Cat on a Cold Shake Roof

Yippee ... snow! NOW it looks like winter out there.

Stop My Waffling? I Think Not.

It may be hard to believe that at my age and after many pancake breakfasts, this is the first waffle I've ever made. And well should you not believe it, because this is actually the second one. The first one went straight down my neck, slathered in Shelly's homemade apple jelly. And was it ever delicious; I'll be getting into the habit, even though they're more pain in the ass to make than flapjacks.

We are still basking in near-zero temperatures so, on days like today when there's no wind, my walk is perfectly pleasant (I must ask Yukon Pete how he keeps warm on a dogsled, assuming he's stationary there, in the North's deeper cold. Even wearing fur ... Perhaps there's less wind so it's not so bad?) and, if I didn't have things to do, I'd add another mile to the usual two.

But we're looking forward to friends coming for supper this evening, so I'm going to tidy up the hovel, beautify myself, and make squares: Helen's Pink Lady Dessert. Making these always reminds me of our good neighbours back when we lived in Legal, who treated us like family and became fast friends. I'll take a stroll down memory lane while measuring and mixing.

Poor old Scottie, today, is messing around with the sewer pump when he had hoped to be doing his part in the kitchen. I know, I know ... with a new septic tank installed just a couple months ago, all that crap is supposed to be over with ... oh well, at least he's not slipping and sliding along the edge of a lagoon, and it's not 30-below. Yet. We hear forecasts that it's coming this week.

If I'm lucky, it'll all work out in the end (oh my but the puns are flying fast and furious aren't they) and I'll be soaking in a tub of warm water while he's peeling potatoes and preparing his specialty: stuffed mushrooms. Fingers crossed.

The chicken's already roasting slowly and smells divine.

Go for a Walk

Dim Bulbs

Might  just leave the Xmas lights up all year

We've got a lot to say, don't we? We say it with enthusiasm and conviction. Other people believe us, because we believe our own words. Often they don't give much thought to what we've said before they accept it as truth, and we too accept other people's versions of reality without any examination at all. We're a bunch of sheep who don't want to think too hard, and we make up our minds without digging up all the information needed to make a balanced and fair judgment.

There is no better example of this than the comments pages at the bottom of internet news stories. If you want to see how ignorant and uneducated your fellow citizens are, take a gander. You will be shocked at the low level of intelligence displayed there. I'm guessing that most people with brains don't bother leaving comments at these sites, or waste their time reading the comments.

"But we must have discussion and free speech!" the newspaper editors say, and they're right, we must. It's just that there is some discussion and free speech that lowers the level of exchange so far that it's not really discussion at all; it's no more than providing a forum for opinionated blowhards to spread their contempt and hatred for others. They're given a soapbox to stand on and wave their self-righteous know-it-all flags, when clearly they don't have a friggin' clue.

Many of my friends and family say I'm outspoken and direct, and to a point I am; I won't, to keep the peace, agree or go along with something I'm sure is wrong, and if you're obnoxiously out of line there is every possibility I will say so rather than keeping my mouth shut to avoid a confrontation. But not always; not anymore. I may think someone is a total twit, but don't necessarily feel any need to say so. I've come to believe "It's more important to be kind than to be right" and I'd rather feel sorry for a fool in private than correct him in public. The effort to assert my opinion isn't always worth it. More often than not, engaging with a jerk just opens you up to abuse, and who needs that? What is to be gained? I've learned to choose my battles in many ways, and not to waste my energy talking when others are not really listening and when it isn't going to make a damn bit of difference. Even when people bait me, as some have been known to do, I just don't bother. I let it slide. They're welcome to their beliefs and as long as I don't see anyone being hurt, I'll usually stay out of it.

In the past I've tried to make myself understood, even when it was unlikely a person would even hear what I was saying, let alone agree with me. I've begun to think that being understood is overrated, and that if I continue to care about being understood, I will continue to be disappointed. None of us can comprehend beyond our own open- or close-mindedness, our inability to face our shortcomings (fears, blindness and weaknesses) honestly, and our refusal to admit we don't know everything and that — gasp — we have not only been wrong, but we have acted like dickheads. (I cringe to recall times I have spoken or acted with self-righteous conviction without realizing there were other, better, wiser options.)

There are articulate people who can respond to an asshole in such a way that the logic of their reaction is unassailable. I wish I was one of those people, but I'm not. I don't think fast enough. I usually hear a crock of shit and sit there frozen in my disbelief that anyone could say such a ridiculous thing. I don't know what to say, or how to say it in a sensible way that makes an impact, and so I say nothing, and I don't pursue conversation with the other person any longer.

I recognized a like-minded individual a while ago when he was interviewed on CBC radio about his book called You Are Not So Smart, which is all about the phenomenon of human self-delusion. His website is here.

Rethink Plastic

Links My Son Sends

Ducky keeps Scott's lap warm

From Everett:

I wonder if Ducky would do this.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KBluUZ4NnZg&feature=youtu.be

iPhones, the best way to fool animals.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LbNl3J8HXw4&feature=related

Smartphones. Why I don't need one.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nYG6QA9gF0o&feature=uploademail

Stylin'

My new hat has ear flaps and ties under my chin

A neighbour pulled up alongside while I was out walking yesterday, and laughingly said "You look like an old babuschka in that hat!" I laughed right back and said "I don't care how I look, I'm warm!" When we were in the city overnight for a medical appointment before Christmas, I must've stood out on the downtown streets with my ski pants, sorel boots, and jacket with hood pulled up and scarf wrapped around my throat. I know I did, because I saw so many freezing-cold women hurrying along the sidewalks wearing short skirts with leotards, little leather jackets, and thin boots with heels. They looked stylish enough ... if shivering, clenched teeth and miserable faces count as stylish. Ah, but I've been there, done that ... oh yes. Why, when I was 15 and my parents gave me a skidoo suit for Christmas, I believe I crept down to my room and wept! And the skidoo suit went back to the Sears catalogue. I wouldn't have been caught dead in that thing, and of course wasn't smart enough to heed anyone who advised me to dress warmly. I have been a stubborn learner all my life. Heh!

Another thing I now wear that I never thought I would: this apron Mom sewed up for me:

By cracky, it really DOES keep my clothes clean and unstained! Now that I've been lugging clothing to a laundromat for a year, these things matter.

Also, whenever I put it on, I think of Mom.
I also think of her while I'm working at the countertop, playing my new Cds:

She said it's not a great voice that is the most important thing, it's the choice of a good song, and I agreed with this yesterday as I sang and danced around the kitchen while listening to Madeleine Peyroux. Hers is not a voice I particularly like — as a matter of fact, I might actually dislike her voice a little — but I love the songs on the CD.

Here's a sample from the CD; click here:

Don't Wait Too Long

I mean really, doesn't it make your own toes start tapping? Don't you start yodelling?

However, it's still Melody Gardot's simple songs — and the sweetest voice that sings them so, so perfectly — that never fail to make me amorous. I swear, Scott is not safe when her CD is on the player:

Click here: Baby I'm a Fool:

Bye Bye Birdcats

Rescued redpoll at rest

Still having problems with birds slamming into the windows. I haven't ordered the zen windowsavers (see above) because Scott has an idea for something similar he can make himself; it's waiting for him to do it that is the problem now. Yesterday a redpoll died instantly when it hit the glass; I went out to make sure the dog didn't get it, but it was too late, it had bled from the beak and was dead.

We thought maybe if I turned on the flashing Christmas lights hung on the window, even during the day, that might do the trick. But no; the redpoll above flew into the glass anyway. Fortunately it was only sitting in the snow stunned when I got to it, and after perching where I set it on the feeder for 15 minutes or so, it flew off.

Last week a hairy woodpecker hit the window and by the time I got out there one of the tomcats had it, still alive, in his mouth and was making a dash for the tractor shed to kill and eat it. I didn't try to get the bird from him at this point, as a quick death would be better for it, I figured, than being injured and in shock if and when I could catch the cat and extricate the bird from his deadly jaws. My heart sank, though, and remained low for quite a while, and sinks each time I recall the scene.

Which is why I was more than happy when a neighbour whose barn needs mousers came yesterday and took the two yearling tomcats home with her. I miss them, friendly fellas that they were, but I don't miss seeing them under my oak trees stalking the birds at the feeders or quickly snatching them up when they hit the window and fall stunned to the ground.

In appreciation of her new cats, my neighbour brought me 18 of her hens' most beautiful eggs, two of which made me a delicious breakfast of scrambled eggs this morning.

Letter from Sifeta

Sifeta's husband and cow

Dear friend,

I felt so honored when I got your letter. I have read it several times. It's nice to know you have a farm. I have a cow, 10 hens, and six sheep and some land.

My husband and I live alone and our son is in Zenica. He often visits us and he helps us financially because we only have 80 marks of income and it can't even cover the bills. Our country is much disorganized when it comes to paying social welfare and pensions.

I live in Zavidovici which is filled with natural wealth. We have many forests with oaks, pines, hornbeams, maples, etc.

We used to have a big sawmill and wood factory called Krivaja. This company was named after the river Krivaja which goes through Zavidovici. Besides this one we also have other rivers like Gostovic and Bosna. These rivers form an estuary at the entrance in the town and at the exit. This is why our town is filled with natural rivers and fish.

The sawmill used to employ between 2 and 3 thousand people but it is closed now.

As I am writing this letter my granddaughters Amra (14) and Amela (10) walk though the door. They live in Luxembourg but they are visiting Bosnia with father Ramiz and their mother Sabina. They will go back to Luxembourg on September 10th.

My entire family and I would like to send greetings to you and your family! My granddaughters saw your photos and they loved the dog. I also have a dog here and they enjoy playing with it. We have named him Sniffy.

Best regards from Sifeta!

Sifeta making potato cakes

I received this translated letter just before Christmas (so am particularly glad we have now made a connection via email), and Sifeta has given me her permission to share it with you.
Unfortunately my scanner no longer works (since an update to my Mac OS, neither it or the printer will go online) so I can't show you the letter in its original language.

Happy Christmas One and All

Emil (the hairball) at his Christmas party

Scott's brother Bruce and his Uncle Jack provided the musical entertainment

While clients and staff danced away the afternoon

Writing for Justice

What I did while oatmeal rolls were in the oven

Some people donate a kidney to a stranger; this can extend the life of a struggling kidney patient by 10 years, or so I heard on the radio this week, when a man of 21 was interviewed after doing so. I don't have the guts to give up a kidney — not right now, anyway — so I do what I can in my own small way. I thought I was being pretty brave to sign up to donate bone marrow if I'm ever found to be a match to someone struggling with leukemia. And of course if any of my body parts could be of use when I die, others are welcome to them. But donating a kidney while you're still using it displays compassionate courage that is beyond my grasp at present. Knowing of others who have recently made this sacrifice for someone they've never met drives home to me just how noble I am not. In case I was kidding myself before.

Instead I send Amnesty International a monthly donation to help carry on the fight for human rights around the world, and today I sat down to write letters to world leaders on behalf of prisoners of conscience and their families. I'm adding my little drop to the river of pressure brought to bear on the policy makers of countries that torture, imprison and murder those who don't agree with them.

A read through Amnesty International's quarterly newsletter, making me aware of specific people being held in captivity right now for their peaceful protest against their governments, is a potent reminder of how fortunate I am to live where I do.

With Sifeta's Permission: Photos from Bosnia (Part One)

Sifeta and her husband; click to enlarge.

Sifeta's house and yard

Sifeta's village in Bosnia

Farflung Friends

The train passes as we wait, on our way to the Hendon Hotel for chicken wings last week. Not much snow for this time of  year. Nice for walking -- not falling on my face due to ice.

The stop sign is perfect for me for the moment, as I am itching to post the photos of Sifeta and her husband and home and village in Bosnia. Yeah! But first I must have her permission, so you will just have to wait. With me.

If you aren't catching it in the comments, Sifeta is a woman in Bosnia that I sponsored this past year through a small (less than $30) monthly donation to Women for Women International, which is one way of helping women who have suffered war in their country (click HERE to see what it's all about). She has handwritten and snailmailed me a couple letters and I have replied via an email to WfW, which must have recently delivered my letter to her because a couple days ago she commented on the blog.

Scott has gone to take Emil back to his home in town and then will go to the family farm a mile down the road and do "chores" for a couple hours. He and his brother shipped some calves off for sale this week so I don't know how many animals remain to look after. I think they usually put out some bales for feed, and some straw bales get spread around for the cattle to "bed down" on, and they have to give them drinking water, and I suppose they're already giving them grain ("chop").

Anyway, I have to wait till he gets back to show him the photos. He will be as thrilled as I am, I'm sure. He will see details in those photos that I have not given a second thought to, and point them out to me. Always, always take Scott along on any tour. He misses nothing.

In other news from overseas, Scott's cousin Lasse who lives in Sweden has said he and his sweetheart Marit plan to come and visit. Woo hoo! Marit recently had a healthy lottery win and the two of them took a trip she had dreamed of since she was a little girl. They blogged about it here: Svalbardresan. You will have to use Translator to read it, but it's worth the time.

Further down my page here there is a list of blogs kept by a few of our family members, listed under "Famdamily." Lasse has been lazy about getting around to updating his recently (Yes I'm talking to you, mister!), but can you blame him? He usually writes it in English out of kindness toward his Canadian readers, so I am sure each entry takes a little more time than he has to spare. He seems to be the "busy" type, something like another man I know well.

A Saturday in December

For once I managed to snap a picture of Emil before he had a chance to put a shit-eating grin on his face.
He likes this bed in the office, he tells me — often.
He can't wait to go to his dad's at Christmas, he tells me — often.
He's the one who likes to give me kisses, he tells me — often.
There are many Emilisms, but naturally they don't all come to mind when I try to access them.

In other news, here is my second attempt at "Hearty Oatmeal Rolls." I broke down and replaced half the whole wheat flour with white. And threw in a handful of flax seed.  And used honey instead of brown sugar. And some are different sizes on purpose, although I could never make them all the same size if I tried. They're delish, but next time I'm just going to make the large ones. Eight giants instead of the 32 davids suggested in the original recipe.

This morning Scott watched a "huge" coyote chase the red fox across our yard, followed by our border collie cross. I missed the show, but later had the misfortune of watching Ace the Cat snacking on a bird he caught at the feeders. I hate that.

Out, Out, Damn Cat!

One of three poor-tasting oranges I, from the front door,  used as projectiles to deter a cat from stalking (and catching, dammit) the birds

It didn't work. He thought they were something to play with.

Horseradish

Click to enlarge.

Posted for WiseWebWoman, who is suffering a bout of bronchitis.

Ready for a Snow Day

Slowcooker baked beans, frozen in sandwich bags

I must be a bit weird, because as I post this photo I'm well aware that most people couldn't care less what is in my freezer... but I'd love to see what is in yours!
What've we got here ... drained water from steamed vegetables, frozen to use next time I bake bread; sunflower-oatmeal-honey-wholewheat bread, sliced; pita bread; ice cubes in trays and ice cubes in a bag, where they don't stick together; and what's left of the homemade beans I made on the weekend. Good thing I doubled the batch, that's all I can say.

Fox Lady

Emil's Christmas party was last night so he stayed in town, but phoned this morning to request I drive in and pick him up. On the way home, not far from our driveway, we spotted this lovely red fox that has been stalking the barn cats. It is not remotely afraid. It was in the field on the other side of the ditch, and when I stopped my van it stayed put ... and actually came toward the vehicle as I dug the camera out of my purse and Emil rolled down his window.

Perhaps it is half blind, or deaf! Or just starving and intent on its hunting. Because after snapping these photos I even had time to find the movie setting and follow the little creature for a while. I whistled several times to get its attention when it was looking away from the camera, and then got out of the van and called after it, "Shouldn't you at least be a little afraid?" It ignored me.

It should be afraid, but it isn't. Scott says it came right up to his truck the other day. That's not a good thing, really, but it sure is a treat to have time to observe a wild animal instead of watching it fade into the distance the moment it notices you.

In the little video I got, you can tell it is definitely hunting; it pounces on the snow, probably after a mouse. Better that than the kittenfish.

Blondi Shows You Her Twits

After the walk

Over at the Stubblejumpers Café webpage, you will find my twitter feed displayed. I've decided Blondi Blathers should make use of it to add to the page's content, because it is a handy tool for passing on interesting and useful links. And fun links. I signed up for Twitter a long time ago because of my job; it is a way of getting the word out and communicating with existing and potential readers, among other things, and that's important. But it wasn't until I started "following" comedian Ricky Gervais that I got hooked. He has been tweeting often and consistently and he is smart and funny.

Me, I'm only funny looking.

In My Shoes

Walking in the late afternoon

In a day or two it will be six months since I started walking (briskly, without fail, and for a minimum number of minutes) four times a week, and usually more often. At first I worried about rain keeping me indoors; never happened, as we didn't have a full day of rain even once this summer.

Now I wonder how I'll cope when the wind combines with low temperatures this winter, but think I may well get out there and walk no matter what. Why? Because my body has begun to insist. It has begun to love pushing itself up to speed, breathing deeply of the clean fresh air, coming back tired and sweaty. It feels good. When a day or two of walking gets missed due to distraction or migraine or travel, my body is delighted to get back out there again.