Yesterday being house-cleaning day, Irving and I were both busy, doing just that. On such days I'm all for the convenience of meal preparations that don't require too much effort. In that category I place tiny frozen Cornish game hens. They're so quick and easy to prepare. I often bake a little egg-noodle pudding to accompany a game hen, and some kind of green vegetable. Jackie and  Jillie are most appreciative of that kind of meal; invariably there's some of the breast left over that they can enjoy as a supplement-treat for several days afterward. 

 

Convenience is steadily taken out of our lives and the irritation factor is immense, but livable. In Canada, we're no longer able to rely on those disposable plastic shopping bags we're all so familiar with. They've been outlawed in the name of environmental protection. I can understand that to a degree, but in the same token though they're considered disposable, once they've served their original purpose, to carry your purchases home after a shopping trip, they have other uses, mostly as receptacles for trash. In their absence the option is to buy these same bags marketed as what else; receptacles for trash.

I also relied on those bags for other reasons. To be filled with articles of clothing, for example, that were deemed expendable, no longer serving a personal purpose, and to be donated to the Salvation Army thrift shop. I also used them each time we did our food shopping, filling one each week with a selection of canned and boxed food, to be deposited for the Food Bank. I began using cloth bags instead. But then last September we drove to New Hampshire for a week of vacation in the White Mountain National Forest range. And each time we shopped, for groceries or any other type of consumer product, they were packed in the kind of plastic bags that were outlawed in Canada.

 

I kept each and every one of them. And by the time we were ready to return home I had amassed a surprising number of plastic disposable bags. We packed them up and brought them home, and we're still using them for our weekly grocery deposits for the Food Bank. Ah, the weekly grocery shopping expeditions -- they too now have an irritant-factor. Supermarkets intent on maximizing their profits and focusing on the expendability of employing people to expedite their sales.

When we do our shopping, invariably we fill up that shopping cart. And we have no intention of using any of the self-check-outs. We go through the aisles with actual cashiers; they're far more adept, experienced and above all, efficient than we can be at putting all our purchases sliding along the conveyor belt, through the computer system to be cashed out. And we've noticed in the past several weeks that of the four-five cashier stations only one or two will be open.

People with a lot fewer purchases generally use the self-check-out, and store employees formerly acting as cashiers are often delegated to stand around the self-check-out area to supervise and assist people using that method. Today when we did our shopping there was a long line of people awaiting their opportunity to get at all the self-check-outs, since all were occupied. And there were no regular cashier-assisted lanes open.

People with shopping carts were patiently waiting at the Customer Service aisle, and a lone cashier that usually sells Lottery tickets and looks after client-store interactions was now doing the job of a regular cashier. Inconvenient to say the least. Did I mention that the small disposable plastic bags used for fruits and vegetables in bulk have also been changed; the plastic fabric is now so thin that anything of any weight like large oranges piled into them destroys the integrity of the plastic and the bag simply disintegrates.

People still maintain good humour through it all. While we were waiting our turn at that single Client Service lane, on two occasions young women carrying a few items offered to give us their places. We thanked them of course, and their offers made us all feel fairly good, but their surrendering their place in line while only purchasing several items made no practical sense, and we demurred.

Earlier in the day we took our puppies out for their afternoon hike through the forest. We've been plunged back into the January deep-freeze. We had sunshine and -3C yesterday, but overcast, an icy wind and -5C today. The temperature-wind combination made for a very cold adventure through the woods. Not cold enough to dampen Jackie and Jillie's enthusiasm for their walk on the wild side, however.

It was a fine outing we all had, invigorating and pleasurable simply to be out there. And as familiar as we are with the terrain and the landscape, it seems as though we're always seeing the arras before us as though through an lens of unfamiliarity. There is always something different to be noted. And today we fell in with familiar faces and other little dogs about the size of our own, all of whom had a lot to impart to one another.

 Usually when I do my baking, only a relatively small portion of whatever it happens to be serves as our Friday-evening dessert, the rest left over to be had on succeeding days. And if they're cupcakes they stay light and moist and fluffy, and pies keep over well too for several days, but anything baked with a yeast dough tends to taste at its optimum the day it's baked. I try to keep what I bake varied, although we do have favourites, like butter tarts and cheesecake. On Friday I thought I'd try something a little different and we ended up with yeast-raised cinnamon twists that I drizzled melted chocolate over.

 

They were quite good and since they're not very large, we enjoyed two apiece on the day they were baked. Gratifyingly, several days later they still taste fresh enough to be enjoyed. It's the sweet nature of the yeast dough, made with milk, egg, sour cream, butter and honey that allows them to age gracefully. The semi-sweet chocolate they're topped with adds little sweetness, but the chocolate serves as a good foil and goes well with the cinnamon.

I hadn't wanted to bake too many of them, knowing we'd never be able to eat more than eight or so between us over a succession of days, so once the dough had risen and was ready to be worked with, I halved it, froze one half and used the other for the twists. I'll find some other use for the portion that I froze, some time soon.

Speaking of projects, Irving is finally in the completed stage of one of his projects. He started it last winter, worked on it fairly steadily, then left it for the summer. When winter returned he did too, to his project, kind of sporadically. Now it's done, for the most part. He had constructed a door frame while he was working on what would become a stained glass insert. Then he discovered that the wood  he bought as kiln-dried mightn't have been, because the door, while awaiting its insert, became slightly warped.

So he took it down and continued working on the insert to completion. Once the stained glass was finished, he then built another door frame and installed it. The final piece of the project was the installation of the insert into the waiting door frame, and now it's complete.

 

Many things happen that don't quite meet expectations. As an example, approaching the end of January usually heralds the depths of winter, at least by the calendar. Not this year. This winter and for that matter fall as well, have been quite untypical. Our brief cold snap that was far more alike a normal winter has transformed into a spate of much milder-than-normal days. So mild in fact, at 3C, under cloud-crowded skies and little wind, creating melting snow conditions that it seems more like spring.

 

We're still pulling little rubber boots over the puppies' paws to keep them warm and dry. The snowpack on the forest floor while still considerable, is nowhere near the depth of a normal winter. And it has become a bit sludgy, sucking at our boots as we tramp through the forest trails. Still, we certainly don't miss the icy fingers of cold guided by winter wind that usually creep through our jackets. And this winter season hasn't yet signalled it's been defeated. There are many more snowstorms that can and will erupt on the atmosphere as winter wears on.

Busy day! Didn't even have time to shovel yesterday's snow yet. Not to worry, tomorrow's another day. And another day. And another snowfall. Shovelling is endless. Until and unless we shovel the walkways in the backyard, every time Jackie and Jillie go out they know enough to 'up!'. Meaning they leap up to the settle positioned on a wall close to the sliding glass doors, where a towel has been laid, and two other towels await our use, to wipe the snow off their little paws. They know the routine. If they're wet with rain, up they go to wait patiently until they're wiped down.

We wanted to get out earlier than usual with them today, for their afternoon walk through the forest. So they could get their daily exercise before their appointment at the groomer's. It was such a lovely winter day we decided we'd go a bit further on our circuit to give ourselves and them more time to enjoy the atmosphere. Not much wind, but the temperature had risen to -1C, and the sun was out.

Actually, it was almost blinding, walking up the street to the ravine entrance. We've got snow everywhere packed down tight on the street and sitting high and deep on people's lawns, so the sun glancing off the snow is  just too bright for our eyes. We should've put on sunglasses, but didn't. That's the price we pay for a perfect winter day. Once in the forest, however, it's no longer a problem.

The sun does filter through the canopy, but it's nowhere near as pervasive, and by the time we were halfway through our hike, the sun gave centre stage to clouds and the forest interior reverted to its usual dusky appearance. The top layer of snow from yesterday's all-day snowfall was light enough and sticky enough to cover the puppies' legs. But their paws kept dry, thanks to their booties.

We got home just in time to go off again to their appointment. Where we left them to do the grocery shopping while they were being groomed. We had a number of stops first, pharmacy then bank, then supermarket. Prices appear to have stabilized somewhat. And now that Christmas and New Year's have passed the large container for Food Bank collections is not as stuffed as it's been for weeks, so there was ample room for our bag of donated food staples this time.

We picked up our puppies after admiring how svelte they now appear, and first thing after we hauled all the groceries into the house was preparing their little vegetable salads for their afternoon treat. They were famished, they told us.  Irving trimmed the cauliflower before I put it in the vegetable drawer of the refrigerator and since they're mad for cauliflower he gave them plenty of pieces to munch on.

Then they settled down for a prolonged nap, content themselves in having undergone a strenuous day to that point. And they'd stay that way, luxuriating in slumber, the fireplace blazing, until dinner time. I prepared a casserole of pasta, cheese sauce, pink salmon and green peas, then checked on my email and media account. And it was time for me to join Irving, reading the newspapers.

Today is his birthday, January 20th. The youngest of my mother's four children. He was born 13 years after me. He was a year old when I met a boy with whom I became fast friends, and who would, four  years later, become my husband. He had retired as a professor of botany only a year earlier. He lived a fairly healthy lifestyle, a vegetarian, an active outdoorsman, an avid natural gardener, and a dedicated birder. He loved an energetic game of squash. By the time his cancer was discovered it had already metastasized and he went directly into a therapeutic state of palliative care.

There are certain things I do routinely that always cause me to pause and think of his absence. Brief times of memory, recollection of long past events, tinges of sorrow at the realities of life. And then we push on. 

Life demands attention. And we respond accordingly. Both the routines and the items that are not quite routine, some of which have an extraordinary irritant factor. Like, for example, filling out official online forms that invariably are more complex than they need to be. Finicky, at the very least; the need for which is understandable, but no less irritating because of that.

The city of Ottawa, in its search to discover more available housing in a Canada-wide atmosphere of housing shortages, people seeking housing and discovering that the purchase price of both new and existing homes have become well beyond their means to even consider, allied to the fact that the federal government has seen fit to outdistance all other G7 countries in their intake of refugees, migrants, immigrants and foreign students badly exacerbating the problem.

Rental apartments are far too few and far too expensive. Dwellings of any kind in major Canadian cities have become impossible to find for young people hoping to begin raising a family, let alone immigrants arriving to find themselves unable to access decent living accommodations. So the municipality has decided that all its property-tax-paying residents must annually fill out a firm attesting to the fact that they actually occupy the unit/home they pay taxes on. Any homes deemed not lived in are taxed an additional hefty sum, as though this is a measure that will solve anything.

And then there are the habitual measures we take as a tight little family to make the most of our natural environment and our need to delve into its environs for the sake of our mental and physical health. The level of pleasure derived from our daily expeditions into a nearby forest is often measurable by the state of the weather. We're now in a January cold-snap, where icy winds and low temperatures can make  trekking forest trails a mite uncomfortable.

On the positive side, however, the shimmering beauty of a snowy forest in the midst of winter, with new falling snow under a sky crowded with pewter-coloured clouds transports the mind to a winter pleasure dome. Jackie and Jillie, our two little poodles, most certainly agree. They have a tendency to exert themselves with a passion for life, rushing uphill and down, pausing for us to join them, and fully integrating themselves into the forest atmosphere of freedom and beauty.

Countries in the northern hemisphere are, by definition' 'winter countries'. Our winters are long and invariably snowbound and extremely cold. We're in the depth of winter here now, in the Ottawa Valley, so it's expected that we'll have a series of -20C night time temperatures. It wasn't unusual for us in the near past to have a succession of daytime lows of -20C, and that's cold. 

Ameliorated only slightly when the wind is absent and the sun is out. Ah, the sun; clear skies most often translate to very icy days. On the other hand, even the winter sun casts a wan warmth on the landscape below. Last night the temperature plunged to -20, but when we went out for our afternoon walk today it had edged up to -13C.

Well, today is Friday, my habitual baking day. While Irving disappeared into the bowels of the house where his workshop is located after he helped me clear up breakfast dishes -- he wipes I wash -- and then did the house vacuuming, I was busy as usual in the kitchen. My mental repertoire of baked goods led me to decide to bake Madeleines. They're actually coconut cupcakes, light and fluffy. But instead of smoothing an icing over the tops as I do for most other types of cupcakes, these are dipped in raspberry jam and then coconut.

It's a very nice partnership; the raspberry jam offers a tangy-sweet punch and the coconut satisfies our taste buds with their flavour and texture. When our children were small, all kinds of cupcakes delighted them. Their reaction always prompted me to find different kinds of little cakes, from those stuffed with dried fruit to others containing entire grated oranges or apples and nuts. My experimenting and their reactions was always a lot of fun to me.

When we set off for the ravine with Jackie and Jillie, another habitual routine was in exhibition. As we walk  up the street with the pups on leash, Jillie emits sharp, short little high-pitched barks intermittently until we reach the ravine entrance. Her way of stating she's here, and watch out everyone. Once we enter the forest if she detects the presence of any of her friends wherever they may happen to be another series of barks ensues; once again telling the world that she's there and we are too, especially the Cookie Man.

This icy day, not many were out on the trails. Our faces froze, and we loped along in our version of an energetic, body-warming tramp through the trails. Despite which I could feel the cold penetrating through the three layers of sweaters under my down-filled jacket. We congratulated ourselves that there was no wind, since that would have given us a much more brutally-penetrating cold to contend with.

Although the puppies were wearing their boots, at one point Jackie began lifting one of his back legs, as he hopped along, a signal that the cold was giving him some discomfort. This was a circuit we took in record time; exiting the ravine, a quick stop at the group mailbox, then a quick-march down the street to our house, warm and comforting and redolent with the flavour of a simmering dinnertime chicken soup.

Ours is a large country stretching from east to west, north and south, each of the parts of the sum total experiencing variants of seasonal weather conditions. But lately, a weather system so vast has struck -- large enough to hover over the entire country, leaving it in winter's icy grip everywhere and showering great heaps of snow in a wide arc even to areas not normally experiencing snow that accumulates quickly and remains for a surprising duration.

In that vein, we had an email from our younger son this morning, sending along a freshly-taken photograph that followed a night of snowfall in Vancouver, which rarely experiences that level of snowstorm. Enough, we could see from the photograph taken out of his patio doors toward the backyard of his home, to see branches weighed down with a thick blanket of snow and his garage roof piled high and gleaming white.

Yesterday was another cold day here, of -8C in the afternoon, but tonight we're expecting a low of -20C, and that's quite cold. Cold enough to appreciate a dinner of comfort food that presented itself in the guise of an all-in-one dinner, a meat pie that included both meat and a bevy of complementary vegetables. To warm us and satisfy our need for energy to compensate for what it takes to maintain body warmth in exposure to a winter day.

When Irving was finished working downstairs in his workshop putting the finishing touches to a door he's building, and I finally completed the laundry, folding away the four loads that Thursday brings weekly, we went out for our afternoon walk with Jackie and Jillie, thankful for another day without wind on a mostly overcast day. On the way there, stopping to talk with some of our neighbours who shun the ravine, but take daily walks in the neighbourhood.

The footing on the trails is now excellent, they've been well tamped down by many boots making their way through from the larger community, and others who drive to the various entrances off other streets in a 40-minute walk radius. We don't really need the cleats strapped onto our boots now that the ice on the trails has been well insulated by successive snowfalls, but it doesn't hurt to wear them for greater stability on the snow-packed trails where there are uneven areas quite unlike walking on a sidewalk.

Our first visitor was the highly excitable Sully, a lovely Golden who scampers over having broken free from his human to make the trek from one trail to another to visit with us. Unlike most other dogs who sit calmly in front of Irving awaiting their cookies, Sully barks frantically until the first cookie appears, then the second, and then like all others, dashes off to regroup with his patient human.

No sooner was he gone than fleetfootingly gamboling along came Bip and Bop, always seen together since their humans tend to walk together, as neighbours enjoying a leisurely hike through the urban forest. They have a tendency to wait silently, expectantly for their allotted share of the cookies before turning and fleeing back uphill to the upper trail system, happy for another day's cookie distribution.

They know where we are at any given time, since our presence is a giveaway thanks to Jillie somehow sensing their presence, as distant as they may be from sight, sound and presumably smell. There's a certain timbre to her barks when she's beckoning friends and although they don't tend to bark back in recognition, they're irresistibly drawn to where her barks emanate from. 

And then, along came Evie, whom we haven't seen in ages; our ravine times don't mesh. Once she had her measure of cookies she dove into a snowbank while we talked awhile with her human. She nestled as deeply as she could in a snow nest she fashioned for herself, dipped her head under a few times, and settled down to cool off in the frigid -8C day.

 

On top of the 25cm of snow that fell on Monday, and which we managed to clear up for the most part, we were met with another 5cm yesterday which we didn't manage to clear up, figuring it was just a few inches and clearing it away could wait. It waited for today, when Irving went out to do just that. No sense firing up the snow thrower, so shovelling did the trick. The weather wasn't quite pleasant, in that it was -12C, with a brisk wind, and even shovelling didn't compensate for the wind tearing into bare faces, despite the energy being expended.

 

With that level of cold, we decided to butter up a few slices of bread, cut them into squares and put them out at the side door, along with peanuts. It's not only the neighbourhood squirrels and rabbits that have learned to come around regularly, now repeated visits by crows make quick work of whatever's put out, as well. Deposits made three times daily.

 

 

As for us, I most often decide the night before or early the next morning what our menu for the day will be. Sometimes it seems more vexingly troublesome to think of what to prepare for dinner than the actual preparation, which is a pleasure by comparison. On Monday we had a roasted Cornish hen accompanied by green beans, a noodle pudding and plums for dessert. We usually alternate between dairy and meat meals, so searching my memory files for recipes yesterday I realized I hadn't made a French onion soup in a while. A fresh garden salad went well with the soup, with raspberries for dessert.

 

It's a meal that doesn't take long to put together; basically preparing the onion soup itself, but earlier in the day toasting croutons with butter, garlic powder and Parmesan cheese to complement the old Cheddar I invariably use with these soups. We'd gone out to do the food shopping earlier in the day and even driving to the supermarket after our ravine hike felt like an Everest-type adventure. We're in a cold snap. This time, at least, unlike last week, we were able to manoeuvre the shopping cart over to our car in the parking lot.

 

If anything reflects comfort on the dinner table on cold and windy days it's any kind of soup.  Last night the temperature fell to -16C, and it'll go even lower tonight. But tonight there'll be a meat pie. What I think of as an entire meal in a casserole type of thing. Along with the ground beef in the pie filling there's also chopped garlic and onion, mushrooms and green peas. So other than fresh, sliced Bosc pears for dessert, that's the meal. Oh, and Irving asked for extra gravy to go with the pie.

 

 

It was colder temperature-wise when we went out with Jackie and Jillie to the ravine this afternoon, but since the wind had died down by then, we managed fine, though we had almost convinced ourselves that anything colder than -10C would be a good enough reason, allied with a whipping wind, to miss our daily hike through the forest. So far this winter we haven't had any daytime highs of -20C, but I'm sure they're yet to arrive.

 

Jackie and Jillie had a good time as usual, coming across some of their friends, and catching up with the neighbourhood canine gossip. By the time we arrive back home after our forest jaunt, their legs are well encrusted with icy snow. First thing is to remove their boots, then their jackets, then brush the snow off their legs and then they're free to romp through the house in happy anticipation of their routine afternoon salad.

 

   

 

At this point in our lives it's hard to remember much less imagine how we managed to do so many things while we were both in the workforce. We'd leave the house early in the morning, return in the late afternoon, and find time to go out to the forest for an hour's hike, prepare dinner, read and relax, and then do the same thing again the following day. Weekends were for shopping for groceries, cleaning the house, looking after the garden, and either taking a hike up in Gatineau Park, Quebec's priceless nature preserve, or do some canoeing in one of its lakes. We certainly crammed a lot into each day.

We still do, relatively speaking. Only now the entire day is ours to do with as we wish. And even so, retaining old familiar habits of getting out into nature, gardening, looking after our little dogs, cleaning the house, meal preparation, takes all of those hours now. The difference in how time is used is our attention to the Internet. We spend time on social media platforms, as well as blogging (me) and viewing old detective series (Irving) along with watching academic lectures and news debates.

We never did spend very much time watching events and entertainment on television. And now, for the past decade and more, though we have the service in a package that includes land line and Internet, we never bother with television, much less Netflix or anything similar. It's a medium of news and entertainment we determined quite a while ago that we could dispense with. We've never felt that way about the print news and look forward to our two daily newspaper arrivals.

Our habitual routines of importance to us, another matter altogether. Irving spent several hours in his workshop today. He's putting together another door as a frame for the latest stained glass window he conceived and created. It's a time-consuming, meticulous but rewarding art form and our house is full of stained glass, covering windows and encased in inner household doors. Because Monday is cleaning day, he also did the vacuuming to spare me the work, leaving the dusting, mopping and floor-washing to me.

Today turned out just as cold as yesterday and while there was wind it wasn't as brutally cutting as yesterday's. Moreover, the sky completely cleared early in the morning and remained that way for the balance of the day. When we took Jackie and Jillie out for their  usual afternoon walk through the woodland  trails, it was -7C and though not much sun filters down on the trails in the forest interior, the wind wasn't as much of a challenge as it had been yesterday. The trails have become a little more hard-packed and that too was a plus.

It's around this time in the winter that we begin to see small flocks of robins flying around the creek, settling briefly on protuberances such as rocks or fallen trees close to or over the creekbed and flying off together, then returning together in graceful waves of flight. Just as we wonder when we see squirrels or rabbits in such bitterly cold weather, it never ceases to amaze us that chickadees, nuthatches, cardinals, woodpeckers, crows and robins manage to endure our winters.

Jackie and Jillie certainly don't mind the cold, nor the icy fingers of wind that penetrate every nook and cranny, every fold of a garment. they rush about, far outdistancing us until they're called back, to remain closer to where we are; our locomotion is far more measured than theirs. Dressed protectively in their snug winter coats and tiny paws encased in rubber boots they can withstand the elements of familiar winter days.

 

 

During these winter months Irving puts out peanuts and bread cubes several times a day at our side door stoop. Squirrels and crows and other wildlife come along and help themselves. Last night when he was preparing to put out the last batch, he hesitated before opening the door because he saw the dim figure of a little tawny rabbit sitting in front of the steps. He called me over and we looked at the little creature just resting there, and both of  us wondered how such a small animal could fare during these harsh winter conditions. He's a little visitor we've become familiar with over past winters.

 

We knew a major storm was on its way, predicted to begin overnight and leave a sizeable amount of snow. And that's just what occurred. When that happens Irving often gets out of bed early and shovels the deck, stairs and a narrow passageway in the backyard for Jackie and Jillie, then gets back in bed to snooze until we finally both wake. I didn't hear him get up, get dressed and go downstairs. I had prepared myself in my mind to get dressed and do some early basic shovelling for the same reason, but he beat me to it.

 

 

About a foot of snow had fallen overnight, the result was an uneven, swooping snowpack because the storm had been accompanied by high winds. I thought we wouldn't be able to get out to the ravine with Jackie and Jillie because of the amount of snow down, but Irving insisted we get out and take our time stomping through the snow. Decades ago we'd be the only ones going out after a snowstorm and we'd have to break trail. Ever since COVID, people in the larger community began to appreciate the ravine and forest, and now people come out regularly through the trails.

 

 

So we no longer break trail, and are grateful that others do that. We could see that some skiiers had come in early to take advantage of the thick powder. At one time it was snowshoes that were popular. We've never worn snowshoes in the ravine, although years ago we used them regularly in Gatineau Park, the semi-wilderness area in Quebec we so loved when the children were young.

 

Jackie and Jillie found it more difficult making their way up the street to the ravine entrance than right in the forest on the trails. The street hadn't been plowed by the time we got out and it was awkward navigating the deep runnels made by passing traffic. The temperature hovered at freezing, so when we were out that meant there was a slight moisture to the snow. Which made our passage through the trails even more difficult, since with every step our cleated boots picked up great clots of packed snow.

 

Any time we have a snowfall of this magnitude, particularly after an earlier snowfall of some significance, the landscape is a picture of evanescent beauty, frostily ethereal. And so it was today.  Although trudging through the depth of snow felt like walking through quicksand, and it was tiring. Jackie and Jillie revelled in it,though they had a practical eye out for avoiding untramped snow in favour of following earlier tracks.

 

When we returned home, we both went out to begin shovelling. First Irving took his telescopic roof rake to the light metal canopy over the deck, to relieve it of most of the burden of accumulated snow as a safeguard against a collapse. And then I did the areas that needed hand shovelling, while Irving took out the snow thrower and set about clearing the walkways in the backyard and at the front of the house. Exhausting work. 

 

 

The wind had returned and made the temperature seem colder so when we were finished, on came the fireplace. The vegetable soup I put on to cook will be warming and appreciated when we have dinner. I baked a batch of whole-wheat cheese and sesame seed rolls to accompany the soup, a nutritious, comforting meal for a winter's evening.