grannynannysnippets

I'm Baaaack!

2011-01-10T18:23:00.000-08:00

It has been a long time. I have missed being in this place. I have missed reading what other's have written and I've desperately missed being the writer.
What took me so long to get back?
I worked three jobs last year. Two of them outside my home. One of the two "outside" jobs was a full-time position. I added three hours a day to that job by going to feed, water and visit with an older gentleman. Then, I came home to do care-giving at home.
So, most days there wasn't any time left for writing anything except the occasional 'honey do" note for my husband. Of course I should have blogged instead. If I'd blogged I could have check to see if there were any visitors to the site. Rarely was there any indication that husband had seen my notes. Certainly nothing indicating that he found the notes interesting or funny.
So, what's new?
I lost my beautiful trusting old Pomeranian last Spring. And despite my better judgement; I have a new young Pomeranian lad filling my life with joy (and pee spots).
I have learned that my brain is for processing not storage as I have no memory of how I trained any of the Pomeranians I had before this one. Were they all so wild and crazy as baby dogs?
The little guy wakes up much earlier than is socially correct. He is awake, ready to begin the day anytime after 5 a.m. He is always cheery and delighted to be alive. He is a marvel to wake up to even if he doesn't understand "it's still dark out" as a meaningful statement.
Our dear old Border Collie is an angel. She allows the little Pomeranian hours of wrestle-mania every day and she always allows him to think he is the winner. Stacey makes all the appropriate noises and some amazing gestures -- always harmless -- how does she do it? The little guy never has never had reason to doubt his sense of strength. He is sure he is the light weight champion of the world.
We have two cats. There are both very big cats.
One of the two, a big black and white male, is terrified of the little Pomeranian, to the little dog's great pleasure of course. The other big fluffy female cat torments the little guy.
She lays down on the little dog's training pad for a nap. The Pom can't believe his eyes. Sacred territory like that and she's got her big fat cat body on it. What is a guy to do?
Yesterday the little guy found the master bedroom door three-quarters open. He did a little scratching-pushing effort on the door and to his amazement it bounced back toward him. Reason for the bounce was that Miss Kitty was hiding behind the door. To her amazement he did it again with more effort (and with a gleeful smile on his face) and then he did it again. Now she was the one in a state of disbelief!
The little guy is very social. Loves everyone.
The two huge unresolved scary issues are that he doesn't come when he is called and he is a runner. I've almost lost him twice.
I am so open to learning how to train him. Please write.

What will Santa think?

2010-03-10T11:35:00.000-08:00

My Shuswap village is a small one with only 3,000 residents. In our little village there are few stores and inherently, they represent the centre of the universe to us.
On our Main Street there is a pharmacy which has an enormous amount of merchandise plus a Sears outlet, a floral department and a pick-up point for dry-cleaning as well as a printing machine for photos. There is an exceptional grocery store on Main Street. It is bigger and brighter than you would expect for a rural village of our size. We get this impressive store because our population doubles for two months every year and the extra 3000 guests buy lots of groceries for their houseboat, cabin and lakeside condo holidays.
The government liquor store on Main Street boasts very profitable earnings thanks to the same visitors as well as thirsty locals.
The other important Main Street service is the post office. This village is in a narrow valley which is overcast and grey for much of each year and all the routes out are treacherous in winter. Without a huge stretch of imagination you can guess that our Canada Post Office is an integral aspect of daily life here. It is perfectly normal to go to the post office just to see if there is anything in the box, even when nothing is expected. Folks waiting in line for rate information and such visit with one another because we always know one another. There are waves and greetings called out to friends coming to and going from their mailboxes located not far from the service area.
Since my arrival in this community in 1968 staff behind the counter have included a life-long friend -- as well as fellow community folk -- all have been professional, gracious and helpful.
I don't go to the post office as much as I used to because we pick up envelopes from a rural mailbox now and because I use e-mail.
Within the past month I have been into our little local post office often as I sent and received several parcels. Imagine my surprise at the discovery of no one I know working behind the counter. Then, imagine my discontent at being asked for my years old driver's license as ID three weeks in a row by the same employee. This person did not write the license number down. She just looked at the photo and I assume she compared the photo to the face standing in front of her. That'was pretty silly since the person on the license looked younger, blonde not grey-haired, displayed considerably fewer wrinkles and weight. Obviously the employee does not use the license as a source for name learning because she asked to see the license every time and never called me by name or acknowledged she'd seen me before.
Perhaps this woman's area of expertise is efficiency. Certainly, she is not a customer service queen.
I oppose the proposed calls for privatization of Canada Post. I contend that Canada Post is an integral aspect of Canadian identity. Small communities such as ours have historically been well served by Canada Post employees. I want the good service and friendliness back.
I was once told at a workshop that the single most important thing we can do for the Canadian business place is not tolerate poor customer service.
So, am I going to contact the Office of the Ombudsman at Canada Post to make a complaint? No, I won't do that. But rest assured I will certainly send a letter to H0H 0H0 next December to make sure that said employee's conduct is duly registered with S.C. That'll fix her. See where her plea for forgiveness for less than perfect behavior gets her with the Big Guy.
What's more on my next visit to the post office I might do something to make myself more memorable to staff.
No! No! No! I won't go "postal." I was thinking more along the lines of caustic remark or outrageous clothing or how about no clothing? That should do it. Darn near as scary a thought as going "postal."

RareEarth Festival like an Indigo Child

2009-08-27T20:10:00.000-07:00

No one will laugh at you if you are knitting. Skilled, experienced blues musicians Dawn Tyler Watson and Paul Deslauriers at the RareEarth Festival.

Arleigh -- another truly amazing woman and the delightful Sistas Blue.

Kath Raeber. She may well be a human angel.

I think I've met an Indigo Child.
An Indigo Child is alleged to possess special skills and abilities. That well describes the RareEarth Festival and it is only two years old.
The RareEarth Festival is not an ordinary music festival. It is simply more. It is more empathetic to the needs of its audience. It is more gentle. And it is distinctly more innovative and creative in meeting music festival criteria.
This festival works at remaking the festival world by making sure it is green. There is no trash -- the grounds are kept impeccably clean. This is a festival with very little plastic.
Just like an Indigo Child, the RareEarth festival rejects authority. Especially it thumbs its nose at the big festivals. This is a little festival with big names (like Buddy Guy, Kal David, Rita Chiarelli).
This is a festival that takes care of its own too -- the fabulously talented musicians of the Okanagan that are overlooked by the big festivals.
At the RareEarth festival audience people take care of one another's belongings with just a nod. No formal agreement needed.
Folks shared their veggies and snacks just 'cuz they were sitting near by.
Immersion in RareEarth space and philosophy encourages gracious and friendliness..
This festival is in a magical place with the beautiful sage-covered hills of Vernon close by and sunshine, that Okanagan summer trademark, providing abundant vitamin D and good vibes.
The music -- great blues and jazz.
At the core of graciousness is the organizer, blues crooner Kath Raeber. Kath is a remarkable woman (check out her bio at Kath and the Tom Kats). Like an Indigo Child she is likely a human angel.
Besides my heartfelt gratitude to her for organizing my all-time favourite festival, Kath's music re-introduced me to a childhood friend. My friend is another truly amazing woman.
I am thrilled. Seeing my friend happens at the RareEarth festival if at no other time.
The RareEarth Festival isn't for everyone. If you want to be a power-drinking idiot, skip the RareEarth Festival.
If body surfing to loud, pounding music is your thing, skip the RareEarth Festival.
This festival is for lovers of blues and jazz offered up to you by very skilled, experienced musicians.
This festival is for laid-back types, those not needing to push one another around to see the show. (You can bring your knitting to this festival and no one will laugh at you.)
The RareEarth festival offers a fabulous series of shows in a marvellous setting. There are no workshops to distract you. There are not multiple things going on at the same time. Just great music offered in a modest well-organized manner.
Indigo Children are said to be rare beings -- like this festival. It's one in a bjillion.

Spring Bliss Interrupted

2009-04-15T19:08:00.000-07:00

Rhubarb - the official signal of Spring.

Trays of infant lettuce and herbs.
Miss Kitty enjoying warmth in the greenhouse.

I have waited so long for the arrival of these spring-washed days of sunshine. What an experience of enormous relief!
All over our property all those winterized grey-brown branches are receiving the powerful magic of the green unfurling process.
Equally as exciting is a visit to our greenhouse that not long ago was inaccessible because of snow and ice. Now, the greenhouse contains trays of infant lettuce, herbs, tomatoes and peppers smiling at the sunlight. (The greenhouse also contains Miss Kitty. She adores the warmth).
We love rhubarb. I make a strawberry, pineapple and rhubarb jam for my husband. I love rhubarb marmalade! So, both products are made here.
I also freeze little containers of stewed rhubarb to serve thawed on our winter bowls of cereal.
Of course we enjoyed rhubarb pies. My husband likes pies with "runny juice." I don't. I like rhubarb custard pie. So, both types are made here.
Obviously, rhubarb matters.
Therefore, seeing its shoots begin their climb out of the earth is almost enough to start me salivating.
Rhubarb is the official signal that marks the true beginning of this all important Spring season.
I will miss a day of precious sunshine tomorrow as I need to take my frail elderly mother to hospital for a blood transfusion. She has essential thrombocythemia.The monthly blood transfusions give her a modest measure of relief.
Every aspect of my mother's life has been compromised by this disorder.
This disorder has 37 common symptoms and my mother experiences all of them. Frustratingly, she refuses to grasp that the symptoms are a collection of things covered under one umbrella, as this has never been properly explained to her. Therefore, each symptom's onset required doctor's office visits, lab work, x-rays, specialized tests, visits to out-of-town medical specialists and on and on.
My mother is very brave in the face of all of the terrible daily symptoms she experiences. Her pain is physically and emotionally exhausting.
It would help enormously if someone in a position of medical authority took the time to explain the collection of symptoms to my mother -- and explain to her that each symptom does not necessary herald a new disease. But rather, that the symptoms are part of the whole. Her stress level (and mine) would be much less. (Not to mention it would save the medical system bunches of money).
All these years into the disorder, she has been offered only small bits and pieces of information from her doctor or hospital staff. That leads to the obvious "well, the doctor never said that..." when I tried to explain that something she is experiencing is part of "the collective."
I have been able to access a limited bit more information from oncology professionals. But I would dearly love to speak with others dealing with this disorder -- to find out what they are receiving for treatment, how they cope with the symptomology and above all else, what they know about the history of the disorder.
As they say on that BC television channel "Got Knowledge -- share it." Please.

A Passionate Celebrant -- answering questions you were afraid to ask!

2009-04-04T07:32:00.000-07:00

A Passionate Celebrant
"What's a Celebrant?" asks everyone. Few have encountered the title.
Reassuredly, I haven't joined an organized formal religion requiring me to make various vows -- although marriage appears, by default, to have brought about poverty, the other and (much to Husband's chagrin) very little obedience (but let's save all that for another posting).
I would love a comtemplative life of meditation and reading but it seems that's not my lot.
However, I am totally okay with an active vocation of service to the needy and being a Celebrant is a perfect means of providing service using my skill set.
As a Celebrant, I am committed to doing very special services for the living on behalf of the dead. I am passionate about doing this to the best of my ability! Afterall, you only get one chance to do this right and it matters so very much to all in attendance.
Funeral celebrants are trained and certified to plan and deliver all aspects of a funeral or Celebration of Life. We are secular.
Certified celebrants are dedicated to offering their services to the many people who are not affiliated with a traditional religion and do not have a clergy person to call upon, and we are there for the many people who are simply not comfortable with a traditional religious funeral ceremony.
For some folks today's typical funerals fail to reflect the life of the deceased or fail to express the depth of meaning they are seeking.
It is not uncommon for families who have chosen cremation to postpone their decision about a ceremony for the deceased. For these families a celebrant-led memorial service is an excellent opportunity to complete the farewell for their loved one.
Celebrants are also there for the families who, through cross-cultural marriage, may wish to integrate each other's customs into a service.
As well, celebrants are available to those wishing to participate in their own funeral arrangements by pre-planning and working with the celebrant on details of their service prior to their death. This process can provide an enormous level of comfort.
Each funeral or Celebration of Life service I deliver is different as every family is unique. Each eulogy is personalized -- no two are the same. A eulogy is written following my collecting of stories and information from the deceased's family (or close friends) -- and as an experienced, published journalist, it is my honour to use my skills for this aspect of each funeral or Celebration of Life service. I feel like I have waited all my life to be able to do this for others!
I include one or more readings and musical selections and will create a video presentation (when it is possible).
I incorporate something special and comfortingly symbolic in each service -- something reflecting the person who has died.
I am always available for a separate ceremony for committing the body or ashes.
As a celebrant I lead every aspect of the service.
I believe that every life is significant. And I believe it is important to recognize every life with a service or celebration that is personal, meaningful and memorable for those in attendance at the service. Funerals and Celebrations of Life are also for the living.
I am dedicated to fostering a sense of safety and security at each service so that those who are mourning are able to do so. It is especially important to me individuals receive a personalized service, and it is important that their bereaved acquaintances have an opportunity to honour the one who has died in a place where they are welcomed and allowed to grieve in safety.
I have been trained and certified by Doug Manning and Glenda Stansbury of the internationally respected In-sight Institute.
It typically takes me 15 hours (or more) of dedicated preparation time. (My fees are reasonable and are modest compared to traditional funeral services.)
I fully recognize that losing an animal companion can be wrenching. For most of us there is a huge need to recognize the love and loyalty of our lost friend through a healing event. I am always privileged to help memorialize an animal companion with a dignified service.

Hope-giving signs

2009-03-31T13:10:00.000-07:00

There isn't a lot of green showing yet. But some is enough.

At Last
Not one moment too soon we are seeing those all important signs that Demeter has found her beautiful daughter Persephone.
I've heard boy robins singing their territorial declarations. Haven't seen any females in the neighbourhood yet but the boys wouldn't be singing if the girls weren't close by.
When I first wake up I can hear the fearless Red-wing Blackbirds boys singing their Spring song.
No blooming daffodils or green buds sprouting yet but I now believe there is hope.
I understand that there are predictions of more cold winters like this one for the next two decades.
Is this a curse? You know the Sleeping Beauty thorn forest surrounding the tower for a hundred years sortof thing.
I wonder how my grandparents and great grandparents coped and survived cold unforgivingly long winters on the Canadian prairies.
But then I have many questions about my ancestors' survival. For example, how did all those women survive menopause?
Where did they find their glimmers of hope?
How did they handle depression?
I am unable to organize my thoughts or priorities in the dark of winter. What did they do?
Organizing. Spring cleaning.
I am ready for these massive undertakings right now before the weather is truly lovely. But I am temporarily having to put all of this on hold -- as there is yet more work to be done on our street regarding the hook-up of our houses to municipal sewer.
In about two weeks time each household on our street will have driveways, lawns and flowerbeds dug up for pipe to be installed.
We can expect lots of dust and mud as concrete is sawed and hammered to make way for piping to enter our house.
This comes in addition to the several months of upheaval we endured last summer and autumn.
Not much point washing walls and such before that business is finished.
I am going outdoors in search of hope-giving signs now because I don't want to fall back into the darkness of winter's thoughts.

Play Day - Phew!

2009-03-21T18:44:00.000-07:00

A wonderful day of play!

About four years ago a tiny little baby arrived into our lives.

She was the delicate preemie newborn daughter of our neighbours. After her arrival on the planet, Little One spent several months in hospital receiving special care in a neonatal intensive care unit.

Finally, she arrived home to our neighbourhood.

We were wide-eyed and slack jawed in disbelief at the beauty of this miniature wee person. We were in love. Little One loved my husband best. She instantly stopped fussing for him as soon as he picked her up. She'd snuggled up and sleep in his arms ever so contentedly. However, I suspect sleeping was a self-defense mechanism. Husband didn't sing lullabies to Little One. He sang a variety of Rolling Stones, Steppenwolf and Led Zeppelin tunes to her. You'd not want hear his renditions and me thinks neither did she.
Little One's mother was more than gracious about sharing her tiny daughter with us. So, we had many blissful hours of time with Little One.

Then, economics required that the family move away. It was horrible for us. We really missed Little One.

One day this week past there was a definitive knock on our front door and ta da! guess who was standing there -- and from the second she came in the house it was like old times -- a play date.

First, she had a juice box and then examined the old toy box to see if all was in order. Phew! We passed the test.

Soon she tired of looking at her old babyhood toys and was pleased when she found some Dora the Explorer kidz cards. So, Husband and Little One played Go Fish! Crazy Eights and a couple of games that Little One made up as the games progressed. (Little One has an astonishing vocabulary and counts to 20!)

After cards Husband and Little One had their traditional breakfast. Eggs (poached, of course)and toast with lots of jam. Energy renewed it was time to play again.

Husband patiently played Paper Doll game. He endlessly used the spinner as they made a game of finding which clothes the paper dolls needed to dress-up for their various adventures. While the directions on the box suggest the first player to collect a top, bottoms, shoes, hat, bag and appropriate hobby is the winner. It wasn't like that the other day. Rather, it was a show of Little One's leadership skills. She told Husband what to put on the dolls at every move. He was amazingly good-natured about the whole thing.

Mind you, at least once I heard him say under his breath, "you're sure a bossy little girl."

To his immense relief Little One did finally tire of the Paper Doll Game. But she is not a child that naps.

After Paper Doll Game it was time to colour. A lot of pages got coloured in our jumbo colouring book. Me thinks Husband would have been thrilled if we'd been the proud owners of a colouring book with a lot less pages.

Little One saved the best for last. She found an old plastic chess set. (It has a lot of missing pieces). To our amazement Little One knew that the pieces needed to go on the board in some sort of special order and she asked Husband to do that for them. He did.
That was the last moment that anything like a traditional chess game was seen or heard. This was definitely Chess Mutation. There were determinate rules. But guess who made the rules? She also governed the movement of the pieces and it was all about the knights.

Little One insisted that Husband be the sound guy. He was charged with making appropriate neighs, whinnies and snorts as Little One directed, "This is a Mommy horse and she is going to visit her baby horse." "This horse wants to go and be with her friend."

There was a lot of horseplay.

Husband patiently did as he was told, although there was unmistakable mischief in some of the horse sounds.

After all that play time, Little One's daddy came to fetch her and take her back over to Grandpa's place.

A few minutes later I saw Little One on her trike, rapidly peddling down the street, her grandpa running along beside her.

Husband didn't get to see Little One taking grandpa out for a fitness run. By that time, Husband was sound asleep. He needed a nap.

Happy birthday, Cousins!

2009-03-08T14:30:00.001-07:00

Wishing you lots of delicious cake!

Dear Darcie and Christopher,

Happy birthday fellow Pisces!
Sending you love and wishes for everything good -- especially good weather and good health!
I'd love to have all of you here for dinner!

Love to you,
Terry

Not soy good -- no kidding!

2009-03-08T10:23:00.000-07:00

They aren't kidding. Or at least not in the successful ordinary manner in which it happened last year.
We have farmer friends with goats and their nanny goats are birthing their kids now. Sadly, more than half of the kids died shortly after birth and most of them had goiter.
Justifiably alarmed, my farmer friends are exploring many avenues in search of ways to avoid this problem in the future.
Nutrition is of course the obvious place to focus. What a learning experience for all of us is this exploration!
I am intrigued by many things we are learning and deeply disturbed by other aspects.
I am disturbed, in part, because I am relatively trusting by nature. Sadly, I am learning there is little reason to trust our food sources -- not for ourselves nor for our animals.
I realize that the trust stuff comes easily for most of us.

For example, I live with a husband who is a total believer in health foods. He reads or hears a claim by an advertiser, or hears an anecdotal report and then he buys the product. No questions asked. Mostly, this just means he is excreting expensive pee. But more seriously, he very often recommends 'this or that' to others without ever having investigated the history of the product. He never checks out the science of the vitamin or product from a reliable source because he doesn't believe that "natural" things can have contraindications. He totally believes the science fiction around "health foods."

But as my farmer friends and I are learning it may well be that within these good intentions of "health" that the poor little kid goats lost their lives.
Many different types of soy products are marketed as animal feed (and are in animal feed). This is in large measure because we view soy as a healthy primary vegetable protein source
What my farmer friends and I are learning is that the soy plant has an iodine-binding capacity which affects thyroid function. As well, (and there appears to be sufficient documentation indicating an established history) there is record of soy-based creation of pancreatic and thyroid gland problems in animals. Ofcourse, most of us are looking at what's in the package before we feed it to our pets, but how can we know all of these important details?
It is overwhelming.

We have learned that soy used in diets for poultry or pigs must be heated at 110 degrees Celsius for three minutes. Soy, just like many other legumes, has lecithin and other anticoagulants such as tripsine blocker (protheolithic enzyme from the pancreatic juice). This prevents an optimal use of proteins in foods. Fortunately, these anticoagulant factors can be completely destroyed at high temperatures. Historically, agricultural and food corporations told farmers that ruminants such as goats do not need to have the soy heat treated.
However, a pathologist, assisting my friends in their exploration for answers to the why of their kids' deaths, told my friends to talk to their animal feed processor about the heating process -- soy does need to be heated for goats or the iodine-binding (and other problems) capacity remains.

This is but one avenue of exploration. My friends are also examining their hay source, reviewing the genetic history of their goats (as much as possible, not all farmers tell each other the truth when selling their animals to one another).

And while this animal detective works goes on I am wondering about the claims of soy as a healthy alternative to milk-based formulas for human infants.

And I am pretty sure I want to know more about the high levels of phytic acid, enzyme inhibitors, lectins, manganese and phytoestrogens in soy. Those high levels of phytic acid likely greatly inhibit zinc and iron absorption. What does this mean for menopausal women and others consuming soy with the assumption that it is beneficial to them.

For me, even if the soy in the goats' feed turns out to be a non-issue, I have a new awareness of the need to know more ... and it is overwhelming me. I just want to be able to trust.

Happy to be Here

2009-02-27T09:45:00.000-08:00

Kingston T. Cat -- well-fed, well-sheltered and well loved.
Winter in the Shuswap -- glad to be experiencing weather.

Happy to be Here

It has been a big winter here in the Shuswap. There is a lot of snow and it is still minus 18 degrees Celsius here today.
Like almost every Canadian I am ready to shed winter's mantle. I have been feeling very sorry for myself. Blue. Unhappy. Crabby. Being held prisoner by winter weather is house arrest, is it not?
Around 48 hours ago there was some potent intervention.
Firstly, quite by happenstance I found a blog site called Call Me Cat. I am guessing the author may be Malaysian (although I haven't found the site again -- in part because I haven't had time to search for it. So, I am missing all the details. I have only the quickly observed moments of personal impact to share). The author's photographs of people living in sunny Asian regions were powerful reminders to me of my good fortune to have been born Canadian.
The people had wonderful sunshine but not our Canadian good fortune.
There was a photo of a black and white cat, so similar in markings to the black and white cat living in my home, it could be a sibling to our "Kingston T. Cat." The cat in the photo was obviously hungry, unsheltered and likely ill. I anguished for the cat in the photo.
Wake up call.
My cats are never without food, shelter and necessary medical intervention as needed. All of this is taken for granted by me and of course by the resident cats.There was another photo, this one of a young girl on a walkway looking over railing at difficult living conditions below -- the setting is likely her home. This photo gave me further pause.
I was viewing these photos on a fabulous computer screen inside a warm, comfortable home. Granted, there still existed mountains of snow outside but I have protection from the weather by a well-insulated, well-constructed, well-heated home.
What's more, I have privacy within my home. My neighbours are not a mere piece of cardboard or a piece of aluminum sheeting away from me.
Everyone in this home has a certain amount of personal space. Again, in the middle of winter it does not always feel like enough personal space - but we do have rooms where we can get away from one another.
We have indoor plumbing and a lovely big hot water tank.
I have electricity and running water and even a machine that filters our drinking water making it better-tasting and safer than average.
I have a refrigerator and freezer(s) -- all have food in them. Most importantly, we have a third of an acre where we can grow food. I also have the knowledge and ability to preserve what we grow here.
Call Me Cat's photos and minimalist commentaries were useful in reminding me to say my gratitudes with a lot more sincerity.
Then, on Wednesday evening we drove to the next community to see the film Milk which was showing as part of a regional film festival. It was snowing hard when we left. We always go to this film festival and we were, once again, feeling isolated by winter. So we decided to go to the film despite the falling snow.
En route my husband lost control of the vehicle and it careened from bank to bank multiple times on the Trans Canada highway. It was terrifying. There is rocky mountain face on one side and a long fall into a deep lake on the other side.
When the vehicle finally stopped we were in a place where we would likely be hit by any oncoming traffic, especially as there was by then even more intensely falling snow and nasty wind. It would have been hard to see us well enough in advance to avert hitting us. It was a blizzard.(I need to give credit to my husband's winter driving skills. He kept the vehicle uprighted and on the road.)
Once we were finally righted on the highway again, I wanted to return home. The others did not.
So, we went in to see Milk.
(The film is an important story and it is a brilliantly well acted film. I am pleased to have seen Milk. I do urge others to see this film. However, I suggest you not risk you life to do so).
The drive back home was every bit as precarious as the drive in had been. It was horrible. However, the vehicle stayed on the road on the way home -- by grace, I believe.
I was so relieved to see home and I remain profoundly grateful to be alive and well.
The cold and snow are still real. But their impact has been minimalized for me. I am just so happy to be on the planet to experience weather.
Sad to say, my phobias around winter driving have been confirmed.

"Must-have swimsuit"

2009-02-23T19:48:00.000-08:00

Top photo: The backyard at present.

Bottom photo: Does this look like a lake ready for a "must-have swimsuit?!"

"Just Chillin' -- an abysmal figure of speech"

When I opened my e-mail this morning there was an (unsolicited) ad telling me that the I needed a "Must-have swimsuit that follows your curves!"
I narrowed my eyes at the words.
Simultaneously, while reading the e-mail, I observed within my peripheral vision another significant snowfall adding inches more snow to our existing brutal mounds of snow.
What a cruel joke that swimsuit ad!
It was not just a nasty joke but a "must-have swimsuit that follows my curves" is a foreign thought for an over-weight middle-aged woman. What were those advertisers thinking?
Soon annoyance at the ad was replaced with anger at the weather.
If only a peoples' rally could change the weather. Then perhaps "storm the barricades" could be used as a phrase for warring with the weather. I certainly now believe "strong-arm force" has everything to do with shovelling white stuff from the driveway.
Still, I am a firm believer in the value of denial.
So, I opened the advertiser's page to see the "must-have swimsuit that follows my curves."
I didn't burst into tears (but there was a mental plea for help).
Naturally, I quickly moved on to other e-mails, you know the ones, those offering me penis enlargement, hot chicks with horses and get out of debt ads.
Those made the swimsuit ad appear kindly and gracious by comparison.
Maybe tomorrow the sun will shine and I will go outdoors and not even look at the emails.
There, in the fresh air I can work on a "must-have" body for the above-noted swimsuit.

White on White

2009-02-15T10:26:00.000-08:00

We are experiencing an exceptional winter in the Shuswap. It has been colder and snowier than usual.
Previously, we were often working on various outdoor yard clean-up projects by this point. Not this year. We're snowed in.
As this part of the Shuswap is in a narrow valley close to a large lake -- we experience a disproportionate amount of over-cast grey days. Not at all healthy for the brain or many other parts for that matter.

E is for Baby Goodness

2009-01-26T19:46:00.000-08:00

Without sunshine it is natural to be anxious and feeling low. That is exaggeratedly so when you are eighty-something years old.
In winter, with the holidays behind us, it is often a sad and lonely time for elderly women.
But even when it seems dark, cold and bleak magic can happen.
This weekend past magic once again came into the life of an eighty-something year old woman by way of a sweet-natured infant.
The baby's name comes from the old Welsh word 'elus' meaning kind and benevolent. This baby is perfectly named for even at five months he is capable of bringing gentle happy light into an old lady's life.
Not all babies are tolerant. Many are intense. Most babies would not be content to sit still and allow a fragile old lady to set the pace for an afternoon's visit. Ellis contentedly did so.
Ellis and his Great-Gran do not see each other all that often. The most recent visit was only the third or fourth time they've been together.
The first time Ellis met his Great-Gran he looked right into her eyes and she into his. They connected! What made that moment extraordinary is that Great-Gran is vision impaired. What's more, at that first meeting Ellis was a very new baby. They connected! It was a splendid moment. For them. For all of us in the room.
Dear Ellis -- he gently interacted with his Great-Gran all Saturday afternoon.
Ellis' presence was magical.
Great-Gran talked to him. T'was special because most days his Great-Gran hardly speaks at all. In fact, most days Great-Gran would not be motivated to sit up all afternoon much less hold a baby or chat with anyone.
Great-Gran rarely laughs out loud. (When one feels anxious and low what's there to be laughing about?)Great-Gran laughed out loud on Saturday afternoon as Ellis laughed his grand big giggle at his soft funny toy. Irresistible.
Great-Gran values babies. They have a special place in her psyche. Her mother, a mid-wife, came to Canada from Finland because she was invited here (as a mid-wife) to deliver one of this area's first family's first baby. She stayed on and subsequently Great-Gran's mother delivered many of this community's homesteading and pioneer babes. Interestingly, some of Great-Gran's clearest memories are those of sitting and playing quietly in the other room while her mother delivered babies.
Great-Gran's happiest recollections of her life are memories of when her children were babies and of the times spent caring for her grand-daughters.
Now, Great-Gran's world has a present tense. There is Ellis. The mere mention of his name makes her perk up.
Ellis has compassionate, adoring, bright parents. He has amazing grandparents on both sides. His grandparents are individually and collectively talented and skilled people.
If the peaceful loving interactions between Ellis and Great-Gran are any indication, it is reasonable to believe the families' collective goodness is manifest in the little one named for kindness and benevolence.
Mind you, had someone told me the name Ellis meant "thunder" I could attest to the validity of that as part of the lad's abilities. After all, he sat on my lap while he filled his diaper and that was definitely like rolling thunder!

Cabin Fever Blues

2009-01-13T16:09:00.000-08:00

Cabin Fever in the Shuswap

On the top: Our dreary lilac bush now. If you squint and look very carefully you will see a little woodpecker in the lilac bush. The bottom photo: Image of winter here during December 2008.

Winter brought real cold this year. The kind of cold that allows us to brag about being tough and Canadian. After all, we went about our ordinary activities and didn't caved to the snow or the cold. It was quite exhilarating!
Now, mid-January it's milder and there is just melty bleak winter landscape all around -- being a tough Canadian is losing its appeal mighty fast.
It's hard to justify being exhilarated about gloom, fog and drizzle and respiratory illness. At the moment, it's hard to figure out why we keep doing this. The 'keep smiling-keep being cheery' thing.
The image of a whimpy migratory Canadian 'snow bird' appears idyllic at the moment. Sunshine. Warmth. Colour. Scent of coconut sun-tanning oil. Sunshine. Warmth. Colour. That easily justifies a cheery countenance.
That's not going to happen to me any time soon -- the sunshine, warmth, colour and scent of coconut oil, or sips of exotic something . No cheery countenance here.
You know the data about flu peaking in January? Believe it. The entire household, save myself and the critters, have been ill since near the end of December. Everyone is confined to barracks. And you wouldn't know there was a declining seal population given the round-the-clock barking seal sounds in this place.

So, I am thinking how can I make the most of feeling sorry for myself?

Bag of potato chips? Nahh. That's old, unappealing and way too artery-clogging, even for a slug like me.

Hibernate? Nahh. How would that change anything? It's already like suspended animation in this household. No action here (Unless you consider whining an aerobic activity).
Speaking of which, perhaps, I could change my attitude by heeding the drastic action of one of my beloved Regina cousins. Despite NY's Resolutions' bad rap, she's made a resolution to get more exercise. And she is doing so. Wii (not so) fit, she calls it.
Not only do I have to consider that my cousin is a fine role model -- she is much! slimmer, smarter, self-disciplined and calmer than I. As well, I've notice she is almost always right about stuff.
Therefore, it must be good to resolve to excercise. Likely there is even a greater good in actually doing it. Should I start exercising, feeling sorry for myself may take on a whole new level of whining and snivelling. Soon I could complain about athletic injuries! That would be good.
I can't think of any exercise I particularly like doing. But walking maybe okay. Not that there is anything to walk to from here. Anyway, I will try taking the Border Collie out and about for a wee bit each day. She'll love it.
I don't feel contentment creeping into my life with this resolution -- but I take some solace in knowing I will have multiple causes for continued whining -- the cold, the aches and pains, walking in the gray dreary drizzle.
Likely, walking with the dog is going to be incomprehensible agony.
Writing would make me happier. I'd rather write than go walking. Probably wouldn't feel sorry for myself if I could write more. But probably it's healthier to walk than write. Darn.
In my serious dilemma, what would Cousin do?

A Fur and Finn Love Story

2009-01-04T13:08:00.000-08:00

Kingston T. Cat and the woman he fancies.

It is with great pleasure that Kingston T. Cat flaunts to other cats in the neighbourhood, and those reading this post, that a fondest dream has come true.
He proudly announces a new 'arrangement.' It is with a human.
K. Cat has a woman in his life now. Someone he rather fancies.
Kingston T. Cat consented to the arrangement about the same time the unusually cold weather arrived in the Shuswap region.
This consent came nearly a year after his first noticing the woman. He'd sniff at her in the past. He greeted her with soft meows and little purrs.
In return, she courted him with sweet endearments spoken in Finn. No matter her language, to K. Cat it spoke volumes that the woman appreciated his Catonese dialect -- she knew his yawning and blinks as the language of love.
He measured their encounters carefully. She was always gentle and considerate.
She allowed the relationship to take its time. She made no demands and allowed for affection when K Cat wanted it. That worked.
Now, K. Cat is working at being the perfect "kept" man. He is there for companionship and conversation.
His physical presentation is ideal. He keeps himself well-groomed. He loves that she loves watching him wash -- telling him she is proud of his fastidiousness.
As a "kept" man, K. Cat is an emotional delight. He knows just when it is perfect to suspend his adult behavior and revert to kittenhood for the pleasure of his human.
K. knows he has a handsome profile. But imagine how great his comfort as he is told he is gorgeous even when he is sprawling on his back.
Paws if you will to imagine how much pure pleasure there is for K. Cat in having his favourite morsels offered to him, one crunchie at a time, 'peel-me-a-grape' style.
Like most "kept" arrangements, this one is semi-permanent. That means it works for now but when the exquisitely tempting scents of Spring-time arrive, K. Cat promises nothing. But for now they 'knead' each other and all is 'purrfect.'

A Plethora of Pomeranians

2008-12-12T09:49:00.000-08:00

My arms filled with my darling Holly and our special guest, Ringo. (Photo: Sherri Powell)

Nights - sans white satin

One would think a woman already care-giving for several elderly women (each with multiple needs) would exhibit some common sense. I believe common sense would be a reasonable expectation.
Not necessarily so it seems.
Foolish appears to be my middle name.
Instead of cutting back my work load I've added to it by bringing into the fold an ancient, totally high maintenance guy.
He is little black Pomeranian.
Ringo is around 15 years of age, which makes him a minimum of 105 human years.
Like most 105-year-old guys he sleeps a lot, an endearing trait. Another rather nice characteristic is that, unlike his 105-year-old human equivalents, he still pees precisely and doesn't dribble all over the place.
That's the easy part.
The not-so-easy part is that he and my 15-year-old female Pomeranian sleep on our bed. No, let me rephrase that, the Pomeranians allow my husband and I to sleep with them in their well-appointed kennel. And actually, we are not really sleeping with them, it is more like doing a night shift nursing on the chronic care ward at a busy hospital.
Husband has CPAP machine for his sleep apnea (that's a punishing transmorgafying machine. You dream you're sleeping with a movie star and wake to find you're actually sleeping with Darth Vadar. Obvious punishment for dreaming of being in bed with movie stars!)The CPAP machine serves an important purpose. It is much nicer sleeping with the swooshing sounds of Darth Vadar than experiencing the 90 decibel noise from snore-ridden husband. Now, I think a CPAP machine for Pomeranians is an invention whose time has come.
You see the little old Pomeranian guy appears to have quite severe chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. So, he needs some support at night because breathing is a challenge for him.
Sometimes Ringo's breathing is even a challenge for the other Pomeranian. Recently, he was having a noisy night-time coughing session and the other Pomeranian awakened from her slumber, came over, growled and snapped at the poor little old guy.
Her approach was alarming enough that the little guy stopped mid-cough because he felt that threatened. Seems to me there is a lesson in that about a girl needing her beauty sleep.
Little Ringo is here because I agreed to do doggy respite care over the winter months, while his humans winter in Arizona.
He was here for a trial run (pardon that doggy pun) this summer and was absolutely no problem at all. Mind you, his Sheltie was with him - an enormous comfort for the little Pomeranian, we realize in hindsight. We also did not have them in our bedroom then. They were together in our sunroom at night.
The sunroom isn't going to work now. We've already committed the fatal error. We're a pack.
In reality, I happily accept this little man into our fold. He has a cheery disposition, loves to snuggle -- my female Pomeranian adores me, but mostly from afar, she doesn't snuggle -- and he is a Pomeranian. That gives him license (and not just the one from the municipality that comes with a tag.) I can't imagine a life without these little guys ruling my day (and now my nights too).
Pomeranians, my being obsequious to their needs, foolishly giving in to their every whim, these behaviors are all commingled in my frontal lobe. Sortof like barking and crunchies are commingled in Pomeranian brains.
Aren't these guys are so lucky to have found such easily trainable humans?
And aren't I so lucky Ringo's humans trust me sufficiently to have their precious little guy stay here with us?

Silly Circles

2008-11-20T12:25:00.000-08:00

"Holly the Pomeranian's well-being is often jeopardized by silly circle zone outs."

The Hypnotizing Comfort of Silly Circles

It's so nice to be back! While the rest of the world was staying in touch, writing posts on their blogs, and making observations on ordinary life -- I've been missing in action.
There has been an absence of writing's warmth and comfort here. For the past 53 days I've been immersed in a municipal election campaign.
I won't write my politcal thoughts and observations here. This is my egotistical "all about me" space. And it shall remain so.
However, I am pleased to announce that I am once again making time to write posts. Once again, I am taking time for simple self-indulgences. First on my list was a return to my yo-yo circles.
Yo-yos are little puckered circles of cotton scrap pieces of fabric, pieced together into whatever.
I understand yo-yo 'quilts' belong to those early North American settlers arriving on this continent with very little. Their "quilts" were created from bits and scraps to make "something for nice" as a bed cover. Yo-yos are not from an aristocratic needlecraft tradition. They are humble little pieces of stitchery created out of what was on hand in order to have something esthetically pleasing. These little circles became popular for making bed covers in the '20's and '30's. I love their tradition of being practical and pleasing simultaneously.
These silly little circles have a clarion call for me.
I was raised in protestant faith -- so contemplation was something I thought to be reserved for nuns, priests and truly holy saints. Ergo, contemplation was for people of other faiths. No nuns, priests or holy saints in the protestant traditions.
Now, I know differently -- about nuns, priests, truly holy saints and contemplation.
I only need a little scrap of fabric, a needle and some thread to experience contemplative presence. I can escape and find quiet even with noisy others around me as long as I have a little circle in my hand waiting for stitches.
The television was on and folks were chatting in the living room last night as I was about to settle in with my silly litte circles. Then, the Pomeranians began barking and fussing. That means Pomeranian Protocols need to be followed -- let them outside (in case output is the reason for the fussing) and give them treats (in case input is what is needed) and or place them in various spots of extreme comfort to see if they will just 'shush.' Black out. I went into my sacred silly circle zone for a bit and when I looked up a few minutes later, I realized there was no Pomeranian noise. Moment of panic - I had no memory of following the Pomeranian Protocols - or had I? Were the little fur balls outside, frozen in perpetual bark stance?
Turns out I'd performed all the protocols and they were contentedly snoring on our bed in the master bedroom. I still don't remember performing the Pomeranian Protocols. The hypnotic power of silly circles got me again.
I've been stitching yo-yo circles for nearly 30 years. Recently, as I began practicing Reiki, I found I was incorporating little Reiki positive thoughts into each stitch. I think there are twenty or so stiches in each circle. Hundreds of circles are needed for completed projects. So, anything that makes its way to completion is filled to overflowing with loving thoughts.
Another appeal for me is ofcourse the abundant symbolism of sewing a circle.
By the time I've finished a project years have passed. So, each project represents a personal diary for me. It's creation taking place through so many days filled with so all those memories.
Ahhh, so now you know... silly simple things amuse me.
Regardless, it is comforting to be back embracing that is simple and silly (not that municipal campaigning wasn't silly and not that some of those involved weren't exceedingly simple but I'm not going there).

Harvest Kitchen

2008-09-29T12:45:00.000-07:00

Headline: "The Slow Food Movement is Gaining Momentum." Funny headline. Nothing like 'momentum' in a slow movement to really speed things up. So, doesn't all that momentum mean it is now a 'fast' food movement?
Funny headline in that I was amused to think there exists an alternative to the slow food movement. Am wondering if that means cooking things on a higher heat so they are done faster? But then, I've never been in the fast lane. Decidedly more the Earth Mother-type, so what would I know about slow food alternatives?
Doesn't everyone make their own meals from scratch? If not, what do you do? How do you afford to put food on your table? I must admit to not knowing what else to do. But at least once a week I would love to find out! Do tell, is there a Cook Fairy that visits? (There sure are lots of things I'd be happy to put under my pillow to ensure a visit from her.)
Obviously, it is in my DNA to be a foodie.(I was capable of making family supper by the time I was 10 years old. Note that did not say gourmet dinner). All things related to food makes me happy (and obviously makes me fat too).
We grow food. On our less than an acre, we grow some of our own veggies like beans, beets, potatoes, corn, lettuce, cucumbers, radishes, herbs, tomatoes, squash and pumpkins, garlic and onions. They taste wonderful in season and those lucky enough to get "put by" taste like summer in January.
We have raspberries, a cherry tree, an apple tree, a pear tree, a few blueberry bushes and blackberry bushes also on the same less than an acre. Fruit food is treat food! (Juicy blue plums are ready now on our two old plum trees and aren't they just such a gas to have around the place?)
By this time of the year there are things from our backyard in the freezer, canned, dried and ready for winter use. I am nearly orgasmic when I look at all this year's jars of jam, jellies and preserves sitting on the shelves! (Discouraging to think what that indicates).
We are pretty keen on food being grown clean and grown in an environmentally-friendly manner. No melamine in our garden! Never mind that a mere one teaspoon of garden soil contains billions of organisms including simple bacteria, fungi, earthworms, insects of all sorts including my most feared - spidiees, and ofcourse who can forget the mountains of snails that leave their snot on everything.
(Over the years, we even raised our own rabbits and kept bees. Both gave us lovely products,lovely memories and some very funny stories. I'll save those for future posts).
I have a dear friend in Kamloops and each September we periodically phone each other and say "what are you putting up today?" She'll tell me she's just put up 300 pound of tomatoes that morning compared to my measly drying of two trays of blackberries. Arrrggghhhhh. Well, it is reassuring knowing someone else is home putting food by as opposed to being out and about drinking frappacinos and doing advanced pilate exercises.
Did I mention that the best part of stocking up is the wine? My husband makes lovely home-made wines and very nice home-made fruit liqueurs. One year he made the best apple cider I've ever tasted. There have been occasions when my above-mentioned friend from Kamloops and I have 'put food by' together while tippling on home-made wine. It did add a huge element of humour to our endeavors. Most certainly didn't seem to change slow food into fast food, but we never cared much when we were together wine glasses in hand.
On the other hand, (the one without the wine glass in it) how nice would it be not to do all that work? How nice would it be to have a kitchen without an ongoing project spread out all over the place? How nice would it be to have the canner and jars out-of-sight for just one day in August or September? (Hardy global laughter heard at this point because everyone knows my kitchen never gets finished cooking and thus, there is always something needing washing or putting away).
Well, (it's nearly happy hour, isn't it?) here's to all the momentum possible for the slow food movement. It's all good!

Water, water everywhere -- and now it is safe to drink!

2008-09-27T12:08:00.000-07:00

Our drinking water comes from this lake. (photo: Sherri Powell)

Superlatives for Wa2!

There is a lot of water here -- fabulous big lakes, rivers, country streams and mountain-side creeks.
There was a time, prior to developers and stupid power-drinking environment-destroying visitors, when our community was awarded a Best-tasting Drinking Water in Canada award. We no longer have quality drinking water.
Rather, massive amounts of this calendar year have been spent under a boil-water advisory. Isn't that disgusting?
It is politically disgusting that so little regard for our precious water is in place in this community.
That having been said, on a daily basis it is my responsibility to ensure safe water for the members of my household. That was an arduous task with boil water advisories in effect.
I boiled water. We bought great quantities of bottled water. It went on and on.
Last March we visited my cousin Shelley in Vancouver. (What a blast that was!) During the visit we learned that Shelley's neighbour, Gary, owns an amazing water filtration purification system company.
Imagine our over-the-top delight having Shelley and Gary come here for a quick visit this week -- and while here, Gary installed one of his residential model filtration-purification systems into our kitchen. Is that the highest caliber of service or what?!
The water tastes so lovely.(The company's website is found at www.wa2.ca/main.php) I can't say enough wonderful things about the product and the service. Check it out if safe water filtration is something you need.

Swiss bliss in the Shuswap

2008-09-22T19:34:00.000-07:00

Upper photo: Milena and Vreny Middle photo: One of Vreny's lovely table settings. Lower photo: Marco and Ruedi sharing a bit of music.

Sweet Evening!

Look up. Look waaaay up to a Shuswap mountain side and you'll find Swiss Family Bieri.
They are one of the finest Swiss imports Canada has every been blessed to receive.
They are like chocolate that original comfort food. They never fail to make you feel better.
Swiss chocolate contains free radicals, right? The free radicals up on the mountain may be Swiss but they are barely containable.
The most radical of the bunch, our dear friend Ruedi Bieri, is in the process of becoming a 60-year old as I write.
He hasn't been celebrating alone. His 80-year old mother, his baby brother from Switzerland and his brother from California arrived in time to celebrate this wonderous event. As well, Ruedi's mother-in-law, his brother-in-law, and a dear friend from Ruedi's school days and that friend's wife, also flew from Switzerland for the "do." In addition to the international guests, more than thirty Canadian friends (okay, so a lot of them are Swiss-Canadians) gathered at Bieris' farm.
It was a perfect Swiss Family Bieri party. An outdoor smorg under the stars with baked hams, sooo many different salads and exquisite home-made Swiss breads. Then, the crowning glory of the meal, especially for Ruedi -- a Black Forest Torte -- as well as another torte and two Swiss cheesecakes. Fabulous.
There was music. Guitars. Talented Nick of the Dreadnoughts, Jenna-of-the-amazing voice and green hair, Werner Gysi singing the blues. Soo fine. All of this happening by the best campfire in the Shuswap.
This is bear season in the Shuswap. Our region's black bears are busy now getting extra grub to build a nice layer of fat for the winter. The bears are especially busy up at Bieris' because there are lots of nice things for them to eat there, berries and apples and plums. In deference to Ruedi and his birthday celebration, the bears took the night off and so there were no barking dogs. Just music. The bears, bless them, were active in the afternoon so the Swiss guests had a chance to see them.
Bieris' farm is a hobby farm. Let me tell you -- this is all about love as a lifestyle (with apologies to Werner Gysi) and it is critter heaven for those critters lucky enough to be residing there.
When the Bieris purchased this acreage on a Shuswap mountain-side, there were some chickens that came with the place. That was like maybe 12 years ago.
The chickens were already 'mature' when Bieris acquired them. Real farmers keep chickens to lay eggs and then when the chickens aren't laying eggs anymore, farmers keep them (quite temporarily) in the freezer. Not the Bieris. Those lucky hens were allowed to live as long as they wanted.
The oldest of the hens, Ms.Henny Penny, died only a couple of years ago. Prior to her passing on, Ms. Henny Penny, quite understandably, became frail and elderly. That in and of itself was a rare and amazing feat for a hen.
Henny Penny had no idea her life was so unusual. She thought her way of life was her due.
(I am making a large assumption there. I don't know that Ms. Henny Penny did a lot of thinking. So, let me rephrase that, Ms. Henny Penny acted like her enchanted way of life was her due.)
How is it that Ms. Henny Penny managed to be the oldest hen on the planet?
She managed because Vreny Bieri got up very early each morning (for a long time) and gently picked-up Henny Penny from her roost, took her to the food and water and protected her while she ate her breakfast (Hawks out hunting early in the morning, coyotes not yet home from their evening out would have shouted with glee -- "You're toast Henny Penny!"). Always Ms. Henny Penny was cared for before the other chickens were let out. Age has it rewards at Bieris' Paradise (just ask Ruedi).
Then, after the day's dinging around as a free-range chicken, Ms. Henny Penny was picked up again and placed back on her roost for the night. Ms. Henny Penny passed away under a bush at Bieri's Paradise. She died of old age. Now, how many hens get to do that?
Besides Mommy and Daddy Bieri, there are two children Bieri.
First-born is Marco Bieri. He came home from his teaching at Simon Fraser for his father's birthday. He is Marco the Celtic punk band drummer, SFU first-year physics instructor, CERN atom-smasher project physicist and beloved son. And he brought the lovely Chelsea home as well. Chelsea is Marco's partner. She is a dear friend to everyone and so gracious in the face of so many old poops thinking they are cool and funny.
Milena, the Bieri family baby, arrived home from Switzerland just in time for her father's birthday weekend. Gentle Milena's return home was a great gift in itself. She is now a full-fledged social worker prepared to help the homeless in Vancouver.
The Bieris' farm is also a year-round bed and breakfast farm. So, anytime you wish, you can experience their hospitality and the good times at the farm. Check out Bieri's Paradise Bed and Breakfast on the web.
Happy birthday, Ruedi!
(Did your visiting family bring me any chocolate?)

Celebration of Life for Steve Copan

2008-09-15T16:47:00.000-07:00

Celebration of Life for Steve Copan

Held at Creekside Landing Care Facility
Vernon, BC
Saturday, September 13, 2008

(The memory table is set at the front. On the table is a white tablecloth. There is a traditional hand-woven Ukrainian Poyas (men's belt) laid horizontally across the tablecoth. As well, there is a ceramic vase decorated in a traditional white, black and red Ukrainian design. The vase holds several huge green hydrangeas, complemented with multiple wheat stocks. There is also a large framed photo of Steve as a young soldier taken circa 1942-1943.)

Opening Remarks

We gather today to remember Steve Copan. We will each remember personal little things about him which gave him a special place in our hearts.
We will remember happy times when we laughed together.
And as we gather here it is important to also share the gift of grief. While it is important to remember Steve with laughter, it is equally, if not more important to be comfortable with our tears.
There is an understanding that tears and grief are nature's way of healing a broken heart. One of our important functions today is to help Ella's heart heal just a little bit -- by letting her know that we understand that she is now walking a long journey of grief. We need to let her know that we love her and we need to let her know that Steve was a significant person to each of us. He touched our lives. And that's why we gathered here today.
My name is Teresa Andrews. I am a Celebrant. I am honoured to be here with you today to help celebrate Steve's life -- a life well lived.
Let me express my gratitude and gratitude on Ella's behalf for your presence here today. In the journey of grief there is nothing that takes the place of family and close friends.
After the time together here, we will say our final goodbyes to Steve at Kin Beach on Okanagan Lake. For those who are able to stay, there will be a time together at the Pantry restaurant -- close by the Vernon Lodge on Hyw. 97.

Precious Stones Ceremony

The Oklahoma City Bombing memorial has two symbolic wall-gates. They are made of special metal which absorbs touch. Each visitor is encouraged to touch the walls to leave a part of themselves to be remembered and to be reminded.
You will be given a crystal heart to hold -- some are rose quarts, some are amethyst and in the mix there are other stones also said to absorb energy. As Willow Burton, Steve's cousin, passes around the basket, please lovingly hold the stone you have chosen. By the close of the ceremony, you will have made each stone precious by your presence here today. At the close of this brief memorial ceremony, we will each place our stone back into the basket, which Willow will give to Ella, for her to remember and be reminded.
William Brookfield plays instrumental, keyboard music.
Willow Burton passes around the basket.

We now have a video tribute we wish to present to you. Please sit back, relax and spend a few moments remembering Steve's life. William will play and sing for us a song that speaks of the world in which Steve lived.
William Brookfield: "What a Wonderful World" plus instrumental music.
(Video time approximately 12 minutes).

Steve Copan's Story

As the story goes, the first Ukrainian immigrant came to Canada in 1842. That immigrant was a Ukrainian spring wheat strain. A Scottish farmer named David Fife, who farmed near Peterborough, Ontario, obtained a sample from a ship that was unloading wheat from the Ukraine at Port Glasgow, Scotland. Farmer Fife found that the Ukrainian wheat matured a full ten days earlier than other types of wheat -- that made it ideal wheat for our short Canadian growing season. That wheat from the Ukraine changed the economy of Canada. By 1928 about eighty-five percent of all spirng wheat was hardy Ukrainian wheat.(Which incidentally, was called Red Fife because of its colour).
Steve Copan was much like that first Ukrainian wheat -- he was one of the best!
The third of John and Roszina Copan's five children, Steve was born at Insinger, Saskatchewan. Like a dear little wheat sprout, he burst into the world on January 9th 1917 into what was likely a very Canadian winter.
Predeceasing Steve were his parents, John and Roszina, plus three of his siblings, Bill, Elsie and Gordon.
He is sadly missed and lovingly remembered by his wife, Ella, his sister, Marian, his sisters-in-law Mary, Cecilia, Kate and Sophie. There are many nieces and nephews and great-nieces and nephews who will always remember their Uncle Steve's easy-going nature, his sense of humor and his kindness.
Like prairie wheat, Steve found the necessary light and warmth he needed for life wherever he was planted, because his warmth and light came from within his powerful sense of family -- a unity created by the hardships the Ukrainian settlers faced in Canada. They understood the need to settle next to one another for all practical survival reasons. The togetherness and warmth of family made it possible to survive hardships. Steve's sense of rootedness to people and place ensured that Steve and Ella made many trips back to the prairies, especially trips back to Saskatchewan for family get-togethers, for holidays and when needed for special projects. Steve remained very close to his family all his life -- taking care of his mother-in-law. his parents, helping out his sister, Marian, in Vernon, and taking care of his sister-in-law Elsie. Steve took care of family by staying in touch by phone, most especially he regularly phoned his two sisters, until he was physically no longer able to do so. Steve's smiling easy-going voice on the phone carried his warmth and light to another generation -- he always remembered nieces and nephews birthdays and kept phoning until he connected.
Like a hearty Ukrainian-Canadian wheat, Steve Copan grew upward, knowing instinctively that he needed to be useful and functional.
Steve's early life was Saskatchewan farm life. He worked hard on his parents' farm. Then, during the Depression years he 'worked out" for others, (predominately in the Tisdale area) in order to make things a little easier for the family. The hard work continued as Steve and his older brother took over the family farm at Parkerview, Saskatchewan. Steve knew about stressful, dangerous long hours of harvesting, and he knew all about unco-operative Canadian weather. Nevertheless, what every kind of work was needed, wherever it was needed, Steve was there.
For example, when he returned to civilian life in 1946, he initially helped his sister, Elsie, and brother-in-law Matt Pawchuk in their business at Canora, Saskatchewan. Then again, in 1948, after Steve made the wise decision to follow his parents to the sunny Okanagan, he was soon, once again, working with family. Steve, with his parents and his brother, Bill, and his sister-in-law, Elsie Copan, and ofcourse with Ella, owned and operated the Top Hat cafe on Vernon's main street for many years.
When the family decided to sell the cafe, Steve went to barbering school in Vancouver. Subsequently, Steve became a well-liked barber located in the well-established barber shop at the front of the National Hotel on Vernon's main street.
There, Steve continued to barber hair and contentedly socialized with his many regular customers until his retirement in 1981.
Even in retirement, Steve (and of course Ella) continued to work -- as managers within the six-plex where they resided. They kept that place spotlessly clean, maintained a fabulous veggie garden behind the building and made sure the building had excellent curb appeal from the front. And I dare say, if he had been feeling better Steve would have dearly liked to have managed the cafeteria at Gentle Waters Retirement Home -- for he regularly commented that if it were a restaurant it sure wouldn't be making any money!
Steve didn't want to be like wheat grain stored in a silo -- just going up and down in the same old place.
So, he left farming when he enlisted into the Canadian Army in November 1942. Steve served with the Westminster Regiment motor battalion. He served in the United Kingdom, Italy, France and Belgium. Like wheat that is moved, pressed and crushed, but always transforms with grace, so too did Steve transform with grace from farm to soldier and back to civilian life. You see, serving with the Westminster Regiment during the Italian campaign would have been difficult. Very difficult. However, despite what he went through Steve held his war-time experience in high regard and did not speak of it with negativity. Each year, Steve honoured Remembrance Day. He felt discouraged and angry with those who treated the day lightly.
Wheat has a life beyond just having life as a plant, and Steve was ready for life beyond work. He had a wonderful life with Ella after he retired from the barber shop. Together, Ella and Steve enjoyed many travelling adventures including trips to Hawaii, Australia, Mexico, New Zealand, Cuba, a Caribbean cruise plus lots of North American travel in the motor home.
And in between the big trips, Steve and Ella enjoyed countless little fishing trips and many days of sunshine and good times with dear friends like the Watsons and the Sorensons.
The image of swaying golden wheat fields is a beautiful image, and so too was the image of Steve the dancer. Steve loved to dance. He was a very good old-time dancer. His sister Marian and his nieces can remember learning to dance by standing on Steve's feet while he waltzed and did polkas with them.
He and Ella enjoyed many wonderful evenings of dinner and dancing together. Steve was a good dancer and in June 2007, at 90 years of age, he was still dancing -- a polka with his sister, Marian, and a waltz with his sister Elsie, as the three visited together at Pioneer Village in Regina.
Steve always enjoyed a good card game (especially if he was winning), fishing the lakes of the interior plus ocean fishing at Campbell River, curling (he was very proud when he was a member of the team of 88's -- four 88 year-old active curlers of the Vernon Curling Club). He was also a member of the Schubert Centre Snooker Club. He actively enjoyed all of these activities in his retirement years.
Ella Kryptul entered Steve Copan's life like the proverbial breath of warm, sweet, fresh spring air on a Saskatchewan wheat farm. It was in Vernon where they met, that Steve married Ella -- his best decision every. Steve and Ella were each other's Everything. They never stopped loving one another.
I had the privilege of observing them together during those last very difficult months, when Steve was so desperately ill. Their recurring request, the one thing they repeatedly asked health care staff to ensure -- was that they be allowed to live together again. That wasn't possible. It was horrible for them to be involuntarily separated for medical reasons.
So many times during those final months, I heard Steve say to Ella "I love you, Sweetheart." Theirs was a great love disguised in ordinary life and humble ways. Steve Copan passed away at Creekside Landing on June 27, 2008, still enjoying the steadfast comfort of more than 60 years loving devotion from his dearest friend and wife, Ella.
Wheat faces diseases, pests, disorders and stresses. Naturally enough, there were all of these in Steve's life over his many years. He did his best to deal with what he was handed. But he couldn't overcome the issues of aging -- those were the strawbreakers for Steve.
The family extended gratitude to all of the caregivers who cared for Steve during those frustrating, difficult and painful final months. The greatest gratitude goes to Ella -- she was always there for Steve.

And now as we close our time together here, please capture your favourite memory of Steve as we listen to his favourite hymn, "How Great Thou Art" sung by William Brookfield.

Precious Stones Ceremony

To thank Ella for her unceasing care of Steve, Willow will gather the stones you've lovingly held -- each one a symbolic reminder of our love. Willow will give the basket of precious stones to Ella to remind her we know how hard it is for her to live in a world that now longer contains Steve.

William Brookfield plays instrumental music as Willow collects the stones and gives the basket to Ella.

Thank-you for being here. Rest with your thoughts for a few moments and then when you feel ready to leave, we will proceed to Kinsmen's Beach on the shore of Okanagan Lake. There we will bid our final farewell to Steve.

Music played by William Brookfield.

(Created by and prepared for the exclusive use of Celebrant Teresa Andrews for the Celebration of Life Service for Steve Copan.)

Waste and destruction

2008-09-15T06:28:00.000-07:00

"The current scene on Boutwell Avenue."

My home is in a rural village. Most of the houses here are still using septic tanks. Most of the septic tanks at the older houses are in various stages of failure. So, upgrades are needed.
We are also a rural village with beautiful lakes and thus, our village is a developer magnet.
I am unapologetically opposed to the development that is happening here. Not that the oppositional thoughts of a peon matter an iota in the big scheme.
There is a development going in at the end of our avenue. The development will be toy storage units -- huge storage units where environmentally unfriendly people with more money than brains can store their HUGE speedboats, quads and other weapons of environmental destruction.
Did I mention that the toy storage units are going on a large piece of property that not long ago was forest? It is a moon-scape now. When it was tree-covered, the property was providing shelter to deer, rabbits, many birds, squirrels, chipmunks and even a family of raccoons. There is no life there now.
The toy storage developer must hook up to the village's sewage system. Yes, the village has a sewage system -- however, only a few streets are piped into the system because the village cannot afford to create the necessary network of pipes and pumping stations.
As the developer is required to put in sewage piping, our avenue became eligible for sewage system too (and we are benefiting from this, no doubt about it).
At present we have a giant hole and many giant pieces of equipment in front of our home. The horrible house-shaking noise of the above-noted equipment begins at 7 am. Motors start, the nasty back-up beeping sounds begins and none of this ceases until after 4 pm. It's very stressful. None of us in this household are sufficiently stress-hardy enough for this test of our endurance. We're struggling.
On this avenue we expect autumn guests -- deer and bear coming to feed on the plums and crabapples. Not this year. The noise and huge heavy equipment have chased away the wildlife.
Always a trade-off, it seems, and always the environment is the loser.
We are benefiting from this development. We will be able to hook into the sewage system at less expense than trying to upgrade our septic sewage system any other way.
My whining is about the "big, noisy invasive" nature of the whole picture -- the loss of a lovely forested area sacrificed for rich people's toys and the loss of privacy and quiet on our little cul-de-sac.
I won't get over the loss of forested area. But in a few months when I don't have to worry about septic tank issues, I'll be more gracious in my words about the mess on the avenue.
I suppose if I had little boys in the family this would be a great adventure. Can you imagine how grand it would be for little guys to watch big diggers and such all day long?

Afternoon of the blues

2008-09-01T08:48:00.000-07:00

Photos are of:
Judy Rose and The Pretty Boys
Kath and The TomKats
The Sistas Blue (Kath's grandaughters and their talented friends).
Terry and Clare with those wonderful Vernon hills in the background (Photos: Sherri Powell)

Wow. Yesterday I had an afteroon in Vernon that did not involved a hospital visit, nor a meeting with a health care professional.
Kath (Raeber)and her TomKats,(www.kathandthetomkats.com)along with her family and some of her very good friends, produced an amazing weekend of blues music. (www.rareearthjazzandbluesfest.com)
The venue, Vernon's Kin Racetrack, was perfect. Ahhh....those sage and Okanagan sunflower covered hills as backdrop, with late summer sunlight for depth and warmth made this venue so right. Additionally, it was a well-organized site. This festival had a lot going for it.
Add to this outdoor perfection exquisite performances from Kath and the TomKats, Judy Rose and the Pretty Boys, Linda Sue Wilson and Flora Ware. Ohhhh my gawd!.. that heaven should be this good.
I had the pleasure of attending Sunday of the festival with good friend Sherri and her father, Clare. (I had tickets to the whole weekend but unforseen family problems prevented me from participating on Saturday.)
Sherri's dad made the trip from Regina to British Columbia especially for this festival. I know he is glad he did so. So too were the groups with CDs for sale -- Clare willingly spent his money buying music to take home.
Clare is not the only person who will get to hear his new CDs. You see, Clare's is the calm, confident, friendly voice of the Eclectic Cafe on CJTR -FM, a Regina co-operative community radio station. He plays a vast array of music on his show. However, while he is interested in almost every form of music on the planet, there is no doubt this blues festival's chartrueses captured Clare's heart. I feel confident those fabulous women will have special consideration at the Eclectic Cafe.
Lovely day, very lovely day,

Weekend Gathering

2008-08-25T20:52:00.001-07:00

Les Copan and Marian Graham - table set for guests in our backyard

My mother is alone now. She has no siblings left alive -- her remaining elder sister and brother died this year. Both of her husbands are dead. She is actively grieving.
This weekend past one of my mother's elder cousins visited. His daughter and I made special meals (which we ate together as a clan). There were many gracious moments in our backyard, at Mara Lake Provincial Park and under a romantic grape arbor at my cousin's Enderby home.
We took our elders on a horse and buggy ride along beautiful valley bottom fields and close by a meandering river-- terrific. I wish we could have been on the ride all day rather than an hour.
We invited our friends and their families to come along to share evening meals with us.
Multiple generations enjoyed a lovely weekend of evening meals in the Shuswap.
Thank goodness the weather held. It was pleasantly warm most of the weekend. (MInd you, in a normal weather year it would have been hot and sunny).
My cousin, her husband, and my cousin's beautiful daughter along with my cousin's grandson found enjoyable comfort in each other's companionship. We were hopefully making some good memories for my mother and her cousin. Perhaps we eased her grieving just a little bit.

Surprise visit from Ja Man

2008-08-18T08:49:00.000-07:00

Ja Man and Stacey playing street hockey.

I am nearly always the first one up to greet the new day in this household. It is a sacred time for me. It is the only solitude I get each day.
I read, write my blog entry, wander around the yard, hand feed my little Pomeranian her breakfast, etc. And, as it is early, I certainly never expect company.
To my surprise one recent morning, the door bell range before 7 am. I opened the door and stared at the excited teenager staring in an inquiring way at me.
Ta da!! After a few seconds I recognized the visitor. He was now a grown-up Ja Man --formerly a little South Korean boy that had stayed with us for six months about three years ago.
Ja Man had sprinted from the local Husky Station to our house -- about two and a half kilometres. He was winded and could hardly speak. His family was on a Rocky Mountain bus tour -- this as part of their summer holiday from South Korea. The bus had stopped at the Husky Station and at that point Ja Man recognized the surroundings -- realized he was close by and raced over to see if we still lived here.
I drove him back to the Husky Station, where his family was anxiously waiting for him to return. There was only long enough to exchange brief greetings with his father, mother, younger brother and baby sister. Still, it was a thrilled for me. Sadly, this was taking place in one of the few rather bleak unattractive settings in Sicamous -- the Husky Station truck stop parking lot.
Ja Man brought this household a lot of joy during the six months he was with us. I doubt that a day went by that he didn't create at least one laugh out loud moment in our day.
Stacey our Border Collie was just a young dog then and the little boy and Stacey shared a lot of the same hyper spirit in their endeavours.
They also shared a few quiet times. One of those rare moments gave us an unforgettable image. While he was with us, Ja Man experienced his first Christmas, as his family is Buddhist. Can you guess how excited an 11 year-old boy would be with all the decorations and gifts that were about? When Jack and I came out to the living room early, early on Christmas morning, we found Ja Man and the Border Collie entwined with one another, sleeping under a comforter on the couch. Ja Man had simply not been able to stay another night in his room when all the excitement was in the living room -- and of course there was the whole Santa thing.
Our neighbour had written out all the "To Ja Man From Santa" gift tags as the little guy knew our writing well.(And we had gone over-the-top with gifts for him.) Fortunately, we were able to slide the Santa things under the tree while he and the dog slept.
The tour bus was ready to leave as I arrived at the Husky Station with Ja Man. The entire episode, from door bell ringing to waving good-bye, took less than 15 minutes. But it was a powerful re-connect for me.
When I got back to the house, Jack was just getting up. He didn't really believe me when I told him Ja Man had been for a visit.

Happy anniversary, happy anniversary, haaaaaapy anniversary!

2008-08-16T08:23:00.000-07:00

(The photo is of my husband as Marriage Commissioner for the Shuswap conducting one of this summer's weddings -- particularly lovely wedding for a particularly lovely couple. photo Amy Boutwell)

We had a wedding anniversary this week and in honour of the occasion, we went to the neighbouring (larger) community for our dinner date and chose an East Side Mario's for our dinner location.

There among bjillions of framed Little Italy photos, candles in Chianti bottles and the delicious scent of garlic, we were waited on by staff wearing grass-skirts and leis. East Side Mario's was having Hawaiian Days. They had a karaoke couple set up on the patio where we were eating and that was all about country music. I detest country music. It was a very bizarre evening. Very multi-culturally Canadian, I suppose.

My husband declared his meal "very good." Mine was okay.

The entire situation was so far removed from my continuing dream of having a romantic dinner that I suppose its time I abandon the dream.

Last year on our anniversary my mother organized a gathering of our very nice friends and she chose a restaurant in our little village for the 'do.' The restaurant was totally understaffed and as a result, the wait for food was so long one of the guests left and went to Tim Horton's for something to eat. When we arrived, the sun's heat was smothering. Mind you, it was our choice to be seated on the outside patio. We waited so long for our meal that we were shivering in the dark by the time it arrived. The food was mediocre at best. Mother declared the evening "fantastic," bless her.

The year prior we were in Calgary. My dear wonderful cousin, his beautiful wife, and a precious friend visiting from Switzerland, along with her companions, joined us for our anniversary repast. We went to a downtown upscale steak house. There, we waited ions for the food and were chilled to the bone from the excessive air-conditioning. For this, the bill was nearly equal to a mortgage payment!

So, what to do? Prepare and serve the meal myself, you say. I know, I know, I am a outstanding cook and I set a lovely table. But I do that hundreds of times every year. Therefore, the meal I haven't cooked is cherished
Guess it's all about the suspenseful wait to see what happens next year...

Stop whining, you say. Just make the dinner reservation where I want it to take place. Novel notion. Might just try that.

Good Grief!

2008-08-14T12:19:00.000-07:00

These beautiful people are certified Celebrants. Trained and certified by the Insight Institute. Ottawa 2008. Photo Glenda Stansbury

I am such a happy woman.

My recent experience at Celebrant training at Ottawa was exhilarating. The knowledge, enthusiasm and presentation skills of the trainers were unbeatable attributes for making the experience a wonderful one. Add to the mix a room of intelligent, creative and compassionate people and obviously the experience becomes even more grand.

I sat with tablemates that were all of the above -- knowledgeable, enthusiastic, intelligent, creative, compassionate and one more thing -- they were hilarious!

And if you are wondering but were afraid to ask and even if you weren't wondering -- celebrants are the alternative to having a clergy conducted funeral. We provide secular services. We do all sorts of other things -- like empowering folks by assisting them to pre-plan the details of a service for themselves and things of that nature.

We truly are the greatest things since sliced bread!

Rufous

2008-08-13T06:24:00.000-07:00

Rufous Hummingbird -- Sherri's recent photos

An angel in human form

2008-07-31T16:25:00.000-07:00

Sherri visiting with us in our background July 2008. Photo Teresa Andrews

We presently have a delightful guest at our home. A special one. Our guest is a woman named Sherri. She is 'Sherri -Sunshine.' Blessed with a peaceful nature, she smooths things out around here as both my husband and I are rather intense.
Sherri is also an amazing combination of resourcefulness, hard-work and good humour. She gets a lot done and motivates us to get things done.
Sherri adores green growing things and as well she is interested in the feathered friends that visit our yard. Her photo of one of our backyard hummingbirds is gorgeous.
It is amazing when one realizes there is an angel in human form in one's midst. And Sherri is that for me. There is nothing Sherri doesn't help out with -- she is attentive to my mother (not attentive enough for my mother's approval, mind you). Sherri is loving and kind to the elderly ladies sharing our home. Sherri is adoring to our pets, and she is helpful to Jack (she does what ever yard work, building project or garden work is on for the day). Sherri takes on inside housework projects that I've put off for the last millenium. Besides all of the above, Sherri is lovely companion.
Sherri took on the task of being me for the past week, thus enabling me to complete training in Ottawa so that I could become a certified Celebrant. What a gift for me!

Lucky us!

2008-07-29T17:06:00.000-07:00

We have the enormous great pleasure of having a five-year old neighbour spend part of nearly every day with us. Her name is Sidney and she is a joy to us.
We do not have children of our own. So, wow! what a bonus having a 'pseudo' grandchild right next door.
In the course of this afternoon a land snail was discovered by my husband and Sidney as they built a pathway in the backyard. Land snail now has a name. "Appy." And a home in a jar. A series of folks have already been brought through the house to see Appy and this is just his (?) first afternoon with us.
Part of the afternoon included several games of hangman with my husband. We delight in the improvements we observe in this little one's alphabetical and language skills.
A picnic was required. Of course. Cheese, crackers, fruit and Yoplait tubes. When we were of sounder mind nonsense like Yoplait tubes would have had no place in this household.
Our hot tub became a swimming pool at one point in the afternoon for a singing diva called "Princess Debra." The "Princess Debra" was wearing a Dora the Explorer swimsuit. Go figure.
Soggy Princess D. always has a nice nap after her water concert.
We are so blessed to have this child in our lives. However, both husband and I are now ready for a nap -- and we didn't sing or soak in the hot tub today.

Malathion and mosquitoes

2008-07-20T09:49:00.001-07:00

Mosquitoes. Our community has a bumper crop this year. Tourists are fleeing because of them. The local newspaper has weekly letters to the editor beseeching local government to activate a insecticide spray program. After eight weeks of intense pressure from the local citizens, tourists and mosquitoes, the local government began a spray program on Friday evening.

At 10 pm on this lovely clear-sky, warm, full moon night, it was necessary to bring everyone, including all the critters, indoors. All the windows, and doors needed to be closed. Stifling hot.

The entire neighbourhood was fogged with malathion insecticide.

I am struggling with this -- it is absolutely wonderful to be without as many mosquitoes. But it also means bees (already in crisis) are killed. Dragonflies and all other harmless, necessary insects die too.

We were notified late on Friday afternoon that the fogging would take place. We were told to not enter the treated area (our entire neighbourhood!) for 24 hours.

That had to be ignored because the pets needed out in the morning, and things needed to be done.

This area has always had an abundance of mosquitoes. It truly has been uglier than usual this year.

How do other communities manage their mosquitoes?? Surely, there are more successful, less toxic management programs in place.

Little spot in the backyard, by the neighbour's fence line

2008-07-07T10:22:00.000-07:00

A little spot in the backyard - spring-summer 2008

2008-07-07T10:21:00.000-07:00

This is a little spot in the backyard that is lovely in the spring. Sadly it get ravage by August's heat.

Bird bath in the front yard

2008-07-07T08:54:00.000-07:00

Blessed petunias -- bring joy all season

2008-07-07T08:52:00.000-07:00

July's blossoms in the Shuswap

2008-07-07T08:26:00.000-07:00

Here we are well into the month of July in the Shuswap and it is only moderately warm. Atypical weather -- not good for tourism which is dearly needed here. However, moderate weather means our garden continues to bloom in a manner we cannot enjoy when it is scorching hot. I hope to share some photos of our blooms with you.

Bee -- spring time from our garden

2008-07-06T22:32:00.000-07:00

Hospital -- no place for dying

2008-07-06T08:59:00.000-07:00

During the last several months I've observed the in hospital palliative care of my mother's last remaining sibling, my 91 year old uncle.

It's been a frustrating, difficult and painful time for all of us. In large measure because the British Columbia health care system is in collapse but also because my uncle arrived at this point in his life lacking faith and patience.

Beginning with my uncle's physician there was little positive regard for my uncle. No one saw the whole person nor inquired about his life -- no one cared who he was, what he had done, how he had lived.

His primary care-givers, the LPNs, each one had 30 patients to attend to during each shift. They had not time to deal with an old dying man's fear and pain. Overworked, stretched to the maximum, the LPNs barely had time to do basic care. There were no back rubs nor Healing Touch therapy sessions.

There was not ever during his five month hospital stay any pastoral visitations. No spiritual counsellors came to calm my uncle's crescendo of fear, unhappiness and hopelessness. No one made it easier for him to let go.

The only social worker involvement was to arrange paperwork around the Freedom of Information Act.

My uncle entered the hospital not ever going to be well again. He couldn't be fixed. He was not going to become more attractive. And so, he was not a high priority. Within the hospital he was never welcomed, accepted nor particularly cared for -- it was a terrible void.

He needed something better. We need something better.

We need quiet places, filled with caring staff who are respected by their administrators. That way respectful conduct will filter down. We need to create sufficient hospice beds for everyone, not just a fortunate few.

Some better way to experience end-of-life than my uncle's experience exists -- just not in British Columbia's hospitals.

Briefly AWOL

2008-06-14T07:30:00.000-07:00

Yesterday it was necessary to take my frail elderly mother for a blood transfusion. She is in the spent phase of polycythemia. So it is now critical that she receive a monthly blood transfusion.
Normally, I stay close by her while she is being transfused. Yesterday, I went browsing about the town instead.
The main street of the town (where I onced worked -- on that street, in that town) has only two familiar businesses remaining on the street. Everything else has changed. The significant factor is that I haven't been into the town ( always going only as far as the hospital with my mother) for so long that I was unaware of all these changes.
I don't remember when I took vows of seclusion but it's pretty obvious that I don't get out much.
During my time AWOL, I went to the public art gallery. (In my former life I managed that gallery for a year.) There was fabric art on display and I found it so validating as much of what I viewed was similiar to projects I've attempted myself. I was vibrating when I left the gallery -- excited to get back to that art form.
I also strolled through the Friday morning farmers' market, where I met old friends doing the same sort of browsing.
I got back to the hospital ten minutes later than the time the nursing staff estimated for the transfusion procedures completion. Turns out Mother's procedure ended much earlier and so I was 45 minutes late. Mother was furious!
I was reprimanded and am now once again confined to barracks.
Where's "Harm" Rabb when I need him?

It's all about me!

2008-06-12T16:14:00.000-07:00

I am a care-giver to the frail elderly in my home. I have done so for more than ten years. But my inner selfish 'I- don't- want -to- be- doing -this- anymore' child would rather be writing fiction, making yo-yo quilts or doing artwork.

My home is in the beautiful Shuswap region. It is paradise and in order to live in the gorgeous place I've made sacrifices -- predominately economic ones. This region has all four Canadian seasons. Winters are typically Canadian offering an abundance of snow and varying amounts of cold. Spring is usually refreshing. This year spring looked and felt like November.

Summer brings tourists and mosquitoes. In September both of these annoyances disappear. September is often the most gorgeous month in this region. (Oops. Probably shouldn't have mentioned that tidbit).

I love writing. I would rather be writing more than almost anything else. I have never experienced writer's block.
Time is at a premium in my world. Those nasty chores and duties of everyday consume me, and being a woman of a certain age, I am usually out-of-energy hours before I am out of ideas and motivation.

But because I am a woman of a certain age, I am getting braver. Hence, this blog and I am already wearing purple. So, look out world.