We were up early this morning intending to get out to do the food shopping even a little earlier than usual. Leaving two disconsolate little dogs whimpering and yowling to look after themselves in our absence for we had, after all, explained to them time and again that we were going out to bring back all kinds of edible goodies for them, so we set off with a good conscience.

There was less traffic on the road than we usually see. We assumed that the frantic Christmas shopping rush hadn't yet taken over the morning. And then we drove into the parking lot of the supermarket we shop at and were amazed to confront an unusual spectacle. Even at any time of the day that parking lot is never full. And when we usually arrive early morning to do our shopping it's almost empty on most occasions.

Not this time. We soon approached near enough to see a long line of would-be shoppers snaking two meters distant from one another the length of the store exterior, continuing to take in all the other storesfronts, none of them yet open, that comprise the bulk of the shops in linear fashion on that side of the plaza. All.those.people.waiting.to.get in.

This, we know, is a Toronto thing. We aren't in Toronto. There are supermarkets galore in our neighbourhood, plenty of venues where people can shop. And rarely are there such lineups. People were panicking, we guessed, as a result of the provincial premier having announced yesterday a province-wide lockdown to begin on Boxing Day for the following three weeks. Or was it that everyone was intent on getting their Christmas food shopping done three days before Christmas? Or was it the general impression that early morning shopping isn't just for seniors seeking to avoid the human, virus-vending crush?

My husband turned the car around, headed for home. Not so fast, said his wife, we're shopping. So we waited, at first away back of the line, but it moved steadily ahead as people were being admitted while those who had already completed their shopping left. It took about a half-hour before we entered the store, and by then the line had regrown itself behind us to about the same length as when we had originally joined it.

The idea was obviously to avoid bottlenecks. The gradual admittance ensured that people would move steadily forward, welcomed bit by bit, each taking possession of a disinfection-sprayed shopping cart. We were apprehensive that the shelves would be empty, and some were, but not most. We had no difficulty selecting what we needed for the week although in several instances had to be satisfied with substitutes when confronted with a wide, yawning shelf empty of its offerings.

What a joyous reunion when we returned! No longer abandoned our puppies generously forgave us and nicely obliged us by gobbling up a few treats. They followed us around while we re-distributed the food into the refrigerator, the pantry, this shelf and that shelf until it was all completed. They take their supervisory role in this household quite seriously.

The temperature for the day hovered around zero, so it wasn't very cold. Light snow was falling, the sky was heavily overcast, and there was wind. By the time we emerged again led by Jackie and Jillie who recommended that we hold the leashes and follow their direction, the wind had picked up substantially, clearly bringing in another front. It was damp feeling and colder than it should have felt thanks to the insistence of the wind raking our faces.

We discovered today that someone had snapped a photo of a fisher standing on one of the bridges. He'd had a swift response on seeing that ferocious little creature, snapping it before it left the scene. So now we know that small animals like squirrels, raccoons and foxes have fishers to contend with. We stood for a short while discussing the critturs in the forest while five dogs patiently waited for four people to get on with their trail hikes. One fellow had seen a wild turkey presumably killed by coyotes; if so why wasn't it eaten?

Another a large beaver corpse which, he surmised had been confronted by at least two coyotes, since beavers are well known to be able to look after themselves when attacked. The population of the forest has taken quite a turn with the introduction of coyotes. The abundance of small wildlife we once saw regularly years ago is no longer in evidence; partly responsible is that around the top of the ravine more houses were built in the past thirty years, and part of it is due to the presence of alpha predators represented by coyotes and fishers.

Jackie and Jillie will just have to remain content to be on leash forever now, it seems. Although truth to tell they haven't complained about the leash restraints on their freedom.

It seems we've been enjoying fewer sunny days than normal so far this winter. Today may be the shortest day of the year, but we've been in the thrall of short daylight hours for quite awhile; and now the long slow reversal begins. Meanwhile, we live in a kind of perpetual dusk and in the forest interior that light darkness prevails.

So, Quebec, Ontario and Alberta have the absolute worst case counts of COVID-19 in the country. Ontario and Quebec are also the most populous provinces in Canada. The case counts in the two coronavirus waves have necessitated strict lockdowns with easing occurring once the case counts diminished. We're heavily into the second wave, and numbers already alarming, are on the rise, faster and more numerous than ever. 

With Christmas fast approaching, the worry is that already soaring case counts will begin to rise even faster, capturing a greater number of people. Governments at all levels have been recommending that this Christmas be a circumspect one, no gatherings as usual of family and friends. But knowing that people will proceed to try to have a Christmas-as-usual, health authorities and hospitals are preparing for an inevitable onslaught. The premier of the province has announced a 21-day lockdown to commence from Boxing Day. Displeasing any number of people.

Most people are diligent about maintaining social distance, about going out only when they have to for minimum exposure and are also fastidious about both hand hygiene and mask-wearing when out in indoor public spaces. Even so, a percentage of the population is resentful of the strictures on their freedom to do and go wherever they wish to. Hostility expressed through Twitter and other social media sites against those we elect to make important decisions for us, along with the authoritative recommendations from top public health officials make little sense.

What makes little sense and serves to inform the majority of Canadians that witless fools live among them is the photographs that appear from time to time in the newspapers of hordes of angry people eschewing masks, gathering in large numbers, holding anti-masking, anti-authority signs, protesting against stern measures and lock-downs, all designed to minimize case loads amid efforts to avoid stress on hospitals. It's beyond puzzling.

On the other hand, there are relaxation techniques that might possibly help people gain perspective, take their minds away from the rages and anger brought on by a strange silent killer that medical science is desperately trying to fully decipher, while the population of mostly elderly within society is being steadily eroded in numbers. That there are vaccines coming on stream, completing their critical third trials is a boon and a hope for the near future, and people are being urged to extend their patience for a little longer, and continue protecting themselves from contracting the virus, at the same time protecting others in the community.

Fresh air, sunshine, green spaces all represent one way that anyone can immerse themselves in a mood-affecting-atmosphere. Or, as some might say, a good way to retain sanity. To focus the mind away from the Damocles sword represented by the virus, to shift it toward the good that we can find in life, among them our natural surroundings, and the serenity and peace they offer.

We never know what we'll see, come across, experience when we set out with our two undisciplined little dogs for lengthy hikes through forest trails. Our immediate goal is simply to relax, to revel in the atmosphere of quiet nature, to admire the landscape, enjoy the opportunity to stretch our limbs, breathe in fresh air and share with one another things that  are different we notice in the environment, from day to day.

Whoops!

Today, as often enough happens, someone we used to see walking a Golden Retriever a decade ago and who stopped coming into the ravine when his companion dog died, recognized us when we were out this afternoon with Jackie and Jillie, though we couldn't quite place him. He knew where we live, and what distinguished our house outwardly from others around it. A mystery to us.

A young man we hadn't seen for some while and who we had become familiar with just in the last year had been absent from the ravine for months, and my husband remarked on it just yesterday. Today, he appeared, smiling and chatty as though there had been no interruption in the time we'd last seen him in early fall. At one juncture we comprised a small cluster of regular trail hikers re-connecting and exchanging news, a pleasant diversion on yet another weather-challenged day when the temperature rose to a balmy 3C, after yesterday's -3C, and performing a first-rate melting job on our newfallen snow.

We had ventured out before four o'clock, after I had finished cleaning the house. We'd had morning sun and then it became heavily overcast, and we were soon enveloped in a really early dusk. It was so dark when we were out on the forest trails it looked more like early evening than late afternoon. Not surprising in the sense that this is the penultimate day before the shortest day of the year. 

 

 

 

He is a corpulent man, almost egg-shaped. Where other people walk, he lumbers along, his gait made distinctive by his size. He speaks slowly, deliberately, with the authority of someone who has great confidence in themselves. His smile has a wry twist. He is the kind of man who, if a neighbour is planning to work on something he will be the first and often the only one to offer to help. He is a man bursting with energy, and with the strength of an ox. 

His dog is large too, a part Bernese Mountain dog. A dog that is also quiet and tends to be unobtrusive, despite its size. We see them both from time to time, not often. We first met him and his dog quite a few years ago. He lives in another neighbourhood fairly distant from our own, but also like ours, abutting on the ravine. In the past he has taken pains to haul lumber into the ravine at places where few others tend to take themselves, to build fairly basic but very useful bridges to cross areas that can become swampy at times.

 Invariably someone complains and the municipality responds by sending out a crew to destroy the bridge. He doesn't hesitate to rebuild, and sometimes it becomes a tug-of-war between him and the authorities. He once asked them how many people had complained and the response was, one. He is such a good soul that he will often take a neighbour's dog out his forays into the ravine, an old arthritis-ridden chocolate lab.

His patience with the dog is endless, because he is determined to see that the dog enjoys its elder years, and the dog does, he ambles along the pathways  makes the occasional detour into the forest interior and swiftly reappears when our friend calls. His own dog tolerates the presence of the other, tending to be a little standoffish. As though he's not quite offended by the older dog's presence, but prepared to accept it as long as it is no bother.

So we were a little surprised today when our friend told us that he had been out with his dog earlier in the week and suddenly it disappeared. It's unlike the dog not to respond when he calls. He thought he heard off in the distance a bit of yelping, but it didn't sound like his dog. When the dog eventually reappeared, it was as though nothing had happened. He assumed that his dog had seen a coyote and had  tracked it, and he was right.

It was only later that he came across someone we both know whose backyard is adjacent the ravine walking his own dog. Its known that there is a den nearby this man's backyard and he often sees coyotes around and about it. Did you know, he said, your dog was in a tussle with a pair of coyotes? He'd watched as the dog chased one coyote into the area of the den and then two emerged and began threatening the dog who then trotted off, the two coyotes chasing after it.

A bit later, the same day, he saw two coyotes in the distance, seeming to watch him and the dog. He's often seen them about and knew his dog on occasion would decide to chase them. Some dogs, in fact, are known to briefly join up with a coyote and they run together in a comradely fashion, playing, no harm coming to either. What our friend described seemed more like a vendetta in the making. He's unperturbed about the situation, he feels that his dog can handle anything he embroils himself in.

We enjoyed our time in the ravine this afternoon, a darkly overcast, and snowy day. Snowy, but not heavily snowing, so when it's over it won't have amounted to much, but the snow layer makes a visual difference in the forest, inordinately pleasing to the eye. Moreover, when it's so dusky in the forest the white landscape acts as a lighting source, quite apart from the beautiful spectacle it presents.

When the trees are covered with newfallen and still-falling snow, there's an exquisitely ethereal look to the landscape, intriguing, mysterious, beguiling. Today also there was hardly any wind and the temperature had risen to -2C, so it felt almost balmy as we strode along, the snow of a sticky character, mediating between the icy pathways and our cleated boots.

Just in time, too, since tomorrow marks the winter solstice and the day following the shortest daylight-day of the year.

My email inbox has been swamped for weeks by charitable organizations sending out their requests, each one reminding me that contributions are welcome. I've got quite a few charities that I support and sometimes you feel just swamped with the requests. They're beyond irritating as well, when as so often happens you've made a donation to a particular charity but that doesn't stop multiple requests from that same charity bouncing right back into your inbox.

It is an improvement, however, from the years when charities you've supported sent out unwanted 'gifts' as solicitations for more giving, things like notepads, pens, Christmas gift wrapping, ribbons, address stickers, magnets, calendars, you name it. Annoying and unsolicited. I interpreted it as a waste of the financial 'gifts' I sent to them and was not the least bit impressed. If anything, it might induce me to 'forget' sending further such donations to these ill-directed charities.

Probably the best ploy of manipulating people into guilt-giving was those charities sending along their mailed requests and with the request would be a coin. If you kept any of these inserts and used them and failed to respond to the donation requests that accompanied these nuisance items then in effect you just as good as purloined them, a not-too-subtle emotional blackmail.

Not that I appreciate these constant 'reminders' any more for littering up my inbox; they're downright irritating, and completely unnecessary. Also maddening are the constant telephone reminders that come through from some charities you already communicate with through email, with the earnest voice of solicitation thank you for your past generosity and asking whether you would like to make another donation at this time; someone standing by to receive your authorization and your credit-card particulars.

I much prefer to make donations online to sending out cheques or taking part in those telephone solicitations, and if I can, prefer to use Paypal. The thing about Paypal, sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. Ever since they inaugurated their 'one-touch' feature, for the most part it fails. They had insisted that a special number would appear on your bank invoice next to their name to be inputted on an online Paypal form to update your account, but that number never appeared consequently that update was impossible.

Always something to gripe about. Like the weather. Speaking of which Canada's chief climatologist has noticed that the Ottawa area is still steeped in grey and green, rather than the usual white we're accustomed to at this time of year for what he characterized as "the snowiest national capital in the world", when I believe that both Moscow and Ulan Bator claim that title; Ottawa comes third.

Take heart, said he -- though normally we'd have had at least 48 cm fallen and accumulated by now -- there will be some light snow dustings before and around next week. Not much, but some. "Kids are going to be able to get their sleighs and saucers and use them, maybe not as much skiing, but certainly enough for a fresh white snow cover", he said with a certain assurance. He also noted that we've had miler than normal temperatures, but certainly not this week.

 It was -7C again this afternoon when we were out with Jackie and Jillie for our daily hike through the forest trails in the ravine. Because it's a Saturday we came across the presence of a greater number of other hikers now and again, but not excessive numbers, to our relief. The landscape to be sure, looks anything other than how it should. And although it's still a pleasure to make our way along the trails, a little bit of snow would be appreciated.

Not only for the relief of the grim grey aspect -- all the more so when the trails are duskily overcast -- when the lack of snow is put into high relief, but because the combination of the last several snowstorms having been melted away when warmer days brought rain instead of snow and when the colder temperatures that followed ensured the melted snowpack turned to ice, which makes for iffy conditions on the trails in some areas.

Anyone attempting to stride with any confidence in those areas is in for a big surprise; we see people taking mincing little steps of caution in the most-affected areas of ice, and even with our boots equipped with cleats for good traction, there are moments of slippage we'd prefer to avoid. Their little orange rubber boots keep Jackie and Jillie dry and warm, and we have the confidence of knowing they're secure and won't fall off and be lost as happened all too often with their previous boots constructed of leather and fleece.

It's so long ago, I can't recall the date, but I believe it was early enough in the pandemic's onset that it might have been April or May. A cross-Canada study was being undertaken, in the hope that enough people would sign up to participate for the researchers involved to be able to obtain a wide-ranging sample of people who had been exposed to the coronavirus and presumably exhibited no symptoms.

Anyone who was willing to sign up to take part could expect to receive a kit in the mail to take a blood sample and send the completed kit back to its source. I decided that I would participate, and when the kit arrived, punctured a thumb, obtained the requisite drop of blood, smearing it in, I believe, three designated places and after it dried, closed up the kit and returned it by mail whence it had come.

The kit contained everything necessary to complete the simple-enough process. A sterile wipe, a bandaid, a needle-like puncture tool. Clear and simple instructions were printed inside the kit with a step-by-step diagram. What could go wrong? Anyone who hates the sight of blood, the sight of a puncture, the sight of a tool to accomplish the puncture, the split-second-worth of pain, wouldn't have volunteered. I didn't mind.

Months passed and I heard nothing. Then came an email with a kind-of progress report, saying that updates would be posted from time to time. The study was never meant to inform people of their personal results, but rather to aid the researchers involved in the project to obtain the coronavirus picture reflecting on average  how it had affected the general public. But a few days ago I received an email that informed me my personal results were available at this time for me to see what the end result of my personal blood sample had elicited.

To be able to access the results I would have to input a code that had been included with the kit. A code specific to my personal sample and the results of it having been tested for covid data. Hmm, the code. Where on Earth would I have put it? I looked in a few likely places, but found nothing. There was an alternative available; my communication site was agreeable to supplying me with the code to unlock the results if I could answer some personal identifying questions.

Easy enough to do, and the code was forwarded on to me via email shortly afterward to be inputted into the document unlocking its private 'locked' status. And so I learned that at no time was it feasible from the analysis gleaned from my blood sample, that I had been exposed; no antibodies to COVID were present and it was highly unlikely I had ever been infected. And would I be interested in forwarding -- that having been settled -- a follow-up blood sample to determine presumably, whether my status had undergone a change in the interim? Well, I guess ... all in the name of science and research. And personal curiosity.

About a month or so after I'd sent in my sample, I had a very strange experience. One night I felt suddenly ill, nauseous, my stomach upset, accompanied by a headache. I was ill for hours with those symptoms, felt like retching but didn't, running a fever, feeling so wretched I had visions of hospitalization. It was all I could do to dissuade my husband from calling an ambulance. He sat beside me as I finally fell asleep hours later, the fever abated, the nausea left and so did the headache. Food poisoning? Who knows. Who consults doctors these days? I felt perfectly normal by morning.

Well, today's another day. I decided to bake a lemon cheesecake. I grated the rind and my husband squeezed the lemon for its juice. And then I set about, among other things, making and baking a cheesecake for dessert. We love our Friday-night desserts, and above all cheesecake, although there are other favourite dessert contenders.

And soon after I took the cheesecake out of my handy little countertop convection oven, we prepared to take Jackie and Jillie out for a romp through the woods. It's another icy day, but little wind and though the temperature nudged its way up to -7C only, we had a wide clear blue sky and blinding sun to warm up the atmosphere -- as much as was feasible. 

Still no snow. Every morning when we get up I look anxiously outside, hoping to see some new fallen snow. December without snow? You're kidding! But no, no snow. So the landscape continues to look a little dismal. Jackie and Jillie agitated continually throughout the morning hours to get out into the backyard where they sniffed and snuffled about assiduously. Rabbits have been around, we've seen their droppings, and their presence has obviously captivated our two pups.

Without a doubt they also smell them out in the ravine. They go from one tangent to another, anxious not to miss any possible olfactory messages; odours that intrigue, inform and attract them; their daily newspaper and gossip column as it were. We strode along briskly, didn't come across very many people out, but did see a woman with two tiny dogs. They were easily half the size of our small dogs, but neither wore any kind of winter coat. The woman was intrigued by the boots that J&J wore, and asked about them, but it seemed odd that such tiny animals taken out through a forest for an airing, weren't given some kind of protection against the cold.

Laundry day today, so I stripped our bed and there were four loads of laundry to be done as soon as we were out of the shower this morning. We've got a double-size shower so we shower together every morning. Very efficient since each of us gets a good back-scrub courtesy of the other. Jackie and Jillie keep nosing about at the shower door wondering when we'll emerge. It's where we disappeared and they think they can see us ... is that us? Then where's breakfast!?!

After breakfast when I went back upstairs to make up the bed, it was a tossup; another set of flannel sheets or go to the fleecy sheet sets that my husband insists it's time for. Whenever we haul ourselves upstairs at night to get in bed, a blast of cool air sets us back on our heels after we've left the cozy warmth of the fireplace-heated family room. Jackie and Jillie may be oblivious to an Arctic bedroom but we're not. Once under the covers it takes a while to warm up, even with flannel sheets.

But those fleece sheets wrap us in warmth immediately. It's great when we first get into bed to be welcomed so warmly, but at some point during the night while my husband remains snug and comfortable I feel too hot. And progressively hotter. It's like when I first began menopause and would be on the bus going from my workplace back home in the evening, and I'd look around at everyone bundled up in winter gear and wonder, is it just me?

Yes, in two weeks' time I'll be 84, and I'm still flashing. Usually in the wee morning hours. And that's when I begin flinging the duvet off and just leave the flat sheet covering my overheated body, and finally I can't stand the flat sheet either, and hanging myself over the edge of the bed trying to find that elusive cool air to soothe my burning flesh, I gradually cool down again, and fall back to sleep. Some time later I awake briefly, shivering with cold and grab for the sheet, then the duvet, doubled over my husband, wrap myself back up and wait for the next wave then fall asleep again.

So, I relented; when night-time temperatures dip below ten degrees and a night wind rattles the windows, it's time for the heavy guns, and out come the fleecy sheets. My husband will be pleased. I won't mention it, he'll find out for himself when he drops into bed tonight.

Because going off to the ravine at 3:00 in the afternoon means we're entering a dusky forested environment and leaving as darkness seriously descends, we decided to make for the ravine an hour earlier today. The temperature had risen all the way to  -7C, and it wouldn't be getting any warmer. There was a light wind, not the tempest that we braved through yesterday at -14C, so it would be a well-tempered walk today. We still dressed with care, though we felt assured there'd be no penetrating cold fingers of ice probing through our clothing today. And to top things off, it was a sunny day!

Yesterday, when I was halfway across one of the bridges' 40-ft span, Jackie pulling ahead of me as I held back slightly, negotiating the icy surface of the floorboards, we were suddenly surprised by a loud thumping and looked up to see a bicycle bearing down on us at high speed. A bicyclist on one of those thick-tired all-terrain bikes had caroomed down from the top of the hill directly before the bridge. He obviously hadn't the patience to wait a few minutes for us to clear the bridge.

In the event, there was no room for him to zip past us without hitting us, leaving me to frantically attempt to get Jackie closer to me, fearful of the bike riding right over him, so the bicyclist had to take instant measures to cut his speed, and lean with his bicycle against the side of the bridge to avoid hitting us, and edge his way across. No words as we passed one another in silence.

But not today. It was like old times. We had the ravine and its forested trails entirely to ourselves. A quiet, peaceful hike through the forest, the only sound was our cleated boots cracking crisply over the ice on the trails. Beyond odd to be out there midway through December with the spectacle of the landscape absent an accumulated snowpack. Entirely  unusual, heading toward a Christmas without snow down on the ground.

We agreed between us that our peaceful hike today was likely thanks not only to the cold, but to last-minute shopping for Christmas, calling the faithful out to shop 'till they drop, even as the Province of Ontario is notching, day after day, ever higher case numbers, hospitalizations and deaths from COVID-19. 

Life goes on, as it should, as it must.

After yesterday's ravine hike when we were out in quite cold conditions, given the high for the day remained stuck at -12C, exacerbated mightily by a piercing wind, the discomfort I felt with those icy probes under my jacket wasn't to be repeated. I would break out my second winter jacket, down-filled like the one I wore yesterday, but, I thought, warmer. 

So out it came, on it went and I felt assured before heading out with an equally well-dressed Jackie and Jillie and my husband with his jacket that never fails to do its job, that I wouldn't be shivering today. When the temperature was even lower, at -14C. And whereas yesterday was a sunny day, today was destined to see no sun at all.

Amazingly, we're still absent a snowpack. At these temperatures garden plants depend on the insulating qualities of a snowpack to protect sleeping vegetation from the icy excesses of days like these. Which will most certainly become even colder with the approaching month and the month following, when it isn't unusual for us to have day-time highs of -20C now and again. There's often frost-bitten (winter-kill) victims after a long, cold winter, and we gardeners depend on a normal winter's covering of snow to protect vulnerable plants.

Quite aside from the fact that a  Christmas holiday season without a good snow covering on the landscape is not only unusual but disappointing. We might as well be living Down Under where the holidays are celebrated during a season opposite our own. Even in Israel, where at this time of year winter makes its mark, Hannukah is not necessarily festooned with snow covering the ground, a holiday commemorating an ancient miracle of the reconsecrated Temple during the Seleucid Greek era seeing a scant amount of oil burning for an unheard-of eight days.

In the 2nd Century BCE the Maccabees, a small group of armed resistors rebelled, wresting the Temple of Solomon from the assault by the Seleucids which had erected an alter to Zeus, and desecrated the Temple with the presence of forbidden pigs. In re-dedicating the Temple to the worship of the monotheistic Yahweh, lighting a menorah with a tiny amount of oil expected to last no longer than a day, but the oil continued to burn, constituting a miraculous message of light and delivery from persecution.

Both the Christian and the Jewish festivals are held in the month of December, though a moving calendar in the Jewish faith sometimes brings them closer, sometimes further than the Christian one. For Jews, their celebration began a week ago, and ends tomorrow. Christians have yet a week to go before theirs occurs and in the lead-up to that single day which also celebrates the day before and the day after, the emphasis has traditionally been on gift-giving, somewhat subdued this year of COVID-19.

It's likely a feature of advanced age that we once would embark on hours-long snowshoeing ventures at -20C, and barely feel the cold, whereas now we're acutely aware of the discomfort of probing fingers of ice infiltrating our defences against the seasonal cold. We felt that cold today, though we kept a decent pace hiking through the trails. Despite which I realized that this second jacket was no more a guarantor of comfort against the cold than the other had been. 

Deciding we would today be satisfied with a diminished hike, taking a shorter circuit we were out less than an hour in comparison to our usual hour-and-a-half. It was soon enough evident to us  that the extreme cold had kept many people away from an assignation with nature. What also became evident was that my Nikkon CoolPix digital camera was anything but cool about the temperature, which had the effect of producing fuzzy photographs in an obvious act of rebellion against the cold. Somewhat akin to the Maccabees rebelling against religious oppression.

And when we returned home to a welcoming, warm house, Jackie and Jillie were restless until they had their cauliflower treat so they could finally retreat to a comfortable afternoon snooze. I busied myself in the kitchen, chopping up garlic, onion, slicing mushrooms and carrots to pair with the stewing beef I had earlier cubed and marinated in white wine vinegar, olive oil, sumac, garlic and paprika on my way to preparing a warming stew for dinner tonight. 

Along with green beans and rice cooked separately. And a dessert that will in a sense resemble the beef stew that will precede it. Apple compote, fragrant with cloves and cinnamon, to be served warm.