Canada Day

While I am not widely travelled I have seen enough of the world to say that I am happy I live in Canada.  Canada gives us freedoms few other countries have along with opportunity and the varied beauty of a vast land.  We live in a land with diversity of people who live amicably with each other.   We live in great safety and security.  On this day of celebration I just want to say that I am glad to be a Canadian living in a country at peace.  It’s a beautiful summer day and I am blessed.

Pain and Strength

For the last 9 months I have been suffering terribly with a knee injury without much relief.  I experience twinges and outright pain in other joints as a consequence and oftentimes it is agonizing.  I do not handle it all that well when I compare myself to my valiant 80 year old mother.  While I may not be crying or moaning I find myself wondering at the level of pain my mother has been suffering with her rheumatoid arthritis for the past 20 years.  Here is an example of fortitude that is hard to imitate let alone match.  It is seldom, I could almost say never, that I hear Mom even say she is in pain.  She quietly goes about her tasks, her knitting and sometimes I will see her take an aspirin for the pain but never does she say “oiy, oiy, oiy, I have a pain”. 

Yesterday I wrote about character, I wrote about life lessons and how I had learned a lot about living a life within one’s means.  Today I simply want to attest to the fine character of my mother as she tolerates unbelievable pain on a daily basis with a grace and dignity that is truly commendable.  When she quietly asks if I can help her open up a new jar of jam, or wrestle with the milk container I take it from her and chide her “you are getting to be very high maintenance, Mom” and she grins and says “I know”.  Her sense of humour is unimpaired as is her sense of the ridiculous.  We go together down to the Palais Poulet to usher the girls into it for the night and chuckle at their antics.  She admonishes herself as she spills some coffee while carrying it to one or other of her children and says “I’ll never be a waitress” and we tell her that’s what she’s been for the last 60 years when she's catered to a husband and 6 children.

This may not be Mother’s Day but I feel moved to write that I have the most admirable mother in the world and maybe someday I can be like her.

Expectations and Disappointments

Life is filled with joys and sorrows, achievement and mistakes, expectations and disappointments all of which is not surprising to anyone of maturity.  How an individual handles life is an indication of character and character, where does it come from?  One can look inside a large family and find a variety of personalities which have some points in common and yet are amazingly different.

Life lessons come both from personal experience but also from learning about other people’s lives.  This learning may come from reading but also from listening to their stories.  The disadvantage of most people is twofold, they are poor listeners and few seldom pick up a book after they’ve left school. I find it both fascinating and frightfully appalling to observe people in public as they are either bobbing their heads to music that is blasting in their earplugs or they are obsessively staring at their cellphone.  Unfortunately they are either texting or they are playing games on these contraptions as very few are actually reading a book.

So when things take a turn for the worse most people are caught completely off guard and then they wonder what they should do.  As financial advisers will tell you, most people live paycheque to paycheque even though it has been recommended for decades that one should have three to six months salary in savings for eventualities.  But advertisers are more appealing that financial advisers (apparently) as people have bought into the idea of “live now, pay later” philosophy that is blasted at us in all sorts of ways.  So when people have high expectations they better be prepared for huge disappointments when things go askew yet they seldom are. 

Reading a historical novel that demonstrates humanity’s folly while at the same time living with what is popularly called “uncertainty” I have the opportunity to observe how people are handling this situation.  Some with grace, some with wisdom but many with a hand wringing that is quite surprising and stressful to observe.  I’m grateful every day that my parents gave us life lessons, that I read vociferously and that I was born with phlegm.             

Censoring Myself

I don’t like censoring myself but sometimes the better part of valour is to do just that.  There are a number of hot topics in the news right now but while I would dearly love to hop on the bandwagon and spout my beliefs I feel I am wiser to refrain.

Now you might ask “okay, where’s Sanne, what have you done with her?” but it really is me making this statement.

Why, you may ask?

The reason is that sometimes, I am sure, we all get sick of having others preach what is right, what is wrong, what should be done, what needs to be undone, and so on.  Opinions, we are all entitled to those, but not everyone ought to shoot off at the mouth on questions simply because the question du jour puts them in the spotlight.  I dislike American movie stars coming up to Canada telling us what we are doing wrong with our country.  Personally, I dislike anyone telling me what I am doing wrong but nationally I also take exception to strangers talking about our business if they aren’t specifically in that business.  I’m pretty sure that the folks over in the Middle East dislike westerners getting in their business; in fact, isn’t that one of the big reasons why we have all the turmoil in this world today?

So yes, today I am censoring myself because there are enough opinions flying around in the media to suffice on the topic of the day.

Instead, let’s talk about the weather.  Vanilla anyone?

A Leap of Faith

I had an interesting discussion with a friend today on the extremes of artistic endeavour on the one end and absolute conviction on the other side.  One may be perceived as selfish while the other is selfless but at the same time there is also an up and down side to either pursuit.  Specifically, if an artist pursues their passion to the exclusion of all else, their lives as well as others, is that admirable?  If someone has a deep seated conviction on righting the wrongs of the world, is that admirable in and of itself? 

To my mind in a normal, common sense world, there must be balance in all things.  Is it necessary for a genius to follow their muse to the exclusion of everyone and everything but their art?  If we take some examples we seem to see a sort of selfishness in their pursuit, people like Van Gogh, Michelangelo, Strauss.  Yet we also find people like the Curies, pursuing science even to the point of death.  For some who end up pursuing a cause, is it because of their strong belief in the righteousness, rightness of their cause or have they come to it by default?  For example, Terry Fox, running for a cure for cancer; Dr. Morgentaler taking up the cause of the right to abortion or Abraham obeying God to the brink of killing Isaac.

The purpose of the analysis was to define whether extremes brought one closest to the brink of romantic genius.

Perhaps a good example is to look at the work of the three Bronte sisters.  Anne went out into the world for the longest period of time and critics generally agree that her work shows the least signs of genius.  Emily, on the other hand, was very much a recluse and both her novel and poetry are considered genius.  In the middle we have Charlotte, who produced the largest volume of work most of which was done in relative seclusion.  After her marriage she did not produce anything of note.  Can one say that Emily was the most selfish of the three in the fact that she was incapable of facing the outside world, was incapable of finding work and instead retreated into her fantasy world thereby creating one of the greatest novels of all time?

We struggled with the question of extremes and where it could take one, from a romantic perspective.  Abstract thinking at its best.

Sunshine, Summertime and Solace

June is my favorite time of year and not just because it’s my birthday, or that school ends and I can get a seat on the bus again.  June in Southern Alberta is when summer really begins.  This is when a person can go into a garden centre and forget everything by getting lost in the scents and sights of plants and trees.  Generally when I go shopping I like it to be an in-and-out procedure but I have yet to make a mad dash for the door when I enter a garden centre.

This year I purchased water plants for the first time and I must admit that I have no idea what I am doing.  I anxiously ran out early this morning to see if they survived the chill of last night but they looked fine, although huddled together at one end of the pond.  It will take some time to see them spread out and the big question is do they overwinter?  The answer is yes, but with extreme care and attention to what each variety likes.

Summertime has as many challenges as winter but somehow I seem to be able to cope with them with a lot more poise and sangfroid.  Wet bottom from sitting on the lawn tractor, no problem just change pants three times a day; mosquito bites, no worries, dab a little nail polish remover on the bite; heat stroke, no worries, crawl on hands and knees to kitchen, drink some water, splash more on face and arms and then lie in bed until the sensation of a world spinning recedes.  Explain to colleagues that you are a gardener and “please ignore all dirt under nails, they will be clean again in September”.  The difference between a sun worshipper and a gardener is that the gardener’s tan is uneven.  We may be tanned from hands up to mid arm, deep v at neck, ankles brown but knees white.  But we are as blissful in the sun as the worshipper but way more productive (we fondly believe).

A gardener can barely sit still long enough to drink her coffee or tea before she spots at least 10 different areas in the garden that need her Immediate, I repeat, Immediate attention.  If only she were a clone!  This is when she eyes her Henriettas with an impatient air, wondering when they will be old enough to come beyond the pen and start on dandelion patrol.  At the end of a long summer day the gardener can sit still long enough to admire a spot of colour somewhere in the jungle of green sprouting everywhere, give a sigh of satisfaction and say, “after all, tomorrow is another day”.

Cats and chickens

Naturally no story of Henrietta’s return would be completely without getting the other side of the story.

Sanne:  So Thumper and Cherie, how do you like the big birds?

Thumper:  Snort.  (Runs under the bed)

Cherie:  What have you done to us now?  (Huge pansy eyes stare at me reproachfully)

Now I am used to telling my critters what’s up.  When I prepare for vacation I pull out my suitcases and let them sniff around and even lie in them so they are part of the process.  When Uncle Erik comes to live with us I prepare them in advance.  True, when Granny arrived they were no more prepared than I was but they forgave me.  Now they have been humanized and not only share their favours with Granny and I but they even deign to accept Uncle John into the house.  They have told me that Aunt Charlotte is crossing the line when she brings Dexter and they reserve judgment on little grand nephews but over all they have been accepting of most of the things that I do in their house.

Oh yes, any owner of cats knows that I am merely lodging with Them.  Now for my defense, I have been telling them for 6 weeks now that the “big birds” were coming.  I’ve carried them over to the Chicken Palace to sniff around and get an idea that “something was up”.  Okay, so we have backed the Palais Poulet directly up against their Hunting Lodge but, really, logistics must prevail.  They don’t accept that logic.  I explained that the chicken pen was there first, well before the Hunting Lodge was ever thought of.  They will have none of it.  The Henriettas are on their turf, so what am I going to do about it?

Well, darlings, nothing.  Cherie looks at me again with those huge hazel eyes and I see disbelief, reproof, consternation.  Are we going to have a divorce over this? 

Henrietta Comes Home

The chicken palace is now ready for the hens and I am anxiously awaiting their arrival from daycare.  They are now 6 weeks old and ready to come home to Mama.  I am worrying about them being stuffed into card board boxes and being driven 30 miles to their new abode.  Will they suffocate?  Will they fight with each other and peck each other’s eyes out?  Can we get them into the house without their escaping?

Last night I made John double check and screw in more screws along the footboards while I told him fervently that there WERE weasels in the neighbourhood.  It’s my long held belief that weasels can get into the tiniest crack and I still have the scene in my head when I came home to find my poor hens lying helter skelter across the backyard, flat as pancakes.  There’s a legend in these parts about vampire sucking weasels and perhaps I did have a little bit to do with that story.  The truth is quite simple, I had long been familiar with dead chickens as caused by the ravages of neighbouring dogs.  Those scenes involved chickens lying with their feet up in the air, or the butts turned up, necks askew, and feathers flying everywhere.

The summer morning when I returned from work to discover chickens lying like deflated rubber ducks, much as one sees in a cartoon was a shock I shall not soon forget.  There were 3 or 4 of them lying in the grass and there was no sign that a dog had been around.  The rest of the chickens were in the henhouse and looked as though they had experienced a severe shock themselves.  I wish I could say that there were little droplets of blood along their neck but truth must enter in . . . there was nothing to indicate what had caused the poor chicks deaths.

It was a car salesman who came up with the story of the vampire sucking weasel and I just went with it.  What can I say, it was a good story and being a car salesman, he sold me.   J

Hooting Owls and CaaCaaing Crows

Retiring Baby Boomers have taken up bird watching in a big way.  This I have been told.  While usually I like to buck the trend this is one hobby I seem to be developing rapidly and it is with a real thrill that I can tell you I now know that I have a supsucker woodpecker in my yard.  All these years I have been shaking in my boots, afraid that I was going to get punished to the fullest extent of the law because I thought I had a pine tree with that horrid pest, the pine beetle.  I had that tree from a mere little sucker twig and now it waves bravely well above my roof line and I was terrified that I had somehow gotten the disease.  What a relief to discover that the signs on the tree are evidence of a supsucker; while not good it is not going to kill the tree and better yet, it won’t destroy other trees.

The other day I was startled while brushing my teeth in seeing a huge goose in  my mirror.  Looking outdoors i discovered that I currently have a nesting pair in my yard, thanks to my fishpond and Mom putting lots of delectable waste in the compost pile.  They were enjoying the leftover corn on the cob that morning.  Now I just have to worry about them biting my butt when they get territorial.  I can picture Mom and I running towards the house with our hands protecting those ample rear ends.  What a way to get a workout.

I have a wide range of birds around my place, magpies, crows, woodpeckers, sparrows, swallows, brown thrasher, flickers, pheasants, partridge, geese, ducks, owls, hawks, finches of various kinds, yellow headed blackbird, grackles, and the ever present robin.  Last year we were thrilled to see a hummingbird in our bougainvillea vine and I understand from my sister and Mom that it returned this spring.  What I have yet to see is a blue bird.  A winter project for my brother will be to build me some blue bird houses that we can set up along our fence line next spring. 

Appreciating nature by sharing it with birds is priceless.  Waking up to bird song is one of my favorite summer pleasures. 

My cup runneth over.

Tempo

Someone once told me that time is man-made but I think it depends on how you define time. 

My 61^st birthday is rapidly approaching yet I find myself still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I am a sexagenarian!  It sounds so venerable and occasionally I find myself trying to conduct myself as though I am worthy of that dignity.  But my sense of humour, my youthfulness cracks through every time and never more so than when I am that lamentable beast, the C-train.  I am not sure that my colleagues actually get my humour when I tell them that I often feel like a psychopath on that train so if I ever did go berserk I’ve laid the foundation for an insanity plea without much effort.

In truth I already learned in my 50’s that age has no meaning if you don’t give it any.  Entering into my 50’s I felt completely at peace with myself, I was content with who I was, where I was and where I saw myself going.  That is why I feel a little disconcerted about how I feel as a 60 year old.  I suppose in the deep recesses of my mind I must have felt that 60 was old, it even sounds like an old number.  But I echo the words of Lauren Bacall’s character “but inside, I still feel young” and in the end, isn’t that all that matters?

Perhaps, if it wasn’t for the fact that we must interact with others and this is where it gets a little scary.  Because, I must confess to some arrogance, because yes, I feel Entitled.  I feel entitled to respect.  When a person reaches the age of 60 I believe that respect is in order.  I admit it, I feel almost as though it is a God given Right.  Oh dear, is this what growing old means – entitlement?

Lest ye don’t understand, tongue is firmly in cheek. 

Evolution - Weird and Wonderful

Did you know that chicks can survive without a mother hen?  They can pop out of their eggshell and begin to drink and feed within the day.  In four days they begin to sprout their wing feathers which become full wings in less than 2 weeks.  By that time they are also sprouting their tail feathers and feather begin to emerge on their backs.  The miracle of life is truly amazing when watching the rapid growth of a bird.  Pups, kittens, calves and fouls are much slower to get into their growth and their evolution is not as dramatic as that of a chicken to a hen.  Changing from yellow fuzz to feathers is so dramatic, visually altering the appearance of the bird.

The nature of an animal, however, is similar from birth to death.  They grow, they eat, they hunt or peck and basically they act like a chicken, a cat, dog or horse.  Despite our belief in human superiority man also does not alter much from birth to death, from century to century.  Some are workers, some are leaders, some are generous and some are cruel.  Through all our learning, discovery and inventions we humans have still not learned how to change the rise and fall of nations.  We haven’t learned how to get along with differences; we still attack the painted bird.

Why is that?

Inundated, Overpowered and Annoyed

Do you ever review your personal email account and feel inundated, overpowered and finally just plain annoyed?  I sometimes wonder how on earth I ended up getting on mailing lists.  It’s bad enough to have nightly soliciting phone calls and junk mail in the regular mail but when you start being invaded electronically it just becomes too much.  I’ve been watching the program “Person of Interest” regularly and if we aren’t already in the throes of electronic surveillance I think we are at least on the cusp.

I recently took a training course at work that showed me how to manage my inbox at work, moving items into tasks and it has helped a lot, but somehow I find the idea of having to “task” myself at home just plain wrong.  I don’t want my home life to turn into another job, at least not when it is tedious.

Most of the time I feel as though I am up to the challenge in learning new things but lately I feel that the electronic age is starting to overpower me rather than helping me make life easier.  As my late boss used to say “it’s become a case of the tail wagging the dog”.

Driving in to work this morning the news told me that while it’s time to get the taxes in it’s also a time to watch for scam artists trying to obtain your personal information.  My goodness, isn’t it dreadful that every where you turn you have to be vigilant because there’s some electronic bandit out to get you?  I don’t want to sound old but do you remember the good old days where you just had to be afraid of a purse snatcher if you were in a parking lot one dark night? The solution – don’t be in a parking lot on a dark night!  Now the solution seems to be “don’t enter the 21^st century except at your own peril”. 

Paranoia and irritation certainly does take the fun out of innovation.