Remember last year when my back was messed up and I couldn’t walk without excruciating pain, so I lay on the couch for months eating Smarties? Well, perhaps not surprisingly, I gained a few pounds (okay, 10). In the past whenever I gained a few pounds, I would shed them again without much effort. My body seemed to gravitate towards its preferred weight. I was lucky that way.
But I’m starting to think I might have outgrown that tendency. Now my body seems to want to cling to any extra calories that come its way. I’ve been wrestling with the same pound for months now. I lose it, I gain it back, I lose it again, I gain it back again. Over and over.
Anyway. I know I need to eat less and exercise more. I do go for a good walk every day, but it’s not enough.
Which brings us to our poll question: If you were me, would you buy a bike, or join a gym? (If you’re reading this from a feed reader or email, you’ll need to click over to knitnut.net to vote.)
We found the mouse yesterday afternoon. He was in the toe of GC’s slipper. He was alive and showed no obvious signs of trauma other than, well, looking traumatized. Poor wee thing.
We put him – slipper and all – out on the front porch. GC said he could keep the slipper since he’s never wearing it again.
After a few minutes he crept out of the slipper and wandered about the porch, looking a bit dazed and confused.
I figured he probably hadn’t eaten since Sunday, when he and Duncan started playing cat-and-mouse, so we offered him slivered almonds, lettuce and rye bread. He picked up a bit of bread in his tiny little paws and nibbled it very delicately.
After a few minutes he seemed to be feeling better and he scampered down the front steps and into the garden.
All this time I suspected Duncan was a bit lazy, but it turns out he just had nothing to do. That’s why he slept twenty hours a day.
But it turns out he’s actually a workaholic. The last few days he has been working round the clock.
On Sunday he chased a mouse behind a bookcase. Then he stared at that bookcase for a day and a half.
GC was impressed.
“If I ever need anything watched, I’m hiring Duncan,” he said.
Then, yesterday afternoon, I was sitting on the couch when Duncan abandoned his post at the bookcase and came over to the couch. He started making chattering noises. I joined him on the floor, and peered under the couch with him. Sure enough, the mouse was there.
I lost interest after a minute or two, but Duncan stayed there for hours, watching.
After dinner he switched his attention to the closet, where he finally managed to flush out the mouse.
He trapped it in the rolling mechanism of the lawn mower. (You might be wondering why I have a lawn mower in my living room. I bought it yesterday, assembled it, and mowed the lawn, but there were some wobbly bits which GC was going to tighten up for me.) Anyway, Duncan kept poking his paw between the blades to touch the mouse, and I was worried that either Duncan or the mouse might cut themselves. So GC moved the lawnmower and that’s when the mouse made a break for it and hid in GC’s shoe. Duncan wasn’t sure where the mouse had gone, but he found him again when he emerged from the shoe.
With the cat in hot pursuit, the mouse ran towards the couch and scrambled over my foot. I squealed like a little girl, even though I’m not actually afraid of mice.
GC and I went to the community garden to build our square foot gardening box. (It’s so beautiful.)
When we got back, Duncan was strategically positioned between the hall closet and the couch.
For the third night in a row, he didn’t come to bed with us. Each night he has woken me up at some point during the night for a quick visit with lots of meowing and some compressed affection, and then he has returned to his hunting duties.
Last night, at 3:00 am, he finally curled up and went to sleep with me. This made me very happy, because I missed sleeping with him, and also because I was worried about the long term effects of sleep deprivation on him. Today he’s sleeping on the back of the couch, which is his usual daytime sleeping spot.
I don’t know where the mouse is, but if I were him I’d be in the basement packing my things.
I bought five plants for the garden but brought them inside because we were expecting frost last night. Duncan wanted them. I made it abundantly clear that he was to leave them alone. I moved them from the floor to the coffee table when he wouldn’t leave them alone. He knows he’s not allowed on the coffee table.
A few hours later, I went to take a shower. Usually he hangs out in the bathroom with me when I take a shower. He likes to sit on the edge of the bathtub and watch. This time he didn’t. While I was in the shower, he was downstairs savaging those poor innocent plants. Not only did he knock them over, dig them up, and eat them, but he did so on my laptop, as evidenced by the pile of dirt on my keyboard.
For the first time since Duncan came into my life, I told him he was a bad cat.
Here is one of the fundamental differences between a cat and a dog. When you scold a dog he will hang his head and look guilty. When you scold a cat he will roll his eyes and say “Whatever.” Cats are the teenagers of the animal world.
GC and I went out last night, and we put the bedraggled plants on the back porch so that Duncan couldn’t get them again. We meant to bring them back in when we got home, but we forgot. We were all tucked into bed when GC remembered the plants. The three of us trundled downstairs to save the plants from the frost. We put them in the art studio with the door closed to save them from Duncan. Then we went back to bed.
But only two of us went back to bed. Duncan was missing.
Duncan has a lot of nicknames. We call him The Gargoyle, because he likes to perch on top of us in bed and stare down at us like a gargoyle. We also call him The Little Japanese Girl, because he likes to walk on our backs when we sleep on our stomachs.
“Where’s the Little Japanese Girl?” I asked.
“I think he stayed downstairs,” said GC. “He might be in the basement, hunting mice.”
Then GC fell asleep.
Me, I don’t fall asleep easily without Duncan. We sleep cuddled together with his arm wrapped around me and mine wrapped around him, and his face tucked under my chin.
I lay there, waiting for him. A couple of times I thought I heard him coming, but I was wrong.
And then I heard him playing. He was running around the living room. It occurred to me that maybe he’d caught himself a mouse and brought it up from the basement. Which, as it turned out, was exactly right.
I went downstairs and he was in full alert mode, crouched by a bookcase and trying to keep an eye on both sides of it, because his mouse was behind it.
I went back to bed, resigned to sleeping without Duncan.
I told GC – who has never had a cat – that if Duncan ever catches a mouse and brings it to him, he should treat it with great reverence, because it’s the ultimate gift.
“You have to praise Duncan extensively and tell him what a good hunter he is,” I said.
“Okay,” mumbled GC.
“You have to admire the mouse and tell Duncan how big and ferocious it looks.”
“Okay,” mumbled GC.
“And then you have to eat it,” I said.
Duncan didn’t join us until dawn, and then it was just a quick visit to tell us about his adventures and get a quick head rub. Then he hopped back down and returned to his post at the bookcase, where he has remained ever since. Poor guy hasn’t slept in at least twelve hours.
Remember Phoebe the hummingbird with the webcam? Well, after an extended run of bad maternal luck, including lizard attacks on her nest, non-viable eggs, and eggs eaten by crows, she celebrated Mother’s Day with the hatching of her daughter, Hope. Hope is the size of a thumbnail. There’s still one egg left to hatch. You can see Phoebe, Hope and the hatching egg here.
I didn’t get to see the hatching because I was at the Rare and Exotic Plant Sale at the Experimental Farm. It was bloody cold out there, and windy too. I wore my winter jacket and a hat, which seemed strange after already being in shorts and sandals for weeks.
I bought five plants: Sempervivum arachnoideum Rubrum, Dianthus ‘Blue Hill’, Heuchera, Solomon’s Seal, and a mystery plant.
Duncan is *very* interested in the new plants. Very interested. He just wants a little nibble, and he tries to creep up on them when he thinks I’m not looking. But I’m ALWAYS looking.
It was one year ago today that I was diagnosed with breast cancer. It seems like WAY longer than a year ago. And it still feels a little surreal, even after the fact.
When the nurse called and told me my doctor wanted to see me, I knew. They don’t make an appointment just to tell you your biopsy was negative and you don’t have cancer. I knew.
XUP and I had been batting emails back and forth, and she phoned right after the nurse called. I burst into tears and XUP said all the right things. GC came over and took me to the doctor’s appointment. I think we all knew.
When my doctor delivered the news, I was very calm – numb, even – because I already knew.
A couple of hours later, when I was alone, I googled ‘infiltrating ductal carcinoma.’ All my numbness shattered when I read this:
“Invasive Ductal Carcinoma (IDC) … starts developing in the milk ducts of your breast, but breaks out of the duct tubes, and invades, or infiltrates, surrounding tissues. … IDC is not a well-contained cancer. IDC has the potential to invade your lymph and blood systems, spreading cancer cells to other parts of your body. If IDC spreads beyond its original site, we say it has metastasized.”
I literally backed away from my computer with my knuckles in my mouth. I heard the sound of fear coming out of me. I was petrified.
I remember a lot of fear in those first couple of months, as I went through all the tests and waited to find out how bad it was and if it had spread.
But I also remember how much love and support and kindness I received from so many people, and how much it meant to me.
I remember sitting at my computer in the middle of the night, a year ago tonight, unable to sleep, reading the comments to this post. I felt the fear subside. I felt profoundly comforted.
It’s a hard thing to describe. It wasn’t that I necessarily believed I would survive. But I felt that even if I were to die, my life was well-lived and complete, because so many good people cared whether I lived or died.
It didn’t end the fear forever, but it was very comforting to feel that way in the middle of that first very dark night. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. Thank you.
Remember I said I’d lost my community garden plot because I missed a key gardening meeting, and the notice said in big bold type that anybody who didn’t attend or send regrets would forfeit their plot?
After three weeks of feeling bad and procrastinating about it, I finally picked up the phone yesterday and called the volunteer in charge of the garden.
“I know I missed that important meeting,” I said, “But I’m wondering if there’s any way I can redeem myself and get my garden plot back.”
She seemed a little mystified.
“You still have your plot,” she said. “It’s still registered to you.”
“But the notice said…” I said.
“Well yes, we do want people to attend the meeting,” she said, “But we would never actually take your plot away from you.”
I was so happy!
Late yesterday afternoon, GC and I headed over to the plot and spent an hour digging up grass and dandelions, and admiring the things that had sprouted back to life (raspberries, strawberries, lemon mint and chives). Our neighbour in the next plot gave us a few red Asian lettuce perennials, so we planted those too.
It was the most exercise I’d had in ages, if you don’t count walking. My back was killing me, but in a good way, sort of.
Last year we bought the Square Foot Gardening book, so we’re going to try that method this year. We’ll have a 4×4 box in the middle of the plot, surrounded by a walkway, with perennials around the edges.
Bleeding Heart
I also spent some time yesterday weeding my front garden – the Garden of Hope. I’ve got all kinds of surprises coming up there! (Bonnie – I think the Jack in the Pulpit came up – is it a single furled shoot-type thing?)
After all that gardening, we went to GC’s house and he made us blueberry pancakes for dinner and we watched a movie about Leonard Cohen. It was a really good day.
For years and years, yahoo.ca has been my Internet home page. I chose it initially because my yahoo mail was easily accessible from there, and because it had a list of headline news stories. I liked being able to see at a glance if there was anything going on in the world that I should know about. I wasn’t looking for indepth analysis of current events from my home page, just relevant headlines.
But over the years, Yahoo News deteriorated substantially. I suppose it was gradual and I just didn’t notice for awhile. The other day I glanced at the headlines and saw that Nicholas Cage had bought a pyramid, and somebody else had secretly adopted a baby. Today I see that Justin Bieber pitched a ball, someone got a perfect score on Dancing With the Stars, and Mariah Carey’s husband bought her a new ring. Oh sure, they mentioned the oil spill, but that was after the tips for having silky summer legs, and the tips for making your towels softer.
I could go on and on about what passes for “news” these days, but I won’t.
Anyway. Even though I’m a creature of habit and I sometimes tend to resist change, I’ve made the momentous decision to change my Internet Home Page.
I’m wide open to suggestions here. What’s your home page? Are you happy with it?
Every day I go for a walk, usually around the Experimental Farm. Yesterday I went a little further than usual, to the Ornamental Gardens.
It was a lovely day, sunny and breezy, and I wandered around the Gardens, studying the plants and their labels. They have such poetic names.
It’s only early May, so most things aren’t blooming yet. But there are leaves and shoots and buds, and it made me feel good about life in general.
Crab Apple Trees
The lilacs and crab apple trees are in full bloom, gorgeous purple and pink clusters. The magnolia trees are already fading. The sweet little forget-me-knots are everywhere.
Little old couples strolled through the Gardens holding hands and smiling at me.
I happened upon the Organic Gardeners’ Demonstration Gardens, which consists of about eight sample gardens – fruits, vegetables, herbs, fragrance, butterflies and bees, and a few more.
I was seized by an urge to garden, and with it came an unexpected but familiar surge of enthusiasm. I could throw myself into gardening! I could read gardening books! I could plant seeds! I could join the Horticulture Society! I could….
See, that’s what I’ve been missing from my life. My usual passion for my hobbies. I love feeling inspired and enthusiastic and motivated. I love feeling obsessed.
Unfortunately, I lost my garden plot at the Carlington Community Gardens. I missed a critical meeting. When I went to check the date of it, I discovered it had happened two days earlier. The notice clearly said in large bold letters that if you didn’t go to this meeting, you would lose your plot. I keep meaning to call and see if there’s any way I can redeem myself, but I’ve been procrastinating and the more time that goes by, the more unlikely that seems.
But I do have my own wee front and back gardens, and I could lavish my enthusiasm on them. Last year Bonnie and Grace and Debbie made the Garden of Hope in my front yard, and it’s starting to bloom now. It even has forget-me-knots and a bleeding heart.
What’s always stopped me from making flower gardens in the past is I’ve been paralyzed by a desire for perfection, which makes it hard to get started. And if I don’t start on time, the weeds completely take over, which makes it even harder to get started.
These days I don’t feel my gardens or I have to be perfect. If I can make things a little bit better, that’s good enough.
And now I’m going into my back yard to cut back my neighbour’s invasive Virginia Creeper, which has climbed almost to the top of my house.
It was a busy weekend, taken up largely by work and a sick dog, but GC and I found time to go on a couple of the Jane’s Walks this weekend.
On Saturday we went on the Folk Walk, which was led by Arthur McGregor and took place in the area around his store, the Ottawa Folklore Centre, in Old Ottawa South. (He’s trying to get the neighbourhood renamed to Sunnyside Village, by the way.)
He told us that when the City tore up the roads to replace the aging underground infrastructure, they agreed to embed brass plaques in the new sidewalk. Each plaque is in the shape of a maple leaf, and bears the name of a Canadian folk music legend, such as Bruce Cockburn or Stan Rogers.
We walked from plaque to plaque, and at each plaque Arthur would tell us a little bit about the person, and we’d sing one of their songs. (Arthur brought his guitar and lyrics for all of us.)
There were about 20 of us on this walk, which lasted about an hour and was a lot of fun.
On Sunday we went on the Chinatown walk, which was led by local blogger Jackson Couse.
Chinatown is one of my favourite neighbourhoods. I lived there for eight years.
Jackson not only lives in Chinatown, but he grew up there. He focused his walk on the kind of childhood this neighbourhood provides. He talked about diversity and density as being key ingredients of a good childhood, and how Chinatown provides both those things. (There was a third thing too, but I forget…)
We started on Cambridge Street, which in the unofficial blogging capital of Ottawa. That’s where all the cool bloggers live, and where I aspire to live someday.
We then went up above the bluff, where Jackson showed us a rock wall in a small green space that technically belongs to the nuns, but which was a key feature of his childhood. He often went there to be alone.
Children need green space. They need trees and dirt. Give them half a dozen trees and they’ll use their imaginations to transform it into a full-fledged forest. This particular neighbourhood – Chinatown, or West Centretown – has very little green space (.01km2 per thousand people, which is half the Ottawa average).
Then we walked along upper Lorne Avenue, where he pointed out my friend Julia’s house, and then along Somerset to Booth, where he talked about some memorable and tragic fires in the neighbourhood, attributable to a combination of factors such as slum landlords and balloon construction.
From there we headed down to the low-income housing project on Gladstone, and walked through it. The children stared at us wide-eyed, since they don’t often have groups of fifty people marching through their little neighbourhood.
Then we headed over to Cambridge School, which is probably one of the most multicultural schools in Ottawa.
I liked how Jackson approached his walk, through the eyes of a child. I also liked his genuine appreciation of the neighbourhood’s ethnic and economic diversity.
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