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.

Delusions of Spring in TBay

Today, it snowed a little in the morning--just topping up the couple of inches we got yesterday and last night. Now the sun is out and we're heading toward a high above freezing. It's Delusions of Spring Day in Thunder Bay.

Today is the day I wash all the now-baggy-elbowed heavy sweaters I've been wearing as "top layers" for (too many to think about) MONTHS. Because when the days are sunny and the temperature is above freezing, it is obvious that I will NEVER need to wear these heavy sweaters EVER AGAIN. (Or at least until November.)

I do wash these throughout winter, of course, but when water is always the issue it is in the country, I let them get good and baggy in the elbows first. Plus, today I'm washing them all at once, trusting that I won't need one this afternoon.

When I was growing up in Oklahoma, a crocus or two usually popped up to bloom in late February. Certainly gardens had brave daffodils by mid-March. A late-season freak snowstorm might give you a couple of good "daffodils in the snow" shots in early April, but basically, you could see some signs of spring in the flora any time after Valentine's Day.

In contrast, we have new snow. It's shiny and pretty. But snow.

Body clocks, however, are hard to reset. Thus Delusions of Spring Day.

Because, I know, I WILL have to wear these sweaters again. Except maybe for the 100% wool Eddie Bauer sweater, which I wear on days that require serious artillery. A very serious day requires both the wool sweater and flannel-lined jeans. So possibly not that one. But the others, yes. And I'll be doing this same "wash all the sweaters" thing in May or June.

And in between, we have April (the brownest month) and the "something shiny" season, when I tend to buy electronics because I am tired of everything being brown and dirty with crusty old ice and snow everywhere.

But that's still in the future.

Today, just give me my delusions, okay?

Juxtapositions

Lots of back and forth, this week--the cultural equivalent of the weather this February. One day the temperature is above freezing and everything in sight is melting; twelve hours later the temp is 11 below C or 11 above F, the winds are howling, and it's snowing again. Go figure.

So here are three other pairings.

High tech: In Canada, several federal agencies--Finance, Treasury Board, and Defense Research and Development Canada--are under cyberattack. The attackers are sophisticated enough to make it look like they're working for China. Employees of those agencies who require internet access have been authorized to work in cafes and from home (because those internet connections are so much more secure??). This has been going on for some six weeks but came to light only recently (did a cloaking device fail?).

Low tech: Minister Oda hand-drawing a caret (like this ^ ) and writing "not" to deny funding to an NGO. Here's a picture. My earlier take is here (hey, the "not" jokes used to be funny). Political commentators, and not especially left-leaning ones, either, are still talking about this, with ever-heightening rhetoric.

Haves: In the U.S., the Obama administration extended the Bush tax cuts for those whose income is more than $250,000 (for a couple, $200K for a single). Reason: people who pay taxes in the U.S. (and those of us U.S. citizens who legally DON'T because we PAY PAY PAY in another country but are still forced by U.S. tax law to justify EVERY SINGLE YEAR why we don't pay in the U.S. TOO, not that I'm bitter) are still voters. In the U.S., voters hate "tax increases," even if they are technically just cuts that are expiring, and even if they apply only to people who make a whackload more than you.

Have-nots: The new budget in the U.S. includes a $5.50 (Canadian? The loonie is worth more these days!) surcharge on people entering the U.S. from Canada by air and sea. This will net $100 million or so in revenue, a tiny blip on the screen of their need for revenue, especially compared to what they could have made had they reversed those tax cuts on the wealthy, but like whatever. Reason: Few paying the $5.50 vote in U.S. elections. I say "few" because Americans travel from Canada into the U.S. at times, too. However, I won't be paying this surcharge because flying from Minneapolis cuts the cost of travel significantly, even with gas/hotel/time factored in.

If you like shouting: read What is America, by Ronald Wright (Alfred A. Knopf Canada). Written in 2008 before the election, it's full of sloppy scholarship and polemic. In fact, the title could use a caret: What Is ^ America; at the caret, insert Wrong With. His thesis seems to be that "America," a term that changes meaning several times in the book, is and has always been a horrible, exploitive place and that the neoconservative fundamentalist approach to life and the world is wrong. I don't necessarily disagree with him. I just don't think shouting is the same thing as making an effective case. Also, he's lazy in his research and writing, and he has no solutions. (Yes, some of the shouting related to this book came from me as I read.)

If you like muttering: read Doing the Continental, by David Dyment (Dundurn Press, Toronto). Full disclosure: I have only been able to dip into this book. However, I heard him speak, and he claims his book was aimed at the regular, nonspecialist person riding the ferry or the subway. If that's true, his editors should have had him try another pass, especially at sentences like this one: "The Americans are so much a part of our reality that they contextualize us" (p. 16). However, what I appreciate about this book and the writer is that 1. he claims a new type of relationship between the two countries is possible and 2. that Canada holds the power to effect this change.

That's enough whiplash for one week, eh.

American/Canadian: My Essential Differences

Apparently there's a book that posits something important about the Essential Difference between male and female brains. I am not touching that discussion with a ten-foot piece of softwood lumber.

I'm also not talking today about a way to tell Canadians from USA-ians. The world is more nuanced and subtle than that, thank goodness.

No, because it's all about me here, this is about how I am essentially different from both Americans and Canadians.

Before we start: yes, I know I'm using stereotypes for the "American" and "Canadian" roles, and I know I'm not unique in being different from those norms.

So. The essential difference between me and "Americans": the whole gun thing. As a Canadian said recently, "I don't get how 'guns equals freedom.'" Me neither. I don't own weapons; I've never shot a weapon (unless you count archery in Grade 8 for four weeks, and that was shooting at targets). I don't get it. I will say I also don't know that the equation "gun control equals increased safety" is true, either. I am all for studies that examine the efficacy of gun control legislation. And I won't be owning a gun while they're going on, either, and I do not feel un-free about it.

The essential difference between me and "Canadians": I LOoooooove elections. Love love love.

For the Americans reading this, some background: Canada's Conservative Prime Minister is loathed by many and merely tolerated by most (the man has apparently NO FANS), but evidently the prospect of an election is far more frightening than allowing a man who disdains science to run the country.

Nothing makes me feel more American than listening to this week's political discussions up here (and note that criticism comes to him from both sides): "We hate Harper and everything he stands for. For the past five years, he has shown time and again how irresponsible he is [in spending so much money to end the recession] [in callously disregarding the real needs of the people in favour of his conservative social agenda] [in continuing to sing and play the piano in public] [insert your favourite Harper egregiousness here]. But, gasp, we don't want an election. The Canadian people don't want an election."

WHY NOT???? I love elections. Okay, no, I haven't voted in every single election I was eligible to vote in--when I lived in the U.S., I let some of the city council elections slide. And nowadays I don't vote in Oklahoma-specific elections, because I don't live there and it's not fair for me to inflict my opinion on those who do. (Also because it's a big waste of time, since I'm so far out of synch with the state.) And I'm sad that I now no longer vote every two years (representatives) and every six years (senators).

Because in the US, Canadians, we get to vote every two years. Two years!! And senators--well, first, unlike you, we get to vote them in. Then, yes, six years later, we get to vote them out, if we want. We know when. We can start countdown clocks to election day.

And the president, the big guy, the commander-in-chief--four years. That's all he gets. Sadly, Americans gave Bush 8 years, but the point is, they were given the opportunity to come to their senses. You know how? Through an ELECTION.

Canadians, if you dislike elections because (in the words of the wise yet mythical Leo McGarry, as scripted by the genius Aaron Sorkin) you're sick of voting for the lesser of who cares, I hear you. If you look at the leadership of opposition parties and shudder or say "meh," I get it.

But that's not the fault of the ELECTION. That's a cultural thing. If I were going to be mean, I would say it's your own fault, for accepting crappy leaders. For not expecting more from politicians, and for not holding them accountable for their actions. For imagining that the status quo is all you can hope for, that the unknown is necessarily frightening.

So I'm not saying that, because I'm Canadian enough to not want to be mean.

I'm also not saying that frequent elections sometimes don't result in mistakes. In 1980, the people of Arkansas elected Frank White as governor because a young and gifted politician named Bill Clinton had irritated them by raising the cost of car registration. (I could not make this up.) For two years, Arkansans endured idiocy, but they managed to survive it, and so did Mr. Clinton. And several Arkansans recognized that hey, their votes counted, so maybe they want to vote FOR candidates instead of "teaching a candidate a lesson" by voting AGAINST him. (Plus they were so chastened they changed the state Constitution to give governors four-year terms, like most states did in the 1800s.)

In conclusion, I urge Canadians to embrace elections, and that starts at home. Raise your argumentative, intellectually curious, and caring children to become politicians or at least civil servants. Your government could use a few more of your best and brightest.

For Americans--I don't know what to say, because I don't want to talk about guns. I have the right to not talk about guns because my freedom of speech is guaranteed. And isn't that true freedom?

Finally, in our "we're more alike than we are different," kum-ba-yah moment, I will demonstrate how truly Canadian AND American I am by complaining about the weather: Brr.

Two Word-Related Pleas: Please!

1. Now that we're officially in the "dead of winter," could we all agree to avoid the phrase "the white stuff"???

It's SNOW, people. Snow. Or something else, which might be "sleet" or "mixed rain and snow," depending on your country. It's not heroin or cocaine, it's not cotton balls, it's not wool, it's not printer paper, it's not milk--any or all of which could also be called "white stuff" (based on what I see on TV about drugs).

Calling it "the white stuff" doesn't make the snow, or you, any cuter. It's snow.

2. After events like the shooting in Tucson last Saturday, use of the phrase "in the wake of" spikes. For example, "In the wake of the Tucson shootings, pundits are falling all over each other to distance themselves from the event."

Just stop. The event, whether it's the Tucson shooting or Columbine or some other sudden violent event, is horrific, and what you say will not in any way be as important as the event itself. So stop borrowing drama. The word "after" conveys the same timeframe. If you want to make the case that what you're saying is related in some way to the event, make that case--don't assume it.

Okay, end of lecture. Just: please?

What it Takes to Really Learn Something

Since moving to Canada, I have learned that if I wear a coat with Velcro fastenings, I should avoid wearing knit scarves (meaning the muffler variety of scarf, a use of the term "muffler" which is apparently out of fashion). Knit scarves invariably get caught in the hook side of the velcro.

That's two rabbit trails in two sentences. "Muffler" is something you read about in books, but most people (around here) tend not to say anymore. "Hook-and-loop fastener" is the generic way to refer to Velcro. Sheesh.

MY POINT is that I should have learned this sometime in the early 1990s, when I moved to the mountains of Northern New Mexico and got to buy serious coats. Failing that, you'd think it would have become part of my explicit learning at some point during the ten years I lived in Colorado.

But no. Now, some five-plus years into living here, I finally can verbalize that the fleece muffler (crap) scarf goes with my black Velcro (crap) hook-and-loop fastened coat.

This is really about the shootings in Tucson on Saturday. (Trust me.) I have known for some time that I am grateful to be away from the relentless political rhetoric in the US. I am no more a fan of Keith Olbermann than I am of any of those on the right who also shriek and froth at the mouth. I have a low tolerance for people shouting past each other. So I am glad to have missed so much of it.

My heart is heavy from the shooting, in part because I've spent significant time in Tucson--in fact, at the Safeway and the bird food store and the La Salsa restaurant in that shopping center. Tucson is a lovely community, where many kinds of people make lives together. So the shootings there are not much farther from my thoughts than is my brother, his physicians, his family, his blood cells.

And, as is true with "knit mufflers don't go with Velcro," I am finally able to say, explicitly about politics and rhetoric, "I know all I need to; now I move on." I'm so very glad to live here, where I am away from the relentness ugly rhetoric.

This morning, while running errands, I was in the car during a CBC newscast. CBC calmly reported actual news of Tucson: arraignment, suspect, a recap count of injured and killed. Nothing breathless. No "breaking news" that isn't actually NEW. CBC reports that people are searching for blame, but it's a ten-second summary, not a rehash of "he said, she said." And then we return to regular programming: a gardening show.

And for me, for now, that's what I need: regular life. I can drop off a box of books at the library, take papers to a lawyer, go to meetings. I can prep for other meetings, do laundry, and review drafts of written stuff. At some point, I may even be able to research and revise policies, and tease out creative writing, with the focused attention they require (and deserve).

Later, when I have run out of "little things" and "regular life," ha ha, I will look again at the "big picture" and apply what I have learned. Specifically, when I have the opportunity to vote again, I will pay attention to more than political party, campaign promises, and voting record. I will look at how the candidate ran for office, and I will not reward flamethrowers.

To recap what I have (finally) learned: Wear fleece scarves with coats that have that hook-and-loop closure.

After you find out the facts, return to regular life as much as possible.

Oh, and: Deliberately incendiary rhetoric is vulgar at best and destructive at worst.

Let's hope many in the US have learned that last lesson.

Not Now? Then When?

I noticed an incremental lightening of the sky at 7:15 this morning, but the stars were still vivid against the pacific blue/liz-eyes/sky-blue progression.

I'm telling you this because, true to form, the January sky is usually clear. As in, devoid of clouds. Which means it's also cold. And this morning was no exception: -5F, so -20+C.

It's warmed up since. I got out for a very trundly walk and remembered why I need sunscreen and sunglasses in January. But after my shower, I put on my flannel-lined jeans, speaking of not particularly flattering.

Aside from not being something I'd wear to town (OK maybe to Safeway) (the shouting is Clinton and Stacy telling me that people can see me at the grocery store, too), the jeans feel a little like overkill.

"What if it gets colder?" my Oklahoma-born self asks. "What else is there to put on? Does it make me obviously American, or southern, or anyway un-Canadian, to resort to flannel-lined jeans?" She ramps up the angst. "Does wearing flannel-lined jeans make me WEAK?"

My sensible, seasoned-Canadian-living self answers, "Wearing flannel-lined jeans doesn't make you weak: it makes you warm." And then asks me the $2 question (that's $1.98 Canadian these days, go loonie!): "What are you saving them for??"

Which isn't a bad question to ask one's self often in this coming year: "Not now? Okay, then when?" And, bonus: I get to be warm while asking.

Q: Sleet is...what?

A: The term "sleet" is American for what Canadians call "mixed rain and snow." Not to be confused with "freezing rain," which falls as liquid and freezes on the way down and creates yucky stuff that coats trees and snaps power lines.

Wikipedia has an entire entry about Canadian severe weather terminoloy. The horse itself is here: you will go to Environment Canada's glossary at the letter "s," where you will notice nothing about "sleet."

Fortunately, we don't have anything like that happening here today. Instead, we have clear skies. Which means hardly anything in terms of warmth. This morning was 15 below F. That's, like, I dunno. Cold.

Could be worse, though. Could have freezing rain or mixed rain and snow.

My point? Just that even conversations about the weather between Canadians and Americans still have plenty of room for miscommunication. Though "brr" seems understandable to both.

That Moment

Just now, it happened.

I was standing at the front window, looking out. The view is different today. Yesterday at this time, the skies were clear; the thermometer hovered around 0F. The crisp breeze sharpened the edges of the needles on the pines and balsams.

Today is gray and warmer, about 10F. Snowflakes fall but they're the kind of snowflakes that would be mist if they were water. Periodic breezes nudge poplars and birches into motion. The trees lean toward each other and away, whispering.

Just now, as I stood there watching the snow, our outdoor light went out. At nearly 9 a.m., the morning finally grew light enough to trigger the sensor that turns it off.

How often does that happen? How often do you know something has changed at the exact moment it changes?

You probably think this is a "where were you?" moment about John Lennon or JFK or, God help us, Princess Diana or Michael Jackson. It's not. It's not even about the shooting, 21 years ago this week, of 14 female engineering students in Montreal.

And I could argue that it's not really one of "those moments," the ones where you know your life is different, for better or worse. Like standing on a beach to promise forever, or sitting at a bedside when the goodbye has already been said.

This is just one event in a string of them, one pearl in a necklace. I could even say that it's an event in someone else's life, not mine.

But saying that would distance myself from the truth. Yesterday afternoon, I received an email with someone else's scary news. Today, things are different--for me, too. On the up side, I may be able to be of use, to do something concrete to help one of my brothers. On the down side, one of my brothers needs help. Big help. He needs new blood. He can have mine, if it is of use to him. We will find out, in time.

Snow falls, and I imagine each flake as a blessing, a prayer, a wish for health--not only for my brother, but for anyone who's frightened, depressed, sick, or in pain.

So today's view through the window is different.

A Matter of Degree

A degree, or two, or four, changes this

to this

and vice versa, I suppose.

Technically, of course, it doesn't change bushes to a road. Just the snow to rain and ice.

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 Thanky Gratitudinal Goodness

Here we are, week 6 already. One partial week left.

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

Here's a recap of the week, with thoughts at the bottom.

‎47 Days of Thanks, Day 36: I'm grateful for the first snow of the season! It's a beautiful addition to the otherwise relatively bland November landscape.

‎47 Days of Thanks, Day 37: I'm grateful for the sense of continuity that comes in a day when you can see life at both "ends." Yesterday I remembered loved ones lost and got to see pictures of a friend's brand-new granddaughter.

‎47 Days of Thanks, Day 38: I'm grateful for my iPod and CBC radio podcasts. Sometimes when I'm walking or working outside, they're just background noise, but often I get a gem--new musician or writer or quote--that stays with me.

‎47 Days of Thanks, Day 39: I'm most grateful for the opportunity at a writing workshop last night to play around with characters--creating them, defining them, presenting them. It's useful sometimes to remember that creativity is FUN.

‎47 Days of Thanks, Day 40: I'm grateful for another evening that gave me a compelling idea--happiness is like a mirror. Other emotions can pass in front of it but it doesn't change the mirror's essential nature. That's what I'm finding about the life I live today

47 Days of Thanks, Day 41: I'm grateful for days when I wake up in a winter wonderland. I know that snow is a pain in the neck for some; I know rain will make the world a sloppy mess this afternoon. But now, this minute, it's beautiful, and I'm grateful.

‎47 Days of Thanks, Day 42: I'm grateful that not ALL the scones got burned on the bottom. Sigh.

Again, another mix of sublime and mundane, which is a reflection of my life. Lots of my days are taken up with twiddling and fixing--reorganizing others' ideas and clarifying their meaning. Yet I also have time for creative work and I'm grateful for the structure of a couple of groups that formally address creative living.

The first snowfall mostly disappeared before we got the heavy, covering snow, some of which has itself blown away. I left the scones in about a minute too long. But why must these scones be destined for sharing with company??

Ah, well. Into each life a little snow, and burned pastry, must fall. It's just my turn, I guess!

First Snow

The first snow of the season came this weekend. We got just a little out here. Folks in town had more.

So you have to wonder: will it stay or melt before we get more?

Because there will be more. Meanwhile, we're sorta like this rock--
half and half, and half and half.
Brown/black, wet/dry.
Half hoping, half dreading. Half excited, half resigned.

And, like the rock, we're not getting up to go elsewhere.
Yet we reserve the right to the mixed feelings.

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 Thanks/Gratitude, Week 3

Here are the posts from Week 3. To see "What the heck is this?" and weeks 1 and 2, go here and start at the bottom.

‎47 Days of Thanks, Day 15: I'm grateful for days when the toughest pre-9 a.m. decision is "Is THIS gorgeous sunrise worth taking pictures of?"

‎47 Days of Thanks, Day 16: I'm grateful for friends whose infectious laughter cuts through the hubbub of a restaurant and makes everyone smile.

‎47 Days of Thanks, Day 17: I'm grateful that I stopped to investigate that black thing bobbing in my morning coffee. It WAS a bug. And now it's down the drain, and I get to drink fresh coffee while sitting inside, dry and warm, on a windy, rainy morning.

47 Days of Thanks, Day 18: I'm so grateful the high winds haven't knocked our power ou--

‎47 Days of Thanks, Day 19: I'm grateful our power is back on. In this house, that means not only light, heat, refrigeration, and Internet, but also running water! Flush toilets and warm showers!

‎47 Days of Thanks, Day 20: I'm grateful that of the ~25 trees we will have to deal with (not counting ones that fell that we're leaving), only two came close to structures, and the damage was minimal (one eave).

‎47 Days of Thanks, Day 21: I'm very grateful to be married to someone who, when hearing that trees are down, rubs his hands together and says, "This will be fun!" Then he gets out the chainsaw.

And here's what I learned.

1. Never say "I wonder what Week X will bring." Week 3 brought gale-force winds and a big storm that brought down trees. As you might have gathered. Which was slightly freaky to me, as you also might have gathered. On the up side, being without power for more than 30 hours has made me more mindful of the little things: Lights that come on when you flick the switch. A functioning plumbing system. The invention of things like candles and batteries.

2. Doing this exercise has kept me mindful longer of those things, which is usually not the case. When I'm sick, I long to feel well. But when I'm well, well becomes "normal" and I long for something else. Because of reviewing the things I can be grateful for, the gratitude for normal has stuck around longer.

3. As I told a friend over coffee, I would suck as a Chilean miner. It wasn't so much the discomforts of being without power that bugged me--those were minimal. It was the not knowing, and the many, many arenas in which I couldn't know. When would the lights be back on? Was that balsam at the point coming down on the little camp? Where else would the roof leak? What's happening in town (they also lost power in spots)? That balsam--we should have taken it down but how could we when it wasn't safe? And speaking of safe, when will it be safe to go outside and check the trees? Et cetera.

4. Even in the middle of the gale, there really was a lot to be grateful for. Namely, that I was in a house, however leaky when rain is driven at the windows with such force, and thus relatively safe. Also, 30 hours is not that long in the scheme of things. It's October (though the weather has turned chilly), not January, so heating was not as big an issue as it could have been. Lots of extenuating circumstances and I was more aware than otherwise of those, thanks to this gratitude exercise.

LOTS of learning this week. Evidently I enjoy control and routine. Also being able to take a shower whenever I want. Which isn't learning so much as re-learning or being reminded of. Which is okay, too.

A Clampett Moment (30+ Hours Without Power)

I hail from Oklahoma. Got my higher education in Arkansas. Clampett country, all of it, though I have to say that my own family isn't particularly Clampett-esque. Love the Clampetts. Nothing wrong with 'em. It's just that normally, I ain't one.

However, sometimes having the Clampett cultural reference to draw upon helps explain things. Such as the tires as landscaping aids (which did not in fact get to the dump, er, landfill this summer, darn it all). Even though these things aren't even in the U. S. of A. Even though they're in Canada.

Here's the deal. We have had 30+ power-free hours around here since Tuesday. I don't respond well to the lack of control. Also, with the wind and rain came leakage around the windows. That's water dripping in around the HOUSE windows. Water to the extent that we have to rig up plastic tubs under those beautiful bay windows I love the rest of the time.

Also, when we lose power, we lose the ability to flush toilets and take showers. I can do that when I camp. I can also live by candlelight and huddle near the wood stove. But living in a house should not be camping. Also, the control.

Here's what the wind has been up to. And this is later, when it was calm enough to go outside, y'all.



Here are the other results of those gale-force winds that caused our power outage. They are generally not as bad as they first appear. (This post is labeled "today" even though these are more properly "yesterday.")



This tree is barely kissing the front of the larger camp. No windows were damaged in the uprooting of this tree. No roof damage occurred. Whew.

Speaking of uprooting, let's take a virtual tour of the smaller camp, shall we?

Uh-huh. These would be the roots, as in, "what was left." Here's what happened.



Yikes! I get the willies looking at it and I know how safe this was. Here's the damage:



Yup. That's it. That's all. Just a bit of roof on the corner of the eave. It's not even leaking (from THAT spot, anyway) into the camp structure proper.

We have been watching this tree since May. I would swear I had taken a picture of the base, but perhaps I just shuddered and walked past instead. Anyway, the trunk was pretty well eaten away by bugs and birds.

We (both of us) had wondered how we (Roy) would fell this thing without first fretting us (me) to death. We could not figure out a direction to take it down that wouldn't endanger the camp, other trees, and/or the worker(s).

And now it's done been done fer us.

Whew and double whew.

In the ultimate Clampett moment, Roy said, "At least there's been enough water leaking in to flush the toilets with."

That's my Finn-Swede Clampett husband, folks. Just looking on the bright side.

Brown, with Gold and Ruddy Accents

April is definitely the brownest month around here, but late October isn't far behind.

I haven't been around the house much--running hither and thither in town--so haven't been taking many pictures. Anyway, here are a couple.

Here's the light.

Here's the tree.


So yeah, I've been in town. But also, it's just harder to get excited about taking pictures when you're documenting the decline of verdancy.

I realize the same process documents the ascendance of winter. Ya-hoo.

No matter way I try to reframe it, taking pictures at this time of year--after the leaves fall but before any snow does--just doesn't enthrall me as much.

And as we know, November will be gray. Or grey. Depending.

Everywhere except the top of my head, that is. Which, like October, will be ...
(see title of post).

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.

There and Back Again

Seasons on the calendar are closer than they appear.

The sun slants differently.

The water level in the lake is dropping again.
It's less cause for concern than in May--the renters are leaving soon,
and in any case, Roy's fix kept it fixed.

This pretty much says it all.

And so, we walk home again.

The Hour without Power

We've had one this morning. I was in mid-post, too.

But fortunately, we've had only the one.
(So far, I add, trying to walk the line between guarded optimism and "sucker!!".)

There's a leak into my office--not a bad one, and it's stopped.
(For now, I add, ditto with the guarded optimism.)

Anyway, it's like this here today.

Oh, and the kids go (back) to school today.
Wonder how many believe the sky is crying just for them.