Homage to a teacher on the Ides of March.

March 15 1958. Latin class in grade 2 of the Lyceum, the first year we had the subject. Greek had to wait another year. The education we received, Gymnasium, was supposed to be the perfect preparation for the lofty halls of academe. In retrospect we were being trained to be perfect seventeenth century gentlemen.

The teacher gave everyone a chocolate bar to commemorate an assassination that had taken place some 2000 years ago. I remember that small incident every March 15. Not because of the candy, but because he was such a great teacher.

Kees de Keizer was only 24 at the time, still a graduate student. This meant nothing to us. He was a teacher and therefore on the other side of the dividing line between Us and Them. He was a grownup and that was that.

In spite of his youth and inexperience he was one of the best teachers I ever had. A tall, gangly young man, he had no problem dominating the classroom and keeping order. An orderly classroom is one of the prerequisites for a good learning experience. I don't think it is something one can learn. There may be some methods and tricks, but above all a teacher of teenagers needs a certain animal tamer quality, an inner stance of strength. It is a good thing I never tried to become one. I had a hard enough time getting my kids to pick up their toys.

Mr. de Keizer loved his subject. He brought the classics to life like no other teacher ever did. The memory of his lessons in Ovid still makes me smile. We had to learn reading hexameters, a tricky business since certain syllables can be either long or short, depending on the rest of the verse. Said he: "If you can learn to dance, you can learn to scan verse." 

Somehow my feet have never been able to connect to a beat in my ears. There is a block somewhere. Past lives in a monastery would explain much but that is of course pure speculation. Anyway, I loved Latin, hexameters and all. In spite of never learning to dance I excelled at scanning . It is sad that the brain has retained no more than a few fragments. 
One such fragment, from the story of the great flood, pops up every time I see a picture of a flooded landscape.

Terra ferax, dum terra fuit, sed tempore ab illo
pars maris et latus subitarum campus aquarum.

Fertile land, while land it was, but at that time
part of the sea and a wide field of sudden waters.

Once in a while I think it might be fun to take a refresher course, but let's get real. There are gardens to plant and too many kittens on Facebook.

Meanwhile, today I raise a glass (of carrot juice) to the memory of a beloved teacher.

A tunnel into Spain. I wish I had pictures.

I am knee deep in Maddaddam, borrowed as an e-book from the library. Love it! Margaret Atwood has this dry sly humor that makes the darkest tale entertaining. However, I could not continue until The Precious has been recharged so it was time to look for entertainment on Netflix. I picked The Way, a movie about 4 strangers on the Camino de Santiago.  

Never mind the plot, mainly I loved the landscapes. It was special because we were there. Once upon a time, in April 1966, we spent three days on the municipal camp ground in Saint Jean Pied de Port, the French starting point for the Camino. It was the last time Chris had to go to Spain for the practical part of his geology studies. We were waiting for parts for the three-coloured Citroen CV, AKA Ugly Duckling, or just Duck.

The Duck was the European equivalent of a VW bug. In Europe the bug was considered a middle class car, not the counter cultural icon we found it to be on this side of the Atlantic. Chris and some friends had cobbled this one together from 3 old cars. It sported a brown body, grey doors and a green hood. It was a big step up from the motor cycle that had taken us South the previous year.

Anyway, we spent three days in our tent on this field that I recall as green, speckled with dandelions, on the edge of a mountain stream with a rock wall behind it. And everywhere there were signs to the Chemin de Saint Jacques, which unfortunately meant nothing to me at the time. It was rather boring. We could not explore the countryside without a car and we had no money to enjoy local cuisine. Funny, I don't remember how we drove into Spain that time. I do know the transition was not as dramatic as the one the year before. 

That time, still with the WWII vintage DKW motor bike, we had started our crossing at a French place called Something de Luchon. Shortly after the border into Spain we came across a tunnel. The tunnel entrance had big green wooden doors that were opened for us and closed behind us. We found ourselves in a cavernous space, sparsely lit with a road in terrible condition. There were places with gravel so loose that I had to dismount and walk while Chris went to first gear and straddled the heavy bike, loaded with all our gear for months, with his feet on the ground, heroically keeping it upright. If there was other traffic I don't recall it. We were alone most of the time. It was surreal. It went on and on, but finally we saw the proverbial light (no doors at that end) and emerged into a different land.

While the Northern side had been lush, we were now in a craggy place of bare rocks and much sparser vegetation. The steep hair-pinned road down with the ravine on our side was dramatically beautiful but terrifying. There were villages perched high above us on top of crags, fortress-like. A scene from a fairy tale movie. I might have enjoyed it in a car. On a bike, not so much, especially with mutterings about the danger of burning out the brakes. Even in my twenties I was a chicken with no taste for physical risk taking. 

After the movie I stayed up well past midnight to see what Mighty Google had to say about this memory. My only clue was the word de Luchon and the fact we were in the middle of the Pyrenees. There was, indeed, a tunnel. It would be on the road between Bagneres de Luchon and Vielha. It is well over 5km long and was the world's longest road tunnel until 1964.
Bless you, wikipedia. 
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vielha_Tunnel

Those crazy sleeping brains

A dream about a family of ranchers. I was in turn one of two brothers and the old widowed father. Wives and children are vague background presences. The brothers are trying to run the ranch while caring for the father. There is love and exasperation in equal measure. Father is frail, angry, bitter, hard to live with. He used to be a powerful outdoors man, able to smell the rain coming. That phrase keeps popping up. The waking brain connects it to reading The Orenda. A plan emerges to take him out on a horse to the fields once more. An image of him sitting on a horse held by a son, smelling the coming rain, feeling alive for the first time in months.  Doctors fuss it might kill him. All involved including father wish it would. Images of splendid landscapes throughout, tawny rolling hills with mountains in the background. I often dream landscapes. 

I wake to a fragment of poetry in my head. Frederico Garcia Lorca.
Dejasnos cantando en la plazeta
dot dot dot claro, fuente serena.
Immense satisfaction when the missing word pops up: arroyo.
Arroyo claro, fuente serena. So beautiful, and so meaningful in a parched landscape.
Singing, you leave us in the village square
Clear stream, calm spring.

What are our sleeping brains up to?

The joy of ENOUGH. Back to saving loonies and other normal life.

For a delicious year I was rich. It was wonderful, and now it is over and that is OK too.

I have never understood why talking about money is a taboo, just like I don't understand the prohibition on discussing politics and religion. All are fascinating topics that we all deal with. We just have to agree to disagree, and remain polite in the face of another opinion or belief. Is that really so hard? 
I never understood hiding age either. 

Income level determines much of life. I feel no shame about my low level of cash income, which is the result of life choices, rather than lack of opportunity. I don't regret the choices and take full responsibility for their consequences. Well, almost. Back in the day it never occurred to me that the social safety net might disappear. I can quite happily live on the basic government allowance for old age. If it ever disappears, well, that would be such a different world anyway. Let's not go there right now.

In the past I have been rather Micawberish, often living in debt and in hope of "something turning up". Being self employed encourages that. One can always believe that next month will be better. From now on the focus is on living within the means of the fixed geezer income and earning "nega-bucks". Thanks to Erica Strauss  for that term. As Ben Franklin said:"A penny saved is a penny earned." Extra income will be pursued, but it will be just that, extra.

The year of being rich was 2013. I received an insurance settlement for the injury sustained in the car accident in 2012. Then there was an inheritance from my dear sister, whose home was close to being paid for when she died just short of 61. All those years of pinching pennies and eating margarine, for nothing. OK, she enjoyed the sport. But life is too short to not eat butter.

I was giddy with the sheer freedom of it, bubbling with excitement. The first thing I did was pay off all personal debt. In 2008, as soon as I started getting OAP, I had already torn up the credit card, which kept giving me a higher limit the more I used it. I turned the debt into a life-insured re-mortgage with my trusty local credit union. Peace of mind came from knowing that at least my family would not bear the burden of my sloppiness. We are free and clear again, and my monthly income is all mine.

It took a big chunk but what a good feeling! I gave some away, enjoyed hitting the donation button for umpty good causes online and introduced the local library to Dr. Who. We went to see the kids at the coast, an expensive outing these days what with bus tickets and hotel costs. I bought a new stove, a couch, a guest bed, some bedding, some small things, some clothes. I made Amazon.ca happy a few times. I indulged in the entirely frivolous purchase of a tablet which I love, the less frivolous purchase of a new laptop which was a mistake. I hate Windows 8 and the old one keeps chugging along, I could have waited. By the way, buying the laptop gave me a total appreciation for the simplicity of not having choices.

Dreams of a winter vacation in Cuba were sacrificed to the shoring up of the dwelling. Sister Margreet would so approve. It is still an old trailer but it will last our time. Well, maybe not if we live to be 100. I went to the dentist. 

That's it. There is some money left in the bank, but it is reserved for real emergencies. Oh, and for some labor this summer to make the place more productive. Details will be on the garden blog. Other than that starting 2014 it has been back to normal, which means saving loonies and getting seriously excited about an extra twenty bucks in my pocket. 
We may not have much, but what we have is paid for.  I still have ways of earning a bit extra with the farmers market and the odd Reflexology client. 

There is an element of sport in making do. Example: my friend M. grew fantastic savoy cabbages that kept well but need to be used up now. She also still has potatoes and carrots. I have a cupboard full of canned tomatoes I got on sale at $1 per can. M. needs to recuperate from exhaustion after years of care giving. I have plenty of energy this winter and have been using her produce to churn out near industrial quantities of fabulous borscht. Click on link for the recipe. Creating good food while listening to audio books is one of my favourite winter activities. We share the proceeds. Win win.

For the time being we live in a safe place with health care and social security. We are warm, well fed, and healthy. We have a garden and a library. Enough is all the abundance I need. 

Acetate tapes awaiting digitalization

"Acetate tapes awaiting digitalization".

Say it out loud, slowly the first time. Repeat a few times. Make it sing.  Can you hear the jazz? This was the title/chorus of a poem read by local author Judy Wapp. It continues to joyfully bounce around my head.

The poem commemorates the finding, in a basement in the Library of congress, of a tape recording of a 1957 concert by Thelonious Monk and Charles Coltrane. The tapes were then lovingly restored to modern format.
Click the link for more on the story here.

I just came home from a writers' coffee house at the library. How I love that place! 

For such a small town we sure have a lot of talent and way more going on than a person with hermit tendencies can take in. This may be because the nearest larger centres are two hours away, over snowy mountain roads. We have to make our fun at home. Events to do with either music or visual arts also abound. I like knowing they are happening, even though I rarely participate.

One has to select and set priorities. Being a bona fide "Friend of the Library" and showing up for events is mine. 

I want to produce a short piece to contribute to the coffee house next year. I enjoy being in front of an audience, especially if I can make people laugh. Maybe a seventies memory, those need to be written up anyway. Remembrance of snipes past could be polished. I like the title.

It is also time to find a poem for Poetry Night, coming up in early spring. Learn to bake a few more goodies for the snack table afterwards. I usually weasel out with the excuse I just don't do sweet baking, but I brought mini spanakopita this time and they were a hit.

Also, I just might return to the farmers market in summer and help to run it. Small town life. I love it.



 

Stuff I figured out early.

Some things I figured out late in life. Prime among these is the need to SHUT UP more often. Not everyone wants their life to be an open book. I embarrassed some people before I learned more discretion, for which I am truly sorry. Before we go any further: work was different and the healing room has always been Vegas. What happens there stays there.

Some things I got right in mid life. I shall remain silent about them, because see above.

And some things I figured out by the time I was 20. I feel somewhat smug about being an early adopter of some values that are now becoming fashionable. Or have recently been. Those things come and go, like feminism and back to the land movements. 

Long before Betty Friedan wrote The Feminine Mystique Simone de Beauvoir had published "The second sex". I read it as well as her The Mandarins during my first year away from home at 18. It made a deep impression.

I wasn't sure what I wanted to do in life, but I was determined to avoid the fate of my mother, who was not happy as a fifties style housewife. She blossomed later but that is another story. 
I knew that whatever life brought, I needed some work of my own, some way to give meaning to life that was not dependent on a love relationship.

As soon as I became responsible for my own upkeep I also realized that I valued time over money, life over stuff.
Time and money are interchangeable to some degree, as many people are figuring out again. Returning productivity to the household has become a movement. I find myself torn between cheering it on, and being amused because they make such a fuss over it.

My ideal has always been a productive household combined with part time work. Some people may be driven self starters, I need that kick in the behind of an outside commitment to get going. I bet I am not the only mere sloppy mortal who gets more done with some scheduling and social stimulation.

Keeping up with the Jones has never been high on my list of priorities. After suffering as a socially awkward child I joyfully let go of any efforts to be normal once I left home. I owe a karmic debt to Yoka Barends, sister of Dutch actor Edda Barends, who befriended me in that first year and made me feel fine about not fitting in. Our friendship was a defining influence in my life.

The understanding that growth cannot go on forever on a finite planet seemed pretty obvious early on. A nature lover in an overpopulated country cannot pretend that the world is endless. When The Limits of Growth was published in the early seventies our reaction was: "They need studies for that? Isn't it obvious?"

The whole money thing. 
I grew up with stories of the winter of famine, 1944/45. The moral was that the people who fared well were those who could grow food. People from the cities would set out into the countryside on bicycles, often with wooden wheels, with any valuables they had in the hope of trading them for a sack of potatoes. Diamonds may be a girl's best friend but you can't eat them. For years I have professed more faith in the potato standard than in the gold standard. Imagine my pleasure when the great Terry Pratchett used exactly that comparison in "Making Money". 

I was part of a group that tried to set up a local barter bank in the early nineties. We just might try again one of these days. There is nothing as powerful as an idea whose time has come. The true weakness of the fractional reserve system is becoming more widely known. My favourite explainer is Canadian Nicole Foss. No conspiracy theories, no scary jumps from blaming bankers to ranting about Zionists, just down to earth facts. 
Find her here: http://theautomaticearth.com

And speaking of  food, we have done the fashionable eat local, eat with the seasons thing almost our entire life. I grew up that way and reverted to it once I started gardening.

As mentioned elsewhere, I have lived this rural life because I love it, not out of fear of immanent collapse. We are nowhere near as self sufficient as we could have been, but the simple life suits me. The rat race does not. The offspring is thriving in Metro Vancouver.

Pardon an old woman for congratulating herself a bit as she reads blogs by young wannabe homesteaders.

Wishes for a good enough 2014

Today marks the real New Year: the first Monday after the holidays that is the start of a full work week.

I wish everyone a 2014 that is good enough.

The concept of enough deserves to be honoured more. Many green voices are already clamoring for a lowering of material expectations. About time. 
And: the insanity of the economic system with its demand for endless growth has spilled over into the psychology industry. There the demand is for endless self improvement. Look at the stream of self help literature and exhortations to seek out life coaches and counselors. The psychology-industrial complex.

Could we all relax and be content to just muddle through? Could we consider ourselves happy enough? Self confident enough? Actualized enough? Beautiful enough? Spiritual enough? Fit enough? Good enough as parents/spouses/friends etc?

Humanity is facing a tough period. Recession my foot. We are looking at a restructuring of the global economy, as well as a time of environmental upheaval. It is not going to be easy any time soon. The least we can do is go easy on each other and let go of feelings of failure if life is not one big glittering achievement. 


May we all be kind and live in gratitude for our daily bread. 

Jahrzeit thoughts for Nooveya

Today it is a year since the sparkle that was Nooveya so suddenly left her family. The time of her absence has lasted almost as long as her presence.

While we are in these three-dee bodies we cannot know why she came and went. All we can do is wonder at life's mystery, accept the gifts that our lost loves left for us, and muddle through as best we can. LOVE does not die.

Nooveya was so intensely alive while she was with us. Seeing her pictures on Facebook was always a treat. The very best was a short video of Nooveya cheering on her brother as he was practicing soccer. I must have watched it half a dozen times, and it never failed to make me giggle.

Her sudden death affected many people beyond her family. I only met her once. Yet for some reason I only have to come across her picture unexpectedly to feel tears well up. Good tears. The kind that signals we have a heart that is alive. My crazy theory is that she came to open people's hearts.

We have put the video on Youtube. Link below.

Nooveya cheering Evrrdy

If Nooveya touched you, please pass along this link so she can continue to make people grin. If you have never met her, some of her mother's many pictures are here on a memorial blog. We call it Nooveya's song.

May her spark continue to kindle many hearts.

This beautiful card, with a small crystal in the heart/womb, is made by local artist Alexandra Krajewski, based on an original painting.  It is used here with permission.

Be careful what you ask for.

Fresh snow is falling and it looks pretty outside. Yesterday's weather was meh, to match my very non-Christmaslike mood.

I usually prefer counting my blessings, which are many, to dwelling on lacks. In matters both emotional and material, some people have more than I do but many have less.
But yesterday I couldn't stop feeling sorry for myself. The positive mind could not override the sadness of the hungry heart. The rational inner adult was powerless over the sniffling inner child. I wanted my family, waah!

We had planned a minimalist Christmas here. No gift exchanges or decorations, just a nice dinner with guests. I enjoy setting the table and cooking my brains out once in a while. For reasons that don't matter here those plans fell through just a few days before. Plan B was to go to town and join the community pot luck. By the time we decided to do that all the tables were booked.

We could have joined Rosie's family, which would have been fun and mutually beneficial. Except for the driving. They live 30 km South of here. Old Dutch is not allowed to drive in the dark until he has cataract surgery, and I truly loathe doing it in winter.

So we were home alone. BAH HUMBUG indeed.

To my surprise I experienced a bad case of holiday blues. The kids called for nice long chats and I had a good phone visit with my dear Linda. By the time the calls were over it was past three. The roast I had planned to slow-cook was still partly frozen and I felt too tired and weepy to cook. This is NOT my normal self. Reminder to self: if you plan to ignore the season, be consistent and do not bake cookies. I can never eat just one or two. Sugar contributes to weird moods. 

We did have a nice bottle of wine, enjoyed with appies and Dr. Who at 6.  Apart from the fact that I love scifi, and Dr. Who is a truly amazing mix of wild imagination, humour and depth, it is a way to connect with the offspring who are devoted Whovians.

Thank Earth it is over for another year.

That sweet dark heart of the year, and BAH HUMBUG!

Tomorrow will be the winter Solstice, the midway point between Halloween and Ground Hog day, the darkest three months of the year. Garden Guru Elliot Coleman calls this the Persephone months, when nothing grows.

I appreciate it as a time for rest. I love the break from the outdoor work. This is a time for reading, blogging, and playing in the kitchen. While I sleep more and have less energy than in the lighter months I am most emphatically not depressed. I am contentedly hibernating. By February there will be seedlings under grow lights and the busy growing cycle starts all over again. Why should  this treasured quiet time be devoted to frenzied partying and endless social obligations? BAH, HUMBUG!

There are people who are good at this whole decorating and prepping thing. I admire them and wish them well. It is just not my thing. I am clumsy and lack the designer gene. Of course we did the works when the children were home. But these days I  give myself permission to ignore the festivities and enjoy the season in my own low-key way.

Apart from writing a few cards, attending the neighbourhood potluck Solstice and hosting a few friends on the 25th I have completely disengaged from Christmas. The children live a day away. It gives me joy to know they spend this time together. There are excellent reasons why we do not get together at Christmas time, and I am completely fine with that. Who needs the stress of renting a car at peak rates and driving a long distance over snowy roads? I just wish people would stop asking me if they are coming or if we are going there. NO. This does not mean we do not love each other.

And just because, here are seasonal posts from years past.

http://freegreenliving.blogspot.ca/2007/12/rant-against-rudolf-red-nosed-reindeer.html

http://freegreenliving.blogspot.ca/2007/11/a-holiday-proposal.html

http://freegreenliving.blogspot.ca/2007/12/merry-christmas-from-taoist-pagan.html

http://freegreenliving.blogspot.ca/2011/12/how-our-dutch-family-got-into-english.html

Our daily muffin

By popular request, here is the recipe of my muffins. They are probably high calorie, one usually does me for breakfast. 
They are packed with good nutrition, delicious, and they keep well. They are also quite forgiving, I am not a strict measure kind of cook. This is my current favourite version.

They evolved as a way to use the pulp that is a by product of the daily juice. So if you use freshly grated carrots, squeeze out some moisture. 

Dry stuff: 
1 1/2 cup whole wheat flour
1/2 cup oat flour (I grind oatmeal in a coffee grinder)
2 tablespoons  flax seeds, freshly ground
1/2 cup dark brown sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 tablespoon cinnamon or apple pie spices
1 teaspoon salt
a handful of raisins
a handful of sunflower seeds or chopped nuts, lightly dry-roasted.

Mix it all well. Have ready but don't add till just before you add the wet stuff: 1 1/2 cup apple in small pieces.

Wet stuff:
1 1/2 cup carrot pulp
2 eggs, beaten
3/4 cup yoghurt
1/2 cup vegetable oil. I use grape seed oil.
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Mix all the dry stuff well, mix all the wet stuff well. Add apple to dry stuff, combine dry and wet, put in buttered muffin tins, bake at 350 or 375. check after 20 minutes. 

Makes 12.
Variations: use lemon zest instead of cinnamon, try frozen blueberries, red currants, raspberries or chopped rhubarb instead of apple and raisin. 

Update:
These days I mix a large batch of dry stuff minus the flax seeds and cinnamon and keep it handy in the fridge. I am more likely to make a batch that way. 

What to be when you grow up?

Some mid-thirty-something people dear to my heart have been struggling with that question lately. This post is for them.

I am no role model when it comes to making a career. On the contrary, I am more a warning example. On the other hand, I am one of the most contented people I know, which might give me some right to spout off in a more or less advisory tone.

I have no practical advice for anyone who has to make his/her way in this time. I feel lucky to be old enough to get a pension. But for whatever it is worth, here are my two cents on the topic of life and work.

In my 70 years on the planet (heehee, I love saying that) I never figured out what to be when I grew up. I have been educated, and I have earned a (frugal) living, but there was a total disconnect between the two. It has been a good life anyway.

Here is the funny thing: when a geology job for the husband took us to the Kootenays I got dragged here kicking and screaming. What was I going to do in the boondocks? Moving to deep country is honestly the best thing that has ever happened to me. I would never have chosen it, at least not at age 26. If we had gone later we would not have been able to buy land.

Moral of the story: the notion of deliberate life planning is overrated. As John Lennon so brilliantly put it: "Life is what happens while you are making other plans." Granted, zooming in on a goal like a straight arrow works for some people. 
But for many of us it does not. The reasons can be personal or linked to forces beyond our control, or a combination. 

The cliche from the time when people could afford midlife crises was this. They had climbed the career ladder only to find it was leaning against the wrong building. After which discovery they ran off to Big Sur to frolic in hot pools with other free spirits, cheered on by the gurus of the day, and never mind the mortgage or the kids. Blogs on the topic of duty are brewing.

To stretch the metaphor: These days it is just as likely that one is halfway up the ladder when the building collapses, or the entire ladder is yanked away. After which the survivors are being told to pull themselves up by their bootstraps. Yeah, right.

This is a time of potential collapse and certain transition. Yesterday's certainties are gone. It is not easy to figure out for which part of your fate you are personally responsible, and what is just the luck of the collective draw. 

Work is important, of course. Apart from the need to survive, humans don't do well with idleness. But as a core around which to organize a life, paid work is only one factor. Family or other relationships, an artistic talent, a place, social activism, all these can be the centre around which the rest falls into place, with work just being the thing that makes the rest possible. 

If your problem is of the ladder against the wrong building kind, think of life as a novel. Most writers will talk about books that took years of effort and never saw the light of day. Nevertheless, the process of writing them was essential to the birth of the book that made it. Past investment in training is never entirely wasted. You know what you know. 
Your past has made you into who you are now. Regret nothing and move on.

Again, I have no advice on how to cope in today's economic waste land. But I do know this: answers to the question: "And what do you do?" should not be limited to one's profession. 

If you can get paid for doing what you love, great. If you have to separate the two, so what. This economic system is not sane. It is stark raving bonkers and able to kill our Earth. Your ability or lack thereof to function in it should not determine your sense of who you are.

You have passions and talents that can make a contribution to the world. In between looking for paid work, get out there and use them. Stay open. Work with others. Good luck and godspeed.

A brief getaway in Flat Cloud season. Into fog and out and in again.

We were overdue for a little excursion. Alas, the days of long trips with our beloved motor home are over. We had wonderful times with it, but it is enjoying its retirement as guest cabin. 

Why wait till the days are short? My bad. When the days were long I was so busy and happy in the gardens I didn't feel like going anywhere. Old Dutch kindly indulged my obsession.
With the gardens mainly done and the forecast promising another week of sunshine I finally felt the itch.

Sunshine my foot. I should have known better. The weather has been stagnating, which means low cloud and fog at this time of year. Click on link for illustration. As usual, Nakusp gets it first and worst. We had some beautiful days last week, with the birches turning and the bracken gold on the land.

Friday it took the valley cloud to mid afternoon to lift. Saturday the sun valiantly tried to break through around 3, but failed to make it. That was it for sun in and around Nakusp until the weather changes.

We left Sunday morning in thick fog. It has hung on till now, Friday. Knowing it might be better elsewhere we left anyway. Sure enough, the mountain tops were visible on the East-West road between New Denver and Kaslo. 

We took the ferry across Kootenay Lake, always a treat. It was sunny there, where the lake is widest. Later there was some cloud, but with a beautiful silvery light. We stopped at a viewpoint to take pictures. 

Below, the same place facing South.

The most logical stop for the night was Creston. We waved a nostalgic greeting to the pull-out that was our first overnight stop on several motor home trips. It is just past the gas station, before you get to Creston, overlooking the valley. 
We had time to kill and drove some dirt roads through the plain. In geological terms this place just stopped being a lake yesterday. It is as flat as Holland, but surrounded by mountains.

 This part of the valley is vital to locavores: it is the only major grain producing area in the Kootenays. 

We lucked onto a nice cheap motel at the edge of downtown. Dinner was a Chinese smorg a block away. Even mediocre Chinese is redeemed by a choice of crisp vegetable dishes. 
To top the day, we had noticed a movie theater featuring "Gravity". We had no idea what it was about, but the kids had been making a fuss of it, so in we went. It was worth it for the many views of Earth from space, so different on a big screen! All in all a good day.

The plan from here was a loop East to Cranbrook, then on to Radium Hot Springs, North to Golden and back home. Not an epic journey, just a brief getaway. We pass the turnoff to Radium so often on our trips to Calgary. It is a beautiful wide valley and we had not traveled it for years.
We expected the day to start in low cloud or fog, and so it was.

 We also expected to see clearing as we approached Cranbrook, and so it was. See the cloud against the mountain in the background.
We had not counted on returning low cloud. Boring!

 The Moyie river, cause of the fog, was barely visible at times.

I lost track of when we finally emerged into sunshine, but never mind that. Chris had noticed an interesting side road between Skookumchuk and Canal Flats. You just have to love those names. Driving this road, to White Swan provincial park, was the highlight of the outing. We climbed up into a world of blue sky, golden trees and wide mountain views.

The trees were peaking, that stage where you expect to see them glow in the dark.

 One more for good measure. It was glorious! Most of the road is a well maintained gravel road. 

The main map makes no mention of it, but the special map on geological features showed Lusier Hot Springs. It consists of a series of shallow natural rock pools right next to the river.  Access is free. There is a parking place and an easy walkway down to it, but no change facilities.To our surprise it was quite busy!

We had brought our hot springs gear down, but chickened out at the prospect of the cold, barefoot trip over the rocks into the pools.  On to civilized Fairmont we went, after a quick peek at the campground by Alces lake.

We are picky about hot springs. Fairmont has one large pool that was too cold when we first came in. I thought it was meant for swimming, like the large pool at the lower level of Halcyon Hot Springs that is only open in summer. It is on the left below. It warmed up later. The pool on the right had a nice temperature for soaking, a bit warmer than the large pool in Nakusp. It was shallow, like our hot one that I never go into. I felt like,"where's the water?"

Later the larger pool warmed up, it turned out to be the main pool. The shallow one was what passed for hot locally. 

I am not dissing this resort, it has beautiful grounds and great views.

But I still like the temperatures in our own Nakusp Hot Springs best of all.

A few km up the mountain is Fairmont Lodge and ski resort.

 The lodge looks like a pleasant intimate place to stay. 

We were hoping for views of the Columbia valley on the way down, but they were both rare and too hazy. This one was near the ski resort.

This one was on the way down from Fairmont Hot Springs. 

That's our own Columbia down there, here interspersed with smallish lakes and swamps.

We spent the night in the Best Western hotel in Invermere, with beer and home-made pizza in the bar. A decent hot breakfast in a pleasant coffee shop was included the next day.

We had expected low cloud the next morning, but not this much for this long. 

We had been looking forward to the stretch from Radium to Golden, but it was a total foggy loss. Next, a chilly stroll through downtown Golden. It will be a nice place to visit on future breaks on the way to or from Calgary, so much better than that horrid fast-food strip along the highway.

Above, path and foot bridge over the Kicking Horse river. Below, mural at the aboriginal cultural center.

After lunch it was still foggy, disgusting. It must have been close to an hour past Golden before we finally broke into blue sky and the usual mountain splendor. 

It didn't last long. Well before the descent into Revelstoke we saw the first sign of impending gloom creeping towards us.

The road took us underneath it and that was it. Goodbye sun, goodbye sky, only the weather gods know when we will be allowed a glimpse again.

Above: Almost home, the road South of the ferry.

It has been like this for days. We are either inside the valley cloud or just below it. I am getting cranky. Honest rain is one thing, stagnant spoiled good weather always makes me feel cheated. I used to think I might eventually leave Nakusp for this reason alone, but the place is too much home now. Maybe I should investigate a SAD lamp. 

A Marxist morning

It is a Marxist morning.
No, I am not about to storm a mansion or give away my own beloved acreage.
I am merely trying to live up to an ideal stated by good old Karl. It holds such common sense that many USA citizens believe it to be part of their constitution.

"To each according to her needs, from each according to her ability."

Since my old age is funded entirely by the public purse, I feel obliged to make such contributions as I can. I lack the martyr gene, so this happens within the boundaries of a pleasant relaxed life.  
Any community has people who need more care than 'the system' can provide. Quite frankly, my own appetite for direct care giving is limited to two afternoons a week. I like being home.
But without stress I can offer some heroic care givers free reflexology and/or Reiki sessions. One of each coming up this morning. It just might be sunny this afternoon, and we will be free to play in the gardens.
Tomorrow, some volunteering in the afternoon and a paying client in the evening.

It is a good balanced life. 

A tribute to my brother, on his birthday.

My oldest brother had a birthday today. It is a Sunday, and over there it was a beautiful blue day, just like it was the day he was born. We have another brother and had a sister, but they were 8 years younger. Jaap, three years my junior, was the companion of my childhood, the one with who I share both the most memories and a gentle sibling rivalry. I always resented it when a fuss was made over him being a Sunday child, as if the accident of birth was a merit.

By the way, the haircut illustrates nicely why I get a light perm every few months. But, as I say so often, that is another topic. One of these days I have to do a blog on hair. 

Jacobus Johan van der Hout was named after his paternal grandfather. He weighed in at over 9 pounds, and was by all accounts a happy baby who did not cry much but made contented noises in his pretty cradle. More sibling rivalry: the smug mention of this always irked his older sister who was reported to have screamed a lot. Easy for him, born in peace time to a mother who was not a nervous war time wreck! Three weeks after my birth the house we lived in had been confiscated for billeting German soldiers. 

I started writing about our common childhood, but it was too much about me, not Jaap. We'll keep those memories for another time. 

Jaap had much more intitiative than I did. As a little boy, around age 6,  he and a buddy used to ignore parental warnings and play on a wharf in the Westland gracht, a canal a few blocks away from home. The city ended there in those days. This picture came from the Facebook page Nostalgisch Amsterdam.

These expeditions might take place on Sunday morning while he was supposed to be at Sunday school. Smart boy. The pull of the water turned into a life-long love affair with boats. These days Drascombe longboat "Danser" is moored across from the house. Below, Danser in the canal on the way to open water and being enjoyed by a visiting friend.

How little does success in school predict success later in life! Jaap was a dreamer who struggled a bit. To make things worse we had the same teachers, who made remarks about him not being as smart as his big sister. Great psychology, teachers. I had been 'good in school', thanks to the way school back then was structured. I loved learning and had a good memory. Take in and regurgitate, easy peasy and no measure for the ability to make one's way in the world. 

When it came time to pick post-elementary schools Jaap was sent to the easiest possible academic type, where he failed. The best part of this school was the location: close to Amsterdam's famous Stedelijk Museum, a Mecca of modern art. He used to visit it during his lunch hour. The doormen knew him as a frequent visitor. How many 12 year old boys do we know doing that? 

Next stop: vocational school, where he was completely out of place among the rough boys destined for life in a factory or work place. Salvation came from a math teacher who took him under his wing. Jaap went from one technical type school to the next, and ended up first as a draftsman, then as a professional architect and city planner. Not bad for a kid who had trouble learning!

Jaap's work is characterized by a brilliant talent for playfully harmonizing the new and modern with the old and traditional, always with an eye on creating livable space for people. 

Above, part of a project in Zaandam. This city head-hunted him to help revitalize the downtown core. 

On July 7 1972 Jaap married the love of his life, Marielle Beck. They celebrated 4o last year with a smashing party.

They are a fantastic couple. Marielle is the oldest of a tight-knit clan that ended up in the same town. They remained childless, but as godparents, aunt/uncle and honorary grandparents they have enriched the lives of many children and continue to do so. 

They are also the loving rock whenever anyone in the extended family needs care.

The year 2012 was supposed to be the start of retirement bliss. Instead they looked after one sister who was dying of lung cancer, while one on the other side was being treated with a bone marrow transplant. Ever creative, the couple transformed themselves into the CliniClowns for visits to Marielle's sister.

Not only did my kid brother become a successful professional and all-around good human being, he is also a gourmet cook, an active member of community organizations, and plays around in the arts. 

And did I mention that they have friends all over the world, thanks to the years they were part of  folk dance group Het Duivelspaard, and are amazing hosts? 

Bro, it is an honour to be your sister. Good luck and godspeed in your 68th turn around the sun.

Pictures for this blog were partly pilfered from Jaap's FB page.