thaumaturge |ˈTHôməˌtərj|
a worker of wonders and performer of miracles; a magician.
thaumaturgic |ˌTHôməˈtərjik| adjective.
thaumaturgical adjective.
thaumaturgist |ˈTHôməˌtərjəst| noun.
thaumaturgy |ˈTHôməˌtərjē| noun
early 18th cent. (as thaumaturg): via medieval Latin from Greek thaumatourgos, from thauma ‘marvel’ + -ergos ‘-working.’

It was the sun hat.

I bought the sun hat to withstand the suns rays while I enjoy the outdoors. Now that the sun hat is sitting beside me ready for duty, the sun has hidden itself behind the clouds. Rain is predicted tomorrow and the next day. If I’d known that all the rain was waiting for was the purchase of a sun hat, I would have been on the job a lot sooner.

Now that I have established my central position in the the universe, on to the day-to-day details of life.

I awoke this morning at 5 a.m., light was just beginning to filter in under the thick curtains that hang on the bedroom window. I knew I was awake for the day, and that lying in bed would only lead to wandering thoughts, and that wandering thoughts are something I am not going to indulge in at present. So I arose, filled the kettle, put it on to boil and ventured onto the back porch to sit until I could make my morning coffee.

I enjoyed my coffee on the back porch, watching the clouds roll in and over, bringing the hope of moisture. The birds were just beginning to stir, the breeze held itself high in the trees, tickling the highest branches. A glorious morning.

After enjoying my coffee I donned my shoes, sun glasses, and new sun hat, then headed out the door for my daily walk. It was a lovely 15C out there this morning, so lovely for walking. The sun still shone, although the clouds were rolling in. There were several other people out and about with the same idea, getting out for some recreation before the heat of the day. I passed and greeted an older woman in a straw hat, a young woman in fancy jogging gear, a young man in fancy jogging gear, and an older man walking a little dog. All were friendly except the man with the dog, who grudgingly responded to my friendly good morning. I know that when I was living here alone the winter before last, that brief hello on my walk meant a lot, because it was my only human contact during the week. So I always say hello to everyone I meet when I am out for a walk in my own neighbourhood, whether they seem to like it or not.

This morning Attila and I loaded the construction waste into Tank and headed out to the land fill site. I admit to being quite weary of viewing the small mountain of debris in the back yard, and I am sure the neighbours feel the same way about it. By lunch time it was gone!

Attila is working on the finishing touches of the garden shed. To that end he needed paint for the siding, so today we dropped by Home Depot to pick up what he needed. Our version of impulse buying stepped in, so we walked out with our paint, and the delivery date set for a new dishwasher. We don’t have a dishwasher, and I have been looking at them for years, and much more seriously over the last 10 months since we moved here. A dishwasher did not seem worth the risk at the country house, we were on a well, and septic system of unknown age. Now we are on town water and sewer, so that the necessary utilities are there and waiting. The dishwasher was on sale, and had a $100 prepaid credit card included as a bonus, plus a 10% discount for using their credit card. Attila will install the new dishwasher, which will involve tearing apart the kitchen cupboard. I anticipate that the domino effect will ensue, the preparation for the dishwasher will require the countertop be moved, perhaps relplaced; the removal of the countertop will require a new sink; the new sink will require a new set of taps; and who knows what else. In a perfect world the dishwasher will just go in the space allotted without additional renovation required. I am not optimistic on that score!

It is a long weekend in Ontario. We decided to stay home and putter. I don’t really feel light hearted enough to enjoy camping right now, and it is really too hot for me at the peak of the day, so staying where I can keep cool is much more appealing than being outdoors in this heat.

And wouldn’t you know it, the clouds disappeared, the sun came out, and the predictions of rain evaporated in the heat. So much for my super rain making powers.

Worldly Distractions


Date: 3:00 PM EDT Saturday 30 July 2016
Condition: Mainly Sunny
Pressure: 101.8 kPa
Tendency: falling
Visibility: 24 km
Temperature: 25.9°C
Dewpoint: 12.6°C
Humidity: 43%
Wind: NE 13 km/h
Humidex: 32


“Be master of your petty annoyances and conserve your energies for the big, worthwhile things. It isn’t the mountain ahead that wears you out – it’s the grain of sand in your shoe.”
Robert Service
1874 – 1958

The Sun Hat

July hasn’t been the month I was looking forward to all winter.

It has had it’s highlights.

Sunny and Sky, our new preemie Grandbabies, came home from the hospital around the middle of July. Terra and Lares spent a few days enjoying having them at home before they let anyone know, because once we knew we were visiting, family members from all over. Sky apparently had to go back into hospital for a few days as he was having trouble keeping his body temperature up and became dehydrated, but he recovered quickly and returned home again within a few days. Both Sunny and Sky have “brain bleeds”, which Terra has been told are not unusual and do not seem to be a big concern. Terra tends not to provide details, so I “won’t worry”, but it has the opposite effect, my imagination is not kind, and it has learned that the worst is always possible, so details help to keep things in focus.

Yesterday Terra dropped by with Sunny and Sky, and Dash the dog in tow. Both babies seem very healthy, although still quite small. They have both almost doubled their birth weight, good for them! Terra is a natural mother, she is in her element. Both Terra and her older sister Luna wanted to be mothers, and they take the role very seriously.

Our first one week summer vacation in over twenty years began the weekend before Sunny and Sky came home from the hospital. We decided to camp at our Ancestral Camp, and were so glad that we did. It was a six hour drive to get there, and a six hour drive to get home again, so it was quite an undertaking.

The first few days we visited with family, and had some truly wonderful times. My sister-the-middle-girl had everyone to her cottage for a BBQ the first night, so we all got to visit. Also in the area vacationing were my sister-the-youngest-girl and her Beau Bob, my niece and her boyfriend, my first cousin S and her family, my first cousin C, all the way from Ottawa, a very long drive for her to make on her own.

A few days later another family gathering was hosted by my first cousin C at her rented cottage, and we enjoyed the company of my first cousin P and his family, my Uncle T who is approaching 90, and my Mom’s first cousin and her grown children (really grown, retired now).

It was fortuitous that we were in the area that week, because an article I had been interviewed for had just been published, it was about my Granny and Grandpa’s house and the community they lived in. We managed to get many copies of the publication, it was a real thrill to see the picture of my cherished Grandparents in the magazine.

We headed for home on the third day.

The day after we arrived home I received a message from my Mom that my brother had had a heart attack and was unconscious in the hospital. I feel very lucky that we were on vacation and so had the opportunity to be with him every day before he passed away on the Sunday at the end of that week. We will lay my brother to rest on August 6th, beside our Dad.

Life here at Mist Cottage is a bit surreal at the moment. Sometimes I burst into tears when my brother’s presence washes over me, the finality of our corporeal separation grips me. How very much Attila means to me reveals itself over and over again, disclosed by the simplest things, the smallest gestures. Other times I feel gratitude to the universe for my girls, and for Sunny and Sky and Imp, and Elf, and Tink. I think about how very precious is my Mom, my brothers and sisters, how lucky we are to have each other. I feel trepidation that things will not remain the same, as I know that not all change is welcome, although all must be borne.

Slowly the little day-to-day things, that work to balance the natural grief that humans experience, are coming back into focus.

A developer has purchased the property at the end of our dead end street and is building a housing development there. They started preparing the property this week, so that there is a steady stream of fully loaded dump trucks parading up and down the narrow street. This will go on for at least a year, and is not a welcome change in the neighbourhood.

The young couple next door are experiencing financial difficulties and are talking about selling and moving to more affordable rental accommodation. They have two little boys, who are quite delightful, and it seems very sad that a young man who works six days a week cannot earn enough to keep his family living in modest shelter.

This morning I took the opportunity to borrow my first library books from the local library. I had been there before, when we were living at the country house and commuting to Mist Cottage, but this time I actually borrowed some books. I prefer reading paper books to digital books. I don’t have an explanation for my preference, it could be because that is what I grew up with; it could be that the digital screen is hard on the eyes and is messy with recharging and updating programs and connecting to the internet; or it could be that the paper books on offer to be borrowed are much better than the variety of books that can be freely attained via digital media. Whatever it is, I like a good paper book that I can hold in my hand and turn the pages.

Hanging laundry out to dry has been a very practical option this past month, and continues to be so. It is hot, dry, and sunny; a load of laundry hung on the porch line takes about an hour to dry.

Attila and I are going to break down the large remaining pile of debris from the demolished garden shed, pack it into Tank, and cart it off to the land fill site. We will pay 31 cents per square foot to dispose of the material. The debris has been sitting on the lawn for over a month, so it will have killed all the grass beneath it; we will need to reseed the area with drought resistant grass, or perhaps the plantain seeds will have ripened and can be gathered and sown.

One thing I have enjoyed about the drought is the return of native plant life. People, with very rare exceptions, are not watering their lawns. The grass is brown, much of it has died. Growing in these brown patches are lush looking Birdsfoot Trefoil, healthy flowering Wild Chicory, beautiful swaying Queen Anne’s Lace, lovely tall Milkweed. All of these plants, plus various native grasses, lined the highways and byways of my youth, and now they are popping up everywhere on urban lawns. It is a sight for sore eyes as far as I am concerned.

Today a knock on the door proved to be the delivery of my new sun hat. My old sun hat, a straw hat purchased in the 80s, or it might have been in the 70s, is coming apart, and it blows off my head in the slightest of breezes, requiring me to keep one hand firmly planted on the top of my head. I’ve been looking for a good sun hat for quite a while now. I found pretty ones, made out of paper, what good would that be when you sweat, or it rains! I found straw hats that kept the sun off, but had no chin strap and would blow off my head the way my old straw hat does. I found beautiful hats that cost over $100, nope! I finally decided on a Columbia Bora Bora Booney II, the light coloured version.

After unpacking the hat I immediately tried it on, and I liked the way it fit, comfortable and not too tight. The headband size adjusts easily, for a better fit. The chin strap works well, and the brim keeps the sun off my face and out of my eyes. And of great importance to me, the hot head, the venting works really well to release heat, while keeping the beating sun from heating up my head. So far I love this hat.

Today, when the tears find me, I will put on my new hat, wander in my sunny garden, and remember how lucky I have been in love.

Worldly Distractions


Date: 2:00 PM EDT Friday 29 July 2016
Condition: Partly Cloudy
Pressure: 101.4 kPa
Tendency: falling
Visibility: 24 km
Temperature: 26.7°C
Dewpoint: 13.7°C
Humidity: 44%
Wind: NE 9 km/h
Humidex: 30


“This is my answer to the gap between ideas and action – I will write it out.”
Hortense Calisher
1911 – 2009

A Hole in the Universe

My brother with our dog, by the tractor. This was taken on our fruit farm in Niagara the summer of 1957.

How many times I have written this entry, how many times minus one I have been overwhelmed with emotion, deleted it, closed the program, risen from my chair, and wandered away to do something, anything, to keep my conscious mind busy.

There is a hole in my universe, an empty space where there was once an energy, a voice, bedrock, a known corner of the world. I find myself leaking, emotions, tears, thoughts…

My eldest brother died on Sunday, July 17, at 11:20 a.m. We were there by his side, Attila and I, my Mom, my sisters and their partners, my brothers, one in person and one in spirit who could not be there. For four days we kept watch at my brother’s bedside, hoping against the odds that he would show signs of life, the fluttering of an eyelid, an attempt to talk, a movement of the hand. Attila and I sat quietly with him the day they raised his body temperature, suspended the sedation, waiting for him to open his eyes, to know we were there. But it was his time, and no matter how hard we hoped for his company, it was not to be. I will be forever grateful that I got to hold his hand at the end of his life, as I held it when he first appeared in my life, so many decades ago.

He had had a heart attack. He collapsed just after the ambulance arrived after having trouble catching his brea†h. He was unconscious and without a pulse for ten minutes on his way into the Emergency department at the hospital, and his pulse was lost a second time. After four days on life support, and extensive testing, we had to accept that he had suffered brain death, and would not recover. I found it very hard to accept, he looked so rosy and heathy and peaceful; his body was being kept alive by the life support measures that were in place.

The doctor and nurses Joseph and Sharon in the ICU were wonderful. The doctor talked to us daily, answered any and all questions with gentleness and patience, and kept my Mom informed up to the minute. My brother became an organ donor, making it possible for three people to live healthy lives.

We said our goodbyes. All of our lives there have been the six of us, and it just feels wrong that now we are five.

There are many ways in which I am mourning my little brother, some of them bittersweet, some of them are soft and glowing, and some of them are involved and difficult. He was a complex and intelligent man, courageous in all circumstances, fiercely protective of family, and he has left an indelible mark on the lives of those who loved him.

Safe journey little brother, walk with the angels.

53 Names

This morning I am expecting a delivery of ink cartridges for the new printer. It came with sample cartridges, and I doubt they will last very long. I was shocked at the price of cartridges, and found a Montreal business, 123InkCartridges, that sells them for more reasonable prices. Actually, I have purchased cartridges from them before, about nine years ago, and was lucky to find them online again, as my memory for details like business names is almost nonexistent. I was pleased with my purchase nine years ago, and am optimistic about a positive experience this time around.

The delivery will be to the door, and I am required to be home, and to answer the door. Working on my genealogy book is a perfect activity for waiting for deliveries to the door. So that is what I will be doing today until the ink cartridges arrive.

I am looking at Rural Preliminary List of Electors for 1938. The Great Depression ended in 1939, with the onset of World War Two. My Grandparents lived through two World Wars and the Great Depression, times of great chaos and uncertainty. My Mom lived through the Great Depression and a World War. With few resources, small communities were turned in towards each other for support and survival, creating the rich environment that faded slowly, but remained strong during the years of my childhood, and of which vestiges still remain, recognizable only to those who enjoyed the warmth and acceptance that only strong communities can provide. These are the communities that have been largely displaced by monster home estates and cottages.

An analysis of economics and larger scale business paints a picture of decline and neglect. While in the strict sense of economics this is a true picture, it is only a partial picture. Yes, the small community suffered financial loss, loss of it’s schools, Post Offices, local stores, railway line, and farms, gaining only low wage employment as servants to the affluent who bought most of the land and increasingly dominate local political power in the area. This is all true.

There are however strong ties that bind the families of the communities that consisted of the original settlers, who came to the land in the 1800s. The old values are still alive and recognizable to those who experienced these communities. “Foreign” city values stand out in sharp contrast to the values of those who grew up in the communities that were gutted by centralization, global agriculture, and the influx of recreational city money.

For example, when I wanted to buy a local history book, written by members of the Women’s Institute, I called the author to request the book. Once she heard my name, she knew who I was, where I belonged in the community. She knew my Grandparents, and many of my relatives. I offered to send her a cheque to cover the cost of the book before she mailed it to me, but she would have none of that. She insisted that I wait until I receive the book, then I could send her a cheque to cover the cost of the book and the postage on the package. She trusted me, knowing that I would not even think of failing my part of the agreement.

There are 53 names listed in the Voter’s list that I am looking at today, six of which are my Great Grandfather, three of his sons (one is my Grandpa), and two of his son’s wives (one is my Granny). All of the names are familiar to me, I knew many of the people, and heard all of the names throughout my childhood. My Mom and her brother and sisters were young children when this list was created, they had been born during the depression years.

My Grandpa and Granny operated a General Store and the local Post Office during the years of the depression. My Mom told me that the house, attached to the store was wired for electricity, but that it was not working during the depression. They used coal oil lamps for light. She remembers doing her homework by the light of coal oil lamps, in the kitchen, beside the wood stove. She remembers travelling to school in the winter by horse and sleigh, and running behind the sleigh to keep warm when the deep cold of winter would seep into their clothes if they sat in the sleigh for very long.

Every memory my Mom shares is a treasure. People who lived through The Great Depression, and through World Wars, know something the rest of us don’t. It isn’t something you can learn from books, or from studying. It is an organic, primal understanding of what humans and human cultures are capable of, an understanding of how chaotic and unreliable the world can be. My generation did not experience World Wars, or a Great Depression, and those of my Children’s and Grandchildren’s generations are even further removed from these human catastrophes than my generation. Canada has not always been the relatively safe cocoon that most of us take for granted.

53 names represent a small community, a community under economic siege; a community with strong integrity and values that are completely invisible when one discusses the larger forces at work, such as the decline of the railroad, the logging industry, or agriculture. We are mistaken if we only look at large infrastructural changes when it comes to human activity. Most of history is unwritten, most of it is lived.

Note: The cartridges did not arrive. The delivery was by CanPar and they sent it to the wrong terminal, the tracking said it was “missort”, who knows when it will get here!

Worldly Distractions


Date: 5:00 PM EDT Wednesday 6 July 2016
Condition: Partly Cloudy
Pressure: 100.9 kPa
Tendency: falling
Visibility: 24 km
Temperature: 24.4°C
Dewpoint: 18.7°C
Humidity: 70%
Wind: SSE 14 km/h
Humidex: 31


“History is the version of past events that people have decided to agree upon.”
Napoleon Bonaparte
1769 – 1821

As an Emperor, I think Napoleon’s use of the word people is a Nosism. I agree with Winston Churchill’s observation that, “history is written by the victors”. I do agree with Napoleon though, that there are versions of history.

Canada Day Weekend

Our Canada Day long weekend was peaceful and rejuvenating. For us, a weekend spent in each other’s company, tucked away from the rest the of the world, watching the birds, the insects, the clouds floating in the sky, and the trees swaying in the breeze, is a perfect way to celebrate that we live in Canada.

On Friday evening Attila hooked Tank up with Iris the Trailer and we headed for the Rideau Camp. It is a lovely drive to the camp, we take back roads that are not heavily travelled, due to the low speed limit. Since we are in no particular hurry the low speed limits suit us just fine.

After we arrived Attila took some time to position the trailer, and it was odd that the battery light in Tank came on during this process, so Attila turned off the interior lights, so that as we were in and out of Tank over the weekend they would not turn on automatically each time the door opened.

We set up the trailer, and a kitchen canopy that we bought almost two decades ago for a camping trip when Terra was a teenager. We seldom get rid of things if they have a practical use. It took us a very long time to need the kitchen tent again. It is in pristine condition, set up very easily, and was placed over the picnic table. It smelled a bit mildewy when Attila set it up, but a day in the strong sun cured that, so that by the end of the weekend the smell had completely disappeared.

The Rideau Camp, all set up for the weekend. Attila’s strimmer does a wonderful job of keeping the weeds short, it almost looks like a lawn! Most of the greenery is white clover, which I planted in the early spring, just after we finished tearing out the hundreds of bramble plants. Attila and I still spend an hour or so on every visit, pulling out short bramble regrowth; eventually it will just give up and be gone, but not this year.
Rideau iris

On Friday afternoon the clouds rolled in, big black clouds, and thunder could be heard in the distance. Eventually the thunder passed us to the north, but the rain poured down. Luckily the kitchen tent protected our kitchen gear, and us, for the duration of the downpour, which didn’t last long. The sun came out again, only to be followed a few ours later by another big black cloud, which poured rain down on us a second time. It still wasn’t enough rain though, to refresh the dry forest. The rest of the weekend was sunny and warm.

On Saturday morning Attila and I went for a walk down to our shared waterfront. It was a disappointing experience. The water level was low, and the wind had washed quite a bit of organic material onto the shoreline, which was rotting and emitted a mildly unpleasant odour. The lake bottom was shallow and there were lots of plants growing, obscuring the sandy bottom. Although this isn’t wonderful for human recreation, it is wonderful for fish, and fish breeding. The dock had been repaired, and a new section added, which provided a nice place to sit at the waterfront. At some point we will take our chairs down to the lake to sit and watch the passing big boats that are travelling the Rideau Canal system. Whoever repaired the dock threw around four or five large plastic barrels, which littered the water and the shore. Obviously no one in particular is caring for this piece of real estate.

As we were walking back towards our camp from the waterfront, a couple with a medium sized black dog were out walking towards the waterfront.

As they approached us on the road the woman called out, “Don’t worry about the dog, he is friendly!”

Immediately the man called out, “Don’t worry I’ve got him on a leash.”

So we didn’t worry. As we drew nearer the dog began to growl, then began to lung and loudly bark at us. The man had tight control of the leash, and the dog was kept under control. In what universe would a dog like that be defined as friendly!

Attila and I chatted about the proliferation of dogs in the area, there seem to be a lot of barking, unfriendly dogs. Attila thinks it is because there are so many monster houses and expensive cottages near us, people keep guard dogs. There are some exceptions though. We have met the neighbours on either side of our property, and their dogs are friendly, very friendly.

However, dogs that are in a pack are extremely dangerous, even the gentlest, most loving pets, as they will revert to predator pack behaviour immediately. I learned this when I was teaching at an outdoor centre and one of our students was attacked by a pack of pet dogs, who came close to killing her, had she not escaped serious injury by climbing a tree. The dogs were all beloved pets, running loose and free in “God’s Country”, as the city people called it. I love dogs, but at the same time I respect who they are.

Our Rideau Camp is surrounded by monster houses (country estates) and waterfront cottages. The people we purchased it from intended to build a large country estate on the property. The couple in the expensive SUV that drove in one weekend to inquire about buying the property intended to build a country estate. The people who had an accepted offer on the property just before we bought it, had lost the deal because they couldn’t get financing to build a large country estate. Other former owners included: a fellow who flew in by float plane from the USA to stay in a “tin shack” on the land during his stay, we have found no evidence of a tin shack; owners who intended to build a cedar stack wall home; owners who installed a well; and owners who built the driveway. We suspect that the property was originally settled as part of a farm, and used as a pasture.

We know about the cedar stack wall home because the cedar logs were stacked on skids, then bulldozed into a huge pile on the property, probably when the driveway was put in. According to one long time resident in the area, nearby neighbours have been helping themselves to the logs for years and years, to use as firewood. We are finding logs embedded in piles of roots and earth, shoved aside when the driveway was built, or so we think. The logs are old, some rotted quite away. Yet when Attila removed some from the huge pile, and split them, we found that beneath a one inch layer of weathered wood lies sound, fresh looking cedar. What a terrible waste!

A front end loader pushed over dozens of smaller trees, and stacked them on the top of the huge pile of cedar logs. Attila spent our long weekend pulling down the dead trees, sectioning them, and piling them near the fire pit. I spent the long weekend burning the wood that Attila piled for me.

Before: The cedar log pile with the dead trees piled high on top. There is a sea of brambles in front of it, which is now white clover.
After: The cedar log pile with the dead trees removed and burned. The pile is still taller than Attila, but not quite as intimidating as it was.
Rideau cedar log pile july

I have decided to see if I can figure out any practical used for the sound cedar logs, it seems such a shame to burn them. But it is unlikely I will discover any good use for them, and it is most likely that I will spend the rest of the summer burning them.

We were able to spend a fair amount of time just sitting in the shade, watching the clouds roll by, and the trees swaying in the wind. We observed a Hawk, a Blue Heron, a Scarlet Tanager, an unidentified tiny bird that flew like a small rocket across the clearing, several Crows, a Robin, and a Blue Jay. We heard Pileated Woodpeckers in the forest, and a Loon on the lake. I thought perhaps it was a bird that sounded like a Loon that we heard, but I have been unable to discover any birds that sound like Loons.

On our walk we observed many wild plants. Wild Daisies, Chicory, Red Clover, Mullein, Giant Hogweed, Wild Parsnip, Birdsfoot Trefoil, Purple Vetch, various grasses, and many plants that I cannot identify.

Comfrey growing by the side of the road, it has many medicinal uses.
Rideau Comfrey
We were amazed at the masses of wild daisies growing along the sides of the road, so very pretty.
Rideau daisy
I am suspicious that the plants with three leaves in the right of the photo are Poison Oak. I haven’t seen Poison Oak before, so I am not sure, but better safe than sorry.
Rideau poison oak

We had a wonderful weekend that was over all too soon. On Sunday morning, after a pancake and pineapple breakfast, we began to pack our gear to return home. Just after lunch Attila hooked Tank to Iris and off we went.

The weather was lovely, sunny with cotton candy clouds floating across the sky. The drive home might have been more enjoyable though, had it not been for the battery warning light, and the falling battery gauge. At first the gauge maintained its position, but when were about 40 km from home it began to fall. By the time we were entering our home town it had fallen drastically and all the warning lights on the dashboard had lit up. It was a tense drive through downtown, and finally, just as we turned off the main road into our neighbourhood, the engine began to falter. We chugged along the road, ever more slowly, until finally we turned the corner of our own street, at which point the engine died completely. We coasted down the street, coming to a stop just in front of our house.

As Tank came to standstill, Attila and I looked at each other and broke into riotous laughter. What are the odds of Tank making it all the way home and dying at just the right point so that we could coast to our own front door!

It was one lucky weekend!

This morning I called the garage, and Tank is in there now for repair. We think it is the alternator, but won’t know for sure until we hear from the mechanic. They kindly drove me home for the day, and we will pick up Tank tomorrow, when Attila after gets home from work.

So today started out busy, then it played out very quietly. They drove me home, it isn’t far. I have busied myself with laundry, sorting through the camping gear, paying bills and figuring out where to get the money to pay for Tank’s repair bill. It is all working out, with a little effort.

Worldly Distractions


Date: 11:00 AM EDT Monday 4 July 2016
Condition: Partly Cloudy
Pressure: 101.7 kPa
Tendency: falling
Visibility: 24 km
Temperature: 21.3°C
Dewpoint: 17.4°C
Humidity: 78%
Wind: S 19 km/h
Humidex: 29


“Age is opportunity no less
Than youth itself, though in another dress,
And as the evening twilight fades away
The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day.”
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
1807 – 1882

Aging seems significantly different to me now than it did before I was middle aged. Until that first pinch of agism entered my universe, I thought very little about aging, and perceived it as feeling similar to youth, and just appearing outwardly more worn. In reality, looking different is the least of possible disadvantages of getting older. Since middle age I have known being older is not at all like being young, physically, mentally, or spiritually. Age added much more than it took away. It made me invisible, but only to the superficial and the shallow. It took some of my health, but gave me respect for my body as the vessel of my journey. It took away loved ones, which taught me to value every minute spent with those who remain. I like being old, and I hope to do it for a very long time.