Jack’s Walk

©voyager, all rights reserved

The weather’s been so pleasant this week that Jack and I have met a lot of our neighbours out doing yardwork as we walk by. With some of our neighbours, I’d be happy with just a quick wave and a shout of hello, but Jack says this is rude. He thinks we should speak to everyone, even gossipy Ruth, who talks too fast and forgetful Mr. P., who asks at least six times in a 5-minute conversation how old Jack is. Eleven. Eleven. Eleven. He’ll be 12 in February. Eleven, I think.

Jack doles out kisses and cuddles and basks in the glow of adoration and I nod my head and utter pleasantries. What can I do but smile? That’s just how life is when you have a friendly, social Jack. Soon enough, it’ll be winter and we’ll go days without seeing anyone outside. Bubba hates that, and even though it makes our walks shorter, so do I.

Jack’s Walk

©voyager, all rights reserved

A Calendar of Sonnets: October

The month of carnival of all the year,
When Nature lets the wild earth go its way,
And spend whole seasons on a single day.
The spring-time holds her white and purple dear;
October, lavish, flaunts them far and near;
The summer charily her reds doth lay
Like jewels on her costliest array;
October, scornful, burns them on a bier.
The winter hoards his pearls of frost in sign
Of kingdom: whiter pearls than winter knew,
Oar empress wore, in Egypt’s ancient line,
October, feasting ‘neath her dome of blue,
Drinks at a single draught, slow filtered through
Sunshiny air, as in a tingling wine!
Helen Hunt Jackson

Recovery: The Condition(ing) of Being a Woman

I’m making slow but real progress, but everybody and their dog keeps telling me to take it slow and I’m really trying to. But I also know that I’m far from “functioning normally”, not to mention that my current level of mobility is also due to generous amounts of anti-inflammatory drugs and painkiller. Anyway, one good aspect of German health insurance is that I’m entitled to a household aid  for as long as I’m recovering. And my most wonderful sister organised everything with her care service and this morning the wonderful S. showed up.

Everything about my working class woman upbringing was uncomfortable. First of all letting a stranger in when my house is a complete mess. I know, I know, the woman came because there’s a mess and I can’t clean, but try to tell that to your subconscious. The other one is to have somebody clean your shit while you’re mostly watching. (I did help as much as I could). I know that many working class men have absolutely no problem with watching women clean while they’re lying on the couch, but for a woman? I’ve been both raised with some traditional crap about cleaning and quite some deep seated hatred against people who watch women clean, since I’m just two generations removed from women who had to go out and work as maids, being abused by master and mistress alike.

Still, I’ll need a household help after recovery as well because I think my body just told me that it is done with playing nice and putting up with my psychological issues of having to do all my cleaning myself.

Jack’s Walk

©voyager, all rights reserved

The people who live in this house decorate their porch differently for each season and they always make it a splendid arrangement. It’s one of my favourite homes in the neighbourhood and it gives me a smile every time we walk past it. Their current display is quintessentially autumn in Ontario with brightly coloured, coordinating pots of mums, dried stalks of corn and pumpkins galore, big and small, in varying shades of orange. Soon the tree out front will add its yellows and golds, reds and rusts, tangerines and salmons to the show until there’s a riot of colour about the place. It’s one of a thousand things I love about the fall.

Silence

For the words fail me to express my thoughts and feelings, my anger and despair.

On Yom Kippur there was an antisemitic attack on a German synagogue, killing two people in the street and at a Turkish take away:  https://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe-49988482

And if you think I’m bitter, just yesterday the government decided to cut funding for initiatives that fight fascism and provide help for people who want to leave right wing structures.

Holidays: Sagrada Familia 5

Or “being too smart for your own good”. Many photographers have nice expensive gear and then set everything on “automatic” and wonder why their pics are not that nice. Well, I’d never do that but do most of my adjustments by hand so I can get the best results. Except for when I forget about something. So here’s the question for the fellow camera addicts: Why do Giliell’s pics have this annoying blueish tint?

©Giliell, all rights reserved

©Giliell, all rights reserved

Here you can see the different style of later architects who worked at the cathedral after Gaudi’s death: sharper lines, more influenced by cubism than modernisme.

©Giliell, all rights reserved

©Giliell, all rights reserved

 

Write your guesses in the comments and I’ll tell you if you’re right tomorrow.

Jack’s Walk

©voyager, all rights reserved

Yesterday I mentioned that Jack has difficulty seeing in the dark. I forgot to mention that Jack also has trouble being seen in the dark. His coat is such a deep chocolate brown that when he steps out of the puddles of streetlight, he all but vanishes. That’s a worry because Jack has a nasty habit of eating things he happens upon, things that are probably not good for him to eat like garbage, poop and the occasional small dead creature. Last night he managed to swallow something before I could stop him. I have no idea what it was as there were no bits of it left to identify, but I’m sure it wasn’t a healthy snack. I jammed my hand into his mouth, hoping to fish it out, but I was too late. Jack smiled, licked my fingers and walked on, leaving me standing there dripping drool and hoping for the best. So far, so good.