Smoke Lifts

The smoke abated enough during the night that Scott felt he could open the bedroom window wide while I was still asleep this morning and turn the overhead fan on above the bed, before leaving for work. This cooled the air, making it difficult to continue snoozing, but I managed it for about an hour! I'm good at sleeping.

It's cooler today but the sky is still grey and some smoke remains. I feel for all those people — mostly women, children and those with health conditions — who are out of their homes and moved to shelters in Saskatchewan cities. The men of their communities have stayed to fight the fires.

I'm also thinking about all the very young wildlife that won't have made it out of the flames and smoke. Many will have perished.

Here, Dad's coming over for lunch so I have to come up with something to eat. It will be my breakfast, so ... eggs and toast? He's probably already had that today. Hm.

Also, see EVERETT FINDS A THING. For what he finds humorous or entertaining.
And sometimes, so do I.
Today it's not workplace-friendly.

100 Fires

No walk for Ms Kate today.
My eyes were stinging before I got to the end of the driveway.

Looking south down the road.

Smoke Gets In Your Eyes

This is what I wish it looked like outside but due to wildfires up north, practically the entire province is under a smoke advisory. The sky is a weird grey and we must keep the windows closed so the air in the house doesn't fill with smoke too.

The beautiful wild grasses. I can't help it, I love them.

After the good rain we had last weekend, everything is super green.

Even the old girl, Jenna Doodle, made it this far. Lately she has been stopping and waiting in the driveway for us to return. She has a pronounced limp now and is starting to look her age, getting grey on her snout. She's 13 or maybe 14.

The sun had already set but there was still light in the northwest when I went for a walk last night after the day had cooled down. It's not a good idea to be on the road with a dog when visibility is poor, in case a vehicle comes along, but there wasn't a one so I didn't have to pick up my little hound and take to the ditch. And did I ever enjoy that walk. Everything looks, smells and sounds different in the semi-dark.

I was up late last night, watching TV after Scott went to bed around 11. We had watched something together — what was it now? Lord, my memory ... oh yeah, Last Tango in Halifax, another British series Mom also would've liked. That Detroit PBS channel has some fabulous programming; if we were ever to lose that station, I'd find a way to get it back — it's that good, if you like the kinds of shows I do — shows with interesting characters, no violence or gore, and no commercials. Yay! I did my yoga while watching the first part of the new series Poldark and soon abandoned it in favour of Father Brown, the crime-solving clergyman. And finally the new True Detective came on and, because RACHEL MCADAMS, a Canadian gal, is in a role quite different from her usual, I stayed up, actually dozing through most of it and finally getting off the couch at 2 a.m.

Why is it that once in bed it takes a while to get to sleep, while on the couch it is quick? Then I slept in till 10 this morning so am feeling like a lazy lout. This is the first morning in three or four days that I haven't been forced out of bed too early due to the "neck thing." There probably was some catching up to do.

It's past 11:30 and I'm still in Mom's housecoat. All I've done so far is have toast with my coffee and go out and turn on the sprinkler and move it once or twice. Most Mondays I'd be baking bread, but with the kitchen still in a bit of an uproar I can't be bothered. Fortunately I froze many loaves while sticking to the Monday routine.

Scott installed the last cabinet yesterday and did some drywalling but the handles will take three weeks to arrive and I haven't put everything away yet. Maybe today I'll get a jump on that.

Check out THIS PRETTY GARDEN on this WONDERFUL WEBPAGE for admirers of Virginia Woolf.

When Dogs Imitate People

"Ducky," he said to the small beast tucked in beside him, "are you making fun of me?"

The Rabbit that Lives in Our Yard

The day didn't start out too well. Migrainey, nauseated. Didn't get to the office till 11:30.

But on my way to the car, I saw the rabbit that's been eating our dandelions, and heaven knows we've got plenty of those and it's welcome to them.

Nibbling on a leaf for its midmorning snack.

At least it hasn't broken my heart yet by eating my flowers.

Hanging It Out

Today's draw of a TAROT CARD brings to mind something my friend J has been saying about not drawing attention to your flaws or weaknesses. She has been attending a Toastmasters group and picking up pointers about how to present oneself and get one's message across.

While they have been telling her not to point out possible drawbacks in her own presentations, my card today advises not to waste energy trying to hide them.

A couple months ago I wrote an editorial about the inevitable errors and oversights made in publishing a newspaper. So many words go past your desk that by the end of a day, you're seeing what isn't there. It doesn't matter how capable you are, how fussy, even how intelligent; mistakes will be made, they'll be in print for all to see, and you'd better get over it and get on with the next task. I wrote that when I began working at the paper, I was a bit hoity-toity about sloppiness in published productions, but before long I came to understand that we are all probably as bad as each other. Shit happens.

Under the oak trees

I was surprised to hear how different readers interpreted it.
One thought I was apologizing for imperfections. I sure as hell wasn't. I was saying they're inevitable, period.
One thought the editorial was too personal; I should write about more important subjects, like politics. (When I know something about politics, maybe I will. What I do know about? Published typos and other errors that make me grit my teeth and struggle to maintain my healthy self-esteem.)
Another thought the piece was a bit too long.
We don't get a lot of feedback on anything we put into the paper, but one reader responded that she understood what I was talking about and that we do pretty well as far as she is concerned.

For the benefit of new readers, HERE'S THE ARTICLE. Originally I wrote it for this blog, then thought it might fit well on the editorials page, where we sadly lack input from local readers (and writers).

Where I agree with the Toastmasters: when you're trying to make a point, focus on that point. Don't be self-effacing; don't say "It's only my opinion" and "I think." It's already obvious that it's your opinion and you're saying what you think.

Where I disagree: I believe it's okay to admit you aren't perfect, that you're nervous and uncertain. A little humanity goes a long way with your listeners, who can relate to you more easily when they can see that you are more like them than not. Don't work too hard to present a polished image; let your human self show. Maybe this isn't the best approach on a speaking stage, but in life? It's the only way to go.

In the oak trees.

Among His Pets

Our house sits on 32 acres, so every spring Scott and Bruce bring a few cattle over to chew the grass down. Sometimes it's only bulls they move here, to keep them away from the heifers and cows till the fall breeding season; other times it's cows and calves. 

This year it's cows and calves.

They always seem a bit shy, but usually like to have their ears scratched.

Perfect Summer Day

Not too hot, not too cold. I lack only a friend to sip with. And a patio.

It's 7 o'clock and my mate is still out working somewhere (so that I can enjoy this luxurious lifestyle, he'd be sure to say). It's just me, the dogs, the cattle and the wine.

I didn't wait supper though. I've had steamed potatoes and broccoli, and marinated sirloin tip steak. The kitchen's smoky; I'm frying a second helping of steak.

A bike ride might be beckoning. I haven't seen the baby teals today; they were nowhere in sight when I walked north, earlier.

Emil's Big Day

Emil was drying and I was washing dishes when through the window I saw Jenna Doodle take her wagging tail toward the driveway. She lay down on the grass instead of meeting the new arrival, so I knew it wasn't Scott.

When we spotted Rose come walking under the maple tree, we were both excited. A surprise visit from Uncle Neil and his lovelier half! Emil had just been wishing aloud that he could arrange a visit with Neil and was going to phone him.

The coffee pot went on and we jibbered and jabbered for an hour and Rose and I looked at the flowers and then it was time to go.

Emil is quite fond of Uncle Neil. 

Neil was getting a goodbye kiss.

Rose gave me strict orders not to put a picture of her on Facebook.

She went home with half a dozen oriental poppies, and later I dropped off the same number — delphiniums this time — at Rita's.

I asked Everett to take some pictures on the way to her place.

Rita lives in an old train station.

Next: Emil gets his chicken dinner.
Then the double-layer cake; the two of them knocked off half of it at first sit-down.

Emil wishes his dad a happy Father's Day.

After the Rain

We got two inches of rain in less than an hour. A bit heavy as downpours go, but we were glad of the moisture. A lot of places around us didn't get enough, or any.

On the way home from Archerwill I said, "Haven't seen any moose around lately," and then this one appeared.

This bunch is happy.

Too late for the hay crop, I heard.

There are eight teal babies and they aren't sticking around. They bolt when I approach.

Diary to Emil

I am the mother of a 27-year-old man.

Here's how we both looked 27 years ago:

What a relief it was to spring him from the neonatal intensive care unit after all those weeks (he'd been 10 weeks premature).

Pages 2 and 3 of a book/letter I started writing to Emil on Oct. 1, 1988, when he was several months old.

Reading the page above, it sounds like the nurses were reporting to me as if I wasn't there with you every day, and usually more than once.

People say that having a baby will change your life, and it's true, but having your baby stuck in a hospital for five weeks sucks, and bringing that baby home makes your life feel normal. A new kind of normal, but more normal than being at the hospital for hours each day and without your newborn baby the rest of the time, and a vast improvement over everything that came before, including the pregnant months when you threw up virtually every day right till the end, and got out of bed 10 times a night to pee a tablespoon's volume, and had to heave yourself, bottom heavy, to turn over during the night.

Today is Emil's 27th birthday. Months ago he wanted to talk about it, make some plans.
"What would you like to do?" I asked. "Anything special?"
"Maybe we could go out for supper," he said. "And I'd like a birthday cake."
Not a homemade cake; no. Storebought. Chocolate. Iced and decorated. And it should say, "Happy Birthday, Emil."
He reminded me the week before this one that I had to order this cake. Then he asked me last Saturday whether I'd done it yet. That boy is a dog who loves his bones. I ordered it from the Co-op store at the beginning of the week and picked it — and Emil — up on my way home from work Friday night after a 10-hour day at the office. (Like the postmen of old, we will go to any lengths to get your paper out.)

We could go out for supper on Saturday, he suggested, and have the cake on Sunday.
Okie doke.
"We could go up to the Hendon bar for supper, like we did for my birthday last year," he thought. "That would be a good idea."
"Sure 'nuff," said I, "but the Hendon bar isn't open anymore."
"Oh well, I guess any place would be okay," he said.

Then the Wadena News came out last Monday and Scott saw the new restaurant guide on the back page. Maybe we could drive up to Archerwill, to Grandma Viv's; Emil might like that. They're having a Father's Day smorg on Saturday. I told Emil, who was all for it. I reserved a table.

Here is Emil yesterday morning, sitting at his breakfast although it was nearly noon. Like the rest of us (okay, speaking only for myself then), he likes to sleep in on the weekend.

Mr Serious. Usually he's trying to smile for the camera and looks like he's having trouble pinching off a loaf. 

My Little Sister

My youngest sister Joan, always a little sweetie (nine years my junior), became an artist overnight.
Honestly.
It just blows our minds.
Not that we're surprised she's good at everything she does.
We just never had any idea she'd be doing anything like this, to start with.  It sorta comes right out of the blue.

Anyway, she's done a lot of painting that I absolutely love, so I commissioned her to paint me a set of three flowery photos for our living room wall. She's sending them with Dad, who's driving out from Kelowna next week.

I'm so excited!

Propped up in Joan's dining room.

Joan has a blog HERE. 

She doesn't write nearly as often as I'd like, but it's great whenever she does. She's ever so lovable; what can I say.

Joan, it's my turn to say:
You remind me of Mom. 

You know she, too, would have loved Andrea Bocelli.

Lopsided

No matter what I do, the flower bed grows lopsided.

Case in point: the oriental poppies. They're the orange ones out there. They started blooming on the left-hand side. Now they're about finished on the left, but in full flourish on the right. Lopsided.

When I planted the garden, I placed everything in balance. But it has not remained that way. The purple coneflowers have spread commandingly on one side but not on the other; the shasta daisy weighs more heavily on the right; the lupins on the left didn't come back this year, nor did the blue flax on the right. There's a thick patch of hollyhocks (my favourites) on one side at the back, but there were only two on the other; I had to move things around this spring to even it all out, and still I know it won't be what I imagine.

It's wet out there this morning. This is taken through the living room window.

Some things are simply out of our control; out of mine, anyway. I've come to see that. I did my best when planning the perennial garden you see above; I've added plants carefully where I thought they'd most please my eye; after that, every summer it's a crapshoot. They do what they want.

And really, that is not so bad. For me it's an exercise in "letting it be." Appreciating things as they are instead of wishing they were otherwise.

No Regrets, Coyote

We still love our Wadena News.

Except now I take pride in the work we've done.
Used to be I just enjoyed reading the paper as a subscriber.
But now there's a special satisfaction that comes with seeing the results of our labours.

I have read nearly every word in every issue, seen every photo before it is published, but still look forward to the copy that comes in the mail on Mondays.

Fortunately, I am loosening up about errors and imperfections, finding it easier to let them go and get on with the work at hand: next week's issue.

"No regrets, Coyote." (Click to watch and listen to Joni Mitchell's song Coyote.)

I Love My Contractor

People claim to "hate" their contractors when they don't arrive at the job and stay there till it's done. However, busy contractors usually have several jobs on the go and have to work around plumbers, electricians, flooring guys and painters if they don't do that work themselves — and one person not showing up because of a funeral or a doctor's appointment can change everything for everyone right on down the line. Often an unforeseen repair is needed and that causes a delay that affects the whole picture. Sometimes drywall or paint takes longer to dry than expected. There are a myriad of reasons.

But of course the customer doesn't see this; he only sees that things aren't getting done at his own house as quickly as he'd like. Well, I'm aware of some these little details now, and even so it still surprises me how long it takes to do these jobs. Watching Scott install cabinets is an education. There are so many things to consider (adding extra support beneath the arborite), so many adjustments to make (the walls don't line up perfectly square), so many behind-the-scenes factors.

It amazes me that any merely "handy" person might think "Ah, no problem; I can do it myself." If you haven't had lots of experience doing this sort of thing and don't know what pitfalls to look for, let alone how to figure out the best way to make things work ... this is one area where any intelligent angel should fear to tread.

On the other hand, once a home handyman's job is done, it's unlikely that anyone but a professional contractor will notice the things that are "wrong." Scott often points out errors that were completely beyond my radar; some I don't see even after he's tried to make me aware of them.

Scott isn't a plumber, but he did a plumber's job on the weekend, getting our new sink in. There was a lot of fiddling around!

There is more work to be done, but ... we're getting there. Note: one of Katherine's woven potholders hangs on the oven door.

There are times when I do hate my contractor, believe me. Like when he goes off to do other things, leaving our kitchen upside-down, for instance with no sink. Other jobs and people are important and he is looking after them all to the best of his ability, but I still "hate" that his priorities are different from mine and inconvenience me considerably (Shouldn't my comforts be Number One on his list of priorities!? Hmph; no. that was, alas, only in the days when "love was new." Hee! I laugh or else I'd cry; it's painful to go from being Number One to being When-I-Get-Around-To-It. Ha!). Or now, sink in, but we have this horrible hard water that stains everything and this is how it will be till we decide on a water treatment system and get it in, and so it begins: His OCDness will try to police every drop of water left in the sink, and so on, as he tries (unsuccessfully) to keep new things like new. He knows better than anyone that all things will meet the wear and tear of daily living, but it kills him for the first while. The initial scratch on the arborite will be a tragic irritant for him. Oh, for me too: but I'll only sigh and carry on, while he will curse loudly and point his finger.

I take a deep breath and resign myself to being as patient as possible. As one must be, with contractors. If you've got a good one, he knows what he's doing and he's doing it to the best of his ability. I believe Scott does and is, even when it's not obvious to a layman like me. As my friend Cathy said once, noting all the construction and repair work Scott can do around our place, "I don't think you realize what you've got there."

Katherine

Katherine has died. It was not unexpected, as she has been fighting a massive cancerous tumour on her neck and thought it might well be the end (in this life, anyway) of her. However, she was treating it with an herbal "black salve" that has been known to draw tumours right out of the body, and so I held out hope of her survival right up until receiving the news, yesterday, of Katherine's passing.

How do you mark and mourn the passing of a friend you have never met?

I won't tell stories about Katherine. Instead I'll direct you to her blog, which she started posting to quite regularly in recent months, sharing current experience and also hearkening back to memories of her earlier life, which was, of course, eventful and unique. She was one of a kind. Over the years I occasionally fancied going down to Moab to visit her; I dreamed of the pleasure it would be to help her prepare, watch her cook, and then taste the fabulous conconctions she so often described. I imagined the desert light.

I've set out the glass of water, which will be emptied and refilled for 40 days. It's a ritual I've borrowed from the Greek Orthodox religion; the water is for the spirit of the departed to drink while they are still here, making their transition to ... the unknown.

Since Katherine was a self-described "foodie," it's appropriate that her glass sits next to a bowlful of green onion tips being sprouted. 

I think of her on my walks, when I find the same old route each day getting a bit dull.
"It's not boring," Katherine wrote, "you're boring. You need to approach each walk with your Warrior Mind." Something like that. I remember, and try to freshen up my eyes as I look out at the landscape or nearby to the wildflowers.

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CLICK HERE to discover Miss Tickle.

Actually (thanks, Marya) here's the link to her very first blog entry, when she learned she had a lump:
DAY ONE. Scroll to the bottom.

More Flowers

Or maybe they're the same old flowers.
Either way . . .  .

11:48am

I was sitting here, reading and writing, when Ducky Doodle begged to go outside. I threw on a sweater and jacket and went along. “Just to the end of the driveway,” I told him as he danced with excitement and joy. “It’s cold out and I don’t want to go right now.”

At the end of the driveway I decided to walk north, just to the slough where the baby ducks (buffleheads?) were on Saturday. Didn’t see them; why would they be out floating in this grey wind? They were probably snuggled into a warm nest instead. 

I walked further, noticing the wildflowers in bloom (anemone, ladyslippers, roses), then turned and came back south, past the driveway and another three-quarters of a mile to the ravine down by the correction line. The sun came and went and I pulled my hood over my ears and the clouds were so thick and fluffy that I literally called Ducky over and thanked him, out loud, for making me come out. I was glad I had.

When we returned to the yard I didn't want to come in. I hoed through the flowerbed, deadheaded the pansies, watered the one tomato plant (and ate the first ripe cherry tomato: wow! Fantastic!)(it has rained yet the leaves are droopy – not yellow-droopy, but thirsty-droopy) and rearranged some heavy planters in order to fit some smaller pots in with them.

And here is Scott just come in from town, where he was setting up a basement for Leonard P. Maybe he will get at our kitchen sink now.  

Note:
I am going to start emailing out a monthly newsletter.
See above: SUBSCRIBE TO MY NEWSLETTER.
Please do!

Saturday Might Be My Favourite Day

A person packs so much into a day, and yet — try to tell someone what you did, and sometimes it doesn't seem to amount to much.

It was a wet morning as there'd been rain during the night. Everything was a bit droopy:

Scott and I hopped into the truck and drove to Margo. We parked at my aunt Shirley's and strolled over to the auction, which we could hear from her place of course, Margo being a 3-streets by 5-avenues place.

Here's the scene from left to right:

Helper holds up items for bid.

People watch and listen. The auctioneer does his bit from inside this box on the back of his truck.

Between Shirley's and the auction, we stopped for a few words with my godmother, who was in her back yard. About the auctioneer she said, "I didn't know Jimmy could yodel like that!"

A lot of listening and looking goes on.

Shirley walked back to her place with us. She wants a new front door, so Scott took the measurements he needs.

Her little companion Marley barked until she picked him up so he could be at eye level with Scott, whom he wasn't too sure about.

I made a run into town after we got home. While I was there, it poured, and as I was driving out to the highway I noticed these ladies out planting flowers in one of the town beds. 

They hadn't let the rain slow them down one bit and they were finishing the job, by cracky!

It's Scott's night to take supper to his grandma in Kelvington, so he went off to do that and I went for an evening meander. I headed north:

This little mama is keeping her eight babies as far from me and my camera as possible. It's another one of those times I'm sorry I didn't take the binoculars along. Happens every time.  You'd think I'd learn.

Coltsfoot growing in the ditch turns its silvery back on you.

After a two-and-a-half-mile walk — even on a glorious evening — coming back to the yard feels damn good:

Even the dogs are glad it's over. We're all tuckered. I'm seeing mist where there is none. (Or...?)

The Korean lilac by the step is in full bloom. Its sweet scent could knock you over. During the day, the buzzing of the bees in this tree and the many other lilacs is super-loud. Makes me miss the frogs, which are quiet now. Just the red-winged blackbirds are constantly ringing their bicycle bells in my back yard.

And now the day is coming to a close. I've had a piece of cold chicken for supper and one of those Palm Bay cocktails (or two) for dessert. I've talked to Dad on the phone; he was making himself a spinach salad.

When Scott gets home, if he doesn't go straight back to installing cupboards, maybe we'll make some popcorn and watch some telly together.

Life is good, I tell ya. 

Off to an Auction

The sheltered workshop has opened a secondhand clothing store on Main Street, and once in a while, when I take a break from work and need something to do with myself, I stop in and flip through the clothing on hangers.

Once I picked up a brand new nightie for about $4. It was a "large" but I thought "It's a nightie, it'll be fine," and it is. Not only is it fine, but it is light, airy, and has pretty lace and other sewn features, and I have been wearing it quite a lot on warm nights. I'm wearing it now.

This week I spent $24 and came home with six new items: five shirts and one set of pyjamas. I removed the tags and laid them out on my bed for a photo (thinking always of you!) before folding for drawers or slipping onto hangers.

I lay in bed the next morning, propped up with a book and my cup of black coffee, and was so delighted by the sight of the red-checked shirt in the doorless closet. Clearly I am a lover of the colour, yet do not wear it nearly often enough.

***

There is an auction sale in Margo this morning. It starts in 40 minutes and Scott wants to go. He hopes there will be a tiller for sale. I'll pop over to my aunt Shirley's for a quick visit while he's there.

Then it will be back here so he can keep at the cupboards. He picked up a new sink in town an hour ago and should have everything he needs.

Palm Bay all the way!

Jeebus!
These things are dangerous:

They go down WAY too fast.

AUNT RETA:
HAVE YOU BOOKED YOUR TICKETS YET?

On the War Path

Out of the office by five o'clock on production day. Woo hoo!
Home, and Scott is working on the cupboards. Woo hoo!

The ants, which apparently had a little nest under the kitchen cupboard, discovered my ant annihilator: Borax and sugar. It takes a day or two, but once they've filled up on this concoction and taken it back to their nest, it's usually the last you see of them. I asked Scott how many were still alive when he ripped the cupboard apart. Just a few, he said.

They are gone and so is this cupboard.

Unfortunately some tiny red ants in the pots on my deck are doing all too well. My attempts at poisoning them without poisoning anything else haven't worked. The cornmeal sprinkled on top of the soil hasn't done the trick either. I like to think these methods decimated their numbers, and maybe it's true, but there's a ways to go.

What next? Do they make an Uzi for this?
Keep in mind this is an organic farm. No fooling around; no Roundup or chemical spray.

Layabouts

There am I, slaving away in the flowerbed, while Ducky and Jenna lounge nearby on the grass.

The poppies have begun to bloom and are quite stunning across the breadth of the garden.

My breakfast oatmeal is cooking; I have to set the stove timer, or I'll forget about it.

I'm thinking a lot about a friend who is dying, who expects to go any day now.
Helpless, ineffectual am I, not even knowing what to say, unable to express my own feelings.
It's her daughter's birthday today and she wanted to live to celebrate it with her, but didn't think she would. She has, though! I am not surprised at all.

I wish there was a way to make a person feel the depth of one's care and concern, one's esteem, but words fall far too short.

Ellen: I've just approved a comment from you, and it has disappeared! Anyway, I hope you soon have the opportunity to bake some bread. It's pretty satisfying, any way you slice it. 

Tree Stump Fairy House

Sheila is making a fairy garden.

Here's an idea I like and may implement somewhere, someday ...

If you do it, Sheila, let me know!

If I ever see a fairy, I'll certainly report it here on my blog.

Maybe.

As Dad would say:
"Kathy, you know what they say about people who (see ghosts, talk to themselves, whatever) ... ."

This, That and T'Other Thing

We went to a wiener roast on Sunday afternoon with Faye and Rick's family. Their daughter and her hubby were there with their twin girls, four months old. Their great-aunt had given them these dandy bottle-holders, which worked like the dickens:

The girlysues with their "boppy pillows."

And now ... it's back to work for me, for the next three days.
I've got the slowcooker ready to be plugged in, making a meatloaf for supper tonight.
The arborite has arrived, so I have to get the lower cabinets emptied. Not this morning, though; I hoped to be at the office already, and still have to bath and dress and wash the dishes before leaving.

Arborite waiting patiently in guest room.

One day last week, Everett and I went out for a meal together. He always has the same thing: a grilled cheese sandwich and french fries. He opens the sandwich and carefully lines up the fries on the cheese before replacing the top slice of bread.

My iPhone battery had been draining quickly and he tried to figure out why, since no one else could.

I had taken the phone to the place where it was purchased, and a clerk there turned off every app she could think of that might suddenly have started draining the battery. Why? I don't use any of the apps and there had been no problem till now. Thanks to Everett, we figured out that I had set the Display to always be on, and that was the culprit. Not that I had set the display like this on purpose! Simply that I hadn't known what I was doing.