What's the deal with the pot?

So I must admit to being confused as to whether the pot was usable or not.

Gregoire and I were at a party on Saturday night. A friend told me the pot plants would be nigh on useless. Its the female plant you need and the buds are the important part. Another friend told me they could be harvested even though they had been soaking in the rain for days. Yet another friend wasn't the least bit surprised by the pot plants but let me know he would get real interested in a hurry if I found a body. Charming. Ok, I'll get right on that.

On Sunday Marjorie and I went for a walk with her dog Boomerang, a lovely dog with a great attitude, and we strolled past the scene of all of yesterday's excitement. Well the pot plants were still there. Although, after 24 hours of rain, they now looked like a big heap of sopping spinach. What a disgusting mess! Marjorie gave a plant a quick sniff and confirmed it was pot, just in case I was hallucinating it all. Boomerang lifted his leg to give his stamp of approval, but we moved him along quickly before he could christen the proceedings.

Of course now I wonder why the plants were dumped in the first place. Maybe a drug deal gone wrong? or maybe they were just being discarded as worthless and that was as good a place as any. I suspect I'll find more some day, but by then I hope to better informed about the weed. I have no interest in consuming or collecting it personally, I am just curious. Any thoughts on this?

Pot Full of Litter

So I resumed my litter pickup route today. We've had a lot of snow and its recently gone away. There's a lots of garbage on the ground in my neighbourhood. Dear Mr KFC, Ronnie McCardboard and Subway, maybe you ask your customers to dispose of their litter carefully, but the message just isn't getting through to some of them.

Anyway on to the interesting stuff. I didn't get too far along the route today because of the volume. I ended up with three bags full, sir, before you could blink. The haul included the usual sex and drug paraphenalia (condoms and syringes). Be assured I never go anywhere near litter without wearing thick gloves. You just never know what you might pick up. Anyhow items of note today: there was a make up case (complete with mirror), a plastic ball that had been well chewed by Rover, and the missing high heeled black shoe, whose twin I found over Christmas. Darn it, so the one legged dancer didn't wear it to the Jazz Club.

But there's more. Over Christmas I also noticed what appeared to be garden cuttings in a black garbage bag on the side of the path near the station, fairly well hidden from view. Which seemed to be a strange place to be dumping that kind of stuff. I ignored it at the time, it was too sizeable to put in my plastic bag.

Today I was back again and this time half the contents had spilled out and the garbage bag was slightly ripped. Since the contents were green and seemed to be well on the way to be rotting, I dumped them out behind a low hedge. Also mixed in with the cuttings was a pair of white surgical gloves. Well something smelled funny. As in funny, peculiar. I picked up a couple of plants and gave them a good sniff. They were pot plants, I'd reckon 10 - 15 pounds in weight, maybe more, but the water content probably accounted for quite a bit of that. Holy cow.

I left the plants beside the hedge and headed back home again. This stuff has been sitting there, some of it exposed to the rain and snow, for several weeks, so I'm not sure if its even usable. I won't be touching it with a barge pole. I thought about it for a bit then called the cops. We get enough trouble round the station. The plants will attract the wrong kind of attention soon enough, especially as they dry and the familiar aroma starts seeping across the footpath. If noone picks them up, I sure hope the flowers in the vicinity bloom like crazy this year, as that's one hell of a different kind compost.

Any thoughts on this one? What am I going to find next on this route?

Saturday and a time for rest

Regarding Ivan and his Tumour diary that I wrote about in my previous blog, the BBC report that there have been 35,000 hits on his last diary and an average of 10,000 for each of his entries over the past three years. Talk about reaching out to people. I'll miss reading about his thoughts and his struggles. I read some of the comments people left at the end his diary today and I started to cry. I never met him and will never meet him. God bless, Ivan.

The snow has long gone - it's time for me to get out on my walking route today and see what gems are out there on the street. I haven't been picking up litter for about three weeks so it'll be interesting. Watch this space.

Poison. There is evidence of feeding. No dead mice. Nuff said. Next topic.

I've been working ten to eleven hours days the last week or so. I'm exhausted. Today is for recuperation and doing very little.

Yeah! Excellent news. We have snowdrops coming out in the garden. A sure sign that spring is on the way. Ok, I'm an optimist.

Grammar, God and Ivan

Some random thoughts today.

I've just finished reading Eats, Shoots and Leaves by Lynn Truss. She's trying to stop correct grammar usage from going the way of the late lamented dodo. She's humorous. She'd like us to go out on the street with a bucket of paint and a brush and overwrite sloppy grammar on billboards and street signs. I think she has a point. I go nuts when I see the plural of dog written as dog's.

Consider the difference between the following two sentences.
Eats, shoots and leaves.
Eats shoots and leaves.
The first sentence could be talking about a potentially homicidal panda. The second sentence may be talking about a panda, but it definitely doesn't seem murderous. And all because of a comma. I recommend the book as thought provoking, funny and informative.

I'm also reading The History Of God. Well I was until I forgot that it was overdue at the local library and Gregoire took it back for me yesterday. I hope God will forgive me.

The third piece I am reading is a CBC Idea's 1991 transcript on AIDS which challenges the notion that AIDS is caused by HIV. Its here if you are interested - http://www.cbc.ca/ideas/features/Aids/whatcaus.html

For a while now I have been following the life of Ivan Noble, BBC's Science correspondent. A couple of years ago he developed a very serious brain tumour and since then he's written a diary about it. He's very matter of fact. He's got married, had a second child, and also undergone several operations. Its heartbreaking and inspirational. He has legions of supporters from far and wide, and some of them post good wishes and suggestions at the end of each piece. You sense the end is near. Each time I read his diary, I'm wondering if he'll write again. And now the moment has come. He wrote his final entry some time ago knowing there would be a time when he could not write any more. The diary and the latest entry is here - http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/health/4211475.stm

I'm thinking of Ivan and his family this evening.

What are you thoughts today?

Enough of these dreams, there is reality to think of.

MICE. I regret to say we are considering drastic means to address said problem. So far, the mice are delighted to be fed peanut butter each night from contraptions that look very like traps. As we speak, there is a ridiculous looking set up in the kitchen involving a small plastic lid, peanut butter, rice, an egg carton and a bucket of water. In my defence, all I can say is that we're at the end of our tether. Thanks to Wynn Bexton for her advice, we also acquired a box of POISON.

I've just returned from a crazy trip. I was supposed to go to my good friend, Bonny's for dinner but instead I got seconded to ElkHouse for a work assignment.

We flew to ElkHouse at lunchtime, made two attempts to land (talk about scary) in driving snow and fog. We couldn't land. We flew back to HomeBase, and waited two hours. I was thinking - if I dashed over to Bonny's - I might make it for the soup course, because she makes darn good soup. Then just as I headed to the phone with my 25 cents to call her, announcing my impending arrival, we were all yanked back on the plane.

So we flew back again. Now it was evening, disgusting conditions. We made arrangements to land at an alternative airport (BeaverTooth) then suddenly ElkHouse runway lights appeared in the gloom below us. Down we plunged and our aircraft clattered to the ground and somehow pulled up in one piece in front of the tiny airport building. Our truck was unrecognizable under all the snow so we spent 15 minutes digging it out. We drove through a blizzard to the hotel, stopping twice on the way to remove ice from the windscreen. We staggered into the hotel bar. I was starving but could hardly eat as my stomach was churning so much and I was deaf as a post. I drank three beer instead.

ElkHouse had snowbanks piled up on the sides of the roads, sometimes eight foot high. Next day there was freezing rain. The roads were like skating rinks, just atrocious. We saw trucks in a spin and doing doughnuts. A colleague's husband hit a moose. Husband ok. Truck not ok. Moose definitely not ok.

Just managed to fly out of there after four days. I was asked to give expressions of interest in relocating to ElkHouse by the end of the week. The answer was ridiculously easy.

I dream of the Queen. And it's not a happy story.

I had another dream recently.

I was in a crowd of people in the street, it was at night. A figure appeared above us, it was the Queen of England, and she had on a long dark dress that reached to the ground . The Queen is only 5 foot something but she must have been on stilts as she towered above us, easily 12 foot high. She moved awkwardly through the crowd; people drew back to make a path for her. I had a sense of unease; forboding. She seemed imperious yet somehow out of control. Suddenly she lost her balance and fell down, hitting her head a wall. The people screamed and moved away and we all stood in a large semi circle around her, hundreds of us. The Queen didn't move, clearly badly injured. A woman went over to check on her. People were calling for an ambulance. The medics tried to approach. The woman beside the Queen, picked her up by her legs, swung her from side to side so her head hit the wall again and again.

Dr Freud, what does this mean?

The trials and tribulations of Mice

Today when we came down for breakfast there were two blood stains on the kitchen floor. Alas, the mouse trap had done its deed, but failed to kill the mouse. I am sorry about that. I wanted the trap to kill the mouse, not to maim it. There was no sign of said mouse.

I used to be quite fond of mice. Quaint furry creatures with long tails. Ah well, one visited us, soon after we moved into the house. So I marched off to the store and bought one of these contraptions that captures rather than vanquishes the mouse. I put a dab of peanut butter and waited. And waited. Endless droppings in our kitchen. Each morning I would get steamed there was no captured mouse and each night I would get even more steamed, cleaning up the mess. After about two weeks, we caught one of the buggers.

I lifted the little cage and stared at him, eye to eye. I proceeded to berate him for all the trouble he'd caused us and lectured him about invading other people's property and more specifically, about pissing (literally) around in other people's cupboards, for heavens sake. I know they're going to lock me up soon for mental cruelty to rodents. I continued this rant all the way to the park two miles away from our home, where I let the little critter go. At first he hesitated, obviously thinking it was better staying with this mad woman, than go out into the dark cold world. But then he sped through the grass and disappeared into the woods.

To be honest, I wonder if he survived the night.

Any recommendations on how to deal with mice are extremely welcome. We're desperate.

The Robin, The Snake and the Fox

I had a strange dream last night. I saw a robin on a path. It was choking and on further inspection I saw it had a snake rounds its neck. It was a long snake and I looked at its tail. When I looked back towards the head of the snake, the robin had now changed in to a fox. Like the robin, the fox was having trouble breathing and was slowly being choked to death. I grabbed the tail of the snake, yanked at it and threw it on the ground. The snake slithered away down a hole. All at once I saw thousands of ants surround and attack it. I looked back where the fox had been, but it was nowhere to be seen. What does this mean?

Real life, Some Ducks and No Litter

I don't suppose I can apply for a one week recall. No, I didn't think so. You know, the last seven days are gone and I'll never get them back. It's been a tough week. Colleagues of mine, with whom I've worked for fifteen years, got let go. We knew it was coming, but it's hard. Happy New Year, oh and by the way, here's the door. Those of us who are left are going through a grieving cycle. We're early in the process. We're past the initial shock, some are starting to get angry. Some are contacting lawyers.

So I haven't thought about litter this week. When the basics are on the line, your thoughts are about keeping the roof over your head and putting food on the table.

Today we went to feed the ducks again. We've had a major snowfall and to be honest there's no litter in sight. Its all under the snow. We're into day three and everything looks so pretty and clean. I've done some slight damage to my back after shovelling each day. Probably didn't keep my back straight.

Anyway back to the ducks. Our local lake looked amazing today, almost 90% frozen, with hundreds and hundreds of birds, huddled on the ice. I'm afraid the seagulls got most of the duck food, they are just too greedy and quick. Some of them hovered above us, like those verticle take off jets. Which was obviously a deliberate ploy, because we were easily impressed so we started throwing morsels to them and they darted and caught them in mid air. We love walking to the lake. It's wonderful to have that so close to us. I find I can relax and just think about simple things in life, like companionship, duckfood, and schemes to remove the bloody litter....

I took this picture of one solitary bird in a tree...

 

We're going to brave the snowy elements and go to a mad party tonight, with music and singing, so it'll take my mind off work. We're going to go and have a good time.

Life and Death in the World of Seagulls

The morning walk has become a habit. It won’t last long as I start back to work tomorrow. It was lovely and crisp this morning, with the mountains in the distance covered in snow, and not a cloud in the sky. I walked the usual route with nothing unusual in the way of abandoned garbage in the early going. The BlogTrain station was quite busy with, it seemed, a lot of people back to work this morning. I passed by to the other side of the train tracks and trod along the path. I stopped at the children’s playground about half way along and spent some time doing some clean-up. I feel more comfortable picking up litter when there is no one about. I’m wondering what that is all about. There’s a sense of embarrassment when there are folks standing around. I feel I’m drawing unnecessary attention to myself. Anyway the playground yielded up a pair of white socks, a single red mitten and numerous extinguished fireworks, no doubt let off at midnight on New Year’s Eve.

I deposited the garbage in the trash can and carried on along the path. It looked good today, no new garbage. I reached the bridge and turned for home. Six women, obviously in some kind of walking group, approached. I recognized one of them. It was Valerie, a woman I worked with for about decade. She retired a couple of years ago. She sent the others on ahead and we chatted for a couple of minutes. It turned out her group walked this route every Monday. Normally I would be at work, so it was great to bump into her. We agreed to meet for lunch soon to catch up.

I walked on down the path to the seat under the tree. Hey, the clothes from the last few days were gone. No sign of the pink purse, the blue coat or any of the other clothes under the bush. Of course now I wondered who had taken them, maybe there is some underground market for dumped clothing. For some reason I was now the centre of attention for about a dozen seagulls who were flying all around me. I briefly considered a connection between them and the now missing clothing. Headline : Seagulls winging it in coat scam! Latest! But maybe that was stretching it a bit. I resumed my travels down the path.

Back home, I could see Gregoire was living vicariously through me. He was keen to know if I’d seen any drug dealers or caught sight of any unusual treasure on my walk.

Fast forward a couple of hours and the two of us went out to feed the ducks. We lead an exciting life you see. Actually it’s so enjoyable just to do the simple things. Life has been so hectic, and so full of parties, music, alcohol and far too much food. It's good to do very little for a few days.
Down at the lake, a seagull had met its demise. Its grisly remains lay by the water. A small child was inspecting it, closely watched by her mother. I thought a coyote might have killed the seagull. Gregoire thought it might have been a raccoon. In any case, it was an ex seagull.

The lake was semi frozen. We threw some seed cake and olive bread to the ducks. As usual the seagulls came in and stole much of the food. I’ve come to the conclusion that seagulls would not make good hockey players. They constantly lost their balance and skidded on the ice in their frantic attempts to grab the morsels. It provided us with much amusement. I must admit we deliberately threw cake on the ice just to watch them dash for it and all fall in a heap.

With the food gone, we turned for home again. We crossed a busy street at the pedestrian crossing. A car came speeding at us, and narrowly missed hitting Gregoire. The woman driver slammed on her brakes, and just stared at us, with what looked like her young daughter sitting in the passenger seat beside her. I yelled at the driver angrily. She made no gesture of apology and drove on. We were a bit shaken up. I think the woman was blinded by the sun. Still, she should pay more attention to what’s going on around her. Gregoire made a good point which was that she was probably as shaken up as we were so maybe she will be more careful for the next while.

Well having dodged that bullet, we walked slowly back to enjoy another quiet day around the house. Tomorrow, we rejoin the commuter throng. All in all, I’d rather pick up litter.

Sphere of Influence

There was ice on the road as I set off for my morning walk. Gregoire (OtherHalf) stayed behind to trim the grapevine on our deck. A little chilly, blue sky, today was altogether a beautiful day. I’m starting to tread a familiar path. First its up the verge along side the BlogTrain. Of course I’m looking for thieves, vagabonds and drug dealers. Today there were only a few people around at the station. A women in a wheelchair was waiting at the bus stop. A family group huddled in the station and was trying to decipher the workings of the ticket machine. I had grubby clothes on, a plastic bag in each hand and was looking around, trying not to be conspicuous. In retrospect I was acting like someone who had a big sign round my neck screeching "Drug dealer".

I walked on up the other side of the BlogTrain and on to the new paved area. In the very far distance bordered on both sides by high hedges, you can see the bridge where you cross back over the BlogTrain again. I’m thinking on this litter pickup, that it’s useless trying to be too ambitious and pick up all litter in the universe. I’ve decided to stick to the area up to the bridge and back. It’s where I most commonly walk so if I pick up a little each day, then it will look a little better each time. The path is about ten feet higher than the rail in some places, and folks have thrown bottles, cups, lids and God knows what other items down the gully which are pretty inaccessible unless you climb down to retrieve them. I figure if I got ten people together in the spring armed with gloves, bags and a bit of determination, we could have a sweep through and clean it up.

Today as I approached a playground about half way along the path, an elderly Chinese lady walked slowly passed me and gave out a lively greeting. She didn’t speak English but she didn’t need to. I’m hoping I will be as spry as she is when I am in my late eighties.

I reached the half way point, the bridge over the BlogTrain and deposited one bag full of rubbish in the garbage can and turned for home again. There’s a piece of what looks like common land a little way along the track. An abandoned trailer lay there, probably untouched for years, covered in foliage.

Now back on the home stretch. The dark blue coat and pink purse I found a few days back were now strewn on the path. I picked up the purse and coat and crossed over to a seat under a tree and put the coat on the back of the seat, hung the purse nearby. If the coat is still there in a couple of days, I’ll take it home and dry it out. I’m thinking that the Salvation Army would make use of it if I clean it up a bit.

And I got back to the garden gate again. Gregoire was clipping the grapevine, and pieces of vine lay all around the deck. He asked if I’d apprehended anyone. I suspect he thinks I’m going to make a citizen’s arrest one of these days. Hmmm, maybe I’m getting obsessed. I’m going to go help G with the grapevine and stick close to home for the rest of the day.

Too Close For Comfort

OtherHalf did not want to walk today so I set off alone. I headed down the path next to the BlogTrain. No surprise: the weigh scale we saw a couple of days ago was gone. In its place was a pair of white surgical gloves, strewn on the ground.

I continued down the path. I could hear raised voices. A man in his mid thirties was shouting, mostly swearing, at a woman at the train station. The woman was tall, slim, dressed in beige colours with her hair covered in a shawl. I’ll omit the F words. The man was initially haranging the woman from a red car parked at the side of the road, but he got out of the vehicle and walked towards her. He was shouting at her to go away and take her drugs with her. “Get out of my neighbourhood,” he yelled repeatedly. A few people at the bus stop stood and stared. She appealed to them for help and said that the man was stalking her. Everyone ignored her.

She then approached three BlogTrain attendants who were standing just inside the station. They could not have failed to hear the shouting. She didn’t ask them for help and she made no mention of the man behind her. She asked them for 25 cents to use the phone. The man had backed off at this point and he drove off. One of the attendants gave her the money and she made a phone call. I’ve seen drugs been bought and sold at the station before. I wish the BlogTrain officers would patrol outside the station as well, and arrest people in conjunction with the police.

I continued on around the block and up the path on the other side of the BlogTrain. There’s been a lot of construction with a new path being laid wide enough for a vehicle. I think they are going to put a line down the middle so that one side is for cyclists, the other for pedestrians. I walked along for half a mile, crossed the bridge then turned for home. Out came a plastic bag and I collected garbage for the remainder of the trip. The number of cigarette butts I see is incredible. The nicotine in butts is very harmful to wildlife, causes them all sorts of intestinal problems. Cigarette packets were very popular today. But the piece de resistance today had to be a coat, a sweater and a pink purse, all lying together in a bundle under a bush. Not quite the kitchen sink, but darned impressive. At first I thought perhaps someone was living rough there and I looked around for a sleeping bag but couldn’t see anything. I checked the purse, nothing in it. There’s no way I could bring this stuff home, to recycle or to turf, as it was soaked through and far too heavy to carry.

OtherHalf was watching the Rose Bowl Football when I got home. I regaled him with the goings on at the station. It is strange. There are drugs being bought and sold not one hundred yards from where we were sitting on the sofa. We carry on our lives, making soup and eating cookies. I don’t lose sleep over this. I feel safe in our home. But I want to make a difference. I can pick up litter but that’s not going to have any effect on the level of drug trafficking in the neighbourhood. I can understand the man getting angry and yelling at the woman – assuming she was a drug dealer. Maybe that should be me out there yelling too. I need to give this some thought. There has to be more I can do.