Unofficial Bird of Ottawa

Lorna, clearly you must go outside more often!

According to the CBC, the black-capped chickadee is the unofficial bird of Ottawa.

CLICK HERE for that story.

"It is a passerine bird in the tit family Paridae."

These little guys are plucky. When I fill the feeders, I often just stand there, thrilled, as they flutter in, around and onto the branches very near me and don't seem terribly worried about my presence. If you stand still long enough, with your hand out and some seed on it, they will land there. I have never had the patience to do that, but Everett has.

We are not the only people who have had them tap on a window to inform homeowners that the feeders need filling.

And one year in late August, I would have sworn that a chickadee was letting me know (not in English, of course) that it was time to start feeding the birds again.

For more information about this tough little bird, CLICK HERE.

Hungry Birds

"I heard tapping on the window this morning," he told us on Saturday night, when Faye and Rick were over for drinks, "and it was a chickadee sitting there, pecking at the glass. It was as if it was telling me the feeder was empty and would I come out and fill it."

They'll do this, chickadees.

I'd filled the feeders Thursday before leaving for work, and as usual the chickadees and their little friends the woodpeckers and redpolls would have emptied them during the day. It was dark when I came home Friday after spending the night before at Everett's, and apparently by the next morning the birds were getting impatient.

Today I spotted Scott holding seed in his hands and chickadees landing there to take a seed and fly off.

Click to enlarge and see Scott's happy grin.

Are They Really Gonna Take Them All?*

From the yard I could hear machinery working in the south, so when I went for a walk last weekend, it was in the opposite direction. They'll be cleaning up the mess they left a year or two ago when they knocked down a bunch of trees, I thought; that's good.

But the next day on my way to work, my heart sank when I saw that the machinery had been knocking down another long swath of trees along the road: trees that the birds and mammals need for habitat, trees that the planet needs for oxygen, trees that help keep the soil from blowing away in the powerful winds we get.

This is not uncommon around here. Farmers are always knocking down trees as if they are a worthless resource and, I guess to some farmers, they are just a weed on land they need to make a dollar off of. When I asked a farmer why they destroy trees, knowing what we now know about the importance of preserving them, his reply (with a smile and "You must be one of those tree-huggers, eh?") was that farmers like to keep their fields "tidy" and that the farm machinery they use nowadays is so large that they need wide open areas in order to turn around and such. I've also heard mention that trees catch snow and cause the roads to block up too often in winter.

When I saw those trees down along my route to town the other day, my guts churned, as they always do when I see this kind of carnage — which I do, all too often. People should know better! I think. Why don't they? But while these thoughts whirl about, I'm not unaware that the reason I'm here is that the trees were cleared from this entire district around 100 years ago so that our great-great grandparents could homestead. Had it not been, this whole area would all be solid bush. Instead there are lovely landscapes, a perfect blend of trees and open fields, and we've all made a living for many decades and been proud of our agricultural heritage. Generations of my family on both sides have benefited by the cutting down of trees, so I have no business being holier-than-thou.

On my way home in the dark last night, I almost missed my corner because the trees that stood nearby are no longer there as a landmark.

*From the song Trees, by Dennis Lakusta

I can't find a video of Dennis singing Trees, but here's another pretty song he wrote:

About Goldfish

Every day you can learn something new and totally different from what you've always been told.
I saw this on Today I Found Out, one of the websites in my list of favourites.



I wonder if this is also true of koi. In the café where I had a burger for supper after work, there is a three-year-old koi alone in a fish tank. I may have to tell Than and Thuy about this video!

History's People

If you have an interest in history and in people who made history, then Margaret MacMillan's History's People would be a good read for you.

I didn't know the extent of Joseph Stalin's craziness, or why so many refugees from Ukraine and nearby countries came to Canada as settlers. It was that or be enslaved or murdered, apparently. Like many of today's refugees, they were running for their lives. They weren't always welcomed with open arms, either, and there was plenty of prejudice here at that time too, just as there is now.

I didn't realize that Germany is actually four years younger than Canada.

There was a lot more to learn, and MacMillan's book is a pleasurable way to learn it.



CLICK HERE to find out more about the book and its author.

Things That Bug

An exchange with Shelly included her statement that the question "How did s/he die?" is unwelcome when the way a person died isn't an essential element of the story.

My reply was that such unnecessary questions are common in many areas. A baby is born. Boy or girl? How much did it weigh? Two questions that aren't all that important in the short term, particularly when you don't know the family well, but the first one at the very least is asked every time.

And we can get beyond questions to statements. A woman's body is found in a ditch, and the media report invariably includes the adjective "Caucasian" or Aboriginal." Why? A dead woman is a dead woman.

Or there are the 1200 missing and murdered Aboriginal women, a shocking number whether they are Aboriginal women or not. In this case they are, and that points to something terrible in our society, but I can't help wondering if the RCMP and the federal government would have moved sooner to try to prevent the situation and/or catch the killers if the word "Aboriginal" hadn't been there to describe the victims. You know if they hadn't been Aboriginal women, the entire population would have been freaking out and we'd have seen some kind of action a lot sooner than this.

I'm neither a Conservative nor a Liberal voter, but am enjoying watching Trudeau make his moves. So far so good, mister, or as I am wont to say, "You go, boy!"

Another of Shelly's Christmas creations, on the step.

Deep Grooves

It's not easy to change one's habits of thinking!
They are powerful things, those deep grooves of habit.
I can make up my mind to change certain habits of thought, but it doesn't seem to matter. I am still compelled down paths of mental routine I don't want to take anymore. I see myself taking the steps, unable to stop.

Well of course I can stop. Dammit. And I will. I will!

These stained glass ornaments are among my favourites. I stuck them onto the two shades of the lamps purchased secondhand from my niece's grandmother's house.

Tis the Season

Shelly's enthusiasm about Christmas decorating made me dig out my favourites.
No tree; it's downstairs in a box.
But my antique tree bulbs and my stained glass decorations and so on and so forth.
This is as far as I'm going.
I wonder if Everett would like to have the tree.

Shelly brought the bough/bulb arrangement.

Wee Thing

Going somewhere?

"This floral-fruity mist is a great way to refresh tired senses on
plane trips, long car rides or anytime you need a fragrant boost.
Add 9 drops of lavender and 7 drops of orange essential oil to 1-2/3
ounces of distilled water. Place in a spray bottle or atomizer.
Shake the bottle vigorously, then close your eyes and lightly mist
your face or personal space. 

   This Daily Aromatherapy Tip is brought to you by AromaThyme.com."

I've also added it to my own page HERE under Letter of Comfort: Aromatherapy, listed under the header above, where you can easily find it again later.

Ahhhh ... just a few short months ago on my step ...

If you haven't already signed up for KATE'S 5THINGS, you have missed my fabulously entertaining and enlightening monthly email, which I just sent out to my dozen admiring fans. Get on that list! It's as easy as emailing me at katiekate@gmail.com. What's holding you back? Had enough of me and my ramblings already? Hee! 

Not a Stay-at-Home Day

Since Shelly left on Wednesday morning, I have cooked nothing but leftovers and done no dishes whatsoever but for rinsing out a mug this morning to pour my coffee into.

I guess today's the day. But there are better things to do! Emil's going with his group home folks to the Christmas bazaar in Margo (my home town)(have I told you that before? only 1000 times), where Karen has a table selling lefse and cheese buns (she is famous for her baking) and stained glass. I'll meet him there and we plan to drive out to the farm to see Uncle Neil, as Emil reminds me that we haven't seen him since August. How that can be, I don't know. It's a time thing that is beyond me.  Where it goes, nobody knows.

Last weekend when we dropped in on Everett, Shelly took an interest in the videogame he was playing when we got there. He was pleased to give her a crack at it.

Tracks in the Snow

I think a white-tail deer made this track, but hoofprints weren't clear. What's your guess? Anyone?

We also saw, Shelly and I upon a walk, the furry foot and bony foreleg of a beast that I believe belong to a badger. I won't show you the pictures I took (because I wanted another opinion regarding the animal's identity). It had paw pads like those of a dog, but claws more than an inch long and slightly curved. There was some fur left on the foot. I didn't think there were predators for badgers, but am told coyotes can kill them.

I'm going to go look on Google images, see what's what.

And there was a large owl in the trees by the yard, but I couldn't get a good photo.

Shelly Comes Calling

Out come the Christmas decorations! Christmas carols on the radio!

And what a nice visit we had. We didn't go anywhere but to town to see Emil and Everett. I put the brakes on for some of Shelly's schemes (Let's clean the porch. No!), and she lit a fire under my ass for doing a few things (Let's start decorating for Christmas. Okay!).

We chewed celery and sipped on vodka caesars one evening. Shelly's internet at home is expensive while here it's pretty much unlimited, so she indulged her addiction to Pinterest.  Lots of great arts and craft ideas there, to be sure.

Between the two of us, the dishes were handled (four hands, light work). Yippee!

Shelly's hands were free when she wasn't working on her fabric project, making Christmas decorations or doing a crossword, so I unfolded my quilt and got out the sewing kit and she was content for many hours and so was I; help was here.

Emil at his new job, sanding recycled flooring to make art.

Organize handwritten recipe cards in a digital format and have them made into fabric for dishtowels. Shelly plans to make aprons with copies of recipes written out by her sister, nieces, daughters, herself, and friends.

It's our jaws that should be tired, as there weren't too many hours when we weren't talking. But I am tired tonight. Shelly left for Edmonton this morning when I left for the office in town, and I've been yawning for hours. It's been late nights and lovely sleep-ins though; no complaining here.

'Bless her heart' is all I can say.

I've Got Company

And what do you do when you get company? I put them right to work.

Shelly arrived at 6 p.m. Friday, when we still had two hours ahead of us at the office.

Finally going to use that mix you gave me, Cathy. 

She arrived with a project that has to be done using photos, so we have been diddling around with the computers, among other things. (More on that later; I'll have to show you the project.)

I think it's pretty good! Shelly doesn't want a second glass though. 

And then since 8 o'clock that night ...
We have been doing exactly as we darn well please.

The pussywillows think it's spring.

Journal 1980

Can you relate to this, Everett?
"It may be silly but sometimes the future looks so bleak when you have no money and no goal-oriented dreams, and everyone's asking you "What are you going to do next?"

In 1980 I was 21.
This must've been an argument with Dad:
"It's not that the situation is bad; we had a good scream tonight; I did anyway, yelling and crying and stomping my feet. Don't think we got anywhere but got some hostile feelings out into the open; should've tromped more on them than each other. I think tonight was the first time I did more yelling than he did."

I set up a tent at the campgrounds:
"Sitting with legs stretched out to the fire, this book on the ground beside me; a frog hops onto the page and sits there a few moments, taking in the heat of the flames. Surprising. When a mouse darted out from behind the log on my other side I raised my voice and told it to get the hell away. It did."

One Friday:
"Looks like it'll be a good afternoon. Out on top of my picnic table, nude already in the sun. I intend to enjoy it thoroughly."
...
"Hmph. All my hopes for an afternoon of naked solitude — dashed. Strangers pulling up, Dad bringing my mail (big hug — how I needed that). Cameron rips in on his motorcycle as I'm taking off my T-shirt again — he backs up and drives off. Comes back and hollers from a distance "You decent?" before he'll come over.

Grandpa Johnson died on July 5, and in August I was living in Yorkton with a job helping Vietnamese refugees get settled.
"I hate being downtown, feeling so alone on the streets and feeling a plastic mask forming on my own face, and losing the battle to keep it off."

Oh my god. Things really do not change all that much:
Sept 1980
"Have to remind myself throughout the day to stay slow, take my time, there is no fire anywhere.
The golden rule: Do One Thing After The Other."

...

"Saturday morning; the phone rings - who's calling me on Saturday morning? It's Mom, just to talk - that feels good, there is love between us somewhere. I was surprised ... 'I guess she does like me!' "

Wed, Dec. 10:
"Got into M.S.'s car yesterday morning to go to Regina and soon found out that some kook has shot John Lennon ... Murdering a Beatle! What f'ing next?"

One Day to the Next

It was still dark when I got up at seven and was informed that there had been three deer in the flowerbed this morning: a doe and her two young ones.

I'll fashion something to set frozen crabapples on for them, assuming they'll be back. Last fall I put gallon pails of crabs in the freezer in case it was another starvation winter for deer, like the one before. It wasn't and there's no point having the apples go through another winter in the deep freeze. 

English muffins got made yesterday, but guess who forgot to add the tablespoons of honey so they aren't very good. The dough didn't get that extra bit of help it needed.

The first Christmas card has arrived in the mail. They are few and far between in recent years; I don't send any at all. This one came from Holly near Edmonton. Twenty-six years ago, the sole reliable wage-earner of her family, Holly brought me her four-month-old baby and occasionally her five-year-old, Karl, to look after while she went to work every weekday. 

"You were the straightest hippie chick I ever met!" writes Holly in the card. "Karl always thinks of you when there is raisin bread."

Emil was quite jealous, being only a year old himself and accustomed to all his mom's attention. I also looked after two other little boys, and baked and delivered six loaves of bread to a local store every morning. 

I was on the go, for sure. Probably still haven't recovered! I remember Gord taking my arm one evening in the kitchen as I whirled from counter to table and back again, and saying "Just stop for one minute." 

Looking back at the energy I had, and the everyday ambition, it's not hard to see the difference between then and now. Example: for many years I made a lot of Christmas treats for my own family and to give away; now, none, or it's rare. We don't need 'em and neither does anyone else, pleasant as they are to enjoy at this particular time of year. I no longer feel compelled to be the provider. Now it's all I can do to keep up with the dishes and get out for a walk every day when I'm not in town.

One day

The next

What's the Big Deal about Woolf?

Listen to this and maybe you'll figure it out.

Hodge Podge

Scott got busy doing some finishing work on the kitchen cabinets when Sunday was melty:

Jenna Doodle kept him company

Apparently a moose has been peering through our living room window:

photo taken from inside window, looking almost straight down

I brought home three No Trespassing signs to discourage hunters from killing moose and deer here. They won't help any if they don't get put up. Scott says they need to be mounted on boards first or they're no good. 

I got this year's feeding station set up for the chickadees and woodpeckers, our main users. The magpies too will benefit from it. No one likes these noisy birds but threats to shoot them are not carried out, and that's fine with me:

Sunflower seed purchased directly from farm east of Kelvington.

From hardly any birds around, to dozens of them. Today, the aforementioned but also pine siskins and a pileated woodpecker. A PILEATED WOODPECKER has only been seen once before in this yard since we moved here. Exciting! It didn't take anything from the feeders but lit on the maple tree for a few moments only and then flew over to the oak tree right outside the living room window, where I got a great view of it though it didn't stay long.

It's all about the light.

Hand-Me-Down Mink

Just imagine ... the "teased out" thread from the Achilles heel of a caribou ...

The author's reference to the skin of unborn animals reminded me how unnecessary it is to wear the skins and furs of animals at all anymore now that we don't have to, or those of us who don't live in the far north don't. Our covetous love of fur and leather — our sense of being entitled to it, even — must be a throwback to our primitive ancestry. My parka has wolf fur on the hood and cuffs, and my hand-me-down mink* is, well, mink. I appreciate the warmth, lightness, beauty and possible irreplaceability of these items, but they are not essentials. I like my leather belt, my leather shoes and my leather purses, and have not yet given them up for synthetics. I don't believe we need to eat animals either, but I like ground beef, pork and a medium-rare steak once in a while.

It's an example of where I am not really who I'd like to be. I rationalize not having the courage of my convictions. Aunt Jean worked for the mink coat, it was valuable to her, and she gave it to me when she could no longer wear it. I appreciate that, respect it, and honour her gift. The wolf fur was on the best parka I could find and afford without having to shop the whole world over. I can zipper the fur off the hood and cuffs, but then my wrists and face don't have that notable added protection. It's there now and I'm trying to live with it. That's the least I can do to appreciate what is left of what the animals lost. But I'm not proud of myself.

Click to enlarge

An email from the library says this book is overdue. An online excursion reminds me there are no more renewals left. Back it must go before more fines are incurred. "Squeeeeeeee!" as some of my internet acquaintances have been known to say, but which I use with irony here. It is no big deal to pay a couple dollars in library fines if that's what it takes to keep a book till I'm ready to part with it.

The author mentions my great-great aunt Alma several times. She was a nurse matron in Mayo back in the day.

*The hand-me-down mink has been mentioned before. HERE.

Buddha

I've fallen in love with a Buddha candle-holder.

This photo of Lou's is now on my desktop and I am on the hunt for one of my own.

http://loutoyou.blogspot.ca/

There are many Buddhas out there but this is the only one I've seen so far (in my internet search) that I want to sit with.

Winter has Arrived

The big, warm (but not heavy!) parka came out yesterday, and beautifully warm it was, too, in spite of the nasty wind and snow. I was going to take my ski pants to Kathy Price on Main St. for sewing repair but the wind was so mean I couldn’t make myself go outside till it was time to quit for the day.

Then, coming home, it was so icy in town that I nearly went off the road at least once. Even driving like a little old lady (not that speedy one from "past Wadena") didn't save me.

The quilt I started with Mom's help in 2004.

Last night the wind howled so fiercely that several times I was worried the roof might blow off. Ducky was worked up. His little toenails were clip-clippitting over the floor much of the night as he paced.

It’s the same this morning. This feels like winter.

From my back step