In retrospect it was not a very good idea to register when the law for gun registration came into effect, about twenty-five, thirty years ago. Our old Lee-Enfield had lain up on a high shelf in our bedroom closet for many years. I imagine Irving knows where he has stored the ammunition. The rifle is at least 70 years old. We were just kids when we went together to a sporting goods store somewhere around Bathurst Street and St.Clair Avenue in Toronto.

Irving's uncle Menashe and his aunt Chasurele owned a farm, located between Kleinburg and Bolton, a short drive from Toronto. The farm is now long gone; it's been part of the Toronto-area series of conservation areas for more than a half-century. Before he even reached his teen years, Irving would spend summers on the farm, working along with everyone else in the fields. I remember there was a 'summer kitchen' attached to the old farmhouse, and in the summer months it would be used for cooking to keep the house as livable as possible.

We can't have been more than 14, maybe 15, when that rifle was acquired. I don't think we were even questioned. Irving thought it might be fun to do some target practise while out on the farm. He even taught me how to shoot at targets. I  recall that groundhogs were felt to be a huge nuisance on the farm, so the idea was if we saw any, we'd shoot them. We saw them, we didn't shoot them. One day we shot off the rifle while we were in one of the pastures and the next thing we knew the cattle had gathered and were thundering in our direction. We just made it over the fence.

His aunt used to send Irving sometimes down to the hen house to collect eggs. He got used to being pecked. His uncle tried his hand at grafting pears with apple trees and beside the front of the house there grew a fruit tree that obligingly offered both fruits. A train track ran through part of the farm. Irving showed me what would happen to a penny placed on the track after a train had rolled over it.

We thought the gun was a lot of fun until one summer afternoon Irving shot a living target, far enough away that he was certain he'd never hit it. It was a robin, and it fell dead and we were devastated. And never again did we pick up that rifle. But it still held memories and we kept it, now an old nostalgic possession. Irving had registered it as required by law with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Every now and again a notice arrives to renew the registration, the cost roughly $70. We just received a reminder and thought we might re-register online but because we don't bank through the internet, can't, so it'll have to be done by mail, and for that we have to go to the bank and get a bank draft, or a mail order, not very appealing.

Last night we had fish and chips for dinner, but a far cry from the traditional fish'n-chips. When Irving was a young boy he would sometimes be given a quarter to go to a local fish'n-chip store and bring back the goods, steaming hot wrapped in newspapers. In my family such treats were never to be had; even pennies were scarce, but I do remember being given coins to go off when I was about eight, ten, to local movie theatres to see afternoon feature films -- mostly a lot of Westerns -- and the inevitable Disney cartoon shorts.

The dinner we had was prefaced by a fresh salad last night, and the fish was a half-side of baked salmon, while the chips were oven-fried potatoes. A little more like health-fare than the traditional versions, and just as good-tasting.

We're going to bed far too late. Trudging up to bed after midnight, and often not turning off our bedside lamps until one or even close to two in the morning. So we tend to sleep in late. Jackie and Jillie don't seem to mind, and although I feel a little 'guilty' about our peculiar hours, and irritated at the short daylight hours, they seem to suit us.

This morning I baked a cheesecake, flavouring it with brandy, and sprinkling white chocolate chips between the crust and the cheese batter. It's a combination I particularly enjoy. Once I was finished working up a bread dough and doing a few other things, we decided for a turn in the ravine. As it happens, it's a cold day with a mean wind, but we did have a few snow episodes interspersed with sun, so we knew we'd be meeting up with a beautiful landscape in the forest interior.

And that's exactly what greeted  us, a lovely vision of snow-sprinkled winter. We came across a few ravine acquaintances which made for episodes of standing around talking, and then realizing when we moved on that we' gotten awfully cold. When we had left the house the thermometer read -10.4C, and with the wind's effect, it seemed awfully cold. I had four layers under my down-filled jacket, for what that was worth; I felt icy fingers of cold penetrating all those layers.

When we return back home,  hoisting Jackie and Jillie onto towels laid on the washer and drier, the first thing we do is remove their little boots. And their feet under the boots felt awfully cold. Taking off their coats and their halters, we revealed two warm little bodies. The house never feels quite so toasty and comfortable as it does on a return from a winter ramble through the forest.

Even Jackie and Jillie are happy to be back home, and anxiously anticipating their usual back-home treat; their afternoon salad.

It's a constant pinging sound barely audible. But Jackie and Jillie noticed it and took offence. Their umbrage led to loud staccato barks every time it happened. The house alarm was informing us that the back-up battery had entered the end of its useful life. It's a large, square box of a battery. Only once before did it give up the ghost and that was many years ago. Back then it was nothing to hop in the car and drive a distance to a store that specializes in all kinds of odd batteries.

These days if an errand isn't strictly necessary, it isn't strictly necessary. The less exposure to the potential of airborne Omicron droplets at a time when municipal hospitals are quickly filling with COVID-19 patients, the better. We'd get around to replacing it. The area office of the alarm company was also receiving those annoyingly sharp beeps, since they monitor the system. And they called to advise that the battery should be replaced as soon as possible. Another intrusive annoyance. That was several weeks ago. Irving neutralized the thing, to shut off that annoying clatter.  Jackie and Jillie, that is, not the alarm beeping since we can hardly hear it. The alarm still, from time to time, raised its nasty little reminders, breaking through the 'silence' barrier..

Irving decided today he would run several imperative-type errands, and driving out to that battery outlet would be one of them, so off he went. He called me from that destination as he was preparing to leave, battery in tow, to drop by the bank. He didn't mention he also planned to drop by an area supermarket he likes to go to occasionally for the brand of bread they carry and specialty cheeses, along with hot smoked salmon, for a Sunday dinner treat. So he was out awhile.

I had plenty to do in the house, since it's laundry day. Just taking Jackie and Jillie out to the backyard multiple times in the day is enough to keep anyone busy. They've got to keep abreast of what the squirrels and the rabbit are up to. In the interests of doing just that they tend to burst out of the house, legs akimbo, feet flying, to commence a frantic course around the garden sheds, sniff about the gardens, and finally do their business.

We ended up leaving the house for the ravine a little later than we usually do at the latest of times, knowing we'd be out during dusk hours and by the time we returned to the street after our circuit, house lights would be on in the neighbourhood, and stars would be blinking in the sky. 

There was a sharp, icy wind, and a damp, -6C atmosphere. Nothing unusual. We're just a little more 'aware' when we're out and darkness begins its slow and steady crawl into the landscape. A landscape that becomes a little fuzzier minute-by-minute. Any time Jackie and Jillie sense something or hear or see something they can't identify they bark frantically. Including at other people seen in the distance on other trails, from time to time.

We're well aware that if coyotes are lurking in the forest interior they'll react to their presence as well. So we keep them close, while telling them to stop the incessant barking -- at people and other dogs. Fruitlessly. This is a bad habit, certainly not recently acquired and certainly inherited as a breed-specific behaviour. We're relieved when they're distracted by odours, by curiosity, by the appearance of a dog they're familiar with.

By the time our circuit was completed and we were descending the last hill up to the street, the clear crescent shape of the moon was dangling above, silver-bright against the soft velvet-blue of the sky.

 

It seems as though we're on a revolving roller-coaster. Every time we think we're finally making some headway against this horrible virus, we're taken back to square one again because the wily predator is skilled at overcoming resistance to its all-consuming mission in life. A tiny living thing that cannot be seen by the naked eye is powerful enough in its malevolent mission to handily overcome the best-laid plans of medical scientists devising ever-new (and retreaded) means of guiding humanity out of its evil clutches.

We're back to beginnings again. Not quite in lockdown, but possibly leading there. Schools are not to be re-opened until possibly January 17. No more indoor dining at restaurants. My heart goes out to parents living through this nightmare with concerns about their children's welfare, their adjustment to this new reality that refuses to be as temporary as we would like it to be.

Gyms are temporarily off limits so socializing in those venues has been cut to the quick. Small businesses once again face the option of sticking it out, hoping for better days and relaxation of measures to combat the spread of this malicious virus accordingly. People once again facing a reduction in their working hours and consequently, their take-home pay. 

 

There may be more restrictions to come; the premier of the province warns of a 'tsunami' of Omicron. Well, of course, this is no local collapse of orderly, predictable life; it's worldwide. To think that it was just a month ago that Omicron was first detected as a variant in South Africa when the alert to its presence was raised. Just one month for a mutated virus to circulate globally. Shockingly awe-inspiring.

 

Ottawa Public Health has reported 24 COVID outbreaks at long-term care and retirement homes, leading the province to approve fourth doses for those vulnerable people inhabiting long-term care and retirement homes. Many of whom have not yet received that third, 'booster' dose. Hospitals cannot fill all their nursing shifts. There is a dire shortage of front-line staff members to help in the management of the increasing patient caseload. Staff burnout and a perhaps predictable stream of retirements add to the shortage of hospital personnel at a time when once again non-emergency surgeries are being cancelled to free up beds for COVID-19 sufferers.

 

Walking up the street this afternoon on our way to the ravine with Jackie and Jillie, there was no one about. It's a quiet street at any time, but quieter now. We were somewhat surprised yesterday morning when we drove out to do our food shopping, when we noticed that traffic was unusually light. It reminded us of the solemn, fearful quiescence at the time of the first COVID wave, when no one knew quite what to expect.

 

While medical science has a better grip on the virus, and we now have vaccines and some credible treatments for COVID, we still don't quite know what to expect. Irving alerted me to the fact that a vehicle was approaching behind us and I drew Jackie closer on his leash as we continued walking up the street. I heard behind me the vehicle stop and a voice calling out Irving's name.

 

 

A neighbour who lives on the street behind ours, wanting to know how we are. Are we heading to the ravine? The word is that it's very icy in there and people have stopped going in for a natural tour of winter. Well, of course it's icy on the trails, it's why we never take cleats off our boots. And the footing is good, with those cleats. People are fearful of venturing too far from home, of exposing themselves, of tempting fate.

 

 

In the interests of efficiency I find it enormously helpful to think ahead on busy days, like Monday house-cleaning. I've got to know well beforehand in my mind what I'll be preparing for dinner. Lunch is never an issue since it's been many decades since we gave up lunch as unnecessary and a waste of time. Breakfast and dinner are our mealtimes, and we don't tend to snack in between. Habit reflecting choices, like most things in life. 

 

So while I was busy cleaning, the only pre-preparation for yesterday's dinner was to snip top and bottom off beets and parboil them so I could slip their skins off more easily when I was ready to prepare them for the sweet-and-sour dish they would become to accompany the roasted chicken breast and yam that completed dinner (not counting the sliced fresh persimmons for dessert). It's quick because once I decide what to prepare it takes no organizational time at all to season the food and slip it into the oven.

 

 

I do the same with breakfast, trying to keep ahead of things as a simplifying and more efficient device. We planned to leave the house early to avoid food-shopping crowds at the supermarket. Once we settled Jackie and Jillie down, having them out in the backyard, giving them little cheese tidbits, setting the table for breakfast on our return (when they'd have breakfast too) we left the house to do our food shopping.

 

 

Because we'd missed a shopping, it was easy to clean the refrigerator interior in anticipation of filling ti all back up again. Nothing in the fruit or the vegetable crispers, we needed everything. Even though our intention was to miss the crowds we were somewhat surprised to find so few cars in the parking lot and fewer people yet in the supermarket. Also surprised to see some empty shelves. No mushrooms to be had, no rice crispies or cornflakes. But all the necessary whole-food items we needed were there.

 

 

The usual brand of eggs we buy were absent, but there were ample alternatives. I did find those empty shelves a bit psychologically troubling, but with the plentiful display of most shelves either full or being filled by store employees stocking the shelves unease quickly dissipated. It's the lingering effect of knowing how infectious the Omicron variant is, and the daily case counts that are escalating in number, always in mind.

 

When we approached the check-out the store was still vacant of shoppers, and only one cashier was on duty. A woman with a shopping cart piled nearly as high as ours reached the check-out counter almost simultaneously with us. I suggested since her cart wasn't quite as full as ours, she should precede us, but she insisted on waving us through first. I suspected my silvery cap of hair and Irving's white beard  may have had something to do with that, and thanked her.

When I was packing the items that had been rung through the cash register, she called out to me that there was a little switch that would bring items on the conveyor belt closer without my having to stretch to retrieve them. Now that's a bit of patronizing condescension, though I'm sure she didn't mean it that way ... that elderly people haven't the intellectual wherewithal to notice such little 'conveniences' to shopping, or had the experience to take advantage of them... I assured her I knew about it and would make use of it when it suited me to. She meant well.

 

In the afternoon, by half-past two the temperature had struggled from -16C up to -7C, under heavy overcast with light wind, and we decided it was time to get Jackie and Jillie out for a walk. Even at that time of midday it appeared as though dusk had already crept into the landscape and was just waiting impatiently to enter full-on: 'surprise, we're here!'.

On with the puppies' little rubber boots. Orange ones this time. Very colourful, very visible, very risible. It was cold, but we kept moving along and that generated some energy-warmth. Jillie's funny; the moment we step out of the house to make our way down the driveway preparatory to going up the street to access the ravine entrance, she begins barking. No amount of chastizing can stop her. She barks constantly as though telling the world, here I am, aren't you lucky! Jackie is far less likely to indulge in that kind of behaviour. 

People who tend to frequent the ravine know all about Jillie. So do their dogs; her voice is their signal that we're near, and many come running over to say hello, and how about some treats, Mr. Cookie Man?

Inexplicably odd  things happen. They're often classified as 'coincidental', 'circumstantial', or any number of other explanations' 'odd, but meaningless', and likely as explanations they suffice, shrugging off any other, unlikely possibilities. But these peculiar things do make you wonder...

In our conversation last night with our younger son, he told us about an interaction he'd experienced with an owl. He's a biologist and certainly possesses some insights and a level of understanding that eludes us. COVID has played havoc with his professional and recreational life just as it has everyone else's. On the other hand, we and all of our three children have the great good fortune to each live in walking distance to area forests. So access to nature and casual recreation is always within our reach.

Lately, our son has been taking short evening walks through the forest located right directly across from his house in inner Vancouver. A forest that has protected status, the property of University of British Columbia. A few nights back during his walk along some of the forest trails he became aware of a large bird close by. He put on his head lamp and there was a barred owl facing him. He'd been alerted by its flight, landing on a fairly low branch of a tree, close to where he stood.

The bird fixed its eyes on him unwaveringly. And they both watched one another, unmoving for a few minutes. Until our son decided to move along and leave the owl to its nighttime foraging. As he moved on he suddenly felt a blow on the back of his head and surmised that the bird had warned him he was treading on his hunting territory, and he turned and watched the bird fly off further into the interior. The ultimate nocturnal predator.

Today while doing the house-cleaning, I was dusting some bookshelves and a small paper-back was dislodged, flying off the bookshelf to land front-cover side up. As I bent to retrieve it, I read the title: "I Heard The Owl Call My Name". And thought how peculiar a coincidence it was. I don't recall reading the book. So I placed it on my bedside table, and as soon as I'm finished with my current read, I'll pick it up; it was a popular book in its day.

Speaking of the out-of-the-way. Yesterday I advised my stove that it was time it gave its oven a cleaning. And so it did just that. On occasion, say once a week, I'll sponge out the oven interior with a hot, soapy sponge, but sometimes it needs a good cleaning since it's used quite a lot in this household. Our 35-year-old stove that has served us so well, proceeded to clean itself.

The story behind that stove is that when we had returned to Canada from a number of years living abroad we decided to buy new household appliances to replace the ones that we had used for a similar number of years. The gas stove would be replaced by an electric stove. I didn't appreciate the fact that a gas stove tends to result over time in a mysterious airborne splatter of a greasy substance on walls, light fixtures, the tops of kitchen cupboards.

So we chose the stove we preferred, a Kenmore, and it was delivered to our house. It took me a little while to realize that what we ended up with wasn't quite the stove we had chosen and paid for. This was clearly a deluxe model that resembled the stove we chose, but had features we didn't even realize existed. Such as self-cleaning. Accordingly, the oven door is very thick and heavy and gets locked into place when the oven knob is turned to 'clean', and the cleaning time is set. During which the stove interior gets up to an impressively hot temperature, burning off any food residue. And does a bang-up job; no fuss, no work on my part.

We thought,when we took Jackie and Jillie out to the ravine yesterday for our usual trip through the trails, that it was fairly cold at a windy -10C. But last night the temperature dipped to -20, and when we woke this morning it had nudged up to -16. So Jackie and Jillie spent some outdoor time in the backyard today. They thought, and we agreed, that it was time enough spent outdoors on a brutally cold day. So no ravine trek today. And possibly tomorrow, when the forecast is for an even colder day...

At one time being out in -20C for a trek through the woods wouldn't have fazed us the least bit. That's when we could muster up some energy to attain a good speed to keep warm. Now, it takes whatever energy we can spare to take our time climbing hills in the ravine, and our trek is sustainable because we 'take our time'. In this kind of cold, taking your time means insufficient expenditure of energy to maintain bodily warmth. In this kind of low temperature, exposure to extreme cold can readily equal skin-frost. So now, not today, possibly not tomorrow, either.

Last night when Irving took Jackie and Jillie out to the backyard before going up to bed, they frightened the rabbit who was busily nibbling at the carrot pieces put out for him. A large cooking carrot broken into three pieces daily. When you think about it, that's a lot of food for one little rabbit. And it makes us wonder what he's been eating otherwise? We don't see him often on the porch nibbling peanuts; he leaves that to the other wildlife for the most part.

We missed a shopping this week. With the huge rise of Omicron cases in the city we decided last week to forego our usual weekly shopping in favour of less exposure until we received our booster shot. Had we been infected, the need for isolation would have meant missing our booster appointment. I agreed to Irving's suggestion we delay the shopping in the assurance that we'd have enough fruits, vegetables, eggs, milk and other necessities to tide us over. And we did.

The refrigerator is getting to look pretty empty. Which is a real change from how it always appears, stuffed full of food. We've enough oranges for Monday breakfast, enough eggs (I used an egg and milk for this morning's pancakes) and butter and bread, so no problem. I'm eking out to the finishing line the puppies' beloved cauliflower, cucumbers, peppers and grape tomatoes. We're having fresh pears for dessert tonight; last night it was green grapes, hard and sweet the way we like them.

I've baked a whole-wheat/cheese bread to accompany the tomato-lentil soup cooking on the stove. Irving will have smoked salmon with his bread and I'll be enjoying two helpings of the soup, so aside from the bread and pears I won't want anything else. Tomorrow is another day; and the dinner menu will revolve around chicken breast, noodle pudding (which will use the last two eggs) and sweet-and-sour beets for dinner. And on Tuesday, early morning, we'll go off to do our grocery shopping. It'll be a big one.

Today, Irving worked downstairs on his stained glass door insert. It's a landscape with a bear fishing in a stream. He began filling in the bear today. I cleaned the kitchen and the oven interior and bathrooms, laundered linen and then we went out for our afternoon ravine hike with Jackie and Jillie. Yesterday we had an unusually mild temperature at plus-two, but today the afternoon  high was -10C with light wind. So we took a little extra care in choosing warmer clothing under our winter jackets.

The wind was in our faces as we approached the ravine, but once in the forest was far less in evidence. The forecast was for light snow today, but although we've been in heavily overcast conditions for days, we've had none of the clouds relieve their burden of precipitation. And we could use some new snow. The return of icier temperatures has left a layer of ice over the snow on the forest floor. Fine for us, wearing cleats, but slippery for others.

Not that we saw many people out on the trails. But we did see one family; a mother and four little girls walking their English Lab. And we came across a friend who told us his 24-year-old daughter had broken her arm while arm-wrestling with her brother's boyfriend. And then that same daughter caught COVID from her boyfriend. So she's nursing a broken arm, isolated with COVID. 

 

On the cheerier side, we were assaulted this afternoon by a few assertive dogs insisting they're our friends and friends should share. So Mr. Cookie-man shared. And since cookies were being doled out, Jackie and Jillie got more than they should have, during our hike. Mind, Irving keeps large ones in his pack for the big dogs, and very small ones for our two.

When the syringe needle sunk into our trusting flesh yesterday all was well. Neither of us felt the penetrating prick, that brief, sharply painful reminder that our deltoid muscle hosted an intruder. That, thanks to the skill of the MD administering the dose. Later, back at home, we went about our usual business just glad it was over. Irving said he hoped that would be it, the last time we'd have to submit to a vaccine for this viral predator that has made so many people on Planet Earth ill, and far, far too many delivered to their maker.

 

And then I shared with him a brief news item to the effect that Israel had opened the floodgates of a fourth shot, for its immune-depressed, elderly population, and we sighed. As the world's latest leading light in timely responses to the SARS-CoV-2 virus causing COVID-19, we can perhaps assume that what starts in Israel will end around the world.

 

By the time dinner-time entered the picture the injection site had become painful. For me, not for Irving. And as the evening progressed, I became -- dimly at first -- aware of feeling tired, a sore back began to invade my consciousness, and eventually before bedtime the realization that every insult my body had sustained over the past decade, with strained muscles and ligaments, tendons and bruises had suddenly been resurrected. I ached literally, all over. I felt lumpish and frail. And so physically drained all I wanted was to crawl under the bed covers. Thank heavens, it was only me, and not Irving as well.

 

Sleep that night, though badly needed, was elusive. I couldn't find a relaxed posture in bed to encourage sleep to calm and help restore my body to its former condition. I would doze, and find then myself fully awake, trying to find a more comfortable position. When morning came I wasn't certain it would be a good idea to get out of bed and meet January1st, 2022. But of necessity I did. By then, Irving was beginning to feel a little off, though he never graduated to full-on misery. Breakfast: fruit and tea for me.

 

But thankfully it didn't take much longer before I felt like me again. And we took ourselves and our puppies out to the ravine for the first trek through the forest trails in this new year of 2022. The temperature had soared to 2C under a heavily overcast ceiling that brought a brief interval of light rain earlier in the morning. We both felt a little tired, but otherwise in fine fettle.

Hello, 2022!