Digging New Ground

We finally had a wonderful stretch of sunny dry weather. The summer company is gone and plant sales at the farmers market are done till next spring. Time for some serious land work.

What this land wants to do is grow coniferous forest. Anything else is a struggle. You can take any young tree, dig it up and transplant it, and it will say "Oh, you want me here? No problem!".

The trees near the old house in the picture above were not there when we bought the place in 1970. The 10 acre (4 hectare) plot had been a hayfield, but was too rocky to be productive farmland. We were told so honestly. We had no ambition to farm, just to garden. You can see the tall grass, weeds and above all bracken fern that covers the ground before we start digging.

Originally the vegetable patch was an open space in front of the house. Deer might wander through and take a nibble occasionally, but it was no big deal. Somewhere in the early nineties the deer population exploded. It became necessary to build fences. Son Alex did a heroic job of building fences with young trees from the land. Cut tree, strip off branches, drag it over, dig the hole, all by hand. It was his summer job while he was in high school. Alas, an untreated pole will eventually rot. Last spring we bit the bullet and actually paid someone to come over with a machine and put treated fence posts into the rocky ground. Chris did the job of extending the fence upwards. Deer can JUMP.

In the process the garden space was enlarged. Black plastic was put over a strip of the extension. This week I finally got around to start digging the new stretch. We're talking back-breaking labour here. Stick fork in, pull up bracken root, remove rocks, repeat...

The picture above shows the junk that comes out of the ground. For a raised bed of approximately 5 by 7 feet I removed five, yes five, of those five-gallon pails full of bracken roots and 4 pails of rocks of various sizes. Some were big like this one, though I have dug out bigger ones in the past.

It took more than a day of work, but here is the result: a raised bed, double-dug, enriched with dolomite lime and composted manure. A worthy home for soon-to-be-planted garlic. The area surrounding the bed is covered first with flattened cardboard and then with cut grass/bracken etc. I used to use landscape fabric to keep down the weeds but stuff always ends up growing through it and then you have to remove this tangled mess. Cardboard or newpaper just dissolves into organic matter. Thanks to Mike Groarty's terrific newsletter for that tip.



There is even a creative use for all those rocks. The big pots that people gave me at the market this year are held in place by the rocks that came out. The edge will bloom with marigolds and nasturtiums next year. I can hardly wait!

A wildlife calling card

Many years ago, on our very first trip to Banff, I barely dared to leave main street for fear of running into a bear.
If someone had told me back then that I would comfortably live with bears in the backyard I would never have believed it.

I am still chicken about going into the mountains to pick berries or mushrooms, unless there is a small group. Every dark tree stump looks bear-shaped. This is totally irrational, since my chance of running into one is just as great right here at home, especially at this time of year.

The apples are almost ripe. Judging by the appearance of this "calling card", as the old timers so delicately put it, the bears are not waiting around for perfection. This one is right by the side of the driveway. Piles like this get put on the compost heap. Just so I can smile smugly and say: "The secret to a good garden is bear manure".

There have been quite a few bears in neighbourhoods at the edge of the village too. They have become like the kids at Halloween: don't waste your time on the outlying districts, go where the goodies, in this case fruit trees, are most dense!

We usually just see the evidence. Knocked-over garbage containers, not that we leave anything remotely edible in the garbage. A garbage can lid with teethmarks in it. Apples gone from a volunteer apple tree, and so on. Occasionally we see one for real. They are awesome to watch.

They have this wonderful fluid bouncing way of walking. Yes, I do shake in my boots when I meet one away from a car. The funny thing is that I feel quite safe here on my own acreage. Almost as if the land itself is protecting me.

Once we had a young bear, probably in his first year on his own, systematically decimating the chickens. He'd eat one or two a day. We finally had him trapped and removed.

That was a few years ago, the provincial budget for wildlife management has been gutted since then, all in the name of fundamentalist capitalism. But that is another topic.

But before he was trapped, I noticed him climbing into the chicken run while I was working in the vegetable garden. Filled with righteous indignation and with manure fork in hand I actually

ran out there screaming and frightened him away! Once he was gone I started shaking.

At least a bear will actually eat a chicken before killing another one. Domestic dogs will just go nuts and kill and/or wound the whole flock. They are worse than any wildlife.

Human/bear encounters seem to be increasing, and old remedies to keep them away don't work so well anymore. One of my old timer friends explained it like this: "In the old days, only prospectors and hunters went into the mountains. They carried GUNS. These days everybody and his brother is going to the wilderness for recreation. They carry LUNCH. Animals are not stupid."

A private note to my sister, who stays in the motor home when she comes to visit from Holland.

Marg, de drol ligt op de voorgrond van deze foto. Hoe vind je dat, precies op de weg naar huis! Kan je mooi op het werk laten zien. Wie durft er tegen de beer?

Self portrait on a good hair day

I am not photogenic. I have never been a great beauty and that's alright. My only ambition is to not look outright repulsive and more or less like a person you might enjoy having a coffee with. The one I have been using for profiles, in the blue dress with the Echinacea in the background is a favorite. But it is three years old. This one was taken on August 23 2008, at the leanest point in the annual fat cycle with the summer glow still intact. No hair dye, no make-up, just summer and Lluvia skin care.

I like it because it feels like me and in all modesty, it is not bad for an old dame of 65.

The joy of Reflexology

Wow.
After 18 years of practice I am falling deeply in love with the profound and humble art of Reflexology all over again.

I have done booths at farmers' markets for years, with health products and bedding plants.
But this summer I have taken a zero gravity recliner to the market and offered Reflexology demonstrations.

It has been a hit, and several people swear they will now look up a reflexologist in the place where they live!

What really brought the visitors to the booth was the sandwich board with the huge laminated map of the feet on it.

If nobody "bites", try inviting a friend to have a free treatment to prime the pump so to speak. It works. Once passers-by see a relaxed person in the chair getting done they want to try it too.

I started charging $10 for 15 minutes, but changed to a dollar a minute. Apparently it is the going rate.

You lose a lot of time with the format, with people getting settled in, getting their feet clean etc.
I use diluted witch hazel tincture and paper towels to wipe sandaled summer feet, and baby wipes on my own hands followed by witch hazel in between clients.

The last time the weather was nice enough for this I had 3 people in a row sitting down in pain and get up feeling great.

The most memorable was a young woman with 4 small children, who was in excruciating pain after throwing out (her term) her back. She had no idea how she would drive back home to Calgary, a challenging 8 hour trip.
Contrary to my usual "work the whole" method, we went straight to the spine reflex. The kids were restless, but we managed to put in a good 20 minutes. When she got up she was pain free. I ran into her a few hours later and she was still beaming.

Three cheers for reflexology!

Convocation in the Fog

Happy New Year everyone! This time of year always feels like the true start of the new work cycle. Summer is time out of time, whether you are involved with school or not. September has that fresh Monday morning feel of new beginnings about it. Is that my Venus in Virgo showing?
Summer has been too busy with visiting relatives, farmers' markets and gardens to do any blogging, so it is high time to fill in some gaps. Just because. Not that the world can't do without it.
As mentioned in the last post, spring was icy and the whole growing season was at least 4 weeks behind. Early June saw us at the coast to attend the graduation ceremonies at Simon Fraser University, where our daughter was honoured for her PhD. The convocation took place in the Mall, not a hall. An open space between two buildings, roofed over but otherwise open to the elements. On the big day the elements were freezing cold with occasional drizzle and FOG.
Our girl likes her privacy so there will no bragging photoos of her. But here is a picture of the procession of PhDs, and that is how foggy it was.

A very short trip

Good grief. We have been back for WEEKS, but I have been so busy in the garden and with a few other things that I only posted half our small adventure on Multiply, and never did get it on here. Just duplicating often results in weird looking posts. Here goes, posted on Multiply May 5th.

Sunday already, and we have been back since Thursday. The trip got cut short because of vehicle trouble, alas! But I have that nice refreshed 'been away' feeling anyhow, and I am just itching to get into the garden.
We set out on Sunday April 27th. Normally by this time of year there is a spell of warm weather, the trees are that luminous early green, and the spring sunflowers are in full bloom in the drier parts of the Southern Interior.
This year everything was still bare, even South in Washington State. We covered some of this ground several years ago, at the end of March. Everything looked exactly like it did then, a full month behind schedule.
We crossed the border near Grand Forks. I hate getting questions about where we intend to go and why. It makes me want to make flippant remarks about free countries. It doesn't pay to antagonize border guards whose job description includes paranoia, so I bit my tongue.

When you cross from Canada into the USA, you go from the extreme South of one country to another's extreme North. Grand Forks is a thriving, fast growing town. Cross into the USA and suddenly the scenery is more rural and laid back. It reminds me of the Kootenays when we first came here.

May I put in a plug for the neighbors? Washington is such a neat little state. The incredible variety of landscapes never ceases to amaze me. You can cross the state in any direction in a one day drive.
If you can’t decide between dramatic rainforest, huge sandy beaches, volcanoes, the gentle warm mountains of the North East and all sorts of lakes and even open prairie type landscape, Washington offers it all. The system of State parks is excellent and reasonably priced.
The trip along the Kettle River, which merrily crosses the border several times, is a relaxing pleasure. Hills, small towns, lakes, woods. We drove through the Colville federated territory (there is no such thing as a Colville Indian, but that's another story) and took the free ferry across our very own Columbia river. There is a state park on the other side where we spent the night. Note how bare the trees are.

The view from the campsite over Lake Roosevelt, which is the Columbia River, dammed to within an inch of its life. The water was really low to make room for the spring runoff.

Chris, my "Old Dutch" enjoying a simple but sustaining meal of brown rice, black beans, salsa and early kale greens. Why is playing house in a tiny space so much fun? I still get a kick out of transforming the dining corner into a bed and vice versa, every time.

We woke to an icy cold but clear morning, and climbed up to the plateau. This is the Washington wheat belt. Bingo, my prairie fix! I need to see wide open spaces and big skies now and then. This picture was taken a bit later near Ritzville but it is typical of the wheat belt.

Inside the farm land is a surprise: a wild area of sage brush and weird geological phenomena. We stopped to walk around the Cache Crater. 

 Alas, in order to show the shape of the crater with the flowering Saskatoon bushes in it, I had to shoot against the sun, and I haven't figured out how to correct the overexposure yet. Or rather, I haven't figured out how to get into the program that allows one to do that. No patience right now.

 There were flowers blooming that we don't have at home.

By this time it was around 9, the wind had shifted and turned warm. We spent a pleasant hour or so poking around the desert landscape, taking pictures and feeling like we really were away from home.

Alas. The joys of travel were short-lived. Somewhere past Odessa something went "clunk", and the engine stopped driving the wheels.
Fortunately it happened within sight of a travel center, a half hour walk at the most. We consulted phone books there and eventually called Pete's garage and towing in Ritzville, who came to the rescue.

For the next two days the spot behind the garage was home. By the way, these are the nicest guys. If you ever get stuck in that region, call Pete's Garage and Towing in Ritzville. They made sure we could stay at "home" while they waited for the needed part, hooked us up with electricity, got us as level as possible and provided water. It wasn't their fault that the train tracks ran close by and the engineers really enjoy tooting their horns every hour or so in the middle of the night.

Next installment: The unexpected joys of getting stuck in small towns.

I DO want to write it, but right now, the garden takes priority.

The first fresh greens!

The weather may be disgusting, the gardening on hold, but there is no stopping KALE.

Bless the hardy stuff. These shoots from the slimy left-overs of last year's plants were incredibly tender and sweet. Maybe it is spring after all.

Snow Falling on Spring Flowers

Snow falling on blooming Lungwort. And others. Crocus and Snowdrops are finished, Periwinkle and Lungwort starting, Iris and Columbine are UP.
Spring bulbs, which I love, tend to get eaten by various critters. Tulips are just deer bait, but daffodils get hit by some wormy varmint. They die out instead of spread, like they are supposed to. I should just start treating them like an annual and plant lots of them in the fall.

April is almost over. We have had exactly 3, count them, three nice days that were more or less normal for the time of year. Actually more like 2 and a half. Yesterday was the half day. I was happily transplanting things in the perennial bed right in front of the dwelling, hence the digging fork.
Astilbes were moved to a shady spot elsewhere, in order to make room for baby roses. This is the only bed where I can grow roses, deer adore them. They will even come right up to this spot,

but usually the baby roses are allowed to bloom. Lots of astilbe plants were put into pots for the farmers market later.
Now it is snowing again. It is even staying on the ground. Not much I can do about it, and I know I shouldn't whine etc etc, but Oh dear Goddess, I so badly need some blue light and some warmth!
I am looking out the window at the snow while doing my income tax. At least that chore won't cost me a good day this year. Son Alex was here for a few days. He spent about an hour explaining the difference between heat and temperature, and why global changes can translate into all kinds of weather. I am a bear of very little brain. Hard science doesn't stick easily. My primitive monkey brain says: Global Warming? Bring it on !

The first picture was taken Friday late afternoon when it started to snow. This one shows Sunday morning, April 20, the first day of Taurus. An overnight spring snow is not uncommon, but it usually melts during the day. This one stuck, and it snowed off and on all day Saturday.

I felt like crawling into bed with the covers over my head, call me when true warm spring is here. Fortunately I had a Reflexology client on Saturday morning, who has become a friend.

Before the Reflexology we shared some Rainforest Treasure Tea liberally laced with Illumination. We both felt much better.

Look at these brave little Periwinkles

blooming away in their corner, snow and all!

Tuesday evening. Winter colours with spring light.

Homage to Rosie, or The Cure for a Bad Hair Day

Update:
This was written almost 7 years ago. Since then Rosie has let go of the experimental program, and is on "regular" drugs. She has improved on the drugs, and grown in many ways. Rosie has also been reborn as a professional artist. Thanks goes to the iPad and a government program  that encourages handicapped people to adapt to the workplace, or vice versa. Rosie continues to amaze and inspire me with her attitude of love and gratitude. My life would be poorer without her in it. 

You know what I mean by bad hair days. A bad hair day is not a time of major tragedy, more a day of general dissatisfaction with Life, the Universe and Everything.

On a bad hair day you feel as if you are not living up to your own potential, whatever that might have been. You don’t feel as if the Universe is holding up its side of the bargain either.

For starters it is cold, damp and the sky is gray. I find it almost impossible to be unhappy under blue skies and warm breezes. Ask me how I am, and you get a weather report.

On a bad hair day business is poor, last year’s fat pants feel tight, you can’t find a thing to wear and even if you did there is no reason to get all gussied up anyway. The hair is not cooperating either. The importance of good hair to one's mental health should not be under-estimated.
In short, a bad hair day is characterized by feelings of self pity and self loathing in more or less equal parts. You feel ugly, unlovable and useless.

There is a simple cure for a Bad Hair Day. Get out of your own head and go hang out with someone who is worse off than you are. Make yourself useful.

This is where the Homage to Rosie comes in.

My friend Rosie has early onset Parkinson’s disease. It started when she was 34 and living the good life in sunny California. Rosie is an artist. She was well on the way to becoming a successful professional photographer.
Rosie is now 41, looks a gorgeous 25 (PD keeps you looking young for all the wrong reasons) and would gladly trade all her good hair for the ability to connect her excellent brain to her sore, stiff, trembling, unresponsive body.
PD medications have side effects and tend to become less effective over time. The trade-off may well be worth it if you are diagnosed at 70. Rosie has chosen to leave the drugs alone for now. Instead she is working with an experimental mind/body protocol based on Traditional Chinese Medicine. For anyone who is interested, visit http://pdrecovery.org/

In a small incomplete nut shell:
According to the PD Recovery team idiopathic Parkinson’s is due to a complex disruption in the body’s meridian system that results in a person “living on adrenalin” for many years. The disease finally manifests when the adrenal system is totally exhausted. According to this model the ability to create dopamine is not dead, merely latent. With the right combination of energy work and meditation it should be possible to re-activate the dopamine system.

Easier said than done. Just like getting enlightened is simple: “Just do not think about a pink monkey”. Supposedly SOME people have managed to do it. Their case histories are in the e-book, free for the download at the website http://pdrecovery.org/

Parkinson’s Disease is the darndest most confusing condition. Most of the time Rosie is in a wheelchair. She needs assistance with the ordinary tasks of daily living. Trying harder makes things worse. Striving and trying puts you into the realm of Adrenalin. You’re supposed to aim for a blissed-out attitude. Dopamine is the neurotransmitter of joy.

This is Rosie's fingers on the key board. Notice the way her left thumb curls under. That's not her idea, it just does that. It hurts too.
For Rosie, trying to bring a fork to her mouth is a major effort that can result in tremors all over her body. Are we having fun yet? “Just feel blissful”. YEAH, RIGHT.

Even speaking is a major effort, and this for a person who is by nature sociable, who loves to get together with friends and have a good time.

Speech is not always necessary. Two years ago Rosie shared a hospital room with one of Nakusp's favourite old timers, Molly H, now 95.
They became fond of each other, Molly is always asking about Rosie. Molly had a mild stroke a few weeks ago. We went to see her in the hospital. It is too bad I can't show how Molly's face lit up when Rosie came into the room. They didn't need to talk that much, just held hands and let the love flow.

On bad days Rosie is almost locked-in. I would honest to goodness rather be a quadraplegic and at least be a functioning talking head.
But, and this is where the confusion comes in: not all days are bad days!
Remember there is nothing wrong with Rosie’s muscles. She can walk, sort of. It is a bit like when you were just learning to skate: you can go in a straight line but you can’t steer too well and you may need to bump into something to stop.

Strangely enough PD people do stairs really well. Don’t ask me why.
Watch the look on people’s faces when they see Rosie struggle up out of her wheelchair and climb the stairs to the library in the old village schoolhouse. It confuses the H out of folks, and makes some people wonder why she needs that wheelchair. Trust me, she would not be in it if she didn’t.

Rosie is living independently in her own home thanks to Home Support and a team of volunteers. Some people come once a week, some once a month and anything in between. Rosie’s Mom does 2 days a week.

I don’t want to make Rosie out to be a saint. She isn’t. What she ideally would like and what the loose-knit team can give her is not always the same. Both Rosie and the team are learning to deal graciously with issues of boundaries, commitments and occasionally tough love.
But 90% of the time Rosie is bearing her challenging life with remarkable grace and courage. I doubt I could do half as well.

Rosie and I are both Cancers, and one thing we have in common is the famous Cancer loony laugh. The last time I was there I shared some favorite jokes and we both just cracked up and had a great time laughing. After that Rosie found her tongue and entertained me with stories of the time she was in an earthquake in California. The world needs more gelo-therapy! That’s healing through laughter.

I do a shift every other week. The opposite week I do gift Reflexology treatments for a friend who is on home kidney dialysis and his heroic caregiver wife. If I were a saint I would volunteer more than one afternoon a week, but I lack the Mother Theresa gene.
What I do right now works well to prevent burn-out at either place, and I sincerely look forward to seeing both parties.

That great author Anonymous wrote this sappy poem. It describes a person in the throes of self pity going about her day and meeting people with various disabilities. A blind girl, a deaf boy, a man without legs. Each stanza ends with the words:

“Oh Lord, forgive me when I whine.
I have two eyes (or ears, or legs)
The world is mine!”

Seeing Rosie always brings that home in force. No matter how I feel when I arrive there, I always leave filled with deep gratitude for my marvelous functioning body.

Rosie, I honor and salute you.

And that ends this recipe for The Cure for a Bad Hair Day.

Celebrating Tommy Douglas

We finally had a chance to see 'Sicko' yesterday. I have never felt so glad to be Canadian.

While I will admit that the system doesn't work quite as smoothly as Michael Moore makes it look, and I have some other concerns, the support from Canadians for a single payer health care system is almost universal. The conservative on the golf cart interviewed by Michael is indeed typical.

The entire political spectrum here, and in most of Europe, is to the left of the USA. Mainly there is an admission that no man is an island, and rugged individualism has its downside.

Semantics plays a part here, and both McCarthy and the old Soviet Union are to blame. Totalitarian communism as practiced in the Soviet Union was not what most people in Canada and Europe call socialism these days. 

Canadians and Europeans have Social Democrats. That basically means people who believe in a larger role of the state than Conservatives or Liberals, with a strong social safety net and relatively higher taxes for the well off. They will not outlaw private home ownership or take over the entire economy, and they will leave when voted out. 

It appears that many USA residents have been so brainwashed by the McCarthy era that they can't distinguish between a communist dictatorship and a freely chosen left wing government.

Tommy Douglas, to get back to him, was a Baptist Minister who became a Social Democratic politician. Under his charge Medicare started in his home province of Saskatchewan. He is more or less revered as a secular kind of saint. When Canadians were asked to vote for The Greatest Canadian, they picked Tommy Douglas.

Touched by His noodly appendage

Warning: some people may not share this sense of humor.

It is not my intention to offend anyone with a deeply felt connection to All that Is, by whatever name they worship.

However, I do have a bone to pick with those who try to subvert secular institutions, like influencing the science curriculum in a public school.

My son alerted me to the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster. I went to the website and emerged limp from laughter. I must have been touched by His Noodly Appendage.
From now on, when asked to fill out religion, I just might proudly call myself a Pastafarian.
(Actually, my true denomination is Taoist Pagan)

Fat Cows, Skinny Cows, thoughts on economic cycles.

I am no economist.

But one does not need expertise in order to observe that good times and bad times have spelled each other off all through history. This is a world of contrasts and cycles. The tide can’t always be in. The Moon is not always full.
When a Pharaoh dreams of fat cows and skinny cows the answer is clear.

Cycles will occur, good years will be followed by bad ones. Build a little nest egg during the good times, OK? It’s not rocket science!

The economy appears to be slowing down. So it goes. Only cancer cells grow forever, or rather till the host dies, but that is another topic.

Now here is what always gets my goat when politicians talk about the economy. It is a stupid, dishonest game and they all play it.
It goes more or less like this:

Bad Economy, party in power:
“The Economic cycle is against us right now, but that is not our fault.”
Bad Economy, party in opposition:
“The Economy is doing poorly, and it is the fault of sitting government.”

Good Economy, party in power:
“Look at how well we have managed the Economy! Vote for us again!”
Good Economy, party in opposition:
“Sure, the Economy is good right now, but they are just being lucky!”

In other words, power to manage the economy is either claimed or denied depending on where the advantage lies. Could we get some honesty please?

The reality appears to be that cycles will happen, no matter what governments do. But societies can choose ways to take the edge off.

To get back to the biblical example: Fourteen years of fat cows is not an option. But Pharaoh still has choices. He can choose to use the good years to build himself a bigger palace or he can fill the granaries so the people won’t starve during the lean years.

Oops, is that interference with the sacred cow of the free market?

A feline foto shoot

My best buddy Bev, hereafter referred to as BBB, is an active member of the local animal protection group. After a rather adventurous life that is not my story to tell ( I am learning discretion in my old age) she now lives with animals as beloved companions.

Two cats who were thought to be impossible to adopt have become happily ensconsed at Casa Beverley. Their story is told on the website in the section "Happy Endings". But it needed pictures. Enter the new digital toy.

I spent a few hours happily shooting, uploading and deleting at BBB's magical dome home. What a joy to just click away without worrying about the cost of developing!
The first picture of fat Teddy turned out to be the best one, except it would have been nice if he had looked into the camera.
Teddy was supposed to dead by now, or at least suffering from some incurable misery. On lots of love, a raw diet and Pascalite he is doing fine. His new companion Sophie is even enticing him to move now and then.

 Capturing elusive, temperamental Sophie was harder.
A grey cat does not show up against a grey rug!

This shelf above the desk might be a nice spot....

Would it work if Mom held up a white background to show me off? Almost, but not quite. Bushytailed but not bright-eyed.

One more try. YES! We were pretty pleased with this one.

When the group of animal angels first got Sophie nobody could get near her. She was so impossibly agressive that they put her on kitty Prozac. Don't get me started on the topic of SRRIs. I promise a good rant another time. But look what unconditional love can do!
Here is Sophie with her Human. The whole story can be found at http://pals-online.ca/

Thoughts on Super Tuesday

We have been glued to CNN. This beats sports. No matter who ends up leading the various parties, we can declare one clear winner for sure: Democracy! !
It ain't perfect, but by golly it beats all other systems, and it is great to see the people engaged and active.

Perhaps it is my WWII start in life, with memories of a murderous occupation still fresh in the collective memory during my childhood. But it drives me crazy to see people squander the precious right to vote and participate. I feel so frustrated and angry when people stay home on election days and then whinge about their evil government, with comments like "It doesn't matter who you elect, they're all a bunch of crooks".
Even if that were true, the crooks do less damage if you rotate their position at the trough now and then.

I had predicted an Obama sweep, based on the position of the Moon in Aquarius. There is more to it than that, but never mind for now.
If Hilary gave a speech we missed it, I had a Reflexology client. But we caught Obama. I must say, the man has a spark. I am torn between rooting for Hilary in sisterly solidarity and admiration, and wanting to fan the flames of this extraordinary movement. Fortunately it doesn't matter one bit what I want since this is not my country anyway. For which I am grateful. This is strictly spectator sport.

Worse case scenario for a small l liberal like me:
The Republicans settle quite quickly on a McCain/Huckabee ticket, while the Democrats continue to tear themselves to pieces with this contest, historic as it may be.
The Dems elect Hilary, Mc Cain beats her, the USA stays in Iraq forever and ever and corporations rule the world..

I am not at all sure there is enough substance behind the charisma. Like, "where's the beef?" But Obama just might be able to end the extreme partisan nonsense and bring the USA back to its idealistic roots.

Meanwhile, while going through electronic clutter, I came upon this piece of correspondence between me and my sometimes friend Bobbette.
She is an e-zine publisher and advertiser. We met in a business context. Bobbette and I disagree violently on all matters political, but enjoy the contact regardless. We never did much with the proposed forum, but the idea was nice. This was written in 2004.

My dear friend and opponent,
I had been planning to approach you with the idea for a political forum!

I am concerned about America too. For very different reasons.
By the way, since the USA has taken it upon itself to police the world, what happens there affects the world. Those of us from elsewhere can't vote but we can participate in the debate.

Now, here is what scares me more than anything:
The lack of places where people of opposing views can exchange views on political matters, without immediately descending into knee-jerk defensiveness.

I long for a place where people of opposing views can exchange ideas like you and I can do, without losing friendship and respect.
I long for a place where people of opposing views can truly listen to each other, and even search for common ground.

Political debate focuses too much on what divides us. How about focusing on what unites us instead? Most people want pretty much the same things out of life.

*A safe place to call home.
*A chance to provide for our family..
*A way to stretch ourselves and learn and contribute our particular talent.
*A way to connect with the sacred, in whatever form we perceive it.

We may have very different ideas of how to go about getting those things. This makes us forget how much we have in common.

Above all, I hope to find a place where people can truly THINK, so they make a choice that is informed.
Whatever choice the American people makes in November 2004, I hope it will be inspired by LOVE, instead of FEAR.

Dear Bobbette, let's create a debating forum that sets a standard!

With respect
Your Dutch/Canadian pinko liberal friend

Today our daily bread

When the price of Silverhills bread (made with sprouted organic grain) rose to  $5 a loaf it was time to start baking again.
The bread machine does a fine job if you don't mind a coarser crumb and the weird shape but it doesn't come close to the taste and texture of the real thing.


The picture is obviously the real thing. Can't you just smell it? It just came out of the oven and I had to take a brag picture before cutting into it for that delicious hot crusty first bite.


OK, the flour is not organic. Just good old Rogers whole wheat, nothing added, nothing taken away. Some extra goodies like toasted millet grains, a scoop of nutritional yeast, honey, blackstrap molasses, grapeseed oil, Celtic sea salt, and our good clean well water.


No dough conditioners, no calcium propionate, whatever it may be. Read those labels sometime, even on your nice looking "artisan" bread.


And a lovely leisurely process of priming the yeast, letting a sponge rise with just a part of the flour, adding the rest, kneading till the ball of dough has the smooth springy consistency of a baby's bum, letting it rest again, kneading some more, shaping the loaves, letting them rest and rise a bit more, and finally into the oven.


The energy of baking bread is similar to food gardening. Primal, sensuous, totally therapeutic and always morally right.
It gives me profound satisfaction, especially on a day when not much else got accomplished.

A walk in the neighborhood, with camera

We had that rare phenomenon today: A sparkling blue winter day. I have been so indoorsy that I am getting prison pallor, so today we headed out, new digital camera and all.
The first picture shows what it looks like a few feet from the front steps, at the top of the driveway.

When the camera arrived we, meaning my Old Dutch and I, started to peruse the printed manual that came with it. Our son mocked us for being so totally twentieth century!
A true native of the digital age, Alex informed us, checks to see if there is a big red button warning of potential nuclear explosions, and in the absence of such a button turns on the device and learns by looking at the menus and just playing with the buttons.

Sounded good to me, so I merrily hit buttons and twisted dials to see what would happen. Alas, people born in 1943 should not pretend to be digital natives. Somewhere along there the camera got into Movie mode. Some nice pictures are interspersed with wildly swinging footage of my own feet crunching through the snow, accompanied by snortings and mumblings.

The second picture shows the road below us, with Saddle Mountain. Half the businesses in town are named either Saddle or Arrow something.

We used to see the big field to the left from our place, but there are too many trees in the way now. Our land is sloping up from this road to the right out of sight in this picture.

I had a bunch of other pictures to show the neighborhood, but I also had a pixel setting too high, and each one is about 3 mb and takes over half an hour to upload. So for now this will have to do.
Yes, I do know how lucky we are, and give thanks daily. To Whom it may concern.

Catan, catan!

The picture is from son Alex' blog, http://nothernlites.blogspot.com/
Our Christmas guest Christine had brought over this board game, Settlers of Catan. Son Alex, Christine and I had a blast with it. I ordered two games right after Christmas. One for the grandson and his family, and one for our household. 


Two players are not as much fun as 3, but even so Alex and I had some good fanatical games after the girlfriend (not Christine) left and before the North claimed him again. Alas, my husband is so not a game player. Though the few times we manage to entice him he really likes to win.

Alex figured Catan would be just the right gift for the friends in the Okanagan where he spends part of his break. It was a hit, they spent hours playing and promptly bought the expansion set.

So there, 4 purchases made, make that 5 because another friend wants a set too. And lives were enriched because one person shared something she liked.
Now if this had been network marketing, Christine would have made some nice commissions, and where would be the harm in that? 

I continue to bless the friend who introduced me to the brain food that saves my ADDled brain and ended my peri menopausal misery. Yup, she made some money on me. She is more than welcome to it.

I stopped being an active business person. I may blog about the joys and the nonsense of MLM some time. If Amazon Herb Company had not ditched all its Canadian distributors I would still be doing it. I occasionally buy products from other "independent distributors".  It gives me a warm fuzzy to think of the smiles my order creates along the upline. 

An EFT moment in the Hot Springs

There is nothing like a long wallow in warm water to take the winter blahs away. OK, a beach in Mexico would be nice, but this will do.
Apart from the soak, I love the way Hot Springs allow casual chats with old acquaintances or strangers.

Last week this neat incident happened.
On the way out of the pool I noticed a lady lying on the bench between the dressing room and the outside. Someone else was with her, helping her to cool down. When I emerged from the shower the same woman was sitting in the dressing room, looking somewhat distressed. She said she had high blood pressure and had stayed in the water too long.

"Would she like to try something totally different?" I warned her that what I was about to do might seem a bit weird, but it was harmless and it just might help. She was OK with that.

"Sure, why not". I asked what she was feeling at that moment that was most bothering her. "Nausea and dizziness."

So I grabbed her hand and started tapping on the "karate spot", while mumbling: "Even though I feel nauseous and dizzy, I deeply and completely accept myself". Two little rounds of tapping on some points on her face and torso, and she felt much better, to her utter amazement. It took 3 minutes, if that.

I wonder what she'll tell the people back home in Calgary about Nakusp, where fat old ladies wrapped only in a purple towel start tapping on you.

Emotional Freedom Technique has become one of the passions of my life.

Moving into 2008, jiggling my fat butt with Bhangra

Happy New Year everyone!

I quite enjoy the winter break from gardening, but it is scary how sedentary one can get.

My big New Year’s resolution is to get MOVING.

I feel so much better when I do daily Yoga, but it has been a while. It is so easy to slip into a later rhythm in winter. If I don’t do it first thing in the morning with one of the TV programs it won’t get done.

Today I managed to be on the mat at 6.30 for Yoga with Padma. Yes! Stretchy! Blood is flowing! About time!

And just as I was about to turn the TV off the next program started, and it was dancercise with Bhangra, presented by some gorgeous ladies in shalwar kameez. That's those flattering colourful tunic/pants outfits from Northern India or Pakistan. They look comfortable too.

Now I cannot dance. A deep block prevents my feet from moving in time to a beat. I may feel jiggly, but don't ask me translate that into meaningful motion.

However, this program was explaining the moves one by one: feet like this, hands like this, and even though I got quite lost right away and felt like a clumsy elephant I had a wonderful time just bouncing around.

We'll do it again tomorrow. No matter what else the day may bring: this body has moved!