November 2024

November 2024

The Ukraine/Russia war drags on; Israel continues to “defend itself” against its enemies; floods, tornadoes and fires are taking lives and destroying homes; postal and dock workers are striking; inflation is hitting everyone hard; and, to top it off, the disgruntled voters in the US have elected a wild card. The world is a mess and we can’t do a thing about it. But here in central Alberta things are looking good! The first skiff of snow lies on our wee lake, the winter prep work was done in time, and the only canning job left is the tomato crop in the freezer. I’m counting my blessings.

I walk my dogs each morning down our driveway and back. It gives me about a half mile of exercise and energizes me to tackle whatever projects I have planned for the day. There’s a tiny gnome home on the way where I always pause to see if I’ll get a chance to wave at one of the little fellows, but they are terribly shy and I’ve yet to spot one. Maybe some day. 

It’s November, past Remembrance Day, and my mind is travelling to Christmas. For a few years I’ve gotten into making Christmas decorations for my family and friends. This year I hit on a project that uses all my old saved Christmas cards. This decoration requires 20 two inch circles per ornament. So far, using a scissors and a tomato paste can for a template I managed to cut 100 circles, but I need 400! If I had nothing else to do, if my fingers weren’t cramping up and my eyes weren’t getting blurry I might have continued on this way…but… I gave up and went to Michaels to buy a 2” circle cutter. Wow, what a difference a tool can make! I might manage to finish these on time. Then I can move on to making caramel popcorn and cookies. I’m even considering putting up a tree this year, haven’t done that for awhile.

So I’ll say Merry Christmas to all my readers and all the best in 2025. Gotta get a move on, things to do, Christmas is in the air.

Hawk Eyes

I laid on the gurney, all but my left eye covered. The surgeon and his assistants were chattering away while some not so great rock music played in the background. As instructed I was attempting to follow the lights with my eye but the lights seemed to be jumping all over the place. “Got it!” I heard the surgeon say (with what to me seemed like a sigh of relief) as he slotted my new lens in place. “That was a pretty heavy cataract,” he said. “You’re going to be amazed.” And I was.

The day after cataract surgery on my left eye I peered through my left eye at the tree line surrounding our house. “Holy cow,” I said, “can I ever see good!” The leaves on the Aspen trees were uncannily clear, dancing with the breeze against a deep blue sky. Wow, I hadn’t expected that! I knew cataract surgery would lift the fog from my eyes but was surprised to find  that it also corrected my vision. 

I’m not good at dropping foreign liquids into my eyes, but I faithfully followed my 4 times daily, 3 different types of eye drops routine, a routine that goes on for several weeks before and after surgery. Before I knew it week one was over and I was back at hospital getting my right eye done. But no startling clarity of vision greeted me this time. Instead I gazed through a greyish fog. “No worries,” the post-op doctor said with assurance, “all looks good. It’s likely just a bit of swelling causing the blurred vision.” And he was right. 

As is standard procedure, two weeks after the second eye surgery I went to see my usual eye doctor for a check up. By that point I was somewhat  preoccupied with how my eyes felt. The left eye especially seemed like it had something in it, a sort of heavy feeling in the corner, and my distance vision kept changing. The surgeon told me I could use a good quality eye drop as often as I wanted to, but my regular eye doctor changed instructions for the left eye and told me to continue using one of the prescription eye drops for 3 extra weeks. The drops were uncomfortable, stung. Both eyes felt dry and scratchy, like there were wee cat hairs irritating them. My balance was off. I woke up one morning with left eye tears flowing for over an hour.

It’s weird having your eyes abruptly changed. My old glasses are completely useless. I can see clearly at a distance but need reading glasses to see close up. My iPad screen looks sort of concave (I think the reading glasses cause that). I keep checking the vision of one eye against the other. Was my left eye always larger than the right? Those white dots in the centre, were they always that bright? One evening a friend looked across the table and commented that my eyes looked different, brighter somehow, he said. We joked about alien implants, spy camera installations.

Finally, at seven weeks I went to my optometrist for my final checkup. All is well now, although I do need to use fake tears now and then, and I understand why there is a seven week wait for that checkup. I can now drive without glasses but I ordered new glasses anyhow. They will have nearly clear glass on the top graduating down to reading glasses on the bottom so I can wear them all the time if I want. I most likely will as I’m used to wearing glasses, have worn them for over 50 years, and I never seem to have my reading glasses handy when I need them.

We’re ready for winter, only ripening tomatoes left to process. Thanksgiving has come and gone and, along with so many other blessings, I have hawk eyes to be thankful for. It can’t get much better than that.

North of 54

mltipton.blogspot.com, 

https://www.facebook.com/Northof543/, 

October 15, 2024

Erasing Gender in the English Language

Erasing Gender in the English Language 

When I went to high school, admittedly this was a very long time ago, the nuns who taught us pounded English grammar into our heads. We used to “decline” sentences with a diagram describing every word and its proper use (adjective, pronoun, noun, verb, different tenses, etc.). Even though I am now quite capable of bastardizing English when I speak (and cannot help but be aware that I am doing so) these English lessons stuck with me and I still try my best to follow the rules when I write.

The English language, they say, is a difficult language to learn, so many exceptions to the rules, especially in spelling. But I was immersed into it from birth so its idiosyncrasies don’t confuse me too much. Didn’t confuse me I should say - until now.

The 21st century has entered the stage. We now have a problem with gender pronouns. In order to avoid offending people who don’t identify with their physical gender the pronouns “he” and “she” are being substituted with the word “they”. At least I think that is what’s going on. This is grammatically confusing. “They is not pleased with the arrangements we made” is a sentence that I find jarringly wrong. “They” is plural, not singular. It should be “they are” not “they is”. I pity the teachers and journalists who have to cope with this craziness. Why didn’t they just invent new neutral pronouns for genderless or gender confused or gender transitional people, or all people? Maybe ze instead of he or she. Then the above sentence would read “Ze is not pleased with the arrangements we made”. 

I guess this rant was spurred on when I found out the media is now calling pregnant women pregnant persons. Give me a break!

I do not wish to negate the problems facing those who are not comfortable with the gender they were born with. Gender issues are important, especially to the LGBTQ+ minority, their families and friends. But it seems to me that our government, if government is indeed responsible for imposing these changes on the media (workplace, schools?), may be employing diversionary tactics. If they concentrate on minority issues we may think they are actually doing something. In the meantime they fail to address issues which concern all taxpayers - issues such as crumbling or non-existent infrastructure, housing, health care, food and water security, nuclear war, genocide, etc. Our Prime Minister… Ze is having a tough time proving ze is relevant to the majority of Canadian people.

Rhubarb Juice

June 20, 2024 - summer solstice - the day calendar summer begins.

It has been a cold spring. Until today my winter blanket was still on the bed, the heater in the living room continued to kick on occasionally and some mornings we still started a fire in the kitchen wood stove. Most of my garden seeds germinated then went into a waiting phase, putting their energy into staying alive rather than growing. We even had a light frost a couple of days ago! But I cautiously think summer weather may be here to stay, at least until that August frost that sneaks up on us just when we’ve let our guard down.

A cold spring though doesn’t fizz on some hardy plants. Once well established you can always count on a crop or two of rhubarb. My two plants were huge so I decided to pick and chop all the larger stalks to make juice, leaving the young and tender ones for rhubarb preserves, cakes, pies, bars, strawberry/rhubarb jam - whatever I get up the energy to make.  This picking yielded about 10 gallons of chopped rhubarb.

I tried a slightly different method of processing this time. 

1. Chop - this I do sitting on a chair in the garden with a giant bowl on the ground and a sharp butcher knife. Pick, whack off the leaves, and slice slice slice, running the knife lengthwise on the large stalks to make smaller chunks.
2. Take the leaves to the compost.
3. Wash and freeze the diced rhubarb to break down the fibres.
4. Thaw, adding about a quart of sugar per 5 gallons to help draw out the juice
5. Wait a day.
6. Steam the rhubarb in smaller lots in a juicer/steamer. Add 1/2 cup of sugar per litre to the resultant juice and heat to thoroughly dissolve.
7. Wash an estimated number of quart jars.
8. Take the depleted mushy rhubarb that’s left to the compost.
9. Process juice* in a pressure canner, 5 lbs, 5 minutes.  
10. Remove jars from canner, set on a rack and cover with a tea towel while they cool.
11. Clean up pots, juicer, canner, spoons, ladle, funnel, etc.
12. Check the jars for seal, wipe the outside with a damp cloth, write the year on the lids and store.

I’ve been doing this for days and still have more to go. But the juice is worth the effort. Each quart is a concentrate. When we want to drink some I add 2 to 4 cups of water to the contents of each jar (decided by a taste test). The juice can also be used as a concentrate to make wine but, since rhubarb wine is not one of my favourites, I’m thinking of trying a hard cider for the first time. I recently tried a commercially produced rhubarb cider and it was both delicious and refreshing, with the added benefit of being sweeter and having less alcohol than wine. If my rhubarb cider turns out good and we get lots of crab apples this year I might make apple cider too. The apple juice I make with a press, a fun process.

*If I don’t have enough jars of juice to completely fill my canner I make “spacers” using jars of water with old lids. These spacers ensure my jars won’t topple over during processing. I use some vinegar with the water in my spacer jars and in my canner because I have hard water which will coat the jars inside and out with calcium/lime scale - not pretty or fun to clean. I recently purchased a bag of food grade citric acid. I’m thinking of using this instead of vinegar to control the calcium/lime scaling. It works good to clean my tea kettle and my stainless steel sink. The biggest problem I have with it is determining the proportion of water to citric acid powder when using as a cleaner/descaler. I can’t seem to find any formula for this and would appreciate feedback if anyone can help.

mltipton.blogspot.com, 

https://www.facebook.com/Northof543/, 

June 20, 2024

The Longview Steakhouse

The Longview Steakhouse, located just north of the little town of Longview on Highway 22 in southern Alberta, has become, since its humble beginnings, a destination so popular that it’s entire 2024 season is already booked. It is a family run restaurant which started in a crowded little space in Longview made special by excellent chefs, mouthwatering sauces, delicious meals presented beautifully, and friendly top quality service. Over the years their reputation grew, more and more people recognized just how special it was, making the decision to build a new place almost inevitable.

My son and his family live in the south and over the years they have become friends with the steakhouse owners and are treated like family when they go there.  We dined at the original steakhouse several times in the past but this time, on my son’s 50th birthday, we went to their new location. Wow! Added to fabulous food and service is now an incredible view of the foothills and Rocky Mountains. It was a great way to celebrate a half century of life.

Great Aunt Sophie’s Fancy Dishes

Great Aunt Sophie’s Fancy Dishes

Easter came along with a hint of Spring, snow almost gone, a warmish breeze, and sunshine - in other words a perfect Easter Sunday! This year we decided to celebrate Easter with roast turkey, stuffing and pie, all served to a few guests with as much flair as I could muster. Thanks to Great Aunt Sophie I have a set of fancy dishes and can set a festive table. Also, as is our tradition, we helped the Easter bunny out by stocking up on candy. We like to have candy on hand for both Easter and Halloween, in case a child should happen to come our way, but our motive is suspect in this respect. In the end, we always eat the candy ourselves.

I never knew my Mom’s aunt Sophie but somehow, through my Mom and then my sister, her lovely company dishes ended up in my possession, along with matching flatware from my mom. People tell me they could be valuable (old, intact, French) and occasionally, when I’m in one of those downsizing modes, I think I should sell them on Kijiji. But then I think no, they came to me from family members who have passed on so I should use them in their memory. That’s how I’ve always felt about the physical reminders that I have inherited. Every time I look at a painting of my Dad’s or my sister’s, a vase or a crocheted blanket of my mom’s, grandma’s treadle sewing machine, that old clock that used to chime, I’m reminded of people who once were a part of my life, and it’s always good to remember those we have loved. Slowly time takes a toll - things break, stop working, go out of fashion (thinking here of my mom-n-law’s fur stole, with little critter heads, beady eyes and paws). Memories fade, and then one day everything remaining is passed on once again. 

We have no control over what happens to all our stuff after we’re gone. Sure we can make a list of who gets what, but from there it’s up to recipients to treasure, recycle or trash. Stories live on, memories pop up, time marches on. Who knows, maybe some day a great great grandchild of ours will be using something that once belonged to us. “Oh,” she’ll say, “this once belonged to my great great grandparents. I never met them but I’ve heard lots of stories. They lived in the bush in the middle of Alberta way back in the 1900’s. Granddad tells me their old log cabin is still standing.”

mltipton.blogspot.com, 

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April 7, 2024

Sticks

                                                   STICKS

The snow is gone and what’s hidden beneath is revealed - a winter’s worth of dog poop! So today I headed out with bucket and my handy pooper scooper to eliminate an amazing number of unsightly blobs. I collected almost a full 5 gallons and this did not include that which is still frozen down! Thank heavens for my scooper, basically a stick with retractable jaws.

I got to thinking about sticks and how important they are as a tool in themselves or part of a tool. Sticks are useful just as nature made them. You can stir a fire, roast a marshmallow, play toss with your dog, tie a leaning tomato plant, whatever comes to mind. Shape a stick or add a tool or a point and it becomes a handle with endless possibilities - brooms and mops, axes, cant hooks, splitting mauls, snow rakes, garden tools, back scratchers, violin bows, billy clubs, arrows…

These days you often see me with a stick, a cane that is, an invaluable 3rd leg that eases joint pain and aides balance, or trekking poles with pointy bottoms for walking on uneven ground and ice. We also have a collection of walking sticks called shepherd’s crooks. They are invaluable for catching sheep but the fancier ones, with curved handles made from ram’s horn, are mainly for show. They’re used on market day in the British Isles and by dog handlers at sheep dog trials. 

One of my favourite stick tools, inherited from my mom-in-law, is called a dressing stick. It’s supposed to be an aid for dressing but I’ve repurposed it as a grabber. Being vertically challenged (short) I use it to push or pull stuff I can’t reach up high or in the backs of cupboards and to open and close sliding windows out of my reach. Before this stick entered my life I crawled around, used a ladder or hollered for help. Why ask for help if you have a handy stick?

This morning we got a call back to winter, not quite enough snow to require the use of a stick with a snow shovel attached, but we’ll take any moisture that comes our way as fire season approaches. Rain, of course, is preferable. Happy Spring!

mltipton.blogspot.com, 

https://www.facebook.com/Northof543/, 

March 20, 2024

Happy Murders

Happy Murders

Years ago, when my mom-in-law was staying with us, we had a big chuckle one night when she asked us to find a happy murder on TV. “A happy murder!” we exclaimed. “What in the world is that?” After some discussion we determined that she liked the older murder mysteries like Murder She Wrote. No blood and gore, just a dead body and a murderer to be found, and you don’t know who did it till the end when the detectives solve the case. So now, when we are looking for a movie or a series, we joke about finding a happy murder to watch. These days they are hard to find.

I’ve blogged before about current films that feature questionable heroes, graphic bloody scenes, explicit sex, endless destruction of infrastructure and human casualties (See blog March 19, 2021, Hollywood Script) - all played out in a world of excess wealth. In many of today’s films it seems violence is king and special effects have become far more important than a good story line.

There is a tendency to embrace the ugly side of humanity in all media these days. Even music has some pretty rough edges. (Happy) Murder ballads, where the murderer usually gets hanged, have been replaced by screaming profanity and hate speech. Video games have come a long way since PacMan. They are very realistic, the enemy’s destruction by whatever means being the goal, with our own avatar inserted directly into the drama. Our news programs are no exception either, shocking us with school killings, hate crimes, domestic violence, war…  

Nearly everyone seems to question the effect media is having on people. Today’s media has a double edged sword. Most certainly there are many good aspects - some excellent movies, investigative journalism, information at our fingertips. On the downside though, there’s a constant, negative, desensitizing, media storm bombarding us from all directions on a daily basis. This can’t be good for our mental health.

Maybe it’s time to pay more attention, make better choices, for ourselves and especially for our children. People tend to perceive what they see or hear as truer when they see or hear it repeatedly. This is known as the illusory truth effect, and it helps explain why advertisements and propaganda work, why people believe fake news to be true, why some confuse fiction with reality, even why folks begin to believe some people’s crazier not so accurate tales. If we repeatedly soak up violent media, will we begin to see violence as normal, acceptable? Or does media reflect who we already are? Which came first, the chicken or the egg? 

Note: My mind jumped all over the place while attempting to narrow the scope of this blog. I realized that this topic is broad enough to warrant the writing of a thesis, or maybe the commissioning of one of those endless studies our government likes to pour taxpayers money into. One sentence, like the previous one, can open up a giant can of worms to ponder over.

mltipton.blogspot.com, 

https://www.facebook.com/Northof543/, 

February 18, 2024

What Is It About January?

What Is It About January?

A song popped into my head yesterday and I asked my husband - “Do you remember Huddleberg Picnic? We used to do it years ago.” 

“Sure,” he said and attempted but failed to remember the chords on his banjo. I remembered the first verse and the chorus and went blank after that. Goes something like this…

I went down to the Huddleberg picnic

Dinner all over the ground.

Skitters in the meat was nine foot deep 

With green flies dancing all around.

Biscuits and grits was a-bakin’

Beef steak fryin’ in the pan.

Pretty girl sittin’ in the parlour, lord,

Got mighty hot where I stand!

Whoa mule I tell ya, whoa mule I say.

 I ain’t got time to kiss you now that mule is runnin’ away.

Well, we tried to remember it for awhile then we tried the vast library of Google. Found no song using Huddleberg Picnic as the key word and a few songs called Whoa Mule with the same chorus but the verses were all wrong. “Okay,” I said, “I’ll see if I can find it in one of our song books upstairs.”

My husband and I have been picking and singing old tyme music for over 50 years. We have binders and folders full of songs taking up a lot of space on our bookshelf. Some we know, some we used to know, some we thought about learning, some are alphabetized, some are just piled in stacks. I dragged a bunch downstairs but had no luck finding Huddleberg Picnic. So I decided to go through all the song books, throw away duplicates, alphabetize the rest, get organized. And I did eventually find the song, filed under K for Kicking Mule. Kicking Mule! And, of course, with the right key word I found a Kicking Mule on Google too, with some but not all of the same verses. (Animal folk songs for children, Mike Seeger.)

Ah, project started, may as well continue on. What is it about January? A new year, a new start? All the Christmas stuff that moves in and must find a place to rest? January seems to draw me into sorting through stuff, getting rid of stuff, asking myself if I really need this or that? I reorganized my entire closet, sent clothes and shoes to the thrift shop, bought a closet organizer. My husband, on the other hand, could not bring himself to get rid of anything. Thirty or more years of storage doesn’t mean he might not use it someday. Hmmm, speaking of mules.

Sometimes I think about my son and the daunting task he’ll have digging through the contents of this farm when we pass on. I don’t think he has the patience, would probably heave everything into the landfill. Auctions take a lot of organizational time. But there’s good stuff here, good no longer used stuff. Why, for example, do we have a set of heavy horse harness when it’s been many many years since we worked with horses? Why camping gear when we don’t camp? Oh well there’s always another January until there isn’t, and then, sorry son, I won’t care. 

mltipton.blogspot.com, 

https://www.facebook.com/Northof543/, 

January 3, 2024

🎼🎶🎵