Hard to believe at this juncture well into spring that before March tromped off in a huff over the general disinvitation to remain, we had one day that topped 22C, and were happy to revel in it. Today? Well into April we're freezing. It's downright cold at 5C, all the more so with a rambunctious wind that sweeps through the landscape. Bringing with it ... what else ... more of the same, only colder. We're expecting to go down to freezing tonight.

Oh, but tomorrow despite that we're told the temperature will soar to 4C, before it does, 10 cm of snow will have fallen. We've put away our winter shovels, washed our winter jackets, stuck our winter boots back in the basement. But that's the thing about living in Ottawa; you get so easily fooled. One of the weathercasters a week ago mentioned she had foolishly taken her tomato plants that she had nourished from seed in the house and planted them outdoors in a burst of enthusiasm when the temperature reached 15C on three consecutive sunny days.

This kind of weather mandated a return to cold-weather fare, and last night we needed it; no sun to blast its illuminated warmth through our windows and the house felt rather cool. We needed the fireplace to blaze away yesterday evening, So we had beef meatloaf, stuffed tomatoes and green beans for dinner, with a heaping bowl each of fresh, tartly-sweet clementines to wash it down. 

Our magnolia trees are bursting with buds waiting to open into large blowsy blooms. Won't they be surprised? Well, they bear those buds all winter long and nothing untoward happens with them, they're tough now and are accustomed to these seasonal swings. It's just we who are not.

Heavily overcast today, with dark, scudding clouds and the wind, the wind...! Windbursts up to 50 kmh. Even so, leaves are budding out everywhere, determined no longer to remain in abeyance, and we're beginning to take on a green aspect that is incredibly pleasing.

We'd done our grocery shopping early this morning, and on our way back waved to one of our neighbours who had gone out for an early morning walk, looking like Raold Amundsen setting out for a hike in Antarctica. By the time we set out ourselves to plunge into the ravine this afternoon the temperature had nudged all the way up to 5C ... but the wind, the wind!

It had rained again overnight and the trails were thick and slick with mud. We had put little jersies on Jackie and Jillie and tucked their rainjackets into the pockets of ours. I wore a warm turtleneck sweater and over it a lined rainjacket, with the hood up and mittens on my freezing hands. Despite which the wind whipped right through my jacket tickling my ribs with icy fingers.

In really clement weather we tend to take our time, dawdling about. Today we really picked up the pace, and zipped through the trails in what must have been record time. Glad to be back home again. Irving is doing the tax returns. Earlier in the day I went back to cleaning out kitchen cupboards, this time the spice cupboard, consolidating things, discarding others, taking inventory, tidying up. And did the same upstairs in the vanity of our bathroom with its drawers and cupboards.

Almost done! Not much left to be reamed out. I'm dreaming of planting in the gardens. A few trilliums have begun blooming in the garden, while we're still awaiting the bloom of the trilliums erupting out of the soil in the forest.

It's Sunday, after all, of a perfectly sumptuous winter afternoon, so what would we expect, other than the delighted shrieks of little girls, all bundled up in colourful winter gear, following their older brothers barrelling downhill on snowy slopes in the ravine, to plop on their little arses and slide wildly the rest of the way down. Indulgent parents looking down from above. Some parents drag along plastic sleds for their children but by no means all. And with the prevailing snow conditions kids can still have a good time just sliding on the snow.

What we might not expect to see, but did anyway, was the sight of a bow-legged man happily careering down another slope we were about to ascend just as we had the previous one, teetering and tottering to maintain his balance, joyfully crowing his success at remaining upright the while, wearing shorts along with his winter parka, his knobbly knees fixed in position, his booted feet skittering over the snowy incline.

Ah, the snow. That's the thing. Where it poses a bit of a hazard to people who aren't armed (booted) with cleats as we are, it becomes a surprisingly quick way to find yourself unwillingly on your backside, side, or back as the case may be in a fall because the snow is so slick, though it's no such thing for us. Two things; the snow gets plastered down from all the traffic of late; and the other thing is the extreme cold and the dryness of the snow when it falls. We're able to plod uphill and down with a little effort without risk of sliding, falling or injuring ourselves in any way.

It's not unusual to see the back of someone well slathered in snow from a fall, as they continue their hike with a gingerly tread, the only injury occasioned was to dignity. Anyone with a large dog on leash is fine going uphill, a bit dicey in the reverse direction. But, for the most part, it's all in good fun. At the very least good fun, taking everything into account, it can't be beat for a refreshing outing in clear air under a blue sky hosting a blazing sun.

And we had more of it overnight, last night. Another 4.5 cm fell as the temperature rose in the late evening. By the time we went up to bed it had risen to -11 and for all we know got even milder as the hours went by. And then came the snow. Even at today's high temperature of a moderate -6C, no wind and a brilliant sun blazing down on us, the new snow speedily melted off the canopy over the deck. In the ravine some of it remained on the trees, but barely a vestige was recognizable on the pathways along the forest fall; all incorporated into the snowpack.

Yesterday evening Irving decided he'd like something really light for dinner for a change. So I made a vegetable salad and he produced a 'salmon salad', crushing a can of salmon up with a selection of herbs and seeds only he knows the formula of, and smoothing it all together with mayonnaise. I don't mind admitting I find it delicious. To spread on crispy toasted rye, eaten with a really hot cup of tea. Then another cup of really hot tea, and another and another. I've tried producing the same spread, with no success.

Irving laughs when I tell him how much I enjoy it. It's his contention that it has more to do with the fact that someone besides myself is preparing something for dinner, rather than that it tastes particularly good. He's right and he's wrong. Right, in that it's a treat to have someone else occasionally prepare dinner, wrong in that it is truly absolutely delectable.

When he opens the tin, before adding anything to the fish he always extracts some of it and places it in a jar; fish and accompanying liquid. That's so Jackie and Jillie can also share in it. And I put it over their kibble for a treat at dinnertime. It may be a little rich for them. They both love it, but Jackie used to react to it, and though he no longer does, Jillie did. She ate it last night at dinnertime, and by morning felt unwell enough to refuse her breakfast. Even her special after-breakfast treat of buttery pancakes.

So when we went out for our hike through the ravine this afternoon it was with the expectation that the exercise would be good for her and she'd lose that upset tummy. She has no symptoms other than lack of appetite but that lack is quite unlike Jillie who will greedily eat anything, any time. She was uncharacteristically disinterested in her afternoon treat of cauliflower. So we're awaiting dinner to see how she reacts.

It was pleasant to have something a little different for breakfast this morning. In years past I would occasionally make rice pudding for breakfast, but haven't done so for quite awhile. Several weeks ago when we were shopping I noticed short-grain sweet rice and bought a bag, perfect for rice pudding. So yesterday I pre-prepared the pudding, then refrigerated it overnight, and in the morning gently heated it. And it was really very good. I'll have to remember to make it again on occasion. There are so many ways to make rice pudding with a variety of ingredients and so many possible additions to give it different tastes you could have it every day for a month and each time it could be different.

Last night we also enjoyed French onion soup which I do continue to make infrequently when a menu for the day eludes me. It too is texturally pleasing to the palate, and the taste of very old cheddar cheese melted and melded with other flavours just blisses me out, combined with the croutons under the cheese, toasted with butter/margarine, sprinkled with garlic powder and Parmesan until crisp. Slicing the onions as fine as possible also adds another good touch, as does the addition of two finely chopped cloves of garlic.

The news, first broadcast on radio, then peering at the computer screen for updates from the printed version of yesterday's events in Washington, full of American-style pomp and ceremony for the common man. A play on the investiture of royalty, a new royal ascending the throne. In which event celebrations are usually without fear of arousing elements within society threatening to disrupt and spread terror leading up to the inauguration of a new -- in the instance of the U.S. -- leader, a president of all the people. Elected by the people and reigning for the people.

Only in this instance in very particular not all the people believe that they are represented, that the previous incumbent did that for them. The rank suspicion and anger that separates Americans loyal to their two political parties seems unprecedented in the country's alienated state. Out went a man personally leaving much to be desired, but whose policies often accomplished things that had to be done, and in came a replacement whose previous semi-tenure was seen to antagonize the very demographic now mourning the loss of their leader.

It's a sad spectacle, to see a great nation so beset with intolerance for one another, with agendas swinging so widely divergently from what seems to have meaning from each of their perspectives. Whatever happens in America impacts one way or another in the life and fortunes of their near neighbours, not to speak of the influence world-wide of such events as the ideological replacement of a leader of the world's sole superpower.

For us there's little that we can do but shrug, and watch, fascinated by unfolding events while deploring the necessity to set up barriers and muster the troops to ensure no further violence takes place at the seat of government.

Today, on the other hand, was a gloriously bright weather-day, extremely cold at -10C, and windy, but sunny and brisk. Those were the conditions when we set out for our afternoon ramble through the ravine with Jackie and Jillie today. Where we strode through the trails and between us discussed what we had gleaned and what our impressions were of the events south of us. The forest was serene and beautiful, few people out on the trails, sensibly deciding to stay at home on such a cold day, but missing the beauty of the environment.

It's downright indecent to rise out of a snug, warm bed on a cold winter morning while it's still dark out. But that's what we've been doing for quite awhile during COVID. Ontario is in lockdown with the addition of stay-at-home orders, exceptions made for urgent expeditions and food shopping is considered among them. So on Tuesdays that's when we discipline ourselves to grin and bear it. Irving is up first and tries to get dressed before I'm even aware that he's out of bed. He wants to get the puppies outside to do their business and give me a few more minutes in bed.

Trouble is it's hard to persuade Jackie and Jillie that good manners excludes leaping all over a prone form deep in sleep, and so I become 'aware', groan, turn over, smack my pillow, and push myself to an upright position. From there, blurred vision and heavy limbs aside, I roll out of bed and trot into the bathroom. My clothing is already laid out, and I dress while the other three are downstairs and slip outside.

The puppies are back in the house in a trice, and after me to play with them. I have little say in the matter, I'm obliged to rub and pat and tug them until they've reached some level of sensory satiation, and then I'm free to continue on, set the table for breakfast, prepare to leave the house. Routine disrupted, they understand quite well what's next on the menu.

As we two put on our coats and boots they two stand in a doorway disconsolate, preparing to begin a chorus of yowling and howling that we're (sob!) leaving them. There's a crescendo of yodelling in perfect rising pitch, as we pull the door shut behind us. Almost no traffic at all as we drive onto the main street headed for the supermarket -- and dawn is beginning to lift its dark curtain for the day. And the day is a cold one, -10 at that point. 

We hit the  jackpot this morning, a mere handful of cars in the parking lot. We seem to be the only shoppers in the store. But then as the minutes tick by and we're deep in the fine art form of collecting our choices of fruits and vegetables other shoppers begin trickling in. By this time we've adjusted to the masks, our eyeglasses have cleared, and we're focused on the task at  hand.

On our return we're greeted with the jubilation of salvation. Treats all around. The groceries are put away, we trot upstairs to shower and begin the day as it were. After breakfast Jackie and Jillie settle down in the breakfast room where a clear sky hosting a blazing sun can be seen out the glass doors which welcome that sun's rays warming up the house and two little dogs blissfully soaking up the heat.

A few hours later clouds have moved in and the temperature has soared all the way to -8C, but no wind to make it seem even colder. And off we go with Jackie and Jillie, into a snowstorm that has just erupted, with thick clusters of snow spiralling down from above, quickly covering everything, and adding to the finally-respectable snowpack we're accumulating this winter. In no time at all, we're well covered in snow.

Today, apart from shopping, it's a leisure day. Yesterday was house-cleaning day, nothing leisure about it. It's the day I tend to plan a quick-preparation meal for dinner. So I selected a half turkey breast to roast along with yellow potatoes, and put on an acorn squash to bake at the same time. We had fresh pineapple left over from cutting one up two days earlier. It's a fragrant, delicious meal that requires little work, just thought mostly, since the oven does all the work.

When we returned this afternoon from our tramp through the beautifully snow-dusted forest, I did a little pre-preparation for a French onion soup for tonight, and decided to make rice pudding for tomorrow's breakfast, for a change. These little prepare-ahead initiatives always work well for me when I'm looking for efficiency in meal preparation.  

 

We always have a January thaw, and yesterday's rain signalled that period for 2021. What is unusual, however, is that by this time in winter we usually have a thick, solid snowpack of around two to three feet in depth and this year we never managed to get to that point, though there's plenty of winter left to offer the opportunity of robust snowstorms to make up the difference. By late evening last night the rain had turned to freezing rain mixed with wet snow, leaving a nice crust over everything.

Also yesterday evening my husband had some relief from my experiment with transforming the classic macaroni-and-cheese into a version he would be certain to really, really like. Hmm, actually not. So he was presented with an alternative for dinner last night that he much preferred. We infrequently have liver, either beef or chicken liver for dinner, but invariably it's a dish he appreciates. I'd forgotten to make fried onions to go with it, but I did prepare mashed yam and broccoli to accompany the liver. That's a little bit like life itself; sometimes the good is accompanied by the not-so-good. Despite which, he enjoyed dinner, ate all the yam to my surprise and the stem portion of his broccoli, leaving the flower part. Fresh sliced peaches for dessert made up for that.

When he was busy early this afternoon paying some bills by telephone as he prefers to do, he also called the Motor Vehicle Licensing Bureau. His 84th birthday is coming up, and this was to be the year that he'd once again have to attend one of those check-ins for elderly drivers to ensure their eyesight and reaction qualifies them for a renewal of their driver's license. When he had called a month ago he was informed that it would be a requirement for him to attend a session to our surprise, given the growing rise of coronavirus cases during the pandemic.

In today's call he was told, however, that the sessions are cancelled for elderly drivers. Renewals of licenses will be automatic this year. And two years hence the sessions will start up once again. In the interim he's free to drive, his license will be honoured. In fact, if he feels uneasy about showing up at the Licensing Bureau, his license will still be honoured without the '21 sticker as legal until such time as circumstances surrounding public safety are changed. So that's good news.

When we went out to the ravine today for our usual circuit through the forest trails it was quite mild, a degree above freezing, overcast with little wind. There was a light mist of ice fog hanging over the creek. Conditions were absolutely perfect to be out tramping along the trails. Footing couldn't be better, a good solid base of snow, little ice in evidence. Here and there in the landscape, a bright splash of rusty orange or orange-brown colour reflecting the fall foliage of beech and ironwood still stubbornly clinging to saplings.

The rain of the day before had washed all the snow off the trees, their branches and boughs, so that wasn't much of a plus, but the hours of rain hadn't seemed to affect the snowpack on the forest floor, so that was a plus. There were squirrels about, bustling through the trees, where they had been fairly absent for the past few weeks. And chickadees and nuthatches were flitting their way through the evergreens, so ample movement about.

 

A beautiful day yet again. Along with the opportunity to get out, stretch our legs, exercise our lungs, watch Jackie and Jillie nosing about here and there, admire the landscape, and forget however briefly, the myriad of disturbing news reports we read daily in the newspapers. Above all, the burgeoning cases of COVID-19, and the provincial tightening of the current lockdown conditions with a serious stay-at-home message for everyone.

It's best to balance the quality of meals, so that they're fairly well equal in terms of content and nutrition, but there are some days when a meal tends to be on what we call the 'heavy' side, so we decide the following day to have something 'lighter' for dinner. And since Monday we shared a roasted Cornish game hen, noodle pudding and spinach, we thought it would be fitting to have dairy on Tuesday. On occasion I prepare a meal my husband is fond of and me not so much, and yesterday it was cheese blintzes.

 A simple enough meal actually, the blini themselves contain only four, salt, egg and milk. And when they're done, placed on a nice clean tea towel, they're filled with a combination of cottage cheese, sugar, cinnamon, butter and egg yolk. Folded over, they can be refrigerated if they're prepared earlier in the day as I did, so that at dinner time all that's required is to fry each in butter, flip over, fry the opposite side, then serve with anyone's choice of sour cream, maple syrup or apple sauce. With a salad and fresh fruit dessert, it makes a light and satisfying meal. Even for me.

Tonight, it's a stir-fry with onion, garlic, mushrooms, bell pepper, snow peas and bean sprouts. With soy/garlic-marinated beef strips stir-fried separately and all of it over a bed of rice. Strawberries for dessert. That's the kind of meal I can bear repeating often, say every two or three weeks. But I prefer the main vegetable to be broccoli, while my husband's preference is bean sprouts.

We've been enjoying sun today.Which means the large windows of this house have absorbed a lot of warmth from the sun and light flooding into the house interior. The precise opposite of what occurs when we have heavily overcast days of which we've had more than enough of late. It's a treat not to have to turn on lamps or overhead lights during the day when the house is well enough lit naturally. As well as beyond mere comfort when the house has been warmed by the sun.

It's also been windy and a trifle cooler, with the high set of -2C, very well tempered by the sun. I suppose we needn't have been too surprised to see that we had quite a bit of company to come across on the forest trails. We're in a phase three pandemic lockdown, so people have nowhere else to go. The new rules are no more than  25 people on any municipal skating rink, and masks recommended. As for walking trails (not the forest, but area parks), and parking lots the same strictures apply.

There's no mystery about people wanting to get out for fresh air and exercise on a beautiful winter day, and there are places that can readily accommodate a larger presence; the ravine in the community where we're located is one of them. Despite an increase in trail hikers today, most of our circuit went off without encountering anyone else. People tend to congregate in main areas, where conjunctions of major trails are located, and particularly close to entrances to the ravine scattered throughout the community.

The sun doesn't really penetrate the forest interior very much. We can, however, see its effect high up  on the masts of trees on the upper reaches of the forest canopy. The dusky atmosphere that normally prevails in the interior of a forest is lightened by the presence of unimpeded sun, able to throw long shafts of bright light through the canopy in various places. The landscape of the forest becomes transformed yet again when the ambience is bright, giving us yet another view of what we're familiar with, yet being exposed to subtle differences, greeted time and again with fresh perspectives.

Habit is an interesting phenomenon, practised by humans but also by others within the animal kingdom. Animals like our Jackie and Jillie who have habits of their very own, some of which impinge on ours just as some of our habits instruct them. They are excellent time-keepers, for example. Around ten every evening Jackie gets restless and wants to go out to the backyard. He figures that this will trigger our willingness to go up to bed. It never does; we won't do that for another hour, or most frequently two more hours.

 
In the morning Jillie gets restless just before eight, and thinks we should be up and getting breakfast for her and her brother, and she gets very insistent about her obligation to remind us of our sacred duty to do just that. In the early evening, at six on the dot, they both rouse themselves to stand stolidly, reproachfully before me with the unspoken yet very obvious message not requiring vocalization that it's dinner time for them.

When they've finished their 'first course' at dinnertime, consisting of their kibble topped with chicken and chicken soup to moisten the kibble, they're impatient for the next course. While this is being prepared Jillie turns dizzy circles of anticipation, and sometimes Jackie joins her.That's the fresh vegetable salad they get every evening. It starts out with frozen cauliflower zapped lightly in t he microwave, then bell pepper, snap peas, cucumber and tomatoes cut into little pieces mixed in with the cauliflower. If I'm not quick enough Jackie gets quite upset and barks out his orders for me to 'move it!'.

On our return from our daily spin through the forest trails in our nearby ravine, they burst through the house in a mad run-about, an excess of joyfulness. And then they get down to the serious business of dogging me in the kitchen, reminding me that I haven't yet given them their afternoon treat, and that's raw, cut-up cauliflower in their little dishes. They leap with excitement awaiting those dish-deposits before them and dive straight in.

So they know their times-of-day, clever aren't they? And then there's the issue of knowing which day of the week it happens to be. They know that on Mondays and Fridays we have cereal for breakfast, and that means they can look forward to little bowls of cereal and milk of their own after they've had their kibble. Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays my husband has soft-boiled eggs at breakfast, and those are the days they know they'll be getting an egg split between them as a treat; hard-boiled or scrambled.

That leaves the weekend, which is their favourite for on Saturdays they can smell bacon and eggs on the stove and they prance around anxiously awaiting their portions in their little dishes. But their favourite of all their favourites is Sunday, for that's the day we have either French toast and sausages or pancakes and sausages. Today it was banana pancakes served with sausages; they turn head-over-heels for Sunday treat.

Another treat of somewhat dubious quality was in store for today; a shortened daylit-Sunday. Heavily overcast all day, but by half-past two there was no longer any pretense at daylight, and we knew that snow, finally, was on the way. When we emerged from the house a tad after three, light snow had begun falling on a 0C day, and the wind had come up notably.

For the duration of our ramble through the woods snow fell and gradually its white aspect covered everything. This may turn out to be a nice snowstorm; rumours of 20 centimetres in the forecast, and welcome. Jackie and Jillie's warm little paws made impressions on the slowly-accumulating snow as we marched through the trails, and the atmosphere kept getting progressively darker, until by the time we emerged, hauling ourselves back up to street level, it was completely dark. We'd better get used to it.

 

We've had successive nights of icy cold temperatures -- down to -10C last night after -6C for the previous two nights. It'll be cold again tonight, but we'll see that beautiful anomaly, a 'blue moon', a full, round, bright moon in a clear sky. This is, after all, a Halloween day like none other that we can ever recall; no children will be coming around to shriek 'trick or treat!' this evening, waiting to be handed a chocolate bar, politely thanking the giver, and floating off in a little crowd of other costumed children heading toward the next house on the street.

This city has been declared one of four 'red hot' COVID zones and residents have been asked to set aside conventional Halloween activities for this year. So it will be a quiet night. Strangely quiet. It's been a bright, sunny day, with light winds and since the  temperature ambitiously nudged up to 5C, a Saturday geared to finishing up the yardwork.  After breakfast my husband took down the curtained screens hanging from the metal deck canopy, our 'privacy screen' for our 'outdoor room'. And he began putting away the outdoor furniture.

I waited until we returned from our early afternoon ramble in the woods with Jackie and Jillie before heading out to the garden to complete the tidying and clean-up of vegetation in preparation for winter's onset. There's also so many things to be removed from the gardens and put into storage, ornamental things with status in the garden that can be removed and given shelter from the elements. Sundial, metal birdbath, garden standards, poured concrete 'animals' and other like things.

Last night we had our usual traditional Friday night meal, complemented by the Chelsea buns I'd baked earlier in the day for dessert. I had baked a large, plumper potato pudding than usual and it was unusually good. Instead of cauliflower that I usually prepare to accompany this particular meal, we had asparagus spears, alongside the breaded, seasoned chicken breast that had gone into the oven to share space and cooking time with the pudding. The Chelsea buns were the piece de resistance, and we couldn't resist; we ate fully half of the eight rolls. The cinnamon-chocolate-walnut-raisin-brown sugar-butter combination was truly irresistible wrapped into the sweet raised dough.

When we headed out to the ravine in the early afternoon we noticed that a family of young children down the street was hosting a Halloween party, about ten adults and a myriad of children running about, no distancing, everyone behaving as though we were living in normal times. It's puzzling, given the prominence of the alerts that local medical and government authorities have particularly asked that this not happen, given that gatherings of this kind have spurred an alarming rise in local cases of COVID.

In the forest, all was still. There, with the trees as screening shield, there was barely a stirring of wind, and with the reduced forest canopy the sun no longer struggles to filter through to the forest floor. During the summer, spring and fall months sunglasses aren't needed, there just isn't enough sun that glares through to illuminate the landscape sufficiently to require them. It's an entirely different story now, the sun so dazzling that without sunglasses it's difficult to see properly at times.

That same sun that challenges our eyes with the strength of its illuminating powers happens at the same time to cast its generous warmth wherever it penetrates, making the ambient air comfortable, removing the sting of the winter-like chill. Because it's a Saturday more people are about on the trails and we came across some old acquaintances, ending up standing around together and talking for periods of time that fail to tax Jackie's and Jillie's patience.

It's the rare tree now that continues to sport any of its leaves, resistant to the call of nature to release them for another winter. In the garden, last night's really hard frost persuaded the mulberry and the magnolia to say a final adieu to their foliage. Sweeping up the leaves on the walkway and patios was the final little task I undertook when I had completed my garden tidying up after our woodland hike. And I refrained once again from cutting back the little white carpet rose. Though I could hardly credit it, the rose had sent out more fresh-looking, perky little flower buds. So once again I've left it to flaunt its beauty with the intention of lopping off the delicate little canes before the snow flies in earnest.