Some Things Are Just Bad

And I don't want to write about them today.

But before I don't write about them, I have to say that governments in both the U.S. and Canada are on double-secret probation, as of this moment. Cut out the monkeying around with other people's jobs and livelihoods and make sure you're doing your own job. I just deleted examples because I really really don't want to write about them, but they're happening in the state of isconsin-Way, and all over the newly christened arper-government-Hay, the one that used to be Canada.

Pop culture is also full of dreadful things. I will refrain from making the obvious connections between Gadaffi and Lady Gaga. (You thought I was going to name a bad-boy actor, didn't you?) Because the imperiled fashion-impaired dictator is nothing to laugh about.

I also don't want to write about a former governor (male) who might or might not be taking potshots at another former governor (female) by forgetting the lessons of Dan Quayle and Murphy Brown to talk about a pregnant unmarried actor (female) whose uterus is NONE OF HIS BUSINESS, by the way, SHEESH.

See how good I am at not writing about those bad things?

But not writing about bad things leaves me staring out the window for something to say.

Thank goodness for wildlife. The ravens have started nesting on the cliff. I have no idea where they're finding nest materials, since the dead stuff is under a couple of feet of white stuff, but they are.

Spring must be coming.

And that's very good.

Unexpected

To truly appreciate a holiday like Christmas, it's important to remain open and alert to the possibility of meaning in unexpected places.

Here are a few memorable moments from this holiday weekend.

Christmas Morning
Mummy: WHAT IS THIS, POO? WHO? WHO POO-D??
All: Not me. Nope. No!
Mummy: OK then, HOW DID THE POO GET ON THE SMARTIES??

Driving Through the Woods to G's House
Mummy: Oh, look! Three deer! Aren't they beautiful? Oh, how sweet. (Etc.)
Isaac (aged 8 tomorrow): I wish I had a flamethrower.

Welcoming Prayer, Boxing Day
Minister: You have shown us Your love in the coos of a baby....
Choir member [thinking]: The poos of a baby?

See? Sometimes, the true spirit of Christmas requires you to accept that the box of candy you thought you wanted isn't such a great thing. That the urge to hunt will assert itself eventually, no matter how cute the object. That you see love in your way, and others see love in theirs.

So far, the poo is winning over the flamethrower, 2 to 1.

47 Days of Thanks: The Wrapup

Here are the posts from the final partial week, along with some closing thoughts. For what this is all about, go here and start at the bottom.

‎47 Days of Thanks, Day 43: I'm grateful for the opportunity to see a live production of The Laramie Project last night. The acting was impressive but the real inspiration was the tangible commitment to the project. It was a wonderful cap to a week full of challenge and insight around our human creative (and destructive) potential.

‎47 Days of Thanks, Day 44: I'm grateful that I made myself brave the swirling snow and yucky roads yesterday morning to go where I needed to go and do what I needed to do. Sometimes snow is an opportunity to take a break; sometimes it's an opportunity to keep going.

‎47 Days of Thanks, Day 45: I'm grateful that my brother, Pete, celebrates his birthday today. It's been a difficult year for him, health-wise, but he's doing well. I'm happy he's part of my life!

‎47 Days of Thanks, Day 46: I'm grateful that so much of my work, both paid and unpaid, is about imagining a future and bringing it to life.

‎47 Days of Thanks, Day 47: I'm grateful to friends and family, many of whom have accompanied me on this journey, and all of whom have given me so much to be grateful for!

I finish this adventure with mixed feelings, which is par for the course with me. This week in particular was busy and productive, and it was hard not to feel nostalgic in advance that I was coming to the end of the 47 days.

Here are some of the highlights (for me) of the experience as a whole.

On one hand, 47 days is a whacking long time. Coming up with something to post on Facebook first thing in the morning was sometimes more difficult than I expected. On the other hand, 47 days is also only one-and-a-half months--a blink in a lifetime, less than 1/6th of a year.

Regardless of my perception of the rate of time passing, lots of “stuff” happened during this 47 days.

Some of the stuff was big stuff. One of my aunts died--that family's first loss of a parent, which marks a new stage of life for my cousins, bless them. One of my brothers had his last round of chemo and celebrated his birthday feeling strong and optimistic. I am now eligible for CARP membership myself.

Some of it was less-big stuff, though not small. A cousin's son (in fact, the grandson of the aunt who died) is in a vocal singing group whose video of Lady Gaga's Bad Romance went viral. It was fun to see the video appear on diverse friends' Facebook pages. Also, there was much busy-ness about jobs and work and clients and organizations.

In fact, much of what I was grateful for reflected the groups I am part of: a church and its Wednesday evening series, a writing group's readings and workshops, the book club, the occasional theatre production (as audience).

Some of my gratitude reflected the time of the year. A windstorm suspended electricity and took down trees and I was reminded, again, that my life is far easier than many. In summer, we might shrug at all the opportunities to see wildlife. In the fall, birds on the deck or a fox trotting through the yard are Events again, and thus reasons to stop and watch.

When I started, I felt somewhat petulant and in need of an attitude adjustment. This exercise certainly helped me focus on gratitude for at least a small part of each day. As the American holiday approached, I began feeling positively festive, so much so that I made a celebratory meal yesterday and took the day “off.”

Therefore, my Thanksgiving-Day-to-Thanksgiving-Day journey is complete, but the experience will stay with me for awhile.

One insight I'm still mulling over. Early on, I said that it's possible to find things to be grateful for even in the face of difficult times. That continues to be true for me.

But I can also see how someone could focus on gratitude as a form of denial. Your daughter stays out past curfew but, hey, you're grateful she didn't end up in jail. You're behind on a project and don't want to tell your boss, so you focus on the beauty of the lemons in the bowl on the counter. Turning your face toward gratitude could become a way to turn your back on challenges--having those difficult conversations, exercising the self-discipline you know will make you happier in the long run, or even making large, difficult life changes. “It's not as bad as it could be” could be either a positive insight or, ultimately, a destructive one, if it keeps you from fixing things you can actually fix.

But I'm still thinking about that, and about the other lessons from the whole 47 days. And I think I'm most grateful for that--the fact that this experience has given me so many rewards, so much to contemplate--most of all.

47 Days of Gratitudinous Thanks, Week 4

The days are flying by (tickety-boo*), rather like the years (tickety-boo-hoo) and we come to the end of another week.

For what this is all about, go here and start at the bottom.

Here are the individual days from Week 4, followed by a lesson or two.

‎47 Days of Thanks, Day 22: I'm grateful that I shared part of my afternoon yesterday with a whiskey jack (gray jay). While I sat at the dining room table shuffling papers and scribbling notes, s/he hunted flies outside, first on the front porch and then on the back deck. They have a way of looking at you that is so friendly!

‎47 Days of Thanks, Day 23: I'm grateful for the comfort and nurturing of quiet morning routines: making coffee, emptying and refilling the dishwasher, taking out the garbage.

‎47 Days of Thanks, Day 24: I'm grateful to have made it through a full five decades of life. I can't wait to see what the next ones bring!

‎47 Days of Thanks, Day 25: I'm grateful for all the kind birthday wishes and for being in touch with family and friends via FB, via regular mail, and in "real life." Also, last night I had the opportunity to remember "the saints"--those who live on in my mind and heart. It was a great (grate-ful) day.

‎47 Days of Thanks, Day 26: I'm grateful for the lesson I learned yesterday while watching a pileated woodpecker go to town on the insides of a downed pine tree: find a likely spot, work like hell, and don't let anything distract you or scare you off.

‎47 Days of Thanks, Day 27: I'm grateful to have a front-row seat to the changing seasons. This morning, the lake sports a thin skin of ice near the shore.

47 Days of Thanks, Day 28: I'm grateful for the security of having food in the pantry and refrigerator--and even some choice about what to eat!

The effects of the storm and power outage linger in the form of gratitude for the simple and natural things, like the company of animals (I didn't write about the pair of foxes that came to play on the lawn between the house and the lake, or the several deer that have cavorted through).

Also, speaking of the power outage, we threw away a lot of food that was spoiled, though we didn't lose too much. It's nice to know our food supply is safely replenished--and I am recognizing first-hand the role of food as a measure of security.

Again and again, and especially this week, I am reminded of just how wealthy I am, in family and friends, in life circumstances, in health. It's humbling, and inspiring.

*Hmm, I knew "tickety-boo" reminded me of something. Pooh's "tiddley-pom," anyone?

47 Days of Gratitude, Week 1

Here are the status updates from Week 1. You'll notice (or maybe you won't) I use "Gratitude" in the tag but changed that to "Thanks" in Facebook to save characters. And then I didn't need all those characters after all, which is probably for the best.

47 Days of Thanks, Day 1: A quiet north-of-the-border Thanksgiving. I'm so grateful I had the chance to be with family recently!

‎47 Days of Thanks, Day 2: I'm grateful that I enjoy my regular life so much that I spend holidays, like today, doing many of the same things.

47 Days of Thanks, Day 3: I'm grateful that yesterday I happened to be in the right place (kitchen) at the right time (staring out the window at about noon) to see two bald eagles doing aerobatics over the bay.

‎47 Days of Thanks, Day 4: I'm VERY grateful for the inspiration of hearing good writing read VERY well last night at the reading sponsored by the Northwestern Ontario Writers Workshop. People around here do good work!

‎47 Days of Thanks, Day 5: I'm grateful that creative, dedicated people go into science and engineering to make possible new technology that will improve our lives--and pull off feats like the miner rescue in Chile. Now, how about making it safer to be a miner??

‎47 Days of Thanks, Day 6: I'm grateful that gray, cloudy days (like yesterday) can start with a colo(u)rful, striking sunrise! And I get another one this morning--bonus!

‎47 Days of Thanks, Day 7: I'm grateful for all the online resources that make it possible for me to participate in today's Book Club discussion without re-reading every single word of A Tale of Two Cities. (It was an issue of time, not interest, but I know my high school English teacher looks down on me in disapproval. Sigh.)

It's been an interesting journey so far. Of course I have developed "rules," or anyway "rule." I have picked one thing from that morning or the previous day that actually inspired the feeling of gratitude in me, instead of casting about for something I think should be grateful for or going for a "motherhood" topic.

I'm also finding that I stop occasionally during the day to notice feeling grateful for something, because I know I will have to pick something for my status update. Which, as my mother would say, is the benefit of the discipline of doing gratitude this way.

So...on we go.

Glove Love

This week I've been doing things to close up "it may be a shack but it's our shack." Things like bringing chairs up from the beach, bringing loads of towels etc. back, clearing out cans of old old old (yes, that old) paint.

I've been wearing work gloves. As a bonus, I also found a pair of work gloves over there, a pair I thought I'd lost.

After doing stuff on Monday, I left the gloves on the bench on the front porch of the house to, I don't know what. To get some sun, I guess. To air out. To be dealt with later, is probably the most honest statement.

This morning, one of the gloves was lying on the grass in the side yard. The other three are nowhere to be found.

This would be called Glove Mystery except that while I was off visiting family a couple of weeks ago, Roy happened to see a young fox playing with a shoe in the yard on the lake side of the house. Playing like a dog, in fact--shaking the shoe as if to break its little neck.

The shoe, which we left in the yard in the hope that the fox would reappear, is not mine and certainly not Roy's.

The shoe apparently showed up with the fox.

Who apparently thinks that white eyelet slipons are so five minutes ago (much like the phrase "so five minutes ago").

Who apparently has developed an extra-special liking for my work gloves.

Roy checked a few obvious places this morning for the other three gloves, to no avail. We suspect they are the new wallpaper or bedding in a den somewhere. I hope whoever has them enjoys them! And I'm trying not to feel rewarded by this. Because now I don't have to decide whether the gloves are salvageable. Plus I have only one to throw away! The benefits of procrastination.

But mostly, it's really weird to think that the fox came onto the porch and took the gloves.

I guess it's no weirder than when the bear took a swipe at the front door handle.

Yeah, civilization and wilderness. Not so different around here.

Intermission

A ku-hai for your contemplation

It rains, yet the house leaks not.

No bears lumber by.

I breathe: inhale, exhale, in-

Nice Day

I've been under the weather, but I'm recuperating now.

I will be enjoying a lot of visitors during August. So of course I'm hoping that the weather shows off for the visitors.

Which, I suppose, means I'm still under the weather--

under its power, so to speak.

However, a day that looks like this seems auspicious.

Until it turns into this.

Though if you're a duck, I suppose it is still a nice day.

And of course, the day finishes much as it started--sun peering from behind the hazy veil.

The fawns are eating a late salad outside my office window (having been chased from the the flowers), the merganser family has taken over the yellow swim platform in the bay.

That kind of thing.

Those Wacky Canadians

You can tell Canada is going to be in the international spotlight. The wackiness quotient up here is skyrocketing.

First is the natural world. Even for the non-apocalyptic non-anthropomorphizing among us, it's hard not to think that perhaps the Canadian Shield is reacting negatively to the impending presence of G20 and G8 participants.

Yesterday in Ontario and Quebec: Tornadoes all over southern Ontario; one in Midland near the Georgian Bay of Lake Huron did damage. An earthquake, epicentre (Canadian quake, Canadian spelling) north of Ottawa, measured 5.something and was felt as far north and west as Sudbury and down into the U.S.

Yes. An earthquake. Smack dab in the middle of the Canadian Shield, one of the most geologically stable parts of the world. Where there's lots of talk about storing spent fuel from nuclear reactors, because of the low risk of earthquakes. Tell that to the people working in Ottawa buildings who saw windows shatter around them.

Tornadoes, earthquakes. The 8 and 20 might well confuse mosquitoes/blackflies with locusts. There are, no doubt, frogs peeping in the evening. What does that leave us with, imperiled firstborn sons? (We can set aside floods in the prairies, distressing though they are. The 8 and 20 won't get near that part of the country.)

Personally, I think the Canadian Shield is insulted by the perceived necessity of creating a "fake lake," with Muskoka/Adirondack (uncomfortable by either name) chairs on a cedar "deck." Apparently you sit in the chairs, look at stacks of canoes, and watch videos of other people enjoying paddling them on real lakes. This is all part of the press area. I guess the journalists don't get to go to the Muskoka part of the conference. I guess they can't just go look at Lake Ontario, either, which is a few blocks away, already built, and much more impressive. Not to mention FREE.

And, to venture further into the human-driven wackiness: the director of the CSIS, the Canadian Security and Intelligence Service (roughly analogous to the CIA), said Tuesday that politicians in western Canada have been "compromised" by foreign (*cough* Chinese *cough*) intelligence officials. Really? He wants to say this now? Yesterday he backed up a little. Maybe.

Of course, the security measures are drawing lots of complaints. (I guess they forgot the duct tape for the mouths of federal security agency officials.) As is the whole conference.

Sometimes I wonder if this hoop-de-doo is all designed to drive out of people's minds the fact that Stephen Harper missed the first yearbook shot at the last summit. Those narsty Brits said he was in the bathroom. However, his aides said he was being briefed. I'll let you make the underpants jokes.

Meanwhile, real news continues. Yesterday's Central Canada news cycle started with a commuter plane crashing near Quebec City and killing everyone aboard. Normally, that would be a big news day. Yesterday, it was overshadowed by 2 pm. Very sad. Oh, and Canadian forces are still dying in Afghanistan--148 too many, so far.

Of course, most of this is probably invisible to Americans, whose news coverage seems to focus on finger-pointing sessions about the oil spill (hello, still gushing down there!!) and the change in command in Afghanistan. Obama apparently could use some duct tape, too, though perhaps his idea (a new leader and strategy) will be a better long-term solution.

In any case, now all y'all are up to date.

In sum: Canada is a nervous host. Also: apparently wacky knows no borders. Shame, that.

Treasures

The deer found the tiger lilies,

which is actually kind of nice, since it means the deer are around.
We saw the fawn this morning.

And other treasures remain, if you know where to look.

But not this. (No, it's not mine.)
I'm going to pretend it was lost overboard, not left behind.

That makes it a castaway, not a castoff.
(Private property. As Piglet said, Trespassers William.
And all that. Grrr.)

Sometimes, when the evening light is a little wonky, the treasures are patterns.

And sometimes the treasures are pure gold.

Okay, a little bronze. But still.

Into Each Life...

Some trees must fall.

(Two, actually, although you can only see one.)

Fortunately, some lilies are also blooming--and more will, too.

Unless the deer get them. Although the deer seem to be scarce this year--we've seen one fawn, one time. Then again, today I learned there's a yearling bear in the area. Which may be why.

Trees, fawns, bears, flowers: Going to my happy place now.

Ahhh.

Re-Learning Again

You heard it here first: knowing and doing are two different things.

Or maybe you just hear it here often. We tend to be slow that way.

Case in point:

"Where the Fox Was"

This fox.


I didn't happen to take the first shot of the fox, but I have several like it--of loons, mostly. Also a few deer.

The phrase "wasted film" loses more meaning every day. So the lesson--just let it go, will ya?--might be difficult to learn. What's the harm in trying for the shot, even if you fail? I mean, if you get it, what a great shot!!

Unless you're trying so hard for the shot that you never see the fox/loon/deer.

Oh. That lesson.

Life Imitates Art

This is "Sea Monster Descending." I can see better how Woodland Artists visualize their paintings.

I call this "Still Life with Bird Poop."

This is "Abstract #2, Scat-Free." (Whatever is doing this has got to be something bigger than a bird, but no tracks and no scat...so far as we can see.)

This, of course, is very Group of Seven. Call it "Dying Spruce at Conmee Point, Mid-Morning."



This is just your "look how low the lake still is" picture for today.



And today would be my mother's 93rd birthday. When I was off at university, I received a letter from her (she wrote a note to one of us kids every morning) that said, "Today is Mother's birthday. She would be 113."

I guess that means I'll be eating scones and thinking of my mother every May 3 for another ten years, at least.

Before and After

Last November, this happened.


Last week, some other stuff happened and now it looks like this.


No, one of those things wasn't a paint job. The woodshed looks greener because of the quality of light. (It's fabulous this morning. The wind is really fierce off the lake, though, and it's chilly.)

Now, after the birch spent all winter bent over the woodshed holding up two other trees, its reward is...what? Being cut down--on purpose. No, it's not fair (as my mother used to say of life), but in spite of its service, it's leaning toward the structures, and we want to try to manage its descent.

And the corner of the woodshed is making Mr. Roofing Man rub his hands together in eager anticipation.

Now, if we could only figure out what is doing this:

We would think "bear" except no tracks anywhere, and likewise no scat. Our next thought is "bird," because the ravens are known to do weird things with wood, and the pileated woodpeckers have been around.

In any case, we want this picture to be the "after." We don't want it to be "before" and have an "after" that includes a blurry picture of a bear, perhaps taken from its innards.

How it Looks Today

I shot this from my office today. I framed it to leave out the ugly grass, so the picture gives the illusion of more snow than is actually here. Our septic field, for example, is clear of snow.

At the end of January, the bucks showed up to play around. It's been near freezing. The ravens (perhaps crows) are collecting sticks and grass already.

Edited to add: Also, how can this man see into my head?. He must be related to my mother.

Things That Go Boomp

From gillies and ghosties and long-legged beasties and things that go boomp in the night: Good Lord, deliver us.

I remember this poster (about 11" X 17") from my parents' home. It hung on the door in the downstairs back bathroom. The image isn't a great photo of the collage, but you can get the idea. Grandma liked sensational images.

Family lore says that the poster really belongs in the bathroom at the "it may be a shack but it's our shack" camp. Not this particular collage, but one like it, spent time in the outhouse in the family's early days of camping. Being out in what feels like the middle of nowhere makes you more attuned to noise. Night trips to the outhouse were among the most frightening experiences of my childhood, except for Fire Prevention Day in grade school, which apparently freaked me right out of my imaginative little gourd (according to my oldest brother, who was babysitting me that night--I don't remember it myself).

I do startle easily, even though we live in a house, not a shack, and even though decades have passed since Fire Prevention Day. The other night we were sitting on the couch. My husband was napping. I was looking out into the darkness where I couldn't see the lake, wondering idly how cold it would get that night.

Then I heard something strange--a quiet kind of thud or two. It sounded a little as if someone came onto our front porch, but no one rang the doorbell. It must be something in the house, I thought (though it sure didn't sound like it). Just as I was able to convince myself that it was nothing, I heard a similar series of thuds, as of walking feet. Even my husband woke up.

Winter is a noisy season in these parts. Snow accumulates on the roof and melts a little when the sun shines on it. Sometimes a bit slides off when you're not expecting it. Sometimes the wind howls through the vent over the stove. The heater gears up in the basement and then begins to blow, and that progression of sounds is different depending on where you stand in the house. The well, pumps, and septic system make their own variety of noises--some happier to hear than others.

It's taken me awhile to get used to the noises, and sometimes I'm still not. Sometimes I still find myself alert in the middle of the night for no reason, awakened all the way by something I can't identify and dismiss. We live in an area that is something like "the country" but also a lot like a neighbourhood. I tend to forget the fact that people live near our cocoon.

The other night, it took a few seconds for us to look at each other and say, "We did hear that, right?" At first, we (meaning I) thought it might be a person--a friendly person. Perhaps someone was stranded and needed help. But we hadn't heard a car or any other sound, like a snow machine. And it was far too cold for someone to be out for a walk and decide to stop by.

When we went to the front door, which is on the land side of the house, we found the cause of the noise: a deer. It stood in silhouette, chewing away at the cedar bushes between the house and the car. Its hoofprints showed in the snow of the sidewalk. Of all the things that could have gone boomp, that was definitely the most picturesque.

It was also reassuring. If the doe was comfortable enough to walk around in our yard and chew the bushes, our neighbourhood must be pretty safe. Or at least it was that night: I slept well. (And yes, I have evacuation routes from each room of this house all planned out. I try not to think about those, though.)

Signs of the Season

Believe it or not, TV commercials are not the only way to tell what time of the year it is.

Though (today only!) I think the number of exclamatory comments goes up!! as the year winds down!!!! (Get yours now! I seem to be using more! than!! my!!! fair!!!! share!!!!!)

Today I found myself hunting down a pair of binoculars to check out the birds sitting around on the ice floes. I was reasonably sure they were seagulls, whose residence is unremarkable at most times of the year. This morning, their presence was fascinating, and not just because of the usual Monday morning procrastination.

As winter approaches, fewer animals are out and about. We haven't seen the muskrat in a couple of weeks. Deer still pass through but they don't hang around as much, now that the temperature has dropped below freezing. The bear has been conspicuously absent, too.

In winter, chickadees and nuthatches, jays (blue and gray) (or grey), woodpeckers (downy, hairy, and pileated) and seagulls make up most of our company. Although even the gulls are scarce. All of these birds get pushed to "ho-hum" status in the spring, when first geese and ducks, and then wigeons, teals, herons, sandpipery things, cormorants, eagles, and finally loons come to play in the bay.

But me, I know winter is coming. I can look at the thermometer and see that at 8 a.m. today it was 12 F. I can look out the window and note that the colo(u)r palette has changed to grayish blue and pale orange-tan-brown. Or I can watch my own response to something as ordinary as seagulls hanging out on the ice.

And yes, the fact of ice floes in the bay is another clue.

My larger point, if I must have one, is that this time of year doesn't have to be the season of sales and shopping and buying unless we want it to be.

I'm going outside to squint into the sun now -- because it lies so near the horizon all day at this time of year.

Bearing Gifts

Apparently you don't want to wake up one morning and think, "Wow, life is...interesting...these days." Because then you get visitors.



Or perhaps you realize that YOU are the visitor.

The brown thing to the right of the black fuzzy thing is the support post for the porch. Because even if we ARE the visitors in this landscape, we're also the ones with the porch.

Where this creature is not welcome.

Because s/he has lots of other landscape in which to snuffle for mushrooms.

S/he is, though, a good reminder of those interesting times. Times in which I have to watch carefully as I walk to the end of the driveway to pick up the newspaper.

Not that I'm complaining. Just commenting.

Stumped

Last night was the first time I had cause to wonder whether we happened to have any tomato juice around.

I got home from a meeting at about 9:45 (almost dark; fall approaches!). As I parked, I saw a small skunk trot from in front of the garage (possibly even from inside the garage) right across the sidewalk, just a couple of yards away.

From my vantage point at the bottom of the stairs (still inside the car--why hurry?), the skunk had disappeared. For all I knew, it could be standing right where I needed to walk to get into the house. It could be frightened and even now be gathering all its little skunky courage to spray, once a suitable target (me!) appeared.

"Hmm," I thought, in my usual articulate and quick-witted way. "Now what?"

Sure, I could go around to the back and come into the house from the deck. That would mean crossing in front of the garage, where the rest of the skunk family might be gearing up to follow the first one. Or crossing the yard in the other direction, where I hoped the skunk had actually gone.

So maybe the front was still my best option.

Or maybe not.

I gathered the stuff I was bringing in and got out of the car. And I stood there beside the car, thinking, "This is a decision I don't even know where to start to think about how to make." And then the tomato juice crossed my mind. And I stood there.

And then, aha, the deus ex machina. My husband had heard me drive up and wondered why I hadn't come in yet. The porch light came on and I could see him inside. I motioned to the door, and when he opened it and stuck his head out, I said, "Do you see a skunk anywhere?"

He didn't--and to his credit, he also didn't slam the door shut in my face. With trepidation, I climbed the stairs, passed the bush where the skunk might be aiming its spray at me, climbed onto the front porch under which the skunk might be ditto, and came in.

Nothing else happened. We're not sure where it went. It might have been too young to have scent glands because there wasn't even a skunky hint lingering in the air. For all I know, it slept under the porch, or under the bush, and it may sleep there yet.

I still don't know what I would have done. I guess I had options. For one, I could have summoned the deus ex machina by phoning the house with my cell or honking. I could have lobbed stones into the area where I needed to walk. I could have stayed in the car.

I'm still thinking about it today, obviously. Now that I am at the age I am, I rarely face situations that are so completely unfamiliar to me. I don't know when it happened or what age I was, but at some point, I developed a tool kit (namely, the phone, combined with the Internet or a phone book) for most of life's perplexing difficulties.

When the toilet makes a funny noise, I know I can call a plumber if ignoring it doesn't work. If the electricity goes out, I know to check our own power lines for trees; I can call the power company and a tree service to deal with the related bad stuff. I have seen death, mechanical breakdowns, job loss, and family breakups, and I generally have the tools to deal with them or know who to call if I don't.

I may not like them. But I can deal with them.

But last night, I was stumped. I might have needed that tomato juice. And no, we didn't have any.

It's situations like this that keep my life so interesting.

Surfacing

It's been a cool and wet summer here. Some living things long for more heat and more sun. Other living things, apparently, do not.

Nice weather if you're a mushroom. (This is one of the cheerful ones. I spared you the picture of the one with three slugs on it. You're welcome.)

And in what another blogger calls "heavy-handed metaphors," I wonder what those mushrooms represent in my own life.

Oh, stop rolling your eyes--you know what I'm talking about. Mushrooms are the things that you pretend don't exist. Like (a trivial example) whether the gums really are receding from your back molars, which means periodontal surgery is in your future, and would that be your near-term future or your long-term future?

Or (a less trivial example) whether ten years from now you or someone you love will still be able to climb ladders and paint the exterior of the camp. Whether by then perhaps you'll have learned not to be squeamish about the status of the plumbing. Or the prevalence of mice. Or even, say, about mushrooms growing places where you might wish they didn't because what does that mean about keeping the place dry and rot-free.

Which is not to even mention all those completely non-trivial examples that I do not share online and rarely even whisper about in the dark. Death, illness, decay.

So, mushrooms. When you're in the middle of a cool, damp, mostly gloomy and overcast summer, when the economy is teetering and you can't decide what to do about the $1200 in exhaust work your car might need because your country doesn't have a decent Cash for Clunkers program, when two paying projects have disappeared in one afternoon and nothing comes in to replace them--well, let's just say that you look at mushrooms and wonder what's next.

What else could surface after lurking for years.

And then you look outside and notice that today, for this moment, it's sunny. So you go enjoy it while you can.