As far as weather this November of 2022 is concerned up to the present our cup runneth over. We've had a much-appreciated spate of warm days, and ample sun, just what we don't normally expect from the penultimate month of the year. And today was no different. It dawned mild and continued that way. But since the forecast was for early afternoon rain, we decided we'd take our puppies out for their usual afternoon walk a little earlier than usual.

Before that happened, however, we tuned in to the annual Remembrance Day ceremonies. A ritual of sadness but one that ensures that the memory of those who fought and died -- against an ideology whose issues run counter to all that civilized nations value; peace, security and rule of law leading to equal justice for all -- would be  gratefully remembered. 

The ceremonial military acknowledgements married to the civilian version of remembrance held in quiet review of another year gone by in an 80-year history of the last global war that wasted too many lives. The ceremonial focus on the military role in its critical mission to free humanity from the talons of fascist Germany and its Axis partners. The deaths and disablement of countless numbers of military personnel to be grieved in a public gesture of memory renewed.

Countless other deaths of civilians, men, women, children, the elderly who died as 'collateral' damage unspeakably awful in its wide sweep of indigestible numbers. And finally, the unthinkable reality of a war within a war that led to the carefully orchestrated murders of millions of Nazi victims considered society's outcasts in Nazi ideology. To focus on the dreadful plight of Europe's Jews alone, illustrates the epitome of human depravity. We mourn them all, each and every one. And mourn more deeply that the world in turmoil made no effort to 'notice' the genocide by a stratagem that would lessen the number of its victims. A stratagem as simple as welcoming Jewish refugees from the slaughterhouse of Europe into the lands of the free world.

We who now populate the world barely recall the grimness of those war years; those alive at that time are becoming more scarce among the living. But the veterans and the civilians who were young in 1939 to 1945 live with their dim and distant memories. We ourselves recall a post-war influx of refugees. And recall the war years as well when rumours of gas chambers and giant ovens were validated in hushed, shocked tones.

Humanity is adept at surfacing through the murky depths of disasters we ourselves produce. We are resilient and live in hope for the future. The future we live in now as the present sees dreadful regional wars taking their toll now just as they did then. Now and again there are attempted genocides but none quite so successful as the Holocaust proved to be.

We, in the present era, can leave the distemper of the past behind as we pursue daily lives of peace and tranquility even while there is an awareness of the deep dysfunction within the global community of humanity.We acknowledge the haven of life in wealthy and peaceful countries where we can, while deploring bloodshed elsewhere, take our own lives to the level of deep satisfaction in the pleasure of existence.

For us, it is the simple pleasures, the fact that we can do as we please in a free and equal society. For us, the simple pleasures revolve around comfort and plenty; there is nothing we lack to enhance our lives. Danger always lurks, whether it is the threat of racism raising its voice, random violence in the streets committed by the psychopaths around us, or nature imposing a pathogenic pestilence to alert us to the preciousness of life.

 

The sun has decided to greet fall, banishing the gloom of a succession of overcast, windy days gifting us instead a number of full-sun days to perk the garden back up and everyone's spirits as well. The wind that seemed so harsh a few days ago is now a balmy breeze. No need for gloves and heavy jackets as we tramp through the forest trails, though light jackets under the shaded canopy of the forest in 12C, remains a prudent choice.

Thank heavens it's Monday, given the number of people out on the weekend. For a while we had the entire trail system to ourselves this afternoon.  We eventually met up with two of our friends walking their three exquisitely-mannered border collies. It's always good to see old friends and this time was no exception. Barry was still wearing shorts, and Sheila had bare arms and they didn't seem uncomfortable at all.

What was different was that Barry was carrying a thick stick like a cudgel, and they soon informed us that the stick was intended to be a cudgel. Explaining that it was for the protection of their little herding dogs and perhaps even for themselves. Evidently, lately they've come across a large muscular man who walks a large shepherd-something-else cross and the dog has taken a dislike to Carter, one of the Border Collies. All three of the Border Collies are from the same litter; they've grown up together, and Barry and Sheila spent an inordinate amount of time training their dogs.

They don't think much of large-dog owners who don't bother restraining dogs that tend to be hostile to other dogs and even people. Unprovoked, every time they happen to cross one another on the forest trails the large dog attacks Carter. When Barry asks the man to restrain his dog, he laughs and responds, they're just doing what dogs do. Words were exchanged, and soon Barry and Sheila were being verbally abused and threatened with physical violence.

Barry intends, next time they come across the man and dog, to use that cudgel to keep the dog away from Carter. This, from a pair of dog lovers. He also now carries with him dog spray. He's familiar with this since his career was with the special investigation branch and rapid response team of the OPP. And should the fellow that has been threatening them try to carry out such a threat he'll no doubt find Barry quite capable of restraining him. It does leave a bad taste, that setting out for a relaxing trek through woodland trails as you've done for many years, such an unfortunate encounter could occur.

They've described the fellow to us and the dog accompanying him and we hope we won't end up having any altercations with him. We did come across two older women negotiating the trails, one trail in particular that we find it best to avoid, and pointed out a nearby alternative to the women who were glad to abandon the one we avoid since descending it they were clinging to trees for support. These two were taken by the presence of Jackie and Jillie and as happens on occasion, we were left speaking with them for a while, as they regaled us with stories of their adventures with their own now-gone poodles.

Making our way through the trails there are areas where it's best to take care where you place your boots for traction. The squirrels are facing difficulties in collecting the plentiful cones that have fallen in this bumper year. The cones are littering the forest floor in great abundance. We had noticed they were all spruce cones, not a pine cone to be seen had yet fallen. Until yesterday and today that is. From time to time we hear a clunk as an object falls from above, and it has become clear that the pines are now letting go of their season's crop of pine cones. There'll be no shortage this year for the forest wildlife.

A few bits of Yarrow are still left blooming. Nothing at all left of the Queen Anne's Lace. But this is Fall Aster season, and they're blooming with gay abandon. Oh yes, Pilotweed is also in evidence, but they've been around most of the summer and we scarcely notice them any more.

Maple seedling

We do notice, however, that maples are beginning to turn crimson in preparation for a parting with their leaves in a month or so. Already gusts of wind are starting to bring down faded yellow poplar foliage. The great transformation has begin. The tiniest of Maple seedlings echo the appearance of mature trees. Those minuscule seedlings with a long life ahead of them have turned bright red in preparation for a rest from their growing endeavours, ready to take part in the long sleep of winter, to return in spring and begin growing by veritable leaps and bounds.

When we spot them, spring and fall, it brings back childhood memories to us. We recall seeing them as children and fondly regarding them as fuzzy little creatures. Their common name makes them all the more appealing to children: Woolly Bear caterpillars. My husband saw one in the backyard this morning. And when we were out in the ravine with Jackie and Jillie for our afternoon stroll through the forest trails we came across another one.

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The Farmers Almanac credits them with being a messenger of sorts; how they appear is said to predict what kind of winter is ahead. The caterpillar has a band of orange in the centre, bookended by bands of black, front and back. Evidently a narrow orange band designates the winter-to-be as a snowy one. A wide orange band on the other hand, predicts a mild winter. Lastly, and most importantly, a very fuzzy-appearing caterpillar is a sign of an impending very cold winter. This little fellow had our hearty approval.

Jackie and Jillie don't notice these small creatures. When they were puppies they were curious about all insects. Now they're no longer objects of mystery to them. They more or less ignore bugs and insects. But not the stinging variety; Jillie in particular, although to our knowledge she has never been stung, is wary of bees and wasps. Our two pups react to the presence of small furred creatures of the forest and large ones, even birds when they're down at ground level, but not snakes or toads. Which is just as well.

We've returned to our old habit of taking our daily ravine treks in the afternoons, now that the weather has turned cold. We're expecting frost tonight. My husband turned the furnace on several days ago. As long as the sun shines brightly through the house windows, a certain level of warmth is maintained. And the fireplace helps. On overcast days it's another story; the house hasn't an opportunity to warm up and mid-September usually means it's time for the furnace to spring into action. There have been falls when we've been able to wait until mid-October, but this isn't one of them.

It surprised us once we were under the shade of the forest canopy just how cold it was today. We were also surprised, even though it's Sunday, at the number of people out on the  trails. We came across at least five family groups; mostly fathers and children on bicycles. Two little boys standing beside their bicycles asked whether they might be permitted to pet Jackie and Jillie. Small children are attracted to small dogs often.

Their father informed us that the boys had colds, but they had undergone tests for COVID and were clear. We had to explain that Jackie and Jillie aren't given to petting and cuddling. Other than with us, but it would be too complicated to explain this to the children. The boys did their best to coax our two little dogs over to them, and managed a fleeting pat before Jackie and Jillie, disinterested, moved speedily off. Yesterday, after we had returned home from our ravine ramble, three neighbourhood children did their utmost to persuade the puppies to stand close enough and still enough to be petted for all of five seconds. It's just the way they are. And not the way they are at home.

It's interesting when there are so many people out and about, the number of both men and women who prefer not to notice the presence of others; tight-lipped and frowning, they look as though they'd prefer to be somewhere else.  People whose faces are relaxed readily into smiles have no problems acknowledging other people.

For the most part people who walk about with dogs, people with small children in attendance, are open to the presence of others. Perhaps it's not surprising that most people who prefer avoiding others are unaccompanied by anyone else. Whether by preference or circumstance, or mutual rejection.

 

We can always rely on a sunny day following a rainy one hosting more people than usual on the forest trails. Yesterday's thunderstorms arrived once we had returned home from our early afternoon ravine jaunt. Although we didn't feel any too jaunty on a heatstruck day of high humidity when we were unable yesterday to get out in the early morning as usual.  Yesterday's spin in the ravine was a challenge; the heat and the suffocating closeness failed to inspire us to great exertion.

But this morning by contrast, though the sun was full out and the gathering heat of the day even at an early morning hour was evident, made all the difference, with a good-humoured wind at our back presenting as nature's dependable air conditioning system. 

Good humour was not in much display this morning, however. Those people we did come across, people never before seen by us in our decades of trail tramping seemed to be dour and ill-mannered. They represented the joggers who occasionally decide to enter the forest and make a dash through the main trail system. It seems that anyone who is in the dedicated mindset of a jogger feels there is no one else around by virtue of being unable to see the presence of others because of plugging their ears.

Those ear buds firmly in place, joggers seem to feel that if they cannot hear anyone then there is no one else around. No need to hesitate and wait for anyone else to secure a better position on the trail to allow them to pass; they just brush brusquely past. And as for an exchange of pleasantry, a smile, an acknowledgement that others exist, that too is not possible since it might result in breaking a stride.

It hardly matters for us, but mightily concerned a young couple whom we've lately become familiar with. They walk a well-mannered, friendly American Staffordshire terrier. Whenever we've seen them in the past, their dog always roamed free, yet never any distance from them. It was a rescue dog, one they dearly love. He's a young dog, not yet two years of age, and affectionate. Jackie and Jillie get on just fine with him. We asked why he was on leash today. And out came the painful story. One of the joggers, a man they've seen on a number of occasions had threatened them.

And they were fearful for their dog. They're large people, quite robust in physique, but they described the threatening jogger as being a 'big fellow'. Who said he was prepared to give their dog a good, stiff kick for starters. Most dogs react when people run. They tend to follow for a short distance. Not threateningly, but more curious about what's going on. I've seen Jackie and Jillie do that. They don't go far, and don't follow closely.

I suppose because their dog is a good size, muscular and a breed that can be aggressive, the runner was concerned for his safety. He stopped briefly, turned around to our two acquaintances and shouted at them that he was prepared to kick the dog if they didn't leash him. So they did just that. Despite that the forest enclave is full of dogs at all times, and there is a municipal recognition to the extent that the forest has been given leash-free designation.

We felt badly for the two companions of this dearly loved dog. I know how such an hostile encounter can make me feel, and they definitely felt awful. My husband tried to reassure them, telling them not to worry, that it's unlikely to happen, and they probably would never see the fellow again. But they had seen him already on a number of occasions. And their pleasure in taking their dog with them through the natural setting of the forested ravine appears to have been soured and curdled.

I told them that a year ago a woman carrying a cudgel and walking a large black dog had tried to swat Jackie with it when he had run up to her dog with his usual curious overture at seeing a new dog. That probably was no help. But it did inform me from my own experience how devastatingly fearful for her dog's safety their encounter made them feel. On that occasion I had remonstrated with the woman and informed her that we had in our long experience on the forest trails, never come across anyone so uncivil as she appeared to be. We never saw her again.

Excerpt, Richard Hakluyt Voyages and Discoveries : 1589

Voyages and Discoveries : Hakluyt : The Principal Navigations Voyages, Traffiques and Discoveries of the English Nation

A discourse written by one Miles Philips Englishman

put on shore in t he West Indies by Mr. John Hawkins

1568

Upon Monday the second of October 1457 the weather being reasonable fair, our general Mr.John Hawkins, having commanded all his captains and masters to be in readiness to make sail with him, he himself being embarked in the Jesus, hoisted sail, and departed from Plymouth upon his intended voyage for the parts of Africa, and America, being accompanied with five other sail of ships, as namely the Minion, the William and John, the Judith, in whom was captain Mr.Francis Drake afterwards knight, the Angel, and the Swallow.

Coming to the Island of Gomera being one of the islands of the Canaries, where according to an order before appointed, we met with all our ships which were before dispersed, we than took fresh water and upon the eighteenth day of the same month we came to an anchor upon the coast of Africa, at Cape Verde in twelve fathom water; and  here our general landed certain of our men, to the number of 160 or thereabout, seeking to take some negroes. And they going up into the country for the space of six miles, were encountered with a great number of the negroes : who with their envenomed arrows did hurt a great number of our men, so that they were enforced to retire to the ships, in which conflict they recovered but a few negroes, and of our men there died seven or eight in very strange manner, with their mouths shut, so that we were forced to put sticks into their mouths to keep them open.

Upon the coast of Guinea, we obtained 150 negroes. There was a negro sent as an ambassador to our general, from a king of the negroes, which was oppressed with other kings his bordering neighbours, desiring our general to grant him succour and aid against those his enemies, which our general granted unto, and went himself in person a land, with the number of two hundred of our men, and the king which had requested our aid, did join his force with ours, so that thereby our general assaulted, and set fire upon a town in which there was at least the number of eight or ten thousand negroes, and they perceiving that they were not able to make any resistance sought by flight to save themselves, in which their flight there were taken prisoners to the number of eight or nine hundred, which our general ought  to have had for his share : howbeit the negro king falsifying his word and promise, secretly in the night conveyed himself away with as many prisoners as he had in his custody : but our general notwithstanding finding himself to have now very near the number of 500 negroes thought it best to depart with them, and such merchandise as he had from the coast of Africa, towards the West Indies and therefore commanded with all diligence to take in fresh water and fuel, and so with speed to prepare to depart. In a storm we lost one of our ships the William and John, of which ship and of her people, we heard no tidings.

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Things happen. Nothing in life is predictable. Life can be strange. Consider the SARS-CoV-2 virus, a tiny speck of highly infectious material seeking haven in the human body and once there holding it hostage to change. For some that invasion has relatively mild consequences, for some none at all, while for many others the results are catastrophic, and for those who lose their lives, they have lost everything.

There is no such thing as excess caution, to avoid contamination with this virus eager to take possession of the human body, wreaking havoc in the respiratory tract, the heart, causing stroke. No one knows, among the scientific community desperately studying this new coronavirus whose origins were in other animals than humankind, how each individual body will manage to cope. What is known is that those people who are elderly, who are health-compromised, who have chronic illnesses and diseases which impact deleteriously on their immune system, are particularly at risk.

My husband and I are considered elderly, approaching our mid-80s, in addition to which we are both heart patients with high cholesterol and high blood pressure, but we are in fairly good physical condition. Our way of life makes it so, and no doubt our inherited genetic predisposition is also involved.

We exercise regularly, we keep our minds active, reading and writing, we enjoy nutritional food as far from the processed kind as is possible. So last night and this morning presented an anomaly in our experience. We both read in bed before sleep. Yesterday I was deep in a suspenseful description of a 1994 Canadian expedition on Mount Everest, and it was gripping. I read for longer than I meant to, which isn't unusual.

But when I put out my bedside lamp I had difficulty falling asleep. It seemed to me as though I had been awake all night. And I felt awful physically. I was aware that my stomach seemed distended, that I felt nauseous, and I felt chilled. I could have pulled up a heavier blanket folded at the end of the bed, but couldn't muster the energy to do it. My throat was sore, but I have congenital sinusitis, so it's hard to breathe through my nose and I tend, when I fall asleep to breathe with an open mouth, the result of which is a dry mouth and a sore throat.

My husband slept soundly beside me, and I didn't want to either awaken or alarm him. I left our bed for the bathroom and then began a bout of diarrhoea and with it the nausea increased and I retched. this was repeated. By this time, needless to say, my husband was awake. I crept back into bed absolutely miserable. One swell after another of nausea, affecting my breathing. Jackie and Jillie comforted me, their warm little bodies beside mine. My husband sat on the loveseat, not knowing what was next, what to do, should he call our doctor, take me to emergency?

He let me sleep. And sleep I did. Until eleven, when he gently woke me. And I felt perfectly normal. And the remainder of the day proceeded as it normally does. I baked a cheesecake for dinner dessert, prepared a chicken soup, made a bread dough. My husband did a bit of light vacuuming to prevent me from doing it, but I could have.

And then, when all was done we went out on a cool 17C, very windy day for our usual hike through the forest trails, Jackie and Jillie primed and ready to go. Today is the day that just about everything is opening up here. Release from lockdown. People have been thronging malls and retail outlets, starved for normalcy. The thought of course, the very first thought we shared, my husband and me, was COVID-19. Some of what I experienced could have been symptoms. If that was the case, would I feel normal, and set about our usual routine? Heaven knows. We keep our distance from others and will continue to do so for the foreseeable future.

We took a longer than usual circuit through the forest trails. We did come across some young people walking contentedly together, other young teens on their bicycles. And to our astonishment, a first; someone was driving a street-licensed all-terrain vehicle through the trails, zipping about at top speed, a child of about 5, helmet on, but otherwise unsecured behind him. Motorized vehicles of any kind are forbidden in such an environment. There are places, including some of the bridges that the width of the vehicle presented as an obstacle. But obviously this fellow didn't care; he simply changed course.

As he charged up one of the hills at top speed, my husband stopped him briefly to inform him of what he was already without doubt  aware; that he presented a danger to other people using the trails, and being there on such a vehicle was illegal. Signs are posted at all ravine entrances forbidding entry to any such vehicles. When he noticed I was taking a photograph of the vehicle, the man stepped on the gas and whipped up the hill, and away.

The world can be a strange place, inhabited by peculiar people.

After another night of fierce rainstorms, sunshine was in order for today. All that rain, good for growing things and sparing us the necessity to do much watering in the garden. The drenched outdoors soon was anything but. Not only did the warming sun, even on the cool day this turned out to be, quickly help the soil absorb all that rain, but there was a rip-roaring wind blasting through the atmosphere all day, and wind does many things, including drying everything out.

After breakfast I had gone out to the backyard with Jackie and Jillie to do a little bit of tidying up in the garden, but they didn't get past the deck. The wind was so strong it kept rattling the metal top of the canopy over the deck, and the sound alarmed them. I was so focused on what I wanted to do; tie up some of the clematis vines, trim the backyard Magnolia now that it has finished flowering, and do the same with the Purple Smoke tree, I hardly noticed the sound.

And the Irises, poor things were being shoved about mercilessly by the wind, toppling the flower heads on their stalks, so they too had to be staked and tied securely so we could enjoy their beauty a little longer rather than allow them to be destroyed by the raging wind. It was nothing but invigorating out there in the garden, puttering about. Truth is, the wind though it can be destructive to a garden, felt really good, brushing through my hair.

Truth is, whenever I'm in the garden doing anything, whether it's pulling out weeds or planting an annual, or dividing a perennial, it feels so good to be dabbling about in the soil, moist and fertile; planning, analyzing, admiring. There's a world of healing in gardening. The challenge that it presents is one gladly met, and I'm grateful I still can do all of that. There's simply no end of little tasks to be done, even in a garden on an urban city plot as small as ours.

By mid-afternoon we were ready to embark on our usual trek through the forest nearby, and off we set, Jackie and Jillie pulling us along to gain momentum, as usual. When we emerge from the house their first interest is to peer intently along the street to see whether anything or anyone is in motion. It's just as well at those times that they're on leash, since if someone happens to be walking another dog on the street the commotion our two raise is alarming.

As we descended the first long hill into the ravine we could hear little drifts of sound below that told us the usual passel of teen-age girls had installed themselves on their blanket on the buttress of the bridge to the right. Since school has been out, and under general closure there's been little enough for the girls to do to amuse themselves; bicycling from their homes in the community into the forest to meet up with one another and have a little picnic and talkfest keeps them happy. And we're happy to see their bright, beautiful faces as they huddle together with their iPhones and exchange gossip.

The wind really packed a brisk punch tearing through the forest, as we turned left, to access another trail and another bridge on our preferred route. And the gusts were even stronger, sending the canopy in a dancing wave of green, back and forth. The ruffling of the foliage sounded like ocean waves. But further up at the canopy level, the sound was more like a freight train coming through. Trunks of trees clacked against one another when the bursts struck. But again, as for our comfort, it was total. The high for the day was 22C, not too warm, not too cool.

For Jackie and Jillie our tramp through the woods presents an opportunity for them to catch up with canine neighbourhood gossip. Who's been where, and when. They sniff and snuffle at all the little promontories where other dogs before them have lingered and left their messages.

When our circuit through the forest trails was completed and we were heading for the last bridge which happened to be the one the girls had claimed as their own, Jackie and Jillie pick up pace again to hurry over to where they can look down on the girls, as though to offer their own greeting. We greet the girls and the girls return the greeting, their smiles as warm as the sun, their faces as beautiful as flowers.

And when we've returned home and Jackie and Jillie meander along with us through the garden pathway, there are other flowers to greet us and please us and to be admired. They do the former two, and we the latter. What a long way we've come even this early in the summer season, from that time in March when we were convinced there wouldn't be much of a garden this year, apart from the reliable old perennials. We had seen videos of tonnes of new garden plants being composted by growers because of border closures and the entire disruption of trade and deliveries.

Our pessimism gradually faded, along with the fearful trepidation we felt when the global pandemic was declared, and one country after another went into lockdown, amidst reports of ballooning cases of COVID-19, and even more horrible news of increasing deaths. Although the caution and residual fear were diminished to a degree it is always with us. But optimism too has crept in to lodge within our consciousness, and the sight of natural beauty surrounding us acts as a reminder that there is much to be grateful for, and nature one way or another does come to our rescue.
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As a very young child 80 years ago I had no toys. It was all my parents could do, as immigrants to the country to cope with trying to put food on the table, working in factories in low-wage employment. When I was very young a Catholic group offered daycare to the indigent population living in Toronto and I dimly recall feeling estranged and alienated even at that young age in the presence of nuns, however good their intentions.

I do remember that I wanted to have a doll. I had no playmates but I imagine I thought if I had a doll I would have a companion I could talk to. Something of my own. And dolls, I thought, were beautiful. I wanted a beautiful doll, the vision of which in its porcelain glory and elegant clothing would fulfill a strongly-held need. My parents were not emotionally demonstrative, likely because they themselves were deprived as children born in Russia and Poland of poor Jewish stock.

I remember a visitor who came to see my parents once brought along a gift for their-then only child, and it was a doll that looked exactly as I imagined it would. A large doll, it wasn't meant for a child's plaything, but rather it was a show-piece, and I adored it. Not for long. It was in my possession for mere hours; the evening it was presented until I went to bed. In the morning it was gone, and I never knew why, and what had become of it.To my upset questioning my parents feigned ignorance.

When I was older, around five, I was given a tricycle. My father demonstrated how it worked, for me, and I rode it around the street until bullies took it from me, and my father insisted that I confront them myself and demand its return. I was too fearful. There was hostility among the deprived populations living in poverty in Toronto back then, expressed toward Jews and I became accustomed to being accused of being a Christ-killer. I imagine my father feared confronting a hostile neighbour.
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Even before I began to attend kindergarten at the school across from where my parents rented several rooms on the second floor of a house owned by another family, I was allowed to wander the neighbourhood, make my way into the schoolyard, hoping to see other children, wanting to have a friend.

There was a little Japanese girl when I finally started school who lived across the street, and what I found different about her was her teeth, which were entirely rotted and dark. At that time deprived children were given breakfast and lunch at schools, were able to take showers at school, had nurses and dentists coming around regularly to check their health.

The little girl once invited me to her home when her parents were absent, confiding in me that she was going to share something special with me, and I wasn't to tell anyone. The something special were festival dolls brought out only at special times of the year. She looked about in a dark cupboard and withdrew several boxes. In them were dolls that bore no resemblance whatever to my fixed idea of what a desirable doll should look like. I must have conveyed my disappointment to the little girl; I can't recall ever being with her again.

And then, a lifetime later I lived for a year in Japan. By then I knew the significance of dolls as cultural artifacts with value inherent in their production, purpose and ornamentation based on heritage and custom. And I went out in search of them and was rewarded by finding many old dolls that had been produced for special occasions and had special meaning, and were linked to historical events. They were made of variant materials that in themselves described their meaning and purpose.

And, finally, as a mature woman I was given the opportunity by a turn in my life to acquire a number of significant dolls -- perhaps as a metaphor for a young child yearning for elusive human contact and finding none, accepting the presence of carefully made replicas of human beings reflecting the versatility of human culture -- satisfying my acquisitive streak.

In  the process discovering about myself the reality that I am a withdrawn individual, basically introverted and certainly not given to easy friendship and a circle of friends.