November - Remember

November 11 is Remembrance Day here in Canada.

But double that down and November is Remembrance Month for me.

I do indeed remember.

I remember, or rather, honour the memory of, those who gave their life.

Seriously.

They gave their very lives.

They died.

They literally died.

So generations later, citizens like me could sit here at their computers and scroll their screens in warm houses, glass of wine in hand, offering gratitude for our extravagant lives.

I'm not sure how I got here, clicking along. But tonight I clicked link after link and ended up watching multiple yuutube videos that I have uploaded over the years.

I honestly would have told you, "Yeah, I have a Youtube account but don't really use it."

But actually I have a number of meaningful to me videos there.

And most of them are posted in November.

Remember November.

November 11,1985.

I was twenty years old.

My fourth child, Jed, was concieved on that very morning on November 11 that my five-month-old son, Ben, grew wings and made his way into eternity.

But Ben wasn't the only one to launch into heaven in November.

My Father-in-law also chose November 19 for his exit.

In 2012, I spent the last 3 or 4 months of his life sitting at his side in Rotary Hospice House.

While I had held wee Ben's lifeless body, albeit after the fact - holding my father-in-law Ernie's hand and actually seeing him pass was the first time I witnessed someone's spirit vacate their physical body.

I can't actually describe this with accurate English words.

But I have experienced it two more times since.

Four months later, in March 2013, I held my mother as her life left her physical body and I saw it soar into eternity.

Again, I have no words.

I cannot describe what it is like to witness someone's spirit leave their body.

On one hand it is horrific.

On the other is it is, well, indescribable.

Surreal.

And honestly an honour.

And then came November 2018:

On the first day of the month, my beloved daughter-in-law and my two eldest grandchildren suddenly found themsleves saying goodbye to "Happy Grandpa." My heart broke. Especially knowing that their other grandpa, "PaPa" was following shortly. On November 28th, I held my husband, my lover, partner of 37 years, and watched pain leave his body as his spirit soared.

Again, I have no words.

How can I describe my deepest pain while I witness his highest high.

I have no words.

November Remember.

So yeah, tonight I was clicking along from something that popped up in some social media feed. I ended up watching funeral services and slideshows of many of my loves. Many who left me in November.

Home. Let's Just Go Home

Closing day at the lake is always a bit of a juxtaposition of emotions.

It seems every year there is never quite enough lake days. But this year, for the first time, it feels like we've had a decent amount of time out there even though summer was really slow in arriving.

This year we experienced no smoke from forest fires (a first in quite a number of years) and also had no campfire bans. (Again, a first in many years)

It's kind of an odd thing.

We go to the lake to relax.

And we do.

Which is weird because there are far less conveniences than we have at home.

We have power and water and great phone and internet reception, so it's not like we are disconnected from the world. But somehow it just seems to recharge our batteries to wear dirty clothes, smell of smoke and eat hot dogs.

When we are not at the lake during the summer months we are always planning when we are going to next be there. We are always thinking about the flowers. Do they need water? Are they growing? Has the resident wild rabbit eaten them? We are always planning for the next project - the shed, the deck, the wood shed, new firepit, grass.... always something.

October 1st the power and water get shut off for the season.

It's always sad when October arrives.

This year the temperatures were still in the mid 20's with no sign of frost. This is practically unheard of in our area. We filled the tanks with water and used the generator to extend the season for a while longer.

But today, we decided, was the day.

Time to button things up.

It was twenty degrees.

While it's always sad to winterize and close things up, it just seemed wrong to do it while wearing a tank top and flip flops. Usually we can see our breath and are wearing mittens.

But sad as it was, looking in the rearview mirror and seeing both trailers with their winter coats on, the gazebo put away and the place looking barren and abandoned, there's a sense of peace.

Home. Let's just go home, James.

Lake time.

It's kinda like vacations; Lots of planning and excitement. So much fun you don't ever want it to end. But when you finally board that plane, or turn that car toward home, a relief washes over you. Home.

Let's just go home.

Funny, you should say that.

You are probably tired of hearing about my cheese making adventure. But I figure if you’ve got nothing better to do than hang out on Facebook, you might as well come along with me.

At least it’s got me blogging after a very long absence.

The cheese making guru instructor, Tracey, is a lovely human being. She’s a funny down to earth character with a fantastic British accent. She has only been in Canada eleven years.

Towards the end of the session, she was laughing about the differences in words and pronunciations between England and Canada. She told the story of her teenage daughter rightly being horrified after they had been in Canada for a while when she referred to eating faggots. Which I think are meatballs made with pig guts or something. And of course she can no long call cigarettes fags, as they do in England.

Tracey commented about having to think about the word oregano every time she says it. She had said it a few times throughout the day and I noticed that in the course of conversation she sometimes said it “Oh raygun oh” like a Canadian and other times she pronounced it her native way of “Or a ganno.”

My favourite word to hear someone with a British accent say is “aluminum.”

So I smirked as I pointed to the stock pots we were making our cheese in, and said to Tracey, “Just humour me and say what these pots are made of.”

She looked me right in the eye and said, “Stainless steel.”

If you want to check out Tracey's cheese making page you can CLICK HERE

Making a Little Cheese with My Whine

I’ve always loved school.

Well, let me clarify that a bit. I’ve always loved learning.

My high school records will show you that I skipped class 17 out of 52 days in grade 10 math and I pulled off a solid B. Why did I skip? Because I could, I suppose.

But in the years since, I’ve taken many different classes and courses, both online and in person. Some I have finished, others I’ve jumped in all gung-ho and fizzled out before the end.

It seems every year, come September, I feel the pull again to go to school. For what, I dunno. I have no intention of launching a career at this stage of the game. I am retired. And grateful to be.

But this year was no different. I committed to two online art courses, a bible study and writing seminar.

And then today.

Today, as I innocently lay in bed drinking my morning coffee perusing emails and support groups for said classes, an ad scrolls across my social media feed: Cheese School. Cheese School! Who knew there was such a thing. Right here in my town.

I did a brief check-in with my hubby, then faster than you could say, “Charcuterie,” my Visa went cha-ching!

And I am enrolled in Cheese School.

Now maybe I will be motivated to delve into the Wine Tasting course (That never expires, thank goodness) that I registered for three years ago in September when I felt the pull of school.

Psychological Motivation

Have you driven the Road to Hana in Maui?

Hana rhymes with sauna and does NOT sound like Hannah. Let's just get that out of the way.

People tend to look at their map and say, “Oh, it’s only 64 miles. We can make it to Hana in about an hour.” Well, not unless you’re flying… literally. Aptly dubbed “The Divorce Highway,” the Road to Hana has an exhausting, and many times harrowing, 617 hairpin curves and 59 unforgiving one-lane bridges, not to mention an incredible number of blind spots along the way. And, since the speed limit is 25 mph or less the entire way, that puts the drive time, (with few to no stops), averaging about 2.5 hours — and that’s without encountering any traffic or other diversions.

Oh, and there are more obstacles to making it there “on time,” like being mesmerized by all of the incredibly beautiful waterfalls, local handmade jewelry, fragrant flowers and leis, fresh pineapple, banana bread and a host of other Hawaiian culinary delights to be discovered at the roadside stands.

We drove it in 2017. It was a fabulous experience.

If you get a chance to drive it, or anywhere in Maui really, I highly recommend you download the GyPSy Guide app for your phone. It's a game changer.

Near the seven mile marker of the trip are the Rainbow Eucalyptus Trees. So beautiful they seem fake.

Anyway, that's not really what this post is about, it's about me... 🙂

I don't really think of myself as being a competitive person. But that's really not true. I do love to be right and I love to win. It's just that I tend to only compete if I figure I have a pretty good chance.

So, no tennis games or speed races or singing contests for me.

I do try to get my daily steps in each day. While Jim was playing hockey three days a week over the winter, I often would go and mall walk or go to Costco or Superstore and intentionally walk up and down every aisle, sometimes twice.

Now that winter is over it's nice to get back outside again.

But I'm scared spitless of bears and cougars and dogs and pretty much anything on four legs. So sometimes I need a little push to get me going.

A few weeks ago I had an ad for The Conqueror app come across one of my newsfeeds.

It was a virtual challenge to walk the length of The Cabot Trail. This piqued my interest as it was my favourite drive I've ever taken.

The app includes street views of where you are along the way, and points of interest. You get digital postcards when you reach milestones and they even send a physical medal in the mail when you finish.

It seemed like a fun challenge with little perks to keep you motivated. It might be just what I need to keep me going. Cuz the thoughts of being healthy, in shape and possibly losing some weight obviously haven't been all that motivating for me.

However, the Cabot Trail is 298km long. That seemed like it might be a bit much to take on for my first challenge.

But, there is also a Road to Hana 104km challenge. That seemed a little more doable to me.

So I signed up.

They recommended you set an 8-week goal to finish the walk. I figured I would push myself to complete it in six.

But oddly, I have been motivated and spurred on by these little psychological perks and it's a great online community as well.

I began on April 8th.

And today, 18 days later I kicked some Hana butt as I crossed the virtual finish line.

And now I await my medal to arrive in the mail:

And tomorrow I'm off to meander the shores of Italy along the Amalfi Coast.

People are Disgusting.

Snow Mould. It's a thing.

And it shows up in the spring as snow melts away and reveals a layer of grey fuzz on your lawn. It developes when the ground isn't very frozen before it gets covered with a thick blanket of snow that lasts for months.

Often as the mould is uncovered it produces a nasty smell, not unlike the dog poop that also gets exposed in the spring.

I know there's not much we can do about the mould. And about all we can do about the poop is complain about inconsiderate dog owners who refuse to abide by the bylaws and frequent signage that state owners must pick up after their leashed poop machines.

It's not the fault of the dogs. It's the people who are disgusting.

But even with these stink factors and the dirty layers of sand and gravel that cover everything after being spread around and left behind by street sanders over the winter, I get excited. Spring is on the way!

Yay! We've survived another winter.

Another winter of lockdowns, restrictions and mandates.

The result of which adds another nasty layer appearing as the snow recedes.

Face masks.

People are disgusting.

We walked to Save-On yesterday and I decided to count masks along the way. We were chatting as we walked so it is quite likely I missed some. I obviously only saw one side of the street as we walked, but there were forty one.

Forty one discarded face masks lining the 1.9km-each-way trek from my house to Save-On.

People are disgusting.

Today I did my walk in my old neighbourhood. I counted masks again, and even took photos, as I walked along Pinewood from Ospika Blvd to Westwood Dr, (I'd estimate it's about a half kilometer stretch) I counted 18. On the sidewalk. On the road. In people's driveways. On their lawns.

People are disgusting.

I read recently on the City of PG Facebook page that there are 693km of city streets. (Do you follow their page? They have a new writer and their posts are often hilarious.) I walked about six of those kilometers in the past 24 hours and stepped over 59 freaking facemasks.

People are disgusting.

Before we moved into town from 'the farm' seventeen years ago, I spent months driving around different neighbourhoods assessing things like how fast the snow melted, how many kids hung out on the street, and how close were the bus stops before I chose an acceptable neighbourhood. Being close to a bus stop for Jed was a definite prerequisite.

However, if I were doing the same experiment today, being in close proximity of a bus stop would no longer be a prerequisite, but rather a detriment. It's my unscientific observation that living within two blocks of a bus stop will pretty much guarantee that, come spring, your yard and driveway will will be filled with a layer of discarded face masks.

People are disgusting.

And I kinda wish I'd bought shares in the face mask industry two years ago.

I Wanna Phone My Mama.

​Sometimes I’m nearly asleep and I jolt awake wanting to phone my Mama. 

Like tonight. 

I’m sleeping in a hotel. Falling asleep while thinking about coffee. 

Remembering as a child running to greet my Dad on the driveway when he arrived home from work.  The first kid to get to him got to carry his thermos in the house and drink the last inch or so of coffee left in the bottom. Sweet sweet creamy lukewarm nectar.  

It’s only just now, as I type this out fifty years later, that I realize he probably intentionally didn’t drink the last few swallows in the thermos so he could bring home a sweet blessing for one of his five kids. (This thought seriously has just punched me in the heart.) 

But tonight my sleepy thoughts had me trying to remember how my Mama brewed that coffee for Dad’s thermos each day.  

I have no recollection.  

Most of my childhood we had no electricity. We surely didn’t have a Keurig or Delonghi to push a button to select the strength and flavour, with an option of frothed milk.  Neither was it even a simple Melitta pour-through with a cone and filter. 

But I can’t recall it. 

“Mama!” 

I just wanna ask a simple question. 

“How did you make coffee, way back when?” 

I know instant coffee was a thing for a while. But I don’t think that’s how they filled Dad’s Thermos. 

And so I lay awake…

It’s not like there’s more important crap to be hijacking my thoughts at night. My country’s not on the brink of civil war. The world’s not spinning out of control. People aren’t being manipulated and divided in insanely bizarre ways that even ten years ago no one in the ‘free’ world could have even imagined…

No, it’s the vintage ways of brewing coffee that are keeping me awake.  

And I just wanna phone my Mama. 

It's a Wrap. Or is it Keto Doritos?

I fairly strictly followed a Keto eating plan for the better part of a year and was quite successful in losing some weight. But more than losing weight, I just felt better without all the carbs.

For the last year or so my Keto plan has morphed into more of a dirty, lazy low-carb. I'm no longer losing weight, but I really do feel better eating this way. And even Jim doesn't mind eating it, if I toss him daily rations of fruit and the occasional baked potato.

When I first started Keto, the options for bread, and it's substitutes, was really limited and not all that tolerable. But with so many people jumping on the bandwagon the options have increased substantially.

I really like the Keto wraps from Save-on.

But I haven't been able to find them in the last couple of weeks.

My phone must have overheard me looking for keto wraps and thus popped up an ad for Mr Tortilla on Amazon.

I've heard good things about the Mr Tortilla wraps but have never seen them anywhere in town.

Food from Amazon?

How bad can it be?

And the price was pretty decent.

I ordered four 24-packs last week and they arrived this morning. Best before May 2022.

I excitedly opened the box.

I nearly choked on my saliva when I gasped at the sight of them!

Oh.my.gosh!!

I dunno what kind of wrap I'll make first.

Perhaps I'll wrap an olive. Or maybe a cherry tomato or a teaspoon of salad dressing. Not much else will fit.

These things are hilarious!

I'll probably air fry them and eat them like doritos.

Parenting Matilda, Georgia and Jeannie.

Meet Jeannie...

I was getting some daily steps in Costco the other day and I bypassed a display of live plants. I'm not really a plant person. Oh, I love greenery and plants and trees and all things summer, but I kinda rely on God to provide them for my enjoyment.

Shortly before our new home was ready to move into JimE and I had a conversation about orchids. We both liked the look of them and thought they would suit our contemporary-clean-lines-simple-decor new home.

I knew nothing about them other than a cut orchid will live for months and months in the fridge if there are no ripe apples or other fruit nearby. (A fact I learned when I was 15 and worked in a flower shop.)

But I bought one for JimE as a house warming present on June 10th last year when we got possession of our new home. Orchids have always reminded me of the artworks of Georgia O'Keefe and I wanted to name our new plant Georgia but somehow the name didn't fit. And she became known as Matilda.

In Cahoots with the Boots.

Superstore was crazy busy today.

I didn't have many items, and had I known how long the lineups were I wouldn't even have stopped.

I took my items to the "16 items or less" express checkout and stopped in my tracks. The line-up was about 1/3 of the way down one of the aisles. I momentarily contemplated brushing off my convictions and actually going to a selfcheckout. But nope. I just couldn't do it. (Probably more out of stubborness than anything, but I refuse to participate in this utter lack of customer service.)

I scanned all the 'also long' regular lineups and factored in who the cashiers were (I can be rather judgemental like that, but I've become fairly adept at choosing who is gonna move their line quickly and who is gonna have to call for a manager or price check for every second customer.) I took my half dozen items to till 7 with the middle-aged woman with red hair and stepped into the long, but shorter than express, lineup behind a couple also carrying a basket with just a few items.

As we were waiting in line I checked out her footwear. Which is something I almost always do in a lineup or a waiting room. I read once that (while people-watching) you can tell more about a person by their footwear than just about anything else. At the time I sort of scoffed at the notion, but have never forgotten it. And over the years, I've come to think it's rather true.

This woman had on a spectacular pair of blue boots. I'd never seen them before.

"I wonder if they are Riekers?" I thought. And instead of just complimenting her on her boots and asking her, I then proceded to carry on a full conversation in my head.

"Maybe they aren't $200 Riekers, maybe they are $400 AS98's."

"Y'know they could be some sort of $89 Walmart knock-offs."

So I proceded to judge her clothing by brand name and check out her husband's shoes (which were Merrells) and decide they were probably Riekers.

"Yes!" I thought.

I got a rather sizable GC to Walk Rite Shoes from my hubby for Christmas. "I think tomorrow while JimE is playing hockey I'll go on a shoe date with myself and see what they have in stock for boots. Maybe they will even be on sale."

And with that decision, my mood brightened and waiting in line didn't seem so bad.

I got home and put my groceries away, got supper started and decided to sit down and catch up on social media on my phone.

I opened Facebook read a couple of posts before the first "sponsored" ad scrolled across my feed:

What the ??!?!!... "No!" I exclaimed. "Just No!"

Which got my husband's attention. "What?"

"Look at this ad on my Facebook feed!!" (I can promise you I have never seen it before. Trust me, I'd remember.)

I proceded to tell him my Superstore experience.

"Did you talk to her about her boots?" he asked. We've both become a little suspect of our devices listening to us to produce their algorithms in recent years.

"No. I did not say anything out loud. The entire conversations took place in my head. I didn't even sneakily snap a photo." (Which I've been known to do.)

Weird.

But I'm pretty stoked that I was able to call them out as Riekers.