obvious

I came in from shovelling the other day, soaked to the skin because the snow was wet. I hung my hat up on a nail on a beam that goes across the area where we take our shoes off. I don't normally hang things up here - perhaps this is why it all went down the way it did. This area is also pretty central to the house - we pass through it all the time, to go from living room to kitchen and back again, to go to the basement, to go outside. I hung the hat up on the nail to dry, then promptly forgot about it.

For days afterward I was wondering where my hat had gotten off to. I have other hats, so it wasn't urgent. But then I wanted to wear that particular one - for reasons too mundane to go into even on one's own personal blog - and I searched the house up and down for it. Standing in the area where we take our shoes off, I queried my housemates - "Have you seen my hat?" No-one had.

"Huh," I said. "It's a mystery."

Mum said, "Do you mean this hat?" She pointed above my head. There on the nail in the beam above my head, was the very hat I'd been puzzling over.

"Well, mystery solved!" I said.

That got me thinking about obvious. It was so obvious! Yet I didn't even see it. What else is obvious?

Here's one - and even thinking about writing about it got me nervous, despite the anonymity of my confession - something else obvious is when you like someone. (Which, hey, big surprise, I do.) When you've got a crush so big you think, "OK, this must  be so obvious. Surely when he looks me in the eye he must SEE what I'm feeling. Is my face really that impermeable? Because, it really doesn't feel like it." Yet - nothing changes. You're able to pretend you don't feel what you feel. You don't want to be obvious.

To be obvious is to be vulnerable. To be in the way, to put your feelings out there where someone can see them. To hang them on the nail on the beam in the middle of the house. And yet - maybe you'd do that and still no-one would pay attention. After all, it's possible with a hat.

view

 

 

These photos were all taken within a 30 meter radius of each other.

The top one was taken yesterday morning or perhaps the morning before. I arrived at work with a few minutes to spare, and parked facing the lake. The cold morning was warming up, and there was mist rising off the lake. I don't know if you can really see it here or not, but it was there. It was cold - I've already said that, but that's OK. The sun was rising just behind the island, across the little harbour from the marina. The sky and the light in it was clear. I stood and watched it, taking pictures, just watching the mists slowly moving across the surface of the water. So often I just rush right into work - it was nice to just stand and watch.

The middle one I took just a few minutes ago. I'm sitting in the library, looking out at the same harbour, which is now grey and has snow softly falling into it. I really liked the pattern that the tire tracks made in the snow in the parking lot down below. They make parts of circles, intersecting. Lines. It looks like someone with a big piece of paper just playing with form - making wide arcs with charcoal, or something. A looseness about them.

I'm taking the day to sit in the library, and catch up on stuff. I'm rather excited about it. It feels good to catch up - catch up with your own life. "OK you, slow down, let me catch you, let me do some maintenance. Then you can go running off again." I'm hidden behind some stacks, I can hear when people come in the library and chat with the librarian, and I can hear their voices and try and guess who they are. But I'm sitting alone by the window, looking out at the snow.

(That's the third photo - inside the library. The old wooden tables and chairs. Haphazard comfort.)

There was a little boy here earlier, whose mother I know. They came down back to look around the children's area and take some books home. He's three years old. He ran over to me and picked up the jar of raisins, dried cranberries and sunflower seeds that I took with me for a snack.

"What's THIS?" He asked.

"Oh, that's my snack." I said. "Do you have snacks sometimes?"

"Yeah. But not now."

Later he came back down. "I think I'm going to have some," he said. "Of the snack."

His mother, at the front of the library, could hear him. "David, it's not nice to ask people for things. Wait until you're offered."

"You can have some," I said, after checking with her. I handed him a raisin, and a cranberry. He handed the cranberry back, "I don't like cranberries." But his eyes grew wide at the raisin.

"David, where's your manners?" His mother called.

"Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome, dear," I said, calling him "dear" automatically. The Maritimes make me call people dear, hon, buddy. He was twenty feet away already - kids move so fast. He turned around.

"What did you call me?"

"Dear!"

He giggled and ran away. I could hear him say to his mother, "Do you know what that girl said to me?"

"What did she say?"

"You're welcome, dear!" and he laughed.

"You ARE a dear," his mother said.

I think trading a raisin for that is a good bargain.

(f)rig it!

So it turns out, sailing is HARD.

OK, let me amend that. Sailing a 420 Laser when you've only ever had one sailing lesson, you're tired from a LONG day at work, and you're not sure what the heck you're doing, is HARD.

Last week I went to my sailing class, after a long, hot day at work. I finished up, went over to the yacht club, ate a peanut butter and honey sandwich, and then helped Linda rig our boat. (To rig a boat is to put the sails on and tie the sheets properly. Sheets are ropes that are used to move the sails. And they need to be tied into shackles and pulleys and things, so they can move the sails with a minimum of work by the sailor.)

The first time I sailed, a few weeks ago, I sailed a pram, which is a simple boat with one sail, one sheet. One person. For some reason which I can't recall now - although it may have had something to do with wanting to try something new, and my boss Stuart who is a sailing genius had said, the 420's were way better to teach you sailing - I decided to up the game a bit and try a 420.

Now, in comparison to a pram, a 420 has two sails (a main and a jib, which is in front of the main), two people (one to be "skipper" and steer and work the mainsail, one to be "crew" and work the jib), and a number of sheets. Like, six or seven or a hundred. I don't know, but more than a pram. Anyway, I foolhardily climbed into the 420 and the instructor pushed Linda and I away from shore. A little too late I realized I didn't know what the heck I was doing.

"Use the tiller!" said Linda, and I did. However, the instructor, getting smaller every second as we drifted away from shore, yelled after us, "Your rudder is only halfway in! Push it down!" But how? Because meanwhile, we're moving into the path of other boats, I'm trying to steer us and I still have no idea how to work the mainsail. There is a rope that looks like it might be the right one, but it's hooked into all kinds of pulleys, so where do I pull it from? Meanwhile my "crew" is no help, because she's working the jib sail and telling me what to do with the tiller, which is still no real use to me because it's not pushed down all the way and I still have no idea how to do that and -

OH EFF the boom just cracked me in the head

Do I have a concussion? Oh shit, isn't THIS perfect - OK, no concussion, but this EFFING HURTS - fuckity fuck fuck fuck - OK steer -

I hate sailing!

I want to go home!

Oh shit the tiller, right, OK - breathe!

Meanwhile the instructors, two women in their early twenties, are going around the eleven of us in their motor boats, going, "You're doing great!" No, I'm really not great here. Every time I think I have it figured out, something else frigs up and I'm left freaking out a little more. We make it around a few marks - miraculously I've figured out how to control my mainsail, no thanks to any of the instructors, who just followed us around going "You're doing great!" and then suddenly -

We're tipping! The boat is going over on one side dangerously close to the water - how the EFF did this happen? Linda's going "What are you DOING LEAH!?!?" and I'm pulling on things and letting things out but none of it is helping as slowly but surely we go degree by degree closer to tipping this whole frigging boat, sails and all, into the water, oh lord what a mess that will be! And then suddenly -

We right again. BREATHE. The other women in their boats clap for us and I give them a grin but inside I'm going WHAT THE HECK JUST HAPPENED?!?! I can't actually remember the few seconds between the boat nearly tipping and righting again. No idea what happened or what I did.

The next time the instructor comes around I tell her - "I don't think I do this." She tries to convince me that "I'm doing great" but I just keep saying I'm not doing well, so she ties up her boat to a buoy, puts Linda in it, and climbs into the 420 with me. I climb into crew position, at the front of the boat with just the jib to deal with. She knows what she's doing and she brings us around a few marks. All I have to do is pull on the jib sheet to match the main sail, and duck my head a little when the boom swings sides. I can feel the tears building behind my eyes - relief, so now it's time for the dam to spill over. I try to keep it back. She says,

"So then we'll switch, and I'll crew and you skipper."

"No, I don't think that's a good idea." Of course I'd love to be able to - would love to give my teacher what she wants, would love to be a great student. But I know myself better than that, by now. I know that I'm melting down. So we return to Linda in the rescue boat, and this time I get in it. Linda and the teacher go for a few turns. I sit in the moored boat and just

float

there for a few minutes. It's heaven. It's soothing. I don't want to cry because I'm afraid I'll lose my contact lenses so I just sit and breathe. Look out at the other women moving their prams around. Every now and then one of them goes by me and asks what I'm doing in the boat, and I laugh and say, "It's a long story!"

By the time Linda and the instructor get back it's time to go back in to the wharf. I crew this time. Linda skippers. I can tell that she sees how hard it is, now that she's the one doing it. We make it back in. We bring our boat up onto the dolly and wheel it onto the dock. Then we de-rig it. Mona's husband Jim is there and he gives me a big hug and tells me I did great. (He's a former windsurfing pro and loves to sail. He and Mona are among my favorite people.) I'm cursing all over the place, "Fuck that was hard!" Then I apologize for it. "I'm sorry guys, I curse when I'm stressed."

"That's OK," says Lois, "I curse when I'm NOT stressed!"

The sails get folded up, put away. Everyone else leaves and it's just me and Mona sitting there on the steps. The instructors have locked the doors and gone home. We sit there and watch the lake, and talk. We talk about sailing - and how it's actually harder than it looks. How there is quite a lot on the line - despite the cheery view of sailing as the All American sport, rosy-cheeked, white-pants-wearing, robust and healthy men and women pulling on ropes and raising sails and saying "Ahoy there," it's actually life and death out there. Let's face it - if you get water in your lungs, you die. If you get tangled in the ropes and your boat tips and you can't get out of there, you die. And when you're sailing, you can't just pull over to the side of the road. You're out on the water and you somehow have to get back. And the conditions are constantly changing, and you have absolutely no control over them - the wind could be coming from one direction when you start, and then switch around. Who knows what will come up when you're out on the water?

I tell Mona that sitting out in the moored rescue boat, having my private freak-out, I doubted myself for one of the first times since starting work at the marina. See, all day long at work I'm on land, I'm talking the talk but not walking the walk. I talk about halyards and moorings and charts and all of it, and I'm around boats that are on land or are moored to the dock. So it's fairly easy to feel confident in that environment (even when you feel like there's so much to learn and you know so little). But to actually go out in a boat, go out into the water and learn how to control the boat's movements - that's a whole other game. And that day, I seriously wondered - "Do I belong here? Was this a smart move?"

I came back in again and cursed with the other women and realized, remembered, was reminded - that learning takes time. That we can't expect ourselves to master something on our second bloody lesson. That sometimes when you push your limits it's too much. Pull yourself back in again.

Hoo boy.

So here we are - another week has slipped away and become the past. Tomorrow night is sailing night again. This time, I'm preparing. I'm getting off work an hour early. I'm going to go somewhere quiet and rest. Then I'm going to show up at the Yacht Club, and rig a pram. Start again with the smallest boat. Go out by myself, one sail, one sheet, one person.

I bet you've got something great to say. Leave a comment, I'd love to hear from you. I love it when I check my email and I get one saying that someone has left a comment. It makes my day! Tell me about your meltdowns, your sailing experience, your doubts about changes you've made in your life.

twenty-six.

I was going to do a list of "twenty six awesome things about this week," but realized that not only would it get difficult to think up that many awesome things, but it might not be a realistic picture of life. I mean, things ARE pretty good, but life has lots of sides to it. So here goes: Twenty-six Things About This Week, Awesome and Otherwise.

1. It started with a rainy Sunday. One of the best bits of that day: watching this part of the "David Bowie" episode of Flight of the Conchords, on YouTube of course. "What are you doing in my room?" "It's all part of your freaky dream. Am I freaking you out?"

2. I started my new job at a marine supply and yacht maintenance facility, here in my village. My feet were sore on Monday night from walking around on a concrete floor looking for marine parts and standing behind the corner. But, I was proud of myself for going into something brand new, and facing all that newness. It felt like when you're in a foreign place with people you've just met, who all know each other. And they're having a conversation about stuff they all know really well, and you have to just listen, not having a clue really who they're talking about - only in this case, it's "fuel connectors" and "retainer rings".

3. I'm house-sitting and dog-caring for some people I've house-sat for before.

4. The house is comfortable, sensually-pleasing (art, books, nice furniture, lots of windows with beautiful views of the lake and Kidston Island) and for two weeks, my temporary home.

5. It has a big queen-size bed decked out with a pile of down-filled pillows.

6. The dog, Nell the border collie, is a sweet, loving, frisky, excitable, entertaining and smart companion. She tries to chew at water in the bathtub.

7. The last time I was house-sitting here, I was with my then-boyfriend. He is now my ex-boyfriend, and I miss him fiercely. Everything here reminds me of him - the same way that everything reminded me of him just after we broke up, which has now waned to nearly everything.

8. There is a fireplace (which - of course - reminds me of how he took care of it for me when we were here), and I love to come home from work and build up the embers back into a hot, rustling fire. On Sunday, when it was raining, and on Monday, when it was gloomy, the fire was especially comforting.

9. Because I've been swimming in a pool (at a resort here in town - a month's pass is $56), I've had towels drying by the fireplace, draped over some of the dining room table chairs. They are summer's beach towels, and colored brightly, with stripes.

10. Although it's been a busy week, I've been able to get in some swim time. I get on my bathing suit (or "swimming costume" - which makes me feel British to say) and my swim cap (which makes me feel like a "real" swimmer) and shower quickly. Then I get into the pool, walking down the steps until the water is waist-high. I push off into the water. My stresses float away behind me.

11. The pool water is an artificial yet pretty, icy-glacier blue. However, it is not cold like a glacier, which is probably good. Its temperature is mild. Depending on the day, it can border on too warm, but mostly it's refreshing.

12. Words I've learned and/or used a lot, so far this week: anode, bilge pump, work orders, Mercury Marine, Stright-MacKay, rigging, teak, deck, anti-fouling, draft, charts, wharfage, mooring, spark plug, purchase orders, boom truck, accounts receivable, bolt, pitch... the list goes on, and on.

13. I drive around in my car, to get to work, to do groceries, to take the dog for a walk in the country. I've had my car now for two months. My dirty little secret - I really, really like driving. (I feel a lot of guilt about it, though. But I do really, really like driving. I'm thinking of doing a whole post on this at some point.)

14. I have a tentative plan to get some body work done on my car, by a guy who's known as one of the best body-workers in our area. I'll be getting some rusty spots sanded down, and the whole thing buffed to a nice sheen that might just restore her to her 1997 glory. Dealing with men in garages and talking about car things on my own car, and talking prices that I will pay, make me feel like I have truly become an adult. (Whether or not this is right, and/or is a symptom of our North American addiction to cars, is a whole other matter.)

15. For a similar reason, I am really liking this new job. I get to explore the masculine side of me - or at least, the part of me that likes to learn how things work, and work with actual physical things like machinery. I am feeling my brain expand, feeling it build new neurological connections as it takes in all this new knowledge.

16. Elise Blaha, of enJOY it, a blog I read pretty frequently, is getting married this coming weekend. She's documenting it on her blog - and she's a neat, crafty and designy gal, so it's an indulgent and pretty read.

17. It also happens to be Earth Week, and today is Earth Day.

18. My friend Bill Conall will be heading to Orillia pretty soon for the award ceremony. However, tomorrow night (Friday, April 23) he'll be here at the Baddeck Library, doing an event.

19. A man came into the library and said, "Do you have a humour section?" I said (without realizing I was making a pun), "Funny you should say that!" (I was in the middle of creating a display for books that had previously won the Stephen Leacock award.)

20. Burning papers in the fireplace instead of recycling them - makes you feel like you're REALLY getting rid of them. The to-do lists no longer exist. Or at least, they've become ash, which is impossible to read.

21. I have far more library books out than I can actually read. Thankfully, unlike agreeing to real-life events or actual responsibilities, with library books you can just return the ones you don't want anymore.

22. As impulse grabs go, library books are a good one. You see one on the shelf that strikes your fancy and you can just TAKE IT. No matter how much or how little money you make, you can go into a library and just take out books that make you go, "ooh!" And I don't pay fines any more because I'm library staff - but even if you did pay fines, they would be pretty minimal considering what you get from a library!

23. The week is not even over yet! On the weekend, I plan to go to a "feast" - a local chef who likes to branch out and try new things has these events where people he knows go to his house and sit down together for a meal. A six-course tasting menu all based on a theme, and using as many locally-sourced, organic ingredients as possible. Last month it was Alice in Wonderland. This month it is based on the 1922 novel, Enchanted April. It will be my first time attending one of these "feasts." No doubt I'll report back to you.

24. Today is a beautiful, sunny, sunny day. I have made a poster on the stand-up easel by the front of the library that says, "Happy Earth Day!" and have put a container of markers next to it, inviting patrons to add to it. So far we have gotten: a flower, "Happy Mirth Day," and "Happy Bearthday."

25. Making a list of things is fun, but can run out of steam too. Good thing this list is almost over.

26. Today is my twenty-sixth birthday! That's the reason this list has twenty-six items. My friend Mel left me a message with her singing "Happy Birthday," and my Mum and brother met me at the door at work, also in song. (And bearing a gift certificate to my new favorite restaurant, the Black Spoon. Hurray!)

Twenty-six. I feel both not-that-old-yet, and exactly-that-old. Funny how ages work - they're important to us, but we can definitely take them too seriously. How old did you feel when you were twenty-six? Or, if you're not that old yet, where you do see yourself when you're there?

...

april fool's day

Today at work, a little girl came in with her mother. I was shelving nearby and overheard the mum say to the little one, "OK, now show Kate your card." This happens a lot - kids like to be the one who presents the librarian with their library card.

Then I heard Kate burst out laughing. "You got me!" She said. "I nearly made it through the day without being April Fool-ed!"

I came over, curious. "Look at this!" She said, showing me what at first looked like a scrap of blue construction paper. Then I realized that the little girl had made a fake "library card," even printing the library's logo from a computer, and cutting it out and gluing it to the paper. She'd written out "library card" and her name. Brilliant!

"Can I still get the book?" The girl asked, and we said, "Of course!"

"And, can I keep the card?" She asked, and again we said, "Of course!"

Were you April Fool-ed today? Or did you fool anyone?

***

PS: No foolin, my friend and fellow writer Bill Conall scored a big one today! His novel, "The Rock In The Water" was shortlisted for the Stephen Leacock Memorial Award for Humour! He is up there with some big names, including Will Ferguson and William Deverell.

I was talking to Bill earlier - he called to tell us here at the library about being on cloud nine - and he said, "I said that if I were to make the shortlist, it would fulfill all my literary aspirations, so I guess everything from here on is anticlimactic." I'm thinking he's got bigger things ahead of him still.

Ask your local bookseller to bring in this book - it's a little-known gem.

Also - Bill started a blog last year, and has yet to do anything much with it. Leave a comment there and show him you're interested!

monday musings

Hard to believe this was just a little over a week ago! I was at a beach over on the West Side. I took my boots off to cross a little brook, and kept them off to feel the sand on my toes. And now, there is something like one or two feet of snow on the ground.

This is a mid-week post, just because. Sometimes I find myself reading other blogs (like the daily Love Life blog of Winnipeg) and getting inspired to post each day. Of course, trying to actually keep up with that would probably drive me nuts - and, I'd soon run out of things to say, because I don't want to be as open about my life as she is. (And, I haven't got any babies to provide constant cute material.)

So instead I settle for random, in-between-Thursdays-posts.

My weekend was good. I got to see other parts of the island, and drive through snowy weather in a big truck that I actually felt safe in. On Sunday, after a huge snow dump (two feet literally fell overnight), and after some shovelling, I set out for a snowshoe through fresh powder. It was quite the workout for my legs, and it was also really good to get outside. Being outside by myself, for a long walk or a long snowshoe, is like taking all the furniture out of my brain, dusting it off, and putting it all back in, clean and with a new perspective.

I dropped in on some neighbours and we talked for a while. My sweat had cooled and I was getting chilly by the time I was going to set out again. So the wife of the two said, "I'll take you on the bike!" Meaning, the bright green Arctic Cat four-wheeler. This woman is an inspiration. She's tough as nails but you can see her heart melt when she talked about her grandkids. She goes hunting right along with her husband, has her own ATV and snowmobile, and talks rapturously about being out in the woods, cross-country-skiiing on a day with heavy snowfall. Being outside is her "bottle of pills," as she says. But when you meet her outside, she's also likely to have a fresh coat of lipstick, and her long nails painted pink. She's fierce and I'm glad she's on my "team."

We bungee-corded my snowshoes to the front, and I jumped up behind her. We whizzed along the dirt road - still unplowed after a whole day! - towards my house.

"Don't you wear a hat?" I leaned in close to her ear to yell this.

"I like to feel the wind!" she shouted back.

it never hurts to ask

It never hurts to ask: this might be a phrase that you're familiar with. At least, in my family, it's used often, especially in situations where you get a random idea that involves asking someone something strange or unfamiliar. "It never hurts to ask!" is then stated by one of my family members, meaning, it's free and quick and you never know what will come of it! The person might just say yes.

So, with this in mind, I bravely queried the manager of a local cafe about a non-refined-sugar dessert. Whew! You might be thinking. That's a big deal! Not...

But sometimes it IS a big deal to approach someone with your unorthodox idea, even if that someone is an acquaintance of yours, and pretty friendly to boot.

Anyway, the reason I did so was that both my brother Mat and I have trouble with foods that contain refined sugar. We each have our own variations on that theme, with Mat nixing dairy as well, and me unable to eat yeasted breads. So when dessert time rolls around when eating out at this cafe (which we haunt all summer long), we can't eat anything on the menu without getting a bad reaction from our bodies and our consciences. However, I've splurged several times and tried some of the delicious choices, like Peanut Butter and Chocolate Torte (something my Granny Noble would have approved of, no doubt), Jeff's Just-Right Apple Crisp (the serving size would do a lumberjack proud), or the Carrot Cake (four layers and a lot of thick cream-cheese icing). But that kind of behaviour does not a healthy routine make.

So, when paying my bill one day, I started talking with Lorna, the manager.

"What do you think, Lorna, about a dessert special, doing a kind of fruit salad?" I said. I told her about Mat's and my dietary needs, and then talked about how they could do a seasonal strawberry shortcake that would knock people's socks off, or maybe a jumble of different fruits with some maple syrup and maybe a piece of shortbread on the side.

"Yeah, that sounds great!" She said. "The chef is really open to suggestions, too, so I'll make a note of it and talk to him about it."

The next time I was in, she said, "The chef loved the idea! He's thinking some kind of cloud thing, like a whipped fruit thing mixed up with some other fruit... I don't know, exactly, but it sounds good!" I gave her our number and told her to call me when it was on the menu.

A week later, I got a phone call. It was one of the other girls who work at the front desk of this cafe/inn/art gallery.

"Hi, Leah? I have a message here from Lorna saying to call you about a fruit salad?"

"Oh, yeah!" I said.

"There's nothing else on the note, so I assume you know what that means?" She laughed. "Yes," I said, and then explained to her what had happened thus far.

The "Fruit Clouds" was only going to be on the menu for another day or so, so I rearranged my evening plans, which had probably included something really complicated like hanging out and reading a book, to go into the village and try the dessert. I arrived around 7 pm and sat alone, ordering one "Fruit Clouds" and a cup of decaf coffee. The dessert arrived as shown above, in a little red pot, with mint on top. My first thought was — oh no, not Jell-o! Even though I've never eaten Jell-o salad, I have a horror of it based on photographs from 1960's era women's magazines, and this had the look of those clumpy, see-through "delicacies".

But what I thought was Jell-o turned out to be whipped cream. That's always a great realization, and was especially true in this case. There were pieces of melon, strawberry and orange, along with whole blueberries, all mixed together with whipped cream. I took one bite, then another, then another, then decided it was pretty damn delicious. And then, just to support my own request, and make sure it was popular, I ordered another.


As I was making my way through the second portion, the chef came out to meet me, funny hat and all. His young son stuck to his side and glanced at me occasionally. Chef Walter shook my hand, and sat down to discuss what he might do next in the "fruit salad" genre.

"I was thinking maybe doing something with ginger — do you like ginger?" I answered in the affirmative, then he went on: "Yeah, maybe Some sort of grated ginger mixed in with berries."

I dropped my bomb, the try-to-buy-and-eat-local caveat that is supported by more and more people these days. "What about doing something with local strawberries? They're out now."

"Yes, well the strawberries in this dish are local, and soon we could do one that's all berries!" We talked about where to get good strawberries and raspberries, and the merits of fruit salad. I asked his son about his wiggly teeth, and then the chef had to get back to the kitchen.

After I paid my bill that evening, and started walking along the sidewalk, my belly full and my senses satiated, I thought: It's true, it never hurts to ask.

But it might hurt to eat a third portion.

feelin' hot hot hot

It's been hot here this past week. After a cold and wet spring, which fostered no end of complaining from just about everyone, suddenly summer is here: temperatures between 27 and 30ºC, lots of sun, high UV index, the wind pushing clouds over the sky. The plants have been taking advantage of all the sun and building more leaves to produce more chlorophyll, so the seedlings I showed you in May are now substantial plants, no denying it.

Farmers across the island are making hay, and Mat and I have been helping a neighbour with his haymaking, Mat more than I. Although, I must say, I definitely hauled and heaved my share of bales the night I helped, and got quite red in the face for my efforts! Not to mention the scratches on my arms. However, I had forgotten how sweet it is to ride back to the barn on top of a swaying wagon piled high with hay bales. And this farm in particular has a gorgeous view of the Bras d'Or lakes, so while I was rocking back and forth with the wagon, which was moving slowly along the field, I was able to take in the view. There was a misty haze fuzzing the lines of the land forms, and an almost-crescent moon jauntily sitting in the sky above. Pretty damn sweet.

A few days ago an older female friend, who I'll just call "M" for privacy's sake, took me to lunch in the village. It was warm, and sunny, and windy. We remarked fairly often on what a beautiful, hot day it was. After lunch, we did a few errands, and were just about to leave the village when M remembered she had to gas up, so we turned quickly into the little gas station there at the entrance. While she was filling up, I glanced across the street and saw some men at work painting an old house. Most of the men were maybe in their mid-fifties and wearing tee shirts, but what caught my eye was the young, incredibly buff man not wearing a shirt at all. He was tanned, and had a smooth, hairless, tattooed and muscled torso, and honestly he looked like some guy in a calender. Now, I'm not saying that's necessarily my type, if I even have a "type", but he was definitely eye-catching. I stared for all I was worth!

M got back in the car, started the ignition, and was about to leave the gas station. I pointed to the men working.

"Look at that guy, look how hot he is!" I said.

M glanced over, then watched traffic, then pulled out.

"Yes," she said absently, "Some people have a much different internal temperature."

"No..." I said, puzzled, "I mean, he was HOT! Like, attractive!"

"Oh!" She said, laughing. "Oh my god, can you tell how long I've been off the market?" (She's been married 35 years.) "I thought you meant, that older fellow who looked like he was really warm!"

So as you can see, no matter what "hot" means to you, Cape Breton's got it!

idle scraps for sale

Chloe sent me peppermint in the mail. Not peppermint tea, all dried and ready, but the leaves and a flower from a peppermint plant. I left them too long in the plastic bag and they grew a little moldy, but now they are drying properly. I don't know if I'll make tea from them -- afraid of residual mold -- but the thought is certainly more than enough. Thanks to sweet Chloe.

~~~

My mother's brother and his family were just here, from Ontario. They have two young boys, 10 and 12, and before they arrived we worried how to entertain them in case of a rainy day. We needn't have: on their own steam they motored around the garden picking up slugs and snails, putting them in a bucket and letting the snails make slime trails all over their hands. "It feels like really small teeth, like a cat's tongue licking," said the 12-year-old.

Later, we went out on Monty's boat in the pouring rain. The edges of the Bras d'Or lake were blurred by grey clouds and grey water-top, and the grey was all different shades from white to dark, and the rain pocked the surface of the dark blue waves with tiny needle-sized specks. The rain also got us all soaked, but I wouldn't have worn rain gear even if I had it -- I secretly relished the little-kid feeling of being drenched top to bottom, drops making their way from scalp to chin, a drowned-rat feeling that easily erases when you go home, get in warm clothes and bundle yourself on the couch.

~~~

Earlier today the phone rang. "Hello?" I said.

"Hello," said the caller, which was a long-distance, unrecognizable number, "Is this the party to which I am speaking?"

I thought it was a confused telemarketer. Plus, my brain was tired, too tired to pick up the joke swiftly.

"Well, that depends." I said, wary.

"It depends on what side of the river you're on," the caller replied, confusing me further, especially as his voice was becoming more familiar. There are no rivers forming territorial boundaries here, besides for maybe the North River that marks the difference between the Baddeck and the Ingonish RCMP jurisdictions. I didn't think that's what this caller meant.

"I'm sorry," I said, "But you're calling Nova Scotia."

"I know!" He said, laughing. "This is Herb!" Herb Rosenberg is an artist friend of ours who lives in Jersey City, NJ, and who is eccentric enough to be interesting, but friendly enough to make his eccentricities merely odd, not off-putting. "Ohh!" I said, "I thought you were a telemarketer!"

"Well then, what may I sell you today?" He asked.

Today I'm hawking idle scraps of summer life. Any takers? I'll barter with you.

good medicine: a play in two acts

[Dramatis Personae

LEAH, a young woman of 22, soon to be 23.
MAN, a fellow Odell Park enthusiast.
NEIL, an elderly gentleman of 92

SCENE: Fredericton, New Brunswick]

Act One

Scene: Odell Park. The place where three wide paths meet, and form a big open circle underneath tall pines and birches. There is a bench here, and the ground is covered in snow, which is itself covered in bits of fallen trees--needles, bark, lichen. There are footprints in the snow and dog prints too. The sky is overcast and there is a wind that makes the green branches sway back and forth. The deciduous trees' branches are bare, and they sway too, forming silhouettes against the gray sky. LEAH is sitting on the backrest of the bench in a black coat, a black toque, a bright blue scarf, and blue jeans, her feet in brown Doc Marten boots resting on the seat of the bench, because it is covered in snow. Her head is tilted back and she is looking up at the sky through tree branches, thinking about things. A MAN in a blue jacket approaches from a long way down the path.

LEAH looks at him, then back up at the sky. He is still too far away to speak to. When he comes closer, she turns her head and smiles at him, as you do with anyone you meet on Odell's paths. He is middle aged and walking swiftly, looks to be of East Indian origin. He doesn't pause to speak, but keeps walking as the two converse.

LEAH: Hi..!

MAN: Hello there. This is a nice place to rest, isn't it?

LEAH (smiling broadly): Yes, yes it is.

MAN: You look lovely, sitting there.

LEAH: Thank you! (pause) Have a good day.

MAN: You, too.

He is gone down another path, his blue jacket long on his torso, his compliment left hanging in the forest air for LEAH to smile at.

Act Two

Scene: Living room of NEIL's house. NEIL is LEAH's landlord, a man of 92. Up until last year, when he got sick, he still gardened, walked regularly to church, and drove as far as Ottawa. Over the three years that LEAH has been his tenant they have become good friends. Today she is paying a quick visit to impart some news; she does this fairly regularly because soon she will be leaving and she wants to see NEIL as much as she can. NEIL is in a mechanically-reclining chair which he operates with a button. The television is on behind LEAH. After a friendly conversation LEAH is ready to go back downstairs but decides she will ask another question.

LEAH: Do you ever read Maeve Binchy novels, Neil?

NEIL: Nope.

LEAH: They're not Harlequins, you might not like them!

(Both laugh at this. NEIL recently admitted he reads Harlequin romances.)

LEAH: Well, I'll go back down below and curl up with a blanket, a cup of tea and a good book.

NEIL: It's amazing how you don't get sick of that diet!

LEAH: Yes, I know! One thing I'm glad for, out of this whole thing, is having the time...to just sit and read, and do things like watch the crows and squirrels do their thing.

NEIL (agreeing): And just let things happen.

LEAH: Exactly.

keening and moaning

School's back in. It's a little overwhelming to be back in the rush and tumble of academic life, collecting syllabuses--or is that syllabi? or silly busses?--and notes and books and times to meet up with friends and grocery bills and errands to run. However, mostly it is good, it's a good feeling to be back in Fredericton, looking at leaves turning color, everyone's fashions this year (this from a girl who is devoted to Vogue yet whose style remains much the same through the years), catching up with how everyone's summer went. (The go-to response for most people: "Yeah, it was a great summer!" You have to encapsulate it, I guess, for the short conversation. The longer ones leave room for detail.)

My wireless is not hooked up yet, but we're working on it. My classes all seem to be good so far, although I'm working on not being scared of failure. (Hey, don't preach to me about how ridiculous it is to feel that way. I still do.)

My room is pretty much together. There are posters on the walls, new ones and old ones. I seem to decorate a little differently than first year. I'm more selective now. I see the merits of only a few images, spaced out on the wall, as opposed to cramming lots of stuff on there. Old photographs of family members (such as the engagement photo of my lovely grandparents Noble), band posters, postcards, and maps tend to hold forth on this bean's walls.

Today I met up with Kate, accidentally, at the bookstore, and we ended up ranting about keeners. "Down with keeners!" She said. "But wait," I said, "I'm a keener. We're both keeners! What are we going to do?" We decided we're the anti-keeners, or alterna-keeners, as 90's as that sounds. She went off to study her Greek and I went home to do some of my first readings, exhibiting the very paradoxical behaviour that makes us both hate keeners and... succeed.

Hate's a strong word. But still.

How's classes treating all of you? Or, if you're not in school, what are you looking forward to learning about this fall?