Remember those, you long term knit bloggers? Sandy doesn't appear  to be blogging, but the Saturday Sky is her legacy. In her honour here's a Saturday sky taken last week near Pitt Meadows, on our way back from the six mile mini trek around Barnsten Island.

Located in the middle of of British Columbia's Fraser River, Barnsten has a population of 155 and relies upon a cute little free ferry-on-demand. One side of the island is noisy, from the nearby lumber mill across the water, the other is pastoral. There's a cranberry farm, dairy, cattle ranch, a large herb farm and two places to picnic. My vote is to return, C's is otherwise. 

The previous Saturday, I snapped this guy scanning his sky over Bellingham, WA's Lake Whatcom.

is another's painting subject:

That one took a long time to paint. Don't know why. But I'm happy with it. On the knitting side, my Occupational Therapist made me a teensy weeny custom thumb splint which will hopefully allow some pain-free knitting.

It's official, I've lived over half my life in Canada – 50.4% of my life has been based north of the 49th parallel. Oh the differences! Spelling, pronunciation, math, taxes, medical systems, all in all it's worked out well for us. Taxes and social security benefits might be higher in the US, education and medical costs are lower in Canada. It probably evens out in the long run and I'm quite happy to be here.

The only exception is when the bottom drops out of this darn Canadian dollar. Now I know why they call our dollar the loonie. There was a time while living in Canada that we had mortgage payments in the US and $600 meant $1014 out of our Canadian paycheque (paycheck). The pendulum has never swung the other way to that extent. The best I remember is when that $600US turned into $540CDN. Today's dollar puts a bottle of Trader Joe's two buck Chuck, which is really $2.99, at 3.88 loonies.

How to tie this in to knitting and painting? It makes the cost of yarn and art supplies prohibitive.  Luckily I stocked up on both under better currency circumstances, in that preretirement period of binge spending. The "I'm buying it now because I won't be able to afford it in retirement" phase. But the flip side of that is the ability to spend more time turning that spending into income. Here's painting I finished on Monday and sold today:

I've been offered a spot in a gallery in Bellingham, WA. Now that will be a good deal – Canadian landscape, US dollars. At least this year. 

The title is the recipe for the best birthday surprise given to me by my son. We recently were talking about how much we miss our Gracee dog and that, although it's not likely we'll be able to get another one, there is still room for a Scottie in my life. Grand-scotties are also not feasible right now, so we brainstormed. Perhaps I could be a vacation sitter for a local Scottie, but how to find one. Meanwhile Bryant's wheels were turning scheming up something for my birthday. This is what unfolded:

1. He googles Scotties in our city and found comments for a local bed and breakfast where guests were greeted by the resident Scottie dog. He called the b&b to find the dog deceased and the establishment under new ownership. Kind new proprietor contacted the former owners.

2. B is put in touch with Ruth who explains that although Tosh was indeed deceased, she still had two Scotts in her house, Taegan and Torri.

3. On Sunday I had a birthday massage scheduled, ending at 3:15. A call from the boy indicated he needed a ride home from the nearby location at the same time.  We meet, and although it's pouring with rain he suggests we do a geocache, another of my passions, located in a park, a three minute walk away.

4. Walking to the park, B says the name of the cache is Torri's Stash. I'm thinking, gee I haven't heard of that one, must be new. He is doing a good job of geo-faking, pretending to use his phone's GPS. Once at the park I see two Scottie dogs on leash and go into my usual Scottie enthusiasm. "Bryant, Bryant, Scotties, let's go pet the Scotties!"

5. "Mom, meet Torri the geocache, Happy Birthday!" He had a arranged a playdate with Scotties and their sweet owners who invited us to their place for tea and Scottie company. Lovely people and their dogs, and in our lives' ever increasing six degrees of separation moments, found that she had a business relationship for over 25 years with the dad of B's movie co-producer. In fact she remembers the day Joel was born! 

Can you imagine getting call from a perfect stranger wanting you to share your dogs with his Scottie starved Mom? Thank you Bryant, Ruth, Rex, Tory and Tegan.

Look at this noble Scott:

Dear Bryant proves that with a bit of creativity, the best things in life are free.

 

Although disappointed for not having been discharged from Occupational Therapy only three months after my surgery, the OT, noticing the necessity of further development of the fine motor skills of my hand, has recommended, wait for it….knitting. He noticed my Summer Flies scarf and asked if I was a knitter. Yes, as a matter of fact, I AM a knitter, and although I've not been prolific in recent times, I do have ten years worth of blog posts to prove it.

This Spring in Vancouver has been spectacular. Sorry, Easterners, here in the Pac NW, Spring has sprung a month or more ahead of schedule. The early rhododendrons were blooming at the end of January. This being my birthday weekend, quince is the only shrub that's normally in bloom north of the 49th parallel. On my lunchtime walk this week I counted 22 different flowers and blossoms. 

Vancouver's cherry blossoms were the subject of this week's watercolour class:

An accurate description of our lives right now: the final moments before a significant event and the procedures carried out during this time.

In chronological order:

1. May: The big R's, retirement for both of us. This was a big and scary decision, but it feels very good. Fretting for years regarding a retirement without a pension I came to the conclusion we are not going to starve and will make do with what we have. Plus we've saved for some exciting travels in the first years.

2. August: A grand announcement – Elina and Sean are expecting baby #2, a sibling for three year old grandson, Rye.

3. September: The culmination of years of dreaming, planning and training – our trek on the Camino de Santiago. We're going to give it an honest try anyway. Unable to carry a traditional backpack due to a previous neck injury, we found these Aarn body packs, designed to distribute the weight all around your waist, no pressure on the shoulders at all. The two front pouches are dubbed "the Pamelas," by guys no doubt.

So much to look forward to.

The knitting has been non-existent with the recent surgery, however I managed  160 stitches of crochet. Aaaaaahhhhhh, colour and texture are back in my life. The painting, however, has satisfied the colour aspect, a semblance of texture, as well as the need for creativity.  The latest is a Himalayan Blue Poppy:

Odd as it seems, I have amassed a collection of signs taken in washrooms (as we say in Canada).

The first one was a ladies' room mission statement taken at Busch Gardens in Florida:

 Their mission didn't include excellent punctuation.

This one is posted at my favourite Thai restaurant in Bellingham, WA. 

It reminds me of the graffiti that was written on the wall of the bathroom of the August Moon Chinese restaurant in my hometown. In 8th grade, after attending our Saturday girls bowling league, a group of us, presumably an even number, would split the lunch special. I'm dating myself when I tell you that it cost $1.15 for one appetizer, an entree with rice, and a dessert. Two of us split the entree, one person having the appetizer and the other dessert. The writing on the wall of the bathroom was "flush twice, it's a long way to the kitchen. 

Next up is one I saw in Quebec at Montmorency Falls:

After hand surgery, during my weekly visit to the occupational therapy department of St. Paul's hospital here in Vancouver, I found this gentle reminder in the unisex restroom. Excuse the blurriness; it was a laminated piece of photocopy paper that doesn't photograph well:

Blogless Marsha, living in a house with men, explained to me that in mens' rooms, you don't have to flush the urinals. They should have added remembering to put the seat down.

In the spirit of a picture is worth a thousand words, this ladies' room sign appeared on Royal Caribbean's ship, the Legend of the Seas:

Finally, Valentine's Day night required an emergency visit to Walmart to purchase denture adhesive to reseat a crown that popped off while biting into a pink raspberry gummy heart. I'll spare you the picture. Funny thing is that my son tried one first, and as soon as he bit into it said, no way, he didn't want to risk his recent dental work by pulling off a crown. I should have listened to him.

Their washroom aims for clean and adequate, stated on a sign far from the latter. I don't know about you, but I like a bathroom mission statement that exceeds the goal of adequacy. 

I thought these two recent paintings were appropriate for Valentine's Day.

Puppy Love, my grandson and his little girlfriend:

 

Wedding flowers, a sentimental gift:

 

This painting reminds me of the student’s name in the Kung Fu Movie. I signed up for three watercolour workshops with an accomplished Palm Springs area artist, Diane Morgan, who doesn’t announce the subject matter until you arrive at the class. An interesting strategy, because if I had known we were painting grasshoppers, I would never have signed up. Turns out, it’s my favourite of the three. The other two can be seen in the two previous posts.

 

It also reminds me of the Mary Oliver poem, The Summer Day, with the very memorable last two lines:

The Summer Day

Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?