My Next Book is Out!

The next Detective Inspector Manookian mystery is out! Tiny Little Murder is the sequel to Monk With the Steel-Toed Boots and is now available as a paperback or an ebook.

When the founder of a Tiny House intentional community is murdered, DI Manookian is on the case. Who wanted the kindly, elderly man to die? As if interviewing seventy potential suspects isn't enough, Manookian must deal with an exasperating partner in training, family troubles, the increasingly intriguing owner of the In Your Face Bakery, her disconcertingly clever ten-year-old daughter, and his own conviction that it's time for a career change. But how to make the leap to a life entirely different from the one he planned?

Order your copy today! Many thanks!

(Cover photo thanks to Erin Pocock)

 Shop the Independent Bookstore | Lulu

Get Lost

I was the weird child who actually loved school most of the time. I loved the smell of new markers, chalk, fresh clean notebooks waiting to be written in. Binders with dividers made my heart happy. The best day was when we got to go to the library and sit on the carpet while Mrs. Condie read to us. Or those glorious and rare occasions when we got to lie on mats in the lunchroom and eat licorice while having a read-a-thon.

I loved delving into both new subjects and familiar ones. I'd spend summers memorizing Shakespeare or practising Italian conjugations just for fun. My favourite spot was sitting cross-legged on my bedroom floor with a book or my typewriter. I remember the day I got the shiny, satisfyingly-pink card that admitted me to the grown-up section of the public library. I lived for the arrival of the summer Bookmobile, where I could check out Hardy Boys mysteries (I still remember the smell in the back of that van). I thought driving a Bookmbile would be the best job ever (I still do). 

In high school, I lost patience with the pace of things and started taking university courses on the side, eventually leaving after 11th Grade to attend uni fulltime. I remember looking through the catalogue of possible courses, marvelling at the range of offerings and thinking how lucky I was to get to choose whatever I wanted to study. I took classes in seven languages my first semester. I found physics fascinating. I walked through the art gallery and attended plays and took the guided tour of trees on campus. I fondled textbooks in the bookstore between classes. I sat in on courses I wasn't even enrolled in, just for the joy of soaking up information.

After two aborted attempts to complete a Masters Degree while working fulltime and raising three kids, I dropped out of formal school and just audited the occasional course. I took summer Parks & Rec courses with my kids. I've signed up for a Welsh Ladies' Chorus. I continue to read constantly, both fiction and non-fiction, and I prowl the neighbourhood Little Free Libraries daily to see what's on offer.

And I spend entirely too much time on YouTube, learning everything from Irish crochet to how to build my own solar collector from pop cans. But there's a bit of a dark side to YouTube. Aside from the trolls and nasty comments you often encounter there, the lure and attraction of YouTube itself can be detrimental. I get sucked into the rabbit hole of the day (How to use a portable power station to run your freezer, How to properly plant grape vines, American Sign Language instruction) and forget to clean house, cook, do laundry, write, garden, or any number of other things I intended to do that day. For someone who loves learning, YouTube can be a boon or a complete timekiller. I start off watching a gardening video and somehow end up watching opera-singing parrots or political podcasts or Breton country dances, and then look up to see my whole morning has gone and I've accomplished nothing.

At some point, one must set down the screen and go out into the world and DO the things learned. It doesn't feed me when I watch others eat lovely food online. I might know everything in the universe about growing perfect tomatoes, but if I don't actually put a shovel into the ground, none of that knowledge does a thing for me. Watching someone in the Philippines patch his roof won't stop the leak in mine.

On the other hand, I don't believe knowledge is ever wasted. All of it expands your mind and makes the world---and your brain---a more interesting place to be. But with so much to choose from, so much on offer, it's important to be selective. Time is limited, the brain-cell capacity is also limited, and not all knowledge is equally valuable to my personal situation. 

I'm still trying to find the balance between passion and practicality. Diving into education vs Doing what needs to be done. But learning gives joy, and that's no small thing these days. There's so much to discover and absorb! So go get lost down that rabbit hole now and then. But if you get lost for too long, be prepared to find the world may have moved on when you resurface.

The Hazy Lazy Days of Summer

My "get up and go" appears to have gotten up and left. I have a ton of things to do -- projects in the yard, weeding, painting, building, organizing -- but it's 37 celsius out, and suddenly it seems most pressing to lie on the couch or lounge by the pool and read novels. Two of the grandkids are here for the summer, and all I want to do is play board games and kick the soccer ball around and take walks to Baskin Robbins. I have zero interest in cooking or cleaning. I'm buying store-bought cookies instead of baking them as per usual. I've even gone to Nations to eat at their salad bar rather than assembling a salad myself. Anyone who knows me knows that's really weird. 

Maybe when the temperature cools and autumn draws closer, my pep will return. For now, I'm not going to push myself. There are some things more important than productivity.

A New Season -- Reevaluating My Purpose

I believe that our life purpose or the role we play changes according to the season of life we're in. When I was younger, my purpose was to learn and develop my talents and get an education. Then I entered a season where my main role was to raise my children and establish my family. I've had periods of my life that were all about prepping for the future, or focusing on my writing, or whatever.

But now I'm in the prime of my life (59 is a prime number, you see), and my life path is changing. I lost my job two years ago. Lately I've been pondering what I've accomplished in that two years and wondering where the time has gone. What do I have to show for it? I mean, I've accomplished a lot and I've been very busy. But have I grown or changed or developed in that time? And now, as my children are leaving the nest and my grandchildren are getting older, what do I want to do with this next phase of my life? How do I want to progress? What remains to be done that I wanted to do? How can I be of most use? What is my life asking of me right now? What would make me a better person?

I'm not sure of all the answers to those questions yet, but I keep coming back in my mind to the phrase: "A soft place to land." I think a lot of people need comfort and safety. Can I provide that in some way, whether through my gardening or my writing? In what ways can I be there to love and comfort my children and grandchildren? What service can I render? Do I have a larger role than just "being there" for them? All good stuff to think about.

There are times I get caught up in the politics going on in the world, and then times I think "The world's going to go up in flames anyway, regardless of what humans do" or "Why prepare for long-term retirement? The earth won't be habitable by the time I'm 70." But then I push all that noise aside and just think, "A soft place to land." Whatever the future holds, I know it's going to difficult. There may be war, or famine, or climate catastrophe... Whatever comes, there will always be a need for compassion and solace. How can I best equip myself to provide that, so I can ease the experience for my family and others?

People don't often leave comments on this blog, but I'd really appreciate some comments on this post.  What do you think lies ahead, and how are you preparing for it? Do you see your purpose changing as you grow older? In what role do you want to serve?

Garlic Harvest

One of my favourite times of the year -- harvesting, curing, and cleaning the garlic. It smells so good around here right now! I grow about 60 heads every year, perpetuating the German/Music garlic I got years ago from Bruce, a fellow piper who is no longer with us. It's nice to know his crop continues.

It's always a guess how much to hold out for planting and how much to save for eating. Last year I also sold some, but I think this year I'm keeping any extra so I can plant even more this fall. 

Last year I also tried the experiment of planting bilbuls, which grew nicely this summer. I'll leave them in the ground for another year, to see what turns out next year.

Every summer, I also find volunteer garlic growing all over the garden, thanks to the squirrels. It usually turns out small, and I think this year I'll just let it go to seed and get some more bilbuls out of them.

Don't Go Quietly into the Night

We are being bombarded with the message that there's no point in protesting, things are inevitable, and we should just accept the future others have laid out for us. This message comes from those in politics, those wanting to erect data centres, those with more money than the GDP of a small country, those in the oil and gas industry, those who want mining access to protected lands, and a host of others. Their intent is clear: if we think resistance is futile, we'll bend and cower, or at least give in and not cause a fuss. There are those who don't seem to care who and what they harm, so long as they get what they want. They have short-sighted vision and put money or personal power above all other considerations. It doesn't occur to them that some things are more valuable than wealth.

They only get what they want if we hand it to them. We don't have to. We created the billionaires, the oil markets, the demand for data. We can choose differently.

Battening Down the Hatches Under a Blue Sky

There's been a welcome break in the heat, and I've been venturing out to catch up on things in the yard. Hedge trimmed, lawn mowed, garden weeded, tomatoes and roses pruned, gravel garden zapped with weed-killer (yeah, I know, but I've been weeding by hand for years and it's getting away from me). I've also found time to take long walks, picnic outdoors, and kick the soccer ball around at the park with my grandson, but I haven't gotten back to swimming yet. The bird-feeder is full, the air conditioner is cleaned out, and we're finally getting around to fixing up the trenched side yard to deal with rain overflow.

It feels lovely to be under a clear blue sky again, after the smoke and haze from the wildfires. It's nice stepping outdoors without immediately feeling like I've been thrown into a furnace. It also feels good to get away from the couch or desk and use some muscles again. I never feel better than when I'm outside in a fresh breeze, with plants and trees around me.

My husband and I have decided every decision we make and every reno project we undertake needs to be with weather and climate in mind going forward. The heat will continue to intensify in summer, the rainfall will continue to be torrential, the winds are growing stronger, and the snowfall will likely continue to break records in winter. If I can't sell everything and build an underground house (my first choice), I need to find ways to climate-adapt this house and the church we're renovating. We have to come up with ways to shield the sides of the house from the baking sun, first off. We may not come up with the most aesthetically pleasing solution, but practicality needs to win. I also need to consider how best to continue to garden and grow food, because outdoor gardening is going to become impossible here, and it will cost a fortune to run a climate-controlled greenhouse. Maybe a walipini? Could I even get permission from the city to do that? Do I turn my garage into a hydroponic shed? Time will tell...

There's a distinct feeling of battening down the hatches and preparing for something intense. A sense of urgency to act while we still can, and while we can still get materials. To put back-up systems in place. To get creative with our limited budget. My husband's on board as never before, and now's the time to strike while the iron's hot...and getting hotter.

Dense Canadian Forest

About 35 years ago, my husband and I invested in a treatment centre for abused teens. It was located on 50 acres of scrub pine forest an hour or so west of Toronto. When we were looking into the opportunity, hubby and I tried to trek through the forest to explore the property. We thought it would be a good idea to at least walk the perimeter and see what we were purchasing. We made it about thirty feet.

You see, it wasn't just densely planted. Fallen trees, thick underbrush, and large areas of knee-deep swamp prevented us from making any progress. It was also disorienting, because once in amongst the trees, we couldn't see the sun, and we worried about walking in circles. Not to mention being eaten alive by mosquitoes. We gave up and turned back, and in the months we lived there, we never did manage to go any deeper into the forest than that. 

One day some men with rifles knocked on the door of our log cabin and told us to keep the kids inside, because they were going to hunt wolves on our property. Yes, wolves.

This was only 50 acres of new-growth forest, not old, within a short drive of Canada's biggest city. Canada has about 912,000,000 acres of forest (1,389,968 square miles). Most of it is just as impenetrable or more so, inaccessible by any roads. Stats Canada says 66% of Canadians live within 62 miles of the U.S. border on the south. There's a reason for that, and it's not just the black flies. 

My son used to live at the literal end of the road in northern Manitoba. Any intrepid people who live further north have to fly in, and the season and weather can isolate them completely for periods of time. Vast tracts of Canada are completely uninhabited, and in fact, there are parts of the country that haven't even been mapped yet. We can get an idea of what's there from satellite imagery, but no one has set foot there.

Lightning strikes can smoulder and fires can go underground and not show up until days or weeks later.

Just pointing out the scope of the fire-fighting problem.

Also pointing out how difficult a place this would be to invade or occupy. 

Heat Wave!

Today feels like 115 F. The silicone caulking around our home's windows is bubbling. Our air conditioner was working too hard and froze the coils, so a man is here now trying to get it working again. Just walking out to the back gate to let him in made my skin feel burnt. My husband cancelled band practice, because trying to play the bagpipes in this heat would be dangerous.

Tomorrow I head to Quebec, where apparently they're experiencing heavy rain and possible tornados. 

And this is really just the start of summer.

I sincerely want to sell everything I have and build a home into the side of a hill further north. Being mostly underground would mitigate the hot/cold temperature fluctuation, and it would protect us better from tornados. I'd like to be off the grid, too, or at least have better back-up when the power goes out. I think we're getting to the point where growing a garden outdoors won't be feasible anymore. It will need to be done in a climate-controlled building.

Rethinking My Pace and Space

I've been trying to pace myself a bit better this summer, dividing large chores into smaller ones and allowing myself to take a few days to do something that I used to push myself to do in one day. The heat is extreme in the late afternoon (the glue in our front door actually melted, and one of the highways buckled), so I've given myself permission to siesta. To swim. To go sit in the massage chairs at the gym. To eat salad and sandwiches instead of cooking, so I don't heat up the kitchen with the oven. I even bought yogurt this week instead of making it as I've done for years, because the idea of warming up the kitchen with the crockpot was off-putting.

As a result, I've given myself more writing time, which has been nice. But my husband and I have also been visiting more with neighbours, just sitting in the shade in the backyard and chatting. It's the first time we've really let ourselves take the time to do that, which is a shame. They're wonderful people, and we've been missing out.

I'm letting this heat-driven attitude spill over into other aspects of my life, too. Maybe things don't need 100% of my effort. Maybe it's okay to drop some activities and put less-important things aside. Maybe it's okay to just sit sometimes. I've come to this realization now and then throughout my life, but this heat is just reinforcing it now. The heat just sucks away all motivation and energy. 

It's also carried over into my stuff. We had to move the furniture to install new windows and doors this week, trying to weather-proof the house a bit better, and right now the rooms are bright and light and empty. And I like it. Maybe we won't move the furniture back in. Maybe the time has come to put it all on the curb and create more room to breathe. Less to clean. Room to stretch. I could see throwing out the couch and sitting on pillows on the floor. Using the coffee table as the dining table and getting rid of the massive square table (the whole family is only here a few times a year anyway -- we could improvise with folding tables for those times). Son #2 is heading to Korea for a year, and Son #1 will be in school downtown starting in the fall. We will have fewer people in the house. We're minus my beloved dog now, too. Maybe it's okay to live in an entirely empty house...

Except for the books, of course. There will always be books. Oh, and yarn and fabric. And, um, the guitar and banjo and bagpipes are non-negotiable. And my recipe boxes (yes, plural). And...

Okay so maybe not entirely empty. But more spacious. More bright. More open to possibility. I could use this heat wave as an opportunity to re-evaluate life more generally and make bigger changes.

A while ago, I wrote a book that talked about taking a closer look at our lived space and pace. Paring down to the essentials. Maybe now is the right time to dig that out and reread it and remember.

A Little Burst of Patriotism

I came across these words on Facebook this morning, and I believe they can apply to Canada as well as the U.S.

"Frederick Douglass spent his life insisting that loving America meant telling the truth about its past. He believed our founding principles were strong enough to withstand honesty. In fact, he believed they demanded it.

"That is real patriotism. Not pretending our country has never failed, nor erasing people from our history. And certainly not threatening exile against those who disagree. Patriotism is loving this country enough to insist it become what it has always promised to be." - Heather Delaney Reese

I came to Canada almost 37 years ago, having married a Canadian. I love my adopted home. It feels optimistic and friendly here, where you can rely on neighbours to dig you out in a snowstorm. The expansive beauty of nature is celebrated. We don't take ourselves or our politicians too seriously. My local members of parliament are accessible. I have the resources and safety nets I need to live my life in relative convenience and security. I fully acknowledge I live a privileged life I haven't earned and don't deserve, and I am still grateful for it.

I know we're not perfect. At times we're misguided or messy. We argue amongst ourselves, and it isn't comfortable to own the darker side of our history. But in general, I think we're trying to look it in the eye and fix what we can. We're grounded on a bedrock of moral principles we're (mostly) trying to safeguard. We believe in compassion and equality, inclusion and kindness. I'm recommitting to those principles myself in my own conduct. It's easy to sail along my own path and forget that not everyone around me has what they need, and I shouldn't be comfortable while they aren't.

To me, patriotism isn't flag-waving or grand-standing. It's not marching bands and military parades. It's picking up litter. Letting my neighbour merge into my lane. Voting. Reaching out to try to make life a little better for those around me.

A Sort of Hilarious Goof -- or -- The Best of Intentions Backfires

On Tuesday, my husband cleaned out the garage, and we put two unwanted doors out on the boulevard to see if anyone else could use them. We had purchased them years ago, but they ended up being the wrong size for what we had in mind, and we haven't found another place for them. We can't fit them in the car to go donate them anywhere, but often when we set items on the curb, people snatch them up, and it feels good knowing they found a new home.

The doors lay on the grass by the curb for two days. It was extremely hot and sunny, but I didn't think anything of it. Forgetting, of course, that the panels are made of glass. Remember as a kid starting fires or burning designs into wood with a magnifying glass? Well, when we finally brought the unclaimed doors back into the garage last night, I realized we had toasted the grass.

Son #3 suggested we repeat the process all over the lawn and turn it into an art installation.

The Story of Ned the Head

When I was 19, I did a summer WLPAN course in Wales (Welsh immersion). It was held in Lampeter at St. David's University, and I was placed in the intermediate group because I'd had a few years of Welsh already. We had students from everywhere, including Japan and New Zealand. Now and then they loaded us on buses and took us on field trips, including Ystrad y Fflur (Strataflorida) to see the grave of Dafydd ap Gwilym and the Eisteddfod in Abergwaun.

One of our trips was to the Dolaucothi Roman gold mine (dating from the late 3rd century, briefly revived in the 1800s, and closed by 1938). I remember there was a large sign in Welsh at the front, and one of the workers seemed skeptical of all these "foreign" kids being able to learn Welsh. I don't know why, but he focused on me (blonde braids, braces, looking terribly American), and he challenged me---in front of the whole group---to read the sign aloud. All eyes were on me. I stuck my chin in the air and confidently read the sign to the best of my ability, and the man backed off, looking a bit humbled. The other students (many of whom were much more fluent than I) gathered and patted me on the shoulders and said I'd done well. But you see, there's a trick to it -- Welsh is a very phonetic language. If you know the sounds the letters make, you can read anything aloud and sound fluent. Meanwhile, I was silently thanking my lucky stars that the man hadn't asked me to actually translate the sign, because I hadn't understood a single word of it!

The tour guide led us through dimly-lit tunnels (I remember one area was called "Fat Man's Misery"). At one point, he told us the story of Ned. My memory may be faulty, because this was forty years ago, but I believe the story went like this: Ned was a miner who broke the cardinal rule of not working in pairs. He sat and ate his lunch one day but somehow his lamp or candle went out. He tried to fumble his way along the passage in the dark and must have fallen down a shaft and thence to the rock crusher, because all they found of him was his boots (the gorier version of the story is that his boots still contained his feet). The ghost of Ned still wanders the mine shafts, looking for his lamp.

Years later, my husband and kids gave me a ceramic head to put in my garden. Of course there was only one name to give a disembodied body part... Ned the Head. He sits on a flower pot set over the electrical outlet for my fountain, to protect it from rain. He needs a coat of paint now, but he reminds me of Wales and my tiny moment of triumph over the grumpy man at the mine.

Lavender Harvest!

Today I started cutting the lavender in the backyard. I have five or six "spots" where lavender has either been panted or has spread itself, and it's a bumper crop this year. I cut it back to the tops of the leaves, to keep it from getting too leggy, when the buds are just opening, and I spread it on cookie sheets all over the dining room table to dry.

Once dry, the flowers are crumbled by hand off the stems and put in mason jars for use in baking or drawer sachets. Did you know that if your lavender sachet has stopped smelling, all you have to do is crush it around a little with your fingers, and the scent will be revived? They can last for years, if kept dry.

I like to add crushed flowers to sugar cookies, a very Victorian kind of flavour, but my husband thinks they taste like soap. That's fine -- all the more for me!

Be sure to leave a lot of the flowers for the bees. I've seen very few bees this year, mostly bumblebees, but hopefully as the lavender blooms, it will attract more to the garden. I planted three whole beds of various flowers, but very little germinated (weird cold spring followed by blistering heat followed by torrential rain followed by cool temps again), and so far all I've gotten is one very tiny pink zinnia. A for effort, little flower.

In the Right Place at the Right Time

Yesterday I got ready for church and had about fifteen minutes before I needed to leave, so I went out and puttered in my garden (yes, in my nice dress). And came inside. And saw the tiny paintbrush I use for assisting with squash pollination. And decided I had just enough time to dash out and pollinate my spaghetti squash. So I slipped on my clogs and went out for just a minute.

And heard the quiet voice of my elderly neighbour calling for help. She didn't sound loud or distressed, but I heard her saying, "Help! I can't get up!" I called over the fence to ask if she was okay, and she called back, "No." I told her to hang on, I was coming.

Ran around the corner to her house (our backyard adjoin) and let myself through her gate, and found her. She'd been sitting on a white plastic chair to do some weeding, and the leg had broken and tipped her into the hedge, and she couldn't get her feet under her to right herself. I got her into a hug and managed to lift her up onto her feet and help her to her back door. She was fine, and I gave her another hug to wish her good morning, chatted about gardening for a moment (her tomatoes are producing already, and mine are just starting to flower), and then ran back home to leave for church. 

Feeling grateful that I followed that urge to go back to the garden, because there's no way I would have heard her from indoors. Grateful she was found right away and not left in the hot sun. Grateful I've been going to the gym and could lift her. Grateful I could be of some small service to someone else.

Hoping the pollination with the paintbrush worked. My spaghetti squash and cucumbers are blooming just fine, but my Delicata squash and zucchini haven't produced a single flower yet.

Update on the Vegetable Garden and My Personal Philosophy Around Gardening

It occurs to me that I usually just blog about the beginning of the gardening season, when I'm planning what to plant, and the end of the season, when I'm bottling tomatoes and drowning in green beans. But there's a very long middle part that deserves some attention too.

I've heard people talk about fertilizing and fussing during the summer, but I tend to take a hands-off simplified approach. If something needs pampering, I don't want it in my garden. If you give your plants treats at the beginning, they're going to keep expecting it, and there's simply no time or room for divas in my yard. They must pull their own weight or perish. I plunk the seedlings in, stab in a tomato cage where they're needed, set up the sprinkler, and wish them all luck. The only special attention anything gets is when the tomatoes and cucumbers start to blossom and I dose them with calcium. If there's a lack of bees, I might hand pollinate things with a tiny paintbrush. Now and then I yank out the worst of the weeds and drop them on the soil to return their nutrients to the earth. And that's it. This year I did add some mulch to several of the beds, to try to retain water, because they're predicting a harsh, hot summer. But so far this year, it's unseasonably cool and rainy and it hasn't been much of an issue.

A vegetable garden can consume all your time if you let it, and weeding is never done. There are strawberries and beans to pick every day all summer, and a glut at harvest time at the end. But I've been consciously trying to set aside time to go on long walks, to swim, to go to the gym, to read and write. To allow myself to slow down and just sit sometimes. The garden, like a pestering puppy, must learn boundaries. It must develop patience and wait its turn. As must we all.

The New Oven has Arrived

Had to rearrange furniture to get the thing through the front door, but the new range is here. As they were hauling the old one out, I reached out and patted it and murmured, "Thank you for 26 years of good service." The delivery guy paused and asked quietly, "Do you want a moment?" 

"No, thank you, I've said my goodbyes."

So now I'm reading the manual for the new range, and it provides helpful tips such as not letting your toddler open the door and crawl in. It also says some models have a Jewish Sabbath mode, so you can preprogram it to function at certain times without having to press a button.

The manual also says the warranty doesn't cover fire, flood, or acts of God. Presuming God might strike the oven dead if you press its buttons on the Sabbath. 

Working on the Next Manuscript

I had all sorts of plans to work in the yard today, but it's raining steadily, so I'm pivoting and having a writing day. I'm working on a sequel to Monk With the Steel-Toed Boots. They're both murder mysteries, the first being set in a Buddhist meditation retreat in the Ontario woods, modelled after the Huong Hai Zen Forest, where I attended a 3-day retreat (the last day done in complete silence. I highly recommend it to anyone!). That book can be found here:

Monk with the Steel-Toed Boots

I enjoyed working with the main character, Gor Manookian, an Armenian-Canadian Detective Inspector, so I'm bringing him back in the sequel, Tiny Little Murder. This one is set in a Tiny House community, and I'm drawing on a friend's experience, since I don't have any direct experience living in a Tiny House. She built her own little house on wheels and has lived in it on a farm with her two kids for 3-4 years, so I turn to her when I have questions. There is something very satisfying about curling up with the laptop (by the fireplace in winter or on the backyard picnic table in summer) and documenting what my imagination comes up with. With coconut cookies on hand, of course.

Once I wrote the same book three times, keeping the same characters but swapping around who was the murderer and who was the victim, with, of course, different motives. It was a great exercise, and I kept the last version as it turned out best. I have heard other writers describe how they outline and plot beforehand, and I should probably try it sometime, but usually I just get a "movie" in my head and just take dictation. I don't know in advance how it will end any more than the reader does! I'll research stuff as it arises during the process, but there isn't much work before the actual writing begins.

Because my writing is indeed kind of like watching a movie in my head, there does tend to be a lot of dialogue. I think sometimes my plots are moved forward too much by dialogue. I am practising advancing the plot through action as much as talk. We'll see how Tiny Little Murder turns out.

I'm Officially a Dinosaur

Our oven/stove has been having trouble after trouble lately (fair enough, it's about 25 years old), so today we decided to bite the bullet and go buy a new one. We went to three different places looking for an electric range. The thing is, we didn't want the glass-top flat-top kind, because we like to use heavy cast iron pots and skillets, and those will scratch up the glass. Also, I do a lot of bottling, which involves boiling a large pot for several hours at a time, and the glass ones just won't hold up to that kind of use.

However, we discovered that each place we visited only had one coil-burner oven on display. Fine, we'll take that one---except every element now has a sensor on it that will turn off the heat if the burner reaches boiling temperature. 

Wait, let me get this straight. You can't boil anything on the stove? No, it's a safety feature, in case Granny is forgetful, so it turns it off for you when it reaches a high heat. So how do you boil an egg or a pot of soup or make mashed potatoes? You don't. No one cooks anymore. Or else you'll have to replace the sensor burners with regular burners. Except those only come in one size, apparently, which don't fit GE ranges (which of course is the only one we could buy). 

Someone (probably a man, let me bet) has designed a range that can't cook. I suppose any self-respecting Italian nonna uses a gas stove, but we are trying to get off of fossil fuels, and it would cost a lot to have natural gas installed into our kitchen anyway. So it has to be electric. So the new range arrives on Tuesday, and I don't know if I can boil anything on it. And I don't know whether my special, expensive canning coil burner will fit it at all. (Canning is so intense it melts regular burners. Canning burners sit higher so air can get under them.)

We also tried to buy muriatic acid for the pool today and were told that they no longer carry it because Health & Safety told them it's too dangerous. So demented Granny can't cook an egg and we can't treat the pool because someone is looking out for our safety. Thanks a lot.

Garden Centre Field Trip

Hubby and I had a spare hour this morning and decided to pay a visit to a favourite garden centre -- Bulow Garden Centre and Landscaping at 2667 Lakeshore Rd W, which is just east of Winston Churchill in Mississauga. This place has been in business for years and has a lot of unusual things I haven't seen for sale anywhere else. On previous trips, we've purchased a bench, a gong, and a garden sculpture from them. I didn't think to take a camera, and we had to dash between rain showers, but it was such a fun, interesting, and uplifting jaunt.

The owner came out to greet us and show us the water plants and bamboo we asked about. A pleasant chat, and then we were free to wander at will through swaths of antique-looking roses, quirky sculptures, lacy Japanese maples, unusual clay pots, banks of colourful angelonia, and lovely older trees. A dog snored gently in a big bed under a circular trellis. There were flowers I've never heard of, a range of succulents to choose from, and a peaceful, shady pergola with such a lush array of bushes and trees that I wanted to sit down on a bench and never leave. This woman is living the life I want to live.

Favourite things seen today: a bronze-coloured Buddha statue unlike any other I've seen, a pale peach climbing rose that made me want to go buy an English cottage just so I could grow it up around the door, a Gothic-shaped metal archway that would look great at the church, and a fantastic pink flowering dogwood that tempted me to rip out my vegetable garden to make room for it. It would be such an amazing addition to my Japanese garden.

Then the rain started pelting down and we ran for the car without buying anything. But it remains my favourite garden centre I've ever been to, and I highly recommend it if you're looking for something unique for your yard. I came away feeling refreshed, as if I'd taken a deep nourishing nap. There's nothing better than getting outdoors, surrounded by beauty, and meeting a person who has a passion for her business. 

The Best Kind of Day

Slept in until 6:00 yesterday, which is practically unheard of

Did my scripture reading and daily catch-up-on-messages

Updated my financial books

Walked down to the gym for a quick workout and a delicious session in the massage chair

Made banana muffins

Had breakfast

Worked in the garden and pruned bushes

Went grocery shopping for just a few items

Had lunch

Wrote for 3-4 hours

Mowed the lawn

Made supper

Worked on a puzzle

Met son's new friend and had Korean barbecue, then did puzzles and yacked all together

No one ate the supper I made, so it's ready for tomorrow instead -- no cooking on Tuesday!

Went to bed with a novel

Pretty much a perfect day.

Georgetown Highland Games

We're into piping competition season once again, preparing to make the rounds of Highland Games throughout Ontario. I made the rounds myself for 30+ years, hauling kids and dogs and cases and water jugs and tents and... well, let's just say it's a major undertaking. And the thrill of it is standing in front of a judge, trying to remember what tune you're supposed to be playing and worrying that the beating sun will shut off your drones or make the sticky tape on your chanter slide around.

I gave up piping six or seven years ago, partly due to health reasons and partly because I'd finally gotten fed up with dealing with 8 yards of wool in a port-o-potty. Now when I go to the games, I can park myself in the shade under a tree and only venture out when I want to hear a particular person or band play, or to browse through the vendors' booths.

I do have to say, the vendors' booths can be quite fun. People sell everything from certificates printed with clan heraldry, handcrafted knives, intricate Celtic-themed pottery, British candy and baked goods, t-shirts, and...well...yesterday someone had a booth displaying rain gutter systems. There are also Clan booths set up to teach about their heritage, and there was a weaving and spinning demonstration. There are also piping and drumming supply houses, where you can grab last-minute bits of uniform you may have forgotten, explore the latest water traps for your pipes, or get new reeds. 

I spent a lot of the day hiding from the heat, even sitting and reading a Pilcher novel while eating Edinburgh Rock (for the uninitiated, it's a candy that most resembles sidewalk chalk). But I did venture out to watch friends and hubby compete and to buy peameal bacon on a bun. The highlight of the day, though, had to be the sheep dog show. The same woman is there every year, showcasing her amazing and highly-trained border collies driving a small group of sheep around the field. She explains what her commands and whistles mean, and it's always a fun event. Yesterday, though, it became quite exciting, as the sheep panicked and leaped over the fence like deer and bounded off into the street outside the venue. But the woman sent her most experienced dog after them, and within a few breathless minutes, the sheep were brought back to the field and duly put in their pen.

It's been fun to watch my husband's students mature and develop in their musical and leadership skills over the years. Two have gone on to become pipe majors themselves. I've seen their confidence grow. One of them always greets everyone with a huge hug, as if he's just so amazed to discover you're still alive and he couldn't be happier to see you. Even though I'm kind of an adjunct and wasn't directly involved in his instruction, my husband was, and this student always bounds over like a joyful puppy to greet me when he sees me. At one point, his father leaned over to me and whispered, "He's everyone's son." And you know what? He feels like mine sometimes. Just because I've seen him grow up in the piping world over the past 15 or so years, and know that my husband was a big part of his journey.

World Food Program

While I'm still figuring out how to add a donation button to my blog page, things are dire in Somalia, and the UN World Food Program can use some urgent help. Please consider contributing if you're able. Thank you!

Donation page:

UN World Food Programme (WFP) | Donate now

Hearing Aid Miracle

My husband got hearing aids not long ago. It took a while to learn how to drive them, but they've made a huge difference in both our lives.

Yesterday, he went out to cut some volunteer maple trees out of our privet hedge, and I went out to assist. As often happens when my husband gets stuck into something, it turned into a five-hour project. It was extremely hot, I could feel the sun baking my skin, and the work involved a lot of scratches and punctures as we tried to remove an astonishing amount of weed trees and dead wood out of this massive hedge. Also a couple of spider bites. A lot of the job involved lying on my back, shoulder deep, trying to reach shoots right at the back. My husband got out a stool so he could attack from the top, reaching down into the hedge with an assortment of clippers and secaturs and pruning snips.

Anyway, we finally finished, cleaned up, set the bins at the side of the house, and went inside two hours past lunchtime, exhausted. All I could think about was jumping into the cold pool and having something to eat. And then my husband realized, to his horror, that one of his hearing aids was missing.

A) These things are not cheap. B) He had a bagpipe competition the next morning (this morning, as I write this), which required he be able to hear. C) He had no idea when he lost it, so it could be anywhere in the house or yard or in one of the many tall bins crammed with yard waste.

We called the cavalry (sons) out of the basement, went back out into the furnace, and started crawling and poking gingerly around the yard, hoping not to step on the hearing aid, wondering if we had any hope, and then my husband remembered his phone had an app to help locate lost hearing aids. It proved to be a difficult thing to use, giving very vague readouts. It was a bit like playing that game we played as children, where one kid tries to find a hidden object while his friends shout "You're getting colder!" "You're getting warmer!" It would have been more helpful if the app worked like Marco Polo, with the hearing aid giving feedback, but no. It gave us a general location, though, at least enough to let us know we didn't have to dig through all the bins.

An hour later, after raking under the hedge, gingerly sifting through everything, standing on the stool and peering down into the foliage, Son #3 had the idea of sticking his head under the hedge and looking up instead of in or down. And there it was! This tiny little comma-shaped electronic device, spluttering and annoyed, hanging from a twig deep inside the hedge.

You have to understand, my yard is big, the hedge is a monster, and my husband had been all over it for five hours. That thing could have been anywhere. It was literally like looking for the proverbial needle in the haystack. And we found it. We're bitten and bleeding and burnt red, our backs may never be the same, I ripped my best pants, but we found it. I hugged my son and told him he was a hero.

Prayer works, folks.

Where to Find My Books

I've consolidated all of my new releases in one "bookstore" page on Lulu.com. Here you can find my latest novels (more on the way!), my gardening e-book, and the workbook that accompanies the workshops I offer on simple living. Please give it a look, and if you've enjoyed any of my books, please consider leaving a review on Goodreads. Thanks!

Kristen's Bookstore on Lulu

For my older novels:

Deseret Book offers the audio or ebooks. In the near future, Desperate Measures, The Governess, and The Song of Copper Creek will be available in paperback on their website as print-on-demand. You can also find secondhand copies of all my books online. 

For my novel All My Loved Ones, please see Cedar Fort.

Enjoy!

Just Some Pretty Things Seen on My Morning Walk

Raising Money for Charity

I'm looking at how many people are reading this blog each month, and people have told me I should monetize it or add a "Buy Me a Coffee" kind of button. But I'd feel much better about raising money for a charity instead. Readers would be given the option of voluntarily supporting the chosen cause through a link, and I'd never know who donated or how much money was being raised. The donations would be handled entirely by the charity. 

The question is, which charity? There are so many good organizations, and so many people in need. I thought I'd ask for some feedback from you. My personal inclination is to address food insecurity (after all, I'm a vegetable gardener). With all the mess going on in the Middle East, on top of weather and climatic conditions, they're predicting a global famine. While that may not impact Canada as much as many other places, it will still mean raised prices, and over a million people in Ontario alone already access the food bank. Humans can get along without a lot of things, but food isn't one of them.

I don't want to choose an organization so local that readers from around the world will feel less attached to it and therefore less inclined to donate. At the same time, I don't want to choose an organization so vast that it feels like our small contributions won't make a difference.

So...any suggestions? 

Service in a Small Town -- a Shoutout to Brooketel

Did I ever tell you about our experience with our Brooketel internet service? No no, stay with me, this is interesting, I promise. Heartwarming, even.

As you may know, we lost our minds and bought an old church during the pandemic. This was partly to satisfy a long-held dream of renovating an old church, partly to add to our property portfolio, and partly to create a peaceful space where we could retreat (or quarantine) when things felt too crowded at home. Possibly even live in upon retirement, though so far that hasn't panned out. 

In addition to needing an almost complete rebuild, it is located in a small village half an hour from a large town, in farm country. No pizza delivery. No grocery store within walking distance. No anything within walking distance except a gas station, a fire hall, and a little conservation area with a lake. We struggled to find an internet provider for our area. Back in the city, we have Rogers, which I have a love/hate relationship with. Their service is generally okay, but not always reliable, cutting out frequently, and it takes forever to get them to come out to do anything. I think it took over a year to get them to come bury a cable. Regardless, Rogers didn't cover the area where the church is. We needed good service, because at the time I was working remotely, with lots of video calls.

Almost by accident, we landed on Brooketel, a local co-op based in Watford. The service has been reliable, FAST, and unlimited, and the monthly price has even dropped over the years. But above all, the customer service is the best I've encountered. They don't just respond, they initiate!

Example: one day when we were back in the city, Brooketel called us to report that their system showed our internet service was off at the church. They offered to go figure out what was wrong. I gave them the lockbox code. Fifteen minutes later, they called me to report they'd gone to the church, found a loose plug, fixed it, and internet was restored. No cost, no fuss, and I felt instantly reassured I was in good hands. At a time when I was drowning in electricians, plumbers, drywallers, painters, and engineers, it was nice not having to worry about one thing.

We Were Supposed to Go to Norway

Today is what should have been the 59th birthday of my friend Sheri. We met at age 5, had chicken pox together, were in school together right up through high school, went to the same church, were baptized on the same day. We had sleepovers and illicit cookouts on makeshift stoves in the backyard (I still have bacon-grease scars on my shoulder from that one). We made up plays, hiked, read Archie comics, and threw balls for her poodle. She served at my wedding reception and helped me conquer the ivy at my parents' house.

We remained close even after I moved to Canada. Sheri would come up to visit almost every year, her aim to see Canada in every month of the year. When she came, she would always want to help with a project of some sort---digging up rocks, helping host a book-signing table, whatever---she was always up for an adventure. I took her to Highland Games and Mennonite markets, a cement bunker, and our crazy old church. She took me on adventures to New York City, to Park City. She liked to walk and explore, and we'd pick out which house we'd each buy so we could stay neighbours forever. She was always content to do puzzles or watch old movies or just sit and read, which is a lovely trait in a guest. You never felt you had to entertain her, but could just be yourself. When someone is that low-maintenance, they become an integral part of the mesh of your life. They become a sister more than a friend.

Last April, Sheri came to visit and we stayed at the church, taking long walks along the lake and throwing the ball for my dog Brio. She spent a lot of the week feeding me, teaching me to eat healthier. I'd envisioned going grocery shopping with her, but she arrived with her rental car already stocked with food (so that I couldn't insist on paying for it). She was a night owl and I get up at ridiculous hours before dawn, so she slept in the upstairs vestry, and we could each keep our own hours as we liked. The perfect person, in other words, to hang out with.

Our birthdays are close together, and we were cooking up ideas for a grand adventure for our 60th birthdays next year. We'd landed on the plan of going to Norway. But shortly after she returned home, Sheri was diagnosed with cancer and passed away just a few weeks later. Knowing that her 60th birthday wasn't going to happen, I whipped out a PowerPoint "documenting" our trip to Norway as if we'd gone, with pictures off the internet and stick-figures of me and Sheri drawn into them with Adobe. She reported that she and her husband went through the slides and laughed, especially over the picture of the two of us running amok through the streets of Stavanger. My personal favourite was the one of us doing swan dives off a lookout point into a fjord.

Sheri had the ability to make people feel loved, remembered, and seen. She had the uncanny ability to remember things (whereas I struggle to remember my own name on occasion). She could recall everyone she ever met and what they liked and the names of their grandchildren, and she was generous with the gifts that perfectly matched the recipient. She devoted her life to service, throwing herself into her church callings, taking care of the people around her, making me realize how narrow and self-centred my life sometimes is. Even in her last days, she made sure the quilt she'd started making for her daughter was finished by a friend. She doted on her family, turning every occasion into something memorable and special, and making each person feel treasured.

Sheri has gone on her next great adventure without me, but wherever she is, I'm sure she's serving and laughing (and talking) and putting together fishponds for angels and planting lemongrass and coaxing God into trying kelp in His pancakes. And likely throwing balls for Brio. Happy birthday, my friend. Miss you.

Introducing Detective Inspector Gor Manookian

Well, I'm on a roll now, cleaning up my filing cabinet of manuscripts. I've decided to publish one of my novellas, a Manookian Mystery: Monk with the Steel-Toed Boots, which you can find at the link below.

When a guest is murdered at a meditation retreat in the Canadian forest, Detective Inspector Gor Manookian is on the case.

As if a homicide isn't enough to deal with, he also has to juggle a critical captain, a troublesome brother, a cast of quirky characters, a fat cat named Benzo, and his own growing suspicion that he's in the wrong line of work.

What does the Buddhist monk who runs the retreat know about the murder? Who may be the next victim? And can Manookian hold it all together long enough to catch a killer?

Watch for the next upcoming Manookian Mystery, Tiny Little Murder, out soon!

Monk with the Steel-Toed Boots

Getting Grumpy in My Old Age

So...after shooting off that last post about brotherly love, I spent this morning grumpily writing to my Member of Parliament and a certain Premier to express dissatisfaction with some particular actions and practices. I won't get into the specifics, because this blog isn't meant to be political, but it makes me ponder the dichotomy and the dilemma--- How do you stand for principle and live according to your values in the face of opposition, without becoming, er, oppositional? How do you deal with unpleasantness without becoming unpleasant yourself?

I try to express myself politely. I try to be informed before making statements. I try to be reasonable and find solutions. And yet at some point, I just want to pull my hair out and demand that other people get off my planet. You know? Sometimes things seem like obvious common sense to me, and I struggle to understand how other people can't see my viewpoint (and agree with it). I'm so sure I'm right... And in some instances, I think there's such a thing as absolute truth, and yet I see other people denying it. Ignoring it. Actively stating falsehood. Condoning inarguable evil.

I know evil's a strong word, but I believe it exists, and it's our job to call it out when we see it. To step in when we see people purposely being harmed or cast aside. To speak up and amplify the voice that's being squashed. To use our privilege to invite the forgotten or excluded ones to the table.

Which I guess circles round to brotherly love again.

You know, some days peopling is too hard. I'm going to go work in my garden. I get along better with plants, and if any of them irritate me, I can yank them out.

Love Your Neighbour: Possibility or Pipe Dream?

My thought for the day: Christians say they believe in the commandment to "love thy neighbour as thyself." People tend to interpret that as "love your neighbour as much as you love yourself" and that leads, of course, to the urge to "love yourself."

I interpret it differently. To me, it's saying "love your neighbour because he/she IS yourself." They are not "other." They are you. We are to see us as one. We are to BE one. If we truly did that, there wouldn't be contention, violence, poverty, or apathy. We'd finally learn to be kind.

Imagine what a different society that would create, if we actually saw no boundary between "us" and "them." Do I hold out any hope that we'll do it? No. But a girl can dream.

(I'm the solemn one on the left.)

Photos, as Promised Last Week

Some snapshots from my walk around the Credit River and Riverwood Conservancy. A lovely start to my morning.

Hawaii - Travels and Observations

This morning's post is a snippet about the cover photo on my latest book, Before You Go. My mother-in-law was a warm, cheerful, energetic, and kind of zany person, always up for a new adventure. She loved having our boys up to her trailer, and they have fond memories of epic summers spent with her. She was more friend than "mother-in-law" and had a knack for making you feel welcomed and loved. She genuinely enjoyed people.

Sadly, she passed much too soon, and she left my husband and his brother her Hawaiian timeshare. We have been there many times, and even though we were never there with her, it invokes good memories of her. The timeshare is in Makaha, on Oahu, right on a beautiful, quiet beach. The kids come out after school to surf, but otherwise the beach is fairly empty. It's a residential area, not touristy, and I enjoy walking around the neighbourhood, appreciating the azaleas and palm trees and listening to the crowing of the ubiquitous roosters. One such walk inspired the setting for Before You Go.

The photo on the cover was snapped from the timeshare's lanai, looking north and showing the neighbourhood I was walking through when the book's plot began to come to me.

With the travel situation with the U.S. right now (not to mention the cost of flying), we won't be returning to Hawaii anytime soon, if ever. I miss that luscious feeling of walking out of the airport (usually in the middle of the night) into warm, humid air. The constant background sound of the waves thundering onto the sand. The bone-deep heat of the hot tub easing my aching joints. The BBQ pork manapua served hot, like little doughy melt-in-your-mouth marshmallows, at the local 7-11. The kind friends we've made there. The delicious feeling of waking up knowing you have nothing to do all day but slather yourself in coconut-scented sunscreen and sit with a book on the balcony. Bliss.

On the other hand, the last time I was there, there was considerably more tension in the air between tourists, natives, and the unhoused population, and I left feeling very much like an unwanted colonial. It made me ponder in ways I hadn't before the role I play and the position I have inadvertently landed in in life. Some uncomfortable consideration of privileges I haven't earned and haven't been properly appreciative of. This new awareness is not necessarily a bad thing.

It was a Busy Friday at the McKendry House

Twenty-five containers and counting...

Our waste collection guys are going to hate us.

Riverwood Conservancy and Erindale Park - a Walk Along the Credit River

I'm tired of being sick in bed, so yesterday I headed out for a long walk. I ended up heading east along Burnhamthorpe Road, admiring the swaths of tulips in the centre islands, noticing Eastern Redbud trees in bloom, until I got to the overpass over the Credit River. There are a couple of lookout points where you can rest your arms on the railing and look down at the gorge. The sound of the river has to compete with the sound of traffic at that height, but if you take the steps down to river level, it's like entering a different world. Stone, soil, filtered sunlight, green growing things---and the hum of traffic is subsumed under the rush of water.

If you turn north, you enter the paths of the Riverwood Conservancy, where you can choose easy or more difficult routes. All lead eventually back up the hill to formal gardens and the art centre. Or, as I did yesterday, you can turn south and walk along the Credit River.

I met a handful of people walking the trail, but for the most part I was by myself. Nothing but peace and beauty and the satisfying feeling of walking on something other than pavement. There are occasional footbridges over branching rills, and they've placed handy benches here and there if you need a pause. I was taking a moment to remove pebbles from my shoes when I looked up and saw two deer placidly walking along the bank directly opposite me. Deer. Smack in the middle of a city of over 700,000. So I sat on the bench a while and watched them. One of the deer was so unthreatened by my presence that she stopped to poop, which I confess I took as a compliment. A few other walkers paused to watch for a while too.

When the deer finally moved on, we all wished each other a nice day, and I resumed my stroll (the path is level and easy enough that it can't be called a hike) and emerged in Erindale Park on Dundas Street, where---happily---there are public washrooms. I'd already been walking for 2 hours, so I caught a handy bus back to South Common, via the University, and then walked home from there. About 2.5 hours in all. 

One of the disadvantages of not having a phone is that I also don't have a lightweight camera. My digital camera weighs too much to want to carry it with me on my walks. But one day I'll see if I can capture some views from the overpass, looking down at the river. 

I'm excited to know that all this loveliness is within walking distance of my house, and I regret that I didn't realize it sooner. I feel like I've wasted the past 25 years, missing out on this beautiful scenery when I could have been walking here every day. But then I remind myself that no, until relatively recently, I was running for the bus to get to work, and I wouldn't have had time to take a leisurely two and a half hour stroll in the morning. Instead of marching along under picturesque white pines, I would have been hunched in a cubicle, wrangling numbers into their little slots in Excel sheets. What a waste of life! How glad I am to be free of it, even if only for a while.

Thankful for Friends

A warm thank you to all my friends and family who have reposted the link to buy my latest book Before You Go For an introvert who's more comfortable with books than with people, I really appreciate the help promoting it!

This week was actually very social for me. Tuesday I had choir practice. Hubby, sons, and I went to see the movie Project Hail Mary on Wednesday. Thursday Son #2 and I helped throw a dinner at the church with the missionaries. Friday I went to The Devil Wore Prada 2 with four women I know (two movies in one week! I know, right??). And Saturday was a Relief Society women's conference in Brampton, with wonderful food and workshops and conversation. I met a new friend and fellow writer there, too.

And then today I stayed in bed with a chest cold and a book and kinda missed Mothers' Day, but that's okay. I had a good people-filled week, and the sun is streaming in the window, and I'm content. This coming week will be filled with restorative activities -- gardening and long walks to the river and a new book called The Reluctant Tuscan: How I discovered my Inner Italian by Phil Doran, which looks promising.

Peace, Sunshine, and Wornout Shoes

For the last two or three weeks, I've been taking long walks every day, sometimes as long as 2-2 1/2 hours. I've discovered that it only takes me 45 minutes to reach the Riverwood Conservancy on the Credit River, which is a wonderful thing. The route takes me across the bridge overlooking the river, where there's a jutting lookout point. It's become my new favourite thing to do, resting my arms on the railing and just drinking in the glorious view. The pointillism of newly-leafing-out trees, the rush of the water down the gorge, the deep layer of old leaves under the trees, lush greenery on the island in the middle of the river, the sun warming my back... it's a perfect boost to my mood and mental health. As I gaze, I can almost block out the sound of the traffic behind me.

Sometimes I turn around and go back home, but a couple of times I've continued on to wander the paths at the Conservancy. There are some small, pretty gardens by the art centre, and a cattail-filled pond with redwing blackbirds and herons. The eastern redbuds are just beginning to turn pink. There's something soul-satisfying about walking through dappled light on a soft path deep with old pine needles. The smell of damp earth. The sound of flowing water and birdsong. Peace.

If you haven't been outside yet today, put down your screen and go out this minute. Breathe the air and move your limbs and feel whatever the weather is doing on your face. Nothing can beat it.

The Contrast is Jarring

 My Facebook feed this morning:

followed immediately by:

and a little further down:

A wee reminder to myself not to take my own home for granted. Not to overlook the beauty and blessings that surround me. I have electricity, running clean water, heat and light, a flushing toilet, an oven. Most importantly, I have community. I never want to lose sight of that.