Blog from the Kootenays

Knitting inside the lines.

2011-12-30T21:58:00.001-08:00

The conventional wisdom these days is that children are inherently creative, and will go nuts with crayons if only given the opportunity.

Dear reader, I have a confession to make: I used to love colouring inside the lines. Not only that, my favorite kind of colouring book had the same illustration on two sides: the left side was coloured, the right side was for imitating the model. The more accurately my rendition would approach the example, the happier I`d be.

For my ninth birthday I received 18 Caran d'Ache colouring pencils, the Rolls Royce of crayons. The metal box they came in included a little paintbrush. You could wet it and go over your coloured surfaces to get an aquarel effect. I got a huge new colouring book too. It kept me busy for many happy hours. The other present for that birthday was a thick hardcover, linen-bound book with short fiction written for children and youth by many well-known Dutch writers of the day. "Omnibus voor de jeugd." was read and re-read and I still remember many of the stories. My brother still has it. I might reclaim it one of these days. We digress. It's my blog and I'll ramble if I want to.

Now what does this have to do with knitting? Just this: I am utterly incapable of improvising.

In order to create anything I have to have an exact pattern, designed for the wool in question.

Once I got over the initial confusion I rather enjoyed knitting. My favorite creations were Cowichan-style sweaters made with white Buffalo wool. They not only went fast because the yarn is so thick, the patterns were designed exactly for that wool. I even mastered the Fair Isle technique, albeit only with two colours.

There was also an ambitious tweedy oatmeal-coloured cardigan that I made for my husband while pregnant with our son. It had a V neck and buttons in front that never came out exactly right. He wore it around the house, but it had been meant as a classy piece of apparel. The last successfully finished item was a beautiful teal green sweater for moi, with a mock turtleneck and a beautiful pattern of fake cables and lacey holes. It was a wee bit shorter than I had intended but I wore it for years.

That was all a while ago. How long ago? Let's look at the tragic history of the final endeavor. It was a fisherman-style kid's sweater in burgundy coloured acrylic. Cheap yarn, because I wanted to practice the cables. I was smart enough to start it a few sizes too big because I knew it would take me a while. Made it size 6. Alex, then known as Sander, was 2 at the time. He is now 32. By the time the darn thing got finished it would have been too small even for the grandson who had appeared in the meantime. I got as far as having a front and a back and two sleeves. Alas, once I started putting it together it was clear that something was wrong with the proportions. The panels were much too narrow. A more inventive person might have salvaged the piece by knitting strips to insert between the front and back panel and inside the sleeves. Alas, the reality of such clever engineering is beyond me.

The failure turned me off knitting for years. But lately the urge has been growing. So I am investigating knitting sites. And came across this clever girl who recycles gift shop sweaters by unraveling the yarn and selling it. You gotta love it!

http://www.sweatergirlknit.com/yarns.html

How our Dutch family got into English Christmas carols, way back when.

2011-12-30T14:44:00.000-08:00

In terms of religious practice, my family of origin was a mixed bag. Mom was a devout member of the Dutch equivalent of the United Church, a fairly liberal form of protestant. Dad labeled himself a humanist. His childhood home had been dominated by devotion to the improvement of humanity's fate here on Earth. At his funeral the music included the socialist hymn "Morgenrood".

The fear of WW 2 was still strong in the air and especially in my mother's mind. I was in my early teens before I found out that Dad's mother was Jewish. Mom swore me to secrecy, in case there was ever another war and some bad people would take Dad away. I am not making this up.

As far as I know Dad's childhood had been secular and dreidel-free, though he once mentioned that his grandparents, who lived above them, had a Mezuzah on their door. And at his mother's funeral he said Kaddish. We wish we had asked more questions.

When Mom and Dad married Dad agreed to send future kids to Christian elementary schools, in order to compensate for the lack of church going at home. I was a devout little Christian girl till age 14 when critical thinking kicked in. Dad was mainly silent on the topic, but made no bones about his objections to fear-filled forms of religion that suck the joy out of here-and-now life.

Christmas was a rare time when Dad would set his normal cynicism aside and pretend. He'd read the Christmas story from the Bible, and join in singing carols around the Christmas tree, which was small but real and lit with real candles.

Once in a great while he would even deign to accompany Mom to church, a sweet little chapel hidden inside the block of flats where we lived.

In 1954 Mom befriended the wife of the organist of the Anglican church in Amsterdam. They lived around the corner and had children of similar ages. For a while a friendship actually flourished between the couples. And somehow, our family got into Christmas Carols. Dad liked them because he was a total Anglophile, and because the songs were cheerful. We even attended a Christmas service in the ancient English church in Begijnhof, a truly magical place hidden in a busy part of downtown.

I still love the traditional carols. The childhood memories make them all the more special.

I find deep meaning in simply celebrating Earth's turnings. I take my Gaia plain, but deities of choice can be inserted if desired. The huge fires on Solstice felt so right! But meaningful traditions have to grow organically. The process can't be forced. I would have loved to belt out some hearty Herald Angels and other traditional carols as we stood in the circle.

Yule again!

2011-12-22T20:32:00.000-08:00

Well, if the Sun is not on its way back to our hemisphere it won't be for lack of us honouring it. Our sort-of neighbors Mickey and Brenda Lee hosted an incredible party. They have been keeping Solstice since they came here a few years ago, but I was never sure if this was one of those happenings that are open to everyone who happens to hear about it, or by invitation only. It turns out to be the former, but I ran into Brenda Lee and got invited, for which I am truly grateful.

I love marking the Earth's turnings.

For many years a Solstice celebration at the home of our friend Magda at Summit Lake was the highlight of our festive season. As the name implies, Summit Lake is at a higher altitude from us. Winter wonderland was pretty much guaranteed, even if it was slushy around town.

This was Maggie's big social event of the year, and the family always pulled out all the stops. The trail from the road to the house was lit with coloured lights and there was a fire pit in front of the house with benches around it. The potluck supper usually featured Maggie's succulent chickens, raised on sprouted wheat and kale.

Oko, the gentle giant Rhodesian Ridge-back, would wind around people's legs and allow himself to be petted. Apparently he could be terrifying when his ruff was up, but in all his 11 years we never once saw that.

Our children were friends with each other, and having a good time doing snowy slidey things. There might be drumming and guitar playing around the fire, fooling around with sparklers, and at some point a display of real fire works.

Oko has long since gone to the great lion hunt in the sky. The children are grown and gone to the city. Some of the good friends who were with us around those fires have died. Beth, Marilyn, here is a toast to you!

Four years ago Magda and her partner moved North so they could have more land. Solstice has not been the same.

Until last night. Holy Moses, those people know how to create a party space.

I didn't take any pictures inside. Let's just say the place was crammed with people and great food. Potlucks are always the best.

Above: lights and prayer flags between the house and the fire pit. Below: This fire had been lit and nurtured for hours. A big bed of coals made the whole area really toasty.

Below: Music around the fire.

More music. This town can drum!

Brenda Lee must have been High Priestess of Stonehenge or something like it in a past life. She invited us to a little ceremony: write something on a piece of paper that you would like to leave behind in the old year. We'll ceremoniously burn it later.

Everyone was handed a lighted lantern thingy to carry through the woods. We were supposed to chant something, but that came out a bit thin and mumbly. We are an inhibited lot in some respects.

If you really look you can to see the string of people carrying their little lights. It was rather neat.

And at the end of the trail there was.........another fire laid out!

This one was for ceremonial purposes. Our host Mickey, Brenda Lee's partner, came out of the woods with a dramatic home-made torch and let her rip.

This was some blaze! This fire had not just been laid, it had been designed.

Once it was going, we threw in our pieces of paper with undesirable whatever. Then we were asked to form a circle, hold hands and do some light-inviting chanting. This time people were more inclined to participate. Like I said, if the Sun isn't on its way back it won't be for lack of us doing our bit.

I got a bit teary with nostalgia for times past and people lost, but in a good soulful way. This event was less intimate and more orchestrated than our Summit Lake gatherings. Besides, in those times we were socially at the heart of things, instead of on the edge.

But I was very happy to be there and celebrate a real Solstice again.

Filling gaps in my musical education.

2011-12-14T17:17:00.000-08:00

I have never been much of a music person. It just wasn't part of my early life, and I was not drawn to it either. Books, yes. Music, not so much. I do love to sing, even though I cannot hold a tune, or so I am told.

If someone turns on music I may well enjoy it, but left to my own devices I tend to forget about it. An exception was the first two years after I left home, before I moved in with my future husband.

A music loving girlfriend was a huge influence that first year. Yoka came from an interestingly broken family on the edge of Bohemia, and was infinitely more world wise than I was. She in turn was fascinated by the sight of my parents singing together while doing the dishes, after 20 years of marriage.

Inspired by Yoka's influence I allowed myself to discover sex. This was quite a daring thing to do in the pre-pill no-choice fall of 1961. After a lifetime of trying, in vain, to pass as normal, I adopted being on the edge and felt deliciously Bohemian.

Happiness was not fashionable in that milieu. Existential angst was.

I tried hard to be sophisticated and to like The Last Year in Marienbad, Ingmar Bergman and Luis Bunuel.

In Yoka's tiny room, up 6 flights of stairs in the tower on the corner of the Postjesweg, just before the bridge to the Kinkerstraat, we played Vivaldi and Bach, Schumann's piano concerto and George Brassens, and talked about Life, the Universe and Love, which at that age is Everything.

Eventually my heart was duly broken, and I did not get much else done that year. It was time well wasted.

The next year there was of course no scholarship. I tried becoming a student nurse. In my room in Sint Elizabeth's Gasthuis, in lovely old downtown Haarlem, I replayed the soundtrack from the previous year and spent my off time digesting the experience. Those years were the only time in my life when I'd put a record on (remember vinyl?) as soon as I found myself home alone.

Fast Forward to the Sixties (the real ones, which started after the death of JFK) and early seventies. With the exception of the Beatles, who we loved, the sound track is a blur. One knows names, and hears things on the radio, but even though we lived through the golden age of rock and roll I didn't take much in.

I was in my forties before I discovered that Rock Around the Clock had not been Elvis Presley's greatest hit.

So, fast forward to today. I am home alone, Chris is driving our fellow grandfather to hospital in Kelowna (about 31/2 hours away). I decided it was time to fill some gaps in my musical education. Classic Rock 101, courtesy of YouTube.

Listened to Stairway to Heaven. Loved the sound, guess you have to be under the influence of substances to get the lyrics. And found out that Led Zeppelin was NOT from California. Honestly, I had no idea.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w9TGj2jrJk8

Honour these names

2011-12-14T17:15:00.001-08:00

Know these names. Honour them.

Shiv Chopra.

Margaret Haydon.

Gerald Lambert.

They are the scientists who made sure our Canadian milk does not have Monsanto's bovine growth hormone in it. They got fired for their integrity.

From the website http://fairwhistleblower.ca/content/whistleblowers:

"Veterinarians Shiv Chopra, Margaret Haydon and Gerald Lambert spent most of their lives at Health Canada. Their job was to evaluate the safety of drugs for animals intended for human consumption. They had long expressed reservations about certain antibiotics and growth hormones.

The researchers eventually revealed that they were being pressured by their bosses to approve these products. They disclosed this to members of two parliamentary committees and the media. In their testimony they explained that they had exposed this situation to protect public safety. In July 2004, all three were summarily dismissed. They appealed to the Public Service Labour Relations Board, claiming that their dismissal was unjustified."

Things have not gotten any better.

More information here: http://shivchopra.com

Entering the snowy season

2011-12-14T17:11:00.000-08:00

It could be argued that we have two seasons here: the months when the earth is covered with snow, and the months it is not.

The times vary year by year. We have seen White Time start as early as Halloween, and as late as the night before Christmas. Snow may be gone from the land as early as the beginning of March, and as late as mid April.

Mercifully we don't get the extreme cold people East of the Rockies and further North have to deal with. Our typical daytime winter temps hover just below freezing, with thawing spells in warm years, and cold spells down to minus 10-15 in others. Once the snow is in place it is actually nicer to just have it stay below freezing.

My favorite daytime winter temperature is around minus 5. Cold enough to make the air nice and crisp and prevent the soggy icy mess one gets with thaws, but not too cold. In return for our mellow temperatures we put up with a lot of grey skies.

Last winter was a long one. We had snow on the ground from November 23rd to mid April. This year promises to be similar. I get great comfort from knowing that I will be able to work/play in the greenhouse in late winter.

Meanwhile this is my quiet resting time. I have to get over feeling guilty when I just sit and read in the middle of the day. Chris is doing snow duty and monitors the infra structure, like making sure the pump doesn't freeze. I appreciate his management immensely. Would you believe in 42 years I have never shoveled snow? Haul me before the House of un-Canadian activities!

I also wonder how best to participate in the world-wide political awakening. It really doesn't make much sense to contribute to climate change by driving two hours to Nelson for a token few hours of moral support. I am not even sure the physical occupation of space makes much sense. It did at first, but may have run its course.

Meanwhile one of the most positive developments in recent years has been the rise of the humble farmers' market everywhere. I ended up being one of the 2 coordinators of the Nakusp market. Not because of any talent, just because nobody wanted to take it on. I have decided to spend my energy on preparing during the winter for the best possible 2012 season ever. Building the New is more constructive than protesting the Old anyway.

We need brochures designed and printed, we need new signs, we need to discuss certain issues with the village, we need better ways to involve the vendors. I am working on a Facebook page.

For my own sales, I need to do a better job figuring out how many plants of which variety to start, so I don't waste too much time that could be better spent on my own garden.

I am also doubling volunteer time with my friend with Parkinson's so her saintly mother can take a break. I might do the odd stint at the Thrift Store. This slow season should fly by......

The word for waste was sin.

2011-12-14T17:07:00.000-08:00

Waste of food seems to be the theme of the day. I railed on Facebook about an event in Nevada, where the Food Police forced the destruction of precious food that was supposed to feed 72 people.

I was literally stuttering and sputtering with indignation. You know the system is insane, but the reality surpasses one's wildest paranoid fantasies.

Read about it here: http://farmtoconsumer.org/quail-hollow-farm-dinner.htm

Then Melanie on Multiply had an item about frugality, that prompted a comment about the incredible waste of packed school lunches. The thought of all those apples in the garbage makes me REALLY MAD.

During my childhood the memory of the Winter of Famine, 44/45, was still quite alive in the collective mind. Food waste was totally not done.

On the rare occasion that something did go to waste, my mother or grandmother would say: "Wat zonde".

Zonde, dear readers, is the word for SIN.

Only recently have I realized how profound that expression was.

Mary Oliver one, Augustine zero

2011-12-14T17:01:00.001-08:00

Posted to Multiply September 16 2011

It may be the long weeks of sunshine, late but welcome.

It may be the transit of Jupiter in Taurus.

It may be the peace of being old enough to get government money without guilt or hassles, and having some finances sorted out so I have access to emergency cash and won't leave debt behind in case I suddenly kick the bucket.

It may be the fact that both my children are happy and doing well right now.

It may be that Nutriflex by NAKA is fixing my wonky hip so I can dig again.

But whatever the reason, I have been feeling a bit euphoric lately. Just happy with my life, warts and all. That doesn't mean I have no wishes, or have stopped learning. It just means I feel very content and grateful. Any thing more is total bonus.

So this quote by Augustine* posted by a Facebook acquaintance, stuck in my craw.

(*I refuse to call the woman-hating jerk saint.)

If you would attain to what you are not yet, you must always be displeased by what you are. For where you are pleased with yourself there you have remained. Keep adding, keep walking, keep advancing.

Now contrast this to Mary Oliver:

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.

That's more like it.

So much more than a pretty face!

2011-12-14T16:56:00.000-08:00

I totally love my kitty. As I type this she is sitting right next to me on the couch, purring happily. She just caught a mouse that figured it was almost fall and time to move indoors.

Not only is she sweet and affectionate, she is also a fierce hunter. I am getting a decent potato crop, thanks to her keeping the vole population down. When she is really going at it she brings at least a couple a day to the porch for a leisurely meal. All we find is the green wobbly bits. You go girl!

A taste of my own medicine

2011-12-14T16:53:00.000-08:00

Originally posted on Multiply September 7 2011

No, this is not about some deserved payback time. I had a thorough reflexology treatment today.
Oops, we are not supposed to call it treatment, we might get accused of practicing medicine without a license. We were taught to call it 'session'. Sounds like some New Ager channeling..... Anyway.....

My friend Jen, a fellow foot squeezer, was in town to visit her mother. We try to get together on those occasions so we can trade but it doesn't always work. This time it did. I brought my portable recliner and we worked on the lawn in her mother's backyard. I am rather fanatic about not missing more of these precious last summer hours than I have to. It was lovely.

When I got up not only were my feet tingling in a nice alive way, my whole body felt as if everything was aligned just so. My right hip was practically purring. Unfortunately it reverted back to mild whining after driving home.
But I am still stoned, in a nice deeply relaxed fuzzy way.

My plan had been to hit the top garden afterwards and start preparing a large garlic bed where the peas were. NOT. Jen gave me the spiel I so often give others: to get the maximum effect from body work, plan a quiet day afterwards. Give your body a chance to absorb what it has just received. Have a nap, soak in a tub with bath salts, go to the Hot Springs. Drink lots of water. Just don't hop up and start rushing around.

Isn't it funny how we KNOW all this stuff but when it comes to ourselves we have to hear it from someone else?

Anyway, perhaps because I had also done a trade with my friend Beverley and gotten Jin Shin Do'd on Monday, this time the work hit me like a ton of bricks. I barely made it home. I plonked myself down in the shade on the lawn and slept most of the afternoon away. Now I am sipping Earl Grey to clear the fog.

Deadheading petunias should be an allowed activity?

Food ignorance

2011-12-14T16:50:00.001-08:00

I had to buy some chicken feed, and ended up chatting with the pleasant girl at the till.

She asked me how many I had to carry over winter. I said I didn't know yet, because half the flock is un-sexed, and I can't quite tell yet which ones are roosters. They will be eaten.

Gasp. "I didn't know you could eat roosters!" "What did you think half the chicken in the grocery store is?" "Well, you know, CHICKEN!"

This one is right up there with the nice lady who visited my friend Elsje's homestead. She was admiring the calf. "And, when will it start giving milk?" "This one, never. It is a bull calf." "But, it's a COW?!"

Family Gathering and Age

2011-12-14T12:56:00.000-08:00

Posted to Multiply August 22 2011

That was the nicest family get together anyone could ask for.

One of the joys of having our son in the same city as his sister is that we get to see both offspring at the same time more often. For many years we'd see both kids regularly, but hardly ever at the same time.

Daughter and spouse made a quick trip to retrieve the grandson from his summer in the country, and to visit SIL's parents, who cannot make it to Vancouver due to health problems. The demands of everyone's work dictated a fast trip: Arrival Saturday night, departure Monday morning. It takes about 8 hours of driving. Son decided to come along for the ride.

We often make this an occasion for an extended family get-together here.

Once in a while I enjoy cooking my brains out and hosting some people.

The extended family in this case consists of three sets of grandparents: us, our fellow grandparents, their other grandchildren with parents, and the cousins' other grandparents. We need words for these relationships.

This was not the best weekend at my end, but the kids said they'd take care of things. Did they ever!

No matter how early I start, and how much I make ahead of time, preparing a dinner party always takes longer than I think. At least I calculate that in these days. The usual scenario finds me red-faced and sweaty in the kitchen until 10 minutes before guests are due. I am all in favor of cleaning as one goes but find it hard in practice. When people ask if they can help I explain that they can keep me company with a drink at the kitchen table, but because I am a terrible organizer I am incapable of delegating.

Not so my brilliant scientist daughter. The woman has inherited her grandmother's ability to stay calm in the middle of threatening chaos, and to make efficient use of other people. Both my children are fantastic cooks, with a cheerful rivalry about making use of all one can find in Vancouver. Critters with tentacles, odd body parts, weird produce from land and sea .... But for this occasion son graciously allowed his sister to take the lead and did the prep cook/dishwasher grunt work.

I got out of the way and went up the hill to tend to gardens and chickens.

When I got back about 2 hours later all the food was prepped and the kitchen was clean again. All I had to do was shove the meat into a slow oven, make a plate of deviled eggs and a salad and grill the zucchini later. I also took care of desert, a humungous Black Forest Cake bartered for with reflexology.

The young people went to the beach to enjoy the new boat that N's SIL and husband had just bought. I ended up opting for a relaxing bath and a rest on the shady lawn at home. The water is just too cold for swimming this year. Chris has never been a beach person, but I have always been a fanatic. Not so this year. Another sure sign of getting old.

The shift is more noticeable every time we get together. The offspring are both in their thirties, settled into good professional jobs they enjoy. They are the grown-ups now, fully participating in their time. We are becoming the old ones on the periphery, struggling to keep up with new technology. Watch me fumbling to answer a cell phone.

Guess what: it is OK! One of the more pleasant surprises of age is that so many changes you dread in anticipation are OK when you get to them. Between 60 and 65 I felt ageless. At 68 the years are starting to bite. Or at least nibble.

I fully intend to remain as healthy and productive as possible for as long as I can. I intend to stay on this land as long as possible. But I won't cling to illusions of still being what we are not. Denial of reality by the old creates burdens for the young. They have a tough enough row to hoe without that.

And now, I'd better go do my exercises.....

Showing Up

2011-12-14T12:51:00.001-08:00

Originally posted to Multiply August 19 2011

Well. That was a bit disappointing.

The idea to set up at the campsite for the Beemer convention actually came from one of the members, who enjoyed reflexology at the market last year. It was enthousiastically received by the coordinator.

Yesterday, as reported, was a no-go, but I had some expectations for today.

The morning started promising, with three bookings in quick succession. Then it just fizzled out. One more client at 1 PM and then I sat there till 2.30, when I decided to pack it up. Not a total loss, but considering the hassle not a great show either.

Note to self: Let go of expectations. We all learn that at the market. You never know which day will be your dud, and which your record breaker. An individual vendor may do quite well on a quiet day when no one else is doing much business. The important thing is to prepare yourself, and show up.

Going to bed now (at 9PM) so I can show up at the market tomorrow.

A wasted day

2011-12-14T12:49:00.000-08:00

Posted to Multiply August 19 2011

I should just relax about it, but it irks me when I waste a precious summer day and yet do not enjoy myself either. Perhaps I have set this up by declaring Thursday the special FREE day, sort of a relaxed Sabbath principle. That means I get to go by impulse. The impulse may well be to work my butt off, but it would be entirely by choice.

Today I had to break my promise (to WHAT?) because the Beemers are coming to town, and I am setting up the reflexology booth in the village campsite. The Beemers are a largely middle-aged group of motorcycle enthousiasts, BMWs to be exact. Last year a few riders enjoyed reflexology at the market, and one suggested I come to the site this year. You betcha!

The convention started this afternoon. In theory I could have spent the morning either getting some outside chores done, OR just relaxing. But with a deadline in the day that doesn't work so well. I noodled and doodled and putzed and got it all together and finally got to the site, only to find out that it made no sense to set up today. I left brochures and some signs and was back home by 4.

Nothing stopped me from redeeming the day by getting some serious outside stuff done, but the momentum was gone. Or I could have finished the Hilary Mantel tome I have been chewing on, OR washed the fly-specked windows that have been taunting me for weeks. But I merely noodled and doodled some more.

At least the deck and living room are decluttered and ready for the almost-traditional end-of-summer get together on Sunday. My ideal scenario would be to make some serious money tomorrow, and have several people book a session at my home on Saturday, so I can skip the market. Wish me luck!

A serious chat with my right hip

2011-12-14T12:44:00.001-08:00

Posted to Multiply August 12 2011

On July 28 I wrote: "Tomorrow will be the weekly free day, mine to use entirely as I please. The intention is to go up to the fenced veg garden and work like crazy."

Ha. The body had other ideas. It was a Bad Hip Day, the worst I have ever experienced. This is a new development this summer. I have had the odd twinge in the past, but a series of chiropractic treatments totally fixed it for 2 years.

All day I dragged myself up the hill leaning on a stick, moving painfully and slowly. I accomplished a fraction of what I had wanted to do. For the first time ever the idea of a nice bungalow in town with a yard and garden on level ground was kind of appealing....It may still come to that, but not quite yet.

Meanwhile, things have improved, and the hip and I have come to some agreements.

*Daily exercises and regular chiropractic care are mandatory, not optional.

*I finally noticed that Good Hip Days coincided with days when I took 'Just SBGA' instead of a cheaper form of AFA, the wild blue-green algae from Klamath lake that I have been using since 1997. I got two more pots.

*A good rub with my friend Magda's herbal liniment, enriched with a squirt of DMSO, removes any lingering discomfort.

By the way, the Canadian government will cheerfully pay for a new hip, but makes access to the above substances harder all the time.

Note to my skeptic friends: if this is not 'evidence-based' I don't care. It works.

*Last but not least: I shall not pretend I am still 60. Any new garden beds will be built lasagna style on top of cardboard. No more digging up bracken roots. Someone young and strong will be hired to dig holes for fence posts in the stony ground.

More observations on the whole ageing thing later. But now, up and OUT!

Summer, at last

2011-12-14T12:40:00.000-08:00

Originally posted to Multiply August 11 2011

It may be over tomorrow. Some thunderstorms are brewing and they will be followed by cooler air. But we did get a taste of summer, including a bit of beach weather. It hasn't rained since Sunday a week ago, and the temperature finally hit 30, at least once.

That August lazy feeling is creeping up on me. Today The Boy and I went to the beach South of town to meet the cousins. We had a great time. Yesterday the two of us went to the village beach, but alas. The rungs to the ladder that gets people up on the floating dock have gone missing. Without them, he can't quite get up on the dock, which means he was BORED. Not all of us are blessed with the ability to make friends on the spot. Thank Earth for cousins!

What is it about sunshine sparkling off blue water? It perks me up like nothing else. Of course it is always better with real ocean but the big lake will do. I have not gone in beyond my thighs. The water feels colder every year anyway, but this year it didn't start warming up till August first, when the nights started to seriously lengthen.

But even if it ends tomorrow, we have experienced the Summer Feeling. The worries of the world seem far away. Articles of clothing and garden tools have been left outside without being ruined. Meals are built around fresh garden produce. Most important of all: Time stops. For a few blessed weeks, it is Summer, and that is all that matters.

Something's gotta give

2011-12-14T12:38:00.000-08:00

Originally posted to Multiply July 28 2011

July is flying by in a blur of work and a feeling that we are still waiting for real summer to start. This is so wrong! This is the summer we are given, here and now. There is no snow on the ground and things are growing, even if other critters are eating too many of them.

It is last year's next year. Every year halfway the growing season I start translating this year's disappointments into next year's dreams. My epitaph will read: "Here lies Ien. Next year she will have a perfect garden."

It has NOT been a good year so far.

Part of the reason for that is the cold spring and the plague of slugs, but let's face it, part of it is my own fault. I am simply over-extended. Now some people, blessed with more energy, design sense and organizational skill may be able to create and maintain lovely flower borders, do the chickens, get the herb garden/nursery beds organized, take care of the greenhouse, pot up plants for market and have a thriving food garden.

I am not, especially since my right hip has developed a mind of its own lately and occasionally slows me down.

Something has to give. The something will be plants for the market. Sales are slower by now anyway. It is just too time consuming, not to mention the exhausting shlepping involved. I left them at home during Music Fest. It was such a cinch to load and set up!

It seems every time I start doing something gardenish I find myself at the sink in the greenhouse potting up some suffering plant in a container.

I'll just do Reflexology for the last month, and perhaps leisurely create a bunch of stuff for a last-day half price table on Labour Day weekend. It gets chilly by then.

Tomorrow is the weekly free day, mine to spend entirely as I please. The intention is to go up to the fenced veg garden and work like crazy. It is PATHETIC. The potatoes were a bright spot, but now there are signs of rodent activity. Wilted leaves that turn out to have a chewed-up stem somewhere. I'll take some pictures tomorrow. To be continued.

A monopoly summer

2011-12-14T12:07:00.000-08:00

Originally posted to Multiply July 21 2011

B.C. is having a cool, wet summer. We have had them before. This one is at least changeable, with some sun in between the showers, and not too cold. We are not being flooded or burnt out of our home, and the woods are loving it. There is no need for shlepping garden hoses around either. While I miss true heat, we should be grateful.

But what do we do with a grandchild on vacation when it is not beach weather? We play Monopoly, that's what. The grandson and I have been enjoying vigorous battles. The score is 7-7 so far. He is at the other grandparents now, we have joint custody for the summer. :).

The game takes me back to rainy vacation days in summer houses in Noordwijk. My oldest kid brother Jaap and I played it endlessly. I hardly ever won, no matter how good my strategy or how promising my possessions. Somehow Jaap always managed to produce a stash of money that he claimed to have surreptitiously saved. Silly honest me believed him.
It simply never occurred to me that someone would systematically cheat, something he cheerfully confessed to about 40 years later. Both my brothers believe that cheating is an expected part of game playing. I do not. Foolish naive me.

K got the game for his 9th birthday, when he was still obsessed with Sponge Bob Squarepants. How does anyone come up with characters like that anyway? Like my SIL said, "substances must have been involved.." We digress. I finally know the order of the place names, vehicles etc in that version. But the Dutch version is engraved in my DNA. The following is just for my own entertainment. You can stop reading now.

"Ons Dorp" (Dorps straat, Brink)
Arnhem: Steenstraat, Ketelstraat, Velperplein.
Haarlem: Barteljoris straat, Zijlweg, Grote Hout straat.
Utrecht: Neude, Biltstraat, Vreeburg
Groningen: A-Kerkhof, Grote Markt, Heerenstraat
Den Haag: Spui, Plein, Lange Poten
Rotterdam: Hofplein, Blaak, Coolsingel
Amsterdam: Leidse straat, Kalverstraat.

PostScript:
The Boy spent some birthday money on a new version. I HATE it.
Canadian version: Instead of picking cities for each colour with real street names each colour group has a random bunch of cities. What is expensive Vancouver doing in the cheap light-blue section?
But what I really hate is the electronic banking machine. Instead of the cheerful shuffling around of pretend bills non-bankers seem to spend half their game time waiting for the machine to deal with cards. It also make it harder to keep track of your money. I wonder if this is a deliberate ploy by The Powers That Be to get us all used to the cash-less society?

Bite me! Or: growing pains at the Nakusp Farmers Market

2011-12-14T12:02:00.000-08:00

Originally posted to Multiply June 5 2011

The Nakusp Farmers' Market is becoming the victim of its own success. Farmers markets are big these days, both with the public and with vendors. What happens when something whose charm is partly that it is small and informal starts growing? It may be forced to become more organized and lose some of its charm in the process.

Compared to most other markets we have been an easy-going freewheeling bunch. Alas, gone are the days when a vendor could just show up and have a choice of places to set up. What it boils down to now is that we have more potential vendors than we have spots.

Some of it works itself out. For instance some vendors only come at the beginning of the season to sell bedding plants. They are gone by the time others want to take advantage of the tourist season. But if everyone shows up at the same time we have a problem.

For years Ray and Lynn Robson did a fabulous job as market managers. Ray is working in Alberta now. Do we ever miss him!

Meanwhile long-standing marketer Colette and yours truly are trying to hold it together. Not because we are power-hungry control freaks but because we love the market and the job needs to be done. It is not easy.

Yesterday I lost it for a moment. Colette was away so I had to be IT.

One regular had accidentally set up too far in one direction, which left less room in that section, which meant a spot we thought was available wasn't. An old regular showed up unexpectedly. There would have been room for him, just not in his old space, but he did not wait. I had forgotten we had promised a certain spot to a new couple and I had totally forgotten about another new small vendor. I was afraid a certain local artist who has used the market for years would show up. She had said she'd start coming again in June, but when? Did we make it clear enough to her that she now had to call first?

This is all going on more or less at the same time. My stress level is way up and my blood sugar way down. And while we are trying to get everyone settled the buskers cheerfully plonk themselves down in a prime location, one that potentially had room for a tent if that was needed. When I called them on it the answer was: "But this is our spot!" They were there last week.

At which point I did not explain nicely and politely, as I would have done had this happened an hour earlier. Reader, I am afraid I barked. "You're buskers, you don't have a spot!". Dismayed body language. And a friend of theirs asks: "Who makes these decisions anyway?" To which I replied: "I DO. BITE ME."

I did go over a bit later to apologize, but while I regret the tone, I stand by the action. Fortunately the veteran manager of the New Denver market allowed me to pick her brains this morning. I look forward to working with Colette to implement some of her strategies.

Later I looked up the astrology. Mars was almost exactly on my Ascendant. So that's what it feels like to be an Aries!

Post script. Just to have a record for myself.

The writing above contains wording I had created for a potential Letter to the Editor of our local papers. I also wrote a note to the marketers. It all took a few hours. On Thursday I met with C. to measure the market location, and we went over it.

The mentor from the other town happened to come by and gave her input. She was so right. I had put things in a negative way that could just as easily be portrayed as positive. So I went home and re-wrote, just for internal use. The result was the following. It looks so smooth and effortless, but hours of thoughtful editing and others' input went into it. Time that should have been spent outdoors....

Dear fellow marketeers,

We all want to see shoppers, visitors and vendors alike continuing to enjoy the same friendly market that we have built up over the years.

We are facing some changes and challenges. In the spirit of "It's a tough job, but someone has to do it" Colette and Ien have taken on management of the market on short notice and without training. We have been flying by the seat of our pants and making some mistakes.

Like other markets ours started small and casual, and then blossomed into a community event that many people want to be part of. An influx of potential new vendors is now presenting some issues.

Our location in the heart of town next to an ATM is perfect, but limited. This is not a bad thing. A market should reflect the size of the town. Not every weekend is Music Fest.

Some of it works itself out. But when everyone showed up at the same time we already had a problem. The bottom line is that we have more potential vendors than we have available space. We cannot possibly accommodate everybody all the time.

In order to keep the peace and maintain a smooth flow we must now work with reserved bookings. The easy-going days when one could just show up are gone. This is the price we pay for being a success!

To all new vendors:

We are truly sorry, but we have made some promises that we cannot keep. We should have told every new person this: “The market is as good as full. We will put your name on the waiting list and will let you know when and where we can fit you in.”

Any promises about permanent spots made the first three weeks are voided. We are starting over with a map that shows a clear picture week by week. You may have to put up with being moved around, or rotate with other new vendors.

Over the years we have built a precious place of cooperation and friendly energy that is drawing people every Saturday. Please work with us to maintain that energy as we face the daunting task of puzzling it all out, and let's make it a great summer.

The Edgar Principle, and some garden doings

2011-12-14T11:35:00.000-08:00

Originally posted to Multiply May 7 2011

The good news is: we have a new washing machine. The old one died. In spite of all the warnings from sources both esoteric and mundane about imminent Collapse we're betting on civilization continuing. I have done laundromats and hand washing for years in the past, and sure appreciate at-home mod-cons while they last.

This is what we call the Alan Edgar Principle. Alan was a fellow counter-culture member who lived here in the seventies, during our tipi time. We worked together for a while in the same restaurant. Nice Californian guy with a great sense of humour and a beautiful Latina wife who had a hard time in the long grey Kootenay winters.
Once on the way to work we had a conversation about the impending doom mentality that was quite common in those days, and he said something that stuck with me: "If these are the last of the good old days, shouldn't we be....ENJOYING them more?" What a concept! Brilliant! I have dubbed it the Edgar Principle and invoke it frequently, especially in these days when we have a fresh wave of folks moving to the land to get ready for Collapse.

Shortly afterwards Alan and family went back to CA, where they built a successful business in solar energy and had a great life. Some common friends are still in touch. That is the trouble with geological and psychic time: In those terms California may well be swallowed up by the Pacific any day now, but a human life can fit entirely in the space between seconds.

Back to the here and now. The bad news is: in order to deliver the washing machine and get it up the steps to the deck the truck would have to drive over my flowering daffodils and primroses. So I spent all yesterday morning digging them up. I stuck the dafs in another bed, but had a wheelbarrow full of primroses in full bloom. That sheltered flowerbed has been creeping outwards, time to re-do it so we don't have to deal with this again when the ancient stove bites the dust. So today I wasted all day on flower stuff that was not on the priority list.

The good news: it is perfect transplanting weather.

The bad news: that means it is cold and rainy. Yesterday was decent. Cool, but mainly dry with the odd bit of watery sun. We have had a total of 6 or 7 days so far that could qualify as spring, and nowhere near real warmth. I keep reminding myself that the woods are rejoicing. They are overdue for one of those cool wet non-summers we get now and then in B.C. At this time of year garden work gets done rain or shine.

At least I made focaccia loaves and tomato sauce before I went outside so we could have pizza tonight, with baby kale and green onion salad from the garden. I am tired of eating overly fast improvised meals because by the time I stop outside I have no energy left to cook.

More good news: The 4 middle-aged hens laid 4 eggs yesterday! I have not had egg layers for ages. Some time in the nineties we had a series of predator disasters, and I finally gave up. After a hiatus I did just meat birds for 5 years. This was during the time that deer were devastating the veg garden in spite of fences, so filling the freezer with chicken was a compensation. After a few years off from that I am totally in a fowl mood again.
More good news: the asparagus I planted along the fence last fall is showing signs of life. The shoots are tiny but all they have to do this year is survive. I used to have a big asparagus bed, but ripped them out years ago because they were not yielding all that much considering how much space they were taking up.

And so it goes.......on and on....

Remembrance of snipes past

2011-12-11T23:27:00.000-08:00

Posted to Multiply April 28 2011

A memory of 40 years ago, a time when late April reliably brought warm weather and luminous green trees.

We were living in Christina Lake, about 4 hours from Nakusp, and had bought the land the previous fall. This was the first time we came up here to camp. It was all a lot wilder then. The land went right down to the fence of the big field below, no road. It was a wide-open sunny abandoned hay field, gently sloping with a few more level benches, facing South.

An island of big trees in one spot had been too rocky to cultivate, ever. The rest was not really worth the effort to farm, too sandy/rocky, hence the decision to sell it. We were told so honestly. On the other three sides there was empty woods, most of it crown land.

On this weekend of April 1971 we had basked naked in the warm spring sunshine, marveling at the idea that we owned these ten acres. In the afternoon the twelve-year old son of one of the hippie-settlers in the neighborhood dropped by. He took it upon himself to show us around.

First a walk through a swamp with blooming skunk cabbages and yellow violets, past an old log cabin that had belonged to an old Australian trapper, long departed. The cabin is long gone too, and the trail has become a serious gravel road. The trapper's memory lingers on in the name of the road: Kangaroo Trail.

Up a ways we came to a clearing with a strange sort of shelter: a tipi made out of cedar shakes and clear plastic. A young couple had cheerfully overwintered in it. They were now celebrating the new season in the same way we had. There was a lot of casual nudity in the Kootenays in those years. It was not nakedness in the 'look-at-me!' way. We just had no clothes on in order to feel as much of the sun and the soft spring breeze as we could. It was lovely.

The trail wound on and down into the homestead of F. and R., 15 gorgeous acres of woods and meadow, with a stream running through it and a usable cabin. They had bought it in 1968 for $2500. They were masters at the self-sufficiency game. The cabin may have been basic, but the gardens were brimming with food, there were fruit trees, nut trees, a cow, goats and chickens and pigs. R. even canned a bear once. It had been raiding the homestead and would not be scared away. Said R., years later when I expressed my admiration: "I was young, and the bear was dead".

Later we sat around a small fire, with cups of tea made from mint leaves that grew wild around the vernal pond, having dined (among other things) on wild violet leaves and bracken fern shoots. I was deep in my Euell Gibbons and Bradford Angier phase. Wild asparagus could actually be stalked between Christina Lake and Grand Forks. I wasn't crazy about the marzipan-like taste of the fiddleheads. Later we found out later that edible fiddleheads are the young form of a different fern, and bracken is even a bit toxic. We suffered no ill effects.

As the campfire dies down we look at the stars and take in the deep silence. It was so quiet then. The neighborhood did not have electricity. There were no power tools. You could hear a car go by a few kilometers away on Highway 6. What we did hear was frogs and birds, all kinds of them. The sound I first mistook for starting machinery, popppoppopppp! turned out to be male grouse beating their wings to impress potential mates.

But the sound I associate most with those evenings has only recently received a name. A strange sound, heard mainly at dusk. It comes closer as the bird dives down, hunting for insects? Huuuuhuuhuhuhuhuh. Impossible to imitate. You end up sounding like a loon when you try, but we know loons when we hear them and this is different.

Thanks to a remark from Melanie in Ontario, and the wonders of Google, our mystery bird has been identified: Snipe. What we heard was a snipe. There is less swamp in the neighborhood than there used to be, and we don't hear this haunting sound nearly as often. But after 40 years it is nice to give it a name.
It is the last few seconds on the link below.
http://identify.whatbird.com/obj/984/_/Common_Snipe.aspx

Another Vancouver Outing

2011-12-11T23:15:00.000-08:00

originally posted to Multiply, April 6 2011

We had another weekend to visit the urban offspring. The usual routine: leave Friday morning, spend 3 nights in accomodation close to daughter's apartment, have some city outings, hang out together, drive back Monday.
Minniepuss was somewhat apprehensive at the sight of the preparations.

On our first day out I was delighted to see swans on the pond in between the apartment buildings.

There were three pairs, floating majestically among the resident Mallard ducks and Canada geese. They did seem sort of quiet, but I thought it was part of some pre-mating behaviour. Alas, it turned out they were plastic.

The weather forecast had been rain on Saturday, niceish on Sunday. We planned accordingly and decided to visit the Bloedel conservatory on Saturday. It was actually a nice day, so we could enjoy the sights around the indoor park.

The conservatory is in the middle of Queen Elizabeth Park. We had never been there but will come back some time. The park is on a hill, and was created out of a bunch of old quarries.

Looking toward Burnaby Mountain and Simon Fraser University on top of it.

Fountains.....and lots of flowers. We were a bit early, or rather spring is late this year. There were no tulips yet and even the daffodils were just starting.

Above: Helleborus with scilla. Below: Heather with daffodils, not quite open yet.

I could have enjoyed an afternoon exploring the park and oohing over the splendid views, but we had a time limit. The tropics, inside the big dome, beckoned.

What a wonderful crazy place that is! This is the dome from the outside. Inside, you step into a tropical forest, complete with birds and a Koi pond. The next pictures are all taken inside the Bloedel conservatory.

Bromeliads

Miscellaneous colourful stuff on the forest floor.

Look up, way up...

Miscellaneous greenery with a flowering Lollipop tree

Some of the resident parrots. They almost look fake.

From the inside the bubble roof looks like this. It is easy to forget you are inside till you look all the way up.

The grandson making his memories.

Did I mention that the air felt and smelled delicious? Alex said it reminded him of stepping off the plane in Hawaii, into the sweet-smelling warm moist air.

Flowering orchids all over the place.

Some more tropical greenery.

And some more, with a cute bridge that overlooks a stream with Koi.

There is also a section with more subtropical plants and even a small dry area with cactus, but I am out of patience. Home we went, by bus and sky train. I LOVE the way you can traipse all over the city without worrying about parking. And finally, one of the many pink streets. It is cherry blossom time. I do love that city!

March 2011

2011-12-11T22:57:00.001-08:00

So that was March 2011.

Full of violent happenings in the world, quite peaceful here in my blessed neck of the woods. We had a classic Kootenay winter this year with lots of snow. Traditionally March is the month that it melts, and so it was. The beginning of the month was still quite wintry, but with some lovely sunny

days.

The snow roof does a beautiful job of shedding the load, without anyone having to climb up on it.

We did have quite a pile in front of the porch.

I have been scandalously lazy this winter. Even the planned indoor chores, like getting the scanner/printer installed, did not get done. Daily yoga is a fond memory but alas, also on the list of "ought to". But I enjoyed the leisure. I did spend quite a few afternoons with my Parkinson-afflicted friend, so my existence had some use beyond pure self indulgence. Now the snow is almost gone.

Some bare ground is visible in the left for-ground. This is a block from home.

Here is some more. Believe it or not, if you have not seen the ground for a full four months this is an exciting sight. OK, when it comes to Nature I excite easily.

And what is this? A blade of grass? Trumpets please!

Eranthis, snowdrops and crocuses almost start blooming under the snow. The moment the load is lifted there they are. Eranthis make me smile not only for their own sake but because of the fond memories. They came from the garden of a special local lady, now long gone.

Edna Irving used to be the matron of our local hospital in its heyday, when surgeries were performed there and babies were born. When I got to know her she was well into her nineties, still living in the home she and her husband had built, and suffering from Alzheimers. She had other helpers, I just filled in now and then during the lunch hour. In spring we'd leave the house behind and walk in her garden, full of hardy perennials. She never lost her joy in Nature, and life in general, and was a pleasure to be with.

Wherever Edna is, I am sure there are flowers around, and she just might bump into my dear mother while tending the garden. They were both daughters of an all-girl family, had 2 boys and 2 girls, were head nurses and passionate gardeners, and lived well past 90.

I can think of no nicer way of being remembered than by blooming in someone's garden.

Edna and Elizabeth, these are for you.

When only SciFi feels real

2011-12-11T22:54:00.001-08:00

I am feeling a combination of tired and restless and can't decide what to read. The world is so weird right now that only Science Fiction feels real. I am talking about the kind of SciFi that takes existing conditions, extrapolates them, and asks what if.....

Studying old Sci Fi is fascinating. It gives a glimspe of yesterday's futures. But I don't quite feel up to doing a serious blog on it right now.

Fortunately I just discovered exactly the right thing to while the night away with. Thanks Will!

http://astranavigo.blogspot.com/2008/12/dancing-apocalypso.html

Translating a Stone for poetry night

2011-12-11T22:51:00.000-08:00

Originally posted to Multiply March 12 2011

I LOVE our local library and the people who help to run it.

Last night we took a break from the turbulence of the world with its natural disasters and civil unrest, to enjoy the third annual Poetry Night.

People bring a favorite poem, yack a bit about why they choose it, and read it. The whole thing takes a bit over an hour for around 20 presenters, after which people are free to mill around, chat and eat goodies.

I rarely read poetry, but quite enjoy it once it is shoved under my nose. The personal stories add so much. A familiar classic like "The Daffodils" takes on new meaning when we hear what it meant to a child in a two-room schoolhouse on the bald Alberta prairie.

What follows is more or less my contribution, including some remarks about the issue of translation.

A few years ago an online contact in the Netherlands sent me "De Steen" by poet/songwriter Bram Vermeulen. For some reason it hit me to the point where I made a stab at translating it.

Until I Googled it yesterday I did not know that Bram Vermeulen was a songwriter, rather than a poet, and that the poem has become a total classic in the Netherlands. It is frequently performed at funerals. I just liked it a lot.

Translating poetry is tricky, even between two languages that are close kin, like English and Dutch. Something always has to give. It can be the metaphors, or the music of the language, but choices have to be made.

Take the first line of this poem, which is the best, and at the same time the most difficult to do justice to. For my Dutch readers, it goes like this:

"Ik heb een steen verlegd in een rivier op aarde"

Literal translation: "I have moved a stone in a river on earth."

That doesn't exactly roll trippingly off the tongue, does it now?

The first item to get lost is the subtlety of the verb. "Verleggen" is a very precise term, implying picking up an item, and laying it down somewhere else. The prefix ver implies change. Ver-kleden is changing clothes. Ver-huizen is moving house. Move will do, but is more bland.

The main nouns: steen, rivier, aarde, are quite similar to their English counterparts : stone, river, earth. But the slight differences result in a total lack of rhythm.

Rivier is pronounced with emphasis on the second syllable, which is a long ee, as in beer. Aarde ends on the soft almost mute e, not with a thump like Earth.

I struggled for a bit with versions that used Planet instead, but ended up ignoring the whole dilemma. What remains is still a lovely poem. So here goes.

I moved a pebble in a flowing river

The water has to go another way

You can't hold back the current of a river

Water will always find a way around

Maybe one day, when rain and snow have filled it

the stream will take my pebble on its way

and carry it, till it's worn round and polished

to leave it resting in the ocean's lea

I moved a pebble in a flowing river.

Now I know that I will never be forgotten.

I furnished proof of my existence

Because when that one stone was moved

the flow of water was forever changed.

A thrifty kitchen blog

2011-12-11T22:42:00.001-08:00

I am a fanatical lover of good home-made soup, based on old-fashioned bone broth. The broth is actually my favorite part of any chicken or turkey.The grocery store will occasionally have trays of turkey necks for sale, cheap. It turns out you can special order a big box of them, yeah! The boxes are popular with people who feed their dogs a BARF diet, raw foods only.
I used to cut the necks into chunks, a hard and disgusting job, and toss them raw into the stockpot. It did seem a waste to throw out the meat once the broth was done, but it had no flavor left at all.
We have now figured out how to make the most of the precious resource. Just in case someone can use it, here goes.Step 1:
Throw the necks, WHOLE, into a roasting pan and let them roast for a while on good high heat, 375 or 400. No fussing, just dry roast them as they are. I have no exact time here, use your judgment. Smell is a pretty good indicator.
Step 2:
This is where your hands get all greasy. Once the necks cool enough to handle strip some of the delicious meat off the outside. You just want the part that comes off easily, so you don't end up with little bones. Once you have done that break the neck into chunks, so you get more minerals out of the bones. You can do it with your bare hands, it is much easier than cutting them raw.
Chop the stripped meat into small pieces. It freezes well if you add broth to cover. It is delicious in Chow Mein or Shepherds Pie. Yesterday I added mushrooms and a broth-based roux, and just served it like that over potatoes. Yum.
Cover your chunks of bone with ample water, including the stuff that you get when you deglaze the roasting pan. That means scraping the tasty bits off with the help of hot water so you don't lose all that flavor. Add a generous helping of good salt, freshly ground pepper, a bay leaf or 2, a few cloves if you have them, and a good glug of vinegar. The vinegar helps to leach the minerals from the bones. Thank you, Adelle Davis! Any vinegary taste completely disappears during boiling.
Enjoy the wonderful smell while water and salt do their magic.
Few smells spell HOME like simmering broth. (I am such a Cancer)
The end result will add magic to any soup or sauce it is added to. Apart from the flavor, bone broth is excellent support for bones, and helps your body to utilize protein better as well. I had to buy some canned chicken broth for a friend the other day, and was appalled at the price: almost $2 for a mere 12 oz, and Earth knows what's in it! Pour the works through a colander after a few hours. I like to simmer mine for a long time, because we want as much mineral nutrition from those bones as we can get.

Bon Appetit!

Winter Sunshine, Febr 22 2011

2011-12-11T22:35:00.000-08:00

Now that the lake has cooled we get less valley cloud and more sunshine. I was working on a serious blog but the H with it, I am going to plant dahlia seeds. I am volunteering this afternoon so we have to make the morning count. This is what the approach to Nakusp looks like on a gorgeous late winter day.

A visitor in the snow

2011-12-11T22:22:00.000-08:00

originally posted to Multiply February 8 2010

I look out of the kitchen window, no glasses on, and notice this weird brown heap of a rag sitting on one of the outside chairs. "What the ?" Look again: could that be a bird? It was! I was honoured by a visit from a very sleepy little owl.
It was asleep when I first came upon it but blinked awake. It looked right into my eyes during a leisurely photo shoot. Alas, in the excitement I left the door open. Minniepuss came out to investigate, immediately headed for the bird, and it flew away. If only it were possible to train cats to eat rodents only! I thought it was a pygmy owl, but here is the reply from the local bird expert:
This is a Northern Saw-whet Owl. Not uncommon in our area, but quite nocturnal so often goes unseen. In March and April when they are breeding, you sometimes hear them at night. They don't hoot like some owls, but instead their call is more like a whistle or perhaps a beep. It is very repetitious and has been likened to a fork-lift in reverse - in reverse for a long time! I have heard them beep perhaps 60 times in succession, over a span of about 30 seconds.

Otherwise it is SNOWY here. Not too cold, just tons of white stuff. Chris had to cry Uncle, or rather Neil, our friend with the bobcat. Machines have their place.

It takes a while before a side road like ours gets plowed. This is Subaru country for a reason.

How long can the trees bear this load? No wonder that little owl was looking for a drier place to sleep.

It is thigh-deep. This is more or less the kind of winter we got acclimated to when we first moved to the area. Though back then we had more cold spells, night time down to minus 20, day time around minus 10. (Celsius)

It will be a while before any gardening gets done around here. It is hard to believe that daughter has spied early cherry blossoms, and son took a picture of a dwarf iris. No wonder everyone wants to live in Vancouver. Meanwhile, I am so glad we have our sturdy snow roof over the place!

A Tiddly Pom day

2011-12-11T22:17:00.000-08:00

Originally posted to Multiply Jan. 21 2010

As the bear sings:

The more it snows

Tiddly Pom

The more it goes

Tiddly Pom

The more it goes

Tiddly Pom

On snowing.

It has been pouring snow. Chris has given up trying to shovel. This is overwhelming and calls for a man with machine. Neil and his bobcat will be here tomorrow morning.

Meanwhile this is the view of Box Mountain. Unfortunately it is only a few degrees below freezing. It may all turn to rain again, then back to frost, and make a dreadful treacherous icy mess. Winter is so much nicer when it just makes up its mind and remains below freezing for a few months.

The day has nothing on the schedule. I love it. Reading an excellent novel, baking bread, sorting seeds. Leisure time will be over soon enough!

A new housemate , posted to Multiply January 2011

2011-12-11T22:14:00.000-08:00

In spite of spousal opposition we have a cat again. She is still getting used to us, but she knows were the food and litterbox are, and whined to be allowed to sleep on the bed last night. She was indulged part of the night. I need an open window, which means a closed door. Sorry girl!

Her name is Minnie, she is a six-year old spayed female, and quite a survivor. OK. Here is where it gets complicated. This blog is being edited on January 24 2010 after a long chat with Florence, our local animal angel. The part between the lines is what I originally posted. It turns out I had it wrong. Too bad, it was a great story. The reality is not quite as dramatic.

______________________________________________________

Her previous owners were on the way from Kaslo to Arizona in a motor home. I am not sure what arrangements they had made for Minnie, but whatever they were, she had other ideas and stowed away on board. Nobody knew she was there till she jumped out at the ferry near Galena Bay. Then she disappeared. Months later she was found, skinny but unharmed, near her home in Kaslo. This is a two hour drive through big mountains. Neighbors of her owners alerted PALS, the local animal welfare group. Her owners were contacted and agreed to put her up for adoption.

_________________________________________________________

What really happened:

Minnie's owners were indeed from Kaslo. Minnie had indeed stowed away on board of their motor home and ran away at the ferry landing in Galena Bay. That part is true, but it happened in May on a short vacation. Minnie made her way to a local home that had some outbuildings, a resident house cat, and a half-wild outdoor cat who was being fed outside. Minnie spent the summer hiding out and stealing a share of food. When it got cold she tried to get inside and it became clear she was not a feral cat. The people in Galena Bay finally called a Kootenay animal care group. Her picture was circulated, and a neighbor of her old owners in Kaslo recognized her. By this time the owners were indeed in Arizona. So the part of neighbors in Kaslo recognizing her is also true, but she did NOT make her way home to Kaslo!

This is Minnie during her veterinary check-up. See how much skinnier she is? PALS does a great job. Except I only found out after the adoption that her vet check included implanting a micro chip. YUCK! This is the kind of thing I always thought was the paranoia of the lunatic fringe. You know, they start with animals, get people used to the idea, and the next thing you know there is a big push to microchip newborn babies. All for your own good of course.She is not very pettable yet, but she is most definitely relaxing!

Update on Monday Jan. 24: she is becoming more at ease, more playful and affectionate by the day. Chris is quite enjoying her too. I knew he would.

How real are virtual friends?

2011-12-11T20:41:00.000-08:00

In the non-growing season I spend a lot of time socializing in the virtual world. I enjoy it immensely. The friends made here take up residence in my heart and pop into my mind as I go through the day and take in the news.

Severe storms in the maritimes: is Sharon on Miscou Island OK? Power outage on Vancouver Island: wonder if Robin is in the dark? Hope no tree is falling on Karyn's RV. Any mention of Brazil, and especially Sao Paulo, immediately brings Tint to mind. I mentally waved to Bert and the chickens when a flight took me through Minneapolis last year. And so on.

The picture above, known to its subjects as "4 Cancers" was taken at the home-based wedding of two people who met on the internet, attended by several other friends who were also encountered online. These people live close enough (about 6 hours away) for us to take the friendship to the kitchen table.

True, virtual friends can't come over to help feed the dog or bring in the firewood if you get sick. One needs to cultivate the 'meat space' friends just as much as the garden.

But Paypal makes concrete help possible in other ways. Last summer I spread the news about a young family whose homestead had been robbed. They received donations from strangers living in Holland and California! It was nowhere near as much as they had lost, but it sure helped to know that people out there cared.

My barter-partner and neighbor Rick received a welcome box of childrens books and videos from a woman he only knows through FaceBook.

Don't tell me internet friends are not real!

More joys of barter

2011-12-11T19:44:00.000-08:00

I just read Astranavigo's update on the economic situation, and the threatening Weimar-like situation in the USA. Money is weird stuff. The more you find out about it, the weirder it gets.

Now, let me make it clear that I love cash and prefer it to barter while we have a functioning society and it all works. But I tend to be short of it and so are many of my friends and acquaintances. Meanwhile, let's not forget there are things we can do for each other without the exchange of pieces of paper.

One of my least favorite chores is shortening new pants. Any pair that fits otherwise is usually too long. I gave my sewing machine away ages ago. The hem usually ends up slightly bobbly, and besides I often get the length wrong which results in that too-short flood water look.

An acquaintance who loves sewing has just started a little home sewing business. Hallelujah, she came for Reflexology yesterday and took the two pairs of new pants that have hung in my closet for 2 months home for a professional shortening job. This makes me very happy.

May I recommend thinking outside the money box to anyone in a similar boat? Think about what you enjoy doing, and what you dislike.

As a rule it takes you much longer to do something you have no talent for. Shannon can shorten a pair of pants in half an hour and do it well, with the right tools. It would take me more than an hour to do it wrong.

If I absolutely had to I could bang together a 3 foot square planting box, but it would take me forever and be a rickety affair to boot. I would much rather do Reflexology on Rick and his family.

I have no desire to keep milking animals, but enjoyed using my chicken butchering skills in trade for the makings of a kilo of goat cheese.

And so on!

Bartering strengthens community ties. We are in for tough times and may have to depend on each other more than we do now. Why not get a head start and get to know each other now!

For the unemployed, bartering while looking for work has the extra advantage of making you feel good about yourself. That in turn makes you more likely to get hired.

Happy trading everyone.

2011-12-11T19:33:00.000-08:00

Posted to Multiply on December 6 2010

We just came home from another weekend trip to the urban offspring. If you have to live in a city, it doesn't get any better than Vancouver. No matter where you are, you can see mountains. This was taken from Sky Train, close to Broadway station.Our family went from city to country back to city in two generations. Below, father and son, all spiffy and fashionably urban looking.Apart from just seeing each other our main agenda this time was to visit son Alex' abode. Daughter Nienke has been settled close to SFU in Burnaby for 11 years, but Alex is relatively new to the city. After a year in residence on the BCIT campus he managed to find himself a nice starter spot in the Commercial Drive area in East Van. We had heard of this neighborhood but had never been there.

Folks, I am in love.

This place is essence of urban living at its very best. It was a glorious blue day. That helped. But I am sure this neighborhood shines with a glow of its own in the dreariest winter rain. The Drive itself has smallish shops and restaurants of an incredible variety. As Alex says: "I can't eat enough to satisfy my curiosity". He treated us to an Ethiopian lunch, so now we know what authentic Injeera tastes like.

Among other places we browsed a novelty store that does not know the words Politically Correct. The owner (who gave permission to be blogged about) proudly demonstrated this Mosque-shaped alarm clock, that rouses the sleeper with an authentic recorded call to prayer. Who invents these things?

Alas, the three of us were walking along, one doesn't want to annoy one's companions, so I never did take enough pictures. The side streets that feed into the Drive are largely old residential, with big trees and green yards.

Vegetation in this place goes mad. Any strip of empty soil in the Lower Mainland is quickly smothered in a riot of greenery.

I could imagine being happy in an older home on one of those side streets, just give me a tiny scrap of back yard...The kids told me I'd be looking at three quarters of a million f0r starters. So much for urban simplicity. Let's hope the Drive does not fall victim to its own success and gets all gentrified and fake.

Above: On the way to Alex' suite we passed through a back alley where we were treated to rousing African-Caribbean music. It came from a garage with a half-open door where someone was vigorously dancing to the beat. I couldn't resist a quick one of the anonymous legs. Cropping and brightening brought the picture to fuzzy life.

For dinner we all got together at Nienke's. I love having both kids in the same place! For years we saw each of them on a regular basis, but hardly ever at the same time. Nienke had done astonishing things to a turkey that made it taste more like Chinese roast duck. Alex brought fresh loaves of his almost-famous French bread and my contribution was a lemon cheesecake with blueberry topping. It was a feast with good company and left a nice afterglow Above: Paris is not the only city with roasted chestnut stands. Note the sign on the right, in several Asian scripts.

The next day we went downtown to take in the much advertised old-fashioned Christmas market. What a DUD! First off I resent paying five bucks to get into a commercial venue. The entire thing was surrounded by a palisade so you couldn't tell what it was like inside. Inside there was no place to sit down and enjoy some good food.

As Nienke put it on Facebook: Lets stand in line to pay money so we can stand in line to pay more money and then wait in line to get the overpriced item that we paid the money for.

It was insanely busy. We quickly decided that nobody was having fun this way, so Old Dutch and I got out of there and headed direction Robson Street. The intention: hang out in a coffee shop with a weekend paper and watch the passers by. A cheap and simple urban pastime we never tire of.

Well....we walked into a wall of people all coming from the other direction. What did we just miss? The Santa Claus parade! That's why the city was a-boiling with people. We had to walk halfway down Robson to find a spot to sit down. The weather was not appealing enough for a walk along the seawall, another of our favourite things to do. We called it a day and leisurely strolled to Burrard Sky Train station, back to peaceful Burnaby.Above: pink light on the North Shore mountains is visible in the very heart of downtown.

I always enjoy getting a whiff of city air now and then. Sky Train is just a great way to get around.

Just one more for good measure. I like the contrast between the urban mess and the snowy mountains.

So long dear Vancouver, see you again in March!

Christmas questions

2011-12-11T19:23:00.000-08:00

Answers to questions in 2010.

1. When will you and your family start getting ready for Christmas?
Oh no! The C word already? Not yet, please.
For reasons that don't matter here we will visit the offspring in Vancouver a few weeks before Christmas. So as for the day itself, who cares. I feel like staying home and enjoying some special foods, wine, and a few movies with my Old Dutch.
2. When you put your tree up, is it a time honored tradition, using family ornaments or do you choose to do something new and different each year?
When the kids were home we used to get a tree from the land. As you can see they were never perfect but they were ours! Two years ago we got one of those silly little things that glitters with changing colours.We hang a few chains of ornaments and lights from the ceiling. I like it. It gives a bit of a festive touch but doesn't take over the room.Otherwise I like tradition, lack designer talent, and have no desire to do something new every year. The flash distorted the effect, the room looked quite festive.
3. Do you deck all of "the halls" (including the yard) or just your tree?
Just the living room.
4. What are some of your favorite Christmas movies?
Wonderful World , the old Miracle on 34th street.
5. What are some of your favorite Christmas songs?
I love the old traditional Christmas carols and the Messiah. That music is too precious to be reserved for Christians.

Happy USA Thanksgiving

2011-12-11T19:16:00.001-08:00

To all my dear friends South of the border: Have a great day, in whatever way.
If you have friends and family to gather with, may it be fun and peaceful.
If you don't, enjoy a movie or book, grab a drink or other substance of choice, and remember it is only a day and it will pass.If you can read this, you are a privileged inhabitant of the planet. Give Thanks.
I have been told the special effects on the turkey can be achieved through judicious application of aluminium foil.

Small Town Panto

2011-12-11T19:10:00.000-08:00

Posted after the panto of 2010. Mirror Theater came through again in 2011, with a hilarious Star Trek spoof.

All pictures in this post are courtesy of Jan Termehr Dion, whose family is an important part of this production. Thanks Jan!

Above: the people of the village of All's Well, wondering how to save their famous well from a hostile take-over. The evil plan is foiled with the help of the bad guy's factotum, some talking ducks, the spirit of the well, and various supernatural beings.

I started this Saturday evening, right after I came home, and waited to post till I got permission to use the photographs.

I just came home from the pantomime performance of the local amateur group, Mirror Theatre. I am still grinning and glowing.

Pantomime or panto has nothing to do with white-faced people trying to climb out of an invisible box. My opinion of that art form is shared by Lord Vetinari, ruler of Ankh Morpork. He has a special dungeon reserved for mimes. On the walls, in blood, is written: Learn the WORDS!

Right: The Dame was played brilliantly by local grocery store clerk Troy.

This kind of pantomime is an English offshoot of Comedia Del Arte, broad comedy with a cast that always includes a woman played by a man, the Dame. The play includes allusions to local places and events. Audience participation is part of it. We lustily BOOed! the bad guy, Baron Hiram and Firam the sixteenth, who wants to cover the famous wells with a bottling plant and make the ducks homeless.

Who would have guessed our super-friendly, soft-spoken bus driver had such a convincing loud-mouth bad guy in him?

On cue we all went "AAAW" for cute or poignant scenes. The play included many children, some of who participated with their parents. Two of the ducklings below are the daughters of the big duck.

Too bad there is no picture of the duck costumes from the back, they were cute. But this one at least shows the feet behind the littlest duck.

A large part of the pleasure of the evening was feeling part of the town. The house was packed!

Most of the people in the audience are related to or at least acquainted with the people on stage. I am not related to anyone, but vividly remember when some of them were born.

This gorgeous Marilyn Monroelook-alike, playing a ditzy secretary, can't possibly be littleLiva, the bus driver's daughter? Wasn't she a baby yesterday?

An evening of entertainment requires weeks, nay, months of boring, grueling preparation. I don't have the patience for it but sure appreciate the people who do.

Mirror Theatre was founded by the intrepid Janet Royko, here doing double duty as producer and as the owner of the All'sWell Bugle, the local newspaper. This play was directed by Anji Jones, our master comedienne, on Jan's right and below.

Last but least, there was this amazing little kid who doesn't look a day over 10. Connor obviously loves being on stage. He has a great voice, sings and acts and has terrific presence.

To all the people who made this evening possible, thanks a heap. There were a lot of smiling faces afterwards.

Saints among us

2011-12-11T18:57:00.000-08:00

Originally posted to Multiply November 14 2010

There are saints among us.

I am not talking about people who perform public feats of do-gooding on a large scale. I am talking about the ordinary folks who look after a disabled loved one in the isolation of their home, 24/7, year after year. I know several such people.

This weekend I stepped in the shoes of one, as a paid gig, providing respite care for 2 days. Details shall remain blank for reasons of confidentiality.

Let me just say that the stint gave me a fresh appreciation of what it must be like to live like that, every moment at the total service of someone else's needs. I could not do it.

For hire, safe in the knowledge that the time there was limited, I could turn on the required amount of calm, patience and kindness. Old Home Support training kicked back in. It went well.

But as soon as the door of the home closed behind me I felt practically giddy with freedom, almost laughing out loud with relief, and once home headed straight for the wine bottle.

How do caregivers keep going year in and year out, often without meaningful breaks?

I can only deduce they are saints.

P.S. How I LOVE my own life! I am euphoric, just enjoying being home.

November sunshine

2011-12-11T18:51:00.000-08:00

Originally posted to Multiply November 5 2010

I am glad to hear that the good weather is coming to an end. On Wednesday it took the Valley Cloud, AKA "Flat Cloud" till 2 PM to clear up. Yesterday it hung on all day.

Under the cloud hangs a bone-chilling damp misery you can't dress for. I went outside to do some last-ditch garden tidy-ups and retreated after half an hour. Let this be a warning to any Albertan or inhabitant of Kelowna who is considering a retirement move to Nakusp: Fall and winter is GREY here. The best way to cope with it is frequent visits to our wonderful Hot Springs, and adjust your expectations. Treat any bright sunshiny day between November and February as a wonderful bonus. I probably talked about this before but just had to remind myself.
Following are a few pictures from September of the fog lifting. Below: Box Mountain hiding, 11.20 AM

below: First signs of clearing straight overhead

If there are two clouds in the Kootenays they will hang in front of Box Mountain.

YES! The world transformed, all in the space of an hour.

I knew there was a mountain there!

Scatterings

2011-12-11T18:46:00.000-08:00

Originally posted to Multiply November 1 2010

All Souls Day seems a good day to post a few pictures of the day we scattered Mom's ashes. I had to wait till sister Margreet made her shots available.

A final shot of the urn before opening it, with the two of us.

I had expected less stuff, and more chunks. The container weighed almost nothing, the bag was pretty heavy.

Margreet grabs the first handful, to scatter near the miniature roses right by the dwelling.A good quantity on the 'lawn', around the spot where she used to enjoy sitting to look at what's left of the view. Damned trees. That's another blog.

Margreet took this one of me taking the shot above.

My turn to leave some near the chickencoop, that used to be the roof over her travel trailer, and don't forget the blackberries and the compost heap.We took some to town to sneak just a handful under the plants near the picnic table where Mom and Marg spent hours playing scrabble, while Dad chatted up the passers by and gazed out over the lake from another bench.

And that was that. Last wishes honoured and a job well done. Below, the same corner looking the other way.

You hunt, I gather. Division of labour in the empty nest.

2011-12-11T16:08:00.000-08:00

Let's face it. For someone who is supposedly a card-carrying feminist the division of labour in our empty nest ought to be unacceptable.

Sometimes I feel as if I am letting the side down by doing 99% of the daily grind of cooking and cleaning. The Man makes coffee in the morning and will occasionally do the dishes. He would do the latter more often if asked, but has creative reasons for leaving the chore to late in the day. I'd just as soon get them out of the way and do the rest of the kitchen while I am at it.men (many young ones are better) Do The Dishes. Women clean the kitchen.

These last few years my little household has been functioning reasonably well. I'll never be Martha Steward and have no desire to be. But people can drop in without being met by frenzied scurrying. That only took about 40 years.

The question of housework used to be frought with strife.

My born-organized mother was a genius at it, and at the same time resented it bitterly. As the oldest child (b.1943) I bore the brunt of her years of discontent.

Mom had a brilliant career and lovely gardens later in life. But my childhood coincided with the years (1947-1960) she was cooped up in a small upstairs apartment with 4 children and no outlet for her burning ambition except the management of spouse and offspring.

Beware, all ye who wax nostalgic for the fifties. Social stability came at a heavy price.

Mom ruled her roost with an iron hand. It was easier to do it all herself than to teach others to do more then post dinner dishes. Once serious homework kicked in after grade 6 I was excused from household chores anyway: I was destined for greater things! Another blog sometime about the double messages of that time.

In spite of having a good example I never picked up Mom's tricks of the trade. I inherited neither Mom's boundless energy nor her gift for organization. Once I left home my housekeeping was an erratic wave pattern of gleeful chaos and crisis cleaning when the spirit hit.

As for sharing the chores, during our student years I rather enjoyed playing house in my own way. Besides, this was before the second wave of feminism raised our awareness.

More blogs about the long F word are brewing, but let me just say what feminism means to me: simply the freedom to be an individual first, and member of a group second. I was not angry at the men in my life. I was not into splitting hairs about politically incorrect language.

Resentment set in in 1972, the first time The Man was not working and I was.

I had been pretty naive, thinking the benefits of feminism to men were obvious. Who wants to carry that heavy burden of being the breadwinner all alone?

Surprise! Like many women of my generation I found that my otherwise liberal, left-wing spouse totally resisted doing housework, even when he was not wage-working and I was. Stressful times followed. Never mind the boring detail. Let's just say the issue was never resolved and simmered away for decades.

I finally gave up trying to change the mindset of a guy born into a son-worshipping family in the year 1936. With just two of us and a decent dwelling keeping the place nice is not the burden it used to be. I enjoy cooking.

So here we are today.

He maintains the infra-structure. When the well drops down to dangerously low levels he is the one who manages the system by going down to the pump-house in the dark and cold to fill the tank manually, so the pump won't run dry. In winter he looks after snow removal. He maintains the cars. He takes garbage out and drives it to the dump. He used to climb up on to the roof to remove snow. More recently he climbed a ladder to paint some wood work below the roof.

All biggish jobs that only need doing once in a while. In short: He Hunts.

I cook and clean. All small things that need doing daily. I Gather.

It may not be totally fair or politically correct. I am happy to report that our offspring has freed itself from sexist stereotypes.

But overall there is peace, contentment and good food that is appreciated. For the remainder of this life time with this Old Dutch it will do.

Thanksgiving 2010

2011-12-11T16:00:00.000-08:00

We had our Thanksgiving dinner yesterday. It was only a small intimate gathering but it felt just right.I never got around to taking pictures, too bad.
My sister is here, and we were joined by Best Buddy Bev and our co-grandparents. The kids live too far away.

However, it gives me pleasure to know that my daughter is continuing the tradition to gather a number of friends on this weekend for lavish piles of home-made food. It is even nicer to see that the friends include her brother, who is developing his own reputation as a dynamite cook.

Thanksgiving has always meant a lot to me. It is an opportunity to honor the Devas, or whatever we want to call the Force that provides our sustenance. There was no home-grown protein this year, but all vegetable matter on the table came from the land. OK, I bought the cranberries.

Margreet made Dutch-style apple pie with apples from one of the volunteer trees. The one shown here was the one she made by way of practice, the official one looked even better.
For the first time ever I managed to grow decent leeks and celery. They, along with carrots, were honored in a simple, delicious vegetable soup with broth made from turkey necks and just a bit of rice vermicelli. Good broth as shown below in its chilled state is one of my favorite kitchen ingredients.

A home-made loaf was sacrificed for stuffing, there was pureed squash, roasted root mix (baby onions, potatoes, beets), delicate mesclun salad, cranberry sauce, and the tops of the Brussels sprouts plants.
I could have made more side dishes, but we had to leave room for the pie, and none of the guests are big eaters.

Apart from being allowed to live in health in paradise I am grateful for a spouse of 45 years, for a sister who spends the money to come here, for family acquired through the next generation, and for a good friend close by who is there when we need her, and vice versa.

Life here is simple with little drama beyond the daily challenges of weather and garden pests. It might bring a more demanding soul to tears of boredom, but I like it fine. My son accuses me of having a bovine quality. Quite. Taurus rising.
As an internet connection from a garden group says: Bless Up!

Family, games and ashes

2011-12-11T15:55:00.000-08:00

Originally posted to Multiply October 7 2010

The big news in my uneventful little life right now is that my baby sister is over from Holland. The generous hospitality of our young Calgary relatives gave us the chance to go pick her up at the airport. The price of accommodations for 2 nights would have been prohibitive otherwise.The picture above was taken at a roadside sculpture near a Golden gas station.
We have been blessed with a few golden-blue warm days, perfect for hanging out at the waterfront in town. Margreet has made the trip here many times before. She knows her way around downtown Vancouver and Calgary better than we do, and Nakusp holds few surprises. Fortunately she loves re-visiting old beloved places, like this bench at the end of the walk in the Japanese memorial garden.

Above: sis resting in the sunshine while I do my thing in the flowerbeds nearby.
She is recovering from a serious back operation, and had a dreadful summer full of pain leading up it. Reflexology treatments every other day are providing almost-pain free days and restful nights.
It is so nice to be able to DO something when a loved one is suffering!So what do we do with someone who has seen everything around here when it is not beach season? We play Globe Trotters in the motor home! We discovered this wonderful board game in the late eighties, when I brought it home on Saint Nicholas Eve. We used to celebrate a watered-down version, to take the edge off waiting for Christmas. The next year Mom and Margreet came over during a dreadful rainy spell. You can only go the Hot Springs so often. Globe Trotters saved the vacation. We played it endlessly.Above, Mom, Marg and the kids playing The Game on the porch. Speaking of Mom......she wanted her ashes to be spread on the land here, where she has had so many happy vacations. She made one last trip with Margreet. We will do it soon, but meanwhile her remains are enjoying a nice corner next to the flowering Michaelmas daisies.

I have never related to getting excited over remains. But I catch myself moving the urn out of the rain. Perhaps there is more to the bones of ancestors than we know. Who says this is a rational species? And now, it is time for another round of globe trotters.

RV trip to the Sweetgrass Hills Day 4 and 5, Over and Out

2011-12-11T15:51:00.000-08:00

So We woke up in our day use-only spot to cold clear skies, but with a weather forecast predicting serious rain. The clouds were rolling in even while we did the breakfast routine.
The park rangers did come by just before we were ready to leave. We explained that we would have been happy to enrich the Province of Alberta by using an official camp site, if only they had not closed after Labour Day! They were nice about it and just told us to go forth and sin no more.
We were trying hard to do exactly that. However, the old Thing had other ideas. The back brakes were seizing up. It took Chris twenty minutes of patiently rocking back and forth before we had lift-off. Phew!
I am a born chicken, Chris is more adventurous. I did not want to be a spoilsport and held my fearful tongue. To my great relief the man himself decided to abort the plan to drive the Kananaskis road through wonderful wild country. Instead we would take 22, the more Easterly route through more inhabited country. And what was the point of driving further North if all we could see was clouds? We'll do it another time.

Typical landscape for route 22 not too far from Calgary. Some real bona fide ranches with lots of hobby acreages in between and the occasional monster home, see below.

I briefly dozed off, we missed the turn-off near Bragg Creek, and we accidentally found ourselves briefly on route 66 through the Elbow Valley.

Good thing Chris noticed we seemed to be going South, and what was this land doing getting wilder? It is splendid country with lots of river access, only an easy 2 hour or so drive from Calgary. Not a bad place to live at all!

Above: near Bragg Creek.

Anyway....Just for a change we drove home through Radium Hot Springs. I had hoped for a soak, but we didn't dare to park the Thing at close quarters, just in case it needed special measures to get going again. So on we went, making vague plans for a midwinter East Kootenay Hot Springs mini-vacation.

Shelter for the night was a commercial campsite on Columbia Lake.

It is owned by the local First Nations, formerly known as Indians. They have the good sense to ban jet skis from their beach, and they lease out lots to people for summer homes. Nice place with nice people. The picture was taken in the morning, notice the lake cloud.

Next: what does a mining town do when the mine closes? It goes Bavarian and turns itself into a tourist trap!

Kimberley had a bit of a sad end-0f-party September feel about it, but we could tell it would be a really nice place in season. I love the way they designed the main drag with lots of curves and plants and benches. This one is for Catherine the Sweet Potato Queen. Notice the doggy on the bench.

Almost home now. We took the ferry again, this time because driving the Creston/Salmo pass might require too much braking. On the way we passed by the place that produced brooms for Harry Potter.

This time I was ready for the Osprey! Only one but more visible.

We had to let all the other ferry traffic get off and do some back-rolling to get the brakes to release their death grip, but after that we made it home without further mishap.$

RV trip to the Sweetgrass Hills Day 3

2011-12-11T15:45:00.000-08:00

Originally posted to Multiply September 21 2010

We started out on the parking lot behind the civic center in Cutbank. Not scenic, but at least we were not in anyone's way.

The night before we had noticed an RV dump site by the rest stop just around the corner, so we took the opportunity to 'dump and fill'. I feel a bit guilty for using free facilities without contributing to the local economy. Alas, the sad reality is that we have two choices: travel cheap or stay home. One of the main expenses this time was health insurance for a potential 10 days. You don't want to risk stubbing a toe in that country.

Just showing that not all farm buildings are in sad shape.

We decided to make this trip about exploring the place where plains and mountains meet. For starters we'd drive back to Browning, this time towards the mountains. A mountain landscape always looks different when you see it from the other direction. The plains were sunny but clouds over the mountains blended with the tops.

The picture above and many of the ones that follow are all on the Blackfeet nation.

Taking pictures from a moving vehicle is far from perfect. The tipi pic turned out fuzzy because it had to be taken through the side window. When we were driving North the plains were to our right. That made it harder to get pictures of the open spaces, alas. It looks like we are just driving through mountains, but much of this time we could see rolling hills or open prairie on the right side.

We have seen a lot of spectacular country on our trips through Western North America. Browning, Montana to Pincher Creek, Alberta is one of the most gorgeous stretches we have seen. WOW. We took #89 to St Mary, and turned left onto #17, direction Port of Chief Mountain and on to Pincher Creek. The pictures don't come close to doing the place justice. There is more in the photo section.

We were close to the turn-off to the Road to the Sun that crosses Glacier National park from East to West. Instead of going into the mountains we remained on their Eastern flanks. Going down now...

In St Mary we succumbed to the lure of home-made pie. Nice restaurant with great-looking food, it was packed.

This lovingly restored vehicle was parked in front:

Below: Chief Mountain from a distance.

Range cows think they own the road.

I really have to learn to do this panoramic thing. We came to this viewpoint that had the most astonishing views all around. In the photo album the pictures between the one of the RV and the one with the antique car on the road were all taken from the same place.

Looking down into the plains.

And looking the other way at Chief Mountain, up close and personal.

Some more beauty from the edge

Somewhere around here we crossed the border back into Canada inside the International Peace Park.".

Some real prairie. We are getting closer to Pincher Creek now. This is windmill country.

The plan was to follow the edge of the mountains as far North as Rocky Mountain House, turn West there and camp at Kootenay Plains, follow the Jasper/Banff road South and make a detour over Radium Hot Springs on the way home. All this is relatively close to home, but we always just pass it, or have seen it driving East instead of West.

With this in mind we took Highway 3 West till the junction with 22 North.

It was getting late by the time we turned West again into Kananaskis country. Ranch and oil country with the mountains close by.

The map had promised a Provincial campsite, but when we got there it was closed for the season. We found another park a bit further on that was open.

At first we thought this was home for the night. Went for a nice walk in the gathering dusk.

We came across a number of messages that made it quite clear this was a day-use ONLY site. We drove on a bit, but there was nothing else. No commercial RV park, lots of public river access but it was all day use sites only.

So we settled in and once again postponed opening the bottle of Barefoot Pinot Grigio that had been smiling at us for days. Chris only indulges if there is zero chance that we will be asked to move.

Above: Aspen and rainbow, encountered on the walk.

RV trip to the Sweetgrass Hills Day 2

2011-12-11T15:38:00.000-08:00

The start of Day 2: our campsite along Route 93 just South of Stryker, Montana. The road to the prairies took us along the Southern edge of Glacier National Park. Alas, there wasn't much to see.

Just this one neat feature in a spot where Chris stopped to adjust something vehicular: a natural stone staircase with water trickling down.

Further East: mountains giving way to plains.

Never mind the mountains, we have plenty at home. As we left the mountains behind the skies cleared. Yeeha! Space! This is what we came for!

We stopped in Browning in the Blackfeet territory to visit the Museum of the Plains Indians. There are no pictures because use of cameras was not allowed, but it is highly recommended.

So now we get endless pictures of Land and Sky.

The weather was changeable, with intensely alive skies. Below: the town of Cutbank, with Gold Butte rising behind it. Gold Butte is the middle of the three hills.

Did I mention this place is windy? Good use is made of it.

Some more land and sky.

Farm stuff. Signs of rural decay abound. Very sad and deeply wrong, but that is another story.

The cloud-shadows across the wide landscape add texture to the rolling prairie. I can stare at it for hours, just like looking at the ocean.

The map promised tourist information in Shelby, the town closest to our hills. We managed to find it. The place was managed by a sweet old lady, so tiny that she made me feel tall. Bless her heart, she rummaged around till she found a booklet on accesing the various buttes. It said pretty much the same things that she was telling us: "The land is all private. In order to hike one has to ask for access at the farm houses. The roads are gravel and can get pretty hairy after rain. It has been raining hard.."

Thus informed we ventured forth to see what we could see. The picture of the Sweet Grass Hills that opens this blog was taken in this stretch driving East. Here it is again, why not.

The well-laid plan was to drive East, then North, loop around and in between the buttes, hopefully with an overnight stay and some hiking thrown in, and end up at the junction of route 343 and interstate 15, the place most often used to access the hills. Alas, this plan gang agley.

We turned North at the pathetic hamlet of Galata, onto road 343.

It was great to drive straight to the hills instead of seeing them through the side window.

The joy was short-lived. Soon the blacktop gave way to gravel.

Now we don't mind slowing down to a crawl. It might have been OK if the weather had been drier recently, or if the vehicle had been more robust. But between washboards and potholes, driving on was no way to treat our ancient Lady of the Road. A truck born in 1982 deserves respect and loving care. She gets it. So this, alas, is as close as we came to those intriguing hills. East Butte first, West Butte below.

We turned around and decided to see if we could at least get closer by using the Northern access road, that had some more blacktop.

Above:Decaying farm buildings near Galata.

Below:Driving direction Gold Butte again, this time coming from the West, past Oilmont.

It was the same story. The road turned to gravel quite a distance from the hills. One more, and then we turn our back on the Sweet Grass Hills.

Pictures of what what we might have seen can be found here: http://www.trailpeak.com/trail-Sweetgrass-Hills-Montana-in-MT-USA-1470

By now it was getting late. The road reminded me of the Mackenzie Highway in Northern Alberta: not tourist friendly. Two narrow lanes, no shoulder, a wicked ditch at both sides, and no sign of camp sites or parks anywhere. The message seems to be that if you don't live or work here you have no business hanging around. Go away! The map showed a campsite near Cutbank. We looped around over route 215 past a small oil town named Kevin. It was a surprisingly beautiful stretch of "Essence of West".

By the time we got to Cutbank it was almost dark and were tired and hungry. Was the "rest spot" by a park the campsite or was there another one? We were getting too tired to find out and settled for a spot in the empty parking lot behind the sports centrum around the corner. See you later for day 3.

RV trip to the Sweetgrass Hills Day 1

2011-12-11T15:32:00.000-08:00

Originally posted toMultiply September 19 2010

We just had a short but sweet RV trip, joining the legion of like-minded geezers that seems to be clogging the roads in September.
I love living in the mountains, but every now and then this original flat-lander needs to see wide open sky. Last year we choose ocean, this year it was prairie. For various reasons it had to be a short trip.
Our destination: The Sweet Grass Hills just across the border in Montana.

The first time we saw these fascinating bumps on the horizon we had not known that they existed. This was in 1998. We were on a trip to Waterton Park (the Northern tip of Glacier National Park) and from there to the Cypress Hills. We always like driving the most remote roads, so we took 501 that skirts the border and goes through the Milk River Valley. Has anyone read Guy Vanderhaeghe's "The Last Crossing"? It is set in that region. Anyway, we stumbled upon Writing on Stone Provincial Park in Southern Alberta. A truly magical place with great views of the Sweet Grass Hills from the higher areas. Ever since we have wanted to see the hills close-up and get on top of them if possible.

Our first campsite was just an hour from home on highway 31A, between New Denver and Kaslo. There is system in this madness: the main aim of Day Zero is to Get Away. Any distance covered is bonus. This way I am saved from the temptation to do last-minute stuff in home or garden that suddenly seems terribly urgent.

The next morning saw us boarding the free ferry across Kootenay Lake, always a treat. This is the landing on the West Arm near Balfour. The ferry was packed with many motor homes among the regular traffic. Our little "Thing" is dwarfed by the big rigs.

Emerging from West Arm onto the widest part of Kootenay Lake.

See that funny little tower thingy? There were 3 ospreys on it. Alas, I noticed them kind of late and lack the skill and the equipment to do them justice. Too bad Randall from Moses Lake wasn't there, or Terrence from Victoria. This is just to show they were there.
At the Southern end of Kootenay lake we find theCreston Valley. This is the one place in the Southern Interior where grains can be grown in scale. A few years ago the town looked depressed, but interesting things are happening as the Grow Local food movement gains momentum.

The East Kootenay region is dryer, colder and sunnier than the West. The lakes are smaller, the valleys wider. This is just past Cranbrook.

In this paranoid post-9-11 time even border crossings in the middle of nowhere have substantial buildings. Behold, the "Port of Roosville".

The border guard was actually nice and polite. I had to leave my precious home-grown tomatoes behind, but otherwise there was no problem.

Reminder to self: when planning to cross the border, do NOT stock the pantry, go shopping once you are across. You never know what will not be allowed across. In 2003 it was some smoked beef.

The Tobacco Valley. Nice sweeping landscapes. Weather getting worse. We pulled over along the road somewhere South of Stryker and called

it a day.

The Internet Paradox

2011-12-11T15:25:00.000-08:00

The Internet Paradox is this:
There is a plethora of fascinating things to learn. And the very abundance makes it less likely that one will focus long enough to actually take any of it in.

We will now attempt "Dangerous Knowledge" by way of youtube. This is a BBC series on mathematicians. It came to my attention through the thoughtful comic site Abstruse Goose,which in turn was on my son's Facebook page. So it goes!
It should work as radio. Take laptop into kitchen, clean windows and start bread while listening.

Down to a fine art

2011-12-11T15:20:00.000-08:00

Originally posted to Multiply September 4 2010

It is 8 PM on Friday night, and the car is all packed for the last market of the season. I quit after Labor Day. Some vendors keep going till Thanksgiving, but it gets too cool for reflexology demonstrations. Plant sales are more a spring thing. We are itching to get away a bit. There is plenty to do on my own land.

Loading everything took only half an hour. Do you have any idea how happy that makes me? It used to take most of Friday, and I'd still be rushing around in panic on Saturday morning.

For most of my life I have been a muddled mess when it comes to Getting Things Done. I admire people who can translate ideas into reality in timely fashion, but am not one of them. Only a fraction of this summer's projects got done. I'll whinge about it in boring detail on the garden blog.

But at least, thanks to the Perpetual Market List, here is one thing we have down to a fine art.

Food, family, organization, and the wages of sin.

2011-12-11T15:11:00.000-08:00

Originally posted on Multiply August 29 2010

Rats, I never got around to taking pictures yesterday. Daughter forgot to bring her camera, mine was full and I was too busy to deal with it. A written description will have to do. The Focaccia pic dates from another occasion. It needs a smelly. Focaccia Mix from Epicure(tm)* is incredibly fragrant. Once I started making it in 3 pie plates instead of 2 the recipe works like a charm every time. Heavenly stuff for a carb lover.

Both my offspring have turned into serious foodies. We have enjoyed some amazing feasts at daughter's house.

Son has not had the right accommodation till now but is apparently making up for lost time. Anyway, yesterday it was my turn. Daughter and partner drove over to get their son back. We had an almost-traditional end-of-summer gathering here with our fellow grands and their daughter and family, eleven in total. The kids count for full servings now!

I am getting better at pulling stuff like that together, but still nowhere near as smooth as I'd like to be.
The vision is for me to be a gracious relaxed hostess enjoying the company and good food, surrounded by a clean house and colourful gardens. We don't aim for Martha Steward standards, but I'd like the whole thing to be smooth and effortless. Yeah, right. I had a good head start. Saturday morning the house was ready enough (thanks, FlyLady), all the dips and a lemon cheesecake were made. Guests were due at 5.

I dashed to town in the morning to get some supplies at the market and store, had coffee with a friend, home by noon. I wisely resisted the temptation to spend an hour in the garden and started to leisurely putz in the kitchen right away. By now I know it always takes me longer than I think.

Even so! Four-thirty still found me running up to the veg garden for lettuce and changing out of grubbies at the last moment. I had been doing dishes as I went, so why did the kitchen still look like a hurricane had struck it by the time dinner was served? How do normal people do it?

Nevertheless, by the time the co-grands arrived exactly at 5 the appie course was on the table. Which was good because go-gramps is diabetic and can't sit around waiting. We had Focaccia, a raw veggie plate, Baba Ganoush, Hummus and yogurt-based herb-garlic dip, store-bought Spanakopitas and sesame rice crackers. Non-alcoholic punch or herb tea for kids and tee-totallers.

Meanwhile Greek-style potatoes with rosemary were roasting in the oven and I was finishing the salad, haricots verts, (very young green beans from the garden), yellow beans, and doing marinated tarragon chicken breasts in the grill pan. I love that thing! Somehow I had managed to forget making the raspberry topping for the cheesecake. My SIL was kind enough to throw that together. The combination was incredibly good.

I could have achieved total relaxation and enjoyed it more if I had picked and cleaned lettuce the day before, instead of getting fixated on having it super-fresh. Oh well. Next time. All in all it was an excellent meal, worth the effort.

So what about the wages of sin? For some dumb reason I forgot my algae several days the last week. Strike one against the immune system. On Friday I had a small amount of left-over ice cream. Chris wisely declined. His potential portion was the last in the carton, and it seemed silly to put it back in the freezer, so you guessed it, I ate it too. Strike two. Sugar depresses the immune system. Because it was feeling fine I kept forgetting to apply Tooth and Gum tincture to my ailing tooth, strike three. Add yesterday's wine and cheesecake, and this morning I woke up with my almost-gone dental abscess acting up and feeling very dopey indeed. I so know better!

Today I am being very good, very lazy, and very grateful for the knowledge that keeps me in health most of the time. There is so much unnecessary suffering due to ignorance!

*PS: Epicure is a smallish Canadian company that sells lovely spice mixes free of junk like MSG. They work with independent associates. Email my supplier Michelle at bella_late@hotmail.com for an online catalogue.

Bursting

2011-12-11T15:01:00.000-08:00

August 13 2010

If you hear a big bang, followed by a hail of fleshy particles, that would be me having just burst with pride.
That's MY girl! My main contribution has been to not get in her way.

Hup Holland Hup!

2011-12-11T14:54:00.000-08:00

Originally posted to Multiply July 3 2010

I am not much of a sportsfan, but we make an exception for big events like Fifa.
This fellow Dutch Canadian showed up at the farmers market like this.

There are days when it is good to be orange.

My sister is a serious fan who understands the rules and strategies and so on. Two years ago she was here when the EuroCup was on. Holland did quite well in the beginning, but was eliminated by Russia, whose team had been trained by Dutch coach Guus Hiddink. The convoluted world of professional sport. Anyway, the camper that serves as her vacation home was decorated to the hilt!

Another Grad, another coast trip.

2011-12-11T14:50:00.000-08:00

Originally posted to Multiply June 30 2010

Postscript: The training lead to an enjoyable office job as map maker for geologists, just the kind of thing he had in mind.

Son Alex had lost his geology job in the economic downturn, and cleverly used the enforced idleness for some upgrading. He added an intense one-year course in Geographical Information Systems (GIS) to his BSc.
GIS folks make sense out of the mass of data that surveyors and satellites deliver. It has a wide range of applications in many fields. Serious nerd work. Alex can now make computers sing and dance and knows even more stuff his old backwoods mother doesn't have a clue about.

The course (at BCIT in Burnaby) came with a graduation ceremony with all the trimmings. Alex had missed his college grad, because when it happened he was already working way up North, so we all showed up for this one.

Entering Metro Vancouver is always a treat. Approaching the Port Mann bridge.

It is too bad one can't just stop on the bridge and gaze at the spectacular view. The barrier even makes it hard to take pictures, but I stubbornly keep trying. Pictures taken through the side window are not the same quality as those taken through the front.

The day before happened to be Chris' birthday, so the kids treated us to a lavish dinner at the Korean Barbecue place, quite an experience!

The next day we faced two dilemmas: how to spend the morning till the ceremony at 1.30 and how to get there. We had been warned parking might be a problem. Our normal accommodation had not been available. We were staying at some distance from the sky train and were not sure which buses go where. We solved both problems by hiking to the site, approximately 10 km. This gave us the chance to walk through Deer Lake park. I have always been intrigued by those Burnaby lakes, but they are hard to get to with the car if you don't know the city.

Notice the pair of loons in the water! On the way out of the park we saw a sign with: "Warning, coyotes!" Good thing too, some predator needs to cull the geese.

We had not brought enough food or drink, so the salmon berries along the trail were welcome.

The ceremony was the usual pomp and circumstance with dignitaries decked out in crazy fifteenth-century hats. The grads entered the auditorium to the strains of "Land of hope and glory". A lovely melody, but an odd choice considering the vast majority of students is of Asian origin. The chorus brings memories of my dear anglophile Dad. He loved listening to the radio broadcast of the last seasonal Prom concert in the Royal Albert Hall.

This song was one of the traditional highlights, right up there with 'Rule Britannia!', which he lustily belted along with. We digress.

We will have to wait for the official photo to get decent pictures of the moment on stage, but there was plenty of photo-opping afterwards.

Nienke took this one with the timer.

An immigrant moment: I keep under-estimating the formality of these occasions. Many family-of-grads folks were milling around dressed to the hilt. I felt quite under dressed. My most presentable outfit was vaguely smelling of Korean barbecue after the night before and had to be replaced with something more casual. Alex made up for it by being resplendent in a suit.

And there we leave him for now. A smart, handsome and kind young man who is finding his way in life. Alex' blog is http://nothernlites.blogspot.com

Being on the receiving end of help

2011-12-11T14:36:00.000-08:00

Originally posted to Multiply June 9 2010

Last Saturday I had an interesting experience: being at the receiving end of help and kindness. I am usually more in the helper position, for which I am grateful.

But I was at the market, feeling slightly off for not having slept quite enough (my own stupid fault) when Austraylian Wine Syndrome struck. Apologies to present Aussie vintners. You have come a long way since the days of Monte Python. But this was Chateau Chunder, "A fine wine which really opens up the sluices at both ends." No wine had been involved by the way.

I called home to Chris, who gallantly came to the rescue. It was one of the moments when I was glad the man insists on having two cars. Several people came by while I was huddled under a blankie and looking distinctly green to offer hugs and sympathy. It was so sweet. Chris drove me home while my dear market neighbors Ana and Colette minded the booth.

Then Chris went back and took care of the booth. I crawled into bed for a few hours, emerged briefly to make dinner, and crawled back in at 8. The next morning I was perfectly fine. A bit weak perhaps, but well enough to run around between 4.30 AM and 6 AM taking care of plant babies before our planned mini-trip to family in Calgary. We just got back.

Anyway, needing and getting help instead of doling it out was an interesting experience. It is only fair that we all get to be at either end sometimes!

Desk tops and knitting class

2011-12-11T14:30:00.000-08:00

The year was 1952, the scene the third grade classroom in Holland.

Post-war Europe was more like a full employment version of the thirties than like Norman Rockwell North America.

As part of the regular curriculum girls were taught knitting, sewing by hand, darning socks, fixing holes in sweaters, and other skills indispensable to any housewife in the thirties. The boys got to do things with wood.

On the first day of knitting class we were given a ball of pale-green cotton yarn and shown how to cast on and "insteken, omslaan, doorhalen, af laten glijden" in other words make the four moves that constitute a knitting stitch.

I was utterly bewildered, especially by the part where one knitting needle dives underneath the other to pull the loop of yarn through.

After hours of strenuous effort I had produced a tangled mass of knots, black from my sweaty grimy little hands. We had a special teacher for needlework. The combined efforts of her and the classroom teacher could not unravel what I had wrought. They had never seen anything like it.

The state of my computer reminds me of that piece of work.

I often minimize something I am working on and come back to it later. I am always de-cluttering and re-cluttering. As a Moon in Pisces with Venus in Virgo, I like order but tend to create chaos in my wake. There is a blog brewing on ADD and the art of filing but that will have to wait.

What I want to know is: how in Pallas' name did I end up with a desktop folder inside the contact list that you get when you click contacts in the windows email program? C:\Users\Ien\Contacts\Desktop 2\Desktop

In retrospect a while ago my handy shortcuts had suddenly disappeared.I shrugged and made new ones. I will spare us the details but when I tried to get rid of the weird desktop things stopped working.

It may be time for a refreshing reformat, but first I want to make sure my precious stuff is safely on a disk. There is no urgency, gardens first. But I do wonder how I did it.

The year we were H&R Block

2011-12-11T14:12:00.000-08:00

Originally posted to Multiply on May 1 2010

I wasted the usual sunny hours on the last-minute income tax chore yesterday. In Canada the date is April 30, not 15. It brings things back.

The year was 1973. We were living in Fife just above Christina Lake, B.C.
Chris' geology job had come to a natural end the year before. There just wasn't enough copper left to make Phoenix mine operable, and that was that. Unemployment insurance was about to run out. I was still working as a short order cook but was due to give birth to our first child on May 20.

Chris had noticed that the people who worked in actual mines had more job security and steadiness in their lives than the geologists who were looking for new ones. He decided to get some training as a mine operator. A course would be offered in Rossland in the fall, and funded by some kind of government scheme. We just had to make it through summer.

Christina Lake is not much of a town. Everything happens in Grand Forks, a 20-30 minute drive to the West. One winter day Chris ended up hitchhiking into Grand Forks.
This was a rare occasion since the man is a master at keeping cars on the road and cannot stand being stuck. Even in tough times we have usually been a two-wreck family. But this time we only had one car insured, a little Zephyr that turned out to be a bit of a lemon.

The driver who gave him a ride was working for H & R Block. He was looking for someone to operate a franchise in Grand Forks. Here was a well-educated guy with nothing else to do for a few months, how about it?

To make a long story short, we were H&R Block in Grand Forks that year. We rented an office across from the old Post Office and set ourselves up. Apart from the manual, which included such gems as "Avoid over-staffing an office with women", we received no training whatsoever. Fortunately the start was slow, allowing us to learn on the job.

I kind of enjoyed the process of becoming familiar with the abstruse language in the official tax manual that was our Bible. It was just a matter of focusing properly. After a while the language became familiar and transparent, we were totally at home in the forms, and we knew where to find any information that might be missing.

We became quite good at pulling it all together, including taxes for people who dumped a box on our desk containing all manner of mixed-up receipts. Most, but not all of the business was simple.
"Couldn't you find me some loopholes?" asked one memorable client with the simplest package possible, one T4 slip and nothing else. Sorry sir, not in your case. But we did save some people some money.

I remember two of them: one was a single mother who did not know that she could claim an "equivalent to married" exemption for her child, resulting in a generous refund. The other one was a father and son team who operated a little fence post business on the side.

By the time we deducted everything possible the business had actually resulted in an official loss that they could deduct from their main income. Fun stuff!

Then, just when we were really enjoying the work and were gearing up for the bonanza of April, we started seeing disturbed clients with rejected returns. Was something wrong with our work? Not at all! But the dye job had gone wrong.

DYE job? Yup. We did the work on white forms, provided by H & R, which then had to be copied through some machine, also provided by H&R, that supposedly created the same shade of blue as the government forms. If the colour wasn't just right the government refused to accept them. We had to adjust the shade of ink (I can't remember what or how) and send it in again.

We tried to explain this to people, but some of them could see just one thing: they had paid to get their taxes done and the government refused the results. I can't blame them.
As a result our April was no busier than March. When the dust cleared and we figured it all out we had made almost exactly what Chris would have collected as the last months of UI.

But we sure learned how to do our own income taxes. Even in complicated years when I had two home-based businesses and it took forever to collect the messy records, April 30 finds me pulling the last bits together.

The first time it is just April 2

2011-12-11T11:55:00.000-08:00

Originally posted on Multiply April 2 2010

April 2.

For the first time in my life and that of my siblings it is just another day in early spring.

April 2 was our mother's birthday. Mom's birthday was always a big deal, she made sure of that! She died a few weeks after her 93rd birthday last year, after a long, productive and mainly happy life.

She was years ahead of her times. Her happiest years were her fifties, sixties and even seventies.

She lived in a place that she enjoyed, (Nieuw Loosdrecht, for my few Dutch readers) surrounded by natural beauty and with the chance to garden.The times had caught up to her, and she had a late brilliant career as the vice-director of nursing in a large extended care facility. Dad had resigned himself to her new status, and after retirement they were both active in the community and enjoyed almost 20 good years.

The mind got a bit fuzzy around the edges in the final years, and losing Dad in 2000 was tough of course. My sister Margreet, who lives nearby, was the Rock for both Mom and Dad for many years. Mom's good job made many trips back and forth to Canada possible. She often came with Margreet.

Above: a vigorous game of "Globe Trotters", the family favorite board game, with the grandchildren and Margreet. This must be the early nineties, looking at the kids. That makes Mom in her mid seventies here, looking darned good!

I had been planning to do a sort-of eulogy thing here, but it is getting late. I must be able to get into the garden tomorrow. Mom would understand.

Flames and Flowers

2011-02-24T22:53:00.000-08:00

Originally posted to Multiply on March 21, 2010

We missed the main Olympics, but on our latest weekend trip to see the offspring we got to see the flame, yeah! It had been rekindled for the Paralympics.

No trip to the coast would be complete without a visit to the Dutch Cheese maker between Cherry Ville and Lumby. We stocked up on a whole wheel of Gouda, which will be gone by the next trip at the end of summer. Grass-fed real food. It still does not taste quite like Dutch Gouda. I finally figured out it has to do with the grass. Ask any wine maker how important the terrain is!

Daughter's household is car-free by choice, so she is a master at getting the most out of public transit. She was a great guide. Some trains have this great seat right in front.

The journey started with a sky train trip to Waterfront, a beautiful old railway station that has a new lease on life as urban transit hub. Daughter took this picture of the hall.

The cauldron was just West of there on the harbour.

Below: containership getting ready to deliver its Walmart-bound goodies from China. Or whatever.

Funny, I had always pictured the flames near the Science Center on False Creek. The cauldron was fenced off, alas, but there was a viewing area with a huge ramp leading to it.

I am childish enough to request a "yes, we were really here!" picture.

The next 2 pictures are taken from the same place, but looking in a different direction.

Looking down the ramp, notice the barge with Olympic rings!

The rings again, and standing with your back to the cauldron you see this. The treed area is part of Stanley park.

It was still pretty busy and the crowds were being hustled along. Is this an example of Quebec language use or a poor translation? Flâner in regular French means strolling, not loitering. As in Yves Montand's song "J'aime flâner sur les grands boulevards". I guess strolling was too slow. MOVE, you camera-toting-posing-with-the-flames multitudes!

Back on level ground we see the viewing platform behind one of the many volunteers who made the games possible. All over town and suburbs people were proudly sporting their bright blue jackets, still basking in the after-glow.

Cauldron duly admired and documented, DD noted that we had 20 minutes left on our transfer to catch sky train in the direction of the next adventure: a visit to Granville Island Market by water taxi. This was my favorite part of the whole day. I love being on water, especially in a tiny boat.

View East towards the science centre. We are traveling from Yaletown West towards Granville Island.

Top picture: some weird architecture, below it floating homes.

I finally got the bridge to stand still long enough for a decent picture!

The vessel, on Granville Island.

I had never been on Granville Island yet. Our downtown expedition usually takes us to English Bay to smell the salt water.

Granville Island is a great place to shop for serious foodies, a little world of its own. Best enjoyed by oneself, with money in pocket, or with one like-minded female companion. By the time the four of us got there we were a bit tired and more than a bit hungry. There were no tables available in the food court and it was cold outside. DD remembered a fish place. We had to wait for a table at Tony's but it was worth it. Fortified by the best fish and chips and clam chowder ever we followed our intrepid guide in the direction of her home. We first made our way to a free trolley that took us back to sky train. I love good public transit!

This is the Fraser River seen from the train near New Westminster.

Meanwhile it was spring there. Here are some images of random urban greenery and abundant flowery pinkness.

Son Alex is temporarily living in the same area, so we had the the whole family there. This doesn't happen very often. B.C. may be the best place on Earth to live, but when it comes to maintaining family ties it can be too big for its own good. The kids may think it is just right, :). I had hoped for a vigorous session of Catan, but alas, the man was too swamped with exams to stay long. He did make a special contribution to dinner, in honor of the date.

A cake in honor of international Pi day. Pi, as in, that thing that has something to do with circles. I knew it once, but math doesn't stick. Fragments of Greek poetry can be dragged up, but science doesn't come easy.

It is hard to see at this angle, but the top clearly said 3.14. All in all, a good day.