New post there.

Criticizing others is the easiest thing in the world to do. Being responsible for yourself, your words, your actions and your way of thinking is much harder, but not impossible.

So I'm much more inward-oriented now, I guess. I read a lot about spirituality, which of course is not to be confused with religion. I don't even want to call them "self-help books," but I suppose that's what they are called in bookstores. They are written by noted psychotherapists, psychologists, and other men I consider to be "enlightened." I have no idea how most of these men really are in their everyday lives, but their writings tend to have universal themes that I wish I'd been receptive to 20 years ago. Integrity. Honesty. Responsibility. Compassion and empathy. Learning how to worry less. How to combat negative thinking. To think before I speak. Basic lessons, but I was too busy trying to get high.

One such writer, now deceased, is M. Scott Peck, was a controlling workaholic and borderline drunk who alienated his children, but somewhere along the line he managed to pen "The Road Less Travelled" (and its sequels), which became a sort of bible for at least two generations of readers. He said himself he wasn't sure how he wrote it, but that it came to him. So, imperfect as he was in his daily life, he left a legacy that I now cherish and that led to many other writers of his ilk.

All this to say that what goes on in my soul does not necessarily make for riveting reading in a blog format. Maybe, somewhere along the way, I lost part of my sense of the ridiculous while seeking the sublime. I know I have a tendency to take myself very seriously most days, and that's something that needs to change...

I can't stomach some of the things I once found so amusing. The celebrity-bashing websites, for examples. I took immense pleasure in reading about the antics and self-destructive public behaviour of pop stars and self-important actors, or the downfall of outspoken homophobes and loudmouth TV preachers and self-righteous politicians who couldn't contain the nasty skeletons in their closets.

But I don't love that stuff anymore. I just find it sad and distasteful. Much like the show "Hoarders" or any of those reality shows about human trainwrecks. There's no pleasure in it. (Except maybe the corrupt politicians. Yeah. They're still kind of fun to watch when they crash and burn.)

I hope that's a sign of maturity. It might just be that I've become incredibly boring; who knows?

No need to answer that last question, kthxbai.

Yesterday, I rescued some neighbours from a rather peculiar predicament.

Alex had just gotten home from work, and we were sitting on the balcony when a woman in the next building stepped outside, appeared to be talking to someone upstairs in our building, then turned and hailed me. She said, "The people in 403 are locked out and stuck on their balcony. They say the hallway door is unlocked. Can you go and open their patio door for them?"

So up I went, and their door was ajar; a small boy, maybe three years old, appeared instantly. I followed him into the living room (same apartment layout as ours; they are cookie-cutters) and there were the young parents looking in at me through the glass doors, with expressions both relieved and panicked. I had time to notice something boiling furiously on the stove and a light but distinct pall of white smoke throughout the place. Quickly, I headed to the doors and unlatched them. The young woman ran to the stove just as I was saying, "I think something is burning!" and then ran back to me with outstretched arms and threw them around me in a huge hug. The young man pumped my hand and must have said thank you a half-dozen times.

As you might have surmised by now, they'd been standing outside when their son shut the patio-style door behind them. It latched securely -- better than our double doors, I might add, which don't even shut completely. (Should be interesting this winter.)

I imagine they will never stand outside, either alone or together, while their child is unsupervised in the apartment.

(p.s. They have the view I want: the unobstructed 4th-floor vista of Montreal and the river. I will certainly be inquiring, should the opportunity arise, if they are planning to move out next summer.)

OK, so here we are living in yet another place. Once again, near a river (see image) but without the actual view of the water! Not sure if we're on the left or right side of this photo, but that's the bridge that lies almost at our front doorstep.

Yes, I miss the spaciousness of the last digs in Lachute, and think fondly back to the days when there was nobody living over my head. We're definitely a bit cramped here, and the basement locker space overfloweth!

Overall, this apartment building is quiet. No parties, no fights. I have a night-owl above me, however. I have left him one very pleasant note so far -- after our second weekend here, when he got rather out of hand two nights running -- and although early-morning revenge scenarios abound, I haven't really followed through. I do bang about a bit without being careful, I admit. On the ceiling. With a broom. (Kidding! I only did that once.)

Alex installed one air conditioner after much scrutiny and many measurements. He didn't install the second one, though. The landlord charges an extra $15 a month for a/c, though that might be per unit; we didn't inquire, as the single machine made the July heat wave quite bearable. And I'm pretty sure Hydro-Quebec would be bleeding us to run a/c every day, if electricity weren't included in the rent. I'm still not crazy about a/c in theory, but I have to admit it blocks outdoor (and upstairs) noise pretty well.

The Tightwad Syndrome is something from which Alex "suffers," and he's passing it on to me. We don't go out (other than one show in July at the Just for Laughs festival) so our only expenditures so far have been for food. I tend to second-guess most purchases, resist all impulse buys, and stick strictly to the basics, which means I'll only break down and buy cookies if they're severely reduced in price, and I get everything else that's a weekly special. (I'm aghast at the price of yogurt, generally, but that and fruit are pretty much all we ever have for dessert. Some nights I think I'd sell my soul for ice cream or cheesecake... or better yet, those little frozen chocolate-coated cheesecake bites, best of both worlds. Sigh.) I'm also shocked to see that some things here in the city cost literally twice as much as they did in Lachute -- same product, same format!

The good news is that the young man recently landed himself a full-time job. I need to see the steady flow of income to be able to relax a bit in the knowledge that we aren't in the poorhouse. But it can be difficult to shift from a hardship mentality back into the abundance mindset that I have tried to hard to cultivate the past couple of years. If I stop to enumerate the many ways we are already saving money just by sharing this apartment, it's quite astounding. Alex's school is across the street and his job just a few blocks away -- so no more monthly bus passes. We have our own washer/dryer, so no need for him to spend $5 on a single load of laundry.

The downside is we have absolutely no leisure activities yet. But I imagine that when we've socked away some savings, I can begin to envision the yoga classes or the bongo drums I've been dreaming about and he can start saving for the car he so badly wants (any car will do; his big Cadillac and Lexus visions have been scaled down to reality).

Soon, we will need to break down and buy a new vacuum cleaner. The current one spits stuff out the back, which is counterproductive, to say the least.

The young lady who lived here before me, bless her psychedelic heart (I bless her because it's more effective than wishing a pox on her) was fond of colours - the wilder and more mismatched the better, it seems. Some of you already know this from reading my Facebook page when I first moved in here. Eighteen different colours overall, nary an inch of neutral to be seen, and this month I was reminded that her singular tastes extended to the outdoors, as well.

I knew there were three species of something in the yard, but I'd forgotten what shades they are. Until a week ago, when they started blooming. So it was with resignation that I noted that of all colours she might have chosen to plant, she chose to emphasize the one you see here. The same purple that "adorns" the upstairs hallway.

You might say, Hey! These aren't so bad. In small numbers, mixed in with other hues, perhaps they wouldn't be. But I've got clumps and clumps of this, standing like... moldering blobs of flesh on stalks. Trust me, it's not attractive. The girl had NO EYE AT ALL.

It was only a few weeks ago, when the landlord was showing this place yet again to potential new renters, that he admitted the error of his ways. He said he should have forced her to restore everything she'd painted to its original white. I wish he had, and I wish I'd have felt in a position to push the issue. But, as usual, I was afraid to be assertive; I just wanted to sign the lease and take possession, paint scheme be damned.

Ah, well! In about two weeks it will all be water under the bridge. I will schlep my dozen gallons of powdery pastels to Laval, and hope that we're not in the middle of a heat wave so that I can make my new environment more to my liking. At least I will have built-in help (in the form of Alex) this time around.

When I say Lachute hasn't changed, that's not true; it's gone downhill. I've counted three restaurants that have closed in the last year (I hear a rumour about a fourth, but haven't confirmed it yet). Something like seven retailers have gone out of business, too, all along Main Street, and even two churches have gone bust. The thrift shops never seem to thrive, but neither do the more upscale boutiques. If I had to guess, I'd say that the two Tim Horton's and two McDonalds do a consistently roaring business. Some others seem to manage, year after year, but a few are backed by generations of local family money; still, I'd wager they're feeling the same pinch as everyone else.

Since making up my mind to move, I've come to terms with the idea that I am apparently not made to stay in any one place too long. It's possible I was a gypsy or a member of some ancient nomadic tribe in previous lives. Who knows? It seems that change is the only constant in my life. Maybe because I started out bohemian and somewhat wild the instant I left the family home, the pattern was set early on. If I'd married and had a brood of (or even two-three) kids, maybe I would have felt obliged to stay put. Or maybe, as one wag friend of mine said, "I'll stop when I'm dead."

I am steeling myself for big changes in the new place. For one, I'll be back in an apartment building where I can hear neighbours through walls. God help me. For two, there's a major bridge down below our back windows. No more tranquil morning wakeups to the sight of leafy trees outside my window and starlings hopping about in the upper branches. On the other hand, most likely fewer power tools. Here in the semi-country of single-family homes and property, there always seems to be something with a motor running: leaf blowers, sanders, power saws, drills, lawn mowers, edge trimmers. I won't miss those. But I'll have traffic sounds instead.

All in a good cause, though -- the chance to economize and to reprise my role as Mom. And no predictions, except that I trust that my son and I will live in that apartment until he finishes school -- since the school is conveniently located a two-minute walk away. While we're there, I'll become acquainted with yet another city -- unlike Lachute, a big one, with public transit, movie theatres, and a vast choice of recreational activities.

It'll be a good change.

The spring birds seemed to arrive literally overnight.

Yesterday, the morning after the "Supermoon," I heard white-throated sparrows (which always remind me of summer in Ayer's Cliff) and spotted the first robin; then, this morning, a horde of starlings were hopping around the tree outside my kitchen window, being the first smarties to feast on the pile of bread crusts and leftover cooked rice that I had piled on the ground a few days ago. I'm glad someone finally got around to eating that rather unsightly mess.

Finally,  I was inordinately pleased to see this little fellow, the red-capped woodpecker, clinging to my feeder.

Throughout the winter I had mostly chickadees and a regular pair of blue jays, so this influx of new "faces" is nice to see.

And now, having written about spring, a light snow has just started to fall.