A monopoly summer

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

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

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

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 without a road in between. It was a wide-open sunny abandoned hay field, gently sloping with a few more level benches, facing more or less 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.

Another Vancouver Outing

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 accommodation 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. They turned out to be 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

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.

.s

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

 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

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 classic in the Netherlands. It is frequently performed at funerals. 

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. I ended up ignoring the whole dilemma, and choosing to retain the rhythm.  What is lost with the reference to Earth? To me it calls up the image of our planet seen from a great height, then zooming in to one pebble.

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

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.

Above: a chilled chunk of broth to show the rich gelatin content.

Bon Appetit!

A visitor in the snow

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. Minnie-puss 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

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.

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 2010

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?

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

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.

Happy USA Thanksgiving

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.