Patience

I'm off in a bit to an interview with the govt. It will be strange because I know I won't hear anything more for ages (that is, providing it goes well). This whole process began in October and I feel as though I'm no more than halfway through the steps it takes. I have a theory that the actual test for whether or not someone is suitable for the job is not the interviews themselves but rather the wait between times; if one is able patiently to endure the extreme lag and stick with things, then one might be able to function within the governemental system.
Well I have nothing to lose by waiting so we'll see if my theory holds.

Simply Good

It's April

One of the ways we celebrated this foolish day.

Fungus

and fungi

Hehe

How?

It seems impossible considering what I claimed in my last post but life just got better. Today was a day to remember and cherish. My two student buddies and I spent the entire beautiful afternoon touring around downtown. I love Ottawa and it was so much fun to rediscover how much I love it while showing them all the little nooks and crannies that I used to frequent. A few paths are still closed/wet/snowy/muddy from winter but for the most part everything was open and wonderful. I wish I would have brought my camera along but when setting out we didn't know the extent of our explorations. We have vowed to go back within the next couple weeks so I shall have to hope that the light is as beautiful then as it was today. We toured around behind the Supreme Court and Parliament, looked at the grave of the Unknown Soldier and through the Market. Often my past rambles downtown were with a good friend of mine from University who I haven't seen much in the past little while so I was thinking about her quite a bit while revisiting the site of many a walk. We stopped in the bookstore of my dreams and browsed the enticing titles. As I was in the children's section, what to my wondering eyes should appear but that very friend from University! We were able to chat a bit and catch up and hopefully we'll be able to get together soon. Then we spent some time at the Basilica and then along Sussex to the Rideau falls. We sat on the wall of the viewing deck between the two falls and were still. The time we spent there is beyond description so I think I will leave it at that. We then made our way back home making a few detours and stops at other beautiful sites along the way. Not only was it good to be home but it was good to be home to chicken soup and apple crumble and an evening spent at my Gma's. I will say it again: "Life couldn't possibly, not even probably, life couldn't possibly better be."

Joy

There is no circumstance in particular to point to as the culprit. I could start listing things but they would not give the reason for this state, merely illustrating aspects of it. I am so happy to be exactly where I am right now. I cannot imagine a way to improve my life. As Danny Kaye sings in The Court Jester "Life couldn't possibly, not even probably, life couldn't possibly better be."



I love life.

papery paperwhites

They have dried out but still have so much beauty to give.

Green Green Grass

It has been so unseasonably warm the past few weeks that one would think that at last the weather has been minding the calandar. I have been enjoying the weather and, despite dour predictions of the horridness of summer that follows close on the heels of spring, I am happy for the change. I would also be happy had it remained cold but I like to enjoy what I have when I have it rather than looking forward to a time not yet here or back to a time past in either longing or dread and missing out on what we have. So as much as I like the way that the last picture I posted with the lemons looks against the blue background I think I shall also like the way it looks against the green background. We shall probably get at least one more dump of snow before winter leaves completely but that's great too. We have had beautiful weather this winter with not much to complain about so I am thankful.

Advice

When life hands you a lemon...


take pictures.

Two

This picture is a combination of the two things that have been on my mind (and about which I have posted) most recently. It also brings to mind something that I have thought about in the past--the place that environment holds in one's experience of something. This lovely copy of MacLennan's novel is a delight to read, easy to carry around, and lends a certain dignity to the material that would not be present (at least to me) if I were to read it in paperback form. It reminds me of the time when Em and I read King Solomon's Mines for a book club. The copy we read was a trade paperback with a garish cover and a sloppy-looking painting depicting the savage king and witch in all their glorious hideousness. We read the adventure story with much delight, enjoying both the reading and the (good-humoured) mocking of it. The others in the book discussion, however, had copies that were respectable, modest little hardcovers. Those who had read it in the hardcover versions were more ready to take it seriously or at least not immediately to categorize it as a boys' adventure story.

In similar manner I have noticed the very great difference than can come about concerning the effectiveness of a photograph with the change of background. This was brought home to me especially in my quest to photograph all things yellow in this house because in it I often took several pictures of the same object but in different positions and with various backdrops and the very tone of the yellow could be changed drastically with the slight change of any of the elements within the picture.

I am by no means a relativist but I think it would be good to keep in mind how much our opinions on certain things may be changed by aspects of our environment and that it is advisable not to put too much weight into something that may be just as easily swayed to the opposite extreme by such things as a bit of undigested potato or some underdone pork. All I'm saying is that although Marley really had more of the grave than gravy about him, it is still probably not advisable to swallow the toothpick.

a study in yellow

I finally took some pictures today and although I started with the usual assorted pictures of plants, within a short time I began to make yellow objects the exclusive subject of my pictures. Being my favourite colour, it probably is not surprising that yellow happened to figure prominently in my pictures but I have never previously photographed it to such purpose or extent. I would like to share a few of them but the narrowing down of my favourites is difficult. Here are a few of them:





I think that is enough for now but I shall likely be posting more in the next little while.

Canlit

I just finished reading Settlers of the Marsh and have decided that I should give Canlit a second chance so have determined that for the next little while a portion of my reading should be dedicated to this category. I've started MacLennan's Two Solitudes and am appreciating many things about it. I do remember enjoying Barometer Rising when I read it and am finding more periperal things to enjoy about this one although I find it has less direction and tension towards action (or at least from what I can remember in comparison to the other) but tension and action do not seem to be of much importance in this book. I could be wrong but so far not much has really happened that one might call exciting. I am enjoying it none the less and would like to post more once I have more on which to post.

saving music

I do like people in general and the students in particular but there are certain times when it is such a relief to get to the point in the day when they have all gone or retreated to their rooms and left this house to silence and to me.

Or not always silence: tonight Em and I are listening through Raising Sand, an album by Robert Plant and Allison Krauss. I am really enjoying it; it's the best music I've come across in a while. I like the balance between heavy and light with their two voices. I love the banjo, the bass... There are other good things about it but I think I'll refrain from displaying my inadequacy in matters of description by simply telling anyone interested that they should check it out for themselves. It's a great way to finish off a people-filled day. Or any other type of day. And I should probably add that it's effectiveness likely isn't limited to the end of the day; I'm sure that it would be great to listen to at the beginning or the middle or any other increment between the two extremes of any day. Good stuff.

books and architecture

Several of the blogs that I occasionally will check consist mainly of lists of acquired books and reviews of the same books once read. I always enjoy reading such posts but have not previously thought too much of writing posts in like manner. But now I do feel like emulating those whom I admire so will start things off with a review of a book I just finished reading. The Architecture of Happiness by Alain de Botton first caught my eye because it was in the bargain book section but I was quickly intrigued because a quick perusal of the cover and snatches of the contents brought me to believe that he was dealing with issues of which I would wish to know more. For some time as I was growing up my dream was to pursue architecture. I was not interested in the architecture of big commercial buildings but rather of that of private houses. I knew that there were things about some houses that made them homes and that were missing or only poorly imitated in other houses and I wanted to remedy this. Eventually I realized that I would need to study more math than was at that time palatable and I gave up this dream but I continued in my fascination with things pertaining to well and poorly designed houses.

Alain de Botton addresses this exact issue (the question of whether architecture can make the difference between a house and a home) in the book as well as addressing other issues about which I have been interested in contemplating. He takes us on a tour through the changes of the ideal of beauty through history both in art and architecture (these two are, of course, closely linked), discusses why certain ages are likely to be drawn more to certain particular aspects of aesthetics than to others, he demonstrates how we have a tendency to attribute human qualities to inanimate objects and how because we are used to discerning and interpreting body language and expressions through the reading of minuscule variations of line and contour, we naturally (and for the most part unconsciously) derive different feelings from variations in lines and contours of our buildings or furniture or even drink ware. Throughout his discussion he goes into great detail of description to illustrate his point and at each description there is a corresponding photograph (or usually, set of photographs) so that the reader can follow along and feel the difference. That he takes the time to do this makes a lot of sense because much of his argument deals with one's reaction and feeling on seeing the building or object and in order to follow along with the argument the reader should see for himself.

I enjoyed this book thoroughly and would recommend it even to those who may not have as keen an interest in architecture as I. There are so many interesting issues raised in this book that it is sure to fall along the lines of at least one area of interest for most people. And what is more human than the making comfortable of one's abode? I didn't find answers to all the questions I have on this topic but there was certainly a lot for contemplation and I almost feel as though I would like to re-read it and lift a few of the quotes from it. One aspect of it that I had to adjust myself to is that it is not written as a direct essay with thesis and conclusion but rather it brings up ideas and plays with them. The parts outlining the history of architectural thought were, obviously, more linear but once I grew accustomed to the style of writing I began to be quite enamoured with it. I am now interested in finding out and reading more of his books if possible.

Too Late

I began the day yesterday with another skate on the canal. Once again I brought my camera and, once again, I ignored the opportunity to document another beautiful morning preferring to experience the full enjoyment of the time first-hand rather than to sacrifice part of it for future enjoyment. Little did I know, however, that that was to be the last of such skates this year. Later on in the day my skating buddy informed me that the canal was scheduled to close down for the year that very night. I am very thankful that I was able to enjoy my skate that morning and that we were able to go for a farewell skate that night (both highly enjoyable in different ways) but it is sad that I shall not be able to post any pictures from the canal this year. Life is so transient. It's a reminder to me not to pass up opportunities too readily. Carpe diem!

camera shy

These past few days have been beautiful and I have had a growing longing to document the beauty with my camera. But I am out of the habit of bringing a camera with me or, more importantly, of pausing in my walks to take a picture. One excuse that I have is that it is cold outside and consequently not a friendly environment for my camera or the hands that hold it. I walked through UofO on my way to the canal this morning and would have loved to have taken pictures and then I would have posted them here for all to see but because it didn't happen my reporting that the pictures would have turned out beautifully is going to have to suffice.

relief

There is nothing quite like the injection of a shiny red umbrella into a grey February day.

old friends

It is interesting to me to think of the various people I know and the ways in which my relationship with each one of them changes over time. Immediately obvious would be the way that friendships wax and wane (I do strive against and lament the latter but it is a fact of life and can be beneficial in allowing room for the growth of other friendships). But beyond the obvious there is also the way that a relationship that never moves to the arena of friendship can still impact one's life at different times and in different ways. The following incident is what sparked my thoughts on this topic and illustrates most of what I am trying to say.

At the Ash Wednesday service last night I talked with (and received a ride home from) an old acquaintance. She has known me since I was an infant because she homeschooled her boys at the same time my brothers and I were homeschooled. This family was not in the immediate circle of my friends (the boys were not quite my age) but nevertheless, both being founding members of the local group, she and my mother knew each other quite well. We moved away from the city and years passed in which I probably never gave that family a thought. The time came, however, when I moved back to the city to attend Augustine. She was connected with the College as the part-time Professor of Art. I remembered her, of course, but was unsure of her memory of me (having changed much in the intervening years). She did remember me, however, and our relationship grew a bit and adapted to the circumstances. Once again, on finishing at Augustine, I moved on and for four years probably saw very little of her. But I was drawn back to the College this year to be the RA. Her position at the school has changed to one of lesser-involvement but I still have had occasion to chat with her at various larger events. Then she attends the church where we went for the Ash Wednesday service and because of that our conversation on the drive home followed lines which probably never would have come up in previous conversations. I also feel as though I am now in a completely different position in regards to our relationship from what I had previously held. Of course, growing up does that sometimes but I think because we have met--however briefly and perhaps superficially--within several different contexts, the relationship mirrors that breadth.

Having Wendell Berry in mind for several different reasons, this line of thought about the depth of relationship I have with this woman without ever having approached friendship (according to the terms to which I am used) makes me see the value in sticking close to one's roots. Yes, it does occurr at times that one who has travelled and moved around the world (to go to the extreme) still runs into someone from the past who knows them well and who also has moved around the world but I believe one's chances of this happening are reduced the further one moves from home. Perhaps the merit of such a relationship is overshadowed by the merit of seeing other cultures and forming new attachments but I am not sure of it. Forming new relationships is healty and good but I feel that no amount of new relationships can take the place of an old one. New acquaintances will never have known the old you. I am a homebody and have little desire to live with any permanence far from where I have grown up. Perhaps I shall in future but it is not my desire. Because of this it is hard for me to determine if arguments for the superiority of maintaining roots merely appeal to my own preference or if they truly have merit. And so the struggle for understanding and a coherent outlook continues.

good ice

I finally got around to skating on the canal late at night and it was almost everything I could wish it to be (my imagination is still a bit stronger than that but nevertheless, it was for the most part quite excellent). The contrast of this with my rather nasty last post is a good reminder that in some situations waiting it out is all that is required for the improvement of circumstances. Not that I need to learn the lesson of letting things pass (I should rather be learning lessons of getting on the ball) but I suppose I could always go for more patience and joy in all circumstances.

We got down to the canal sometime around 1:30 I should think and in the entire skate we saw one brief shadow of another skater and two people sitting on a bench. It was beautiful. we had the whole canal to ourselves, the ice was newly swept, and all this in occurred in the vast, dark stillness of a winter's night. A lot of my memories of the skate have a dream-like quality. The rhythm of the pace and sound of our skates was quite hypnotic and soothing but at the same time I finished the skate on a huge high in which I didn't think it impossible to float away, off into the night sky. Despite the fact that I woke up this morning still slightly tired and dehydrated I would gladly do it again any night of the week. Bring it on!

ice

It is frustrating that now the strike is over and I have more time, the weather has taken a little turn to the worse and now the canal is in poor shape. Oh well, it should get better soon I hope and once Winterlude is over, we can return to a happier time with fewer skaters to cut up the ice and get in the way. I really can be horrid at times. But I like people individually, just not always so much generally.

25

Turning a quarter century in less than a week I have been thinking of the number 25 more recently than is my usual wont. When I recieved a tag from a friend to do a list of 25 obscure facts about one's self I thought it would be fun. It turns out that I had more fun than I had anticipated and dredged up quite a few memories that had been lying still for some time. So because I feel as though it is a success, I shall copy it onto this blog.

25 random facts because I am a bored narcissist
Having been tagged by Ruth and having enjoyed her note, I decided that I would write one if I ever found enough free time while being in a narcissistic mood. I had thought the convergence of both these factors would be aligned something with the frequency of the emergence of those moons reported to be of a blue persuasion but, as it is one day later and I am writing this note, I now know I have too much of one or the other factor (or perhaps both) for my own good.

Those whom I have tagged fall into one of the following categories: those lucky few mentioned in the list itself, those who might be interested in writing one of these lists themselves, those whose lists I would be interested in reading, and those whom I have chosen at will to swell the number to the expected twenty-five.

So, without further ado, this is a list of twenty five of the more obscure--while hopefully interesting--facts about me.

1. I had a neon yellow fanny-pack and coveted those bike shorts with the neon stripe down the side when I was a kid.
2. One summer I helped my brother, Neil, and my cousin, Noel, build a three-level/storey high fort in our woods.
3. I broke one of my front teeth while playing pick-up hockey with my older brother, Neil; that same tooth was later kneed out by my younger brother, Stuart; and to complete the teeth connection with my brothers: my oldest brother, Tom, also broke one of his front teeth on ice.
4. I face-planted from the jogger into a (thankfully) plowed field as a result of a training accident at the horse barn. The driverless horse then continued his training mile and we caught him while he was turning to do the cool-down jog. It made me consider my expendability in that job. On the lighter side of things, apparently my glasses were stuck in the indent my face left. I would have liked to have seen it.
5. My cousin, Cindy, and I once set her bedroom rug on fire while concocting something derived from the contents of various bottles from the bathroom and inspired by the design of an oil-lamp. Not having learned a thing, I am still a pyro.
6. As they came out, I saved some of my baby teeth in a jar on my shelf. It might still be there.
7. I once found a vase in the middle of a bush while we were on a field trip to a bee farm (I think). Although the vase itself was hideous I thought it was awesome because I had found it so unexpectedly. I'm sure I made Mom keep it for longer than her inclination dictated.
8. I have been to Upper Canada Villiage (a small historic town set in the 1860's) annually on the first Friday after labour day ever since I was a toddler.
9. I would like to get a spinning wheel and take up spinning wool. Ideally I would like to be able to accomplish this before this coming September because when we re-visit UCV on our annual trip I would like to be able to inform the several Janices there (who all spin) that I have joined the club.
10. I have been knocked out many times. Several times involve a ball connecting with my nose (but thankfully neither ever broke), once a ladder, once the corner of a table, once some steps, and once when I tripped. It explains a lot, I think.
11. My cousin, Cindy, and I are born four days apart. My allowing her to arrive first was just the beginning of a long line of courteous acts on my part.
12. My middle name, Evelyn, is my Mom's first name although she goes by her second.
13. I hiccoughed in utero.
14. I used to be lactose intolerant but now I think it's great and should have rights too. To support this view I now consume as much dairy as possible.
15. My brother, Neil, and I used to share a set of cross-coutry ski boots (back in the day when our feet were of similar size) and would happily head out together for an afternoon along the trail each with one ski and one snow boot on.
16. I have created various objects out of gingerbread including: a replica of my co-worker's Jeep, several horse and sleigh sets, a snowmobile, a snowman, a christmas tree, and (of course) quite a few gingerbread houses.
17. I cried the first time Mom sang "Oh Susannah" to me (I was less than 6 at the time) but I tried to hide it because crying is girly.
18. At one time or another (hopefully still) I have known all the words to the following: The songs from The Music Man, Holiday Inn, Oklahoma, Guys and Dolls; most Christmas carols; many of the popular songs from the '20s to '60s that my Dad would play on the piano; The Messiah; the scripts of Peter Pan, Cinderella, The Great Mouse Detective, Pride and Prejudice (1995); and the text to that definitive children's book, Cowboy Dan.
19. I have been taken for a virgin buffalo farmer. Concerning which noun the adjective modifies, I leave it to others to decide.
20. I had scarlet fever and whooping cough as a child and now have only to die of consumption properly to round out my list of desirable literary illnesses.
21. I was once hired to play piano at the re-opening of the furniture store in Kemptville. As important as this sounds, in reality I was stuck in a corner with a little keyboard and given barely enough to cover the gas costs along with as many sandwiches and carrot sticks as I could stuff into my pockets on my way out.
22. One of my ancestors, on the boat with William the Conqueror just prior to Hastings, earned himself lands and the title 'Titchbourn' (or some similar spelling)--which were to be bestowed upon the first to touch land after that historic crossing--by cutting off his hand and throwing it to shore ahead of the boat. I like to think we descendents continue to display just such ingenuity all these years later.
23. I have a freckle on one of my teeth.
24. I have eaten several mystery meats, one of which was likely horse.
25. I once was part of a dance to the song "I'm from the country and I like it that way" (choreographed complete with rakes) performed on a hay wagon. That same day I dressed in a holstein costume for a Q & A highlighting the differences between dairy and beef farming. Classy, I know.

two of my favourite things

More Aurora

Many feverent souls
Strike rhyme on rhyme, who would strike steel on steel
If steel had offered, in a restless heat
Of doing something. Many tender souls
Have strung their losses on a rhyming thread,
As children, cowslips: - the more pains they take,
The work more withers. Young men, ay, and maids,
Too often sow their wild oats in tame verse,
Before they sit down under their own vine
And live for use. Alas, near all the birds
Will sing at dawn, - and yet we do not take
The chaffering swallow for the holy lark.

I wonder if this applies to me. Do I only feel the need to create because it is one of the things close to hand right now or is it really a necessity for me? I think ad hope that the latter is true. I do not aspire to be an Artist to the extent that she speaks of artists but my dabbling I believe has more to it than a slight fancy and convenience. Time will tell, I suppose.

New Year

Once again the alumni have gathered for an extensive New Years party. Today the last of them have left. It was such a good time that a let-down is inevitable so I am thankful that the bus strike (along with other things) has given me an opportunity to make myself busy. Although we're already several days into the New Year, I feel as though tomorrow is truly the beginning and all the little things that I have put on hold in order to join in and host the festivities will come crowding down as soon as I turn around. But for now I have one more night of postponing life.

like old times

Christmas has come and gone and I am back in the city for New Years. One of the highlights of my time spent at home was going back to a place I thought had been passed and gone forever. Not the place physically but a place of relationships. I went back to the barn for a visit and found Joan working there again (filling in for a few weeks) and began to work there again myself as much as possible (around family commitments etc). At first it was the same old catch up interaction that I have experienced every year since I left the barn but then we just naturally went back to the way we were for the years I worked there. I never expected to be able to do that and it made me really happy (and really sad that I am not there still). I love it when God surprises us with unlooked-for blessings. He is so good.

doggywog

I believe it was around this time last year that we welcomed Dundee into our home (literally at that point although she's an outdoor dog now). So to commemorate this anniversary, here's a picture of her taken last week.

struggling

It has been quite a while since I have posted a quote from Oswald Chambers. The end of today's entry from My Utmost for His Highest struck me especially because I often think about the reasons to read a book and benefits derived from such an activity:

The Author who benefits you most is not the one who tells you something you did not know before, but the one who gives expression to the truth that has been dumbly struggling in you for utterance.

This along with a line at the beginning of the entry reminded me of a comment a friend made last night while discussion types of artists. He said that artists are either Mozarts and Beethovens: either ideas/inspirations come easily or they have to be worked out with a struggle. I definitely see myself more on the struggling side of the line. Unfortunately, in a lot of ways, I would rather not bother with the struggle which is why this following quote is pertinent to me:

If you cannot express yourself on any subject, struggle until you can. If you do not, someone will be the poorer all the days of his life.

Of course, I think this depends on the quality of the sentiment struggling to be expressed...

frozen chicken wire

from the bit of ice storm we had last week

Once more unto the quotes, dear friends...

I realize that I have been behindhand in writing out some of the quotes that I have been gleaning from books and because I am also slightly behindhand in the gleanings I feel a remedy of one might help the other. I have finished re-reading Emma and part of the time I had my quote/note book (I would combine the two words but am prevented by the difficulty stemming from their similarity) with me and so gleaned a few felicitous quotes. I love Austen's style and, although many of her turns of phrase are only seen perfectly when viewed in full context of the plot and what has gone before, I did manage to find some quotes that are quite as good when lifted from the pages and set by themselves.

Having been attending, for the past few months, country dances in my small town, I am finding that I understand and have experienced many of the feelings described as surrounding such events in Austen's work. I believe that I may have posted something further on this topic earlier so I will suffice it to say that now that I am in the habit of attending these dances I gladly put myself in the place of the young people mentioned in this quote:

It may be possible to do without dancing entirely. Instances have been known of young people passing many, many months successively, without being at a ball of any description, and no material injury accrue either to body or mind; - but when a beginning is made - when felicities of rapid motion have once been, though slightly, felt - it must be a very heavy set that does not ask for more.

Being, as I am, interested in linguistics, grammar, and also the imagination, I laughed at the following quote:

Such an adventure as this, - a fine young man and a lovely young woman thrown together in such a way, could hardly fail of suggesting certain ideas to the coldest heart and the steadiest brain. So Emma thought, at least. Could a linguist, could a grammarian, could even a mathematician have seen what she did, have witnessed their appearance together, and heard their history of it, without feeling that circumstances had been at work to make them peculiarly interesting to each other? - How much more must an imaginist, like herself, be on fire with speculation and foresight!

Finally a quick quote that mirrors what I often experience:

Emma denied none of it aloud, and agreed to none of it in private.

I know this is not a good thing but there you have it.
And there you have three lovely quotes from one of my favourite authors.

Oh, I'm just booking

One of the aspects that I have enjoyed most about this section of my life is the oodles of time I now have to dedicate to reading and discussing books. Any books that I want. Books that I have been meaning to read for ages. Books that I have been acquiring at an astonishing rate at used book sales and the like. This is indeed a recipe for true bliss. The one problem, the fly in the ointment as it were, I am now facing is that my desire to read books has outstripped the time it actually takes to read them. As I am reading (or contemplating reading) one, another pops into my head as a great one to read next and I'm off again. If I read several at the same time I don't feel as though I'm getting through any of them fast enough (and often the less-interesting at the time fall by the wayside and never get read when perhaps I would otherwise have been interested at a later date). But if I read one at a time I feel as though I would find it too narrow to accommodate my ever-changing tastes. So instead of savouring whatever it is I am free to read at the time I spend energy looking forward to what I will be able to read next.

But, to state the obvious, this is a wrong view to take. The goal is not to rush through as many books as possible merely to be able to check them off the list. That I do believe in this viewpoint is evident from the fact that I enjoy re-reading a good book, even sometimes on multiple occasions. I know I should take the time to taste each book as I'm chewing them. I would ideally like to remember enough about any book I've read to be able to discuss it reasonably well with other readers (my poor memory for details often gets in the way of this but I do believe it is something that should be worked on and not merely used as an excuse for lack of intelligence). I do know that there are too many books out there to read within a lifetime. Skipping from one to the next is not the way to garner any enjoyment from them either. It's strange because I generally already have this outlook on most aspects of my life. I realize that I am not able to take every career path of which I can think. I realize that there are pros and cons to everything; things that I would like and dislike in every possible situation and that the best way to go through life is to enjoy whichever situation one finds oneself in at the time. But why is it so hard for me to find a similar contentment with books?

Perhaps this book-ADD stems from the very fact that I have a new-found freedom to read anything. When I was younger I was limited first by age/comprehension, then by resources (I had completely sucked dry the content--this word obviously excludes the multiple trashy series fobbed off on kids--of the children's section of our local library by the time I was twelve), and time (working almost full-time while in High School), and finally at the time when I entered the English program I made a pact with myself that during the school year I would only read assigned books. This is one of the first opportunities where none of these limitations apply and I haven't found another way to narrow down what I am reading. I'm not sure that I want to place limitations but I do wish to start enjoying and remembering whatever book I do happen to have in hand at any particular moment. In general I have a decent attention span, I just need to find it in this aspect of my life.

so happy together

After a hiatus that lasted for months (with occasional, slight reconciliations that only served to highlight the estrangement) I am finally on good terms once more with my camera. I spent the better part of a week back at home and, other activities being suspended while the outdoors outdid itself in its decorations, I spent a fair chunk of the time out and about the house (obviously said in a Canadian accent. How else would I speak?). I think I took around 300 pictures. In looking over them I realize that, as is usual with me, of those pictures approximately thirty percent are of my wonderful puppy, and the rest are of plants/trees/sky/ice/snow etc. Oh, there are three pictures of people on the camera from the week but they were not taken by me and are an unfortunate shade of yellow because the lighting inside was not great. We got a new car this week and, instead of taking a picture to show what it looks like, I instead have several pictures of the icicles dripping from the grill and the hood. I'm hopeless. I have determined to have my camera about me more now that I have resumed my former relationship with it and hopefully this will result in more pictures that other people would want to see, pictures that will be helpful to posterity.
But all this aside I shall post some of the pictures that are not helpful to posterity but that I really like for their picturesqueness.

still life

long roads

Yesterday was a day marked more with discussion than rest but in its own way that discussion was refreshing. I spent most of the afternoon (when not playing a horse in a little girl's game) discussing aspects of running a household with my mom and a mother of ten. In so many ways they posess a wisdom that only comes through experience. I have always tried to learn things without having to do it the hard way and it is true that there is a certain amount of preparation that is possible before going through what they experienced but at the same time I doubt I will ever be able to arrive at the place where they stand without having personally travelled along a similar road to get there. What will life bring?

I'm sinking

I was checking my blog archives (that word gives the illusion in my mind of a much larger body of text than it actually describes) today and have come to the conclusion that my blog is much less interesting these days. It seems as though the less frequently I post, the less interesting my posts become. So this is my way of attempting to rectify the situation: writing a boring post. Good job Janice.

However, I would prefer to think of it as a pledge to try to write better and more frequent posts in future. Wish me luck.

writing

It has happened to me a few times that I have written something and then, on returning some time later to the same work, have completely forgotten about it. Not merely forgotten in the way that one occasionally forgets the ending to a book one returns to after a time of absence from it before re-reading but rather forgotten that it had any connection with me. I have occasionally accused my broter of the authorship but eventually have to believe that it indeed was my own fingers that typed (I would say penned but if that were the true case the handwriting would be a dead give-away) the piece. I find I sometimes forget these things I have written more than things I have merely read. I say this because often when re-reading another's work I have the feeling or knowledge that I've read it before but occasionally my own writing appears as untouched territory to my eyes. It makes me wonder if perhaps I write in a trance or if another part of my brain is working than the comprehension or memory retaining section. The creative process is fascinating--as is the root of that word: the Latin fascinum meaning a spell. The process also certainly may be considered inexplicable. I wonder if others have similar experiences with their writings.

first snow

Two days ago we got our first snow of the year. Well, not counting all the piles of snow that fell in the first half of this calendar year. I suppose I should more accurately have said the first snow of the season.

Yesterday morning I resumed a bit of my photographic habits and stalked around the building looking for good pictures. I was checked a little by the idea of our friendly neighbours not appreciating my taking pictures with their building in truth innocently as the backdrop but possibly construed as the subject. Images of being dragged into a room with a table and a glaring light and having my camera smashed to find the film (my interrogators, of course, are unfamiliar with the new digital technology) and trying to explain in simple English that I wasn't trying to spy on them danced in my head.

None of that happened but it made my adventure feel a little more aventurous. I succeeded in my goal of capturing a few good pictures and so returned, safe, to my room. Here is possibly my favourite from the bunch:

sacrifice

A couple weeks ago I heard a quote I really liked and have since received a copy of the chapter from which it came. I am enjoying the chapter and just ran into the paragraph that I remember so thought I should post it here:

Sacrifice is at the center of the work of salvation. Sacrifice is God's way of dealing with what is wrong in history, which is to say, what is wrong with us, individually and collectively. It is God's way of dealing with sin.

Sacrifice. All the ways we have of dealing with what is wrong with the world, whether that wrong is named "sin" or not, are in stark contrast to this. Our typical ways are through force (getting rid of what is wrong by destroying it or containing it or policing it), by education (teaching people right from wrong, and hoping that when they know the difference they will do what is right), by entertainment (distracting people from what is wrong with the world by giving them excitement and diversion, temporary vacations from the wrong), by economic improvement (providing incentives and opportunities to improve peoples' lives so that they will not out of despair and desparation, anger and retaliation, make a further mess out of things). None of these approaches is without merit. All of them in ways small and large make the world better. But none of them are God's way of accomplishing salvation. God's choice is sacrifice.

This is taken from Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places (incidentally this is a line from G.M. Hopkins) by Eugene Peterson.

clip

Rob Brydon's description of Russell Brand from Annually Retentive--a show of which I would desire to see more.

The view from my window

This is a small part of what I see when I wake up every morning:
I have four windows in my room and I have been able to keep them open ever since I moved in. I love the fresh air and the occasion bits of conversation that blow into my room during the day. I love the sound of the rain or the lonely clacking of a pair of heels that punctuate the darkness as I lie in bed at night. I love the bright sunshine that floods the room every (sunny) day. I love my new room. Perhaps to those of you who have always lived above ground, this pleasure of mine is nothing spectacular but having resided for the past 15 or so years in basement bedrooms this new light is a luxury. I actually believe that this room is quite decent even by above-stairs standards being quite large and having an ensuite bath. I think it might be difficult once I have to move to reconcile myself to whatever room I will have next. I am truly spoiled.

the same paths

This area is beautiful this time of year. I am running along the river every morning and it really brings back those five-year-old memories of when I used to bike every morning along that same river to come to this very place.

I have had no battery charger for the past few weeks but last night I managed to get one that works so hopefully I shall soon be able to document the beauty of this season and perhaps post some of those pictures. But while we're waiting for new pictures I don't mind posting nice ones from previous years.

to brown

Once again I am tardy in my colour change with the seasons. Perhaps, though, I can blame it on the fact that Autumn itself crept up on me and from the other fact that I am not sure which day was the equinox (if that is what determines the change) this year. However I may have been mistaken or misled, it is now Autumn and this is now brown.

I used to dislike brown. I found it to be an objectionable, useless colour along with orange and various horrid shades of decent colours (mustard yellow, olive green etc). I have since then discovered that there is beauty in more than just the obviously beautiful, that contrast adds variety and interest.

I remember a story from when I was young about a silly duck (or goose probably) who thought that some ingredients in cake, being objectionable in themselves, should be removed to improve the taste of the cake. But without baking soda and whatever other ingredients she disliked, the cake was a disaster. I am not saying that brown has a use only as a rising agent, but that often we don't appreciate the workhorses in our appreciation of the more pleasingly showy externals.

So in honour of brown, I shall keep this template until winter breaks through with its icy blue.

closing thoughts

I have finally finished Bleak House but I will quote it one more time before moving on:

[she had] a predestined aptitude for doing something objectionable.

He had so long been thoroughly persuaded of the weight and import to mankind of any word he said, that his words really had come to sound as if there were something in them.

One thing I do enjoy about Dickens is his excellent descriptions and his way of encapsulating the essence of a character within a short sentence or two. There were a few places where the going was heavy but for the most part I think I shall miss ploughing through Dickens as I turn to lighter material in the next little while. I still have to read Dombey and Son and Little Dorrit (I'm possibly forgetting one or two other novels of his) and I'm sure there are many of his novels that I wouldn't mind reading multiple times but there is still something special about the first run through a novel that is usually missing the second time through (even if the plot has been forgot in the mean time). So as much as I am happy that I am reaching my goal of reading all of Dickens, I am also sad that the end is approaching.

It has begun

With the RA-ing duties having commenced a couple weeks ago, I have had the chance to plan and prepare two community dinners. So far they have been successes and I am happy in this aspect of my stay here. I find that as much as I would dislike having to plan supper every day, I rather enjoy planning a large one once a week. I also find that I enjoy following recipes but then, once comfortable with them, of playing with the flavours a bit. I made up a dessert this week consisting of oatcakes covered in peaches with caramel sauce on top. I must say I love the caramel sauce and am quite pleased that there is now a jam-jar full of leftovers to dispose of in some way or another.

Another new development is that I have been running most mornings. This is quite singular for me because I hate running. I love biking, skating, walking, playing sports in which one must run, crawling, rolling down hills, dancing, singing... wait. Anyway the point is that I do enjoy active activities for the most part but I have always preserved that little place in my hate for running (or jogging if you like). Why this new development you ask? Why indeed! I can't quite explain but since I've started I have decided to give it a running chance and try to get over what I can only figure is a mental block that tells me I hate it. The consequences might be interesting. Stay tuned.

Jane of many talents

:)

She works both as a finger puppet and as a fridge magnet. Does it get any better than this?

island view

All of my trip out west was good but this part of it was both relaxing and good.

bleak reading

I, in general, love Dickens' books. I havn't read them all yet but am slowly working through the ones still unread whenever I have an extended amount of free time to fill. Bleak House has been near the end of this list; I've had it for quite some time but its title seemed less promising of a delightful read than others (such as Dombey and Son). Its position on the list moved, however, when I found that I now have access to a mini series on the book. I love mini-series in general but I also generally wish to read the book before venturing into movie-land. I therefore resolved to read Bleak House next. Leaving shortly after forming this resolve on a trip involving various flights and other opportunities to read while waiting for something, it was a simple decision to bring this book with me. I have now read halfway through the book and must say that I am really enjoying it. It seems a little more mature than some other Dickens I have known. So far (one must make this reservation when reading Dickens) it is not really bleak at all. There have been several episodes within the story that have been less than happy but this is what gives it the feeling of being true to life. I am happy that it was bumped to the top of the list and am looking forward to finishing it and watching the miniseries.

ch-ch-ch-changes

As a fast-approaching wedding and vacation eat up the rest of my summer I realize that I have only a couple days in which to prepare for those two events and for the changes that are coming this fall. I am moving out of this room which I have inhabited for the past five years and into another space. It is not really a difficult move by any standards: the location is but a ten-minute drive from here, I don't really need to move furniture and, best of all, I can leave various and sundry behind on the shelves since it is my brother who will be moving into my newly-vacated room. I'm just complaining a bit because it feels as though the time has been stolen away from me. I know that I have a hand in all these plans and changes but I guess I feel as though I should be given more time to adjust. Life really is wonderful but it is always easy to feel sorry for one's self.

Does it get any better?

I think I'll be reeling from this Matt Costa kick for quite some time but that's perfectly fine with me.

possible consolation

Suspicion concerning life:
if chocolate chips are eaten and enjoyed at a decent rate (such as perhaps a handful per day) over a length of time, the enjoyment may possibly reach or exceed that which may be derived from a one-time deal of a batch of chocolate chip cookies (especially when shared around indiscriminately as is my wont).

One must, after all, search out and weigh the merits of the various options.

will I ever learn?

Fact of life:
if one opens the chocolate chip package and begins to eat the contents prior to making chocolate chip cookies, there is a chance that by the time one wishes to make said cookies that there will not be enough chips left for such an undertaking.

literary questions

I have often wished to write reviews on here of books I have read or, barring that, even a quick comment on broad impressions in response to books I have been thinking about. What generally stops me in this is a feeling that I do not want to judge a book before I have completed it and perhaps chewed over its contents for a while. So while I am reading a book I try to reserve judgement and by the time that such judgement ideally would be ripe I am deep into the next book with all thoughts of the previous one as dim memories of syne.

I do wish to work around this tendency and not just post some interesting quotes but to engage with the material and themes and express my true opinion (something that I often have a hard time getting out). To start with baby steps I shall in this post answer a couple questions I found elsewhere concerning books. Perhaps the resulting discussion will prompt and prod me into a resolve to continue discussions of the like on a deeper level.

What kind of book are you most comfortable reading?
Novels. In particular the huge Victorian tomes that frighten so many people away. I would say that for recreation and ease of reading there are always lighter novels comparable to candy that are a joy to escape into occasionally but would not sustain a steady diet. I love the complex and beautiful writing and insights into human nature that generally abound in a good novel.

What kind of book do you love to hate?
I generally despise the cheap historical fiction books that frame modern anxieties with a show of historic accuracy. I understand that all historic fiction draws attitudes from modern thought. This is understandable because we are all a product of our own time but there should be some connection between the event shown in the book and the central thrust of the book. If the anxiety is social unrest, then to place the plot in a time of riots and such makes sense but merely to use a certain time-period to display the depths of one's research into that time is rather shallow.
In a slightly different vein, this is not about a book in particular but I look down on the modern trend to appear deep by being obscure.

What was the last book that you surprised yourself by liking?
I think it would have to be Elizabeth B B's Aurora Leigh. I thought a novel written in verse would combine the worst aspects of both genres yet it seemed to do the opposite. Some parts did tend to drag on but for the most part I thoroughly enjoyed it.

What was the last book that you surprised yourself by disliking?
I can't think of the last book that I thought I would like that I haven't liked. I'll have to think of this a little more. Actually I was surprised that I did not enjoy Gaskell's Cranford as I had anticipated. I still ended with enjoying it but it took me more than my usual effort to stay with it and complete it. Once finished, however, I look back with fondness on the book and hope that those who are thinking of reading it will also stick with it and find the small treasures hidden within its pages.

What book would you take with you if you knew you would be marooned in the near future?
Well the Bible is a necessity but as I suspect they are referring to entertainment reading I think I would pick something along the lines of all of Austen's work in one volume. I don't think that's cheating since they are often bound together and it is not an overly unwieldy tome. Perhaps if the three volumes of Tolkein's Ring cycle were together that might suffice also but I don't remember having seen them in one volume before.

What forces you to read outside your comfort zone?
Being in an English degree leaves one at the mercy of required courses and assigned reading. Just having graduated I am now looking forward to a life of ever-narrowing scope and opinions. I can't wait!
In seriousness, however, I often look to friends who may have different likes/dislikes than myself to recommend their favourite books. I do enjoy finding merit in books that I would not have considered myself.

And so ends the short quiz. I enjoyed thinking about the answers and I hope that you enjoyed reading them and that they made you think about what your answers would be. I'm feeling stimulated towards further and deeper discussions over literature so hopefully that will transpire in time.

Perception

From an interesting article in the New York Times on mirrors

In a report titled “Mirror, Mirror on the Wall: Enhancement in Self-Recognition,” which appears online in The Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, Nicholas Epley and Erin Whitchurch described experiments in which people were asked to identify pictures of themselves amid a lineup of distracter faces. Participants identified their personal portraits significantly quicker when their faces were computer enhanced to be 20 percent more attractive. They were also likelier, when presented with images of themselves made prettier, homelier or left untouched, to call the enhanced image their genuine, unairbrushed face. Such internalized photoshoppery is not simply the result of an all-purpose preference for prettiness: when asked to identify images of strangers in subsequent rounds of testing, participants were best at spotting the unenhanced faces.

How can we be so self-delusional when the truth stares back at us? “Although we do indeed see ourselves in the mirror every day, we don’t look exactly the same every time,” explained Dr. Epley, a professor of behavioral science at the University of Chicago Graduate School of Business. There is the scruffy-morning you, the assembled-for-work you, the dressed-for-an-elegant-dinner you. “Which image is you?” he said. “Our research shows that people, on average, resolve that ambiguity in their favor, forming a representation of their image that is more attractive than they actually are.”

When we look in the mirror, our relative beauty is not the only thing we misjudge. In a series of studies, Dr. Bertamini and his colleagues have interviewed scores of people about what they think the mirror shows them. They have asked questions like, Imagine you are standing in front of a bathroom mirror; how big do you think the image of your face is on the surface? And what would happen to the size of that image if you were to step steadily backward, away from the glass?

People overwhelmingly give the same answers. To the first question they say, well, the outline of my face on the mirror would be pretty much the size of my face. As for the second question, that’s obvious: if I move away from the mirror, the size of my image will shrink with each step.

Both answers, it turns out, are wrong. Outline your face on a mirror, and you will find it to be exactly half the size of your real face. Step back as much as you please, and the size of that outlined oval will not change: it will remain half the size of your face (or half the size of whatever part of your body you are looking at), even as the background scene reflected in the mirror steadily changes. Importantly, this half-size rule does not apply to the image of someone else moving about the room. If you sit still by the mirror, and a friend approaches or moves away, the size of the person’s image in the mirror will grow or shrink as our innate sense says it should.

What is it about our reflected self that it plays by such counterintuitive rules? The important point is that no matter how close or far we are from the looking glass, the mirror is always halfway between our physical selves and our projected selves in the virtual world inside the mirror, and so the captured image in the mirror is half our true size.

Rebecca Lawson, who collaborates with Dr. Bertamini at the University of Liverpool, suggests imagining that you had an identical twin, that you were both six feet tall and that you were standing in a room with a movable partition between you. How tall would a window in the partition have to be to allow you to see all six feet of your twin?

The window needs to allow light from the top of your twin’s head and from the bottom of your twin’s feet to reach you, Dr. Lawson said. These two light sources start six feet apart and converge at your eye. If the partition is close to your twin, the upper and lower light points have just begun to converge, so the opening has to be nearly six feet tall to allow you a full-body view. If the partition is close to you, the light has nearly finished converging, so the window can be quite small. If the partition were halfway between you and your twin, the aperture would have to be — three feet tall. Optically, a mirror is similar, Dr. Lawson said, “except that instead of lighting coming from your twin directly through a window, you see yourself in the mirror with light from your head and your feet being reflected off the mirror into your eye.”

This is one partition whose position we cannot change.

I think I'm going to have to check out this last experiment even though it makes some sense on paper it makes no sense to my senses. I wonder if it because the mirror itself gets further away and our perception of thie image is smaller once we move but that the image stays the same. Crazy.

Extract

from Charlotte Bronte's Villette:

There is a perverse mood of the mind which is rather soothed than irritated by misconstruction; and in quarters where we can never be rightly known, we take pleasure, I think, in being consummately ignored.

frustration

I think that it is generally true that while riding on a high we should expect to hit a low shortly thereafter. I just got back from our church's quatrannual international conference. The week was soaked in communal prayer and was truly blessed. I was drained but was given so much more than I gave (as is usual in God's math. Gotta love it.). On my return home I had a couple things to arrange for the accomidation of a fellow who had travelled with me from the conference. It seemed fairly straightforward and I was happy to show some hospitality.
*****
Little did she know... ah, I can't wait to get to heaven and see the true scope of the dramatic irony in which our lives take place.
*****
I will not write out the details since it will come out at this time as a complaint but suffice it to say that I have never had so much trouble trying to get in touch with people and organize something that seemed so simple. On top of it all, just as I had thought everything was arranged and out of my hands, another complication has arisen. But I am praying about it and going to have a good night's sleep and I'm sure it will all look different in the morning. I'm sure I'll laugh in the morning.
I am so thankful that God has given us humour.

O Simon

In an addition or continuation of the last post I would like to say that as a side-effect of my new habits I am beginning to hear Simon Amstell's voice as the constant narrator in my head. Now normally, when I read or write things or think them in my head I have no consciousness of a particular voice or accent or tone unless it puts me in mind strongly of something in a particular genre. For example, if I heard "perspicacity" I would think of it in an upper-class English accent and if I heard "you can't handle the truth" a few good men would pop into my head providing they were small enough. However now amost everything has become a joke with me. The tortured tones of irony and suppressed laughter while reading something of a serious nature has permeated the most sombre of materials and I will not even attempt to start with how much more hilarious his voice renders things that are funny to begin with. I just can't get him out of my head but that's okay.

laughable

I've become hooked on watching numerous clips from various and sundry British quiz-type shows. I say 'quiz-type' because the primary purpose of these shows seems not to be to ask and answer interesting question (as the category 'quiz show' would suggest) but to take the opportunity to display their utter mastery of dry and, well, British humour while answering these clever questions cleverly. Basically these people are my heroes.

photo flop

I have one thing to complain about my camera: it takes terrible pictures at night. This is usually not a problem since most of the pictures I take are the type to be taken during the day but times do arise when I would wish the night vision were better. Take last night for instance. I decided to take the night off from volunteering at Bluesfest and actually watch a show. I arrived before the sun set and staked out a place by the stage. Corb Lund was playing and I got a decent picture of his set. Then I waited around between the shows and got some funky shots of my food, feet and face. Then Feist came on. Now if this were a world that revolved around words and if alliteration were the goal, I would have got some funky Feist photos too. Sadly for literaphiles such as myself, this is not the case. The world runs on much more prosaic rules and if my camera does not do well at night, it will not take good pictures of objects at night no matter what the potential in the alliterative sphere. So despite the fact that I was front row at the Feist show, I have little pictoral evidence. Corb Lund (first on stage) My food
My feet
My funny face

Feist but in no way funky. Perhaps it was going for 'fuzzy'. If you can't figure out what's happening, she's casting her shadow on a white screen. I was over to the right so it shows some of what's behind the screen.

pink again

I seem to have missed the commencement of summer. Perhaps it is due to the fact that it hasn't let off raining all month. I really shouldn't complain since we seem to get the whole bag of weather each day so we are not really missing the sun but this strange weather has just disoriented me. I think another factor is the fact that I have spent the majority of my time indoors this month. Thinking back to other Junes I have known, it is the complete opposite. No wonder I have problems remembering which season it is. So I am late in changing my blog colours. But better late than never.

filler

It's been several weeks since I last posted so I thought a quick pic would fill the gap until I feel like writing more.

updates

Last Sunday a friend gave a slide show presentation of the trip she took to Asia last summer and it hit me again how blessed I was to have gone on my trip last summer and how much I really do miss the people and places I visited and perhaps will never get to see again. This week I tossed off a few long-overdue e-mails to some of the people I met on the trip. I have had a few responses and updates in return and it reminds me again of how my life is not the only important one on the planet. It also gives me several opportunities to chuckle over the various language bloopers and mis-used figures of speech (with full understanding that I have nothing in my basically unilingual-state on my multilingual correspondents) that they write in good faith.
So I answer in like good faith while resolving never to marry someone whose first language is different from mine (communication is hard enough at the best of times). As much as I am planning on not marrying any of them, I do miss them a lot and wish that I could be more involved in their lives and develop a deeper friendship with each one of them. This mixed-bag of feelings gives birth to a similar mixed-bag of feelings on my tentative plan to do a longer-term bout of teaching English overseas. It's such a rich experience but hard to leave. But I suppose we shouldn't give up on a good thing merely because we'll miss it afterwards.

snippets

A few weeks ago I discovered on my computer a document containing various flights of fancy I had indulged in during my essay writing lock down at the end of the fall term. I must have been fairly out of it while writing the various poems and paragraphs that make up this document because once I re-discovered them it took a while before I believed that I had written them (I went so far as to accuse my brother of the authorship before I was finally convinced of my own culpability in the matter). Anyway I have had fun looking at some of my own stuff from the point of view of someone who has never seen it before. It's a strange feeling.

Here's one poem where my main concern is structure to the detriment of any ease of understanding. I feel like I should like to polish it a bit but instead will just write it out as it stands. It's different from what I normally write and I don't know if I like it or not but anyway.

Framed
Does rhyme suppress thought?
Too structured and constricting?
If within verse I cannot frame
My pleasant musings, I ought
(You may not share my shame)
Not force my feeble pen to writing.

We build our pretty houses over
Structures quite unsightly
The frame is not what is seen.
If an artist a canvas doesn't cover
The paint remains in pots, clean
But is it art? Quite unlikely.

So this is what happens when my brain is put under severe pressure to write other things. I guess something's gotta give.

one among the shadows

yappy

While Gma heads down to the wilds of Omaha I am taking care of the house and dog. I know that we were fortunate to get a dog that is already trained and pretty good in the house and not too large and all that jazz but there's something about small yappy dogs that I just don't find appealing.

Perhaps my distaste has more to do with my championing of the low-maintenance approach to most things (from my appearance to my plants to my diet and, well, pretty much every other aspect of my life). Perhaps I am merely balking at the fact that this dog has to be walked thrice a day and, when put in the backyard, tied on a rope (which action includes subsequent untangling of rope from various objects in the yard and elsewhere at various intervals throughout the day).

In my previous experience with the canine species (specifically those under my care) the extent of one's necessary involvement was the placing of food outside the door at various periods throughout the day. Since this generally fell under the cleaning of scraps from a meal, it could almost be seen as a chore that wasn't even directly connected with the animal. Now I have always enjoyed spending time far above and beyond the quick shove of the food bowl out the door kind of relationship with my dogs but it was always a voluntary task. I didn't have to take the dog to do its business. It was always mature enough to handle anything like that itself. And I most certainly never had to pick up after my dogs. I am beginning to see why my parents held out with the rule of no pets in the city and am not quite so upset with them that we didn't get a dog until we had moved into a place with lots of room for them to roam.

It is much the same way with plants (as just one other example). I love gardening but give me a houseplant and I'll kill it. I do this not entirely willingly but then perhaps it is my subconscious telling me to free myself of encumbrances that makes me neglect them to death. I don't mind other people having houseplants but I see no use for them myself especially when I forget about them so readily. The beauty of a garden outdoors is that there is no need to water and you get half the year off tending it (at least when one is this far north).

However, when I am looking after someone else's things I generally take better care of them and have not killed one of Gma's houseplants yet so there is hope for poor Haley...

epistles

I dipped into an old favourite this past week when I read Dear Enemy, the sequel to Daddy-Long-Legs. Although it is the sequel, I read it before I had discovered DLL and whether it is for this reason or not, I prefer it to its predecessor. Both these novels are written in an epistolary mode and (although it renders their endings slightly awkward) I thoroughly enjoy the result. I think it's a form that is under-used.

On finishing the book I also found myself longing for that time when letter writing was a common part of life. In my youth I had several pen-pals and always enjoyed writing and receiving letters. I found that the process of posting the letter was the biggest hold-up to my sending out the missives. I used to dream of the ease with which the charaters in books would simply write the letter and let a servant worry about the posting end of it.

In the past few years I have lost my pen pals and had forgotten how much I was missing in this fact until I read that book. Oh to be back in the time when such a remark as "This is where Mrs Darcy used to write her letters every morning" would be commonplace. I suppose were I to have a showcase home and have my housekeeper give tours she could use a similar line when passing the computer room but it still has not the same impact as passing through a rich library by a writing desk in the same way that an e-mail is a poor washed-out cousin to the almost out-dated letter.