My dream

It’s late. Or early, depending on how you want to figure time. I’m finally on my way home along the dark and mostly deserted street. Shops closed, street lights casting their pink-yellow light on the dingy sidewalk. I can hear it coming, because nothing else is making a noise, not even my black Chucks on the pavement. It’s going fast, coming up behind me, as we both approach the slightly off kilter intersection. I turn to hail it, hoping that I will shorten the distance I have to walk.

It blows past me, the tonnes of plastic and metal. I see the driver react late, seeing the movement from my hand in the street light out of the corner of his eye. He jerks the wheel and brakes, but the bus slaloms and it turns into a skid, sideways, heading towards the brightly lit, and complementarily coloured, gas station on the corner. I’m still slightly far enough from the intersection that I watch as the bus disappears behind a building and I wait to hear the explosion. Nothing.

I keep walking, flipping my black hood up on my head now. As I come to the acute/obtuse angled intersection, the gas station is intact. The bus is nowhere to be seen. But the yellow-gold of a route name is approaching from the opposite direction. A single digit, but I know it will take me closer to my destination. This time, I am close enough that I make it to the bus stop. I sit on the back of the bench, feet on the seat, under an old style street light that is not lit. I watch as the bus approaches.

It doesn’t stop. Perhaps I was invisible in my black zip up hoodie in the darkness.

I keep walking along the narrow, two lane street lined with darkened little boutique style shops. I hear another roaring engine. I turn, hand held aloft to flag it down but to no avail. The 80X drives by, the female driver not even seeing my feeble attempt.

So I keep walking.


This weekend, I went for a snowshoe hike with a couple of friends. I got up early (for me these weekend days) and made some “to-be-grilled” cheese sandwiches. Then I was saddened by my ill fitting snow pants, but I persevered.

Tracks in the snow.

We drove up to a more northerly trail in Gatineau Park. It was quite crisp and clear. The sky was blue with a depth to it. The snow glittered like crushed diamonds. A bare dead tree marked the entry to the main trail we were following. Maybe next time we could try the other route.

Tree at the crossroad.

Vista across a frozen lake.

We had a lovely picnic at the first cabin we found. The sandwiches grilled perfectly on the top of the wood stove, wrapped in tinfoil. My friend even suggested we add sliced green olives to them, which was a really interesting addition I’d never thought of before. It was really tasty. J brought a thermos of coffee, fresh veggies and olives. N brought trail mix and delicious brownies. We sat and chatted in the cabin, trying to dry out a bit at the wood stove.

I had to take my snowshoes off early on the way back, which made certain parts of the hike more slippery and challenging, but the way the snowshoes were forcing me to walk was beginning to chew at the skin on my heel. The trail was pretty packed down, thankfully. We stopped to chat more intensely at one point (so we could hear each other better over the squeak-crunch of the snow) and to let a speedy pair go by, and I made the mistake of backing a bit too far off the trail and sinking into the soft snow up to my knee. Yeah, the snow was deep. This is why snowshoes are useful and necessary.

Snow covered swamp. We knew it was a swamp because it smelled like a swamp. Even in winter.

We didn’t kill ourselves rushing back and had lots of great conversation. It was a really lovely hike.

The vista view coming back towards the beginning of the trail.

I just have to say, snowshoeing is not like hiking nor is it like running. Whole other parts of your legs are working. At one point, I could feel my hip flexors saying, “Hiiiiiii! We’re working haaaaaard!” Oy… But it was a great day with the ladies.


My “skanky” bowl

My friend J invited me to take a pottery class with our friend N and her friend S. I have to admit that I haven’t spent a whole lot of time using clay for any reason, but I’m always up for learning neat new things.

So my first day on the wheel, I threw a skanky bowl. Which was how my teacher described my slightly uneven, lopsided bowl.

Last week, I trimmed the bottom of it, on J’s advice, so that it wouldn’t get too hard and unworkable (since I’m missing this week’s class).

On the greenware shelf, drying.

I have also thrown two other things – a vase and… a, um, rustic drinking vessel… Or a lopsided, wonky, closed bottomed cylinder.

Not too shabby vase

Made even more wonky by a badly done cut across the bottom to get it off the bat, that sheared off a wedge shaped piece.

Definitely an exercise in non-attachment… I have ideas of things to aim for, so we’ll see how it goes.