The tie that binds

All women become like their mothers. 

That is their tragedy.

No man does.

That's his.

Oscar Wilde.

Happy Mother's Day to all the mothers in my life.

The three (horrible) bears

My sister, Anne, and I spent the first week of my time in New Zealand cleaning out my Mum's little house. For those of you who are new to the story, my Mum was diagnosed with Alzheimer's in January and went into a care home. We needed to go through Mum's house to get it ready to sell.

It was a job that was at times disturbing, often heart-rending, and sometimes hilarious.

My Mum was an avid collector of things.

Which she then proceeded to wrap in gobs of tissue paper and plastic bags and boxes.

These are just a few of the books we unwrapped. Sometimes, there were multiple copies of the same book, especially if they were new. We don't think she ever read any of them.

John particularly liked this purse. 

He actually pleaded with Anne to keep it instead of the black patent handbag to which she was inclined.

Mum had closets full of clothes that she had never worn. Most of them were op-shop bargains, we are sure, but some of them were new with expensive price tags. And sometimes there were multiple copies of the same item! 

I persuaded Anne to model a couple of outfits, because some of them were kinda gorgeous. 

And I could never have squeezed into them!

John took off for the beach after a day or two. Work to do, he claimed, better than hanging around with the girls. Then Anne got sick with some kind of virus, which I managed to catch a week later. 

Sharing sisters!

One day, after hours of sorting and tossing, I walked into the living room where Anne was lying, dying, on her mattress. I looked at this basket that has sat by Mum's wood stove for years.

Those bears are horrible, they've got to go! I declared.

What? says Anne, suddenly alert.

Those bears are horrible, they've got to go!

I'll have you know that my children made those bears, she said, and we both started laughing uncontrollably. Which act usually entails clenching the thighs tightly, because, you know, weak bladders and all! It was worth a good thirty minutes of entertainment, as she showed me the unique qualities of each bear and how she could tell which child had made which bear. 

We rolled on the floor and we cried real tears. 

All she had to say to get us both in stitches again, for the rest of the holiday, was Those bears are horrible!

Now, I don't want you to think we were disrespectful. It was a strange situation, cleaning out one's parent's house before they are dead. Mum has always been a very secretive person but she never threw anything away. 

Not one envelope.

So it was an enlightening week and I think I learned more about my mother than I have learned all the rest of my life. It was good in most ways and helps me to be more compassionate towards her in her present state. Some of the history was rather bizarre and shall not be repeated here, but it just goes to show that still waters run deep. 

And I tell you this, if there is anything in your possession that you want to remain a secret, dispose of it now.

This very day. 

Because when it is discovered, you will not be there to explain it. 

And that is a very bad thing.

And about that grove of trees.

Mine to know and yours never to discover.

And in case you're wondering, there is no documentation!

The View

This is a running post.

And a scenery post.

And a little jaunt down memory lane.

See? Something for everyone!

You can thank me later.

I lived in Temple View, which is in the Waikato, New Zealand (think Hobbiton) from 1967 thru 1979. Give or take a few absences of varying lengths. 

Never, in that time, did I run.

Unless I was late for school, or the bus, or the school bus.

Even then, I suspect I probably walked fast.

So it was kinda fun, on this visit, to run around those roads that I love so much.

Come for a little jog with me.

This is what we see as we run down Mum's driveway...

...and then we turn right.

We run past the house that Mum had built after Dad died. 

My sister and her husband bought it from Mum, then added onto it so that it would accommodate their growing family. They only just sold it so that they could move out to their lovely beach house. Now, another family lives there and I was happy to hear children's footsteps running around the upper story as I jogged past.

Past the straggly tropical trees.

Up and around the corner, past the house of the new Kiwi Seventy (non-Mormons won't get that one at all) who is buddies with my sister and brother-in-law.

Next to that is the house where Mum and I lived, for a few months after Dad died, with our dearly departed friend Lamia. Lamia built her own house and this lovely wall.

Down Deseret Road...

...and all the way to the end.

That grove of trees in the distance holds some ... interesting ... memories!

Dad used to take us out at dawn to gather mushrooms in these fields, which backed up onto our house. We would come home with buckets full of the big treasures.

Back out and up the road. This part of the road used to be gravel. 

Mighty nice of them to pave it, don't you think?

Wonder if this bad boy is friendly?

Nope. My hand still holds the bruise to prove it!

That large, dead gum tree that's leaning to the right is only held up by the evergreen next to it.

Major disaster waiting to happen.

Hello, brown cow.

This hill is much longer and steeper than it looks and I confess I walked some of it.

Feeling the burn, so back down the road we go and through the shortcut and around the loop to our old house.

Eight happy years I spent in this house. The current owners have been in it for over 30 years and yet it still feels like mine. I always visit and tell them how much I appreciate their taking such good care of it!

Then, up the hill that I walked every day in my teens, often more than once.

And yes, I did make it to the top.

Even though it aged me several years.

On other days my route included the temple.

This is the view from the bottom of Mum's driveway.

Here we go.

I ran up the steps and back down again.

It felt a little sacrilegious, but strangely satisfying.

If you hung around to the end, thanks for that!
See you tomorrow.
I'm ba-ack!

Braving the body scans

I have a couple of awesome ideas for blog posts roaming around my head, but my plane for San Francisco leaves in twenty hours.
And I am a bundle of stress.
One of my few recurring nightmares involves missed plane flights, so you can imagine how catching a real plane affects me!
And, because I am self-employed, I am working flat stick today and tomorrow in order to miss as little work as possible. And packing. A 50lb checked bag and a 15lb carry-on.  And organizing things for Jeff so that he doesn't starve while I'm away.
Actually, he kind of likes it when I'm gone. 
He gets to eat fast food any time he wants!

So, you will have to wait a little while longer to learn about my new magic laundry ingredient.
And the other thing.
Whatever it was.
I'm sure it will come back to me tomorrow.
Oh yeah, something about fascists and royalty.
It's a good one.

Meanwhile, I will be greeting old friends and hugging my Mum and sister and little grand-nephew and generally soaking in the Kiwi ambience.
It's a rough life.

And, just because a post without pictures is boring, here are a couple of new photos from Sam and Charlie's official wedding album.

A boy and his Mama.

And a picture-perfect princess.

Wish me luck. 

With that old plane thing.

More wisdom from The Canadian

I had a pleasant interlude this morning with friends Karen and Nicole. Mani-pedis and Quiznos for lunch, all with coupons! (My manicurist was kinda attitudinal, but other than that....)
Anyway, over our spectacular lunch, they reminded me that I hadn't yet posted the last of Mark's essay on America. If I'd have known anyone cared that much, I would have posted it weeks ago!
So here it is, with a few added links for those of you who (like me) are unfamiliar with some of his references. I suggest following the links, they are fascinating stories. Sadly, I was completely unaware of both of them.


How America is different.

I see American exceptionalism in that desire to be the light on the hill and to aspire to the highest values of representation of the people. Not only were the slaves freed, but the 14th amendment ensured that they were also given political franchise. The Constitution and its amendments serve the people. This is as opposed to political structures where the people serve the state. In serving the people, I think the most important facet in the entire American political system can be seen by example in the 1st and 2nd amendments to the constitution. In these America can claim its place as the light on the hill.

The freedom to assemble, the freedom to speak out, freedom to worship or not to worship, whom or what or whenever you please. These freedoms flow from the first amendment. They are found in other countries to some extent but in America they are law. 

In the cartoons of Mohammed controversy and in blasphemy laws like those now in place in Ireland, freedom of speech is under fire. The so called Ground Zero mosque also illustrates the right of freedom of speech and religion. The planners do have the right to build their mosque. But that same freedom should also mean that, should people like to protest in front of the mosque against whatever grievance they have with Islam, they should be tolerated along with pork roast festivals, showings of “Fitna” and the like.

The right to bear arms on the other hand, elevated the people to the status of equality with their government in defending themselves lawfully. I am sure that the original intent of the amendment was also to ensure that the government remained humble and subservient of the people rather than the other way around.

These freedoms in America have not been won cheaply but have cost the blood of generations of fighting men and women. And now these freedoms are in danger again. Modern threats to freedom include erring too much on the side of political correctness and a loss of economic freedom through irresponsible federal spending. On face value political correctness is a virtue as it embodies tolerance and deference for diversity. But when political correctness means tolerating intolerance then it has gone too far and I think that Europe for example is approaching that point. Geert Wilders has gone on trial for inciting hatred. (Read one of his blog posts here.) What kind of a crime is hatred? An imaginary crime I suppose. How can you know what is in the heart of another? But a casual overview of what is happening in Holland will show that the only obvious outward display of hatred comes from those Wliders is exposing so for example, Theo Van Gogh is dead, and open critics of Islam live under 24 hour armed guard. 

The United States must not follow Europe. It must not give up its unique position and must hold fast to the freedoms that make it what it is. To a large extent this uniqueness stems from the freedoms which to many in the world may seem quaint. But it is these very freedoms that have been a magnet to millions of immigrants who have become Americans over the centuries and it is these freedoms that must remain for the sake of all the world.

Arboreal spring in the Northwest

I love spring in the northwest forest.

This afternoon, Jeff and I walked the trail at the Tualatin River National Wildlife Refuge.

'Twas a compromise between the long hike he wanted and the nothing that I preferred.

I was in a mood.

You should understand that, I said, you get in moods all the time.

He sensibly deferred to my point of view.

This pond lies at the beginning of the trail and is covered in some kind of weed.

Jeff noticed this big old bullfrog sitting very still. 

Although the pond is completely covered in weed, a ranger said they test the water frequently and it is full of life.
And beavers, apparently!

The neighbouring pond is still clear.

Trillium is one of my favourite things about the woods in spring. The three leaf-like bracts below the flower are the plant's only way to store food for the next year, so if you pick one it will take several years to recover.

Oregon grape is in flower. The shrub looks kind of messy for most of the year, but is pretty in its new spring finery.

Love me the symmetry of a cedar.

Things, they are a-budding.

Can you figure out this picture?

Look in the lower right corner for a clue.

And by the time we got back to the car, the fresh air and spring loveliness had done its work
and I was happy again.

Remains of the day: an Ode to Cake

On Sunday, we had Jeff's birthday dinner. 

You know, the birthday we celebrated every day last week!

He requested the usual cake. It was particularly delicious (although not so pretty) and I thought I would post the recipe for you.

Then I got a little deja vu and searched the blog.

Turns out I posted it on Jeff's birthday last year and also on Jonnie's birthday.

So, did you make it yet?

Did you, huh, did you?

Just in case you didn't, here are some leftover photos to inspire you.

And no, we had no problem finishing up these leftovers!

It had a chocolate ganache coating; sweet, but not too sweet, and perfectly decadent.

The kids picked out the cherries, as usual.

I swear, I'm going to ban them from this cake.

Really, I am!

Check out that moist, fudgy crumb. 

And the thick layer of whipped cream in the middle.

Which Kenzie ate around.

So I ate it.

Dang.

Wish I didn't love cake so much.

Is there something wrong with me, that it makes me happy?