Although today turned out overcast and the house sits in a kind of perpetual gloom with so little light penetrating, all we have to do is look at one of the house windows to feel an appreciable lift of mood. The windows look back at us in gleaming colours -- if anything, enhanced by the ill temper of the outside environment. When it's a bright sunny day the gleam of spectacular colour from those windows is eye-overwhelming, but the eye is caressed by the soft glow emanating from the windows on such overcast days.

 

 

We have flowers and exotic vegetation, birds of many descriptions on the windows, frozen in time and place warming our views of the day. Irving painstakingly over the years designed every one of those windows, built them of stained glass and installed them, one after another. The view from our house through those windows is unchanging and glorious, bright colour and form and texture to captivate our attention in an arrest of motion and time.

 

 

Regardless of the time of day, the weather, the seasons, those windows always have something to say to us. As mute companions go they do a very good job of comforting us with the warmth and glow of their presence. They convey heat in the winter months that warms the house when the sun is blazing,  And in the summer months they're  put to sleep with a shimmering layer of sheers softening the colours to a pastel shade and restraining the communication of heat.

 

Each of the windows has a personality of its own; landscapes familiar and landscapes imagined. When he ran out of windows, Irving built doors or window shutters  to hold stained glass inserts. The house is a kaleidoscope of living colour.

Conversely, the out-of-doors has been transformed from its summer guise of manifold colour schemes to a monochromatic theme on white-and-black as winter descended and frigid air, boisterous winds and cloud systems carrying copious amounts of frozen water falling as snow and ice banished colour and invited stark black and white to dominate.

 

Usually, on public holidays the ravine we visit daily becomes a gathering place for the community where family guests are ushered into the forest in a brief exposure to the natural forest that runs through the geology of the area. Last winter the forest trails were full of people from the community and further afield who had never before entered the forest but were so fatigued by boredom brought about by instructions to physically isolate at this time of the global pandemic they would do anything for fresh air, exercise and a change of scenery.

 

Today, the trails were mostly absent others besides ourselves, though we did encounter a handful of people here and there with their companion dogs. Jackie and Jillie have this fanciful notion that they are the proprietors of the forest and only those given prior consent by them may enter their kingdom. Today they met an Akita, unassuming and friendly and happy to be companioned by them.

A walking glance through some of the stained glass doors, window shutters and windows of a house that the home-owner over a prolonged period of time designed and created himself to personalize his home to reflect his aesthetic sense of decor and beauty. A work in progress.

There are times when the colour emanating from the stained glass windows my husband installed decades ago throughout our home are just so entrancing I feel I must capture their essence in a photograph. Invariably, I never quite manage. They just don't appear as compelling, the colour shadings don't come out true, and it's not close to possible to capturing the effect the windows with their shifting, living colours invoke in your aesthetic when you view them directly.

We've lived with them for so long that it is sometimes easy to overlook their presence. Then suddenly we 'notice' their presence and are drawn to standing before them. We don't need a sunny day to illuminate the windows and their colours; because the glass is ever-changing its shadings, it doesn't matter if it's an overcast day, if dusk is falling, or even if the exterior is dark along with the interior; the glass seems to live and express a presence uniquely its own.

So on occasion I take photographs and examine them and try to find the living spirit of the stained glass in them and it simply cannot be done. The photographs are pleasant, but they aren't capable of reflecting the fluctuating presence of the colours, how they cast their essence into a room, the manner in which they impress upon our sight and emotions, much less the atmosphere they convey. The glass, imagined creatively, cut and shaped in jigsaw-puzzle pieces, assume their life on assemblage. They become a permanent landscape of the imagination, the permutations of light and shade enliven and intrigue, demanding our attention.

But they're not by any stretch of the imagination comparable to a true living landscape, the one we in this family escape to daily for a brief period of a tramp through our nearby woodland. The forest itself invokes in us a type of spiritual appreciation of nature's benevolence, irrespective of weather conditions or the seasons.

Our two little dogs accept the landscape in a way far different than we do, but at the core of our interior beings we are reactive to nature in a way similar to theirs. A peace descends upon our spirits, we feel comfortable and relaxed, and our minds become occupied with a type of serenity that only nature can provide to her creatures. Nature offers her landscapes for our comfort and all we have to do is be aware that the landscape is there and prepared to welcome our presence, however temporarily.

We had full sunshine today after a briefly overcast morning, and a return finally to weather conditions more consistent with the time of year than we've been experiencing the past month. The result is the steady erosion of the early snowpack. Each time we venture out into the ravine to ramble the forest trails there is less and less snow on the forest floor. Yesterday the conditions were slushy but today, though the daytime high is more moderate, and there is an absence of the high wind that swept through the forest yesterday, at ground level everything has frozen fast.

So, despite the relative moderation of temperature we would have been rash to abandon the icers we have strapped over our boots. Their utility was more than proven today as we made our way through the still-snowed and increasingly icy conditions on the trails. One young woman with a boisterous young dog she kept on leash contemplated her chances of remaining upright while her young and large and therefore muscular dog pulled her every which way in an excess of vigorous excitement, and decided after all not to risk going downhill in her boots that lacked the assurance of balance our
icers gave us.

Decades ago, yet years after we moved into this house, we discovered an interesting local enterprise. Someone who owned property located in a semi-rural area was pouring concrete into moulds to produce classical statuary, garden urns, pedestals, stone benches, you name it. We went to visit the property. It was a country house, not very old, a ranch-style bungalow set on a large lot and behind the house was a vast yard where the product was displayed.

We were overwhelmed. We wandered about looking at the displays and knew we wanted to own some of those things. We were always interested in art and antiquities and what this man produced was a facsimile of both. Some were copies of ancient Greek and Roman statuary, some replicated objects, architectural details and statuary produced over the last thousand years in classical artworks. And we loved them all.

This was a family business we were fascinated by. The man who produced all these wonderful replicas was a garrulous fellow, friendly and knowledgeable about his product. His wife was the business-side of their entrepreneurial partnership; she priced what her husband produced. She would walk around the property with a file of products and prices, citing what it would cost you for any particular item, with full authority.

They were both robust, muscular people. If you bought something really heavy that required moving with a trailer, he would hoist the object single-handedly into the trailer, laughing off efforts to give him a hand. He made it a practice to regularly go back to Italy, the country of his birth, to acquire new moulds so he could produce new product. All of them left us amazed with admiration.

He produced for us a classical surround for our porch, the style and dimensions to order. It took him several weeks, and we returned to pick up all the pieces which my husband then installed. We bought some classical statuary from him, the Three Graces, the Discus Thrower, and a few others to stand in our garden. Along with as many classical urns as we could afford and find place for, on our limited property, over the years.

About twelve years ago his wife died. Their son, who was a great help to his parents in pouring the cement with the moulds -- they produced some hugely impressive pieces; classical fountains, great huge horses, statuary of mythical Greek gods -- eventually became interested in other things. The family business wound up. The property was sold to a builder as part of a new subdivision.

The family business that this family worked so hard to build, and provided people like us with such huge pleasure in owning garden pieces we would never otherwise be able to access is long gone. But we still treasure all those pieces we bought so many years ago. They have served us well.

On cold, really dramatically cold winter evenings like last night when the temperature dipped to -24C and the house was hard-put to deny entry to the whipping wind, there's nothing like a fireplace and a good film to suggest snuggling up together to watch an epic such as Akira Kurasawa's brilliant Kagemusha -- another Ran -- as the master of Japanese film documented the years of conflict during Feudal Japan and the ongoing wars between opposing territorial warlords.

Jillie always snuggles in between us, and Jackie occasionally leaps up to join our comfortable huddle, yet preferring for the most part his top-of-the-sofa perches, either behind us on the love seat, or across from us on top of the larger sofa. With the fire blazing and the film riveting our attention our serene surroundings represented a stark contrast to the wild connivances, conspiracies of militant hostilities, clan loyalties and war marches playing out on the screen across from where we sat spellbound.

And then, when it's all over, we totter up to bed, leaving the snugness behind us to find that the cold raging outside has managed to penetrate into our upstairs to the extent that it feels as though we had deliberately albeit briefly, flung open an upstairs window. Quickly dispelled when we enter our bed with its down duvet, to discuss what we'd seen and recall our own fond memories of our time in Japan.

It's been so cold that even layering sweaters under our down winter jackets keeps us warm for only so long and that while our chests may feel snug, our faces become lashed by the freezing, penetrating wind, out in the ravine. Bypassing our usual daily tramp through the snowy woodland trails isn't much of an option, just because of cold and wind, even when there were times years ago when -20C windy days barely penetrated and now they do.

It was -14C yesterday afternoon with a brisk wind under sunny skies when we set off for our woodland walk. Entering the ravine, Jackie and Jillie sprint excitedly down the first of the long hills into the forest, eager to meet the day's challenges. Our enthusiasm is somewhat tempered by those seasonal conditions, however. Although by the thermometer it was several degrees 'warmer' than the day before, it seemed equally cold.

And while on that colder day we'd come across no one else on the trails, yesterday was different. Plenty of others out, both new to us and familiar -- along with their dogs, all pleased beyond feeling the cold, to be able to access that winter playground for people and their companion pets. Nice to see that wonderful natural treasure we hold so dear appreciated by many others.

As for us, we thought it best to once again cater to our need to shelter from winter weather extremes, so we engaged with connecting trails that offered us a shorter loop than we would normally take. And when we finally arrived back home, we were exceedingly grateful for the comfort of the warm indoor temperature that engulfed our frozen faces and hands.

Yesterday? An utterly dreary (albeit rather rare in that respect) weather day. There was a robust argument up there between the cold, the wind and the moisture in the upper atmosphere; that crowd couldn't agree on what to deliver for the day. So we ended up with alternating snow and freezing rain throughout the day. And since the highest the thermometer nudged up to was 2C, and the forest canopy is much depleted, it didn't seem enticing one bit to haul ourselves out to the ravine for our usual forest trek.

Jackie and Jillie were in agreement. In fact, yesterday wasn't one of their best days. They generally moped about, poor little tots, not feeling at all well. Breakfast? No, thank you. Dinner? They took another pass. So they were, so to speak, feeling 'under the weather'. One of those days. We're convinced they wouldn't come down with these queasy-feeling days if they forbore from eating garbage while we're out with them on the trails. We haven't been able to convince them yet that foraging in the wild is no longer on their agenda as little house dogs accustomed to eating prepared canine fare, both that which we purchase and that which we prepare ourselves.

For me, there was ample to do in the house. Some cleaning, baking, cooking, writing, reading. And I inwardly celebrated that I had, the day before, planted those spring-blooming bulbs, for to do so in this kind of weather is somewhat less than appealing.

And as for my husband, he got around to dealing with the last painting we'd bought, a mid-seventeenth century oil of a young boy and his pet rabbit. It was not in very good shape. Both the canvas and the frame were somewhat the worse for wear. Which accounted in large part for its giveaway price. After thoroughly washing the face of the painting which is to say the entire canvas, and allowing it to dry, a cleaner, brighter painting emerged. It took my husband countless tries to match the colours where tiny tears in the canvas had presented themselves. Mixing hues to finally come out with the correct shade, each a triumph, and there were about twenty of such triumphs.

Now he's reconstructing the somewhat shattered ornamentation on the frame, building it back up to eventually resemble how it looked originally. The painting will eventually be re-varnished and the frame re-painted. And then we will hunt for a suitable place to hang what we feel is a delightful painting, somewhere in the house.

Today's weather? A tad warmer, if 4C can be considered warm, and almost as wet, but no snow, just rain, light at times; sufficiently so that we did get out for a shorter-than-normal turn in the forest. The blazing yellows, oranges and reds fallen from the trees made our trek through the the trails, thick with fallen leaves, a kaleidoscopic adventure dazzling our eyes.

It was simply gorgeous out on the forest trails yesterday. And plenty of others in the community -- near and far -- seemed to think so, too. On our leisurely perambulation through the forest trails, but for the deepest, furthest of the trails, we came across quite a few hikers, many with their doggy companions, mostly inveterate trail hikers, along with a few new ones indulging in an annual autumn trek through the woods.

Jackie and Jillie had lots of company, a surfeit of run-abouts, both together and with dogs of their long acquaintance, and we stopped to chat often enough to prolong our exposure to the warm weather, and the brilliant sun. What a change from then to now. We woke this morning to the sight of snow, not frost, lightly dappling rooftops. The temperature had dropped from 16C overnight to -0C, with an emphatic wind gusting through the night.

But yesterday was a beautiful, beautiful day. We left Jackie and Jillie at home for a few hours and took ourselves the distance from our home to the Carleton University Fieldhouse, site of bi-annual antique shows. We'd missed the last two simply because we were fairly disinterested in the stuff being brought out in the final two we'd attended.

Truth is, we didn't expect the wares to be much improved this time around, but long-time searchers after art and antiques fall victim to a kind of virus that makes them restless and curious and propels them to venture out and see what they can see. And so we did. And weren't we surprised. Dealers from Montreal and Toronto showed up, though not admittedly the art dealers that we'd long been accustomed to seeing; too much trouble, too few sales, and health and age impedes their return.

But we saw so many intriguing things, we felt compelled for a change to take our times going through the aisles of assembled dealers selling everything from memorabilia, to glassware, jewellery to paintings, sculptures to clocks, vintage comics to porcelains. For us it was a fascinating few hours moseying about and occasionally speaking with people, invariably mellow and nice individuals whom even brief contact with makes you feel good.

My husband, the art connoisseur, chose a painting whose modest price betrayed its damaged condition. But he is nothing if not enterprising and capable, knowing just how to rehabilitate canvas and damaged oil paint, as well as the frames that hold the paintings. The subject matter is appealing to us and we only marginally regret bypassing a much smaller architectural watercolour that we left behind, a colourful late 19th century cityscape.

In our 63 years of marriage, my husband and I have owned three homes. We moved into the last of the three 27 years ago, and it presented to my husband the opportunity to alter, improve on it, and make of it an expression of our tastes and values over the years. In all of the homes we've lived in he had set about making each a reflection of our love of art in all its variant forms.

He has built furniture, produced his own oil paintings, designed and made stained glass windows, installed outdoor stone-and-brick garden hardscapes, built a garden shed, closed the open-concept interior of the house, built doors, re-built the original counter-tops in kitchen and vanity-tops in bathrooms, tiled floors, laid hardwood, oak-floored our main staircase, panel-lined one of the upstairs rooms for a library with built-in bookcases and so much more. He has never been at a loss for new projects to throw himself into.

And in each of those homes he set about finishing the basement. When the children were really young it was to give them more space for rough-housing and entertaining themselves; the backyard shed he built away back then housed rabbits, poultry and pigeons. In our second house one of the downstairs rooms their father finished held a 'stage' where the children could produce and present whatever drama appealed to their imaginations for everyone's entertainment.

In the house we currently live in, finishing the downstairs meant installing drywall, ceiling tiles, plumbing for another bathroom, and electrical work. Apart from the bathroom there is a smallish room beside the furnace room, and a larger, all-purpose recreational room in front of my husband's workshop. In that workshop he has produced so many things, among them countless stained glass pieces; inserts for doors he has made, and stained glass windows for our house.

At the moment he is in the process of finishing yet another stained glass window, which will have a twin eventually, to be installed within two swing-out 'shutters' he made to measure. Life is never, ever boring alongside someone whose ambitions and curiosity impels him to try his mind and hand at everything that appeals to him.

After yesterday's bone-chilling ravine walk where, walking along the forest trails we stopped not only to regain our breath after forging uphill in the snow, but to look backward, before us and everywhere surrounding us as the sun illuminated the newfallen snow creating vistas of virginal white perfection. We'd gone out earlier than usual. And although it was a Sunday there were scant few others on the trails, despite the clear blue sky.

My husband had been musing about returning to stained glass landscaping. He had built a door awhile ago but never got around to filling it with a stained glass interior. We've quite a number of his doors in our home. They're colourful and cheerful, another venue to showcase nature. Stained glass lends itself wonderfully to capturing light and transforming colours into variations of themselves. Sometimes it's as though whatever is depicted actually has life in it, and it does, of a sort.

He has plenty of stained glass in reserve, but needed other things, so a drive to the west end of the city was in order to visit his source for all the needed items that go into a stained glass window. This will be his winter project. He always has a winter project. So, off we went. The preferential route is the Eastern Parkway skirting the city centre, and linking to the Western Parkway. It's a scenic route taking us past many areas of Ottawa familiar to tourists.

We drove along Sussex Drive once arrived downtown, past foreign embassies, the Mint and the National Gallery, the Peace Memorial and Byward Market, the Chateau Laurier and the Parliament Buildings. We also passed the site of the newly-opened Holocaust centre and the War Museum. In the spring we will make a trip for the purpose of visiting the Holocaust centre.

On the return trip we passed the External/Foreign Affairs complex where my husband worked as his career concluded. The Ottawa River, we noted, is well on its way in places to freezing over. Before long, avid ice fishers will be out when the ice is deemed thick enough to bear weight, to put up their ice huts and cut holes in the ice to spend hours out there fishing.

My husband selected what he needed to begin. But he will first have to decide what he wants to design and produce the cartoon out of which he will cut and number parts like a puzzle, to be pieced together to finalize what he envisions will be another bit of stained art glasswork.