Daniela Ginta, Freelance Writer

Gratitude makes the journey better and so does kindness

Month: December 2014 Page 1 of 2

A Farewell To Mice (Yeah, You…)

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On December 16, 2014

In Kamloops, Life Stories, Social issues

The two of you that ran across the living room and entrance hallway this morning may have had a point. That the place will be yours again soon. Which is why I didn’t bother look twice. So it’s true. You win.

We felt victorious for those three days or so of decimating (have we though?) your troops a while ago, but I had this nagging thought at the back of my mind that though it was hard to get ten mice in a couple of days, it was a bit too easy after all. I was right.

You laid quiet for a few days. We put away all food overnight, every night, save for a piece of mozzarella I left on the counter – on purpose! – and you did not touch it. Nice refraining from what nature tells you to do. I know, your beady eyes (and no, I do not want to know how many) were focused on the larger goal, and that was to make us believe that you are not here anymore. It almost worked. Almost.

I heard you a couple of nights ago and blamed the heat gushing out the vents and ruffling the Christmas play announcements stuck to the fridge. Deep down I knew it was you and I had a feeling it would come to this. You are not the only ones relying on that sixth sense, just so you know.

I appreciate the decency in not touching our food anymore, I do. The raucous group that we ousted a while ago created some damages in the food department and that is just not right. I know, nature calls and such, but come on… We did not take revenge on them though, just so you know, it was simply too much to take even for the kindhearted. Your teeth marks are simply atrocious to discover around the house.

As for cuteness, my husband puts it bluntly: Just don’t look at them up close, there is nothing cute about that. He knows, he got to see a few while dutifully removing them from the premises once the snap happened. Snap! Oh, sorry, did the word evoke some bad memories? Welcome to the club then, I too have been touched by the mighty sound. Even the accidental ones get my heart rate up now. Yours too? There you are, we are united by an interspecies bridge that will cease to exist once we leave the house.

It’ll be soon, no need to worry. You probably do not worry, based on your confident trotting through the house in early morning. For mice, I have to give it to you, you have guts. A cat would appreciate that even more; literally. Just thank your lucky stars that due to my son’s allergy you are not about to see a feline anytime soon.

So you win. We tried, we sure did, but you prevailed.

By the way, the space behind and underneath the stove is all clean now; enjoy! Same for the space behind the fridge, though we noticed you don’t use that one much. A spare perhaps, for guests popping in? Maybe we ousted a few during the days of multiple trapping. Apologies. City mouse should’ve instructed country mouse about the perils of the human abodes.

Oh yes, laugh about the human abodes all you want. I know there’s been no decent bathroom in the last month here, no laundry either, and the furnace broke down just as we are about to vacate. Human troubles, not that you care. The modem cable seemed to have some issues lately too… Wait a second… You didn’t, did you? That’d be low, too low, even for a mouse. Revenge is the weapon of the fool, I was raised with that belief. Don’t go that way.

While we’re at life lessons, you may want to take a look at the charming “The tailor of Gloucester” by Beatrix Potter. Nifty little tricks those mice pulled. They proved to be helpful and nice to the guy who lived there. Correction: to the guy in whose house they lived. Don’t roll your eyes, there is no debate. It’s humans who build the homes, you just move in. So there. You’re simply profiting, admit it. Hey, I am not judging, you’re the ones who have to live with it. I am pointing out that your British relatives seemed to have agreed to help in exchange for rooming. Feeling inspired?

Anyway, the tailor’s story… you may want to take a peek and learn a thing or two. There was no mentioning of droppings anywhere by the way, and that’s a fact. European elegance, what can I say. Oh, and the manners; exquisite. Go read for yourself. No, we won’t leave the book behind, go find your own. Try vintage, it tastes better than the new stuff. But what do I know…

So farewell, fellow mice, it’s been interesting. We’re done trapping you. For the few days we have left here, walk in peace and remember to pay it forward. As a sign of respect, if you can keep the scampering to a bare minimum (portable potty is outside by the way, not that you care) we would greatly appreciate it. It makes for better mornings when the house is an untoasty 15.

Oh, in the interest of fairness, you should know that I know that you stole a few of the chocolate wafers the boys love so much. I found them behind the stove, half eaten with those atrocious teeny teeth marks on. If I were you I’d watch my diet a wee bit more. All those treats add to the waist and guess who will not make it through the hole when they need to?

You’re welcome. We won’t miss you!

PS: For your information, it is true what Roald Dahl mentions in “Matilda” about the heartbeats. Your ticker goes about 670 or so per minute. Impressive, but don’t let it get to your head. You have a small bladder, nothing to brag about. I know, I know, the joke’s on us ‘cuz you peed all over the house because of that. Which is why I do not feel sorry for the tail that belonged to that first mouse we caught, the tail my husband accidentally removed part of during a man-to-beast scuffle; and no, you cannot have it, it’s been long thrown into the garbage. He did not mean to inflict any suffering, by the way, it was just the imbalance of forces…

A Story Of Waste And Inexcusable Indignities

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On December 16, 2014

In Armchair Mayor Column, Environment, Kamloops, Life Stories, Self-improvement, Social issues

Food The article was initially published as a column in the Armchair Mayor News on December 12, 2014. 

Our garden was lush and plentiful this year. We had lettuce since early spring, we had green onion, radishes, kale, chard, and herbs. Later in the summer we had carrots and potatoes and corn. We shared lots with friends and still had enough to freeze.

All that we had was grown on less than half of our backyard, so it was only normal that I kept fantasizing about growing food on the rest of it. If less than half could feed us so well, how about a whole back yard?

The work was hard, no question. Incredibly pleasurable though and rewarding. On any given summer morning I was greeted by an army of grasshoppers guarding the corn, pumpkins, tomatoes and potatoes. Hopping as their nature prescribed, they were a sign that my organic garden was well liked by other critters like butterflies and ladybugs.

The boys helped out as well and they loved eating straight from the garden. They learned a lot too; gratefulness most of all, and the wonder of a seed becoming a full grown plant ready to provide for us.

They learned the value of food and understood why throwing it out uneaten, as waste, is unacceptable. It happens more than we would expect, or admit.

I remember seeing piles of fruit and vegetables discarded on Granville Island in garbage bins, a stark contrast with the perfect produce offered inside where everything looked nothing short of perfect.

I felt slightly uncomfortable thinking that we, the consumers, shape that perfect offer with our buying habits; which, in turn, have been shaped and conditioned by crafty marketing teams over the years.

The fallacy of that way of thinking and acting is that produce is not perfect. In our garden we got to see dwarf veggies, contorted carrots and a misshaped pear here and there. Nature is not perfect. But they were all perfectly edible, no matter the shape.

I remember when I was little and among others, I would go get the fresh eggs every day. I liked seeing them round in the straw nests and I would always inspect them carefully. Some were misshapen and I would ask my dad why. He would shrug, not bothered in the least. It’s how they come out, he would say. It made sense. Nature is not perfect.

Fast forward a few good years; I was at Simon Fraser University having lunch with other grad students and while no meal stood out, this particular one did. One of my friends was ready to eat a peach and seeing a bruise on one side, she said a loud ‘yuck’ and sent the unfortunate fruit straight into the garbage bin.

Many years later, the memory of the plunging peach is still with me. It stopped me from throwing food out every time, and it made me shake my head every time I see hungry people. I tried often to do my part and provide food for the less fortunate, yet thoughts related to food and waste are relentless. How could there be?

There is enough food lying around for no one to go hungry no matter what their budget is like, even if there is no budget at all.

There is too much food going straight into the garbage because of perfection standards that we should no longer entertain; it is insulting towards those who do not have any food, and it is insulting towards nature itself. We cannot give to food banks with one hand and throw away food with the other.

If you have doubts about food waste, just talk to the produce clerks. If the store is small enough you might see the old stuff bagged up for sale at a fraction of the price, a good solution to prevent waste. In big stores though, everything unsightly or old goes into the garbage.

A recent report pointed out that Canadians throw out up to 50 per cent of the food they buy. A few years ago I would rolled my eyes at the numbers, but not anymore. I went to one too many dinner parties or events where the leftovers were discarded and sent straight to the landfill.

With Christmas just around the corner, the thought of food and food waste comes back with a vengeance. How much food will be wasted, how many people will go hungry or eat low quality food that comes from a can rather than fresh, albeit slightly bruised produce that is better nutritionally than anything canned that might or might not come with added chemicals.

There is no simple answer to the food dilemma. Until we all decide that bad food is not the bruised or misshapen fruit, or even the ones that reach the best before date (think perfectly edible stuff like frozen food, dry food or yogurt that go a day or two over the date), we will have inexcusable indignities in food distribution, and we will have mountains of food piled up in landfills instead of people’s plates.

As for the truly bad food, some of it genetically modified, or the one that we insist on growing with loads of toxic pesticides so that we can have it all: lots of it to choose from, available all year round, cheap enough to throw out and tasteless enough to not feel bad about it anyway… well, the old ‘you are what you eat’ should be warning enough.

If less than half of a cultivated back yard can provide enough fresh produce to feed a family of four over the summer and well into the fall, sure people can grow enough food, healthy food that is, to have everyone fed and no bits thrown out unless they go into the compost.

With food becoming more expensive as we go (have you noticed?) it’s impossible not to ask why. Why, when there is enough to feed us all, and if there isn’t enough, then there shouldn’t be any in the garbage.

No Epilogue Yet

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On December 15, 2014

The 12th mouse scampered across the kitchen as we sat in the living room drinking our morning coffee and wondering why the furnace had stopped working.

I stared in disbelief, sighed and then mentioned it (the mouse) casually to my husband, as I really did not want to ruin our coffee time; it’s one of the few quiet times we have during the day you see. Also, I should acknowledge the sudden impulse to crawl into a hole where there would be no mice, plugged drain pipes or 16 degree mornings. We looked at each other and said nothing; silence spoke louder and clearer than any words.

At that point the mouse scampered back and it did not stop and stare as some do (yes, I know that for a fact, as I am now some sort of Jane Goodall of mice). The stare back could be interpreted as no shame, I prefer to think of it as a ‘let’s get to know each other.’ There is a certain degree of smugness in all of that, to be honest. Somehow the mice know they’ll be the ones standing when humans trail out. So we will, at the end of the month and they’ll have their empire back.

I disengaged another trap as I tidied up the kitchen. It’ll be good to move on to a less snappy house that’s for sure.

ColdBut gratefulness still lives here. I am grateful for the felted wool arm warmers I made a while ago when the washer was still in use (I can tell you how, just ask.) I am grateful for all the laughs we have despite the fact that so many things are evolving in ways that are utterly counterproductive to a carefree existence and for learning to do with less when less is all we have.

I am grateful for the brand new bathroom in the house next door that we have access to 24 hours a day and for the nice view we get to see at night while we trail back to the our abode after taking a hot shower.

I am grateful that the boys learn to never take anything for granted and know that no matter what happens, when people stick together perspective brightens up.

I am grateful for the infrared heater that is keeping us warm, grateful for blankets and so many opportunities to snuggle with the boys and for all the things we’ve learned in the last three months. One of the things we’ve learned is to say ‘This too shall pass…’ because it does.

yellowThe sky is blue and streaked with long white clouds, and the river is subdued by light, hugged by its own golden shores. It is a good day, a good day to count our blessings that is. That includes the beautiful yellow flowers my husband brought home as a backup sun for those days when the clouds are stubbornly thick; a just in case measure you know. It matters.

To be continued…

Toilet With A View (Or What Puts It In Perspective…)

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On December 12, 2014

In Kamloops, Life Stories

ViewYou’d be right to say at this point that the project “Life in an old house’ failed miserably, yet I would object to classify it as such. Nothing is failing when learning happens and learning happens all the time. So what is failure then? A debate for a next post.

For now, back to the house. We’ve learned a few things, and we’ve learned the value of a bucketful of water, inside and outside the pipes. Speaking of water, it’s been pouring in Kamloops lately, courtesy of global warming.

I’ve always loved rain, so I never thought I’d say this, but here it goes: in this case, rain makes it worse, much worse. Not that I do not like hills enveloped in mysterious fog, or the sound of raindrops. I do. But old houses on hills turn mucky when it’s wet outside. And they turn muckier when the toilet is located out of doors. We’ve come a long way since the days of using outhouses exclusively. Without making use of any visual aids (you’re welcome) I can attest to having gained some perspective on the unseen side of human waste. The thought of seven billion of us leaving our mark that way makes me nauseous. Ignorance is bliss, indeed. Sigh. Repeat.

Laundry is done off-site (thank you to all those who have allowed us to trail through their houses hugging laundry baskets) and because it’s off-site we are discovering the reality of well used everything. Socks rations anyone?

Washing dishes has become the epitome of fast and furious. The fast part is supplied by whoever washes the dishes, while ‘furious’ comes from the pipes around the house that gurgle menacingly as water runs down the kitchen drain. As if to threaten us with a gurgled ‘Don’t make me’. The toilet especially. It’s like an army of angry creatures drumming a threat from deep in the basement. It can make grown people shudder, that much I know. And it can make them hurry with the dishes.

As an added bonus, it makes cooking slightly more challenging (what’s one more when we have so many already) as I am now calculating what is the minimum number of plates, bowls and cutlery that can be used without adding too much pressure on the pipes. Literally. No more mindless usage. Innocence lost or found  awareness? The latter of course.

Shower-wise, we’ve gotten closer to home. Our neighbour next door who is building two impressive futuristic homes, has graciously handed over the key to one of the apartments so we can have full use of the washroom. He noticed the outside plastic contraption and wondered whether we had water. We do, we told him, we just don’t dare to use it much.

As for the impending move… yes, we are getting ready to move a second time in three months, boys, Lego boxes, rocks, plants and all. We are sifting through boxes and wondering (again) what can we let go of (rocks and seashells come with). When on a hill, you better mind the steps. More so when they are glazed in muck, a simple fact of life I learned when moving in when a muddy step turned me feet up while holding a box. The box made it without a dent, and the bruise on my back cleared in a few days. So there, lesson learned.

So you see, no failure issues whatsoever. We’ll put these three months in the ‘remember when’ category and we’ll laugh about it down the road. We are doing it already.

And the view is nice indeed. You see all the way to Rayleigh and past it as you get in and out of the outhouse. All you have to do is keep away from the awning that drips liquid stalactites down your back. And if it happens, take it as a reminder: this is real, all of it and; shitty or not, today comes only once so make the best of it.

 

Letters From The Old House

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On December 9, 2014

In Environment, Kamloops, Life Stories

WhiteFive days ago… It is snowing softly and the river is carrying ice floaties towards Kamloops Lake like a train that never ends. It’s peaceful. On a day like this I’d be thinking cross-country skiing and boys tumbling down slopes full of wild, dry grass dressed in thick fresh snow.

This morning I am secretly rejoicing that the lack-of-toilet pee spots in the front yard by the pee-tree will be covered by fresh snow.

It’ll be a while until the toilet will be fixed it seems. Think it absurd, I do too. Uncertainty is never good, yet when you have to pick after kids just like you do after puppies it becomes personal. Yes, a pun, what better time to throw one out.

We’ve been running to coffee shops for a few days now, and continue to be grateful for every flushing toilet. A miracle of technology. Chuckle if you want to; I know it doesn’t compare to the shuttle that was sent around the world early this morning, but trust me, a running toilet makes things alright.

On the mouse front, there seems to be none left on the premises.

Three days ago… I found the 11th mouse in a milk bottle at the bottom of seldom used cupboard. Mummified; the smell gave it away. Faint enough to mislead, unless you put your face in (nose included) looking for a jar. I did. A tough, cruel death by all means, inflicted by its own curious murine nature.

You may be now wondering about the tenth mouse, since we only had nine at the last blog count. He got caught in one of the traps our kitchen is laced with at the moment (it was a quiet subdued celebration, and a few shudders thinking some may still be around). Which brings us to a second question from you: do any of us ever get caught? Well, I almost did once while sweeping. The noise is enough to make one jump; every time.

As for the mummified mouse, the discovery can take your mind off lacking toilets for a bit. Until the smell clears away to make room for others issues at hand. We’re still showering in the go, ditto for laundry and pray that the toilet will not back up unexpectedly. Talk about the straw that breaks the camel’s back… It’s a tired, old camel, let’s just leave it at that.

We have decided to move. No more views of the river and the trees hemming its shores, projecting slim silhouettes in the water; no more guessing the weather based on the shade of the water or the way clouds arch over mountains, no more nighttime gentle blinking all the way into the distance and for me, no more wondering about a lone soft light in the middle of nowhere near the grasslands… an isolated cottage, who knows. The small mysteries we carry with; the answers are not as important as the mysteries itself – but that is the story of another day.

No crying over spilled milk, or moving in this case. We will still have a view and we will discover its mysteries and beauty. The very bright side of it is, of course, a flushing toilet and no setting off mouse any traps on the way to it in the middle of the night. Clouds and trees can be found anywhere, rainbows too, if only we find the time to look.

An old plumber named Bud came by this afternoon and spent a commendable amount of time in the basement. He surfaced with a long face. He left, like many before him, disillusioned, and we almost felt like consoling him. I also admit to feeling slightly envious thinking Bud will go home to a flushing toilet, shower and laundry. We did too, except that they all belonged to friends. Gratefulness reinvented.

One day ago…  A fresh team of plumbers paid us a visit. They came hopeful, they left disillusioned. Again. I knew that would happen. They tried and tried, they brought machines and cameras and skills. They took them with when they left, handing over an invoice and the farewell we have become accustomed to – ‘we are so sorry’. We are too, possibly seasoned by many days of dashing for toilets and making fun of the absurdity of it all, which makes people feel even sorrier for us. The silver lining? Knowing half the plumbers in town. Just ask.

Mice count is still at 11; traps are still set.

Today. After perusing over a few unreliable models, we have capture: A nice portable toilet is parked by the side of the house, welcoming weary inhabitants in its plastic arms. The boys find it funny, we all find it useful and, I am sure, the neighbours find it intriguing.

We are learning the meaning of those simple things we cannot do without, or we could, but with added effort. Like toilets.

We will start packing soon for our impending move and that will be good, as long as no mice jump in the boxes. They are amazing athletes; but you already knew that.

 ***

TodayToday was a balmy day in Kamloops, so unexpectedly balmy at almost two digits over zero that toilet and jumpy rodents worries faded away to make room for the uncomfortable question: is this because of climate change? If not, it may just be an occasional and fascinating Chinook; yet if it is due to climate change… no amount of plumbing can fix that…

I am hoping it’s the Chinook and the cold will return.

Rain draped over faraway hills and it dripped onto our front steps, and muck prevailed. There was a short-lived rainbow arched over the north shore and I was reminded of simple beauty. Of the world that we have and we have to hold onto. Of how short-lived everything is, worries and all, and how, at the end of the day, toilet or not, is what you make of it.

There will always be a bigger worry casting shadows over today, it’s part of the package. Often times we look back and we say ‘Give me mice and plugged drain pipes over this, any day…’ because we are, every now and then, humbled by the weight of life, by the way it takes bites out of us. It always does, and that’s what make it worthwhile; learning to cope, learning to hope, learning to say ‘It will be OK, it has to…’

At the end of the day, it’s what you make of it. It really is…

The Reason We Are Not Oblivious To Magic

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On December 3, 2014

In Armchair Mayor Column, Environment, Life Stories, Social issues

Initially published as a column in the AM News on Friday, November 28, 2014.

Beauty to live byToday’s early morning sky had a streak of blue I had never seen before. It was a blue that you pat yourself on the back when you get it by mixing watercolours; it was that beautiful and unique.

Except that someone else mixed the colours this morning. Not only that, it made sure to sift some sunlight on the north shore hills, a patch of brightness splattered here and there, as if some celestial egg was broken over those spots for a reason.

The only reason I could think of was to see. Not the whole landscape, which habitual browsing takes care of but often gets thrown at the back of the mind, but the small patches that stop you short, making you curious and grateful at the same time.

Curious to see more of the hills many times before, because today the sun is shining just so, making you wonder if you’ve ever realized just how pretty that particular slope is… Gratefulness is an automatic response your mind comes up with when you look long enough. I did.

Two hours later I took a walk with my oldest. He remarked on the murky waters of the Thompson River and the white shores hemmed with sand. By then, the cloud curtain had been pulled aside and a whole hill shone white and pretty. Snowy paths snaked their way behind unknown knolls and I wished to be there. I wished for the sunlight to keep on doing its thing many hundreds of years and beyond.

You could say it was one of those moments, which I am grateful to not be oblivious to.

There was something simple yet remarkable about it all: a growing boy, us walking and seeing the world around, a train going clickety-clack pulling its load through town, the light that kept on shifting revealing hill after hill and the realization that the world is changing, every day, and every hour of the day, and unless we make an effort to see it, we won’t. Unless we make an effort to keep it, we won’t…

Everything evolves, the slogan goes. Progress pushes some items out of sight to make room for new ones, and the phenomenon that promotes them. Yet the sun shone on the north shore hills way before progress was accounted for in the way we think of now, and the river kept shifting from murky to blue-green and clear since before this place had the name we know of.

I want my sons to grow up thinking of that as they go about their day. There are no ordinary moments in a day as far as nature is concerned, no matter how menial the daily activities become as we grow accustomed by them.

Like the walk to and from school every day with my youngest. One morning we woke up to snow and we walked through a blizzard that spat snowflakes into our eyes, on our cheeks and down our backs if the scarf got loose. You laugh yourself silly, because what else can you do…

Another morning we witnessed a most spectacular sunrise: a ribbon of sunlight, fresh and bright, rolling down from thick clouds to the bottom of the hill. Everything was shrouded in thick grey fog, save for the patch that looked like golden cotton candy. We were both mesmerized.

I wondered how many people got to see it that day and how many before us, and if they did, did they step out the next morning knowing that there will be something else to see, equally spectacular or more…

WorthyOne of the biggest accomplishment as a parent and guide to life as it happens for my sons, is to have them point out the ordinary bits of everyday life that steal their eyes and hearts. Leaves that are too beautiful to leave behind even as they lay shriveled up by incoming cold weather, grey mornings that have a mysterious feel to them, the ever so perfectly shaped rock that sits among many on the shores of a lake yet somehow it stands out, the occasional mirror-like surface of the river and the miracle of snowflakes. They point them out, and I know what touches their hearts the most. They know of mine.

And then, there is the magic of reminders that are as poignant as they are unique. One night, past midnight and way too close to the witching hour, we heard noises in our sloped back yard. Boys sound asleep cozily nestled in warm beds, we stepped outside.

The next moment I was staring at a beautiful doe. She stared back. Everything was quiet. She walked towards the neighbour’s yard and before swiftly jumping over the low fence, she looked one more time.

We walked up a couple of steps and under the sleepy apricot tree was a buck; not moving a muscle, he looked at us, and he looked towards where the doe went. For a few short seconds we stood, species boundaries notwithstanding, united by the simple magic of being there when no one else was. I could see his breath and I felt privileged.  Never so close… never so magical.

I felt like an intruder, but witnessing their graceful presence reminded me of the big world we should strive to keep alive. It’s a gift like no other.

Perhaps magic is, after all, not only what lies out there but the fact that we choose to see it and that we are, sometimes, given the amazing gift of seeing it. It is not without purpose that that happens. It’s the only way we can find reason to keep it alive; sunlit snowy paths, nighttime deer and all…

The Plumber Rings Twice (Episode II Of ‘Life In An Old House’)

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On December 3, 2014

In Kamloops, Learning, Life Stories

So there are no more mice, or so it seems. Perhaps they got flooded during the partial flooding of the basement. We don’t call it flooding for now though; we refer to it as ‘the puddle’. It sounds almost friendly. We know it’s not. It is not a case of sheer delusion, but rather holding down the fort until repairs can be done.

It’s complicated. The plumber came once to assess and then an hour later to take a few more photos. It is that good.

As of now, all water that gets used in the bathroom trickles into ‘the puddle’ due to a breaking in one of the pipes. Yes, we wish we knew of that one before moving. Please do not say the word hindsight, we know it and we know it well. It stings at the moment, so use with care.

So those most curious of you will ask about all those hidden things one does behind the bathroom door. The short answer is ‘we’ve seen better’. The long one goes as follows: we are becoming more knowledgeable of the restrooms around town like ever before, we shower at friends’ houses and we are becoming even more environmentally friendly than we’ve ever been (and trust me, we really are) by conserving water because we know its wicked presently broken ways into the basement and its ardent desire to join ‘the puddle.’

Yes, we’re learning. A curve so steep it hurts your eyes to look up. so we won’t and take the step by step approach instead. It works better that way.

We occasionally see tip-toeing boys around the yard, giggling as snow and cold make them shudder, and feeling a bit naughty for peeing by the tree in the yard. The snow covers it overnight and then they’re at it again. Since Tony is studying medieval history, we can consider this a practicum of some sort. Play always makes it better for children. This will be no exception.

As of now we have the following: a missing landlord (vacation and no reception), no working toilet, no mice but nine of them clouding our otherwise clear conscience, ‘the puddle’, and a willing plumber and a mental map of all the working public toilets in the area. Just ask.

Oh, and a beautiful view of the river and its beautiful white snow-laced shores, and a whole lot of hills enveloped by beautiful cold mist in early morning.

It could be worse, that’s what we keep repeating. Surprisingly enough such adventures make us more grateful rather than resentful. It’s what you make of it, some say, and I am ready to believe they are right…

To be continued….

 

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