to watch out the window while I filled the bird feeders this morning.

Later in the day Tony and I took the wallpaper books I'd brought home from the decorating center over to Tinpalace II and held each one up to the walls and furniture. We didn't like the one we thought we wanted, a charcoal grey and white stripe, or the two alternatives, a pale beige pattern, or a blue pattern, but chose this one. The background is varying mocha and caramel, the branches sort of a weak coffee colour, the blossoms white with pink-to-cranberry specks in the center and teal leaves. Since the furniture is teal with a pinkish pattern it pulls in those colours well.

We'll put this paper on the bottom of the walls, which are now reddish fake paneling. We'll paint the chair rail (and all the woodwork and cabinetry) white, and replace the nasty teal carpet with dark plank flooring. The oatmeal-coloured linen above the chair rail will stay.

We have a fair amount of work ahead of us, but it will be really nice once it's done. Completely unlike the dark interior the trailer has now.

Mama Said There'd be Days....

Thankfully I don't have this kind of day often or I'd just go out and find a sidewalk to leap from. I feel like I've eaten a peck of cockleburrs.

It's laughable really. We live quite successfully in a very tiny space but some days it seems all we do is knock each other around like a couple of billiard balls. Both of us are slightly weak today, which in practical terms means we tend to lose our balance easily, trip over shadows, fall into anything we look at, and drop anything we pick up.

Usually it's one or the other of us that is like this, which creates a sort of manageable chaos. Today it's both of us, and it's more like a carnival of the addled. My poor husband has been veering from pillar to post all morning, like the proverbial bull in the china shop, and since I have been too we have collided more than once. Things have been spilled, crashes have occurred and there's been some blood shed while wrestling with overzealous packaging.

I went to town first thing this morning. I wanted to take advantage of a very good sale to buy two nightstands for the new trailer. Pretty little things which will fit in the tight spot available on either side of the bed. Each has four square drawers which will be handy for the flotsam and jetsam you can't seem to live without.

Then I went to the grocery store and filled a cart. Although we run out of many things we never seem to run out of appetite! We could do with less of that actually. Time to think about calories and portion control - sigh.

But even with my padding I am still an attractive woman, or so it would seem. As I loaded my groceries the man in the truck adjacent climbed out, came over and struck up a conversation. He was a voluminously bearded Russian and said he really liked my haircut. He wanted to know how old I was, and said I didn't look a day over 50! (That was a letdown I'll tell you. No woman under 95 wants to be told she doesn't look a day over 50!)

Well, turns out the gentleman (a very spry 84) was very much interested in acquiring a girlfriend. (Apparently old ain't dead.) He showed me his all-original though not in mint condition teeth. He assured me he was easy to take care of as he cut his own hair and would eat almost anything. He talked about how nice he was, although it was a little hard to understand him, as I was growing dizzy from the vodka fumes.

I felt like a deer caught in a crossbeam. I told him he looked young for 84, but I was a married lady, and I bolted for my truck. I have never mastered the graceful exit.

When I told this little tale to Tony he reminded me that when I was in my late 30s and spending a lot of time in the library researching a book I was followed around the library by a man day after day. I finally grew anxious about it and asked the librarians to keep an eye on me. He kept ducking behind shelves and peering at me through the stacks. After four or five days of this we eventually met face-to-face in an aisle and I realized he was just a boy, no more than 14 or 15.

He stammered, "Wanna go onna date?"

I was dumbfounded. I blurted out, "I have kids older than you!"

He sort of yelped, "Oh Jezuz, I thought you was 14!" and turned and ran. The poor thing. (But at least he said I didn't look a day over 14 - not 50!) I have a devastating effect on men, and not in the "Hollywood" sense. Loose cannon comes to mind.

Oh well, I think the cockleburrs are subsiding, and if I can get up and get to the sink without knocking Tony down, or being knocked down by him, I'll do the dishes and get on with the day.

Where Are the Heroes?

Do kids today have heroes, besides the transitory (and frequently drug-addled) pop star, movie idol and ball player?

Something happened today that inexplicably reminded me of one of my earliest heroes. Forty-nine years ago I was 13 and in the seventh grade. We had to read a biography for English class. The one I chose was James Monahan's Before I sleep; the last days of Dr. Tom Dooley. In that book I found several profound concepts that have shaped my life.

First, I saw a man of integrity and incredible compassion - Thomas Anthony Dooley III M.D. That a man could be both good and a Catholic was a radical idea to a kid who'd been brought up in a fundamentalist religion which literally views the Catholic religion as a manifestation of the devil himself. Looking deeply at this one man's life made me question the blindly ignorant views I'd been taught. This questioning would eventually ripen into a spiritual quest which has invested my life with meaning.

Tom Dooley said; "Dedicate some of your life to others. Your dedication will not be a sacrifice. It will be an exhilarating experience because it is an intense effort applied toward a meaningful end."

Second, I began a commitment to the elimination of war and the establishment of world peace through justice and decent standards of living for all the people of the world, not just those of us in the rich "west".

Tom Dooley said; "... only your compassion will bring peace about. A sick baby there threatens the health of your baby here. An angry man there threatens your comfort here." (Too bad no one with any political power was listening back in 1960, and still isn't listening today!)

Third, a love for the poetry of Robert Frost, and for the written word itself. Tom Dooley's favorite poem was Frost's
"Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening".

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it's queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there's some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep

In James Monahan's book he used the last verse to illustrate Tom Dooley's devotion to his work with Loatian refugees - As the only physician available to thousands of desperate refugees Dooley had promises to keep, and kept them he did, refusing to leave his work and return to the US for treatment for melanoma. He died at the age of 34 of cancer. He said, "I am not going to quit, I will continue to guide and lead my hospital until my back, my blood and my bones collapse."

Fourth, in Dooley's life I saw exhibited a tolerance for the cultures, customs and religions of others, and a willingness to step outside one's comfort zone to embrace the diversity of humanity. I realized that the racism that had been carefully cultivated in me in the American south was wrong and unjust. Dooley taught me that, "Physically, we're all the same. Once through the external color, the heart, the brain, the blood, the pulse, the reactions, the reflexes are all the same."

Finally, I learned to love the art of medicine itself. If I'd had more physical strength I would have become a physician. Physicians would do well to emulate some of Dooley's compassion.

Why should this come back to me now? Well, I lost my friend Ron today, a neighbour who was nothing at all like Thomas Dooley. I called the ambulance, checked him for life signs, sat with his distraught wife in those first difficult hours.

As I often do in times of stress I came home and picked up my well-worn Frost anthology. I turn to Frost the way some people turn to the Psalms. I'd tucked a piece of paper in as a bookmark. On it were written Ron and his wife Yvonne's birthday (they shared a birthday), their anniversary date, and their e-mail addresses. The page it marked was "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening", which I never read without thinking of Tom Dooley.

I learned a lot from Tom Dooley. He taught me to look at the world with fresh and fearless eyes. I learned a lot from Ron too; that I can enjoy a friendship with someone who doesn't share my views, and I through that friendship realized that my views are not sacrosanct. I have no right to expect others to shed ideas and beliefs they've held for almost all their lives. Ron was a teacher, a good man too, a man who was good in the same (and different) ways as Tom Dooley. Thanks for the lessons Ron, I'm going to miss you.

Brush Pile BC

The weather has been blistering cold this past week - for the Okanagan anyway. The overnight temps have been -15 to -17, and daytime highs in the -5 to -8 range. We are not amused!

It looks as if we have a beaver lodge in our front garden, but it's much more entertaining. James has been trimming the fruit trees despite the bitter weather. Yesterday the cherry trees in our site got their annual trim. He piled the cut branches next to one of the trees, right beneath one of the bird feeders. Yes!

The small birds view a brush pile as prime real estate, the equivalent of a gated community. Hawks are definitely the sparrow's idea of an undesirable neighbour.

We had such a good time watching the birds in the brush pile last year that I was going to ask James to please give us a brush pile again this year.

It's magic. 100 sparrows fly at a three by six pile of branches and vanish inside it. If nothing is making them nervous they perch on the top and outer edges of the pile. Otherwise they dive right in.

The quail are as happy as the small birds for the cover. I took pictures at about 2:00 this afternoon, when only a few quail were in attendance. You can see a couple of quail perched inside the brush pile now, along with a bunch of smaller birds.

Right now it's bird siesta time. The only ones left feeding are three or four natty little juncos. You can see one here on the larger feeder a few minutes ago with a house sparrow and a female red poll.

Not a good day for pictures, as it's overcast and the birds blend right in with the brown grass and shadows from the brush pile.

A quick consult with Birds of North America and I can say that this afternoon we have the following visitors:

House sparrow
Oregon Juncos
Western race fox (sooty) sparrow
Chipping sparrow
Song sparrow
Common redpoll
Gambrel Quail

I'm going through about 50 pounds of birdseed a month right now, and my little friends are definitely going to shopping in the "husky" section this spring when they put on their courtin' outfits.

Life Beneath the Trees

It was -14 last night, and our furnace hasn't worked in days. It's a technicality. We haven't needed it but we paid $600+ for it and it should work, if only for the next owner. We called Gary yesterday but he couldn't get here until this morning. He's such a nice man. We enjoy his visits, as well as his work to keep the Tinpalace in working order.

Gary arrived about 10:00 am and tested the furnace. The problem is that this new furnace runs on DC power (12 volt) and in the last month we've not had enough sun for the solar panel to keep the batteries charged. We bought a charger but apparently it is not up to the task of recharging our deep cycle batteries. It has been gray, gray, gray, ever since Christmas. Just as a relief from the gray, and because I am tired of the cold, I'll stick in this photo of some beach towels which a summer visitor hung on our clothes line.

Gary left and went to the neighbour's. I went out to start the truck to go grocery shopping. Truck said "Ugh" and wouldn't start. Gary came out of the neighbour's and I threw myself on his mercy. Bless him. He got out his jumper cables and jump started our truck.

I let the truck run for a few minutes while I dumped the black tank and fed the birds. I park under a tree where 1000 sparrows convene daily to discuss world politics and the price of copper on the Asian market. You may read this as the hood of our black truck gets completely, totally covered in bird poo every day. Birds come from miles around to crap on our truck hood. Ever so often I go out with a bucket of water and the squeegee, climb up on the bumper, scrape the hood down with the squeegee and rinse off the poo with water.

But on days like today, when it was -10, there was no way I was climbing around on the bumper and messing about with water. I went to town with a ton of poo on the hood. This always elicits ribald comments from the locals, but I just tell anyone who points out that I am driving a shit-mobile that I park in the chicken coop. I suppose I could say I'm going organic and will plant my hood acreage in the spring. It's my Ford chia pet! Throw a little chia seed on it and who knows what might happen?

After spending the hard-won pension funds in the grocery store I stopped at the auto parts store on the way home and bought a new, larger charger so there will be enough juice to run the furnace. Now we have a surplus of chargers, but the first one will plug into the cigarette lighter in the truck and charge its battery without having to pop the humongous hood.

Small women and big trucks are not a good match. I can't even pull the hood release out, let alone open the massive hood. I want a motorized roller skate, one where I can reach everything. Once we are resettled in the new trailer in Summerland we are thinking of trading the truck for a small car.

In the meantime, if you see a wall of bird-poo advancing at 50 kms an hour through town, it's only me!

A Naughty Boy Again!

I was awakened at about 5:30 am this morning by a naughty boy. Long-time readers of this blog will recall my complaints that a certain orange devil in cat-skin often wakes us in the early hours of the morning by dashing up and down the aisle of the trailer, jumping on counters and opening all the cupboard doors. Anyone who knows cats knows that they laugh, and our naughty boy hoots like a chimp as he ricochets from pillar to post.

He hadn't done this in the last couple of months. He'll soon be nine years old and I thought he was just "maturing", but as it turns out he probably just didn't have all that much energy. With his diagnosis of diabetes, a big change in diet and injections of insulin he is a naughty boy once again. (HOORAY!)

He's doing very very well indeed. He has required very little insulin in the last five or six days, only two .25 unit doses when his blood glucose was 6.5 - 6.7. Otherwise his BG has been well within normal range.

He seems to have figured out that the ear pokes and blood testing have something to do with feeling better, so he tolerates it, though does not enjoy it! What he does enjoy is eating four cans a day of low-carb "Fancy Feast" cat food at $1.05 a can! (Yikes!) Yesterday I found it on sale at two cans for $1.13 and I grabbed about 20 cans.

Four cans a day! I guess he doesn't believe weight loss is a necessary part of the program. But it's hard to ignore his pleas when he's hanging onto the fridge door, screaming for food. He pulls all the fridge magnets and notes off onto the floor, grabs the top edge of the fridge door and swings. At least it's exercise! The low-carb food is supposed to lead to weight gain - but he doesn't look any skinnier to me.

Looking outside on a grey chilly day. The yard is full of three or four dozen quail and several dozen sparrows and finches, feeding on the bird seed I provide twice a day. The small birds are bathing in what must be an ice-cold puddle that's melted out of a snowbank. Hardy little souls!

I've had my eye on a little hen quail these past few days. She has managed to break one of her legs. It's sticking out at a 90-degree angle to one side. But she hasn't let it slow her down. She hops to feed, and flies when the other quails run. Gotta admire spirit like that.

There was something else in the yard yesterday morning. I looked out the window to see a coyote standing beside our truck, just a few feet away. She looked a bit like I must look when I lose the car in a mall parking lot, anxious, confused, a bit panicky. I think she got into the fenced park and couldn't figure how to get out. Our neighbour Dave got a couple of pictures of her, one as she stood outside the gate to the dog run, the other as she escaped the dog run and fled into the apple orchard across the street.

We often hear coyotes at night. We've heard them running past the trailer in the dark of the night, close enough to hear the panting between the yip-yip conversation they have going. One left a calling card the first summer we were here. Let's just say I have tasted the coyote and lived to tell about it. There's a thing called "blood brothers", is there such a thing as "bladder brothers"? No, I didn't think so, even when you like animals as much as I do.

Same Song Second Verse

We have been snuffling and coughing ourselves purple since Christmas. It's been a very long time since I had a real proper cold, and I have a renewed appreciation for the misery they can bring. Tony and I have been barking like a trained seal act. No one has yet thrown sushi, maybe there's something we aren't doing right.

In the midst of all this nose-honking, sneezing fits and alternating chills and sweats I'm trying to get Sal's blood glucose levels regulated and it has not been a trip to the magic kingdom.

I poked him five times yesterday evening (to get one drop of blood). Two pokes didn't bleed, the meter ran out on the third poke, and the fourth poke, though quite sufficiently bloody, elicted an error message from the meter. I was very frustrated and Sal was beside himself with being held and poked again and again.

I had two test strips left and no idea where the new vial of strips were and I absolutely was not going to poke him again if the meter was not going to cooperate. So I poked myself and checked my own blood sugar, which was fine. The meter cooperated. I poked poor cat one more time and finally, after five pokes, got a reading.

At least I learned that the lancet poke is hardly noticeable, but maybe it would be more so on an ear. It's certainly not worth the fuss he's been putting up, though I can understand his aggravation at repeated pokes.

He's been doing very well. The last couple of days he's been quite well-regulated, except for one high reading tonight, and that really was my fault. He didn't want to eat his low-carb food, so I gave him a bit of dry, because it's important that a diabetic cat not skip meals. The dry food is very high in carbs, the cat's equivalent of cookies. Blood sugar up.

Today was frustrating. He was tired of the pokies and tested my blood while I tested his, and he is better equipped for the job, enjoying the use of 20 lancets to my one, and that's not counting his "business" teeth, which he clamped on my arm.

He had such low sugar readings this morning that he didn't need insulin, and he didn't need it when I checked three hours later. By 6:00 pm his blood sugar was up, but he was not feeling well for some reason. He was snarky and trembling. These are signs of low blood sugar and even though his was a little high I didn't give him any insulin. I fed him cookies instead. I guess I am a dumb Mama. I should have shot him a small dose of insulin, but the mantra is, "Better too high for a day than too low for a minute."

When I tested him at 11:00 pm his sugar was way too high. He needed insulin but wouldn't eat, and you can't give an unfed cat insulin. He turned his nose up at duck pate, turkey and giblets and chicken dinner, so I opened a can of whitefish and tuna. He ate some of that and I shot him two units of insulin. Now he's running around the place like his tail's on fire, laughing and jumping and carrying on like a six-year-old on a holiday.

I am a wreck, trying to decide when he needs insulin and when he doesn't, and how much he needs when he needs it. Apparently some highly clever people can figure out when the insulin's effect peaks in their cat. I can't see any pattern yet, even with the four and five tests a day I've been doing. Sal is an enigma wrapped in orange floof.

As they would say on I Can Has Cheezburger? My frustration, let me show you it!

A Winter Eden

This seems a day made for introspection, though, for all that, it's a day like any other. The marking of the ending of the old and the beginning of the "new" year is strictly an arbitrary one.

I remember at age five being allowed to stay up until midnight on New Year's Eve. My father carried me outside under a star-shimmered sky and I leaned back in his arms and looked up, waiting for the stars to shower down on us and new ones to blaze into being. Waiting for the NEW to begin. I was greatly disappointed when there was no starfall, no great sheets of light and colour. Like many things in my life "New Year" was nothing like I'd imagined.

Over the years I've learned that imagination often trumps experience, except in love. That has stood the test, better than I could ever have imagined.

The day is drawing to a close, as the sun falls behind the near mountains early shortly after 2:00 pm on these short winter days.

A feather-hammer gives a double knock.
This Eden day is done at two o'clock.
An hour of winter day might seem too short
To make it worth life's while to wake and sport.
A Winter Eden ~ Robert Frost

Like any year, this one has been filled with it's share of anxiety and grief. Two good friends passed away this year. We have struggled at times with pain, weariness and uncertainty, but there was a great deal of joy, laughter and plain contentment as well. Life is a bit like a crazy quilt. The pieces are stitched as they fall, and somehow a cohesive pattern emerges in the end.



We pray for peace in this troubled world, and know our prayers will go unanswered until peace comes to every heart, for peace cannot be accomplished through violence, or achieved until we cherish our fellow man enough to lay down our weapons and speak heart to heart.

For all of you, peace in this coming year, in your deepest heart.

Sugar Cat

I don't think Salvador was as impressed by Christmas as I was. He was diagnosed Monday morning with feline diabetes. He didn't act sick, but in the last three or four days he'd begun to drink a great deal more water than usual, and he was filling the litter box with... well, what cats fill litter boxes with. There were puddles.

Ian helped me take Sal to the vet Monday morning, where a test showed his blood glucose level to be 26.6 m/mol. While his glucose level may have been elevated by the stress of the car ride and the vet's exam, "normal" is 3.5 - 6.5 m/mol. While he was at the vets having more tests Ian and I went to the pharmacy and bought testing supplies, needles and insulin.

For the first three days of treatment we have to monitor his blood glucose levels very carefully. This means a blood test every four hours from morning until bedtime. In a cat the blood is obtained by pricking the outer edge of the ear with a lance. The drop of blood is then drawn up the test strip by capillary action and in a few seconds you have a reading.

His readings were all pretty much the same all day yesterday, 17.00 - 18.00, but down significantly from Monday. This afternoon he had the "best" reading since we started monitoring, 15.3. The insulin we're giving him is a slow-acting form, and I had read that it would take a couple of days before the blood sugar started to drop appreciably. Hopefully it is starting to take effect.

He does not appreciate being poked though and who could blame him? I am so incompetent. I poke him, and it's too shallow, so he doesn't bleed enough to test. I have to poke him again, and again, and again... Or I poke him too hard and blood goes everywhere.

He's fed up with my clumsiness and no wonder, but I am amazed that he's already learned that I am going to poke his ear with a sharp object and then milk it for blood. He gets this resigned face on, like, "My Mama has flipped her lid, but whaddya do? She's still my Mama." He's cuddling me as soon as it's done, so he's learned that while it's unpleasant it's not diabolically painful. He pays no attention to the insulin injections. The needles these days are tiny, not much bigger than a hair. They are coated with silicone to slide in easily, and they are very sharp.

Hopefully I'll get better at it because monitoring is vital to effective management. The cat we had when the boys were small was a huge FAT creature (30 lbs). His name was Buddha John Three Fish. Buddha because he really was a Great Soul. How do you say a cat is "spiritual" without sounding like a freak? But this guy was. But he was also hungry, which is how he got the John Three Fish part of his name. He ate Ian's pet turtle, named John, and the three goldfish we bought and put in a fishbowl on the mantel.

He was a huge cat, but so very patient and gentle. Once he was outside and somehow had an encounter with a cholla cactus. This kind of cactus has barbed spines, the ends of the spines are like fishhooks. He came inside and up to me and said, "Meowff". I reached to pet his head and found him loaded with spines. Some had gone through his tongue and nailed it to the roof of his mouth, some had gone into his nose. Some were around his eyes. Many went through his cheeks. Most animals would have been wild with pain. But here he was, quietly asking for some help.

I got needlenose pliers and a pair of nail scissors. I'd cut the protruding end off of a spine, so it could collapse, and then I'd yank it out. He whimpered, but he never raised a paw to scratch me, never growled, never hissed. I took 112 spines out of him, and afterwards he curled up in my arms and purred. He was a wonderful cat.

He developed diabetes when he was nine. He did well, but it was harder to manage diabetes in those days. There were no blood glucose meters. I relied on dip sticks that you had to poke into the pee stream. (HE thought I had gone a little strange when I started following him to the litter box and poking a strip of paper under his tinkle!) But I rotated injections sites for his insulin, and he kept track of where the next shot should go, and would jump up on the counter and present the appropriate site every morning before breakfast. In those days we gave insulin once a day, now they've learned it's better to give a smaller dose twice a day.

The things we do for our beloved four-leggers.

Maybe he said, "It's a little bit more."

Remember the Grinch who stole all the Christmas trimmings from the Whos down in Whoville? And that Christmas still came for the Who, without trees and thingjanglers, snoosnufflers and bozankers?

Well, for the first time in my entire life, I didn't put up a Christmas tree, didn't string any lights, wrap a single present, though I bought a few small tokens for friends and family. I didn't bake cookies, or lay in five pounds of candy. Look at our house and you'd think if was January 11th or March 4th, neither of which have any significance whatsoever to us.

Our only Christmas activity was the communal dinner in the clubhouse, for which I made gluten-free dressing (to eat with the turkey), candied yams, and corn. You gotta eat, no matter what.

But you know what? It was a lovely Christmas. It really doesn't come from a store. I looked out the window this morning at a brief moment of sunshine shining on the snow-covered mountains, admired the hoar frost which had formed during the night, and was delighted to see a small flock of juncos (aka snowbirds) at the feeder. So far I'd only seen one, and I was beginning to wonder what had happened to the flock that was here last winter.

It was a wonderful Christmas. We are well-fed, warm, dry and love each other's company. What better gift is there?

Tinpalace II

Tinpalace II arrived yesterday morning, and is now residing in the storage lot down the road. If it weren't December we'd happily move into it tomorrow.

Allow me to elaborate! "She" is 32 feet long, and very nice. Very bright inside, much more than I'd expected from the pictures.

The upholstery is teal with a grey pattern. The carpet is teal, the vinyl floor in the kitchen and entry is white.

The kitchen is in front, with a large fridge, an apt-size stove, double sinks and counter room! Whoopee! The cupboards in the kitchen are showing a little wear to the finish, but I intend to paint them anyway. This is really the only place in the trailer which has visible wear.

There's a real sofa, and a very comfy rocking chair. Sal will love it. He loves to be rocked, just like a baby, but we've had no rocking chair.

There's a tub, not quite as large as the tub in a house but big enough for me. There's a built-in shower chair for Tony. There's a very large closet, with drawers underneath. One of the three sections of the closet will accommodate a combo washer/dryer unit. Nice big medicine chest, storage everywhere.

There's some work to be done before we can move into it in the spring. There are minor repairs needed (light covers missing, taps to replace), and we want to buy a new mattress. We were assured that all mechanicals were working, so we will hope they are. Can't really check them out without firing up all the systems and we can't do that until it stops freezing.

All that said, I am just a little pleased. :)