Nostalgic Nana

Feeling a little too grown-up

2012-02-05T20:06:00.000-08:00

I'm not a fan of Edna St. Vincent Millay as a person, but I just ran across this poem, entitled Grown-up, and I like it a lot.

Was it for this that I uttered prayers,
And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs,
That now, domestic as a plate,
I should retire at half-past-eight?

I had to laugh.
I've been back from Haiti for a little over a week. We arrived home at about midnight last Friday. The next morning, I had to be at a music therapy conference from 8:30 till 5pm. Same thing on Sunday. It was a great conference, full of thought-provoking stuff, but I barely made it through the Sunday session. All that sitting, three days in a row, nearly did me in, in spite of the therapeutic knitting that engaged my fingers all the day long.

I worked a lot this week, but every evening I have been just sitting. It took until Wednesday for the jet-lag haze to visibly clear. Every morning, I woke up at four. Every night, I was falling asleep by eight.
Sad.
Now, I think I'm coming down with another cold.
I may have to find another line of work. All those adorable, snotty-nosed preschoolers will be the death of me!

Well, maybe not!

But seriously, it doesn't seem that long ago that Jeff and I would frequently go out dancing at night, or hiking and bike-riding on Saturdays. What has happened to us?

I'm feeling stodgy, old, and unmotivated.
I think I need a party.
Anyone?

A cheery thought from Ogden Nash.

At another year
I would not boggle,
Except when I jog
I joggle.

Maybe tomorrow I will get my mojo back.
After I joggle.

Just for fun

2012-02-03T07:49:00.000-08:00

One has to be careful when taking photographs in Haiti. It's best to do it surreptitiously when out in the open, because if there are people nearby they are likely to yell at you and ask for money.

Children, on the other hand, beg to have their photo taken.

They boss each other around and try to sneak in on each other's moments of glory.

And then the whole gang will cluster around the camera to see the end result.

Notice how many times this girl was in front of the lens.

There she is again, different day, lower left.

And walking with Dolly on one of our village walks.

Grandmas admiring the new baby.

Random photos.

This young Romeo thought he was hot stuff and insisted on my taking his photo when we were on our walk.

Little Romanov, whose mom is a cook at the clinic. Romanov hangs around after school. He is a little darling.

He is eating spicy Haitian peanut butter on cassava bread, a favourite after-school snack.

This young woman spends her days mopping and cleaning the clinic. It's astounding how much dirt is generated by all of the residents and visitors to the clinic.

I'm pretty sure that her fashionable shirt is one of the t-shirt dresses that we made at church. I must have sent some to MBH. Can any of my lovely readers verify the fabric?

Zeenia, my favourite roaming naturopath, and Howard, the WWOOF'er who arrived at the clinic just a couple of days before we left. He is from Portland and is a very likeable and adventurous fellow. They had been out visiting an organic garden that morning and I thought the whole American Gothic thing was too good to pass up!

Now for some street pictures.
This was on the way back down the mountain.

Motorbikes are the most prolific vehicle on the streets of Cap. These young men were happy to have their photos taken out of the back window of our car. And yes, we asked their permission. Traffic proceeds slowly in the city! One of the best things I ever saw was a man driving a motorbike with a twin-size box-springs and mattress set balanced across the back of it. I have no idea how it stayed on.

Now for the surreptitious picture-taking!

You often see men pushing or pulling enormous loads of goods.

And women (and sometimes girls) carrying large loads on their heads.

Haitian women have the most incredible posture and an unconscious "come hither" walk. Or maybe not unconscious, I don't know. It seems to be in their DNA.

Concrete is everywhere.

And that, my lovely readers, is the end of the Haiti posts. There are more stories untold, like the day we spent at the orphanage, but you will have to see Dolly or me face-to-face for those, if you care. I hope I have given you a small inkling of life on the island. But more than that, I would hope to have stirred you into starting to contemplate what you can do in the wide, wide world to make a difference. It's okay to contemplate the idea for a while. Sometimes I contemplate for years before I actually bring an idea to fruition. But when you decide to do something, I would love to hear about it.

Until then, prayers are good.

Mountains beyond mountains

2012-02-01T22:53:00.000-08:00

There is a proverb in Haiti that has been popularized by Tracy Kidder's book about Paul Farmer's humanitarian work in Haiti and around the world.

Beyond mountains there are mountains.

Like most proverbs, the meaning has multiple layers.

In its simplest form, it seems to mean that when you solve one problem, there will be another one beyond it to solve.

Or, when you surmount a great obstacle, it is only get a clear view of the next one.

It can also mean that opportunities are limitless.

And so it seems to be.

There is a story to tell that is layered with curiosity, intrigue and pathos. It unraveled over the course of several days and the ending surprised and disturbed all of us that witnessed it.

A woman brought her two-year-old daughter into the clinic. The mother had recently delivered a baby at the clinic and said that the child was a twin and that there was also an older sibling, but that this baby was the only one who was sick. The poor little toddler displayed the edema and split skin that is typical of severe malnourishment and just lay on a bed, whimpering and crying when anyone tried to touch her. The mother told of taking the baby to the hospital the week before and being sent home after only a day. Sarah was concerned for the girl and decided to transport her and the mother back to the hospital and check to see what was going on. Dolly had been attempting to soothe the child by removing her clothes and dressing her wounds, so she wrapped her in a nice, clean blanket and went along to the hospital.

A few hours later, the entourage returned. The baby was admitted and, strangely, the doctor told Sarah that, rather than being ejected from the hospital on her previous visit, the mother had chosen to leave. We thought it was curious, made even more so by the fact that she hadn't shown any affection for the child and that this was the only malnourished sibling. Sarah said that, sadly, sometimes it is almost as if a parent has already given up on a child. We wondered how you could choose which child you would not feed. The other twin was a boy. Male children are often valued more than girls in many cultures and have better survival rates, so we thought that this may have featured into the equation.

A few days later, they were back at the clinic. The little girl didn't look much better, so we tried to give her something to drink and eat. She cried and threw everything on the floor. I was starting to think that maybe she was just ornery and a picky eater. I do not think that one could be a picky child and survive in Haiti. Then, her mother gave her the plate and a spoon and she actually ate a few spoonfuls. When her older sister put some fish on her plate, she got mad and threw it on the floor and stopped eating. I was totally starting to see how a mother would get frustrated with such a child! When you're struggling to feed your children, what would you do?

The mother finally went home after Sarah decided we could keep the baby at the clinic so that we could nourish her for a few days. It was late by now and Dolly was all ready to spend the night downstairs with the baby. I went to bed, as it was getting late. There was a hubbub some time later and I only found out after the fact what happened.

As the real story unraveled, it became known that the child was not the mother's biological child, but that of her husband, who had died shortly before she delivered her last baby and left her with his three other children and no way to support them.

Mountains beyond mountains.

It certainly explained her lack of natural affection for the girl.

When the baby's paternal grandparents found out that the mother had left her at the clinic, they threatened to kill her if she didn't get the baby back. Haitians often threaten to kill each other. Whether they ever carry out the threat, I do not know! So mama came back to get the baby so that the grandparents could take her into their home.

We sent her off with some formula and the hopes that she would find a better home with her grandparents.

It would be easy to judge this woman, but when you think about the adversity she had suffered in just a few months, there must surely be more compassion than judgment. Hardship, bereavement, hunger, discomfort, illness, and deprivation are such a fact of life in Haiti that it boggles my mind to imagine living in such conditions. And, of course, there are many other countries where life is just as harsh as it is in Haiti.

If you wonder what little-old-you-I'm-only-one-person can do about this, there is a book I would like to suggest. It is called Half the Sky and it will make you mad.

Maybe even mad enough to do something about it.

And then we can talk.

High on the mountaintop

2012-01-30T11:42:00.000-08:00

From the upstairs balcony at the clinic, you can see the mountain known as Bonnet a L'Eveque, the smaller one on the right. The strange shape of the summit is actually a gigantic fortress built by Christophe (remember him?) called The Citadel. It is visible from much of this part of northern Haiti.

On our second Saturday in Haiti, we were lucky enough to pay it a visit. Sarah arranged for ten of us to rent two cars and drivers to take us almost to the top of that mountain. We drove for an hour or so, through the village of Milot that lies at the base of the mountain and then up a narrow, winding road to what is known as the "second parking lot". I never did find out where the first parking lot resides! By the time we got there the radiators on the cars were steaming away merrily, but the drivers paid them no heed.

Shortly after we left Milot, we were pulled over by some men on a couple of motorbikes. They extorted $5 from each of us (well, I guess that's the cost for foreigners to enter, but the manner of the request felt like extortion) and we were back on our way. As soon as we exited the cars in the parking lot, we were surrounded by Haitians who were selling tourist trinkets and food. I told one lady that I would buy a couple of maracas from her when I came back down and it seemed to pacify her, but it didn't stop the rest of the vendors from harassing me as I started up the hill.

Jennifer, the president of the board, had arrived the day before. Here we are, beginning the ascent. Note how small the Citadel appears at this point.

It was a beautiful day, sunny but not too hot, with occasional clouds floating in the sky.

A local Haitian man attached himself to each one of us, apparently appointing himself as a personal guide. I tried to tell mine that I didn't want a guide, but it was a lost cause. Other men, leading small horses, tagged along as well, apparently hoping that we were too wimpy to make the climb.

Ha! I showed them!

It was hot and steep, but I made it to the top in good time, ignoring all of the food vendors that lined the path along the way. There were houses all along the path, which I couldn't figure out. They kind of hang on the side of the mountain with no visible support. Banana and citrus and avocado trees are planted on the steep cliffs. Again, I have no idea how the fruit is harvested. Yet there is a whole mountainside community that somehow lives and eats and does their laundry in this seemingly inhospitable environment.

When we arrived at the top, our guides guilted us into paying them. I didn't give mine much, because I had warned him that I didn't want him. Dolly, on the other hand, had been lagging at the back, and her guide told her that $20 is the normal amount of payment, so she gave it to him. Luckily, it was all the money she had in her pocket, so at least she was safe from any more extortion or guilt-induced beneficence.

The guides tell some fantastic stories, but much of Haiti's history is difficult to authenticate and I have an inkling that they fabricate some of the tales. This much is certain. It is the largest fortress in the Americas and is part of a series of fortifications that was built as a defense after the slave rebellion in case the French ever tried to regain control of Haiti. It was built by about 20,000 workers between the years 1805 and 1820. It must have been an astounding feat of engineering and labour, as the mountain is 3,000 feet high and very steep.

When Christophe commissioned the fortress, he was a general in the Haitian army in charge of the northern regions. He and fellow conspirator Alexandre Petion led a coup against Haiti's emporer, Jean-Jacques Dessalines. The result was a divided Haiti, with Christophe ruling the north and Petion ruling the south.

One of the outstanding features of the fortress is the cannons, of which there were originally 365. There are still enormous stockpiles of cannonballs throughout the structure. The Citadel has withstood many earthquakes, but has never had to stand against a French attack.

The views are breath-taking and you will please pardon me for subjecting you to a plethora of them.

Everywhere you turn there are walls with no barriers to a precipitous fall.

Lovin' my Einstein hair, which was even worse this day because it was combined with hat-head!

There was another guide who was determined to lead our group through the entire Citadel, but I lagged purposefully behind. This was one of the first areas as we entered the walls. It's shape was whimsical, but I'm sure it was of great utility in its time.

The stone floor was damp and slippery with moss. The foundation of the fortress was built right into the stone of the mountaintop and fastened with a mortar made of quicklime, molasses, and the blood of local goats and cows. There is no symmetry to the design, which includes storage space for enough food and supplies for 5,000 defenders for a year.

Emergency preparedness at its finest!

No roof at the top, but the open space gives you an idea of the shape of this area.

Most of the following pictures are just places that I liked but have no idea of the purpose they served.

We spent a pleasant couple of hours wandering around. Every now and then a Haitian would try dogging my footsteps and talking to me, but I studiously ignored them.

The walls are all pitted and covered in variegated lichens. The outside walls have holes in them, I suppose for guns. Some are unfettered by weeds and you can see through them for miles.

Other holes, like these, serve no other visible purpose than to be homes for geckos, of which there were many.

Some areas reminded me of Labrynth, in the staircase scene.

Cannonballs are everywhere, should you ever need one.

And lovely old cannons. This was the one time I regretted not taking my good camera, as the lighting inside was a little difficult to work with, such bright light through the windows but dim in the recesses of the rooms.

Some of the cannons had intricate designs in their casting.

Up in the sunlight again.

Sarah found herself a quiet spot.

This was a huge cooking pot on top of a fire pit. It was probably four feet across.

More Escher-esque design.

I think this was a system for the water, but don't quote me on that. It was the topmost part of the fortress and we were walking along the edges, high above the ground.

Jennifer bought a flute and the guy was teaching her how to play it.

On the way back down the mountain, I made Dolly link arms with me. Her flip-flops were not serving her well on the treacherous path and I also wanted to protect her from the voracious vendors. We passed many more vendors and musicians on the way back down. First there was a group of men playing pipes, which we walked resolutely past. Then around a couple of corners was a group of young boys playing the same instruments. That was more difficult to ignore, but on we marched. Lots of fruit and snack vendors. Then, an old man playing a flute. He followed us for a long way, playing Auld Lang Syne over and over and over again. Later, we saw him in the parking lot, still playing the same song.

As we neared the parking lot, I could see that we were the first of our group to descend the mountain and I knew we were in trouble. Sure enough, we had to endure the solicitations of the vendors, who were increasingly insistent that we buy their wares, for about 30 minutes. One lady sidled right up next to me and nagged me in a soft voice. Mum, mum, please buy something from me. I have five children and I need to buy food for them. Mum, please mum. Over and over and over again. After I had moved away she came up to me again and started in: mum, mum, please, please, I have six children at home, at which point I burst into laughter and did not feel guilty at all for not buying anything from her. If you're going to lie, you'd better tell the same lie every time!

We finally all piled into the cars and started back down the mountain. This was a very slow journey and nerve-wracking, to say the least. About half-way down the road to Milot the brakes were smoking on both cars so we pulled over and some local residents threw buckets of water on them. I think it is standard procedure and probably the only source of income for the families that lived in that spot. Right where we stopped, you could see Sans-Souci Palace, which was one of nine palaces, fifteen chateaux and various other summer homes built by Christophe for himself and his family. It's not hard to see where Haitian history started to go wrong, is it? Um, let's see, how about within days of the revolution?

So, here's what I think about visiting the Citadel.

If you ever get a chance, go for it. It is a unique experience, uncrowded (we only saw a half-dozen other foreigners the whole time we were there) and the views on that mountain-top are stunning. I am glad that I went, even though the aggressive locals came really close to ruining the experience for me.

Take plenty of small bills if you want to support the local economy.

Never pay the asking price. I offered the woman $10 for two maracas. She wanted $25 and said she couldn't do it, but after 30 seconds of haggling she met my price. Then another lady offered me two maracas and a carved box for $10. I tried not to kick myself all the way back to Mourne Rouge.

If you give money to one person, you will be inundated with ten other people wanting money from your deep pockets. Personally, I don't mind paying a reasonable amount of money for a service or goods, but I deeply resent the implication that I owe the locals a living. And if I am lied to or harangued I will zip up my pocket so tight that my cash will never see the light of day.

Like so much in Haiti, forewarned is forearmed, so there you have it.

Thirty-nine photos.

A personal record.

Just me and the chickens. And a couple of goats. And wall-sitting Haitians.

2012-01-29T13:40:00.000-08:00

Some mornings, Dolly helped in the clinic. She was a labour and delivery nurse for many years and so she tolerates the sight of yukky things much better than I. So she weighed and measured babies and took blood pressures of mamas.

I was banished to the road to help on a painting project.

The road outside the clinic looks like this to the east...

...and this to the west.

Mamas knocking at the gate, rat-tat-tatting to be let in by Jason, the guard, is a common sight.

There is a rooster, of uncertain ownership, that pecks around in the dirt outside the gate.

I am not clear on the attraction of roosters for the Haitian people. They are raucous at all hours of the day, but particularly at 4 o'clock in the morning, when the roosters perform their own version of the "twilight bark" from 101 Dalmations.

Segue please.

Haitian roosters make me grumpy.

In fact, I was asking Santo (resident translator and general go-to guy at the clinic) why we owned a rooster, he informed me that it was so that the hens would lay eggs.

But Santo, I said patiently, you don't need a rooster to get eggs.

Yes, you do, he replied, with a barely disguised pity in his eyes.

No, you don't, I insisted.

Yes, you do.

Oookay. I gave up. Sometimes, you just have to know when to concede defeat. This was one of them. There is also the matter of the lone egg that sits on the roosting shelf in the hen coop that supposedly incites the Dominican hens to lay eggs. Not working so far, people! I just hope that it never falls on the ground and breaks, or it will surely asphyxiate the chickens.

Aaand, there are the two pregnant mama goats, who belong to Jason, the afore-mentioned guard. I got a kick out of the number of times per hour that Jason peeks his head around the gate to check on his babies. He does love his goats!

Walls in Haiti are canvasses for art.

Sometimes it is utilitarian, like this...

...and sometimes it is much more decorative.

I confessed to being slightly artistic, so Sarah asked me to help Wilfred, the brother of one of our translators, whom she had hired to paint a mural about healthy water practices.

I love Haitian art. It is primitive and colourful and depicts ordinary, yet idealistic, aspects of everyday life in Haiti. It has an optimism that I like to think will be rewarded some day with bliss.

Wilfred has lofty goals. He told me that he wants to be a great person some day. I think he already is a great person, but I hope he also figures out how he can become successful, which is what I think he meant.

Wilfred used a pencil and an oft-abused level to rough out the rectangle that would contain the mural.

No, he did not entrust me with any of this task.

But he did allow me to help paint the white background.

This is Jude, another brother, who is a happy fellow and liked to make fun of me, especially when I made strange noises because I was so hot. As in "elevated temperature", not "degree of coolness".

The wall on this side of the street was in direct sunlight all of the day, so the general strategy was to paint until you couldn't stand it any more, then go sit on the shady side of the street to recover.

Whereupon, I (and Dolly, when she was helping) learned the fine art of wall-sitting, one of my favourite aspects of Haitian culture.

Don't we do it well?

I had retired to the house one day and when I came outside again, Jude and another friend and helper (wall-sitter) Black Yves were snoring loudly next to the wall.

For a second, I believed them, but then they both burst out laughing.

Funny, guys!

It soon became apparent that I was not to be allowed to tarnish Wilfred's masterpiece with my amateur strokes, so I made this large painted space for notices. The usual practice is for people to slap notices randomly on walls, so Sarah decided to supply a delineated space and ask people to get permission from MBH before they posted their papers.

I also made this tree for some of the local children to decorate with their hand-prints.

One day, it rained as we were working on our separate walls, and the boys rigged up this ingenious way of protecting their work.

It took them all week to complete the project.

Wilfred stopped by the night before we left. I had asked him to make a painting for me, but he had forgotten that I was leaving so soon. He told me that Jude had asked him to tell me that he thought of me as his friend.

Sweet Jude.

I left some money with Sarah, so I may yet get that painting.

What we did all day: Part 2

2012-01-28T19:43:00.000-08:00

No sad stories this time.

There were a lot of people staying in the house during the last couple of days of our trip. It seems like we were invaded by every midwife in a fifty mile area. Have you ever spent much time around a gaggle of midwives? The conversations are eclectic, to put it mildly. There are images etched on my pre-frontal cortex that I will never be able to erase.

Dolly and I were sleeping in the pharmacy, which has curtains on two sides, one of which overlooks the downstairs post-partum room and the other the upstairs common area. We had no privacy whatsoever, so we were feeling the need to hide out. Luckily, there was a birth room downstairs that was needing some TLC. Here are the results of our artistry. Some new curtains had been hung in the window and we used the design for inspiration.

Formerly know as the hibiscus room, we laid odds on how long before it becomes "the bird room".

Sarah was very happy. She said that this room used to be the least attractive, with bare concrete walls and no curtains. Now it is a cheerful room and will be our little legacy at MamaBaby Haiti.

Look for a barrage of posts in the next few days as I catch up on some things I think you will find interesting.

Thanks for reading.

What we did all day: Part 1

2012-01-28T14:20:00.000-08:00

Can you endure another sad story?

Mma (madame) Claudine, my new Haitian friend, is a lady of great dignity and grace. She came to the clinic a few months ago with her daughter, who was pregnant. Her son had killed himself and, as a result, her husband abandoned the family. She was forced to move in with a male relative in order to provide for her family. The relative raped her oldest daughter and she became pregnant. The two left the relative's home and had nowhere to go. She begged Sarah to help her and Sarah, in her compassion, found them a place to live and allowed them to come to the clinic each day to eat. The house is really a tiny room with no space for the other children, so another teenage daughter remains at risk in the home of the relative. Claudine makes herself useful around the place, gardening and tidying and helping every time she sees a need. I love that she doesn't expect a handout, but is willing to work.

Sarah has also taught Claudine to give a chair massage, so sometimes at lunchtime the volunteers and midwives will sit for a massage and pay her.

Dolly and I spent some time in the mornings working on sewing projects.
Well, Dolly worked the treadle machine, because this handy seamstress just could not get the hang of it, and I measured and cut. We made baby slings and cut post-partum pads from the left-over fabric..

The slings were in high demand with the new moms and we didn't always have enough to go around.

This young lady sat and watched us for a few hours and Dolly handed her a sling as she finished it. She was so enthralled that she wore it all day and she hasn't even had her baby yet!

Isn't she beautiful?

One morning, the machine was vacant for a few minutes and when I turned back to it, Mma Claudine was gesturing to me as if she wanted to sew. I smiled and gestured for her to go ahead.

From then on, this sweet lady was the new seamstress.

And that, my friends, was what we did in the mornings.

Well, some of them.

Mamas (and daddies) and babies

2012-01-27T13:46:00.000-08:00

This is Jacqueline, whose wife died after she gave birth (not at MamaBaby Haiti!) to their third child. He said she went crazy after every birth and ran away. This time, she didn't come back. He came to the clinic looking for help because he couldn't look after the children and also work, so he had no money for food. He had been feeding the baby sugar water and she was pitifully malnourished. The two older children were not in school and he had nowhere to turn.

Sarah gave him some work painting around the clinic and formula for the baby. He is such a loving Dad and his helplessness in his situation is palpable.

While we were in Haiti, several options were tried and there is hope that he will be able to put his baby in an orphanage for a few months until he can take care of her.

There is hope that his two older children will be sponsored by World Vision through the church of one of our translators and be able to attend school. Sarah already arranged for their schooling and had uniforms made. When the children turned up for school the first day, they were told that the school had run out of money and would be closing. And so it goes in Haiti.

There is hope that he will get a micro-loan through Children of the Promise, the organization that runs the orphanage.

There are no guarantees, only hope. And so he sits and waits for his hopes to materialize.

Here he is, carrying his baby as he walks the dusty roads of Mourne Rouge with his baby in a sling that was given to him by Sarah.

More babies that passed through the clinic during our stay.

These lucky mamas, who came for baby clinic, were all given baby blankets that were made for MBH babies by some of you!

In a later post, you will be seeing our sewing friend. This Mom took her baby home in a sling that was made from two receiving blankets. These slings were a hot item, as you will see, and so helpful to young mothers who carry their babies for miles.

These sweethearts are female twins. Their mother died after a Caesarean section at the hospital. The story involves a couple of falls, a split incision, and a motorcycle, and I never did quite get the whole thing. But the babies are now two months old and dearly loved by their Dad and Aunty. He also cannot work and look after the babies and came to us for help. We tried to get the sisters into COTP but they refused, so the babies' future is uncertain. MBH has been supplying formula and doing what they can to help the brother and sister to take care of the babies. The love is strong, their gratitude is great, but what will become of them is unsure. When I last saw them they said God bless you, and I hugged them and said God bless you back.

One of Dolly's little friends, of whom she had many.

Marie, the Haitian midwife at the clinic, met "her babies" everywhere we went.

Dolly was sad to say goodbye to this little girl, who hugged her and wouldn't let go.

If you have a mind to, please pray for these families. There are many more heartbreaking stories of families divided and fighting for their very lives. Their love and dignity is great, their faith in Christ is strong. It is hard to know how best to help them, but we do what we can and hope that God's grace will fill in the gaps.

Totally tourist

2012-01-22T15:56:00.000-08:00

On Sunday, Dolly got up early and went to the local Baptist church.

I slept in. Are you surprised? We are sleeping in a room that is only closed off with curtains, so the two births that night managed to create enough noise that I couldn’t go to sleep for hours, tired as I was.

Later that day, ten of us piled into the Toyota Land Cruiser (we were squished in a way that I have never been squished before) and took a trip to an old fishing village.
Feast your eyes on these babies.

Old boats lay abandoned on the sand all along the coast.

Here is a new and innovative use for old shoe soles.

Should you ever need one.

This is Rachel.

If I ever have another daughter, I want it to be her.

We walked along a narrow pier. Sunday must be net-fixing day and this pleasant gentleman was happy to have his photo taken.

Not so all Haitians. Today, I took photos of some children who were begging me to take pictures of them. I complied and they were enormously amused at the images of themselves. Then along came an older lady with a bundle on her head who kept calling me blan and making sideways motions across her throat with her hand. I think she was telling me to give her money, but I fled. With great dignity, of course, but fled nonetheless. I later found out that that particular gesture meant that she was hungry.
I felt bad.

I couldn’t help but think that his afternoon on the boat was pretty idyllic, with the sunshine and the quietness of the sea all around him. No doubt, to him it was just work, but he could do worse.

This boat is, I fear, beyond hope.

Pop bottles are used as floats for crab or lobster traps that are made from some kind of reeds or leaves, perhaps banana leaves.

This gave me a chuckle.

This post took me five days to upload, so feel free to hit the "like" button in appreciaton.

Mesi.

We arrive

2012-01-18T12:41:00.000-08:00

Our first view of Haiti. We were running late, as first there was a problem with the manifest, which held us up for about 45 minutes while they checked everyone’s passports. Then they had to top up fuel because we had sat on the tarmac with the engine idling for so long. Then they had to take out a few suitcases because we were too heavy. Yup. I think that was our fault. Somehow, they got those cases to Miami and they arrived at Cap Haitien only an hour after we did.

Serendipitously, we didn’t have to go through inspection at customs, so after trusting our bags to a MBH employee, we piled into the official MBH car and went on an adventure.
Cap is its usual appealing self.

Sarah took the five of us new volunteers to the Hotel du Roi Christophe for an orientation.

The outside of the hotel is so interesting that it took us a few minutes to get inside.

This is Henri Christophe, who was one of the leaders of the revolution against French rule. True to Haitian form, he was ironically proclaimed Henry I, King of Haiti in 1804. He was an unpopular monarch and shot himself with a bullet rather than face a coup.

There is something about Haitian art that speaks to me.
It says Susan, buy me.
And I answer, But my husband will hate you!

This is Sarah, the hard-working midwife who directs the clinic. She gave us the low-down on daily life at the clinic and gave us time to unwind after our long-winded travels.

After a bumpy, dusty, hot, crowded drive to the clinic, it didn’t take Dolly long to find a baby to cuddle. This little cutie’s mother died and when the dad brought her to MBH she was almost dead. She’s two months old and is the size of a newborn. Sarah has hired Dad to do some painting around the house and sends him home with formula for the baby. Hooray for all our friends who donated formula! Baby is doing much better, smiling and eating and acting curious. Her hands and feet are so tiny.

By the time we got to bed on Saturday night, I was so exhausted that I couldn't sleep. The nocturnal noises of the clinic and the neighbourhood kept me awake most of the night. Imagine birth noises, midwives talking outside your room, cocks crowing all night, dogs barking, and crickets striking up the band.

Ah, Haiti, how I have missed you!

This post was going to be a lot longer but it took me four days to get these pictures loaded.

So there ya go.

The journey begins. And a birthday.

2012-01-13T20:41:00.000-08:00

Jonnie turned thirty on Thursday.

Here he is, in all his glory.

About all that gear he's rocking?

Don't ask! The child is incorrigible.

He got a bag of Lindor truffles, some cash, a kiss, and a cake from his Mom.

Buttermilk cake with whipped cream mousse frosting.

Drool if you want.

If I didn't know better, I would say he loves his Squeaker more than anything else in the world.

On second thoughts, maybe I don't know better.

As for me and Dear Dolly, we're on our way.

With all our eleven-plus bags

And here we sit in Terminal 4 at Fort Lauderdale Airport, waiting for our early-morning check-in.

A not-very-helpful Haitian porter transported our bags about twenty yards to the shuttle, for which he earned a very handsome (in retrospect) tip.

When we got to Terminal 4 and were off-loaded (with no ceremony) by the Haitian driver (You're killing me, he said) we sat on a bench by the curb in the balmy night air, collecting ourselves and planning a strategy for the night. Our check-in tomorrow is at 3:30am, so we needed to find a place to hang out. We were feeling thrifty after the porter thing, so decided to hunt down some abandoned carts.

Did you know that airport carts cost $4 each nowadays?

Daylight robbery!

After having no luck taking turns wandering the parking lot, we stalked a couple of people with carts and nabbed them (the carts) as soon as they were alone.

Score for us!

If you haven't seen middle-aged women celebrating free luggage carts at the airport, you haven't seen jubilation.
Trust me on that.

Here he is...

2012-01-08T18:19:00.000-08:00

...the little darling.

Darn, I feel another trip to the East Coast in the offing.

Some news and a b(r)ag

2012-01-08T16:33:00.000-08:00

First off, in news that makes me about the luckiest nana this side of the Mississippi (that was just to show you that I could spell it), I have a new grandson. Gabriel Edwin, born yesterday to Annie and, you guessed it, Edwin. He's a healthy little chubbo and the birth was relatively smooth. I was very grateful to Annie for not announcing the labour proceedings until they were almost at an end. I have a couple of photos but they're on my phone. Hopefully, one of my savvy children will post a photo on the web soon and I can steal it.

If you haven't been keeping track, that makes two babies in a little over a week.

I know, lucky us!

I expect somewhat of a dearth on the procreation front for at least the next year.

Second big news; I am leaving for Haiti on Friday morning. I feel less prepared this time, but maybe it's because I was going into the unknown last year and was obsessive about packing and getting everything ready early. My friend, Dolly, is going with me and I am so thrilled to spend this time with her. We are packing bags this afternoon and will also take some over for the MBH board, so will be loaded down with luggage again.

I told Jeff that I wanted a netbook for Christmas so that I could blog on the go and not have to carry so much weight, so I got a sweet little Acer netbook from Costco. The timing was fortuitous, because my laptop has been having some connection issues when we're away from home. After several hours on the phone with HP, I had to do a recovery on it, which is a nasty, inconvenient process. I'm unwilling to restore all my files until I can test it out some more, so the Acer has been my weapon of choice for the last week or so.

It is a cute, teeny little thing and I couldn't wait to make this adorable pouch for it.

I made it from two layers of leftover fleece that I had hung on to for such a purpose.

You can see in this picture that I pieced small remnants of the fabric together. They were left over from some instrument bags that I made. It's very easy to do with a zigzag or other decorative stitch.

Three old buttons and some bias tape completed the job.

I didn't think ahead one this one very well and had to get creative on the edging.

On the first envelope I made for my HP laptop, I had a larger piece of fleece and was able to sew it right sides together and turn it inside out, so I only ended up with one edge to finish.

I also sewed velcro onto the fabric before sewing the side seams...

...and a few sunny daisy patches.

I am unreasonably in love with the small one.

I know it's not a tutorial, but tutorials abound on other websites.

Yup. This blog will never be a moneymaker for me. Pure labour of love.

Here, here, and here are some decent tutorials on making your own laptop sleeve, although if you have sewn anything I think it is kind of intuitive. Any of them would be easily adaptable to sewing with fleece, which I like because of its natural padding qualities and lack of fraying edges. It is such a versatile fabric.

In case you haven't seen enough of my handiwork for one day, here are pics of some of the bags I've created by using the natural shape of each instrument as the pattern.

My doumbek has a head cover as well as a bag.

Ukelele bag with a carrying strap and velcro at the wide end.

Bodhran bag with carrying handle.

And that, my lovely readers, is the end.

Thank you for staying with me.

Till next time.

The littlest angel

2012-01-06T23:52:00.000-08:00

Repentant me

2012-01-03T18:18:00.000-08:00

As I was in the middle of a stress-induced "flight or fight" mode last week, lying awake for two nights, praying and pacing the floors and tending Bethany's four sick children all day while she was at home labouring to deliver her baby, I became so desperate for her to be relieved of her travail that, in my mind, I ran out into the cold, wet night and shook my fist at God and shouted to the heavens, Why, why, when you see every sparrow that falls and notice every lily that blooms, do you let my Bethany suffer for so long? Why don't you reach down and just give that baby a nudge? All night long, I railed against what I perceived as His lack of concern.
You see, I thought I saw the big picture.
It was this simple: Bethany needed to deliver her baby and she didn't want another C-section.

Now, you may think it irrational of me, but unless you have had a daughter such as Bethany, who is a determined woman when it comes to delivering a baby, you cannot judge me. This is not a treatise on the joys of giving birth at home, but it was my choice as a mother and that of Bethany also. Her first baby was delivered prematurely by Caesarean section. She laboured at home with her second but ended up in the hospital and another Caesarean, mostly due to problems caused by the first. I was with her during that labour and also the third, when she rejoicingly delivered naturally and at home. That was a tough labour and I was awed at her determination and true grit. I'll spare you the details, but if I had ever had to endure such a labour it would have been general anesthesia for me from then on!
Number four was a little smoother, so we didn't expect much trouble from this last one.

Thirty six hours later, when the little darling still wouldn't cooperate, Bethany and her entourage went to the hospital, and, after a light epidural that let Bethany relax a little, our little Madelyn Nicole was born in a couple of pushes.
Later that day, when we took the four siblings to the hospital to see their new sister, she related what happened during the birth, as I had only received sporadic updates during the event. Then she casually mentioned one last detail of something that happened at the hospital.
Ah, I said, it's just as well you ended up coming in.
That's what I thought, she replied.
And there you have it.
Just when I had decided that my wants weren't being met, I discovered that my needs were really being taken care of.
Again.

And no, I'm not being overly dramatic.
My thirty-six hours were that bad.
Although, I will allow that they pale in comparison to Bethany's thirty-six hours.
Just so you know it's not all about me!

If you want to see some more cute pics and read Bethany's rather more understated version of the birth, go here.
And thank you for reading. May your year be wonderful.
Oh, and I removed word verification from the comments.
Just in case, you know, you're so inclined!

Those mice and men and their blasted plans again

2012-01-01T16:09:00.000-08:00

Our main Christmas gift to the grandkids this year was an outing to see ZooZoo at the Imago Theater. I had things well in hand, or so I thought.

First, there would be a stop at The Sweetest Thing cupcake shop, where we would stock up on sweet things.
Then the theatre.
Then a stop at Coldstone Creamery on the way home.
The first thing to go awry was at the cupcake shop, which no longer offers vegan cupcakes.
Boo, hiss!
The guy tried to tell me that they cost $5 a piece to make.
Right.
Just as well I had a blueberry bar for Josh to eat.
He took it like a man, but does not look quite as excited as if he were eating a cupcake, does he?

With the remaining cupcakes boxed up for later, we piled into Bethany's van and drove into Portland.

Back-of-the-van high jinks ensued.

It was then that I discovered that our Coldstone plans had also bitten the dust.

The branch for which I had purchased the living social coupon had closed and no other branch would accept it.

Cool.

Oh well, onward ho!

It was a bitterly cold day.

Daniel was being all manly.

Apparently, the cupcakes didn't stay in the system for long, because by the time we exited the van, snacks were requested.

Just as well Nana never goes anywhere without a bag of food!

The Imago is a bit of a dive, but wondrous things occur inside.

Natalie stayed home with her new doll, a consolation Christmas present. Bethany didn't think she'd be able to handle the visuals of the show.

We had front row seats, as usual.

Fun things happen when you sit in front at the Imago.

Which you think would guarantee us a great time, wouldn't you?

Well, the kids had fun, but I was so distracted by the rude adults behind us that I had gritted teeth through the whole show.

A young mother behind Jeff narrated the whole show to her children.

I did send her one glaring glance, but I think she mistook it for admiration, because it didn't slow her down one bit.

I wanted to say Lady! There's a reason the show is non-verbal. You're supposed to use your imagination!

But, this is Portland, and no doubt the woman micromanages every other moment of those children's lives. With the same lack of concern for anyone else in the universe.

And then there was the old lady behind me, who was so enamoured of the show that she let out continuous oh, oh, oh's and ahhhhh's that were so heartfelt and enthusiastic that I wanted to tell her to get a room.

But I didn't.

Because I'm polite that way.

But I did spend a large amount of mental energy trying to think of a way to ask these two women to hush their mouths in a way that wouldn't make them feel embarrassed.

I have since decided that next time this happens, because you know it will, I'll be less tactful and more assertive. No more will my good times be ruined by people with no consideration!

So here, for your enjoyment, and mine, is a quick snack of ZooZoo.

I highly recommend the show.

Only, maybe, not the matinee.

And be careful who you sit by.

Plenty more driving time, as we stopped by the art studio on the way home to glaze our clay pieces.

The treat for the day was a two-pack of Lindor truffles for each child.

Score!

I suggested another brisk walk around the "don't feed the ducks" park, but was resoundingly turned down by one and all.

We stopped by Wendy's to get some Frosties to make up for the Coldstone thing.

And then we went home.

Dreams

2011-12-26T11:16:00.000-08:00

Hold fast to dreams

For if dreams die

Life is a broken-winged bird

That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams

For when dreams go

Life is a barren field

Frozen with snow.

Langston Hughes

I'm all about the Bucket list lately.
Dreams fulfilled.
Have you noticed?

The latest one was a glass class, which I took with three great friends.
We ruled the class.
Rowdy, we were.
It was a cast glass class, which wasn't my first choice, but the fused glass class conflicted with the trip to England.
So cast glass it was.

It was fantastic fun and I learned a lot. My creations look like third grade art projects, but I'm being kind to myself and calling them "garden art".

Here's Lori, showing off her "quilt fan" tile.

Her hubby, Elijah, liked the idea so much he stole it and ramped it up a notch.

No sense of ethics, that boy!

Then she made some stained glass sun tiles.

Which I copycatted too.

Where would we be without Lori's creativity?

She's a true Ninja crafter.

The evilly-grinning sun design is cut out of a thick papery medium and creates an indented relief after firing.

Lori's sister, Colleen, helped me cut the glass.

I carved this design out of plaster of paris.

Not my favourite process.

Black-eyed Susans.

The circle-cutting tool.

Mastery of this process gives one a feeling of self-satisfaction.

These glass chunks are from a tile that I had made from several layers of colour. When turned on their side and fired again, they were supposed to turn into puddles of swirled colour. The finished result wasn't what I had hoped for, as they were too close together and didn't swirl, so I'm still working on this one.

Our last batch of treasures, waiting to be fired.

This was my first effort. Another cut-out pattern.

It is imperfect, like me.

Note the little red spot, that must have sneaked in with the clear frit.

See how handily I sneaked in that word?

Frit.

Tiny chunks of glass.

Feel free to use it any time.

I like how it looks when I hold it up to my Solatube.

Jeff wanted to know if the flower centres were raisins.

So, the three classes were fun and a learning experience for me. I decided that cast glass is probably not my preferred method, so at some point I will take a fused glass class. I did learn some good basic techniques for working with glass and had some entertaining times with my friends, so it was definitely worth the money.

And I just discovered Langston Hughes poetry.

Another one?

I thought you'd never ask!

Helen Keller

She,

In the dark,

Found light

Brighter than many ever see.

She,

Within herself,

Found loveliness,

Through the soul's own mastery.

And now the world receives

From her dower:

The message of the strength

Of inner power.

Happy Christmas to all

2011-12-24T13:23:00.000-08:00

Just because:

I have a Christmas cold;

I'm working on Christmas Eve dinner for the gang (pot roast, twice-baked potatoes, with all the trimmings);

I'm blogging-lazy today;

I'm unreasonably fond of it;

Here's a re-post from last year.

Hit the play button.
Please.

Jesus, our brother, strong and good,
was humbly born in a stable rude.
And friendly beasts around him stood,
Jesus, our brother, strong and good.

"I," said the donkey, shaggy and brown,
"I carried his mother, uphill and down.
I carried his mother to Bethlehem town,"
"I," said the donkey, shaggy and brown.

"I," said the cow, all white and red,
"I gave him my manger for his bed.
I gave him my hay to pillow his head."
"I," said the cow, all white and red.

"I," said the sheep, with curly horn,

"I gave him my wool for his blanket warm.

He wore my coat on Christmas morn',"

"I," said the sheep, with curly horn.

"I," said the dove from rafters high,
"I cooed him to sleep so he would not cry.
We cooed him to sleep, my mate and I."
"I," said the dove from rafters high.

Thus all the beasts, by some good spell,
In the stable dark, were glad to tell
Of the gifts they gave Emmanuel,
Of the gifts they gave Emmanuel.

P.S. Here is a longer, but masterful, version by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and Brian Stokes Mitchell.

You're welcome.

Just because I love it

2011-12-23T16:52:00.000-08:00

'Tis Christmas Eve Eve and I'm thinking, for no particular reason, about product placement. The Wikipedia entry is one of the longest I have seen. Next time I watch a movie or TV, I'm going to observe very carefully for name brands.

Segue with me, please.

In case you're wondering, Salonpas hasn't sent me any free patches yet.

Still waiting.

Considering the surge in sales that probably followed my last product post, I should be getting something in the mail any day.

Segue.

For years, I have fought the notion of an electric, supersonic toothbrush. Or is that ultrasonic? Whatever. The notion seemed namby-pamby to me. Typical American overkill of a concept. But Jeff, who registers high on the scale of dental paranoia, had been bringing up the topic more frequently, so I broke down and bought him a couple of cheap ones. He loved them.

A few weeks ago, I was at Costco and in a bit of a spending mood. Their two-packs of Phillips Sonicare brushes were on coupon, so I thought to myself, What the heck, and put one in my cart.

There they sat, in their pristine box, for several weeks. I was loath to put them to the test for some reason.

Scared of buyer's remorse, maybe?

Last week, I took one out of the box and read the instructions on how to get started.

Seriously, instructions on using a toothbrush?

Heaven help us!

And there it sat for a few more days.

Two whole pages of DANGER and WARNING notices coloured me reluctant.

But one morning, when I wasn't rushing out of the door, I stood at the sink and ploughed through the instructions as I brushed my teeth.

Don't look at my belly.

You did it, didn't you? Looked at my belly.

Pshaw!

Holy cow. I am a convert.

After I brush with this thing, I feel like I just came back from the dental hygienist.

Without the hundred-dollar price tag.

Squeaky-shiny-clean.

So, here are the things I love about it, apart from the above-mentioned squeaky teeth.

There is a learning curve, so the brush speeds up over the first twelve uses to allow you to get used to it.

The brush turns itself off after two minutes, so there's no guessing how long to brush. And I'm surprised how often I am still brushing when it turns off.

The little blue patch on the brush fades so that you know when to replace the head.

My gums feel healthier since I've been using it.

But there are a few drawbacks.

Drool. Down your shirt. Because you forget that under no circumstances should you open your mouth while the brush is turned on.

Likewise, forgetting to turn it off when you take it out of your mouth results in mirror splatter.

It's not pleasant.

The charging light is bright. The first night I left my brush on the charger, I couldn't find it in the morning. Jeff had hidden it because the light was disturbing his sleep. But that's because our sink is in our bedroom.

It's expensive. You can get one brush with a spare head for about $40. I normally buck at paying more than a dollar for a toothbrush, so you can imagine how that sits with me.

Drawbacks aside, I will stick with this. I still keep a manual toothbrush on hand for those times when I'm in a hurry or the power is out, but I will choose the Sonicare for my main morning brush.

And, oops, my impulsive bout of wallpaper stripping is revealed to the world.

I figured that if I started it, I could work on it a little at a time until the wall was stripped.

Yeah.

A Strange Sort of Season

2011-12-20T23:32:00.000-08:00

A couple of Saturdays ago, Jeff and I drove out to the next town to watch Daniel play basketball.

The boy plays year-round sports.

If you were in a room with him for very long, you would understand.

As we drove, I was snapping photos.

What are you taking pictures of? said Jeff.

Well. This.

It was well into December and the trees were supposed to look like this.

So we have this kind of a thing going on.

Bare, wintry trees.

Northwest evergreens.

And blazing fall colours.

Very weird.

I'm sure everyone who knows me is weary of my marveling about the strange weather conditions that have caused the trees to be confused.

So I oohed and aahed and snapped away until we arrived at the school.

I tried and tried to get a good shot of the boys in action, but the gym was too well-lit for the flash to activate and everything came out blurry. Any suggestions will be appreciated.

So here is Daniel from the back....

...and here he is from the front.

And that is as good as it gets.

It was quite fun watching him in action; he was very intent on the game and appears to enjoy himself immensely. It was even more fun to see how involved Bethany gets in the game.

I have a confession to make.

I was a lousy sports mom. I avoided watching my kids' games at all costs. I didn't enjoy the stress or the heat or the cold or anything about the experience. I was more of a "band concert" mom and a "dance recital" mom.

So it's a bit strange to see Bethany being so enthusiastic about her children's games.

But I like it.

I'm glad she didn't inherit my particular dysfunction.

We went back to their house afterwards and Jeff sat on the couch, working on a paper for school.

Natalie...did whatever Natalie does on a laptop.

It occurred to me that three of my four kids now have pianos in their living rooms.

That makes me happy.

Kenzie is eleven.

It's official.

How did that happen?

Look at that pointy little chin!

I believe that is what we call a heart-shaped face.

Somehow, I ended up making dinner and the cake.

Something to do with Bethany being almost nine months pregnant.

Homemade pizza, which was devoured by one and all.

Breadsticks for Daniel, who doesn't like pizza.

Gluten-free crust and no cheese for Josh.

I said to Bethany, We should have pizza for Thanksgiving.

She concurred.

The cake didn't look pretty, but it was delish.

Vanilla buttermilk cake with whipped-cream-and-chocolate-shavings for the filling and chocolate cream cheese frosting.

And do you like how the candles depict "11"?

One of my pet peeves is a cake covered with candles.

Did you know?

Candle ashes in the frosting do not taste yummy.

Josh truly relished his vegan cookies and ice cream.

Really.

He did.

Gathering bits of happiness everywhere she goes

2011-12-15T23:43:00.000-08:00

Gather the crumbs of happiness and they will make you a loaf of contentment.

The tree is up and decorated.

Jeff got tired of waiting and pulled out the Christmas boxes on Sunday evening.

Baby, it was cold outside, but we had a fire roaring in the wood stove and Johnny Mathis crooning Christmas songs on the stereo.

The tree is full of critters again.

And these lovelies.

Moravian stars.

I examined the tree closely and concluded that there could be more stars.

So some friends came over tonight. We ate two kinds of soup and homemade bread and shortbread. Then we were instructed again in the art of making them.

We folded and we cursed.

I tossed the first two attempts.

Third time's the charm, alright.

This little beauty is all of three centimetres across.

Dipped in hot wax and sprinkled with oodles of glitter, it is ready to be hung on the tree.

If you want to torture yourself, here are instructions.

They are free.

All it will cost you is some hair from your head and your placid disposition.

Better still, cozy up to someone who already knows how to make them, like I did.

Thank you Dorothy.

And thanks, Lori, for being the provider of materials. Always.

These little glittery stars make me happy.

I have discovered wall vinyl.

Well, not actually discovered.

It's been around for a while, but I am newly recruited.

My music room makes me happy.

My new vinyl quote makes me happy-to-the-power-of-three.

Now, I just need to find some more unused wall space.

Natalie came over a couple of weekends ago. She hasn't slept over as often as the older kids and was feeling neglected. We played Go Fish and read books and put together a new puzzle.

I french-braided her hair after her evening bath and in the morning she looked like a princess.

There is a poem, which I didn't know was by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow until I just looked it up. I used to tell people that it described Annie when she was little. It is also applicable to Miss Natalie.

There was a little girl
Who had a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead.
When she was good
She was very good indeed
But when she was bad, she was horrid.

I actually used to misquote it horribly, but we'll blame that on my Mum, who taught it to me.
I think I shall have to use pink lettering more often.
It makes me happy.

Am I getting better or just used to the pain?

2011-12-03T16:43:00.000-08:00

Don't worry, this has a good ending!

I remember, about twenty years ago, noticing that my Mum spent a lot of time rubbing her hands together, massaging them, in a way. I asked her why she was doing it and she answered that her arthritis was playing up. It got to me, way down in the pit of my stomach, every time I thought of Mum being in constant pain. It made me mad that I couldn't do anything about it and sad that she had to deal with it.

Here I am, decades later, and pain is my constant companion.

I wrote about it here, in one of my first posts. My leg bothers me less than it used to, but other pains have joined the queue for attention.

Lately, my left little finger has a knuckle that is swollen with arthritis and doesn't want to bend.

Hip pain comes and goes, depending on how hard I've been pushing my workouts.

But the worst is my right wrist, the site of an old broken bone, that throbs from overuse most of the time. I wear a small brace that looks ugly but helps me get through the days when I have to do lots of driving and guitar playing. I am resigned to babying it for the rest of my life and try not to complain about it too much.

Then, last week, Jeff hurt his back at work. While I was at Costco, I picked up some Thermacare wraps and a box of Salonpas patches. The combination of the two worked miracles with his pain.

And then it came to me!

I stuck a patch to the back of my wrist one morning.

It tingled a bit and smelled pleasantly of eucalyptus.

And within minutes the pain was gone.

I thought to myself, Self, you need to tell your friends about this.

So here I am.

A box of 120 patches cost around $10, maybe less, from Costco.

The patches contain menthol, a natural mint analgesic that provides a cooling sensation, methyl salicylate, another plant-based analgesic, and camphor, which is found in the wood of a large evergreen tree. While all of these substances are natural, they should not be overused.

Jeff used the patches for several days in a row and started to develop some contact dermatitis in the area, which is a common side effect.

But me, I'm in heaven. I don't need to use them all the time, but when I need some sweet relief, I go for my little dime patch and breathe more easily.

And you.

You can thank me later.

And Salonpas, you should send me some free patches.

Ode to Salonpas, nod to Carly Simon.

'Cause I haven't got time for the pain,

I haven't got room for the pain,

I haven't the need for the pain,

Not since I've know you.

Autumn is a second spring...

2011-12-02T15:30:00.000-08:00

...where every leaf is a flower. Albert Camus.

Today is December 2nd.

Have you ever seen leaves still on the trees in December?

Jeff's bird feeders are sprouting whiskers.

An upside-down beard of nyjer thistle.

Methinks he needs to spend some time catering to his feathered friends.

The north wind doth blow and we shall have snow,

And what will poor robin do then, poor thing?

He'll sit in a barn and keep himself warm,

and hide his head under his wing, poor thing.

That is, seriously, one of the most dismal pieces of nursery rhyme ever.
As a child, I always wanted to cry for the poor robin.
And I still wonder what birds do when it's cold and windy and stormy outside.
Does anyone know?

The Gardener’s Daughter

2011-12-01T08:31:00.000-08:00

As many of you know, I am off to Haiti again in six weeks with my dear friend Dolly. The clinic has a new director and she blogs frequently. Because I know not many of you click through to her blog, and because she is a master storyteller and a woman of immense love and wisdom, I want you to read her latest post.

If you feel inclined to help, you can donate to MamaBaby Haiti here. If you want that donation to help Dolly and me pay baggage fees on all the bags of supplies we are taking, let me know and I'll tell you what to do. And remember, many small things add up to big things.

So here it is.

The Gardener’s Daughter has given birth. She has labored for many days and we have had several sleepless nights. But now the baby is at last born and they are resting in the soft misty light of an afternoon rain.

The cook says she will make a special squash soup tomorrow. The farmer has brought us a beautiful striped squash that has sat on the counter for many days now. It is the custom to eat this soup on Independence Day but that is not until January 1^st and the squash will not keep. It seems a good day for a festive pumpkin soup.

I first met the Gardener, as everyone has come to know her, on a busy clinic day. I noticed a tall, thin mother with her pregnant daughter standing there trying to catch my eye. When the hall way, in time, became quiet and nearly everyone had left, the mother approached me.

There are many stories in Haiti and many people who need an extra hand. It is easy to become resistant to individual stories and need; to put up a wall that says I can not bear to hear anymore. Perhaps I was too tired to not listen or perhaps there was something about the strength and dignity in her face that caused me to stop and gather one more story into my heart.

The two of them and the one soon to be born, I was told, had no where to sleep that night and for the days to come. The daughter was 18 and they had not eaten all day and the day before. The daughter was eight months pregnant.

I am not aware of any women’s shelters or places where meals are served or clothes closets or food banks; all the things in my community that we maintain to offer a minimal standard of humanity and survival.

I was quiet for some time, waiting for some thought and then I looked out on the gardens that were in such need of care and then I suggested a plan.

She should go out and see what she could find in ways of housing and I would help her if she would help me with the much neglected gardens. If she would be my partner in reviving the gardens each morning for a few hours, I would pay the rent and she and her daughter could eat breakfast with us each morning.

She returned that evening after finding a small one room house with a dirt floor. It cost $37 for the whole year. “The whole year?” I asked in disbelief. “The whole year.” They had nothing to put in the little house so I gave them a bucket to carry water and a sheet to lay on the ground. It was so little to offer.

At 6:00 the next morning and every morning after, the two of them arrived at the birth center ready to weed, water, plant and clean the gardens. Cheerfully, they made their way through the yard; planting flowers and vegetables and herbs along all the borders and in the shade houses. They rested for a breakfast on the porch and then when the sun got hot, they walked down the road to their little house. It was their only meal of the day.

In time, I took my share of meat or eggs that I did not eat, and gave it to them. The daughter had lost 8 pounds and she was painfully thin. I poured vitamins and water into her as she leaned on a shovel or hoe. I sent her to birth classes over and over again just so she could sit and rest. The Gardener, like many women in Haiti has perfect posture, long strong arms and a beautiful piece of cloth tied around her head. She smiles easily and was happy to meet everyone here and make new friends. In time everyone came to call her, The Gardener and her daughter became “The Gardener’s Daughter.”

There were six other children, living with relatives. When the daughter became pregnant they could no longer live where they lived and everyone had to move out.

It was not until the second day of labor that I felt I had to ask about the baby’s father and then learned of the abuse of her daughter by the landlord, that drove the gardener from her home even if it meant having no where to live. I learned that the oldest son had killed himself and that shortly after the father had left them all. They had moved in with an uncle whose elderly friend had, through force, caused the gardener’s daughter to be pregnant.

Somewhere in the midst of this long labor, we talked of these things and how they happen the world over. We acknowledged their many sorrows and loses and how it would be understandable not to want to bring a baby into such a world. We also talked of how much hope and joy a baby can bring.

I thought of the Diary of Lewis and Clark and how they describe Sacajawea’s birth as particularly violent. I thought perhaps it was the same for The Gardner’s Daughter and that when we give birth after a great violence has been done to us, it takes a special form of courage to open up to the great love that mothering asks of us. I thought of Pomp, Sacajawea’s son and how much she loved him. I told myself that other women have survived unwilling conceptions and have gone on to love the children and to heal themselves.

After we talked to the Gardener and her daughter about all they had worked to overcome there was a change. Our sweet laboring mama, held us close and in time and with much work, opened up and pushed out a baby girl whose eyes found and held her mothers; a little girl with soft, black curls and a mouth that smiled even as she slept.

Perhaps I have a soft place in my heart, for young pregnant girls, barefoot in the garden or for strong determined women who hold their families together and their daughter in their arms no matter the hardships. I watched them; grandmother, daughter, grand daughter all nested one within the other.

Later they asked me to name this baby and I named her Maddie Mae because I always thought it was a name that had a cheerful way of rolling into the world and because it reminded me of the names they love and most of all because I know a Maddie Mae who is strong and wise and kind and I thought that might be a good name for the baby of the Gardener’s daughter.

And so as in all birth stories, as my tale ends it also is just beginning.

Unfinished Masterpieces

2011-11-27T18:23:00.000-08:00

Like Schubert and his famous symphony, we all have things that are unfinished.

Take, for instance, our wonderful clay creations from October. I was told to give them a week for firing and then another week if we wanted them glazed. So, two weeks later, Bethany and I dutifully carted five children all the way back to the art studio to paint their pieces.

But first, cupcakes from the local cupcake shop.

They even have vegan cupcakes for Josh.

Yes, they were on coupons.

How did you guess?

I forgot to take photos until all had devoured them except Thomy, who is the slowest eater in the world.

Even slower than his father.

Everyone got one to eat and one for later.

The funny-looking one in the corner is Natalie's unfinished cake.

We drove all the way to the studio and the kids, all excited, ran to the shelves where the fired pieces are kept and......nothing.

Well, one of mine was fired, and Kenzie's snake, but nothing else.

Oh, it takes at least two weeks for them to be fired, I was informed.

Grrrr.

I was irritated, but there was nothing to be done.

Misinformation seems to be commonplace these days.

I had one coupon left (remember Josh's reluctance to get involved?) so Natalie worked on some ceramics pieces, with a little help from Mom.

I took the other kids outside to play in the parking lots.

First, we ate the remaining cupcakes.

Thomy let me eat his.

Then we played hide-and-seek.

Here's Thomy, counting very quickly to twenty.

Kenzie, dashing around one of the parked vans.

That didn't last long, so I introduced them to "What's the time, Mr. Wolf?", only to be told that it is Mr. Fox, not Mr. Wolf.

This vehicle had a huge vacuum hose attached to the back and the worker was manually shifting the hose to suck up the leaves.

That was a long line of piled leaves.

See, kids, I said, seizing a Nana teaching moment, that's why you need a good education. You don't want to spend you lives being the vacuum guy. Can you imagine doing that all day?

That looks like fun, said Daniel, who could not be persuaded that aspiring to be vacuum guy was not a desirable thing.

The boys stare longingly at the vacuum vehicle.

We played Hot Lava on the way back to the studio to check on Natalie and Mom.

They were done.

Can I do one of those pictures, Nana, asked Josh.

Um. No!

Too little, too late, the scurvy scoundrel.

Daniel was mortally disappointed when Bethany announced she was too tired for a stop at Costco, so I suggested we stop at this man-made lake on the way home.

We took our kids there once, about twenty years ago, when it was still wild and free.

Now, it is landscaped and surrounded by restaurants and shops.

All the signs say Do Not Feed the Ducks and proceed to give you a very logical and environmental reason why not.

Photo of said ducks, courtesy of Daniel.

One last kick of the leaves before we left for home.

It's beginning to look a lot like...

2011-11-26T16:09:00.000-08:00

...Christmas?

No.

Thanksgiving.

This is Jeff's idea of appropriate Thanksgiving table decor.

In the spirit of gratitude, I said Thank you, dear.

Our little gathering of six adults and six children was par for the course this year.
Chris smoked the turkey in his Traeger grill. It was delicious.

Bethany made craft packets for the kids. Mostly, they were too busy running around being rumbunctious to complete them, but Natalie and Josh enjoyed theirs.

Bethany is a hair away from being in her ninth month of pregnancy.

Her fifth child.

She has no room in her stomach for food and no room in her lungs for air and can't bend down to tie her shoelaces, but she soldiers on.

I can't even remember how that felt, although I did it four times.

Funny how memory plays tricks on us.

Jon and his family were late.

As always.

Jon works the night shift and Thanksgiving is always difficult. He has to wake up and get ready for work, eat with us, then leave for work right after he eats.

We started without them because all the food was ready, but the Mitchell kids flocked to the kitchen when they arrived, knowing that Jenny was bringing her famous Jello.

Here is Jon, looking....sardonic?

I have scaled down my festive cooking since we mostly only have the offspring to holiday dinners any more.
I made mashed potatoes, corn, peas, gravy, rolls, and four kinds of pie.
The fact of the matter is, none of the four adult guests are big eaters and the six grandchildren hardly eat real food. And none of them like leftovers.
But they do love my rolls.
I think Bethany felt sorry for me when she eyeballed the amount of food left.
Don't worry Mom, she said, next year Sam and Charlie will be here and then there won't be so many leftovers.

When Jeff and I were alone again, I sighed and said to him Maybe I should just make rolls.

Let me know if you want to come over on Christmas Eve and make me happy by eating my feast.
Second thoughts, how about some of that turkey?

My Masterpieces

2011-11-19T00:08:00.000-08:00

I succumbed to the lure of Living Social yet again, so last Friday the four oldest grandchildren and I paid another visit to My Masterpiece Art Studio.

This was Josh's first time and he refused to choose a project.

That's okay, I said, you can watch for a while and choose something later.

He gave me The Look.

In case you didn't know, Josh is not easily swayed.

The other three chose some masterpiece knock-offs.

Thomy chose coloured pencils as his medium and got right to work.

Kenzie chose Degas ballerinas, of course. With a little instruction from moi and a copy of the real thing she was well on the way to her own masterpiece.

She used pastel chalks and learned how to smudge and overlay the colours.

Do you want to choose a project Josh? she asked every few minutes.

He merely looked on.

Daniel used a variety of mediums.

Josh observed intently.

Josh, you ready to start something?

Thomy is an artistic savant and allows nothing to distract him from the work at hand.

He finished first and favoured the camera with his ohboyit'stimetosmileatthecamera face.

What's Josh doing?
I don't know.

Daniel got impatient and had to be cajoled into colouring the walls.

I helped.

But he finished it and made a present of it to Papa when we got home.

Kenzie stuck to it and I was personally quite impressed with the finished result.

She said it was for Natalie for Christmas.

The second project, chosen by all and sundry, was clay sculpting.

There was so much clay that I sat down and played with it too.

Do you want to make something with the clay, Josh?

Nothing but The Look as he cleaned out the potato chip bag.

I made a tile and persuaded him to put his handprint in it. The idea caught on and the other three made some too.

Josh warmed up and eventually made a few sculptures of his own.

Hah! Nana wins!

At which point I discovered I had left my camera's SD card in my laptop at home and its memory was all used up.

So all you get is a pic of the brilliant fall colours we passed en route to....

...Coldstone Creamery, where we used up another Living Social coupon and bought ice cream for the kids and a caramel-pecan turtle pie to take home for the grown-ups.

Only the aforementioned kids were still hungry, so they ate most of it.

It was an enormously fun day with the grandkids. I love experiencing their personalities and watching the cousins interact. Because I grew up in a small family with no extended family nearby, I revel in my role as Nana and facilitator of memories like these.

Life is good and I have many blessing to count.
Care to hazard a guess at what my masterpieces are?

Metamorphosis of a crop

2011-11-17T14:03:00.000-08:00

First, there was this:

In spite of all my whinging, the tomato crop ended up being quite fantastic this year. I give all the credit to my nifty my-Dad-would-be-so-proud-of-me tomato cages. If we had been home throughout the whole month of September, it would have been even better.

Memo to self: quit planning extended trips for early fall.

I roasted about half of the crop and canned the rest. My freezers are absurdly full so I left a jarful of the roasted variety in my fridge.

Last week, I had a hankering for homemade pizza. Actually, it was partly a hankering and partly my cunning plan to feed Jeff so well that he forsakes his cunning plan of sneaking-into-fast-food-joints-every-excuse-he-can-summon.

So I made a simple crust in the bread machine.

I sliced red peppers and mushrooms and red onions.

I chopped some Canadian bacon that should have been used long ago but was somehow still botulism-free.

I pureed those tomatoes and added some Italian seasoning and some of that nasty premixed spaghetti seasoning that tastes so yummy.

I pulled out the bag of Sorrento Unltimate Pizza Shred that is a hearty blend of Mozzarella, Bel Paese, Asiago, Provolone, and Parmesan cheeses. It is the best pizza cheese I have ever tasted.

I divided the dough into two pieces, slathered it with plenty of olive oil, and let it rest for a few minutes on two pizza stones. Once it had rested, it was easy to stretch it out in a semblance of a circle.

Then I sprinkled the veggies and meat liberally on the crust. Just onion and C. bacon on my portion.

At which point I realized that I had forgotten to spread the sauce on the crust.

Oh well. I just dolloped it over the toppings and spread it out as best as I could.

Then, lots of cheese.

And, just a few minutes later we had this:

It was one of the best pizzas I have ever made.

In spite of the dolloped sauce.

Jeff took a couple of slices for lunch every day so far this week and didn't complain once.

Now I'm hungry.

Just havin' a little fun....

2011-11-13T00:48:00.000-08:00

I know, I've been a slacker.

Blame it on Monarch of the Glen, my new Netflix addiction.

I think in a Scottish accent these days.

I spent some time editing tonight and here are the results.

Some of them are tacky, but I'm pretty new at this extreme editing thing.

At least they weren't all giant-sized!

Nothing to do around here but take pictures of the cute one

2011-11-01T22:26:00.000-07:00

Mornings are frosty and sunny here.
Elsie loves her morning walk.

Annie thought I made the hat.
I didn't.
Anyone want to confess?

Playing Mommy's honky-tonk piano with one's cute baby feet is illegal, but mommy was gone, so who cares?

Elsie's favourite sunbeam.

And favourite corner.

Sweet baby kisses for Daddy.

I take Elsie for a walk every day. The scenery is not very scenic, but one of the roads dead-ends into an area of mown...well, I'd like to say grass, but what passes for grass around here just isn't. But there are some trees around the patch of...grass...and it was the best place I could think of for some pictures. My friend The Pirate did a blog post with some good non-technical advice the other day, so I thought I would test it out. I took a couple of hundred pictures. Not quite a thousand, but it was enough that I got some cute ones. I tried to work with the light, as the sun was getting low in the sky. The photos are only lightly edited, some not at all.

So, that's what I do all day.
Livin' up to my name.
Hope you're all having fun too!

What boys do

2011-10-28T20:15:00.000-07:00

When the boy cousins construct a brilliant, um, construction, and they don't want the other boy cousins to deconstruct it next time they're over, they hide it in Charlie's room.

Thinking that no one will find it.

Then they forget it's there and one day in the future I will take it apart and sneak it back into the bin.

This is what Jeff does when he wants to finish a brilliant Lego construction and doesn't want the little boy cousins to destroy it.

He hides it in his room.

And there it sits.

Until I get tired of looking at it and sneak it back into the Lego bin.

But maybe this time he will finish it, because these are my bags.

I'm packed and ready to leave early in the morning.

Two measly carry-on bags.

Only three pairs of shoes and no laptop.

Stupid American Airlines.

Jeff will be alone for eight days while I am off ingratiating myself with the youngest grandchild, so who knows what wonders I will behold on my return?

Stay tuned for cute Elsie pictures.

The Dying Year

2011-10-23T21:36:00.000-07:00

Life has been really busy since we got home.

Jeff and I were both back to work immediately.

Then there were the tomatoes that had been picked by kind neighbours and were desperate to be roasted or canned.

And the garden, though green, needs to be put to bed for the winter.

Come walk with me through the remains of summer.

The slugs are having a heyday with the hostas, which are fading fast.

The violet leaves are being shredded...

....by the same dastardly critters.

Only I am the one with the slug bait.

Mwahaha!!!!!

I take a wicked delight in the slime trails that streak the damp ground the morning after I lay out the bait.

Seed heads abound. Some will be collected for next year, like the marigolds, but some will be left a while longer for the birds.

Hips are setting on the roses.

They're setting on me too!

The last of the rhubarb has been picked and used in rhubarb cake or frozen.

Why do I love rhubarb cake so much? I have made three of them in the last two weeks.

This year I decided to try covering the roots with the slug-eaten leaves.

Asparagus seeds are turning a lovely shade of crimson.

I found out why some stalks set seeds and some don't.

Male and female.

I call this Grape-ageddon.

The last bunch has finally relinquished its juice to my tender mercies.

The week after we got home it rained incessantly and temperatures dropped.

The tomato plants did not respond well.

Be warned, the photos are not pretty.

This strawberry bed will be gone next year. Jeff has instructions to smother it with grass clippings.

The results of my canning efforts are sitting on my counter.

I have friends who do 50 quarts in a sitting. That has never been my style. A batch or two a day is my limit.

My strategy is to leave them there for a few weeks so that I can appear to be industrious for as long as possible.

And the freezer is loaded to capacity with rhubarb and peaches and tomatoes.

And tilapia and sausage and chicken and....and...and....

In six days I will be with my little Elsie.
Oh, and Annie too!

Cocoa: the cure for all that ails us

2011-10-15T16:18:00.000-07:00

I had mentioned to Lynne that I wouldn't mind going to Bournville, the location of the original Cadbury's factory. They have created a factory tour that is a hybrid of the Tillamook Cheese Factory and Disneyland, part informational and part entertainment. So my new fairy godmother booked us tickets that allowed entry at 10:10 on Saturday morning. Efficiency to the nth degree.

We were ten minutes late, but they still let us in.

Our senses were accosted by chocolate on all sides. We smelled chocolate, we saw chocolate, and, at the end, we tasted chocolate.

And purple was the colour of the day.

The Cadbury business model is unique and interesting. The story begins in 1824 when a young Quaker named John Cadbury opened a store in Birmingham. He sold coffee, tea, drinking chocolate and cocoa. He hoped that his products might provide an alternative to alcohol. His products were of the highest quality and by 1842, he was selling 11 kinds of cocoa and 16 kinds of drinking chocolate.

He was joined in the business by his brother and soon they had a Royal Warrant to provide chocolate and cocoa to Queen Victoria.

John's sons developed a product known as Cocoa Essence, the beginning of what we know as chocolate today. They soon outgrew their facilities and moved the factory to a larger one four miles south of Birmingham. The factory and area became known as Bournvillle and had easy access to canals and the railway.

Cadbury treated its workers exceptionally well. Wages were high, working conditions good, and there were many perks like a swimming pool, pension schemes, and medical care. They built houses for the workers and Bournville became a model community. The company was a pioneer in many areas, not just chocolate. I could go on, but go here if you want to read more about Bournville and the many innovations that Cadbury developed for its workers.

Speaking of cocoa.

We were, weren't we?

This old label says it all.

Cocoa is complete nutrition, will make you smart, healthy, and give you stamina.

Hilarious!

We rode in a little car through this. It was like It's a Small World, only with a slightly less annoying song. I never did catch the plot, but my grandkids think the pictures are cool.

We watched workers making molded chocolate by hand, which kind of explains the exorbitant price of the full-sized soccer balls. Fourteen pounds and 99p.

And there the little beauties are.

More Dairy Milk in one place than I have ever seen in my life.

Throughout the tour, several very nice workers gave us free chocolate bars.

Into my backpack they went.

One girl gave us extras.

Did I look hungry?

Then, when all was done, we got cups of liquid chocolate with a mix-in of our choice.

Cookie bits for me.

Mmmm.

We had a few minutes before we had to leave to meet the rest of the family for lunch, so we walked around Bournville a little and look what we found.

The Bournville carillon.

I didn't really understand what a carillon was before this. It is a musical instrument comprising a minimum of 23 bells that are played from a baton keyboard. The keyboard looks like the pedals of an organ and is played with the hands, not the fingers. The carillon was installed by George Cadbury in 1906 and now has 48 bells. Carillons are common in Europe but are a rarity in the British Isles. A Carillon School has been established nearby to train the next generation of musicians.

We caught the end of a recital. It made me wish we had been able to hear the whole thing.

And Lynne bought me a wooden mushroom because Jeff was too cheap.

Thanks Lynne! I think of you every time I see it.

I had been waiting eagerly for lunch. Not because I was hungry (all that chocolate!) but because I was seeing my beloved aunties and uncle for the second time in 44 years.

The food was delicious, the company incomparable.

I have been starved of extended family for decades. I felt like I had been living in a desert and suddenly found an oasis. I sat and watched and listened and soaked in all of that aunty-and-uncle-ness.

We all went back to Lynne and Richard's house afterwards and told stories.

Well, Uncle Fred and Richard watched the World Cup and Jeff looked up genealogies on my laptop as we talked. But I loved it and every time Aunty Marg started to pack up her bag and leave I said Oh please don't go - I'll eat you up - I love you so! Or something like that. So she stayed longer.

Here I am, with Connie on the left and Marg on the right.

Uncle Fred on the left. Lovely Uncle Fred, who remembers me for my giggle.

Aunty Pat, who was married to my Mum's brother, joined the group and we had a good giggle.

This is just to prove that Jeff was there and that the aunties approved of him!

I wish we had allowed longer for the family visit.

And this, I am sad to say, is the end.

Then and Now

2011-10-13T11:37:00.000-07:00

On Friday, we left Jan and Steve's house to visit my old neighbour on our way to Birmingham.

Our first house was in Alvechurch, about thirty minutes from the city of Birmingham. It was a semi-detached house, meaning that two houses share a common wall but everything else is separate.

This is me, over fifty years ago.

Here is the house today, barely changed.

Two doors away lived my favourite non-related Aunty Enid and Uncle Ray. As Enid tells it, I loved to spend time at their house and I particularly loved my Uncle Ray.

Ray passed away ten years ago, but Enid still lives in her house, fighting the good fight. She told me that the shed Dad built is still in the back garden of the old house, so I leaned out of her upstairs bathroom window and stole a photo.

We took Enid to lunch at the Red Lion in the village.

While she was getting ready to go, Jeff and I took a stroll up to the top of the road to look at the old canal.

For some reason, canals loom large in my memories of England.

Perhaps it is because of this painting that my Uncle Eddy gave me. It is loosely based on the canal that runs at the top of the road. You can't see it, but he put our names on the barges.

I love this painting.

This is the same canal, looking in the opposite direction.

The canal system in the UK dates back to Roman times, when the waterways were used for irrigation. During the Industrial Revolution they were used for transportation, but were abandoned until recently when they became popular for recreation. Old canals are being reopened and new routes are under construction. Today, there are thousands of miles in the canal network of the UK and you can travel the whole country without ever leaving the water.

This map illustrates the network.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canals_of_the_United_Kingdom

Pardon my digression.

Back to lunch.

Enid told us stories about my Mum and Dad. She is as lovely as ever, if a little slower on her feet.

After lunch, we went for a little ride around the town and stopped at the old church.

Of course we did! Although I have a personal connection to this one, as I used to attend Sunday School here and also cut through the churchyard on the way to and from school.

As the story goes, Anne and I went to church for a while, but as our parents didn't attend, Anne used to cry for Mum. They eventually told Dad that I could attend but Anne would have to stay home.

This made my Dad really mad and he said neither of us would go.

I can just imagine his ire.

Papa Grizzly.

Locked up tight for the week, like most of the smaller churches.

We said our goodbye to Enid and drove to Birmingham to meet with my cousin, Lynne.

It was, at most, a 35-minute drive.

It took us about two hours.

Can we say Sue hates roundabouts?

When Anne and I were children, we adored our cousin Lynne and couldn't get enough of her. This was cut short by our emigration, of course, and I have only seen her once, just briefly, in the intervening years. So I was very excited to be able to spend some quality time with her.

This is a famous photo in our extended family. We call it "Hear all, see all, and say nowt".

Lynne is the one that isn't blonde!

We finally found her house and I was happy to relinquish all the driving to Lynne.

We went into the city and met up with Richard, her long-time partner.

They both work for a very well-known bank that is close to this old part of the city.

The city of Birmingham has undergone a revival of late and is very hip and up-to-date.

This is the ground level of a big parking structure. How much fun is that?

One of the new buildings.

Lynne knows of my fascination with canals, so everyone indulged me and we walked along the canal before dinner.

It was Friday night and the pace was hopping.

People everywhere, imbibing of relaxing beverages.

The unseasonably warm weather had brought them out in droves.

I can't figure out why more people don't end up in the canal before the end of the night.

This is The Mailbox, which used to be the Royal Mail sorting office for Birmingham City Centre. It was redeveloped and opened as a luxury mixed-use building in 1998. It houses hotels, businesses, retail, and residential facilities. And lots of restaurants that serve relaxing beverages!

Look closely and you will see that the geese are leading the barge.

Richard treated us to a very delicious dinner.

We talked a lot.

And then we went home.

We talked some more.

And then we went to bed.

The Forest of Dean

2011-10-10T22:13:00.000-07:00

Steve managed to get the day off work on Thursday so we went to the Forest of Dean in Gloucestershire.

I am unreasonably in love with that name. It sounds like something out of Monty Python, don't you think?

Forest of Dean.

Anyway, we drove around the Cotswolds first, because the area is just a few minutes away from Jan and Steve's house and they thought it was worth a visit.

It wasn't too long before I discovered that my camera hadn't charged up overnight. Something to do with husband unplugging the laptop in which it was charging.

Harrumph!

Steve kindly let me use his camera.

Thatched roofs have been enjoying a resurgence in the UK and there are around 1,000 full-time thatchers at work in the country. A good quality thatched roof will last for 45 to 50 years.

Jan had been telling us about the signature figures left on the rooftop by some thatchers and, sure enough, here is a shining example.

Ducks in a row, made of thatch.

And an owl.

It's interesting to drive around the countryside in England and see how the building stone differs from one area to another. The stone in the Littletons has a lot of grey tones in it.

Here is the famous Cotswold stone. This was a very grand house.

Here's something I'll bet you've never seen before.

Staddle stones.

The stone mushroom-y things that the barn is sitting on.

They were used as early as the 1700's as a supporting base for granaries, hayricks, game larders, etc. The shape of the stones protected the structures from vermin and water seepage. I think I need some of these stone beauties for my shed, which suffers sorely from both in our wet winters.

The Forest of Dean is the second largest Crown forest, meaning that it was designated a hunting area for monarchs. The practice was instigated in the 11th Century by the Normans. Remember William the Conqueror?

I don't think that royalty dare hunt here any more.

Wild boar reside here, but we didn't see any.

Lucky for the boar.

The first order of business was a picnic lunch.

You know it was!

I got a kick out of this couple making themselves comfortable in the sunny clearing.

I love trees, so indulge me for a moment.

Ah, wasn't that nice?

Did I mention that it was a perfectly sunny day?

Here are Jan and Steve, consulting the map for the Sculpture Trail, on which we were about to embark.

Aren't they cute? I love their matching boots.

Jeff and I have never had matching boots.

Never ever.

But we do have a couple of matching fleece jackets.

The sculpture Trail is four miles long. We took our time, scrutinizing the sculptures and offering our constructive criticism when necessary.

As in, That's stupid, it doesn't even mean anything.

Here are some of the sculptures that warranted a photo.

This giant chair is at the beginning of the trail. It is carved out of local logs.

This puts it in perspective.

The forest has a history of coal mining and many remnants of the industry remain. This sculpture is called The Iron Road and is carved from eucalyptus railway sleepers. Each log is carved with a unique theme, something essentially typical of the Forest of Dean, such as mining motifs.

Many of the sculptures are hidden away and we would have missed them without a map and some sharp-eyed husbands. This was one of my favourites. A giant acorn cup and a pine cone. As they have aged, they have become covered in moss and lichens and blend into the woods.

This is The Observatory.

It looks like it goes nowhere...

...but it overlooks this placid pond.

This.

Is cool.

It is named Raw.

It was made from an oak tree that was almost 200 years old. The sculptor transformed the cut tree into a cube that used all of the pieces, from the largest to the smallest. The construction of the cube was a mathematical feat of gigantic proportion, much like the cube itself.

This was made from a mold of the dirt bank behind it. The reverse side is the negative image. We puzzled for some time over how such a feat was possible, because of all the angles and intricacies of the surface. It remains a mystery, because I have been unable to find any information on the sculpture.

Even though it was only four miles, we spent three hours at the Forest of Dean. We were tired as we wended our way back to the house. We made a couple of stops. First, I stocked up on chocolates to take home for presents. Then we picked up fish and chips for dinner.

And I felt sad because it was our last night with our friends.

I ♥ Shakespeare

2011-10-09T21:16:00.000-07:00

On Wednesday, we got a not-very-early start on Stratford-upon-Avon, home of the Bard.

Yes, the same Avon that flows gently through Evesham.

And, just for the reveal-all record, I don't think we got an early start the whole two weeks.

We each bought a pass to the Shakespeare attractions. They are good for a year, so we didn't resent the money as much as usual because Jan can use them for her family and friends. I have a feeling she's going to get mighty tired of Shakespeare and his dwelling places.

First up was Anne Hathaway's cottage, which is out of town a little bit.

We still had to pay for parking.

Anne was William Shakespeare's wife. Historians get a little obsessed with the circumstances of their marriage, which were slightly mysterious. Anne was 26, William only 18, and their first child was born only six months later. This has led to all kinds of speculation, but no one really knows much about their marriage. Or if they were even married.

Here it is, a real thatched cottage. This was Anne Hathaway's childhood home. The oldest part of this house was built prior to the 15th century and some of the furniture inside belonged to her family. There were guides at the beginning and end of the tour and they were full of fascinating tidbits about life in the 15th century.

This is an authentic bed of the time period. Notice the rope woven through the bottom board of the bed frame. This is what supported the mattress, leading to the saying Sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite. Tight meaning tightened ropes so that the mattress didn't sag.

The house is surrounded by several acres of picturesque gardens. Picnic facilities are available and you know we made good use of them!

This is a willow arbour.

You can tell, because it says so on the sign.

It was made nine years ago of living willow saplings, following the design of Shakepeare's time. The new growth that you see sticking up in the air gets woven into the structure or trimmed off, according to need.

It is supposed to be a good place for a romantic tryst, so we pressed a button on the wooden post and listened to a Shakespearean sonnet recited by a famous actor and tried to be romantic.

There were a couple of gardeners busily attending to the nearby sweet peas, so we asked them about the arbour. I was intensely curious to know how one would go about creating such a thing, having visions of a smaller version in my garden. As luck would have it, this man from Portugal built this arbour. We were treated to a fascinating description of the process of creating a living arbour. He was happy to share his expertise and to have his photo taken.

Now there is a dream job! It seems he is quite famous in certain circles for his arbour-building abilities.

On we went into the town.

This is the Bard's birthplace.

Let me tell you, nothing is true and square in a 15th century house. Floors slope and walls meet at odd angles. It's best to watch one's footing at all times.

This is a copy of Shakepeare's First Folio. It contains 36 of his plays and was published in 1623, seven years after his death. About 750 copies of the folio were printed and 228 copies are still in existence, although most are incomplete. Eighty-two of those are at the Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington DC. The First Folio is one of the most valuable printed books in the world; in the last ten years, copies sold at auctions for around $6 million.

Whereupon, my camera ran out of battery.

Genius!

So we visited Nash's House, which is where William's sister, Susanna, lived with her doctor husband.

Next door to this can be found the foundations of New Place, where the Shakespeares lived when they left London and moved back to Stratford. The house was demolished and rebuilt in 1702 by the new owner, only to be demolished again by another owner in 1759 because of a quarrel with the town authorities over taxation.

Beware of juicy stories told by tour guides. They told us that the new owner didn't like Shakespeare or the tourists that were constantly bothering him and that is why he demolished the house. We found that many stories are embellished by tour guides!

The excavations were interesting, especially after we nabbed an official-looking lady who spent a good half-hour telling us all about their findings. I tell you, all you have to do is ask the question and people are only too willing to share all their knowledge. It happened almost every day (and twice on this day) and I loved it!

In the absence of photos, how about some well-used phrases that were either coined by or popularized by Shakespeare? The list might surprise you.

All that glitters is not gold.

As luck would have it.

Bated breath.

Neither a borrower nor a lender be.

Brave new world.

Refuse to budge an inch.

Crack of doom.

Brevity is the soul of wit..

Dead as a doornail.

Eaten me out of house and home.

Fancy free.

Foregone conclusion.

For goodness' sake.

The game is afoot.

Give the Devil his due.

And there are so many more. An extensive list of phrases and words is here.

It's not really known which he invented and which already existed, but the first record of all of these phrases is in Shakepeare's writings.

I think I need to re-read Hamlet. Consider a few quotes.

There's a divinity that shapes our ends,

Rough-hew them how we will.

Alas, poor Yorick.

When sorrows come, they come not single pieces,

But in battalions.

The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.

The whole play is quotable.

If you haven't ever read it, you should.

Or, at least watch the movie.

Kenneth Branagh or Mel Gibson.

It's a tough choice.

Memory Lane. Mine, not yours!

2011-10-08T23:13:00.000-07:00

Every time I start a post, I resolve to use less photos.

Twenty-one this time.

Not working out so well!

We stayed with Jan, my childhood friend, and her husband Steve for four days. Our bedroom was filled with sunlight when we awoke on Tuesday morning and I had a glorious sleep-in. The only activity planned for the day was to visit my old haunts, so we got a late start after breakfast.

Jan is big on three squares a day and her main occupation, other than driving us around because I was out of patience with driving, was feeding us. Everywhere we went, a picnic was sure to follow.

Thank you Jan, for taking such good care of us. I felt very spoiled. In a good way.

I'll tell you something. Jan gets a big kick out of casually referring to things that she has read on this blog. She gives a little sideways glance and a smirk as she lets me know how much she knows about me. It's pretty hilarious. And, considering that we have only seen each other once in the last 45 years, she really does know a lot about me! It makes me wonder how many of my other friends and readers think that they have me all figured out.

Maybe I tell too much?

Maybe I should start holding some things back?

Not that I have lost sleep over it, mind you. It just made me think about how much I reveal about myself.

You can read more about Jan here.

The River Avon in Evesham looms large in my memories. My Mum and Dad used to visit the location before they ever moved out of Birmingham.

You can rent those barges and putter up and down the river to your heart's content.

Or until the money runs out.

Here I am, holding my mother's hand, on the very same riverbank.

More British humour. These signs are in all of the towns.

Tourists are expected.

My sister and I both remember this whale's jawbone. It has been on the riverbank for over 100 years. I think Dad used to make up tall stories about it, which is maybe why we remember it so well.

Little girls still feed the swans.

Evesham is old. With lots of history. Which I will forbear from reciting.

Next stop, the Littletons, where half of my childhood took place.

First, the old church, where Jan and I sat together many times. Jan also got married here.

These brick walls are ubiquitous in this area of the country. Anne and I used to walk on them on the way to school. This one surrounds the churchyard.

The old tithe barn.

Down the lane and around a few bends is a road known as Blakes Hill. At the bottom of the road was a dairy farm and behind our house were the cow pastures. The cows used to traipse up and down the road every day to be milked. I'll leave the state of the road to your imagination.

Here is the dear old house, looking almost the same except for the addition on the front.

And the brick wall.

Janet insisted that we climb two gates and clamber through the fields to take a look at the back garden.

As we were peering rudely over the fence, trying to get a look at everything, we noticed the owner right about the same time he noticed us.

How embarrassing!

But he was very nice and pointed out the changes he had made and even offered to take a picture for us.

I said "Thank you."

Note the solarium, one of his additions.

Dad would have loved it.

There used to be two huge old apple trees in the garden and a whole swing-and play-set that Dad built for us. He also built a tree house in the tall trees that used to be where the fence now stands.

All gone.

We said our goodbye and climbed and traipsed back to the car. As we were passing the front of the house, the owner came out and called us over. He introduced himself as Richard and invited us into the house to see all the renovations he had made.

Oh, twist my arm, I cried!

No, I'm kidding. I accepted quite graciously.

Richard and his wife, Audrey, proudly gave us the grand tour. The house is really beautiful. Richard, who used to be in the construction business before retiring, has knocked out walls, changed the orientation of rooms, and added rooms until the mind boggles. It was immaculate and tastefully done, and I think Dad would have been impressed.

This collection of old tools is on the wall in an addition to the house.

As we were standing in the solarium, talking, Audrey suddenly blurted out, "Were there two little girls?"

I confirmed that there were.

She told us that several years ago, when Richard was removing a cement slab from the garage, he found two little sets of footprints and names in the floor beneath. They had wondered about the footprints all this time and were tickled to meet the owner of the largest set.

This was one of the sweetest moments of the whole trip for me. I think it is because I have always lived so far away from all the things that were familiar to me as a child. The villages in which we lived have changed so little that when I go back it is as if time slips away and I can walk the country lanes and relive those carefree days. I am very blessed to have had such a secure and happy childhood.

We walked around the village loop and Jan filled me in on everything she knew about the houses and the people who lived in them. Lest you fall in love with these gems, as we did, the price of real estate is prohibitive in these picturesque villages.

English people constantly crack me up!

Put money through front door.

How great is that?

The Ivy Inn, a village landmark.

Still there, after all these years.

Back to the car and one more wistful look at the old house.

I really earned my name that day.

Nostalgic Nana, indeed.

Oh yeah, twenty-three photos, did you notice?

Wells, a moat, Bath, and a rainstorm

2011-10-07T20:19:00.000-07:00

Did you notice the water theme going on there?

It rained heavily on Sunday night and we awoke to a grey morning. Nevertheless, we trooped on and walked down some paths to Wells Cathedral. This is perhaps the finest of all the great British cathedrals.

It is surrounded by an actual moat!

The foundation of this church goes back to Saxon times, around 705 AD. The present cathedral was begun about 1175 and was designed in the revolutionary new Gothic style.

The first building phase took about eighty years and about 300 of the original medieval statues remain today.

The pigeons really like them!

We wandered around and got completely lost.

It is that big.

Plus, we get lost easily.

We went through an archway and found this.

The Vicar's Close.

A little research discovered that this has its origin in the 14th century, when the Vicar's Choral was founded. Each of the 42 singing vicars was given a tiny house with a dining hall at one end of the quadrangle and a chapel at the other. The purpose of this beneficence was to protect he vicars from the wordly temptations that confronted them when they lodged in the town. The front gardens were added a couple of hundred years later. Members of the current Vicar's Choral still live here, along with other cathedral employees.

This is the only continually inhabited, completely medieval street in England.

This is part of Wells Cathedral School, which is right next to the cathedral and, as well as educating local children, trains some of them as choristers for the Cathedral Choir. By "choristers", they mean vocalists. Music is an important part of Wells Cathedral.

I deeply regret missing evensong.

There is a clock at Wells Cathedral that is very famous for being the second oldest clock mechanism in England, and probably the world, to be still in use in its original condition.

This isn't it.

Go here if you want to see a photo of it.

This is the octagonal Chapter House that was finished in 1306 and was the meeting place for cathedral affairs. The Bishop would sit under the picture in the window to the left of the column and the canons would each sit in his designated spot under the smaller metal plaques.

This is an illegal photo; I was too cheap to pay the photography fee so I only sneaked a few inside photos. Actually, I was starting to get tired of the constant fees we were having to pay for parking and entrance and, now, photography.

It brought out my inner rebel.

Anyway, while Jeff and I were standing in this room, quite awed, and, thankfully, after sneaky photo-taking had ended, an elderly man came in. We asked him about the space and he proceeded to tell us stories about his war experiences and also about the Chapter house. Just one of the many helpful people that delighted us as we wended our way around the south coast.

The acoustics in this room are astounding. Those medieval architects knew a thing or two!

This was somewhere in Wells.

How could you not want to go in and buy something?

Goodbye Wells, we wish we could have spent more time with you.

Hello Bath.

By now, we are unwilling to pay to see anything.

Especially old churches.

So, when someone told us about the old Guild Hall, now the Town hall, which we could wander around for nothing, we were on it like whipped cream on a bun.

Behold, the working man's answer to the upper class's Assembly Rooms.

They weren't allowed into the former, so decided to build their own gathering place.

And it is stupendous.

The craftsmanship is divine.

And it is free!

This was on a bench outside the Town hall.

I love the understated British humour.

I don't even know what this is, but I like it.

It may be in the Roman Baths, for which we declined to pay but I may have sneaked another photo!

By this time we were feeling a little peckish and made the mistake of accepting a free sample of some cake from this pastry shop.

We succumbed in a big way!

We sat on this step in the square, listening to the buskers, and a passing lady offered to take our photo.

Our enjoyment must have been obvious!

Black Forest gateau for Jeff.

Something with a French name for me, but it was really a Napolean of the highest order.

In keeping with my new rule (sit and listen to the buskers) we sat for well over an hour and listened to some excellent music. Not only that, but we had some great conversations with our bench-mates. No one is a stranger for long when you're a tourist.

The town square is filled with music all day long. Apparently, the buskers have a meeting in the morning and decide who will play each hour.

When we first arrived, the musician was playing an Irish flute.

This guy played some pleasing melodies and had a unique voice.

Then this young woman played a hang, pronounced "hong". It is like an inverted steel drum and resembles a flying saucer. The instruments are made by a couple of men in Switzerland and they only make a few hundred each year. The only way you can buy one is to go to Switzerland. I've never seen one before, but it is haunting and she played and sang beautifully.

Watch a couple of masters at work.

Aaand, a shorter one for good measure.

The hang player did not get to finish her hour because the rain started.
We ran to the car park and managed to reach the car before it became a downpour.

And on we drove to Aston Somerville, where Jan had a nice hot dinner waiting for us.