Paws and Pray

Paisley and I “Pawsed and Prayed” this afternoon. We both attended the monthly service for animals and their human companions at Christ Church Beaurepaire. It was our second visit. Dan and Hershey came to the previous, pet blessing service.
This month's theme was remembering our departed companions, and I remembered Perky, Nicky and Topaze. I'm positive I'm a better person because of them; they gave me so much more than they ever asked.
It was also about seeing our dear furry friends again in Heaven. There have been lots of theories and debates over that one. The gist today was that a loving God will do everything to see that you are happy in Heaven ... and if happiness for you includes Fido or Fluffy, then Fido and Fluffy will be there too. That's pretty much what I believe as well. Heaven is supposed to be perfect. Without my doggies, it just wouldn't be. If there are going to be grass and trees and buildings and streets, why wouldn't there be animals too? It only makes sense.
The corollary, of course, is that you have to make it to Heaven too or there's zero chance of reconnecting with Fido. That brings me to another point: is having an animal church service “kosher”, so to speak? I'm sure there are people who would say no. They'd say animals have no place in a house of worship and distract you from God. And Paisley was a little more active this time than last, but she certainly was less trouble than a young child. Much more importantly, she's what drew me to the service. Without her, I wouldn't have been in church at all. The whole service I could feel love emanating right through her. And isn't God love above all else? If paws help you pray, bring you closer to God, then an animal service is exactly what at least some people need.

Nostalgia Night

Saturday is my nostalgia night. I watch old shows that are like old friends and fond memories of old days.

Saturday is Britcom night on VPT and Mountain Lake PBS. I've watched Hyacinth Bucket (pronounced “Bouquet”, if you please) on “Keeping Up Appearances” for what feels like forever. I remember my dad complaining about her antics close to twenty years ago! I don't watch as many episodes as I used to - most weeks there are at least two ... both of which I'll know practically verbatim. Whenever I do, though, it brings me back to happy Saturday nights in our living room on Belmont, watching with Mommy and Daddy, and maybe Dan and Ajay too after a nice homemade pizza dinner.

More recently I've become a fan of another oldie: “As Time Goes By”. I'm appreciating it's humour more and more, and somehow I'm feeling a real affinity for the main characters, Jean and Lionel. I like the way they bicker yet have such love and tenderness underneath it. I like the quick witted verbal repartee. And I like the familiar old British expressions like “in two shakes of a lamb's tail” and “if you think --- then you've got another think coming” that I've heard all my life - and use regularly myself too.

And to start off the evening, there's “The Lawrence Welk Show”. I don't watch it every week; it's really not Dan's favourite. But if I like the theme and the songs they're going to perform, I try to get away with it. It's really an oldie. The episodes they show jump around from black and white days in the 1950's until it wound down in the early 80’s. It was in its last days when I was young and watched it with my mom. Even my parents found it kind of outdated really. I still like it though. It's so wholesome and reminds me of simpler, happier, more refined days that maybe never even existed ... but that I like to imagine did. Even their recent Halloween show was a kind of “fun” scary that I could handle. So even though I may be the only person on the planet (at least under the age of fifty - or maybe sixty or seventy) who actually voluntarily watches, I enjoy it too.

So that's my Saturday night. Not everybody's cup of tea I'm sure. Perhaps nobody else's cup of tea. But to me it's an absolutely perfect way to end the day and I couldn't think of any better or happier way to spend a Saturday evening.

Good-bye Steve, and Thank You

A little over a month ago, on October 5th, Steve Jobs left the planet at the far too young age of 56. Not that he hadn't accomplished plenty - several lifetimes worth, probably. But it's always too soon, isn't it.
I'm a relative neophyte when it comes to the world of Apple. I've never doubted that they make good products; I've just never been convinced that they make the only products worth considering. I still think my Windows laptop works just fine and that my Sony mp3 player is more versatile than an iPod (at least the regular ones; the iPod Touch is a different animal altogether). I believe too that you'll get more bang for your buck with those alternatives.
But Steve was a true visionary and, at least in the iPad, created something truly unique and magical. It, along with some of the other innovations he has introduced with the iPhone and iOS, has forever changed the way people interact with technology. I don't think it's too strong to say it is revolutionary and life-changing, at least for some people. I know I use my iPad extensively and in ways I couldn't have imagined two years ago. It's literally put computing in my hands; in fact it's almost like an extension of me! And who knows what other Jobs' inspired creations might be still under development in the Apple labs?
Apple isn't perfect; I'm often underwhelmed, even frustrated, with their tiny incremental updates - still waiting for a decent camera on the Touch, guys - but what it does, it does very, very well. I don't think Steve was a perfect person either. Like many people who accomplish great things, he was driven, obsessed, sometimes harsh, excessively competitive and, my personal pet peeve, he swore too much. (Sorry, Steve, but that instantly diminishes my respect for a person.)
I've heard it argued that it's really Bill Gates we should be worshipping since, through his various foundations, he's slowly eradicating childhood diseases, fighting poverty and fostering education in places that just wouldn't have hope otherwise. I don't want to take away from his accomplishments a whit; I think the world is more than big enough for two heroes.
Anyway, thank you Steve for all you did, for your visions and for the determination to make them reality. You were both inspired and inspiring, and I hope you're thoroughly enjoying your next big adventure. Reportedly your last words were the enthusiastic “oh wow, oh wow, oh wow!” That bodes pretty well, doesn't it.

Emily Teaches a Lesson

A few weeks ago I finished rereading (for the umpteenth time) Maud Hart Lovelace's “Emily of Deep Valley”. I'd forgotten just how good it is, and how timely even though it is set a century ago. One of the main storylines concerns Emily's involvement with the Syrian immigrant community who were being ostracised by the local townspeople.
The theme I'm interested in writing about tonight though is the depression that can come when life doesn't go quite your way. Emily was a bright girl who yearned to go to college, but couldn't leave the elderly grandfather she lived with. Rather than mope or wallow (at least too much) on life's injustices, however, she decided to make the best of her situation. She involved herself with different causes, most notably the Syrians, and continued studying and learning too. In the process she attracted a surprising number of interesting people too and found she wasn't nearly as lonely as she'd expected to be.
One quote from the book sums up at least a part of Emily's philosophy perfectly:

“We have to build our lives out of what materials we have. It's as though we were given a heap of blocks and told to build a house.”

Somehow I find that immensely comforting. Now, when I'm feeling dissatisfied with some aspect of my life, I think to myself that I just have a different pile of blocks from other people, so naturally my house will look a little different. I've had a number of constraints and responsibilities in my life that don't always feel very fair. But if I were to be completely honest, I also have a number of blessings and good things to compensate, although, like many people I don't focus on those enough. Thanks to Emily (and Maud - funny how my two most favourite authors are both Mauds), I think I've found a measure of contentment I had been lacking.

Ban the Blower

Of all the useless tools and appliances people have invented over the years, by far the biggest abomination - the one that I would banish from the planet - has got to be the ludicrous leaf blower. It creates air pollution. It produces unwanted noise pollution (especially at 7 AM, the hour I was rudely awakened to a raucous cacophony of blowers this morning). It doesn't even provide good exercise for the lazy pseudo-gardeners who wield it like a weapon of war. They think they look so rugged and tough with their mighty power packs strapped to their backs. I know they look ridiculous.

A leaf blower is just a giant outdoor vacuum, noisy and unnecessary. I'm none too fond of indoor vacuums either (why hasn't anybody ever been able to put a muffler on the things?) but I concede they serve a purpose for which no good alternative is available. Brooms and carpet sweepers just can't suck up as much dirt. Lawn mowers have their place - the scythe is a little slow for the modern world. And in snowbound regions like Quebec, a snow blower is beneficial too; shovelling is not a safe form of exercise.

But a leaf blower? It's one of those gadgets nobody really needs. Whatever happened to the noble rake? Leaves are infinitely lighter than snow and raking is a decidedly healthy activity. (And most of the people I see brandishing leaf blowers certainly look as if they could benefit from a little more physical exertion.) For that matter, if they really want to be lazy and environmentally friendly to boot, the generally agreed upon best option is to just mow your leaves into your lawn and let them turn to mulch over the winter.

So citizens of the world unite! It's time we banned the blower and restored the humble rake to its rightful place in the garden shed.

Tonight the Words Won't Come

Wow ... I don't know what to write tonight. I do have a list of ideas waiting to be explored, but somehow I don't feel as if I could do any of them justice this evening. Probably I shouldn't have left it so late - no, I definitely shouldn't have left it so late. After watching all the drama of “Glee” (plus two long walks and Pilates class and cleaning three bathrooms today) I'm mellow and droopy and decidedly unmotivated.

So I think I'll just reflect a little on how my personal “Nano”WriMo has been going. Yesterday I celebrated one full week of blogs and poems! Not all of them are great writing, but not one of them would have existed at all if I hadn't made the commitment to start. And so I have to be proud of myself. I didn't always feel like it, but I've written every single day. For me, that's a real accomplishment.

The next thing to work on, I think, should be timing. It's become my bad habit to leave the writing (especially of the blog) until late in the day - evening, actually. And nights have never been my forte. Like little Paisley, I pretty much turn off by eight. Yes, I force myself to do it, but I think I could do it even better earlier. Perhaps it wouldn't feel so much like forcing either. After all, the ultimate objective is to make writing something I actually want to do and, moreover, look forward to doing pretty much every day. So I've added a third goal: to have at least my blog done by supper time. Hopefully it will make for some better posts ... and a happier poster too.

P.S. Just for the record and posterity, my apps of choice in this endeavour are iA Writer for blog entries (and Blogsy to actually post them and add any pictures or formatting) and Pages for my poetry. And to keep track of my progress I just got HabitMaker - best monitoring app I've found yet.

iOS Woes

Well I had been having a good day. I tidied up, made applesauce and oatmeal scones, had a couple of lovely walks by the lake and a little visit with Barbara (our neighbour across the street).

All was well until this evening, in fact, when I opened up iBooks on my iPad to see what I might start reading next and discovered that my choices were rather limited. Very limited actually. They were so limited because virtually ALL my books had been DELETED! And checking iTunes on my computer didn't help much because THEY WEREN'T THERE EITHER. (Yes I need capitals; that's you I'm yelling at, Apple.)

Near as I can figure out, it's yet another iOS 5 casualty. When I upgraded a few weeks ago, I was one of the many people who lost their music. That wasn't much of a dilemma since I only had one double cd, but for others who had hundreds of albums, thousands of songs all carefully organized, it was a catastrophe.

I'm really not happy to lose my books though. I do have everything backed up on my laptop, but how am I supposed to remember which ones I had lined up and ready to read? I lost all the books I'd read too - along with all the highlights and annotations I'd made. It's not a total disaster I suppose, but it is decidedly disappointing.

The other iOS 5 issue I have is that I can't really sync properly with my iTunes anymore. Yes I can opt for the backup and sync options and they seem to work, but if I want to choose apps to sync from my itunes list, suddenly my iPad content plummets to about 3 GB from 28 GB. That means most of my apps wouldn't be syncing and I'd be spending HOURS re-downloading (assuming I could even remember which of my hundreds of apps I'd kept on the iPad itself) and MANY MORE HOURS categorising them. I'm not willing to do that; I'll just have to settle for a few missing books and songs.

So I guess I've learned a lesson I should already have known. Never Never Never take a new update right away. Let other people be the guinea pigs who find the bugs and quirks. Guess I got caught up in the heady excitement of a big new upgrade. Really, though, there is very little of benefit to me in iOS 5 - certainly nothing that could make up for the inconveniences it has caused. Sorry Apple; this time you messed up. It didn't “just work” at all.

Day is Done

Today is about the saddest day of the year for me. It's the day we “fall” back to Standard Time. And though technically we gain an hour, I always feel as if I lose so much more.

I have trouble with dark. I guess I have a bit of SAD. And so I particularly hate to see my precious sunlit hours disappearing. Now no matter what, the days are getting shorter, have been for months, and will continue to do so for almost two months more. But that being said, it really hurts to lose an hour when I feel we should be saving daylight more than ever.

I have no great desire to be dressing in the dark either, or course, but to me it's still infinitely preferable to taking my “afternoon” walk in pitch black. Already the sun was gone by 5:30; to lose it at 4:30 is painful. I know it was originally helpful to farmers without electricity in their barns to have extra light early in the morning. When most kids walked to school it would be safer too. But now everyone's electrified and few kids walk to school. Wouldn't it be better for them to fat least be able to walk home and even (novel idea alert), play outside for awhile? I'm sure we'd save some electricity too into the bargain.

Anyway, as usual, nobody asked my opinion. (If they had, I would vote for saving daylight year round. I'd even give “double daylight” or “daylight and a half” a shot!) So I will unfortunately have to settle for soaking in as much daylight as humanly possible until that happy day in spring when we spring forward once more to the right time ... the bright time.

Good Night Mr. Rooney

Andy Rooney, America's favourite curmudgeon, has passed away at the very respectable age of 92. Now I don't know too much about his television persona; when he began his 60 Minutes stint in 1978, we didn't have cable - and even if we had I would have been too young to appreciate his wit and wisdom. And by the time we finally did get cable and I was a bit more mature, it just wasn't a show on my radar.

I was always far more of a reader than a television viewer anyway though. And I did have access to a plethora of book sales where I picked up several of his anthologies of essays. Those I thoroughly enjoyed, and I plan to read his final books soon. I didn't get every reference, of course, particularly the political ones, but Rooney was at his best when he was waxing eloquent about the most ordinary and mundane facets of life.

You didn't always agree with him and sometimes you were bemused by his bafflement with the modern world, but you certainly loved and admired the grumpy old man behind the words. You have to respect anybody who can make his living complaining about life in three-minute sound bytes once a week. In fact, if I can keep this blogging thing going, I'd quite happily apply to be the next national curmudgeon! I like to gripe too; if I could raise it to an art form the way Rooney did, I'd be very satisfied indeed.

Sleeping Pretty in My Snoratorium

A few weeks ago there was an interesting item from House Beautiful in my Flipboard app. It talked about how one of the newest trends in bedrooms is the “Snoratorium”. This is a sort of annexe or partition or even an adjoining room that one member of a couple can repair to when the partner is snoring. Along with twin beds - supposedly something every couple over 45 is perfectly fine with - this is the new way to sleep in the modern age.

It definitely has validity. People are so sleep deprived these days they need all the help they can get. And no matter how in love two people are, their sleep styles just may not mesh that well. After two nights of poor sleep I was more than content to move to my study (henceforth to also be known as my own personal snoratorium) last night.

Dan and I are very different sleepers so I've had plenty of experience there. For starters, though a warm room is fine to begin with, I like it to cool down overnight - 65 is plenty. I like to be snuggly in cozy pyjamas with a few blankets ... and a heating beagle. But Dan feels 72 is just barely warm enough - even with blankets. At that temperature though I sleep fitfully and, worse, am prone to bad dreams. Dan also likes the curtains open, which is fine overnight, but will wake me up first thing. I need the tv power light off and the alarm clock too. Plus I love the memory foam mattress in my study. I do have a memory foam pad on my half of our bed, but it just isn't as good. Then there's the issue of blanket sharing (Dan doesn't). All that before we even get to snoring. He does, though I'm sure I never do more than a gentle whiffle, despite claims to the contrary. And there's scheduling too. Dan can go to bed late, get up early and make everything ok with a midday nap. I need to rise and sleep at the same time pretty much every day and I just don't do naps.

Phew, that's quite a list - and quite a few reasons to prefer the comfort of my own bed. I love Dan a lot, but I can also love him a whole lot better when I'm well rested. A tired me is not a pretty thing. So whether it were in vogue or not, I'd still happily be spending nights in my snoratorium, but it is nice to know that for once I'm actually following along with the latest trend.