May 2011

It’s Friday, May 27, 2011, and I’m at the Pollock’s.  Caroline is at work.  She’s one month from freedom.  Albert’s taking care of business for his mom, so I’m alone gathering my wits and wrapping the gift that Jay and I will give to Blake and Tracy tomorrow.  Being back has been a mix of sad and happy memories, bad weather and good friends.  I don’t know if it’s la nina’s fault or mine, but everywhere I’ve gone in the last eight months the locals have commented on the fact that this is the worst weather they’ve had in whatever month it’s been in living memory: colder or wetter or windier. I’m going to have to retrace my route to see what these places are really like or perhaps climate change is happening and I’m experiencing the future in one year of living around.

The alarm went off at 5:45a.m. on May 16.  As I threw cold water on my face to force my eyes open, the phone rang.  My heart leapt because I thought it was probably mom again to say that something was wrong with dad, but it was Micheline calling to tell me to pack my bathing suit because the weather was bad and we likely would not be able to bike, so we would go to a pool for a swim instead.  I already had my suit packed because I never leave home without it.  Relieved, I continued on my way and made it to Ottawa about an hour late.  Mela was at the airport to drive me to their place where Don was waiting with Bloody Caesars, a warm start to a cool week.  Blake and Tracy came over the next night for dinner.  We had lots of laughs about the idiosyncrasies that dog all families and nthat occasions like weddings always unleash.  Mela and I met Micheline in Wakefield on Thursday, and I spent Thursday and Friday nights at Miche and Paul’s.  We did bike on Friday.  The weather was perfect, not too hot and not too sunny.  Saturday was also a good day.  The www met at our usual depaneur and bought junk food before heading to Paul’s place in the country.  After the usual chattering lunch, we put on our bug nets and tromped like Ewoks down the back road to a small lake.  Some of us had bathing suits on and had planned to jump into frigid water and out again just for the thrill of the cold after a hot walk.  But the water was warmer than we had expected, so most of us went in, in underwear and birthday suits and bathing suits, and swam for a long time.  A few of us even lay in the sun on the raft and went in again.  This was the height of our wildness.  Then we suited up and returned through the black flies and mosquitoes to the usual delicious evening of eating, drinking, talking and playing charades.  Old friends drop easily into the sharing of stories and laughter. 

I spent Sunday and Monday nights with Barb and Rod on the Gatineau River.  We rode bikes, went to Molo and had a great dinner with Crofton and Nick and their partners.  I borrowed the Steer’s van to drive down Wakefield Heights Road and back again to dinner at the Smiths.  It was hard to see the sauna and our two homes without us in them, but talking with the Smiths brought me back from the sadness.  Chelsea and her boyfriend joined us for dinner and fixed my computer for me, so by the time I returned to the Steer’s I was in good shape.  I had fun playing bridge, drinking wine and eating lunch with Barb’s gang and then she drove me to the IGA where Ken Baughan picked me up. I stayed with the Baughans on Tuesday and Wednesday.  We had a hot tub, a couple of walks along the Ottawa River, some long chats and a good dinner with Geoff, Megan and Danbrook.  I’ve been lucky to see so many friends on one visit.  In spite of la nina and/or my weather curse, I’ve used my bathing suit twice.  The wedding is indoors at Gabe’s restaurant, Grounded, so the rest does not depend on the weather at all.   

Micheline and Paul's house in spring

The www prepare for a walk in bug land

The march of the Ewoks

A trilium grows in Quebec

Barb, the-brains-behind-this-blog, Steers walks from her house to the river

Nick Steers on the Gatineau River

Back to the east

I have already set the alarm for 5:45am tomorrow.  I’m going to drive to Bert and Peg’s, and Bert will take me to the plane as he has so kindly done many times before.  Mela and Don will pick me up in Ottawa, and I will begin my eagerly anticipated visit with friends and attendance at Blake and Tracy’s wedding.  In anticipation of  a two week’s absence from the newly planted cedars, I bought a nylon soaker hose and timer system at the Swan Lake Nursery this week and spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to program the latter.  I managed to set the clock and the ‘on’ and ‘off’ functions quite easily, but for the last part you are offered options.  I’m hopeless with those; just making the choice took a while.  I opted for choosing the days of operation myself instead of setting it for every 2 or 3 days.  That was the easy part.  I won’t bore either of us with an attempt to recount all the mistakes my ignorance and unagile fingers got me into after that.  It’s ready to go now, I think.  At 9:00pm tonight it should turn itself on and at 10:00pm it should shut itself off, another act of faith for the 21^st century neo-medieval techno-peasant.  Fortunately, I have real human backup.  Bill’s friends, Karen and Pat are going to drop by a couple of times to see if the cedars have been watered, and my neighbor, Donna, is also going to check when she picks up the mail and newspaper.  Again I depend on the kindness of relatives, friends and strangers.

I also lean heavily on the willingness of Canadian Tire to take back purchases.  Yesterday a couple of things happened in quick succession that left me no alternative but laughter.  In the heat of the afternoon as I ran back and forth as quickly as I could pushing the lawn mower and sweating profusely, my nostrils were overwhelmed by the odor of dog droppings.  I had no sooner registered this assault on the senses then the mower stopped dead, the handle banging into my sternum.  My second mower had crashed.  I had no hesitation about taking it back to CT, but as I would have been embarrassed by the stench of dog do, I endured the humiliation of washing that off the roller.  The woman at the customer service desk recognized me and was even more pleasant than she’s paid to be but had to call the manager this time.  A man about Jay’s age arrived; my fate was in his hands.  He likely is paid more than she is and was consequently even more accommodating.  He agreed with me that it was unlikely the problem had anything to do with my assembling of the thing, as she had suggested, since the only assembly required was of the handle.  He said that nobody else had returned one of these mowers but it was possible that I had received the only 2 duds.  I happily agreed, and he carried out the last of them in its box to my car for me.  I now have 3 boxes and 3 sets of instructions for the assembling of the handle.  I finished the lawn without incident and am keeping a vigilant eye out the living room window as people walk their dogs past my lawn.

 I’ve been working outside all week: mowing, weeding, planting, watering and washing and staining the back deck.  I am often in the back yard in the late afternoon, under the shade of the 2 big trees, and around 5:00 I smell, my nose seems to be doing yeoman’s service these days, roasted garlic.  There’s no restaurant near by.  The smell seems to come from the house next door where a team of psychiatrists has their offices.  The other day it crossed my mind that just as the guidance counselors at Philoman Wright High School used microwave popcorn as a comfort food for the troubled students who visited them, these people might be whipping up garlic snacks for their late afternoon patients, most of whom seem to come either early in the morning or in the late afternoon and evening.  At any rate, the aroma soon drives me inside, and although I cook little these days, I eat a lot of garlic.

I went on a good hike early this week with Barb and Rod’s friends who live nearby, at Predator Ridge.  We went directly from their house to a trail that begins on the cart paths of the golf club and continues up to a summit that has a wonderful view of hills, valleys and Lake Okanagan.  Looking down from the top, I was reminded of when Jim and I were in the area 3 years ago.  Then it was around the middle of April, and the white blossoms on the Saskatoon bushes were so spectacular that we asked about them and were told that that’s what they were but that in this area few people make pies with them as they do in Thunder Bay and Winnipeg because it gets so hot by the time the berries appear that they shrivel before they can be picked.  Again, I was overwhelmed by the delicate white clouds of Saskatoon blossoms below me, but this year everything is about a month later than it was when Jim and I were here.  

An iris in the front garden

The Vernon Law Courts, near my house, as seen from the Law Court's Garden/Fountain

The Law Court's Garden/ Fountain without water.  Two aging hippies who were sharing a joint on a bench just off to the left told me that the water only flows in tourist season.

They seem to have allowed absolutely anyone to make a building block for this structure.  Here is what looks to be 'the finger' surrounded by the traditional aura of the Virgin of Guadaloupe in Mexico.  And this in a city that is close to Kelowna,  the only place in the world where signs paid for by atheists, telling people that god probably doesn't exist so they might as well enjoy life, were carefully removed from public buses.

An example of a few other blocks in the structure

 

Still gardening

I awoke to a rainy Mothers’ Day morning and a call from my mom.  She had phoned on Thursday to thank Jay and me for sending her flowers but had had to admit that they were less than colorful, a lot of green.  For an unstoppable Pollyanna, that was quite something, so I was tempted to call the florist in Vernon to complain about the one they used in Victoria.  Fortunately, I didn’t because her call today was mainly to tell me that the flowers had all opened overnight and the bouquet was full of color today.  She had also read since our first call that the florist in Souke who did the work was renowned on the island for her designs using local flowers. 

Jay spent 5 days last week in May’s hometown near Manila; they are probably just settling back into Incheon as I write.   They are 16 hours ahead of BC; it will be Sunday night there.

So Jack swept Quebec, even taking my old riding and in the process defeating Lawrence Cannon.  The NDP did not win here; the Conservatives held on by a fairly large margin.     The Liberals and Bin Laden are both dead.  Although we won’t see the latter’s body, I believe they got him.  As for the former, I’ve lost interest in watching them slowly self- destruct.

The cedar hedge is up and thriving.  It was wonderful to putter around the yard while two strong young men dug 25 deep holes in ground that was good but not without its rocky parts. The work wasn’t easy, but I’m sure I gave them one good laugh to help them through it.  Thinking of Lindy, Cordula and the BC gardener with the spade called Elvis, who all insist that when transplanting you must use plenty of water, I was determined to douse the holes before the trees went in.  As the time came, I realized that the boys were not going to do that, so I went over with my hose and said, “ Do you mind if I put in water before you plant each cedar?  I’m obsessed about wet holes.”  As soon as the words came out, I knew that I was preaching to the converted but on a completely different subject.  I averted my gaze and went to work without waiting for an answer.  Whatever looks they might have shared, I didn’t see, and they at least didn’t laugh out loud.  I continue to water the cedars as I was told to do by the head gardener at the nursery, one minute each twice a week.  Today is supposed to be the day, but as it rained last night and the sun is just coming out now, I won’t have much to do on Mothers’ Day.   I bought a soaker hose and timer at the Swan Lake Nursery yesterday and tomorrow I’ll see if I can make it work.  I don’t want to leave the cedars unwatered while I’m in the east for 2 weeks.  Today I met a couple for coffee who are friends of Bill’s from Thunder Bay and she volunteered to drop by a bit to check on the system and water if it isn’t working, so I continue to find good people who help me and make learning how to live on my own easier.  I’ve been thinking of Jim a lot lately, it’s as if I feel I’ve proven I can do it, live alone, and now he can come back and revel in my admissions that I do have the bag lady tendencies he always accused me of having, I am physically reckless and clumsy and I have no sense of direction.  I’m sure he’d also be ready to admit some of his weaknesses, and we could get back to being together.  But he’s not just with the Gai Luron this time, so I will carry on.   It’s not all bad by any means, but at times it’s awfully quiet.  It’s dangerous being your own and only critic; there’s no aggravation but also no humor in it.  You have to catch yourself up, and for contrarians that’s not easy.  We prefer to have a backboard to bash at a bit before we learn, if we ever do. 

The little cedar on the left of the house is the first in the line of 25 that extends from front to back.  I didn't want to include the mobile home, so this was the only angle I could take.  

This is a little rose and iris garden at the front.

Taxes and Weddings

This was a week of paying taxes, getting my hair cut, working in the garden, getting a new dining room table and chairs, learning where and for whom to vote and watching the Royal Wedding.  The taxes involved emails, phone calls, faxes and money.  I ran around a bit, but Dave did the tedious work, as he has for many years, and I’m grateful for that.  I got to know a very helpful printer in Vernon in the process.  Every little job gets me more into the community.  I had my hair cut by a Brit who was recommended by Linda who organizes the Vernon Library annual book sale, and has done for the last 20 years.  I have been working as one of her volunteers and this week will log many hours as a cashier at the sale.  She was looking for cashiers; apparently there are arguments about how much the books are worth sometimes.  I’ll find out.  My haircut is fine but nothing to rave about.  I knew that would be the case as soon as I saw him.  He was round, plain and middle aged.  The fact that he mentioned his Venezuelan wife gave me a moment’s hope for some style, but no such luck.  But then I’m never satisfied with my haircuts; I can’t understand why hairdressers can’t make me look as I imagine I could. 

  I watched the wedding of William and Kate live.  I had set the PVR, but as I awoke at around 3:00am to go to the bathroom, I turned on the TV to see what was happening. People were entering Westminster Abby, and I stayed to watch.  I enjoyed it and even took a picture of a picture that amused me.  It’s of two very plain Anglican nuns who sat together near the alter throughout the ceremony.  They presented a perfect contrast with the outfits, hats and ‘fascinators’ of the other guests.  I missed Andrew and Fergie’s daughter’s, but Ina told me to Google ‘ Royal Wedding 2011 hats,’ to see them.  I did and saw a wonderful video with music of many of the amazing headpieces, but those two were among the most extreme.

I’m back to extreme gardening.  I’ve put in many hours of hard labor this week, digging up irises that haven’t been moved, I think, since the house was built in 1934.  The corms are huge and heavy and matted with roots of grass and weeds to such and extent that I have to break them with a spade and rip them with all the strength I have in my hands. The straw colored mats of roots reminded me of Elton John’s hair as I remembered it from the wedding, but when I looked him up on Google later, his hair didn’t look as wild as I had remembered it.  There’s a very good gardener on the radio here who calls his spade Elvis because it was originally a type called The King of Spades, which he shortened to The King and finally Elvis.  He’s had it for 20 years.  His gardening advice is very practical, and I intend to listen to him whenever I can. My job is far from done, but tomorrow I will have the luxury of watching others dig and plant the cedar hedge that will go between my house and my neighbor’s.

Tomorrow, we vote.  I have watched CBC, listened to Vernon radio, read the local paper and ‘The Globe and Mail’ and consulted the sites that Albert and Caroline sent me.  I’m ready to vote for Jack.  I read that when asked, most Quebecers don’t mention the name of the candidate in their riding or the NDP, they just say, ‘I’m voting for Jack.’  I toyed with the idea of voting Green because the candidate here either is or has the same name as a boy who went to FWCI when I did and the Green Party did better than the Liberals in my riding of Okanagan-Shuswap in the last election, but thought better of it when I went on one of the sites and saw that in the last poll the NDP was very close to the incumbent Conservative.  So in my anybody-but-Harper mood, I’ll vote NDP, even though I have reservations.  Blah, blah, blah.  No government’s perfect, but at least we can vote and bitch about it afterwards, as we pay our taxes and disagree about how they are spent and who evades them. 

The picture I took from the television of the two nuns at the wedding.

Tulips, weeds and a dead tree at the side of the house

A tulip among the weeds that are so thick you can't even see the iris.

The new dining room table and chairs with tulips

The statue Ina gave me from Mexico with tulips in a Mexican vase.