Heidi Greco's Blog, page 15

A day for giving thanks

Even though today is Thanksgiving, we had our big feast yesterday. So, today is a day to enjoy leftovers. For us, that means our supper will consist of a little pot of turkey soup and our traditional 'special' turkey sandwiches. I call them special because that's exactly what they are. 

Based on the memory of an ultra-delicious meal at a diner long ago, they're a tradition the members of our family love to carry on. As with so many 'recipes' -- in this case, more of a formula than an actual recipe -- it's all a matter of the right ingredients, every one of which seems essential: 

Turkey (of course!)

Sourdough bread (white and soft, but with steadfast crusts)

Swiss cheese

Avocado

Alfalfa sprouts

Mayonnaise and salt and pepper, to taste

Whether you slice the turkey (or cheese) so it's thin as paper, or chunkier to give some real chew to the sandwich, those decisions are over to whoever plans to eat this extravaganza. 

In the meantime, I am grateful for the many blessings in my life, including (but not exclusive to) reliably wonderful leftovers. 

As for the little turkey in the photo, he rode the top of yesterday's dessert -- not pumpkin pie (an unwelcome guest at my table), but a molasses-y little ginger cake. 

Sisters in Spirit

Last week was a day that's familiarly called 'Orange Shirt Day' -- and while 'Red Dress Day' is officially observed in May, today is also a day when I am wearing my little 'red dress' pin. Like my orange shirt pin, this one, complete with its jewels and ladybugs, was also a gift from a friend who is dear to me. 

This is a day to think about the many -- mostly Indigenous -- women and girls who have gone missing, and who too often, when they're found, are dead. One such was Tina Fontaine, who was killed in Winnipeg and whose body was dumped into the river. When I was in Winnipeg, I tossed a special rock into that river, a sad little farewell to her, that went with hopes that no more women would meet such a fate. 

Sadly, the situation in Vancouver's Downtown Eastside has recently escalated with stabbings and rapes occurring with increasing frequency. 

All women everywhere must do all we can to look out for each other -- wherever we may live, as Sisters in Spirit. In the meantime, I suggest you consider watching the NFB film called The Red Dress. Even though it's less than half-an-hour long, it's not an easy film to watch. Despite that, I think it's an important one to view. 

Every Child Matters

Today is the second year we in Canada have observed . It was around this time last year that I was in Victoria and saw those many pairs of children's shoes lined up on the steps of the Legislature Buildings. It was a powerful statement reminding us that Every Child Matters -- a lesson that's now included in most school curricula. 

My observance this year is quieter, staying home, but with the suggestion of a new book to read (along with a glimpse of my little 'orange shirt' pin given to me as a gift by a longtime dear friend). 

If you'd like a nudge to read this novel, here's a link to a review of it. 

At the very least, we must all remember the past, or we are doomed to let it play out again. 

A new angle of the sun

The changing of the seasons always has a number of chores -- this season, it's primarily food-based ones. 
There's been plenty of clean-up of blackberry vines and spent veggie beds. Even the travelling rose had a number of its trailing stems clipped, oddly without a single rose hip this year (a first). The usual load of plums -- twelve bags for sharing with neighbours and friends -- was greatly diminished this year, with only a measly twelve plums. Not a single bag full, only a small bowl. Nonetheless, they were delicious as ever, maybe more so where there were so few. 

Not long ago I gathered a big bag full of windfall apples. This is a luxury I may no longer be able to indulge in, as it looks as though my friend's property will be 'developed' -- an ironic term, as the land will certainly be far less productive once it's paved. 
So far I've managed to freeze enough apples to make a couple of pies during winter. I've also made a few of what I call 'hand pies' (individual 'pies' made with store-bought puff pastry), several containers of applesauce and I've even managed to dry a few, thanks to our little fireplace units where all I have to do is slice the apples and let them rest on top of the pilot-only heat source. 

The equinox is also when I clean and change the filters in the Brita unit -- an easy way to keep track of when I do some of these maintenance chores. 
Technically autumn arrives at 6:03 Pacific Time, so suddenly I'm finding myself in a brand-new season. At least I reckon I'm pretty much ready. 

Unanswered

Nearly every photo of the queen shows her carrying a purse on her arm -- even the one of her standing in the lounge at Balmoral when she met with Liz Truss. Because her purse was often a lot frumpier than the rest of her attire, I'm left wondering who chose those handbags. 

Because a purse is quite a personal matter, I suspect the bags may have been of her own choosing. 

But what I'm really wondering about is what the heck would be in one of them?

Did she carry a lipstick, a comb? Did she need ID -- a passport when she travelled? Did she have her own credit card (gold, of course, I'm sure). What about a driver's license?? After all, she was famous for driving herself around in the Range Rover, though maybe that was only on her own property. 

And money, what about that? Consider what it would be like to pull out a bill and have your own face on it. 

The mystery of the queen's purse. Will that question ever be answered?

Changing light, shifting gears

So, could this really be the end of 'true summer'?

There's something about the last day of August that makes me feel that way. 

Maybe it's just because I worked in schools for years, and the very word 'September' carried a weight not borne by other months. 

I can't help but notice the way the angle of light is different in late August -- how even its hue is more golden. 

With luck, there's maybe even the scent of coming rain, or is that too only a matter of my imagination?

As if readying for the 'true autumn' that's no doubt coming soon, I not only picked more blackberries today, but I gave the bushes a hard prune -- mainly cleaning up the spent vines, the ones where only the stubs remained where berries had once been. 

With a long weekend ahead, I am grateful knowing that we'll be spending it at home, and not out racing down highways or lining up for ferries with others hoping for a final kick at the holiday can. 

Blackberries, tomatoes, and fresh green beans sound like plenty to me. 

S L O W leak

The street in front of our house has had a slow but steady stream of water trickling down to the nearby sewer for months. The photo above is from March when the problem was reported to the city and they drilled a hole (before that, it had been seeping out of a crack in the asphalt) so they could test the water as they tried to determine the source. 

After a few reports were registered, a man from the water department came out, assured us that it was NOT the beginning of a sinkhole (which some of us in the neighbourhood had feared), but then, aside from placing an orange cone on the curb, pretty much nothing happened. 

Last week they came out again and finally deemed it worthy of further inspection. This had a lot to do with the fact it hasn't rained in over a month, but the water on the road hadn't abated. In other words, it wasn't some kind of drainage problem which they'd been offering previously as an explanation.

In truth, what they discovered today gave us all a few exciting moments -- it looked a lot like water I'd seen at Yellowstone, though fortunately, this water wasn't hot and steamy. 

The excavation took a while, but when they got down far enough below the roadway, they discovered that one of the city pipes was leaking and they replaced the corroded 'saddle' that was allowing water to constantly seep out. 

Five months of wasted water, and this in the midst of drought conditions. Less than remarkable, but at least it's now repaired. And not too surprisingly, we've discovered the water pressure here in our house has improved. So, better than any sinkhole would have been -- a story with a nicely happy ending. 

Thrift store treasure

It's something that goes back to being about ten years old -- my love of wooden jigsaw puzzles. They're never easy to find anymore, but now and then, one comes my way. 

I was lucky enough to have a girlfriend whose family had a drawer filled with amazing wooden puzzles. Often, the scenes they depicted were battles aboard old-time ships, sails filled with smoke and flame. 

This one, a much calmer scene, a mega-bargain from one of my best-loved thrift shops, may be my all-time favourite. Not only were all the pieces there, the precision of the cuts and the marvel of their varied shapes sets this puzzle apart from any other I've ever done. 

There were a number of pieces that had very specific shapes. The two resting outside the image looked like a little house and a derby hat. There was also a complicated curving bishop's staff, as well as two plumb bells a surveyor might use. 

I'm not sure exactly how the jigsawing might have been done -- with a laser maybe?? That would almost have to be the case, as the pieces are mostly quite tiny. 

And yes, I've already taken it apart. Sadly the photo below is a bit fuzzy, but if you look carefully, you can probably see the cutest of the pieces, the bunny waiting his turn to join his friends in puzzle-land. 

Lights, Camera, Conversation!

Already just about halfway through August and this is finally my first post. As the photo suggests, there's been so much going on, life sometimes feels a little blurry. 

That was just one of the days from this past week, being part of a film shoot in Vancouver. 

Because long ago I'd had work published in a magazine called Branching Out, I was contacted by a woman from Toronto and invited to participate as an interviewee for a film that's being made by Marusya Boicurkiw. It's a documentary, Before#MeToo which explores the second wave of feminism (though I suppose I must have missed the first, who knows). 

It was a busy morning with takes and retakes, but was mostly a matter of good chat among friends, old and new. 

And I'll admit I'm looking forward to seeing the results, though I doubt I'll be there for more than a glance or perhaps, a 20-second comment. 

Afterthoughts

My last post, about the Amelia Earhart Festival, left out one element of the festival that's always been important to me -- the traditional Saturday night display of fireworks. 

There've been many times I've sat beside my friend Louise (whom everyone else called Lou), oohing and ahhing as the pyrotechnical show entertained us, lighting up the sky above the Missouri River to the sounds of the 1812 Overture. 

This year, there was no Louise. After a long life she left us, but her absence wasn't the only thing that had changed for me about the fireworks. 

Ukraine, and specifically Odesa (which I've at least learned to spell the non-Russian way), where a man I've met -- in Atchison, no less -- still lives, in an apartment with his aged parents. Every time I hear about Odesa in the news, I can't help but worry about him and his family. His emails have reported the shriek of missiles flying overhead, on their way to some hideous destination, not long ago, a mall where he'd often shopped. 

Last night we were invited to a friend's place to get a strategically great view of the local (White Rock) fireworks display. And again, I admit to a few inward shudders when I heard their boom-booming noises. I know the fireworks we watched were strictly on display for entertainment, but because I've probably watched too much news coverage of this hideously destructive war on Ukraine, hearing those crackling sounds and deep booms has lost some of its appeal. I can't help but think they sound just a little too much like the sounds of machine guns and exploding bombs.