The First Snowfall

I was awakened in the middle of the night by the cats and dog shifting their positions, under the covers and on top of my pillow, and I heard frozen bits hitting the window. I was pretty sure there was snow on the ground -- the lightness was a giveaway -- but I put my glasses on just to be sure.
We received a couple of inches. It needed to be brushed off the cars and swept off the front deck. And at 11 am, as I write this, it's not melted away. Yet it's only the middle of October, the middle of autumn, so we have leaves falling on snow under a clear blue sky.
This is the first snowfall; I don't always have to mention it but I don't think I've seen this before -- the leaves blanketing the blanket of snow.

Buster Conquers the Beach

My friend Christina is, like me, an artist -- struggling, striving, successful, wishful, worried, wondering -- and we finally got together for our catch-up date. Normally, we meet for coffee -- but doesn't everyone? So I had the brilliant idea of going for a walk at a beach. Anyone who lives inside their heads like we do -- as writers, she of songs and melodies, me of essays and sermons -- that I knew fresh air and the shore and the motion of our limbs were what we needed.
And I was right so now we both wish we'd done this sooner. Our hearts know what our heads ignore.
Because Christina is dog-sitting for friends, I left my dog at home. I wanted to actually enjoy my walk and be able to talk to Christina which would be impossible with Abby rick-rolling Buster in the wet sand.
Also, I wanted Buster to still be alive and Christina to still be my friend at the end of the walk.
I think I'll go back tomorrow, just Abby and me. The beach we chose is not very big but there is no one there -- the cottages have that blank look they get once they are closed up for the season -- so I can be alone with my struggles and striving, my worries and wonderings, knowing they are shared, knowing they are real and normal and part of the process, as Abby chases the seagulls and wishes she had a friend named Buster to play with.

Right Where They Belong

Leonard and Remy sleeping off their Thanksgiving turkey.

Shortly after the winter wood was stacked in the basement, my husband, he of the firm 'We don't need anymore animals in the house' rule, said to me,
"When you want to get another cat, honey, just go ahead and do it. You don't need to check with me."
He said he wanted a cat to get rid of any mice that came in with the wood.
So I got two.
Actually, I wanted two. I wanted a bonded pair of boys so they would be each other's company and playmates. Knowing it is more difficult to find homes for adult cats, let alone two adults who must stay together, I also was committed to adopting bonded adult males.
And I got them. WE got them. They aren't "my" cats; they are part of our entire family.
(Abby, on the other hand, is moping around the house complaining that the cats are touching her stuff.)
Today marks two weeks since they arrived at our home. Within 24 hours, they were roaming around, getting familiar with every room, every book shelf upstairs, every piece of furniture on the main floor, and every log pile in the basement. Within a couple of days, they were flopping down on the floor, just lying there as we walked around them; if that's not a posture of trust and belonging, I don't know what it. Looking at them curled up in the chair, sound asleep, my husband quipped, "I think we'd better return them to the shelter because they aren't settling in here at all."
The boys were named Bert and Ernie by the shelter but we changed their names to Remy, on the right, and  Merlin who has since revealed himself to be a Leonard. And now Mother is calling Remy "Remigio" after one of the Tenors.
The boys don't seem to know, or care, what their names are.They are in a house with lots of room to run and play, they get fed breakfast and supper out of nice bowls plus snacks whenever they are near the shelf looking cute, and they have three people talking to them and letting them curl up on their laps (or pillows *sigh*) whenever they want. They even like my hugs and kisses.
No wonder they're sleeping so soundly; they know they are safe at home.

How Do You Like Them Apples?

It was great to see a small bin of local apples at the Co-op in Pugwash this morning. Gravensteins from an apple farm in Malagash.
It was even better to see how ripe and lumpy these apples were. They are real apples! With uneven shapes. With no waxy coating. With stumpy little stems. And a wonderful deep red colour.
An absolutely delightful thing of beauty. It's almost a shame to peel them and cut them up for a carrot-apple cake.
Almost.

The Days Draw In

The countdown is on for my final morning walks of 2015.
That sounds so dramatic! Yet it is true. As the sun comes up later and goes down earlier, as we head towards the shortest day of the year just a couple of months from now, my morning walks are later in the morning. I no longer get to wave at Debbie the Bus Driver at the start of her shift, and not returning home until 8:30 really pushes back the hour at which my work day finally begins.
So the walks on these crisp fall mornings, in the pale early morning sun that does nothing to warm my hands or nose, are bittersweet. Every footstep is one step closer to darkness, to winter, to mornings on the yoga mat instead of on the pavement.
That's the one drawback to living in the country: no sidewalks, no street lights. My walks follow the sun's cycle and soon that cycle is going to change, and for a couple of weeks, the morning will be lighter again, allowing me to squeeze in a few more walks, with the cold wind at my back or in my face, until I simply have to accept that it's time to shift the schedule to incorporate the late afternoon walk.
Just in time to wave at Debbie the Bus Driver at the end of her shift.

To vote or not to vote? There Is No Question

As published in the Citizen-Record newspaper on Wednesday, October 7, 2015, by Sara Jewell.

This time two weeks from now, it will be all over but for the recounts. The longest federal election campaign in recent history will be finished but for the recaps and recriminations.

            This time two weeks from now, whether you are pleased with the outcome or appalled by it, will you have had your say?

            Because it matters that you vote.

            Because it matters that you can vote. Without fear for your safety, without knowing the election is rigged and the outcome already decided, without walking 20 kilometres and standing in line for five hours.

            It’s so easy to vote, what excuse could you have not to?

            Too busy or too confused? Too disgusted? Too lazy? Or perhaps you are one of those protest voters who spoils the ballot. What a waste of an opportunity. There is no reason and no excuse not to vote. At the very least, vote because someone in your family died overseas in order to ensure our freedom to hold fair and open elections.

            Yet voting in our election can see like a daunting task, when we are overwhelmed by sniping and sound bites, platforms and platitudes. But like any big job, it’s best to start with one small action.

            My friend Alison invited me to attend a gathering with the local candidate of her choice and during our drive to the event, she said something that I want to share with those readers who claim they don’t know how to vote or feel that their vote doesn’t count.

            “My advice to someone who doesn’t know who they should vote for is to decide what matters to them,” Alison said. “Figure out what issue or issues are most important and then go to each party’s platform and see what they have to say about it.”

            So far, the topics that have dominated the national election campaign are the economy, security, and, just recently, the niqab.

            If those topics mean nothing to you or your family, for Canada’s sake, don’t use them as a reason not to vote.

            It means your vote counts more than ever.

            In June, an Abacus Data poll revealed that 58% of Canadians indicated health care was one of their top three priorities yet federal transfer payments to the provinces continue to shrink. We live in a province with a population that is both ageing and declining. Perhaps you could consider health care funding an important issue.

            If you have a family member with dementia, you may want to see if any party is offering a national dementia strategy since Canada is currently the only G7 member without one. Perhaps that could be an important issue to you.

            Child care. Hydraulic fracturing. Military spending. Employment insurance. Pensions.

            Perhaps any one of these could be an important issue to you.

            You only need one to give you a reason to vote. It’s nobody’s business who you vote or why; it only matters that you do.

            Because you can.

A Chair At The Side Of The Road

A chair at the side of the road.

Part of the journey from

there to here,

wherever there was,

wherever here will be.

Waiting.

Resting.

Sitting.

Perhaps a school bus will pass by,

or horse & rider,

or a wandering goat

free of its pen,

free of the rules about not jumping on cars,

not eating laundry on the clothesline,

not climbing into the backseats of cars.

Mourning doves

peck in the dirt at the side of the road.

Starlings 

perch on the wires strung above the road.

Earth and sky

surround the chair by the side of the road.

In the ditch,

goldenrod has gone to seed

while asters keep their fuzzy purple faces

towards the autumn sun.

When it rains,

the chair sits empty,

the road splashes,

the mourning doves

return to their nests in the trees.

Flying low, 

a crow looks down

and wonders why there is 

a chair at the side of road,

thinks the raindrops on the seat

look like shiny pearls.