Just when you think you've seen it all, something appears to convince you there's plenty of peculiar things yet to be seen. And you never know when, where, how and why. But that's part of the mystery of life.

It's no mystery, though, that sometimes we just feel lazy and don't see ourselves inclined to do anything but ... just nothing. It's how we both felt late this morning. We may be retired from the active workforce for decades, but old habits die hard. We think of the weekend as 'free', as rest periods, as time to do with as we like, to devote to purely recreational activities. Or just plain nothing.

It was just plain nothing that appealed to us this morning. We just didn't feel like doing anything. Of course, when you're in the workforce and you have a family there are other responsibilities you pick up on during the weekends. Time isn't really your own. You just cram other things into those two 'days of leisure' that you hadn't the opportunity to look after during the work week.

The illusion remains with us, though, that the weekend is our time to do with as we wish. Or must, as the case may be. Usually Jackie and Jillie are pretty laid back after a hearty breakfast, happy enough to just laze about while we two go about other activities. The last few days the sun has been bright and brazen, and its presence is driving Jillie insane. She wants to be close up and personal with the sun. Who can blame her?

Except for the fact that it's also been very cold, and although she might be content with the sun streaming into the breakfast room from the patio doors, while sleeping comfortably alongside on her little bed, she wants to be outside, and she agitates constantly for us to slide open those damn doors and let her out! Jackie tends to accompany her, but he doesn't go further than the deck, watching her from that height as she makes her way down the steps to an area of the snowy garden in full sunlight. Waiting for her foolishness to abate as the cold finally penetrates. He keeps emitting little appeals which she ignores to convince her to relent, and she ignores him. Until she finally assents. And then they both make a dash for the indoors.

Today, while we two were splayed out on the sofa, both our little charges were at us, trying to infuse some enthusiasm into us, sadly -- in their considered opinion -- absent. They had decided, though it was earlier than they usually are taken out into the forest, that it was time to be off. Sighing, we tried ignoring them. Tough to do when two little dogs peer earnestly at your face, pawing gently to draw attention to their dire need to be out and about.

We glanced at the thermometer, and it glanced -8C right back at us. Slight wind, but blue sky festooned with faint little wisps of white clouds. Sighed again, and prepared their boots and their winter coats and sweaters and off we went. Mission accomplished, they no doubt whispered to one another. And upon reaching the hillside descent into the ravine they emulated greyhounds in their mad dash to the bottom.

We weren't long on the trails when suddenly we turned at a faint snow-crunching sound and saw approaching quickly behind us a white apparition. Oddly, there had been no pre-warning from Jackie and Jillie, forever alert to the impending presence of others. Bulky, white and determined, the apparition nodded and briskly passed us. For a change Jackie and Jillie were too stunned with wonder to race after the ... um, thing. They stood, watching like us, as it disappeared around a bend in the trail. Had we seen something?

Obviously, someone geared up with a military-issue winter camouflage outfit. A first for us.

Soon afterward Jackie and Jillie were introduced, kind of, to a very gentlemanly Boxer none of us had ever before had the pleasure of acquaintance with. As well geared as they were, with boots and winter coat, the sleek, friendly dog introduced himself and proved to welcome attention. He seemed quite content to trot alongside us, until his person finally reminded him who it was he had entered the ravine with, and to be loyal to his number one friend, and they both departed in the opposite direction.

Just as well that Jackie and Jillie aren't complainers. If they were, yesterday would have been the day to complain. It just happens that on Mondays when I do the house-cleaning for hours it's late in the afternoon by the time I'm finished, leaving an inadequate amount of time for a long, leisurely walk in the woods afterward.

It's logical that after a day of physical work such a walk through the peaceful woods would be just the thing to ensure the day ends on a pleasant note. Our little dogs don't seem to notice whether we wend our way through the trails for a half-hour or an hour-and-a-half. They know all the trails, the major and minor ones quite intimately. It would be interesting to know whether they're aware when we miss some and hike along others. Do they think something's missing?

They've never communicated to us that they might know the difference. When we make our way along the trails there are places where they hesitate and wait for us to catch up and these are always conjunctions between trails. They're waiting for the signal from us whether to proceed straight ahead, turn left or turn right. Sometimes they take the initiative because most often we are predictable in the circuit we take. On occasion one or the other or both will decide not to wait for our decision and just bolt on. Sometimes they have to double back when they realize we're not headed in their chosen direction, but not often.

Yesterday was a short-circuit day. We set out for our hike down into the ravine to access the forest trails at four in the afternoon. That's late for us. I still had dinner to prepare on our return, which would be around five o'clock. And a rest between preparation and dinner itself when I would be able to read the newspapers. I had prepared and put a small beef roast in the oven and mixed the ingredients for a Yorkshire pudding, washed spinach to cook, prepared tomatoes to slice as an accompaniment, and felt grateful there was leftover plum pie for dessert.

We had a heavily overcast afternoon. So that when we heard Canada geese flying overhead, as we strolled through the woods, calling down to us to proclaim 'We're back!', we could hear them but not see them. And then, suddenly we caught a glimpse of that famed Vee formation over the forest canopy, flying just below the clouds and we felt like cheering. Yet another unmistakable signal that spring truly is here, despite the persistent cold.

Last night? The temperature dipped once again back to -2C. Brrrr!

We've been faithful to the forest trails almost every day for the past thirty years. Our introduction to the forested ravine across from the street where our house stands began the day we moved into the house. When we were both still working on week days our ravine forays took place in the evening hours either before dinner or after. When winter came that meant hiking through the woods after sundown. We quickly learned to navigate at night, and it wasn't difficult, particularly when snow covered the forest, because somehow the lights from the city beyond our suburb glanced off clouds and came back down to light the forest.

Cloudy nights were infinitely more lit up than moonlit nights, for on those cloudy nights in the winter when light bounced down off the clouds it was as clear and bright almost as during the daylight hours and perspective was very serviceable; only the ambient light was either pink in tone or mauve, and it was beyond delightful. Now our ravine hikes are confined to the daylight hours since we've been retired for the past several decades.

When we first began our forays we quickly made friends with many people, who like us came out daily and were semi-retired or retired or close to it. Everyone came out with their respective dogs. It was the dogs that introduced their people to one another, in fact, and it's always that way. Dogs are the openers to the shells of privacy that people build around them. Most of those friends are long gone. We rarely, if ever see any of them any longer. Their dogs gone, most people kind of give up on walking through the forest.

We've made a whole new set of friends and acquaintances long since, and that too is a revolving event when new people come along with their dogs. We get to know the dogs and their human companions, a relaxed, friendly and open environment where everyone is happy to see everyone else on the occasions when they run into each other. And although we come out once daily for an hour or an hour-and-a-half of hiking through the various interconnecting trails, there are some people for whom the day isn't complete without two circuits and for some, three; morning, early afternoon and late afternoon.

We find it a little perplexing in that some days it seems we can barely horseshoe in enough time to do everything we want or have to get done in a day. For others, it seems to be no problem; much of their day is entirely devoted to taking their dogs out for multiple runs in the ravine through the forest trails. Barrie, our friend with the three Border Collies does that; he begins in the morning, goes out again early afternoon and returns late afternoon. He is determined that their three high-energy dogs get their exercise. This is a fellow who has had more than his share of serious health problems; in a three-year period he had no fewer than seven surgeries, from having a shunt running from his brain to his stomach cavity to drain fluid on his brain, to repairing a broken clavicle, to a number of back surgeries. Despite which he remains a high-energy person  himself.

It's about all we can manage to get out once a day with Jackie and Jillie. And the times when we venture out vary considerably, depending on so many things, from weather conditions to finishing up household chores or making appointments for one thing or another, or simply planning on other types of recreational activities. Our lives are more spontaneous than the structure that many depend upon, to  find comfort in habit, insisting that things be done in a specific order at a specific time. But it's whatever works for anyone.

Yesterday, we enjoyed a day of sunshine with pretty brisk winds negating the milder temperature. There is ample evidence that the sun and the milder weather is having its gradual effect on the snowpack. Cracks are beginning to appear, where when the snow melts it runs downhill and finds its way through the ice, creating deep runnels that become larger and wider as the days progress. So we're getting there, slowly but surely.

Given what our landscape still looks like we hardly needed reminding that winter has not yet departed this northern clime of ours, but still we were somewhat surprised to find ourselves trekking through the icy forest trails in the ravine yesterday afternoon in a minor snowstorm. Not much of a storm to be sure, more like winter taking huge pleasure in bringing our attention back to its inclemency and its stubborn desire to remain in place. Nothing unusual in that either.

Truth to tell, the melting snowpack hasn't been too kind to the landscape. It never is, at this time of year when the pure white and smooth blanket turns grimy and slushy and the once-virgin coverlet holds all manner of cellulose-based and animal waste front and centre. The delightful magic gone. The reality of an unkempt-in-appearance forest dominates, at least at foot level. So the new snow covering that nasty embarrassment is welcome, as a temporary measure to eliminate unpleasantness.

Apart from being snowily overcast, it was also cold enough at -1C. We're not getting much of a break in that department either. And what a wild wind careening through the forest canopy! It conspired with the cold radiating from the forest floor steeped deep in snow and ice to make for a truly frosty walk in the woods. None of which bothered Jackie and Jillie.

They kept stopping now and again throughout our circuit to scent the air and every now and again would discern the oncoming presence of those familiar to them, both canine and human long before they made an appearance. Which tends to elicit howls of invitation from them as though they're urging their friends to hurry up and come along so they can enjoy a bit of a romp together.

When we did complete our circuit and return home, it was another pleasure to be welcomed by the homey comfort of late afternoon and the fireplace in the family room. Before that, though it was time for me to prepare for dinner, and this kind of weather simply calls out for a now-routine piping hot soup and rolls to complement it on a Sunday evening. Yesterday it was tomato-lentil soup. Lentils need no soaking, just a quick rinse, since they cook very nicely in less than an hour, though I keep a soup bubbling on the stove for much longer.

Starting with olive oil in a deep saucepan, chopped onion and garlic, masala, fennel and cumin stirred until that savoury fragrance permeates the kitchen, it's time to add the lentils, water, salt, pepper and chopped celery, zucchini and ripe tomatoes, along with a quarter-cup of tomato paste. The stove takes care of the rest. As for the rolls, out comes the bread dough I'd prepared two days previously then refrigerated, consisting of just a tsp.sugar, yeast, salt, a soupcon of olive oil and flour. A simple, unpretentious bread dough.

But then I roll it out to a flat rectangle, smooth Becel margarine over it, sprinkle it with sesame seeds, grate old cheddar over, then fold it three times on itself to enclose the cheese, and roll out to another rectangle. Smooth it once more with margarine, then fold again, and roll out again several more times. When it feels like a tight little ball, I let it rest, covered by the bowl it had risen in. Then it's rolled out for the last time and I decide whether to make traditional croissant forms, or flat rolls, and bake them at 375F for about a half-hour. The result, light and flaky rolls that are wonderfully flavourful.

Ta-dum! Dinner is ready, and out come the strawberries for dessert!

One of the most invariably-cheerful of the ravine hikers we've known for awhile whose companion is a beautifully proportioned-and-coated short-haired pointer told us when we came across him yesterday that we're due for at least another week of sub-zero temperatures and windy gales along with snow and then March is presumably going to calm down and relent, bidding the harshest winter elements adieu for another year. That famous old saying ... we'll believe it when we see it?

No complaints about the amount of sunshine we've been greeted with daily in between the overcast and snowstorms, though. As for the cold, well, it's winter, even if it's proving to be a harsher winter weather-wise than is considered 'normal' here. Winters always seem to drag on in this area, arriving earlier than elsewhere and departing much, much later than all reasonable expectations.

On Sunday there were ample people about despite the cold and the wind, airing their lungs, enjoying the landscape, getting some notable exercise heaving themselves up and down the hillsides and exposing their dogs to the sublime pleasures of a natural woodland setting. As a result, for the last two days Jackie and Jillie have been exposed to opportunities to play with other dogs far more frequently than usually occurs.

And in the process we've come across people we've never seen before, like the woman walking two very small, snowy-white Shih Tzu-type dogs, just as rambunctious as any large, energetic dogs, and as assertive as two little dogs can be. It was amusing to see the two -- one considerably smaller than the other -- mingling with our two black, long-legged poodles in their getting-acquainted ceremony.

At one point on Sunday we were suddenly confronted with a large dog with some lab in her, with a reddish-golden coat who erupted from the valley below the crest we were walking on, curious about all the barking coming from Jackie and Jillie and eager to play. She was soon followed by a young woman and then a young man bearing a beautiful 14-month-old little girl in a backpack, smiling happily at the commotion around her. Made me think of all the times we'd done the same with our granddaughter, and she's now 24.

People were out just having a good time. Our faces and noses were pinched with cold, the wind whipping the cold across our faces despite our hoods meant to break the wind, but everyone looked happy. Not that there's a fierce traffic of people going by on the trails; in an hour of trekking if we see three people we consider that a lot.

But when we do come across others, they usually exhibit an elevated mood. That's the thing though, about setting out for a hike through a forest; irrespective of your mood when you begin, by the time you've exhausted the trail, your feelings have reached an emotional state of placidity and satisfaction with life; cares smoothed gently over, and calm settling nicely into one's attitude. It's a respite, a balm for the soul.

We'd gone out right after breakfast on Monday because of the weather report that claimed the high for the day at -2C (though it was -14C when we came down for breakfast, then quickly warmed up; our electronic thermometers play a game of 'fooled you!' with us when the sun shines directly on them, one in the frint of the house, the other at the back, so we can never quite credit the values they give us) and with an increasingly blasting wind to make the afternoon a little comfortable. So we meant to avoid that. It certainly felt much colder when we were out there.

On the other hand, that's quite explicable. The snowpack is so high and voluminous that it radiates cold constantly into the greater atmosphere, and we catch it when we're out there. And some of the valleys seem colder than the trails at the height of the ravine where there is greater exposure to the rays of the sun shining through the forest canopy.

One thing is certain; when the melt does begin we're likely to have a frenzy of flooding everywhere and the creek will become a roaring, frothing runway of snowmelt racing its way down to the river. Fine for ducks passing through and the occasional Great Blue Heron, not so good for little dogs which, in their curiosity, could be swept down by the roiling rush. Just as glad that Jackie and Jillie have never expressed an interest in wading through the creek.

I've been nudging my husband for years to get himself a new computer. Jackie, when he was a few months old had taken a liking to the computer and had chewed off some of its keys. My husband was more careful after that, where he left his mini laptop and just dismissed the nuisance of the missing keys; they weren't critical. Since then the computer has groaned on for three more years, cantankerous and opinionated. It obviously felt entitled to behave badly whenever the mood seemed to strike.

More latterly frequent messages of no more space popped up. So I began deleting a whole lot of stuff that had been downloaded. My husband has never been attentive to the need to clean up files from time to time; computer-housekeeping never very high in his list of to-dos.  It was good for another six months. Then those same messages reappeared and I checked the defragmentation option along with deleting files, and neither responded, so we drew the conclusion that the clapped-out old computer was corrupted beyond any hoped-for remediation on our part.

He went shopping yesterday, after scrutinizing the chain stores' advertising for their electronic devices. He does this kind of thing anyway, every week, knowing he would eventually have to relent and spring for a replacement, but now the decision had been forced upon him. So he brought back his new mini laptop. He'd done his due diligence on online sites to determine what might best serve his purposes. And price was a decided factor; he hadn't any intention of buying something pricey. To begin with he uses his computer for listening to lectures; cultural, social, political and at night, drawing on old police drama series from Britain, Germany, Norway.

With Windows 10, Cortana made the initial set up as a ]wizard instructor' really easy through voice commands. And the rest was up to me, since I'm a little better versed in computer use than my husband, (which isn't saying much), so I set him up and tutored him in the basics of that version of Window. We use our computers frequently, he and I, he mostly for information and entertainment, me for news and blogging. We don't ever watch television though we borrow films from the public library to view once a week. We are, however, avid book readers, always have been and always will be. Neither of us can imagine a life without books. Informatively, entertainingly, spurring cerebral function, building vocabulary, becoming a more well-balanced human being...all of that and more.

Our love of reading is matched by our love of the out-of-doors, and though our age now inhibits us from the kind of strenuous physical action we once took in mountain climbing, wilderness camping, canoeing and hiking, our daily ritual is never complete without a good vigorous hike in the ravine close to where our house is located. And that's where our little dogs, Jackie and Jillie, come in, as spurs to that commitment and as treasured companions in a shared occupation of touching nature.

Yesterday's hike took place under a full, blue sky, the sun glinting its golden rays through the forest canopy, on a -4C-degree day of wind that had picked up to the point where it felt like being lashed when it struck across our faces as we progressed across a criss-cross of forest trails, having decided we would take a longer-than-usual circuit for our winter walk, given more clement winter conditions then we've experienced of late this winter.

At one point we came across a miniature poodle, the size and colour of one we're more familiar with named Max, and this little fellow was just beside himself with exuberant joy to be out in the woods, romping off in all directions, stopping briefly for a tussle with Jackie before sprinting off again. His human told us how guilty he felt about not taking his little charge out more frequently this winter and his surprise at discovering the presence of the ravine though he'd lived in the neighbourhood for years. It was bringing a puppy into his home that alerted him to the necessity to find places where his little dog could be free to enjoy a natural surrounding.

We, on the other hand, knew 27 years ago before we moved to our current house, that the ravine existed since it can be seen in all its summer-green leafy glory from the street we live on. We found the trails in the forest after dipping into the ravine wonderfully inviting to the point where we no longer felt so compelled to get into the car to drive to other destinations we frequented, like Gatineau Park over in Quebec, in its vast and natural setting of lakes and forests where we introduced our children to hiking, canoeing, snowshoeing and skiing when they were young, forty years ago.

Every day a new adventure. Events that occur through the course of a day that are mostly gladly accepted, and others, far less frequently, that can disturb the cadence of life. When you awake in the morning you can either think it's another routine day, or leaven it with the unspoken thought that this new day may bring something unusual to your experience.

Yesterday did both; positive and negative. It was a day when we had to work around a 2:00 p.m. appointment at the group medical practise our general practitioner is part of. Not to see him, but to keep an appointment with the nurse who dispenses vaccines. She had called several weeks back to schedule a new bone density test for me. The last one had indicated my bone density fell into 'average' for my age, but our doctor prescribed a special calcium drug to build up my bone density.

When I read the details of the drug performance and its potential side effects which elaborated on what our doctor had told me, I decided to forgo the drug figuring I take enough medication deemed essential to maintain the balance of my health and wasn't interested in taking another drug. I explained to the nurse there was no need for a follow-up test to determine how effective the drug had been since I hadn't accepted the protocol.

She listened, and I could imagine her nodding her head through the telephone line. Then she suggested that at my age a vaccine against pneumonia might be a good idea. It's a vaccine my husband took after his open-heart surgery. At the same time she recommended a routine upgrading of vaccine for pertussis, tetanus and diphtheria for both of us, and so the appointment was made.

Consequently, to fit everything neatly into the day, we embarked on a later morning romp in the ravine. We weren't certain what the conditions would be like, given a snowstorm the night before when about 8 cm of snow had come down. But we discovered that enough other hikers had been out before us to tamp down a narrow trail through the snow and that enabled our progress with no difficulty. A mild day just hovering on freezing with no wind, the landscape was a shimmering white oasis of loveliness.

We all, including our little dogs Jackie and Jillie took our time loping along the trails. The loftier depth of the snow on either side of the trails didn't deter our little dogs from occasional forays onto the forest floor to satisfy their curiosity and sense of adventure. And because it was early in the day we weren't concerned over the possible appearance of coyotes, more likely to emerge with the dawn or the entry of dusk.

Afterward.we were just in time for our appointment. And when that was done with, we went off to do our weekly grocery shopping. On our return home loaded up with groceries, Jackie and Jillie anxiously hopeful, we doled out slices of broccoli stems to our vegetable-ravenous poppies, and a few doggy cookies. My husband went out to clear the snow off the porch and the walkways at the front of the house which he had already done earlier in the day in the backyard.

And then, the left arm which had received the pneumonia vaccine began to throb. Soon it went beyond a mere throb; it became outright painful; it was obvious that arm had begun to swell. The right arm where the mixed vaccine was delivered was also declaring itself uncomfortable but nothing near the agony of the left, despite the nurse had said it would be that vaccine that might cause some discomfort.

Around bedtime I had a low-grade fever and chills as my arm throbbed painfully and my stomach churned. I took an Ibuprofen, something I rarely succumb to, having no need to. My husband found himself in some discomfort but nothing like to the extent that I was straining with. Leading us to wonder whether after all, it was worth it, to have those vaccines administered. A doubt that will disappear in the coming days as we return to normal.