Maple Grove News

It is Cinco de Mayo - and I absolutely refused to wear tights today. Yes, it is cold - just below 40F - but I'd rather freeze than give in on May 5 for heaven's sake! Even the poor daffodils, the few that were brave enough to emerge recently, seem to be shivering and look rather miserable (unlike the ones featured above - Cancer Society fundraiser a few weeks ago).

Quite a change from last Wednesday when we were sent home from work at noon due to possible flood risk. Although the waters rose very high, no serious flooding occurred, and instead I had a most unexpected lovely afternoon at home, starting with a delightful lunch:



The blue Hydrangea on the table was an Easter gift from Cat Wrangler. The day was a real heatwave - over 80F and humid. Working in the garden was almost a hardship. Almost. Cold beer breaks helped :) All in all, this afternoon was a real gift, and I got lots done, cleaning and tidying the sun-porch, not the least of the tasks - and it sure felt good to officially start the season. Alas, you wouldn't know it today.

The following weekend was a little more normal temperature-wise, and much needed raking was done - a task too difficult in last Wednesday's sweltering heat. More comfortable in cooler spring temps, here are the first harbingers of the beginning of the spring season: delicate blue Glory-of-the-Snow (Chionodoxa), and the delightful yellow Trout Lily:









The Trout Lily (Erythronium americanum) is so small (less than 6 inches tall) and low to the ground, that one must get down on hands and knees and point the camera upward under them, as their petals totally recurve in the daytime and close up at dusk or on cloudy days. It is so named probably because the foliage is sort of fish-shaped and mottled. They are multiplying every year, as I intentionally allow the fallen leaves to remain in the hedge borders to create a wood-like environment, in which Trout Lily thrives. Their foliage seems invasive in the early spring - but after the heat of May, they disappear into the ground or lawn, if they have spread that far. I recall when I first moved to this house, I was concerned this was a noxious weed, as I did not know anything at all about plants, especially native ones. But with the help of the internet, and a great site called "Name That Plant", where folks post pictures of their botanical mysteries, I soon learned what I had. I don't care much for lawns anyway, so it matters not that the delicate and ephemeral Trout Lily is happily is spreading its little rhizomes underground.

Speaking of raking and general garden clean-up, I came across this the other day, tucked inside an old hollowed-out tree stump:


Hmm, someone around here has an extreme idea of what mouse-hunting is all about! Too funny, don't you think?

And of course Friday we had the Royal Wedding, which, lover of sleep that I am, I was able to catch on the replay later in the day. For the occasion, the chef prepared some bacon butties and beans on toast (amongst other delights):


By the looks of Kate Middleton, I doubt she partakes of bacon butties very often!

And last but not the least of my news, The Reverend was finally released from his "bondage" on Easter Monday. He was nowhere to be seen for 2 days, but finally appeared on the hot Wednesday I spoke of earlier:





And so, he kept appearing daily to have his usual breakfast, whilst Mr. Poole does his best to make sure he doesn't get back into the house - he stands on guard, alternately between the front and back doors. The Rev is ALWAYS ravenous! And yesterday – are you ready for this – he showed up with a brand new white flea collar on him!!!!! And I doubt he put it on himself! Talk about being gob-smacked, and more than a little annoyed, $244 later for someone else’s cat! Someone who has no clue how to take care of one either! Whoever has this cat, does not feed him, does not treat him for injuries, and did not fix him. This is a new one for us. Yes, totally gob-smacked.

Easter Sunday

Easter Sunday afternoon update: we visit The Rev in his private room regularly. Dare I say he seems to like it? Scrubbling his neck results in mega-purrs (he even does head-butts!), which is a very good sign - then he puts his head down as if to say, "ok, I think I'll nap a bit more." :) But yesterday was quite a different story: we had tried letting him out of the spare room - he freaked out totally and started to climb the back door - Cat Wrangler was able to nab him again, and put him back into the room, where he was once very calm. Hmm....this could take a while....

* * * * * * * * * *
The weather is coolish, but from tomorrow onward it will begin to to rise a fair bit. A couple of weeks ago, we opened the solarium, it was warm enough to sow some seeds in pots out there, and the double windows were still in, providing extra warmth. While the place is nowhere near ready, or officially open, as you can see, Manitou found a comfy nest nevertheless. He was very content.




When I was young, a teenager - I recall a bright sunny Easter Sunday morning. Cat Stevens on the radio was singing "Morning Has Broken." It seemed like a perfect moment...and all was right with the world. I think Manitou was having just such a moment...

Update on The Reverend

The Easter weekend is upon us - it is almost May and I have surrounded my blog with lots of green, because, believe it or not, it has been snowing today! No! Enough! At least my blog is greening up - no signs of daffodils or anything in real life - the garden even has tiny snow mountains left. Blech!

Anyway, I am sure you are all waiting for the important update on The Reverend. He was finally nabbed by the resident Cat Wrangler yesterday – (who does a lot of the “dirty” work). The Cat Whisperer (me!) coos and whispers sweet nothings to the patients when they return from "that place" that the awful Cat Wrangler took them to :) Monday we had seen The Rev with a bad wound to the head – Cat Wrangler said it looked like a hole! And we hadn't seen him since – we were worried. Wednesday morning however, Cat Wrangler snatched him when he finally appeared and thrust the poor thing into the bathroom. As we have no car, we rely on the good graces of our regular vet to come to the house – it costs more, but it is worth it. I suppose we could have called a cab but The Rev is very odiferous at the moment! Cat Wrangler brought him home at the end of the day - all treated for various things, inculding a nasty abscess, but most importantly, he won't be out there anymore procreating and adding to the dismal and sad pet over-population problem. He was sequestered in the spare room overnight, and still for today, but he is quite approachable. I am sure he had the best night's sleep he's had in a long, long time: warm, tummy full :) Of course, the other feline residents know something is up - it always is when THAT door is closed - but - as always, after a few "hairy"encounters, I am confident he will settle in.

Inspired by a dream...life...fears...

Paradise Lost

As I looked back to wave goodbye, she was sitting on “our bench”, both of us forcing cheerful smiles. Here, this bench was our designated meeting place at the end of the day. This was no romantic tryst. This was now our daily routine. Each day was now a fight for simple existence – a struggle and search for the very basics: shelter, food, water. I put on a brave face, for her benefit mostly, and left.

Each time I left her this way, I realized she should never leave my side, not under these circumstances. But without her I could travel faster and further. I knew the places that held most promise for scant supplies – and these places would often be the most dangerous. If I was lucky, and found more than I could carry, I would stash the rest – very carefully, and come back for it later. I knew, and so did she, that if we went together, she would slow me down – she would hold me back. Yes, she agreed, realizing her physical limitations, which in these last desperate weeks grew more and more pronounced. This worried me greatly.

In the first few weeks, home, if you could call it that, was a grim and dirty warehouse, filled with equally grimy cots. Here, people were mostly civilized, for now. But one could sense a pervading feeling of fear – a quiet desperation – an overwhelming sense, if not certainty, that this cannot last. Something had to give. On these dirty cots we slept, if you could call it sleep. We woke regularly to disturbing sounds in the night – furtive rustlings nearby – often too close. She would sometimes beg me to see if it was one of our cats. I would humour her and take a look, but we both knew our little family had long since disappeared – we had no home to give them anymore – and so they left, one by one - looking for food, or running from harm. Sometimes, as we walked the ruined, jagged streets, we thought we caught a glimpse of so-and-so, and as usual, she would urge me to run ahead and see. But their appearance was fleeting – and even if it was one of ours – they had long since forgotten us – our old world – before it happened – before it all changed so completely. Throughout the wasteland vistas, human and animal were almost on equal footing – trying to stay alive.

Those were our nights, and the days not much better. The few things we had, we carried with us constantly – we were all homeless people now. I guess it might have been unrealistic to expect her to guard all our possessions for an entire day – but the regular places were becoming too dangerous to linger in for too long. As each place became untenable, we found another, and there she would wait until I returned. This last one, after the warehouse became too crowded, was almost beautiful. It was the site of an old municipal garden, now sadly overgrown and ruined. But it had a shelter of sorts, and very few had yet made it their home as well. And unless the rain was torrential – it was quite acceptable. A giant half-collapsed gazebo gave the place a Grey Gardens or Great Expectations atmosphere: the gloom was semi-romantic, the dirt was somehow more natural. But it was still summer, and the fall would force us to abandon our little piece of paradise, such as it was. These days, I dared not think too much further ahead than the current day. Because soon, I knew we would have to travel fast – fast enough to stay ahead and away from the “gangs” that were becoming larger, more organized and more threatening every day. She could not walk fast – and not for long. If we ever would have to run – I knew she could not. This was becoming an increasing concern for me. I was afraid for her – each time I left.

* * * * * * * * * * *

On that particular day, I had come across some great stuff – supplies that would last us for a few weeks, and stashing the excess close by, I would be able to stay with her for a good part of the day – and that was a relief. I almost felt happy. But arranging all this took more time than usual. I was late. I increased my pace, and almost inexplicably I broke into a run. I sensed something was wrong as I approached the ruin. The bench was abandoned, our things remained nearby in tidy bundles – but she was nowhere to be seen. Approaching closer, I noticed a tiny piece of paper, attached with the stem of a daisy to the armrest of the bench:

Sweetie - back soon – sure I saw Chesney…

I never saw her again.

The Reverend

One thing about cats, is that they don't dwell on things - they live in the moment - enjoy the moment. If they can. Would that we could be like that. Here we have the first official photo of "The Reverend", so called because when he first appeared around Christmas, he had a white flea collar, which, against the black made him look rather clerical. This collar is now off, and I fear there might be an irritation there now - hard to tell, since he is skittish, and doesn't allow me to touch him - yet. And - he is not operated, which as every responsible pet owner knows, is a very bad thing, for various reasons. But - this morning as I was heading out the door for work, I almost didn't recognize him: he looked more healthy and solid, and his fur was shining in the sun. I held out a hand, and touched him ever so briefly. Progress! Indeed, he has been getting regular good quality food, which is allowing him to live better outside, and soon we will have to trap him, to have that famous trip to the veterinarian that no one likes to talk about (but - they all would admit to feeling much better afterward). We shall see how this progresses.

Memory & Desire

It has been a Heathcliff, Wuthering Heights, and Kate Bush kind of a week. One image leading to another - then to a feeling - and still later to an impression, from long ago - barely there just hovering in the the mists of time. My time - my long ago time. YouTube is great. I needed badly to see and hear Kate Bush performing Wuthering Heights, and Sensual World, the latter of which is stunning, and I believe her mysterious magnetism caused unexpected emotions in both men and women. It still does from the comments I have read. One person commenting on the Sensual World video said: "Would that we could all have ourselves digitally stored at the height of our powers." The height of our powers indeed - when we were young and the future stretched before us like a limitless shore. We could not see what was ahead, nor did we care to. The moment was all.

"But how she was before the tears,
And how she was before the years flew by,
And how she was when she was beautiful. "

So sings Kate in Babooshka. Flashback to the Limelight, Montreal in the 80's with my brother and sister. It was the Studio 54 of our youth. How did I look when I was dancing there?

"Would that we could all have ourselves digitally stored at the height of our powers."

If I could go back, and see that young woman dancing - surely now I would think she was perfection - life was perfect. But would I give up today for yesterday, if such a machine or magic existed? The futility of backward glances. Such random ruminations. Is it because spring is coming? Because "April is the cruelest month", as T.S. Eliot observed:

April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
[....]
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

Yes, memory and desire. Forgetful snow. Every once in a while one reads a poem or lines in a novel, and you know, you just know what is true, and you feel the very essence of what the author meant to say, what he felt, what it means to be alive, yet also to mourn. Not one without the other.

[Sigh].

Well, speaking of dried tubers - my dahlias are quite alive - sprouting away in the basement. Always a little bit of a miracle when I discover those beautiful green, healthy shoots - emerging from such ugly, sometimes grotesque shapes and forms. There is hope.

Days

by Ralph Barker Gustafson

From Fate's grim palette
Time paints our days
With the colours of Destiny.
One broad sweep
And our day is made
With contrasts of harmony.
By merely the turn
Of a finger of Time
Joy or woe may come
With the bliss of blue
Or the gloom of grey -
Or however the tints may run.
Though hidden deep,
At times not found.
In the shades of night
Or in the mists of day,
There still remains
For those who seek,
Beauty in the grey.

Sick & Tired

Tired of being sick. Still coughing my lungs out. I am sure it is the worst flu I've had in years, and because I have asthma, my lungs always get hit worst of all. As a little girl in England, I had bronchitis every year, and even the first few years in Canada, I recall being "in bed" for 2 weeks. But, I have not felt this sick in over a decade. It's arrival was weird. It approached - hovered - retreated -and then slammed in good and proper. A very odd pattern that I've not ever expereinced before. Maybe what did me in was going in to work last Thursday - it was really important, and I just had to go - and the whole day was go-go-go. Then I collapsed for the weekend, and then some. And because we cannot stay home longer than 3 consecuvtive working days without having a doctor's note, I am attempting go back tomorrow. Why don't I have one? Well, perhaps some of you might understand: I am simply too sick to go to the doctor!

Now I shall try to go to my happy and hopeful place (deserted much too often) filled with visions of seeds sprouting, snow melting, and bulbs emerging. So, in the words of Bridget Jones, I am off to Bedfordshire....

Snowed In - and Out Sick

Our part of Quebec recently received close to 80 cm. of snow! That's an overwhelming, walloping amount that came down in just 24 hours. Digging out from the back porch was a huge, huge job in itself. The city was pretty much shut down, and people stayed home from work, kids from school. Some doctors and others were transported to their work on snowmobiles. On the verge of being sick with a bad cold or flu - I was tucked safe inside watching it all. Below is an example of how I have been spending my last 2 days, and feel free to break out into Paul McCartney's "Ebony (Mr. Poole) and Ivory (Tristan)".... (and yes, I am under there, somewhere...when it comes to "prime real-estate" like human laps, even sworn enemies call a truce :)



Today, I am officially sick, but I hope the worst is over. When I am sick, I get even more blue than usual - dwelling and wallowing over all sorts of things. I think if it were not for my cats, I'd just stay in bed. They kind of force me to "get with it". I was awoken today (very late) with the beautiful white Tristan perched on my shoulder, which he never does, peering down at me, as if to say, "oye, you down there - you ok?" As soon as he realized I was indeed still alive, he hopped down. I do believe he was genuinely concerned.



"Me and my shadow".... (Manitou and Mr. Poole)



And to close, another sunny amaryllis shot.

Happy March!

Recent blooms in my window garden:


Basking in the sun...



The elegant Aphrodite...


Flamenco Queen - hot and spicey!


Temptation...


Amaryllis on parade...


Close-up of Aphrodite...


Bandito strikes a pose...


Amorice.

Happy March everyone - we're getting there!

Hurry and Waste

Why should we live with such hurry and waste of life? We are determined to be starved before we are hungry. - Henry David Thoreau

Sometimes I lie awake before sleep comes, and compose lengthy, poetic and reflective blog posts in my head. Alas, they are often quite lugubrious as well: on death and dying, the meaning of it all, or the meaninglessness of it all...etc etc. Just last night, another cold spell, I thought of how my porch will look after I am gone: no warm pillows on chairs for wayward desperate cats, no friendly voice to usher them in for a snack and some warmth. Surely, most of the ones I have saved would be dead by now had I not saved them. But we only do what we can while we are here, as we have no control over the future, or how things may be afterward. Even as I write I find it difficult to express. I have had the cloud hanging over me all my life, but more so now that years seem to go by faster, and with them the onset of physical "issues". Would that we could simply dry up gracefully as my beloved amaryllis do: shrivel to paper thin, then gently fall off the stem.

Sigh.

So before I lose whatever audience I have left with my "waste of time" let us go back to cats and flowers for awhile, and keep at bay the darker thoughts. For this is all we have, this package deal, all that makes up this life, this gift that we sometimes curse in times of loss, pain and suffering. Yet always we cling to it - not ready to go, not just yet. I have many more seeds yet to sow...



The beautiful Rascal - our refugee from the cold...



Longfellow sleeps...



Bandito hears that wonderful sound: the can-opener!



Pink is the color of my true love's nose, in the evening, while he sleeps...Tristan.

"Cats ALWAYS live in the NOW. They are fully present in the moment. Even when that moment involves napping! They enjoy the NOW and make the most of it, whatever the day presents for them." Elaine Bailey