Bloom's Begun

The oriental poppies are strutting their stuff throughout the wide curve of my garden.

18June2010Fri

Sharp rap from the living room window; I rush out of the office and see a woodpecker in what strikes me as its death throes on the grass. Throwing on my plaid jacket and a pair of gardening gloves, I hurry out to get it to safety, though we don’t see the cats around the house often these days and old Casper doesn’t bother it.
But its eye is half closed when I get there, and lifeless. It’s dead.
I cry. I apologize.
I stomp my foot, shake my fist. Fucking windows!

It’s okay (and more normal than not) to feel sorrow and regret at the senseless death of a bird, but I’m a little surprised at the tears.

I don’t know why I’m surprised.

***

I go out with some dried carnations, looking for a place to put them. There is an earthenware jug hanging on the stump of an oak tree’s branch; I go to stick them in and notice what appear to be leaves inside. Before emptying the jug I peer more closely. Could a small bird have built a nest in there? It’s dark inside the jug; is that a bird’s beak I see? An outline takes shape — it’s a mouse.
I shriek repeatedly and march rapidly away across the lawn, knees high.
Then I laugh at myself.

Speaking of Old Things

See those wooden utensils and tools stuck into the tiny glass vase? Those were carved for my great-grandmother by her grandfather when she was a little girl.

My aunt Reta made the beautiful needlepoint for me.
Sister Joan brought the purply vase from Australia.
The oil lamp came from my grandmother's home.
Sister Karen gave me the rose.

Spoiled; that's me. I have got stuff galore. So much, in fact, that I have taken to hanging the excess out in the oak trees or setting things on the ground beneath them because there's no room in the house.


***

More rain. This is not good.
I'd better go check the basement.

I'll need these:














Found this photo here and had to laugh because I've always said, due to their width (no I don't have webbed toes — yet), that I have duck feet.

World-Noted Women

Uncle Carl gave me this old book, published in 1857.
It is laying, for now, on an old crocheted doily (made by my grandmother sometime before 1966) on an old table (probably a wash-table from back in the day) next to my grandmother's old leaden candlesticks and an old oil lamp.

Carl remarked that if you look at the drawings of all the women mentioned in this book, you notice that they all look strangely the same:
















Look at those dirty little gardeners' fingers!

In other news, we've had rain and grey here again, but yesterday after school Everett mixed the last of the peat moss with some black soil and filled the last of my pots and voila I got the last of my flowers planted. So it can rain all it wants, as far as my garden is concerned, although yesterday at noon I scooped up, with a dustpan, one-and-a-half five-gallon pailsful of water from the basement floor. If it rains more ... oh it hardly bears thinking about.

And in yet more news, I've had a letter stating that one of the local group homes has a bedroom for Emil on September 1st. Thus I begin the slide into Empty Nesthood. Everett writes his final exams next week and then we are through with public school once and for all. He has no plans beyond going to Gord's (his dad's) for the month of July, so I'm not sure when or if my nest ever will actually be empty.

And speaking of nests, yesterday as I stood on the deck and looked out over the slough (that's pronounced SLOO, for those who don't know) I saw a mother duck on the water, followed by a train of about six fluffy little ducklings. The simplest and most common things give me the greatest pleasure.

The Usual Stuff

Minatory: threatening, menacing
Attaché: a person appointed to an ambassador’s staff, usually with a special sphere of activity (also, an attaché case)
Febrile: of or relating to fever; feverish; 2. Nervous or excited, as if by fever
Quinquaginarian: someone in their fifties
Valetudinarian: an invalid or someone always ill

Who’da thunk I didn’t know all these words? The second, I assumed I knew the meaning of, but didn’t. Have been reading a biography of Pauline, the sister of Napoleon, and coming across words I’m not sure of. I love my dictionary. Thanks Joan! One of the best gifts, ever: The Canadian Oxford. I've nearly worn it out. It sits right here on my desk, within easy reach. While reading this biography the other night I kept having to get out of bed and come to the office because there's not enough room on the night table for this heavy tome.

Slept in a bit, but Leonard (Paulson) called for Scott, hoping to borrow a brad nailer, so I’m up and in Mom’s housecoat for warmth. Went out to the step to drink my coffee since it’s sunny, but alas the wind is cool and the step is shady, so I’ve retreated to the office.

Got most of my bedding plants into the ground yesterday. Just a few more to do, with luck tonight. Rain was forecast for tomorrow, dammit. There is still water coming into the basement here although Scott thinks it’s stopped over at the other place. People are having the same problems all around the countryside; this area has been declared a disaster zone due to the water. Also, Karen's husband and son bought a septic-tank-cleaning truck for their lake development and were immediately put to work day and night due to the town of Wadena (and Foam Lake as well, if I'm remembering correctly) not being able to handle all the water. Word was that everyone in town might soon have sewer backup in their basements. Oh, the calamity. My fingers are crossed that doesn't happen. Here, at least it's only water. That other must be terrible.

Saw a beaver in the slough behind the house yesterday, for the second time. Oh oh. If trees start going down, we’ll have to kill it somehow or risk losing our shelterbelt on the south side of the yard. Apparently Violet, the lady of the house before me, shot the last one that was spotted here. I can't see myself out on the deck with a rifle, but ya never know! With luck the water out here is deep enough that the beaver won't feel the need to dam it up. A pair of red-winged blackbirds was making a hell of a fuss at the edge of the water, which is what made me pay closer attention to what was happening over there.

Also, a deer has left its tracks in the garden and its mark on my flowers. It ate the tops of my painted daisies. So much for my guard dog! Scott said he saw a deer come out of the south driveway one day last week and I think I was even out in the yard at the time.

Rick came over yesterday afternoon and he and Scott moved the extremely heavy doghouse to the south side of the house; closer to the garden, and closer to the house so Casper’s more likely to use it. Now she mostly lies under the caraganas on the north edge of the lawn, in the shade. I left Aunt Jean’s little battery-operated radio on in the garden beneath an upside-down pot next to a daylily. Hope it keeps the deer away.

Dad came over Saturday for supper and spent a few hours at the kitchen table visiting with us. He could hardly wait to leave for Kelowna today. Most of his friends are busy working and what’s he supposed to do with himself? I know that feeling of wanting to be home, doing my own thing. Guess I come by it honestly enough; I feel it myself anytime I'm away for more than a day.

Well, office hours have begun so I'd best get to work.

Stupendous Skippers

Check THIS out -- assuming you have high speed internet:

"It's at a Navy basketball half-time show....
The thing to note are the spectators as the show
starts and how their attitude changes as the
show progresses and concludes....

Click on site below."

http://blip.tv/play/Ae+9MJOSSA

House Concert

Eliza Doyle, Melissa Nygren, and Joey Lorer
(slide guitar player and drummer not shown)

Don is a mover and shaker in the local arts community and has been actively promoting Wadena as a host for house concerts. Heard of them? Performers come out and give a concert in your home; you invite your friends and ask them for a donation, which goes to the performer; you give the performer a meal and a bed for the night. In return you get a couple hours of live entertainment without having to drive too far (we do a lot of driving to the city, from out here, for medical appointments with specialists and to buy things we can't get in our retail establishments, and for concerts by big-name musicians, so every chance we have Not to do that is appreciated). The performer, often on tour, gets to add a small gig between scheduled ones at larger venues, meet some new people, get a home-cooked meal, grow his fan base, and put a few dollars in his pocket.

I'm a member of the Shadow House Concerts group out here, but Don does all the organizing, all the work, all the promotion -- well, everything. Thanks, Don. All I am is a cheerleader, basically. I haven't even hosted a concert yet. Been telling Don that once we got into the new house ... but now that we're here, with a living room that only seats six, big heavy furniture that's a pain in the ass to move and is squeezed into the room as it is, and water problems (among others), I still don't feel very hostessy. Actually, not in the least.

Apparently I'm not alone in being slow to invite people into my house, because there aren't too many others stepping up to host a house concert, either. Fortunately Don is a member of the Anglican church (God's house, I guess, if you're a believer) in town, and that's where the house concert on Saturday night was held. It's a great little space: only holds about 50 in its pews, but has super acoustics because the walls and ceiling are all wood, except for the "stage" part where the clergyperson does his shtick.

The band, Heartstrings, came out from Saskatoon. One of the lead singers is the daughter of a gal I knew in high school (Shirley Nygren; some of you might be familiar with the name) and when she introduced the bass player, I recognized the last name right away and thought "He's gotta be a relative of Julie's! As a matter of fact, I seem to recall her saying she had a nephew who ...." And that was the case, as I found out after the show when I went up to talk to him about it.

For you former Katimavik readers, I'm talking about the Julie who was our group leader when we were in Kedgwick, New Brunswick. And Julie, now you know -- I did meet your nephew and had a nice little chat with him before we left.

No doubt something will come up between then and now, but the next "house concert" we have lined up is Doc MacLean on Oct 13th and it looks like he'll be performing in the church yet again (he was here with Big Dave McLean last fall). You can have a listen to some of the songs on Doc's recent CD, Narrow House, by clicking here and then clicking on the "Audio" link on the webpage. I am not sure what Doc calls his unique style of music (Delta blues? You'll have to edumacate me, Doc) but this CD has been in regular rotation on my player since he was here.

Brief Glimpse

We have been reduced to taping newspapers onto the living room window in order to keep birds from flying into it. Is this not lovely? Until I find something else to use, something prettier, it will have to do. It works. Last week I found a dead wren near the house and was so disappointed, because a pair had been building a nest in the little birdhouse I hung in one of the oak trees.

Unfortunately we hadn't hung paper on the dining room window yet, so this little barn swallow ended up on the ground. Fortunately the old dog didn't bother it before I got outside to the rescue, so it sat on Everett's hand for some time, and pooped on his pants, before flying off.





***

It stops raining just long enough for me to take a stroll in my red rubber boots. This may well be a disaster year for area farmers, who must seed by the 15th if they hope to get a crop before freeze-up. Something like that. Not good.

***

Dad's flying out tomorrow for Aunt Irene's funeral on Thursday, and will be staying till Monday. I teased him: Five whole days! You're slowing down!
That's my dad; doesn't stay in any one place for long.

***

Everett stayed home yesterday with a stuffed-up nose and head, but doesn't feel tired, he says. I made him stay in bed yesterday morning, but today he's up doing dishes (my god I will miss that child when he goes) and if that doesn't tucker him out I may just enlist him to make granola while I stay at the computer and work all day. Can't do anything outside anyway, in this weather.

Did get the newest rose bush dug in yesterday, and transplanted the painted daisies Karen brought me from the city, and also added three purple coneflowers to the two that survived last fall's extreme freeze before snow. It's no fun digging in mud but these little greenies need to get into the ground.

I have quite a few left to plant, but they will have to wait yet longer. I came into the house after about an hour in the garden yesterday, just beat. I am too young to be that tired after a mere hour's labour! Aren't I? Yeah! However I awoke at 1:30 a.m. needing to get up and take a pill for a migraine, so I shall blame the fatigue on that; usually when a migraine's coming on, I'm exhausted and can't figure out why.

And now, to work. Sitting at my computer work, that is. If you can call it work. I get paid for it, but would probably do it for free. It's good to love your job. Mine is, in case you don't know, as a subject editor for The Canadian Encyclopedia. It's a great resource for kids' projects for school, and a fount of information about all things to do with Canada: our people, our history, our culture, you name it.

Day in a Nutshell

Still Life on Fridge?
Joan was giving my new camera a workout.

The sun shone most of the day. I was out early, loading our sick dog into the back of the half-ton to take her to the vet, one last time. I could barely force myself to go through the motions, but had to. Sat out in the truck afterward and had a little weep, then carried on.

Picked up two gallons of honey from my trusty supplier. Cath, one is for you, so don't buy any.

Took a loaf of bread over to Uncle Pete. Found out he was overseas for six years during the Second World War. Aunt Irene's funeral is on Thursday.

Went and saw Grandma. The aides said her new clothes all fit and looked so cute they called her Doris Day and she thought that was funny.

Stopped at the Co-op for groceries and dog food. Bought a chicken salad wrap for lunch.

Thought about visiting Cara and the kids for a few minutes but figured sympathy might get me started again. My niece has a soft spot for dogs and knew Chloe was a sweetheart.

Headed down the highway toward home. The sun still shone, so I made a U-turn and backtracked to the greenhouse, and picked up another tray of plants: a castor bean, a rayflower, some yellow daisies, some pink ones, some oregano, some gazanias. Cathy I almost bought a blue centurea but talked myself out of it. Don't ask me why. Should've got it. Gave the last bite of the chicken wrap to a miniature pug who came to see me while I perused the trees and bushes on display.

Jiggity Jog.

Worked at the computer; took short breaks every hour to pull dandelions out of the flower garden and transplant volunteer violas to the front.

Starving, ate, zonked, off to bed with my books.

The Ugly Sisters

I'm on the left, trying not to look my usual frowny-faced self; Karen is in the middle (doesn't she look evil? I'm sure she's up to something); and Joan, the baby, is on her way back to Kelowna.


***

A phone call from a cousin today shared the sad news that my great-aunt, Irene, died last night of what was probably a massive heart attack. It seems to run in the Engdahl family (that's Dad's mom's side), as this is the way a good many of them have left us: among them Dad's mom, who died suddenly at age 47; her sister, Aunt Ingrid; and the list goes on for some distance. Dad himself came close to having a heart attack in his early fifties; he had an angioplasty in the nick of time, 17 years ago. It's no wonder Mom started urging me to "Get your heart checked" the minute I turned 40.

So there will be another sad family get-together in a week or so. I'm glad I got to see, talk with and hug Aunt Irene just weeks ago, after [her brother] Uncle Walfrid's funeral. Right now I'm mostly feeling for my cousin Mavis, who will be devastated at the loss of her mother. It will be a terrible shock. Auntie Irene was in her early eighties, but she was sharp, spry, and healthy as far as we knew.

I phoned Dad with the news. "The family has lost a comedian," was one remark he made.

Bus Accident

It was about 8 a.m. when the phone call came.
"A half-ton truck pulled out in front of me."
That was the driver. "I won't be picking up the kids this morning."
There were no kids on the bus yet and no one was hurt.

Old Hippy

Check out this photo of an old "hippy" in Sweden ... click here.

Sourdough

I can only use one cup of sourdough starter at a time, so had to settle for a small batch of bread. This time. When I find a recipe I like, I'll put another batch of starter together so there will be enough to make six loaves.

This is called egg and yogurt bread. It is moist and soft (I sliced the crusts myself, before baking, to differentiate these loaves from the others in the freezer), and besides whole wheat flour it contains wheat bran, wheat germ, and rye flour.

Alas it's not the flavour I'm craving these days.

Whenever possible I put sesame and sunflower seeds in our daily bread, but lately it seems bland to me — even when toasted — which is why I decided to make sourdough for the first time in years. It has its own unique flavour, which is the one that got me baking whole wheat breads back in the day.

However ... I'll try something different next week, when it's time to replenish the starter with some fresh flour and water.

Thinkin' maybe a raisin rye, which is not a sourdough but might satisfy my desire for serious taste.

Mosquito Repellent

Several years ago I read that if you eat bananas, mosquitoes are attracted to you. If you eat citrus fruits instead, mosquitoes are repelled by the smell of your skin. So for the past few years, in spring I stopped buying bananas and didn't start again till after the first fall freeze, when the mosquitoes were done for. And I ate an orange every day.

It didn't do the trick, though. Mosquitoes still liked my blood.

A couple weeks ago I attended the funeral for my great-uncle in Lintlaw, and the next day went back to visit with some relatives who had come to Saskatchewan for the occasion. Dad's cousin Mavis (that makes her my first cousin once-removed, I've been told; not my second cousin) was among the group sitting in a shady circle under a tree. The mosquitoes attacked me immediately. I had eaten a banana for lunch, having given up on my "No bananas from May to Sept" method.

Mavis told us that she and her parents had tested out the banana/mosquito theory and her mom, the one who had just eaten a banana, was viciously chewed upon by mosquitoes while Mavis and her dad, who had eschewed the curvy fruits that day, were ignored. It worked for them; the results were immediate.

She also said that if you take Vitamin B1 the mosquitoes won't like you. So I went straight out and bought some, and put it on the kitchen table so I'll remember to take it. It's been a week or so and so far the mosquitoes still bite, but not as much as they might. I'll report again later.

Right now, I have to go out to the correction line to meet my sister Joan, who can't remember how to get here. She's been in Saskatoon since Wednesday taking a photography course, and has rented a car to come out here and visit her sisters et al. Better go, before she gets there and drives on past if I'm not there waiting!

Get Stuffed

Mistakenly, I thought at age 21 Emil might be willing to let go of some of the stuffed animals he never looks at (to my knowledge). They were stuffed behind the bed, stuffed in the closet, stuffed on the shelf in the bedroom at the old house. But he insisted on bringing them along, and he piles them all on his bed every morning and throws them in a heap on a chair every night.

The stuffed animal of honour is the sheep that Jane Siberry gave him after a concert at the Manhattan Ballroom outside Saskatoon one frigid winter night:






















Joan, thank you for the tip on placing photos easily! It works like a charm.

***

Yesterday marked five years since Mom's death. I had, a week late this year as well as last, found a memoriam verse and emailed it to the Wadena News in the morning. I had shed a tear while thinking about Mom, but wasn't marking the anniversary by feeling low or even particularly solemn; had almost forgotten the significance of the actual date. My aunt Shirley met me in town for lunch and I did some running around and got home late in the afternoon with groceries and was just about to put my feet up for a minute when Joanne called, wondering whether I was having an okay day or not.

I always like thinking and talking about Mom, so the call was welcome. I love that Joanne misses her too, and that she cares enough to check in with me. How nice is that? What can I say. It's good to bring Mom into the present in whatever way we can. After five years, the uncomfortable thing is that time seems to be taking Mom further away rather than healing the loss; as if I've gone on, and Mom's been left in the past.

A May Day

Sourdough starter, ready to use tomorrow.

It's been icy cold and windy for several days, so I've been indoors most of the time. I've dragged bedding plants, tomato pots and the rose bush back into the porch, and covered some flowers last night and tonight that I apparently jumped the gun by transplanting already.

You'd think being inside would mean lots of time to update here, wouldn't you? It should work that way; can't say why it hasn't. Nothing happening? Sure, that makes sense.

And here's the little lost puppy, whose owner was found within a day and came and picked him up. We almost hated to see him go.

And last but not least, see the horrible furniture we bought in August. Microfibre that you are not supposed to scotchguard, that holds onto lint, hair and everything else that floats by, and you can't get it off with a clothes brush, a vacuum cleaner, or a sticky brush without going to great extremes. Like tweezers, and pulling things off one at a time. Even then you have to work at it. I imagine that unless a solution is found, this stuff will be hoofed out as soon as we can convince ourselves we've gotten our money's worth from it. It wasn't expensive, fortunately. But it sure as hell was expensive considering the garbage that it is. We didn't buy it from Sears, by the way, but they have it in one of their sale catalogues. Don't buy it. Or, if you are Super Housekeeper and can suggest a solution, please do.

Heard on the radio today that the chemicals used to make green paint are dangerous to humans. Some to make certain other colours are, too. Damn, we're screwed.

Can anyone tell me how to put pictures into an entry conveniently when there is more than one? Man, I hate being dumb. I upload them all, but then add some text, need to move them, and they don't let me drag them over to where I want — well, sometimes they do and sometimes they don't. And sometimes I just say to hell with it. I'm sure there is a simple and obvious solution that is too simple and obvious for my small but powerful brain to grasp alone. Usually the answer comes to me the moment I hit Publish Post, so I realize within moments what a doofus I am, and so does everyone else!

Tonight, my photos keep disappearing as I work on this entry. Think I'll upload that furniture pic one last time, then go to bed and read.

Found Dog

A truckload of wood mulch awaits my bidding. And my back.

It's been unloaded onto the garden and I planned to start spreading it today. But it's raining. More delay. That's all right. It's never all done and I'm learning to let that be okay. There's no choice anyway.

A young dog wandered into the yard today when the rain began to fall; our adolescent Chloe was growling and snarling from up on the step for some time before I went out to see what was up. Here it was this pup cowering against the building, trying to keep dry.

We've phoned all the neighbours and no one knows where the lost mutt might have come from. We live about six miles from town so if no owner is found, the verdict will be that someone dropped the animal off out here. They say it happens all the time with cats and litters of kittens.

Black with a brown nose and a red collar, and maybe six months old. Anyone?

***

Family news:
Emil and I ran into Heather in the Co-op store this week and she followed us out here on her way home. Good thing Emil was with me or I would likely have missed her altogether.

Recycle Old Sweaters

Are these not wonderful ideas?

"Pocketbook" pillows for children and the pretty ladies for pretty ladies?

I came across these somewhere and have misplaced the url; sorry.

Sweet Sara

Sara stuck under the front step

Sara Doodle the Dumpling Dog is a five-year-old blue heeler/border collie cross who is terrified of thunder. When area farmers use scare cannon to keep the hordes of geese out of their fields, Sara will do anything to get into your house and hide in your basement. This is the same dog that made a wide berth around me one afternoon when I'd been snapping my bubblegum.

The other morning when the boys went out to catch the bus, Everett informed me that Sara was unable to get out from beneath the step. She'd managed to get herself in there somehow so should've been able to get out, but apparently not.

Just a few shovelfuls of soil to deepen the hole did the trick, and she was soon out, wagging her tail and running around the yard with Chloe Doodle. She spent the day lying on the grass with our two dogs and then headed home to the old place a mile down the road, where we moved from, in time to greet the kids there when they got dropped off by the schoolbus.

Winkn Blinkn n Nod

"The boys are happy."

Three bulls were taken out of wet corrals (or wherever they were) and put onto the grass in our pasture.

I walk out to the fence every day and lean over it, tell them how handsome they are, and pretty much get ignored.

I don't go over the fence when they're in there, except to take this photo; and there's an electric fence inside the other fence, so I kid myself that it is any protection if I get behind it fast. It's not; a pissed-off animal this size would walk right through it. Same with the permanent fence I suppose, as far as that goes. Anyway, I'm nervous around these big beasts, but am told they're more scared of me than the other way around. Good, but I don't care.

So we're wary of each other.

WAS Unidentified Bird NOW Harris's Sparrow

This little fella has been at the feeder outside the living room window for several days, but I can't find him in my Birds of Saskatchewan book.

With luck, a shout out to my favourite group of bird lovers will bring a swift answer to the question: Who is this?

*** Thanks to those who knows, the bird has been identified as a Harris's sparrow in breeding plumage. He'll be on his way to a northern forest to start a family.

HEAR HIS SONG at this page: click here.

Wednesday

Just a couple more minutes in the office after supper.

Finally we've had a gorgeous spring day! Finally I used the hoe! Take that, blasted weeds!

Note the new feature on the right: a little bit of tarot.

Nighty Night

The front of my nightshirt.

I am reduced to using the photo booth on my iMac to come up with an image for today. Still learning how to get pictures off the new camera. Long dull story I won't go into.

Yes I'm ready for bed, and that's where I should be, instead of sitting here reading onscreen.

Started The Letters of F. Scott Fitzgerald this morning. Looks promising.

Where does a girl have to go to find painted daisies around here? There were none at my favourite local greenhouse, so I drove an hour-and-a-half to the one where I bought painted daisies last year. (Not enough. I want more.) And they didn't have any. Where to, next?

Last year's painted daisies:


It was not a wasted trip by any means, as I met two girlyfriends for lunch and then came home with two trays full of bedding plants. The Flower Frenzy has begun.

Some Mothers

My great-great grandmother, Mary Jane Walker. At Portage la Prairie, Manitoba.

Reta, who would the little girl standing in front of her have been?






















My sister Karen with a portrait of our great-grandmother, Caroline Engene. Some serious genes going on between those two. Karen is at least 20 years older than the lady in the oval frame, but still the spittin' image:










The Wendy Klein print reminds me of Mom, because of the joyful noise those gals are making:

Cold Fingers

Perhaps the last photos taken with the camera we bought for ourselves for Christmas 2002.

Yesterday on the phone:
"Where are you?"
"Yorkton."
"Where?"
"At the mall."
"Doing?"
"Just met up with C and J and the baby; had coffee with F; thought I'd look for something for you."
"Me? Oh, you want ideas. I always like a new CD."
"I was looking at digital cameras."
"Really?"
Alpha Dog (pfft) described two—a larger camera with a fancy lens, and a smaller one, half the size of a cigarette package. You may shake your head at me, but I preferred the little one (unless I could have both, but that would be greedy!). I won't carry a big beauty with me on walks or in my purse, and that's that for that. Better pictures, or fewer pictures: no contest. Backwards as that is.

Carl, your fresh flowers (roses) got to O.Z. one afternoon this week. It was well worth my while to play delivery girl, because on top of the customary hot beverage I was offered, Lily had been making cabbage rolls when I phoned. Guess what we had for supper that night (the frying onions were to go with the perogies)(note to self, phone Mary to order more)(I chopped up two-and-a-half onions; do we like onions much around here?)





















Emil and I had planned to go to town for a garage sale and the Mother's Day farmers' market today, but it's frigid out there; the garage sale has probably been cancelled and there's nothing I really need at the market, so that plan isn't so appealing anymore.

Everett was thinking ahead when he took shortening out of the fridge last night to soften up for his cookie-manufacturing efforts this morning; he's out there right now, still in his housecoat, mixing up dough and listening to Quirks and Quarks on the radio.

My fingers are cold.

***

Everett just brought me a wooden spoon full of cookie dough.
Now Emil's just come into the office to kiss my cheek.
It's Mother's Day every day around here.

I Love My Library

Truman Capote: "I knew over four hundred of them [multiple murderers.]"

Lawrence Grobel: Is there anything they all have in common?

Truman Capote: "Eighty per cent of multiple murderers have tattoos. Interview after interview after interview, the person always turned out to be tattooed, either a little bit or a lot."

and

"They all believe in God."

Banksy

To see a gallery of the graffiti artist's work around the world, click here.

Fred Penner

Emil with two of his favourite women.

Donna and her daughter have both worked with Emil at the high school as aides, and today they were out cruising and stopped in. They stayed for about an hour and Emil still hasn't stopped vibrating.

During the course of the conversation I was reminded how careful I have to be when I speak to Emil. Of course I'm already aware that I mustn't say anything I wouldn't want repeated — word for word — but today was an example of why I have to think twice about figures of speech and colloquialisms and such, too.

Donna and her husband took Emil to a Brooks and Dunn concert in Saskatoon a couple years ago and, music lover that he is, Emil mentioned that the duo is performing in the city again tonight and he'd sure like to go but alas, has no tickets. He went on to talk to the ladies about James Taylor and Fred Penner, the children's entertainer, adding vehemently "If you don't like Fred Penner there's something wrong with you!"

Naturally I had to say that everyone has different taste in music so there's not something "wrong" with you if someone's music isn't up your alley.

"Yes there is, Mom! You said 'There's something wrong with anyone who doesn't like Fred Penner!' "

But - but - but - I didn't mean it literally ... try explaining that to Emil! I'm not sure he gets it. Now I remember that conversation though. Maybe I was right in the first place. Maybe there IS something wrong with you if you don't like Fred. I mean, what's not to like?

Click here and put your cursor on Fred there, in the middle. He'll sing you a tune.

Fred was playing and singing for kids and their parents when my boys were small. Now that they're 17 and 21, Fred has been touring the country and playing in university bars. In a radio interview he said these university students were all kidlets back in the day, and when he plays the bars they know all the words and sing along and it's a wild fun time. I believe it. What's not to love about these songs? And imagine a bunch of inebriated twenty-somethings who can sing along. How often do you find that nowadays? I mean, that people actually know the words to songs and can join in and enjoy themselves.

Fred Penner saved my skin on many a road trip with Emil and Everett. Between him and Sharon, Lois and Bram, all I had to do when a kid got fussy in his car seat was plunk in a cassette tape and voila, instant contentment from the back seat. Sweet relief in the front. It even worked if I had no cassette handy; I'd heard the songs enough to know them myself, so I'd just have to start singing. Every parent needs a tool like that one in her brat-busting kit.

Everett Does the Turd Tour

Another reason I thank heaven for kids living at home: we have two farm dogs with no damn manners.

Little Miss Honestly, Erin (see my favourites in the sidebar) has tagged me to do a quizzie thing. I am no good at these but I did enjoy Erin's, so here goes:

Ten Random Things You Don't Need to Know About Me:
1. I turn my nose up at fried egg yolks that are overcooked or broken.
2. I feel guilty for a moment when I kill a mosquito or squish a woodtick. Was it really necessary? Hmm?
3. I will swallow a baseball before I will cry in public.
4. I wear wool socks.
5. Thong.
6. I love the colour fuchsia.
7. I found this image on a blog this morning and felt like I was looking into a mirror no one else can see into.






From the Bogwitch's webpage. See the link to it in her comments below this entry.
8. I paint my toenails in summer and wear two silver toe-rings year round. Crows like shiny things.
9. Jesus Christ Who Cares? Heh.
10. I admit, I do. I love to read this stuff about other people. Anybody here wear toe-rings? Some of you probably have facial piercings and such. Not me. Having my ears pierced was enough trauma.
11. Can't cheat, have to list ten:
12. I'm running out of things to tell and there are some you'll never know. Never. NEVER!
13. My chequing account never, ever balances. Pain in the ass.
14. I don't mind playing cribbage.

Bogwitch has a meme-thing at her blog that would be fun to do among people you've spent time with. Like, Cathy, maybe I would tag you because we know each other so well.

Tuesday, I Meant Tuesday

Taken from the living room window just now.

I love it.

Mostly because I don't have to go out in it, and snow means there's no pressure to go out and work in the garden.

***

Wow, Pat, thanks for this link:
http://www.hornbyeagles.com/webcam.htm
How fascinating is this, to have sitting open on my desktop?
A bald eagle sits atop her nest and we're looking right in on her from behind; she swivels her head, she adjusts her position, she picks at some moss (well it could get dull after a while, sitting there; baby must be asleep). We hear her moving; we hear the traffic below. It's noisier than where I live. Boats on the water, maybe. Now some crows or gulls. A fly has landed on the nest. Don't suppose she'll bother with it.

Luck of the Draw

On the table next to my desk

8:02pm
“Woohoo, I do have some luck!” I said out loud to myself after hanging up the phone. Marilou called early this morning to tell me I’d won the first-prize draw from the greenhouse – a 12-inch potted petunia. So I guess I’ll have a petunia after all. I’d decided not to buy any annuals this year because I saved seed from calendula, zinnias, cosmos and poppies in the fall. But I also know I’ll see the old standbys as I stroll the greenhouse aisles and pick some up in spite of myself, for instant colour in the garden.
So I’ll have at least one lonely little petunia in my onion patch thanks to Althea, now 7, who pencilled my name and phone number on a scrap of paper and stuck it into a plastic pail with the others while I sipped black coffee from a styrofoam cup, ate an iced doughnut, and squeezed down the aisles of greenery to see what her mother was offering for sale this year. All the usuals, but it was so miserable outside I wasn’t in the mood to load up on six-packs of flowers. I approved the two-tone rosebush my sweetie liked and had offered to buy for me, and that was enough. When we get some warm weather I’ll do a proper shop.
For now, I’m hauling two huge, leafy potted tomatoes and the rosebush out of the porch and onto the step when the sun’s shining, and worrying that they’re getting chilled by the icy wind. “Wilt a little,” I said to them, “if it’s too cold for you out here. Brrr. I’m going back in.”
Yes of course I talk to my plants. Don’t you?
At tea time I went out and stood under the sun with my travel mug to look down at the weeds that are growing like themselves, and then up at the birds. There were six hawks circling high above my head and calling, to each other I presume. Six! Could that be a set of parents and their offspring from last year? A wild guess. These didn't look like the usual red-tailed hawks I see everywhere I go, but they might have been. Hard to tell from so far beneath.
The fuchsia peony that was ruthlessly dug up and transplanted last spring, before leafing out and then drying up, is poking a red tip from the ground. Yay! You were right, Maggie -- it made it. The shasta daisies are making an appearance this week. In this cold, I wonder why. Guess they know what they're doing. Plants can be trusted to grow no matter what you do to them, it seems.

We should have a litter of kittens here any day now, too. Kiersten Kat is starting to look like she's got a cardbox box in her belly. Wonder where she'll have them; in the loft? in the toolshed? in the doghouse? Never know, with cats. Looking forward to it though. That is, if Kiersten remains safely on the job. Every year Everett finds a litter of kittens near death, starved and freezing, their mother disappeared; and guess who ends up with them in her house, helping feed them a milk formula with eye droppers and wiping their wee bums with a damp cloth? You have to, or they won't "void." Yeah. I don't look forward to that; or to the thought that once Everett leaves home, I'll be doing it by myself. Kids can be pretty handy to have around.

It's Cold Out There

5:09pm
A little pot of tea is brewing on the countertop. When it’s ready I’ll pour a cup and sit beside Everett on the couch and watch him play Halo or whatever godawful game he’s got on his x-box. He loves it when I observe; I know this because he starts narrating. However, I still don’t understand the attraction of games that seem to do nothing but shoot at and destroy targets. I guess I’m missing the strategic aspects of the games that hold players’ interest.
Watching him play will bore me to tears within two minutes but I’ll hold out till the first cup is empty, anyway. It’s what mothers do. Isn’t it? Show interest in their children’s activities?

I’ve been at the old house twice today, managing loads of laundry in the washer and dryer. Went to Marilou’s greenhouse (I wore my ski pants and my winter jacket; there were snowflakes falling through the air) to pick out the rosebush Scott offered to buy me this year in Mom’s memory. Tanya had such a good idea when she gave me that first one, the first summer after Mom’s passing. I’ve continued the tradition and even though Mom didn’t have a favourite flower that I’m aware of, whenever I look at my roses in bloom I think of Mom and that means a lot to me.

A batch of whole wheat bread is ready to go into the oven in a few minutes. This will keep Everett happy, as he prefers homemade bread to all others, even for lunch sandwiches. Emil likes the store-bought stuff for sandwiches; thank goodness, or I’d be baking twice a week instead of once. There’s a pork roast in the oven, too, for the benefit of the serious carnivores. For me there will be cream of broccoli soup and warm buttered bread. Emil just eats anything and everything. All of it, if he can get away with that.

Well, off to sip that tea and try to understand the allure of videogames.

5:46pm
It’s not Halo, it’s Oblivion (so-called) and it’s more of a finding-magical-things game, with lots of onscreen reading and conversation. Still dull as hell to watch but Everett likes science fiction and fantasy so it’s up his alley apparently. I sat next to him and observed as his character made his way through castle corridors, stone streets and a fairy forest. And as expected, Everett narrated and I didn’t last long.

We still don't have our big TV over here, among other things; this TV (thanks Dad) is sitting on Mom's accordion case on the floor. We use it for videos (and Everett's xbox) and that's all. Pictures have yet to be hung. In a way it feels like we're still camping here. It's not cosy yet.

Snow Way!

Seen on my walk in the pasture the other day

Not today, oh no! It rained hard yesterday and snowed last night and again this morning. Sigh.

(Everett, laughs): "You wrote that just as you were actually sighing."

And then he mimicked me. Brat.

Is It Spring? Is It Winter? What?

Main Street Wadena

Alas, not today. Rain has pounded on the house all night; now it's sleet beating against the windows, and snow is forecast. All righty then! We don't live in a tipi so we have nothing to complain about. Except that I have been asked to go to town and pay some energy bills, so must venture out in this deluge. Then again, I don't have to ride a horse the six miles to town so I still can't complain. Always look on the sunny side of life, as they say in MontyPythonese.

I went along on a quick trip to the hardware store about a week ago and, as always, took a book along to read as I waited in the half-ton. However, the book wasn't even cracked open as I was too intent on people-watching. For a little town — 1200 or 1500 people — there is a lot of traffic downtown. I don't know half the people I see as they come in from miles around and, after all, Wadena isn't my hometown, but there are still a lot of familiar faces and you know what? Just as when I'm in an airport, I never, ever get bored. I can sit for hours just watching all the different people strolling by with their cellphones stuck to their ears or their little suitcases on wheels pulled behind them. Endless variety. Well it's the same on the main street of this little place.

We are still getting large flocks of noisy snowgeese passing over the yard. This picture was taken last week; today there is a green tinge on the branches of the willow tree:

What XanderCuzz (13) and Everett (17) Get Up To

1) Meet Hoolio (shouldn't that be Julio?). Xander took this photo from atop Everett's shoulders.
2) Stirring cheese sauce and straining spaghetti for supper.


They wanted to play on the x-box and their noses were out of joint when I wouldn't let them.
"It's a school day," I said; but Everett had no homework, and thought that meant—
"Hell no," I told them. "Go find something else to do. Go outside and sneak around, smoking cigarettes and drinking beer, like we did when I was a teenager."
Amazingly, they didn't really complain, although they did try to reason me out of my unreasonable stance. After all, they had no homework.
Eventually they ended up dragging sticks through the gravel on the driveway. This entertained them for a long time and then they were so pleased with it they took pictures.

Tues

Empty birdhouses. So far. I bought this set at Ten Thousand Villages for $18 or $20.

My Sidekick

Caught in the act!

That's Everett's caption for the photo.

Emil was actually asking me what was in the tube. It was icing.

One of his favourite pastimes is going to the Co-op store. While I fill a shopping cart, he strides down the aisles and says a loud "Hello!" to anyone he knows. I can hear his crutches clicking away in the distance.

To anyone he doesn't know, he says "Hello, what's your name?" and often follows it with "How old are you?"

***
Monday after school
Me: “Come to think of it, I talked to Gunnar on the phone today. He’s got a new puppy— an English pug.”
Emil: “Did you ask Gunnar to sing something for you?”
Me: “No. Why would I do that?”
Emil: “I don’t know. I just thought you might.”
Everett and I laugh, and Everett says to me across the table, “One time I mentioned that Gunnar had been here, and Emil asked if you’d made him sing.”
Emil: “Do you want to hear Gunnar sing?” He is dead earnest, but Everett and I can’t help giggling. The question seems to come out of left field.
Someone has said something to get Emil thinking along these lines, but for the life of me I can’t remember what that might have been. It was probably me, too.

Snow in April

Alexander was over yesterday, hanging out with Everett. I enlisted their muscles to carry the lawn furniture out of the shed and set it under the oak trees, whose lower branches had just been sawed off.

Wouldn't you know that this morning we'd awaken to snow and a freezing temperature.

***

A perfect day for baking bread and making granola and reading my new library book, Burmese Lessons.
If you've never enjoyed the living words of Canadian author Karen Connolly, you're in for a treat. You are drawn in from the very first sentence and within several paragraphs you care what happens next and don't want to put the book down.
I first discovered Connolly many years ago when I picked up the travel memoir of her months spent in Greece as a young woman alone. You were right there with her as she sat on the floor, leaning against the wall of a small stone building, watching goats graze and nibbling on feta cheese. After that I read her novel about a gentle, peaceful man in solitary confinement in an Asian jail for decades. And now her love affair with Burma, the Burmese people and a Burmese revolutionary.

For a full and expert review, click here.