Life with Riley

A dog came to stay a few days. I can’t think of another mutt who could induce me to offer a spell of pro-bono dog-sitting but Riley is a charmer: a pint-sized border collie possessed of abundant charm and personality. On our Dalem walks he routed every squirrel in sight. He would have chased stick all day if my throwing arm hadn’t eventually fallen off. We proved a useful birder too, flushing grouse, chasing crows, daring ravens to accept a fight to the finish. Yep, I was sorry when the interlude came to an end.

We inherited a bucket of fresh filleted mackerel. Which provided an excuse to get the smoker back in action. What with Jan’s marvellous marinade and a good fire of birch and green alder the proceeds were just as gratifying as planned.

We continue to be blessed with fine summer weather. The swimmin’ hole is just about perfect. Tonight we go for gold: it is prime time for the annual late-August bioluminescent diatom extravaganza. Accounts and descriptions will follow.

Meanwhile Doris makes excellent progress in Halifax. She manages to sit for hours now and walks the hallways of Ward 8.4. Next week she expects to move to a rehab unit. Once the hospital stint is over the dear old girl will have a new address. She’s given notice at Caxton Close and will move to an apartment in an assisted-living facility in Truro. Daughter Nancy will be close at hand and Doris will be an hour closer to us. She looks forward to forging a flurry of new friendships.

Less than two weeks to go before we depart with Lynn and Louise for a fortnight in Ireland. The principal draw is a 180-km, 8-day walk around the Dingle Peninsula. If you’ve ever seen David Lean’s Ryan’s Daughter you might understand why I’ve long harboured a desire to wander that corner of the emerald isle. Given the thirst likely to build over the course of a long day on the trail, I look forward to concluding each day at a pub with a view, a cool glass of Guinness in hand.

Bachelor Days at Big Bras d’Or

My Jan flew west for nine days to renew adoring acquaintance with granddaughter Lexi in Coquitlam. I headed to Halifax principally to commune with Doris. At first appalled at my dear old Mum’s shrivelled form I saw enough improvement over three days to convince myself that her above-ground prospects are significantly better than 50-50. Her first order of business was to show off the fleet of cards and letters that have flowed in from her friends and admirers across the country. Thank you again, those of you who cared to write or call. We played cribbage. That seemed to engage Doris’s red corpuscles; when the cards didn’t go her way she threw a familiar unmentionable epithet at me. My heart soared.

Halifax refreshed awareness that I am a country mouse by nature. After three days of crowds, noise and traffic I was happy to be back in the woods. At Bigadore the decibels are slight, provided mostly by hummingbirds, squirrels and jays.

Jan’s absence increases her stock and enhances appreciation of what she shares with me. I do the early morning 7 km Dalem walk without her but with reduced enthusiasm. In her absence Jan provides a good weight loss program: in the first 36 hours I shed five pounds. I feed when I’m peckish but sometimes projects distract me from awareness of hunger.

Big Bras d’Or is sublime in mid-late August. Nature's bounty is peak: mushrooms, blueberries, blackberries. Conditions for the August 12 Perseid meteor shower were ideal: no wind, no clouds, no moonlight – perfect viewing. Under blankets and tarps seven of us lined up on the bank, two of them strangers to the night sky. Some years ago I introduced Lynn and Louise to the joys of astronomy. As with all their other endeavours the twins took to it like politicians to fresh graft; now I eat their dust. They introduced the night-sky tyros to the northern constellations, explained why the panoply appears to rotate around the pole star, regaled them with arcane details of the luminosity and power of the Summer Triangle's mighty stars – Vega, Deneb, Altair. While at it we counted 104 meteors.

Yesterday The Darlings were both kind and cruel. They took pity, delivering a meal on wheels after work. Then mercy turned to malice. Bananagrams is another thing I introduced them to. Against mere mortals I am a player – I hold my own. Yesterday we played two dozen games, Louise winning five, Lynn 18. That left me with one win. One. The ego suffers mightily.

Jan returns Sunday. I will be at the airport in plenty of time to welcome her with open arms.

Counting Blessings

Yesterday Doris commenced her third week in the Community Health Unit of the Halifax Infirmary. She marked the occasion with a success: managing to sit in a chair for twenty minutes. The effort was painful and exhausting in the extreme; the dear old thing wins my commendation. Doris is not able at the moment to convey thanks; on her behalf I extend heartfelt kudos to those of her friends who have called and sent cards or flowers. Believe me, there never was a patient who appreciates such considerations more.

Next Friday Jan departs for a week or so to commune with darling granddaughter Lexi in Coquitlam. During her absence I will head to Halifax to do the same with Doris.

One of my mother’s enduring influences is the invocation to count my blessings. Even now, leveled by a sacral fracture, Doris manages to remember that she is lucky by comparison to many others. Sourness isn’t in her.

Meanwhile, here in Big Bras d’Or nature shows its best face. The swimming hole is at its balmy best, black flies and mosquitoes in retreat, blueberries abundantly at their peak. We have had a succession of visitors and enjoyed a couple of riotously happy gatherings at the cabin.

On Saturday we reveled in our latest nature ramble with Lynn and Louise. Along the coast south of Louisbourg we were foiled in a search for prized cloudberries but consolation came by way of a bumper crop of chanterelle mushrooms. The twins take good cheer to a whole new level: there isn’t a trace of sourness in any of their 206 bones.

Would that we could all be so blithe.