The Speed of Green

Yesterday we received the first copy of a year's subscription to ReadyMade Magazine, a gift from Zak and Mandy. They obviously know us well. :)

James or Cathy kindly deliver mail too large to fit into our post box. When James brought ReadyMade to the door yesterday he admitted lingering on the way to make a quick assessment of its articles and was as excited as we were by its contents. Guess we'll have to share our copy with them once we've scoured every word several times.

The entire premise of this neat little magazine is reuse, recycle, and green it up. With the continuing media coverage (at last!) over climate change, and some kind of "green project" being discussed everywhere you turn I got to thinking about the evolution of the green movement itself.

I was in high school when I read Rachel Carson's Silent Spring. Carson could be called the Mother of the green movement, because she was the first to recognize and publicize the harmful effects of DDT, which was used everywhere without the slightest caution by the 1940s. Tony's family lived in North Africa when he was a small boy. His mother said she (and all her European friends) regularly dusted DDT into their bedding, clothing, drawers, kitchen drawers, along every baseboard. About the only place they didn't deliberately add it was to their food.

When I read Silent Spring I felt despair, deep deep despair. I spent a goodly part of my childhood as free as a colt, poking along stream beds, lying flat on my belly peering into pools, wading through meadows chest deep in grass, curled up in or under a tree, laying against sun-warmed rocks. I felt a part of all I explored, as much as a creature of nature as the leaves, fish and animals. I couldn't bear the idea that we were doing them harm.

Reading The Silent Spring made me green, but I didn't realize it at the time. I was never a hippie. While the hippies danced on the streets of San Francisco, shared their joints (and their bacteria) I married, worked, and had a little baby boy who was (and remains) one of the lights of my life. I remember a particular moment. Ian was perhaps six or seven months old. He was damp and sweet from the bath and when I toweled him off and picked him up he threw his little arm around my neck and laid his head on my shoulder and just relaxed totally into my arms. I thought that if I lived 100 years I'd never ever experience again the intensity of happiness I felt at that moment. I have of course, overall I have had a very happy life, but such moments of pure unallied joy don't come often.

My generation has largely sold out. Many feel they can acquire their way to happiness and contentment and have gone about trying to do so. I can tell them that it isn't true, and unbridled acquisition carries a huge price tag. When someone says, "I gave the earth for XXXX", it's often more true than they realize.

It's taken 40+ years for the message of The Silent Spring to finally filter into the consciousness of perhaps half the population. But the green consciousness finally has powerful allies. The greening of the First World has begun despite the resistance of politicians like George W. Bush and Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper, both under the thumb of oil and gas interests. Both say we can't meet Kyoto targets, while the City government of Toronto, Canada's largest city, has already met and far exceeded the Kyoto target by reducing their greenhouse emissions well below the 1990 levels.

Within a generation Green will be the only acceptable way to be. Perhaps we will rethink our mass consumerism and materialistic standards and realize that we do not own the earth, we are only a part of the symbiotic relationship all creatures have worked out together over millions of years. Moments of pure joy, for all creatures, can continue.

Dripping and Ripping

You know how it is. You iz too tired to even wiggle (which I am) and disaster overtakes everything. Let me back up.

Ian and Julie arrived Sunday evening. We were really looking forward to spending time together, and we did have fun. We ate like piggies, we shopped, we laughed ourselves breathless. We took some pictures....

We'd asked Ian to buy us a dehumidifier in Calgary, since we couldn't find one here, and we were sorely in need of a good dry-out. So they brought a dehumidifier which has turned out to be a godsend in more ways than one.

We set it up and turned it on about 10:30 Monday night and it pulled about 15 pints of water from the air by Tuesday evening. The perpetual film of water on the inside of our windows has disappeared, and I no longer have to towel out the window tracks two or three times a day to keep the water in them from overflowing, or worse, leaking into the wall beneath.

We'd had a couple of busy days before Ian and Julie arrived, shopping, and running a list of errands one day and doing half a dozen loads of laundry the next. The two days they were here were busy as well, so by the time they left Tuesday morning I was very much in need of a rest.

Unfortunately I got up yesterday morning to a flood in the kitchen. Tony went into our wee bathroom to have his shower and left the water running in the kitchen sink. I think I mentioned before that our fourth pressure regulator had failed within a couple of days of installation. That meant until we replaced it we had to leave a faucet dripping to keep the pressure from building up in the pipes.

So, that's what happened this time. Tony left a drip in the kitchen sink so he could turn off the water in the bathroom between applying soap and rinsing, and the stream appears to have deflected along a spoon in a bowl and instead of going into the sink, went onto the counter, onto the carpet, into the cupboards...

We had to unload the cupboards, throw away some very soaked paper products, mop up the water, dry the counter, and soak up as much of the water from the carpet as a monster bath towel would hold. Thank heavens for the dehumidifier! It's busy pulling water from the carpet, as well as the air. I shudder to think how long it would have taken to dry otherwise. Maybe by Mid-Molduary.

After all that I had to go to town for a doctor's appt., grocery shop (why do we eat so much?) and do some other errands. I came back thoroughly pooped.

Ian and Julie had their own kind of disaster in the form of a prolonged trip home. Roger's Pass was closed due to avalanches, so they had to turn around and go back to Revelstoke to spend the night. The road was still treacherous the next morning, and about 30 miles short of Calgary a traffic accident closed the highway so they had to backtrack and take the old two-lane highway into the city. What should have taken 10 hours turned into a 36 hour ordeal.

The Tinpalace is officially a shambles. Tony spilled bird seed on the floor while filling the container yesterday, I haven't washed dishes since yesterday's breakfast, and computer bits are strung everywhere. Ian also brought Tony's big old desk Mac. Since Tony nearly killed my laptop I have beaten him with a hot poker every time he even looked like he wanted to use the Baby Mac. We left his old Mac behind because it takes up so much room, but I decided it was no sacrifice not to be able to use the table if it makes him happy and keeps his hands off my laptop. Baby Mac is no longer new, and was the smallest, cheapest model they made when I bought it, but I keep my research on it and the thought of losing even a day of that gives me the willies.

Though I can hardly wiggle I looked at the drooping paper on the back ceiling this morning and something snapped. I got up on the bunks and ripped all that paper down. I'll paint the ceiling this summer. I don't know where I got the energy, and for the rest of the day I will probably only get up from my bunk to eat and well.... go to the one room in the Tinpalace that has a door. But that's okay. I accomplished something, even if it wasn't what needed doing worst.

Still (Watching) Dancing After All These Years

It is 12.9 C (55 F) degrees and sunny outside!!! Wooooohoooo!!!

Yesterday in about three degrees and with heavily overcast skies I went big grocery shopping, to the pharm, and the PO, so today I weakly. I will overcome and take the cat outside for a good walk! Just gimme a minute.

I've been sitting here watching the local Oliver channel (18), which was running their broadcast of the weekly Oliver Senior's Centre Dance. Last week over 200 seniors attended. Some of them dance like me, stumble, plod - plod - plod, in no particular rhythm, but many of them dance beautifully, with lots of energy, bounce, fancy footwork and precision. The idea is to have a good time, socialize and it looks like dern good exercise too.

The band may not be world-class, and the songs they play may have somewhat indeterminate and wandering melodies, but they have a good beat and you can obviously dance to them! I enjoy watching them all enjoy themselves so much.

But it suddenly struck me funny that, here I sit at 61, watching folks mostly a few years older than myself, dance on television. Fifty or so years ago I was doing the same thing, hurrying home every day after school to watch Dick Clark's American Bandstand, where kids a few years older than myself danced round and round and round...

The more things change the more they stay the same.

Tickety-Boo

It was an adventurous sort of day. Remember back, some weeks ago I landed in the ER? The doctor on call (who has become our new family doctor) was suitably horrified by my wonky EKG which often sends ER personnel into a tailspin. So, today we went off to Penticton so I could visit a cardiologist (heart specialist) and have some appropriate tests done.

The last few days have been three or four degrees above freezing, so the ice and snow we've had on the ground since November has finally almost disappeared, on the valley floor anyway. The mud is drying up and the trees and bushes are sending up tender new growth in a rainbow of colours.

Penticton is 30 miles (43 km) from Oliver, and all along the route we saw the delicate golden green of new willow fronds, rosy-coloured shoots in the orchards so thick that they looked like pink smoke, and along creek beds the cranberry glow of coral dogwood branches. Not a leaf in sight, though the grass in the occasional vineyard or field is greening up.

It was a pleasant drive, if you ignore the 18-wheeler that sat on my back bumper at 90 km an hour in the long no passing section. I was doing over the limit which was not enough for him. We finally hit a wider spot, I pulled to the shoulder and let him fly past, where he sat in front of me, going no faster than I had been, until we came to the government way station and he was forced to pull off the road to weigh his load.

We found the hospital easily. The young cardiologist was very pleasant, and I passed the BP test 110/80, aced the echocardiogram, and managed five minutes on the devil mill. I could have gone ten minutes if need be, at a moderate speed. But when they turned it to "roadrunner" my legs quickly forgot how to work my feet.

The cardiologist asked, "What do you mean you are having trouble making your legs work?"

"I can't coordinate them this quickly! They simply don't work this fast. I sort of have to think about walking anyway and I can't think this fast!"

He pushed me to keep at it 20 seconds more, which I did by hanging onto the bar and supporting part of my weight on my arms. But it was my legs and not my heart that stopped my walk.

My heart is fine, according to him. Like I said, I have a wonky EKG and when my potassium gets low my heart muscle complains that it isn't getting the blood it needs. I have no chest pain with exercise under normal conditions.

Once I was finished we found a restaurant which had been recommended and we had lunch. Then we retraced our steps, enjoying the scenery in reverse. I think my arms will be sore tomorrow but the drive wasn't hard.

The cat wasn't even upset when we got back, which he usually is when we leave him for any length of time. He probably slept the whole time.

Mud Time

The water for which we may have to look
In summer with a witching-wand,
In every wheelrut's now a brook,
In every print of hoof a pond.
Be glad of water, but don't forget
The lurking frost in the earth beneath
That will steal forth after the sun is set
And show on the water its crystal teeth.

Two Tramps in Mud Time; Robert Frost

The snow lies in scattered, broken patches, holding on as if hoping that another blast of winter will come and stop its migration to mud. In between the snow patches are the puddles. At night they freeze up, but it doesn't take much warmth to dissolve the ice.

The cat walks as if he's walking on broken glass. He doesn't stay outside more than 10 minutes, even though it's not cold. He hasn't yet learned to tolerate wet paws. I stump around with great clumps of mud hanging off my shoes. You'd think gravel wouldn't make a good mud, but it has excellent adhesion and more comes in the door than I am prepared to welcome.

Mat count has reached four. A rubber-backed felty thing started out as the principal mat, laid outside the door, but soon sank beneath the responsibility. A black rubber thing was put on top of the grey felty one. The black rubber has lots of intersecting rings, to scrape the shoe soles on. Both disappeared beneath the snow for weeks.

Mat three is ugly and brown, rubber backed, lying inside the door. A drip-catcher, foot stomper mat, bought because it was small enough to fit in the entrance without folding, stapling or mutilating.

Mat four is a ridiculous thing I bought in a moment of nostalgic insanity because we had one like it when I was a small child. It's pale blue and has heavy twists of cotton cording looped into the backing. It shows every spot and while it's washable it takes an hour ($4.00 worth of quarters) to damp dry in the big commercial dryer at the laundromat. It lays beyond mat three, to catch more drips. I've given up on keeping it spot-free and will not wash the dam thing again until summer, when I can hang it on the line, or lay it on the picnic table, to dry.

Despite the sloppy conditions and general muckiness, this is the way the earth forces winter out of its den. Flood it out so spring can move in and coax every living thing awake. Mud time is a time for celebration. When mud time comes spring is never more than a short step behind.

Holy Man

Word spread across the countryside about a wise Holy Man who lived in a small house atop the mountain. A man from the village decided to make the long and difficult journey to visit him. When he arrived at the house, he saw an old servant inside. "I would like to see the Holy Man," he said to the servant.

The servant smiled and led him inside. As they walked through the house, the man from the village looked eagerly around the house, anticipating his encounter with the Holy Man. Before he knew it, he had been led to the back door and escorted outside. He stopped and turned to the servant, "But I want to see the Holy Man!"

"You already have," said the old man. "Everyone you may meet in life, even if they appear plain and insignificant, see each of them as a Holy Man. If you do this, then whatever problem you brought here today will be solved."

Sun, Sleep and Snow

I'm going to take a break from researching and writing stuff that hurts the brain. I'm going to wager, tender reader, that as long as it doesn't affect you you don't give a flying flip that metabolic acidosis is defined as a primary decrease in serum HCO3- concentration and, in its pure form, manifests as acidemia (pH <7.40) and can be caused by a shift of hydrogen ions into the intracellular space during hypokalemia. No, I didn't think so.

So, I'll talk about everything in general. It's 3:30 in the afternoon and the sun has come out for the first time in many days. The warmth spills in the windows and makes it hard to see the computer screen, so I got Tony's ball cap and put it on. I look like a real home boy now.

On the 30th we celebrated Tony's 66th birthday by having lunch at the local Indian restaurant, called appropriately enough Best of India.

Here's a picture of the birthday boy, who always seems to take a good picture, but then he is awfully cute. It was taken at the Park's Christmas dinner by Mandy and Zak's friend Racheal Ashe who came to Oliver with them for Christmas week.

She took a picture of me too, but the camera doesn't like me as much as it does my husband. I always wince when I see pictures of myself. Oh, well. You should be battle-hardened, having seen the odd photo of me before.


Now, where was I? Oh, yes, dreaming of eating chicken curry again! The Indian restaurant glows with the warm, vibrant (but not garish) colours of the Indian subcontinent, raspberry, lime, green and apricot. Gorgeous! There's a border of blue elephants which marches around the dining room. The owners are ever so nice. They are a handsome middle-aged couple who have been in Canada for 13 years. Their son has joined the RCMP and their daughter is a nurse, and like all parents everywhere they are proud as can be of their children.

We enjoyed their incredibly delicious food and the excellent conversation. We will go back. Next time I will take my camera. If you come to Oliver be sure to visit Best of India on Main Street (highway 97), across from the movie theatre.

I don't know why but I'm going through a phase where I wake up anywhere from 2:00 to 5:00 am and can't go back to sleep. Thankfully Tony sleeps as if he's been brought down with a tranquilizer dart, so I can turn on my light and read, watch a video (with the headphones in) or get the laptop, write, listen to music or surf without waking him.

I have looked up some old friends and acquaintances, read up on questions I've had for years and learned that Wikibooks has some great on-line material.

Macs have this great "thing", I don't know the name for it. You click the little icon while you are listening to music and a screen comes up which generates all kinds of colorful fractal-like images, generated by the music. It's rather like a digital kalediscope and soothingly mindless and hypnotic when you are too tired to think, write, read or surf.

Red Chief was shredding the place and being generally naughty, so I forced him outside for a walk in the early afternoon. It was not cold, but we had snow yesterday and he hates getting his paws wet. We stuck to the melted spots as much as possible, but there were places where I had to drag him across the snow. At one point he climbed a tree and growled at me when I suggested we move on.

I picked up some apricot tree trimmings, as James is pruning trees right now. This should have been done a month ago, as there is new growth and green, swelling buds on the trees, but poor James has been so busy shoveling snow I'm sure he hasn't had a minute left to trim the dozens of trees in the park. Anyway, I brought some little branches in and put them in water. They may bloom, what a treat that would be!

I am way past ready for winter to be over. Enough with the snow and freezing days! But surely it won't be long now, the Canada geese are passing overhead in great honking flocks, headed north.

In Beauty I Walk

"In beauty I walk.
With beauty before me, may I walk.
With beauty behind me, may I walk.
With beauty above me, may I walk.
With beauty below me, may I walk.
With beauty all around me may I walk.
In old age wandering on a trail of beauty, lively, may I walk.
In old age wandering on a trail of beauty, living again, may I walk.
It is finished in beauty. It is finished in beauty."
Navajo Prayer

My long-time friend Audrey sent me a beautiful tea set for Christmas, a picture of which is included to the right. The colors match my decor and it looks very nice tucked under the rack which holds our big glass coffee/tea mugs.

This gift got me started thinking about how many of the things in the Tinpalace were either gifts or were inherited from people we love.

Beginning at the front, there are framed photos of our (adult) children, our parents, and both Tony's and my grandmothers. One the table sits a tiny silver tea service. The tea pot only holds two small cupfuls of tea, so it is only useful as a decorative accent. It's dinged up, the silver is completely worn off in places and it desperately needs a good polishing so it looks a lot less loved than it actually is. It belonged to Tony's grandmother.

There's a sturdy basket Tony's mother bought when they first came to Canada in 1951. She kept it on the basement steps, filled with potatoes. It's associated with her and her kitchen, and the many meals we shared on Sunday nights.

Then there are the antique cups and saucers she gave me, one by one. Four different styles, four different color ranges, but all delicate and fit for the Queen herself, should she drop by for tea some afternoon.

There's the quilt my friend Jackie made for my birthday in January 2005, before passing away totally unexpectedly later that year. A tiny doll my friend Judy made and gave me before she passed away a year ago. A wee jointed teddy bear made by Zak a few years ago.

There's a series of three pictures of my beloved kitty Patches, which hangs at the foot of my bed, a gift from Ian.

On a shelf in the back is a a Butsudan (A Buddhist altar) which Tony made. On the altar are a prayer bowl from Zak and Mandy, a small brass bell, and a prayer cloth from my dear friend Iris.

A cloth doll my daughter-in-law made me for Christmas a few years ago and a sock monkey made for me by my sister-in-law when I was a little girl sit in a protected corner.

A silk rosebud, the favorite toy of Fred the cat, is tucked into the safety strap which keeps our 13" TV from leaping off its shelf. He loved these little silk rosebuds. He'd pull the flowers from the stems and carry them around in his mouth crooning to them until he loved them to pieces. He eventually lost interest in red rosebuds and the tattered remnants were discarded one by one. At the age of 14 he developed lymphoma and the day came when we had to take him to the vet for the last time. It was so hard to say goodbye.

The next morning I turned the corner from the hallway into our room and there he sat, sleek and healthy. He was there for only an instant before he vanished, but in his place was a silk rosebud of the kind he loved as a kitten and young cat. I cannot for the life of me say where it came from. But there it was, and I like to think it was his way of saying bye and thanks for all the tuna. Anyway, that rosebud is tucked where I can see it, a reminder of a sweet kitty.

There are shelves of books, old favorites like Wind in the Willows, The Old Man and the Boy, Lydia Bailey, I Heard the Owl Call My Name and The Shipping News jumble together with medical references and puzzle books.

Simple stuff, none of it worth more than a couple of dollars at a yard sale, but loaded with memories. When you don't have someone you love with you, next best thing is to have something they gave you, made, handled, or loved. The energy of that love fills our little space, making it the happiest 157 square foot home on earth. We walk in beauty.

So Sorry!

Terribly remiss of me but I haven't bored you to tears lately with rhapsodical expressions of delight over the birds visiting our feeder.

Let me correct my error.

In addition to the birds noted in earlier posts we have noted in the past few weeks the following visitors:

1. The purple finch. Oh but they are cute! It's hard to count, but I think we have three pairs, as there are three brilliant little males who always come together, accompanied by the plain females who look like a pale sparrow.

2. Just for fun, compare the purple finch to our other red visitor, the hoary redpoll.

3. We have pine warblers as well as the magnolia warblers I described earlier. They are wearing a duller "winter" coat now, but will become bright canary yellow as breeding season approaches.

4. We also have what looks like a little mutant house sparrow. He looks as if he has a little pile of snow on his head. At first I thought he was a white-capped sparrow, but he doesn't have the black bordered white stripe of the white-capped. The pattern of his white colouration was what tipped me off that he might have a mutation. He has a white cap, otherwise the feathers on the left side of his head are white, while on the right side they are brown.

We aren't the only ones with a mutant sparrow. I happened on this Q & A on a nature site:

Q: I have an English sparrow coming to my feeder that has an all-white cap (not at all like the white-capped sparrow). Is this a species or a mutation? This bird has all the markings of the Eng. sparrow but a white cap instead of a gray one. Help!

Bird expert George Harrison answered: The English sparrow (proper common name house sparrow) apparently has some partial albinism in the feathers on its head. This is not unusual among songbirds, including house sparrows.

And of course we're still supporting a small army of California quail, sparrows of many descriptions, the occasional starling, a downy woodpecker, the flickers, and a few chickadees. All of this bird activity just outside the door drives the cat to distraction at times, but it gives him something to think about besides being naughty.

You Get What You Pay For

Tony and the boys always say that I ought to write a book about my family. The classic Buddhist example of impermanence is to say, "In 100 years not a person living today will still be alive."

It hasn't taken that long for me. When I stop to think of it, very few of the members of my huge childhood family still survive. I only knew one grandparent, my paternal grandmother Josie Smith. She died when I was 11. My parents have been gone for almost 25 years, I've lost a brother and a sister. None of my aunts and uncles, on either side survive, and many of my cousins are also gone. What is there left besides memories? How do they live on if no one tells their stories?

My maternal grandmother Molly Hayman, died when my mother was 13. There were still several children at home, including my mom's nine-year-old brother Lonnie. Mother became a sort of surrogate mother to Lonnie, and he lived with my parents after they married.

Lonnie was only about 5' 3" fully grown, and probably never weighed more than 100 pounds. He was dark skinned, big-eared and scrawny but he was Mama's baby brother and we all loved him dearly.

My Uncle Paul drove an ice wagon back in the days before electric refrigeration, when people kept food cold in an insulated box which held a large block of ice. Paul sold 50 pound blocks of ice to the people on his route. This meant he'd have to climb down off the wagon seat, climb up into the insulated compartment of the wagon, haul out a block of ice with a set of iron tongs, lug it up the front sidewalk, up the porch steps, into the kitchen and load it into the ice box. One day he hurt his back and asked if Lonnie would come along and handle the ice, since Paul couldn't afford to lose a day's work.

Lonnie was 14 and weighed about 80 pounds himself, but agreed to help. He manfully hauled ice off the wagon and into kitchens all day. Late in the day they as they approached one house Paul said, "When you choose the ice for this one make sure to get a big piece. She has a scale on the porch and she weighs it. If it's not 50 pounds she'll make you bring it back to the wagon and get a bigger piece."

So Lonnie looked over the remaining blocks and chose what looked to be a big block. He lugged it up to the porch, where his customer stood with crossed arms and a sour expression.

"Weigh it," she said. "I pay for 50 pounds of ice and I'm gonna get 50 pounds of ice!"

Well, the block weighed 48 pounds. She was adamant that it be returned to the wagon and a larger piece brought. Poor Lonnie, with sore arms and back and shaking legs, lugged the 48 pound block back to the wagon and searched until he found a larger piece. He lugged it back to the porch and scale. It weighed 49 pounds.

"Oh, please lady," he begged. "It's only a pound, don't make me carry it back for a pound of ice."

"I gotta pay for 50 pounds of ice, and by gum, I'm gonna get 50 pounds of ice," she said, immovable as the polar ice cap herself.

So back he went, and searched until he was certain he had the largest block in the wagon. He hauled it to the porch and dropped it on the scale, where it tipped over at 54 pounds.

"Well, that's more like it!" The woman said, with a smug grin.

But she had not reckoned on Lonnie's sense of justice. He whipped an ice pick from his belt and, with a close eye on the scale, began chunking at the block of ice, making shards fly off in all directions.

"Here! Here!" the woman cried, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Lady," Lonnie said, drawing himself up to his full and inconsiderable height, "You paying for 50 pounds of ice and by god, 50 pounds is all you are gonna get!"

A Danish Haiku

Much screaming and little
wool, said the woman,
shearing her sow.

Has something ever struck you as so funny that you laughed yourself breathless? This little poem, dubbed A Danish Haiku did that for me today. I know for a fact that at many points in my life, I have diligently sheared the sow, and cursed the fact that her "wool" was more suitable for making a scrub brush than a warm sweater.

It seems to be a human trait. Lots of us, metaphorically, shear the sow when we actually need and want sheep's wool. We consistently use totally inappropriate methods and/or actions - hoping against hope that the act of doing something/anything will work magic and gain our objective. It's as if we were saying, "Hey Universe! Look how hard I'm working and reward my efforts!"

Or we shear the sow because while we say/think we want wool, we really don't, because having wool in the hand means we would have to embark on the long-planned project, which leaves us open to the possibility of failure. Best to look diligent, shear the sow and curse fate that sow's wool is an unsuitable material for spinning our fine dreams.

We sabotage ourselves. We fool ourselves into thinking we're on the road to success, while we wrestle the screaming sow, and with pounding hearts and sweat pouring into our eyes, shear her bristles off. The longer you struggle with the sow the larger and stronger she grows, and the more irritated she gets.

I had this strange phobia when I was in my early 20s. I hated washing dishes. I'd put off washing dishes for three or four days, till every dish in the house was dirty and the counter was loaded. The longer I put it off the bigger the knot in my belly grew, just thinking about it. It kept me anxious and unhappy all the time. Finally some wise person said, "Don't tackle them all at once. Just fill the sinks with water and do only the glasses. Then quit. Later you can do the cutlery. Then quit. Later do just the cups and saucers. Don't do all of the dishes at once, it's too much. Just do one thing. You can do just the one thing."

So I filled the sinks and did just the glasses. But it only took three or four minutes so I went ahead and did the cutlery. But even then I'd only spent six or eight minutes so I did the cups and saucers. Well, you guessed it. Within a half hour all the dishes were done and I felt 100 times better. I learned that I could accomplish a great deal by not allowing myself to become overwhelmed by the scope of the job. I learned that it's better to do the job than worry about doing it. It takes lots less energy.

It's easy to shear a sheep. You get the wool you needed in the first place. It even makes the sheep more comfortable. Everybody wins. The easiest way to get something done is just to do it, not to agonize over it, analyze it, work up to it, or procrastinate over it. Just dive in and get it done. You come up with a double fistful of wool every time.

Wake up!

Pema Chodron says, "Our life's work is to use what we have been given to wake up. ...It doesn't matter what you're given, whether it's physical deformity or enormous wealth or poverty, beauty or ugliness, mental stability, life in a madhouse or life in the middle of a peaceful, silent desert.

Whatever you're given can wake you up or put you to sleep. ...The only way to do this is to be open, be curious, and develop some sense of sympathy for everything that comes along, to get to know its nature and let it teach you what it will. It's going to stick around until you learn your lesson, at any rate...the same old demons will always come up until you learn the lesson, the lesson they came to teach you."

I had to go over to the hospital this week, to get an x-ray, a blood draw and to pick up some records to take to my new doctor. It was an interesting experience. I woke up in the middle of it.

First of all, it never occurred to me that you might need to book an appointment for a blood draw or chest x-ray. And I never thought that the lab would close at 2:00, as it is in the hospital, and there's a lab tech there 24 hours a day. So I arrived at the hospital at 1:50. By the time I stood in line and reached the registration window it was 2:00. Since I've dealt with the woman who registers patients before I wasn't surprised to find that she was busy shopping by phone and she made me wait while she finished placing her order.

She asked if I'd made appointments, which of course I hadn't, but she said, if I was lucky they might do the tests. But the cut-off time was 2:00 and by then it was 2:10.

In the lab the tech simply stuck her head out of the door and said, "I'll be with you in a minute!", but in the x-ray lab, which you could have fired a cannon through without scratching a living soul, the two technicians acted as if I'd asked for a kidney from each of them. After some discussion they decided they could "work me in", but only with rolling eyes and martyred looks.

The attitude at both the front desk and in the x-ray department said, "I'm in charge here, you are at my mercy. You'd better acknowledge my power if you want help."

In the past this kind of attitude made me see red. I'd have raged for days about it. But for the first time I finally saw this arrogance for what it is, a cry for validation, a desperate plea for recognition. "I feel like no one notices what I do!" it says, "please - tell me my work is important!" I thanked all four and told them how much I appreciated their kindness and help. All of them responded with warmth.

If no one tells a person that their work is valuable, that they do matter, they may resort to subterfuge, i.e. employing subtle, or not-so-subtle, power games to get the validation they need. Those who serve in the health care field need to be told frequently that their work matters, that it is especially appreciated when they show compassion and loving-kindness to patients and families. People who serve the ill have needs which are not often met in systems which stress efficiency and cost-cutting. It is not only the ill who are emotionally vulnerable and stressed.

I have a complex medical history, and I've dealt with many physicians and medical systems. Time and time again I have been astonished to find myself faced with rude, arrogant and even verbally abusive physicians. My Buddhist friend Iris says I have bad doctor karma.

From the Buddhist point of view, this recurring nightmare has something to teach me, and I think I may have waked up and realized what it is. I know my illness does indeed baffle (and frighten) a good many physicians. Maybe They are afraid that I expect them to be able to fix my problems. Maybe that's where our conversations should start, with my compassionate assurance that I do not expect them to cure me, but rather need them to act as my coach and advisor, as part of a mutually supportive team.

Time to leave bad doctor karma behind.

House Proud

Once in a while, even in the best of families, things get a little out of hand. Case in point, my kitchen pantry and fridge.

Now you'd think, with three pantry shelves and four cubic feet of refrigerator space they'd behave themselves and stay organized. Not so. The last couple of days we had to stave off an avalanche every time we opened the pantry door and, something in that fridge has gone south. Every time the door is opened a distinctly funny smell wafts out.

I just spent a half hour organizing the pantry. My husband is blind to everything that isn't front and centre of any shelf. If there's anything obstructing a clear view of what he wants he can't find it. I don't think installing a beeper on the cracker box would help. He's deaf enough not to know which direction sounds are coming from. For that matter, so am I.

Our conversations the past few years have degenerated into this kind of exchange;

Him: (or me) Gibble, thing, rattlebox, cinderblocks.

Me: (or him) What?

Him: (or me) Gibble, thing, rattlebox, cinderblocks!

Me: (or him)WHAT?

Him: (or me) Why gibble you rattle LISTEN?

Me: (or him) (By now huffy) I was listening! You don't speak clearly!

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, cleaning the pantry. He sticks everything in the front. It appears to be packed to the gills, while it's actually just stuffed in front with nothing behind.

Yesterday when I came home from the grocery store I couldn't get much of anything in the pantry, so it was time to reorganize. Now, with all the new stuff in, there's still lots of room. But it's in layers, front to back. Soon everything will be poised at the front again, the great wall of groceries. Inscrutable as the East. Requiring an expeditionary force to extract a can of beets.

I'm not complaining. He could drink, gamble or run around with other women. Piling everything in the front six inches of the pantry shelf is a minor vice, easily dealt with with a half hour of organization.

Next I have to tackle the fridge, which is also loaded to the gills. There's a rotten apple in that Denmark somewhere. It will have to be unloaded. Everything is in the front six inches of shelf, except that stinky whatever, which has probably been pushed to the back and forgotten. I'm trying to learn not to cook large quantities, but years of habit engulf me over the stove. I cook too much, we don't end up eating it all and occasionally a leftover escapes to mold comfortably behind the cabbage.

He has no idea what I am writing, but as often is the case, we mirror each other's thoughts. He just said, "It's amazing what we get in here though."

Yes, it certainly is. We want for nothing. We have more than enough. We are soooo happy. We are enjoying our little challenge, though we do wish the weather would warm up! This day after day of cold and biting wind hath no charm. The cat wants to go outside, and so do we.

Beneath the Gaze of the Buddha

I saw my new doctor day before yesterday. His office is very cool! The decor is Japanese, including a toko niche with a Buddha statue and a sumi ink painting of two sparrows on a blossom-laden branch. Lots of plants, trickling water, shoji screens. I'd go just to visit the office, even if I didn't need to see the doctor.

I'm still enjoying Oliver's small town dynamics. In Calgary it was very different. I'd go to the doctor's office where I'd gone for years. The receptionist always treated you like a total stranger, and a suspicious one at that. You could almost see her mentally sizing you up, trying to decide whether to call security or to allow you to sit in the waiting room.

Once past the guardian of the gate you sat. If you smiled or said anything to another of the waiting mass, they edged away nervously, like crabs before a wave. Never were pleasantries exchanged. It was like the waiting room for the torturer's apprentice.

One exception - one day, after a late appt when I walked out of the exam room without my prescription I had to wait until the doctor finished with her next patient. I was the only person there, even the guardian had gone home.

A man came in, and immediately introduced himself, obviously expecting me to know who he was. His name rang some sort of vague bell way back in the recesses of my dim mind. He made grand gestures and talked about the wisdom of a Tibetan monk he knew from Bhutan, who said, "Thisthisthisthis...."

We talked, or at least he talked and I said, "Oh yes," and "Really?". He kept dropping clues about his identity, and even went so far as to say, "I did xxxxxx. You've probably read of me, or seen me on TV." By then I had remembered who he was, but I am perverse. I pretended not to have a clue. This is my only remembered "friendly" encounter in that waiting room in all those years.

Day before yesterday, because I remembered my appt to be at 1:20, when it was actually scheduled for 2:20, I got to sit in my new doctor's waiting room for an entire hour. The receptionist was young and pleasant, friendly, chatty. No forms were pushed into my face. They took my health care number and left the paperwork at that.

Three physicians work from this office so people came through at regular intervals. They greeted each other, and me, and lively conversations ensued; They asked about each other's families, their health, ("What's the matter that you're here today?) told stories about neighbours, holidays and work. "I have this cough, I had surgery, I have MS, my daughter is sick, my daughter's having a baby,"

Surprisingly I was included in all this, "I love your hair!" one woman said, and she got up from her seat across the room and moved to sit beside me! "Where do you get it done. I want mine just like it."

I was questioned in a friendly and curious way, by several people, about where we'd come from, how we liked it here, where we were living, if I was "Native" - first time someone has ever recognized that I have Native blood without being told.

I was told I'd like it here, that I'm going to find it a good place to live. If I hadn't figured that out already I learned it in an hour, sitting in the doctor's office, under the beneficent gaze of the Buddha.

Orion Comes Up Sideways

In the Star-Splitter Robert Frost says:

"You know Orion always comes up sideways.
Throwing a leg across our fence of mountains,
And rising on his hands, he looks in on me
Busy outdoors by lantern-light with something
I should have done by daylight, and indeed,
After the ground is frozen, I should have done
Before it froze, and a gust flings a handful
Of waste leaves at my smoky lantern chimney..."

These are the days of winter, when Frost's talk of roaring winds and short days seem all the more pointed. On the few nights that we have had clear skies Orion's belt sparkles as he comes up sideways across our fence of mountains.

We have had storm after storm. The earth is locked in ice, walking is like trying to negotiate frozen surf, choppy, rough, slanting and falling off in every direction. Walking is an adventure in itself, one which you hope won't land you in the hospital. The only way we get in and out of the driveway is by engaging the four wheel drive in the truck.

And the wind! We are shaken like a terrier shakes a rat. The trailer quivers and jumps like a living thing. We were both brought wide awake during the night by a huge crash, but so far we've not seen any damage. Up and down the valley trees are down, awnings and roofs are pried from their moorings and other signs of wind mischief are evident.

At 3:30 pm the temperature is -8, with a wind chill of -16. That's in bright sunshine. The wind is gusting to 50 kmh. Tonight will be bitter. I've thrown out twice the usual amount of bird seed today, trying to fortify my little winged friends for the night ahead.

Confuse a Doc!

In the best tradition of Python, who offered a "Confuse a Cat" service, I now happily offer for a limited time only , my "Confuse a Doc" service, at the temporarily reduced price of $19.95 (plus handling and shipping).

What the heck, if you can do it you can sell it. This is the internet after all! Since I missed the first I-bubble, and failed to make ten M $ off gullible stockholders before my idea of selling ice cream cones on line went south, I figure it's time for my money ship to come in. Nothing quite so much fun as confounding the physician. Buy now and avoid the rush!

Last night my lab tests indicated that I was in kidney failure and a likely candidate for kidney dialysis. Today's lab tests came back absolutely normal. Not just high normal but thuddingly dull normal.

The doctor's immediate response was that last night's readings were a lab error. The lab technician bared her teeth and said, "I ran those tests three times last night, and when the results were so different today I ran those three times. Then I went to the leftover blood from last night and reran it. That result was consistent with last night's readings. Don't ask me how, but today her levels are fine."

So, while I still get to revisit a number of cardiac tests, and probably will not be able to talk my way out of a cardiac angiogram this time, I don't need to see the renal specialist because I don't have a kidney problem.

I just have some very confused doctors.

If It's Not One Thing It's Two!

All the old-timers here say that Oliver is never this cold, never has snow on the ground for such an extended period. As I sit and look at the window at a grey day with a wind chill of -11 I don't know whether to believe them or not. Are they full of hot air? Blowing sunshine up my skirt? Oh please, if only there was some hot air or sunshine, which someone might blow up my skirt!

This time I was smart. Okay, I went to town to go to the PO and buy a few groceries at about 12:30. It's bleeding cold out there. By the time I was checking out at the grocery store my old familiar friend had decided to join me. By that I mean I had chest pain, that fist-in-the-middle-of the-chest pain that runs up the neck into the jaw and down my left arm.

I started taking K-Lyte there and kept taking it once I got home. I didn't want to have to go to the ER again. Frequent fliers are not looked on with enthusiasm in hospital ERs. However, by 5:00 it was apparent that my chest pain was not going to settle and I was getting a bit concerned. I called the neighbours and they graciously brought me to the ER.

The smart part was bringing Baby Mac with me, so I don't die of boredom while tests are run. I deal with pain by distracting myself. Music works, so headphones came along. I got a new CD in the mail today, a gift from Ian, so that was loaded into the Mac and is entertaining me as I sit here.

My potassium level is fine, 4.6, which is smack dab middle of normal. The pronouncement is that, until further testing proves otherwise, my pain is garden-variety angina and I am going to have to have more cardiac tests. I can't say I am all that surprised. My Mother's family has a history of early cardiovascular disease. All of her brothers and sisters had heart attacks beginning in their early 50s. My brother had a quadruple by-pass just a few days ago.

With a nitroglycerin patch and some Plavix I am considerably more comfortable. However the doctor came in with some unsettling test results. I was here November 28th and at the time my kidney function was normal. Now he says I am at the point where if my kidney function drops any lower I will need dialysis. Gulp This has come from nowhere. The Nephrologist (kidney specialist) has been called for a consult, and we will see where this leads. Very strange.

30 minutes later: (Your imbedded reporter types it as it happens!)

The Nephrophologist wants more tests done tonight, then I have to return tomorrow for more tests. I have to wait for the results, which will determine whether I am admitted tomorrow or can wait till Monday to see the Nephrologist in her office. Tony has a dental appt. at 1:30 Monday. I may have to figure out how to be in two places at once.

The nurse just came in and commented that she hopes I have blood left after the lab gets finished with me. That sounds promising. I have to say the staff here is superb. The three doctors we've seen in our visits have all been absolutely excellent. The Rocky in Calgary is excellent too, but god save me from ever having to submit myself to the tender ministrations of the staff at the Foothills again. Aw, we can complain all we like, but we've got a great medical system. None the less you don't like needing it.

My dearly loved Aunt Iva Lee (my Mother's older sister) had a granddaughter named Candy (It was the 50s, sweet was in. No one named their daughter Jackknife or Snotnose back then.) Anyway, dear little three-year-old Candy had a nanny. Nanny had a digestive complaint for which she took a large spoonful of castor oil every night.

Candy watched night after night as her Nanny downed the oil, and somehow got it into her baby head that this must be something delicious, which Nanny was greedily keeping from her. She asked if she could have some, but Nanny said, "Baby you wouldn't like it. It tastes real bad."

"Oh," Candy argued, "I know I'll like if you like it. Just let me have a taste."

"But Nanny doesn't like it, it's medicine. I just have to take it, whether I like it or not."

"Oh, I know I'll like it Nanny, please let me have a taste."

This went on for night after night until finally the poor Nanny could take no more of Candy's wheedling, and she popped a big spoonful of the nasty stuff into the waiting mouth.

Candy swallowed, shuddered, and blanched.

"See," Nanny said."I told you that you wouldn't like it."

"Oh I do like it," the little liar said, "Only I wouldn't want any more."

So, that sums up my recent experiences with hospitals. I appreciate the care, but I don't want to have to have any more. Now there's a new wrinkle in the sheet, and I'm not sure what to make of it.

Guess time will tell.

Cultivating Universal Love

And, having lately spoken of revenge, we balance that silliness with a meditation to begin the New Year, and my New Year, with:

Cultivating Universal Love
And Sympathetic Joy

I now intensely cultivate universal love,
wishing for all conscious beings only true happiness,
fulfillment, peace and freedom from suffering.
I experience great ecstatic joy
at the very thought of conscious
beings abiding forever in equanimity and bliss,
free from every obvious fear and subtle anxiety.
As universal love increases in this mind stream,
harmful forces cannot affect me,
and I become a protector of living beings.

I deeply rejoice in all authentic religious
and moral teachings which have elevated
any person into selfless love.
I rejoice as well in all kind actions
performed by or for even the least evolved sentient being.
I remember constantly that all societies and relationships,
in order to be fruitful, can be based upon
and sustained by loving-kindness alone.

A Mother Can Always Get Revenge!

I resigned myself long ago to the fact that I will never be awarded any prizes for my photography. But you'd think I could take at least one decent shot of each of my kids while they were here over Christmas.

No, in every case eyes were closed or at half-mast, mouth pulled sideways or hanging open, or I caught the top of a head as they looked down.

My camera doesn't take what I want it to, it waits about half a second and then takes what it wants. This is fine for landscapes and sleeping cats, not so good for spontaneous photos of one's ever-active chilluns, unless you want the relatives to look at said pictures and say, "I'm glad ours didn't turn out looking like that!".

But we're holed up recovering from Christmas and New Years, and I was digging through a box looking for something else when I found, in an envelope, a series of photos of our younger son, Zak, back when he was a rock star, playing with a band with the improbable name of Marry Me Lisa

I'm trying to remember the year, maybe 1993 - 1994. Doesn't he look cute in that grumpy face? Heck that was his face, from the time he was born until he .... geez, until last week. hehehe I'm told he's a very charming man now. I taught him that. At least that's my excuse for being grumpy now, "I gave my charm to the kid. He needed it for work."

Wow, lot of water under the bridge in those years! Is this the time for a long walk down memory lane, dragging you kicking and screaming behind me? No, I didn't think so either.

I have some other fish to fry - old Texas idiom for "I got stuff to do". So I'll go do that thang.

Showers of showers!

I have never known such convenience before! A house with four showers. One over the dining room table, one in the bathroom (astonishing!), one in the cupboard where the dishes live (get a footstool and climb right in) and the best one, right over my bed! Sleep and shower at the same time, what a concept! Jump from bed already fresh and dewy for the day.

Could someone please just turn the faucet off? This is supposed to be the northern end of the Sonoran desert after all, and all it's done for the past two months is rain or snow, both inside and outside. Well, it hasn't snowed inside, but it's definitely rained.

It's easy to fix, assuming the temperature is a minimum of 54 degrees F. and DRY for 72 hours straight. Can anyone say April? Until then we live with the occasional unscheduled shower.

It's New Year's Eve, the 42nd anniversary of when Tony and I met. He was the blind date for my tall friend, who took one look at him and another at the tall guy who was supposed to be my date, and said, "You get the short one." I did, and still have him all these happy years later.

This will be a quiet New Year's Eve, as he has an abscessed tooth and is not feeling all that chipper, and we're not party animals anyway. There's a party in the clubhouse to welcome in 2007, but it will probably arrive without us being there. Last night was one of those occasional nights when I slept only a couple of hours, from 7:00 to 9:00 am. So tonight I will probably be well asleep by midnight.

Happy 2007!

Musings on Catmus

To steal blatantly and without shame from the younger son's holiday greeting:

Ah Catmas! The day when we celebrate the rule of our supreme feline overlords (which, strangely, coincides with the day when those of a Christian bent in their holidays celebrate the day that the baby Jesus created capitalism).

Attached is an artistic representation of a mighty feline ruler, wearing a festive and seasonal headdress. The red felt top is a symbolic representation of the rivers of blood that will flow from humans who disobey their feline overlords, while the green band symbolizes the gangrene that will infect the wounds soon after. Note the peaceful expression on the overlord's divine countenance as it contemplates this punishment.

The naughty feline overlord of this household awakened us repeatedly last night. Oh what a bad boy he was. My patience fled at awakening number nine or ten and the fearsome fly swat was taken off the peg and applied to his furry bum.

"Ha!" the overlord taunted with a hiss and slashing claw, "A fly swat is as nothing to my well-padded and thickly-furred rear end! I laugh at your paltry fly swat! My old auntie resisted stronger and more adeptly wielded fly swats than that flimsy thing."

But after his macho display he did go lie down and eventually he must have gone to sleep. He's been as chirpy and sprightly as a sparrow all day. We on the other hand have dragged ourselves from our couches only with great effort and a fair amount of prodding.

All I have wanted today was to try and recover from the last few days. I swear every year that next year I will not let Christmas (or Catmus!) get the better of me. Every year I fail miserably.

But what a merry Catmus we've had. The young members of the family arrived Friday and Saturday. We have laughed and talked and cooked and eaten non-stop since. I feel like a stuffed turkey myself.

Christmas Eve we had Tex-Mex food; Enchiladas, tamales, mole negro, refried beans, Spanish rice, guacamole and tortilla chips. I ate more than I ought to have.

What was in the stockings yesterday morning but chocolate, of the most divine and compelling kind? Oh dear.

Then, at 5:00 yesterday we had the park's community Christmas dinner, which was delicious beyond belief. Even a tiny spoonful of half the dishes filled my plate (and me) to the groaning point. I was too full to even look at dessert. Today we had leftovers. I may just blow up and leave messy blobs on the walls.

God grant me the resolve to eat celery the next few days, and only celery! After we've eaten all the holiday leftovers, dieting is in order. Otherwise they'll have to cut me out of the trailer.

Right now I am soooo tired. I'd like to sleep about a week, and not cook, or eat. And Tinpalace? She threw a tantrum Christmas Eve and her water pressure went up to 80 psi again.

I am not calling Gary on Christmas Eve, but I could hardly go without water, so I am being an anti-enviromentalist and letting the sink tap in the bathroom drip. The drip is just enough to keep the psi in the system down to 65. This regulator number three in a week. Why can't she just accept that Gary's not for her and fall for the Winnebago next door?

Forever a Captive

Okay, now this is just getting ridiculous.

Gary replaced our water pressure regulator on Wednesday. It worked fine then, but by yesterday morning the water pressure was down to a match-stick sized trickle. It took 45 minutes to fill the sink to wash dishes. I left the water running and went off to read, would come back to check occasionally. This would not do.

Gaaaaarrrrryyyyyy!! Is it possible we have a bum regulator? Yes, he said he buys them a dozen at a time and the occasional one doesn't work properly. He said he'd be by about 3:00. And so he was. He replaced the regulator and made sure we had adequate water pressure, and was away, but Tinpalace got her daily Gary fix. He's going on a cruise in January. She'd best suck it up, because she's not going to see him for at least two weeks, no matter what tantrums she pulls.

At about 9:30 - 10:00 pm Mandy, Zak, and their friends Racheal and Ben arrived. The road was pretty messy and Mandy hadn't ever driven on such a long trip before, so they were as taut as violin strings.

However a round of hugs and kisses helped. My, I'd forgotten how tall our kids are! They almost graze the ceiling in here. But we had a wonderful visit, all piled onto the bunks in the back, curled, propped, wrapped in each other's arms.

About 10:30 I cooked up a huge pot of tortellini and a pot of vegies and we enjoyed a meal together. Six for dinner is a bit of a stretch here, but no one seemed to mind. We've made plans to go to town this morning for breakfast, but it may be lunch time by the time we all get mobile.

In the meantime my worry spinner is active, since Ian is driving from Calgary today and the roads are bad. It's snowing pretty vigorously here, which means it will really be coming down in the passes. I hope there are no slides, accidents etc. to block the way, and that he is safely here before dark. I will worry about him all day, as I worried about Zak and Mandy yesterday.

When I was pregnant with Ian an older friend said, "Sleep now, because never again in your life will you sleep entirely without care. Before you sleep you will always think first about the safety of your children."

When Ian was about two Tony worked the day shift at the airport. One evening a colleague was sick and Tony was asked to cover his shift. This meant he wouldn't be home until about 2:00 am. Before I went to bed I locked up, and without thinking put the chain on the door. At about 2:30 I came bolt upright, roused by a little voice calling, "Mama, Mama?"

I threw back the covers and heard my poor husband say through the open window, "Please come and let me in. I have been knocking on the door, ringing the bell, knocking on the window and calling your name for 10 minutes, but I simply could not wake you up. Then I thought that all Ian has to do is squeak and you are awake and out of bed in a flash, so I imitated him as closely as I could and called, 'Mama, Mama?' ".

He was a bit disgruntled that I'd slept through his best efforts to wake me, but that I woke in an instant when the baby called. But that's motherhood for you. From the minute you look in those inscrutable little eyes you are forever captive.

Forget Santa!

The last few days running (no pun intended) up to Christmas will be busy ones. Yesterday we did "town" things. Today I clean house (that will take an hour) and cook. The snowbirds get together for a big meal together on Christmas day. It's planned, so we all know what we are bringing.

My contribution is to roast one of the turkeys. We have between 35-40 people coming so we need three or four turkeys, plus a ham. Each will be cooked by a different person. Doing a turkey means doing dressing as well, and gravy. Since I can't get a turkey into my boot-box sized oven, Zak will bone our turkey and turn it into a turkey roast.

In addition, I am bringing candied yams, homemade tamales and mole negro (moh-lay neh-grow). I make mole once a year, for the Christmas turkey, and to top the tamales. It's a complex, rich blend of flavours which I simply have to have from time to time. I used to seek out and grind the peppers, now I go the easy route and simply use chili powder. Mole is not hard to make, it freezes well and makes chicken or turkey into a meal fit for a king. Mole was once the official court dish of the Aztecs and was served only to the king, male nobility and the high priest.

Drummm rolll please!

Recipe for Mole Negro:

1/4 c. ground chili powder
1 can diced tomatoes
2 medium onions, peeled and diced
4 cloves garlic
2 pieces of toasted bread, diced
1 c. blanched almonds
1/4 c non-hydrogenated smooth-style peanut butter
1/2 c raisins
4 Tbs. toasted sesame seeds
2 tsp. Five-spice powder (Chinese section)
1/2 c butter
2 squares bakers chocolate
1 tsp sugar
1 tsp salt
stock or water

Place chili powder in bowl with two cups hot water. Allow to sit for 30 minutes. Stir occasionally. Using chili/water mixture, process onions, garlic, tomatoes and toast in blender until it forms a paste. Do this in two lots if necessary. Place paste in bowl.

In blender, process almonds, raisins, the sesame seeds, the peanut butter and the five-spice powder into a paste. Mix throughly with the chili paste.

In a large heavy saucepan melt the butter and then add the chili paste, stirring it constantly, until the onions no longer smell raw. Add the chocolate squares, salt and sugar. Stir as the chocolate melts into the sauce. Dilute the mole if necessary, to the consistency of heavy cream. Cook for 20 minutes over very low heat.

---

I was delighted yesterday to find corn tortillas in the market! I hadn't been able to buy corn tortillas in Calgary in ages, though you had to leap over great displays of flour tortillas in practically every aisle. (Okay, so I exaggerate a little, but it makes the story more interesting doncha think?)

Anyway, I bought corn tortillas and will feed my kids a real Tex-Mex feast while they are here. Tamales, mole negro, enchiladas, Spanish rice, refried beans, tortillas, salsa and guacamole. (Oops, forgot sour cream for the guacamole, well, I'll get one of them to go to town and buy some.)

We came home after shopping yesterday, gave the cat a short walk, put the perishable groceries away and quickly trundled down to the clubhouse for the snowbirds Christmas party. It was fun, with a gift exchange and a snacks "potluck". We had a really good time, laughing and talking with our lovely neighbours.

Now, the anticipation begins. Forget Santa, I'm waiting for our kids to arrive. Can't wait to see them all!

The Egg and the Universe

When we left our heroine on Monday she was moaning about the slow and inept service provided by Amazon.ca. She had ordered books on December 4th, paid priority shipping, and then was stunned to learn (violin music please) that said Amazon had not even mailed the books until the 17th of December.

Fear ran rampant that said books would not reach End-of-the-Roadville BC until after Christmas, and so she complained mightily and with unusual vigor in her blog, knowing full well that complaining publicly always backfires.

Today the backfire. The notice arrived yesterday afternoon, allowing me an entire day's grace to pick the books up, and even time to wrap them, if I work fast.

The universe hurls egg at me, as usual.

But my cunning plan worked. Books are in hand.

Trailer Soap - Today's Episode

I filled the sink and was happily washing the brekkie dishes this morning when I glanced at the water pressure gauge, which is right by the sink taps. It read an alarming 80 psi and rising! ACK ACK ACK!!!

It's not supposed to be over 60, but ours has always been a little high, and sits regularly at 72. My panic bells began to ring as it climbed toward 90! I turned on the water and yelled at Tony to go outside and turn off the water supply. If we burst a water hose under the trailer in this weather our bank account will be very very sorry indeed.

He turned off the water supply, no easy job, considering that it's wrapped in heat tape, insulation and plastic sheeting. Then we sat and thunk. The regulator valve is a doo-hickey which attaches to the intake port, and reduces the high psi water supply to a safe level for the pressurized trailer system. Without the regulator you can blow pipes, water heater, water tank.... it's too frightening even to think of.

But we have a new regulator, put on in September. I kicked the trailer's closet and called Gary. Do regulators fail? Yes, he said, frequently after extreme cold spells. He has one in the truck, and he's coming to fix the oven this afternoon anyway, so he will attend to it then.

So, he replaced the regulator and fixed the oven. Then we followed SMMs advice and told Tinpalace, with Gary here, that he is a married man and sees many RVs besides her.

Her response? She plopped a huge drip right on his head, a small stream actually. (Trailer tears?) No, just a leak we hadn't discovered before, but strategically timed and placed. We emptied the cupboards above the sink to find that a seam at the edge is leaking, and has obviously been doing so for some time, quietly and with malice aforethought. Waiting until we put our foot down, as it were.

We gave Gary a cheque. He laughed, patted Tinpalace and said, with a knowing smile, "I'll be back in the park tomorrow."

I think she tossed her head.

Tinpalace loves Gary

If you recall, Gary the RV repair man was here last Thursday to look at my non-functioning oven. He ordered the part he needed to fix it while he was here, but the part seems to be lost in limbo. They are trying to track it down.

In the meantime the furnace blew out during last Wednesday's windstorm, but it had always been "easy" to re-light before. Easy compared to a frontal assault on Everest in February. It's anything but easy, but we had always managed to get it re-lit before.

We've had reasonably warm weather in the days since it blew out, never below -10. Our panel heaters have kept us plenty warm. But we had a chilling thought this morning.

What if the furnace requires a replacement part, or (horrors) replacing? It might be something that takes a number of days to get done and Christmas is bearing down on us, with the associated houseful of guests and activities. If it turns cold we could be hooped.

So I called Gary this morning. He said he'd drop by this afternoon and look at our furnace. He arrived right after lunch, looked the furnace over and had it lit in two minutes flat. It's NEVER lit in less than five or six minutes for us, and I have lain on the floor for up to 20 minutes at a time trying to re-light it several times in the last few days.

This confirms my worst fears. I have to do something to cool Ms. Tinpalace's ardor for him. I thought a good kick to her cabinetry was in order once he left. A cold shower obviously doesn't work, because she's sat in the rain and snow for the last three or four weeks without any abatement in her desire to have him for her very own.

Anyone with suggestions as how to redirect a trailer's ardor let me know. If she could fixate on one of the neighbours that would be fine. None of them charge for their time, and one is even a bachelor. Admittedly he's 82, but he doesn't look a day over 72. He's quite a good-looking man, even if he is 82, and he's awfully nice. He's come for a couple of meals, and you'd think she'd have taken notice.

Maybe Tinpalace feels the same kind of adulation and hero worship for the repairman that an adolescent feels for her family doctor, especially after he fixes her sore throat or broken toe and comforts her in his detached but well-practiced manner.

Excuse me while I go out to kick her tires and take the hammer to her hitch. There has to be some way to knock sense into her - she's no teenager, at 32 she's practically a dowager, though admittedly one with many replacement parts!

A Cunning Plan

I have learned that all I need to do to make things work out right when I'm not satisfied with a product or service is complain - loudly. Now, this does not work in the way you may be imagining. I do not complain to the company, no, I go right to the heart of the matter and complain to:
1) My long-suffering husband,
2) my children,
3) my friends,
4) people in line with me at the supermarket,
5) anyone within earshot, like people in the parking lot at the mall.

The homeless guy who busks at the door of the supermarket will listen to me bellyache for half an hour for five bucks. Is it any wonder people get this "cornered animal" look when they see me bearing down on them, complaint at the ready?

Everyone is cleverly eluding me at the moment, and I have hatched up a plot which absolutely requires that I complain to someone, so trusty blog reader, you get to be part of my cunning plan.

I am so aggravated with Amazon.ca that I could spit! I ordered several books from them on Dec 4th, to give as Christmas gifts. I was careful to choose only books which were in stock. I paid priority shipping, in order to speed things along. (I want to have time to wrap them after all.)

The Amazon site cheerfully chirped, "Lots of time for Christmas delivery", (the ordering date for delivery by the 22nd was the 16th) but warned that using their FREE delivery might result in a delay. That's why I paid the $25.00 priority shipping.

This is the 18th of December and my order was delivered by Amazon to the post office in Toronto yesterday at 3:00 pm. Toronto, a mere 3000 miles away. It took them 13 days to get the books from their shelves to the post office. This is priority?? Someone get them a dictionary!

You tell me how the post office is going to get it from Tronna to here by Wednesday! And it has to be here by Wednesday because our PO doesn't deliver parcels to rural routes. You have to go to town to pick it up. That means the PO has to get the parcel, send out a notice (the next day) which I will get after the PO closes, and then I have to get to town to pick it up. If it's not here by Wednesday I get the notice too late to get the package until after Christmas Day.

I sneer at Amazon's customer service. I revile them! I rebuke their lying website!! I regret paying for priority shipping!!! If I do not have those books in hand by the 22nd they will be refunding my priority shipping charge or I will round up the Knights who say Nee and we will mount an assault!!!

Now, by having kicked up such a lot of dust in front of such a lot of people, the universe will do its usual thing and make a big fool out of me by plopping the parcel into my hands by Friday, maybe even a day or two early.

Come on universe! I'm counting on you to make me eat my words - as you have done so often in the past. The only way to do that is get those books here on time! Then I'll be chagrined to have been so cranky and cantankerous. I'll look at my shoes and mumble when I type my blog, and I won't look my friends and family (or the homeless guy) in the eye until March. Small price!

Note to universe: I hope this plan isn't too cocky, I don't mean to be cocky. Just make a fool of me in the usual way. I'm really not expecting any special treatment, just treat me like you always do.

Who Knew a Trailer Could Fall in Love?

It's been a busy few days, not necessarily intentionally. I think the Tinpalace has a crush on our RV repair man. She keeps finding ways to lure him back.

The ladie's coffee group is having a cookie exchange at our meeting next Monday morning. I decided a couple of days ago that I needed to get in gear and get my six dozen cookies baked. We have a nifty little stove. Three burners up on top, and an oven the size of a bread box. I have used the burners almost daily since we arrived, but have never once lit the oven. I use the microwave, as I know using the oven will turn the tinpalace into a slighter larger oven.

I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. The pilot light lit right away but the oven itself wouldn't light. Hmmmmm. GARRRRYYYYYYY! He came just as I was changing from my jammies yesterday morning and after taking all the bits apart discovered that the tiny jet the gas feeds through from the pilot to under the thermocoupler was plugged. If you hold a flame under the right spot the oven lights right up, but goes out as soon as that flame is moved away. Couldn't get the jet unplugged so he called and ordered a replacement and will be back next week. I bought six dozen cookies today. sigh

In the meantime, we had a heck of a storm a couple of days ago. Terrific winds, and another snowfall. Flakes as big as silver dollars, never seen the like of that before and I've seen plenty of snow. At some point during this storm the wind blew out the pilot light on the furnace. It is a witch to light, you have to lay on the floor, hold a button in at a very awkward angle for six or eight minutes, hold your mouth right, pray, call on the spirits of your ancestors, promise never to think another bad thought as long as you live, swear to do charitable deeds, wear sackcloth and ashes .... and then it lights. Or it always has in the past.

Not this time. I've tried to light the thing for two days and can not get it to catch. Don't know why, the glow plug is heating up, but that's as far as my understanding of how furnaces work goes. GARRRRYYYYYY!!!!! Thankfully we have two very efficient panel heaters and a small electric heater with a fan that keeps the air circulating. It got down to -8 last night, but we never dropped below 70 d F. inside. We're probably fine to -15, but then I'd start to worry about the pipes under the floor. Gary is going off on holidays after Christmas, gotta get this fixed before he goes.

Last night was "Light-Up" in Oliver. They close down the main drag, there's street dancing, games, food, caroling, a visit from Santa and to close, a fireworks display. I thought, since Oliver has all of 4000 people, that the fireworks display would be six Roman candles and a firecracker, but the display was spectacular, as good as the Stampede's fireworks! We enjoyed watching from a perfect vantage point, looking out our side window. Tony didn't even sit up.

Two of the fellows get up early one morning a month and make breakfast for everyone in the park who wants to come; pancakes, scrambled eggs, sausages and coffee. This was the morning, so we started the day by sharing breakfast with most of the people in the park, including our newest neighbours Des and Carol. What a nice couple! We've really got wonderful people around us. It's so much fun being here.

Even though it was crisp outside today it was sunny. Love to see that sun! By noon we were on our way to town with the laundry, and while Tony watched the clothes go round and round I ran to the grocery store for cookies and to the pharmacy to get disc one of Handel's Messiah to complete the set. Once we had the clothes folded we had lunch in town and then came home to put clothes and groceries away. A very productive day!

Now it's 3:15 and the sun has disappeared behind the mountain to the west. I have to take the tinpalace behind the woodshed and talk to her about the facts of life. Mostly financial facts. Gary's a perfectly nice man, but she has to understand that she's fallen for someone who charges for his time, and that means tears before bedtime, unless she has some cunning plan for making her own money.

Salvadeer the Ham

When you see cats dressed like this you know Christmas is at hand!

There's nothing like ham dressed in cat skin. He was going to shake these felt antlers off, and had already done so several times, till he saw me get the camera out. Then he smiled and held very still - until I had time to take a number of Salvadeer pictures. Any one need a movie extra?

We had a sunny day today! Blue sky! You've no idea how exciting this is until you've not seen the sun in two or three weeks. The downpour we've endured the past two days has melted the snow so Sal and I took advantage of the weather and had a nice walk. He was one happy cat!

Then we (the human we) went to town and shopped. I found a CD of one of my favorite pieces of music, Handel's Messiah. But, duh, I was so concerned that I was getting the entire thing that I only bought disc two. Honestly, guess my brain was off in the chocolate aisle, moaning like a sick cow over forbidden fruit. I'll have to go back and buy disc one.

At first I couldn't understand where the first half went. I put the disc on and got busy putting away my groceries. When I looked up and "came to" the dead were already being raised incorruptible without benefit of so much as an overture! I thought I'd gotten so engrossed with stacking cans of beans and tomatoes that I've missed the whole thing till I grabbed the cover. Sigh..... Zen and I part ways so many times during a day that it's embarrassing.

There will be a point in the next few days, after I buy disc one, when I will sit down and listen to the entire oratorio with entire concentration. It's a sublime mediation and never fails to fill me with inexplicable joy and deep contentment.

Complaints Choir

On a cold winter day in Helsinki Tellervo Kalleinen and Oliver Kochta-Kalleinen fell into a discussion of how the huge amount of energy people put into complaining could be channeled into something else. In the Finnish vocabulary there is an expression "Valituskuoro". It means "Complaints Choir" and it is used to describe situations where a lot of people are complaining simultaneously. Kalleinen and Kochta-Kalleinen said to each other:

"Wouldn't it be fantastic to take this expression literally and organise a real Complaints Choir?"

Thus was born the idea of the Complaints Choir. Listen to the Birmingham Complaints Choir by following the "video" link on their entry. You won't be disappointed. You will be wiping tears away, and you'll probably be singing their song yourself before long, the chorus of which goes:

"I want my money back,
My job's a cul-de-sac
And the bus is too infrequent at 6:30
Why don't they pay me more?
Life was good before
And I'm thirsty....."

When I got an e-mail today from Ian saying he is cleaning house and taking boxes to the thrift shop and garbage (presumably boxes of MY stuff) I was inspired to write my own complaining song. I'm going to shamelessly steal both the meter and tune of the Birmingham Complaint Song.

Tune up: lalalalalala, now all together!

Old Folks' Complaining Song!

I live on a pension cheque,
I've got a sore, stiff neck.
And my rotten kids threw all my treasured stuff out.
I think I'm going blind,
I have misplaced my mind,
And I smell bad.

Getting old ain't fun.
I should have cut and run,
When I was fifty.
Our health care sucks for sure,
No doctor's found a cure for being cranky.

The trailer roof still leaks,
My knees and elbows creak,
And what hair I've got has gone all grey and mousey.
My bowels are slow to move,
And I have lost my groove.
I need a walker.

Getting old ain't fun.
I should have cut and run,
When I was fifty.
Our health care sucks for sure,
No doctor's found a cure for being cranky.

The bus steps are too high,
The sidewalk's never dry,
And the clothes these days are just too damn revealing.
The music is too loud.
I'd like a smaller crowd,
And my head hurts.

The pace of life's too fast,
Viagra doesn't last,
And my toenails are too far away to cut them.
They charge for what was free,
Can't sleep - I need to pee.
No one listens to my stories.

Getting old ain't fun.
I should have cut and run,
When I was fifty.
Our health care sucks for sure,
No doctor's found a cure for being cranky.

Quietly Filled

We are cups,
constantly and quietly being filled.
The trick is, knowing how to tip ourselves over
and let the beautiful stuff out. 
- Ray Bradbury

The temperature is 1.1 C!! It is not-freezing for the first time in at least a couple of weeks. All the old-timers are saying that it's never been this cold this early, or for this long. But, aside from a frozen septic line we survived quite comfortably, despite -20 temps and bitterly cold winds of up to 50 kmh. We have been warm and comfortable inside.

With two and a half weeks left to Christmas we are preparing to welcome our kids and friends, and we're looking forward to enjoying the food and festivities of the season. The tree is up (all 18" of it). It's loaded with one string of lights, and hung with tiny toys and ornaments the boys made when they were small.

The cat is fascinated with the tree lights. He can't believe his eyes when they go off, and he's amazed when they come back on. As far as he's concerned it's magic.

This time of year usually makes me pensive and a bit sad, but this year I haven't struggled with that. It may be because we have so many windows that there's not much chance of light deprivation. It may be because we have many more social contacts here, or that we have the satisfaction of being independent for the first time in years. A deepening meditative experience is also helping me keep my emotions on an even keel.

But then, who could be sad? The mountains are covered with snow, the air is full of the sound of wings and bird conversations, from the Fee-Bee of the chickadees to the honking of the neighbourhood Canada geese. They fly back and forth twice a day, honking like New York cabbies. The quail cluck and do a little "half-crow", much like chickens. They scratch industriously in the snow for seeds and fuss over blades of grass. A crow flew overhead yesterday and panicked the quail. They must have thought the crow was the hawk who hangs around, picking off a bird or two every day. In their blind panic the quail flew into the windows, into the side of the trailer, into the front of truck. The hawk need not hunt, all he need do is wait for one of those foolish quail to knock itself out.

It's been a time of being filled...

Going to Seed

You've no idea how much I am enjoying my new bird feeder, though you are probably getting tired of me chuntering on about it endlessly. But I am really enjoying it! (Did I just say that twice? Guess I did.)

Today's new visitors were a pair of magnolia warblers, wee little things, smaller and sleeker than a sparrow, with brilliant yellow breasts and heads and black and white wing bars. They have a lovely song.

At one point the yellow warblers and the hoary redpolls, with their deep pink caps and breasts, were at the feeder at the same time. With a handful of natty little slate coloured juncos as counterpoint it was a pretty color combination, made all the more attractive by their darting movements and bright eyes.

We got a chuckle out of two quail this morning. They were standing beak to beak, then hopped up to bump their chests together repeatedly. Maybe this is a courting ritual, or maybe they were having quail fisticuffs, but it was highly amusing to watch.

Book Tag

For a bibliophile and book publisher this game is close to heaven! I got the idea from Susan and send my thanks!

Book Tag:
The rules are: Grab the book closest to you - Open to page 123 - Scroll down to the 5th sentence - Post the text of next three sentences on your blog - Name of the book and the author - Tag three people.

The closest book is: Birds of North America. Well, that doesn't even have paragraphs. Next; one from my own press, You, Me and Myasthenia Gravis; Third Edition. Dear, dear, page 123 has a table listing medications. Okay, third book wins:

"In the morning after breakfast he started back to the village, and when he passed the site where he had left the float camp he sounded the whistle and the Scottish granny and the children rushed out of the house to wave and call to him. After that he saw no one: he passed no boat." I Heard The Owl Call My Name by Margaret Craven

BTW, this is one of my favorite books and is literally falling into pieces from being read, read and reread. Like a four-year-old I love a familiar story and read my favorite books time and time again.

I tag: SMM; and Mandy;. Okay I know it says three but my blogging circle is small....

Two Beautiful Words

Two of the most beautiful words in the English language are "working toilet".

Gary the RV guy came yesterday. I had just fussed around with the system enough to find out that our dump line (4" diameter and 20 feet long) was full of uhhhh.... effluent and frozen solid. Together Gary and I removed the full, frozen hose. It shattered into shards of blue plastic in our hands, leaving us holding cores of uh.... best not say.

We then wrapped heat cable around the new hose, wound heat cable up around the dump valves and against the bottom of the septic tank, hooked it all up and wrapped everything in styrofoam or fibreglass. The trouble light went back in under the tank and we closed the skirt up again.

This took a good hour and a half, and it was dam*ed cold disgusting work, but it paid off. Gary is going to the Caribbean next month and today we have a working toilet. sigh Such a simple thing. A tank, a hose, a little valve you open, a little avacado green toadstool of a thing in the bathroom. Three steps away.

On another subject Salvador has decided that walking on frozen snow is not so bad, though he is ready to come home after 10 minutes, rather than the 45 he took before. He's now lying on the table bird-watching. Once we get a sunny day I'll try to get pictures of some of our feathered visitors. I tried but it's so overcast every bird appears grey in the resulting pictures. Not worth the battery juice and effort.

Think I'll just go LOOK at the toilet. Admire it. Pat it approvingly. Sweet talk it. "Nice toidy, lovely avacado green toidy, sorry I said you were horrid and ugly before, I was in a bad mood and my chakra was in a knot. I really do love you."

Surmounting Cabin Fever

Our new bird feeder is providing excitement and entertainment for the cat, oh and me too of course. As I said before the first birds arrived two minutes after I hung the feeder in the apple tree eight feet or so from the front door. In two days the birds sighted at the feeder include a red-shafted flicker, dozens of slate juncos and hoary redpolls, several chickadees, a downy woodpecker, too many quail to count, and heard again last night but not seen, a great horned owl.

Salvador reached the limit of his endurance for being housebound today despite the snow and -8 degree weather. He'd been bouncing off the walls all day. Cabin fever took over and about 3:00, he leapt out the door and took himself for a short walk while I talked to a new set of neighbours who arrived night before last.

He walked around the trailer, investigated the storage shed's "news" corner and checked for monsters under the picnic table. Only then did he break and run for the safety of carpeted floors and an MEC sleeping bag.