Never before have I checked in at an airport with a basket. A basket containing, essentially, a picnic! What ever was I thinking? But climbing up above the clouds, seeing the North Saskatchewan River snaking it’s way through the city, the sun glinting off the water, I was glad to be eating the picnic. Like in the olden days.

An aunt, now no longer with us, would tell of her early aviation adventures. “Yes my dear, we would dangle our legs, open up the picnic basket and have lunch”, “the wind blowing one’s dress you know…” “So VERY exciting”! “Yes, of COURSE, everything open-air”. That must have been the 1920’s. Later she was companion to the British Ambassador’s wife in Peking. “Yes. I did learn Mandarin, one should you know”. And “This very nice Taoist monk taught me to meditate, in the bazaar.”

Everybody would benefit from early exposure to an adventurous, unconventional aunt and I had two.

As a young monk, visiting my parents, the same aunt called me to her room. “Now my dear, I’d like you to teach me to meditate”. The story of the Taoist monk came out during this interview. I did my best to instruct her and afterwards, to my amazement, she pulled out a five-pound note and gave it to me. This recognition from my bold and unconventional aunt, her act of gratitude, meant a lot. Later we had crumpets with far too much butter!

Let us remember those adults who came into our early lives and whose stories allowed for, showed the possibility of, a personal revolution.

Revolution: A drastic and far-reaching change in ways of thinking and behaving.

Landed in Vancouver OK, basket in hand!

Some years ago I learnt to refrain from complaining when getting into a hot car. It’s an almost involuntary reaction to exclaim, its like an over in here. Because it is! My priestly companion at that time had learnt to keep her mouth shut as a child because she, and her siblings, knew if they complained about the hot car there mother would start to complain. And not stop! Being such a strong taboo for the Reverend, and indeed not complaining a matter of maintaining family sanity, I too learned not to complain in sympathy for her. Not a bad practice. Why not try it? It would seem just about everywhere in the world is baking at the moment.

It’s been a tad too hot for thinking these past days, let alone driving. There have been all time highs recorded here in Edmonton. Phew! What a Scorcher. That’s the kind of head-line the newspapers in England would run during the silly season, with a picture of people frying on Brighton Beach with hankies on their heads to protect them from the sun. BTW, the silly season is “the part of the year when Parliament and the Law Courts are not sitting (about August and September)”.

I grew up on the south coast, east of Brighton, near Romney Marsh and with recent talk of trains I remembered the summer holiday childhood treat, that never happened. A ride on the Romney, Hythe and Dymchurch miniature Railway. Iain writing for Railway Roundabout remembers his ride on this train.

There are a lot of children around the world climbing into hot cars ready for family outings. Why not tell them about the complaining mother, and how and why the children learnt not to complain. Might make an impression on them, it certainly did on me!

These photos of the Canadian, which runs between Toronto and Vancouver, were taken in Jasper on the way back from the retreat in Lytton. I toyed with the idea of going to Vancouver on the Canadian however the cost, as well as basic practicalities, makes flying an all round better proposition. The ride through the Rockies must be quite something especially with those observation cars.

It’s late. Too late to do anything other than smile and sleep.

If this butterfly flapped its wings in the Amazon who know what would happen on the other side of the world! Or how fast.

I guess everybody has heard of the ‘butterfly effect’ which is the popular way to make reference to something really very amazing. Namely the Chaos Theory. The subject of chaos came up a few days ago when I was sorting out my emails and now it has come up again, in somebody else’s household. And here’s some tofu and potatoes research on the subject too. Read on…

By pure dumb luck I stumbled upon a butterfly identification site and see that this is an Atlas Moth. Not a butterfly at all. I see that the wing span is from 8 to 11 inches.

This photo was taken back in May while on a visit to the Devonian Botanical Gardens close to Edmonton.