Skunked!

 Small animals such as squirrels, porcupines, weasels, and raccoons abound on our country mile.  We often encountered squirrels in our previous life, in town that is, but out here in the forest small wildlife can pop up in some unexpected places.

After we had lived a year here in our rural paradise, it fell to us to host my family’s annual summer gathering.  We had a lovely day with our town and city dwelling relatives and took pride in showing off our acreage, from the tall pines in the front portion of our property to the marshy land and the creek at the rear.

 

Asked about the wildlife we had encountered in our first year, we were only too happy to recount tales of deer, raccoons, and even several visits from bears.  My Dad commented that we were lucky we hadn’t encountered a skunk yet and warned us that we were approaching the time of year when young skunks leave their parents and begin to roam the countryside in search of food before their winter hibernation.

“Oh,” I said confidently, “we haven’t even smelled a hint of skunk in this whole year we’ve lived here.  I don’t think there are any around this area.”  Dad only smiled.

By early evening everyone had left for their homes and within a few minutes my husband and I were relaxing in the sunroom.  All at once our German Shepherd set up an incredible din in the garage where we had shut her in to eat her supper.

“Maybe someone forgot something and came back for it,” said my husband, as he moved toward the front door.  Curious, I headed for the picture window which gave me a view of the driveway, as well as, if I looked to the side, our front steps.  “I don’t see a vehicle,” I remarked and turned to look at the front step, just as my husband opened the front door to look out.

 

“There’s a skunk at the door,” I shouted, at the same moment as my husband opened it, took one startled look at the top step, and slammed the door shut again.  From the garage Lady howled her frustration that she couldn’t chase the intruder away and I fully expected the now obviously panicked little creature to spray our steps, the front door, and all the house siding in the vicinity.

My husband joined me at the window and we held our breaths to see what the little animal would do next.  It turned to retreat, peered down over the top step, and backed away.  When it repeated the maneuver several times, we realized it was only a baby and didn’t know how to get back down the steps it must have scampered up hurriedly when Lady’s barking startled it.

It took that adorable baby (baby skunks really are cute) nearly an hour to make its way down the steps and amble away, so we had lots of time to watch and hope it didn’t get so irritated by Lady’s continuing vocal threats that it would decide to do something to stop her noise.  As soon as the skunk was finally gone, I just had to call my Dad.  “You knew we’d get a visit from a skunk sooner or later,” I told him, “but I’ll bet you didn’t expect it to come politely to the front door!”

TechnoAmbiguity

 I feel very modern and up-to-date technologically and electronically when I tell someone that for my last birthday I received an e-reader, onto which I can download hundreds, even thousands, of books.  You’d think that I must be technologically very savvy but, I’m sad to say, I’m the exact opposite.  The kindest and most accurate term for me would be “techno-dummy”.

 Mass Confusion!  

I received the e-reader with the same attitude I received my first cell-phone years ago and my first computer before that, extreme reluctance.  I have to confess that I have been dragged kicking, screaming, and protesting into the computer age.  I acknowledge only grudgingly that word processing beats typing or writing by hand and that cell phones really are very convenient.  And, until recently, I’ve successfully resisted opening a Facebook account and starting a blog, though I must admit I'm really enjoying the blogging now.

Since we moved out to our country paradise a few years ago, we have had a different provider for high-speed Internet service than we had in town.  In the first couple of years, service was not always reliable and breakdowns, involving days of sporadic or no high-speed Internet at all were extremely frustrating for my much-more-technologically-advanced husband.  I, too, was quite surprised to find that I missed my early morning news fixes, checking on my daughter’s latest addition to her blog, and Googling almost anything I wanted to know any time I felt like it.  As a matter of fact, I missed it much more than I cared to admit.

I concede, albeit very reluctantly, that being part of the computer age has opened many doors for me and offered opportunities to explore my favourite pursuit, writing, and to develop more markets for my work.  Doing those tasks the old-fashioned way would be very tedious, time-consuming, and costly, though the local post-office might love me.  Using the Internet to research markets, ideas, and see my work on sites like this one affords me much more of what I really want, more time to write.

And, while I have to admit that technology has its merits and that I would surely miss it if it were no longer available, I also hold that it’s a huge time-waster as I spend hours “surfing” when I should be writing, checking my email when I should be researching a topic, and reading blogs when I could be happily posting on my own.

My biggest complaint about technology, however, is how easily it breaks down, freezes up, or malfunctions when I need it most, usually just when a deadline looms.  I swear that there are some machines, particularly photocopiers, that must see me coming and breakdown or jam before I ever touch a button.  Perhaps my techno-anxiety precedes me and the tension just has to erupt somewhere.

I have recently decided that the phrase, user-friendly, apart from being an oxymoron, excludes me and any machine I might cautiously approach.  I actually feel sorry for a machine that has to endure my hesitant attempts to learn its functions or, worse yet, to attempt a job that I’ve never tried before.  All of a sudden all the buttons, switches, arrows, symbols, and icons look identical and equally foreign, as my heart starts to pound, my fingers tremble, and inevitably I choose the wrong key or button, the one that immediately brings all functioning to a halt and spawns hordes of error messages, trouble lights, or warnings of illegal actions.

I feel like a criminal as lights blink, beeping tones erupt; I look around furtively to see if anyone has witnessed my techno-awkwardness and its discouragingly familiar results.  And then I do what I always do; I turn to the one person who inevitably makes sense of the confusion I’ve once again caused, my long-suffering husband who can only shake his head and wonder how I manage to create such chaos. 

 

He even looks a little like my husband!

My attempts to explain only cause further confusion and I usually end up retreating to the opposite corner of the room, so the poor man and the doomed machine can relax and sort out the mess.  Of course, now the machine responds smoothly and fluidly to every stroke of a key or push of a button.  I glare at it accusingly as it quietly and efficiently confirms what I have suspected all along; technology is out to get me!

The Grass is Greener

Whenever we’ve traveled in the past, usually in the summertime, I’d be easily captivated by the beauty of some of the places we visited, especially when mountains and lakes were part of the scene.  I would imagine what it might be like to live year-round in Waterton or Canmore and I saw my life being ideal in each new place we visited.

Of course, I did the same thing when we went for shorter drives, closer to home.  Then I was convinced that life would surely be perfect if only we lived in a lovely place like Pinawa or Wasagaming.  I would picture myself living in a lovely home in those “perfect” locations and imagine walking down to the lake or river each morning, sipping a coffee, and carrying a good book or my notebook and pen.

 When we chose our home in the country, I was certain that my wanderlust and imaginings about life elsewhere had come to an end.  Why would I dream that life elsewhere could be better than where we now found ourselves?  For that matter, why would I ever want to leave our new home in the first place?  And for the first five years it never occurred to us to plan a vacation, because we so much enjoyed our new home.  We felt as though we were living in a country vacation cottage, with the pleasures of sand, water (a lovely creek at the back of our property), and trees.

But, believe it or not, after those first five years we did develop travel fever again and decided on a road trip to visit family in Alberta and British Columbia.  We planned a route that we had not travelled before and allowed extra time to explore some of the little towns and villages we passed through each day.  On one very hot and sleepy Sunday afternoon in July we found ourselves in a shady little town in Saskatchewan.  As we explored I took note of the artist culture in the shops and cafes on the Main Street, the many older two-story homes, and the cool and shady tree-lined streets.

 

“Wouldn’t it be great to live here,” I daydreamed.  “I could write and join the local writer’s group or be part of the book club, go for walks on …”   And then I caught myself in my own thoughts.  What could possibly be better than home, where I was already writing, where I had a writer’s group, and where a book club was not far away?  On another day during the same vacation, I caught myself dreaming about moving to a forested mountain resort town, sure that here was all the inspiration for creativity I could ever need.

After thinking it over, I realized I had all the inspiration I could use right in my yard, in the sunshine, the wildlife, and the wind in the pines at my forested retreat from the world.  Why then did thoughts of living somewhere else still appear?  I concluded that it must be part of my imaginative nature to picture myself in whatever setting we visited.  In my imagination the grass might seem greener away from home but in my heart, and in reality, I always know the greenest grass is right where I left it, and where I would always long to return, at the end of my own country mile, home.

My Country Garden

I'm not sure what makes a garden a country garden, apart from the fact that it's not in town but that's what I choose to call it.  I suspect that most people expect something much bigger when they see the words "country garden" but I am always amazed at how much food comes out of my two 8' X 8' plots.  Last year I had only one raised garden and that kept us in fresh veggies for a good part of the summer.

Last year's garden was actually an experiment on my part.  Years ago, when we lived in town, I had a fairly large garden and, due to my increasing pain levels, chose to make it smaller and smaller and finally to quit gardening all together.  My husband tilled the remaining piece that we had not sown to grass once or twice each year to keep it weed free and I sat on the deck and wished I could still do all the things I used to.

I finally learned to be more grateful for all that I can do and focus less on the little that I can't and was able to put gardening out of my mind for a while.  When we moved out here we knew that the soil on this country mile was almost pure sand, so I didn't even think of gardening ... at least not for a while.

And then one fine summer's day about three years ago, we were out for a quad ride and I, on the back of the machine, was doing what I always like to do, checking out people's yards, flower beds and gardens.  In some areas of our neighbourhood, the soil was obviously quite fertile, as I saw several flourishing vegetable gardens and some lovely flowers, not in pots as most of mine in our yard were.  I had also begun experimenting with growing tomatoes, beans, and peas in large pots.

I was feeling much better in general, having learned to respect my physical limitations and care for myself better than I knew how to years earlier, and so my mind had begun to dwell longingly once more on the delights of a small vegetable garden.  And then, that day on the quad, I saw the perfect solution to our lack-of-soil dilemma.

A very sandy yard we passed by had three lush vegetable gardens, right on the sand!  The residents had built raised garden beds using railway ties to frame them and then filled them with rich topsoil.  They had corn six-feet tall, one whole bed filled with potatoes, and a third larger garden with a variety of other vegetables.  I wanted to stop on the spot, ring the doorbell, and talk to the people about how it worked for them and what they recommended.

I talked about those gardens for weeks but Garry was leery, remembering how difficult it had been for me the last time I tried keeping up with the weeding, watering, and harvesting of my in-town garden.  He advised me to forget it and I tried to do just that.  But I kept thinking about how to keep it small enough that I could manage it and still get a decent amount of food out of it.  I was raising food for two or three people now, I reasoned; I wouldn't need as large a garden as it took to feed six of us years ago, with four of them hungry, growing teenagers.  Something much smaller would be perfect.

It took a little while but I managed to  convince Garry that I could handle a scaled-down garden.  Once he got in on the act, things went quickly and last summer we built the little garden of my dreams and it was a smashing success.  We used garden ties, even more attractive than railway ties, I think, and built it in the sunny area in the middle of our turn-around.  It wasn't too far from the house but far enough that it was outside the range of our dogs' security system; they can't get into it to dig and mess up my hard work.

Here's a shot of garden number one:

So tasty was our produce from this first experiment (there's nothing quite as good as fresh, home-grown peas or beans) that Kate and I soon decided we wanted to grow more, more variety and enough to freeze for the winter.

This time I didn't have to persuade nearly as much to get a second garden, the same size as the first one we built, especially since Kate promised to help if it proved to be a little too much for me.  Of course, I never got to find out if I could handle both, as Kate promptly fell in love with gardening and took such pride in keeping them neat and weed-free that I feel like I have my own private gardener.  Apart from picking lettuce, spinach, and chives for a salad a few times a week, I have done very little work in either garden since I planted them.

Here's a shot of the new garden, also pristine and flourishing, thanks to all Kate's hard work:

With Kate doing a lot of the hard work, I'm saving my energy for cooking and preserving all the yummy food that we'll soon be harvesting.

Gardening is good for the soul, don't you think?  There's something so honest and real about tilling the soil and nourishing the plants and seedlings to reap food for our bodies' strength.  I think it's part of how how God intended us to live and my country mile is giving me a chance to reconnect with the gardener in my soul.

Too Many Cooks ?

They say that too many cooks spoil the broth but today I've appreciated the input of several techie "cooks" who have helped me make this blog look the way I want it to.  The version Jenn started me off with was great and I cut my teeth on it.  Then Kate helped me change the background and we thought we were done.  But some unexpected glitches got Garry involved and he ended up having to recreate most of it.

Again, it's no credit to me that it looks so nice.  This particular background that Garry applied feels very personal because it's a view I get from one of my house windows every day.  I love forests and I love living in the forest.  Check out this new background and you''ll see why.

And now, a big apology to those of you who have put up with all my changes today and my email requests to change the blog address in your bookmarks.  I'm so fortunate to have patient readers like you and I will do my best not to mess things up again.  I have learned a lot today and hopefully things will run more smoothly again, here at the end of my country mile.

Saved ... Again!!

Notice the lovely new background to my blog.  I can take no credit for it; the only credit due to me is for messing things up so badly in my attempt to change the background, that my daughter, Kate, had to "recreate" the whole blog.  She painstakingly copied and pasted every single post and adjusted fonts and colours to my liking.

It was several hours of work and she was as patient as she could be when I asked questions that made perfect sense to me but didn't really relate to the task at hand, as far as she was concerned.  And she is the expert, while I am what I call the "technophobe."  I specialize in good intentions and confusion when it comes to the finer points of computer literacy; my daughters specialize in rescuing me.

It took one daughter, Jenn, to help me create the blog in the first place and the other, Kate, to handle damage control when I tried to make one teensy-weensy, little change.  Really, all I wanted was for the background to reflect that my country mile is a treed stretch of road that leads to my forested yard and home.  So, naturally, I tried to import a background that involved trees.  It should have been so simple ... but most definitely wasn't, at least not for me.

Even something like this would have been perfect.

I love forests and a forest path always make me think of heaven.  I'm sure heaven will have forests and the scent and sound of the wind in the pines.  Thanks to Kate's efforts, I can continue blogging for you from my own little piece of heaven at the end of my country mile.

Wanderlust

Every time we take a drive out to Neepawa, where some of my family still lives, I get a serious case of travel fever, or wanderlust.  Wanderlust is derived from the German “wandern,” to wander and “lust,” or desire.  And that describes exactly what I experience every time we head west, a great desire to keep driving and go exploring in new, far-away parts of the country.

I put the blame (or credit!) for my travel fever squarely on my parents, not because they’re German, but because they took me and my siblings on many a road trip when we were younger and instilled in us a love for travel and for exploring our country.  I don’t think that German people have any more or less wanderlust than anyone else, but I do have to acknowledge my parents’ adventuresome spirit, which brought them all the way to Manitoba from their hometown in Germany shortly after they were married.

You might think that, having journeyed such a far distance from their native land and their families, they would have been content to stay at home and let travel become a faint memory, but not my parents.  Many of my fondest childhood memories center around summer road trips, first in the blue Ford Fairlane Station Wagon and then in the huge, elegantly wood-panelled Country Squire, that for many years carried all eight of us comfortably with room to spare for our luggage.  From my customary position behind Mom in the passenger seat, I could often keep a watchful eye on the side mirror-view of our tent trailer.

This is the closest model I could find of what that old Country Squire looked like.

We explored northern Manitoba, western Ontario, and points west as far as Victoria in the care-free summers before some of us older children were tied down with part-time jobs.  Wintertime dinner table conversations often centered around possible destinations for the next vacation period or memories of the terrain, the campsites, or the wildlife we had encountered on previous trips. 

As an adult now, I understand that part of my intellectual inheritance from my parents is the curiousity that makes me long to see new places and to explore every country road I encounter.  When my husband and I travel, even on short day-trips, I keep a watch for interesting looking country roads and I’m consumed with wanting to know where they lead and what might be seen on the way to that final destination.

 It was that curiousity and that wanderlust that led to us living here in our country home.  We had been out for one of our customary drives one summer day almost seven years ago, when the idea of moving out of town had not even occurred to us yet, and on the homeward stretch I suggested we explore a village we had passed through many a time.  I was intrigued to see the parts of the community we couldn’t see from the highway. 

So, we turned off the main road and eventually found ourselves on a sandy road that meandered and turned through village, forest, and marsh.  A final turn brought us to a dead-end road with only three homes set into shade-dappled clearings between huge pines.  We even looked at the house and yard in which we now live and admired its location, little dreaming that we would live there one day.   So, it’s thanks to my inherited curiousity and wanderlust that we now regularly drive our own country mile to arrive at the best of all destinations … home.

"School's Out Forever"

Well, well, here we are at a brand new stage of life.  My husband is retiring from a long and successful career and it feels like a huge change for both of us.  He's a teacher, so he has four more days of work remaining and then he'll have ... in the words of the old Alice Cooper song, "no more principals and no more class."

This change is huge for him because he has spent the last thirty-five years in the rhythms and routines of school life.  He's used to a good part of the summer off each year, so it might be September before the reality really hits him, as our grandchildren and their parents slip once more into that September to June routine and we ... well, we might just go on a little holiday right about then!

This change feels huge to me also.  All of my life until now has revolved around the school year.  My Dad was a teacher and the biggest joy of my young life was summer holidays, when Dad and Mom both were available for me and my five siblings all day, every day.  When I was in university I began to joke that my whole life until then had centered around school and that the smartest thing for me to do would be to marry a teacher.  A year and a half later, that's exactly what I did!  

So, I set myself up rather nicely for many more years of life with the September-to-June and nine-to-four pattern.  It only intensified during the twenty-two years that our four children were in school and I repeated the patterns of my youth with my own family.   When the last child finally graduated from high school in 2004, my husband continued teaching until now.  Recalling this part of personal history earlier today made me realize that I, too, have known no other pattern in my life, as school has been at the heart of the rhythm of my days since I was little.

I think we're both going to miss that steady career pulse and we might have a little bit of adjustment ahead of us as we gradually adapt to a more relaxed pace and begin to think differently, especially next fall.  Maybe we'll even notice a little tug of nostalgia for a part of life that's finished with forever ... oh, who am I kidding?  I think it's going to be fabulous!!

Here's a shot of what the retiree hopes his retirement days will look like, at least some of the time:

Coco loves to lie along the top of our sun room couches (I swear she's part cat) and she sees no reason why she should move just for our sake.

I'm hoping that there will be lots of this kind of relaxation ahead for my husband, who is a little worn out from thirty-five years in a career that grows more stressful each year and takes more and more dedication and hard work to perform according to his high standards.  I also know that he has many plans for improvements and changes to our yard and house and I'm excited he will finally have the time and, hopefully, more energy to do some of the many things he's been wanting to do since we moved here to our own country mile.

When we bought our country home six years ago, we knew retirement was not too far away for him, and now we've finally reached that stage.  Even though I plan to continue working for some years yet, it's a rite of passage for both of us, but  especially for my husband.  I think I may have to throw him a little party to celebrate.  But that's for another post.

Forgiveness

   

Delightful as spring might be, the early part of it is often a messy and dirty business.  The balmy temperatures may be pleasanter on our skin but dark skies, mud, slush, and grimy ice soon weary our eyes with unrelenting shades of gray and brown.  The beautiful greens, floral hues, and brighter light that we usually associate with spring can come only later in the season when the drab, unpleasant days have run their course.

We all rejoice when the messy and sloppy days of spring begin, because we know that they are the necessary first steps to the better and more beautiful days, presently waiting in the wings for their cue.  And let’s face it, we also don’t complain much when a spring snowfall cleans everything up for a short time, with pristine whiteness covering the mud-splashed roads, moldy leaves and other debris that had begun to emerge from the melting snow.  We appreciate the break from the ugliness.

To me, Nature’s processes are images that correlate to our lives.  I  think that my soul feels like the “slop” of early spring on those occasions when I’m not living well, not respecting myself and my needs, nor those of people I care about.  I was taught to call those instances when I make poor choices sin but now that I’m older and hopefully, wiser, I like to think more deeply and use words that define how I have gone wrong.  If our purpose here on earth is to love God, ourselves, and others, then we all miss the mark sometimes.

 

Our selfishness, our parsimony, and our ungracious and hurtful responses are like the dirty puddles and stained snow banks of early spring.  They feel ugly in our souls.  They, too, are part of the process to get nearer to the better aspects of life, the purity and innocence of a brighter part of the season. 

And the way to clean things up is through forgiveness.  Like a snowfall that periodically whisks away the dirtiness of spring’s process, forgiveness sweeps aside all the ugliness some choices in our lives  may have created in our souls.  A simple and heartfelt “I’m sorry” and forgiveness freely granted by our Maker bleaches that landscape as pure again as an early spring snowfall.

So, I’m not very unhappy when spring periodically seems delayed by one of those falls of fresh, white snow.  When I see how much brighter the world then becomes, I’m reminded of the parallel process available to me when my soul’s landscape has become dingy and gray.  I recognize that I need a snowfall of forgiveness to feel refreshed and clean.  And I know what I need to do, as I walk my country mile, to arrive at the beautiful warm days of late spring in my soul and bask in the warmth and the light.

To My Father

When I was little I looked up to you

To walk in your steps I longed to do.

Deep talks we've had, true thoughts we've shared;

And I value most the way you've cared.

As I grew older, the more surely I knew

what safety there was just being with you.

You've always been strong and wise for me

despite my mistakes, loved unconditionally.

So often you helped me see right from wrong,

Encouraged me to be both meek and strong.

Loving patience and gentle care

Were in endless supply, always there.

With your guidance a mature woman I grew to be

With so many goals accomplished successfully.

Know that through your love and pride and praise

a confident and grateful woman you've raised.

Dear Papa, I'm writing this just to say

how much I love you each and every day.

You have a special place in my heart,

this daughter's first love right from the start.

 

Happy Father's Day to the best father a girl could ever have.  Thank you for being you.  I love you and I pray for you every day.  With love, Josi 

(This poem is adapted from one by Joanna Fuchs that I found on the Internet once.)

Church, Our Way

It's the weekend again and I'm full of plans.  As usual lately, I find myself saying "And I hope to get to church Sunday morning."  A few years ago I would have said "Of course, I'll go to church on Sunday," and I would have centered all my plans around that focus.  The way I walk my life's country mile has always included companionship with God and still does.

So, what happened that I don't get to Mass as often as I used to, you might ask.  Truthfully. apart from episodes of insomnia and medications that leave me groggy and thinking through cotton wool in the mornings, nothing.  God and I are still great buddies; we talk regularly; and he's always showing me more about Himself in the natural beauties I encounter in my forest home.  We're like good friends who have such a strong bond that we can stay close, even if one of us doesn't visit the other formally as often as she used to.  In the meantime, we're strengthening our heart bond.

 Since we found our country property and experienced both the beauty and ferocity of Nature (an aspect of God, in my experience and understanding) with God at our sides, I'm more in tune with my Best Friend than I've ever been.  I've also learned centering prayer and the deepest experience of that lets me grow towards God and the serenity that comes when I quiet myself and know nothing other than that He is God.  And then that becomes enough.

Do I still got to Mass?  Of course, whenever I can.  If, as happened recently, I don't worship with my own community of believers often enough, I start to feel out of touch and alienated from those aspects of God that are best experienced by being together with other human beings, all of us on the same journey but at varying stages.  Even worshipping elsewhere, as I've had to frequently in the past few months, isn't quite the same as being in regular communion with my own spiritual family.

So, I think God has taken me to a point on my spiritual country mile where I don't have to go to Mass every Sunday because I know that if I don't meet Him there, I will still be with Him every minute.  The best part, however, is that now I long more than ever to meet Him in every way possible and so, on the Sundays I don't get there, I'm very conscious of it.  It's a feeling similar to what I experience when there's a gathering of my family and I'm not able to go.  I know where they all are, have a pretty good idea of what they're doing, and I'm aware that I'm missing something special,  even though I know that I will be with them again in future, just not this time.

In the meantime, I'm worshiping here  in my cathedral of trees and enjoying special time with my God, doing "church" our way.

Proud As Punch

Our daughter, Kate, graduated today with her Health Care Aide Certificate.  I had a lump in my throat as I watched her process into the ceremony with her classmates.  I was so proud because I know how hard she worked for this and how much she deserves the recognition.  I was doubly proud because I've seen her mark statement which shows a grade Point Average of 96%.  She aced every single assignment, project, and exam.  One smart daughter I've got there.

She surprised us a little with those fabulous marks because, as she will be the first to tell you, she wasn't too interested in high school achievement a few years ago, scoring good grades only on the things that interested her then.  And that's often the way when we're still so young. I suspect she surprised herself, too, with these latest great grades and received a nice shot of self-esteem, something that rarely harms a person.

 Ah, finally got her hands on it!

I know she'll go on to great things yet in her life, because she has truly found her niche, settling gracefully into being a compassionate and caring member of the health care profession. Her two practica at different facilities in our area were very enjoyable experiences for her and she can't wait to get that first job and have her own patients again.  She's got my prayers on her side, as well as those of her Dad, her brothers and sister, both her grandmothers, her grandfather, godmother, and other aunties, uncles, and cousins.

The happy graduate

Here's thinking of you, Kate, and lots of pride at how far you've come.  You're a special person and you'll be a great success, I'm sure.

Coffee Thoughts

Since I first began to drink coffee in my university years, more as a way to survive those all-night paper-writing sessions than because I enjoyed the drink, coffee has been alternately condemned as an addictive substance, detrimental to our health, and praised as having health benefits when used in the right quantities.

Coffee does contain caffeine, a known stimulant.  People find it helpful for waking up in the morning and when they’re feeling tired during the day.  Many office workers take a coffee break when they have low energy.  For people who want to enjoy the flavor of coffee with minimum stimulation, decaffeinated coffee is available.   But, if you ask me, “decaf” and other coffee substitutes can’t match regular coffee for flavour and aroma.

Yes, over the years I’ve grown to love the taste and the experience of my morning coffee.  I have become one of those people who can’t start the day without at least one, and preferably several, cups of the dark, full-bodied brew.  From the pungent aroma of coffee brewing, to the promising sounds of the steaming hot beverage splashing into my favourite ceramic mug, to that first delicious almost-too-hot sip, there’s nothing I don’t appreciate about my morning coffee.  I wander into the sunroom with my first cupful in hand each morning, gaze out at Nature’s beauties as I savour the first bracing taste, and suddenly all is well with my world.

But then, there are those justifying pros and worrisome cons about coffee and caffeine that I’ve been hearing about since my university days, that periodically increase or decrease the pleasure.  The anti-oxidants in coffee may help us fight cancer.  Four or five cups a day may prevent gallstones (didn't work for me).  The stimulant properties of my favourite brew may improve athletic performance.  The same properties, stimulating the central nervous system, are reputed to improve mental skills and keep us awake and alert during long or dull tasks.

Among the cons associated with coffee use is interference with calcium absorption, contributing to weaker bones.  Fortunately, the effects of coffee on calcium absorption can be offset with a tablespoon or two of milk per cup of coffee consumed.  Bring on the lattes, I say.  Coffee may complicate pregnancy … but another study claims that moderate coffee use has no effect on successful pregnancy rates.  Caffeine may keep us awake.  This, obviously, could be beneficial in some instances and detrimental in others.  And finally, the caffeine fix every morning soon becomes addictive.

 I’ve read that Islamic monks in Yemen brewed the first cup of coffee in 1200 AD.  It was soon prepared regularly to facilitate prayer and meditation (and to soothe the monks’ addiction to the drink?).  The caffeine was understood, even then, to stimulate the monks’ minds and increase their mental clarity.  I’m all for a drink that tastes delicious and has potential to increase the benefits of spiritual experiences.

Coffee, therefore, must be a gift from God to help us sleepy and easily distracted human beings get through life more efficiently and stay connected to the Being who provided the heavenly elixir in the first place.  That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!

Ain't Nothing But A Hound Dog

Meet Baxter The Beautiful Beagle 

What a thrill!  My daughter, Kate knows html code and has helped me change the look of this post a little from others previously published.  What would I do without my daughters?  My posts would all be identical and you would never see a picture or any variety in this blog.

I just finished sending Jenn a "Help me, I can't post a picture," email and suddenly it occurred to me that this is probably something that Kate could do in her sleep.  So, as a result of Kate's efforts (very little for her, huge for me) I can introduce you to my favourite little animal companion, Baxter, our five-year-old beagle.

So, let me tell you about beagles.  They are what I would call the perfect pet for a no-longer-as-young-as-she-used-to-be and slightly physically-handicapped person.  Beagles are supposed to be sedate and calm, more than happy to snuggle up on the sofa all day long with you, if that's what you feel like doing.  And that describes Baxter to a tee.  He lives for his sofa time and loves to share the loveseat in the gazebo with me on warm summer days, as long as I don't want too much of "his" space.

He's warm and soft and so cuddly, with those beautiful golden floppy ears and big brown eyes that could melt even the hardest heart.  Like all beagles he has a big-chested frame and that tummy that I call his "Buddha-belly!"  The freckling on his nose and legs makes him distinct, as not all beagles have those markings. 

Baxter is slow to move, conserving his valuable energy for the really important things in life, such as following intriguing scents outside, sleeping for the majority of the day, and above all, eating, a beagle's all-time favourite thing to do.  I've come to call the five minutes it takes him to devour his supper each day "Baxter's Happy Hour".  My kitchen floors are always spotlessly clean as every crumb that falls from counter or table is snatched up before it can hit the floor. 

Now, you also need to know that we have another beagle, a couple of years younger than Baxter. Two of the delightful creatures!  Her name is Coco and she is the exact opposite of Baxter in temperament.  While she can sleep all day like he does, she also loves to chase her ball, play with anything that moves, and generally get underfoot.  She is much more vocal than Baxter is, although beagles are all supposed to be quite vocal. Coco has a repertoire of whines, growls,groans, and moans that she can combine to make it sound like she's trying to talk.  Coco is a clown, while Baxter is a gentleman.

Here's Coco when we first got her at about eight months old in one of the rare moments when she actually kept still long enough for a photo.

Baxter wasn't too sure about this pesky pup when we first brought her home but now they're inseparable.  In this photo they are snuggled up together in a sunny spot on their favourite couch.

It's good for us to share our space and our lives with animals.  It gives us a healthy respect for their needs and we are grateful for their company and, since Coco arrived, for their entertainment value.  Pets are our reminder that we're not alone in this world; we have to find ways to respect other life.  Just because we're human, we can't neglect or ignore the needs of the animals who share the planet with us. Since we're the ones rapidly destroying their habitats, we owe them care and a safe place to live.

We're also the ones who domesticate them, rob them of their natural instinctive survival skills, and meddle with their genetics until many of them would be helpless in the wild.  So, to my mind, these factors make us responsible for their welfare, not just for our pets but for all animal life.

And thus ends the sermon by Josi for today!

Kilroy Was Here

Recently my father, aged 89, had to go undergo surgery.  For weeks every effort was made to spare him the ordeal, risky for a person of his age, but eventually it became clear that the procedure was necessary.  For just as many weeks my siblings and I rearranged our schedules, cancelled work days when possible, and postponed events in our own families to be present to support our parents in the confusion and uncertainty Dad's health crisis had brought and that we were experiencing with them. 

When it was decided that surgery really was the only option to remedy Dad’s health problem, we siblings and I began our process all over again, consulting among ourselves to determine who could cancel which day of work or volunteer events so that Mom and Dad always had at least one of us with them for support.  Dad’s surgery went as well as could be expected but took its toll physically and emotionally on both my parents, as was only natural.  Now we still find ourselves taking it in turns to make the drive to our hometown and be with our parents for however much time we can carve out of our schedules.

 

Reflecting on this process and the likelihood that we may well be engaged in it for some time yet and quite possibly indefinitely, made me realize that I do not resent the unexpected demands on my time and the events I have to miss because of these new obligations.  No, I realized, I consider it an honour and a privilege to walk alongside my parents as they navigate their remaining country miles with grace and dignity and with the support of their children.  I feel we are so lucky to still have our parents and to have an opportunity to give back some of the loving care we consistently experienced from them while growing up.

I’m eager to help and would be hurt if I could not lighten their load or smooth their path a little.  And my other siblings seem to feel the same way.  To my way of thinking, that says something significant about how my parents walked their child-raising and family- life country miles.  Our only problem, if you could call it that, is that we all want to help and sometimes it feels like a competition to see who gets to do it this weekend.

All people, as they each walk their own country miles, like to feel that they have left something of value, something that makes a difference in the world and that they can take pride in, something that says they made a difference just for having walked this particular mile.  Much like the well-known graffiti that proclaims “Kilroy was here,” we all want to leave something that says to others who come after us that we were here; that we had an impact on our world.

I think that I and my siblings are our parents' proclamation that they were here.  They may not have realized it much of the time because they were busy with the tasks of raising us, but they raised us in a way that gives evidence of their walk on their country mile.  In many ways my siblings and I now are trying to walk as they did, as they taught us.  I'd like to think that I, too, will leave my own "Kilroy was here" statement for my children.  They will have their own mile to walk and it will be up to them to choose how they walk it, but hopefully some of their steps will be similar to mine, as some of mine are similar to my parents'.

Marking Time

Have you ever noticed that many of us expend so much of our energy on keeping track of time?  We define tasks and occurrences in terms of how much time is needed for each and whether or not it used more or less time than we had allowed for it.  We wear watches and hang clocks everywhere in our homes and work places; it‘s as though we’re lost and disoriented if we don’t know what time it is at every moment of our lives.  The result of all this time-keeping, however, seems to be only an increased perception of how rapidly time is “passing us by.”

The phrase, “time is passing us by” reflects some of the anxiety we feel about our use of the limited time each of us has on this earth.  What we do with the lifespan allotted to each of us is, to a large extent, a matter of choice.  How sad to think that many of us spend too much of our limited time fretting about what time it is and how quickly it is moving.  Wouldn’t it feel so much better to focus rather on getting full value, whether from our diversions or our work, by experiencing fully each moment of every day?

An awareness that time is passing us by also seems to imply that we are passively sitting, merely watching the passage of time from the sidelines, and not actively engaged in any of the events and experiences it brings.  That’s just sad, don’t you think?  Again, resolving to focus our attention on living in the moment appears to be the remedy.  Engagement is the key to getting full value from our allotted time.

Mindfulness, or being mindful, is the intentional practice of the awareness of your present moment and only that moment.  You spend no energy on judging, reflecting, or thinking but rather simply observe this moment, right now, for what it is.  You are present with no purpose except to be alert and aware of “now.”  Such an attitude frees you from the emotional and mental weight of continually judging and evaluating, planning responses, or fretting about what might come next.  None of it matters and none of it requires any energy of you, and so, the more you practice mindfulness the more you are refreshed and alert as your usual way of being.

Such a restful way of being might even put an end to the common, fear-inducing perception that time seems to pass so much faster as we get older.  Would that still feel true if we were actively engaged in being fully present to each moment?  I suspect that our persistent attention to the passage of time would become an unnecessary use of our precious energy and we would soon be free of this nasty anxiety.  Can you imagine it?

I find that living in the country has inclined me to practice mindfulness a little more intentionally, although I can still feel caught in the “time crunch” fairly easily.  I am trying, however, to think less in terms of “when this or that happens” and more in terms of the flow of events and my place in those events right now.  It will definitely take more practice but, as I walk my country mile, I hope to become more proficient at being fully present in each delightful step.

This is an item I wrote for a website I was once part of, but that didn't work out for me the way I had hoped it would.  I hope this post inspires you to think differently about time or your use of it.  It's making me think a lot about something closely related: purpose.  What is my purpose in life, how do I determine that, and how do I separate it from the many purposes that the world and our society imposes on us?  I sense a new post brewing ... sometime soon.

She's A Gem

So, what do you think of the new look that my daughter, Jenn, and I designed for the blog just tonight?  The truth is she did all the work while my mind scrambled to keep up with the flood of new information coming my way all at once.  That's why I say that she's a gem.

At one point I found myself saying, "Oh dear, what have I got myself into here?" and it was her reassurance that it's all very manageable once you get used to it, that got me settled down and able to focus again.  You see, I love to write and blogging seemed like the perfect thing to keep me writing and being creative.

But, I am not, have never been, and never will be, technologically savvy.  If anything, I'm a "technophobe."  I'm fond of saying that I was dragged, kicking and screaming, into the computer age - because it's true.  Had I not so greatly wanted that Master's degree 15 years ago when I went back to school, I might have managed to avoid dealing with computers at all and still be writing on a typewriter.

Of course, when we moved to our country home almost six years ago, I was grateful that I had gained basic word processing skills and a little computer know-how, because here is where I've managed to unlock my inspiration.  Now I've got writing ideas spilling over and filling the notebooks I've started carrying everywhere, especially when I know I won't have access to a computer.  And, yes, I know that there are electronic notebooks and hand-held gadgets that would allow me never to be away from a computer, but I don't think I'm quite ready for some of those yet.

Or, maybe they're not quite ready for me yet.  One of my most common laments is that machines of any sort seem to break down as soon as they see me coming.  Whether it's my computer, the photocopier at work, or a function on my cell phone, I can make it malfunction with no effort at all.  I think electronics and other devices sense my tension as I approach and just freeze up, like a frightened animal that plays dead to escape a predator.  Then, what is so easy and natural for people like my husband and Jenn, becomes for me an ordeal involving blood, sweat, and occasionally even tears.

The biggest points in my favour are that I love to learn new things and I can be very persistent.  And I've been longing to start a blog for months now.  A good way for me to learn new things is by the "sink or swim" method.  To get past my technophobia I have to jump in and do my best.  Often I surprise myself and do fairly well.  That's how I got the blog started just yesterday.

Occasionally I get into trouble, whereupon I swallow my pride and turn to someone who has figured it out and has the patience to teach me what else I need to know.  That's what happened when I looked at the blog this morning and decided I was not happy with the basic layout I had chosen but couldn't  find the way to change it.  Fortunately, I'm also not afraid to ask for help.  So, I know that I will eventually get the hang of managing a blog, by hook or by crook (or by Jenn, who really is a gem). 

In the meantime, creating posts is feeling every bit as satisfying as I thought it would and I'm happy to think of other people reading what I post.  Feel free to comment because my country mile and yours can be even pleasanter and easier to travel when we can share a bit of it with each other.