Evening Grosbeaks came to visit on New Year's Eve day
My written and visual journal is 50% me the writer and 50% you the reader...I write to touch you.
Monday, December 31, 2012
Friday, December 28, 2012
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Monday, December 24, 2012
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Friday, December 21, 2012
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Friday, December 14, 2012
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Friday, December 7, 2012
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Fingerless Mitts
Fingerless Mitts
Fingerless mitts. What
is their purpose? If the office is too
cold, they’ll help warm your hands and leave fingers free for the keyboard or
paperwork. If the bedroom is chilly,
they’ll warm your palms and wrists while you read in bed. Perhaps, they’re just for comfort or just for
fun.
Whatever their purpose, I’m knitting fingerless mitts. As with all my knitting projects, I follow a
simple pattern and fingerless mitts are relatively easy. I knit for pleasure not for production of
works of art. Plus I am unable to focus
on challenging patterns without becoming enmeshed in mistakes, unravelling yarn
and trying again, only to throw the over-knitted yarn away in the end. Simple is better for me. Then the knitting feels happy and comforting.
I bought some interesting yarn called “Twelve” because it
combines twelve different kinds of yarn into each ball. When knit, the variations create intriguing
patterns in an otherwise plain mitt. The
picture on the free pattern made the finished products look like fun. And indeed the first pair of mitts was fun to
knit. They’re not supposed to be the
exact copies of each other; I liked that.
The second pair was less fun because the balls of yarn were
not consistently made. The spots where
the twelve different kinds of yarn joined each other were thin, too thin and broke
easily, which created lots of cutting and repair work on the yarn. Even worse, when one mitt was completed,
close inspection showed that the knitted yarn had given way in some spots and
was unravelling creating holes and gaps.
I wondered if I would have enough yarn left to complete the
second pair. I unravelled the holey mitt
and saved what I could of the yarn; the yarn that was sturdy enough to hold
together. After a bit of swearing and
re-knitting and pulling on the yarn to ensure it would hold, I managed to get
two pairs of fingerless mitts made from the balls of yarn.
I should have shopped at my regular yarn shop which always
stands behind the products it sells. I
should have made a larger fuss about returning the faulty yarn to the other
yarn store where I purchased it. I
should have warned people about the pitfalls of buying yarn from a chain store just
because it’s cheaper…oh wait, I am doing that.
What about the mitts?
I like the pattern. I like
knitting. I’ll get better yarn from my
favourite wool shop and make more. I’m
sure that the mitts I’ve knit will hold together. Well, I’m quite sure. Kind of sure…
OK, if you receive mitts from me for Christmas, give them a
good going over and return them to me if they are coming to pieces. Unlike the chain store, I’ll stand behind my work,
allow you to return the faulty gift and I’ll knit you another sturdier pair of
fingerless mitts.
Merry mitts to you!
Photo and words are copyright Carol Steel.
Photo and words are copyright Carol Steel.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
The Washer Died
The Washer Died
The washer died. On
Saturday, of course. Just as we were
about to begin a week’s worth of washing.
Why? Appliances die on weekends when repair calls would be more
costly. How do they know?
We waited until Monday to call for help. The repair person came, took a look and within
five minutes was tsk-tsk-tsking. The
washer was ill, expensively ill.
We bought it 8 years ago, the newest front load, high
efficiency type we could afford. It has
worked well, (fairly well) until now.
However…
Though it is supposed to save energy by spinning the clothes
into a dryer state before finishing the wash cycle, it takes much longer to wash the
clothes. The front load washer requires special laundry
detergent; “He” = high efficiency but this doesn’t cost any less than regular
detergent. It is difficult to add
clothes to the washer once it is going without getting my feet wet; front
opening remember. Yes, I am supposed
to be able to set the controls to allow this but the washer doesn’t always
co-operate. The controls are computerized
and somewhat finicky, you see. And the
repairs to this wonder of a washer are expensive, prohibitive, and ridiculous.
To repair our washer would take a four hundred dollar replacement part, and three and
a half hours of labour, bringing the bill to over eight hundred dollars. Is the easy solution to buy another washer? Yes and no.
Just before Christmas is not the best time to purchase a new appliance. Dissatisfied with the front load options, we wonder what else is out there; less complicated and yet would wash the clothes. But wait, I’m not ready for a ringer washer or a washboard; I want the luxury of throwing the clothes into something that will do the work for me. Also, there is the issue of appliance re-cycling and adding to the waste at the landfill.
Just before Christmas is not the best time to purchase a new appliance. Dissatisfied with the front load options, we wonder what else is out there; less complicated and yet would wash the clothes. But wait, I’m not ready for a ringer washer or a washboard; I want the luxury of throwing the clothes into something that will do the work for me. Also, there is the issue of appliance re-cycling and adding to the waste at the landfill.
I asked the repair expert what he would buy, if he
needed a washer. Usually a good
question, yes? No. He said he didn’t know. He reiterated that front load washers were
expensive to repair and didn’t seem to last as well as simpler models.
Well, where could we buy a simpler model? Again, he didn’t know. The one he would recommend hadn’t been
manufactured for over 6 months and he didn’t know of any place where we could find any. I felt my stomach knot as visions of unwashed
laundry piled up in my head.
He suggested we try to find a re-furbished top load
washer with direct drive and named a couple of brands he’d rarely ever had
to repair. Hmmm. Where would we go to find such a thing?
After he left, we sat down with the phone and the yellow
pages and started calling appliance repair locations and appliance stores. Gary likes to do plenty of research before he
purchases anything, particularly anything costly. Armed with a list of possibilities, he left
in the car, set off on the adventure of tracking down a re-cycled washer. Within three hours, he’d located one, called me
for a quick consult and purchased it.
These folks will take our ailing washer and refurbish it so
that it can be re-sold and will not end up in landfill, a bonus for us. They’ll deliver the new-to-us washer
this morning; all for less than the price of the replacement part on
the old washer…something of a miracle?
Yes, indeed.
The washer died.
We’ve discovering that sometimes the old stand-by is better than
the latest must-have new thing. I don’t
like having to buy a replacement appliance because the one I have is too costly
to repair. This isn’t good for our
finances or good for the environment. The experience has
been a reminder to be cautious about the enticing hype and the temptation
to buy the newest version of any item. It's a timely reminder especially at this season of
the year.
And, I’m looking forward to being able to wash clothes
again.
Words are copyright ©Carol Steel.
The image is 1902-04, a young woman washing clothes in a
wooden basin on a washstand with a washboard and a wringer, from John Oxley
Library, State Library of Queensland.
The image is now in the public domain because its copyright has expired
according to the Australian Copyright Council (ACC).
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Waking Early
Waking Early
It’s dark. It’s
always dark when I wake in the mornings.
I am a light sleeper, waking easily to the chirp of a cat walking by and
saying hello in the night, hearing the clink of the mailbox as the paper is delivered,
listening to the back-up beepers on the garbage truck, noticing the ruckus in the
sounds of my bed mate snoring.
Even when there aren’t sounds to wake me, I wake up at all hours. The cat snuggles too close to my head for comfort. I need to visit the bathroom. My thinking is traveling too quickly to allow sleep. I wake up easily.
Even when there aren’t sounds to wake me, I wake up at all hours. The cat snuggles too close to my head for comfort. I need to visit the bathroom. My thinking is traveling too quickly to allow sleep. I wake up easily.
I like the darkness.
I like the softness of being unable to see beyond my window panes, the
feeling of being surrounded by woolly night, cradled in the arms of unseen
possibilities. There is a sense of the
unknown and of being in a cocoon of darkness, of excited wonder at what the new
day will bring, uncover, tear open and reveal.
Even if it is too early and still dark, I’ve learned to get up and
begin the day rather than to stay in bed and fret about not sleeping. And there are advantages to being awake
before anyone else. The house feels peaceful,
softly lit with every creature asleep except for me.
If I step outside, I appreciate the night and the darkness. The stars shine brightly. I can see them better without the light pollution of cars going by. The moon is lovely, ethereal and round, misty and comforting of late.
If I step outside, I appreciate the night and the darkness. The stars shine brightly. I can see them better without the light pollution of cars going by. The moon is lovely, ethereal and round, misty and comforting of late.
The early morning allows space for my own quiet self
to begin the day slowly, with silent meditation and fragrant coffee, with
focused attention to every detail…the lights of the city sparkling through the
darkness, the neighbours’ homes all asleep except one, the welcome cosiness of
that one neighbour’s lit windows, the changing sky as sunrise tips the edge of
night from black to indigo, then blushes into dawn.
It’s dark. It’s
early. It’s peaceful…a good start to my
day.
The words are copyright ©Carol Steel. The photo is used with permission from Wikipedia
commons images.
Labels:
darkness,
dawn,
light,
meditation,
morning,
peace,
peacefulness,
sleep,
wakefulness
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Miracles
There are two ways to live:
you can live as if nothing is a miracle;
you can live as if everything is a miracle.
Albert Einstein
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Rub-a-Dub-Dub
Rub-a-dub-dub little man in a tub...
(Almost) Wordless Wednesday...he's actually having a bath in the sink, the perfect sized tub for him. Gary is holding him so he doesn't slip while I take pictures. I think he looks so much like Grampy Richard here. Sweet boy!
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Hanging Outdoor Lights
Hanging Outdoor Lights
Last week, we hung Christmas lights outdoors. The weather was unusually warm for late
November, short balmy days still full of heat.
Surprising.
The warmth drew us outdoors to begin decorating though we
won’t turn the lights on for a while yet.
On the veranda, we placed the bushy evergreen wreath with twinkly white
lights; on the pergola, we spread thirty-six feet of rope lights, all in white,
all securely fastened. At the front
door, we set up two small evergreen trees covered with tiny white lights. On the Fat Albert Blue Spruce, we can see
from our kitchen windows, we spread out five sets of LED lights in red.
But five sets weren’t enough. Fat Albert Blue Spruce has grown; my, how it
has grown. So off we went to the hardware
store in a panic. Would they still have
the same lights this year? They did. We bought two more sets and laid them among
the tree branches, then turned them on to take a look. Hmmm, not quite right, still too many bare
spots. We went off again to buy one last
set. There, finally full and lush with
lights, the tree was looking good.
Today is more like real November weather, cold with bitter
wind and a hint of snow in the air, just a hint. All day the wind has rattled at the windows,
buffeted the walls and sent dry oak leaves shooting straight up the sides of
the house. And the wind has thrashed the
Fat Albert, unsettling the red lights. The
erratic gusts have redecorated the tree; lights now hang like garlands or have
fallen to the branches below forming nests of red bulbs. Not damaged, just different
Tomorrow, if the wind settles, I’ll drag out my small step
stool to extend my height, and my stick with a bent nail on top to extend my
reach. I’ll begin again to nestle the red lights into
the tree and corral the strings which are trying to escape, on wings of wind.
Hanging the Christmas lights outdoors often takes more than
one attempt each year. The winter wind
entices anything that tries to stay put or tied down, whistling and singing “Come
with me.”
Yet, some years, the twinkling lights are just as wonderful
when they are hung by the wilful wind.
Words and photo are copyright © Carol Steel
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Monday, November 19, 2012
Creative Writing Class
Creative Writing Class
“Do you
belong to a writers’ group?” I asked.
“Yes, it’s a
closed group,” she replied. “For serious
writers,” she added, slowly emphasizing each word.
I understand
the concept of a closed writers’ group for writers who have been listening to and
critiquing each other for a period of time, a group whose form and format are
set, a group which is working well.
But the
words “For serious writers” pinched at me.
She could just as easily have said, “My group is for real writers like me;
something you are not.” I wondered how she
came to this conclusion.
She knew so
little about me or about any of the others; all of us going down the stairwell with her, after
the weekly writing class we all share.
The moment I had admitted to writing a blog, she discounted me and my
writing abilities.
A common reaction, it seems. Not the first time this has happened.
A common reaction, it seems. Not the first time this has happened.
There is no
attempt to read said blog or to discover if any additional writing is
done. It’s simply, “Oh, you write a
blog,” followed by dismissive comments or dead air. Myopic?
Condescending? Oh yes!
Indeed there
are bloggers who write about situations of little interest to anyone but
themselves, but aren’t there also many writers doing the same? So what?
This doesn’t mean they aren’t serious about writing. Or that they don’t write in other formats
besides the blog, or that they are without talent.
What does it
mean to me to be a serious
writer? Well…
I write each
day, usually 3 to 4 hours or more.
I re-write
and edit constantly.
I share my
writing with others to gain feedback. A
writers’ group is a good place for this.
I take classes,
workshops, courses to learn new skills, to reach an audience, to obtain
feedback, to fuel my creativity.
I publish the work, when I can.
I write
every day.
I seek
feedback even when it’s uncomfortable. I
listen and pay attention. I take
everything in and don’t defend my writing. I
re-write and re-write.
I chase the
truth.
I write
horrible first drafts and work on them until they’re better and occasionally
good.
I write
every day, every day, every day.
I am serious
about writing; about learning everything and anything I can to improve my
work. I consider myself a serious
writer.
To my
classmate: Perhaps you could be less
hasty in dismissing what is happening around you and in discounting the other
writers around you, those people who are attending the same classes as
you. And allow a new idea to rise.
You are in a
classroom of serious writers. Otherwise,
why would we be there?
And pay
attention: Bloggers are serious writers,
too.
Photo and
words are copyright © Carol Steel.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Grandsons
Visitors. We've had visitors. Two of our daughters came to see us, accompanied by portions of their own families.
Over the weekend, we spent time with our youngest grandson (7.5 months) and our oldest grandson (14.75 years). We're fortunate to have eleven grandchildren, six boys and five girls. With their families' busy lives, we don't see any of our grandchildren as much as we would like, so this visit was a special treat for us.
It fascinates me to see the youngest and the oldest grandsons together. Despite their age difference, they have physical and personality traits in common. They share blue eyes, fair hair and skin, large heads and strong hands, healthy appetites and tons of physical energy.
Already evident in the youngest is a propensity for studying the face of the person talking to him, an attentive sensitivity to the environment around him, an easy and frequent smile, and a gentle presence; all of these are characteristics shared with his older cousin.
It is easy to note their differences but it is more fascinating to see their similarities. They are kin; they are family. And it was such delight to see each grandson, to enjoy a visit with some of our family.
Thank you. It was thoughtful and generous of you to come.
And again, thank you.
Friday, November 9, 2012
In November
When October's flames
die down
to the ash of November,
the trees lift bare fingers
to scratch at the sky
and reach to rip open
the pillows of cloud.
The snow feathers fly,
white down
soft, now soft
in layer on layer.
And Earth heaves a sigh,
as she pulls
the covers
up to her chin.
Words and photo are copyright Carol Steel.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Scharlachglut Roses
Photos and words are copyright Carol Steel.
Monday, November 5, 2012
Sunday Supper
We were invited out for Sunday supper. What a wonderful treat it was! The appetizer was created from cooked and pureed fennel, with Pernod and creme fraiche added to lobster. The dish was garnished with lobster oil and fresh tarragon with fennel fronds.
And then...
the main dish was a dry brined organic chicken cooked on a bed of root vegetables, subsequently used for the gravy base. The gravy was extraordinary and will require its own separate post to describe. We had homemade pesto squash gratin, local potatoes enhanced with roasted garlic brown butter and parmesan, dressing with sage and onion, sausage and miche campagne. There were carrots and peas and edible flowers. So beautiful, so utterly delicious.
But wait....then we had molten chocolate lava cakes with homemade caramel sauce, candied pecans and whipped cream, accompanied by chilled Warre's Optima 10 port.
It was a luxurious evening spent with family who are superb cooks. Thank you Kyla and Mark. We enjoyed ourselves so much, we may never need to eat again.
My computer is being finicky and will not download the photo of the molten chocolate lava cakes. They were so good and so pretty, but sorry, no pictures. Photos and words are copyright Carol Steel.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Thank You
Thank You
for your wonderful gift basket
with Mourvedre wine and handmade bread,
for two kinds of homemade soup,
(carrot, and minestrone with chicken),
for carrot cake and raspberry shortbread cookies
both from Tony's Pastries.
It was lovely to see you,
even if only for a short time.
I was overwhelmed with your kindness
and your thoughtfulness.
Many thanks for this Sunday surprise.
Words and photo are copyright Carol Steel.
Tony's Pastries is located at 137 McLaughlin Drive in Moncton.
If you haven't been there
to the bistro and patisserie,
you are missing one of the delights of this city.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Perspective
Perspective
I had an
appointment for today at 2pm to consult with the oncologist…finally. It should have happened two weeks ago but
they “lost my paperwork.” Today at 1:30
pm I received a phone call postponing the appointment until tomorrow
morning. “Sorry for the last minute
cancellation,” she said.
I asked
about whether they were doing the markings and set up tomorrow too. “Oh no,” she said, “that will be sometime
next week, if we can find a slot for you.”
“Oh and then I’ll begin the radiation?”
“Well no,
then we’ll have to see when we can fit
you in to begin sometime in the next month.”
I wondered
why, and felt a little sorry for myself; sorry that obtaining treatment would
take so long and be so vaguely planned.
Then I remembered.
I have a
home, un-burnt and un-flooded. I have
electricity and heat. I can do laundry and can drive where I want to
go. I don’t have two hundred year old
Black Oaks falling on my roof while I wait over a month for a tree company with
a crane to come and cut them down. I have
fresh food. I don’t have to worry about
the temperature dropping outside and my pipes freezing. I have Medicare which will pay for all or
most of my treatments, whenever they happen.
I’m a lucky
woman.
It helps to
keep the problems in perspective.
Photo and words are copyright © Carol Steel
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Resilience and Courage
Today, I want to acknowledge resilience and courage. Yesterday and on into today, storm surges, electrical outages, fires, heavy rains and enormous storm damage have ravaged the northeastern parts of the United States, particularly in the New Jersey and New York areas. My heart goes out to folks whose homes were swept away by flood or fire, to folks who lost power and water and sewer services, and who will be without them for days to come.
I am especially concerned about my daughter and her family living in New York. Their home is on high ground so they are lucky, above the danger of storm surges, though not immune to excessive rainfall and winds. The huge trees they lost fell away from their house, with no loss of life or damages to homes. They have no power but are still so lucky.
The next few days in New Jersey and New York will be filled with many stories of resilience and courage, as people help others who weren't so fortunate. Everyone will be dealing with the after effects of Sandy. Those who are able to wave their hands and say, "We're OK," will be able to assist those who have endured greater losses, those whose lives have been stripped bare.
My thoughts are with the millions who, with resilience, must face losses, and clean ups and rebuilding. And my thoughts are with those first responders who, with courage, will be there on the front lines of the disasters bringing help and hope.
I wish them all the best as they deal with enormous clean up and repair tasks.
To my daughter and family, I'm sorry that you are going though this and I send love.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Changing Seasons
The changing seasons
burst with drama in New Brunswick.
One week ago, the leaves were red, orange, yellow, and still on the trees
everywhere I looked. Now half the leaves
lie on the ground, edges curling, turning brown and rust; the fragrance of damp
earth and leaf compost in the autumn air.
But these last days of fall are full of gifts, not just
work. A sheltered outside corner and one
remaining chair make a peaceful break for coffee and time to read, as I
sit warmed by the sun.
The last of October and early November paint a different colour palette, in shades of grey; the stones and rock wall show again, tree trunks come out of hiding. Stark tree branches display silhouettes of black arches against a blue sky. Spruce and fir and pine show off myriad tones of green and the larch dances gold in the damper areas. The rich smell of the earth, the gently decomposing plants, the soon-to-be-resting shrubs all fan a faint musk to the breeze.
The last of October and early November paint a different colour palette, in shades of grey; the stones and rock wall show again, tree trunks come out of hiding. Stark tree branches display silhouettes of black arches against a blue sky. Spruce and fir and pine show off myriad tones of green and the larch dances gold in the damper areas. The rich smell of the earth, the gently decomposing plants, the soon-to-be-resting shrubs all fan a faint musk to the breeze.
The sound of birds is different now from summer bird
sound. The “chick-a-dee-dee-dee” of
Black-capped Chickadees, the buzzing rising “zzreeee” of Pine Siskins, the
“jay-jay-jay” of Blue Jays and the raspy “ka-squawk” of Ring-Neck Pheasants
predominate. Red squirrels scratch
over the pavement and crunch through the dry leaves as they seek and hide their
treasures.
Small children walk by our house on their way to the playground or to school. Sometimes I listen to the bubbling voices calling out in astonishment. “Look at this red leaf. Oh, look at this dark orange one. I can use this piece of rock to chalk on the road. Hey, look, a worm. A ladybug. A pheasant. A feather.” Every small thing is a source of wonder for them. Every puddle is a realm of delight.
How much of the changing seasons do we miss? How many delights do we pass by on our way to complete the chores? How many wonders are right in front of us? How much over-the-top beauty goes unnoticed?
Stop a moment, breathe, see and hear, fill your heart. Don’t miss the show.
The changing seasons burst with drama.
Photos and words are copyright Carol Steel.
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