Operator!

I remember vividly trooping up the wide staircase of Robert E Lee Elementary (Duncan Oklahoma) at some point in the third grade to watch a film.

You have to remember this was in the early 50s, when few homes had TV, and a film in school was an event. In fact we'd looked forward to it for a week, and had fidgeted and waited impatiently for our turn as other classes marched past our first floor classroom door on their way to see "the movie".

When we were finally settled into the desks in the large third floor room and the lights were dimmed we were shown how to use the technological marvel of the age through the story of a boy whose puppy had gone missing. Alas! The boy was an unschooled ninny who did not understand how to use the rotary dial telephone to call the appropriate puppy-seeking authorities. (High Drama! We were as entranced as today's 10-y-o at a "Harry Potter" movie.)

To that point you simply picked up the phone and yelled "Operator! Give me 21!" - or 723 - as the case might be, or "Stumpie Busby's". (Everyone knew Stumpie's number, he was the local bootlegger.) So film star and Puppy-Loser stood and fruitlessly shouted "Operator! Operator!" at the mysterious and previously unheard signal coming from the receiver, the dial tone.

Thankfully Puppy-Loser's kindly Mr. Rogers-like friend came along and showed him, with great care, how one uses a rotary dial. Place your finger in the hole over the number desired and rotate the dial around until it stops. Release, choose your next number, rotate the dial ALLLLLL the way around until it stops, release, repeat, etc. (Four digits in those days!)

"PL" was told he might get a beeping "busy" signal, otherwise wait for the ringing to begin. Your "party" (we called people we phoned the party in those quaint days) will answer the phone. No operator will announce that they are now on the line. You must say, "Hello!" when you pick up a ringing phone, and that is what you wait to hear before speaking.

This was breathtaking stuff which prepared the elementary aged school child to go home and show the parents how to use the baffling rotary phones which were being installed the following weeks. I proudly showed my puzzled parents this new age marvel myself, while my father shook his head in astonishment.

Now, we move 55 years forward. The Shaw guy hands me a "Universal remote" which will supposedly allow me to watch the flat screen high-def TV on my living room wall and then he makes a hasty retreat. Do I get an informative movie, or even a demo on how to use this device, with its hundred buttons, each of which has four dozen functions? No, I get a 75 page instruction book which tells me (supposedly) how to turn on the &^*% TV - but doesn't.

I hold it up and shout Operator! Operator! at it. Nothing. The TV is dark. It's 2011. The operators have all gone home.

I want to go back to third grade.

In Reverse

AKA "unpacking". We have unpacked all the necessary-for-life stuff and are mostly down to boxes of books, pictures, CDs, DVDs and odds and ends. This is not to say that things are organized. That will take some time. Ask again in a month. Nonetheless we are pleased with the progress we have made so far.

We have to wait to unpack the books etc. we brought with us until we buy the hutch and some bookcases. Once we do that the stored books, china and pictures can come "home" from where they have been parked the past four and a half years.

One of the moving helpers carrying in the 10th or so box of books, looked at me and said, "I went through my books and weeded out the extras before I moved." I'm not sure she believed me when I said I had.

We've begun to buy furniture. Since we spent Wednesday pining for comfortable chairs the first items on the to-buy list were two comfortable chairs and a sofa, which we bought Thursday. Now we need a hutch and dining room table, bookcases and perhaps an end table.

As far as furniture is concerned I decided that whatever that's comfortable and I love will work. When I eventually find the camera I'll take pictures but I bought a French Provincial sofa, a lovely thing - silk with big flowers. (eye roll)

I have not a single flowered garment in my wardrobe, nor a ruffle, nor anything particularly girly. My decorating tastes are still a mystery to me. If I didn't love this sofa so much I'd say I was nuts. All the cat has to do is walk across it with extended claws and we'll have instant "shabby chic". I also bought a matched pair of very comfy swivel rockers with traditional rolled arms, in a burgundy velvet corduroy, which picks up the burgundy bits in the sofa pattern.

I may have to thumbtack a "Guns and Roses" poster to the wall to off-set the granny vibe. Except I couldn't stand to look at a Guns and Roses poster. I'm hoping some contemporary bookcases will help. I don't know why I'm worried. Visitors always just look at the cat anyway, so I could probably have thrown an old mattress on the floor and no one would have noticed. When a 21.8 pound red cat stands in the middle of the floor and demands attention everything else fades into insignificance. Weird thing. The sofa matches the cat. The background of the fabric is the same colour as the walls, sort of a rich latte, but there's some colour in there that makes the cat the perfect accessory. He thinks we bought it for him. I hope he's willing to share.

I guess I best admit I'm enjoying this entire process, though it's darned hard work.

The Newest Chapter

In our continuing adventure.

Our trip was long (12 hours on the road) but uneventful aside from Salvador being car sick a couple of times. (Kids and cats!)

We arrived in Calgary well after dark, checked into the hotel and had the fitful night's sleep that comes with too much of a change in diet, schedule, activity level, and everything else.

But now 'tis Wednesday and we have taken possession of our new cozy little home. We've just about exactly doubled the space we had in the trailer, at 588 sq ft. We have a kitchen/dining room, a living room/den, and a bedroom, plus of course a bathroom, and a cleverly designed laundry and linen room adjacent to the bathroom.

Sixteen running feet of eight foot tall closet, including these twin four foot closets in the bedroom and an eight foot one in the hall. Plus a linen closet. After a grand total of three running feet of a 40" tall closet this amount of closet seems enormous! We've decided one closet will be used primarily for storage.

We've learned already that we can turn off the heat entirely - the ambient temperature of the building keeps us at a steady (too warm) 23 C (73 F) degrees. You can tell a difference in the temperature when you turn on the lights, which means all need to be replaced with CFLs by summer, but also indicates that this nice new building is energy efficient. Even though it's snowing outside it's not cold or drafty standing next to the large patio doors in the kitchen/dining room.

The kitchen is cute but was clearly designed by someone seven feet tall who never cooked. This will take some working out, but I will need a hutch to store dishes and small appliances.

We're slowly opening boxes and putting things away. May not be the final spot for everything but at least things will be off the floor and out of the way. Ian will bring the few things we have from storage, and bit by bit we will acquire the rest of the furniture we need, buying high quality pre-owned pieces off Kijiji, Craig's List, local shops etc. Better for the environment than buying newly manufactured and perhaps not so durable goods.

We are very very tired. It may be some time before we are fully recovered, but we could never have done it alone! We had wonderful help from sons Zak and Ian and from Ian's friends Flo, Joanne and Ronda. And our excellent realtor Monika Furtado who put an extraordinary amount of time and effort into finding us a comfortable home.

Thanks also to all our friends in Summerland who came by to say goodbye and wish us well. We look forward to seeing you when you come to Calgary, and to keeping in touch via the Interwebs!

Happy Birthday to Albert!

“A human being is part of a whole, called by us the Universe, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings, as something separated from the rest a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circles of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.”

-Albert Einstein (14 March 1879 – 18 April 1955)

Goodbye Summerland

Tomorrow morning we hit the road, a day earlier than anticipated. This is a good thing, as the weather forecast is better for tomorrow than the following day, and we'll have a day to recover between travel and lawyer.

As usual the last minute packing is terrifying. The last few days I seem to lose all my organizational skills and can't decide what to pack, when to pack it or whether to pack it at all, or just throw it away. I dither.

So I was delighted when Ian and his friend Flo arrived at noon and immediately began to organize, pack and load things into the truck. Within a few hours most of the work was done, and it was apparent we could leave tomorrow morning, rather than Sunday.

An hour's work tomorrow morning, packing up the last few items we needed to keep out, doing a quick sweep, dump the tank, blow the deck free of debris, and we should be on the road by 8:00 am.

We'll tank up on coffee in town and get breakfast in Kelowna, hoping to make the pass before the afternoon warming starts to loosen the snow pack enough to force road closures due to avalanche hazard.

It's been a week of goodbyes, which are always hard. Friends have been so kind, we've had a parade of people dropping by for one last quick visit. From shop clerks and waitresses at our favorite restaurants, to the woman who delivers our prescriptions, over and over we've been told that we will be missed. And we will miss them too.

There will be memories of swans

Today the garden went. I put the word out on freecycle that my garden needed to come out, and today at 2:00 some very nice people came with shovels, pails, bins and pots to dig out and cart away about 90% of my garden. (snif) It was lovely while it lasted, but now a new gardener has lavender, hyacinths and hostas, and a family from Princeton has dozens of plants for their new garden.

We did finally buy a new home in Calgary, though not in a 55+ building, as it is impossible to get mortgage insurance on a condo in an age-restricted building. But it's a nice place, in a nearly new (2004) building, it's accessible and well-located for shopping. We're looking forward to seeing old friends in Calgary again, and getting reestablished in our community there.

We also have sold our little Beach House, which is going to be moved to a new site. Hence the need for the garden to be removed. The park's new owners are pouring great heaps of gravel on sites as they are vacated, and the garden would simply be smothered under tons of rock, which I couldn't bear. So not only we three but the plants are migrating.

We've spent the last weeks running errands and packing. We're now down to the items you use frequently enough to make it a nuisance to be without them. Zak came for a week and did a huge amount of work while he was here.

But mostly we have packed slowly and used the opportunity to rid ourselves of things we no longer need or want. We have freecycled a truckload of stuff, from boxes of fabric to photo albums, appliances and garden furniture. There's something really quite satisfying in being able to share an item with someone who might otherwise have bought it or gone without.

And we've enjoyed the trumpeter swans who have come to stay on our beach, the robins who are returning, the heron perched in a tree by the side of the road, the many quail who come to eat the seed I throw out, and the large flock of Bohemian wax-wings who landed briefly in a tree just outside (presumably to decide where to go next as they left five minutes later and have not returned). The first of the warblers have arrived back. They sang Salvador and I along on our walk this morning, like little musical lemon-drops.

We went out to dinner with our neighbours Art and Ruth and the former park managers Linda and Judy on Friday night. After dinner we all went to Art and Ruth's and visited for a couple of hours. Ruth is another genealogist. As we were leaving I remarked that I'd received the first "pen and paper" request for genealogical information I'd gotten in years that day. Ruth laughed and said, "We used to do it all that way," and she picked up a worn folder with the name Christopher Hussey on it. "Like this," she said, opening the folder. "These ancestors of Art's, I don't even have them entered in the tree yet, after how many years." The pages were so worn they were falling out of the binding. But I looked at the name and blinked.

Christopher Hussey was my 6th great-grandfather. Art is also a grandchild of Christopher Hussey. Which makes us cousins of some distant degree. So now not only am I leaving friends we have come to love, we are leaving family behind as well!

And to top it off, once I looked at Christopher Hussey's pedigree I realized he was a descendant of the Bowes (Bowes-Lyon) family, who were the Queen Mum's family. So, our former neighbour (who was an English Lord and cousin to the Queen Mum) was also a very distant cousin. I wish I'd known that then. His wife would have been so tickled.

Anyway, Ian arrives Friday and we will be taking possession of our new home Tuesday week. Since I am only rambling and need to pack at least one more box to obtain any sense of satisfaction from the day I'd best go do that.

Love itself...

I guess I must admit to being on a bit of a Leonard Cohen binge at the moment. My friend Liz said to me earlier today, "His voice makes me want to slit a pulsing artery, mine or his," but I'm loving the work he's produced since becoming a Zen Buddhist monk.

Cohen has been a practicing Jew all his life but says of his adherence to Zen; "[In] the tradition of Zen that I've practiced, there is no prayerful worship and there is no affirmation of a deity. So theologically there is no challenge to any Jewish belief..."

In this song there are echoes of the Heart Sutra which says; ... form is emptiness and the very emptiness is form; emptiness does not differ from form, form does not differ from emptiness; whatever is form, that is emptiness, whatever is emptiness, that is form, the same is true of feelings, perceptions, impulses and consciousness. ... Gone, gone, gone beyond, gone altogether beyond, O what an awakening..



The light came through the window,
Straight from the sun above,
And so inside my little room
There plunged the rays of Love.

In streams of light I clearly saw
The dust you seldom see,
Out of which the Nameless makes
A Name for one like me.

I’ll try to say a little more:
Love went on and on
Until it reached an open door –
Then Love Itself
Love Itself was gone.

All busy in the sunlight
The flecks did float and dance,
And I was tumbled up with them
In formless circumstance.

I’ll try to say a little more:
Love went on and on
Until it reached an open door –
Then Love Itself
Love Itself was gone.

Then I came back from where I’d been.
My room, it looked the same –
But there was nothing left between
The Nameless and the Name.

All busy in the sunlight
The flecks did float and dance,
And I was tumbled up with them
In formless circumstance.

I’ll try to say a little more:
Love went on and on
Until it reached an open door –
Then Love itself,
Love Itself was gone.
Love Itself was gone.

The Feline Overlord Turns Twelve!

Valentine's day is not a day of hearts, roses and sweet nothings in this household. Oh no! Valentine's Day here is the birthday of the Feline Overlord of the Household, a day when we do (the usual and proper) reverence to He Who Must Be Obeyed.

A newborn kitten looks so innocent, but behind those "adore me" looks lurk a quick intelligence and a natural flair for leadership. Just give him a few months.

Last night at midnight I was awakened (for the second time since retiring at 10:45) by the poke of a paw on my face. This, plus head butts to my nose, signals that my services are required. He wanted to go out and sniff the night air, have a meal and a "cookie".

The night time meals are not just because he's spoiled, but are part of the routine we use to keep his blood sugar stable. He's diabetic, but by feeding him a very low carbohydrate canned cat food and feeding him a spoonful at a time both day and night he has not required an insulin injection in over three years.

I put a teaspoon of food in his dish, put out two "cookies" (pieces of high-grade crunchy cat food). Then, as expected I stand by the door and wait for the scratching that signals his desire to come back in.

Ten minutes later I stumbled back to bed, he curled up with his arms around my neck, buried his face in my shoulder, and we went back to sleep.

At 4:00 am he woke me by vigorously scratching on the wall by the bed. "Service please." Out to sit on the step for five minutes, a meal, a cookie. Back to bed, with him snuggled up "spoon" style.

5:25, a poke in the face, accompanied by an insistent meowing. He has an indoor box, but he doesn't like using it. Outside for ten minutes, several of which are spent in loud and vigorous excavation of the cat box.

6:45, He wakes me by poking at me again. I give up and get up. The first things done are: 1) let the cat out 2) start the coffee 3) let the cat in 4) feed the cat 5) hold the cat in my lap.

You may well understand why we refer to him as the "Overlord". Today he's been fed, brushed, walked, held and rocked, petted, played a game of ball, knocked my jade tree out of its pot onto the floor, stood in the middle of the kitchen sink (which had water in it) to play in the water from the tap and left big wet tracks all over the counter. Now he is on the sofa, belly up, enjoying a well-earned rest.

Today is Sal's 12th birthday. He's slowing down, he limps a bit, he sometimes groans in his sleep and I worry about him and love him dearly. He is a delightful and engaging companion who is very adept at communicating what he expects from us. But he gives as much as he asks for.

Happy Birthday Salvador!

Purge, Pack, PANIC

Barring unforeseen circumstances we have found a new home. YAY! It only took five months of looking, and two failed offers before this one was accepted. Very much like a visit to Brimstone and Lucifer Dental Surgery.

But I won't address the difficulties of that process here, the one ahead of us is daunting enough. We have to be in Calgary to sign papers one month from today. (Gulp) Hence the "purge, pack, panic title of this post. So, how does one organize a move when you have limited energy stores?

You set up a system

Knowing this move was coming I bought a stack of 2" square post-it notes in four neon colours, orange, hot pink, lime green and eye-watering yellow. Each room in our new home is designated with a colour and a letter code:

Living Room (LR) is Orange
Kitchen/Dining room (KIT) is Pink
Bedroom (BED) is Green
Bathroom/laundry/linens (BATH) is yellow

As I pack each box it gets a colour sticker with the room code written on it, a number and a priority letter code "A", "B" or "C".

• "A" boxes contain items we need on a daily basis, and which must be unpacked immediately.
  
• "B" boxes are items needed less frequently, but at least weekly.
  
• "C" boxes can wait until everything we need to manage comfortably has been unpacked and put away. "C" items are pictures, fancy china, books, and tchotchkes, which despite a rather dismissive definition in wikipedia, in Canada anyway suggests items imbued with an aura of sentimentality or personal significance.
  

I record what goes into each box as I pack it, then code it - colour, room, number and priority. So a box with a pink label may have the code LR #3 C. If I find I need a specific item as we unpack all I need do is search the list with my "find" function and I'll know what box to look for.

The brightly coloured post-it notes enable a quick sort as boxes come in the door. I remember too many nightmare moves where the helpers don't have a clue where a box is to go, so the very box you need for the first night gets buried under a pile in the middle of the kitchen floor, or the pile in the bedroom - or... did it come in at all?

All you have to do is stick the right colour post-it on the doorway to the room and say, "Match the colour of the sticker on the box to the sticker on the door." If the label says "A" put it to the side.

I start packing "C" items obviously, so today the paintings came off the walls, the curio cabinet was emptied, the pretty cups and tea set, some reference books, and other small items were packed.

I'll cull and purge as I go. I'm not taking anything that is borked in any way unless getting rid of it would cause deep emotional turmoil. Things I do not absolutely love are outta here, to be passed to someone who will love and use them. I even organized. For some unexplainable reason we have two large photo albums, each only half full. I pulled the pictures from one and put them in the other, and will pass the other perfectly good album to the thrift shop.

That's my "sit-down" time used up. Back to packing! How do you prepare for and organize a move?

Our February KIVA Loan

Our KIVA loan this month goes to Deggo Book Ligguey, a group of nine women in Senegal who work together to improve their lives.

In this Group: Bobatora Diedhiou, Christine Assine, Rosalie Sagna, Rougui Diedhiou, Marie Boya Diedhiou, Méta Diatta, Héléne Diatta, Francisca Diatta, Solinda Silva.

The Deggo Book Ligguey solidarity group was created three years ago. It is composed of nine women. These women advocate harmony within their group, which allows them to feel very close and cooperative in their business activities. They have all invested in small stores, buy their products in one place and set the same price.

Mrs Marie Boya Diedhiou, standing right in the picture and raising her hand, chairs the group. She is 33 years old, married and the mother of four children. She sells palm oil, brooms and lemons. The Microfinance loans she was granted so far have enabled her to expand her business to Dakar, the capital of the country. Now she participates more in the education of her children. She also is able to contribute to general household expenses.

In a group loan, each member of the group receives an individual loan but is part of a group of individuals bound by a group guarantee. Under this arrangement, each member of the group supports one another and is responsible for paying back the loans of their fellow group members if someone is delinquent or defaults.

Snow Day...

Thankfully we went to town to shop yesterday, when it was a blistering 6 degrees C (42.8 F) because while prognostications are that it will reach 8 C (46.8 F) tomorrow today we have snow! It's snowing very heavily and is supposed to snow all night, turning to rain as it warms.

Our neighbour Art, who was out cheerfully shoveling first thing, said, "It's so wet you could almost pump it!"

It's very still, and very quiet, in that muffler and scarf sort of way only heavy snow brings. The world drops away at the edge of the road. It's quite lovely, especially since I don't have to drive in it, shovel it, or otherwise endure it.

In the garden the Kanji lantern is buried up to its shoulders, with a perfect cap of snow on top. The garden is a hummocky bed of white, with only the tallest bits peeking out from under the blanket.

Sal is disgruntled, since he'd like a walk but doesn't walking in wet belly-deep snow. He sits on the step and glares.... Maine Coons are supposed to be impervious to snow, but he hates the wet kind. When it's dry he'll walk on it, but walking in this is too much like a cold bath to be any fun.

We won't complain. It's been a mild winter and we should be through the worst of it now. The days are visibly longer, this will give the earth a much-needed drink, and the earth continues to spin on its axis.

Ring the bells that still can ring...

There is a crack, a crack in everything,
That's how the light gets in,
That's how the light gets in...

Hallelujah! and Happy Birthday!

Happy 70th Birthday Tony, and Hallelujah, not because as Cohen says in his song, "it all went wrong", but because it's all gone right, and I stand before the Lord of Song with nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah! for the years you've shared with me.

This video affords a 360 degree view from a helicopter as it flies above Nimmo Bay, turquoise-coloured rivers, the coastal mountains and glaciers. It's like being in the cockpit. You can look ahead, to the sides, down and behind. Probably the most magnificent look at the province we live in that I have ever seen.

Click to start the video:

January KIVA Loan

Manuel Lara Quillay

And as a nod to my fine husband who is soon to turn 70, our 22nd KIVA loan goes to 70 year-old farmer Manuel Lara Quillay, who is married and lives with his wife in Chillanes Canton, Bolívar province Ecuador. Manuel and his wife have five children.

Manuel is a corn and broad bean farmer. His purchases and sales both take place at the Chillanes Canton Market on Sundays. He asked for a loan to buy seed, manure and fertilizer so that his crops will grow well and be of good quality. The loan will help him economically to meet the farmer's seasonal challenges like insect infestations, plant diseases and variations in the weather.

His hope is for continued good health so he can carry on working and provide an education for his children. His dream is that they can improve their lives through education.

Good luck Manuel, we will be rooting for you in the months ahead!

Happy Birthday to Me!

Ian knows what to get his Mama for her birthday. For the second year he sent me a KIVA gift certificate.

And seeing as how today I officially became a senior citizen, a golden oldie and one of the first of the boomers to turn 65 I decided to find someone "old like me" to loan my money to.

Now, there's no telling how old is "old" but the KIVA description says Mr. Thai Hong and his wife, Mrs. Sakhorn Sbaung are "old", but still strong enough to work.

Mr.Thai Hong and his wife are rice and lotus farmers who live along National Road Number Six, about 20 kilometers from Phnom Penh Cambodia.

Farming is their main business, and you have to feel respect for anyone, let alone "old" people who can do the back-breaking work of maintaining a rice paddy. They asked for a $500 (USD) loan to purchase seeds, fertilizer and pesticide to maintain their farm.

So, in my small way I hope to give them a bit of a hand, and thanks to Ian for helping me do it! I'll make my regular monthly KIVA loan in a few days when the loan repayments have been credited to my account and the money is available to top up and loan out again.

As The World Turns

Our little world anyway. Of course it turns daily, on its small pivot. The daily round of cook and clean, the conversation over morning coffee. But it's about to spin 180 degrees.

As much as we have loved it here, and regret leaving neighbours who have become valued friends, we've made the decision to return to Calgary. Many reasons, which I will not belabour, but we are looking forward to being close to Ian, and paradoxically, to Zak and Mandy, since they can combine visits to her family and us.

So we are looking for a condo in Calgary and will put the Beach House up for sale. Hopefully a new owner can be found who will love the flowers and garden, and enjoy the deck, as well as the glorified tin can itself.

Ian is serving as leg-man in Calgary, looking at condos and video-taping them for our inspection. Zak is coming in a couple of weeks to help purge and pack. Everything not essential to daily living will be packed, lots of extra flotsam will be tossed, donated and freecycled. (Amazing the amount of stuff one collects as soon as the wheels stop rolling.)

These four years have been an interesting experience. A good RV park is a community which you settle into, quickly or over time, depending on the situation. At Bel Air we were treated as old friends the day we arrived, as people came and went with the seasons and the atmosphere was very much "Hail fellow well met!".

Here the permanent residents are much more stable, many having been here for 10+ years, and though everyone was friendly and helpful from the first it took longer to find our place. But find it we did, and this has been a wonderful place to live. But we've realized that it's the community around you which makes a situation livable. We lived in a building in Calgary for 11 years, and got to know one neighbour in all that time. You might as well live on a desert island like Robinson Crusoe in one of those buildings.

So while looking for a place to buy in Calgary we found that there's an interesting form of housing there which is not available here. A development company has built four condo buildings with age restrictions - 55+ or 60+. These four buildings offer a wide range of amenities. Each resident owns their condo - an apartment with a complete kitchen, bath, bedroom, living room etc. but all share the building's common amenities. There are daily social activities, a bus for shopping trips, exercise, games and craft/hobby rooms. There's a library and a media/computer room. There are gathering places with comfy chairs, big screen TVs, fireplaces, and a dining room where you can have dinner if you don't feel like cooking. Each building adjoins a park with walking paths.

It's this kind of unit in a community that we are looking for. Alas, along with the age restrictions these buildings have pet restrictions. Only certain areas in each of the buildings will allow a cat and so far we haven't found the perfect match. But we will, or at least we hope so. The realtor just e-mailed to say the second of the three available buildings has enacted a new by-law and now doesn't allow pets. It's frustrating to say the least.

So, while we pack and purge and keep up a constant stream of e-mails with the realtor, the banker and Ian, we remind ourselves not to be sad or anxious that this wonderful phase of our lives is ending, or to worry about finding a new home, but instead to look forward to new challenges, new friends, and a new chapter in our ever-evolving adventure.

Continuing the countdown!

These guys are awesome and as a "zebra" I appreciate a bit of Christmas on the Serengeti.

Christmas Week and All That Jazz

Christmas is five days away, Ian and a friend are arriving on Christmas Eve and what does our householder have planned?

With the announcement that we'll be having guests for Christmas dinner my plans changed from chicken stew for the two of us to turkey and all the trims for four. I don't mind a bit, in fact I'm looking forward to it. One meal of turkey a year I can manage. But it does mean my late week market basket will be piled higher than I anticipated.

I'll also finish the painting in the kitchen that I didn't finish before. I don't know, motivation fled, or energy escaped or something... but I need to take care of that last remaining bit of brown linen wall.

We are now officially festive. Yesterday, I unGrinched and put up the Christmas tree (all 18" of it!), wound a pine garland around the molding over the sofa, put the salt dough ornaments we made in 1979 on it, and brought out a few of my favorite old toys.

Gifts, not much. I got a stocking stuffer for each of the kids, but we have followed through with our decision to make a KIVA loan each month, and support a few other charities, in lieu of buying Christmas gifts none of us really needs.

Outside, we've had another snowfall. Flurries were predicted and two inches fell. More snow is expected, so barring a sudden warming spell, our Christmas will be white, unless you count the colours of the birds which come to the seed I throw out for them each morning. A covey of 20 quail make a significant dent in a the birdseed budget, but I love their silly ways.

Let me see, where have I put the paintbrush?

Christmas Countdown

And what can we say but, "Look for the bright spots and enjoy them to the fullest!"

Christmas Rerun

But everyone loves the familiar at Christmas right? I love this song and clip from the British children's Christmas show, The Snowman

What's Past is Filed in a Manila Envelope

I sat down today to do a job long postponed. As a genealogist for more than 30 years I have amassed an enormous collection of documents, maps, pedigrees, papers, bad photocopies of old pictures and a collection of family letters dating back to 1966.

This "mess" is loosely organized by surname into brown manila envelopes, tattered and pushed to the limits of their ability. For the past several years my horde has not fit into the two foot deep file box I have lugged along with each move. I had a stack of eight or ten "extra" envelopes piled beside the file box in the cupboard.

I spent the day sorting, discarding material I'd copied (just in case) which turned out to be an unrelated line, weeding out duplicate sheets - when we gained the ability to print our own documents at home it was always "better" to print two, three or four copies rather than one. Never know when you'd need an extra family group sheet for great-uncle Jeremiah Kast and his 21 children. Best safe than sorry!

I have reams of papers other people have sent, hoping we would have a link. Sort sort sort, toss toss toss.

The most difficult were the letters. No one writes real letters any more but we used to generate a steady flow of letters. I had several large envelopes absolutely groaning with hundreds of letters. Some were written to my parents by their siblings, there was a single letter from my father-in-law written shortly before he died, and many - dozens - from my sister, brother, sister-in-law, brother-in-law, aunts, and cousins. Reports of marriages, births, deaths, the gossip of small family scandals and an occasional triumph, the march of time captured in the neat or spidery scripts of writers who are almost all now returned to the quiet well of creation from which they sprang, to quote the Tao de Ching.

Most precious, I have a two-line letter from my father, who was one of the most intelligent men I have ever known, but who was almost completely illiterate. He was severely dyslexic, but in 1910 they just said he couldn't learn. In grade four he was removed from school and put to work in the fields. I had folded this little bit of paper away years ago, and thought its power might have diminished. It has not. He struggled so hard to write those two lines. It seemed a precis of his life.

The time will come when my sons will look at all this and shake their heads, and they will probably throw the whole collection away. Some genealogists leave their neatly catalogued family collections to the local library to flesh out the county history. There is no "local" of any consequence with my ancestors. They came from the four corners of the earth, rolled through state after state like tumbleweeds, moved with the seasons, took only their appetites and (most likely) left unpaid bills behind. The descendants are prosperous these days but I remember the terror in my parent's voices as they talked of trying to raise a family through the Great Depression.

There's 500 years of history in that file box, stories and journeys which began in France and Spain, in Shropshire and Wiltshire, Germany and Holland. Some whose ancestors came across the Bering Strait 20,000 years ago and who stood on the Eastern shore and watched the newcomers arrive. Don't be rough with them boys. Even if it's just for my sake. [Edit: Older son insists he is not the beer-swilling Nascar obsessed lout portrayed by his mother in this post, but a highly sensitive soul who appreciates his rich family history. He's a good boy, as is the younger one. Maybe they'll flip a quarter for the box of documents - I'll leave it to them to decide if it's the winner or the loser who babysits mother's paperwork through the next generation. grin ]

KIVA Loan for December

This month our KIVA loan goes to 22 year old Azizov Sohib in the former Soviet republic of Tajikistan. He is married and has a small child. For more than five years Sohib has been running a joiner’s shop manufacturing wooden doors and window frames.

Hard-working young people like Sohib are the future of any nation. I admit a soft spot for those who produce beautiful joinery and carpentry, as both my father and brother were master carpenters who produced beautiful cabinetry, furniture, clocks and even houses. So, as a small remembrance to my brother Hall, who recently passed away, and my dad Charlie, who left us in November of 1985, a loan to a young man who carries on the tradition of beautiful woodwork.

Sohib is respected as a good worker in his neighborhood. His business generates a stable income allowing him to support his family and improve their living conditions. Now he needs to purchase additional materials for his manufacturing shop. For this reason he applied for a $1395.00 (USD) loan. This is Sohib's third loan, which he promises to repay his loan in a timely manner. He thanks everyone for their support.

Tajikistan has a rich history. It was along the Silk Road and the boundary of Alexander the Great's empire. The poets Omar Khayyam and Rumi were from Tajikistan. The country is home to communities that still speak the ancient Sogdian language, epic mountain passes, and a civilization that dates back to the 4th millennium BC. And, even today, it is a complex mixture of the Islamic faith, Soviet culture, New West culture and Central Asian traditions.

Tajikistan is now the poorest of the former Soviet republics. The civil war, which ignited soon after its independence from the U.S.S.R., further damaged the already weak economy. In addition, 93% of the country is mountainous and only 7% of the land is arable. These conditions have resulted in high levels of unemployment and have forced hundreds of thousands to seek work in other countries, mainly Russia. While the people of Tajikistan are working to improve its agricultural production and manufacturing sector, nearly two-thirds of the population still live in abject poverty. But with hard work and a little help Sohib and his family will not be among those living in poverty.

The Young Get It

A 15 year-old boy understands the implications of our actions. This past week it was -30 C in Calgary, while at the same time it was not yet cold enough to freeze water at the Arctic Circle in Iqualuit Northwest Territories Canada. We are told the polar bears are starving because there's no sea ice, and after their six month summer fast they are running out of time.

My young friend Thomas, who lives in the Netherlands, just completed this video for his AV class assignment. We had some trouble deciding on how to translate a Dutch idiomatic word that means animals take only what they need and do not ravage the earth. I'm not sure we succeeded, but watch and see if you agree.

Hallelujah! Flash Mob

One of my great joys used to be singing in the church choir. And this was one of my favorite songs. I may be one of the few people who listen to the entire "Messiah" year round. So this tickled me when I just found it.

Enjoy!

Asian Chicken Vegetable Soup

One of my biggest faults as a cook is that while my experimentation sometimes results in something truly delicious I can rarely make that dish again. Tony says, "Write it down," and I say, "I will," and I put it off and forget what I used for ingredients and that's that! This time I will write it down! This soup is hearty, spectacular and was made from stuff in the fridge and pantry.

Ingredients:

2 cups cooked boned chicken
2 quarts water
1 large onion, diced
1 small can cooked pumpkin
3 bay leaves
2 tsp fresh grated ginger
1/2 tsp five spice mix
1/2 tsp cayenne pepper
1 tsp Mrs Dash original mix
1/2 cup smooth "natural" peanut butter
1 cup dried mixed vegetable flakes (carrots, potato, onion, celery)
1 cup brown parboiled rice
salt to taste

Method:

Bring water to the boil, add boned chicken, bay leaves and diced onion. Reduce heat and simmer for 10 minutes, add pumpkin, spices, vegetable flakes and peanut butter. Simmer for a further 10 minutes, add rice and stir. Stir occasionally and cook until rice is done.

A perfect dinner for a wet, chilly November evening.

This Island Earth

Jonathan Edwards has been one of my favorite singer/songwriters for many years, and this is one of his beautiful and moving songs. Now in his mid-60s he can still stand up on a stage and sing live without a band, no lip sync, no electronic manipulation needed. And like most of his songs it leaves you thinking.

After seeing a video of a right-wing politician standing up in a congressional hearing in the USA to claim a verse in Genesis as proof that we need not give a damn about how we abuse or misuse the earth, because only God can destroy it, I sort of needed to hear this.

12 Nov 2010

While the rest of the country has been walloped with floods and blizzards we still haven't had our first frost, although the hills above us have been brushed with snow and the breeze has a knife's edge. Nonetheless it was sunny this morning and while the moment lasted I went out with the camera to capture the late fall flowers.

The flowers around our Kanji lantern are still working hard. Only the top emerges from the chaos of greenery. The crystal palace lobelia is intensely purple-blue against the silver lamb's ear. The white roses are outdoing themselves, the sedums are stilll going strong, and behind them the tall stalks of toad lilies are frilled with dozens of delicate spotted blossoms. The peach-coloured mini roses and the candy striped red-and white climbers are blooming again after a late summer rest.

The hydrangeas in Ruth's garden next door are breathtaking. These blossoms have been on since mid-summer and are now sun-bleached. The leaves have turned a spectacular marbling of golds, bronzes and greens.

Along the fence the strawberries have dressed themselves in brilliant autumn colours. Even better they are still producing berries, and somewhat optimistically - blossoms! The leaves are almost as beautiful as flowers and on a grey day are like fireworks just outside the window.

Nestled down in the leaves tiny blue blossoms barely 1/4 of an inch across push up looking for a little sun. I'm not sure what these are, blue bacopia maybe - They probably escaped from a summer basket and have set up housekeeping along the fence. They look a bit like forget-me-nots but are a lovely ground cover.

Down the street Del's eight foot high rose bush is laden with a hundred blossoms and even more buds. This is another of those spectacular constant-bloomers which has been laden with flowers since July. The three inch wide roses are white, just barely tinged with pink.

Surely makes a morning walk enjoyable.

KIVA Loan for November

While we usually loan to women, our 19th KIVA loan goes to a man, 40 year-old Santiago Llauce De La Cruz of Peru, a married man with five children. Santiago lives with his family in the San Carlos neighbourhood of the Arbolsol village, a rural area in the Morrope district, an hour and a half from the city of Chiclayo. The principle work here is farming and raising animals.

Santiago has raised and sold animals for ten years. He raises goats, pigs and poultry in pens installed outside his home. He sells his animals to buyers from the area and he also also sells them in the Morrope market. This business is the only source of income for his family so he works hard to make it as productive as possible.

Santiago has had a previous loan from Kiva. With that money, he was able to buy animal feed and his animals benefitted with better health and quicker growth, allowing them to be sold at a better price. He will use this loan to buy more young animals and animal feed and improve his business. He is very happy and thankful for the people that have collaborated with him through Kiva and he faces his future with optimism and energy.

That Breeze is Chilly

Above us, snow on the hills. Here, leaves tumbling off trees and piling up in layers of colour on the grass, and (like sheep dressed in lamb) on the flowers in the garden.

Sal and I walk in the morning. I shiver in my coat and hat. The wind ruffles Sal's fur but he's immune to the cold. He stops to sniff every blade of grass, surveys the landscape with the narrowed eye of the artist, paints great swaths of invisible comment with the magnificent tail.

If he spies Blue he is instantly quivering anticipation.

Can we play can we play?

Yes! Blue gets on the other side of the chain link fence. The two of them run side by side, stop, switch directions, dance a bit, run some more. Blue comes across the fence and drops on the grass. Sal drops, watches, trembles.

Can we play can we play?

Blue spooks and makes a run, Sal is after him, but stays well back. Blue vaults the two foot high fence into Ruth and Art's yard. Sal stands up and looks over. Blue comes back to the fence. They lay almost nose to nose, separated by the safety barrier of a fence Sal could be over in a heart beat. Cats respect territorial boundaries.

The flowers continue to be spectacular. Roses expend the last of their season's colour and fragrance in an almost frenzied display. The compound flower heads of the sedum look like burgundy velvet broccoli. The lobelia is an almost painfully intense blue among the silver lamb's ears. The nasturiums have crawled up into the deck, the spiky-smelling yellow blossoms poke up and smile from underneath the stairs.

I look at it all and wonder how long it will be fresh in my memory? How long will I recall the tart smell of fallen leaves, keep the indigo colour on the lake safely locked inside, remember how a golden burst of leaves contrasts with the dark and brooding hills behind them?

I need to remember this day well, there will never be another just like it.

Life Edited

'Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free,
'Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
'Twill be in the valley of love and delight.
When true simplicity is gain'd,
To bow and to bend we shan't be asham'd,
To turn, turn will be our delight,
Till by turning, turning we come round right.

~ Shaker Hymn

Oh, Just think about it!

You can't have everything. Where would you put it? ~ Steven Wright

Green Side Up

I finally got to town yesterday. I would not have gone but the fridge echoed when you opened it. We were down to choosing between a spoonful of Mango Chutney or half a dozen garlic stuffed green olives for breakfast.

I had not been to town for errands or shopping in ten days, and there were several stops required. Pharmacy, post office, health food store, bank, grocer's. In that order. Between the health food store and the bank I stopped to have lunch. I needed to sit.

I guess I haven't said that three weeks back I had a round of food poisoning that has left me collywobbled. If I am on my feet for too long my blood pressure drops and things get a bit unpredictable. I'm still only good for short stints of activity, a "short stint" being about five minutes sandwiched between hour long rests. And there were several longer stints in there yesterday with very short rests.

By the time I had finished at the grocer's I was seeing grey clouds flicker across my field of vision and feeling like I might just flop onto the floor. The store found someone to load my groceries into the truck. I sat and waited until I had my breath (and blood pressure) back before I tried to drive.

But I started the great expedition at the pharmacy. I was standing at the pharmacy check-out and the conversation went like this:

Scene: L-shaped counter, little old man of 85+ buying lottery tickets on the L to my right. I am facing the clerk, my purchases on the counter. I am sort of clutching the counter to keep from falling.

She says: "That will be $18.00 please."

I look at her goggle-eyed. She hasn't yet rung me through so I am confused.

She looks at me, waiting for me to coff up the dough. She gives a jump, says, "Sorry! That's for this gentleman's lotto tickets! Some days I don't know whether I'm coming or going!"

He says, "That's nothing! Some days I don't know if I'm dead or alive!"

I say: "Any day on the green side of the grass is a gift."

She looks at me thoughtfully and says: "That's an attitude held only by people who face a lot of challenges."

Today I pay for yesterday's excursion. Three-minute stints and two hour rests. Not very productive. The grass is short, but I'm still looking at it from the green side. Life is a challenge at times but it's still a great gift.

Garden Update 2010

Now that the garden beds are cleaned out it's time to take stock and think about what went well, what flopped and what we have learned.

We have learned:

1) An eight foot row of rainbow chard can make you the neighbourhood pariah. After X many bunches of chard the neighbours hide behind the curtains when they see you coming down the road. Plant a four foot row next year.

2) No one in their right mind needs 30 tomato plants. Except this year, when some produced one tomato (or none at all). Next year; six tomato plants and no more. Either pull or transplant the volunteers or they take over (and smother) everything around them.

3) Red potatoes are a great crop. I planted four potatoes cut into quarters 79 cents worth of seed potatoes) and dug out over five pounds worth. I'll plant more next year. We like red taters.

4) Beets are a pain. I grew nice ones, but have not enough dexterity and strength to process them. Skip next year.

5) The onions did well, the little red sets I bought made nice red bulbs.

6) The burgundy pole beans were fantastic. Too bad only five or six beans, of the 50 or so I planted, germinated. Even so those five or six plants kept us in beans for weeks. I'll plant more next year, as we could happily have eaten more.

7) Squash is a waste of time here. I don't have a spot with all day sun, and in partial sun they grow slowly, bear sparsely and are mostly mildew vectors. Another skip, after three years I've learned my lesson.

8) Our early salads and Asian greens were fabulous. I will go out and plant salad, Asian greens and kale in a few days, as the volunteer seeds which survived the winter last year to sprout in early spring were most appreciated and were weeks ahead of the stuff I planted in spring.

Besides planning on planting my salad greens, Asian greens and kale in a few days, I tried something else - experimentation being the fuel that drives my wee engine.

At the edge of my 4 x 4 in the back a large bunch of mushrooms had grown up in the past few days. Zak was here and did the major part of clearing the garden for me, bless him. When we had the ground cleared I pulled the mushrooms, broke them into small pieces and scattered them all over the surface of the garden. We covered the broken up 'shrooms with a light covering of soil and watered the area down.

My reasoning?

See, I'm saving the planet. :)

For my brother

Hall Wayland Cavel - 14 June 1929 - 9 October 2010

Wild Grapes by Robert Frost

What tree may not the fig be gathered from?
The grape may not be gathered from the birch?
It's all you know the grape, or know the birch.
As a girl gathered from the birch myself
Equally with my weight in grapes, one autumn,
I ought to know what tree the grape is fruit of.
I was born, I suppose, like anyone,
And grew to be a little boyish girl
My brother could not always leave at home.
But that beginning was wiped out in fear
The day I swung suspended with the grapes,
And was come after like Eurydice
And brought down safely from the upper regions;
And the life I live now's an extra life
I can waste as I please on whom I please.
So if you see me celebrate two birthdays,
And give myself out of two different ages,
One of them five years younger than I look-

One day my brother led me to a glade
Where a white birch he knew of stood alone,
Wearing a thin head-dress of pointed leaves,
And heavy on her heavy hair behind,
Against her neck, an ornament of grapes.
Grapes, I knew grapes from having seen them last year.
One bunch of them, and there began to be
Bunches all round me growing in white birches,
The way they grew round Leif the Lucky's German;
Mostly as much beyond my lifted hands, though,
As the moon used to seem when I was younger,
And only freely to be had for climbing.
My brother did the climbing; and at first
Threw me down grapes to miss and scatter
And have to hunt for in sweet fern and hardhack;
Which gave him some time to himself to eat,
But not so much, perhaps, as a boy needed.
So then, to make me wholly self-supporting,
He climbed still higher and bent the tree to earth
And put it in my hands to pick my own grapes.
"Here, take a tree-top, I'll get down another.
Hold on with all your might when I let go."
I said I had the tree. It wasn't true.
The opposite was true. The tree had me.
The minute it was left with me alone
It caught me up as if I were the fish
And it the fishpole. So I was translated
To loud cries from my brother of "Let go!
Don't you know anything, you girl? Let go!"
But I, with something of the baby grip
Acquired ancestrally in just such trees
When wilder mothers than our wildest now
Hung babies out on branches by the hands
To dry or wash or tan, I don't know which,
(You'll have to ask an evolutionist)-
I held on uncomplainingly for life.
My brother tried to make me laugh to help me.
"What are you doing up there in those grapes?
Don't be afraid. A few of them won't hurt you.
I mean, they won't pick you if you don't them."
Much danger of my picking anything!
By that time I was pretty well reduced
To a philosophy of hang-and-let-hang.
"Now you know how it feels," my brother said,
"To be a bunch of fox-grapes, as they call them,
That when it thinks it has escaped the fox
By growing where it shouldn't-on a birch,
Where a fox wouldn't think to look for it-
And if he looked and found it, couldn't reach it-
Just then come you and I to gather it.
Only you have the advantage of the grapes
In one way: you have one more stem to cling by,
And promise more resistance to the picker."

One by one I lost off my hat and shoes,
And still I clung. I let my head fall back,
And shut my eyes against the sun, my ears
Against my brother's nonsense; "Drop," he said,
"I'll catch you in my arms. It isn't far."
(Stated in lengths of him it might not be.)
"Drop or I'll shake the tree and shake you down."
Grim silence on my part as I sank lower,
My small wrists stretching till they showed the banjo strings.
"Why, if she isn't serious about it!
Hold tight awhile till I think what to do.
I'll bend the tree down and let you down by it."
I don't know much about the letting down;
But once I felt ground with my stocking feet
And the world came revolving back to me,
I know I looked long at my curled-up fingers,
Before I straightened them and brushed the bark off.
My brother said: "Don't you weigh anything?
Try to weigh something next time, so you won't
Be run off with by birch trees into space."

It wasn't my not weighing anything
So much as my not knowing anything-
My brother had been nearer right before.
I had not taken the first step in knowledge;
I had not learned to let go with the hands,
As still I have not learned to with the heart,
And have no wish to with the heart-nor need,
That I can see. The mind-is not the heart.
I may yet live, as I know others live,
To wish in vain to let go with the mind-
Of cares, at night, to sleep; but nothing tells me
That I need learn to let go with the heart.

KIVA Loan for October

Our October KIVA loan goes to a Peruvian woman, Asunta Inca De Cusi. Asunta is 63 years old, married, and has 3 children. She belongs to the communal bank, Nueva Victoria – Chinchero in the province of Urubamba and the department of Cusco, located 45 minutes from the city.


Asunta has a grocery store and will use her loan to set up her store and purchase items for resale at wholesale price. She is requesting the loan to purchase rice, oil, and milk, among other products. She appreciates the loan and promises to make her payments on time. 


This is our 18th loan through KIVA, and all our active loans are being repaid on time. To this point we've never had a borrower default on a loan. KIVA makes it easy to make a positive difference in someone else's life.

A Good Day to Fly

We've been hearing a Great Horned Owl frequently the past week, sitting in the big willow tree behind our place. I haven't seen them in several weeks but, as avid birders, today we had the chance to spend a most interesting and rewarding hour with a pair of GH owls.

SORCO (The South Okanagan Rehabilitation Centre for Owls) released two GH owls in the riparian area adjacent to our park this afternoon. These were young owls which had come into its care in March of this year. One had been blown from the nest at a young age, the other was a fledging who'd gotten tangled up in barbed wire and stripped all the feathers and skin off one wing, and required medical care and rehab before release.

Both youngsters have done well, have learned how to hunt catch mice and rats and are now at a point where they should be able to fend for themselves. Since the Trout Creek neighbourhood down the way, with its mega-million-$-mansions, is in the middle of a rat invasion, the folks at SORCO thought it a perfect habitat to release the young and hungry owls into.

The birds arrived in dog crates in the back of an SUV, and appeared to be very unimpressed with our gawking and their status as film stars. There was a long line-up for a chance to take photos of the caged birds. The one was too dark, but this one was better.

The release was scheduled for 2:00 pm. By 1:30 a sizable crowd was beginning to gather, and by 2:00 there must have been about 75 people there to witness the release.

We gathered in a large circle to watch Ken Fujino, SORCO's Executive Director, as he took the first owl from its crate and told us about the work SORCO does to rehabilitate birds of prey, including BC's 14 Owl species. Of the 16 species of owl in Canada, 14 are found in BC, and most of those are also found in the Okanagan.

Ken also said that it takes an average of $900 a bird to care for the injured and ill raptors which come through the clinic doors, and that they care for about 60 birds a year. They have an impressive 98% survival rate rearing baby birds, and about a 50% survival rate with older, injured or ill birds. And government funding dropped by 18% this year, leaving them in a tight financial spot. They had a donation box. At the end people were shoving $10s and 20s and even bigger donations in. It's a good cause. They rescue all the different types of injured and ill birds of prey found in the Okanagan; eagles, ospreys, hawks, falcons, vultures and owls.

Ken took the owl out of the box and held it by the ankles. It didn't panic, but you could tell it wasn't mentally composing fan mail to the SORCO director either, even though his knowledge of owls is extensive. It's apparently hard to impress an owl, who (judging by its expression) is so impressed by itself that humans are of about as much interest as the nearest fencepost.

As Ken talked the owl alternated between attempts at escape, giving Ken the stink eye and pretending it was somewhere else. But after five minutes, and lots of opportunity for photos, Ken lifted the bird and tossed it aloft. The crowd burst into applause. The bird soared beyond the line of huge trees which grow along the lakeshore, and we lost sight of it.

The second owl was much the same. It flapped a lot, and I came home with an incredibly delicate fluff of down it shed as it beat its wings. Again lots of time for photos and Ken set the owl free. I got a picture of it against the bright blue autumn sky. It lit in a nearby tree and turned its back to us, perhaps to gaze at the open expanse of water before it.

We have a resident Great Horned Owl who raises a brood here every spring. I have seen her several times from quite close (20-30 feet) and she is huge. Her wing span must equal my arm span. Great Horned Owls mate in Jan, chicks hatch in March, and by May and June the mother has them out of the nest and in the trees around us, fattening them on any mouse or vole foolish enough to poke head above ground when an owl is hunting.

The sight of a Great Horned Owl soaring in absolute silence is awe-inspiring. SORCO is dedicated to making sure that's a sight today's children will still be able to see when they are adults.

Get Out of My Way!

Ever had food poisoning? Then you know what I mean. It is very much like being possessed by aliens. I will not linger on the gruesome details, just say it's been an unpleasant four days and leave it at that.

A visit to the doctor this afternoon, and the antibiotic she prescribed, will hopefully have me feeling about 75% better by this time tomorrow.

In the midst of this, Ian arrived and (bless him) winterized the deck, cooked for his Dad, cleaned and shopped. Where would we be without our wonderful children? He also brought me an early Christmas/birthday gift, a new digital camera.

I have sorely missed being able to take decent pictures of my garden this summer after my camera died. The FLIP video camera I bought takes nice video but the only way to get a "still" picture is to freeze a frame and do a screen capture. Furry, blurry, weird colour shifts. Anyway the FLIP goes off to live with Ian, and I have a new digital camera.

As proof, a badly focused photo of my sedum "Autumn Joy" which is blooming so beautifully right now. (It's hard to take a good picture when you are fighting the urge to throw up.)

More (and nicer) pictures later, when the aliens have granted me control of my digestive tract again.

KIVA Loans for September

The first week of each month brings the pleasurable task of choosing our KIVA entrepreneurs. And while this month we have donated to relief efforts in Pakistan, our KIVA commitment is on-going and always a joy. Each month we receive a progress report from each of our borrowers. We see that our modest loan has helped them secure a better future, for themselves and their families. It's a good feeling. We have much to be thankful for and it's so good to be able to give back in a small measure.

This month we have made two loans. The first is to a young married woman named Amina Okombe in Tumaini, Kenya. Amina has two children. One attends school and the other is still too young for school. Her husband is a businessman who works and contributes to the support of the family. The family rents a house with electricity but have no running water. Their greatest monthly expense is food. Amina's goal is to ensure the family has enough income to educate their two children.

To accomplish this goal Amina started a business seven months ago. She goes door-to-door selling second-hand clothing for adults. Now, with the money she has made selling clothing and her KIVA loan she wants to purchase a sack of green vegetables and fruit and set up a small vegetable stall.

Our second loan of the month is to the Dembagnouma Ii Group, in Wobougou, Mali. The group is composed of 10 married women with an average age of 29, and an average of 3 children. They live in traditional polygamous families.

In this Group: Assan Traora, Hawa Niamana, Yaye Diallo, Kadidia Diarra, Maramou Dembele, Djelika Dembele, Sitan Soumaïla Dembele, Baoumou Issa Dembele, Matou Issa Dembele, Mama Fomba.

This is the group's second loan. Their previous loan was repaid in full. They are borrowing money in order to better organize their rainy season activities. They grow, among other crops, rice, pearl millet, peanuts, and beans.

With this new loan, group leader Maramou Dembele has plans typical for this group of women. She plans on buying fertilizer and small farming implements. She grows peanuts and will pay someone to help her maintain her approximately four acre plot. The harvested crop is sold in nearby market towns. She hopes to make a profit of $145.00 by the end of the season.

Consider becoming a KIVA partner and extending a small loan to a hard-working business person who has little or no access to working capital through KIVA.

Moving Toward Hope

As we ponder ways to reduce oil dependence and greenhouse gas emissions, creating local, sustainable agriculture, using permaculture methods, provides us with a solution.

The video is the length of an hour's TV show with commercials removed (i.e. 48 minutes) so put your feet up, grab a cup of Joe, and enjoy the show.

Cat's Play

Our Great Ginger Hunter caught in a rare moment of relaxation.

A couple of hours ago Sal came in through the cat door warbling like a lark. He was talking with a mouthful of mouse. The great ginger hunter he is not. He has killed one mouse in his life and that was by accident and he nearly scared himself to death when he did it.

He didn't have that problem this time, because not only was this mouse still alive, it didn't even appear to have its fur ruffled. He set it on the floor and it took off like a bullet. He chased it all over the house. He has picked it up and carried it around, he has patted it, he has leapt in wild and crazy circles around it as it ran. It has hidden in inaccessible spots several times, and then ventured out to become a very unwilling participant in this game of cat and mouse. At one point Sal temporarily lost the mouse when it ran under him and took refuge under his belly. And once he sat down on it (poor thing! I told you Sal is not a hunter.)

And two hours later, while I have driven myself to distraction trying to catch it so I can take it outside, the little mouse is still as frisky and agile as ever. (I think it's hiding under my chair at the moment.) The bleeding useless cat is poking around in the corners, trying to figure out where his mouse has hidden this time.

Cats are supposed to keep the house mouse-free. Sal didn't read the contract, or he misunderstood the principle. The cat is not supposed to bring the mouse to the house.