Our neighbours have long been accustomed to seeing my husband busy doing things around our house. He is forever building things, designing things, changing what is already there, a truly restless soul, his mind never at rest, and his actions follow his restless mind.

His creative impulse will not be stilled, and his aesthetic prods him to engage in an endless succession of initiatives each one of which changes in some manner the house in which we live.

It is, to begin with a house unlike its neighbours, built as an attempt to introduce a different kind of interior to the housing market. An interior designer went to work to produce his version of what was decades ago thought of as the open 'Florida' type interior. My husband liked the house because of its large, expansive walls, not because it was an open-concept home.

And as soon as we moved into our new house back in 1991, he set about transforming the open look of the house, to a conventional closed one. Which meant that where there were no separating walls, he installed one, even if it was comprised of a group of stationary glass doors; the 'open' look was still there in spirit, but each room was separated from the next one, an appearance that we both preferred.

And while he was about it, he began to design stained glass windows. Eventually, over the years, most of the windows in the house were covered with stained glass. And eventually, most of the doors in the house were exchanged for those my husband built himself and filled with stained glass. It was a process that people found intriguing and often commented on.

Yesterday morning when Margaret, who lives on the street behind us, walked by, we stopped and chatted as usual. We've been acquainted for years, she's a dear, frail little old thing. She expressed an interest in the windows and we invited her in. After her tour as we saw her out the door, she leaned toward my husband and confided that she wouldn't tell a soul what she had seen.

First my husband baked one of his special breads for me yesterday afternoon, the kind that I have toasted for breakfast, its emphasis on rye flour and heavy with seeds and herbs, my especial favourite. When that one was baked he set about putting together another type of bread altogether. He enjoys looking through bread-baking books and this time he thought he would try a garlic-Parmesan loaf. He added rosemary and did a bit of consulting with me, and then put that bread on, using his bread-making machine.

Perpetual-motion

Just as the machine began its mixing exercise, the power went off. But the kneading presumed to have been done, he left the dough in the machine, waiting for the bread dough to rise. After 45 minutes the power came back on, and I suggested baking the bread in the conventional oven, so he set about to do just that. We were running late because the power went off just at dinner time.

Come on down and play!

He had decided, in any event, to barbecue steaks for something different, since the weather had finally turned cool and he planned to serve the steaks with slices of fresh-baked bread. We had tomatoes off our tomato vines in the backyard, and yellow green beans to accompany the meal, and it was pleasant for a change; not too often we have red meat for dinner.

We spent a lot of time out in the garden with Jack and Jill yesterday and the sky was spectacular; and last evening during one of our forays out there the sky appeared bright rosy pink off in one direction and a fiery orange-gold in the other.

Jack and Jill frisked about madly for most of the day. While it's true they have a daily hour-or-more ravine walk, their movements on the forest trails are somewhat controlled. We keep them on the leash and  out of the underbrush since invariably they pick up countless burrs, and that's a nuisance to them and to us.

I had, earlier in the morning of this day that began hot and humid but became progressively cooler as the wind picked up and brought in a new front, cut their hair. Their hair grows incredibly fast and before we know it, they begin to look kind of shaggy, and their faces and paws need trimming. If I begin trimming I always feel I might as well trim all of them properly. I always feel a mild sense of accomplishment and relief when they've been groomed and look so sweetly tidy.

That doesn't last very long, though, and they soon once again begin to resemble messy little tykes. To my eye, that is, anyone who looks at them thinks they're perfectly well groomed and 'adorable', we're so often told.

There is no commercially available bread products that are as skilfully, flavourfully and thoughtfully baked as breads and rolls from a Jewish bakery. Which is why, from time to time, we head up to Rideau Street and the Byward Market to stock up on cheeses both imported and produced in Canada, and breads; enough to last us until the lust for fine quality in both sends us back along the Eastern Parkway determined to acquire more.

Yesterday was one such day. After our morning ravine walk we drove to downtown Ottawa for that purpose. It's a pleasant drive, but one where we kept the windows rolled up and the air conditioning system on. Close to 30 degrees Celsius and high humidity, it was another one of those in a series of days that require light clothing and shelter from the sun, if and when possible.

We passed all the familiar places along the drive, from the RCMP pastures and installation for the magnificent black stallions used in the Musical Ride they're famous for, to the aeronautical museum with its small airport for small private planes. There are always dog-walkers striding along the pathways close by the banks of the Ottawa River, and bicycling enthusiasts to be seen in their numbers. It is, after all, summer, the time of year when everyone wants to be out and about, heat irrespective.

Looking across the Ottawa River on our way, there is the sight of the communities on the Quebec side, resembling a 19th Century painting.

The Byward Market was, as usual, crowded with people shopping at the stalls offering local vegetables in season, maple syrup products and regionally-grown fruit, a colourful display of plenty. There are booths set up along the main market streets selling cut flowers and bedding plants, herbs and handicrafts, both local and exotic ones from abroad. And we came across a group of beautiful young women, obviously university students, cheerful and sweet, collecting donations for Cystic Fibrosis.

And there were street entertainers at various street corners, plying their talents for the gratification of those who cluster around their performances, applaud and offer rewards for their exuberantly proud efforts.

A pleasant way to spend a few hours away from the house in such a vibrant atmosphere, to collect basic foodstuffs whose nutritional value and taste satisfaction is hard to beat.

It was hardly surprising that we saw no one else yesterday as we made our way through the forested trails of the ravine. The temperature had soared to 32 degrees and with the humidity it felt well over 40C. The saving grace was the wind, up to 40 kilometres an hour, that kept whipping through the atmosphere. So much so that some major branches of our giant-growing dahlias snapped off, the foliage and the flowers deposited directly to the compost pile.

But in the ravine, where the wind was insistent enough to penetrate, the movement of air albeit hot and humid, was enough to keep us from feeling very uncomfortable. In fact, the confines of the woods with its vast green canopy does a great job of maintaining far cooler temperatures than outside its embrace.

We did, however, come upon one of our neighbours just entering, as we were exiting. She and her husband have raised a succession of various dogs, the last of which is a miniature, long-haired Daschund. And then, a year ago, they decided to foster a seeing-eye puppy for a working future to benefit the many people who require their services. Like us, they tended to forget the work involved in raising a puppy. And this black Labrador had a mind of her own. She wanted to be a puppy. And do all the antic things that puppies do as they discover the world.

In raising such puppies the handlers are informed that they shouldn't be allowed to be too social, to make friends with too many people, let alone other dogs, habits that would be distracting to the mind of a mature dog whose life would revolve around the needs of a person with disabilities. The puppy hated being on a leash, attached to a harness, and as it grew larger, it grew stronger and ever more difficult to control. On seeing anyone it would want to rush over and make friends. She had her work cut out for her and we were convinced that this puppy would never make the working grade. But, she told us yesterday, almost a year old now, she hasn't been disqualified yet.

We were glad enough to reach home, clean up our own two puppies, and relax in the comfort of our air-conditioned environment. Going out afterward only to do a few little gardening chores. And then the skies thickened with dark clouds and we watched them draw nearer by the minute. Until soon enough we felt the first drops, and in an instant were deluged with thick, heavy rain, responding with a dash for the indoors.

Later in the evening we relished the sounds of thunder as other storm systems rolled through, drenching our over-heated gardens.

The short-to-medium-range weather, it seems, is so volatile it has become a little more difficult, it seems, for Environment Canada to predict. So when we thought after a previous heat wave, that we would be entering a climate of cooler days prevailing, we've been surprised by yet another succession of energy-draining, hot and humid days, more related in our minds to the dog days of summer than the approach to early fall.

Yet another warning has surfaced from Environment Canada of the possibility of extreme weather events today, with hot air colliding with cool air and bringing on more surprises. Yesterday's heat was briefly intersected with a sudden heavy rain event without the entertainment value of thunder and lightning. Evidently, however, it was a micro-burst, since a friend informed us that where he lives, a mile away from where we do, they caught just the edge of the downpour.

The heated days call for light salad-inspired meals, and keeping as cool as possible, meaning most people remain confined within air-conditioned interiors. We keep our air conditioning at a minimum. It's fine when we're relatively stationary, relaxing, not so great when we're busy doing physical things, but tolerable. Getting out for our daily hour's ramble in the forest exposes us to whatever breezes are available to cool the over-heated air, and yesterday was no exception. Full foliage coverage does its sun-shading work quite nicely.

Our daughter sent us a photograph of some of her dog pack being accompanied on one of their daily walks with one of her household cats. This is a cat which is seldom permitted outside the confines of the house for the protection of birds and small mammals, but which has expressed an interest in becoming one of the dog pack, so our daughter relented, and here's the result:

Retired from active employment, we still have a tendency to view Saturdays as special 'days off'. Little wonder since societal convention has children attending school from Monday to Friday and when their school days are over with maturity, working from Monday to Friday. It's natural that we all develop a habit of celebrating Saturdays as 'free' days to do with as we will. It's never as simple as that, of course, since the busy work-week decrees that so-called 'free' days are full of chores we haven't been able to look after during the working day.

Saturdays are often -- though our intelligence tells us it's not a good day to do things where others have the same idea and those venues are bound to be crowded with like-minded others, while our emotions urge us otherwise -- when we tend to want to do things out of habit. We do tend to avoid shopping on Saturdays, since that's obviously when many people in the workforce tend to catch up with things, but we do choose to go places where it's possible many others would also like to congregate.

We decided against going up to Gatineau again; on the cusp of a long week-end it would, we thought, surely be crowded with the presence of others thinking as we do, to get away to natural surroundings that are a little different than our usual urban forest locations. Then we thought of another forested area that we hadn't visited in over a year, a place we often used to go to with Button and Riley, but have neglected since we have the convenience of our own wooded ravine right adjacent our street.

Off we went, the fairly short twenty-minute drive west to arrive at the parking lot operated by the National Capital Commission for the extensive interwoven network of trails at the Mer Bleue forest. The parking lot, often quite full when we pass by, this time held only four vehicles besides our own. The area is a mixture of forest, some swampy areas and overgrown meadow, some of it hugely attractive, some not so much. An area long ago logged out and since partially self-regenerated and partly reforested with pines that have grown over the years. It looks far different than how it did presented when we first used to take the trails there, a quarter-century earlier.

There is now an extensive area of boardwalk built over the boggy terrain that tends to get very wet in spring and fall. And there are large areas of the forest where the trees are old and large and the understory is completely colonized with large ferns, the bracken pushing out all other types of undergrowth, giving the landscape there a quite exotic look and feel, since it also tends to be extremely humid. In other areas white baneberry proliferates, as does purple loosstrife, thimbleberry, dogwood, asters and goldenrod, at this particular time of year.

The land is mostly flat, though there is a ridge on either side, where the land droops away, and here and there marshy areas with cattails and waterlilies can be seen, the water rippled now and again as frogs hop about within and without. There is no hiking challenge of rises and depressions in the landscape, but the trails can go on at some length, some of them far more attractive than others. Nature-lovers maintain a proliferation of bird feeders on some parts of the trails, hanging them from tree branches and filled from fall throughout winter to early spring. Chickadees famously group in specific areas and have become tame enough to land on outstretched hands.

During our hour-and-a-half hike through the area we came across two groups of developmentally-delayed adults being guided by volunteers and institution-workers through the broader of the trails. Yesterday was extremely hot and humid; with a prevailing breeze, and under the canopy the atmosphere felt fine, in those areas where overhanging trees were scarce, exposure to the sun made it extremely uncomfortable. It's a varied landscape, and interesting for that alone. One fall we came across a murder of crows, thunderously filling the air with a cacophony of calls, perched on every branch of every tree we could see, on the outskirts of the forest.

Our granddaughter is now prepared for her second year at university. Her mother drove her back to Toronto a few days ago, along with the furnishings bought locally, to place in her new bedroom. The rest were procured in several visits to local Ikea centres. She had decided not to continue living in residence. She thought very little of the food served there, despite that it was supposed to be a cut above the usual such fare. For one thing, she is fully committed to her own vegetarian diet, for another she tends to prefer organic produce, and for yet another she feels quite capable of preparing her own meals with a view to health and nutrition as well as taste; she's pretty fussy about what she eats being both appealing to her taste buds and serving her body's energy and growth needs.

Last year, late in the school year, she had decided along with two friends that they were prepared to rent a shared accommodation somewhere as reasonably close to campus as possible. We had agreed to continue paying for her accommodation to the same level as that required by living in residence. So the father of one of the girls went about in early summer, since they live in the municipality, to search out suitable accommodation. And it is he who signed the lease. A three-bedroom apartment right in the downtown area was finally settled on in an apartment tower located within a ten-minute walk to campus.

And that is where our granddaughter is now installed, awaiting the resumption of the 2015-16 academic year. She is anxious for classes to resume, hoping they will be more 'interesting' than those of her first year. She is prepared as always to pursue her aspiration to become a lawyer. A few of her classes this coming year will be in criminology, in society and law. We know she will succeed in her pursuits because this beloved grandchild is, if nothing else, one very determined young woman.