Bernie at the fire

The fire stove men came back today. I didn't break it as soon as it was installed as I'd feared, there was actually something loose inside. Phew. Now it's fixed, and I'm sitting with my feet up in front of my hot non-crackling fire. A friend told me I should buy pine-scented deodorant to make the room smell nice. Perhaps not.  

This Covid life is HARD, my friends. I know, it's not the Blitz, it's not Anne Frank and the others squeezed into an attic for survival. Absolutely. But still, this is a first for us softie North Americans. It's winter, everything's closed, we're isolated and afraid for our lives. It's hard. 

However, funny Bernie memes are sprouting up everywhere. This one was sent by my friend Brad - Bernie sharing my fire. Must bring him a glass of wine - he looks like he could use one.

It's wonderful to see what Biden has already accomplished, what a change of tone already. And we still have not heard a single word from the Orange Blowhole; for the first time in four years, a few days have gone by when we don't have to hear him rant and rave. What a blessing!

I finished an important book: Braiding Sweetgrass, by Robin Wall Kimmerer, about how and why we should all live with respect for and in harmony with the natural world, as the Indigenous peoples did and do. She's a powerful writer, and I think it's a life-changing book. A tad too long, but vital.

And more nice words about my own book, this from Gerry. I'm sorry to keep posting these - but they mean a LOT.

I just finished reading your book and loved it. It was a true page turner. Read the whole thing cover to cover in a couple of days as was so absorbed. Loved being transported to France as well as your story.

I gave a copy to my friend Maggie and she said the same thing. She raved about your beautiful writing and also could not get over what a page turner it is. We both agreed we haven’t read such beautiful storytelling in a while.

Thank you!

I changed my screensaver pic. It used to be my family. But now it's my garden in August, a reminder that there will be colour again. Hard to believe as I look out at grey, white, brown, but there's hope. There will be spring and the vaccine. There will be hugs.