Lam Unfiltered

Husband suffers from a condition with his right hand called : Dupuytren's Contracture. This is also called 'Viking's Hand'. In his case, the baby finger of his right hand is bent permanently towards his palm. It has been like this for at least 5 years. As lovely as our Canadian health system is, I have learned that doctors are just people and some are good, some are great and some are crap. Our family physician we had when we first moved to Hamilton was crap. Sad but true. [Lost my cancer-confirming ultrasound for example] When husband went to him when his finger began to contract, Dr. M told him there was nothing that could be done until the finger was completely contracted, like it is now. So Husband waited. When the finger had contracted as far it could get, Husband went to our new doctor, who I consider a good doctor. He said husband should have seen a surgeon as soon as the finger had begun to contract, and it was probably too late to do anything. He sent us

In Portugal I walked through tiny villages where the women still gathered to wash clothes in a communal wash basin filled with rain water. Chickens and goats lived within walled gardens, roosters calling as I walked through village after village. Everywhere clothes were out to dry - on balconies, on lines suspended out of windows, on fences, in breezeways and on front porches. Laundry is not treated as a back-yard activity. Hydro is precious, and in every albergue I stayed in we were encouraged to air-dry our clothes, even if a dryer was available. I know I have romantic ideals on simple living. I know also that I want to taste the life I have never lived - out of town, with a few chickens and a goat. I dream of this life where I can return to the tasks I remember, maybe from my own life, maybe from a past life. City living - urban existence - it can wear you down. Portugal left me yearning for simplicity that I can attain. Some life-changes are pending. Last week I was not f

My second day in Portugal I had to travel by train from Lisbon to Porto. This could be a 2.5 hour trip, a 3 hour trip or a 3.5 hour trip depending on whether I chose the fast train, the slow train or the bus. I chose the slow train. I had to take the metro to the train station, which was so beautifully easy, the subway system is excellent. One travel source called it tired, but they have obviously never been in Toronto - which I consider properly tired in comparison. I should have bought my train ticket in advance, because I had to wait from 9:30am until around noon for my train. When I arrived in Porto at 4ish, the rain was cascading down - causing all the people to stay squished in the station - and block all the maps. The maps would not have helped me because I had not obsessively researched Porto like I had Lisbon. I should have. If I had known which direction to turn - to walk toward the Cathedral - I would have found it in the rain, and I could have started walking on Satur

We have made it to August - and it has been a hot summer. Forests are burning in Northern Ontario, communities are on alert for evacuation. It is difficult to imagine down here, where we dwell in the smog and humidity. My mind feels smoggy this week. The aftermath of the gathering for my sister, the intense activity of painting the majority of our house in four weeks. The sadness that comes when things end. The year to date has been a flurry of big tasks. Now the activity has stopped, and I find myself  annoyed and impatient. I am suddenly irritable and very terse. I have had to walk a lot this week. Physically, I am doing pretty well. I am maintaining my core strength I earned carrying 18 lbs across Portugal and Spain. I am walking at least 20 km a week, and have introduced Yoga to help regain some of the flexibility I know I have lost. Desk jobs are the worst for your body. Many workplaces take into consideration that sitting for 8 hours a day is terrible for your core, for y