When I Leave This World Behind

I recently bought a CD which included Irving Berlin's 1915 song, When I Leave the World Behind. Because I wanted to share this lovely old song and its sentiment with my faithful readers I looked it up on Youtube and found a version by a men's choral group. Bonus! I love choral music, so it couldn't get much better than that.



1st verse:]
I know a millionaire
Who's burdened down with care
A load is on his mind
He's thinking of the day
When he must pass away
And leave his wealth behind
I haven't any gold
To leave when I grow old
Somehow it passed me by
I'm very poor but still
I'll leave a precious will
When I must say good-bye

[chorus:]
I'll leave the sunshine to the flowers
I'll leave the springtime to the trees

And to the old folks, I'll leave the mem'ries
Of a baby upon their knees

I'll leave the night time to the dreamers
I'll leave the songbirds to the blind

I'll leave the moon above
To those in love
When I leave the world behind

The Long and the Short of a Miracle

I was scheduled for some surgery this afternoon. I wasn't supposed to drive afterwards so a friend took me to the hospital and picked me up. I had to be there at noon, though my turn in the OR wasn't booked until 2:00.

No food after midnight, so I was bit hungry by noon. I checked in and was told to strip and put on a wrap-around gown, a kimono-style robe and some weird paper booties that were twice as long as they needed to be. The gown and robe were ginormous and hung over the tops of my feet. I felt like Dopey in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.

The waiting room was full of people like me, gowned and robed and waiting. Directly across from me sat a man in his 60s. He had NO written in marker on his right knee. His gown barely covered the essentials. It was so short he kept tugging at it while looking furtively around, as if feeling guilty for exposing so much white thigh.

There was a guy with a huge grizzled beard and long hair who was peeping around the corner at me almost every time I looked up from my magazine. I don't know why but I seem to attract the attention of old hippies of the infrequently washed variety. Maybe it's my cat-clipper "do" and comfy shoes. They take one look and think, "Now there's a low-maintainence gal!" (They'd change their minds if they saw how much I eat.)

Anyway, here I am in the Day Surgery Waiting Room, with about 10 other apprehensive souls, shuffling through antique magazines. No one has a watch. Watches are contraband in surgical waiting rooms. What feels like an hour ticks by. One woman is called, and then the nurse calls my name. I start to gather my belongings and she waves me back into the chair.

"There's been an emergency. You've been pushed back to 3:00."

The room visibly exhales. I pick up my magazine and go back to looking at an article which assures me that I can stay young and beautiful well into my 30's. (That train left me at the station about 30 years ago.)

Why are there never any clocks in waiting rooms? Do they think the "waiters" would riot, seeing that time moves only at half-speed? I turn the pages of my magazine half-heartedly, one at a time, examining every page. The models all have long springy hair like burnished polyester rope, unnaturally white smiles, perkier than possible breasts and tight, taut, little bums. Their legs start just beneath the ribcage and go alllll the way to the ground. They are airbrushed and photoshopped, molded like so much hot plastic.

Now here are some really good articles which promise I can lose 10 pounds by the weekend, or look like a supermodel by flattening that tummy. Nothing said about the 50 extra pounds that has crept up on me with the stealth of a hungry cat, or what I should have done when I quit growing a full 14 inches short of "supermodel" height. It's enough to make a short, fat lady wear comfy shoes and cut her hair with the cat's clippers. And not give a flying flip if anyone likes it or not.

Hairy Man peeps around the corner and smiles. I duck my head and find myself reading about the juice of the miraculous purple Brazilian foo-foo ($135.50 for a 30 day supply.) If I had a pencil I could write down the address and order some. Hey! It promises a miracle, okay? If I could grow eight inches it would not only be a miracle but I'd only be 25 pounds overweight!

As I am trying to memorize the address to write for the Miraculous Brazilian Foo-Foo the nurse sticks her head in the door and calls my name again, "You're cancelled," she says. "Someone will call to rebook you."

Everyone looks at me with narrowed eyes. Are they envious, as they sit there waiting the slice of scalpel? I have been reprieved. Temporarily. Modern medicine is wonderful.

I Thought Elvis Loved Me

Our neighbours A & E took off a couple of weeks ago for a trip to Newfoundland. I volunteered to care for their cats and the many flowers in A's garden while they were gone. Elvis is a big, burly guy. Very handsome in his long blackish-grey coat, white ruff and white paws. He and his cattly sister Priscilla are the official park mousers. He's the cat who brought Sal the gift of a dead mouse a few weeks back.

Pris is a one-woman cat. No one but A can touch her. The entire two weeks I barely saw her. As soon as I came up the walk she dove out of sight and no amount of coaxing could entice her out.

On the other hand Elvis flew to me as soon as he heard my feet hit the porch. He wanted his daily dose of belly rubs and after a couple of days he turned into a fuzzy kiss dispenser. He told me in no uncertain terms that he wanted cat food and plenty of it. I gave him a meal of canned food every morning and left enough dry food for the two of them for the day. He said his Mama fed him canned food in the afternoon too, but I knew he was stretching the truth as freely as politicians do when describing tax cuts they've given seniors.

Well, A & E returned home yesterday afternoon. Priscilla was so glad to see her very own Mama that she abandoned her usual aloofness. She hung onto A, cried and snuggled with her for several minutes. Elvis was less enthusiastic and today he apparently decided he was going to move in with us!

He stood outside and yelled. "Can I come in?" till he must have been hoarse. He laid in the garden and talked to Sal. He stood on the step and scratched on the door. He gave me vigorous loving any time I went outside. He was soooo charming. He even tried to get into Sal's enclosure by squeezing between the frame and the wall but both he and Sal are far too fat to compress themselves through a two-inch opening.

At any rate, while Sal and Elvis are friends, territorial sovereignty is always at the forefront of any cat's brain. Sal was not enthusiastic about the prospect of Elvis invading his outdoor room. A bit of name calling and some soft slapping ensued, but they didn't unsheath their claws.

I had taken Elvis home three times before I realized what he wanted. We walked down the street, Elvis leading the way, tail high, and a big bounce in his step. I asked Anita if she'd given him his canned food for the day. She said she'd just gotten home from shopping and hadn't thought of it.

Well! She took out a can of food and a saucer. He danced and waved his front paws while she dished the food out, and he fell to as if he hadn't eaten for a month. There were two full bowls of kibble only steps away but hey...

A and I talked, he ate. Then he wrapped himself around her legs and gave her a nuzzle. He didn't follow me home. Turns out his "admiration" was just a bad case of cupboard love.

Rise and Fall

It is a perfect day, as far as weather is concerned. The sun is shining, it's warm, there's no breeze. I sat outside with my mugga joe this morning while Sal sunned himself. The magnolia warblers and Oregon Juncos are busy in the trees, picking off some of the jillions of ants who crawl up and down the trunk and branches. They occasionally come to birdish fisticuffs, as one bird encroaches on territory another obviously feels possessive of.

The toadlily I bought back in April, the one which froze and died back to the ground, is finally beginning to bloom. It took six weeks to reemerge after it died back, and I didn't think it would survive, but it's reached a respectable 18 inches in height, and has about 20 buds. Only one has opened so far though several others are just about ready.

The dainty little flowers are smaller than a dime, and hard to get a picture of with the combination of my old eyes and my camera's tiny viewing window. I took a half dozen pictures and got one which is almost in focus. The body of the petal is the palest pink, the spots are purple, the stamens, held above the petals, are reddish pinky purpley brown.

Colours seem almost electric at this time of the year. Gone is the soft light of spring and the brilliance of summer. Now the light holds a neon radiance and everything it touches shimmers.

The red mums are also beginning to open. The bushes have hundreds of buds, and by the time they all open there may be more flowers than leaves! Everything else in the garden seems to hold its breath.

It's the kind of day to store away in memory and bring out in January or February.

Nourishment and Food Too!

Yesterday was a good day. Tony was feeling quite well and we were delighted when SMM and Sweetie arrived earlier than expected. We had a great visit, which just served to emphasize how much I miss the company of this very good friend.

SMM and Sweetie are dedicated "Foodies" and treated us to dinner at a fantastic restaurant called The Vanilla Pod.. We enjoyed an amazing meal and excellent conversation. The food came in small courses, one at a time, and we lingered over dinner for over two hours. I have never liked mussels, but the mussels we were served, in a coconut sauce, were scrumptious. My favorite though was the sushi "pizza".

I realized today that though I had charged up the camera and had it at the ready, when they arrived I was so wound up I totally forgot to take any pictures. LOL

There's something nourishing about the company of good friends. Yesterday we had a great meal, in addition to the food we ate.

Only Four More Sleeps!

Until my good friend SMM and her Sweetie arrive for a visit!

Can we say excited boys and girls? We haven't seen SMM and Sweetie since we left Calgary over two years ago. They fled what they now refer to as the OC shortly before we did, leaving a dreadful hole in my social calendar. No more sushi lunches, trips to the Farmer's Market or raids on the Calgary Herald's annual booksale.

On other fronts, I am house and cat sitting for neighbours who are off to Newfoundland for a couple of weeks. Their cats are a large fluffy grey and white boy named Elvis and a sleek black female named Priscilla. They are the official park mousers, and are allowed to roam, while all other pets must be leashed or inside a fence.

Elvis and Sal have become good friends, Sal insists on visiting Elvis a couple of times a day, and Elvis drifts down to visit Sal several times a day. He's the one who recently left Sal a dead mouse as a gift.

Elvis and Pris are as attached to their Mama as Sal is to me, and they are a bit put out that she has gone off and left them. Elvis is so desperate for love he rolled over and presented belly for rubs today, but until last night Pris wouldn't let me anywhere near her. She finally gave p and let me scratch her ears. But she still had a bit of a whine about her mama's absence.

We are covered up in fruit, which is a good spot to be in. I have the dehydrator full of nectarines now, and yesterday I bought a gizmo which peels, cores and slices apples in one operation. I have a big box of apples waiting to be dried, courtesy of our friends Pat and Claude. Tomorrow I will try that new gadget out.

Then we have two kinds of plums, big purple ones and smaller pear-shaped reddish ones which look something like a ripe fig. Both are yummy but - well - you know why old folks drink prune juice. I made the error of eating about a dozen plums a couple of days ago. I no longer need a colonic, thanks.

I'm thinking of making a plum cobbler for the potluck which is coming up tomorrow. No way can we eat all those plums fast enough to keep them from going south. I could dry some, but plum cobbler sounds better. I just have to figure out how to make a pastry dough with no gluten, so Tony can have some too.

Oh, then there is a big box of purple concord grapes, about the only kind of grapes I like. These remind me of the wild grapes we picked when I was a girl, and when our boys were small. They are scrumptious, but another case of too much to eat in a hurry. They are seedless and freeze well, so I will probably pop a bunch into the freezer.

There's a big spaghetti squash, ripe field tomatoes, sugar snap peas, cabbage, summer squash, tiny red potatoes and portabello mushrooms, all waiting to be cooked. No wonder we are a bit on the plump side.

But we better enjoy it while we can. The weather has been wonderful the last couple of weeks, but tomorrow the temperature is forecast to fall like the stock market. Cool days ahead. Apparently summer is not endless.

A Productive Visit

Ian has just spent a week inna Okinoggin, climbing, working long-distance via computer, hanging out with friends and (happy sigh) helping his parents get ready for the winter.

This "getting ready for winter" involved hauling supplies, insulating the water line and digging a trench for it, re-leveling the Beach House (which had decided tilt) and making a good start on putting on the trailer skirting.

Along the way we discovered the biggest orb spider we'd ever seen, whose body was as large as the end of my thumb. Then there was the huge black widow we found in the water connection box. We moved the orb spider to a better location, since she was in the way. The black widow we left to her own devices. She was guarding a brood sack and motherhood is (after all) sacred.

Winterizing will proceed at a slower pace. We have to finish putting on the skirting, we have to insulate the doors - trailer doors are conduits for cold - and we have to put storms on all the windows. Now that will be a job because we have many windows. But little by little it will get done and we should be cozy by freeze-up.

Of course the best part of the visit was just that - visiting. It's so satisfying to see your children grow into well-rounded, highly adept human beings. Our conversations are so comfortable.

Before Ian left this morning I took a picture of my three fellas, Ian, Tony and Salvador. I'll leave you to figure out which is the father, which is the son and which is the Feline Overlord.

Environmental Sustainability

David Suzuki says; "My greatest fear in this election is not that one candidate or one party will win over the other. My nightmare is that the issue of the environment will be ignored in this election and that concerns about our planet will be drowned out by the name-calling and political posturing that have come to mark Canadian campaigns. And if that happens, if we fail to put the focus on the environment, the message to the next government - regardless of which party prevails - will be a mandate for more inaction.

...We have to put all candidates' feet to the fire. We have to show them that we will not accept future inaction. We will demand that they address our environmental concerns - that they represent us."

As we head into elections on both sides of the Canada/US border it is up to citizens to make certain that politicians understand how seriously we take the issue of environmental sustainability. Furthermore it is even more important that we make them understand that this is not just an election issue; it is now a life-and-death issue for species all over the earth.

Summarized by the David Suzuki Foundation here are Five Principles for Environmental Sustainability:

Precaution –Scientific uncertainty cannot be an excuse for inaction where there is a risk of irreversible damage to the environment. This is especially true when alternatives are readily available or solutions, like increasing energy efficiency, can deliver economic benefits as well.

Polluter pays - Those who pollute need to be held responsible for their pollution. No one should be allowed to freely dump greenhouse gases, toxics or other waste products into our environment, leaving our climate, our ecosystems and our communities paying the real costs of these actions.

Leaving the world a better place for our children - Future generations deserve at least the same environmental opportunities as we had. Canadians have accepted this principle for dealing with government debts; now it is time to apply it to our growing environmental deficit by adopting preventative approaches to pollution and putting in place strong protections for irreplaceable ecosystem services.

Make governments accountable for the state of our environment – We must be able to measure progress against national environmental objectives using clear indicators, and we must make such progress reporting routine and ongoing. Access to factory or facility-level and community-based environmental information collected by government must be readily available to all Canadians. Such access could be ensured through the development of a federal Environmental Bill of Rights.

Good global citizenship – The wealth and talent of Canadians (and Americans) mean there are no excuses for our countries not to be world leaders in environmental sustainability. In fact, we should be actively helping developing countries become more environmentally sustainable by demonstrating and sharing best practices. Canada and the US need to be constructive contributors to international environmental protection efforts, not two huge roadblocks to progress.

How do we send those messages?

Canadians can join Vote Environment 2008.

Americans can join We Can Solve It

Original source: http://tomorrowtodaycanada.ca/en_full_principles.php

From the "Tomorrow Today" report. A joint project of Canadian Parks and Wilderness Society, David Suzuki Foundation, Ecojustice, Environmental Defence, Equiterre, Greenpeace Canada, Nature Canada, Pembina Institute, Pollution Probe, Sierra Club Canada and World Wildlife Fund.

Woot Woot!

Elizabeth May will be allowed to participate in the debates after all!

May said she was happy the networks' original decision was reversed.

"The important thing is that we have the opportunity for a full and fair exchange of views," she told CBC News. "I'm so grateful to Canadians for protesting loudly enough that we've seen this change. I'm not the only winner today — everybody wins."

May, in an interview Wednesday, said tens of thousands of Canadians came to her defence, with some staging protests or telephoning the TV networks in charge of the debates. May said the events of the last few days prove that "democracy does not happen behind closed doors."

"When you get engaged, you can change the world, and I intend to do that in the debates," she said.

We now return you to our irregularly scheduled programming.

Banana Republic?

It was announced late yesterday that Green Party Leader Elizabeth May will not be allowed to take part in the National Debates.

Feedback I am reading suggests that this strategy will backfire on the major parties, as Canadians react to their protectionist tactics by voting Green.

I like Elizabeth May. She is not your usual politician. We need more of not your usual politician. Do you know her?

The Shift to Green

Well, it's official - Canadians go to the polls Oct 14th. From now until then we will have to endure the backstabbing and mudslinging that is mistaken/substituted for intelligent discussion of the issues. I have stated my view that the ALL the issues in this election basically track back to the environmental and energy mess we find ourselves in.

So what do the various parties have to say about environment and energy?

The Liberals have proposed a plan called The Green Shift based on plans that are working other places in the world, including (gasp) Sweden! Perhaps Stephan Dion has some Svedish blood! At any rate he needs to offer a more cohesive explanation of exactly what the Liberals plan to do with the money raised via the carbon tax. But it's a start, and to his credit Dion maintains a dignified tone.

I hesitate to link to the Conservative's environmental issues page. They don't simply criticize their opponents, they ridicule them in a nasty personal way. While they crow about the very little they have done, and brag on their extremely modest environmental goals, they spend over half the page mudslinging, and misrepresenting what other parties have done on behalf of the environment. Stephan Harper is going to run a mean-spirited campaign, which speaks volumes about his character and his party.

The New Democratic Party talks about their record on environmental issues but may have forgotten that you are supposed to have an election platform. I can't find a statement on what their policies on pollution and global warming would be should Jack Layton be elected PM. I like Jack Layton. I think there's potential for the NDP to be a leader in a lot of fields Canadians care about. But they can't seem to get organized into a cohesive force.

Then there's the new political kid on the block, the Green Party of Canada. Green Leader Elizabeth May said in a recent speech:

"...we are emerging to a new reality. The Fossil Fuel Era has been our adolescence – years of partying like there was no tomorrow. The party's over. We are ready to make the next leap – as momentous as abolishing slavery or giving women the vote. We are ready to make the fundamental shifts that allow us to live in balance with our life support systems, respecting each other, achieving social and economic justice, peace and democracy."

Now there's a party a Buddhist can get behind! Green Parties around the world share common values as expressed in the Charter of the Global Greens. The policies of the Green Party of Canada are based on six fundamental principles: Ecological Wisdom, Social Justice, Participatory Democracy, Non-Violence, Sustainability and Respect for Diversity.

Of course the Greens have not been allowed to participate in the "democratic" candidate debates, and they have been portrayed as nutters and long-haired hippies by the media. The question might be asked, "What are they afraid of?" With a large percentage of people saying that the environment and energy issues are their most pressing concerns this election, the "old boys" may soon find out they have good reason to fear that new kid on the block.

Canadians, if you'd like to add your name to the petition for the inclusion of the Green Party in the National Candidates Debate click here.

Between Denial and Despair

My Faithful Reader wrote:

"I don't know if you have been watching the political coverage of the conventions...but I was wondering if you might take to your blog and give us your faithful readers your perspective?"

Oh dear oh dear. How can I remain zen-like with such a challenge? (Hint: It ain't gonna happen.) I admit I watched parts of the Democratic Convention, but there's was not enough Gravol in BC to induce me to watch the Republican Convention.

John McCain's selection of Sarah Palin as Vice-Presidential Candidate was so cynical it is absolutely mind-boggling. Gender aside, this is a person with NO national political experience and not a clue about foreign policy. Her only "qualifications" are:

1) She is a adamantly opposed to abortion under any circumstance unless the woman's life is in immediate danger. The 12-year-old rape or incest victim is shi* out of luck.
2) She is a long-time member of the National Rifle Association, who has enormous political power in the US, and
3) She's eager to move drilling rigs into one of the world's most pristine and fragile ecosystems, Alaska's Arctic National Wildlife Refuge.

These three positions attract some powerful political allies. And probably the best part is, that like "W", she would have to rely entirely on "advisors". I see political marionette written in big red letters across this woman's forehead.

With nine percent of Americans currently in the process of losing their homes, jobless rates soaring, young Americans and Canadians dying on Middle Eastern battlefields in appalling numbers, 45% of Americans without health care insurance and energy prices at an all time high it seems to me that it's time for a new direction in Washington. In fact it's time for a new direction in almost every government in the world.

We need to return to local economies for food, building materials, and many kinds of manufactured goods. I see logging trucks go by, one hauls logs north, 30 seconds later one goes by headed south. Both trucks are probably hauling logs to the coast, where they will be shipped to China to be milled and then shipped back to BC at an astronomical cost, both to the consumer and to the environment.

We have the technology to have business meetings and medical conferences without ever leaving our offices, and if nothing else has convinced us to use it, the price of a ticket to Cleveland may.

Barack Obama is moving in the right direction when he says it's time to invest BILLIONS of dollars in renewable, green energy. He proposes to create five million new jobs by investing $150 billion over the next ten years to encourage private efforts to produce clean energy. His goals are commendable but too modest.

And since Stephen Harper is going to dissolve Parliament and call an election here at home within the next day or two, I was looking at the Conservative Party of Canada's "Green Plan" today, the goal of which is to "reduce Canada’s greenhouse gas emissions 20% by 2020 and cut air pollution in half by 2015." You know, with 34 million people in this country it's pathetic that Stephen Harper is the best leader we can come up with. I won't even mention the sad leaders of the other parties, fine people all of them but between them they couldn't get up enough spark to couldn't light dry tinder.

Sweden has only nine million people, but they must be of stellar quality, because they certainly appear to have better leadership than countries many times their size. Their goal is to be powered by 100% pollution and nuclear -free renewable energy by 2020. That's 12 years from now. The Western Harbor Development in the Swedish city of Malmo has already accomplished this goal.

Let's go back a bit. The economy has done a major nose-dive in the past year. If we back track carefully we come to an inescapable conclusion. We have hit the energy wall, and the real costs of our lifestyles are becoming painfully apparent not only in economic but in environmental terms. Meanwhile, we sit, as Al Gore said, "Between denial and despair." How the hell are we going to get out of this mess we've made? It's not going to be by casting a vote for a politician who has the lofty goal of reducing emissions 20% by 2020.

Our buildings gobble energy and produce 50% of carbon emissions. Yet we are still building houses as if we lived in the 19th century. Worse, building codes force us to build homes which waste energy and water and dump our pollutants into our water supplies.

From this day forward EVERY new building built should meet an environmental standard which includes building with locally available materials. Existing homes should be upgraded to a new environmental standard as much as is practical.

Homes should be heavily insulated and oriented to take the best advantage of sunlight. EVERY new building should utilize some form of composting toilet and include a grey-water recycling system. In Sweden it's been illegal to install a water-flush toilet for years. Not only do toilets waste water which has been treated at great expense, they carry chemicals and excreted medications into the eco-system. The fertility rate of young men has dropped by 50% since 1930, and it's believed that one major factor is estrogen and estrogen-like compounds in the water we drink.

EVERY new building should have a combination of solar and wind power to generate its own electricity. New vertical axis wind turbines which begin to produce power at wind speeds of five miles per hour will soon make wind power available to almost any homeowner, and certainly to developers.

EVERY new building should be heated and cooled with a geothermal system. Geothermal systems are the worlds most advanced and most cost-efficient heating, ventilating and air-conditioning systems.

This applies to plants and factories as well. Clean up your industry or fire the CEO who can't make it happen and find someone who can.

Environmental stewardship extends into almost every decision we make, in every dollar we spend, in every bag of garbage we produce, and even at the ballot box. Politicians need to be told, repeatedly, that we expect real leadership of them, and if they are not prepared to offer it, we may advertise in a Stockholm newspaper for leaders who will.

It's a Green Party!

Because inquiring minds have asked for it, here is a photo of my incredibly simple laundry-basket composter. You will recall that this plastic ready-for-the-dumpster basket has greedily consumed all our kitchen and garden scraps and trimmings all summer.

I'd tried composting before, with a commercial composting bin, but it was too large for me to handle, and it didn't work well. This system is just the right size for a two-person family. The basket already had holes in the bottom, and of course had a mesh pattern on the sides, so air access was good and any excess moisture could drain out the bottom.

I started with a layer of sticks in the bottom, added some composted manure/soil mix from a bag, spread my kitchen scraps on top and covered them with a layer of the bagged soil. After the layers built up a bit I would just pull the top layer of soil back, dump in the scraps, and scratch the soil back over them. Other than that I have watered it occasionally and put my grass clippings and garden bits on top to dehydrate a bit before covering them up. There's never been any odor. The basket sits right under my bedroom window so if it smelled I'd be the first to know about it.

The compost is now so bio-active it practically reaches up and grabs any offerings I bring. In three or four days most kitchen scraps completely disappear. It even eats corn cobs! It is black and crumbly and will be a fantastic addition to the garden next spring. Best of all it's kept all those scraps out of the garbage!

The Question That He Frames

In all but words,

Is what to make of a diminished thing.

The Oven Bird ~ Robert Frost

---------

The campground is empty. Two weeks ago the park was bursting with people, alive with children's shouts, the whir and buzz of bike tires and skateboard wheels. You had to thread your way carefully through the maze of cars, boats and trailers. Today it's quiet enough to park your car in the middle of the street, get out and go visit with your neighbour.

Mornings are cool enough to make the warmth from the fireplace not only pleasant but necessary. In the garden there are still lots of blossoms but almost everything is going to seed, shrinking back, drawing in. Leaves look ragged and bleached out, like old clothes hung in the sun too long.

I tour the garden in the chill morning sun, taking just a few more pictures. The change is probably not even perceptible to someone who doesn't know every plant as well as a life-long friend.

What do we make of a diminished thing? Quietly but steadily, family members who were the nucleus of my world when I was a child have disappeared. I have a brother left. His heart is failing. He is tethered to an oxygen line and is house bound. He is caregiver for his wife who is trapped in the living death that is advanced Alzheimer's. She is a fragile shell which requires the same level of care as a newborn. He feeds and changes her, bathes her, combs her hair and sings to her with exquisite tenderness. They have been married 54 years. He refuses to put her in a nursing home. "My bride," he says, "My bride doesn't want to go to that place."

He is not up to the task of caring for her, even with help. His doctors and his children want both of them to go to the nursing home, but he refuses, partly because they would be placed in separate wings of the building. He clings to the home they built together, putting up with incredible inconvenience and discomfort, while their daughter tries to care for the two of them, care for her own family, and hold down a job.

What do we make of life when our options are diminished? There are no easy answers. We live day-by-day, making of the time what we can. Moment by moment life unfolds. While many fade as flowers in autumn, some have learned along the way to embellish with joy the diminished thing. Joy is a lesson that must be learned before the challenges of autumn and winter begin.

Cycles and Cycles

There have been so few bees this year I've had to pollinate the squash blossoms myself. Until last week I'd seen one bee, and that one was skinny and miserable-looking. Only in the last week have fat, furry, active bees shown up in the garden. I captured a picture of this one only this morning. But Summer glides toward Fall. Though the days are "hot like Hell", to quote a man in the parking lot at the grocer's today, the days are growing shorter. Where the light lingered until 11:00 pm in late June and early July, now it's dark by 9:00.

In the garden the summer's second clutch of robins are now flying clumsily from branch to branch. At this moment a mother robin is stuffing her youngster with worms she's pulling out of the ground like spaghetti.

Beneath the tree in the front we've had wave after wave of mushrooms, of several different types. They are amazing to watch. Some grow so fast you can see them expand. Some were delicate, almost transparent, with sinuous curves like the fleshy edge of a clam. Others looked like your typical grocery store brown mushroom but within hours the caps flattened, flared out and split. Others were shaggy, almost hairy.

Salvador has a cat friend down the way. His friend is a big fluffy grey cat named Elvis. Sal walks down most days to visit with Elvis. A "visit" consists of the two of them touching noses and then lying down two or three feet apart and ignoring each other. While Sal is allowed outside only on a leash, Elvis is the park's mouser. He is allowed to run free.

Elvis comes up to visit Sal at night, sitting outside Sal's enclosure. Last night he brought Sal a mouse as a gift, which he left outside. I was watering the garden when Sal discovered this gift. He lay with his paw on it for a long time, but (thank goodness) had no interest in eating it. We eventually lured him away with the promise of a "cookie", and our neighbour used his grabber to pick the mouse up and dispose of it.

In our continuing efforts to green up I turned an old laundry basket into a composter. It's been very successful, and it has devoured almost all our kitchen scraps all summer, keeping them out of the garbage bin. I started by tossing some sticks in the basket. Then I put some purchased manure/potting soil mix on the sticks, and added my scraps and some grass clippings from the day's mowing.

I have an old ice bucket with a snugly fitting lid which sits near the sink. I put all my peels, trimmings and leftovers (except meat) in the bucket and when it's full I take it out to the composter. The first few times I simply scattered the trimmings over the top of the stuff that was there, and covered them with an inch layer of the bagged soil mix. When it got about half full I just started pulling back the top layer, stirring the bottom up a bit, adding the trimmings and pulling the top layer back over the top. I water it lightly every four or five days, and it's never smelled or attracted bugs.

The resulting soil is now very bioactive. I dump the scrap bucket into the basket and within three or four days there's nothing recognizable left. It eats up pepper steams and apple cores, corn cobs, onion peels, banana peels, even egg shells. The compost in that laundry basket is black and will be almost unbelievably rich next spring. We're now eating tomatoes, squash, herbs and even the occasional green bean from our little garden. Next year I will plant more vegetables in the very sunny hot space at the south end of the trailer, and this compost should be the perfect growing medium.

One afternoon this week I looked down and saw an enormous Antheraea polyphemus moth. Its wingspan was the length of my hand. These moths emerge from their cocoons in the afternoon, breed in the evening and die within hours. They do not feed, in fact they have no mouths or digestive systems. They are lovely creatures, and I enjoyed seeing this one.

There was a very serious accident on the road late this afternoon. A car struck one of the park residents who was crossing the road on her bike. Our next door neighbour saw the accident and called 911. There was a paramedic in the car behind the vehicle which struck the woman. He immediately began to administer CPR, but our neighbour said she was so severely injured that she appeared to be beyond help. She was a quiet woman. She kept to herself and didn't socialize but she was a neighbour, and her death will come as a shock and a tragedy to those who loved her, her children, her grandchildren.

Death comes, for the moth, the mouse, and for us. But life comes again too, not necessarily in the same form, but transformed by a very active universe. The cycle continues as it has for untold ages, and though the fabric of the world is rent, it is also continually rewoven and repaired.

Beware the Blind Spot!

Admittedly these pictures don't go with the post. I've taken many photos of the flowers in my garden, and my neighbour's garden, over the last week and I wanted to share them. But you can witter on about how beautiful the flowers are just so long and almost the first thing I heard this morning was the unmistakable honking scream of two heavy metal bodies colliding at high speed. I looked out the back window to the highway and saw a mid-size red car doing what might be called ballet of a sort; spinning like an out-of-control dancer across the four lanes of pavement. It came to a stop with its nose pointed toward the cliff, about 20 feet off the shoulder.

There appeared to be a crumpled red parachute lying on the hood. No one moved inside for what seemed to be a long time, but at least there were no bodies on the highway that I could see, nor anyone hanging through the windshield. I recoiled as I thought of the dozens of cyclists who pedal past here every day, only a foot or two from passing traffic. It was unclear if the red thing on the hood was a cyclist, but no one seemed to pay it any attention, so I assumed it wasn't.

I could not see another vehicle, but there is a line of cedars along the road, so the view is occluded. My next thought was that a dog from the campground, or maybe a deer, had run in front of the car. God forbid that one of the dozens of little kids who are here now had gotten up on the road. By now several men from the campground were jigging impatiently at the edge of the highway, waiting for a break in the traffic, so they could get to the wrecked car. I couldn't believe that no one had stopped, no one even slowed down. Cars and trucks continued to hurtle past at 100 klicks or more.

By now the car's occupants were crawling out the passenger side. No one appeared to be badly hurt, though a girl of 11 or 12 appeared to have a broken arm or shoulder. Otherwise everyone was alternately moving and clinging to each other.

There was still no sign that another vehicle had been involved, nothing that I could see which might have caused the accident. An ambulance arrived and took the injured child away. The driver sat against the trunk with his face in his hands. One of the women started taking pictures of the car.

Some 15 minutes later man arrived carrying a zipper case, and a cell phone. Papers were spread out on the hood. He took pictures. Then the RCMP arrived, and just like that traffic slowed dramatically.

My neighbour had been at the office, which is just below the highway and the site of the accident, when it happened. I called out and asked what had happened, if they'd hit something?

He answered, "No, he went to pass a loaded logging truck, he got into the truck's blind spot and the truck driver changed lanes and hit him. Lucky they weren't all killed. It took the driver all the way to Peach Orchard Road to stop his rig. Took him all that time to walk back here."

Peach Orchard Road is a very long way away. But the weight behind a logging truck loaded with 50 ft. poles is enormous. That much weight doesn't stop on a dime. I can only imagine what that poor guy was thinking as he made his way back to the car he'd hit. He must have wondered what he would find as the ambulance and RCMP screamed past him.

They turned the car around. The crumpled parachute was the hood on the driver's side. The driver's side doors were in a similar state. Six inches from death. Thankfully there had been no oncoming traffic as he spiraled like a top across the road. Traffic is heavy this time of year. We waited almost five minutes for a break in traffic yesterday, so we could turn onto the highway. Next time I'll drive down the much longer back route and catch the light. Less taxing on the heart.

Passing a huge truck is a crap shoot at the best of times, but unless the driver of the red car was asleep at the wheel the accident was clearly the truck driver's fault. You never change lanes without monitoring the traffic behind you for some time before you make the swing. And no motorist in their right mind stays in a truck's blind spot for any longer than it takes to get out of it. It's a two second zone-of-death that may very well be your last if you aren't careful.

There were five - no six - lucky people on the road this morning. They all lived to talk about it and that is not always the case when logging trucks and passenger vehicles compete for the same space on the road.

And to finish with a flourish, a photo of our big red boy, enjoying himself in the garden on a sunny afternoon. You can tell by his expression how happy and relaxed he is. He doesn't drive.

Fruit Fruit Wonderful Fruit!

Ringing in a full month behind schedule because of our extended cold wet spring, the cherries are finally ripe!!! Does anyone want to join me in a rousing version of the Hallelujah Chorus?

We stopped at a nearby produce stand on our way into town yesterday and came out loaded with local bounty. Cherries, blueberries, strawberries, raspberries, peaches, nectarines, bananas, tomatoes, corn on the cob, new potatoes... it seems that everything has arrived at once. And last night, a neighbouring farmer brought boxes of yellow cherries around in the back of a truck. I rushed out and bought two boxes to put in the dryer.

I'd bought a box of dead ripe tomatoes cheap yesterday and made tomato sauce with them last night. Today I pitted and cut up cherries until I'd filled the dehydrator. They are drying as I type.

But first, because they were so beautiful, I piled a couple of big handfuls on a platter and took a picture. A pile of jewels couldn't be prettier.

Speaking of "jewels", Sal is always fascinated by reflections so when I saw a little cut crystal "rainbow-maker" pendant at the bulk food store yesterday I grabbed it. I hung it in the window where the morning sun hits it. The room is full of inch-long rainbows which shimmer any time the pendant moves. Sal didn't know which way to turn, or which rainbow to grab.

I mentioned to my brother that I was drying cherries, and that last year I'd dried a lot of nectarines and peaches and he told me that our mother dried a lot of fruit when he was a boy. She'd soak them overnight and use them to make fried pies. By the time I came along the food shortages that went with WWII were over. The fried pies she made for me were filled with apple butter or jam. My mouth is watering.

Have you ever had a fried pie? You roll a four inch circle of pie crust, put a fruit mixture in the middle then fold the dough to form a half circle. Moisten the edges with milk and pinch them together, slash the top surface of the dough in three or four spots to allow the steam to escape and fry in an inch of hot fat until it's browned on both sides, turning it very carefully to avoid splashing yourself with hot fat. Once the pie is brown you use a pancake turner to ease it onto a plate and dust it liberally with berry sugar. Don't weigh yourself after a treat like this. It's not worth the heartbreak. This is food that sighs, "Mother..."

I didn't make these for my kids that I remember. I was a health food nut from when the eldest one was a toddler, and almost anything they ate was disgustingly healthy and vegetarian to boot. I wonder if they will have have fond memories of mother's soy-nut patties or lentil loaf? Probably not, though Zak admits to the occasional yearning for tofu hot dogs and what we used to call sweet and sour monkey meat.

Which reminds me, best go check on the progress of the cherries and make sure I'm not getting them too dry - making cherry chips and flakes.

Into the Here, the Heretofore and the Hereafter

I haven't fallen in a well, I've just mostly been indulging in my occasionally obsessive pursuit of dead ancestors. Sometimes they reach out from the Great Beyond and rattle my cage, reminding me that though I am entirely their production, I know little or nothing about too many of them.

If anyone recognizes the brevity of life and its significance it must be the genealogist. I have in the past 30 years accumulated an enormous amount of information, documents and stories. Some of the stories are generations old, handed on to me for safekeeping, for recording and remembering. For example, this photo was taken 105 years ago, and my father, who was three years old at the time, and indeed, everyone in it, is gone.

My family happens to be an oddity because in almost every line the generational span is far longer than the average. These are one of my sets of great-grandparents, Wm Cavel and Susan Shave Cavel. Both were born in Southern England in the 1840s. Their parents were born in 1810-1820. I look at my brother, who is 79 years old and has four living generations of descendants. If I could speak to my great-great-grandparents I'd be speaking to people born 180 years ago!

The world has changed beyond recognition in those 180 years. They travelled by horse and buggy, read six-month-old newspapers, lived in log cabins with no plumbing and no electricity, had no automobiles, radios, TVs, telephone or internet, and no ice cream. Much of what surrounds me would be totally foreign to them, as unfathomable as magic.

They were not all saints, though I understand that in some family trees all the ancestors are candidates for sainthood. But mine are a very mixed lot. One great-great grandmother of Mohawk and German parentage was killed and scalped by her own brother during the American Revolution. That guy has to be the worst of the lot. War does that. One day he's your brother, the next he's your enemy.

So now that you know not to get into any serious political arguments with me, lest I revert to type - I also have ancestors who were explorers, farmers, shipbuilders, governors of states, a great-grandfather who was a shepherd, and a couple of guys who got run out of North Carolina for acts of piracy in the time of Blackbeard.

One of my English great-great grandfathers was jailed for smuggling a keg of brandy into Hampshire back in 1826. Unlike the afore-mentioned pirates he went on to become a law-abiding citizen. The pirates moved to Maryland where they continued to get hauled into court for petty theft, hog-baiting and trespass. They may not have been very pleasant fellows to deal with but they certainly make for a colorful family tree.

Except that my Grandfather died before I was born these folks I remember well, and loved dearly. My grandparents Fred and Josie (Smith) Cavel, and my Dad's eldest two sisters Susie and Annie. Josie was the only grandparent I knew.

You can hardly say you love your distant ancestors, though you do develop a certain affinity for them, especially when you recognize your own personality in them. You cringe when you read what they went through. You see them at their best, in the words of love, advice and comfort found in their wills. You see them at their worst, standing before a judge, hat in hand, owning up to stealing pigs or diddling the neighbour's daughter, and you see them trying desperately to defend home and family from forces beyond their control.

One thing seems never to change. There is always "The War". There is never a generation without its war. If anyone recognizes that war brings out the worst in human beings, it is the genealogist. Mutilated, dying, dead, our predecessors drip blood across the field of history.

I haven't fallen in a well, I have fallen into introspection. I have moved back and forth between the now and the forever. I wonder what they would have to say to me, if we could speak. Would they ask, "Will we never learn?"

Taking Stock

Summer officially began about ten days ago, but it started in earnest day before yesterday, when the thermometer hit a tropical 36 degrees (that 96.8 to you Farenheit folks). Yesterday was a shade warmer, and today we are promised 37 with a humidex reading of 39, which will make it feel as if it is 102 point something or other. We had a five minute thunderstorm about midnight last night, with a spatter of rain, which turned up the humidity level.

And naturally, while we've been busy tying our hair on before opening the door until day before yesterday, now the weeping willow hang as lank as greasy hair. It's like being in a vacuum. But there is nothing to be done about the weather, other than complain. Thank goodness we have that modern wonder, air conditioning. Long summer afternoons are perfect for reading, naps and taking stock.

At this point one looks at the garden to assess what has, and has not, proven successful. Things are beginning to fill in. The thymes and mints have done wonderfully. They are fragrant and spill out of the bed in their enthusiasm to please. The various types of thyme have different habits (some are upright, some prostrate, some are wooly, some are smooth-leaved.) The colours of the blooms vary as well, so I have white, pink, lavender and rose coloured thyme blossoms, all the size of a pinhead. Tiny stars against the deep green. I can't resist drawing the branches through my fingers. The fragrance is heavenly in the evening, and oddly enough, strongest across the street!

The dead nettles and coral bells are doing very well. The dead nettles have lavender flowers and the coral bell has about a dozen tall spikes with teeny bell-shaped flowers on them. Those flowers were lime-colured to begin with, but turned white with time. Some have faded but more spikes are forming.

The coleuses aren't huge but are colorful and luxurious. The lavender is blooming modestly and is another one I can't resist touching. The fragrance reminds me of the soap my Dad used when I was small. The rosemary has tripled in size and while the ornamental kales are not large they are colorful and have very interesting foliage. The kinnekinick has sent out runners and is loaded with berries. The tri-colour sage plants have maybe tripled in size, but the pebbled texture of the leaves and the red, white and green colours make up for any lack in height.

The hellebore is past its prime, but is now hidden behind the toad lily which *finally* woke up and started growing after six weeks of pouting. It has a faint checkerboard pattern on its leaves. I'm hard-pressed to know whether this is "normal", a mutation, or the result of a virus. It's supposed to reach five feet but it certainly will be no more than two feet tall unless it gets a sudden growth spurt. It doesn't have even the shadow of a bud yet, but it's not supposed to bloom until fall.

The Elijah blue grass is spiky and has grown significantly. I see that I put the two plants too close together. I may move one in the spring, and give them more space, so the lovely ball-shaped form is more apparent. If I can find some more I'll plant a few more of these as well.

The "rupture-wort" or "Creeping Charlie" club moss I scrounged from neighbours (who see it as a weed) has proven to be a real winner. Looking closely it's apparent that there are three different types of club moss. One type is covered in bright yellow flowers right now, each flower a tiny perfect star. These are planted between the stepping stones and in the garden bed itself, up on the Buddha mound.

My next door neighbour had lovely peonies last week. They didn't last long but I got a good picture while they were at their height.

All the "hen and chicks" plants are busy making "chicks". I was surprised to see that each type has a different method of "chicking". Some expand by growing chicks at their outside edges, others send up stalks topped by a chick. When the spike falls over the chick roots. Some must send runners underground as the chicks come up a few inches away from the hen. Two are blooming, something I've not seen before. The hen sent up a thick stalk, topped with what looked like tiny chicks. I expected this construction to fall over, but each of the "chicks" turned out to be a bud which formed a compound flower head. The flowers are quite lovely. Can't wait to see what happens next. Will they make seeds?

In the back the tomatoes are nearly four feet high and are covered with tiny green tomatoes and blossoms. The squash has the most beautiful blossoms in the garden, and the shortest-lived. By afternoon the morning's blossoms have shriveled. The tiny squashes are like huge golden beads. Alas, so far they have all gotten an inch across and then fallen off. It has been too wet and cold and the plants suffered. But now they have perked right up. I may have squash yet.

I planted scarlet runner beans in a planter box to the side of Sal's outdoor room, and they have crawled up the side and are now exploring the roof. I noted the first blossom today, so won't be long before we can pick beans from those. Even without the beans the plants are so pretty, with their big sturdy leaves and twining vines.

On the other side of the equation, it's hard to say if the heathers I planted have grown or not. The spring blooming one's branches flopped over and have spread out like a ground cover. The other two are sitting all scrunched up, and not doing much. The mums are a mixed bag, one has grown, the other two are struggling. The black ipeoma are spectacular in colour but have grown only modestly. They have an interesting bell-shaped flower which lasts for a single day, but it's a rather lurid pinky-purple which doesn't appeal to me at all. I might put some of these in hanging baskets nest year, as a foil for lighter coloured foliage, but don't think I'll plant them in the garden.

Speaking of baskets, mine have been something of a disaster. I shouldn't have put pansies in them, as pansies curl up and wither at the first sign of heat. Next year I'll go back to my tried and true petunias, which are hardy as weeds and last all summer. The basket of white lobelias I bought either caught a virus or decided life was too much. The plants just packed up and died all at once.

There's no way to put a price on the gift of a garden. If I don't feel up to working in it I can just look at it, which I do a lot of. And plan... what will I move? What will I add next year? How will I solve this problem? The moments I spend weeding, watering, mulching, feeding, are times of peace and pure pleasure.

Ahhhh, Warm At Last!

And loving it! We had two warm days in May and the rest of May and June have been cool, even cold. Who'd have guessed the furnace would be kicking in during the second week of June?

But enough with the complaints. Even the garden has quit sulking and is making up for lost time. Flowers are bursting from every basket, tin can and window box, as well as the flower beds. You can go out hungry and come back full, just from looking at the flowers in our neighbour's gardens. This is a wonderful place to spend time outside. You can walk the circuit of the park, walk along the lake, sit on the beach and watch the waves, boats and birds, or sit in your own garden and watch the sun play hide and seek with the leaves.

We had a potluck on Father's Day, on the lawn under the trees. The day was sunny and warm, perfectly beautiful, the food was delicious and the company was in high spirits. What more could one ask for?

As always the birds are a preoccupation. The pair of robins who nested in the tree in front have now abandoned their screaming, demanding, teenaged children to their own devices. The kids are doing fine, except that they are very trusting, to the point that you can walk right up to them, intentionally or not. This may be because Mama robin was almost tame enough to perch on your hand. She will sit 18 inches away in the tree at eye level and hold a conversation. The youngsters must think this is normal, and I am trying to convince them that it isn't. Not that any of us would hurt them, but they are not afraid of cats either.

Yesterday Sal and I walked right up on one of them accidentally, much to Sal's delight. Good thing I had a firm grip on his leash and he was right at my side. The dumb birdlet continued to grub worms from the grass, totally unconcerned that a 22-lb cat was two feet away and shaking with excitement. It said a few words of greeting then turned its back to us and went back to worming. A single pounce away. I clapped my hands and yelled, "Shoo!! which irritated Sal and puzzled the bird.

I note that the robin youngsters are hanging out with the rusty blackbirds, who have a family of four or five noisy half-grown chicks. They make quite a crowd, sweeping the lawn for worms and bugs. I noted that the robins like ants, which half made me want to bring one in the kitchen, as we still have formic tourists. They certainly inspire me to keep a clean kitchen. A single drop of juice, a scrap of fruit, a grain of sugar, and our desirability as a destination for ants increases exponentially.

Sal was quite the clever boy yesterday, managing to escape not once but twice. He pushed the screen door open as I took out the recycling. My hands were full and I didn't put the Sal-proof latch on - a two foot long bungee cord which holds the door firmly closed. He ran right past me and scooted under the neighbour's trailer. It took a half hour to lure him out again.

Later, as Tony was closing the door in the evening, Sal must have slipped out unnoticed. It was only about 11:00 pm that we missed him. Luckily he was sitting right outside on the storage box. Lucky too that "Bird Jr." was tucked away in a tree for the night.

We weren't sure if he'd gotten out the door, or if he'd managed to get out of his outside "room". So we closed the door to the room, and he had to stay inside all night, which didn't please him much. He whined and pawed at me until at 5:00 am I got up, put him in the living room and closed the bedroom door. After a through check this morning we were certain he'd gotten out the screen door in the 10 seconds it was open, so he was allowed access to his room again.

Today we have been very vigilant any time the door is opened, and he is most disappointed. I took him out for a walk this morning, but we didn't get very far. Bird Jr. was in the garden and had every intention of staying. Sal sat and birdwatched. We share this little hobby - but when he birdwatches he needs a bib.