time is of the essence

This is what 5:45 p.m. E.D.T looked like after we switched the clocks. It's darker now. So much for saving the daylight.

It's a month before Christmas and people are starting to panic, scurry, and deny that it is already this time of year. How time flies! It seems like only yesterday... Where does the time go?

It's time. It passes. We think we've got all the time in the world. We don't.

I'm reading God is Not Great by Christopher Hitchens for bookclub.

He writes:

"The history of the cosmos begins, if we use the word "time" to mean anything at all, about twelve billion years ago. (If we use the word "time" wrongly, we shall end up with the infantile computation of the celebrated Archbishop James Ussher of Armagh, who calculated that the earth -"the earth", alone, mind you, not the cosmos- had its birthday on Saturday, October 22, in 4004 BC, at six in the afternoon...

...As a species on earth, according to many sanguine experts, we do not have many more eons ahead of us.

If you've got time, you could read the book yourself. Unless you think it would be a waste of time.

I am with Ursula K. Le Guin, 80, and her take on spare time. In her blog [http://www.ursulakleguin.com/Blog2010.html] she said it best when filling out an anonymous questionnaire for the sixtieth reunion of Harvard.

Ursula writes:

"...to the Questioners of Harvard my lifework has been a “Creative Activity,” a hobby, something you do to fill up spare time. Perhaps if they knew I’d made a living out of it they’d move it to a more respectable category; but I rather doubt it....

In my case I still don’t know what spare time is because all my time is occupied. It always has been and it is now. It’s occupied by living...

What is Harvard thinking of? I am going to be eighty-one tomorrow. I have no time to spare."

My friend's six year old daughter has a particularly good opinion about sexy time. The conversation went something like this:

"Mom, do you have sexy time with dad?"
My friend pauses - it's finally time for the talk.
"Yes."
"Thought so."
"What do you think sexy time is?"
"Oh, you get in your underwear together. Sometimes dance around."
My friend smiles.
"Mom?"
"Yes."
"Did you have sexy time with boys before dad?"

Overtime. Theoretically spare time. Ideally not interfering with sexy time. At least you are being rewarded with cash.

Many songs have used time as a theme: Time in a Bottle, Working 9 to 5, Time is on My Side, Time After Time. Of course the famous line from Kenny Rogers The Gambler "...there'll be time enough for countin', when the dealin's done". And if you don't know when that is, perhaps you shouldn't be wasting your time, gambling.

"Just another five minutes." No. Neither right nor wrong, it always takes longer than you think, whatever it is. The laundry, dinner preparations, the drive home, writing this blog, your commute, sex!, editing a book, doing a workout, being on hold with a customer service representative, cleaning the back yard, shucking oysters at home, vacuuming, groceries, movie line ups, lunch, savouring that lofty, rich, expensive wine.

Time outs. In addition to disciplining children and pets, let's hope the Saskatchewan Roughriders keep strategy and due diligence top of mind with their time outs next weekend during the Grey Cup.

Once upon a time, I worked on a CBC TV show about lifestyle and culture. The executive producer told me about a story he tried to get. He was to film the caribou migration in the Yukon. They spent a week in the area filming everything but caribou.

At the beginning of each day when the light was good he would ask the Chief, do you think the caribou will run today? To which the Chief did not reply immediately. He stood. He looked. He breathed deeply. Three minutes passed. He stood. He watched. He turned and faced the east. Another minute. He turned the other way. One more minute.

Not today, he said and turned and went inside.
____________________________________

From the Lord of the Rings, 'The Shadow of the Past', Gandalf says it best,

"All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."


I could go on but I'm out of time.

sir neil diamond

This is one of the rare photos of Neil sleeping. He does sleep. But with one eye open. Sometimes both. A year ago November 6th, we brought this little guy home after signing the papers from the Toronto Cat Rescue. http://www.TorontoCatRescue.ca

We thought it would be a good idea for Eighteen (the three year old stray we brought in) to have a pal.

Well.

After much hissing and growling and running and paw batting and a temporary hunger strike from Eighteen, the two have come to an understanding. Just like the vet and the woman from Toronto Cat Rescue said they would.

They understand they do not care much for each other.

However there are brief moments of affection. Followed by longer moments of aggravation, frustration, anticipation, trepidation, fascination, obsession, justification, fixation, suspicion, and some good old fashioned loathing.

Cats do things on their terms, their way, in their time. As a Leo, these are traits I admire, envy and aspire to.

In the year he has been with us, Neil's behaviour has altered - dramatically. He greets us at the door. He chases shadows. His favourite toys are rolled up bits of paper. He knows which drawer they're in. He sits in the tub. He likes pickle juice and yogurt. He let's us rub his belly. He won't let us trim his claws. He is obsessed with the toilet flushing. He meows faintly and only when necessary. And he smacks Eighteen in the bum every chance he gets.

Eighteen could have happily gone on without this hyper alert, odd, goofy cartoon-like roommate, but she has no choice. And behind closed doors, who knows what they get up to? Perhaps he massages her temples, fluffs her litter, steeps her tea, sprinkles catnip on the rug for her and fetches her string?

I have witnessed their 'game on' chase that has recently come into play. Make no mistake, the lady is in charge. The chase route takes it course from couch to chair. Behind the plants and up to the windowsills. Truce point is when we get to clean up the dirt that's been spilled from potted plants. We gather up the newspapers torn apart that litter the living room in disarray. I've even had to pick up cushions from the floor that were used as a launch pad.

He is still skittish and the feral may never go away but the clumsy cuddler has started to sneak up on our laps in the evening. He follows my husband around like a little black shadow. He goes back to bed to snuggle with us. Until he flips out and transforms into a battle cat on red alert.

Why the name? He came with it. Originally they thought he was a female so it was Nella. Turns out she was a he. So, Neil. We added the Diamond. And the Sir. I mean, look at him. There is a small white square on his chest and a white patch on his belly. Someone told me once the white bits are features in black cats "to let the evil out".

It's a tiny gesture in the grand scheme of things.
It's a purring calm from a creature who trusts you.
It's a good day when you can give a home to something that needs it...one cat at a time.

gewürz-galerie

Last March I had very improperly labeled, in fact not at all, baggies of spice and used cumin instead of cardamom in a ginger cake. It turned out fine but the ladies at the health food store laughed at me.

I vowed to get a better spice rack.

All set for a trip to Canadian Tire to use up some well earned CT money I found a box in our storage room containing the spice rack pictured above.

My husband has had this piece he got in Germany for about ten years but never never used it. So we dusted it off and nailed it to the wall in the kitchen. Gewürz-Galerie translated is "spice galerie". The names of the little bottles are in German so my cooking now doubles as a language lesson.

It's got the essentials. Pfeffer, paprika, knoblach (garlic). I fill the dill jar with rock salt and the marjoram with cinnamon. I grated some whole muskat (nutmeg) for a pumpkin loaf I made this weekend.

I still don't have a solution for my cumin and cardamom dilemma. Those women at the health food store can continue their schadenfreude at the expense of my mix up. I still have those baggies on the bottom shelf of the pantry.

Keeps me guessing. Keeps the spice in my life...varied.

Wunderbar.

stuff

We have too much stuff.

By 'we' I mean me. Us. North Americans, Europeans, Aussies and middle to upper class members of any other first world nation.

A friend recently moved back to Montreal from L.A. She managed to fit her life into six boxes. The essentials, she said.

The only good thing about moving is the purge. I plan one of gigantic proportions the next time around.

I grew up in a house where everything was saved. Every yogurt container, every plastic bag, every art class painting, Christmas card and macaroni cardboard statue. Every notebook, elastic band and used birthday candle.

My parents' basement is still filled with stuff. There are boxes of unused Avon products under the pool table, pennants from family vacations, transistor radios, a filing cabinet (full of papers, maps, and research), a guitar, cupboards full of board games, a lot of paperbacks, an old stereo, a few coffee tables, old winter coats, puzzles mounted with glue on plywood, spare chairs, extra pillows, a bar with shooter glasses, ashtrays and a jar full of bottle caps. There are spare blankets, old laundry baskets, too many towels, and five kinds of shampoo in the guest shower. Their freezer could very well have bags of perogies and raspberries in hiding from the 1980's. It's too full to tell.

The garage is also full of stuff. Fishing rods, tools, tennis rackets, cross country skies, pails, lids, bits of wood, scrap metal, bikes, golf clubs, a minivan, two cat beds, tackle boxes, baseball bats, badminton rackets, a barbeque, lawn chairs, a fridge, boxes of old blankets for the Humane Society, a tarp for the boat that was sold ten years ago, a tent, spare tires, flower pots, and a bunch of gardening tools.

Behind the garage sits a camper van, a rain barrel, garbage cans, chicken wire, containers and a few buckets.

And there's a shed out back in the far corner of the garden that houses various rakes, a fence, more lawn chairs, a pair of crutches, a garden hose, floor mats, rubber boots, oars, some carpet, a watering can, a spare gas can, another hose, a lawn bowling set, and some iron stakes.

It's how things go. It adds up over time.

I don't want a big house because I lose enough crap in the small two bedroom apartment I currently live in. Why? Because there is too much of it.

A trend is upon us where thrifty, green folk are opting to live in smaller spaces. I mean 600 sq' places. Google “tiny homes” and you’ll see what I mean.

It is our obsession with stuff that allows shows like A&E’s Hoarders get produced. It’s how companies like 1-800-GOT-JUNK exist. It has allowed Value Village to have a 54 year history and they continue to evolve. It’s why Toronto ships its garbage to Michigan.

Nineteen years ago I went to Europe with a backpack. It too, was filled with too much stuff. I took a detour and ended up living on a kibbutz in Israel for a while. From there I went to Egypt for three weeks and took only my day pack, leaving my large bag in storage. The small pack filled with very few items of clothing and sunscreen. It was enough. Granted it was March in the desert, but still.

I’ve read that a woman only needs a few essentials in her closet. The list runs anywhere from six to twelve things that could include the following: a good suit, a crisp white shirt, jeans, tee shirts in black, white and one “fun” colour, a leather jacket, a trench coat (neutral in colour), a little black dress (LBD), boots, black pumps, ballet flats, jewelry, and a medium sized handbag.

I've got a lot more than twelve items in my closet. But I have also been doing a test. Since February I've stopped buying clothes. I don’t need anything more. I caved and bought a top at a second hand shop and in July I bought two pairs of sandals. (A change in job description meant I needed some functional, comfortable shoes.) I still have too many boots. I just bought a new pair ⎯ flat, functional yet stylish ⎯ because I just gave my flat functional yet stylish black boots (along with a second pair) to Value Village. I also bought two pairs of pants at Value Village while looking for a Halloween costume ⎯which I never ended up getting.

So my test failed. But I bought a lot fewer clothes than last year.

You don't realize how many cars are being produced until you end up doing a video shoot on a factory line at a GM plant. This was a few years ago. I'm sure they've slowed down, and it's about time.

How much do we really need?

We need food, shelter, clean water and clothing.
We need love, warmth, light and purpose.
We need health and laughter and kind words.
We need peace, understanding, compassion and education.
We don't need more cars.

But we do like our stuff. Our collections, souvenirs, decorations and electronics. Our gadgets and doodads and chuchkas and lucky charms.

We like our stuff and we are conditioned to want more. We think we never have enough.

And then we hear about people like Allen and Violet Large. http://www.cbc.ca/canada/nova-scotia/story/2010/11/04/ns-allen-violet-large-lottery-winning.html.

The world stops in shock to stare at them because they won over $11 million and gave all but 2% of it away. They didn’t buy a new car, take a trip or get a microwave. They have everything they need.

They have enough.

What it comes down to is this:

All that stuff you have…is stuff you can't take with you.

boo yeah

I love going places I've never been.

This Halloween my husband and I dressed up in last year's costumes and walked to our local video store to return a movie - Sleepy Hollow. The bustle was just beginning. After dark, after we lit our own jack 'o lanterns, changed costumes and took another walk.

Here is what we found.

A new place. The same street we see everyday was now alive with spirit, wonder, and imagination. The neighbourhood had exploded into a fantasy world. Gangs of superheroes, ghosts and goblins, princesses and pirates and a guy that was half eaten walking around in the mouth of a shark. Hundreds of kids, parents and dogs were wandering around interacting with each other.

Interacting. With. Each. Other.

In Toronto.

It was an inspiring sight to see so many people so involved . One house (pictured) had a giant eyeball stuck in the tree and a blow up cat whose head followed you as you walked by. Two live cats were also skulking around the lawn. Another house had battery operated dummies lying on the ground scratching at the pavement and moaning. A headless farmer was perched on a hay bale, and plastic hands stuck out of the ground beside overgrown headstones. They had the most elaborate pumpkins on display - one was even carved into the face of Chucky, another was the Corpse Bride. Further up the street, a ring of ghosts hung from a tree branch and circled around a spinning wheel while Thriller played through the outdoor speakers.

Then we came home, enlightened, lit all the candles, pigged out on the candy we'd kept for ourselves, watched The Shining and put the costume bag away for another year.

Shouldn't we do this more often?

Boo!
Yeah.