just two more

These were taken on a walk down the Mission Creek Greenway.

more

Okay, so I'm camera happy - at least I'm posting something!!

These were taken at Guisachan Garden, a heritage garden/park where I used to work before I was able to write full time.




Front facing photos such as this are increasingly difficult to capture (as you may have noticed looking at this collection). As soon as I race ahead to get a shot from the front, Oliver turns around. Perhaps he thinks it's his best side??












Oliver meets the resident cat, who we've named "Friendly."

oliver out

Okay, I packed up the camera and Oliver and I headed out to the park to wander wherever he desired. As per usual, he chose to head straight to Wolsey Hill (named in honour of himself) to climb, crawl and explore.


Note the rock clutched firmly in hand. Some boys need a stick, Oliver must have a rock (or five) in hand whenever he heads out for a walk. He can hardly walk three steps in a gravelly area without stopping to trade what he has for more. He carefully selects them, the way some people pick chocolates from a box.


Where to go next?


Why, to Wolsey Hill, of course! That would be the mound on the left. For some reason, the mound on the right has just never appealed to him.


Crossing the little red bridge. Sometimes this takes a while, as his collection of rocks is deposited between the slats, one at a time.


More rocks! Do we have a geologist in the making??


While walking is now the preferred mode of transportation, crawling is still the easiest way back down the hill.


'Til next time, then ...

ruminations on autumn living

It’s gotten cold at nights, now. So cold that, this evening when I swept our front entrance hall, I hesitated before sweeping a small, skinny spider out into the darkness. I hate spiders, but I figured he (or was it a she?) should at least have a fighting chance. It was braving the cold or the bottom of Kyle’s shoe and I decided that, had it been given the alternative, it would have chosen freedom. The shoe may have been the swifter and more merciful death, however.

We’re in the throws of autumn, here – red, gold and amber on all the trees, and I’ve been feeling a little bit panicky because the leaves seem to be coming off far too quickly this year. It’s unfortunate that my favourite season also happens to be the shortest one – at least the gorgeous part of it. I suppose it continues on for some time with bare, colourless trees and biting wind before winter officially arrives.

I guess I’m feeling guilty because I’ve got all these adorable fall sweaters for Oliver, colourful mittens and matching toque (which are actually too warm to wear by the afternoon) and warm trousers and overalls so that he can play cosily outside, but I never seem to have the time to take him.

Today, when I tried to put him in his pushchair to walk to Starbucks for a quick meeting, he flipped out. He wanted to walk, and not just to Starbucks – he wanted to go where he wanted to go, which was probably Wolsey Hill, a few hundred yards from our place, where he likes to cross the red bridge back and forth, crawl up (and down) the little mound of a hill and collect stones to leave outside the front door. Like most days, though, it wasn’t on our agenda. He had another freak out when we got home, after I caught him trying to escape down the driveway, toward the park, toward freedom, while I occupied myself unlocking the door.

I remember when days were like centuries and the colours of autumn were low on my list of passions. Funny how it’s become the reverse.

Oliver is only 16 ½ months old. We’re still defining our family style – our combined approach to living. I want it to include long afternoons of playing on the swings and the monkey bars, while I sit on a park bench with a hot drink and a book – or maybe a laptop, tapping out my own story. Or maybe baking things back at home, or doing crafts or having friends over to play. What it seems to consist of in reality is me on my computer on one side of the child “friendly” gate and Oliver on the other side, taking the contents of his toy basket and then his book shelf and tossing them over, one by one, the second child “friendly” gate and onto the stairs. It brings to mind a caged animal, in a pet store or zoo.

Perhaps one of these days Oliver will visit the Nilsen kids and live dangerously for awhile. In the meantime, I think I owe him a trip to Wolsey Hill tomorrow – while there are still a few leaves around to throw.

danger

I'm trying to decide.

A couple of weeks ago I had a conversation with one of my favourite Canadian personalities, Stuart McLean. Stuart is best known for a series of books he wrote, called The Vinyl Cafe, which he reads weekly on a CBC Radio show by the same name. The stories are about a couple named Dave and Morley, their family, friends and neighbours. The stories generally feature some sort of madcap folly (usually involving Dave) that ends with a sentimental twist that just brings everyone closer together.

I asked Stuart to tell me about something that's important to him right now. He told me, among other things, that something that's weighing heavy on him is the perception - enforced in the political campaigns on both sides of the border, in the media, and the movies - that the world is a dangerous place filled with enemies. It is not, he says, as bad as those with an agenda try to paint it. He uses the War on Terror as an example of breeding fear in people that we are surrounded by enemies. He cites also the movie No Country for Old Men, which teaches viewers not to stop and help someone broken down on the side of the road because that was one of the killer's ways of reeling in victims.

"We do better when we trust and act out of our best selves," he said. "There is goodness everywhere, and it behooves us to look for it."

I have read, in recent months, a number of articles on this same topic. There is a growing movement, it seems, of people who think children today are coddled far too much. Everything is made so safe for them (Chinese products not withstanding) that we're protecting the life out of them. Only the most "irresponsible" parents these days, it seems, will let their elementary aged kids walk to school unaccompanied. Even back when I was at Newbold, 15 years ago, I was hired to walk these two sisters to school several mornings a week. Play time is arranged for them in play dates, instead of ringing the neighbour's door to play, and everything is organized for them so they don't have to do any creative thinking at all.

When I hear stories about my mum's childhood, waking up early in the morning and heading out in the orchard to play until dinner time, unfettered and worry free, it makes me sorry that I had even the restrictions I had - which were nothing compared to kids today. What I'd really like is to be the kind of parent that doesn't put the fear of death in her child for talking to strangers, who will let him play without a constant eye of concern baring down on him.

But then I hear stories like the one I covered in a nearby town, of this 12-year-old girl who was kidnapped by a transient and aggressively assulted for about 36 hours before escaping. She had ridden her scooter a few blocks to return a video - Chicken Little, as I recall. More recently, a man who was with his 15-month-old in a playground had to chase down another man who tried to run off with him (a couple of weeks ago), and today I read about a seven-year-old girl who was kidnapped (but rescued within a few hours) right under her father's and brothers' watchful eyes - also in a playground. That was just a town or two away from where another girl, 15 (I think), was murdered, strangled in broad daylight, on a nature trail bordering a residential neighbourhood. And a guy I interviewed tonight was walking home one evening a few weeks ago and was randomly jumped on by two yahoos in a truck and had his jaw broken.

So maybe Stuart is right, and the majority of people are safe and just want to do the best for themselves and their families. Maybe most people are more likely to help than harm. But how do you know if you've got a majority or minority member?

I'm not thinking so much for myself, but for Oliver and other kids that can't so much protect themselves. How do you reconcile these two worlds? To present the world as a friendly place, to not be overprotective, but yet not let them become another statistic?

I, myself, don't have an answer (besides prayer!). I guess it's just something I wanted to get off my chest, and see what others had to say about it. What do you think?