The lower one on the right isn't half bad!
Try try again.
Saturday, 17 January 2015
New Adventure
For Christmas, Son Number Three got the materials for making sushi. Today we are going to try it. From the look of the instructions, it could turn out simple and fun, or it could turn into a complicated mess. We will see how it turns out! If results are successful, I will post pictures. If not, we'll just move on and pretend this never happened. At least we can eat our mistakes.
I like trying new things and exploring new hobbies. There are so many new experiences to try. My past is littered with glass paints, balls of yarn, Hardanger fabric, and bins of embroidery floss. My closets overflow with guitar music books, riding boots, and pipe band uniforms. Sometimes -- like knitting and crochet -- it sticks, and sometimes -- like English dressage lessons -- it is a fun-but-only-done-once experience. Other things I've abandoned halfway through and acknowledged that I'm not suited for it--or it's not suited to me. (Flashback to a purple leotard and pink tights and Colleen Collins Smith barking Glissade! Glissade! while she beat time on the floor with a stick. Or the time I had to do the "Jingle Bell Rock" on stage in my pajamas. Some things are better left unvisited.)
I enjoy hanging hand-made ornaments on the Christmas tree, and I like watching the sunlight shine through my bamboo painted-glass picture in the living room window. I like browsing through a photo album of things I've tried and activities I've done. I'm glad I had parents who encouraged us to try new things and find what fit for us. I've tried a ton of things, from ballet to clogging, banjo to bagpipes, Welsh to Bislama. I still have a list of things I want to try, but I am happy so far with the few things I've settled on.
Now it's my son's turn to explore his interests (Japanese, art, bagpipes, and piano so far). It's fun to watch and see what he will settle on, what sort of person he will become.
I like trying new things and exploring new hobbies. There are so many new experiences to try. My past is littered with glass paints, balls of yarn, Hardanger fabric, and bins of embroidery floss. My closets overflow with guitar music books, riding boots, and pipe band uniforms. Sometimes -- like knitting and crochet -- it sticks, and sometimes -- like English dressage lessons -- it is a fun-but-only-done-once experience. Other things I've abandoned halfway through and acknowledged that I'm not suited for it--or it's not suited to me. (Flashback to a purple leotard and pink tights and Colleen Collins Smith barking Glissade! Glissade! while she beat time on the floor with a stick. Or the time I had to do the "Jingle Bell Rock" on stage in my pajamas. Some things are better left unvisited.)
I enjoy hanging hand-made ornaments on the Christmas tree, and I like watching the sunlight shine through my bamboo painted-glass picture in the living room window. I like browsing through a photo album of things I've tried and activities I've done. I'm glad I had parents who encouraged us to try new things and find what fit for us. I've tried a ton of things, from ballet to clogging, banjo to bagpipes, Welsh to Bislama. I still have a list of things I want to try, but I am happy so far with the few things I've settled on.
Now it's my son's turn to explore his interests (Japanese, art, bagpipes, and piano so far). It's fun to watch and see what he will settle on, what sort of person he will become.
Tuesday, 13 January 2015
You just never know
I have always been the type of person who likes to have a plan, a To Do list, and a definite vision of what the future will be like. Everything has pretty much turned out like clockwork in my life -- education, marriage, children, home, job, publishing, travel -- all the things I wanted for myself. I always believed that if you did what you were supposed to do, as best you could, everything would always turn out the way it was "supposed to."
The older I get, though, the more I understand how little in life we really control. There's only so much planning and preparing you can do for the future, and then you just have to hang onto your hat and go with whatever happens. If you get too inflexible and set on what should happen, you miss what is happening. And if you spend too much time mourning the things that didn't turn out the way you wanted them to, you miss the joys that are before you.
You may think you know what is best, and you may lay the greatest plans, but in the long run only God knows what life holds in store for you and what strengths you will need to develop to face it. We are expected to learn and prepare and grow stronger. But ultimately, we have to hand it all over to God and believe he will work things out in the best way for us. That is a difficult thing to do when you are a micro-manager like I am, and it involves having to humble yourself and admit you may not know everything or be able to handle everything on your own. You can study and prepare and do all you can to lay out a plan for your life, but it all comes down to trusting God in the end.
As a gardener, I should have figured this out long before this, of course. We can research and select the best seeds, till the soil and set up trellises and push our seeds carefully into the earth...but then it is basically out of our hands. The seeds will germinate or not, run true to variety or not, and plants will get pollinated or not. The rain will come or not, the sun will shine or it will be cloudy. There is only so much we can do. Even if we have taken every precaution, it still comes down to relying on miracles.
The older I get, though, the more I understand how little in life we really control. There's only so much planning and preparing you can do for the future, and then you just have to hang onto your hat and go with whatever happens. If you get too inflexible and set on what should happen, you miss what is happening. And if you spend too much time mourning the things that didn't turn out the way you wanted them to, you miss the joys that are before you.
You may think you know what is best, and you may lay the greatest plans, but in the long run only God knows what life holds in store for you and what strengths you will need to develop to face it. We are expected to learn and prepare and grow stronger. But ultimately, we have to hand it all over to God and believe he will work things out in the best way for us. That is a difficult thing to do when you are a micro-manager like I am, and it involves having to humble yourself and admit you may not know everything or be able to handle everything on your own. You can study and prepare and do all you can to lay out a plan for your life, but it all comes down to trusting God in the end.
As a gardener, I should have figured this out long before this, of course. We can research and select the best seeds, till the soil and set up trellises and push our seeds carefully into the earth...but then it is basically out of our hands. The seeds will germinate or not, run true to variety or not, and plants will get pollinated or not. The rain will come or not, the sun will shine or it will be cloudy. There is only so much we can do. Even if we have taken every precaution, it still comes down to relying on miracles.
Sunday, 11 January 2015
Planning the vegetable garden already
As the wind howls down from the north and the ice pellets sting the window, the first seed and bulb catalogue arrives in the mail, and I cheer at the thought that only about four months remain until I can get back into my garden. (Hey, I'll cling to any hope at this point.)
It was a Vesey's catalogue, and frankly I have little use for flowers other than as pollinator-enticers, but it sent me to the computer to prowl Baker Creek's and Salt Spring Seeds' websites. I already know what I'm planting this year. Every year I tell myself that this is the year to hold off and not plant anything because I really do need to put some effort and money first into setting up a proper garden. I need permanent paths, a drip irrigation system, maybe some raised beds. By the time the ground dries out enough to do those things, we'll have missed the planting season, and if I plan to do any travelling this summer it would be best not to grow a garden this year...
And even while I'm telling myself these reasonable things, I'm scribbling down my planting plans and seed wishlist for spring. I know I will end up doing what I've always done for the past thirteen years---I'll dig up the whole plot of ground, toss down a few random used bricks to use as stepping stones instead of paths, and cram every square inch of earth with plants. I invariably end up tiptoeing through jungle-like growth, teetering on a two-inch standing space and cursing myself for not relinquishing a few more inches of precious space to accommodate a decent path.
But putting down permanent paths means less room for vegetables, and what would I give up? The Swedish red peas last year were amazing, voluminous and pretty and nutty-tasting, and they produced right into October, which is astounding in this climate. So I definitely have to have those again. Never will I go back to ordinary green garden peas. Then there's the zucchini -- gotta have that staple crop -- and the yummy white cucumbers (though this year I think I'll try the Crystal Apple variety). I want to try orange beets instead of the usual Crapaudine or Bull's Blood. The salad stuff is a must, and the radishes and onions always self-seed every year so they're coming whether I want them or not. The garlic is already in and slumbering beneath a six-inch layer of leaves. Then there's all the permanent features like asparagus, rhubarb, and the blueberries and strawberries. I want to get some raspberries and blackberries started. I want to try the Cape gooseberries again (last year they produced lovely fruit that unfortunately froze before it could ripen, but this year I could think to throw some covers over them). And then of course the usual suspects -- green beans and dry cooking beans and various herbs, which fill every available corner of the garden as a sort of default filler.
I have decided against tomatoes and peppers this year, and probably won't do potatoes or sweet potatoes either. For the volume I require, it's cheaper and easier to buy them. I mean, when you're bottling four or five bushels of tomatoes at once, a handful from the garden is just a tease. You can enjoy the music, after all, without having to be the whole orchestra.
I detest washing carrots, so I might give those a miss for this year, even though I love their sweet flavour. I likely won't try cauliflower, broccoli, winter squash, melons, or pumpkins again. I have had limited success with these in our short growing season other than the Collective Farm Woman melons, and those just simply take up too much space. And the family is starting to burn out on all the hubbard squash still in my freezer from last year.
So there's the line-up. In past years I've tried growing everything from oats to chick peas, and I enjoy trying new things each year. It's hard having to pick and choose because of space constraints. I could go crazy and grow more food all over the yard, but the dogs do need a place to run, and my long-suffering husband likes sitting in the shade without feeling as if he's been thrown into the middle of a Kansas corn field. So I will restrain myself and stick to the designated allotment. This year I have sons to help me, so I'm looking forward to a great growing year.
Now all I gotta do is wait for all this snow to disappear...
It was a Vesey's catalogue, and frankly I have little use for flowers other than as pollinator-enticers, but it sent me to the computer to prowl Baker Creek's and Salt Spring Seeds' websites. I already know what I'm planting this year. Every year I tell myself that this is the year to hold off and not plant anything because I really do need to put some effort and money first into setting up a proper garden. I need permanent paths, a drip irrigation system, maybe some raised beds. By the time the ground dries out enough to do those things, we'll have missed the planting season, and if I plan to do any travelling this summer it would be best not to grow a garden this year...
And even while I'm telling myself these reasonable things, I'm scribbling down my planting plans and seed wishlist for spring. I know I will end up doing what I've always done for the past thirteen years---I'll dig up the whole plot of ground, toss down a few random used bricks to use as stepping stones instead of paths, and cram every square inch of earth with plants. I invariably end up tiptoeing through jungle-like growth, teetering on a two-inch standing space and cursing myself for not relinquishing a few more inches of precious space to accommodate a decent path.
But putting down permanent paths means less room for vegetables, and what would I give up? The Swedish red peas last year were amazing, voluminous and pretty and nutty-tasting, and they produced right into October, which is astounding in this climate. So I definitely have to have those again. Never will I go back to ordinary green garden peas. Then there's the zucchini -- gotta have that staple crop -- and the yummy white cucumbers (though this year I think I'll try the Crystal Apple variety). I want to try orange beets instead of the usual Crapaudine or Bull's Blood. The salad stuff is a must, and the radishes and onions always self-seed every year so they're coming whether I want them or not. The garlic is already in and slumbering beneath a six-inch layer of leaves. Then there's all the permanent features like asparagus, rhubarb, and the blueberries and strawberries. I want to get some raspberries and blackberries started. I want to try the Cape gooseberries again (last year they produced lovely fruit that unfortunately froze before it could ripen, but this year I could think to throw some covers over them). And then of course the usual suspects -- green beans and dry cooking beans and various herbs, which fill every available corner of the garden as a sort of default filler.
I have decided against tomatoes and peppers this year, and probably won't do potatoes or sweet potatoes either. For the volume I require, it's cheaper and easier to buy them. I mean, when you're bottling four or five bushels of tomatoes at once, a handful from the garden is just a tease. You can enjoy the music, after all, without having to be the whole orchestra.
I detest washing carrots, so I might give those a miss for this year, even though I love their sweet flavour. I likely won't try cauliflower, broccoli, winter squash, melons, or pumpkins again. I have had limited success with these in our short growing season other than the Collective Farm Woman melons, and those just simply take up too much space. And the family is starting to burn out on all the hubbard squash still in my freezer from last year.
So there's the line-up. In past years I've tried growing everything from oats to chick peas, and I enjoy trying new things each year. It's hard having to pick and choose because of space constraints. I could go crazy and grow more food all over the yard, but the dogs do need a place to run, and my long-suffering husband likes sitting in the shade without feeling as if he's been thrown into the middle of a Kansas corn field. So I will restrain myself and stick to the designated allotment. This year I have sons to help me, so I'm looking forward to a great growing year.
Now all I gotta do is wait for all this snow to disappear...
Thursday, 8 January 2015
Cold
Cold. Face-falling-off-and-shattering-on-the-ground cold. Don`t-care-if-I-lose-my-job-I`m-not-getting-out-of-bed cold. Why-didn`t-I-marry-someone-from-Arizona-instead-of-Canada cold. It takes ten minutes to dress. Underwear, long-johns, pants, shirt, two pairs of socks, boots, hooded sweatershirt, coat, two pairs of gloves one inside the other, scarf around the neck, hat, hood from sweatshirt pulled over hat, hood from coat pulled over that, second scarf tied around face so only the eyes are showing. That kind of cold.
And you wonder why I get depressed in the winter!
And you wonder why I get depressed in the winter!
Saturday, 3 January 2015
Gratitude as a Practice
I recently read Brené Brown's The Gifts of Imperfection, in which she said that gratitude is not an attitude (despite the catchy jingo); it's a practice. It's something we exercise and actively do. She points out that you can have a yoga attitude, but until you actually hit the mat, it doesn't do you any good. Gratitude is the same.
With this in mind, and remembering my goal to focus on gratitude this year, I thought I would spend today's blog just listing a few of the things that I am grateful for.
As I watch the snow coming down outside and as I hear that Thompson Manitoba (where my kids used to live) is at -48 today with the wind chill, my first thought is that I'm grateful to have a warm house, out of the weather, with central heating and a fireplace and a cozy blanket. I'm grateful to whoever supplies the heat I enjoy. I'm grateful for the joy of having good books to read while curled up in that blanket, and the ability to read them. And the time to read them. My boss phoned me on January 1 at home, to tell me she was sick and wouldn't be in to the office on Friday after all. So I was not to come in either. Seriously, she gave me a free day off (how often does that happen?), so I spent it catching up on some errands and, of course, reading.
Lying there with my book (I'm now on to Vertigo 42 by Martha Grimes), my hand rests gently on Brio's head, and I am filled with gratitude for the animals in my life. I have been blessed with the presence of animals since I can remember, not just all the dogs I've already mentioned, but the cat and rabbits and mice and hamsters and horses and frogs and fish and snakes and birds. My horse Shadow and Nick the Thoroughbred (on whom I took riding lessons) taught me courage. Kiai the German Shepherd gave me unwavering loyalty. Holding abandoned rabbit kits in my hand taught me about life and death. There was even a lesson to learn from my hamster, who got loose and reduced my only Barbie doll to a pile of chewed rubber bits under the bed: the impermanence of things, the role of my own responsibility, and the meaning of forbearance (I mean, how do you get mad at a creature the size of a dust bunny?).
I am grateful to have had parents who would allow so many animals for their children. I'm grateful for the grandfather who gave me my horse and the run of his farm, to follow hens and their chicks around and watch the pigs eating corncobs. He let me watch the goat feed the two orphaned calves (the goat had to stand on a table to be tall enough, but only looked rather bemused and didn't seem to mind nursing these gigantic foundlings). Grandpa let me ride on the wagon behind the massive draft horses and pitch hay off the back, while the other horses materialized out of the mist to follow along and eat. (That was a magical moment, never to be forgotten, watching those gigantic beasts appearing from all over the field, rising up out of the mist like mythical creatures.) I don't remember ever once being made to feel like a tag-along or a nuisance, though I'm sure I probably was.
I'm grateful to my father, who took the time---and had the know-how---to help me train Shadow to the reins and saddle. He also taught me math and how to carve soap and scythe cockleburs, how to build rabbit hutches and pitch a tent and make pancake syrup out of sugar water. He took the time to go sledding and hiking and biking with his children. He modeled service to others. He taught me what loving, righteous fatherhood involved and gave me a pattern and a type to look for when choosing my own husband. I'm grateful to a mother who taught me to crochet and sew (in spite of my protests) and how to bottle fruit and plant flowers. She let me experiment with her expensive oil paints and shared her love of books and the countryside with me. She taught me to care for my neighbours, to fulfill my callings at church, and she made sure I stuck to what I knew to be true. Most of all, she taught me faith and the importance of a gentle, loving home.
So many things to be grateful for! That hardly scratches the surface, but I suppose it's a good start. Now back to my blanket and book, while the ice pellets chime against the window.
With this in mind, and remembering my goal to focus on gratitude this year, I thought I would spend today's blog just listing a few of the things that I am grateful for.
As I watch the snow coming down outside and as I hear that Thompson Manitoba (where my kids used to live) is at -48 today with the wind chill, my first thought is that I'm grateful to have a warm house, out of the weather, with central heating and a fireplace and a cozy blanket. I'm grateful to whoever supplies the heat I enjoy. I'm grateful for the joy of having good books to read while curled up in that blanket, and the ability to read them. And the time to read them. My boss phoned me on January 1 at home, to tell me she was sick and wouldn't be in to the office on Friday after all. So I was not to come in either. Seriously, she gave me a free day off (how often does that happen?), so I spent it catching up on some errands and, of course, reading.
Lying there with my book (I'm now on to Vertigo 42 by Martha Grimes), my hand rests gently on Brio's head, and I am filled with gratitude for the animals in my life. I have been blessed with the presence of animals since I can remember, not just all the dogs I've already mentioned, but the cat and rabbits and mice and hamsters and horses and frogs and fish and snakes and birds. My horse Shadow and Nick the Thoroughbred (on whom I took riding lessons) taught me courage. Kiai the German Shepherd gave me unwavering loyalty. Holding abandoned rabbit kits in my hand taught me about life and death. There was even a lesson to learn from my hamster, who got loose and reduced my only Barbie doll to a pile of chewed rubber bits under the bed: the impermanence of things, the role of my own responsibility, and the meaning of forbearance (I mean, how do you get mad at a creature the size of a dust bunny?).
I am grateful to have had parents who would allow so many animals for their children. I'm grateful for the grandfather who gave me my horse and the run of his farm, to follow hens and their chicks around and watch the pigs eating corncobs. He let me watch the goat feed the two orphaned calves (the goat had to stand on a table to be tall enough, but only looked rather bemused and didn't seem to mind nursing these gigantic foundlings). Grandpa let me ride on the wagon behind the massive draft horses and pitch hay off the back, while the other horses materialized out of the mist to follow along and eat. (That was a magical moment, never to be forgotten, watching those gigantic beasts appearing from all over the field, rising up out of the mist like mythical creatures.) I don't remember ever once being made to feel like a tag-along or a nuisance, though I'm sure I probably was.
I'm grateful to my father, who took the time---and had the know-how---to help me train Shadow to the reins and saddle. He also taught me math and how to carve soap and scythe cockleburs, how to build rabbit hutches and pitch a tent and make pancake syrup out of sugar water. He took the time to go sledding and hiking and biking with his children. He modeled service to others. He taught me what loving, righteous fatherhood involved and gave me a pattern and a type to look for when choosing my own husband. I'm grateful to a mother who taught me to crochet and sew (in spite of my protests) and how to bottle fruit and plant flowers. She let me experiment with her expensive oil paints and shared her love of books and the countryside with me. She taught me to care for my neighbours, to fulfill my callings at church, and she made sure I stuck to what I knew to be true. Most of all, she taught me faith and the importance of a gentle, loving home.
So many things to be grateful for! That hardly scratches the surface, but I suppose it's a good start. Now back to my blanket and book, while the ice pellets chime against the window.
Thursday, 1 January 2015
Sure Enough, They Lasted Until Friday...
Well, of the five books I brought home in my last post (one being on pre-order), I have read three and a bit. So by the time I go back to work tomorrow, I'll have probably one left. Luckily it's the Kate Morton one and the thickest of the five.
The cold wind is rushing around the house like a demented ghoul trying to get in the windows, the dog is tucked warmly against my side, there's the smell of homemade zucchini bread (made with hubbard squash this time instead of zucchini)...and a book. What more do you really need in life?
The cold wind is rushing around the house like a demented ghoul trying to get in the windows, the dog is tucked warmly against my side, there's the smell of homemade zucchini bread (made with hubbard squash this time instead of zucchini)...and a book. What more do you really need in life?
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