I Like Mondays Just Fine

Red Rose tea with last fall's rosehips

     Midafternoon tea. Ahhhh... make a habit of it, if you don't already.
     Another sunny day but cool. Frost has finally gotten all the sunflowers that volunteered themselves beneath the oak trees, due to the bird feeder.
    Scott and I are getting closer to making a travel plan. It's almost impossible for him to get away, but I’m putting the screws to him  – I have to know one way or another so I can organize myself for the big trek out west. Fall is the time to visit Kelowna (if you don't like excessive heat, heavy traffic, or snowy mountain roads), so we need to get a move on.
    Last night in bed I read for a while and then put out the light and laid my head on my pillow with the moonlight streaming through the window, onto my face. So peaceful and lovely. I don’t know what thought got me started, or even if there was one (must have been), but I had an intensely sorrowful though brief cry because Mom is gone.
   This is relatively rare and always surprises me, because I haven't seen Mom for FIVE YEARS. I've been expecting to feel the pain of her death only on a more shallow level as the time goes by. But while time may heal the pain of loss in some ways, occasionally it doesn't seem to make a damn bit of difference.

Things in Trees

Home for a Bird

Finally I found a place to put this thing!

Trusty birdfeeder

Milk-cow owners who couldn't afford a fancy cream separator would pour fresh milk into this pail and in the morning the cream would be sunk to the bottom and would be drained off via the spout.

As you will see from the comments, my mistaken notion that cream is heavier than milk has been corrected. The caption beneath the pail above is a perfect example of my apparently skewed logic, which still doesn't allow me to believe that cream is lighter than milk or, for instance, that buttermilk is less fatty than milk. And yet -- cream rises to the top, so it must be lighter even though it looks thicker and heavier, as does buttermilk. I've never been able to make sense of it.

He Makes Me Laugh

Scott cuddles the baby

Ask any woman what she looks for in a man, and I can almost guarantee that in the top 3 qualities she lists you will find "A sense of humour." Apparently we women expect the poor fellows to entertain us as well as admire and cuddle us, empty the mousetraps and take out the garbage.

Last night our friends Faye and Rick came over for a few drinks and Faye was goodheartedly teasing her husband about the state of his eyes when he's "indulged" a little too much. She pointed out that one eye then appears twice the size of the other.

Scott quipped, "When your eyes look like that, Rick, it means someone is having a sexual fantasy about you right this moment."

***

Reply to Comments
Cindy – Whole wheat perogies would have to grow on a person, methinks. However, my sister Karen could give you a lesson in basic perogy-making -- she is a pro!

Whole Wheat Perogies

Everett learned to make perogies in home ec class when he was still in school, and had a little "pinching practice" when he helped me and Karen once or twice during perogy-making bees. Earlier this week he started talking about making fresh perogies, just enough for one meal, and yesterday he went for it.

Now, there is a reason most people don't use whole wheat flour to make perogies. It's heavier, and has more flavour, than white flour. But my Everett has "the touch" and although his perogies with their whole wheat casings do not taste like your average perogy, they were still delicious. His cheese/potato filling was divine. I think he could give some of our local Ukrainian babas a run for their money.

***

The song recording I promised you was uploaded to Youtube for two or three hours yesterday, only to finish off with the message that an error had occurred and I was S.O.L.
What to do? Darned if I know.
First of all, why should it take two or three hours to upload a three-minute recording? I haven't suffered through dialup for a year already!
If you are computer tech whiz, feel free to jump in here with advice. I would like to be able to share the recording. If I'm lucky Scott will spend some time figuring out where I went wrong, and will have better luck with it. He's got a hell of a lot more patience than I do when it comes to computer glitches.

***

From Love’s Alchemy, Poems from the Sufi Tradition:

Action

Regardless of how much knowledge
You might acquire,
You are still ignorant
Without action —

You would be neither scholar nor learned,
But an animal carrying books.

A donkey doesn’t know
whether it’s carrying books
or firewood.

Sa ‘di

***

8:21pm
Scott phones for a pickup from the other place and I go out and walk toward the van. It’s dark and it’s raining lightly, and the yardlight is sparkling on the grass, and for a moment I am reminded of snow and disappointed that it’s only rain. I am startled to find myself looking forward to the beauty of winter.

A Night Out In Wa-Town

Emil with Doc during the intermission, when we all lumbered down to the church basement for cookies and coffee.

I thought I'd try out my camera's videomaking capabilities, and managed a not-too-bad recording of Mr MacLean onstage, though the lighting wasn't very good. It is presently being uploaded to Youtube but I'll add it here later for your listening pleasure, blues lovers.

Emil says he just might let his beard grow as long as Doc's.

Reply to Comments
What happened to my favourite beach? In 2007 Fishing Lake flooded due to heavier-than-usual rainfall and inadequate drainage. If you're in Canada, you saw it on the national news quite a bit that spring. Homeowners along the shoreline are still dealing with waves, on windy days, breaking up their boat launches and smashing against their back steps. It was a real mess and it still is.

Doc is in the House

Photo lifted from Doc's webpage.

Picture this guy without the lifejacket, with a guitar, and — I'm guessing because that's how he stepped on stage last year at this time — wearing a dark suit and a fedora. This is blues musician Doc MacLean, who is performing in Wadena tonight at 7:30 at the Anglican church. Emil's got his tickets (for him and his former aide, Sheila, who is going to take him) and he's so excited.

I asked a couple people if they knew about the show tonight and they responded that they weren't into "churchy" stuff. I thought, but did not say out loud, that I'm pretty sure Doc's got enough of the devil in him to squelch any preconceived notions about what kind of music gets put on in churches. Heh!

I've got to get back to work until it's time to leave, but Doc's webpage is here. Poke around there until you find a link to listen to his music; it's there somewhere. Also, he is touring across Canada and is blogging about it as time permits, so do go check it out. He's a good storyteller and, while I have no desire to traipse across the land myself right now (but I will, Dad and Joan, I will soon!), I sure enjoy reading about all the welcoming people he meets and beautiful places he goes.

He'll be in Saskatoon tomorrow and in Edmonton on the weekend. If you like the blues, don't miss him.

Emilisms

My favourite beach is no more. 

Still, we could park along the road and listen to the waves gently caressing the shore and bask in the light reflecting off the water and breathe in the satisfying scent of lake.

Emilisms
My son is one of a kind but it's difficult to describe him. Best to let him speak for himself. Now granted he has heard these words from someone but he has made them his own, mostly by his earnest and repetitive nature:

1. Mom. I'm the best thing that ever happened to you.
2. I'd better listen or else there will be consequences and I won't like them I can guarantee you that.
3. Mom. I'm the one that always likes to give you kisses.
4. I graduated when I was 19 but I went to school till I was 22 because when you work full-time you don't get as many holidays. I'm pretty smart.

Shirley's Latest Creation

Aunt Shirley has completed her quilt. I think she said the pattern is "Grandma's Flowers."

***

I've twisted Joanne Bohl's arm to write a little column for the blog, and she has made a first entry in Out Margo Way. See the link on the left side. Joanne and Mom were very close friends and Mom always loved Joanne's storytelling. Joanne is also a journaller or diarist so there is material to be mined. With luck she will add something new every day! Heeeeeeeeee!!!!! Am I dreaming, Joanne? Nothing like applying a little bit of pressure, eh? I know, I am incorrigible. But you know my motto: If you don't ask, you don't receive.

Stop, I Say

When you pull out of our country driveway without stopping to look left, you risk being T-boned by a passing vehicle because the grass in the ditch grows so tall. Now passing vehicles are few and far between, but all it takes is once, so I have been waiting for this stop sign to be mounted on a post and installed properly for visitors leaving our place to see. Unfortunately Manful has had no time for this kind of thing, so over the summer I've leaned the sign against the ugly old John Deere plough (its days are numbered, I tell you; as soon as there is some muscle around to haul the thing out of there, it's gone. I know, I'm a bad, bad farmgirl-- but honestly, farm machinery as a yard decoration does absolutely nothing for me), where it's been blown over onto its face constantly.
Finally I rigged it up to stay, on the back of the old Golden Grain Farm sign. Whose days are also numbered.

Margo

Main Street Margo.

There's still no place like home.

In the Graveyard

Everett and I went for a sunshiny drive this afternoon and stopped at the Margo cemetery to visit Mom's grave. As I gave him the tour of the resting places of his great-great-great grandparents and suchlike, we noticed this tombstone. I like the epitaph. It's not often enough that words on the marker tell us much about the departed other than their birth and death dates, how they were related to us, and sometimes how we felt about them -- our dearly beloved, ever missed, darling ones. This pithy sentence gives me a pretty lively image of the lady herself.

Everett remarked that having a name like "Sunshine" has to be a good thing, for anyone.

TNT Cafe

An unexpected early run to town one morning to deliver a truck for repairs bought me breakfast in one of the local eateries on Main St.

Why I Don't Have a Tattoo

Little Gal

Her Sweetness got all dressed up for a wedding.

I stopped over at Cara's and Trea gave me a smile and showed off her walking. But when Scott came in and squatted down, she ran right into his arms. I swear that man is a baby magnet.

Workin' Men

Poor ol' Shnevy was enlisted to spend the day mucking out a mouldy basement on one of Scott's jobs today..

The Finger

How drivers in rural Saskatchewan acknowledge each other when they meet on the road.

Usually it’s men who do this (I think); I’m the only woman I know who does. Speak up, gals, if you do it too. Figure I must have picked this up from Dad.

Do drivers do this where you live? And if not, is there another signal they use?

***

Grandma enjoyed her drive, and we dined at Scott's grandma's, and then Emil started coughing and ended up horking up his meal, and almost causing me to lose mine, since I have no stomach for hearing the heaves or cleaning up the mess. It must have been quite unpleasant to listen to us both gagging. Strangely, no one offered to help! Heh.

He's fine. Musta had some post-nasal drip or just caught some cookie in the wrong tube. Sounds like he's considering coming home for the long weekend. Maybe. Oy, you'd think he couldn't wait to get out of here or something.

Stopped in to see Cara's new place (Cara's my niece) and admire it and her two adorable children. Oh, and her fella Chris of course. They've bought this house in Kelvington so will be able to put down some roots to raise their kids.

Warm starry night. Gorgeous. I might just go outside and admire the sky for a while too.

Routine Weekend

Me 'n' Smartypants

More than a week ago I sat here in front of Photobooth and took a picture to post on the day this page was "Blog of Note" and then, in my usual absentminded way, forgot all about it till just now when I happened to run across it.

Five days in a row without rain. This is the first rainfree stretch longer than four days, since May. Unless I'm mistaken— which I probably am.

Everett and I are just back from town, where he did laundry and I picked up Emil and went for groceries.

That's my day: uneventful, routine, and fine with me.

What Everett Made This Week

Fafard Horses Adorn Banks of St. Lawrence River in Quebec City

Read the full story here.

Gorgeous Day

Looking north from the end of our driveway. Yes, some people can combine.



















Looking across the road.



















Looking south. My usual route for walking.



















Looking up, my first sighting of a bald eagle this year.

Last Blooms

Heron in Tree

Usually we see the great blue heron either standing on its flamingo legs in a slough, or flapping slowly away, as herons are shy birds. When I startled this one it flew off and landed in a tree, something I've never seen before.

A Good Time Was Had

Flooded land on both sides of the highway on my way to the WomenOnlyWeekend.

There are so many dead trees out in the water that it's almost eerie driving past.


















Gals chit-chattin on the first night.


















Our host hosted a house concert; these two gals from Vancouver have been touring Western Canada and stopped in to give us a show in the sunroom.

Sara Ciantar and Hilary Grist are their names, should you care to check out their music. We were a small audience, only eight or so, but we bought up lots of their CDs so we assume they went away happy. We certainly enjoyed their show, those talented girly-sues.



















This was the weekend of the pumpkin fest in the hamlet we were in, so there was a parade — one horse-drawn cart that gave rides that passed by the sunroom during the concert.



















While the travelling minstrels packed up, they were serenaded by the house band.


















And on Saturday night, there were fireworks so we strolled over to the community centre and enjoyed the show.


















Of course we had shooters.

And representing the canine contingent was Ebony, the one-eyed wonder:

Blog of Note Today

Wooden glasses. Picked up at a garage sale.

***

Life at Golden Grain Farm is mentioned on the Words of Wisdom webpage (thank you kindly, folks) and I’ve been asked to link to three entries that I consider my best. Heh! Easier said than done, as my entries don’t adhere to themes nor are they given much more thought than what it takes to dash ‘em off and be done with 'em. For readers visiting this page for the first time, I’ve simply chosen three entries that might give a taste of what you’ll find here and that didn't require me to read too far back:

•Sneaky Bugger, in which my sweetheart pulls a fast one.

•The Corn is as High as an Elephant’s Eye, in which, in spite of loss and change, life seems pretty good.

•White Knucklin’, in which I take a drive with Everett, age 17, and offer a glimpse of son Emil, age 21.

Various and Sundry

This ladyhead vase belonged to Aunt Jean, who would be 95 or 96 if she was still living.

I have other treasures to remind me of Aunt Jean, too. I'll show them to you as time permits. Grandma, her youngest sister, remains the last of Aunt Jean's immediate family alive today.

Aunt Jean followed Mom to wherever it is we go when we die, just months after Mom's death in 2005, but not before leaving me her photo albums and a scrapbook made by my great-grandmother, who collected songs, poems and stories published in newspapers of her day, cut out graphics from greeting cards (I assume that's where she got them), and glued them into a scrapbook with wooden front and back covers. It appears that I come honestly by my propensity to save paper and graphics of all sorts and to collage with them or paste them into journals and onto book covers, or just tuck them between the pages of my handwritten notebooks.

***

I've been reading the Jane Austen mystery series, written by Stephanie Barron. She's written fictional whodunits starring Jane Austen as the sleuth, using facts from Austen's history and times. They are a pleasure to read, particularly since Austen died young and a good many of her personal papers were destroyed by a trusted sister after her death. These mysteries, written in the first person, allow the reader to imagine a deeper look into Austen's personal life, though they are only stories of Barron's wild imagining. Mostly I enjoy them because I love the English manners of Austen's social class: the sophistication with which the characters structure their conversations, and the conventions and niceties that were such a part of how they lived. Must be some of Grandma's English ancestry bleeding through or something.

In the books there are numerous footnotes explaining words and phrases that were in common usage in the early 19th century, but there are also words that I have to look up in my Canadian Oxford Dictionary. For instance, a rest or a certain treatment might "dispel a fit of the megrims" -- megrim being a migraine, or a whim or fancy, or depression and low spirits. Someone might be told "Don't preach fustian," fustian meaning turgid speech or writing; bombast.

Never hurts to learn something new every day. Eh? When I read the characters' words, I realize how paltry my own vocabulary is.


***

Tomorrow I'm off to spend the weekend with some women friends. There will be fire, food, song and lots of laughing.

Pitcher Collection

Grandma Benson collected pitchers and these are among several that now grace my china cabinet.

I might as well start showing off some of the family heirlooms that have been passed on to me. Now if only I can figure out how to take a close-up that displays them to advantage.

The sun is shining here today. I wonder if it will last long enough for me to get some clothes on and get out for a walk. We haven't had more than three weeks of summer weather this year, and never more than a couple days of warmth in a row, so now that the forecast is for some fall heat I've got my fingers crossed. The weather man says that October will be dry, which means that just maybe we can leave our wet basements (still have the old house to look after, too) and get out to Kelowna for a visit before snowfall, without worrying about a pump failing in our absence. Maybe. At this point it doesn't look promising; I may have to leave Scottie at home to hold down the fort. Which would be too bad, as he's the one who needs a holiday the most.

He's just phoned home with a request that I make some lunch for him and his cousin Perry, so I'll have to get out of this chair and come up with something. And hope that the sun is still out there by the time I'm through.

There's a young gal coming to do some housecleaning for us this afternoon — yay, I finally found someone who wants to come on a regular basis and knows what she's doing! She's agreed to give me two hours every two weeks, which I pay for without blinking an eye because she does the jobs that I always notice need to be done and never get around to doing -- the bathroom, and washing the floors. I have lived in this house for a year now -- eight months with the kitchen flooring in -- and never mopped the floor, just spot-wiped it. And you don't even want to know what shape the toilet could get into. So I will sit here at my desk while she's scrubbing and I will work for two hours doing a job I like, earning more per hour than I will be paying her to do a job I do not like. Makes sense to me, though most women in my income bracket would never allow themselves this luxury.

To me, it's worth every cent.

Kids Who Cook

Sunflower sourdough bagels.

So tasty you can eat them with nothing on them. Not even butter.

Seen at My House

Inside.
















And out.

We've had a serious freeze, but a few things keep on blooming. Flocks of snow geese are floating overhead, though I haven't spotted the usual influx of American hunters in town yet.

I've had a last-minute supper invitation so will roust myself from this chair, which I've been in most of the day (work work work), and head off into the wild blue yonder.

Seen in the local laundromat.

Scott-heavy Entry

Rick and Scott. Everett added the cartoon captions.


Scott's birthday.
Card:
check ~ (text "Love me like there's no tomorrow ... because tomorrow you might do something that really pisses me off.")
Gifts:
1) wallet ~ ("Will this," he says, grinning, holding up his bulging old wallet in one hand and the new one in the other, "fit into this?")
2) gauch ~ "How big do you think I am?" (I bought Large when apparently they should be Medium. I think everything shrinks.)
3) two packs of Fisherman's Friend lozenges ~ ("Did you know I still have a bunch of these at the other house?" I throw some in with every gift; guess he's set for the rest of the year.)
And the poor lad isn't even getting a cake. We're still working on a pan of brownies Everett made the other day, and the birthday boy isn't feeling so good and hasn't made his request.

Let's see, can I get away with posting this one of Scott and his cousin Perry on their way to work?



















***

Bagels are in the oven, smelling divine. It's great, having Everett home. Too bad he can't stay forever. What's the cutoff date, again?


He and I are off to Humboldt tomorrow, where he will spend the day with a career counselor, trying to figure out what direction to go in now that he's through high school. I hope to spend some time with my friend Joanne, do a little shopping, and maybe wander through the town’s excellent museum. After all, I’ll have the whole day to fill and, as I have no laptop, can't take my work with me.
And Humboldt has a Nutters' store, which means I should be able to buy some fresh organic whole wheat flour and bags of sunflower and sesame seeds and peanuts and raisins and coconut and oatmeal and other things we'll absolutely need the moment I spot them. I usually come out of there with about $200 worth of foodstuff. Healthy foodstuff.


***

To those on my notify list: the mention on the Words of Wisdom blog is next Friday, not tomorrow. Oops. Meanwhile, if you'd care to visit their site, click here.

In Flux

The four seasons.

We are still moving, and still unpacking.
The basement is to be torn apart and fixed, so we were given warning that demolition was about to begin. Everett needed to shift his belongings upstairs. So I needed to empty the upstairs bedroom closet, which held the guts of my china cabinet. Some of them were wrapped in these place mats Mom made many years ago and gave to her aunt Jean. Before that they'd been taken out of circulation due to the certain knowledge that, used on the kitchen table, they would end up stained. I knew that would happen, but wanted them out where I could see them. Thus they're already a little discoloured in places, but oh well. So now here they are, on the wall outside the office door.

Other treasures were unwrapped and set out to await their destined display:
















And finally yesterday the He-men hoisted the china cabinet over here for me:















Yes that really is a phone with a cord. When's the last time you saw such a thing? Apparently every household needs one, because cordless phones don't work during a power outage.

Off Toward the Sunset

Church at Hendon, Saskatchewan

The first thing I did when I turned 16 was take my driver's test. I could not wait to be behind the wheel and out of the farmyard.
Most of my friends were exactly that way. My son Everett is the opposite. He could not care less about having the freedom to drive off whenever he chooses. He's happy to stay home, apparently. Where does he get this from? I understand it at my age -- I've turned into a homebody -- but when I was 17 every place looked better than home, for some reason. And there really was no reason, as I was raised in a happy home (except for all the unhappiness I myself caused by being such a snooty kid)(thank goodness I don't have one of those; my karma really is better than I deserve).
So now I insist that Everett and I go for a drive every day, in spite of his apathetic objections. He needs to build his confidence; his stopping, starting and turning are still jerky as hell. We don't always have a destination in mind, and sometimes just head off to wherever we end up. One evening we came off a gravel road and onto the highway near the tiny village or hamlet of Hendon.
He sat in the vehicle while I toured the miniature graveyard. As a child I found cemeteries scary places and wondered how anyone could live next to one; now they are not only comforting to me, but fascinating, and I'd jump at the opportunity to have one for a close neighbour; the words written on tombstones are tragic sometimes, and sad, but also a testament to love and memory.

Can't Complain About the Rain

The Wadena Bakery.

Karen and I met here while she was in town running errands. She's gotten her little hands on an old church bell and is having it refinished to hang above the entry of the new house she and her husband Dick are building.

It was pouring rain yesterday and hasn't let up much.

***

Gotta go apply pressure to Scott's neck. At his request! don't worry!

***

Happy Birthday, Bummie!!!!
(Baby Brother turns what ...45?)

***


Check out Doc Maclean's tour blog -- he's just gotten on the road in his big ol' Lincoln and is an excellent storyteller and writer. Click here.

By My Friend, Julie Paquette

Let’s speak

of the joy of being a mother,
of how we were all about ourselves,
but now we love to feed others,
having become Love.

Let’s speak
of the pain of being a mother,
when our babies come home crying
at whatever age,
torn by the callous disregard
of other people.

Let’s speak openly
of the refining of the human heart
when it’s cut, burned, and twisted,
Its pieces planted skyward as a path of stars,
guiding the heartbroken
through the dark.

Let’s be perfectly clear
that the giving of life
through the womb
knits an umbilical cord
joining us to every other living being.

Pain is the lining of the silk purse of love--
Consider that when you deposit your coin.
And oh, how it burns
When the silk purse turns inside out,
our hearts on the outside--
Like in those old Jesus pictures
A heart bleeding and stabbed with arrows
Yet radiantly alive

Unusual Hive

These bees (I couldn't get closer without high rubber boots, but that's what I guess they are) are swarming a fencepost at the corner. I've never seen them do this before.

Somehow wasps have managed to build a giant hive right under our noses, about 15 feet from the doorstep, without our noticing. They're not bothering anyone but maybe it's not safe to let them remain, either.

Another grey, wet day. Some local fields have been swathed, but that's about as far as things have gotten lately. I talked to a fellow in the credit union the other day who said he'd been out on his combine around Kelvington. So there remains some hope.

I'm expecting a friend for a card reading any moment so must away ....