Yearend

As I look out on this December afternoon which is finally, after several days of gloomy cloud cover, showing blue sky and sunshine, I think about the upcoming New Year’s Eve.  I haven’t made New Year’s resolutions for a long, long time. Now if I want to change something about myself or set new goals I just do it.  Usually it occurs when I’ve reached a period of dissatisfaction or feel a need for change. In 2011 I started this blog and have managed to keep it up for a whole 12 months (I’ll probably keep at it for a while).  Whatever I plan to do or change in 2012 I’ve either already decided to do or will decide at some point during the year.

At this stage in my life I’m fairly satisfied. I have time to do the things I want along with family and friends to do them with, or the comfort with myself to do it solitarily. I’ve got a bit of money that comes in regularly which allows me to cover the basics, and work arrives on my doorstep periodically – this allows me to pay for some of the extra stuff. I have an exercise routine – long walks and yoga – that I enjoy and that keeps me fit.  I read voraciously and occasionally watch a movie.  Now and then I volunteer and when I can I make some charitable donations.  Maybe it doesn’t sound like a very exciting life, but it suits me for now.  I think we each need to strive for the life we want at whatever stage (and needs and wants do change).

I’m not perfect, so I’m working on improving some of my relationships. I don’t always eat as well as I should so I remind myself of this now and then. I like to learn and do new things so periodically I will take a class or join a new organization.  Gloomy weather gets me down, and there’s not much I can do about that, but it’s good to know sunshine returns eventually.

I know how lucky I am to live in this country, which, though it has its problems, is pretty amazing none the less.  I’ve worked hard a lot of my life not only to ‘make a living’ as they say, but also to learn about myself, what fits for me and what doesn’t, and how to get along with other people.  The learning never has to end.

Over the years I’ve had some stories published in magazines and anthologies, as well as broadcast over radio.  However, I haven’t been satisfied with the lack of progress in getting a book published through conventional channels – I’ve been trying this for a number of years.  So for 2012 I’m going to self publish one to three books and see where that takes me. I’ve already started getting a couple of short story collections ready for this publication venture.  Again I am learning and expect to continue to learn a lot.

Besides, 2012 is the Chinese Year of the Dragon and that’s supposed to be a good one for us Rats!

Soldiers' Children

Recently Jian Ghomeshi interviewed Murray Mclauchlan on ‘Q’ in regards to Murray’s new album. One of the things they talked about was that although Murray admired the courage of those Canadians willing to sacrifice their lives for principles in war, he still wasn’t in favour of war as a whole. This reminded me of an issue that gets very little play in our media: how children of serving soldiers are affected by their parents’ work.

In April 2007 the CBC had a news item that quoted Ontario’s Ombudsman (March investigation) as saying that “children are on the brink of suicide” at the Petawawa Military Base. The Ombudsman said that the number of children in need of counselling had increased ten-fold as a result of Canada’s ongoing mission in Afghanistan. Due to a lack of resources these children were waiting up to six months for treatment. In his press conference (you can read the transcript at http://www.ombudsman.on.ca/Files/sitemedia/Documents/Investigations/SORT%20Investigations/20070416_transcript_military.pdf). The Ombudsman (André Marin) mentioned a young girl who collapsed to the floor one day just because she was called to the principal’s office; she was sure she was about to be told that her father had been killed. Between September and November 2006 so many soldiers were killed that flags at Petawawa flew at half-mast for 49 days straight. Marin said that children were suffering from such conditions as attention deficit, low self-esteem, difficulty interacting with other children, and even suicidal tendencies. The Ombudsman was asked if the situation was as bad at other military bases. Though this was not part of his report, he said that he had checked into it and there were apparently not as great problems in getting services in other places.  Thankfully, as a result of the report and due to increased funding from the province, wait times were reduced to 4 to 6 weeks.

What I still haven’t heard, and can’t find is not so much what services there are and what the waiting lists are, but what the children of Canada’s military are dealing with on an ongoing basis and what effect that this has on them both in the short and long term.  Is anyone researching and studying this?

Imagine yourself at the age of 5 or 10 or 14 knowing that your father or mother is in Afghanistan (or any other place where mines are deployed, convoys attacked, etc.). Even if the rest of your family tries to protect you from the news, you can’t help but hear about attacks and people getting killed. Would you have nightmares, trouble sleeping, trouble eating, have stomach aches, want to hide in your house and not answer to telephone or the door? Whose responsibility is what we are doing to these children? Isn’t it first of all their parents – do they ever think about what their so called sacrifice is doing to their children? And of course, it is our government that is deciding to send soldiers to these places – what are they doing to support and help the families? Many in our society laud the sacrifice, the courage of the soldiers who go to help other countries to attempt to stabilize their societies. It’s time to think about the children of our soldiers and weigh the costs.

Advent

Today is the first Sunday in Advent.  It’s a Christian tradition, and though I don’t remember that my family was particularly religious (we didn’t go to church regularly) as I was growing up, we did keep Advent to some extent.  My mother made (or bought) and Advent wreath and lit an additional candle each Sunday until all four burned brightly.  I had an Advent calendar (not with chocolate in it) and opened a window each day of December until the 24^th was reached.  I haven’t kept the tradition of the wreath, but I buy an Advent calendar when I can find one, and last year I started my grandson on the tradition. Though this year, he decided he wanted to open all the windows at once.

I know that many Christmas traditions were taken over from so called pagan festivals.  The Romans had their December Festival of Saturnalia.  Scandinavians (and other cultures) had Festivals of Light. The Germanic people had wreaths and other winter traditions.

So I’m not sure if my mother was following a religious or family and historical tradition.

Apparently Saturnalia was originally instituted to raise the morale of citizens after a military defeat. It eventually grew to a week-long event, with drinking, giving presents, feasting, and visiting friends. Sound familiar?  A couple of different emperors apparently tried to cut the festival down to 3 or 5 days but the uproar from the citizens was so great, they couldn’t do it.

Anyway, back to Advent. For Christians, it’s the time to celebrate and anticipate the birth of Jesus (which historically can’t be pinpointed).  There is a lot of symbolism involved. The wreath is made of various evergreens, signifying eternal life. In Catholic tradition three of the candles are purple, one is rose. In some European countries the candles are all white – and that’s what I remember from my mother.  There are prayers, too that go with the lighting of the candles, but I don’t remember us saying any.

So, in the modern world, many of us choose our rituals for Christmas, whether they be Christian, secular or from some other faith.  It will be interesting to see what my grandson chooses to carry on as his traditions and rituals as he grows up.

Communication

When my parents immigrated to Canada with my younger brother and me in the 1950’s their only means of communicating with relatives in Germany was by letter.  The farm where my father worked had a telephone (party line) but none of my relatives had telephones and besides the first transatlantic telephone cables didn’t come into use until the late 1950s.  My relatives didn’t ever see some of their grandchildren or nephews and niece again nor could they share in our daily lives.  I never thought a lot about what they were missing, though I did miss them for a time.  It wasn’t until my own grandson arrived that I realized how extremely difficult it must have been for them to see part of their family leave.  One of my brothers went back with my mother after several years; I didn’t get back until 25 years after we left.  The brother who was born here has never been to Germany to see relatives.

Now we have Skype as well as telephones, and lots of airline flights.

I regularly Skype with my son and his family. My grandson performs songs for me and shows me his toys or tells me what he has been doing.   He asks me what I have at my place so I show him the toys I have here and sometimes I tell him stories about them.  I carry my laptop around so he can see my house again and keep track of the changing seasons in my back yard.  Sometimes I sing to him and we do a puzzle musical puzzle together – he tells me which instrument and I take it out and put it back so he can hear the tune.

Recently one of the members of my book club said that she and her nephew are reading Jack London’s Call of the Wild together using speaker phones.  She encourages him to look up the places mentioned in the book using the atlas, Google and other sources; she also suggests different methods for looking up words.  Her nephew is bonding with her and also learning about how to do research and the value of checking more than one source.

This reminded me again of how creative people are and can be.  I was lucky enough to have my grandson living in the same city for the first two years of his life.  If I hadn’t I’d have had to find ways to sing him lullabies and stories so that we could keep in touch (as we do now) between the times I can fly or take the bus to see him.  It’s much easier now that they are closer to go and visit in person more often, but even so, I am grateful for all of the technological advances that have made us indeed a part of the global village.

NaNoWriMo

November is National Novel Writing Month.  It’s an opportunity for people to attempt to write a novel in a month with support from an organization and other writers.  Once the month is over, you upload your novel and they send you a certificate saying you completed the task. It’s fun and I did it a couple of years ago, resulting a new novel called Diamond Cat.  (If you want to try this just google NaNoWriMo.)

NaNoWriMo originates in the United States, while The Three Day Novel Contest is a Canadian tradition that occurs on the Labour Day weekend in September each year.  I did the latter once as well and ended up with 90 some pages. There is a prize for this one – a committee of judges chooses the one they like best and it gets published. I didn’t win, but the process was interesting.  A long weekend of writing and very little sleep.

Recently I posted several chapters of my fantasy novel Queen of Fire on a Harper Collins site called www.authonomy.com.  For anyone interested  in reading what I’ve got up there, just go to the site and type the title of the book into the search space.

After I’d done that I wondered about  my NaNoWriMo novel (I hadn’t looked at it since I finished the draft), and decided it had some merit. I actually liked the first section and decided to spend some time revising it, see what happened.  Then I thought some people might like to read some of Diamond Cat, so I’ve put a bit here.  If you want to read more, let me know and I will add to it in the future.

Diamond Cat Beginning:

A dark-skinned man stands alone at a downtown bus stop.  In the west the sun has just sunk behind the buildings and shadows are growing.  The man is staring at nothing in particular, or perhaps merely contemplating a partially completed spider web in the corner of the bus shelter.  The web is dusty, but glints in the light of the occasional passing care.  The man squats to study the web more carefully, to find the spider, but all he sees are a couple of dead flies.  He stands again and steps out of the shelter to glance right and left.  There is no sign of any bus.

A scream cuts through the peace of the summer evening.

The man looks around, his shoulder-length platinum hair fanning out as he moves his head.  There’s nothing unusual to be seen.  A puff of wind scatters dust and bits of paper.  The man watches the direction of the debris and screws up his eyes against the dust.  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cell phone or hand-held device, taps at it, and studies the result.  After a moment or two he turns to his left and walks north.

It’s the middle of the week and most people have gone home from work; there’s not much traffic on the streets.  The man soon reaches a set of row houses.  The dirty yellow brick walls and stone basements proclaim their age, but the dark green painted doors, steps and porch columns show that work has recently been done to improve them.  Without hesitation, the man enters the path of the second unit to his right.  When he reaches the door, he doesn’t pull out a key, however, but knocks hard and long instead.  A short time after he stops knocking the door opens, though it’s held by a security chain.

“What do you want?” A woman’s pale face stares at him.  “Are you a police detective?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“I called 911, and I know the Police Station is only a few blocks away, but you responded awfully quickly.”

The man tips his head to one side.  “There was a scream.”

“Yes, someone tried to get in at my back door.”

“It was locked?”

She nods.  “Of course.  I’m not a fool; I keep my doors locked and I don’t let strange men enter.”

“But you stand at the door and talk to them.”  He grins.  It’s an engaging grin, lighting up his face and warming his brown eyes.

Her lips twitch as if she wants to smile back, but stops herself.  “If you’d show me some identification, I’d be much happier, and I could let you in.”

He reaches for a pocket.  The woman pushes against the door so that merely a crack remains open.  The man pulls out a wallet, extracts a plastic covered card.

“A private detective’s license,” he says, holding it out.  “Of course, I might have created it myself.  Could probably do the same with a police badge.”  There’s no response from behind the door.  “Look,” he continues, “I heard the scream, thought I’d come and offer help.  I can take a look at your back door, if you like.  There must be a way to get to the rear of your unit without going through.  Or if you prefer, I’ll just leave.”

Pale fingers reach through the crack and take the card.  There is silence for a few moments.  Then the man outside hears steps walking away.  He waits, wondering whether he should go, too.  But she has his card.  He glances around.  No one is out walking in the streets, though now and then a car passes.  There are lights on in a couple of the other units.  After a while, steps return.

“Inconclusive,” he thinks he hears her mumble.  The door opens to the chain width.  She hands out his card.  “All right, why don’t you take a look at the back, since there’s no sign of the real police.  To your right, then left around the corner until you come to a brick path along the side of the building.”

He follows her directions.  It’s less attractive back there than in front.  Painting hasn’t been kept up.  A dented and slightly rusty blue car is parked near the door he assumes is hers.  By the outdoor light, he can see a large planter of white flowers beside the door to the left.  There’s a sweet scent he can’t identify, probably coming from those flowers.  That unit doesn’t have a car, though there’s a lit window and as he glances at it, the curtain moves.  He thinks a woman’s face draws back into the shadows, but isn’t certain – it could have been a man.  One of the other units to the far right has a parked red truck and a bright window; the rest look dark from here.

He takes out his hand-held device, flicks a switch and shines the resulting narrow beam of light along the ground in front of the door.  He leans forward, bringing his face down.  Being careful not to tread too close, he moves the light over the back door.  There are long scratches around the knob and lock.  He examines these particularly closely.

The lock clicks and the handle turns.  Light spills out and down several stairs.  Above those there looks to be a small kitchen.  This view is partially obscured as a large, dark figure moves forward.  The woman’s voice comes from behind the figure.

“This is James Hunter,” she says, “a friend.  James, this is a police officer.”

James doesn’t show that he’s startled by the lie, or by the fact that she read his card carefully enough and remembered his name.  He merely nods and flicks off his light.  The police officer unclips a very large flashlight from his belt and turns its beam onto James, who lowers his eyelids against the glare.

“Was it you trying to get into this lady’s house?” the officer asks gruffly.

“What?” the woman says.  “Of course it wasn’t him!”

“Please, Miss, um Jakob, let me ask the questions and let him answer for himself.  Well?” the police officer barks, lowering the flashlight slightly so that James can see the glowering face above the beam.

“No,” James confirms, “I didn’t try to get in.  I’d guess something with claws did.  Those scratch marks look fairly fresh.”  He points.

Vampire

Anne Rice wrote Interview with the Vampire after her daughter died of leukemia.  Was there a connection; was she trying to grapple with the tragedy of what happened by writing the book?  I still think that Interview with the Vampire along with Bram Stoker’s Dracula are two of the best books in the genre.  But what is it that draws people to this mythical and fictional creation?

Legends of blood drinking spirits existed in ancient Mesopotamia, Greece, and Rome, but our modern day stories appear to have their origins in south-eastern Europe.  Mass hysteria occurred with accusations of vampire attacks in East Prussia in 1721; people had feared the undead before and continued to do so, and they didn’t understand the vectors of disease.  Peter Plogojowitz was a Serbian peasant who died in 1725 and shortly thereafter nine other people died.   It was believed that Peter had turned into a vampire and caused the other deaths.  Austrian authorities and a local priest were asked to exhume the body and supposedly found signs (e.g. hair and beard grown, no decomposition, blood in the mouth) of vampirism.   A wooden stake was put through the heart and the body was burned.  The case was published in a Viennese newspaper.

Lord Byron is credited by some with writing the first vampire story (actually a fragment), which was called Augustus Darvell (A Fragment of a Novel) (http://www.simplysupernatural-vampire.com/vampire-Byron-Augustus-Darvell.html).   Apparently the story was written during a rainy period in Geneva (1816) when Byron, Percy Shelly and Mary Shelly decided to amuse themselves by reading and then writing ghost stories.  Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein was the only one completed and published.  However, in 1819 John Polidori’s novel  The Vampyre was published (it was based on Byron’s tale).

Recently there has been a revival of interest in Vampires.  Anne Rice published Interview with the Vampire in 1976 and went on to write several books in the Vampire Chronicles (ending in 2002).  There have been other books (check any library paperback section) and movies (Nosferatu, The Lost Boys, The Twilight Saga), and television shows (Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Moonlight, Trueblood).  I  liked the Moonlight series about a vampire detective (which was actually based on a movie), have never seen Buffy, and like The Vampire Diaries a lot (but don’t try to read the books – they are awful).

So what is it that fascinates some of us about this?  Is it the thought of living forever and having amazing powers?  Is it the sexual turn on (all those burgeoning adolescent hormones)?  The adrenalin rush from being scared?  Most likely a combination of reasons.   The Vampire is the outsider, the focus of hatred and fear.  They have been the antagonist, but more recently have moved into anti-hero and hero status.   Perhaps they represent hidden desires, the dark side of our souls or as Jung would say, the shadow.

Each writer or creator seems to keep certain aspects of vampires and change others.  Invisible in mirrors?  Not in The Vampire Diaries.  Afraid of garlic?  Not in their most recent incarnations.  Able to turn into bats or other animals?  Not always.  Peter Plogojowitz apparently strangled his victims rather than killing them by drinking their blood.  Unable to live in the sun?  Not a problem if you have a witch’s enchanted ring.

Endlessly fascinating.

Apples

Late fall is often a time when I return to eating apples.  The other Okanagan and B.C. fruit is done and I’m not ready to eat a lot of the fruit that comes from farther away.

When I was in Nova Scotia last fall we took a trip through the Annapolis Valley and stopped at a farm where you could take a hay ride to their orchards.  It wasn’t the first time I’d had Nova Scotia apples, but it reminded me how delicious and crunchy they were and made me wonder again why we don’t get these apples in other parts of Canada (i.e. Saskatchewan).  I have no idea what variety those apples were; they had them in the stores in Halifax, too, but I didn’t pay attention to the names.

Now, toward the end of October in Saskatchewan I’ve suddenly developed a craving for those tart, crisp Nova Scotia apples.

So I decided to do a bit of research into apple varieties grown in Canada.  The main provinces that grow apples are British Columbia, Ontario, Quebec, New Brunswick, Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island.  Most of us are probably familiar with Golden and Red Delicious, Granny Smith , McIntosh, Spartan, and perhaps one or two others such as Fuji and Royal Gala.  But there are so many more!  Take a look at http://www.ats.agr.gc.ca/can/4480000-eng.htm

So why don’t we get apples from other places?  Where are the Idareds, the Cortlands, the Vista Bellas, the Honey Crisps, the Edens, and the Sintas?  I’ve sent an e-mail to Agriculture Canada (the above site) to ask.  Maybe I’ll get an answer.  Meanwhile, I’ll keep missing those Nova Scotia apples.  Maybe I’ll ask at my local grocery store, too, about this.

Then, this Saturday at the Farmers Market there were Saskatchewan apples – Prairie Sensation, Sweet Saffron, Patience, Autumn Delight, Granny Annie and Prairie Rose.  Don’t they sound wonderful?  I got to taste them all and I think my favourites are Sweet Saffron (a yellow apple) and Prairie Rose (dark red).  These are all eating apples and not crab apples.

Stone II

I wrote about stones before (May 8, 2011) in regards to the stone houses of Moffat. This time I want to talk about the stones of the University of Saskatchewan.  I’m biased, of course, having attended that university, as did my son, but I think it’s one of the prettiest campuses in the country.  It’s got lots of green space, is near a river and the buildings are unified by the use of a particular kind of stone known as fieldstone and grey stone  (the Greystone Singers are named after it).

Recently I started taking a class again on campus, after not having been there for a while.  I noticed some of the new construction had moved well along (there has been a lot of building going on, probably partly a function of the boom we’re experiencing here).  Best of all, though, they have continued to use the signature stones that are part of the collegiate gothic look.  Some buildings have a greater or lesser ratio of this stone to other building materials.

The stone has come from a variety of locations and is actually dolomitized limestone.  Dolomitization is a process where limestone comes in contact with magnesium rich water and the calcite is replace by dolomite, calcium and magnesium.  When the university first began constructing its buildings, Indiana limestone was used, and field stone was also available north of Saskatoon around Aberdeen, but that quarry eventually became depleted.  Currently, some of the buildings have used stone from Deschambault Lake near La Ronge.  Tynall stone (which is somewhat similar and used on some buildings) is available from a quarry in Manitoba.  It formed under water some millions of years ago, thus may contain fossils of corals, brachiopods and other marine life.  Rumours have it, though, that there is a huge supply of fieldstone near Saskatoon.  The stone can come in boulders that weigh as much as 2,500 pounds.  I’m not quite clear on why, but apparently fieldstone is much more expensive than Tyndall stone – perhaps it’s because the former has to be found scattered in fields while the latter is available in a quarry?  Fieldstone on the buildings also has a rougher finish, while Tyndall stone has a sawn surface.

Other buildings across Canada use Tyndall stone, including the Parliament Buildings in Ottawa and the Empress Hotel in Victoria. 

I think the best use of this stone with the most visible and attractive buildings is here in Saskatoon.

Music

I’ve enjoyed Simon and Garfunkel’s music for a good part of my life, have a couple of their albums (e.g. Greatest Hits) and also several of Paul Simon’s (why wasn’t Art Garfunkel able to have a solo career?) after they split.  Recently, after not listening to them for a while, I’ve come back to them with fresh ears as well as old memories.  It’s because of my grandson, who at 3 years old, can sing most of The Boxer and Sounds of Silence while adding in some of the instrumentation with his voice.

He recently did his busker performance of those two songs along with some other music, on Skype for me.  I knew most of the words of Sounds of Silence myself once and have been brushing up on it and other songs, since he performed, listening over and over to my Greatest Hits album and singing along (loudly in my living room by myself).  I have to be prepared so maybe we can sing a duet next time.

A lot of my favourite songs are from the movie “The Graduate” although some also are on the Bookends album.  The music and the words are timeless, could be written about now as easily as the late 1960’s.  They bring back those feelings of youth and idealism, hope, and determination to improve the world.   I think they did help to shape my attitude to the world around me, to how I live my life and what I still believe are the important issues. 

Every generation has its own songs.  I’m not really up on what the top music is these days, though one can’t help but hear about the singers who are making the big money.  Many of them don’t seem very memorable to me, or very deep in terms of their music.  That could just be age speaking though.  My parents didn’t like some of the music I listened to, so maybe it’s a function of generational differences.  Though I do remember a period in the late 50’s and early 60’s when the music was pretty lame and tame  (Kookie, Kookie, Lend me Your Comb).   Perhaps we’re going through a musical slump similar to that time.  Though there seems to be a lot more music and musicians out there than 50 years ago, so probably if I took the time I could find current young musicians to like.

Music can move us, lift us out of a bad mood, make us want to dance, make us think.  I want my grandson to continue to hear that kind of music and take joy in it, whether it be music of the past, or of the present and future.

Colours

This has been the most stretched out fall I can remember having in Saskatchewan. Some trees have lost their leaves, but many are in full brilliance.  Recently I drove down 8^th Street and the elms sang with colour.  I thought of the winter just around the corner – shades of white, grey and black – and it occurred to me that the symphony of fall hues is for us to drink in, store up and savour, like well aged wine, when we are in the doldrums of cold and monochrome.

Not every fall is like this, but certainly this one is giving us plenty of time to absorb warmth, brightness and good memories.  I still have a pale blue delphinium late blooming in my garden and here and there around the city you can see other flowers still showing.

Colours have meanings and affect us in different ways – during this season yellow and gold and red mean joy and also a last show of brilliance before the end of warmth.

We don’t have quite the varied brilliance of eastern Canada – no great swaths of maples or oaks but what we do have is satisfying in its own way.

I’m going out once again to walk and drink it all in.

Bookstores

The Broadway Avenue area of Saskatoon used to have 6 or 7 bookstores (new and used).  I loved being able to walk down there and have my choice of bookstores.  Now there are only a couple left – increasing rents, retirement and perhaps competition from big chains resulted in the decrease.

One of my favourites on Broadway was It’s a Mystery bookstore, run by a retired teacher.  It was small, but very friendly and she was amazing in searching out books.  If I came across an obscure mystery  (Festering Lilies) that the library didn’t have and I couldn’t find in anywhere else, she’d take the information, search on line or during her travels to other cities and generally call me eventually to tell me she had the book or had tracked it down and did I want to buy it? I miss that bookstore, and others.

My very favourite bookstore is Munroe Books in Victoria, B.C.  It’s large, friendly, has a varied collection and also keeps back copies of an author’s books (e.g. Connie Willis).  So many bookstores don’t.  I hate it when I’ve discovered an author new to me, want to read more of his or her books, like them enough to buy them, and can’t find them.  Sure, I can order and have, but it’s so much nicer to find the book on the shelf.

Another favourite bookstore is Westgate books which used to be out in the Confederation Park area, but has been on 8^th Street near my grocery store for some time now.  I don’t visit it as often as I should.  For one thing it’s not within walking distance and when I’m in the area buying groceries I don’t usually think of going there.  They have a lot of books and I’ve found some good ones –hardback copies of To Kill a Mockingbird and Manhattan Transfer.

Of course, I like McNally Robinson and appreciate their support of local authors.  I’ve attended a number of readings there.  They are very good at ordering books, but I wish they’d cut down on their selection of non book gifts and stock more books.

I haven’t yet tried any of the electronic readers, though several people I know have spoken favourable of them.  I guess I’m still hooked on the tactile sensation of cracking a book.  Also, though I’m pretty careful of my books and generally treat them well, I also know that if I happen to drop one in the tub or dog ear it, no great harm done.  Books do dry out and are almost as good as new; they are even readable if the pages are a bit warped.  I’m not sure what would happen if you dropped an e-reader onto a sidewalk or worse, into the tub.

Libraries are still a big favourite of mine – my book budget isn’t unlimited and so they form the backbone of my reading (I’m about to start a biography of Robert Kennedy by Arthur Schlesinger Jr.).  Still, if I find a book or an author I really like, I generally want to buy the book so that I have it at my beck and call for whenever I want to pick it up again.

Bus

In the last couple of years I’ve started riding buses for long distance travel.  It’s more relaxing and less painful physically (sore, stiff limbs) than personally driving a car.  The buses I’ve ridden have rarely been crowded and I’ve mostly been able to have two seats to myself.  I can nap if I want, read or watch the scenery, and also snack.

My most recent bus trip was to Edmonton and back.  I find I like the Saskatoon Bus Depot better than the Edmonton Greyhound Depot.  Saskatoon feels friendlier to me.  In Edmonton they search your carry-on bag as a matter of routine, but it’s not only that.  The seats are harder (plastic not upholstered) than the ones in Saskatoon and grouped around the outer walls rather than in sections near the gates.  I guess Saskatoon’s Depot is smaller.  I didn’t check out the restaurant in Edmonton – the one in Saskatoon is Robin’s and no great shakes, but just across the street there’s Café Sola.

For me, at a Senior’s fare the cost would probably be comparable to driving in my compact car.

The bus from Edmonton was slightly more battered (cracked overhead panels) than the one from Saskatoon.  We left Edmonton about 15 or 20 minutes late, with apologies, but no explanations.  I didn’t really mind, just glad to get on and move into that timeless limbo that I do get into on buses.

A long time ago in my younger days I once rode the midnight bus from Edmonton to Saskatoon.  I actually slept most of the way as I remember.  There’s a 5:45 am bus from Saskatoon that I might take some time, getting into Edmonton around noon.

Since I will be doing this Saskatoon Edmonton trip a few more times in the next year I plan to figure out other things to do – take a crossword book for instance.  I could also take my computer or a paper manuscript and work.  Can’t knit though, they probably wouldn’t allow knitting needles.

 When there are small children on the bus it’s more difficult, a challenge for the parents.  Kids tire of staying in one place for periods of time; they cry or complain, getting frustrated.  This last ride, near the end an elderly woman came and asked if she could sit beside me.  When I said yes, she plunked herself down and said, “I’m bored.”  She then proceeded to bore me with her chatter.  Oh well.

If one can get into the right mood, focusing not on speed, but a cheap ride and a time to relax, and get seats alone, the bus is a fine way to travel.

Gibson

I recently finished re-reading William Gibson’s latest novel (now out in paperback), Zero History.  It occurred to me that it and the previous two books form a loose trilogy with several of the same characters.  So I re-read the others and gained new insights into Zero History as well.  Gibson seems to do this loose trilogy stuff – he did it with his first three; I haven’t had a chance to go back to the middle three yet to see if he does it there.

Zero History re-connects us with Hollis Henry, a former musician and now freelance searcher who has gone back to work for Hubertus Bigend and his global marketing company, Blue Ant.  Her job is to search for the designer of a secret brand of clothing called Gabriel Hounds.  The clothes are only sold periodically at locations around the world.  Only a few people find out about the sales through e-mail or from friends. Someone is following Hollis and she doesn’t know at first whether it’s Bigend being paranoid or someone more dangerous.  The book is full of Gibson’s usual cast of weird characters, generally loners who find others they can work with. 

Years ago, in reference to Gibson’s earlier novels, someone said to me that they found the books too dark.  True, particularly in the first three, the world is not a nice place – think similar to the world of “Blade Runner” – but for me the hope lies in the societal misfits who manage to save themselves and their friends.  There’s a touch of “Mission Impossible” about this book – the old television series, not the Tom Cruise movies.

I like how Gibson twists the realities of our present world to show us its bizarreness and make us look again.  In Pattern Recognition  (the first of this trilogy) he introduces a woman who is allergic to logos and brands and uses this talent to hunt for the newest and coolest trends.  For Blue Ant of course.  Hollis Henry appears for the first time in Spook Country (the second in the trilogy) writing for Node magazine, which turns out to be a front for Blue Ant.  She is researching a new type of virtual locational art that may be of interest to the military, or is it the technical support person they are interested in and if so why?  And who is the other covert group  that keeps turning up and what do they want?

Gibson’s books are always entertaining and thought provoking.  I look forward to seeing what he takes on next.

Change

Flowers are dying in the garden, the nights are colder, tomatoes are ripening, and birds are getting ready to leave, and soon the trees will have turned colour.  I saw a blue jay in my back yard this morning.  I like the changes that fall brings – thinning or moving perennials gives me an opportunity to revamp my yard and think ahead to spring.  I haven’t had to think about going back to school for many years, but it seems to me that those years stay with you and so there’s a sense of renewal even though summer is dying.

When I first started coming to Saskatoon as a child with my parents, there was a T. Eaton store downtown where the Public School Board offices are now.  I’m glad that building has survived, though it has gone through changes.  After Eaton’s it became the Army and Navy Store, with a much different ambience.  Kitty corner  stands the Senator Hotel which had a lobby and lounge area years ago where it now has a restaurant.  The city has continued to grow outwards over the years and older neighbourhoods have changed too.  I remember going to see a western movie at the Broadway Theatre when I was around 8 years old.  Years later the theatre became a place for porn movies, and then luckily a repertory theatre showing foreign and independent films.  Over the years the theatre has been renovated and spruced up so that it looks good and hosts not only interesting films but great intimate musical and other performances.  Broadway, the street, has changed too.  One of my favourite coffee and lunch places, The Living Room, is no longer there, but we have Il Secondo bakery and eating spot.

Change is inevitable.  Sometimes I like and embrace it, other times I don’t.

Currently my son and his family have moved from Halifax to Edmonton.  I know they like Halifax (and will miss it) and so do I.  My grandson seems glad to have settled after a few weeks of moving around and lots of car rides that he didn’t enjoy.  From all reports he likes their new living space and area.  I’m happy to have them living so much closer.  I can take a Greyhound bus up there for much less money than it takes to fly to Halifax, and in less time, so I’ll be able to see them more often.  I’ve noticed that there are also occasionally very good deals on flights.

Edmonton reminds me a little of Saskatoon with its riverbank and university.  It’s a sprawling city, too, so not as easy to get around on foot as Halifax, but I’ve heard the transit system is a good one.  I haven’t visited Edmonton for a number of years and I look forward to getting reacquainted with it.  I remember Fort Edmonton and the high level bridge, the Legislative Buildings, Jasper Avenue, and good restaurants.  I hope to find a good book store or two and new places to eat.  And the mountains are close.

Global Village

Marshall McLuhan coined the term in the 1960’s.  I was reminded of it again as I watched Jack Layton’s funeral, although the latter was purely a Canadian ritual.  Still, it brought people from a vast land together in a way that not many events have.

One of the things that really touched me in the days leading up to this was a chalk written comment at Toronto City Hall – ‘I voted for the first time because of Jack Layton.’  As an older adult and a former immigrant, for most of my life I’ve thought of voting as an important right and privilege.  Granted there were a couple of times when I got discouraged with all the parties and didn’t vote, but these days when I see people in other countries willing to die for the right to vote, I know how lucky we are.

As well, it was amazing what a broad spectrum of people came to pay their respects both in Ottawa and Toronto.  This man did appeal to a wide variety of people and his life and activities meant a great deal to many.

Mass media has brought the world closer together since the early days of radio.  There was the immediacy of the Hindenburg airship disaster with a reporter speaking directly from the site, and expressing his horror.  Queen Elizabeth II’s coronation was shown on television in Canada, not live but as quickly as the video tape could be flown across the ocean.  I still remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when I heard that John Kennedy had been shot.  I also remember the same about John Lennon’s death.  Many people watched the wedding of Charles and Dianna, and later the world watched her funeral.  Canadians joined together in watching Pierre Trudeau’s funeral and the train that carried his body.  More recently we shared in the joy of the Olympics in Vancouver.

What is it about events like this that bring some people out in droves or glue others to their television sets?

I think that human beings need to feel connected, to be a part of something larger than ourselves, and we need ritual.  Perhaps some will think that the funeral was too much or over the top.  Certainly for many it seemed to be just what they wanted – a chance to mourn, but also to celebrate.  And perhaps it was an opportunity to make a commitment, to go forward with a feeling of hope that we can make a difference, can make the world a better place.

On the other hand, a more cynical part of me says, it's the down side of mass media.  We all want to live inside a movie or a television show.  Sometimes when a disaster hits, I've heard people say, "It was just like a movie."  Are movies ever like real life?  There are people who love reality TV.  I don't understand why, but maybe we want to see ourselves on the screen -- all our foibles, and warts as well as our heroic possibilities.  If our lives feel insignificant perhaps being part of a movie or TV show will make them seem more important.

Still, I think that people do recognize the genuine when they meet it.  May inspiration fill us all to change our corner of the world.

Retirement

Periodically I find myself giving the retirement lecture.  I left my long term job just over 8 years ago, though I still do contract work.  I love not being tied to  regular, every day 8 to 5 routine, appreciate the flexibility and the more organic nature of my life.  I have more room to grow, do things on the spur of the moment, sleep at odd hours and stay up really late if I want to without having to worry about getting up early the next day.  Conversely, if I do have to get up really early for an appointment I can take an afternoon nap.

Friends unhappy with jobs or close to retirement often say that they just don`t know how they will cope financially.  They don`t have the same kind of skills I do or they don`t know how they`ll manage with a reduced income.  I tell them it`s all about finding different ways to live and rediscovering yourself in new ways.

When I retired I was really tired.  Though I had worked for the same employer for about fourteen and a half years, had got to do a lot of different things, learned an amazing amount, and mostly liked my job, there were also things I didn’t like.  I could do without the stress at budget time and the constant dealing with members of the “public” who wanted to complain and even yell at you on occasion.  I learned how to problem solve, but I got tired of constantly taking responsibility when there were people who rarely seemed to take it.  I like change, but at times things seemed to change or be reorganized too often and as the years went by, my job had more and more areas of responsibility.  In the end I was responsible for overseeing around three quarters of a million dollars (this included grants) and I didn’t think I was paid enough for that and some of the other kinds of work I did.  So I left, though on good terms because I wanted to go back and do contract work there.

Before I retired, however, I did some soul searching, counselling, and research into options for other work.  I knew, for instance, that I could probably get part time work at the public library, and I was fairly certain I could substitute teach because I had a teaching certificate and had taught in the past.   I’d also been a waitress at one point so Tim Horton’s was a possibility.

I had a small pension coming from my employer and some savings to tide me over until I could apply for Canada Pension at 60.  What not everyone realizes is that it’s pretty easy to research Government of Canada pensions and Old Age Security on line.  Prior to getting my pension I had to have a full year without work, but once I had it, I could work as much as I wanted.

I did a couple of things that needed doing on my house before I quit working (re-shingling the roof). 

Then I took several months off just to relax, recoup, read and vegetate if I wanted.  After that contract work arrived periodically without my having to do very much.  I had a few lean months now and then, but I had some mutual funds that I cashed in, some Canada Savings Bonds, and a little money in RRSP’s.  I haven’t had to cash in any of the latter so far, and still have some Canada Savings Bonds.

I was able to pay off my mortgage a few years after I retired thanks to a longer term contract, which allowed me to live on less.  I keep my expenses down, and rarely impulse buy, particularly when money is tight.  My car is 20-years old, but I bought it new and keep it maintained.

There are flush times and leaner times, but generally my philosophy is not to spend money I don’t have.  When I needed to either repair an old washer and dryer, or get a new set, I waited until I had a good contract and bought the appliances.

I wanted more time to write, and I have that.  I have the flexibility to spend with family.  I’d like to travel more than I do, but when I don’t have the money for it, I don’t get bent out of shape about it.  Rather I appreciate the kind of life I’ve made for myself and the things I love about it.

To anyone who is thinking about retirement, I say, do some planning and research.  You don`t have to buy into the consumer society; there are ways to make money and live well on less.  Think creatively, consider the things that are important to you, and go for it.

London

The events in London this past week certainly shocked many people.  The British Prime Minister may have been partially correct when he said that one of the causes was poor parenting, but I’m sure there’s much more to it than that.  As someone said long ago, “It takes a village to raise a child.”  It’s not only parents who have failed, but society.  On the other hand, apparently some of the looters not yet caught are quite pleased with the loot they stole, for example, a plasma tv.

I’ve been thinking about recent history.  In the 1960’s there was violence in the black ghettos of the United States – Gordon Lightfoot’s song “Black Day in July” is about Detroit in 1967.  There were the protests against the Vietnam war and around civil rights for negroes.  The March on Washington occurred in the United States in 1963 with Martin Luther King (his phone was tapped by the FBI) giving his famous “I have a dream” speech.  Organizations such as Students for a Democratic University (formed first at McGill and Simon Fraser) and Students for a Democratic Society (originally American) sprang up even in Canada.  In May 1968 students protested and 11 million workers and went on strike in France.  There were street battles with police in the Latin Quarter in Paris.  And then there were the clashes between police and protestors at the Democratic Convention in Chicago in 1968.

In Saskatchewan students at the U of S in Saskatoon occupied the Arts Building in 1971 to protest the firing of a faculty member and to ask for representation on university committees.  At the University of Regina the office of the Dean of Arts and Science was occupied in 1972.  It seems to me there were well articulated political reasons for demonstrations and protests in the 60’s and 70’s as there are in parts of the world today. 

I haven’t heard any political views from the so-called looters.  Are any of the young people in Britain this well organized or are they just angry and disaffected?  Maybe all they want is some of the consumer goods that everyone else has.  If so, their lives are pretty drab.

I read an article in the (UK) Guardian on line in which a young man named Chavez Campbell predicted riots (before they happened) because of youth unemployment and cuts to youth services.  It’s probably more complex than that.  I imagine there are criminal elements and perhaps “hierarchical” gangs (according to British PM Cameron) involved, but there also seem to be ordinary people caught up in some bizarre reality tv show.  However, people charged by the courts appear to be overwhelmingly young, male and unemployed.

I hate watching pictures of police battering down doors to find and arrest people, even if they are guilty.  Let’s not forget that the police are a hierarchical, para-military organization and that’s not meant to be a positive comment.  I can’t believe that some British MP’s are talking in admiration of 1971 in the United States when troops were brought into Washington and thousands of people were arrested and put into the DC stadium.  Shades of Chile in 1973, except there of course people were shot as well.

Young people are a country’s future.  If you ignore your young people, don’t find ways to bring them into the society, make them feel a part of it and want to contribute (and make needed changes), what kind of future are you building?  We in Canada had better wake up.  It’s not impossible that something like the London riots could happen here.

If you want to know more about the 1960’s in Canada read Long Way from Home by Myrna Kostash.

Black Mask

Launched in 1920, Black Mask began as a commercial magazine with stories of adventure, mystery, romance, love, and the occult.  It was a `pulp´ magazine as opposed to `slick´ meaning the paper was cheaper and thus the magazine could be sold for less.  In 1923 the magazine published the first tough private detective story, and by December 1933 it was publishing nothing but crime stories.  Its circulation was 103,000 and it cost 20 cents.

Writers for Black Mask included Dashiell Hammett,  Erle Stanley Gardner, and Raymond Chandler, and many others who also wrote for the movies and wrote novels.  In the late 1930`s, due to the popularity of comic books, cheap paperback books, radio, and movies, Black Mask went into decline.  It managed to hang on until 1951.  The magazine was revived briefly from 1985 to 1987.  Black Mask inspired the Quentin Tarantino film ``Pulp Fiction.¨

I recently picked up The Black Lizard Big Book of Black Mask Stories at the library.  It`s a collection of crime fiction from the magazine and includes stories by Hammett (The Maltese Falcon), Chandler (Try the Girl), and other well known names from the heyday of the pulps.  They´re pretty much all of the hard-boiled detective school, mostly male, with a few interesting women thrown in (Katherine Brocklebank has a story in the book), though generally not as protagonists or authors.  Apparently readers of the magazine sent letters to the editor when such appeared and said they didn´t care for them.  I quite enjoyed the book.  Many of the stories are short and can be read in an evening or afternoon.  They are varied, though now and then I got bored with another boxing story.

The history of dime novels, slick and pulp magazines in a way mirrors what´s happening today with the internet, print on demand, and the established publishing industry.   It seems to keep getting more difficult to get published in the regular way, but people are finding alternatives to getting their work out there.   Change is inevitable and always has been.  It’s a matter of finding your own path in the changing landscape, searching out the way that stays most true to your own values and goals.

Black Mask is now a web site: www.blackmaskmagazine.com and it contains information and stories from a variety of pulp magazines, in pdf format.

Service

This will probably sound like an old lady rant, but here goes anyway.  Whatever happened to customer service and taking responsibility?  Maybe we never had them as a society.

I used to work for a municipal government and occasionally I’d get phone calls (sometimes irate) from people who wanted to know something or get in contact with someone, but it wasn’t me and not my area of responsibility.  Rather than sending them on to another phone number (unless I knew definitely that it was the right contact) I’d say, “Give me your number, I’ll see what I can find out, and I’ll call you back.”  And then I’d do it to make sure they reached the person they needed to.

Recently I was trying to find a contact for seniors’ housing in the small town where my parents live.  They still live in their own home and are independent, but it’s getting a little much for them.  Internet, I thought; I’ll find out what I need to know that way.  So I contacted their Health Region via e-mail and received a fairly prompt reply saying that my request had been forwarded and giving me the name of the person and a phone number.  So far so good.

I waited for about a week and, not having heard anything, decided to follow up with a phone call.  The person I wanted wasn’t there, and the person who answered didn’t know anything except that it wasn’t the Health Region that looked after seniors’ housing.  She thought it might be Mortgage and Housing Corporation (she said it twice, so I know that’s what she said).

Well, that didn’t seem quite right to me, so I went back on line to the Government of Saskatchewan web site (which I’d checked before without finding anything definite).  I found Sask. Housing Corporation and finally found a brochure that gave me a 1-800 number.  When I called it an automated voice mail gave me another 1-800 number for my specific region.  That resulted in a real person who gave me a number in the town where my parents live.  I knew it was a number there because of the prefix.  When I called it, however, I reached the Credit Union there.  When I explained that I was trying to reach someone in regards to seniors housing they said, “Oh, you want so and so, she works in (the next town) and doesn’t like to be disturbed at work about this, but here’s here home phone number, call her in the evening.”

 Great I thought, and in the meantime I’ll phone Sask. Housing back and tell them the number they have is incorrect (so someone else won’t waste their time calling it).  When I phoned, I was very low key, said that I’d talked to someone and been given this number and it was the Credit Union and not the number I wanted.  I said that I thought they might want to know they didn’t have the correct number. The woman told me that the number had been given to them by the coordinator and they updated it last in June.  She obviously didn’t want to even acknowledge or even thank me for drawing this to their attention.  It just wasn’t her responsibility.  So I said again that it obviously wasn’t the right number and I just thought they might like to know and rang off.

Or maybe I just expect too much.

Routine

It sounds dull – doing the same boring things at the same time, so familiar you could practically do it in your sleep.  But I find routine useful: yoga in the morning when I get up, a long walk three times a week, regular times to vacuum and change the sheets.  A system of some kind makes sure the basic necessities for a smooth and healthy life get accomplished.

As long as my whole day is not one boring repetition of the same little chores, routine frees me up for more creative pursuits.  Which is not to say that creation doesn’t happen during the so-called mindless activities.  In fact, I often get great ideas when my body is engaged in some easy or repetitive action and my mind can wander where it will.  And of course, some kind of routine is absolutely necessary for creative work to reach its goal – a certain time each day to write or a certain number of pages to get done.

The reason I decided to re-examine my own routines is because I forgot to post my blog this Sunday as I usually do.  I like having a deadline for the blog and I generally think about what I’m going to write or post during the week.  On Sunday I got up just after 4 am so I could Skype Halifax.  I was up for a while, then went back to bed.  I got up late, did some of the usual things, repainted my front steps, finished a first draft of a fantasy novel and spent some time reading.  Then in the evening I watched TV – which I hadn’t done in a while.  It was quite a relaxing day and I enjoyed it.

This morning I realized I’d forgotten all about my blog.  Debate: do I skip it this week entirely?  Post something and pretend I posted it yesterday?  Or just write about breaking routine and how that’s important to do once in a while – by accident, on purpose, or spontaneously.

So here I am after having gone for a two hour walk a little while ago, sitting at my lap top.  It’s a hot day outside and lots of people were walking and biking the riverbank trail.  I stopped at the library, returned  a book and got a new one, bought a hot dog and lemonade at the red bus, crossed to Broadway and visited a couple of stores and then headed home.

I’m not sure yet what I’m going to do with the rest of my day.  Freedom.

Attitude

Recently I was out visiting my parents.  Both of them are in their mid to late eighties and still living in their own home.  It’s not easy – they have physical problems such as arthritis, loss of sight and hearing, forgetfulness and, psychologically frustration.  My mother said to me (and she’s said it before), “Don’t get old.”  This time I responded a bit flippantly, I guess, “So I should die young?”

I know what she means to say of course: Life is not easy anymore, even getting up in the morning is a chore and she can’t do the things she used to love like work in the garden.  There was an issue about some paper work that they were both frustrated with and so I handled it.  My dad talked about life being too complicated. 

I’m not that young myself anymore and have my own aches and pains, little things that go wrong or muscles that don’t bounce back the way they used to. I don’t sleep as well at night as I once did and my digestion is iffy at times so I have to be careful what I eat.

It saddens me to see my parents now.  It seems to me that their quality of life isn’t all that good.  And yet they have enough money to live, food and shelter, people who help them.  I try to suggest things, though I’m not sure they get through.   I know that depression can be an issue for seniors.  It’s difficult to walk in another’s shoes.  Not easy to change your behaviour or ways of thinking after a lifetime of doing things a certain way.

As I continue to get older (and right now I`d like to get really old) I want to be the kind of person who sees the glass half full rather than half empty.  In other words, it`s not about what I`ve already drunk except in so far as I have all the memories of the great tastes (and the bitter ones too – because those brought me learning and insight), but rather about what`s still left to drink.

What surprises may lurk around the next corner?  I didn`t expect to have a grandson who I`m crazy about and I wouldn`t have missed that experience for the world.  I want plenty more time with him and his parents.  I want the experience of spending time with friends, travelling, writing, and just simply living.  My garden is beautiful right now with bright flowers; walking along the riverbank in the cool of a summer morning is amazing.

Attitude is a choice and even the worst experience can be improved by a positive outlook.  It`s not always easy to find the light in the darkness, but I certainly intend to do my best in that regard.  And if you just can’t find the candles (there was a power outage when I was out at my parents and my mother got terribly upset when the kerosene lamp was empty and she couldn’t find the candles), maybe the best thing to do is just sit there and enjoy the dark.

Sloth

My Webster`s dictionary defines it as a `disinclination to action or labour.´   In the Christian tradition it’s one of the seven deadly sins (spiritual apathy).  For me, though it`s not always a bad thing.  Sloth can be a time of relaxation after period of intense activity or thought.  In fact sloth can be necessary for your mind and body to regroup, recoup, or regenerate.

After a long walk trudging through knee-deep snow along the river bank, it`s great to come home and lie on the couch with hot chocolate and a book.  What`s better than stretching out on a lounge on your back deck on a hot summer afternoon with a cool drink, to watch birds splashing in the birdbath or feasting on your Saskatoons and strawberries?  Saves a lot of picking.  I love to spend most of a day reading a truly engrossing book; so what if it`s a mystery or fantasy rather than something mind improving?

I`m not always at ease with sloth, however.  Recently after a couple of weeks of doing various odd jobs around my house and yard, I found myself just wanting to sleep in, or watch tv or read.  There was a young adult novel waiting to be worked on and I knew I should get at it.  So I compromised and tried to do a bit of writing every day, but also give myself lots of time to be slothful.  I felt guilty – shouldn`t I be painting this chair or cleaning or washing windows?  I should really be getting more work done on the novel.  Nevertheless, I allowed myself that somewhat unsatisfactory time when I alternated periods of sloth with trying to do some work.  I generally give myself deadlines for writing projects – I`ll work on a piece for a while and then move on to something else – to avoid boredom, so after a couple of weeks, I moved on to a different writing project even though I hadn`t done much on the other one (I`ll get back to it eventually).

Suddenly my whole outlook has changed.  I`m loving this project, the writing is going well, and I`m having fun.  My days have fallen into a relaxed rhythm again, of yoga in the morning, breakfast, going for a long walk on alternate days, writing for a good chunk of the day, and doing other odds and ends (I try do one sort of `chore´ project each day as well).  So was it actually true sloth I experienced previously ,or my soul telling me that the project I`d picked wasn`t the right one at this time?

Years ago someone gave me a book extolling the virtue of naps.  It was a great book (I`ve since passed it on), talking about napping at odd times – long naps, short naps – and all the strange places you could try taking a nap (in a tree for example – I`ve never tried that).  I was still working full time, but craving sleep because I never seemed to get enough.  When I retired from my job (though I didn`t retire from working), I found that sleeping when I felt tired was a wonderful luxury, but also a necessity.  I began to feel rested for the first time in years.

These days my life is much more balanced than the last few years when I was working full time.   I generally get enough sleep and rest and I find useful and meaningful work to do (sometimes it even pays money).  Still, every once in a while I need a reminder that I have to listen to what my body and my soul are telling me about what I should be doing.

Peony

Individual plants can live up to 50 some years and there are records of peonies in China as long ago as 1000 BCE.    Apparently centuries later, peony plants were so valued that they sometimes were bought for huge sums and also included as part of dowry settlements.   Sounds similar to the story of tulips.  The plants were also cultivated in Japan, Europe and North America.

I have white, pink and red varieties (no idea what their names are) and each year I look forward to their blooming.  Mine are almost done now.

It’s a myth that peonies need ants to open – the reason ants crawl all over the buds is because they want to get some of the sweetness.  It’s also a fact that peonies, if picked in the bud stage can be kept in the refrigerator for several weeks and then brought out to bloom.  I heard of this being done for a wedding.

Peonies have also been used for medicinal purposes.  Roots, bark, seeds and flowers have been used, mostly in oriental medicine.  Modern researchers are working on isolating compounds from the plants that may be of value.

Apparently the most well known and prolific peony breeder in North America was Arthur Saunders, born in Canada and later a professor at Hamilton College in Clinton, New York.

The Canadian Peony Society was created in 1998.  Their show and general meeting is on this weekend in Calgary at the Botanical Gardens.  I found a site on line of a company in Ontario that grows over 1400 varieties of peonies!