Reviving My Sign Language

Several years ago, I took a sign language class (ASL) through the Canadian Hearing Society. I had a deaf friend in high school and was always keen to improve communication. I really enjoyed the class, and our deaf teacher taught us about a lot of things in the culture that I hadn't realized, such as the availability of close-captioning machines in the back row of movie theatres. I wanted to continue on to the next level, but there weren't enough interested people to run the class.

Usually when I'm learning a new language, a terrible shyness comes over me and I have a hard time trying to use what I've learned. For some reason, ASL is less intimidating. Maybe it feels more like playing charades. Maybe it's because it's non-verbal. Whatever the reason, it just seems to come easily to me, and I'm eager to try to communicate, rather than shy. I also find, when I'm learning other languages, that the previous, most recently-learned language rises up to interfere with the one I'm currently studying. When I tried to learn Italian, my French intruded. When I was learning Latin, my Italian resurfaced. Similar things happened when I moved on to Welsh, Hebrew, Mandarin, and German. But with ASL, I'm not finding any conflicts or intrusions, since they're structured so differently.

Sign Language isn't "English." I might be hearing English in my head as I do it, but to the deaf person, ASL is their first language, with its own structure and grammar, and English (or any other language) is their second. For this reason, writing back and forth isn't always a satisfactory substitute to signing. And of course, some deaf people learn to read lips, which could be in any language. There are also different systems of signing, of course, not just the American one.

Fast forward to last week, when a deaf individual showed up at our church, wanting to attend but having no interpreter with him. The missionaries handed him off to me---not sure why---and I did the best I could, falling back on scribbling notes to him when my signing and "acting out" failed. I managed to direct him to the correct lesson on his phone (despite my not having a phone of my own, so I'm not familiar with them). I've spent the past week madly learning 150 common signs in case he shows up at church again this week, so that at least I'll be able to say simple things like "What's your name?" and "I need to practise signing" and "See you next week!" I've also practised explaining that every other week, we have different classes at church. We alternate between meeting all together and meeting separately, men in one room and women in another.

Except today is the day the men meet separately from the women, which means I won't be in his class to sign all of this. I'll have to try to catch him beforehand to explain, and to pull up the day's lesson on his phone so that he can read along in his class. We'll see how it goes! There's also the added hindrance of the mask I wear in public, which interferes with signing, because it's not all in the hands.

It's funny how eager I am to try out my newly-learned signs. I'm an extreme introvert. I don't know this man from Adam. But languages have always fascinated me, and I actually considered becoming an ASL interpreter at one point. Maybe I'm being nudged in that direction once more.

Sons to the Rescue!

I had some sad news today and was feeling down, and my lovely sons came to the rescue. My sous-chef son had to check in at his restaurant, so we all walked over, and he treated us to a wonderful lunch. French Dip sandwich (making wonderful memories arise from my childhood) and an Oreo cheesecake. Waddled home again very full and managed to arrive just as a thunderstorm started. A very nice day. I like hanging out with these guys.

Popping Bubbles and Stomping on Dreams

This might be a bit of a difficult post this morning, so if you're looking for something light and entertaining, you may want to give this one a miss. Just saying...

When we first got married, my husband found my constant optimism a bit much, and he gave me the nickname Pollyanna. (For those readers who are too young to remember Hayley Mills, she was an actress who played a little girl named Pollyanna who was overly and unrealistically positive all the time). Whenever I chirped about sunshine and roses, he'd roll his eyes a little. I figured he was just of a more sober temperament than I. Life, mortgage, children, work, news broadcasts, and general existence have toned me down over the years, which likely needed to happen in order for me to function in the world. However, the last little while, I've noticed a new tendency in myself---whenever I see someone being optimistic online, I have this grumpy urge to pop bubbles, scorn dreams, and roll my own eyes.

This morning someone who is probably a very nice person posted on Facebook their vision that in fifteen years, the world would be a peaceful place, the oceans would be clear of plastic, everyone would have geothermal heat pumps, and diapers would be biodegradable. And sure enough, my first response was to think "Sweet innocent, most of the planet won't be inhabitable in 15 years." 

My own thought brought me up short. Do I really believe there's no hope? Have I really lost any hope for the future of humanity? We certainly haven't got a good track record of cooperation and making wise choices. But does that mean such a dream is impossible?

I do have a deep religious faith regarding the future of our souls. I do believe ultimately the earth will be renewed and receive its paradisiacal glory, as promised in scripture. But as far as our human existence on the planet over the coming decades...? We can't agree on pronouns, for pity's sake. How can we agree on climate action? People won't budge on what they perceive as their rights. How will they willingly deny themselves of their former excessive lifestyle in order to drastically reduce the human footprint on Earth? We're trafficking children and pushing those who are Different out from among us. Why should we have hope that we'll consider the non-human world important enough to sacrifice for? We're willing to drop bombs on our neighbours to take their territory, and meanwhile we're careening through space on a tiny speck we don't even steer. Even if everyone on Earth suddenly became altruistic overnight and politics instantly became moot, we're past the point of no return on certain climate factors, and the beautiful dream this person expressed online cannot come about.

So yeah. I guess Pollyanna is dead, and I have no hope in humanity as a whole. Does that mean I give up and embrace the coming difficult reality? No, of course not. As has been said, it's too late to live hopefully, but it's not too late to live compassionately, responsibly, meaningfully, intensely, even vibrantly. Will it make a difference to the trajectory we're on? As a group, no. But individually, yes. Will my actions matter to the planet as a whole? No. But they'll matter to me, and the few people around me. Will my getting a heat pump stop the feedback loop of global warming? Not a bit. But we do things not because they're successful, but because they're right.

As I've quoted before, when the plane is going down, the best thing, the only thing, to do is hold the hand of the person next to you. Will it stop the crash? No. Will it make any meaningful difference? Yes. To me. To the person next to me. In the end, it's all we can do. For me, it's the only path forward. So I don't choose hope. I choose meaning. I choose compassion. Which, I suppose, means not stomping on others' dreams even when I don't share them.

Handbook on Gardening

A reminder that my latest book, Mom's Handbook on Gardening: Everything I Know About Growing Food, is available as either an e-book or PDF at Kristen's Books (https://kristenmckendry.ca/kristens-books)

Adventures with Hearing Aids

My husband recently got hearing aids, and it has taken some time to learn how to drive them. Gone are the days when you just had a dial to turn them on and off and adjust the volume. Today's hearing aids are run by an app on your Smartphone. There are programmable settings for different environments and to get direct feed from microphones or TV sets. So you end up with the scenario of him plugged into the TV, watching a show fed directly into his ears, and me sitting beside him on the couch reading a book, and I don't have to hear the TV at all. Unless I want to, and then I can turn up the external volume. However, it also means that if I want to comment on the show we're watching together, I have to pause the TV and he has to grab his phone and change over to allow himself to hear "background" noise. I am now relegated to being background noise. I suspect I'll have fewer comments to make in future. I do think it's an improvement, though, not having to stumble down from the bedroom at 1 a.m. to ask him to turn down the volume of the TV. Silence is bliss!

The hearing aids nestle in a little recharging box, content to be together as long as the power is charging them. If you turn off the power or remove them from the box, however, and they are anywhere near each other, they let off an unpleasant high-pitched squeal, like distressed canaries. Are they wailing for sustenance? Feed me! Feed me! Or are they throwing temper tantrums? How dare you confine me to this stupid box with him! It's deafening even to me, from across the room. They settle down once they're in place in Hubby's ears or if they're separated, like children being sent to their respective Time Out stools.

The weird thing is that he can't---or hasn't figured out how to---adjust the volume. You'd think that's a pretty vital feature, no? So when he plays his bagpipes, the sound is amplified to a truly painful level, and he has to remove the hearing aids and put them in their travel case. Except the travel case doesn't recharge them, only holds them. Together. My husband could hear them screaming in the trunk of the car all the way home.

Ahead of Schedule!

I've basically sat at the computer for the last couple of days and went through the manuscript twice, rewriting and inserting citations and generally polishing. I've sent it back now, as I wanted to leave plenty of time for any further questions or tweaks before the June 17 deadline.

I'm stiffly rising from the chair now, to go find my family and reconnect. They are always so lovely and understanding about my need to disappear while immersing myself in my writing. I haven't really cooked or anything for the past three days. Feel like I've been hit by a truck. Time for food and a walk outside, I think!

Oh, and it's my birthday today, so it feels momentous, submitting the manuscript today. Grandkids coming to visit tonight. Yay!

Rewrites and Proofreading

I just received the edits from my editor for my next book, Simply Beautiful: Making Your Life Reflect Your Values, which is due to come out in January 2026. I have ten days to do my rewrites and get it back to the publisher. 

I enjoy this stage of the process. The hard labour is done, the bulk of the work is finished, and now it's just polishing and finessing and catching mistakes. I set up the laptop with the version that shows her edits and use the desktop computer to do my changes on the final version (less eye strain!). It allows me to go back and forth between manuscript versions without confusing myself as to which one I'm in at that moment.

This is also what I would call the "powerful" stage. Earlier writing can be beset with imposter syndrome and self-doubt, but once the manuscript has been accepted and gone through someone else's rewrites, it feels...valid, maybe? As if it has passed the first test and now I can move forward with confidence. This is my thirteenth book, so you'd think self-confidence wouldn't be a problem by now, but it is, every time. I once read a post by Louise Penny, where she'd just sent in a manuscript and immediately felt the same kind of fear and trembling I always feel when I send something off, and I remember thinking, "My word, if she feels like that, then it's completely normal! It's not just me!"

I have only ten days to get this finished and return it to my editor, so I'll dive in full of energy and dedication. I'll hole up with my computers, forgetting to eat, ignoring the other people in the house, and immerse myself in words. I'll emerge days from now, wild-haired and gasping for air and wondering what year it is. I'll email it to my editor and promptly forget everything about it. And then I'll reward myself with Chapmans ice cream. It's my process.

The kindest gesture

What does the world's most thoughtful husband do when his wife is stuck away from home at the beginning of gardening season? He sends her photos of the garden so she doesn't miss the first flowers, and so she can be assured that everything is fine in her absence. Aww....

(The peonies are a couple of weeks late this year.)

Bloom Where You're Planted

The last two weeks of May are planting season here in southern Ontario. For weeks, I've been coddling and coaxing seedlings under the grow lights on my counter, then gently introducing them to the outdoors a little at a time. I've repotted, babied, and nourished them to be their best selves. Then I carefully planted them, adding fertilizer, arranging insect netting over them (to keep the squirrels out more than the insects, at this time of year), and fixed mesh cages over the zucchini hills. I've built barricades with sticks to try to keep rabbits from jumping into the raised beds. I've sprinkled chili flakes on the soil to deter squirrels. I've fiddled and fiddled with the watering system to get it just right. In short, I've done everything I can to give my seedlings a fighting chance.

And then I abandoned them.

Yep. Plunked them into the ground and left them for two weeks, while we went up to the old church we're renovating to install a kitchen. Insanity? Perhaps. But it was the only window of opportunity my husband had to spend time there.

Except he didn't.

He dropped me and the kitchen units off, with our sons helping to manhandle them into place, and then he and the boys took off back to the city and left me here to organize everything. He was supposed to be back a few days later, but he ended up with some commitments back home that he needed to attend to, so he didn't come back. The plan now is that he'll come Wednesday and take me home Thursday, having spent a total of two nights at the church.

While I've been here, I've kept busy with a few different projects, but it's been an interesting exercise in trying to be "in the moment" and "here," instead of pining to be back home in my garden. I've tried to tell myself that there's nothing I can do for my darlings, so it's best not to think about them. They'll either survive or they won't. The squirrels will dig them up or they won't. The Jerusalem Artichokes will either take over in my absence or they won't. The sprinklers will work or they won't. Since there's absolutely nothing I can do, there's no point fretting about it.

For the most part, I've managed to do that. I've organized the new kitchen, worked on stained glass, weed-whacked the back yard, baked cornbread and cookies, crocheted, washed laundry, read a lot, written a little, applied for a job, gone for long walks, and watched too much YouTube, and I've been pretty good at pushing my tomatoes and cucumbers out of mind. No doubt when I get back to the city, I'll have to do it again in reverse, trying not to think about the church and all that needs doing there. Why is it that, no matter where we are, our minds are always somewhere else? The key to contentment is being where you are and finding joy in the now, but even though we understand that, it's very hard to do.

While at the church, I've also tried to envision what life would be like if I didn't have a garden at all. If I lived in a condo and could only grow a tomato plant in a pot on the balcony. If I had to buy all my produce from the farmers' market instead of growing it myself. Would that be feasible or would it be torture? Would I relish having free time or would I miss working in the heat, fighting off mosquitoes, battling bunnies and weeds, worrying about soil alkalinity or the dominance of Sunchokes? 

Probably the latter. Because even though gardening can be a hard slog, the rewards are innumerable. Not just the produce, but the exercise. The fresh air. The satisfaction of bringing in bowls of the harvest. Filling the fridge with greens and cucumbers. Knowing where lunch came from. The smell of damp soil. The watchfulness of robins. The pleasure of taking part in creation.

But until I can get back to all that, I'm here. Now. With cookies to be baked and books to be read and stained glass to restore. Good luck, my little seedlings. I'll see you soon.

Oh, for the life of a dog

Brio smiling in his sleep.

Sorry it's a bit blurry -- had to snap this with the camera on my laptop.

I'm on YouTube! Gardening in Small Spaces, with The Provident Prepper

 Please check out my recent chat with The Provident Prepper on their YouTube channel. Such nice people! Such a lot of info to try to cram into twenty minutes! Such problems with my camera freezing! But it was lots of fun and I think it turned out well in the end, thanks to their patience and their terrific editor.

Grow Food ANYWHERE: Small-Space Gardening Secrets Revealed!

Mother's Day Blossoms

My husband took me for a drive on Mother's Day to Kariya Park in Mississauga. Lots of people out enjoying the colour. We live on such a beautiful planet!

Hardening Off the Seedlings -- The Hope Continues!

 

Manuscript Submissions and Hope Eternal

My latest manuscript got declined by my current publisher. It appears they no longer publish the kind of stuff I write (and I still have three years left on my contract with them). Anyway, there were about five minutes of angst, and then I sent the manuscript off again to a literary agent. I think the key to not becoming discouraged is to keep something out there all the time, so that when you get a rejection, you can reassure yourself that you're still waiting to hear back on the other thing. It steers you toward hope instead of despair. All is not lost! There may yet be good news!

Although...there's also the little voice niggling in the back of my mind that says, "I've done this successfully 12 times before. How come suddenly no one wants what I'm writing? You'd think I'd have the hang of this by now." It's easy for self doubt to creep in. For anyone out there who's reading this who wants to get a book published, stand firm and have faith in your own ability. You'll find the right home for your stuff eventually. Though I remember one instructor saying that writing a book and then looking for a publisher for it is like cutting a key and then searching for the lock it fits. It's much easier to select the publisher first and then write according to what they want. But then, when the manuscript is rejected, it may mean having to revise a lot in order to submit it to the next publisher. And then the soaring hope and crashing disappointment cycle begins again.

In which case the only possible response to the situation is to go eat cheesecake. 

50,000 Words In

I'm 50,000 words into the next manuscript, this one a mystery/romance. I'd written a rough draft decades ago and shoved it away in a binder on my closet shelf (I have probably twenty of such binders), so I've dug it out and am rewriting it. This one features a woman who runs an antique shop and is hired to inventory a mansion for insurance purposes but gets caught up in a case of fraud and theft.

People have asked me how much of myself is reflected in my books. I think all of them contain a bit of me---you can't really avoid that---to varying degrees. Promise of Spring had a protagonist who could fulfill my personal dream of farming and rehabilitating over-farmed land. Garden Plot arose from a real estate ad I wanted to pursue, and the main character had the irritating habit of always having a song in her head (yes, that's me. It's constant. It's never quiet in here). Beyond the White River arose from a time when I was homesick for the smell of sagebrush and reflects my love of place. The main character in Desperate Measures probably reflects my personality the most of all my writing. And it goes on...

This new manuscript lets me explore what it would be like to know about and deal in antiques, something that interests me but that I've never really pursued. That and running a bookstore were early career aspirations at one point. Then again, there were also periods where I wanted to be a veterinarian, an English teacher, a forest ranger, Grizzly Adams, a speech-language pathologist, a musician, a baker, a public speaker, a statistician, a farmer's market vendor, a textile artist, a university theology professor...

When you can't decide what to be, the only logical solution is to become a writer, and then your characters can do all of those things and follow all of those paths that interest you. So this round, an antiques expert it is!

To Be or Not To Be

My husband and I have developed the habit of walking 6 kms most mornings, shuffling around the mall with a herd of other seniors because the weather's too nasty to walk outdoors. I don't know if it's having any effect on our cardio fitness, but it does give us an hour and a half each day to just yack. And yack we do, on every topic under the sun.

This week, I expressed to him the weird "limbo" I've felt I'm in since losing my job. I haven't found another one, and to be honest, I don't really want another one, but I feel a bit lost and routine-less without one. My former job was never the defining thing about me and I didn't enjoy most of it, but after 40+ years of doing it, it feels strange to suddenly stop. I've always wanted to retire, but being forcibly "retired" without having a say in the matter or control over the timing is discombobulating. 

Now I'm in this gray area---am I retired? Is that it and I'm done with that part of my life? Do I keep looking for something? Do we just figure out the finances and settle for something part-time to top up the coffers as needed? I think because it happened without being my choice, I feel like I can't choose now to say I'm officially retired. It's like standing at the starting line of a race, waiting for the gun to go off, but the gun never comes, and you realize everyone else is already running and you've taken a couple of steps over the line but aren't committed yet... Do I need someone's permission to say I'm retired now? Do I need my own?

Anyway, after quite a lot of this sort of irritating talk, my husband turns to me there in the mall, holds his hands out toward me, and shouts loudly, "Shazam! You're retired!"

It made me laugh and a few people stare, but you know what? It helped! 

I keep listening to Alan Frew's Canada's Song, especially the line that says "Free to be a dreamer, free to be who you are, free to believe in your star, free to go far..." Who I am is a writer and a gardener, and I want to support myself doing those things. I'll find a way to do that, and I'll stop searching for another admin job, because that's not who I am. And somehow now I feel like I've got permission to go after those things, the life I want. Even though, really, that permission resided within me the whole time.

Have a listen:

Free to Be Strong and Free

Another Manuscript and an Update on My Other Writing

I've sent off another manuscript to the publisher. This one is a suspense novel, which I haven't ever attempted before, but it was fun to do. Fingers crossed! It'll be 2-7 months before I hear back. I bent the rules a little and threw in some romance and humour, so we'll see what they make of it. It's sort of along the lines of my previous novel, Garden Plot. I'm leaning toward the title of Weaving Shadows or Forest of Secrets, but the publisher would ultimately decide what to name it.

Meanwhile, I'm also waiting to hear back on another manuscript (women's fiction) called Before You Go that I'm shopping around. That one mostly takes place in Hawaii and features an 87-year-old protagonist.

I've self-published Mom's Handbook of Gardening: Everything I Know About Growing Food, which is now available for purchase. It's 153 pages and is in PDF format only.

And finally, of course, I'm awaiting the publication of Simply Beautiful: Making Your Life Reflect Your Values, which comes out in January 2026.

I'd say it's been a productive few months! 

Sure enough...Murphy's Law

The day after I planted the peas...2 inches of snow, followed by more freezing rain. Should be all right...

I suppose gardening is the most optimistic activity, really, other than planting trees. I heard a woman on TV say that such-and-such an action had an effect for 100 years, and she wanted to continue it so it would go for another 100 years. And my only thought was, "The world won't be here in 100 years." I don't think we as a society have 20, much less 100. Even planting fruit trees is a stretch of the imagination that I can't quite pull off...but I can manage planting annual vegetables. That's about my speed right now. So I'll do that.

Freezing Rain and Tomato Seeds

Sure enough, the rain turned to freezing rain this week, transforming the trees into crystal windchimes. I suppose it's rough on the plants, but I find freezing rain so beautiful, and now that I'm off work, I don't have to commute in it, which makes it even more cozy. I love standing at the window watching the sunlight dance on the ice, a book and a hot cuppa being my only goals for the day. (Meanwhile my son's area has been without power and water for three days. We offered to let him stay at the church, but he's standing his ground. An opportunity to be creative and resourceful!)

While the weather outside is frightful, and today it sounds like the wind is trying to tear off the solar panels, indoors it's spring. I've started my tomato starts---optimistically---as well as a tray of marigolds. I tested some older seeds for germination and they all came up, 100%, which is stunning. And now I find I don't have the heart to kill them, but really, it's TOO early to be starting zucchini. But the plucky thing is three inches tall and scrambling toward the light, and I might have to let it just keep going. I could transplant it into bigger and bigger pots, I suppose...

Every year we grow a few things hydroponically indoors, trying various systems. Right now I have trays of spinach growing in the kitchen in net pots of clay pellets, just sitting in containers of nutrient solution. It works. But hubby wants to try buckets this year, with pumps and spray nozzles and aeroponics, so I've started the tomatoes and cucumbers to transfer into that. Maybe I could sneak the zucchini into that without him noticing...?

Finally, I tiptoed outside between downpours and moved some of the soil from a flowerbed we're removing (to improve drainage away from the house) to the garden. I let the squirrels play with the fresh earth for a few days to get it out of their systems and then planted sugar snap peas. I've sprinkled chili powder over the peas to keep the critters out, but the rain will soon wash that away. What I'd really like is a physical barrier, wire, to give the peas a fighting chance this year. Between the squirrels and the rabbits, I rarely get peas. But ultimately, the peas might play decoy to draw the animals away from the real prize, the green beans.

To Spring or Not to Spring

For a few days, it was t-shirt weather, the sun was bright, the sky was blue and cloudless. Then temperatures plunged again and it snowed. Yesterday was sunny but the wind was from the Arctic. Tiny snow pellets flicked my face as I walked the dog and eventually turned to rain. We will see what today brings.

I watch a lot of YouTube on gardening, and every spring there's a rush of videos telling me what to plant in March. I pull out my seed collection, sort and plot, ponder and plan, and go hopefully to my window. Still snow on the ground. Sigh. Put away the seeds for another few weeks. 

One year I did try the suggestions (for my hardiness zone) to plant peas and radishes, etc. in March. They didn't surface. I replanted in mid-May and then we were off to the races. One year my peas didn't surface until July.

This year I'm going to go back to my tried-and-true method of waiting to plant the cold-hardy crops until the maple trees blossom. The buds are swelling now, but we still have some time to wait. The warmth-loving plants go in when the peonies bloom. We may not be able to guess when the weather will warm, but the plants always know. I've learned to trust them.

Ping-Pong

First he says to beef up our borders,

then he says the border is arbitrary and should be ignored.

He says he wants our fresh water and rare earth minerals,

then he says we have nothing they want and they don't need us at all.

He says the tariffs are on

then on hold

then on

then on hold.

He says we're a nice country and would make a beautiful 51st state,

then he says we're nasty and terrible to deal with.

He boasts about the USMCA being the best agreement,

then breaks or ignores it and forgets he himself signed it.

He talked about relocating all the people in Gaza in order to build a resort,

then denied having ever said it.

He signs an Executive Order

then denies having done so, while looking right at his signature on it.

He backs PP,

then backpedals when PP plunges in the polls.

It's been a case of constant whiplash.

But I guess you can't expect anything else when you play with a yo-yo.

I don't even know what title to give this one

Strikes presumably against Houthi terrorists but directed at Yemen's capital city. Military action to keep an important waterway open and unrestricted. Today the Red Sea. Tomorrow...Panama? Essentially he's declaring war without Congress's say-so. Apparently that's okay if the target is deemed a terrorist...and it's hunky-dory to conduct military action in a foreign country without that country's knowledge, despite Mexico's President's objection...if we can trust headlines to be telling the truth, which is another issue. It's hard enough having such a mess going on in the world without knowing whether we have accurate facts or not. The most important resource we have right now is an independent and unbiased media that reports the unvarnished facts instead of opinion. Except I'm not convinced we have that right now. There's too much emotion and too much at stake.

Meanwhile, there's a map floating around showing my area of Canada being subsumed by the U.S. According to headlines (which I don't trust, see above note), there is a handful of Canadians who are in agreement with becoming the "51st" you-know-what. That sort of talk is seditious. Do they realize they're promoting overthrowing our government? Because that's what it comes down to. This isn't an opinion poll, a video game, a pick-your-own-ending book, or a reality show, folks, it's a real threat of war. If you like the U.S. that much and want to be American, then by all means immigrate down there, and I wish you well. But the rest of us don't want to go, and it's immoral to sell us out.

So, the dilemma: If southern Ontario is one of the targets, do I sell everything and flee northward to join the resistance fighters (and the mosquitoes)? Do I look into sending my children and grandchildren to New Zealand, which has the advantage of being Far Away? Do I stay put and stock up on weapons? I do know one thing, right down to my density-lost bones: rolling over and capitulating is not an option. I don't care how difficult it gets. If it's me and my pitchfork standing alone in the middle of the Bluewater Bridge, so be it. But I know I won't be alone, judging by the fury being expressed by my neighbours, conservatives and liberals alike.

True to Yourself

I have been gravitating lately to YouTube videos and books about finding your purpose in life, your "ikigai," and being true to your values. Partially this is because of my upcoming book, coming out in January 2026, on living simply by bringing your core values to the forefront and eliminating the things that don't correspond to those values. I think it's also partially due, though, to the times we live in. It's never been more important to understand what matters most and to stand up and speak up for those things. 

There are times I feel peaceful and contented with the path my life has taken. There are other times I feel like I've wandered away from who I truly am -- a child of the soil, the person who used to paddle in creeks and scramble through forested hillsides and ride horses bareback and laze in hammocks under the sky. The person who came home from a walk with a field mouse in a Dixie cup, the kid who begged off school to stay home and nurse an ailing rabbit. I look around at my suburban 3-bedroom home with my electric bread machine and my air fryer and wonder how I got here, when clearly I should have ended up in a cabin in the woods like Grizzly Adams. Why do I spend my days on a laptop when what I really want is to be elbows-deep in dirt, encouraging plants to grow? 

How do I seek out that more authentic life, though, when my suburban house is full of 5-7 other people at any given time? I have to find the balance between accommodating their needs and nourishing my own. I do the best I can on the scale I've been given, but there are days---usually after watching too much news---when I want to rethink every decision I've ever made and every path I've ever chosen. There's a sense of time running out, and that Mary Oliver poem keeps running through my head. This really is the one and only wild and precious life I've got, and here I am, mphymphy years old and wondering how much time I realistically have left to realize my purpose. Because I truly feel driven to make my life purpose all about food security and growing things. I picture myself in a small, simple, manageable house with room for my books and my handicrafts and my loom (a proper serviceable one again, not the dinky one I have now), with wood stove and garden and well and woodlot. What more do I need?

Well, the 5-7 other people in the house, for one thing. Hence the life choices. Hence the path I've taken. But there must be a way to meld the vision with the reality. The persistence of that vision tells me it's the right one for me.

Me, growing sorghum in the backyard (you do what you gotta do):

(and one mammoth Mongolian sunflower)

That about sums it up

My husband says if it's really going down and society is collapsing this fast, we are going off our diet.

Getting the words right

I think the word "annex" is very tame, as if one thing is appended quietly to another. A more appropriate word is "conquer" or "seize" or "coerce." We're not "joining." We're being attacked. The media need to use the right word.

Too good not to share

Seen on facebook today.

A Winter Retreat

I'm hunkering down for a writing retreat at the property we own in southwestern Ontario. Three weeks of walking along the lake, cooking simple meals, and daydreaming on paper. Outside there's been a mix of freezing rain and snow, but inside it's all fuzzy blankets and hot soup. Lovely! (Though I don't want to know what the propane bill is going to be.) I have an electric heater that looks like a fake woodstove to warm my legs as I sit at my desk, and the dog is curled at my feet, giving the occasional sigh because he's a bit bored, but we'll play ball in the rec room shortly.

I usually start my day with the same routine: scripture reading, check emails, check Facebook, muse over real estate ads from time to time, and then check headlines on Youtube. Maybe some Avi Kaplan music or a Qi Gong video to start my day before I get to work. The last few days, when I check in on Facebook, I stumble across the same individual, who apparently has a friend in common with me and therefore pops up in my face all the time. This person never has a single positive thing to say, but seems to feel it's his mission to tear down and argue and slap people who are trying to put out cheerful or meaningful content. Truthful and well-intentioned content. I gather he's a pretty grumpy person by nature, but current events have really brought out his bad side. Usually I ignore such people, but the last couple of days I've felt the need to counter his posts, to stand up for truth and goodness, and to, in short, push back. I try to keep it polite and honest, but it's a fine line to walk between standing up for truth and getting defensive. I don't think my replies will change a thing in his thinking, but sometimes you have to defend the light. If I remain silent, I'm complicit in his nastiness. How often did people in 1940 Austria look back and think, "I should have said something."?

It's much easier to retreat into my fuzzy blanket and ignore what's going on. I'd rather do that than get embroiled in conflict (and I do try to dispel conflict and tension when it arises. There's a way to stand up without stomping on other people). My natural tendency is to let people be people and keep to myself. But the time for keeping quiet might be over. If we don't stand up for the light, darkness could overwhelm it.

Sign the Pledge, Stand Up for Canada

MP Charlie Angus is circulating a pledge for Canadians to affirm their support of basic core values. Please read and consider signing.

Pledge for Canada | Engagement pour le Canada

Homemade Bread for a Winter's Day

It's been really cold and windy the last few days, the snow sweeping down the road before the wind like a scene out of the Arctic. The perfect day for a good, rich soup and homemade bread.

In a large bowl, put 2 cups of really hot water, 1 T. yeast (not the instant kind), and 1 T. sugar. Let it foam up for a few minutes. Stir/knead in 2 t. salt and 4 c. white flour. It will be a really wet, sticky dough. Cover the bowl with a damp towel and let sit for an hour. Oil a cookie sheet with olive oil really well and then pour/scrape the dough into the sheet. Oil your hands so the dough doesn't stick to you and spread the dough out on the sheet with your fingertips, kind of like making a pizza, but thicker. Make sure the surface is lightly oiled with the olive oil. Dust with a mix of your favourite herbs. I like rosemary, sage, garlic powder, parsley, and a little salt. Bake at 350 for 30-35 minutes until golden. Remove from the sheet before it cools and finish cooling on a rack, or it may stick to your pan. Cut into wedges.

Here's one with some caramalized onions baked in...

To My Grandchildren and Yours

 

To My Grandchildren and Yours

 

World Central Kitchen, nourishing with more than food,

has created safe spaces for children---

with crayon-coloured picket fences,

perimeter of painted blue sky---

a bright border to block out the ravaged gray beyond it.

If I could wield a big enough brush,

I’d paint you a sky and sun big enough

to block out the whole world.

- K

Today We Have Naming of Parts

I've made the decision that from henceforth, the moon shall be called Fred. Tahiti will be renamed Sandy. The Arctic will be called McGillicuddy. And Washington D.C. will be called Pennyforyourthoughts. Please see to it that you all adjust your maps and atlases accordingly.

Thank you to Henry Reed for the title.

Reminder about church renovations blog

I have found that a lot of people who read this blog aren't aware of my other blog about the renovations we're doing to an old church in southwestern Ontario. In case you're interested in following along on that journey, you can find it here:

In general, I don't post the same things on both blogs, but today is an exception, as we go into a new year.

https://buyingachurch.blogspot.com/

Snow! And Courage in the Face of Challenges. And How Not to Let Failure Stop You.

Yesterday was relatively mild and clear, so the hubby and I took a walk around Rattray Marsh for an hour, breathing in the chilly air and gazing "out to sea" over Lake Ontario and greeting everyone's dogs as they passed. I'm glad we got that last walk in, because this morning it's snowing horizontally, big fluffy flakes, with no sign of letting up. The delicious feeling of knowing you have nowhere you have to go and nothing you have to do. I'll likely spend today writing and playing mah jhong.

This morning I watched two YouTube videos made by courageous women that I think were a good, strong way to start off the new year, and I thought I'd share them here. My newly-met friend Erin Pocock talks about trying new, hard things and letting failure strengthen you. Beautiful Unschool Life And PoliticsGirl talks about keeping hold of who you are and what you believe in when facing challenges. PoliticsGirl

I think we'll need both of these concepts in 2025. It's going to be a hard year for a lot of people, we're going to be asked to do hard things we may not know how to do yet, and we'll need to cling to our values and our supportive community to get through it. We'll also need to believe in ourselves and our ability to do impossible things.