Under A Prairie Sky...

April Is Developmentally Delayed

2011-04-13T08:15:00.000-07:00

Mid-April, and this is what I see from my back door. Is it any wonder I'm not overcome with gardening inspiration? We had a few warmish days last week, enough to melt it back this far, but this week we're back to fence-sitting at 0C. Yesterday we had snow-flurries. Just a little, but that's all it takes to fling a person into climatic despair. Today the sun is shining, so I'll gird up my cerebral loins and believe that summer will come again.

This year I'm going to try planting some trees again. The deer like them too, so I've got to get more serious about staking my claim. I'm thinking chicken-wire and burlap... I need another northern plum to pair up with the one I've got so they can cross-pollinate, and an apple and maybe an Evans cherry. I've got one saskatoon bush that's doing not too badly, so I'm going to dig a trench and put a bunch more of those in.

The soil is awful here. On the west we have a big stand of golden willow that have taken the garden plot hostage with their roots, and most of the rest of the acreage was used as an impromptu parking lot by the previous owners. Chive's going to mow down the willows, and I'm going to ask around to find a truckload of manure. (Too bad I can't just back up to the local coffee-shop and download some of the B.S. that's thrown around there!)

I'm going to have a fling with haybale gardening too, just on a very small scale to see how it works for me. You can look it up for more information, but the basic idea is to put down a few hay or strawbales, water them to start them rotting a bit, sprinkle them with dirt and fertilizer, and plant right into that. It's pretty arid here, so I don't know how they'll do in the moisture department, but I figure that it's worth a try as a soil-building experiment. If nothing else, it'll break down a bit and I'll have the start of a new garden plot.

Other than that, the cats catch mice, the kids chase each other, and I study. I finished my second mid-term with the physiology a few days ago, which means I'm on the last lap now. And yesterday I submitted my official application to the university in the city, so next year I'll really be on my way to being an acupuncturist. Wootle-ee-doot!

Gil Hedley: Fascia and stretching: The Fuzz Speech

2011-04-03T17:19:00.000-07:00

On my bookshelf...

2011-04-01T08:12:00.000-07:00

Carpe Jugulum, by Terry Pratchett.

I lurrrvv Terry Pratchett! He's the one who takes me away, puts me in another world, where it's all silly and magic, and yet... more like the world I live in than the one I live in, y'know?

I've only just begun this one, but here's a quote from near the start:

"The wording began: 'You are cordially invited..." ...and was in that posh runny writing that was hard to read but ever so official. Nanny Ogg grinned and tucked the card back on the mantelpiece. She like the idea of 'cordially'. It had a rich, a thick, and above all, an alcoholic sound."

The New Menopausal Years, Alternative Approaches for Women 30-90, by Susun Weed

I finished my first go-round with this one last night. In some ways, Susun is a long way from where I'm at, and in others we synch. For myself, and for my clientele, I'm finding that the whole issue of womanhood after age 30 is pretty nebulous territory, disrespected by ourselves and others. Susun writes about shifting cycles, hormone changes and the physical signs that accompany them, herbal remedies using North American plants as well as Chinese Medicine, and spiritual issues surrounding aging. I'm going to try a few of her herbal recommendations and see how it goes. There was a lot to consider in this book. Thanks to CG for recommending it.

History of the World in 100 Objects, by Neil MacGregor

Usually this isn't "my kind" of book, but I loved it! It made the rounds of Chive's family, and finally found its way into our house. The author (Director of the British Museum) takes objects from around the world, relates their individual histories, and then weaves them into their place in a global history. Many of the objects are extremely beautiful, or curious, or plain, but his descriptions give them life beyond their material selves. Highly recommended!

2011-03-31T07:13:00.000-07:00

As people who have hearts that long for perfect love, we have to forgive one another for not being able to give or receive that perfect love in our everyday lives. Our many needs constantly interfere with our desire to be there for the other unconditionally. Our love is always limited by spoken or unspoken conditions. What needs to be forgiven? We need to forgive one another for not being God! - Henri Nouwen

Every Sperm is Sacred {Monty Python's Meaning of Life}

2011-03-30T07:52:00.000-07:00

I have this vice, which I believe I've confessed to before, but it's this: I stalk Quiverfull Websites. I reckon it's akin to chasing ambulances for the thrill of seeing a car-wreck (though that's not my particular thrill, I'm just guessing that it's a similar thing).

So these Quiverfull Families say they leave their fertility in God's hands - in other words, no birth regulation of any kind. If you're really hard-core, it's no regulation of any kind, even if Mama's life is endangered. Because God won't give you more than you can handle, eh?

This morning I was reading through the comments on a post, and came across this theological humdinger:

"The way I see it, how can we push aside the blessings of God, which is what children are, and yet still expect God to bless us in other areas, such as a nice big house or a new car?"

A heckuva benefits package, don't you think? Nice to see God's Mysterious Ways explained so succinctly for the denser among us.

Examinations

2011-03-27T07:08:00.000-07:00

Recently someone was telling me about the local elementary school system, and how there's a reading program in place. The children are filed into the library, given "age-appropriate" books, told to read them, and then are sat down at a computer to do a comprehension test on the book they just read.

I was aghast. "Why?!" I asked.

"Well, so we can make sure they understand what they read," answered my partner in conversation.

"But why does it matter?"

She looked at me very strangely. "So we can tell what reading level they're at."

"But why does it matter what reading level they're at? Why does it matter if they understand what they're reading? Aren't they supposed to be reading for pleasure? What would you think if someone came and gave you a comprehension test on everything you read?" I was trying to be polite in the midst of my horror, but even the basic questions are considered rather vulgar, like you're questioning the good intentions of professional educators towards their charges. Which, of course, is exactly what I'm doing. This sounds like a program right out of 1984.

I couldn't stop. "If someone tested me on every book I read, you can believe it that I wouldn't pass their exam. When I'm reading for pleasure, it's just pleasure. I let the book wash over me, take two or three points of interest away with me, and I'm done with it. This program seems designed to cure kids of ever wanting to read again."

"But how would we give them marks, if we don't have any way to test what they know?" She looked completely bewildered at this point. She works in a school - I don't suppose this sort of conversation is welcomed in the staff room.

"Who needs their test results?" I asked in return. "We've got a whole society of people who don't know who they are without a piece of paper to rate their abilities and tell them what they're fit for. I hate testing kids. I think it's a lie."

She looked off, and down. "Yeah, I hate testing too. But how do you get around it?"

From there the discussion veered into homeschooling, unschooling, and the parents of schooled children refusing to participate in PATs. And eventually we found ourselves at:

"But if you don't have a degree, how do you ever get ahead in life?"

I smiled. "I guess that depends on what you mean by 'get ahead'," I answered.

She laughed. "You never have a straight answer for anything, do you? It's always more questions!"

Amen. Always more questions!

If you want a degree so you can get ahead, you need to be asking yourself what 'get ahead' means, and whether that degree is really a means to get there. Or if, in fact, it's a huge debt to buy you some shaky academic credibility or a temporary ego boost. Or if you're just doing it because it's the thing to do, and you never questioned that assumption. But for goodness' sake, ask questions! Ask questions about everything! Question yourself and your motives, question your society and its motives, question everything! These are the 'examinations' that matter.

Pratchett on Friday

2011-03-25T12:22:00.000-07:00

"The wind howled. Lightning stabbed at the earth erratically, like an inefficient assassin. Thunder rolled back and forth across the dark, rain-lashed hills....The storm was really giving it everything it had. This was its big chance. It had spent years hanging around the provinces, putting in some useful work as a squall, building up experience, making contacts, occasionally leaping out on unsuspecting shepherds or blasting quite small oak trees. Now an opening in the weather had given it an opportunity to strut its hour, and it was building up its role in the hope of being spotted by one of the big climates.

It was a good storm. There was quite effective projection and passion there, and critics agreed that if it would only learn to control its thunder it would be, in years to come, a storm to watch."

-Terry Pratchett, Wyrd Sisters

The Real Dirt on Farmer John - Documentary 1/9

2011-03-20T10:45:00.000-07:00

St. Patrick's Day 2011

2011-03-17T15:53:00.001-07:00

We're feeling that St. Patrick is perhaps not pulling his weight in the weather department. It's his Big Day, and we're barely inching up to 0C during the day, considerably colder than that at night. Here's Patch, tending the Lucky Shamrock Fire, with which we beseech the Blessed Green Man for some greenery. Even dandelion greens would do. Ahem.

I have chlorophyll envy. I trawl the netblogs, drooling over other people's quackgrass. So sad.

On the home front... well, what's not on the home front? I work and study at home, as well as all the standard home-stuff. There are small things, you know? Like a nicely folded stack of tea-towels. I don't know why this does what it does for me, but I love to see them like that, folded RIGHT (not WRONG, like some people fold them), especially when they're stacked on my pantry shelf waiting for me. In the midst of the general chaos of this place, it soothes my rumpled heart to see a small corner of order.

The physiology continues apace. A slow pace. My clients keep asking me when I'll be an acupuncturist, and I keep telling them what a very long story this will be. It's a three-year, full-time program, so at the rate I'm going, we're looking at another four years, for sure. Maybe five. But every single clinic day I'm chomping at that bit. People need it! It helps to heal injuries new and old, lets people sleep at night, modulates blood sugar and hot flashes, and... and... and... So I keep referring them out, and wishing I could provide it myself. Someday.

I'm terribly conflicted about where I'll set up my practice. Some days I know I need to stay here, and some days I know I need to be in the city. I like small communities, but I'm terribly lonely for opportunities to learn and be challenged. How do I meet both needs? I want it all!

Miss Mut (rhymes with "foot"). Puss. Pussle-sprouts. My totem cat. Torties have rather, erm, forceful personalities, and the Dear Children are constantly pointing out the similarities. Oh those Dear Children. Why do I let them sleep indoors?

Limes. It's St. Patrick's Day, and I wanted to celebrate a bit, so I found some limes at the Co-Op, and a lime-pie recipe on the internet. Just in case anyone doesn't know, lime pie isn't green. At all. (I was hoping it would at least be greenish, but sadly it was not to be.) But the taste is - ooooooh! Very green! But not in an Irish-y sort of way. More a Carribean green, a lovely, tart, drooly, Carribean green.

Forget supper - let's go straight for dessert!

And sweet little Maggie, perturbed. "What?" she says, "Do I look like blog-fodder?" Yup. Green eyes. Fair game today!

How To Make Chip Dip

2011-02-26T16:49:00.000-08:00

Sometime in the past couple months, Chive was out visiting with someone, and they served chips and dip. Store dip. We don't buy the stuff ourselves - it's glutenous. I don't think he'd ever tried it before, and he was appalled at the taste.

He mentioned it the next time he saw me making dip for chips and veggies here at home, and I remarked that not only the taste, but the price was ghastly too. For a teeny wee little 250ml container, most grocery stores charge about $3. He was shocked. I did a quick-n-dirty calculation, and reckoned that the bowl that I made, approximately 1 litre, was costing us about $4. And it tastes good. Too good. Too bad for the state of lushness in my hindquarters, but at least I'm not paying the lenten price while I'm eating it, too!

Maybe it's foolish to post this, but I've been thinking a lot about making a recipe book for my kids, and one of the things I want to include is a dip recipe. I want them to have something on hand to refer to when they branch out and need a memory-jog on how to feed themselves gluten-freely, without paying someone else to put the food on their plates.

So here it is, yer basic dip.

(And here's a Helpful Hint, useful in general cookery - you can always add more, but you can't add less. Start conservative, and then became a thrashing liberal as the spirit moves you.)

Sour cream, any amount you choose. This is the body of your dip, so whatever you scoop into your mixing bowl will be more or less the amount you'll get out of it in the end. Might as well use the whole litre, huh?

Garlic, finely minced. I used 2 small cloves for my 1 litre of sour cream.

Onions, either white onions, or red, or scallions. Finely minced. Maybe 1/4 of a sweet onion? Remember the Helpful Hint.

Salt and pepper.

Vinegar. I used 1 capful, or approximately 1 tbsp.

Fresh lemon juice. I said FRESH. Put that bottle of RealLemon back on the shelf. 2 tsp.

Grated cheese, if you want. Cheddar, mozza, parmesan. Real parmesan, SVP. You can use as much as you like, but if you use too much your dip gets so stiff it'll break the chips.

Dill. I like dill, personally. If you don't like it, or don't like any of the above, feel free to omit. But I used about 1 tsp of dried dill.

Any other herbs you feel compelled to add. Chive'll add basil to just about anything, so I have to watch him closely if I intend to eat his creations.

Just mix it up. Let it sit in the fridge for an hour.

Devour.

Calling Your Shots

2011-02-25T07:06:00.000-08:00

So this morning my daughter comes up from her bedroom, and she's complaining of a sore stomach. She figures she shouldn't go to school. I don't have a big problem with that - it's not like it's particularly important, eh? But she works in the cafeteria, doing real work, and that bit I do take seriously. The woman who runs it depends on her help. So a phone call must be made.

But who should make the call? Me? Why me? If school is about preparing for real life, as they insist it is, then I figure Poppy should be making her own phone calls. But schools tend to be a bit funny about that. Kids calling themselves in sick? That doesn't happen. I mean, you can't trust 'em, can you? Everyone knows that kids hate school, and they'll do anything to wiggle out of it.

Except.... my daughter goes because she chooses to go. I've had this conversation with the staff several times. She chooses to go, she chooses which courses to take, she chooses. So I figure that means that she should alert them if she's not going to be there, and it matters. In English class, it doesn't matter. The class goes on without her. But the cafeteria, that's a major inconvenience for the other cafeteria staff. A call must be made.

So she called, and I was ready to be referred to if they weren't going to accept her say-so, but there wasn't a problem. We're having a lot less problems this year in that regard.

A few weeks ago they brought a substitute in for one of Poppy's classes, cosmetology. This woman tends to be pretty high-strung. She completely lost it during classtime, had girls in tears, the class in chaos, and she was yelling at everyone, including my daughter. Poppy picked up her books, and said evenly, "I'm going to go study in the library". The sub replied, "You just do whatever you want, don't you?!" To which Poppy answered, "That's right."

Amen. Not that we don't need to make an effort to get on together under normal circumstances, but nobody should tolerate crap.

The next day, the regular teacher was back. She made a little speech regarding difficult people, and how if you're working in a spa, you'll end up with working with difficult people, so you need to learn to tiptoe around them. My daughter knows better. She watches her mother in action.

I do NOT put up with difficult people. Or rather, I do, but I don't put up with their difficult behaviours. You want to be a cantankerous wretch? Go right ahead - but in my clinic you'll be reasonably courteous, and you'll keep you appointments on time, or you'll find another therapist. I work at being very good at what I do, and that's something people are willing to be courteous for. Maybe if I were mediocre and desperate, I'd put up with abuse for the money. I think that's one of the side-benefits of competence - it makes you a lot less vulnerable.

Yesterday, another mum of a child at that school was telling me that her child had been bullied by another child, who'd been burning her son. High school, for crying out loud. When she finally figured it out, she gave the school hell, gave the other child's parents hell, and gave her son hell for choosing to be a victim instead of blowing a gasket.

But her son is stuck there. That's why he didn't speak up, isn't it? He feels stuck, and in his mind, he's dealing with the circumstances as best he can, because he has to face that torment in some form every day. I hope his mind learns freedom. I hope that as an adult he learns that he has agency to call his own shots.

Unitas

2011-02-04T05:34:00.000-08:00

Yesterday afternoon I was standing in a shop chatting with one of the employees. We were the only two there, so it was pretty informal. My eye landed on a foster-care advertisement, recruiting families. Instant ire. I started telling her about our short, intense career as foster parents, and why I'd never recommend that anyone ever foster with the Alberta government. It's the bloody-minded-est system that was ever conceived in hell's boardroom. It's organized abuse of both the children and the foster-families. Maybe it's an abuse of the social workers too, but from my perspective they look like willing collaborators.

I told her about our experience, how the girls were taken from our home after a month stay because I "wouldn't return the foster-worker's calls", because I'd taken the kids to the mountains - which they'd never seen - for two days, and I didn't have a cell phone 10 years ago. Actually it was because I'd been raising hell with the department over my girls' social worker and her lies to them and to me. I'd been recording and documenting the discrepancies. Two children had already died in that birth family - apparently that wasn't reason enough to supervise them on home visits. I was a huge pain in the ass.

After being taken from our home, they were put in another home, where I later found out that they were sexually abused for five years before it was "discovered" and they were yanked yet again. Last I heard the older girl was on the street.

There are so many other stories, like that one and worse. I hate Alberta Social Services.

But that's not actually what I was posting about, eh? Pant, pant. Okay, I'm pulling myself back together now...

As we talked, she told me that she'd spent time in foster care as a child, what that had been like for her (the homes were decent, at least), how hard it was to be deserted by your mother as a child, and still as an adult.

There are so many things we don't know about the people around us. This isn't someone I'd felt a connection with before. She's "not like me". But when I hear more of her story, things start to fall into place and make sense, and I realize why things are the way they are, and she starts to seem a lot more "like me" than I'd originally believed. Or perhaps it's that I'm more "like her". In a lot of ways we are all "like" each other.

Under it all, almost always same-same. Strange and wonderful and messy.

It makes it harder. If I can believe that someone is "other" or that I am "other" than them, then I don't have to take them into consideration. I can be different, and special, and misunderstood. The fact that I misunderstand them isn't part of the equation. It's all about me.

And yeah, we're all unique. But yeah, we're all the same too. Tough to live that one.

This probably means I'm same-same with the social workers too.

Overload!

And the winner is -

2011-02-03T19:28:00.000-08:00

Yay Deb! I'll let you know when I'm done whatever it is, and you can send me your address.
Thanks to everyone who played!

Going, Going, GIVEAWAY!

2011-01-31T08:32:00.000-08:00

Here it is January 31, 2011. I blogged every day for a month - go moi!

It's -40C here this fine, frigid morning. A little free-motion association.... cold.... housebound... quilting! Not a big quilt, but a little quilty-something. Fabricky, at any rate. Something for YOU!

So leave a comment, and tell me what you're spending your day with. I'll leave the post up for a few days, let's say three, and after that, I'll pick a lucky winner. Whatever I make, it won't be big or heavy, so I'll ship to anywhere on the planet.*

Don't delay!
Leave a comment today!

*the same one I live on.

(Earth, ya smart-ass!)

2011-01-30T21:13:00.000-08:00

Photo credit: wax115 from morguefile.com

-33C. Brrr.

Nightmare Test

2011-01-29T15:50:00.000-08:00

I wrote my midterm yesterday.

Mercy.

After seeing that beast, I'm about ready to withdraw from the course. It was, if anything, worse than I imagined it would be, and what I was imagining was pretty bad. For the first time in my life I was faced with an exam in which I didn't even recognize the questions. I don't know what the hell they were asking of me.

This was not due to a lack of preparation on my part. I have never studied so hard or so thoroughly in my life. I'm interested in the material. I want to do well. I've invested. And it's still quite possible that I'll fail that test.

Interesting. Not a good feeling, but a learning experience in itself. I get to watch my reactions, and watch my self-worth plunging around like a wild horse. I get to have long, serious talks with myself about what it means to learn, and how that isn't the same thing as doing well on an exam, and to be on the other side of the coin. Usually I have to deal with it from the sense of having done well but not seeing the value in that either. Now I'm experiencing what it's like to feel incompetent in spite of my best efforts.

Wowzers.

And I'm really confused, too. I honestly don't know how I could have prepared any better than I did. On the 6-page assignment I got back a few weeks ago I was given full marks, so I assumed that was the level of comprehension they were looking for, and thus that I was ready to take this exam. Apparently not.

I'll probably find out next week sometime whether I passed. It was all multiple choice, so if I did pass, it's because I'm a good guesser. And from there? We'll see...

****UPDATE****

I just spoke to my friend, who has a master's degree in psychology, and is taking a distance neurophysiology course through the same university I am. She's rarely had anything below a 90%, and she says the way they're testing is absurd compared to how the other universities she's attended conduct their exams. At this point, she's hoping for a 50%, and she'll never take another course with them.

She also told me that in another course she took once, statistics, the prof was so poor that everyone in the class failed, and he somehow "curved" the marks so that everyone "passed", and her 34% became a 93%. What on earth is that?! She's speculating that perhaps they do the same thing with this science department.

I'm feeling a little better about it all now. This is my first university course, and I was beginning to think that perhaps I just wasn't cut out for this level of study. Hopefully I manage to pull off a pass, and then I won't be taking another course with them either. Eesh.

New Spice | Study like a scholar, scholar

2011-01-28T14:51:00.000-08:00

Cards On The Table

2011-01-27T19:10:00.000-08:00

Growing up in a Mennonite milieu, so to speak, tarot was definitely of the devil. No two ways about it. They were over there on the unmistakable far extreme of badness, exceeding even the sinfulness of drink and Star Wars movies. I, goody-two-shoes first-born by my own lights, subscribed to this entirely. I wouldn't touch 'em, wouldn't look at 'em, and prayed for my hell-bound friends who played with these things without due regard for their flammable nature.

And then there was this night, pretty tame by most people's standards I'm sure, when I went out driving about town with a bunch of theatre-people and found myself seated at a table in front of a deck of tarot cards. Right there in front of me! I was having a good time being rebellious and tossed caution to the winds. The dealer dealt. I really have no idea what the cards said, but I do know that no one at the table spontaneously combusted. Not even me. I figured if God was going to smite anyone it would be me, since I was well aware of the sinfulness I was indulging in, unlike the heathens I'd surrounded myself with. But I didn't even smoke at the ears. Apparently there was a little less "fraught" required concerning tarot than I'd imagined.

Still, I didn't want to take any unnecessary chances, so for the next couple decades I gave the tarot a pretty wide berth.

Last year while I was researching some artistic works, I tripped over a very artsy tarot deck. Honestly, at this point I couldn't tell you which one it was, but I was very impressed at the time. I started looking up other decks to compare. Several of them were extremely beautiful. Some were superfluously strange. Many were "mystic" of the purple flowing robes and glowing green eyes variety. I was surprised at how many decks there are, and how much work goes into the design.

I don't know the deck well at all. I'd recognize a few of the cards, I guess, but most of them are too far removed from my everyday stories to lodge in my head. I know nothing of their significance or how they're dealt. I'm very curious though. I wonder how people use these, and why, and if they find it helpful. I'm not particularly drawn to them myself as an aid to getting through life, but I've had several clients mention that they use them, or go for readings with someone else.

What really surprised me was to find out that in Europe they were also used as game cards! Huh! The prohibition against card-games in evangelical circles made a lot more sense when I read that.

It's a strange old world. There are many things I know not of.

There you go. I just blogged about tarot cards. If I go up in flames in the night, don't expect a post tomorrow.

The Great A'Tuin

2011-01-26T21:16:00.000-08:00

Photo credit: clarita from morguefile.com

You can't trample infidels when you're a tortoise. I mean, all you could do is give them a meaningful look.

-Terry Pratchett

Kindness Counts

2011-01-25T20:10:00.000-08:00

Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle. ~Plato

Sometimes I get so bogged down in my own mundanities that I begin to think I've got a pretty hard row to how, but then I'm given the gift of being allowed to be present in another person's life. It unskews my perception.

This happens a lot with my clients. As I work with their bodies, listening to their cells and their words, it's possible to step into a realm of reverence. Holy pain. Without any lack of compassion or blindness to the reality of physical dysfunction, I can say that pain truly is a door to the underworld of self-knowledge. When people attend to their pain, they begin to walk the strange paths of mysticism, in whatever form arises from their depths.

This is something I'm working on in my life, trying to be awake and mindful (at least momentarily) in all situations. When I start telling myself the painful story of how I'm "starving", I stop and ask myself if that's true. If it's not true, why do I think it's true? What does "starving" mean to me, and what has such power over me that my head begins to spin and I feel faint and only a chocolate chip muffin (or six) has the power to save me? It's actually pain of some variety. Heart pain.

What is that feeling of exclusion and the searing pain of rejection I can inflict on myself through a perceived slight from a near-stranger? Heart pain. When I'm can't sleep for wheezing some nights, but other nights I'm breathing easy, and nothing in my physical environment has had a significant change, what grief am I holding in my lungs, what clouds of pain obscure my heart's sight?

And what do I really want from life, so much that I'm willing to ride even pain to get there?

But Lord, it's such hard work sometimes. It's hard when it's just a continual harnessing of the wayward mind. Harder when it's intractable physical or emotional pain that you can't expect to dissipate anytime soon. Burns. Ruptured discs. Death. Pain is not a comfortable traveling companion.

It's not easy, but we're up to it. We are truly so tough, and so fragile. We deserve respect, and we deserve recognition of our pain. We deserve kindness. We need to give this to ourselves, and give this to each other.

Life can be difficult. Sometimes we are fighting a hard battle. Kindness is a balm, and should be applied liberally. There is no shortage, no rationing - it can be given with an open hand.

...but it pours.

2011-01-24T20:04:00.000-08:00

Photo credit: lazy_lobster from morguefile.com

More sad news today. Kate, who authored the blog "In This Quiet Life", passed away suddenly yesterday afternoon of a brain hemorrhage from a falling injury. We'd only become acquainted in the past year.

Kate loved her family, birds, flowers, cooking. She was thoughtful, and kind, and looked for the unexpected. A lovely, quiet life.

Anytime we weave our lives together, you notice the thread when it's unraveled.

All the best as you travel on, Kate. I'm sorry to see you go.

Through The Looking Glass

2011-01-23T18:57:00.001-08:00

Photo credit: anitapatterson from morguefile.com

Yesterday morning I sent a link to my friend, Jim. I can't post the picture here, but you can go have a look at it. I love it. The woman reminds me a lot of his wife, Peggy, and I thought the play of it looked like something Jim would be tickled by.

He never replied. And he won't. Yesterday Jim stepped into another... well, who knows, really? World? Reality? It could be anything. He's gone beyond. He died.

I know people die. They do it all the time. And in my sensible and mythical minds this makes sense. ( I have several minds... cerebral multitasking.) Just in the practical sense, we need to die to make room since other people keep being born. And things do wear out, after all. And the part of me that lives mythtically knows that we live and die in mystery, and the dying is just another part of the living. Maybe the greater portion. My sense is that what comes after this is so expansive that we just can't take these old cells with us. They'd just explode with the hugeness. Someday each of us will know.

But in the mind of me that still appears able to form attachments, it hurts like hell and is WRONG WRONG WRONG. I didn't want him to go so soon. Someday, in 20 years, I would have accepted this. Maybe. Maybe a person never gets used to it. Maybe that's why you see so much immobility in the faces of the elderly. Frozen grief.

Damn it! I was planning to visit someday. You promised me a hand-made basket this year. I was making you a quilt. I WASN'T READY.

Your family. I don't know what to say. That much pain... there's no holding it. You just bow down and let it keep waving over you. Someday the waves diminish, become a river, and then a stream. Someday it's a pool, and you look into it and watch the reflections and touch it with your finger to see the ripples spread on the glassy mirror.

When I step through that glass myself, I hope Jim will be there to stretch out his hand and help me through. Jim and many others. Those met, and those unmet. Worlds and worlds and worlds.

Until then, Jim, I MISS YOU. Safe journey, lots of love. You were a wonder, and I'm proud to have been your friend. If you can, stop by and inspire me now and then.

Trouve

2011-01-22T21:47:00.000-08:00

I love the images on this blog!

Lap Dance?

2011-01-21T18:16:00.000-08:00

Today we got a laptop. It's currently in my lap.

NOT impressed with either the function of the keyboard or the "mouse". I DO like the portability. Will adjust, I'm sure.

Pardon me while I fiddle around!

For Kate

2011-01-20T06:25:00.000-08:00

I saw your photo of an Australian magpie, and I was struck by how similar and yet different they are from the Alberta variety. This isn't my own picture, but it really caught the iridescence of the wing and tail feathers.

Ours just make a terrible shrieking racket, very little mimicry at all. But they're very handsome!

Why Chinese Mothers Are Superior?

2011-01-18T21:15:00.001-08:00

This article distracted me this afternoon. Obviously this woman is extremely competitive.

Hopefully more on this tomorrow. For now, I'm off to bed!

Night Vision

2011-01-17T18:47:00.000-08:00

Photo credit: clarita from morguefile.com

Dreams are an enormous part of my life. I don't remember my dreams every night, but at least a couple times a week I have a memorable dream, and several times a month I have a dream that I really listen to.

Sometimes I dream for other people, too. At least, that's my interpretation of it. These dreams feel different, like I'm removed from them and watching rather than participating. Sometimes I tell the person about it, sometimes I don't. It's a little uncomfortable. I don't want to come across like I'm attention-seeking.

I had a series of dreams like that last week. They were beautiful, very mythological. Mountains, caves, subterranean rivers crossed by a barge, golden oars, enchanted sleep, a small dragon right out the pages of the Book of Kells.

I'm sure I'll tell her about it, but I'm glad I had the opportunity to lose myself in this story for a while.

Do you dream?

Another Public Health Racket

2011-01-16T07:19:00.000-08:00

You know how there are some things that simply get up your nose? "Tummy Time" is one of those for me.

Have you heard about "Tummy Time"? Apparently the latest wisdom is that you're supposed to put infants on their bellies for a certain amount of time every day so they'll develop properly. I've only had this information from mums of newborns, so I'm guessing, but I suppose the target muscles must be the pectorals.

The underlying plan is that this will save otherwise neglected infants from weak arms. Yes. Well, I can't stop myself from obsessing about this.

Really? Do they really think that a parent so disengaged that he/she will allow the baby to go unheld and unstimulated, will put the time and care into "tummy time"? Honestly! Any baby that's being held and talked to and played with is definitely using those muscles, focusing her eyes, practicing to hold her head up. So WHY do public health officials waste their time preaching about "tummy time" to parents of parented babies, rather than looking for the flattened heads of the neglected?

Neither of my kids had "tummy time", and they have neither flat heads nor flabby pecs. Pfft. I wonder whose brain-child this was? I suppose I should go and look it up, huh?

Senior Olympic Synchronized Swimming

2011-01-15T09:05:00.000-08:00

Messing About With Words In My Head

2011-01-14T20:22:00.000-08:00

Incorporate.

Corpus.
Body.
Flesh.

Enflesh.

So to incorporate is to incarnate, more-or-less. Except that it has more of a phagocytic overtone, like something being engulfed.

Pac-Man, Inc.

Inc......ing.

A Toast To Holism

2011-01-13T21:09:00.000-08:00

Photo credit: keyseeker from morguefile.com

I've been stuffing my head with eight physiology chapters in preparation for my midterm exam. This is my first course evaluation of any sort, and it's worth a fairly biggish chunk of my final mark. This is also my first university level study. I'm spooked.

It's so crazy! I know I'm learning, and I'm pretty sure I'll pass. The mark shouldn't matter, but oh, it matters so much! Less than 90% is such a blow to my fragile academic esteem.

Things were so messed up for me that by the time I was in my teens, I was actually convinced that I was mentally handicapped, and everyone around me was covering it up by giving me passing grades at school. Really. I was really in that space. And I think I've never really, truly pulled myself entirely out of that pit. I have this double bind going on, whereby if I get 90%+, it's because the exam was too easy, or they asked the "wrong" questions, or I had some other big fluke. But if I don't meet the 90%, it's because I'm deficient and stupid.

Either way, it doesn't matter. I'm screwed.

The things we do to ourselves, huh?

So here I am, wrestling like Jacob with the Angel of Physiology, dislocating my brain in the process. I know it's a tough course by any standard, and I'm doing my damnedest to be sane in the midst. Trying to talk myself into good sense.

During these internal discussions I have flash-backs to high school. In particular I keep remembering a Home-Ec incident. We were making toast, for goodness' sake - toast! And at the end of the class I got my evaluation sheet back and she'd docked me 10% for not spreading the butter all the way to the very edges. I was staggered. Not only was she making us use butter (which I'd managed to equate with the devil and his minions, thanks to health class and living with a nurse in the 1970's), but she was insisting that I use a LOT of butter.

It wasn't really about butter, mind you. The central issue for me was the subjectivity of it all. She thought the butter should go to the edge, and I didn't. It shouldn't have been a matter for judgment. But she was the one with the power over my grades. What she said, went.

Somehow, over the course of years, I've completely internalized the rationale behind the marking system, and accepted the "grade" as a valid evaluation. But I know it's not. I KNOW that.

What I'm really learning isn't physiology. Or even acupuncture. I think what I'm really learning is how to be whole and not let other people steal bits of me.

Last Stop

2011-01-12T20:03:00.001-08:00

I said I'd post daily, and by jingo, I'm going to do it. But glory - I'm thrashed tonight. Four clients back to back, just finished half an hour ago, and there's still a messy kitchen that needs tending to.

I'm so glad to do what I love. I'm so thankful that my wrists and hands are doing so much better with that nifty little gadget. I'm so happy to be in a warm house when it's -30 out there.

But I'd be alright if it warmed up too. Really alright.

And that, is that.

Goodnight.

This Morning I'm a Classy Broad

2011-01-11T06:27:00.000-08:00

Thinking more about class this morning. We feel it, and know it when we encounter it, but what is it?

I've been reading a website called "Class Matters". In it, I found this quote: "In my neighborhood everyone can spot the class differences between women: the working-class women wear make-up and styled hair even when watering their gardens, and the professional women wear no make-up and loose hair even to work, and sometimes even at weddings."

There's something to that, at least around here. I guess you'd call my town a very working class town, in a very working class province. Women here (in general) are EXTREMELY conscious of always having their make-up done and legs waxed. Every single workday I'll have a client apologize to me because she hasn't waxed her legs recently enough. Since I've never had it done, I don't know what that time frame would be. I always assure them that I didn't shave for their appointment myself, so they mustn't worry.

But where does that put me? If prickle-legged, wild-haired, and make-up-less is an indicator of "professional", I guess most days I'm squarely in the middle of it. On the other hand, living in a small bungalow with ancient peeling siding and the skeleton of a burnt-out motorhome in the back acres probably doesn't impress most of my neighbours with my classiness. We have an average income for the area (at least, that's my guess), but a lot less toys. My kids don't have cell-phones, and that's a bizarre anomoly here. It's de rigeur to take your children on monthly shopping sprees for $200 hoodies and the like.... ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Take my 14 year old daughter for a $75 nail job every month? Not happening.

We have a lot of books ourselves, and I pump the library for all I'm worth. That's not the norm. We self-educate, all of us. See previous. We eat well - at home. When I look at our life, all I can see is that we live very high indeed on the global hog. Extreme Upper Class. And when I look at the carefully made-up faces and omni-present cellphones and shiny SUVs and pedigreed pets, it all seems very gauche. I'm a snob.

It's so relative, isn't it? I tend to look at myself compared to an entire world, and see how incredibly priveleged I am. And that's about choice. I can choose so many things. It might be a little squeeze for a while, but I can choose to go to acupuncture school, or take an advanced bodywork class. I can choose to open a clinic. I can choose all sorts of things, because I've had and continue to have exposure to a very wide world.

I don't know how much of that is privelege, and how much is personal endowment. A big part of our cultural mythology is built on people pulling themselves up by the bootstraps, but what if your bootstraps are on the small side, or non-existent? It seems like some people just don't have much raw material, you know? I met someone like that recently; he's quite bright in a lot of ways, but something vital is definitely missing. His choices are limited. What's free will in a situation like that?

And maybe there are people who would say the same of me, poor thing. Who knows? I've only got this one set of eyes!

Anyway, lots to think about...

More Joe

2011-01-10T20:32:00.000-08:00

I've been snatching quick reads from the Joseph Campbell biography that I posted about yesterday, in between kitchen patrol, clients, laundry, studying, running herd on kids, etc. etc. etc. He's very, very inspiring and rather electrifying in his quick mind; ever curious, had an amazing capacity for forming connection between people and ideas. It's terribly interesting and thought-provoking, and I'm only in the third chapter or so.

But even at that, what I'm struck with most is how much his life and career were formed by the class he was raised in. From my viewpoint, the Campbells were rather wealthy. There were nannies. Servants. Trips to Europe and Asia in the days before cheap air travel. These were people with money, and a lot of free time. Or at least, the mother and children were. The father seems to have spent a lot of time in business pursuits.

So yes, he had a prodigious mind, and an endless curiousity. But he could follow his interests and even finish an entire thought through without jumping up to hang the laundry, feed the kids, and all the other whatnots of usual life.

In some ways I'm jealous, and I think, "Boy, I could sure make hay with those resources behind me, too." But then on further reflection, probably not. I work best under pressure. If everything was handed to me, I'd probably just fall into a coma on the couch.

Maybe that's the most impressive thing about him - that in spite of the wealth and opportunity, he could discipline his mind (and body, he was an excellent athlete too) to accomplish all these things.

More reading tomorrow, I hope.

Life keeps getting busier! That must mean I'm increasing in capacity!

My Mind's On Fire!

2011-01-09T18:20:00.000-08:00

No time to blog. I told myself that I get to read my book after putting a decent study interval, and this book is extremely motivating. Joseph Campbell biography.... I think I've got a crush!

A bit of a stretch.

2011-01-08T19:35:00.000-08:00

Now, I want you to guess before reading more. G'wan. Guess.

*
*
*
*
*
*

You really want to know? It's an Extensorciser! This will probably salvage my career as a massage therapist, because lord knows I needed something.

The problem is that the muscles on the palmar side of the hand and forearm, the flexors, are always activated. Every time you grasp something, there go your flexors. So they overdevelop, and overpower the extensors on the back of the hand and arm. I mean, when you do get a real workout in extension, huh? Rarely. Couple that situation with improper muscle firing due to injuries and whatnot, and Hey Presto! You've got a muscle-stress disorder!

And if you're a massage therapist with distressed extensors, you'd better find a solution right quickly.

My darling chiropractor came through for me with this gadget. It's reversible, and causes the extensor muscles to work differently, strengthens them, and apparently breaks down adhesive patches in the connective tissue that surrounds them. It's been a week now, and I'm noticing a significant improvement in the stability of my thumb joints and the pain in my forearm and elbow.

So YAY!

It's just a cosmetic bonus that I get to look like a Transformer to boot!

The Happy Scribblings of a Lone Woman

2011-01-07T07:06:00.000-08:00

My house is quiet, dark, cool. I am alone. At least for a little while longer, until the kids wake up. And oh my Lord, do I love this. I LOVE having time alone, and my own routine, and space for my own thoughts without hearing anyone else's. The older I get, the hermit-er I get.

And that's not wrong.

I've been thinking a lot lately about how society is still so structured around what women "should" be. We "should" be hospitable, and love to cook big, nurturing meals for company, and take in the wayfarer, and give of our time, talents, and energy with a smile. Until we drop in our apron-strings. This is how it's supposed to be right? That's what all the big holiday traditions are based on, and the stereotypical happy childhood - that mama and grand-mama don the ruffled apron and go all out in nurturance.

If a man holes up in his rooms, needs his clearly defined space, wants quiet, and devotes himself to learning and practicing what he loves, he's a devotee, or a scholar. He's respected.

If a woman does the same, she's an anti-social cow, and quite possibly a bit off-her-head. I mean, women are supposed to be available, aren't they? Isn't that the definition of woman? Available.

I know I still have this dichotomy in my head. When I'm evaluating relationships, I use different criteria for judging according to whether the subject is male or female. I have different expectations, and I'm pretty sure the same is happening in the opposite direction.

But I'm making myself less available, and talking to myself sternly about expecting less availability from other women. Our time is a gift to others, not their right. Those of us with a strong introversion need a lot of time alone, alone, alone, even just for the ability to think in a straight line without being distracted by someone else's voice.

And right now, I'm so alone, and so at rest, and so happy to be in the midst of it. Later, I'll have clients all afternoon, and I'll be happy to see them too. I love what I do. And I love the clearly defined 1 hour space. Good-fences-make-good-neighbours.

It's not that I don't have it in me to take up that nurturing stereotype from time to time. It's just that I won't give it on demand.

Shhhhh.

2011-01-06T08:56:00.000-08:00

I'm melllllllttttinnnggg....

We've been informed that even at a tropical 67F our house is "cold" (I'd pushed it up from 63F), and it's now up to 70F. And I feel like I've been catapulted into menopause! Our Lady of the Perpetual Hot Flash.

One more night. I can do this.

I think I can, I think I can, I think I can...

The In-Between Time

2011-01-05T11:49:00.000-08:00

I thought I was going to be writing about something else today, but Events Have Dictated Otherwise. I'm in a brief interlude between clients and going to the city to pick up a relative.

We all know we're getting older, but every now and then there's an event that really gets your attention. Like a heart attack. Chive's oldest brother had a heart attack, possibly secondary to pericarditis. It's a bit of a wake-up call for the whole family and you can hear the thoughts about aging ticking away under the surface. Suddenly the future looks a little different.

This makes me part of the sandwich generation, doesn't it? Sandwiched in between the generation of my children and the generation ahead of me, responsible for both. It's a funny feeling, almost as if I'm not only looking ahead for deer on the road, but in the rear-view mirror too. What's going to crash on either end? Hopefully both sides don't crash at the same time...

I guess I should get off the computer and hit the road. He's going to stay here for a night or two before going back north, and I'll be picking him up from the hospital in a few hours.

In the Mailbox Today

2011-01-04T18:00:00.000-08:00

And it seems some of us never learn to read the fine print...

I saw this compelling dragon print on the website of one my favourite online quilt-stores, and I couldn't talk myself out of it. I had visions of colourful little four-inch dragons in the centres of quilt blocks, maybe a bright log cabin? I wasn't sure how it would go, but I had a lovely three weeks waiting for it and fantasizing.

This morning the package came in the mail. I bundled out to the van and ripped the envelope open - - - and my hair exploded! (See picture above.)

Holy Roly Guacamole! I never dreamed they'd be LIFE SIZE!!! What on earth am I going to do with this? Talk about a challenge!

Now that I'm over the shock, I think there's a plan bubbling deep in the cranialities. But if you're struck with an inspiration on my behalf, please feel free to share.

Why I Don't Work on Family

2011-01-03T13:02:00.000-08:00

"One 'ungh' means 'hurts'. Two 'unghs' means 'hurts more'. I would have thought you'd have picked this up from your other clients by now."

"Where'd you get your license, a cracker-jack box?"

"I'm only saying what your other clients are afraid to say."

Suffer, buddy. Your file is CLOSED!

What Studying for Mid-Terms Looks Like Around Here

2011-01-02T06:37:00.000-08:00

Often it looks a lot like this...

I think I've come to the realization that where the academics are concerned, I work better under pressure. How to create more pressure? Add more to the mix. Obsess over the cross-word puzzles I found in my Christmas stocking. Commit to daily blogging. Find must-do quilt projects. You know - just the daily necessities, really.

There's an counselor I see once or twice a year for a check-up, and one of the most helpful things he ever told me was that I'm not serene. No kidding, eh? But really. I'm NOT serene, and I'm NOT passive, and I don't need to aspire to those things. It helps to hear it from the outside sometimes, you know? And to hear it presented as a good thing, rather than as something that needs to be fixed. We are what we are, and it's best to go with the grain.

Picture especially for Alecto.

In the spirit of "you show me yours, I'll show you mine", (re Alecto's tree quilt) here's my latest quiltiferous project.

Post-quilting, pre-binding. I've been practicing with different machine-quilting patterns lately, and I settled on a loop that's both easier to do and more pleasant to look at. At least, my eyes think so. Just preference. Maybe I'm simply over-exposed to the stippled effect. Anyway, here we are in a loop-de-loop, and a few fabric close-ups. I only did one small practice-project before undertaking the quilt, and I was amazed how quickly I fell into it!

It's for a 5 month baby girl I recently found out about. Her mother and I lost touch over the past couple of years, but I just heard from her again over Christmas and ta-diddly-da, she's put on an addition! Between my dragonish fabric-hoard and the need to avoid studying for my physiology mid-term, a quilt is born!

When I look at it I know it's really over-the-top, but there you go. I can't help it. This is what I like. My particular favourite is that Martha Negley fabric in the lowest photo, the terra-cotta and fuschia flowers on a purple background. Woo-hoo!

Oh, and the pattern is Disappearing 9-Patch. Easy-squeezy, but lots of visual interest.

A Rhinotically Healthy New Year

2011-01-01T07:09:00.000-08:00

My resolution for 2011 is to blog daily for the month of January. Somehow all this blog business has drifted away on me, but I think it's still a voice I need to exercise, so here I go. No matter how mundane, or inane, I'll blog something every day.

We're ringing in the New Year with a neti pot. I heard about them a couple years ago, but the prospect of pouring water in my nose was too horrifying to contemplate. I mean, really. Water is NOT supposed to go in your nose, is it? That leads to drowning.

But the allergies have been gaining ground, and between that the perennial dryness of the country I live in, I finally started seriously considering neti practice. Yesterday, when I was at the health-food store taking advantage of their year-end sale, I took the leap and bot-the-pot. To all appearances it's the same pot the young woman above uses. Don't expect a homegrown picture of this endeavour. There are limits.

So how was it? Well, after a few false starts and near-drowning moments, I finally caught the wave and it went in one nostril and out the other. I think it helped. I haven't sneezed since, and that's quite a news item. It certainly left me with a well swept out feeling in my sinuses, like a good house-cleaning. Maybe a house-cleaning and a fresh coat of paint, too. They're throbbing a little. Not used to that kind of hydraulic action.

According to the literature with the packaging, on an energetic level it's supposed to enhance communication between the left and right side of the brain and body. That's something I'll have to wait on. Do you think neti could render me more mathmatically inclined? I'd settle for just being able to sort out my own accounting. Or even just making an accurate approximation of how much fabric I need for a quilt back, so I don't have so many leftovers.

Speaking of quilts... I have fallen. Oh, I have fallen. I actually made a cat-quilt. A quilt for the cats out of the cut-down remnants of a baby-quilt. I'm not only a mad quiltress - I'm the mad cat-lady quiltress of Gawdswallop. Ichabod, ichabod. That's how hard I'm working to avoid my studies.

Light a candle for me. I've been enslaved by the feline mind-masters.

Nigh Upon Us

2010-11-24T18:39:00.000-08:00

An advent calendar of another kind....

I've only got the cones thus far, and I may never get as far as the stuffed birds, but this is the effect I'm after.

Definitely I've got winter and Christmas on my mind these days. I've got presents stashed, and I'm thinking about making new Christmas stockings. The old set is looking a little tattered. Besides, I need a sewing project so I can further ignore my physiology.

It was -38C a couple mornings ago! And it's only November yet! I hope this isn't a doomful omen of things to come. I'm so glad Chive and Patch finished butchering the rabbits a few weeks ago so we aren't having to cope with feeding and watering under those conditions.

That's the surface chatter...

Underneath it all, I'm pondering trust, and respect, and relationship. Someone asked me a while ago whether there's a spiritual practitioner that I respect. It was a very spur-of-the-moment question, and we only had a few minutes together, and my first answer was no. But since then I've sat with it a lot longer, and I think that it's not so much a question of whether there's anyone I respect, so much as a question of trust.

There are people I respect for who they are and what they do, in spite of their weakness. And that may seem like a no-brainer, except that it's not. Not really. It hurts me that there's no perfection. A lot. I want to respect and trust someone for being perfect. For being God, actually.

There's part of me that would love to just crash and be totally vulnerable with a counselor or spiritual advisor or companion, but the rest of me knows that's foolish. I will never do that again. I will never deal with anyone, be they ever so advanced or insightful or holy, no matter how they say they love me, without filtering everything they say through my own guts and intuition and good sense. Never. We're all prone to fall and to fail. It's not only a disservice to myself to fail to "test the spirits", it's also a disservice to the person on the other side. We can't hold each other to impossible standards. It's cruel.

So I guess I'll talk with her again, and flesh things out. She's hurting, and wants answers. I don't think there are any. Sometimes everything just hurts terribly for a while. Sometimes a long while.

That's why I'm making Advent. Pretty paper helps take my mind off things for a bit.

A bit oversensitive tonight...

2010-11-18T20:16:00.001-08:00

And why is it, that one slight hurts more than all the positive stuff feels good?

Ouch.

Madcap Unveiled

2010-10-30T17:25:00.000-07:00

I'm writing this because I'm starting to feel quite uncomfortable about saying anything regarding this issue and that's not good. I'm definitely not trying to offend by stating this point of view, and I would truly welcome other ideas that would broaden my scope.

Patch and I went to see a play in the city yesterday, around the issue of wearing hijab. It was a play designed for junior/senior high students, and overly simplistic (I thought.) The hijab-wearing character was portrayed as expressing her religion and culture, against of a neutral familial background. Her mother didn't wear hijab. Both parents actually discouraged her from wearing it, wanted her to wait until she went to university. The teen character had gone to Lebanon for a visit, fell in love with her dying grandmother, and decided to wear hijab to accentuate that closeness of faith and family.

I was raised with a Mennonite extended family. Several of the older women wore long, dark dresses and prayer caps. It was unusual, it was different, and it just was what it was. They were raised with it and due to their particular constellations of circumstances, they decided to stay with it. My grandmother didn't. She was still fairly conservative, but she wore slacks and I never saw her with a head-covering that I remember. Still, it wasn't utterly exotic in my experience. It was a part of our family and cultural "thing", like rulkuken and watermelon at fasba.

However - I've never run into someone of Mennonite background who wasn't raised wearing a prayer-cap, who suddenly decided to don one because that was her cultural background. Never. She could be out there, but I'd be particularly astonished if that decision was made in her teens. I've been around for a few years now, and I've never seen a teen wearing a head-covering who wasn't raised in a head-covering family. I suspect the same is true in Muslim circles.

What I'm saying is that I think the play's premise was disingenuous, not based on a standard experience of Muslims in Canada. I think it was used as a way to swish trickier issues under the carpet.

In the foyer outside there were several newspaper-clipping collages, of articles discussing France's decision to ban the hijab, reviews of hijab-fashion blogs... and a couple articles about women who wear niqab in Canada, who have experienced discrimination in the workplace because of that.

And this is where I think we're dealing with another issue entirely.

The niquab covers the whole face. There are situations where this might be appropriate, such as at -40C, or in the middle of sand-storm. In day-to-day life I think it's totally inappropriate, for several reasons.

First of all, humans are programmed to respond to, and bond to, and take cues from other human faces. We all do. Babies form attachments and gain confidence in interaction based on the love they see in the "mirrors" of their parents' faces. Our elastic, expressive faces are one of the peculiar qualities of our human-ness. A covered face inhibits our ability to bond with the person we're dealing with. I believe this level of interpersonal bonding and basic recognition of mutual humanity is indispensable to civil interaction. We already treat each other badly enough without further eliminating the commonality of the face that reminds us that we're dealing with another human being.

Expressions tell us more than words do. What someone says can be completely altered by how they look when they're saying it. So to cover the face removes both clarity of expression and clarity of response in an interchange between a veiled person and her partner in conversation and transaction. I would argue that it also undermines trust. I have a very difficult time assessing and trusting a relationship that I only have online, because I haven't met that person face-to-face. If I can never see your facial expressions when you talk to me? It's definitely not going to happen between us.

The face is identity, both of self and of other. Body language is important, but when we want to definitely identify someone, we look to the face. When we think of ourselves, we make reference to our faces. Our faces are important to who we are to ourselves and the people we come into contact with. We may not like our faces, but they're uniquely OURS. To be covered is to lose self within a societal context.

And perhaps this point is too bloomin' obvious, but I'll just make it anyway. The niquab is an element of cultures that treat women in ways that Canadians consider abusive, even if women say they "choose" it.

My latest acquaintance with this variety of "choice" was while reading The Secret Lives of the Saints, an expose of the polygamous Bountiful community in British Columbia. Some of the women involved insisted that it was a freely made choice. Some of those same women later left the community and then denied those statements. Yeah, they could "choose" it - or experience reprisals. That's not much of a choice.

Anti-polygamy activists, whose numbers include former polygamous wives and children, insist that polygamy is inherently a system of entrapment and degradation for women. I would argue that because of the importance of the human face to positive human interaction and identity as I outlined earlier, full face veiling accomplishes the same thing.

In Canada we've outlawed polygamy and FGM, even though they are cultural norms in other parts of the world. We've banned them because we've come to the conclusion that they're a detriment to the well-being of women, and that women have human rights equal to those of men. I think it's reasonable to argue that banning full-face veils in public is a comparable move.

Okay, so there are all my cards on the table. I don't have a problem with Muslims or Mennonites, or the home-church lady who lives down the road who thinks that God wants her to pin a doily to her hair to show her spirituality and submission. I have a problem with women's faces being covered and their vulvas scraped off. So with that in mind, please feel free to point out any holes in what I'm saying. I really am interested in hearing what you've got to add to what I'm thinking about!

And as usual, courtesy in disagreement is very much appreciated...

I'm thinking....

2010-10-18T14:55:00.000-07:00

...diaper bag. A small bag, just big enough for using as a baby-bag, but small enough to use as a purse too if one were so inclined. And in grey, very hip right now, apparently.

You know, if we were truly sensible of the seasons up here, NOBODY would wear black or grey in the winter. Sensible people would realize that the outer dreich demands the most drenched, intense colours possible. Men would flaunt fuschia fedoras, and women would wrap up in orange and lime and violet. And we'd all feel much better for it, I'm sure.

But we don't. We wear black and grey everything. How dull.

Jeepers. I think November is already seeping into my bones.

Fall Update

2010-10-09T12:50:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's been a very long time, Shadowmoss!

Used to be that everything I was thinking demanded an outlet on the page, but that's not so much the case anymore. Not that I'm not thinking, but I want my thoughts to take shape in the "real" world. It's a little frustrating. So much around me seems stuck - I want FORWARD MOVEMENT. Now!

It seems I've got a very small circle of activity at present; house, kids, work, school. Repeat. And that's as it needs to be at the moment, because I won't get to where I'm going without taking every step along the way, but jeepers... such little steps.

There are some babies on the way, so I've done a little quilting, and am thinking about a little more. There's the yard that needs to be cleaned up, as usual. Way too much acreage around here for our family. The rabbits need butchering. We won't be raising rabbits again. Maybe a repeat on the chickens next summer. My brain is being crushed under the weight of cellular physiology - I'm supposed to be able to figure out graded potentials along the cell membrane? Huh? I hosted the homeschool network kick-off event at a bowling alley in the city, cake, balloons, door-prizes, the whole schtick. I still don't have curtains on most of the windows. The cats need de-worming.

I need a nap.

I hope you're all well. I do think of you often.

Out Spoken

2010-07-08T05:58:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about something that happened almost a month ago now. Still thinking about it. I did something that I don't often do, but I wouldn't say that it's out of character, probably not out of character at all for anyone who's known me for more than a year or two. (Or perhaps a month or two? I'm never sure just how transparent I am. Sometimes I'm convinced I'm clear as glass and everyone else can see the little fish swimming through my brain.) But still, it's not something I often do, so I'm still in the process of review.

My homeschool association has an online members forum. I've been with this group since it was a newborn, about 8 years, so I've come to know a lot of the people, and I've done quite a lot of volunteering for the organization. It's had its ups and downs. There was a big kerfuffle a couple years ago, and some screwy book-keeping, and a bunch of core people left over that. I'm not sorry. It was a shame that it happened the way it did, but the way things were headed was looking like a train-wreck. The handful of the membership pulled together and rebirthed the association over a very difficult six months, putting in hundreds of hours in the midst of their own busy lives, and taking a lot of flak over their decision to not air all the dirty laundry to their own advantage. I respected that a lot.`

Recently, during a discussion of another topic, this woman who resembles nothing more than a spy-mole for the ousted leadership, this unbelievably aggressive, passive, non-contributing, endlessly-complaining woman, attempted to reinflame old wounds and start the whole thing up again. She does this from time to time, propping up her personal agenda with her religious beliefs and the fact that she's a lawyer, and her stultifying barrages of text that bamboozle the laity. She can be quite intimidating, in such a very sweet, concerned, uber-Catholic kind of way.

It puts the exectutive in a difficult position, because of their liability. They need to make nice with everyone for the well-being of the organization as a whole, and to protect their own backsides.

But I'm not a member of the executive. I've gone a few rounds with this lady before, from time to time, when she starts squelching the membership with her particular brand of all-knowingness.

And I let her have it between the eyes.

Right there in front of God and everyone.

I told her that I didn't want to hear anymore complaining and backbiting, no more unfavourable comparisons of our group with other groups, no more whining about what everyone else wasn't doing while she wasn't willing to make so much as a phone-call to organize a field-trip, no more gossip, no more starting fires for her own amusement, no more "suggestions" about what the rest of us "should" be discussing if she wasn't willing to share useful information, no more grand-standing on her homeschool hobby-horse regarding funding. NO MORE.

And then I sat back and waited for the storm.

I was a little nervous, but not terribly. The worst that could happen was that they'd bump me off the forum, and honestly, if a venue gets taken over by that sort of person, what good is it anyway? But confrontation has never been my strong suit, and the tension wears a bit. I slept restlessly that night.

Messages began to trickle into my inbox, thanking me for taking her on. I was made aware of and sent snippets of other e-mail conversations regarding the forum exchange, the anger of other members that this woman would try to derail our group, people's plans on how to deal with her. But then I just went and did it, eh? Sometimes it's better to just lance the wound right away, I think.

A couple days later she re-posted, and apologized. Sort of. Close enough, anyway. A mercifully brief message, compared to the novels she usually inflicts on the rest of us.

People were astonished - behind the scenes, that is. On the forum, it was politely overlooked.

And then, the original discussion reignited, and we were getting input from all kinds of places, and all sorts of fresh ideas about how to best put some new life into our programming, new faces in old places, how to reduce the load on the few and inspire people to get involved themselves and make things happen. It was lovely.

It's all past now, at least as far as the forum is concerned But me? I'm still mulling.

It's not that I regret it. I don't enjoy that sort of thing, but it needed to be done. Bullying has to be addressed, even if the bully is spiritual person, or a lawyer, or a volunteer, or a gift-giver, or a relative, a homeschooler, a brilliant scholar... it doesn't matter. Bullying has to be addressed. And I think that with very aggressive people, like this woman, it has be addressed in the same format that it's perpetrated in. She did this publicly. I could have addressed it privately, but what kind of impression does that leave with the gentler souls who frequent the forum and read these public posts? No. It needed to be answered where it happened, right there.

Who am I to call people to task? Nobody particular, but somebody enough. I'm not perfect, I don't have it altogether, and goodness knows I've probably been the problem myself in the past and will be again in the future. But for now, at this point in my life, I was the one whose eyes and heart were open enough to recognize the potential danger and make myself a lightning rod.

The danger of silence has been a big lesson for me in the past decade. I took on a spiritual ideal of not complaining about bad treatment, and the prime bully in my life, the Dear Relative, took that leeway and did her best to take my children away from me. No one was well-served by that, not even her. Thankfully it all pulled together in the end, but it was horrible at the time, for me, for the kids, for Chive, for the extended family who didn't know what to believe. Maybe they still don't, but at least I told my story where it mattered.

And I swore, Never Again. I'm going to speak out. I'm going to take the chance of being wrong, or misunderstood, but I'm going to have a voice all the same.

So I told someone off on my homeschool forum. What an activist, huh? ;-)

Bag Lady

2010-07-05T12:11:00.000-07:00

Some of us are rather laissez-faire about parenting... especially in these teen years. I'm trying to reserve my reserves for where it counts, and let everything else slide, ya know?

But I took Poppy to a Writing Camp yesterday in the south of the province, and realized with horror as I helped her unload her stuff that she'd packed most everything in plastic garbage bags! I wanted to crawl under the car! And the worst part of it is... poor kid, there really weren't any other options. She needed to bring a bunch of bedding, and what on earth do you haul that sort of thing in, if you don't have a stash of hockey bags? That was a very Bad Mum moment. Eesh.

Lesson learned. This morning, as soon as I got up, I dumped out my fabric stash, rooted around for things that have been languishing there too long, and got to work. This is the end result: Two extra large, two just large, calico camping bags. Glorified pillow-cases, really, but they should do the trick. Tomorrow I'll go buy some cording to thread through the drawstring channels, and they'll be ready to take her stuff when I go to pick her up again at the end of the week.

Whew. Saved me arse!

Oddments and Fragments on Canada Day*

2010-07-01T13:56:00.001-07:00

*Or, as my kids still call it, "O'Canada's Day". Just about slays me. Can you tell they were raised kinda Irish-Catholic, back in the days?

First of all, I think everyone should have a look at this article about exercises for the pelvic floor. Just a good idea:

Just say no to Kegel's

Nextly, WHY IS IT that the announcers at our local, Northern Alberta rodeo affect the accents of someone from Oklahoma or some such place? If you want to be authentic around here, try to sound like you've been raised on kulbasa and perogies. CANADIAN kulbasa and perogies. ;-)

I'm here in my living room, sewing and reading and prowling the internet seeing whom I may devour, and listening to the rodeo happening across the road. The ambulance just came and took someone away. They "think" he's going to make it.

I can't stand watching most of the events. The damage happening to the human bodies involved absolutely horrifies me. I see these cowboys fifty years later, and it ain't pretty. Sometimes when I mention this, people tell me I should encourage bull-riding, since it's likely to result in business. I try to be polite.

And lastly, I splurged and ordered myself this set of popsicle molds:

I've been slowly trying to inch away from plastic in my kitchen. In the last couple weeks, since I started making popsicles regularly again, I've been noticing the plasticky taste. I don't know. It's probably not a huge deal when it's not something that's being cooked, but still. I just don't care for it. So since I needed a new set of molds anyway, and this almost ran me down in an internet search, and it's CANADIAN BRED AND BORN, I thought I'd give them a try.

If you're intrigued yourself, you can have a look here:

The Tickle Trunk

Happy O'Canada's Day!

Yoghurteering

2010-06-29T16:27:00.001-07:00

Apparently I found a new template... I think I like it. More "Prairie Sky"-like.

Anway.

So I've been making yoghurt again lately. It was something I'd fallen out of the habit of doing, actually for so long that I'd forgotten exactly how it's done. I looked up the instructions, and made a batch up, quick as that.

Now, almost every recipe says to heat the milk to 185 degrees, and I never figured out why. I always assumed that it was to kill any pathogens, but since we buy pasteurized milk that wasn't a concern. (Not that it would be much of a concern anyway, if I could find myself raw milk from a local farmer, but that's not the point of the story.) In any case, not being the adventurous type, I always followed those directions to the letter.

Except last time. Last time I rebelled. "Self," I said, "Branch out. Live large. Try heating that milk to a mere 110 and see what happens."

What happens, dear readers, is yoghurt soup. It's got all the tangy bacterial stuff goin' on, but it doesn't thicken. So I went web-picking, and found out that this is because:

"At that temp (referring to 185 degrees), the whey proteins will denature and coagulate to enhance the viscosity and texture."
- Some ask-a-question site.

There you have it. This afternoon, I, much chastened, heated my milk to 185. I like my yoghurt thick.

I know that sometime in my distant past I posted a how-to on yoghurt making, but in case any one round these parts wants to know, here it is again.

You need:

Milk, about as much as you'd like to see turn into yoghurt.
Plain yoghurt, as stuffed full of pro-biotics as you can find, a few tablespoons or so.
Cooking thermometer.
Cheesecloth (optional).

In a large saucepan, slowly heat the milk to 185 degrees, stirring occasionally so it doesn't cook to the bottom. When I got it there this time, I turned off the burner and put the lid on for a few minutes, which supposedly enhances the thickening process. (I'll let you know how that works out later.)

Once that heat has been reached, set the pan into a few inches of cold water in the sink. Cool it to 110 degrees. Take it out of the water. Stir in your yoghurt, which will start the bacterial process.

Keep your lidded yoghurt warm for at least 8 hours, or better yet, overnight. I've done this overtop a heating vent in the winter when the furnace is going all the time, with a cardboard box over the saucepan to keep the heat in. (This is why you need to keep the lid on, so you don't enrich your yoghurt with dust.) I've also done it by turning the light on in the oven overnight, covering the stove-top vent, and letting it do its time there. Right now my yoghurt is on the outside railing, where the sun was pretty strong. That's about to change, and I notice the sky is already getting dark, so maybe I'll try Chive's idea of putting it in the big cooler with a hot water bottle.

After it's had its working time, you can either just use it as is, or strain it with cheesecloth. I did that the time before last, and quite liked the extra "dryness" of the end product. I put the whey on the compost heap. Does anyone else have any other ideas for it?

Then put the yoghurt into whatever container suits your fancy. Not so hard, huh?

St. Robertson

2010-06-23T14:47:00.000-07:00

There is no nonsense so gross that society will not,
at some time,
make a doctrine of it and defend it
with every weapon of communal stupidity.

-Robertson Davies

Quick - Before I forget!

2010-06-20T16:25:00.000-07:00

For some reason, there doesn't seem to be much in the way of food around here, for all the bulging pantries and whatnot. Could be something to do with me being away for school, I suppose... there were a lot of unwashed dishes lingering on the counters too.

So I was casting about in my tired mind for what on earth we'd have for supper tonight, and then I remembered that a client had given me a big bag of fresh spinach that needed to be used.

Spinach. Here are my two experiences of spinach:

1. Three years old. (One of my very few early memories, and that's a measure of how deeply I was scarred.) My babysitter served up boiled spinach for lunch. I remember the horrible sliminess of it on my tongue, and gagging, and making an inner vow that NEVER AGAIN would anything so vile pass my lips.

2. Twenty years old, or thereabouts. Feeling rather elderly and sophisticated, and determined that my childhood prejudice need not stand in the way of varied culinary experience as an adult. Ordered a big fresh spinach salad with raspberry vinaigrette. It was unbelievably bitter. I don't know which godforsaken grotto they harvested the stuff from, but it was unfit for human consumption. The sliminess was mercifully absent, but the taste, while different from boiled hanks of greenery, was no better. Another vow made.

But here I am at forty, and this lovely lady gave me a big bag of spinach fresh from her garden, and I want to eat it, for her sake and mine. I'm famished for greens. So I girded my spiritual loins, and sat down at the computer to find a recipe to use what I had at hand.

Found it long enough to make it, and then promptly lost it before I could bookmark.

You know what? It was good. The spinach was good all by itself, and made into this salad, it was wonderful. I guess spinach is back on my list of possible things to grow, if my garden ever decides to put out.

So before my eager cerebral delete-function effectively erases the recipe from my memory banks, here it is:

Spinach, enough to feed whichever multitude you're working on.

Hard-boiled eggs, one or two per serving

Bacon, about three strips per serving, diced up smallish.

Fry up the bacon until it's almost crisp. Turn off the pan. Take the bacon bits out and let them degrease themselves on a piece of paper towel, and remove most of the drippings from the pan. Now, for four servings, I left about 3 tablespoons in the frying pan, so that gives you an idea of how much to reserve for the dressing.

For four servings, I added to the drippings

1 tsp. cornstarch
1 tsp. salt
2 tbsp. sugar

and cooked them on medium heat for 3 minutes. I then mixed together

1/2 c. water
1/4 c. vinegar

in a measuring cup, and then added them to the pan, stirring like mad while the liquid took on the cornstarch and thickened. When it's cooked itself clear and slightly viscous, it's ready.

Have your (washed, dried and ripped bite-size) spinach in individual bowls, sprinkle on bacon bits, and slice an egg or two to spread over the top. Over the works, spoon a bit of dressing from the pan.

(In the interest of aesthetics, I took the picture pre-dressing. But it still looks abundantly edible post-dressing, believe me.)

EAT THIS.

Chive said the only problem with the recipe was that there wasn't enough.

And school? I'm finished. I passed my exams. I came home and slept. I'm ready for acupuncture in the fall! Bring it on, Popeye!

Paul Stamets on 6 ways mushrooms can save the world | Video on TED.com

2010-06-17T16:06:00.000-07:00

Coop (Not "co-op", though he's probably got one...)

2010-06-14T12:25:00.000-07:00

I confess: I lurk.

No, I'm not just conjugating. I really do lurk. I have a lot of blogs saved into my "favourites" column that I spin through everyday, and leave nary a comment. Usually (and this is the confession part), I drive past these blogs like a rubbernecker driving past a crash site - horrified fascination. There are lives out there that appall me but I just can't stop peeking in to see what the train-wreck consists of today. I don't leave a comment, because what on earth do you say when someone lives oblivious to the fact that they're continuously shooting themselves in the foot/feet/groin/insert-body-part-here?

Sometimes my fascination is less macabre, and more just relief that I don't have to live like that. I found this book reviewed on one of those sites. A quiverfull site. Are you familiar? "Quiverfull Families" take the viewpoint that couples should have as many children as "God sends", without restricting fertility in any way, natural or otherwise. A lot of those sites spend a great deal of time proselytizing regarding their pro-pregancy stance, but they also tend to be folks who garden and raise chickens, and live frugally, and write about that sort of thing too. And for that, I lurk meaningfully.

This book was reviewed on a quiverfull blog. The blogstress was rather disappointed in the author's lack of True Faith, but she conceded that his agrarian lifestyle was admirable, and the book was well-written. It is.

I loved this book. Funny, real, honest. I don't want to do a review per se, but if you're looking for something to read, you'd be doing yourself a favour with this one.

2010-06-13T09:29:00.001-07:00

Every once in a while you're given the privilege of having your perspective adjusted. That happened to me yesterday. The world looks different this morning. I'm re-evaluating my responses to the everyday situations around me, working at letting go of what "should" be and seeing what is with grateful-er eyes.

It's not my story to tell. But I'm a bit player, and again, it's my privilege to be that. Everything could change and maybe it will.

Unfinished Business

2010-06-12T10:27:00.000-07:00

I'm off to visit a friend today, with an unfinished quilt in tow. Hers. Her birthday/law-school-graduation quilt that I've been chipping away at for the last couple years. How embarrassing! And it's her birthday (again) next week. So today the quilt comes along, as proof that I haven't just forgotten, and that I will eventually get that binding tacked on!

It's a nine-patch with alternate half-square triangles that form a diamond pattern in the background. Unfortunately I'm not the fussiest piecer, so a lot of those triangles have very blunt points. Oh well. Overall it still looks alright.

Exams next weekend, and then my time is mine to fill as I please!

We Went to the Lake

2010-06-10T20:18:00.000-07:00

Sunday morning I announced that I was going to the lake. Any cheerful, polite folk in the vicinity were welcome to come with me. The sibling rivalry was uninvited. Surprisingly enough, three other people made the trip too.

And the canoe, Chive's "mid-life crisis". Some men need a little red Corvette.
He got a little red canoe. He's good that way.

We packed amid the other events of the day, and arrived with a vanload of food. It was quickly devoured as canoe-fuel. Life-jackets were duly snapped on, and away we went.

It was an unbelievably beautiful afternoon. I don't remember the last time I enjoyed myself that much. I've been under a grey sky for longer than I can remember, but the sun is definitely breaking through at regular intervals now. I sat there with a paddle in my hand and just laughed. My heart was light on the water.

We went a few kilometres and sighted a sandy(ish) little beach to pull into.

Patch was the first one up on the shore, and within seconds he was calling. "Mum! Quick! Bring your camera!" There were four swallow-tails resting on the sand in the shade, their wings spread out wide. I crept as softly as I could, but they took flight. Eventually one came back to rest. And do you see the deer tracks? Everyone comes to the water sooner or later.

The colours are lovely, especially up close.

Wading in the cold water was fabulous. I think I raised the core temperature of the lake by seveal degrees, all by myself. My feet have been really hot lately, and I barely felt the cold bite at all.

We splashed around and threw driftwood back from whence it came and stalked the butterflies which continued to circle after I disturbed them. And eventually it was over, the moment was sated, and we tipped ourselves back into the canoe and headed for home.

Unaccountably, in spite of all that went before, it was a truly beautiful afternoon. I think I'll remember this one for a long, long time.

A Recovering Bigot Gets Another Chance to Practice

2010-06-08T09:12:00.000-07:00

This morning I'm feeling a little like a character from a Flannery O'Connor short-story, but I can't really pinpoint which one. I shudder to think of the possibilities. Here's my account of the day.

On Sunday morning, as I was madly prepping food to go on our "impromptu" lakeside picnic, my husband showed up at the back door saying that "John" needed a glass of water. I thought he said "Joe", and rolled my third eye for the sake of the guy who always shows up for food and never helps with anything if he can possibly get out of it. But it wasn't Joe. It was some guy I'd never seen before. I said hi, and went back to what I was doing. He went to the bathroom, and I hid my purse.

Chive brought him into the house and gave him the water. He took a couple pills with it. Chive told me that John had gotten his truck stuck in the swamp beside our auction mart. John said he'd been looking for a place to pull over and sleep since he'd been driving for a long time, and hadn't realized that it was private property. I was having a hard time understanding that, so I assumed that he'd pulled in on the other side of our property line, onto a farm-trail that led into the neighbouring field. But no, he was stuck in our yard. Strange. I shrugged and went on baking.

He and Chive sat down together in the living room. I asked him if he'd had breakfast. He said no, and I volunteered to make him an omelette. "With cheese?" I asked. "Only mozzarella," he said, "I'm fussy about cheese." I shrugged. Not like I don't have mozza in the fridge. "With bacon?" "I'm allegic to bacon. And beef. And chicken." I shrugged, and went on cooking.

I served him his omelette and sat down to chat with him at table. I asked him about where he was from, where he was going, what he did. Am I nosy? Probably looks that way, but what I really am is suspicious. I want to know what his connections are, who he knows, who knows him, how he fits into the world as I know it. And all the while I'm trying to keep an open heart, to find a place for him in the world that makes sense, that means that I can relax and trust him. He's Native. Around here, there's a huge amount of prejudice against Natives. It's what I grew up with, but I don't want to be part it. I'm working overtime to not suspect. I'm telling my red-alerts to shut up. I'm assuming that what I'm hearing is the voices of the past. I don't want to be an bigoted asshole. I'm shaming myself.

He says he's from a community two hours east of here. So I'm thinking, why do you need to pull over and rest? What were you doing all night? He says he works for an organization there for at-risk youth. I never knew that had that institution in that town. I tell him about the sweat I wasn't able to attend the day before because of the short notice, and how I'm nervous about being able to breathe in there. He tells me how it goes, how to get down low and take short breaths. He tells me about how to snare a fish, how he and his grandad used to snare rabbits. I ask him if he knows anyone in ***** Creek, since I know people from there. He looks confused, shakes his head, no, he doesn't think so.

Chive keeps trying to talk to him about how to get the truck out, but John doesn't seem to care. He says his friend is going to come to meet him at the restaurant, they'll figure it out later.

He takes his dishes to the sink, shakes my hand, thanks me for breakfast. And leaves. I watch him walking through the trees into town.

The truck is still there. The truck is still there a few hours later. I send Poppy out to get the license plate number. They're Saskatchewan plates. I phone it into the police to check if it's been stolen. The dispatcher says that John had been found sleeping in a ditch by another resident, and the constables were on their way out. Yes, the truck was stolen. My heart sank.

I gave them my cell phone number. We went to the lake.

I talked to the local constable again this morning. She's taking statements. "John" came from Saskatchewan with the stolen truck. He'd stolen it from a woman, with violence, using a weapon. He'd just got out of jail for the same crime. He's in custody now, being transported back to Saskatchewan.

Mercy. There so many possibilities in this world, and so many of them don't come to pass. Some of them do.

I'm still processing my actions and reactions. Not just what I did, and what came out of my mouth, but what was in my heart. Am I still a slave to prejudice? Do I accept people as people, regardless of colour or culture? Do I really? Will I still be able to do that tomorrow? If someone shows up at my door again, will we start with a fresh slate?

I suspected him. But I suspected myself too.

And I find myself wondering, how much do mozzarella omelettes matter?

This Day In Pictures

2010-06-05T23:08:00.000-07:00

Casanova

Juliet and Lolita

Maggie, in her favourite sleeping position.

Poppin' Peas!

Micro-lettuce, with a macro-lens.

SUN!

Thankful Thursday

2010-06-03T20:38:00.000-07:00

And then the sky just opened up....

It was a full day. I tried to sleep in, through the rambunction of the early morning around here, and while I did that I dreamt of seeing seven tornadoes on the horizon as I searched in vain for my home. I was sure it was there somewhere. Seven tornadoes and a lost home. I wonder what it means, or if it means anything. Sometimes dreams do, I believe. I'll keep thinking about it.

But once I was up and about, well, there were messes to go, places to clean. Isn't that always the way? I cleared enough kitchen counter to make breakfast and sat down with that to compose my list for the day. Do you have a list? I need one. If I don't make a list for myself, I wander through the day with the vague notion that almost certainly something needs doing, but I can't for the life of me think of what it is. Or I start a needful project, run off to attend to something else, and then completely forget what I'd begun until it jumps up and bites me on the arse.

1. Pick up the chicken. We're not raising chickens this year, and I haven't been entirely happy about that, but so it goes. The empty freezer in the porch glared accusingly. So when the Co-Op announced a sale on chicken, I called them and ordered 10 CASES of eight each! Eighty chickens! They were due to arrive today.

2. E-mail study notes. A few days ago one of my classmates had requested some notes on nerve roots and paths, and the last couple days were so busy that I hadn't had a chance to respond. I didn't have this information anywhere except on my home-made flashcards, but I thought it would be a good review to type it all up "formally". In my case, repetition is the mother of memory.

3. Seed more lettuce, and dill. I ripped open that dill seed-package and nearly snorted the seeds right up into my sinuses. Gor, I love the smell!

I started with the notes. Brachial plexus: C5, C6, C7, C8, T1; musculocutaneous, axillary, radial, median, ulnar, and all their winding ways down the arm. Lumbosacral plexus: L2, L3, L4, L5, S1, S2; the obturator, the femoral and the ever-bifurcating sciatic splitting its path down thigh and calf. I sent it to the lady who'd made the request, and then to the rest of the class, figuring maybe someone else could use it.

On to the garden. Seeding turned out to be a larger matter than I'd originally conceived. First of all, once I got all close at hand, I found that there were quite a few clots of quackgrass and dandelion that needed routing, and thistle that needed to be discouraged. Our thistles spread by rhizome as well as seed, so it's not just a matter of extirpation. You have to return again and again to the same spot, since the demonic root will continue to send up shoots to invade your beets. If you keep after it, it does eventually lose heart and vigour, but it's not a job for the easily dismayed. Think years, not months.

After that, I turned my attention to the unsown bed, but it hadn't been worked up much since last year, so I got to spend a fair bit of time turning soil and combing it smooth with a rake. It's pleasing to see all that chicken litter mixed into the clay, and even more pleasing to see how many earthworms we've got this year. The first couple years after we bought this place, it had been so hard-used, and driven on, and starved, that worms were very few and far between. Now I turn up several with every shovelful. Glory!

The sky started to spit at me, so I drew my little lines in the beds for the lettuce seed, threw a handful at the dirt for the dill, mixed it all up, hung up my shovel and made for the house to clean my filthy feet.

I checked my e-mail. There was a reply from a classmate, assuring me that I, Madcap, TOTALLY ROCK for sending the notes. I believe this means she was thankful. It's Thursday, after all. ;-)

Wolfed a sandwich, went questing for chicken.

While the young lad in the meat department went hunting down my order, I strolled the aisles to fill my cart. Toilet paper. I buy a lot of toilet paper. Chive rolls his eyes, but I tell you, having a closet full of TP is a reassuring thing. Apples, cheese, salmon... I particularly buy what's on sale, and lots of it, especially non-perishables.

Sometimes I hear stories, usually from the States, about storms rolling in and people frantically jamming the grocery stores for foodstuffs and all, and I can hardly comprehend the lives they must lead. Why on earth would anyone with a kitchen not stock their shelves? The other day Chive and I were talking about disasters, and he went browsing through the cupboards and reckoned that we have enough food around for about three months. I'm working on that. I'd like it to be six months, or a year, but hey - three months is better than nothing, huh? But it's beyond my ken that anyone wouldn't have enough on hand to last even three days.

As I was loading the cases into the trunk and back seat, the rain began to get serious about its business. The drops were large. And wet. By the time I got home, puddles were merging to become lakes in our drive. I hollered for the kids and we unloaded. As we ferried the cases over the water and into the porch, the rain reconsidered its mission in life and became hail. Large hail. I tried to cower under my hair while I ripped open boxes and unloaded them into my freezer, but it didn't avail me much. Hailstones the size of my fingernails smacked me in the back of the neck and melted down my shirt. By the time we were finally finished, all three of us were as wet as mermaids. Poppy and Patch stripped off their coats and shoes and went screaming around the yard like the wild things they are, chasing the poor soggy kitties and wrestling each other to the ground.

I, much less entertainingly, sloshed into the house, toweled down, and checked my e-mail. Now I had a message assuring me of goddess-hood. Again, I believe this meant the sender was thankful of the notes.

Looking out the window, I was thankful too. Thankful that my plants aren't big enough to be damaged by the hail. Thankful that I got my seeds in before the deluge. Thankful that we're no longer living in a wildfire zone. Thankful that I have a lot of food in storage, and need not worry about feeding my family. Thankful that it was just hail, and not seven tornadoes, and that my home hasn't grown legs to go on walkabout.

And now I'm thankful that my bed is waiting so patiently. Why do I always stay vertical so long when horizontal is so wonderful?

Ahh, Spring!

2010-05-29T19:56:00.000-07:00

And here we have... spring. In Alberta. May 29, 2010. Two weeks ago it was 29C. Today it was 2C. And snowing. And snowing, and snowing, and snowing, and snowing. This is moisture, and after the fires I stoically do not complain, but will someone please give dear ol' Mama Nature some sense of proportion?

Yesterday the clouds were lowering and grey, and I went out to the garden to check whether or not anything had sprouted yet. Yes! Lettuce and potatoes so far. I'm assuming it's lettuce. The green bi-leafly bits are slightly thicker in the rows I marked after seeding than in the surrounding territory. Unfortunately in the earliest stages my lettuce plants look exactly like the weeds, so I'm taking the wheat-and-tares approach until I can reliably tell them apart. The potatoes were just barely breaking the ground, looking very sturdy and green where the cracks were big enough to allow a glimpse of things to come.

Tonight Chive went out and put a towel-blanket over the infant lettuce. Yes, it's a cool-weather plant and all, but I don't think the definition of "cool" extends to "below freezing"when applied to tender greenery. The potatoes will simply have to grit their rooty teeth and bear it. Hopefully the bulk of them is still sheltered enough by the earth that they won't take it too hard.

Books read this week: Dance of the Dissident Daughter (Sue Monk Kidd), The Burning House (Jay Ingram), The Sanctuary Sparrow (Ellis Peters). Oh, and Clinical Massage Therapy, of course. Can't forget that.

Present Projects: Rabbit hutches by Chive. We've located a buck and a doe, and by this time next week we should have them on the premises, merrily fruiting and multiplying. I think I'm starting to feel like a farmer. Or a zoo-keeper. Pictures of such to follow.

Patch to Poppy: "Why do you take so many pictures of yourself? Do you think you're going to forget what you look like or something?"

W.I.P. Wednesday

2010-05-26T08:32:00.000-07:00

3.5 weeks before my FINAL FINAL exam. The work-in-progress this week is my studying; flash-cards, mental rehearsal, re-reading all the material we covered, finding bodies to practice techniques and assessments on.

And then I'll be done, for good or ill. Sometimes I can hardly believe this. Four years ago I had no inkling that my life would be taking this turn. Three years ago I knew I wanted to do something with my hands and healing, but massage really wasn't on top of my list. Shortly after that, I figured out that if I wanted to be an acupuncturist, I was going to have to find a route that would get me there more quickly and easily than wallowing through upgrading and a token B.A. That route turned out to be massage training.

I'm glad. I don't do "massage" very much, in the way that people think of it. I treat conditions, using myofascial release, pin-and-stretch (intense), cranio-sacral therapy, some osteopathic techniques, and of course, acu-points. Helping people become more functional and move with less pain is incredibly rewarding. I love my work.

And in September, I'm actually going to finally take my first class in the acupuncture program. Hallelujah!

Monday Q&Q

2010-05-24T11:35:00.000-07:00

Photo credit: grafixar from morguefile.com

“To be a book-collector is to combine
the worst characteristics of a dope fiend
with those of a miser.”

- Robertson Davies

I was dusting my bookshelves yesterday, and noting that although I've become quite disciplined about getting rid of those which I neither love nor find useful, there are still a LOT of books living with us. Butler's Lives of the Saints (2 full editions!), Gene Logsdon and a plethora of other DIY and gardening books, quilting manuals, all the Gerald Morris knight-series, encyclopedias of Jewish folklore, the Portofino trilogy, miscellaneous novels, the Cadfael mysteries...

Who won't you part with?

Hummingbirds, Unite!

2010-05-23T08:55:00.000-07:00

Pssst... Freaky Friday

2010-05-21T16:31:00.001-07:00

Sometimes I wonder what love is, and do I really love my kids.

Now I know. I have a snake living in my home. I've peeled back millenias of evolutionary repulsion in order to make my kid happy. Must be love.

It's a ball-boa. It eats 2 mice every second week, and poops once in the same time-frame. It doesn't bark (huge plus), and the shedding is contained to its tank, not my trousers and sweaters. Actually, it's not as horrifying as I thought. I'm able to keep the shuddering to a minimum.

My son has spent a goodly portion of the last three months researching reptiles, memorizing facts, navigating through the internet in order to get the information he wanted. Just because he was interested. That sort of thing makes my heart glad.

Yesterday morning I called our homeschool centre to find out if I had any funding left. Turns out I hadn't submitted anything at all. I checked my reciepts, subtracted, and found out we had, more or less (... well, a little less) enough to buy a snake and its accoutrements.

Patch is over the moon. And I, apparently, am the coolest mum ever. Not a bad return for suppressing a few basic instincts, huh?

Thanks on Thursday

2010-05-20T09:00:00.001-07:00

The very most important thing to be thankful for today is the RAIN. I know the photo doesn't really show it well, but it's been misting and drizzling, and sometimes outright pouring, over the last 24 hours. The brush-fire has been brought under control and is no longer spreading.

Thanks be to the fire-fighters, the incredible folks who do such a dangerous job. All of them, but especially our local crew, mostly composed of volunteers. Yesterday there was a fantastic newspaper article about them, how they've left bed and board, farm and family, in order to save the homes of their neighbours. And the neighbours and families, they've picked up the empty spaces at home, seeding crops, taking over calving and watering, keeping things going until the fire-fighters get back.

Right now I'm very proud to be part of this community.

Torpid Tuesday

2010-05-18T13:26:00.001-07:00

It's hot. Almost 30C. I'm sure there are those of you for whom that's a pleasant mid-winter's day, but it was only a few short weeks ago that I finally became acclimatized to -30C, and the ricocheting temperatures are giving me climactic whiplash. Uufda.

And there's wind. And fire. Our area is in drought, and there are wildfires burning far too close to our town. A quick windshift is all it would take, and Gawdswallop could be no more. Not that I think about that much, but it's sort of there in the back of the mind, you know? I spent a few shifts at the community hall this weekend, doing meal prep for the 250 provincial fire-fighters who are camped out in the field across from our house. Those guys are amazing. They go full-on from 5 a.m. until 10 p.m., and then crash in tents and do it all over again the next day. Bless their black boots.

I ought to be studying (Of course, but when shouldn't I be studying? I think I'm close to study-coma state. There's simply no study left in me.), but I'm gardening instead. Apparently my head is in a better state than its been for the past few years, because I'm actually thinking about what to plant, and where to plant it, and how to pry up the dirt and get it to accept a few seeds.

The whole gardening thing sort of leapt upon me from behind the shed and rassled me to the ground. Literally two weeks ago it was still snowing. This week there are dust-devils everywhere, and I'm out there with a hoe, busting up clods and spreading the chicken litter from last summer.

No chickens this year. There are several reasons, and I don't really want to go into it. Maybe some meat-rabbits. Apparently they're not all that easy to come by in this region, so I've been tracking them down through the homeschool network. Hopefully I don't find myself traveling more than an hour to gather them into the fold.

Chive took the first two rows of the garden space for potatoes. Last year they were the only thing that survived, so he wasn't going to waste time hoping that lettuce would germinate when he figures he's got a sure bet with potatoes. That leaves two more readied rows for other things. I put some lettuce in this morning, but I can't quite commit to buying a package of something else. Why this is a problem, I cannot say. Must be the lingering after-effects of the lobotomy...

Peas. There you go. Of COURSE we have to have peas to graze on. What's the point of a garden without fresh peas? I shall go anon to the Co-Op and buy myself some pea-seeds. And maybe carrots, though I have to admit that carrots have never done well for me. One of the mysteries of the universe. I thought carrots were a starter-vegetable for the agriculturally inept to sharpen their pitchforks on, but the tines of my fork remain blunt in the carrot patch.

Other than that? We keep hauling old auction-mart garbage to the dump, tearing down disintegrating fences, planning to plant fruit-trees and bushes. This place will supply all my needs for busy-ness for the next decade, if not longer.

Monday, and was it ever.

2010-05-17T19:04:00.000-07:00

Why is it, WHY is it that my fantasies about how parenting is "supposed" to work can't conveniently work out in reality? I keep finding myself having to take positions and enforce them against the hordes, and this is NOT HOW IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE! Jeepers.

I keep reminding myself that eventually this is all going to work out, that eventually what I'm saying and modeling is going to take root and bear fruit, but baby, I'm running on faith with that today, believe me.

Sometimes I wish I were a drinker....

W.I.P. Wednesday

2010-05-12T06:35:00.000-07:00

A baby quilt, for the baby of someone who babysat my little ones all those years ago... I can say with no reservation that I'm utterly, utterly done with that stage of my own life, but I wish them well, and I sure like making little quilts!

The Ross Sisters - Solid Potato Salad

2010-05-11T06:48:00.000-07:00

Check out this offering from 1944 - you've got your singing, your dancing, your hotpants, your contortionism, your swinging from the hayloft.... Happy Tuesday!

Click here

Community Acupuncture, aka Gospel Train

2010-05-07T05:14:00.000-07:00

Get on board, a-little childrun
Get on board, a-little childrun
Get on board, a-little childrun
There's room for many-a-more...

And here's the internal war I've been waging with myself over the past few years. I love acupuncture. LOVE it, and I'm not using that word lightly. I think it's a fabulous tool for regaining and maintaining health of all sorts; physical, mental, spiritual. AND... it's very expensive. The going rate in this area is between $70-$90 per treatment. Per treatment! Holy crackers!

That, my friends, is not sustainable health care for the most of us, especially when you consider that acupuncture works best on injury or acute chronic conditions if it's administered at least 1X/week, usually between 6-10 weeks, and then at maintenance levels after that.

There are all sorts of reasons given for this, but what it boils down to is that when acupuncture crossed the ocean to the new world, it needed credibility, and it decided that credibility could be gained by adopting the standard western medical model: 1 client, 1 practitioner, 1 room, and given the nature of acupuncture treatment, for 1 hour. And if you look at it that way, well yeah, you'd have to charge a lot to cover your building rent and the cost of the education that got you there, and enough to make a living besides.

The downside of this, from a practitioner's point of view, is that it severely limits your circle of clientele. $70-$90/hour? That eliminates about 75% of people from seeing acupuncture as a possibility for themselves. Another 20% of us (those with health benefits) can afford some treatment, but certainly not on a weekly basis for very long, and maybe 5% of the population can afford to address their health and/or pain problems with acupuncture on a regular schedule.

It's hard to build a thriving practice if you can only count on a sliver of that last 5% to partake of what you're offering.

And then me, I'm thinking, "I'm going to stick a few needles in someone and let them percolate for half an hour, and for that I'll charge them $70?" Hmmmm.... even a conscience as leathery as my own finds a problem with that.

I've forgotten the actual statistic, but I believe that in North America, a large majority of acupuncturists are no longer practicing acupuncture 5 years after they graduate. The model simply doesn't work very well unless you can tap into an elite clientele.

Consequently you hear a lot of griping on acupuncture message boards about the masses not being committed to their health, etc. But really, come on! If someone's making minimum wage, they're barely paying the rent, never mind taking care of the degeneration of their knees. And on the other-other hand (have I used up all my hands yet? I warn you, I'm like a Hindu goddess in that regard), I have NO PATIENCE with people who say they can't afford treatment when they're sipping a $5 coffee.

This was going somewhere...

Right. Okay. Enter COMMUNITY ACUPUNCTURE!

This is a different business model. It's not 1:1:1:1. With community acupuncture, multiple clients are treated simultaneously. Generally speaking, you use recliners instead of tables, and they're all in a big room together. People remain clothed, rolling up pants and sleeves, and most of the points used are from the knee to the foot, shoulder to hand, neck, face, head. Fees are on a sliding scale, usually from $15-$40 per treatment, often with an initial $10 surcharge for the first appointment to cover the paperwork and extra time involved in reviewing your medical history.

And here, my friends, is a video to give it flesh.

I was thinking about this concept all on my own up here in Northern Alberta, and consider my surprise when I found it all assembled and ready to use down in the States! No need to reinvent the wheel. Someday I'm going to be an acupuncturist, and I do believe that this is the way I'm going to go. It sits well in my heart.

I hear the car wheels rumblin'
And a-rolling through the land...

A Tutorial of a Different Kind

2010-04-25T18:07:00.000-07:00

Photo credit: schmitee from morguefile.com

It was The Day. I turned FORTY. Finally one of the big girls!

Now for the birthday present.

I'm constantly seeing clients who have upper back pain. You probably know this pain. This is the knot on the inside border of your shoulder blade, or higher up in the traps, something like that.

Obviously I can't open an online clinic, but I can show you a combination of stretch and strengthening that goes a long way toward alleviating some of that upper back tension. I give these instructions to clients almost every day.

When the pectoralis major muscles are over-strong, they pull toward the centre and rotate the humerus (upper arm bone) forward, which creates a head-forward, rounded-back posture that over-stretches the smaller, weaker rhomboids between your shoulder blades. When the rhomboids are in a constant state of stretch, they spasm in an attempt to regain their optimal length, which HURTS. This sequence addresses both.

So first off, you need to stretch out those pec major muscles on your chest. They're a type of muscle called "postural", which means that in general they tend to be strong and tend to shorten. They need to let go first, before trying to strengthen the back. The pec major originates along your sternum (breastbone), and attaches at the upper humerus. Here's a picture, courtesy of Wikipedia:

Here's the Lovely Poppy showing the stretch:

Stand beside a wall, and place your forearm along it. Lean forward, until you feel the stretch across your chest. Hold for 15-30 seconds. Do the same to the other side.

Here's a picture of it from behind:

Right. Now that the front is less tense, it's time to work on the rhomboids in back. The thing is, and here's the thing, that because these back muscles are spasming, trying to pull the shoulder blades back into position, it feels like they need to be stretched. THEY DO NOT NEED TO BE STRETCHED. They need to regain tone, so they stop firing off distress signals.

So here's Poppy demonstrating a strengthening exercise:

Stand straight. Drop your shoulders, and keep 'em dropped. (Shoulders have a tendency to migrate north when we're concentrating, which is another piece of the upper-back-pain problem.) Bend your elbows to 90 degrees, and bring them back, pinching your shoulderblades together. Then, when you've got maximum contraction, bring your fists forward slightly, maybe an inch, until you just start to feel that your losing the contraction between your shoulder-blades. Hold this for 10-15 seconds. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

When I first learned this sequence, I'd been having constant misery in my upper back for many years, and I would do the stretch/strengthen combo many, many times per day. Now that it isn't nearly the chronic problem that it was, I do it maybe 3-4X/day, enough to counteract the habitual postures of life and work.

If you came to my clinic presenting this problem, I'd do some myofascial release work on the pecs, and give the rhomboids some tone, and then I'd give you these exercise. Since I can't see you all under my hands, at least I can give you something to try at home. Just another piece of the pie. Or cake, I suppose.

So Long...?

2010-04-01T05:34:00.001-07:00

Kate, I'm hoping it's an April Fool joke.

If not, I'm very sorry, and I'll miss you.

Take care.

Sap Rising

2010-03-30T06:00:00.000-07:00

Photo credit: bosela from morguefile.com

In Chinese medicine terms, spring is the season that correlates with the Wood element; rising energies, forward motion, plans and instigations. The organs associated are Liver and Gall-bladder. The colour is green, the positive emotion is benevolence, as in benevolent action towards promoting justice, the negative emotion is ANGER.

I'm feeling a lot of Wood energy this morning, this month. Sometimes it's anger, but overall it's like I'm finally returning to my original nature, my natural disposition towards creativity, planning, making things happen. Lord, it's been such a long time... Years. Finally I'm not trudging through depression anymore - it's spring in every sense!

And part of this is that I'm pushing some issues that were in danger of being left to die a slow death. Last fall I found out that a practitioner had been slagging me and my husband online. Talk about angry! And as hard as that was, and as angry as I was, I think it really lit the fire under my ass that has warmed me into action and interaction with life again.

A few weeks ago, after months of silence from the regulating board, I wrote an e-mail asking what had happened to my case, since I hadn't heard anything since the initial reception. That was difficult for me to do. A part of me wants to just let it fall between the cracks, the part of me that feels like everything is actually my fault, and that any grievance I have against anyone else will turn on me and become my own death sentence. But I took a big breath and wrote it anyway. My rational mind knows that what went down was completely out of bounds, and happened even before I had any significant dealings with this person, and that an impartial third party has no choice but to recognize that, especially since I have it in writing. I try to listen to my rational mind.

Yesterday I received a letter in the mail, stating that the grievance process was going forward, and scheduling an appointment with us to take our oral statements. Everything in me that had been dormant leapt into overdrive; anxiety, anger. Since then I've been trying to round up these wild cows and refocus. But jeepers - the anger is huge and explosive, the anxiety runs my heart a little faster, worries me into taking some of the blame for something I never had a hand in. Good thing I've opened a more constructive outlet for it. More constructive than the violence I'd begun to fantasize about, anyway. Destructive for her, possibly. Constructive for me. And ultimately, if it deconstructs her hubris towards clients, that's a win for her too, though I'm sure it won't feel like it at the time. And for her other clients, whom I assume she treats in the same way. Though maybe not so much anymore, since she's been found out.

I used to be a very angry person all the time, and I trained myself out of it. Part of that was religious ideals, part of it was sheer practicality. Ya gotta get along to get along, you know? Inviting people to f*** off and die doesn't usually help matters much, in any situation. But I trained myself too well. I trained myself into something I'm not, and it was killing me. This rising sap that's so much a part of my make-up needs to be acknowledged, because it's the source of my creation and the fantasies that lead to action. My sparkling frustration is a signal that something is NOT RIGHT. And that's good to know. Now I need to learn to take those sparks and light a torch that can lead me into parts unknown, to slay the dragons that decimate the inner countryside.

Speaking of dragons... I actually have a bit of an affinity for them, my last phrase notwithstanding. Not Disney dragons, or dragons as a symbol of evil, but Chinese dragons. In Asian culture, dragons are water spirits, a good omen. I once had a marvellous dream about a cloud dragon, twisting in the mist in front of me. I'm not sure what it meant, but I tucked it away in my heart and think about it from time to time. It's a something. Someday I think I'll know.

Calling Mary Anne!

2010-03-29T12:36:00.000-07:00

I most daftly lost your address - could you send it again please? I have something to send...

Thanks!

Salmon Dip

2010-03-24T05:15:00.000-07:00

I don't think I've posted this recipe before, but the spirit's moving me now. I've been up for the past hour, since 5 a.m., prepping food for the day since supper doesn't make itself and I'm committing the Great Wednesday Runaround. So I'm pulling chickens out of the freezer, peeling potatoes, mulling over veggies - as well as packing for the trip.

One of the things on my list was this salmon dip, more for the travel portion of the day than the supper end. It's tasty protein, portable, and gluten-free. I find travelling GF to be a pain in the knickers. With rice-crackers, this stuff is marvellous. I got the recipe from my sister-in-law, and I don't know where she got it, but I'm forever grateful.

So -

1 brick cream cheese
1 tin salmon
zest and juice of 1/2 a lemon
generous dusting of dill
fresh ground black pepper

Mix. Eat with rice crackers.

Actually, I don't use the pepper anymore, as it seems to annoy my body into constant hunger, but it's still very good without it.

And now for something completely different...

Someone told me the other day that she rarely blows her nose, maybe two or three times a year. (Context is everything, folks, and my lips are sealed.) My gaster was flabbered! In this house the walls ring from first light to last with the honking and skirling of our sinuses. I mean, not constantly, but you know, at regular intervals. And when someone arouses the somnolent dust bunnies under the furniture, the forests suffer our nasal wrath.

Now you know I hate to get personal, but can anyone one else here make a claim to blowing his/her nose a mere 2-3 times a year? It's in the cause of science, my dears.

The Aubergine and I

2010-03-04T05:12:00.000-08:00

morguefile.com

I'll admit, I haven't known a lot of vegans in my life, nor ovo-lacto vegetarians. I chalk that up to the fact that I've always lived in a climate that's extremely discouraging to vegetable growth for about 9 months of the year. Fresh fruits and vegetables are just a bit pricey to make an entire meal of, you know? When you're this chilly, you need a few extra calories. Fats. Personally I think I'd need to eat a truckload of fruits and vegetables in a day in order to fulfill my basic requirements for fuel. And I'd be flippin' grouchy about it.

But lately, vegan/vegetarians have been cropping up (ooh - good one, eh?) in my life with startling frequency. It's probably the circles I'm running in; massage therapists, acupuncturists, etc. Folks who already show a pronounced leaning toward DIY health.

If you want to be a vegetarian, or even a vegan, sure, I'm fine with that. It's sure as hell not a local diet, and I don't buy that it's a healthier one (especially veganism), but whatever. If you've got the money to support that habit, go for it. There are worse vices.

But you know what I've noticed about vegans in particular? This isn't a scientific study or anything, just my wool-gathering. One thing I've noticed is that all of the vegans I know are absolutely OBSESSED about food. They think about food day and night. They talk about food constantly. Every conversation gets hijacked by food issues. The other thing is, that all the vegans and wanna-be vegans I know have been sexually abused.

I'm suspecting it's just another way of expressing control, like anorexia. If you have something in your life, like food, that you can obsess about, totally control, and makes you feel like a a holy martyr who's purer than the unwashed rabble, it's easier to cope with the reality that actually the world isn't an in-control place. Stuff happens all the time, and a lot of it, well, we just have to suck it up and make the best of it.

Just a thought. I'm sure there are all kinds of people who would declare themselves an exception to my generalization, but I still think there's something there. A vegan diet, even moreso than an ovo-lacto diet, requires so much maintenance and attention that it seems like it can overrun an entire life.

Something else I've been hearing with more frequency lately is how much more "karmically sound" a vegetarian or vegan diet is.

Oh please. Let me tell you about all the little animals that get killed in the fields while big tractors harvest your quinoa. Let's talk about the human cost of the petroleum required to get the food from seed to table. Let's talk about the possibility that plants scream when you cut them down. And then you can tell me again about your superior karma.

Gack. Ain't no innocents. Not me, not you.

Sorry. This morning I seem to be out of patience. I think a coyote ate my little Maggie-cat yesterday. Dammit. I wish I could convince the coyotes to adopt a vegetarian diet.

Hey, Sweetie!

2010-02-14T17:43:00.000-08:00

Photo credit: cohdra from morguefile.com

And the winner of the Sweetheart Madcap Giveaway is.....

For being first, valentonality, and reminding me of hot-water-bottles (my seasonal obsession), Kate of Another Thing Or Two is Winner #1!

In the "Limerick" category, the hands-down Winner #2 is.... Mary Anne! She is to be congratulated on not only utilizing the limerick form, but incorporating plot development and encouragement towards physical phitness.

And Winner #3, in our Harlequin division, with extra merit for flattery, is Jim of Earth Home Garden!

Send me some e-mails with addresses!

Play My Giveaway!

2010-02-09T08:29:00.000-08:00

Righty-ho!

The fabric is RED. You know why.

You do know why, right?

Anyway, it's give-away season, and I'm in the mood for a little poetically inspired stitchery. Write me a poem with a February theme, and your name goes in the toque. The end result? Not entirely certain, but it'll be fabric, it'll have at least a little bit of red on it, and it'll be some useful item.

Rules:

*Naughty is fine (possibly encouraged), grossly graphic is not.

*Doesn't have to be original.
Limericks are always a happy choice. But I can be a haiku kinda gal too. Sonnets count.
(Watch your feet.)

*Entrants must have a valid Terrestrial citizenship.
(No illegal Aliens. The postage would be astronomical.)

The draw will be made on February 14!

Controlled Substances

2010-02-03T08:36:00.000-08:00

morguefile.com

The world of vice is opening up. Soon, even the squarest among us will have the pleasure of being I.D.'ed to obtain our quilty pleasures...

... if this article is any indication.

"Common sense is very uncommon."
-Horace Greely

Open Hand

2010-02-01T07:37:00.000-08:00

Photo credit: kevinrosseel from morguefile.com

CG is having a February giveaway!

LINK...LINK...LINK

Go on over, read her post and follow the directions.

2010-01-22T09:33:00.000-08:00

www.marriedtothesea.com

I can't figure out how to ensmallen this comic, but click on it to go to the original.

I prefer amnesia, thanks.

2010-01-21T20:48:00.000-08:00

Okay, does anyone out there remember seeing this before?

Tonight my dear Poppy was googling for something or other and stumbled over this video. I remember the song, of course, but I'm completely stunned by the video. At first I thought it was a spoof, but then... it wasn't.

The mind reels. It boggles, actually.

Shadowlands

2010-01-21T09:06:00.000-08:00

Natural Progression

2010-01-19T11:59:00.000-08:00

Whee!

Green Monday

2010-01-18T10:32:00.000-08:00

When we moved last year, I found this little seed-starter set that I'd picked up somewhere along the line and lost in the depths of the basement. So this year, being much more settled in every which way than this time last year, I kept track of where it was, and this morning I hauled it upstairs and started a lettuce garden. 12 of Romaine, 12 of Prizehead, and in a couple weeks I'll seed again. I'm looking forward to the leaves of my labour. The lettuce in the shops is yuck, and expensive.

Chive and Patch went hunting for containers in the auction mart, and came back with some suitable for re-starting chive-clumps in the house. Somehow there's a lot of dirt between the back door and the south-facing bedrooms in the basement. I'm not asking, just listening for the sound of the vaccuum.

Today was supposed to be Meatless Monday, and so far it has been, but it won't keep on that way. Because I had the beans already soaked and ready to go yesterday, we had Meatless Sunday instead. The main Dish O' The Day was a sort of brown-rice-and-navy-beans casserole, with bits of apple, pecans, butter, poultry seasoning. Chive loved it. I... ate it. It was okay. I'm not used to the texture of the beans, and to me they're just mush. They don't taste bad, they just feel like paste, and it's not my favourite food-feeling, to say the least. I think I would have preferred it without them, but the point is to eat rice and beans for the complete protein. I'll keep trying, and eventually I imagine I'll accustom myself to it.

I was thinking about their mushiness, and how I could incorporate that into things that are supposed to be mushy/creamy. Things like a cream soup, say Zumma Borscht, Mennonite potato soup. Or like the cream-cheese-salmon dip I make to serve with rice crackers. I'll bet some pureed navy beans would practically disappear in something like that.

But for now? For now I need to crack the books. My next school weekend is breathing down my neck, and it's still 2 weeks away!

Day Pass

2010-01-17T11:33:00.000-08:00

from morguefile.com

Because it made me LAUGH!

I wonder how his "back" is following treatment?

Uh-HUH.
There's a reason why legitimate massage therapists continue to look for a new job title!

I'm In The Navy Now

2010-01-15T22:51:00.000-08:00

Ah, send me out for a ladies night on the town and you never know what I'll come home with...

On the left, we have a cheese-grater. Or, it once was a cheese grater. After seventy years of continual service, first by my grandmother, and then by me through the first 14 years of my marriage, it no longer shreds anything but my fingers.

(Why is that? How is it that I could barely grate cheese with it, but it was eager to take chunks of flesh out of my hands? I would have thought my finger-flesh would offer more resistance than cheddar. Huh.)

On the right, my New Improved Cheese Grater, loosely modelled on the Eiffel tower, and guaranteed to turn anything I make with it into haute cuisine. My friend and I went searching for dried beans the other night, in the bowels of a fancy-schmancy kitchen goods shop.When I left, my paper bag (paper!) held zer black beans, zer white beans, and zer Parisian grateur du fromage. So much for frugality.

However, I won't bludgeon myself too severely for the purchase of one cheese-grater per lifetime, especially as it'll reduce the amount of meat-products in our diet.

(Ick. Sorry.)

The Ancient of Days? I didn't quite know what to do with it. It was rustier than the old motor home parked behind our pole-barn, but I still felt frivolous and foolish letting go of such a "good" utensil. Finally I dropped it into the recycle bin and didn't look back. Lot's wife I am not. I wonder what its next incarnation will be?

So about the beans. I'm going to have a stab at Meatless Mondays. I'm not dabbling my toes in the River of Vegetarianism. I'm just a little uncomfortable with how hidebound our diet is in this house, and moving away from meat-potatoes-vegetable will make me work outside my normal parameters. I'm definitely not adventurous about food. Partly it's upbringing, partly (largely) it's paranoia about hidden glutens and things that might make my small intestine writhe, and partly it's pickiness.

Hard to know where the pickiness ends and the healthy wariness begins. I've always had a built-in aversion to tomatoes and peppers. Turns out that according to my health-profile from a Chinese medicine point of view, tomatoes and peppers, as well as citrus (which I've CRAVED all my life), are all discouraged for my constitution. Too stimulating, too hard to digest.

I wonder about that, too, and how to juggle my body's needs with the realities of what grows in this area. But that's just part of the ongoing internal dialogue.

So, zer navy beans, they're soaking and anxiously anticipating what exciting thing I'm going to do to them tomorrow in our next exciting episode of culinary experimentalism!

No meat....

Wah!

(Pull yourself together woman! This is a public post!)

Pardon. Don't know what came over me.

I meant to say, what an amazing opportunity!

Meemerie

2010-01-11T20:32:00.000-08:00

I've been meeeeeemed! Feel free to use it if ya wanna.

1. What time did you get up this morning?
7 a.m.

2. How do you like your steak?
Medium Large.

3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema?
Golden Compass.

4. What is your favorite TV show?
I don't watch TV, and if it intrudes on me, I'm embarrassed.

5. If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be?
Norfolk Island.

6. What did you have for breakfast?
Toast, peanut butter, banana.

7. What is your favorite cuisine?
Er? Make it bland. I have no spirit of adventure about food.

8. Where do you like to dine?
At the table. While seated.

10. Favorite dressing?
Orange.

11.What kind of vehicle do you drive?
Red.

12. What are your favorite clothes?
Old squishies.

13. Where would you visit if you had the chance?
Mmmmm.... the ocean.

14. Cup 1/2 empty or 1/2 full?
Depends on whose cup.

15. Where would you want to retire?
Retire?

16. Favorite time of day?
Dusk.

17. Where were you born?
Maritimes.

18. What is your favorite sport to watch?
Dishwashing. I could watch people wash dishes for HOURS.

19. Who do you think will not tag you back?
All of the people I'm not tagging!

20. Person you expect to tag you back first?
I try not to have superfluous expectations.

21. Who are you most curious about their responses to this?
Myself. I never know what I'm going to say next!

22. Bird watcher?
Only if they make themselves obvious. I try not to invade their privacy, and expect the same courtesy in return.

23. Are you a morning person or a night person?
Morning. Used to be a night owl, but I got over the insomnia.

24. Do you have any pets?
5 outdoor cats, soon to be 3.

25. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share?
I passed my mid-term!

26. What did you want to be when you were little?
Writer, archeologist. All sorts of things.

27. What is your favorite childhood memory?
I can't remember!

28. Are you a cat or dog person?
Definitely cat.

29. Are you married?
Uh-huh.

30. Always wear your seat belt?
Always.

31. Been in a car accident?
Only little un's, thank goodness, and just a few.

32. Any pet peeves?
Noisy neighbours and their misbegotten noisy dogs.

33. Favorite Pizza Toppings?
Ham and pineapple.

34. Favorite Flower?
Roses.

35. Favorite ice cream?
Chocolate.

36. Favorite fast food restaurant?
N/A.

37. How many times did you fail your driver's test?
O.

38. From whom did you get your last email?
Homeschool connection.

39. Which stores would you choose to max out your credit card?
Bookstore maybe? This question makes me nervous. I'm not a spender.

40. Do anything spontaneous lately?
The question ought to be, have I done anything planned lately?

41. Like your job?
Loooooove my work.

42. Broccoli?
I suppose.

43. What was your favorite vacation?
Not a vacation person, y'know? I wouldn't mind travelling somewhere to take a course.

44. Last person you went out to dinner with?
I don't remember the last time I went out for dinner!

45. What are you listening to right now?
My son reading random words from the dictionary.

46. What is your favorite color? For what?

47. How many tattoos do you have?
None. Not my thing.

48. How many are you tagging for this quiz?
Haven't decided. Quite possibly none!

49. What time did you finish this quiz?
9:17 pm

50. Coffee Drinker?
Nope. I really like smelling it though. I guess you could say I snort coffee.

Happy Birthday, You Know Who!

X-rated (sorta)

2010-01-11T12:37:00.000-08:00

I was looking at these two this morning, Rags and Marmalade, and it occurred to me that I've never known either a male calico or a female ginger-cat. Now, I'm already aware of the calico genetics, so it's very unlikely that I ever will meet a male of the patchy persuasion. But orange kitties? No girls?

So I went looking for the scoop. Here you go. They exist, but they're not very common. 3:1 ratio of orange males to orange females. It's all in the X-chromosomes.

They're five months now. We found a home on a farm for these two as the Anti-Mouse Brigade, and they'll be setting off for that in the next week or two. Two others, Bleach and Badger, went to live the soft life as indoor kitties with another family in town, who were finding mice indoors.

That leaves Maggie, my black and white tuxedo cat, and the only one who purrs when we pick her up, purrs and wants to kiss and cuddle. She's staying. So we'll have a mere three cats patrolling our premises. Seems like so few after seven!

Study Avoidance Measures

2010-01-08T12:13:00.000-08:00

I think I've figured out why I'm not studying. I'm BORED AS HELL. When the interval between class sessions is five weeks, that's two weeks too long. I've lost all my momentum by the end of the third week.

So this morning, in lieu of doing anything towards improving my mid-term marks when I take the exam tomorrow, I've

Done laundry
Made a huge vat of spaghetti sauce
Made a batch of chocolate muffins for my classmates
Made a batch of chocolate chip cookies for the short set
Planned next week's city trip
Talked to the cats
Written two blog posts
Hosted several internal conversations with the school staff about next semester
Caught up with a friend on the phone.

Leave me to my own devices long enough and I'll probably start cutting out a quilt. Just anything instead of cracking those books!

Oh, the humanity!

P.S.

Oh right, the teapot. The new teapot. The teapot that pours into the cup, rather than flooding the countertop. FINALLY. The Chinese Tea Gods have smiled on me, and blessed me. I've been waiting for this teapot a long, long time.

Fundament-alism

2010-01-08T07:40:00.000-08:00

Photo credit: mconnors from morguefile.com

Fundament - the buttocks, the anus.

Right. There you go.

And I'm not just talking about the right-wing evangelical variety, either. This morning what's really got me going is a list-serve that I subscribe to, of North American (mostly) acupuncturists (mostly), who've gone off on a spiritual tangent.

As a bit of background, there's an acupuncture treatment protocol in Chinese medicine to address "possession". It's great. Really, I mean that. It's a great treatment to yank a person out of the mire and get their feet back on whatever path they were meant to be on. It's used for treating addictions, but it's also good for those times when a person gets so emotionally stuck on one track that they don't have the flexibility to react in anything but one way. It's effective on at least the physical and emotional levels, and I think, from my own experience, that it's effective spiritually too. And by spiritually, I have no idea what I mean. The inexplicable, immeasurable. That.

But in this online discussion about addictions/obsessions/possessions, there's cropping up this fundamentalist undertone. "The spirit of this herb IS this" or "Wholeness IS that" or "Healthy spirituality IS thus". Lots of ersatz Buddhism, paganism, Sufiism being slung around, mostly by people not raised in those traditions, and mostly slung at their clients' viewpoints.

Gah.

I stay in tune with this list-serve because I want to know what they're saying. When it's more focused on actual treatment, there's often a lot of valuable information. I've never participated. I just want to keep an ear cocked to the craziness, because it's better to know than not to know. This particular group bears watching.

And you know, it's not that I think spiritual seeking is craziness. Definitely not. And I don't think that you can't legitimately move away from whatever you were raised with and have legitimate spiritual growth. But growth would be the operative word. Maturity. Humility.

The longer I live, the more I think that "I don't really know for sure, but this seems to work most of the time" is the best answer for most questions. And usually the most truthful one.

Scientific fundamentalism, educational fundamentalism, religious fundamentalism... it's all from the fundament.

Thus, compost. Praise be. It'll grow punkins after all. Eventually.

Blessed Be the Bread

2010-01-06T15:18:00.000-08:00

I know, I know, I'm always posting about the bread.

But this bread is different.

This bread was, yes, made by human hands, but they weren't my hands. I wasn't in the kitchen. I didn't even peek at the process. Not a sideways glance. And yet, here's the bread!

My son made this loaf all by himself. From beginning to end. A Lone Wolf Loaf.

HALLELUJAH!

And then as vampire-prevention, he blessed it. I don't ask. He says he's an atheist. I guess some atheists enjoy thwarting vampires, no matter which camp they have to ally with.

Re-Gifting

2010-01-05T20:56:00.000-08:00

So

I went looking for something in my linen closet today

and I found

the set of eight fabric coasters and

a matching fabric container

that I'd made as a Christmas gift

for a friend

and given to her

when she came to visit the other day.

Oh.

I guess they weren't wanted.

Now I have coasters.

I've been saying I should make some for myself.

I guess I did.

2010-01-03T18:14:00.000-08:00

Last day of the Christmas holiday, and we finally got the Christmas presents finished. The hand-finishing on the binding, the last cookies baked and tinned, and a batch of wine bottled and labeled for the giving.

Whew.

And next week.... midterms.

Saints preserve me!

The Little Things

2010-01-01T11:35:00.000-08:00

We live an unfinished life.

And by that, I don't mean that we're not dead yet, though that's certainly true, and there is much unfinished business, and many songs unsung, etc. etc. I'm talking about my closets.

We have many closets. Storage is a big issue, and in this house I wanted lots of room for dry goods, like rice and sugar and toilet paper and such. So Himself made much of the available nooks and crannies while he was planning the renovation, and built in a pantry and a broom closet, and a cold room, and thus we have a lot of room for storage.

We have a lot of room designated for storage. What we do not have is shelves in that designated roomage. You know what a closet with no shelves is? Floor space behind doors. An appendix for hairball capture.

So for Christmas, not needing anything or having much desire for frivolities (except for uninterrupted time alone to study, which is too much to ask, apparently), I begged for shelves in the bedroom closets. Trim I can manage without, but falling over packing boxes filled with everyday-used items was wearing me a little thin.

Yesterday, blessed yesterday, the last day of the last year, the last coat of pain went on and I HAVE CLOSET SHELVES in the bedrooms!!!

Added bonus - Since Chive had all the needful equipment out and about, I casually mentioned that knobs on the doors would be nice too, rather than scooping down to open them by the underside.

I HAVE KNOBS!

Rather than swooning with delight, which would be dramatic but impractical, I went on a cooking spree this morning and made a GF pie (first ever!), pumpkin pudding, and a apple/almond/chicken broth rice casserole to take to a party this afternoon, where I can gloat about my shelves and knobs.

This apple just looked so cool after I'd diced it up that I had to take a picture, for our mutual gratuitous viewing pleasure.

Anyway, time to gather up the foodments, take the bread out of its private oven, and be on our way!

Shelves! Knobs! Hallelujah!

creeeeeaaaaakkkkkkk.....

2009-12-31T19:40:00.000-08:00

Lift up your heads, o ye gates!
Be lifted up, ye everlasting doors!

Happy New Year!

Learn from your past.
To fail means you tried. Hurrah! Try again!
This is the year of renewal!

A magnificent, boisterous 2010 to you all!

Madcap Grumbles

2009-12-29T16:52:00.000-08:00

Someone on my homeschool network posted this, and I thought it was interesting.

I'm extremely discontented with the quality of socialization and instruction in Poppy's high school, and becoming moreso every day. Unbelievable. I'm not at all happy that they've got my funding allocation. The school is a byword in the area for the drug and alcohol abuse, students having sex in empty classrooms, dealing, vandalism... The teachers spend their time putting out fires, literally and figuratively.

And there's my kid, someone who actually wants to be there and participate. Except there's nothing much to participate in.

(Why does she want to be there?

She likes to talk, and the audience at home has a limited capacity.)

But Mama's getting restless... Gonna be some changes.

The schools get a lot of money per head, certainly more than I'd ever see as a homeschooler, and yet we've got this mess. Stupid system.

The teachers have got their hands tied by parental apathy or outright facilitation, or what-have-you. I realize that. I also realize that I went to each of Poppy's teachers and volunteered to volunteer, just call me and let me know. Haven't heard from any of them.

You know, if there's going to be a public system, then why isn't the public responsible for it? I mean, if some wrong-headed teen-ager is bent on disrupting a class, why isn't one of his/her parents brought on the scene to shadow the child for a week? Why should the rest of the public have to pay that shot?

There's a lot of reasons why it isn't like that. Economics is the primary one. But you know, I think there's a little saviour-thing that can happen with teachers too, especially in areas like this, areas with a lot of substance abuse. They complain about the lack of parental involvement, but underneath there's the whiff of an attitude, a taste of superiority and rescuing, that the Loving Teacher shall wrest the Poor Child from the clutches of Family Dysfunction And Vice and set Said Child on the Road To Success And Enlightenment. A quiet tape playing in the background, you know? And that story doesn't have much room for the Nurturing Parent who raised the child not to need a saviour.

Teachers, sure. Messiahs, no.

I'm still cranky about the suggestions from some of the teachers when Poppy started school there, that she would "finally" get some "socialization". Snort. PLEASE! They call dealing drugs behind the maintenance shed "socialization"?

Harrumph.