The Sky is Gray

The sky is gray, with tinges of smokey black and off-white. Wind gusts, bending bendable plants nearly to the ground, spraying falling leaves like missles released from fighter jets. Rain comes in splatters and squalls, slinging cold, wet needles of water everywhere.

I am at my sister's place in the pretty town of St. Marys. She is away on volunteer duties, with a paid staff member. The house hums with life support to run the heat, humidifer, refridgerator, stove clock....all things that operate via electricity, which is pumped without interruption into each and every home.

Earlier we walked to the Community Center to swim in a bromide salt pool to the tune of $4.75 a pop. How do people with less disposable income access these facilities? Apparently they can go to whomever is in charge of such things, cap in hand, to say they want to have their children/family/themselves enrolled in an aquatics program. Imagine, if you will, just what it would be like to have to beg to swim in the local pool ~ the pool that your taxes help to maintain. Yes, you have a job. Yes, you pay rent. Yes, you can cloth and feed your family. But. There is little left over for outside activities. Like swimming.

The sky is gray, as is the day and my thoughts, as they turn to the many people who scud across the vast sky of indifference to those who struggle, daily, to make ends meet.

Thursday Farmer's Market

Yup, I am selling freshly harvested mixed salad greens, grown by a local farmer, as well as cherries I picked myself from a colourful character who has offered (for the first time) a 'Pick-Your-Own' option in his orchard. It is lovely to wander through these well pruned trees in the middle of the day and fill a few flats with tree ripened cherries. I sold five pounds to friends and bagged the rest in one pound lots to offer to patrons of the newly formed Thursday Farmer's Market in the small community of Cobble Hill. I sold out today! All the cherries and the eight bags of salad greens were gone by the end of the afternoon.

I make a little profit, but mostly turn the money back to the grower, where it rightly belongs. The women and men farmers who are earnest and hardworking deserve the monetary reward. For myself, I enjoy the interaction with the people who arrive to purchase locally grown organic produce.

If you are fortunate enough to have such a market in your area, I hope you will take the time to support the efforts of those who grow excellent food, as they are doing their bit in offering a healthy, environmentally alternative to the mass marketing you find in grocery stores.

Gifts

I gave away an earring set to a woman I picked up as she was walking in the rain, hitching a ride. The earrings looked better on the stranger in my vehicle, so I gave them to her. My Friend-of-Many-Years made the ear jewelry especially for me. As I divulged the story, she seemed a little surprised but not upset. She then said she would make me another pair but that I must keep them.

After dropping the hitchhiker off, I began to 'analyze' what just occurred. When I give a gift, I freely let it go. It now belongs to another, for them to do with as they wish. Long ago, when my sons were small and others gave them a gift, I let them enjoy it. The toys often ended up lost, broken, given away, traded or forgotten, although sometimes cherished. A few of the people who gave the gift would be miffed that "their gift' was no longer around and wondered why I hadn't done something about it. My answer was always that it belonged to them and that they would be responsible for looking after it~or not.

For me, to cling to stuff as important because someone else gifted it to me, becomes a burden, one I am unwilling to carry. Too much of my own stuff drowns me and I lose perspective on what my life is truly about. So, if you plan to give me a gift, be prepared for me gifting it to another ~ who may want it more than I.

Moving Mother

I get a call from my nearly 83 year old mother: her long awaited move to an Assisted Living Village has been confirmed.

Would I please come over and help make the move? Yes, mother, I will.

I travel from my little abode on Vancouver Island to the mainland via ferry. This trip takes a minimum of four hours - one way. Mother is there to pick me up at the terminal; hands me the keys to her tiny car; slowly settles herself in the passenger seat and begins to issue directives........which do not stop for nine l-o-n-g days.

I organize: find movers; pack boxes; move small items; keep us (and the resident cat) fed; remind her that all services must be notified; acquire address change cards from the post office; keep track of three sets of keys; help set up the new place and clean the old one, all the while trying to maintain my sanity.

I will not go into more detail, suffice it to say that we have spent better times together.

Returning home, I fall into bed and sleep for two days.

Upon resuming my life, the first thing I do is to amass a pile of my own unused stuff to give away. Secondly, I vow to steadily decrease my already meager material things till everything I own will fit into the back of one pick-up truck. Most importantly, I contact friends to talk with, hoping to acquire a better personal perspective.

The event is as stressful, if not more so, as any other major changes we encounter during our lifetime. And maybe worse, knowing that my mother is preparing to die.

Raw Foodie, eh?

So ya may (or may not) wanna know about my eating habits lately... I'm right into a RAW VEGAN DIET which began in July 2009, moving along from vegan to raw vegan. Not such a leap as I thought, initially. The recipes took some getting used to. I shopped at Church Bazaars, garage sales and second hand stores to find 'new' appliances needed in my kitchen. At first, I was gritting my teeth with worry about 'getting it right' in meeting all my nutritional requirements but have found that raw vegan is not much different from vegan, in that regard.

The benefits from this diet are many. I've lost the craving for sweets; have stopped looking for snacks to eat in the evenings; notice an increase in mental clarity; am far less tired during the day; the bloating I was suffering from has disappeared; there has been a slow but steady weight loss and an overall feeling of delightful well-being.

However, I am not eating everything raw. I indulge in the occasional baked potato/yam or I may steam some broccoli. The raw foodies would say I was about '97% raw' (now THAT sounds a little weird!)

I'm saving a wee bit of money, too: on the hydro bill, as the electric stove-top isn't used as often and there are fewer dishes to wash up. Also, the overall grocery bill is lower, as I'm definitely eating less.

Someone asked me if I feel the cold more because none of the food is heated. No, actually, I don't and some of the food IS warmed up. I use a dehydrator when called for and the entrees I make are often warm at time of serving. Like a dish called Canadian Neatsticks... yummy!

I admit this style of eating is not for everyone, but I'm pleased to say it is working for me.

Appaling Deaths

I was in my favorite second hand store yesterday when an Acquaintance called me over to ask if I knew the location of a local farm. I didn't know, as they were looking for a farm that raised cows for human consumption and I have little interest in such fare.

A small discussion ensued where it was noted that Acquaintance wanted this particular farm mainly because the animals were gently reared, grass fed, and slaughtered humanely.

I am dumbstruck that Acquaintance and others all think this is a better life for the animals raised! Yes, said cow isn't being pumped full of antibiotics, hormones or other man-made horrors. Yes, said cow is free to range on grassy lands. Yes, said cow is treated and tended with care by the farmers. Yes, the cows will be labeled 'organic' and are touted as to be best for the health of the human consuming it. All good things for the eater and I suppose it helps them to rationalize the killing of another sentient being.

What about the COW? The beast knows nothing. Bovine don't know that their life will end for your dining pleasure. They're unaware that the caring farmer will one day decide it is time for them to meet their premature demise. They don't even know the farmer is caring! Does death comes to the cow with a bullet to the head; a sharp knife to severe the aorta; a hammer blow to the skull; a nasty form of staple gun or some kind of deadly injection? WHATEVER is used, the cow dies. It's life is over.

I think if you really had compassion for these and other 'food animals' you would seriously consider living a meat free life. Your body will thank you, the environment will thank you, the economy will thank you and the cow won't have to endure premeditated end-of-life terror.