Health By Illness?

In the past couple of weeks, Canadian processed meats and cheeses have been found to contain harmful bacteria--listeria in the meat (shipped from Ontario across the country) and salmonella in the Quebec cheese.

These outbreaks are no run-of-the-mill food poisoning; people have died. The list of affected products continues to grow. More people are paying ever-closer attention, in spite of some "food scare fatigue" following the outbreak in vegetables (jalapenos, as it turned out, not the tomatoes) earlier this summer.

I find it difficult to believe that I have not yet mentioned poutine in this blog, but that is apparently the case. Take a plate of french fries, cover it in beef gravy and cheese curds, et voila! Poutine, AKA heart attack on a plate.

Poutine is considered by some to be an important national food (read how it came to be, and how Bush came to imagine Jean Poutine to be the Canadian Prime Minister, here). Others prefer to give the spotlight to Nanaimo bars (for a photo, look here. You're on your own for recipes, but beware those with anything other than custard as the yummy creamy filling). Still others hold up the Caesar (a Bloody Mary made with Clamato) or the Persian (again, another confection; it's an overly heavy cinnamon bun with pink frosting), which is actually unique to Thunder Bay.

Is this a healthy country? Not so much, though it's no worse than the U.S. or some European countries. And if people stop loading everything with cheese and choose something other than processed meats to put into their bodies...well, it might be a bad time for Quebec poutine, but the healthcare system might appreciate a healthier population.

But it's worrisome. Continue with your regularly scheduled political festivals; we've got other stuff to think about up here.

Power Envy

Election, schmelection.

No, I'm not talking about the one South of 49. We've known this day was coming for what, 200 years? Some people (*cough* Hillary *cough*) have been preparing for it for more than 50 of those years, and more power to her. Others are Johnny-(*cough* Edwards *cough*)-Come-Latelies, and I will resist making several obvious snide remarks. (Setting aside the truly hurtful parts of the situation, and they are legion and the hurt goes deep, can I just ask this: was he not paying attention during the whole Gary Hart/Donna Rice thing?)

No, Prime Minister Harper is trying to whip up some election fever on this side of the border. People of the non-journalistic variety up here seem to be more interested in the positive energy surrounding the Democratic National Convention than in seriously considering elections up here, and Harper isn't having any of it. So he's rattling sabres by ordering around the Governor General--this week he kept her from attending the Paralympics in Beijing on the pretext that she might need to dissolve the government and call an election.

Andrew Coyne, a Macleans politico, in his column this week reminds us all that the Governor General has a some discretion when the Prime Minister says the government is dysfunctional.

My theory about the reason for the sabre-rattling is that Harper knows people here are interested in the U.S. Presidential election and he wants some of that attention. But that's my knee-jerk response to his public persona. The man just rubs me the wrong way.

My husband's theory, which is based in something resembling fact and includes actual information, is that his advisors have said that the economy is going for a poop and in another year, Harper might lose an election.

And I say that losing an election now or a year from now might not be the worst thing for Harper. The campaign to permanently label the opposition leader, Stephane Dion, a buffoon has succeeded beyond anyone's wildest expectations. It's unlikely that Dion as Prime Minister would be able to weather a roller-coaster economy and ongoing casualties in Afghanistan--not so much because he would handle them worse than Harper has, but because nobody would support whatever it was he wanted to do because "everybody knows" he's a buffoon.

Thus, the government would fall quickly and there would be another election, and Harper might just get his majority government, which would be scary. Sort of like a President who doesn't know how to handle natural disasters because none of his friends "believe in" science.

In any case, regardless of Harper's reasons, and regardless of the outcome of an election on either side of the border this fall, leaders in this hemisphere had better be steady, principled, and smart in the coming years. They have full plates, both at home and abroad.

So let's all remember that elections don't signal the end of our responsibility. The people we elect will be acting on our behalf, and we need to hold them accountable for their actions. That's where I hope, and believe, true CHANGE CAN occur. Yes, it CAN, because yes WE CAN.

Last Year at This Time

...there was a wedding. There were devilled eggs and Nanaimo bars, red roses and baby's breath, and families. Happiness.

This year, we celebrated the first anniversaries of all of those. Especially the happiness one.

Stay-cation

I'm not much for trendy bizspeak, but I happen to like this one.

A stay-cation, for those out of the know, is when you stay at home for your vacation. In some ways, my entire life these days is a stay-cation because I live where I used to go for holidays (and serenity, and sanity, and sanctuary). However, I also work while living here. So living here really is different from coming here on vacation.

Now that the bulk of the WORK-work for the summer is finished, it's time for me to have a holiday (to find serenity and sanity in my sanctuary).

I had a bit of a break when my brother and his family were here for a week. Yet the roof wasn't solid, and the grass grew up around the house, and various other projects needed to be done while the weather was fine.

This time, while my sister is here, I'm trying to make it more of an actual holiday. I may be here, as in online; I may not. I will likely check email--likely discover that nobody has really noticed I'm not online much.

But that's where I am. Sitting on the rock/sand beach with a girl drink in my hand. Avoiding work gloves, yellow rubber gloves, bleach, and Mr. Clean. Ignoring the shop-vac and the lawnmower, the loppers and the chainsaw, and my ear protection (fashionably studded with shoe stickers). Noticing the rowboat and canoe and what my mother used to call "life preservers," aka Personal Flotation Devices.

Wish me luck. Knowing me, I'll be up piddling around on projects within a half hour. But a stay-cation: it's a good goal.

Leak-Free At Last, Leak-Free At Last!!

I could also call this "A man, a plan, a credit card, a few trips to Home Depot, a bunch of sweat, a roof."

But truly, I am rejoicing to the point that "hallelujah" blots out all else.

Saving the 80-year-old structure my grandfather built has been wearing on my psyche since I first really understood that the structure was vulnerable. So, somewhere between ten and fifteen years.

During the first five years, I had to learn to take responsibility. I'm still working on it, but I made huge strides during those years. For one thing, I learned to ask hard questions about legal and financial matters (though baby steps, as it turned out). And like that there.

During the middle five years, I had to learn how to do things. Those years were the hardest--actually into the sixth and seventh years, I still despaired. Any project I undertook to make the place feel less forlorn--painting inside or outside, clearing mouse habitations from various places (ick), spraying against ants eating through the roof--were ultimately undone by the leaking roof.

But before anything could be done about the roof--which actually was replaced maybe ten or twelve years ago, but not properly--we had to figure out how to resolve issues with the building's foundations. Thanks to the weight of a piano over the course of fifty years, the entire back section was sinking into the ground. The front sleeping porch was sliding off to the right, and the bathroom was falling off to the left.

However, the world is a different place today. Since the summer of 2004, I have known that eventually this day would come. We have addressed the issues of the foundation (and when I say "we," I mean Roy). The roof is on (also Roy) and new flooring (ditto) is nearly ready to accept the piano, I hope for 50 more years. Now the tasks I undertake, like painting flooring, aren't equivalent to rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic.

Yes, there was more responsibility-taking along the way. Yes, there has been more learning how to do things. But the biggest thing I've learned is that it is possible to find solutions to issues. As a wise woman used to tell me, you always have choices; you may not always like them, but you always have them.

But possibly the biggest lesson I've learned is the true meaning of "labo(u)r of love." And what a gift THAT has been.

Some Other Day--Like Today

You know how it goes: rain rain, go away, come again some other day. It could come today. Really, it could.

Rain has been the theme for this summer.

Early on, rain prevented us from working on the roof at the little camp.

Then it stopped raining and we tore off the roof.

Once the roof was off, it rained some more and we hoped and tarped everything inside and hoped some more.

Then it stopped raining again, and Roy put up the layer of plywood and tarpaper, and that stopped most of the leaks. Warm weather + damp house + suddenly mostly waterproof house = mildew, so that's made cleaning up a bit of a chore. But hey, at least it had become mostly waterproof and cleaning up was no longer synonymous with deck chairs/Titanic.

As of Monday, Roy thinks he's done with the rolled roofing. In other words, he thinks he's done. But now he wants the rain to come, just so he can check.

And of course, rain (plus snow) is what makes the whole project necessary in the first place. As the Arkansas Traveler might have said, when it ain't raining, the roof is as fine as any man's. However, given rain, a new roof was necessary.

In any case, that's why this summer has been all about waiting on the rain.

So come on, rain. And none of that little spitty stuff, either. Give us your best shot. Give us a downpour. Let us sit inside, listening to the patter of rain on the roof instead of the dripping symphony of rain hitting countertops and floor.

Sunrise! Yikes!!

This morning, I woke up early. Either a mosquito was buzzing around in the bedroom, or I have been hearing mosquitoes buzzing around so much that I hear them even when they're not there. Regardless, dawn was approaching, it was just after 6, and I was awake. So I got up.

I noticed that the sun wasn't up yet. Downstairs, I put on coffee, got Roy's camera, and went out onto the deck to watch and take pictures of the sunrise. About 6:40, I let the spruce partially obscure the direct sun and took some pictures. I haven't downloaded them yet.

Once the coffee kicked in, I was surprised. Sunrise at 6:40, though earlier than the 7:30 sunrise I was happy about in May, and far earlier than the 8:40 sunrise of early November, is later than waking at 4 to golden (though still pre-dawn) skies, as I did in mid-June.

Time is passing. (I know. Stop the presses.) Sometimes I think life was easier when I really thought seasons changed all at once, even though as a kid I found those dates on the calendar confusing. "Autumn" in Oklahoma gets rolling in November; spring sometimes pushes up crocus in January or February (and frostbites it in April). Although I've tried to become more aware of the exterior world in which I live, it seems physically impossible for human beings (at least this one) to perceive daily incremental changes in seasons.

So perhaps mornings like this one function like birthdays or other milestone days. Maybe their job is to call attention to something and let me be aware. I appreciate the opportunity to be mindful of time's passage. But it does engender a "yikes!" or two, and I don't dread winter's approach, truly.

It's just that--well, that time is passing. Perhaps it's happiness that, in part, causes my mixed feelings about that. After all, when the present is so fabulous, it's hard not to cling to it, even though the future promises to be fabulous as well.

Incon-ceeeeevable

For a long time--more than forty years, to be more precise yet still coy--I knew this place only in the summer. I had seen a few pictures of northwestern Ontario in the winter, but basically, winter here was an intellectual construct. It was something I knew existed, but it was not real to me.

Sort of like firing a weapon in self-defense. Opening a retail store and selling things to customers who want them. Winning the lottery.

Here we are at the beginning of August, the time when my family traditionally showed up for our three weeks of camp life. It's this time of year, the explosion of summer at its most full, that is "normal" to me. And other times of year now seem, as the subject line suggests, inconceivable.

Yet the rest of the seasons, and the transition times, have been fully real in the years that I have lived them. They were real at the time, but seem less so now. How does that work? Looking at yesterday's picture of snow, paging through my stored photos of the other seasons--even pictures of May and June this year or previous years I've been here--I see scenes that I recognize. If I try hard enough, I can remember things about them.

But, even though I lived them, those seasons don't exist for me in the same way that this place, today, does.

These are the days when you know why "growing like a weed" is so true that it became cliche. When new growth on the trees stops and all the greens deepen from lime and celery to forest (and there's a reason they call it "forest" green) and mallard. When ducklings and goslings become harder and harder to distinguish from their parents.

Other seasons feel different. I do remember telling my husband, back in February or March, that summer was inconceivable. Wrapping in layer upon layer to go outside, choosing which mittens I needed, wishing for more pairs of wool socks--those activities were "normal." It seemed impossible that I would soon (in the grand scheme of things, "a few months" is equivalent to "soon") sit in a tank top and shorts in a rowboat.

But, probably because of those forty-odd years, summer remains more essentially real than winter, even though it's shorter. Like the academic calendar I use to organize my internal "new year," it's imprinted at a deep level.

I have spent a lot of my so-called adulthood considering aspects of my upbringing. Some I save; some I discard with relief.

I wonder if my internal sense of this place will eventually change its default setting, so that winter is the "normal" season and summer is the glorious aberration. If it does, it will happen at a level beyond my control. I don't think I can create a process analogous to "overcoming my upbringing."

I don't necessarily want to try--but I do want to pay attention. Because this setting, these few weeks, are a glorious time. And if they lose their default status, I'd like to say goodbye.

A Very Civil Weekend

Just for contrast's sake, here's what we saw a few months ago...

This weekend--Monday, to be exact--is a holiday. For no apparent reason, even, except that in August, it's nice to have a three-day weekend. This holiday is cleverly called Civic Holiday. All public servants, and everybody else, gets a day off. Some grocery stores even close (though not the local fruit-market-and-butcher-shop, which closes only on Christmas Day).

Because of the Civic Holiday, Canadians get a long weekend each month in the warmer time of the year: one at the end of May, one around July 1, one the first weekend in August, and then Labour Day.

In the U.S., people tend to disappear for long stretches of time in the summer, often without much warning and certainly without much rhyme or reason: "It's mid-July and I can. not. stand. another. day. at. work. Grand Canyon, here I come!"

What a civilized place this is. Even in a summer that's very strange--wet and skeetery and threatening clouds; 5 a.m. thunderstorms. Orange-gold slanting sunsets. Clear green grass that grows with crazed exuberance. All in the same day.

The summer liturgy continues. Family has come and gone; family is yet to come. Family is eternal. Ahh, the blessings.