Sky can be seen in reflections

When the cartop carrier came off his car's top on the Trans Canada Highway, my husband was very pleased no one was directly behind him. Not only that, but the carrier landed on the shoulder and not on the pavement. A man with a truck soon stopped and offered to follow Dick home, bringing the errant carrier in his truck.
Pictures, of course, had to be taken to prove to the friendly insurance people that there was some damage to the car.
During this process, the roof, hood, windshield and windows all reflected blue sky, white clouds, and trees, while the metal and glass even reflected my intrepid photographer his very self (if you look closely in the second and third photos).

Photos by Richard Schear, 2013

Posted for  Sky Watch Friday

and for Weekend Reflections

Christmas memory for Real Toads

Over at the online writers' group, Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, Peggy has asked members and contributors to write about a Christmas memory, either from our own point of view, or from a different point of view—perhaps a child's or a pet's.

Public domain photo

Yesterday, I told Peggy I thought I might try to write from the point of view of a wonderful dog my parents and young brother once had. A cross between the Ortega kids' Mexican mongrel, and Nana Ortega's black poodle, our dear Chiquita was smart and funny, loved Christmas, and always knew which gift on the tree was hers, no matter how many layers of giftwrap Mom used.
I was very busy yesterday, and am feeling under the weather today (although I must admit it is sunny, blue-sky weather above the snow) and I couldn't quite imagine myself as Chiquita, so I opened a page on my word-processing program and decided to see what happened.
And so...what did happen turned out to be a true story about the first year Mom, Dad and our much-younger brother Rob weren't home in Canada for Christmas, when what happened then was a surprise to us all.

Mom and Dad had

their retirement planned

before Mother had

our young brother.

when people asked

“now what will you do?”

they said “he’ll come along,

 he’ll like travel, too”

             http://www.w8themes.com/

and, yes, he was two

the first time they went

and they all fell in love

with the Baja,

and soon the year came

when they left in September

when it wasn’t the same

for us in December.

we all sat around

and some of us frowned

“what happens now?

 we just don’t know how

 to celebrate Christmas

 without them”

our grandparents tried

to cheerfully hide

missing Mom, Dad and Robbie.

but Nanny cried

and yes, so did I

and my sister

(who’d never admit it).

my brother Clint’s wife

said “what a strange life!”

we agreed she was right

and we nodded,

until someone thought

we should all put our thoughts

on a tape 

to send down

to the Baja.

“Merry Christmas, Mom!”

“Happy New Year, Dad!”

“was Santa good to you, Robbie?”

and we started smiling,

then laughing—

we could love them as much

when they weren’t with us

as we did when they were among us.

Kay Davies, December, 2013

Walking in a winter wonderland

Posted for the letter W at ABC Wednesday

The thing I like best about Winter is how Wonderful it looks before the snow has had a chance to melt, how lovely it looks before the sanding trucks and snowplows, and the householders with shovels and snowblowers get out there to mess it all up. It looks particularly lovely on evergreen trees.

The evergreen in the bottom photo (taken after dark, with a flash) is a spreading juniper, three of which are slowly taking over the boulevard between our house and the road. In the photo below, you might just be able to see the outline of my left arm and leg, made when I took a tumble into the snow, and the Worst of my fall was broken by one of the big spreading junipers. I don't go out Walking by myself very much any more, and you can see Why.

Photos by Kay Davies

For my lost, blue love

"Isala" by Ikea
photo by Ikea website

I fell in love

when I shouldn’t have—

I fell in love today:

her name is Isala,

she lives at Ikea,

and she can’t come here to stay.

I’m drawing plans:

I’m planning to

redecorate

the living room

in a clean,

crisp style,

that’s easy to maintain.

But while searching Ikea

on the internet,

for wall lamps with cords

(and finding them, too, I might add)

I somehow spotted Isala there

and she’s driving me quite mad.

She’s so blue

she’s nearly grey

but despite all that, she’s gay

and bright, and lively, too.

I’d love to possess her,

I would, wouldn’t you?

I would, I would, but she won’t do.

I’m looking instead

for black and white

and greyer shades of grey,

and lines that don’t attract the dust,

and cause all kinds of dusting fuss,

as her lovely legs would,

wouldn’t they?

So, farewell, Isala,

it has been fun

to have you

on my desktop

for a day,

where I could take a peek at you

when life got in my way.

 Posted for Open Link Monday

at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads

How does Lindy know it's for her?

A delivery truck driver brought this cardboard box to the house today. It is large, almost 3 feet by 3 feet, but it is quite flat, so I decided this would be a safe place to store it until Lindy's daddy can help me open it tomorrow, and then we'll put it together for Lindy. It will be a large ottoman, a place for her to sleep between our two recliners while we watch television.
I might have said something to Lindy as I took it across the floor, to put it upright between the kitchen island and the bench, but I don't remember what I said. It must have been "This is for you" however, because not long afterward I saw her sleeping between the box and the kitchen island.
"Oh, Mom," says Lindy, "this picture makes my tail end look too big."

Photo by Kay Davies, December 14, 2013

Posted for Pet Pride, which is hosted by Lindy's friend Bozo and his family in Mumbai, India, at their Pets Forever blog.
and for
Camera Critters, hosted by Misty Dawn. Thanks, Misty.
Lindy says, "Hi, Bozo, I'm glad you're back from your holiday." And she also says, "Hi, Misty, I know you're very busy but it's so nice to see a picture of one of your dogs."

Kerry talks to toads about Mandiba

'Finally we managed to see and hear the father of a nation that had yet to be born'

Richard Ramsden, about Nelson Mandela’s

release from prison on February 11, 1990

His Excellency

Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela

OM AC CC OJ GCStJ

QC GCH BRRSerafO NPk

President of South Africa

10 May 1994–14 June 1999

The woman behind the online writers' group Imaginary Garden with Real Toads is Kerry, a South African poet, teacher and mother who has taught us many things about writing poetry, and has gently mothered many of us through our growth as poets.

When Nelson Mandela died earlier this month, Kerry was working long, hard hours marking official exams, along with many other teachers. We, her far-flung group of toadlings, were unable to communicate with her until today. It was a strange, even eerie, feeling for me and, I'm sure, for other Real Toads worldwide, to be unable to reach out to Kerry at such a time.

However, she and all the other people working at the marking centre "came together in respect and communal sorrow to offer up prayers in 6 languages, representing 4 religions...the people of a land so long torn apart by unnatural divisions...(and) that we were there, joined in brotherly love, is a direct consequence of Nelson Mandela's life."

Today, Kerry has asked us to write, if we care to, about Nelson Mandela, familiarly known to South Africans as "Mandiba" (his clan name) or "Tata" (father) or "Tata Mandiba".

  *

 I was only a year and a half old when the system of apartheid became law in South Africa. I'm sure no one in Canada spoke to me about it at that time, but I'm equally sure my parents must have spoken about it when they thought they were alone.

I was a very inquisitive child, even then, and listened carefully to everything I heard.

I was also sensitive to moods and, I'm sure, to opinions. I certainly grew up with a deep antipathy toward apartheid, toward segregation of any kind, and even, I realized when I first met the people who were to become my brother's in-laws, toward the Dutch...perhaps unreasonable of me to blame the Netherlands for what happened in their former colony.

Although I dropped my negativity toward my sister-in-law's family, I maintained a hard line regarding segregation, and carried, almost unbeknownst to myself, a bitterness toward white South Africans, even after Nelson Mandela's release from prison in 1990.

As it happened, I was living in a very small town in south-central British Columbia in the early 1990s. I was on a disability pension and visited the local medical clinic quite regularly. I had a nice Irish-born doctor who, for reasons I've now forgotten, moved away, and I was transferred to the new doctor, a white South African.

"No," I declared. I was at my most charming, obviously. "I won't. I don't believe in white South Africans."

(Apologies, at this juncture in 2013, to my South African friends: Kerry, Jo, Jo's husband Grant, and Jo's brother Phillip.)

Fortunately, for the good of my soul and my digestion, I had long since learned to forgive some of the white people from some of the southern US states, because progress had earlier been made with regard to American segregation policies, and only once had I thrown someone out my door for calling Martin Luther King "that nigger"!

Back to the small-town medical clinic in the 1990s...

"What," said the nurse, "do you mean? How can you not believe in white South Africans?" in a tone of voice suggesting I had lost most, if not all, of my marbles.

So I saw the new doctor, and let him see me. He was wonderful. He was young, kind, considerate, gentle, friendly, and asked my advice about writing because he enjoyed writing and wanted to try it in English, which wasn't his first language. He listened to my opinions, and took my chronic pain seriously. I absolutely adored him until he moved to New York to become a radiologist, because they enjoy regular working hours.

Meanwhile, far, far from that small BC town, Nelson Mandela had been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize together with F.W. de Klerk, for bringing about the end of apartheid.

Mandela also received the Order of Canada and was the first living person to be granted honorary Canadian citizenship.

Awards and honors from many other countries were bestowed upon him, and it was becoming obvious, even to that little girl who still resided deep in my heart, that Nelson Mandela, Tata Mandiba of South Africa, no longer needed my help.

Asking someone else for a line for Toads

Over at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, our hero Corey suggested we ask someone else to provide a line with which to start a poem.
So I asked my husband, when he came home from refereeing high school basketball.

Silly me.
He first suggested "my husband is such a wonderful guy" and when I said "no way" he changed it to "I am such a lucky gal" and then went off to have a shower.
I tried. I tried his first suggestion, and came up with:

my husband is such a wonderful guy

I can’t think of anyone wonderfuller even if I actually try

his humility is exceeded

only by his modesty

followed by a couple of seriously uncomplimentary lines. Not nice. 

Then I had a go at his second suggestion. Still not particularly complimentary, but at least I wrote more than half a dozen lines.

I am such a lucky gal

my husband is the perfect pal—

he doesn’t listen when I talk,

at my suggestions he will balk.

he leaves open drawers and doors

and seldom sweeps or mops the floors,

he chews gum beside my ear

so no other sound I hear.

when we, together, watch TV

and there’s something he can’t see,

he will question blind old me

despite my cataract surgery.

however, I think I’ll keep him, despite

the number of times per day we fight

he’d be difficult to replace alright

because who else could stand the sight

of me in the morning, hair all messed,

teeth in a jar, and Kay not dressed?

Cheating for Weekend Reflections

Cheating? Yes, it's true.
I, who am committed to rigorous honesty, cannot pretend to have taken these pictures. Nor did my husband, nor did any other of my friends and relations. But you can see how the light reflects in both photos, and the light of the laser reflects in the first one as brightly as the light of the fire does in the second.

Photos from Canadian Tire online flyer

These are my Christmas gifts. One is from my husband, and one is from myself. For some reason, Dick said he'd rather not give me a mitre saw. He did, however, accept my money, then go to the store to buy it. Yay! I've always wanted a mitre saw. Merry Christmas to me!

And, said husband got me a TV stand with an electric fireplace in it. So now I won't have to watch the fireplace channel any more— or perhaps I will, this Christmas season, because there's really no point in putting new furniture together before we install the new flooring in the living room and dining room.
I've always wanted an electric fireplace. I've done my time chopping wood and keeping the home fires burning when I was much younger and stronger. A remote control is now my speed.
I must admit that, just today, I told a blogger friend I don't like shopping, and it's mostly true. I don't like rushing through shopping malls to buy this, that, and the other thing for people on a list. I love the people who are there, on the list, but I don't like Christmas shopping.
So I have a remote control for shopping, too. It's a two-parter. The first part consists of my computer, and the second part is Richard Schear, my husband, who loves crowds and shopping.
Now, I had just typed the previous paragraph, when the fireplace arrived. It turned out to be too big to fit in Dick's car, so it was brought from the store by two wonderful women, our friend Bonnie and her daughter Lacey. Bonnie also brought her granddaughter "Zaffy" to play with the dog while she and Lacey struggled with the weight of the huge box.
Dick, who could have helped them with it, arrived home just after they left.
Thanks, ladies, we really appreciate it!

Posted for
Weekend Reflections
hosted by James of Something Sighted

Time to "get listed" in the Imaginary Garden

Fireblossom has provided us with a list of 23 words from Edgar Allan Poe’s story “The System of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether” and asked us to use at least five of the words in a new poem written in any style except haiku.

This should be fun and not very difficult for members and contributors at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.

Of course, I will try to use as many of the words as I can, dealing them out with a lavish hand in my poem entitled:

Poe

Tarr and Fether

as amusements

during this degree of lunacy,

glasses full of feathers

from a cadaverous crow

are oh so soothing—

their oddity examined

in a frenzy of whispers

by several devilish madmen 

and one vulgarly natural lady

By Kay Davies, December 11, 2013                                   

Fireblossom's list follows:

credential

lunacy

vulgarly

frenzy

amusements

gossip

oddity

lavish

lady

natural

cadaverous

degree

irrational

crow

gibbering

whisper

system

soothing

devilish

madmen

glasses

catastrophe

feathers

                              

The letter V is for variable

could be blue skies 

could be grey

could be near

or far away

could be wind

or could be snow

weather varies, don't we know?

Posted for

the letter V 

at ABC Wednesday

Our World Tuesday: 'tis the season

Charlie Brown tree
bought when gold one
couldn't be found in
the crowded cellar
last year.

It seems 'tis the season to be decorating in Our World. Canadian Thanksgiving has come and gone. Hallowe'en has come and gone. American Thanksgiving has come and gone. My birthday has come and gone. Shoppers are rushing home with their presents, and people are posting photos of their Christmas trees online.
The other day I told my husband it was too early to put up a tree, and he wondered why.
"Because," I answered, as a wife should.
A day or so later, after he brought my little gold artificial tree up from the cellar (when he was finally putting his Hallowe'en decorations away and wanted to save a trip down the ladder), I told him, "I said it was too early because, when I was young, we didn't put our Christmas trees up a week after my birthday, we put them up a week before Christmas, because we had cut trees. Dad always went out to cut a tree when we were kids."

My little gold tree, found in
the cellar this year.

That's true. The environment was then referred to as "the mountain" or "the forest" when trees were plentiful, and were also free on Crown Land (aka government land). It was a long, long time ago.
We lived in what was then a small town in British Columbia, and everyone's dad went out to cut a tree. Then they cobbled up tree stands from whatever bits of lumber they had available, to keep the tree upright while it stood in a bucket of water (judiciously replenished by the moms) on a bathmat (to save the floor) in the living room. This tree stand contraption was then draped with tin foil, with only a few strategically placed pieces of tape to hold it there but still allow for watering cans.
Gifts were hidden until a day or two before Christmas, because my mother and sister almost always peeked, and our "big" gifts (i.e. skates, toboggans, or bicycles) were put, unwrapped, around the tree while we slept the night before Christmas.
Cut trees, dads knew, would dry out if put up and decorated too soon, and would become fire hazards. People who lived near forests knew about fire hazards. City people, not so much.
I miss the smell of cut trees, and of the live trees I had when I was an adult on the west coast, where trees could be planted outside after Christmas. I miss the smell of trees, but I don't miss the smell of forest fires.

Our little Alberta Spruce in the front yard.
I'm thinking of putting lights on it, if we can find
the outdoor lights, the nearest outdoor power source, and
the long outdoor extension cord I know we have somewhere.

So now my husband (did I mention he's Jewish?) knows why I thought this past weekend was too early for a tree.

Posted
for
Our
World
Tuesday

Open Link Monday, sorted book poems

Some time ago, the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads introduced me to something I'd never heard of before, and I thought it was such fun. Pile up some books so that the titles form a poem.

Well, that's easier said than done for a reader who has been gobbling up mystery novels for 50 years or more, so I have stacks of books here and there, on chairs and shelves and tables and floors.
My husband has seen me peering at the spines of the books, picking a book up and moving it to another pile, and hasn't once asked what I'm doing. That could be a good thing or a bad thing. Either he knows me well enough to know why I'm doing it, or he doesn't know me at all and has no clue what I'm doing.
All I have achieved from weeks of piling up books may be seen below. Not quite two poems, just two little bits of doggerel.
And the dog? She's not interested in my doggerel at all, but I'm posting it here for Open Link Monday at the garden nevertheless.

the first rule: no nice girl swears.

something beautiful this way comes—

such a strange lady, half asleep in frog pajamas,

a night to remember!

les jeux sont faits

five red herrings, sitting on a salt spring, talk to the hand,

add a dash of pity to a god unknown,

a taste for death—

strong poison in the teeth of the evidence

Cohen, for Real Toads weekend challenge

Kim has provided two versions of the song Hallelujah to prompt members and participants in the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads to write a poem of praise this weekend.

Wikipedia photo,
album cover circa 1980s

The song was written after much struggle and many rewrites by Canadian singer-songwriter-poet-author Leonard Cohen and became, to the world, much more than a single track on a 1984 Cohen album.
It has been covered so often, and changed so often, that more than 300 versions of it now exist: many, or even most of them, Christian, despite having been written by an observant Jew who is also a Zen-Buddhist.
Kim says of this challenge: "To inspire your own rendition of praise, I share two videos. Watch them. Feel the emotion in each. Hear the beauty in both. Become inspired."

I know Leonard Cohen suffered from depression, and his early works often contained themes of self-harm and suicide. My poem today is in praise of Cohen himself, a man who triumphed over his doubts and fears to become one of the most honored and decorated men in my country today. 
Wikipedia says of him "Leonard Norman Cohen, CC GOQ (born 21 September 1934) is a Canadian Juno Award-winning singer-songwriter, musician, poet, and novelist. His work often explores religion, isolation, sexuality, and personal relationships. Cohen has been inducted into the AmericanRock and Roll Hall of Fame and both the Canadian Music Hall of Fame and the Canadian Songwriters Hall of Fame. He is also a Companion of the Order of Canada, the nation's highest civilian honour. In 2011, Cohen received a Prince of Asturias Award for literature."

I have used many words and phrases taken from the video of Leonard Cohen performing the song as he wrote it. My poem suggests that there was a time or more when his faith was gone. I don't know that it ever was, but I suspect it because of his history of depression.

Wikipedia photo
Leonard Cohen, 2008

The Word

Leonard Cohen knew the word

he knew the only word

was hallelujah

when his faith was gone

he needed proof

he stood and cried

upon the roof

and tried to find

deep in his mind

the note that made them sing oh hallelujah

he cursed the crowd

and pulled his hair

and from his lips he drew a hallelujah

but wondered if it was the chord

that David played, that pleased the Lord

or was it just a lonely hallelujah

a brilliant, lonely singer’s hallelujah?

Kay Davies, December, 2013          

Deer or rabbit camera critters?

Caught on film at just the right (or wrong) time, these deer show they don't all run quite the same way. Thanks to Lindy and her daddy (my husband and intrepid photographer, Richard Schear) I am left to ponder the question of how deer do run.
Those are some of the local greenhouses draped in snow and ice in the background. Lindy knows just where and when the greenhouses dispose of cucumbers that are too big or too small or not shapely enough to sell to the public. Lindy loves cucumbers!

Posted for
Camera Critters, hosted by Misty Dawn, who has a darling new baby keeping her busy but she keeps Camera Critters going, nevertheless. Thanks so much, Misty!

I'm also linking to Eileen's brand new feature, Saturday Critters.

Photo by Richard Schear

Which is the reflection?

Kay Davies photo, September, 2013

Which is the reflection? Is the lamp behind the half-wall a reflection of the lamp on the sitting-room table? No, it's a bedside lamp. Which of the lamps is reflected in the window? I don't know for sure, but I'm guessing the sitting-room lamp. Which is reflected on the wall beside the second bedside table? I'm guessing the first bedside lamp, which has also reflected a bit in the second bedside lamp. There's even a bit of reflection on the plastic water glass in the foreground.
My reflections may not be as exotic as those spotted by James, of Something Sighted, who hosts the Weekend Reflections meme, but at least this week they are my own, and not taken by my intrepid photographer, because he didn't accompany me on this trip to the coast of Virginia in September.
Thanks for giving me the opportunity to reflect for posterity, James!

Bits and bobs for Margaret at Real Toads

Photo by Jennifer MacNeill, figurine artist and photographer,

posted by Margaret as prompt for Artistic Interpretations challenge

Today at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, we have been prompted by Margaret Bednar to write a poem based on photographs by artist and photographer Jennifer MacNeill. The set of photos Margaret chose were taken in low light, and are from a series entitled "The Collector" — this particular photo is called "Bits and Bobs" — it brings back memories of my childhood. I love the maple leaf just right of centre near the top of the photo.

bits and bobs of this and that,

decorations for a hat,

pins to hold the hat to hair,

and do I see a cameo there?

memories of another era—

infinitely carefully carved

by a sculptor who would starve

before he’d let mistakes get by,

now to his art machines apply

heedless mechanical hands, no eye

to distinguish wrong from right

so some of them are quite a fright!

ahh, the old, the bits and baubles

of another time when trouble

was always taken with the making,

infinite care, and so painstaking.

Kay Davies, December 6, 2013                         

Blue skies: Cologne on the Rhine

It's been a while since I've posted photos from our European travels, and I thought I'd use some today, after talking to my eldest niece.
I was happy to have been able to see the city of Cologne on our Rhine-Main-Danube cruise with Viking River Cruises last year.

Richard Schear
photos, 2012

For much of the cruise I was unwell, but in Cologne I was up to doing a bit of shopping. We were looking for two very specific things: soccer jerseys in the white the German national team wears for home games, with the names of a certain two players on them.
One was for my niece's husband who was in hospital in Vancouver last year with leukemia. The other was for his brother, whose blood turned out to be a match for a bone marrow transplant.
We had been warned by a few of the ship's crew that such specific items might be difficult to find, and they were, but we managed it.
Our nephew-in-law was delighted with the result. He has now been home for several months, and is working at regaining his strength with the goal of discontinuing his medications and returning to work. It might take a while, but he is determined to succeed.

So, here, while I'm thinking of him,  are some photos of blue skies in Cologne, posted for Skywatch Friday.

Izy's Out of Standard challenge: no snow

Over at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, for her Out-of-Standard challenge, Isadora Gruye has asked that members and contributors use the name "Eskimo" in a poem, without using or making reference to the word snow.
 
This, then, is something of a North American folktale, involving a First Nations person in the far north and a French Canadian person from farther south, which I have rewritten, with no intention of slighting the First Nations people, the French Canadian people, or religion in general.

My use of the French language might not be entirely correct, even though I asked my Anglo-French (educated in Montreal) husband for help. Some mockery, however, of the tourism industry might possibly be found herein.

 *

once there was a tourist

lost in The Great North Waste—

he cried out, “mon dieu, aidez moi!”

but he saw no sign of any god...

Wikimedia Commons

he saw a great white owl,

which swooped toward him,

flew off toward the south,

then swooped toward him again,

back and forth

back and forth

to him and to the south,

several times,

many times.

exhausted from

shooing the owl away,

the tourist cried “mon dieu, aidez moi!”

but still saw no sign of any god...

that night he saw a bright star

hanging in the sky

moving closer and closer

to the southern horizon

as the earth moved.

shading his eyes from its brightness

he tried to get some rest

until morning, when the star was gone.

ever so very tired

from his restless night,

he cried in his exhaustion, “mon dieu, aidez moi”

over and over

and over again,

until he could cry no more,

and gave up.

the next thing he knew,

someone was shaking his shoulder,

“wake up,” said a voice, “wake up!”

and someone shook him again.

“pourquoi?” he mumbled

“je suis désolé, je ne reviens pas”

Wikimedia Commons

 “wake up,” said the voice

 again, and again,

 until he opened his eyes

 and saw an Esquimaux

 standing beside a sled

 covered with fur blankets.

“ah, monsieur, vous avez m’aidez!

 merci beaucoup, monsieur Esquimaux,”

Wikimedia
Commons

and he continued to thank him

until they had travelled

to the nearest town

where the tourist’s wife

and children

and mother-in-law

were crying, “le bon dieu,

 il toi a sauvé,

 le bon dieu, il toi a sauvé!”

but the tourist insisted

that it had not been

any god who had saved him,

it had been an Esquimaux

who had finally found him.

“monsieur l’esquimaux m’a sauvé”

he stated firmly,

whereupon a voice

issued from the clouds,

and the Northern Lights

bounced to the rhythm of the voice:

“I sent an owl

 to  lead you to safety,

 but you chased

 the owl away.

 then I sent a star

 to lead you to safety

 but you hid your face

 from the star.”

“ but mon dieu, mon dieu,”

stuttered the tourist

“I remember, I was not saved

 until monsieur l’esquimaux...”

“and who do you think,”

thundered the voice

from the heavens:

“who do you think it was

 who sent the Eskimo?”

this adaptation by Kay L. Davies, December, 2013                

U is for Unprepared

Everyone who reads this blog knows how much we love our dog Lindy, and knows she has a special bond with her daddy.
Now, no matter how reassuring the online information may seem, and it really has proven helpful, we still find ourselves unprepared for what is already happening...Lindy has cataracts, and is losing her eyesight. She still has some distance vision, but she can't see a cookie (a dog cookie, of course) held right in front of her nose.
And surgery is not an option.
She is becoming more and more dependent upon us, and although we love caring for her, reassuring her, hugging her and cuddling with her, we mourn the loss of her eyesight far more than she does.

She has always loved adventure, walking with her daddy, whatever the weather, to see what they can see. She loved spotting the deer in the distance, and was always sure she would love to leap and run with them.
I remember the first time she saw antelope (what funny-looking deer!) and wanted to run with them, too.

In warm weather she loved to roll around on her back, and was particularly pleased if she could entice one of us to rub her tummy.

Now she likes to cuddle in the house a lot more, and tummy rubs on the floor are becoming the rule rather than the exception.

Will we ever be ready for, and accepting of, this change in our lives or will we always be unprepared?

Posted for the letter U at ABC Wednesday

Tuesday dawned with deep snow

The snow here is so deep, it is over the tops of Lindy's snowboots. In fact, today (Tuesday) it's even deeper than in the photo at right.

Posted for
Our World Tuesday
In other parts of Alberta, highways are closed and the roadwork trucks have been recalled to protect the safety of their drivers.