creatures of habit

Everyday on my way home from work on the bike path, I pass an elderly woman sitting by the lake. She sits in the same spot near a fork in the path where it curves around by some trees. She is leaning rather. Leaning against her walker with one foot up on the guardrail looking out at the lake. She wears a white cotton hat, loose fitting pants and a comfortable top and a light jacket on cool afternoons. She is petite, her skin wrinkled but cared for. She is calm, her profile still and classy. I pass by her quickly because I'm always trying to get somewhere in a hurry - a tennis game, the farmer's market, a workout, the library, a writing class, home.

She is not in a hurry. She let's the world happen around her. Behind her the hectic city bustles - traffic, cyclists, hospitals, festivals, landscapers, financial transactions, art openings, daycare, yoga classes, restaurants. In front of her the water is stretched out - kayaks, fishing boats, sail boats, planes, geese, the steeples of Stelco in the distance on a clear day.

A lot of life has happened to her. This is her chance to rest, reflect, and remember. I don't know what she sees in the water. Maybe the memory of a lost love, a loyal pet, a failed career, a good book, a bad haircut, a car accident, a successful career, a questionable choice, a perfect meal, a hot pink sunset.

Perhaps she's thinking about how she made it here today one more time to look at the lake. And she's contemplating how long it will take her to get back to the seniors residence beside St. Joseph's hospital where she lives. The hike she has to make over the Jameson bridge. How she has to be mindful of her steps because of fragile bones. The dust and clammor she has to contend with because of all the damn construction. How those cyclists ride too fast.

Maybe she's thinking about the dragon boat races she was involved in on this very water years ago. The grade six social studies class she taught. The camping trip to Algonquin Park. Last night's mushy grey dinner. A honeymoon in Alaska. The birth of her first grandchild. The death of her husband. The tea she'll have for breakfast tomorrow. How she survived a battle against breast cancer. The scar on her leg she got from falling off a horse. How she never got to Africa. The peace she finds in being alone with her thoughts.

I think what she sees in the water are moments.

But she wasn't there today.

sparkle

Yesterday, I came home to the "pop" of a bottle of sparkling wine being opened. Cuvée Catharine Rosé Brut by Henry of Pelham to be exact. In addition to the cork pop, my husband had prepared a bouquet of 32 white roses with little purple flowers intertwined. There was a blueberry pie on the table, a DVD of Chocolat wrapped in tissue, a large gift bag that contained: a card from him, a card from the cats, two books wrapped in silver, star studded paper. One was a recipe book entirely about quinoa and Terry O'Reily's book, The Age of Persuasion.

We ate a dinner of the Lake Erie walleye he caught a couple weeks ago with a topping of the little Roma tomatoes from our garden, bacon and challots. Then...a chocolate cake with buttercream icing lit with 39 candles.

He thought I might be upset by seeing 39 candles.
It was sparkling, illuminating and very nice to look at.
Just like him.

You bet I made a wish.
Here's hoping...

favourites

It's my birthday and below is a list of my favourite things to eat, do and see:

EAT
figs
oysters
mangoes
dark chocolate
cheese
cake

DO
read
laugh
jump
share
cook
bath

SEE
David
the ocean
clouds
coloured glass
peace
cats

our patio garden

We've got about 100 tomatoes hanging off one of the plants. They look like mini Romas. Not round, long, maybe an inch. And delicious! Little bursts of tangy sweet pulp, seed and flesh that floats around your mouth. You don't want it to end. The skins are thicker than the ones you buy in the store. Tough like the consistency you would expect from the leaf of a tulip plant.

Other things of notable mention that live on our patio are:
- a green pepper plant; two fruits harvested so far. Four more on the way and more to follow. Slow going but bountiful
- a prosperous basil plant that I made three containers of pesto from last weekend and new growth is already creeping out
- lavender that's flowered. I am thinking infused honey, tea and sachets in the future.
- a mojito mint plant from which I've frozen two baggies for the winter. Thick, chewy leaves that double as breath freshener
- Italian parsley. Harvested one thick, forest green bunch that I cooked up in my fish stew earlier this week. Looks like we'll get another batch there too
- strawberries that the cat has adopted as her litter box. FAIL. We've had those plants for two years. Bad kitty!
- dill that was used to season broiled trout, it's now gone to seed
- a wee bunch of chives that are tucked in the corner in an old recycling bin. Good for dressings.
- a thriving, twisted ficus tree we stole from the garbage of our last apartment
- a large hibiscus plant that pops out clown nose coloured flowers every few weeks. Once there were FIVE in one day. (also from the garbage...thank you lazy wasters!)
- two other varieties of tomatoes that are yielding a beefier veg than the baby Romas
- various flowers that liven up the place, including a few marigolds tucked into the tomatoes to keep the bugs away

There's also a patio lantern. It got knocked over in a storm once so now it faces the wall. It gives off a light yellow glow in the evenings when we find time to sit and watch the night fall deeper into darkness.

It's my husband who is responsible for all this. He is the gardener. I prune, learn, harvest, cook.

Patio gardening is all the rage in the city I hear. I just like knowing where my food comes from.