Is Blogging Dead?

 I wonder about that. I look at my RIP list on my sidebar of bloggers now gone to the great beyond and am staggered at their number.

A few of us oldies are left. Many have also fled to Substack and I am giving that some serious thought. I do subscribe to a few, mainly in the political sphere so I don't feel so alone in this frightening stage of planet earth with AI running amok (rogue they call it) and threatening all human existence. And of course, while ignoring the only crisis that matters: climate change.

I live out here on a remote island which most have forgotten. We're off the beaten track and kinda hard to get to, which is a good thing if you talk to any Newfoundlander. 

I posted a photo of a scene close to my home in St. John's last night on Bluesky, and within a half hour it had 1,000 likes; this morning it was cracking 3,000. I let the photographer know, as I had given him full credit for the photo. Here it is:

This was taken at sunrise by Greg Follett looking out over our gorgeous harbour. The comments were full of longing. And I get it. I made one of the biggest changes in my life when I moved here nearly 25 years ago. And I have never regretted it.

I look down the live list of bloggers and fewer are posting. I remember even five or six years ago allowing nearly an hour to catch up on all my bloggers and now it's maybe 10 minutes. 

Anyone out there have thoughts on this?

Your giggle of the day👇👇 

And another one of President Connolly of Ireland giving the Felon the smallest desk she could find and having the entire press corps photograph him. 👇👇

Whales

Out here, every year around solstice on The Rock, at the edge of the North American continent, we anticipate the hump back whales rolling in after the capelin - shoals of small fish that they feed on.

Anticipation is everywhere, the weather gives the signal first. Daily, the fogs start to roll in followed by the shoals of fish, followed by the dive-bombing gannets, who mate for life and are constantly grooming, feeding and cuddling each other.

Then the whales drift in to their feeding grounds. They come from as far away as South America, an incredibly long journey, fraught with the peril of huge ocean liner propellers and other challenges.

Photo from today, courtesy of Regina Molloy.

Speaking for myself, I breathe a sigh of relief. Our planet is OK if our whales roll in.

It's an awesome sight and one not to be missed if at all possible. I have spent whole days, and many evenings, just sitting by the water, while hundreds of them came near the shore, some as large as buses. One time I was all alone and could hear their kitten-like cries over the surf. I still get teary when I think about it. The real gifts of life never, ever cost money.

Photo from today, courtesy of Clifford Doran.

Solstice and the arrival of the whales will be forever linked in my mind.

The Bird Whisperer

The bird watching community out here on the Edge of the Atlantic has to be seen to be believed. Per capita, members of various bird watching groups have to be one of the highest in the world.

One of the members, Randy Jenkins, I've been following for years. Recently he was featured in a CBC segment, and we were all thrilled for him. He has chronic PTSD and though he never gave details of this when he posted on line, he did in the interview. Horrific.

I find the film segment such a testament to the human spirit. And Randy's relationship with the birds absolutely astonishing. He frequently posts morning clips of himself and the birds on Facebook. And now and again when his PTSD gets really bad he goes underground for a while. Also, he has shown clips where birds prefer to talk to him rather than feeding as if they sense his state of mind. Back and forth they go in conversation.



A great blue heron, posted today.

And finally, a funny header on one of the birdwatching groups. I had to laugh. So many were mine in my time.

Covid-19 (Day 11 of Self-Isolation)

Sorry for the gap. A wee bit overwhelmed with the Covid-19 site and my emotions too of course. Two of my moderators stress-quit, I took a short break. It is difficult to process all the news reports every day and realize that most countries are so far behind the ball that it is enormously distressing anticipating the rising toll of deaths. Our island didn't shut down as most wanted but put people rolling in from sunnier climes (we call them "snowbirds" here) on an honest self-isolation and you can guess the rest. Strolling into grocery stores and coffee shops and hugging neighbours. Not understanding or not caring what social distancing is or quarantine for that matter. I would have incarcerated them for 14 days. Without exemption. But that's just me. Knowing enough about contagion to terrify me.

Objet du Jour - an owl full of pencils. Owls are my spirit animal and I have many, many owls gifted to me over the years.


We are now up to 24 cases on the island. People from abroad infecting mourners at funeral homes, etc. So we're not on the ball at all.

I am keeping busy with Zoom meetings and modified exercise and my doc booked a call with me today at 3.45pm. That's socialist health care, folks.

The world is changing so rapidly and I read a marvelous article today on how the whole global economy will morph and change as a result. All is not lost. As long as we take every precaution to protect ourselves and those we love.

Here is the article

How are you all doing?

Sunday Smatterings

I don't know where this wee vase vanished to but I always loved arranging flowers in it.

This old vase has gone too but I always had some beach flowers in it from the beach in front of my old house.

I love this wee arrangement from my old bathroom of flowers I grew in the community garden.

I picked up Daughter at the airport a few hours ago. I've missed her as she was in Toronto for nearly 2 weeks. We talked non-stop over a Singapore noodle dinner. She had a wonderful trip and caught up with family and friends including her father. But she's glad to be back here "to my wonderful life" she calls it. I agree. There's something about this place that feels so "home" to both of us. Hard to explain to anyone else, truly, it's so visceral.

On the Go

Another shot of Eastport, some day I will write about an extraordinary experience I had there.

I keep planning a no-do day with PJs, books and knitting on the go. But no dice. Not happening. Today was a good one I thought, just a phone call with a distant friend booked for 11.30 and then the rest of the day to moi. Not to be. Joanna, my cleaning genius, called and said she was "doing" me today and her car was banjaxed so I had to pick her up (dressed for that, nothing worse than tempting fate with a bad accident). Joanna is the boss when it comes to cleaning my place. She is at a bargain basement rate and shovels me out and keeps me reasonably civilized. Left to my own devices I can't tell you the condition this place would be in.

So I'll briefly list what's on the go here:

(1)I've created a strange androgynous alter ego (Pat Picco) who's making a series of interview type podcasts with off the wall others. More on that later. I've had to work very hard in talking out of the left side of my mouth and lowering my voice to create this persona and sound tests are tomorrow. Her first interview will be with me and another knitter discussing the mathematics and other elements of knitting. Other interviews lined up will be with a naval architect and another with practitioners of a Philippine martial arts (kali, escrima, arnis) who come from opposite sides of the globe and met accidentally at a brainstorming session I was at. More on that and links when up and running.

(2)The long overdue anthology has been published!! Yay! This is the collection of the short stories, essays and poems that came out of my writing workshops. It will be launched formally next month followed by a book tour.

(3)I'm on the Board of Directors of a feminist theatre which supports women playwrights, directors and actors and is putting together a new season of great plays and a grand gala in November.

(4)I'm working on a collection of my own short stories and was pleasantly surprised to discover that I have enough for a book. I'm enjoying the process of super-editing and culling.

This is all keeping my life full beyond measure but exciting and enriching and stimulating too. I believe I'm the elder (by far) of every space I'm in but hell, I feel so much gratitude and sheer old-fashioned lucky for this privilege.

Returning Home

Today was one of those days of laundry and catching up with my St. John's Life. And exhaustion.

I've taken on two long road trips this past summer and maybe that wasn't so wise of me. A lot of driving.

However, the other side of me thinks this is a good thing, to still be semi-active, not as much as I'd like, of course, but savouring the sweetness of life. Particularly beautiful Newfoundland. I never tire of the scenery and here are a few samples:

The Architecture of Trinity

I spotted this man painting his extraordinary shed, more delicious architecture, again in Trinity, I was desperately trying to get that can of paint on the ground in the picture:

We stayed in Eastport also, the beach was breathtaking, my friend is a speck in the distance in this picture and she's going to enlarge it and put it on her bedroom wall.

And finally, Salvage. An artist's paradise.

The great news is that I am newly inspired, freshly minted in fact, with many wonderful events and projects about to unfold. More on that later.

Once I catch my breath.

Finding My Beach

Since I moved to the city I've thought "I need a beach". I'm kind of fussy about making a beach mine. It always takes a while.

It has to be open to the wild Atlantic.

It has to have sand.

It has to have rocks.

It has to have perches.

And little recessed areas for a chair for the knitting or a book or a meditation.

And people and dogs and kids to observe.

I found it, 10 minutes from my apartment.

Voila!

In the Beginning....Part 1.

When I bought this place over 13 years ago, I knew my relationship with my darling house and land would all end some day. I'm very conscious of the ticking of my own clock. I stay in moments and cherish them and reflect on my privilege and gratitude to have this house overlooking the ocean, surrounded by trees and hills, with views right out of some exotic magazine. With its own off the grid artist's cabin tucked up on the hill overlooking the bay.

We are so finite in this world and sometimes a tap on the shoulder comes, intuition if you will, and we must pay attention.

My friend Helen's death was a huge tap for me. Then a whole series of friends fell to the wayside shortly thereafter way before their time. I say way before their time when, really, what is human time? Three score plus ten? I've been losing friends since I was six when Geraldine died of meningitis and at eight Eithne was burned in a house fire and at fifteen Rosario had brain cancer. So death walks along beside me even though many of us behave as if we have two hundred years to live. And to live with full mental and physical functions intact. Not so. Take a look around at your Zimmer frames, oxygen tanks and wheelchairs and bewilderments in the supermarkets. I do. Not morbidly but noddingly, know what I mean? Constantly aware too that most health impacted seniors don't shop for themselves so we don't see the Alzheimer's, the dementia, the legless and blind and stroke victims.

I thought to take charge then, back in 2015. I live alone. Have a fierce streak of independence, turned down potential partnerships here, 3 or 4 at last count to offer an example, and wish to be proactive rather than reactive to any future challenges I might face.

I remember a dear blog friend, I was her role model of aging well for some reason, saying at one point: "Well it's a good job I have ten more years to catch up to you and loads of time to live creatively" but sadly she didn't. She died Christmas 2013 rather quickly, from cancer.

So the power of now became a mantra for me long before it was fashionable.

To be continued.....

Life at "Home"

"Home" is subjective, isn't it?

Do you ever write about stuff you can do nothing about?

Trying to sort out feelings like anguish, disturbance, fear, uncertainty?

I've been triggered badly and I'm trying to sort it all out, for there is absolutely nothing I can do about any of it.

I think: I have to make serious changes.

But my very livelihood and future security is completely threatened. And, I repeat, there is (seriously)nothing I can do.

This all happened while I was away. Shock and horror prevailed when I came back on Sunday, and still does.

I hate this feeling. I can't change it. I'm not like Barbara Bush. Though some can do this shelving. I can never do it. I have to pick at it until it unravels or something else distracts or.....

But I feel the earth shaking underneath me (not just a metaphor) and life will never be the same again. Serious evaluation and taking stock is happening.

More later when I develop a coherence to my thought patterns.

And you know how I do that? By talking/writing about it with a trusted few.

Until my world rights itself again.

Life on the Farm Day 6

Missus has confided she doesn't want children and Mister isn't too hung up on them either. I was surprised a little, though these days it's not uncommon. I arrived home after I had my supper out. There were a million children, all between 5 and 10 in the living room, eating dinner everywhere in between screams and racing around. Below you see the living room, imagine that festooned with rugrats, their assorted keepers, toys and spare animals.

It turns out the sister of Missus had two children by the time she was 17 and mom of Missus remarried when Missus was 12 and had another family. Mister's twin bro also got married at 20 and 2 of his were part of this menage.

I totally get why Missus, though extremely interactive and fun with this enormous gaggle, would like closing the door on them when the visit was over and resolve not to add to the conglomerate.

I found this perfectly hidden graveyard on a ramble today. I deserved a ramble as I finally finished that challenging editing job which was driving me mad.

I found Smokey the cat quite a comfort to me in my deep Ansa-loss. Smokey is extraordinary as she never stops talking to any human who crosses her path (and the dog who has no time for her). Endless conversations, highly interactive and one of those cuddly types.

There can never be enough cuddles in the world.

Life on the Farm Day 5

The editing got stuck today but a story I was working intensely changed direction on me and took me by surprise.
I went off out to ponder and mull in this glorious weather and came across this strand by the side of a lake with the mountains in the distance. I hadn't realized there was a conference going on. A Canada Geese Conference. They all becamet quite irritated at this human intrusion and scattered.

I took another picture of this fantastic place:

And then headed towards the mountains which were breathtaking, the trees just on the point of turning crimson but nowhere to stop and take a photo.

I try and find common ground with the young mister and missus. They don't believe in reading as everything you'd ever want to know is on their devices and the television. He goes off hunting daily to help his buddies bag their moose quotas and as they all have children he lets their moose kills go ahead of him. He also sells a few cords of the wood he has prepared and she crafts some lovely wooden décor for walls. For example one is a box-shelf at eyelevel made out of repurposed barn wood which holds many photos in barnwood frames. Very attractive.

I find their disinterest in my life quite humbling, because in my twenties I'm sure I felt the same way about old people. What on earth could they contribute to a conversation, they were used up, finished, done. So I'm content to ask them questions and think how very fortunate they are to be living their dreams out loud and lustily while still in their mid twenties. They seriously love the lives they're living. And their parents and their grandparents all live within the wider circle. And most of them came back from the tar sands of Fort McMurray to do so. Long before the wildfires.

I'm very much the student here.

Life on the Farm Day 4

The chickens!

Walked around the farm today and I offer you a few pics of what I observed. The young couple have only been farming for a year here and their clearing of the forest is admirable.

The turkeys!

I was editing this anthology most of the day, I hope to never edit again apart from my own work and one other commitment which I intend to tackle soonest. I don't know how anyone does it for a living. One 9 page story has had me rewriting it something like 20 times and counting - it is so mangled and grammatically a disaster but it has to go in the anthology because sales. No more can I say.

The trees (and vegetable garden)!

Then I went out in the brilliant sunshine for a while and had coffee and finished my book and took stock of the comings and goings of the populace. And thought long and hard about what I was doing with my life.

The ducks!

And I've decided to drop a lot of the extraneous from it. What I deem extraneous. No more committees, no more start-ups (goodbye community theatre). I am filling my days with bliss and only doing the stuff I do with joy and gratitude. And there is so much of this if I make it happen. Stuff that puts a smile on my face and not an old grouchy sour puss will-it-ever-be-over face.

See? I needed this time away to clarify my thinking, my dreams, my little goals, what's left of my life. That time is now.

We are never too old to change, m'dears.

Life on the Farm Day 3

Because I can.

I headed off today, got hopelessly lost in signpost-less rural Newfoundland. It can be maddening. Plus GPS fail due to lack of service. I sympathise more with my tourists who stay with me now. Visited the above abandoned farm, so grown over I didn't want to injure myself with no cell phone coverage so took the picture from afar and speculated.

I'm over-editing stuff so have to leave it. And go back to it.

I sat in a coffee shop and observed for a while and then read my current book. On leaving, walking through the parking lot, 4 people greeted me. I love this aspect of Newfoundlanders. A perfect stranger and a greeting tossed like a flower.

I found a pair of slippers for myself at a local shop. I'm awfully fussy about slippers. These are comfortable and stalwart and won't shove me out of them. It's happened.

I saw a sign outside a local church which made me laugh and laugh. I really don't know why. Maybe you can explain it:

"Life without God is like an unsharpened pencil. There's no point."

OK. Maybe I'm getting blunter as I age. Sorry.

Chatted with the Grandgirl on PM. She's lecturing at university now. To 3rd years. She's in 4th year. Her marks are through the roof. She's enjoying it and the money but her own work is piling up. I felt lucky to get her on PM.

A dog barking set me off today. I do all my major crying in the car.

And secrets. Love them. When missus here is off teaching, mister lights up a mighty spliff. I say mighty as I didn't see it, he was out in the shed but the aroma actually barged its way into my room. I took a few deep breaths and reminisced for a while about those hippy days in the sixties.

I'm not missing home one bit.

Life on the Farm Day 2

The view from my bedroom window. Nothing moving unlike the ocean at my door back home.

The woods. Watching the hunting dog being trained. The cat supervising my work. 800 words today. A milestone from someone who has struggled and struggled. The applefalls being fed to the ducks and the chickens.

Something cracked open inside me and it let the light in. Yeah, I still cry for Ansa but just once today. Smokey the cat was a comfort. As was bouncy Belle the hunting dog. Out geese hunting they were at the crack of dawn (4 a.m. yikes). Ne'er a goose. The missus, who looks about 24, is a capital shot. Bagged her first moose last year. They live off the land as much as they can. She teaches French to replenish the coffers and hosts Airbnb, lucky me.

The colours are in the trees now, should be blinding me in a couple of days, the outraged red shoving the ambers and oranges and greens out of the way and glaring at us all.

I updated my book page if you want a look-see. And I'm working on three short stories in case you ask.

My world needs to become smaller. I've lost interest in this circus called politics. And it's a circus everywhere. The more "respectable" of the newsfeeds today trumpeted Prince George had snubbed our prime minister and Herr Drumpf should win the debate tonight which I won't watch or track. Can anyone define this particular "win"? How can we take it all seriously when the bigger, planet challenging issues are nowhere to be found and the gunslingers in the states are still gunning down children and aboriginal women in Canada are being slaughtered just about daily? I'm backing away and concentrating on where my hands are, thanks.

As Schumacher had it: Small is Beautiful.

Life on the Farm Day 1

Well, not really a full day. I arrived after 6.00pm. A looooong drive, well over 600km. 2 breaks but not long breaks. Gorgeous spot, I felt I was in Ireland with all the farms around, and the animals, and hand made quilts and a stunning modern type house but all wood inside, vaulted ceilings, loft, old repurposed wood, the whole house designed by the young woman and executed by her new husband. They were married this month. She fell in love with him in high-school when she was 14, they became best friends and had their first "real" date 2 years later. They have started this farm from scratch and built green houses and chicken coops and grow crops and are expanding it into outfitting, i.e. taking groups hunting and fishing and trapping. They have a cabin on crown land in the inaccessible (except to them) wilderness. They are living their dream and so very young at it too.

So I've laid out my materials, set up my computer, filled my shelf in their fridge with my food and have settled in. I had 5 bags including my food, my journals, my binders of work, (books, anthology), my reading material (oh so much, my books by mail (BBM) have chosen this last box with extreme care, every single book I decant is riveting, the knitting has suffered and so has Netflix.

Which reminds me: update my book list on this blog. Will do.

So I'm settling in quite nicely. And happily. I feel miles away from everything and everybody.

Which is wonderful.

Serendipity

One of my great good fortunes this summer was to host not one, but two community theatre directors, one from BC and the other from Ontario.

Brain picking ensued.

One of my life long dreams is to have another community theatre.

Another you say?

Well yes. I started my own community theatre in my neighbourhood when I was 8 years old. And I have a picture to prove it. Of the entire cast. I was director, writer, lead actor, props manager and stage manager. What's that you say? Ego? I didn't know better. It was all about me and I absolutely loved it. And thought at the time: I could spend my life doing this. I do have to find the photo and post it here.

So now, I'm trying to do the exact same thing in my neighbourhood here. I got brilliant suggestions from my guests and I'd absolutely love to make this a go. I tried several years back with no success as the team evaporated to other projects.

But this time? I have hope. I am invigorated. Re-vitalized with all the challenges of the past couple of years firmly behind me. A rebirth and renewal of spirit it seems.

So few years left. So much delightful stuff to do.

Life comes full circle.

This time I'll share.

King of the Broadcasters

Sometimes it's triply hard to make a living. Make that to the power of 1,000. 99% of the time my PGs (tourists) are wonderful, kind, aware, interesting and interested.

But the odd time, the very odd time, I realize I'm making barely 50c an hour for the time they suck out of me like this guy(TG)! TG booked in for 3 days and nights.

I am captive to his enchantment with his own company and his interesting self. He's a non-stop broadcaster. A braggadocio of the first order. From his family pictures lining the walls of some distant legislature to how wonderful a husband/father/son/advocate he's been since he was born. One night I had to leave my own house and go to the graveyard to commune with dead strangers as he had finally trampled all over my last remaining nerve ending.

I had to leave him in mid-flow in my living room last night when I felt a scream rush to my throat and only by a sheer act of will could I squelch it by running upstairs.

This morning, as he entered the dining room he started up again about me being his escort to his son's wedding (kill me now!) and then launched into how the Cree Nation honours him for all his work in the Cree Tribe. His solution (which is hugely successful, he remarked in passing) to tribal alcoholism: "Give the natives proper suits and employ them all in First Nations casinos and give them credit cards and then bingo! they'll have purchasing power and a fancy car. They'll stop drinking!" Can you count all the wrongs in that statement? Boy, I'd love to find me some Cree elders and have a chat about sainted TG and his final solution.

So I stood, pushed my chair in, went to the kitchen, cleaned up, then said abruptly as the verbal diarrhea poured all around me: "Look, I've work to do, phone calls to make, I'm going to my office now and need privacy."

He says, I kid you not: "Ah, don't leave me, I love our little chats, oh come on!".

I made it and closed the door with a firm thunk and leaned against it gnawing my own fist.

He leaves tomorrow morning.

Blue Window

So yes, open it
Just a crack.
The blue curtains
Need replacing.
Once I saw outside,
1935 it was.
I didn't like it then.
I doubt if I would now.

Tales from my Couch

Characters

Bill, a man in his late fifties, slim - B.
Trudy, his wife, a hefty woman - T.
Me, their host - M.

B - (settling into the couch in my living room) - how are the roads around here?

M - (laughing) it depends on what you want to do with them: drive, lie, walk or dig them.

B - (laughing)Oh, I'm into running, I do half marathons.

M - Oh they're not bad for that, I trained on them, I can tell you where the best ones are.

T - Oh he's mad for the running, I don't believe in it myself.

B - Well now Trood, it's either that or die.

M - What?

B - (looking at Trudy) I'm going to tell her.

T - You tell everybody.

B - Because it's so amazing.

T - (eyeroll) He never shuts up about it.

B - I used to be 500lbs.

M - (gobsmacked)Seriously?

B - 4 Years ago I had a gastric band put in. I could barely stand up without help.

M - And you've changed your lifestyle. Well good for you!

B - Yes I run in different races now. I track my steps every day, I have hill training and mountain climbing and all sorts of physical events. I love it.

T - (in a flat tone of voice)From a couch potato to a marathon man in 4 years.

M - Talk of change, positive, life affirming.....

B - I love my new life. I took 6 weeks off work recently to have all the extra skin excised from my body, it was painful and horrible but as you can see...(and he waved his hand over his flat stomach and athletic thighs)

T - I hardly know him. He was 250lbs when I married him and now he's 180lbs.

B - I have loads of plans. A huge bucket list. Climbing mountains and deep sea diving. You name it, Bill's going to do it!

Ah, I think. Now where does all this leave Trudy?

At breakfast this morning, he asks for porridge, yogurt and a sprinkle of almonds and granola on top.

She has the big Newfoundland fry-up.