the real world

first flutter-by of the season

~ carin ~ 10 Comments

Not sure I’ve seen one of these before. Certainly not in March. No idea what kind it is. Behavioural clues: tendency to flap about rather absent-mindedly, nearly crashing into my head before settling (indicates possible bad eyesight?)…narcissistic attention to improving tan…unable to find a comfortable resting pose; ADHD??
…Eventually fluttering right on by without so much as a nod to the other insects.

Note: In my effort to make an identification I googled “clumsy, vain, hyperactive, short-sighted, anti-social, black and yellow flutterby with blue dots” and got a seamstress in Winnipeg named Ted…

the illusion of a forest…

~ carin ~ 5 Comments

“The natural disaster of a forest fire returns carbon to the soil, enriching it for the new forest to come. A clear-cut removes the trees that are the source of that carbon. To walk there is to see a landscape devastated as if by bombs. Reforestation? It seems that real care is taken only for the hills and mountains that border highways where tourists and people from the cities can see them. Those are the clear-cuts where the corporations put up signs to tell the passing cars when the forest was replanted and how well it is doing today.

“The corporations rarely harvest their trees right up to a highway. If you stop your car and walk 300 metres into a forest, you will often stumble across a clear-cut hidden from the cars that pass. The trees you see by the side of the road are the illusion of a forest left there to salve your conscience. Back out of sight, on the plateaus and hills and mountains, the forests are doing poorly. The variety of species is reduced to one of fir, pine, hemlock, spruce, tamarack, or whatever, depending on which of one or two species is likely to return the greatest profit.

“Diversity of species is anathema to the managers of the new forest. Monoculture is king. It is precisely what happened on the vast prairie, where rich and diverse grasslands were replaced with fields of grain. The landowner’s system of fallowing fields on alternate years allowed for massive evaporation from the bare earth. The moisture rising from the subsoils brought with it salts from the ancient seas that once covered the land, and when the moisture evaporated, it left the salt behind. Vast areas of the Great Plains are pocked with crystal deserts where nothing grows.”

~ excerpted from ‘The Forest’s Edge’, by Patrick Lane (The Walrus, May 2005)

airing my laundry

~ carin ~ 8 Comments

If you, like me, have always thought hanging laundry in winter results in plank-sheets, you, like me, have probably not been leaving them out long enough. 

I first heard the rumour last year, that letting them go beyond the plankified state is the way to get things soft and dry. I heard it from a Saskatchewan woman and why it didn’t sink in, I can’t imagine. Who would know better about the dynamics of wind and air? (I’m sure my mother may have mentioned this also, but I was probably too busy knowing everything at the time to listen…)

Well, seems they were both right. Laundry will dry in below freezing weather as long as the air around it is drier than the laundry itself, as explained here in the Globe and Mail’s ‘Collected Wisdom’. Temperature doesn’t matter; you just have to leave it outside long enough.

If you, like me, get a weird thrill from hanging laundry year-round, this will be happy news.

If, on the other hand, you hate laundry in all forms, read this, from Geist, and feel better about your placement in the freshly scented, fabric softened, evolutionary conga/laundry line of life.

counting my magics

~ carin ~ 4 Comments

This morning a friend told me it was a magic day. It had to do with the fact that it’s Bell Canada’s *Let’s Talk* Day in support of mental health. The friend has mental health issues and deals with them heroically; fortunately, he’s able to. Many would choose to but can’t. Most recently he’s been working at spreading the word about today, encouraging people: friends, family, colleagues, neighbours, passersby on the street—to make a call or tweet for the cause.

That was the first magic, this excitement wrapped in hope that maybe the word is getting out there, that one day mental health issues will NOT be something to brush under carpets. There should be no stigma. There should be much more understanding and assistance. That’s the goal.

And Kudos to Bell.

But something about the idea of a magic day has resonated beyond the initial meaning. I have already danced and sung and hung laundry on the line. I’ve come across a beautiful post this morning and, another, discovered yesterday, I chose to read again because it’s relevant and it makes me happy. I watched a cardinal and a blue jay hunt and peck under the cedar hedge, peacefully and within a foot of each other. I began to think they might be a couple… or should be. A sign that disparate groups perhaps can get along?

My friend’s spirit and determination, and the courage of anyone dealing with the challenges of mental health—yet still finding pleasure in small things—reminds me how much there is to be grateful for.

I’m counting my magics today and will list them on Matilda as the day goes on.

Hoping you’ll count yours also!

–Magically at the last moment remembered to grab a file for a meeting
–Also remembered, also last minute, on-line form for appointment tomorrow
–Saw the most amazing smile, the kind that says: this is what happy looks like
–When I came home this was playing on the radio; I turned it up
–Geese flying in the space between sunset and first star
–A video sent by nieces and nephew
–Beeswax candle (bees!), time to read, and a major problem solved in WIP (the solution of course was spruce trees)

half moon morning

~ carin ~ 2 Comments

Walking in the light of the half moon I see a rabbit dart across my path; I’ve disturbed its breakfast. And over by the fence, a small commotion as I come through the spruce. Fox, raccoon, coyote, wildebeast?? The neighbourhood stray named Cat, perhaps? I dare not look too closely, turn my face upwards instead, toward the moon, clear and bright in the still dark sky—I’ve recently learned that it has the same willingness to please as the night’s first star.

And so I issue a little request: please, not wildebeast.

heart beats and a contrail

~ carin ~ 5 Comments

Ten thousand geese fly over my house at dusk, honking madly as I set out for a walk. And the moon (and is it Venus?) hangs over a fat white contrail in the not yet completely dark sky.

I consider the heart beats, the energy above me; do they notice things like juxtapositon of moon and man made cloud?

Christmas lights are on and cars pass, faces in my direction, possibly wondering why I’m standing in the street, writing on a scrap of paper in the now almost dark.

Because of the geese, I want to say.
And Venus, if that’s what it is.
Because of the moon and… everything.

I want to say look up!
I want to point.

But the contrail has been blown away and the last of the vees has passed by. The sky has turned black leaving only the sound of the wind and tires on the road. Just the moon and maybe Venus to see— and anyone can see them anytime. No need to point.

I put away my pen and carry on walking.