tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29826896823280128182024-03-16T08:02:25.115-06:00think.stewDB Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15484034493143850659noreply@blogger.comBlogger1120125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982689682328012818.post-86189413162679510402024-03-11T12:15:00.005-06:002024-03-11T12:15:51.343-06:00Let's be honest<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-5cv0s9eKHD_PK5kdhXWZnhR0FFrUmodniSFR9wW18afMNShTcvEgElwoxgR_3iJycXhARJnA5dDjSLaY5YSfHxy9JNU1feeR_1nOSFGyntyGK4BymQ_sIra2a7pLxNgwR_bzDehsTsuBeOvIqaZAPXJUi5T4cCgXnKdzZYiBTVqiE34nr-0TY8qP9O4/s4032/puzz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-5cv0s9eKHD_PK5kdhXWZnhR0FFrUmodniSFR9wW18afMNShTcvEgElwoxgR_3iJycXhARJnA5dDjSLaY5YSfHxy9JNU1feeR_1nOSFGyntyGK4BymQ_sIra2a7pLxNgwR_bzDehsTsuBeOvIqaZAPXJUi5T4cCgXnKdzZYiBTVqiE34nr-0TY8qP9O4/w300-h400/puzz.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>When the oh-so-precious wifi craters (Gollum reference intended) and an Internet technician is unable to visit your home until after the weekend, one must pretend it's last century and make a puzzle. <p></p><p>Let's be honest: puzzle-making is delightful. </p><p>Plus, as you likely know, puzzle-making is such good exercise for our brains: visual-spatial reasoning, short-term memory and cognitive load flexing, problem-solving, concentration, flow state, stress-relief....</p><p>Dear friends, do a jigsaw puzzle; stop <i>procrastipuzzling</i>. (Sorry.)</p>DB Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15484034493143850659noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982689682328012818.post-91520709480767450022024-03-07T16:40:00.001-07:002024-03-07T16:40:12.993-07:00Some people, eh? <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFDZGU7X120uWL6QpmYCYwCINggW3nhwA9EYxYBCtC0f7HZ_WIdwxCcgHkU6tc8GGkQBboiKvWyabB4xlgx_pWIxFOo7pINCwxhFvRt1A1wZUGMlcqJ5xeb54ybGaC7N3EwJ63-tAPTnPaVu6vlO_Turn0f4MmlfQNx9f_7JU6znQru4NqmOTqT8pw-Rw/s822/help.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="716" data-original-width="822" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFDZGU7X120uWL6QpmYCYwCINggW3nhwA9EYxYBCtC0f7HZ_WIdwxCcgHkU6tc8GGkQBboiKvWyabB4xlgx_pWIxFOo7pINCwxhFvRt1A1wZUGMlcqJ5xeb54ybGaC7N3EwJ63-tAPTnPaVu6vlO_Turn0f4MmlfQNx9f_7JU6znQru4NqmOTqT8pw-Rw/w200-h174/help.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Two powerful images from my day:<p></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>outside my living room window, a grandfather walking hand-in-hand with his toddler grandchild, following the boy's pace, both wearing matching orange toques.</li></ul><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>a nurse holding hands with an elderly man as he navigated the hospital hallway with his cane. </li></ul><div>Real heroes? Good examples aren't that hard to find. </div><p></p>DB Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15484034493143850659noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982689682328012818.post-72442334215948419972024-03-03T16:00:00.003-07:002024-03-07T16:18:47.315-07:00Either way, delish. <p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsVyLOxQbozgOwHvhbitJHt6F_1QMXck896xmSjDmnStQkA8en60cyrhjfRA7U6e3SaPFqtuP-o8HU4AiggXqfR8_5Vs1fy4c0HTrOIse3c3lqbvBGsEMJehb8L3x-x-hXhWT3C_ZCUr7pgwERCyT0CC6SmlyE0U1Fm_sk1MjzPZYSGUEOkhBBvB6QdYA/s4032/scones.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsVyLOxQbozgOwHvhbitJHt6F_1QMXck896xmSjDmnStQkA8en60cyrhjfRA7U6e3SaPFqtuP-o8HU4AiggXqfR8_5Vs1fy4c0HTrOIse3c3lqbvBGsEMJehb8L3x-x-hXhWT3C_ZCUr7pgwERCyT0CC6SmlyE0U1Fm_sk1MjzPZYSGUEOkhBBvB6QdYA/w300-h400/scones.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coconut Ginger Scones<br />Scone pronunciation debate: I say scone <br />rhymes with Post Malone, not Elton John. <br />But who cares? Either way, delish. </td></tr></tbody></table>I make scones now. Why? Honestly: baking makes me happy. <div><br /><div>It reminds me of travels to heavenly little bakeries and coffee shops in Edinburgh, Galway, London, Montreal and more. And that bakery smell? C'mon. It connects me to friends who bake, people I admire, creatives I want to emulate. It's mindful; it helps me achieve flow. It shifts my mind from melancholy. It makes me simultaneously smile and feel nervous: in baker form I'd say my inner critic is more Swedish Chef than Gordan Ramsay <i>but who knows who will show up?</i> It's sensory: I know when the dough feels ideal for baking and that dopamine-hit-moment is niiiiiiccce. It's creative and lets me communicate something I was never properly taught how to be (but want to be): a nurturer. It feels great to share baking with others: people damn near melt. Baking spreads love. </div><div><br /><div>Dear friends, I suggest you make scones. </div><div><br /></div><div>Honestly, they're dead easy: especially here in Canada (during Winter). I realized early in my scone-making how important cold butter is to the recipe's success. So, in a nod to my grandparents and this country I love, I freeze my butter outside my back door (no metaphor intended), plus I chill the batter out there too (again, no metaphor). Not in Canada or a weirdo? Just use your freezer. And if not scones, bake whatever salts your butter (metaphor intended). <br /><p></p></div><div><br /></div><div>Chop <br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>1/2 cup unsalted butter & set outside the back door (or place in the freezer)</li></ul></div><div><div>Mix dry ingredients in a large bowl</div><div><ul><li>2 cups flour</li><li>1/2 c granulated sugar</li><li>1/2 tsp salt</li><li>1 tbsp baking powder</li></ul>Mix wet ingredients in a small bowl</div></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>3/4 cup coconut milk (substitute heavy cream or milk, if preferred)</li><li>1 large egg</li><li>2 tsp vanilla</li></ul>Set aside</div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>1&1/2 cups shredded unsweetened coconut</li><li>1 tbsp ground ginger (or equivalent chopped fresh ginger)</li><li>(substitute chocolate chips, berries, nuts, dried fruit, spices, lemon zest, etc.)</li></ul><div>Combine ingredients</div></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>add frozen butter to dry ingredients and combine using two forks or your fingers until partially integrated</li><li>drizzle wet ingredients and mix by hand until it comes together (sticky more than shaggy)</li><li>add 1&1/2 cups coconut & ginger (or substitute) and mix; avoid overmixing</li><li>if needed, add more coconut milk or flour to make dough more sticky than shaggy</li><li>press dough into an 8-inch disk and set outside back door to chill (or refrigerate)</li></ul><div>To bake</div></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>cut 8 inch dough disc into 8 wedges</li><li>brush with coconut milk & sprinkle on brown sugar</li><li>bake in pre-heated oven at 400 for 20-26 minutes </li></ul></div></div></div>DB Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15484034493143850659noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982689682328012818.post-1324426511789074292024-02-18T17:00:00.002-07:002024-02-19T15:00:01.200-07:00Pull <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj1UNmPdTgN7aHYVyjt-rLNy_mSaT5AQrsIQWRfRa3HQddQtYrixDF__U2ytyk1dEmMUoF4VR7ftMV75Mmu-G5n-FPOONmMgWsTh1msvKIHz-fS3IqFkXWH1ElRsMgFMZiYDQX86DIcth0NfOx3lRCGDfLuH5vMBeltoQdYBqRlUMPvL6Ea7XqzyiiTyc/s4032/murder%20hole.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2249" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj1UNmPdTgN7aHYVyjt-rLNy_mSaT5AQrsIQWRfRa3HQddQtYrixDF__U2ytyk1dEmMUoF4VR7ftMV75Mmu-G5n-FPOONmMgWsTh1msvKIHz-fS3IqFkXWH1ElRsMgFMZiYDQX86DIcth0NfOx3lRCGDfLuH5vMBeltoQdYBqRlUMPvL6Ea7XqzyiiTyc/w223-h400/murder%20hole.JPG" width="223" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"The Murder Hole" at <br />Blarney Castle, Ireland</td></tr></tbody></table></div><p>Last summer while visiting <a href="https://thinkstew-dbs.blogspot.com/2023/08/seeds.html">Ireland</a>, my wife and I were delighted that we did not skip what we thought might be a more cliché than must-see tourist destination: Blarney Castle. Sparsely attended thanks to a classic Irish rainy day, we adored the poison gardens, the secret caves, and the unexpected "murder hole," a nod to historical warfare both menacing and macabre—likewise, a nod to <a href="https://thinkstew-dbs.blogspot.com/2023/08/seeds.html">Irish mettle</a>. Who knew Blarney Castle would feature so many ways to die? </p><p>But that's life isn't it? In the middle of all the immense beauty is a hidden and worrisome murder hole. </p><p>Today I recall a favourite story: the young elephant whose trainer tied his leg to a post. This act restrained the young elephant's development, curiosity, and freedom. His world shrank to the circumference of that rope. Despite multiple escape efforts, he was stuck. Years ticked away. The young elephant, now grown, remained confined by that small rope—by that embedded ideology—unaware he had the strength to pull that rope and post out of the ground, unaware he had the power to roam freely, to live unencumbered. </p><p>There's an abundance of ropes in our lives, unexpected and deadly dangers, various things preventing us from living fearlessly. But mindset is a rope, my friends. Don't give up. Pull. Pull. Pull.</p><p><i>"One must imagine Sisyphus happy." Camus</i></p></div>DB Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15484034493143850659noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982689682328012818.post-29976331317731354612024-02-03T16:15:00.004-07:002024-02-03T16:21:09.095-07:00Things one should never outgrow: <p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg84_O5OfHBuSVwmVe7nVneBDmELr_4aqX0idp5iuuep3iIv3i5uBkUymyINwbsZ7FCZjx2jiqXveatRly0BEGAOQDNdZVYVZCH3bxWGLYdEDmLGmAKEh8osTNAMqffGdhqs-sVXnxVefCiQxNS0QhVMOhK_OstEbjqs9YBCcARuTNxkSGN_RWTCesc4Q/s400/ice%20cream%20oops.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="300" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg84_O5OfHBuSVwmVe7nVneBDmELr_4aqX0idp5iuuep3iIv3i5uBkUymyINwbsZ7FCZjx2jiqXveatRly0BEGAOQDNdZVYVZCH3bxWGLYdEDmLGmAKEh8osTNAMqffGdhqs-sVXnxVefCiQxNS0QhVMOhK_OstEbjqs9YBCcARuTNxkSGN_RWTCesc4Q/s320/ice%20cream%20oops.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://thinkstew-dbs.blogspot.com/2015/08/things-that-deserve-stink-eye.html">Click here to read more about <br />the above tragedy.</a></td></tr></tbody></table>How did I not know about ICE CREAM FOR BREAKFAST DAY?! Apparently, it's TODAY (the first Saturday in February) and as I write this, IT IS CURRENTLY PAST 4 PM. <p></p><p>I feel like Eeyore. </p><p>Nevertheless, I recall Eeyore's famous words, "This is bullshit."</p><p>Truth be told, let's be honest, even perhaps (dare I say?) <i>woke</i>. Capitalism invented all of these and other <a href="https://www.nationaldaycalendar.com/national-day/ice-cream-for-breakfast-day-first-saturday-in-february">types of days</a> to sell us something and exploit us mercilessly and I am absolutely here for this particularly delicious and hopefully chocolate instance. Why? Because ice cream is the answer to all life's problems. Am I right?</p><p>Therefore, my friends, I wish you ice cream for breakfast TOMORROW, or for supper tonight (a great idea) or whenever. <i>Scoop, there it is! </i></p><p>(P.S. Thanks to <a href="https://kathys-second-half.blogspot.com/2024/02/long-distance-granparenting.html?sc=1707002406336#c5406278560380970221">Kathy G </a>for inspiring my alarm, and this blogpost.)</p>DB Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15484034493143850659noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982689682328012818.post-62412516958390362112024-02-01T16:44:00.004-07:002024-02-01T16:46:33.726-07:00Things that deserve the stink-eye: <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiy_tIzQ4PO3kUTPWuTs0gB20AXAxCie4xYyEkaRg25zSwkWXtxp3pjaIQUydy67jwCFWjbh0YqAbG8Mp_7L2GUW0hRt9rzflWnw4WpdHm7v-KrvmYxhP7EMbP7vzX5DPRL5f_gATBhNm3euX3QmOqp_f3cG43jq468dmpl8IrtaAIZVSccY1pGoDnsdo/s4032/snowman.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiy_tIzQ4PO3kUTPWuTs0gB20AXAxCie4xYyEkaRg25zSwkWXtxp3pjaIQUydy67jwCFWjbh0YqAbG8Mp_7L2GUW0hRt9rzflWnw4WpdHm7v-KrvmYxhP7EMbP7vzX5DPRL5f_gATBhNm3euX3QmOqp_f3cG43jq468dmpl8IrtaAIZVSccY1pGoDnsdo/w300-h400/snowman.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>this sad (<a href="http://www.wagnerstudios.org/Calvin_and_Hobbes_Snowmen.htm">Calvin & Hobbes-like</a>) snowman.<br /><p></p><p>The neighbour kids<span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 14.85px;">—</span>those adorable little Oilers fans<span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 14.85px;">—</span>assembled a snowman, but climate change is why we can't have nice things anymore. It was 15 degrees Celsius in parts of Alberta yesterday (!) thus, his head fell off, as did his scarf, arms, and carrot nose (zoom in).</p><p>Years ago I would have rejoiced at another Alberta chinook, but the extreme temperatures this January are unprecedented. Sigh. It neared -50 C in Alberta just two weeks ago. As I look forward to real Spring, I wonder about drought and fires and smoke. You're not alone if you too feel the <a href="https://mentalhealthcommission.ca/resource/understanding-and-coping-with-eco-anxiety/">climate anxiety</a>, or <a href="https://www.verywellmind.com/solastalgia-definition-symptoms-traits-causes-treatment-5089413">solastalgia</a>, a term new to me, but so 2020s. </p>DB Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15484034493143850659noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982689682328012818.post-14491507970461537022024-01-03T18:40:00.000-07:002024-01-03T18:40:14.187-07:00Three!<p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQKd79aQuqpPoo2fjHr08ZoAesJJeEtJDXOYthz3LkK-xV4NdWAdMEcVdKFpyzhRfXpU81Z6dqJT6nExXwWITclUBM3DO3rlRPB9eFmef10ADrAiwLtDljXxu3BThSd3qaiDbQhJBG2IOXfBhK0SBSgC5AFp6TO8SGraNXe09uRm-W0CXt5YsZtKMTbtQ/s640/famcropped.png" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="215" data-original-width="640" height="135" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQKd79aQuqpPoo2fjHr08ZoAesJJeEtJDXOYthz3LkK-xV4NdWAdMEcVdKFpyzhRfXpU81Z6dqJT6nExXwWITclUBM3DO3rlRPB9eFmef10ADrAiwLtDljXxu3BThSd3qaiDbQhJBG2IOXfBhK0SBSgC5AFp6TO8SGraNXe09uRm-W0CXt5YsZtKMTbtQ/w400-h135/famcropped.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Happy New Year (baby)!</span></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: center;">Our third grand baby has arrived! </div><div style="text-align: center;">I love being Grandpops to </div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://thinkstew-dbs.blogspot.com/2023/06/things-one-should-never-outgrow.html">M (flower girl) & L (baby boy in the carrier)</a></div><div style="text-align: center;">plus that little one in the stroller </div><div style="text-align: center;">on the right: welcome baby girl I. </div></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><br /><p></p>DB Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15484034493143850659noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982689682328012818.post-37438896058368259982024-01-01T08:00:00.002-07:002024-01-03T18:23:21.104-07:00Fave Reads 2023<p>My reading criteria remains the same as <a href="https://thinkstew-dbs.blogspot.com/2023/01/fave-reads-2022.html">last year</a><span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 14.85px;">—</span>the shorter the better. Nevertheless, several longer books captured me this year. </p><p>All my life, books have been my life-is-a-classroom seat-partner, ally, playmate, collaborator, pal, and sidekick. I can rely on them. They both calm my tendency to overthink and stir or stretch my thinking. I feel a little lost when they are absent. Perhaps among these faves is your newest companion? </p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiqPL_j3Q-WFSEktUeyZXrAVCiZiLhAKRLlWZkLq8bMRpl5u03mn3JXpp-40V0FMXDJNwajH_XddYNco4cxk3v0QhAk3E5n2yua_xlBH1KuzayOzzv4iT8Tuo509Fzgo_Ytt95p0wq28rSEKdIqXtFkpzFNdWb85WFoI0RlTcTJ920lMTHlgzahhmpwJs/s1500/rememberings.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="977" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiqPL_j3Q-WFSEktUeyZXrAVCiZiLhAKRLlWZkLq8bMRpl5u03mn3JXpp-40V0FMXDJNwajH_XddYNco4cxk3v0QhAk3E5n2yua_xlBH1KuzayOzzv4iT8Tuo509Fzgo_Ytt95p0wq28rSEKdIqXtFkpzFNdWb85WFoI0RlTcTJ920lMTHlgzahhmpwJs/w130-h200/rememberings.jpg" width="130" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You might think<br />you know her story...<br />She never<br />wanted to be a <br />pop star. I was<br />in Ireland reading <br />her unflinching,<br />humble, brazen <br />life story when <br />she died. This memoir <br />felt like a gift. <br /><a href="https://thinkstew-dbs.blogspot.com/2023/08/seeds.html">Read more here.</a> <br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDa_JVVcU9rLsFliHpdEGjvmcDOMASGGFgUhtiivaqf04tl_onOa2cycXO7kGiVIKINeQRHt8tCHcn0jIrs2s26U5kCx7QWFX10qU96XNRUi6N2iDl3Eo_MvlALosA9vq_1uCsz2UbuKCDgUUkrjWk_aOEFO1IyMRpRre5YWwj9jzvlPP_mGgHNOElf70/s1500/Foster.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="960" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDa_JVVcU9rLsFliHpdEGjvmcDOMASGGFgUhtiivaqf04tl_onOa2cycXO7kGiVIKINeQRHt8tCHcn0jIrs2s26U5kCx7QWFX10qU96XNRUi6N2iDl3Eo_MvlALosA9vq_1uCsz2UbuKCDgUUkrjWk_aOEFO1IyMRpRre5YWwj9jzvlPP_mGgHNOElf70/w128-h200/Foster.jpg" width="128" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's so beautifully-<br />written. It's as if it <br />were written all at <br />once by someone <br />with a broken heart.<br />An Irish girl <br />unlocks love from <br />grief and no one<br />is ever the <br />same again. <br /><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHe1cihp2mT_EgWsD7MAD1-ZMRT43j0NxJ_KT6GG5MghaQwfcewQR2ol8flWsT65t5hGohOfxuegHdbh3adOvZWfMiFkpOyNEoJ1R14En1BO2fRQadJaOII-4spCHmbryBZJx3WFv-cB-zjaT1-C9BsEIR2DvLL8nDQW4rmgT2AgEuqUkLfKOZB7Lczlk/s1500/Pastoral%20Song.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1000" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHe1cihp2mT_EgWsD7MAD1-ZMRT43j0NxJ_KT6GG5MghaQwfcewQR2ol8flWsT65t5hGohOfxuegHdbh3adOvZWfMiFkpOyNEoJ1R14En1BO2fRQadJaOII-4spCHmbryBZJx3WFv-cB-zjaT1-C9BsEIR2DvLL8nDQW4rmgT2AgEuqUkLfKOZB7Lczlk/w133-h200/Pastoral%20Song.jpg" width="133" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A farmer friend asked <br />me to read this. The <br />title made me reluctant. <br />But this modest, <br />nostalgic and somewhat <br />broken young farmer <br />reminded me how <br />fragile non-corporate <br />agriculture actually<br />is in the 2020s, and also<br />how vital. Touching<br />funny, important. <br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG_opvQsewE_0hqBVgg7zHOpLEyIhHqT3vtazQZi7x9nsscdEZd5kP17j0ZLgIdmx1qdXxkSFKpSiSJAkvN29BfMyz1w76no9yJ-XSNk7uY8Ybu7TUptBoDcrM46CYnqML89u4EceivVqd17JYFAQujVvFMpvgDufJLeAfvdLVh8Rw2JuuI6GrqQPWX6g/s1500/Bittersweet.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="987" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG_opvQsewE_0hqBVgg7zHOpLEyIhHqT3vtazQZi7x9nsscdEZd5kP17j0ZLgIdmx1qdXxkSFKpSiSJAkvN29BfMyz1w76no9yJ-XSNk7uY8Ybu7TUptBoDcrM46CYnqML89u4EceivVqd17JYFAQujVvFMpvgDufJLeAfvdLVh8Rw2JuuI6GrqQPWX6g/w132-h200/Bittersweet.jpg" width="132" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Like her other book,<br />(<i>Quiet</i>, <br />about introversion) <br />Susan Cain asserts that <br />those typically moved <br />by pain & sorrow often<br />possess a sharpened <br />perspective. Essentially<br />melancholy might <br />just be your superpower.</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh13HtA_GYkVWz7Rorz9NSe5xuYS31IlizBB8QWmaAbnZTsyOTUEzKELEJb-c1vsLfnaoqV9h4QqzenqTCwpjIuSo6QBAKYkdAcV9CtrbSr0wZlO-Jldvs_mcejQ3LKFYvjeY7R-3iiaojNBOYUvoyCJ42YV06x87OsJ_FRLYc2QS0wVF-Mq68jQsGLe_c/s1500/The%20will%20to%20change.jpg" style="clear: left; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="965" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh13HtA_GYkVWz7Rorz9NSe5xuYS31IlizBB8QWmaAbnZTsyOTUEzKELEJb-c1vsLfnaoqV9h4QqzenqTCwpjIuSo6QBAKYkdAcV9CtrbSr0wZlO-Jldvs_mcejQ3LKFYvjeY7R-3iiaojNBOYUvoyCJ42YV06x87OsJ_FRLYc2QS0wVF-Mq68jQsGLe_c/w129-h200/The%20will%20to%20change.jpg" width="129" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Much-needed in-<br />sight into <br />"limiting" <br />(not toxic)<br />masculinity<br />and how we boys<br />are sentenced by<br />patriarchal norms<br />into rigid roles<br />that undermine<br />becoming loving<br />and caring men. </td><td class="tr-caption"></td><td class="tr-caption"></td><td class="tr-caption"></td><td class="tr-caption"></td><td class="tr-caption"></td><td class="tr-caption"></td><td class="tr-caption"></td><td class="tr-caption"></td><td class="tr-caption"> </td></tr></tbody></table><br />DB Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15484034493143850659noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982689682328012818.post-5458239533429712892023-12-22T17:50:00.003-07:002023-12-22T18:20:02.511-07:00Word-of-the-Day<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAJe-RTScf7OBOLqqJA3Xkdg-LIbijHOEIdh7WIzILdEOMQggQARU3XP7QvZMzCIiuBwvuzM7757bTdYFzm87CdRZS5Z4AWNyvIGR-L7Aw2pGbyUYgZp4-YvdtrfsMloipeMKPlG_zh2rz4IZ4hbu9W4TgFzO7smrGzY6r6k5LZLGgqwif0j8jo8dGEoo/s393/word%20o%20the%20day.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="393" data-original-width="385" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAJe-RTScf7OBOLqqJA3Xkdg-LIbijHOEIdh7WIzILdEOMQggQARU3XP7QvZMzCIiuBwvuzM7757bTdYFzm87CdRZS5Z4AWNyvIGR-L7Aw2pGbyUYgZp4-YvdtrfsMloipeMKPlG_zh2rz4IZ4hbu9W4TgFzO7smrGzY6r6k5LZLGgqwif0j8jo8dGEoo/s320/word%20o%20the%20day.jpeg" width="313" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Although apropos, my word-of-the-day calendar seems out of sync with this particular Western-Canadian Winter: it was +4 C today. Climate change much? Yikes. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And our December thus far? Mostly above zero temps without much snow. So...no skiing. No sledding. <a href="https://thinkstew-dbs.blogspot.com/2022/01/things-one-should-never-outgrow.html">No snowmobiling</a>. No fun. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Yet</i>. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">So are we Canadians bummed without snow in the Winter? Kind of. However, there's always something to celebrate. For example, those bastards commonly known as Canadian geese are still gone for the Winter whatever the temperature. Thumbs way up. That perk, my friends, is brumal. </div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhukcpRWnJelCRhzH4WwYbvRjgEo8VA_A-rjXyS3NHGUKd6o_vkxFJ9TbZUM8LZ-pK3CsKRqJ3wUNNeQ8_LE6_j1i3jBak7N2sLjrCOkmacsbBT49RSccHM9uVvGJPdGNm9GBQIOs7DFMO71xjnRpUBgkEhzgWBkteyy8BRHrwyzj3NzJogUPVvG96XN_4/s640/word%20o%20the%20day.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div><p></p>DB Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15484034493143850659noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982689682328012818.post-87052234720380820812023-12-18T16:38:00.000-07:002023-12-18T16:38:19.510-07:00Let's be honest...<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiODo4Xy4UBwlxhxRe2d6h3q21UqnW933YwZuFVropj_Z3VLUQimDgrlbtAAT0Q2Gpdh6G2p807FTTubo5Qf9MI0kI5_d7I_IT3zSUr1F-eyOngisf-D34Ke5lzWL30IV0nZxQET5MWTaNYfJcpTvSKtYpKrxPQy77tTfKhnTMupmXP8QJXeVqdP8tDnf0/s4032/031.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiODo4Xy4UBwlxhxRe2d6h3q21UqnW933YwZuFVropj_Z3VLUQimDgrlbtAAT0Q2Gpdh6G2p807FTTubo5Qf9MI0kI5_d7I_IT3zSUr1F-eyOngisf-D34Ke5lzWL30IV0nZxQET5MWTaNYfJcpTvSKtYpKrxPQy77tTfKhnTMupmXP8QJXeVqdP8tDnf0/w300-h400/031.HEIC" width="300" /></a></div>a chai latte is lit: warm, fragrant, spicy...plus it's even more delicious with <a href="https://thinkstew-dbs.blogspot.com/2023/07/curbs.html">my toddler granddaughter</a> (she had a lollipop and we "read" the newspaper together). <div><br /></div><div>Where's your <a href="https://discoverleduc.ca/food_beverage/is-good-coffee-bar-more/">favourite coffee-shop</a>? What's your signature order? And who's your favourite coffee-shop pal? <br /><p></p></div>DB Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15484034493143850659noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982689682328012818.post-29296547877493659272023-11-13T15:45:00.006-07:002023-11-18T20:19:24.840-07:00Medicine<p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLVQhZvJppHG8HWwgXAAXXRN32TgHsk9Gbw45LYEFwW4J9OkDXmKkG6pdqR1kSt3x8nZnCFDjL9QdIl3iMUpkrXqBf_O4IHvcM6CVAA7F8A0sM6vLQO4qPmjxASQZVoRtBy3-sQBafx9YqcBQlDrh5q7mU_uXbWIvFt0gtkjzgDSoSLMni6gZpd6ABzxA/s4032/chicken%20soup.HEIC" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLVQhZvJppHG8HWwgXAAXXRN32TgHsk9Gbw45LYEFwW4J9OkDXmKkG6pdqR1kSt3x8nZnCFDjL9QdIl3iMUpkrXqBf_O4IHvcM6CVAA7F8A0sM6vLQO4qPmjxASQZVoRtBy3-sQBafx9YqcBQlDrh5q7mU_uXbWIvFt0gtkjzgDSoSLMni6gZpd6ABzxA/w300-h400/chicken%20soup.HEIC" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(ground) chicken soup</td></tr></tbody></table> Thanks to a good friend, my daughter, and my wife<span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 14.85px;">—</span>and their kitchen fearlessness<span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 14.85px;">—</span>I can now make a delicious chicken soup. It's pretty easy: I think the secret is the right combo of garlic and ginger. <div> So why was I intimidated? Probably because chicken soup has a legendary reputation: it's basically medicine, right? And we all need some medicine occasionally, especially at this time of the year. As winter here redraws the landscape white and shades the sky grey most days, we must find our medicines where we can, in the kitchen and otherwise. <div> Poet e.e. cummings described Winter as a "murderer" standing over a "snowstopped silent world." Yikes. There might not be enough chicken soup in the world for that mindset. As a Canadian in the North, I can appreciate, even respect Winter, but sometimes it messes with my mindset: ongoing darkness, roadway stress, vague dis-ease. </div><div> Yet my worrisome Winter mindset is just that: one perspective. It's reframe-able. It's the difference between distress and <i>eustress</i>. I find this language helpful. As you know, distress is longer-term stress with negative impacts, like a break-up, financial problems, or work-demands; but <i>eustress</i> is short-term and beneficial stress, like moving to a new community, or flying for the first time, or learning something new<span face="Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 14.85px;">—</span>it helps motivate us, builds character, inspires growth. </div><div> If only the words themselves made it that easy, eh? Although the distinction provides perspective, too much snow can be less of an opportunity to go sledding down a steep hill and more of just much too much snow. Sigh. </div><div> Dear friends, I encourage you to consider how you react to the snow, (inevitable struggle) and to make, or find your medicine where you can.</div><div><div><p></p></div></div></div>DB Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15484034493143850659noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982689682328012818.post-21151571879440045372023-10-05T17:40:00.001-06:002023-10-06T16:27:42.698-06:00More, please.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgihSUkjSaixWfQ4ZGtzZ_R9gtD2WBvkl_xVm90R68qhwnlBoCJgAu_fCUvcvIWEf756Nosmf9yto_PK3-rEcEccXFx6PE0gkiBf0E8lG9EhJVZyjJw6D_9bxlfVw0FhBasRmqepa1jDsH_wZxVDsac3gtSblP1vTF3KMpot-VDzTVetOAHrC69Pp3vyHc/s4032/reconciliation.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgihSUkjSaixWfQ4ZGtzZ_R9gtD2WBvkl_xVm90R68qhwnlBoCJgAu_fCUvcvIWEf756Nosmf9yto_PK3-rEcEccXFx6PE0gkiBf0E8lG9EhJVZyjJw6D_9bxlfVw0FhBasRmqepa1jDsH_wZxVDsac3gtSblP1vTF3KMpot-VDzTVetOAHrC69Pp3vyHc/w300-h400/reconciliation.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.canada.ca/en/canadian-heritage/campaigns/national-day-truth-reconciliation.html">Every child matters. </a></td></tr></tbody></table>Each year I see more people in my community <a href="https://www.canada.ca/en/canadian-heritage/campaigns/national-day-truth-reconciliation.html">wearing orange shirts</a>. Plus, Manitoba just elected Canada's first First Nation premier, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wab_Kinew">Wab Kinew</a>. I am so tired of people who ignore or make excuses for <a href="https://nctr.ca/about/history-of-the-trc/truth-and-reconciliation-commission-of-canada/">Canada's appalling history</a> toward Indigenous peoples. <div><br /></div><div>Progress. More, please. <br /><p><br /></p></div>DB Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15484034493143850659noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982689682328012818.post-5364422029435722962023-09-15T14:11:00.001-06:002023-09-15T14:34:35.220-06:00Things that deserve the stink-eye: <p> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXEdvpc6H6l0DanHi0ZeVrh1Jf_-UcjubHpdk5Y8s6w9IvAGuNghykcqm-M3Q5RDqvNKL-uyQruxCXDnHGZsT6Bm9ZE8U8cvkoWEWkduRVpCUkKjdJ9PT2n3uRYmewghNqTybWdCtZHWk2yOB6EGWVY40cdXTjCixcbkxi0DpEu0sf_fYK8GjKEA1-FAk/s4032/027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXEdvpc6H6l0DanHi0ZeVrh1Jf_-UcjubHpdk5Y8s6w9IvAGuNghykcqm-M3Q5RDqvNKL-uyQruxCXDnHGZsT6Bm9ZE8U8cvkoWEWkduRVpCUkKjdJ9PT2n3uRYmewghNqTybWdCtZHWk2yOB6EGWVY40cdXTjCixcbkxi0DpEu0sf_fYK8GjKEA1-FAk/w300-h400/027.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(aka frost warning solutions)</td></tr></tbody></table>garden "ghosts." </p>DB Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15484034493143850659noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982689682328012818.post-69571298581601385092023-08-31T08:00:00.002-06:002023-09-04T19:58:55.323-06:00Seeds<p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD8zYIb-uJ9hYf4SNJD883NtxpL7WSoC0MJDaEhLUDkRYtBbJs_-QHjSPVJyYjAJtJbqQY925iC64iDdhRCPddpfm8TyuADx7qmvIo4OQmPPTYlT2zlUaXyJ94PLiJwisN1OTPYDiSLmT26g5yePKxwK5TxY04IYXVqofUghikUv5nE4b2cdfZNGu-hjo/s4032/padric.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD8zYIb-uJ9hYf4SNJD883NtxpL7WSoC0MJDaEhLUDkRYtBbJs_-QHjSPVJyYjAJtJbqQY925iC64iDdhRCPddpfm8TyuADx7qmvIo4OQmPPTYlT2zlUaXyJ94PLiJwisN1OTPYDiSLmT26g5yePKxwK5TxY04IYXVqofUghikUv5nE4b2cdfZNGu-hjo/w300-h400/padric.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Pádraic</span></td></tr></tbody></table>This past July, I fell in love with Galway—an ancient arts and festival city on Ireland's west coast. <p></p><p>Our walking tour guide began Galway's history with a special nod to Pádraic Ó Conaire—born in Galway in 1882—a writer and ally of the Irish language and independence. His statue is situated in the main square; due to politics, it has been revered and ridiculed, moved several times, and once beheaded. Despite everything it has overcome since its establishment the statue has persevered. Like Ireland itself, Pádraic has endured a lot, yet remains robust and undefeated. </p><p>Speaking of enduring individuals, while we traveled in Ireland, Sinead O'Connor died. Coincidentally, I was listening to her memoir in her own voice: this experience felt so bittersweet, like a surprise gift I didn't deserve, and a poignant reminder of how much art means to me personally but also stirs and sustains us all. </p><p>I feel compelled to share something from her memoir, <i>Rememberings</i>. She explained that when her career ended after SNL, <i>she felt free!</i> The music industry suppressed that she was a protest singer so they could market her as a pop star. She aimed to use her unparalleled voice to spread light through songs, but also shed light on darkness—a darkness she experienced personally as did so many in Ireland but a darkness no one wanted to acknowledge at the time—abuse, racism, greed. Her words: “They broke my heart and they killed me, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MXyGEw8lHG8">but I didn't die</a>. They tried to bury me, they didn't realize I was a seed.” Indeed.</p><p></p>DB Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15484034493143850659noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982689682328012818.post-31165491480705100102023-08-28T16:44:00.005-06:002023-08-29T10:40:32.089-06:00Inn't?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6W3bUDxmkN5CfvK_vdjN4IquEguoBaeUUtsfpwpHEPnJHuTX6oBnRh8gDA83uJGC3iwaLK90_YZ74-XIR9lWp_6QFi_zle77HQqZx2wVa-0jrdk8J6ywrZn_durAWBtAooh6w1gfHUinwiYeuf_JeUIcCoeDjXuggA-IrM06y6B7EUDmjYSF30rVnlCg/s4032/tree%20blarney.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6W3bUDxmkN5CfvK_vdjN4IquEguoBaeUUtsfpwpHEPnJHuTX6oBnRh8gDA83uJGC3iwaLK90_YZ74-XIR9lWp_6QFi_zle77HQqZx2wVa-0jrdk8J6ywrZn_durAWBtAooh6w1gfHUinwiYeuf_JeUIcCoeDjXuggA-IrM06y6B7EUDmjYSF30rVnlCg/w300-h400/tree%20blarney.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>My spouse and I tend to travel all over the world then return with photos of trees. (I recommend this practice.) These beauts are in Ireland's Blarney Gardens (which are sublime). <div><br /></div><div>Ireland is charming and friendly and indefatigable. I recommend its trees, its cliffs, its trails, its music, its dancing, its textiles, its Guinness, its cider, its stew, its fish, its friendly folks..."very good very good it's wicked inn't?"<br /><p></p></div>DB Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15484034493143850659noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982689682328012818.post-22200409864183158632023-07-14T07:30:00.001-06:002023-07-14T07:30:00.138-06:00Curbs <p><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZhWM991KogxeEf5tFrCVYpZ6JuryT8p8oVUzVvhvjypRlhdM52C30TPS7klsoscgBge6lDOWWpn_c5A__lx3xTzgeiV-I1zqmsrUUDAPKygeZ3MzcU6h9XLMILN-8G3XEjbLFUT_Qm4D9JvtarkGyV-JwM_IvTYjfhuyRAhIYa9UUOkYdm8kcvBkovGw/s1200/curb.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="903" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZhWM991KogxeEf5tFrCVYpZ6JuryT8p8oVUzVvhvjypRlhdM52C30TPS7klsoscgBge6lDOWWpn_c5A__lx3xTzgeiV-I1zqmsrUUDAPKygeZ3MzcU6h9XLMILN-8G3XEjbLFUT_Qm4D9JvtarkGyV-JwM_IvTYjfhuyRAhIYa9UUOkYdm8kcvBkovGw/s320/curb.jpeg" width="241" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;">Recently, our daughter, our toddler <a href="https://thinkstew-dbs.blogspot.com/2023/04/things-one-should-never-outgrow.html">granddaughter</a>, and our newborn grandson stayed with us for two weeks. Pure fun. Also, pure energy. Breaks were essential and that meant walks, parks, drawing, reading, singing, also an inflatable kiddie pool, plus TV and movies. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">With my daughter's approval, I introduced my two-year-old granddaughter to Pixar's '<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ORFWdXl_zJ4">Up</a>.' Although I hadn't watched it for a decade, I remembered Carl and Russell, the "little mailman" sidekick, Dug the talking-dog, and that indelible image of hundreds of balloons tied to Carl's precarious house </span>f<span style="font-family: inherit;">loating us all away into adventure<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 17.12px;">—</span>a perfect representation of childhood imagination, and also a poignant metaphor for time and how we can't hold on(to) forever. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">I was rapt. With new eyes, </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">I realized that this film introduced the "Squirrel!" distraction meme, still common in our language mores. I (re)recognized the pain of discovering your childhood heroes were not so heroic. I remembered Carl's transformation: growing stronger (less grief-stricken and, dare I say, younger) with each conflict</span><span style="font-family: inherit;">—he tossed his walker and eventually spit out his dentures! Rewatching 'Up,' I also realized I'm now 65% Carl, ha! </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">And my granddaughter? Likewise rapt. She (and her pillow) crawled in so close to me; she barely said a word except in one dramatic part where she turned to me with alarm in her eyes and yelled something like "go bird go!" </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">But I didn't remember, nor was I prepared to relive Russell telling Carl about his broken family and a </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/shorts/GxWRpQDytoc" style="font-family: inherit;">favourite memory of sitting along the street eating ice-cream with his Dad</a><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;">. </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Homesick for the past, he notes others might find his memory boring, yet Russell longs for those simple, shared moments with his Dad, "I like that curb." </span></p><p>Indeed, Russell. I miss some curbs too. Don't we all? <a href="https://thinkstew-dbs.blogspot.com/2020/07/love-letter.html">Some I'll never forget</a>. But friends, we can like new curbs too. Maybe 'Up' will be one of those curbs for my granddaughter and her Pops<span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt;">—</span>the story of an old guy and a kid and what they can learn from each other if, together, they are willing to keep looking up and seeking new adventures.</p>DB Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15484034493143850659noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982689682328012818.post-49400618094485310382023-07-08T09:00:00.099-06:002023-07-08T11:10:47.668-06:00Live in the moment?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKCCDbC4ARyCjIQvJHiSeJgZWat2c9ckmWPG64KsEcv5RuumUinNToUuwESP59i7aBLsb15w3-vhjm3u4mU4s3ItV-xlHUQNbNccuAucTxqsR-J4TB34oHSfzWFsSfqjsayN5DasgRrMOsSlLjbMgp1xq1_vbsBqiSXI5Rz7iWM9RM0yVpHDJN8Mm_6qU/s4032/lake.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKCCDbC4ARyCjIQvJHiSeJgZWat2c9ckmWPG64KsEcv5RuumUinNToUuwESP59i7aBLsb15w3-vhjm3u4mU4s3ItV-xlHUQNbNccuAucTxqsR-J4TB34oHSfzWFsSfqjsayN5DasgRrMOsSlLjbMgp1xq1_vbsBqiSXI5Rz7iWM9RM0yVpHDJN8Mm_6qU/w150-h200/lake.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>We all agree it's important to live in the moment, but some ask, how? </div><div><br /></div><div><i>How? </i></div><div><br /></div><div>We humans struggle with living life in the now. Why? Honestly, how could we not? Who has the luxury of living in the moment? People without responsibilities? People without goals? People whose needs are easily attained? Billionaires? There's always something making us busy now, often for good reasons such as, others. True living in the moment might be achievable for toddlers only. </div><div><br /></div><div>Maybe it's legitimately better to live for the future? Isn't this why we study? Isn't this why we raise children? Isn't this why we schedule holidays? Isn't this why we train for marathons? There's always something making us busy now, <i>for then</i>. </div><div><br /></div><div>I think living in the moment is the right intention, but perhaps the wrong idea: I <i>can't </i>surrender to consistently living in the moment, but I can surrender<span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt;">—</span>and recommend<span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt;">—</span>living in the <i>moments</i>. I read Alice Walker's book: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SH4PhFHyC5s" target="_blank">I <b>notice</b> the color purple.</a> It's a cliché but it's true: stop and smell the roses, or linger after the kiss, or go ahead and swim in the lake, or take the day off to be with a toddler (personal favourite) aka live in the <i>moments</i>. And how? </div><div><br /></div><div>When I'm mindful, it goes like this:</div><div><div>
1. I decide<br />
2. to stop,<br />
3. and revel.<br />
<br />And then I forget. And then I'm mindful again. And then I get busy again. And then I forget. Rinse and repeat. But when I remember steps 1, 2, 3...wow...those moments...they lift me. </div></div>DB Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15484034493143850659noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982689682328012818.post-39054635981209396212023-07-05T19:08:00.001-06:002023-07-07T15:46:18.276-06:00Things that deserve the stink-eye: <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG0Hwx4zVRRsjLRwGx_NniizuEokBi3jxKClYk17jLy4SFcUMN8WMGgUbMBW2FaF9rTVYrBUNVnOMwz0jxV7fcbFSL_x3WO3b2FiRlcoho3rseCggcQDKA0uqljY4p29-VHaq4sDuCyWQfHycUMRRwzXslLZDGsNJgN4xQ7hDt0iMUVQZej917P18-INg/s4032/001.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG0Hwx4zVRRsjLRwGx_NniizuEokBi3jxKClYk17jLy4SFcUMN8WMGgUbMBW2FaF9rTVYrBUNVnOMwz0jxV7fcbFSL_x3WO3b2FiRlcoho3rseCggcQDKA0uqljY4p29-VHaq4sDuCyWQfHycUMRRwzXslLZDGsNJgN4xQ7hDt0iMUVQZej917P18-INg/w300-h400/001.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>Does anyone else recognize this tree?! Despite being nowhere near Hollywood, it is clearly the "<a href="https://movie-monster.fandom.com/wiki/Gnarled_Tree">gnarled tree</a>" featured in the1982 horror film classic, Poltergeist, written by Steven Spielberg. I love trees but this tree? Yikes. I would not live in this house. Likewise problematic: <a href="https://thinkstew-dbs.blogspot.com/2011/07/hills-mutant-trees-have-eyes.html">these trees.</a> 😨DB Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15484034493143850659noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982689682328012818.post-48762501484323944632023-06-29T13:47:00.001-06:002023-06-29T13:48:02.271-06:00Things that deserve the stink-eye: <p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQv0Q_2cbiyR7LIwJ18xF3yWOVvtEs0t_U_DfXQ2VIEfgIZ1UVSF3jpEmcVFJdpaN82dGp00pXucYIw_XU-7uzmZulIbKQhzIDsoIoVSsmRyVzqK3qegGXqAlBXPDh2E0qZNudUW5iQTyzY0wNYDGqa08ZZnM3cDptz-RcfghqepwbZeYj_5INfAUW/s640/Subject.png" style="clear: left; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="413" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQv0Q_2cbiyR7LIwJ18xF3yWOVvtEs0t_U_DfXQ2VIEfgIZ1UVSF3jpEmcVFJdpaN82dGp00pXucYIw_XU-7uzmZulIbKQhzIDsoIoVSsmRyVzqK3qegGXqAlBXPDh2E0qZNudUW5iQTyzY0wNYDGqa08ZZnM3cDptz-RcfghqepwbZeYj_5INfAUW/s320/Subject.png" width="207" /></a> </p><p>unexpected June encounters with Halloween decorations. </p><p></p>DB Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15484034493143850659noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982689682328012818.post-20345496772958680062023-06-23T17:45:00.002-06:002023-10-09T22:36:02.746-06:00Let's be honest:<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE-Q2x2Y1CFSBhzIpZ6vChCdBNE7rqvOn15bfP4_Q8XFjbCjyTeVFXZPBi2sXr04lmoIn7heYIjL5ER5-Me8sK9Oip1_TbM-Tj-GtXwgJ2hvhzdDvhDrWvZPwIYhWOWkG7jS3mpPuik2-JfFWaJh3EbKoLwnfjOS8-CORYPQ25WEUsDt6efFBBQ2pb9C0/s1628/002.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1628" data-original-width="828" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE-Q2x2Y1CFSBhzIpZ6vChCdBNE7rqvOn15bfP4_Q8XFjbCjyTeVFXZPBi2sXr04lmoIn7heYIjL5ER5-Me8sK9Oip1_TbM-Tj-GtXwgJ2hvhzdDvhDrWvZPwIYhWOWkG7jS3mpPuik2-JfFWaJh3EbKoLwnfjOS8-CORYPQ25WEUsDt6efFBBQ2pb9C0/w325-h640/002.JPG" width="325" /></a></div>everyone deserves an early summer Friday like this! <p></p>DB Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15484034493143850659noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982689682328012818.post-75263070290225917702023-06-04T14:50:00.002-06:002023-06-05T09:39:06.552-06:00Things one should never outgrow: <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAuyBb6lYGhMFQCT9LPUfEoNDjiNxOylI_K6Eh95jmGrbK-kLkTAUngTO36XdEnDzoSJxDup554i4GTgxhpJftfdWihVTUzLAWoOqZBOTuzjpgeMADryEkwLTlfU7JnKcO2PsC3xFCX0QNqCuK6lICKgnPv-eCkKFPv05PLlFEpUhi4w3fLaU9xsUM/s640/image.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="230" data-original-width="640" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAuyBb6lYGhMFQCT9LPUfEoNDjiNxOylI_K6Eh95jmGrbK-kLkTAUngTO36XdEnDzoSJxDup554i4GTgxhpJftfdWihVTUzLAWoOqZBOTuzjpgeMADryEkwLTlfU7JnKcO2PsC3xFCX0QNqCuK6lICKgnPv-eCkKFPv05PLlFEpUhi4w3fLaU9xsUM/w400-h144/image.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>Lego. </p><p>This is my family: me, our son, my spouse, my son-in-law, and my daughter, plus our TWO grandbabies! Our newest grandbaby arrived in May, a brother for <a href="https://thinkstew-dbs.blogspot.com/2023/04/things-one-should-never-outgrow.html">M</a>. (Also, their feral cat, August.) To quote the Lego Movie, "everything is awesome." </p>DB Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15484034493143850659noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982689682328012818.post-69086001474627488622023-04-16T16:00:00.002-06:002023-06-04T14:41:39.264-06:00Things one should never outgrow: <p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1jqaVoDtSB8Bmx2K3tw1z-OFFMjxXSnQO88kwC85KQhuIcFVKL4A5c8ztQt077oz7ksCZm1RrHjeR7_VDz2WIut0bs8GbWOQFhbf8exBBZk7M7MHFBK8vbw5iLn6tL9KLpR0MUmBRTLGcJBJAlkcsMcEzvCmt8-LMaYdLjUg6z3gUeoe52OUtB8uc/s4032/182.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1jqaVoDtSB8Bmx2K3tw1z-OFFMjxXSnQO88kwC85KQhuIcFVKL4A5c8ztQt077oz7ksCZm1RrHjeR7_VDz2WIut0bs8GbWOQFhbf8exBBZk7M7MHFBK8vbw5iLn6tL9KLpR0MUmBRTLGcJBJAlkcsMcEzvCmt8-LMaYdLjUg6z3gUeoe52OUtB8uc/w300-h400/182.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where's <a href="https://thinkstew-dbs.blogspot.com/2022/07/things-one-should-never-outgrow.html">M</a>?!<br />I've looked EVERYWHERE!<br />*giggles*</td></tr></tbody></table> hide & seek (especially beginner level). <br /><p></p>DB Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15484034493143850659noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982689682328012818.post-58985256059679412312023-04-15T17:00:00.005-06:002023-06-07T22:14:45.869-06:00Sorry<p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.lifeprint.com/asl101/gifs/s/sorry-1.gif" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="720" height="200" src="https://www.lifeprint.com/asl101/gifs/s/sorry-1.gif" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.lifeprint.com/asl101/pages-signs/s/sorry.htm">source</a></td></tr></tbody></table>Odd, but among all the ASL I've taught myself <a href="https://thinkstew-dbs.blogspot.com/2021/04/already-taught-me.html">since my granddaughter was born</a>, I just learned the sign for "sorry." (I could legit lose my Canadian card for this oversight.) <div><br /></div><div>Always impressed by ASL's iconicity, this circle over my heart says so much more than the casual throwaway "sorry" we all tend to use. In one gesture, it encapsulates the essence of an apology much more eloquently than the hearing version. </div><div><p>Whether a painting or a poem, a film or a farce, I'm always energized by analyzing, interpreting, and evaluating text<span style="font-size: 14.6667px;">—</span>all genres and mediums. It's a classic English teacher flex. I love to poke around in story: inciting incidents, character motivations, internal forces, flaws, and consequences. </p><p>It's like dissecting a frog. One of my favourite essays highlights the serendipitous yet ultimately meaningful nature of the scientific process. Entomologist Samuel H. Scudder's professor advised him repeatedly to "<a href="https://www.thoughtco.com/look-at-your-fish-by-scudder-1690049">look at your fish</a>" (c) 1874. Scudder wondered, <i>for what, exactly?</i> Like Scudder, I am rarely certain what I'm looking for but I know when my nervous system reacts, there's something to be found. Whether a frog, a fish, or text, I must examine how tiny organs connect, otherwise how would I find the life within them? And that's the most important part in understanding anything: the looking. </p><p>ASL inspires me to look at text anew: it's a window into language I stopped gazing at. ASL's "sorry" wisely connotes both the act and the outcome of a long-churning heart. In other words, without examining the churning that prompted it, "sorry" may be rote, or empty, or even unnecessary. </p><p>Poet Mary Oliver famously said, "you do not have to be good, you do not have to walk on your knees, for a hundred miles through the desert repenting." 100% agree. I am tired of people claiming to be the arbiters of good. (I've made that mistake many times too.) At this stage in my life, I am more interested in being <i>real </i>than good. "Good" by whose definition? Black and white notions of good and evil may make things simple, but life has taught me that if I truly hope to understand myself and others, I should look for the spectrums where I once saw categories. </p><p>In my <a href="https://thinkstew-dbs.blogspot.com/2021/08/fathers-day.html">ongoing quest</a> to avoid the atrophy I call "becoming a grumpy, old man" (old yes, grumpy no) I aim to embrace evolution and that requires applying a little Socrates-inspired self-examination; to "know thyself" means I must do the hard work: dissect my churning heart. </p> </div>DB Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15484034493143850659noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982689682328012818.post-13754112686104125372023-01-04T19:00:00.003-07:002023-01-24T08:55:19.519-07:00Fave Reads 2022<p>Happy Hogmanay. I'll be honest: <a href="https://thinkstew-dbs.blogspot.com/2022/01/fave-reads-2021.html">the last several years</a>, my reading criteria has narrowed. <i>Is it under 250 pages? Did someone I love recommend it?</i> Life is too short to finish an underwhelming book. None of these underwhelmed me for one second. In no order (three are Canadian), I loved these books and these authors made me miss books, again. and I'm grateful for their lessons. </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD6r56VT71QrZXCtqKgZY9BfY_G-R5YJP7okAUDKOVMvZqC9nSwWxkXLr0FzSIsOgjPYXaH9CXpo5XXXAKksPy4ssLHJnK0D5y5WCtTSBm57I3exG-5SKjeHPKeFmcLhCcnnu0IB5nYHQuPLhVR7k2vugc5vyszY01ROgflGEQqPIy03Ah3dqQTqQg/s266/heart%20that.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="266" data-original-width="175" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD6r56VT71QrZXCtqKgZY9BfY_G-R5YJP7okAUDKOVMvZqC9nSwWxkXLr0FzSIsOgjPYXaH9CXpo5XXXAKksPy4ssLHJnK0D5y5WCtTSBm57I3exG-5SKjeHPKeFmcLhCcnnu0IB5nYHQuPLhVR7k2vugc5vyszY01ROgflGEQqPIy03Ah3dqQTqQg/w132-h200/heart%20that.jpg" width="132" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It will gut you. Like <br />its comedian-actor-author,<br />this memoir is painfully <br />& proudly honest as well<br />as ferociously funny.<br />This is grief dialed up<br />and it will heal people.<br /><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTsXyCPcAPT2DhcGguW_Rk80U-NvyC8j-NlaB7iGFnhRGTNaAruUTVr5khgR9pNq_GG7rhur0G-Tjw_VtgeGSpsRYsyhuLidoMbl83CaOB-rmZvqNpkaZNw1D4jXrc18FMM_a8EqN44jATyQp2vtQ4WeLpdyuy-qEMRAWSmRaqVXkyrx0xFZkk8_Zn/s266/women.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="266" data-original-width="173" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTsXyCPcAPT2DhcGguW_Rk80U-NvyC8j-NlaB7iGFnhRGTNaAruUTVr5khgR9pNq_GG7rhur0G-Tjw_VtgeGSpsRYsyhuLidoMbl83CaOB-rmZvqNpkaZNw1D4jXrc18FMM_a8EqN44jATyQp2vtQ4WeLpdyuy-qEMRAWSmRaqVXkyrx0xFZkk8_Zn/w130-h200/women.jpg" width="130" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In less than 250 pages,<br />Toews thoughtfully<br />presents us with a <br />group of vulnerable<br />Mennonite women & one<br /> man as they dissect the<br />violence and ideology<br />that minimizes and<br />marginalizes them. <br />In other words, it's a<br />thoroughly modern<br />and on-going story.<br /><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5BI4oDyCYGk_HhviQPBlHevHmQjC7VEVHsJUHirg-Disf0aO4eQQOUncGWT5qTt8dqtodgIFE-iFb5YtvETWf2U911qb3aUr1QBL67EWQXiDcWLU2_w6odxkW3hGJzLUJz34dDgeBYKVP4c7zSvOp8XMgW_swXYzf75GOGAb2bf78hd0_JYNxYXs9/s499/5little.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="336" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5BI4oDyCYGk_HhviQPBlHevHmQjC7VEVHsJUHirg-Disf0aO4eQQOUncGWT5qTt8dqtodgIFE-iFb5YtvETWf2U911qb3aUr1QBL67EWQXiDcWLU2_w6odxkW3hGJzLUJz34dDgeBYKVP4c7zSvOp8XMgW_swXYzf75GOGAb2bf78hd0_JYNxYXs9/w134-h200/5little.jpg" width="134" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Come for the truth &<br />the reconciliation; stay<br />for these characters' <br />resilience, hope, and <br />humour. <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ5LLA5kOQvkm-cePNpYUj79t-Z9Y-iMizMPe5cXeQq2oSiMb5I2WXc6UkN8kd1LbIhQ4NG-apZvOnZH_JPP1lw-WuYcoqNTZnPGZE5cOx8PMxGDPHBfPmxxvDggSXvJ4yIZPyPmvrq-7PTaEoy8MsekXmD19H8n7DKFqW1XYtZ1GunZ9wxMav0D6T/s346/Scar.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="230" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ5LLA5kOQvkm-cePNpYUj79t-Z9Y-iMizMPe5cXeQq2oSiMb5I2WXc6UkN8kd1LbIhQ4NG-apZvOnZH_JPP1lw-WuYcoqNTZnPGZE5cOx8PMxGDPHBfPmxxvDggSXvJ4yIZPyPmvrq-7PTaEoy8MsekXmD19H8n7DKFqW1XYtZ1GunZ9wxMav0D6T/w133-h200/Scar.jpg" width="133" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These Canadian children <br />and those who love them<br />will break your heart.<br />This Canadian novel <br />should be the <br />first read in a social<br />work degree. </td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7EC7A8CR8qZj-08YilmLBHFHgRzbQOD-Gz5oIfY3ZsMORJYuFqTEdybuOFux6awxBczIhS03NiQ1LY7xuzwKMtHHjk6UrFqoQFQhlWQ4wpVIwq05twYa81t4KrCzHGroThB7LRgEarC4hySSjNDfhmLVDKT4gZieknkVPTJA0Cc8WFSZw7ajEZiF3/s499/POTD.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="333" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7EC7A8CR8qZj-08YilmLBHFHgRzbQOD-Gz5oIfY3ZsMORJYuFqTEdybuOFux6awxBczIhS03NiQ1LY7xuzwKMtHHjk6UrFqoQFQhlWQ4wpVIwq05twYa81t4KrCzHGroThB7LRgEarC4hySSjNDfhmLVDKT4gZieknkVPTJA0Cc8WFSZw7ajEZiF3/w134-h200/POTD.jpg" width="134" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I saw the film first. <br />Cinematography at its<br />finest. Written in 1967(!)<br />For readers who love<br />complex and broken <br />characters in pain,<br />and for those forced to live<br />with their bullies or endure<br />imagined bullies. </td></tr></tbody></table>DB Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15484034493143850659noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2982689682328012818.post-8715577553387958522022-10-07T15:40:00.003-06:002022-10-07T16:20:55.421-06:00In the Field<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_gvsYSXb1cpnx6nKLGtx1eeSOJVXAfbIEgxGC1Sbx5DnDrFCiCzCpSw7cJXAy3C9HAxVdM1ZmXbkSrPz2nkvqzt23ZVKV3Nj3SAEtpWRKCOXH0M4gi64gH_qpAuRIzPaMsnIyeY_Xj5FDS98rQ8_-P8aGaLwPgxvkDm8Z7egMebNfDRTtMBZFVfwL/s4032/006.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_gvsYSXb1cpnx6nKLGtx1eeSOJVXAfbIEgxGC1Sbx5DnDrFCiCzCpSw7cJXAy3C9HAxVdM1ZmXbkSrPz2nkvqzt23ZVKV3Nj3SAEtpWRKCOXH0M4gi64gH_qpAuRIzPaMsnIyeY_Xj5FDS98rQ8_-P8aGaLwPgxvkDm8Z7egMebNfDRTtMBZFVfwL/w300-h400/006.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>A farmer friend turned 50 last week and to minimize interrupting his ongoing harvesting, we and some friends surprised him and joined his family to have supper in the field. We sat in lawn chairs next to a folding table situated among the razed straw and chaff at our feet. Nearby the combine waited, its hopper overflowing with grain, a bountiful yield this year. On one side of our "dining room" the yellow straw stubble twisted around curves snaking up along the tree-lined field into the horizon, and behind us stretched a wide valley filled with poplars, their yellow and orange leaves falling silently. Scented like ripened barley, the air smelled as pleasing as our friend's chocolate birthday pie. <p></p><p>The experience conjured some long-ago memories of my brothers, my parents, and my grandparents<span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">—</span>all farmers<span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">—</span>during those early years on fields I haven't visited for decades, among people long gone. As the youngest child, I had few duties on those busy and oftentimes chaotic Fall days and evenings, yet (like always) I observed and I listened and learned the meaning of physical labour, the satisfaction of hard-earned accomplishment, the patient ache of waiting for the weather to change, and how to put my needs second. While we ate in those fields of my youth (my father's one eye on the sunset), it often felt like something I did not know how to name then: appreciation. </p><p>Friends, if you can, thank a farmer. </p>DB Stewarthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15484034493143850659noreply@blogger.com4