My grandmother was a farm woman for the first thirty-odd years of her life. Both before and after immigrating to the Canadian prairies from Eastern Europe before WWII, she struggled daily to feed and clothe her family and keep them alive.

Years later, safely and comfortably ensconced in a suburban bungalow in town, she continued to produce an astonishing array of preserves which lined the walls of her cellar and filled a chest freezer. Believing it was a sin to waste food, she insisted each year on taking our carved pumpkin the morning after Hallowe’en, for making pies. She never heard of peak oil, but was constantly aware of the fragility of modern abundance.

She made the best applesauce. Having only a few years of formal education, and none in English, she labeled the jars in her ornate script “Appel Sos”. It sounds like a cry for help, but was really just a label for delicious preserves.

I live in a very different world, and have much to learn from her memory.  My husband Z and I are bumbling into a family of our own with the anticipated arrival of our first kid in February (or god forbid, early March) 2012. This personal blog deals with what is on my mind, much of which may fall into the category of pregnancy, renovations,  and applied feminism in relationships, life and work.

Should you find your way here and pause to read, hello!