Horses Need Homes. Any Takers?

From the end of the driveway

I suggested to Don, our friendly neighbourhood accountant, that Everett come in one day and “shadow” him at work, to see if he’s interested in taking up such a career, since it was in his accounting class that my son achieved his highest marks in school. Don agreed and so this morning Everett appeared beside my bed early, wearing the purple shirt and striped tie I gave him for Christmas. With his heavy dark-framed glasses on, he was the stereotypical picture of an accountant already and I had to chuckle. Scott drove him into town, so I've got the house to myself today.

Strange and wonderful lad that he is, Everett seems to love that tie. He’s the kind of kid who wears his shirts with the cuffs fastened and the buttons done up as high as they’ll go. Short-sleeved T-shirt? Never. Shorts? Never. Covered up to the hilt, always. He likes to have slippers on his feet, too.

Yesterday Scott and I drove to Humboldt, the halfway point between here and Saskatoon, to meet up with Kathy P and deliver the organic beef she and her sister have bought from the farm. We were sitting in a restaurant sharing a meal when my cellphone rang to remind me that I was due back home at a meeting on Emil's behalf, one that has been noted on my calendar for weeks already. Oops. I wasn't embarrassed — I'm human, these things happen — but more concerned because this is not the kind of thing I ever do. I rarely show up late for an appointment, let alone forget about it entirely. Particularly after looking at it marked on my calendar so many times.

Oh well. I'll blame it on the menopause, like everything else these days.

***

There are half a dozen horses on the farm that need to go to new homes. They are in imminent danger of being sold at auction, which means they'll likely be butchered and made into dog food. If you know anyone who loves horses and might be interested in saving them from this ugly fate, please put them in touch with us.

The Meaning of Life

Sometimes I face death.
Not happening to someone else
Not someday
But now, to me
Or those I love.
I am not resigned.
It is not okay.
It just is.

Smart Tip from the Get-It-Done Guy

Resolve Relationship Conflict Quickly

 One of the wonderful things about having a snuggle-bunny is the snuggling. And one of the best things about fighting with your snuggle-bunny is making up from the fight, because then you get to snuggle. Ever in the mood to snuggle, but your bunny doesn't want to? I'll bet you get into a fight over it. And then you make up, and you snuggle. So everything's great.

Except, of course, for the fight. Fighting takes a long time, it's tiring, and it's bad for relationships. So some nice people got together and invented “fair fighting.” Have you heard of it? Just Google it. You'll find lots of versions. There are rules like, “Take it private, keep it private,” so you don't embarrass each other in front of others. Wouldn't that defeat the point? Or how about, “Avoid accusations.” Or, “No hitting below the belt.'” Why go to all the trouble of fighting if you're going to fight fair? Why not fight to win?

I guess the theory is that as long as you're going to fight, you should fight fair. But if you can just decide to fight fair, willy-nilly, then why can't you just decide not to fight at all? Because it's human nature to fight, that's why. At least, that's what I say to justify my occasional lack of self-control and infantile behavior.

Fighting Might Do Damage

Even if you fight fair 99% of the time, that extra 1% you might say something that's better left unsaid. Nothing destroys relationships like loved ones going straight for each other's insecurities. So they didn't tell you until after you were married to them that they weren't the gender you thought? Obviously it's a sensitive issue for them. Bringing it up in a fight about whose turn it is to wash the dishes is not going to win you any brownie points.

Fighting Takes Too Much Administrative Overhead

And, of course, fighting rarely starts small and stays small. Imagine a couple where one person is mainly concerned with tasks, whereas the other is mainly concerned with relationships and feelings. Just imagine how things might go: a fight starts over a task. “It's your turn to do the dishes.” “Is not!” “Is too!” The feeling-centric person then notices the conflict is generating bad feelings. That upsets them. That is a big problem. “You just had to start a fight, didn't you? You always do this! You take a nice evening and ruin it. You can't just discuss it calmly!” To the task-centric person, that is going off task. Which, of course, is a big problem. So they get even more upset about that. “You're always changing the subject. What about the dishes?” “This isn't about the dishes; this is about your inability to be an authentic human being!!”

Now we have three fights going on. One fight about the dishes, one fight about whose fault the fight is, and a third fight about how the second fight is distracting us from the first fight. Who can keep track? You might try using the grid technique from my episode on managing multiple projects, but that becomes a fourth fight: “Why are you writing out a grid? Don't you care about our relationship?” At that point, trying to explain you're writing a grid so you can track the fights that you need to fix so you can make up and snuggle ... just won't work.

Yes, there's an easier way.

Make a Fight Sheet

Did my sample fight sound familiar? That's because fights aren't original. Most of us have the same fights as each other, and we have them over and over and over. Even the fights about the fights repeat! This is silly! If you're going to get hot and bothered with your snuggle bunny doing something repetitive, there are better alternatives. For example, jumping rope.

But if you must fight, streamline the process. Create a word processing document and type in your standard arguments. Include both points of view, but just how you both say them. Don't cheat to make yourself look better than you are; record both sides of each argument. Put in a bold header for each argument to make it easy to find, and include a table of contents if it helps. Start with a title page, “Our arguments.”

Now print it out and make sure you each have a copy. Next time you start to argue, run (don't walk) to your nearest copy and hand it to the other person. Then you can each turn to the proper page and run through the argument silently. When you're done, if either of you have anything else to say, say it. Record those additions for next time, of course. Voila! What used to be a two hour argument now takes mere moments. You can look at each other, laugh a bit, and go snuggle and make up.

Yes, I'm Serious

In my life, this tip works. The idea appeared in my head in the middle of an argument, when I realized the argument was really, really familiar, but it was too late to stop it from escalating. I thought sarcastically, “There's gotta be a way to streamline this.” Then I realized it could be funny to give it a try. My first version was my partner's main points and what my responses would be. That would help me save time in proving I was right. Then I realized that wasn't fair, so I included both points of view. It was funny. We only had to use our argument booklet two or three times before almost all of those arguments lost their force.

This tip doesn't actually work because you're streamlining your arguments, it works because you're reminding yourselves how silly and futile arguing is in the first place. Life's too short. Go snuggle instead.

By Stever Robbins, the Get-It-Done Guy. 
Sign up for his mailout by clicking here.

North from the Ravine

Walking home on Wednesday

Walking home on Thursday

Walking home on Friday

Relax

Scott hasn't been feeling well for several days, so he's been home drinking hot water with honey and cinnamon, and lying on the couch in front of the TV.

Alas for me, that means I can't sit in the living room in the afternoon to have my daily tea and birdwatch. Not without listening to the TV, which frankly I need to escape at every opportunity as it's a great big time-wasting teeth-gritting too-much-frigging-advertising irritating brain-drain that hypnotizes me just as hard and quickly as the next guy, if I let it. I've been spending most of my daytime hours in the office with the door closed, and my nights in the bedroom reading, though sometimes I get stuck in front of the tube in the evening too if I'm not careful.

For the deep relaxation that comes from 15 minutes of birdwatching, I've brought an old milking stool from the barn and set it against the outside wall of the house. After the walk, which gets my blood flowing, I brew a single cup of Red Rose tea in a travel mug and sit outside with the dogs. In my hand-me-down (thank you Aunt Jean) mink, ski pants, Sorels, scarf, tuque and glove/mitten combo, I am toasty warm, the dogs get their fill of petting, and I am content. The weather has been mild this past week. In 30-below it wouldn't be so welcoming.

Constant visitors to the oak trees are hairy woodpeckers, downy woodpeckers, redpolls and chickadees. Dozens of them. There are magpies that come too; not while I'm out there, but they check out the ground beneath the feeders every day and I like them even though they are despised by Scott because they have been known to peck the eyes from newborn calves. How awful is that. I figure if they get enough to eat they might not have to bother the cattle, though warm, moist newborn calf-eyes must be quite a treat to them.

Nature is too cruel.

Woo Hoo!

Oscar called from Regina last night to say that the report was good: no more cancer was found. He's got to undergo a year of immunotherapy now, and some plastic surgery, none of which will be a breeze, but compared to the alternative this news has Oscar, Barb and everyone who loves them jumping for joy.

He had bought a bottle of wine to celebrate and I decided to do the same thing here.

Oscar

Cousins, 1994

This is me with my cousin Oscar at the Margo School Reunion 16 years ago, when everyone who'd ever attended any Margo school came home for the weekend. Festivities were held in the rink— meals, dance, so on, so forth. Hundreds of former students showed up.

Oscar's dad and my grandfather were brothers, so Dad and Oscar are actually cousins and Oscar and I, as I understand it, are first cousins once-removed. He's only a few years older than me and we grew up in the village of Margo, and of course when a little girl like I was has a slightly older boy in the family who happens to be sweet-natured and kind, she follows him around like a puppy and pesters him mercilessly. Some of my fond childhood memories are of checkers played in the afternoons at Oscar's house — he must have had so much patience! — and of being dragged around the floor by the leg, probably because I wouldn't leave the poor lad alone. (Nowadays when I see my niece Jordan, who is in Grade 3, with my son Everett, who is 18, I think it's much the same dynamic.)

As teenagers we often went out driving around the countryside together, having a few drinks and laughing pretty much constantly. That was social life in rural Saskatchewan back then, for teenagers. It's probably the same today, although I like to think that drinking and driving has fallen out of favour. For us, there was nowhere else to go when you wanted to escape your parents' home. You got into a vehicle and went out to see who else was out and around, and then you hung out on the back roads somewhere.

Oscar married his high school sweetheart and they set up on a farm north of town and had three fine boys who are grown now; one works with Oscar in the family business and two of the three have started their own young families.

Not long before Christmas, Oscar had a mole on his neck removed and the diagnosis that came back from the lab was melanoma. His doctor got him into the operating room right away and exploratory surgery showed two out of three lymph nodes on one side were cancerous. So back into the hospital he went for radical surgery, removing lymph nodes from neck, chest and back. The next day they kicked him out and sent him home, which is a three-hour drive from the city where the surgery was performed. He spent several days in a lot of pain and discomfort but when I called him on New Year's Day he was, though still sore, starting to feel himself again.

Today he and Barb are in the city, getting the results of tests done after the surgery. With luck, the operation removed all the cancer. It HAS TO have.

Old and Young Folks and In Between

Doris, 94

At the nursing home where Grandma lives now, the auxiliary throws a Christmas party for the residents and invited guests and a photographer takes portraits, which are then attached to cards and sent out to family members on the mailing list.
Aunt Reta, I didn't have your address with me last fall when they asked me to come up with a list. I'll forward my card on to you, and make sure your info gets added for Christmas 2011.

Scott, Everett and I had supper with Scott's clan at his grandmother's house in Kelvington on Sunday. She turns 102 later this month. After the dishes were done, we three strolled over to the nursing home to see Grandma. It was 7:30, and she was already sound asleep, so we left her be and walked over to Cara's to say hello to her and her family for a few minutes. They were getting the kids ready for bed so we didn't stay long.

It was a cold, crisp night, but thankfully there was no wind so it was beautiful and there were still a lot of Christmas lights up around town. Yesterday I came back from my afternoon walk with pretty chilly cheeks, but today it has warmed up considerably and was mild enough to go all the way to the ravine with the dogs. That's only about a mile round-trip, but on days when the wind is blowing and the thermometer is in the low twenties, it's a formidable hike and I usually turn back much sooner, into the calm of the trees.

Dad turned 72 yesterday. SEVENTY-TWO!! That sounds OLD, and Dad is NOT old! Are ya, Pop?
I hope you won't be crossing my name off the will for not phoning. I did send an email, and just talked to you the other day, and figured you'd be getting calls from lots of other people so wouldn't feel forgotten or neglected. Honestly though, if I'm in as good a shape as you are when I'm 72, I'll be happy. As a matter of fact, I'd likely be happy if I was in as good a shape as you are now, as I come up to 52!

Sure and It's a New Year

On New Year's Eve, Scott, the boys and I covered up with quilts and settled in to watch the latest Shrek movie. For those who haven't seen it, it starts out with the ogre Shrek living a happily mundane life with his wife and three tiny tots in a peaceful and friendly environment. Aside from the pristine nature of his surroundings, which are less-than-satisfying for an ogre, the repetitiveness of raising children and taking care of a home gets to Shrek. He is constantly called upon to take care of the backed-up outhouse, for instance. Over and over again.

Chuckling at that, I looked over at Scott, who also deals regularly with similar issues here, and said, "See? This is part of every man's life. It's not just you!"

Shortly after, he fell asleep, and stayed that way till the end of the film.
Which reminded me of the time I took Baby Everett to a display of life-sized, moving, roaring dinosaurs, and after his initial terror he fell asleep and remained in a coma till we left the museum.

Some things are just too overwhelming.

And speaking of outhouses, we do have one. We don't use it (yet; I'm wondering if we might need to one of these days, the way things are going), but I took this photo while out for my walk yesterday:

The thermometer said 25-below, I heard, but it was gorgeous out there. Not a breeze... snow sparkling...air fresh and crisp...happy dogs bouncing around me as we made our way down the road under the sunshiny blue sky...

I didn't make New Year's resolutions, as I promptly forget them anyway. Instead, on New Year's Day I tried to do everything that I hope to do much, much more of in the year ahead—to “seed” the year:

1) Up before 9, make the bed
2) Make breakfast for everyone
3) Clean kitchen, including doing dishes
4) Listen to music; my CD choice, Robert Plant and Alison Krauss, Raising Sand
5) Dance
6) Sing
7) Bath and take the time to oil my body afterward
8) Call someone who is dear to me; I phoned Dad, my cousin Oscar, and my gal-pal Cathy
9) Have a "wrestling match" with Scott
10) Followed by a cuddle and short afternoon nap
11) Take a Medicine Walk; all walks are medicinal, right?
12) Do the Tibetan Rites
13) Play guitar
14) Eat an orange for my health
15) Read
16) Write
17) Meditate
18) Afternoon tea and birdwatching
19) Get editing work done

Well I didn’t do them all; didn’t play my bass, sing (beyond my usual mindless melody-making while doing other things), eat the orange, watch the birds or meditate. And that is okay! It was a full, satisfying day and we watched How to Train Your Dragon with the boys in the evening.

I'll drive Emil to Aylesbury House this afternoon. He's been home since the 23rd and has said countless times, "Mom, aren't you happy you got to have me here so many days?" and "Will you miss me when I go back?"

***

Were you a Led Zeppelin fan back in the '70s? Do you love Alison Krauss's angelic voice (which, by the way, my sister Karen's singing voice is often likened to)? Then here's a little treat for you, one of the songs on their Raising Sand CD, a favourite of mine:

A Poem for the New Year

Invisible Gifts

A moth that caressed a flame
Is now incinerated;
Flood waters have swept away a house,
And someone once deeply loved is now alone,
Staring at a flickering screen
In an empty room.

Even as these letters are formed,
They fade,
Just as you and I are fading,
And everything we know and love
Or think we hate,
Is being annihilated
If made of matter.

And that is why things invisible
And thus not prone to decay
Are what I silently push across a table to you
Somewhere between the soup and the pudding.
Invisible gifts cross the barrier of death;
Love given is never lost--
It creates new galaxies and lights the stars
In our heavens.

Copyright Julie Paquette

Visit

Jo Anne, Kathy, Cathy

Look at that swanky new angel-hat Cathy is wearing!

The ladies arrived yesterday in the early afternoon, shared a late lunch with me, hung out in the living room for several hours and were back on the road by 5 o'clock.

The visit was short, but sweet. One thing about them driving all the way out here was that it made me feel like it really is a "holiday season."

Safely Through Whitehorse Rapids

The end of an arduous voyage during the Yukon gold rush

This photo is among my great-great Aunt Alma's collection, presumably from the time she was nursing up in the Yukon. People went north to make their fortunes, and often lost their lives on the way. It was a rough route whether by land or water and they were often woefully unprepared. This group no doubt had good reason to rejoice when they reached their destination.

In contrast two of my high school friends from the dormitory days of Luther College are making their leisurely way out from Regina this morning, only a two- or three-hour drive. The forecast was for snow and wind and cold(er) but so far the sky is clear and my fingers are crossed that the highway's not icy, so they'll be here safe and sound in time for lunch. I'm making one of my favourites, curried eggs with toast, and am searing pork chops to throw into a casserole dish with mushroom soup to bake for supper — easy, tasty, and out of the way so that I can relax and spend the day visiting.

Slowly but Surely

Kitchen Before

Scott knocked out a wall so we'd have more space around the table, put in new windows and a new exterior door, chopped off a corner cupboard that jutted into the room, removed cupboard doors so the old wood could be painted (my aunt Rose did that), re-boarded the ceiling and painted it and the walls, and changed the light fixtures.

The windows face north so we needed to get as much light as possible.

Kitchen Now

It's a small kitchen but comfortable enough. Does the trick. There are still things to do, but none of them seem urgent although shelving without doors quickly becomes — well, late's face it: filthy — and so their open charm has worn off.

This afternoon Everett took curtain rods and curtains down from the other house; I hope to make use of some of them over here.

Reta, the plug-in has been wired for a few months so I've asked Scott several times to mount the under-the-cupboard CD-player you gave me. (Note to self: Must.Nag.Harder.) I think he said he needs some particular tool to do it with. As if I buy that one, Mr Has-Every-Tool-Known-to-Mankind.

More likely I'll just do it myself one of these days. But it will be all wrong and fall down. Kind of like when I hang pictures; they never end up where I intend, no matter how carefully I eyeball and measure. It's a crapshoot. He will be sorry!

Heh.

Bean Dish

Cellphone tower? on the way from town

3:58pm
I’m at the computer, editing a biography of Marie Dressler, when the phone rings.
“Hello?”
Crackle, crackle. It's Scott, on his cellphone a mile away.
“Can you bring me something to eat and drink? I’m on the hill.”
“Sure.”
I pull cold chicken and a loaf of bread from the fridge and start cutting slices for sandwiches while Everett goes out to start the van for me. The phone rings again.
“Don’t bother cooking anything. I won’t be here long. Just bring the leftover bean dish and something to drink.”
“Okay.”
I abandon the chicken and bread, throw the Tupperware bowl of bean dish and a tablespoon into a plastic bag, along with two alcohol-free beer and a bar of dark chocolate, and head out the door. It’s cold today but I’m dressed for it —overdressed, some may think— in my usual way, with ski pants. I’m toasty.
In a few minutes I’m on the hill, which actually isn’t a hill, but used to be before the municipality razed it flat while building up the correction line road. I drive toward the green tractor I see beyond the fence, where Scott is moving bales. He jumps out of it and into the van, tears the plastic lid from the bowl like a starving man and begins scooping bean dish into his mouth with the spoon.
I wonder aloud why he couldn’t take time to come home and eat, or even wait for me to heat something up before taking it to him; is there an emergency or what? He says, “It’ll be dark soon.” In moments he’s eaten half the bean dish, grabbed a can of beer and the chocolate bar, and is kissing me thank you before leaping out the door again.
Some people are highly dedicated to their work.


Bean Dish
Fry separately and drain:
¾ lb bacon
1 and ½ lb ground beef
Add:
 ½ to 1 cup chopped onion (optional)
1 can green lima beans
1 can kidney beans
1 can brown beans
½ c ketchup
3 heaping woodenspoonsful brown sugar (or less; to taste)

Warm and simmer, covered, for 15 minutes or for hours, as you please. Delicious hot or, apparently, cold.
[Thank you for this recipe, Suzie; it’s been a family favourite for years now and always goes over well at a potluck.]

Old Age

Emil and his great-grandmother have a smoochfest

The boys and I went with Cameron late yesterday afternoon to take gifts to Grandma and have a visit with her in the nursing home. When we arrived the old folks who hadn't gone out for the day (they've moved her into the dementia ward now, which has more staff and fewer residents) were dozing in easy chairs in front of a rerun of Bonanza. We woke Grandma up and she recognized Cameron although didn't know who he was. If that makes sense.

She raked in a shitload of new tops and a couple pairs of slippers, and was quite pleased. Grandma has always loved her clothes and that is one thing that hasn't changed. We hung out in her room for an hour or so and then left when it was time for her to go to the dining room for supper.

I woke up in the middle of last night, remembered all the other residents sitting together at the lodge in the afternoon, and thought "Where are their families?" It looked like these old people were simply out of sight, out of mind, while the youngsters they raised and the grandchildren they spoiled were all off doing their own thing now and not giving a second thought to these people they owe their lives to.

Of course that's not the case and I was being harsh in the wee hours of the morning, when shadows and light can be stark and unexpected (I really hate the middle of the night sometimes; there is no sugarcoating anything, then). Many families had probably taken their elders out for the day or had already visited, or had other celebratory obligations or live too far away or were travelling, or have come to the realization that it just isn't such a big deal to their old folks so they might as well do their own thing ... Christmas is just another day, to these residents, and they prefer their settled routines and are more comfortable being left to them.

Also, it is not easy to see your loved one, or the others, living in an institutional environment. They may be happy enough and very well looked after and even treated with kind affection by the staff and other residents, as is the case at Kelvindell Lodge, but it still gives you a regretful pause when you go there. I felt like shedding a tear as we were leaving, even though I know there is no better place for Grandma right now and I'm grateful she's not further away.

You mourn the past that is long gone—the better times—and you dread what the future may bring.

Good Time Had By All

Christmas Eve at Karen's (brother Cameron, moi, and Karen)

That's Emil's hand on Karen's back. He's giving her a rub and hasn't strayed from her side all evening.

Scott and I are up drinking coffee this morning and he's making breakfast and talking to his cousin Alex over in England. Everett's hanging out by the tree and I guess if Emil ever gets up we'll open some gifts before driving to Kelvington to spend some time with Grandma.

The weather turned warm here, hovering just below freezing. You could walk down the street yesterday, which Everett and I did while he shopped, without mitts on. It's a beautiful day.

Human Again

I'd like to say that my hair only looks like this after a day or two of lying in bed, but alas it looks like this most mornings.

Just had a day or two of hell, when my pills didn’t do the job and I’ve had neck pain and nausea. How do people with chronic illness stand it? I can see where one might choose to be put out of one’s misery, honestly, given the option of euthanasia. A person might choose it instead of toughing it out to better times. A person like me, with a low tolerance for pain and very little courage.

So again today I feel glad to be alive. For the past couple, particularly yesterday, I wasn’t sure it was worth it.

This morning I again woke up with my neck and stomach feeling crappy, thinking Fart-a, how can I handle another day of this shit? I can’t, I can’t! only this time I took a cup of coffee and went and sat by the window where I could watch the birds at the feeders (which seems to relax me profoundly), and voila, the neck thing went away and I started feeling myself again. I went into the bathroom and found myself singing (“a ha, I must be well!” I thought) and pulled a pound of bacon from the freezer and put it on to fry (interested in food and not just nauseated at the thought of it, yee ha!) and even massaged Scott’s very sore neck and shoulders, which I haven’t had the energy to do before this although he has been in a lot of discomfort. It’s a real workout to rub that boy’s back, let me tell you. I have to put all my weight behind my fists for him to feel I’m actually doing anything. I practically have to jump up and down. It takes some oomph. I am back! God it feels good to feel good.

***

If there are readers from Margo who haven't heard the horrible, sad news yet, we lost Duane Rothlander to a heart attack the other day. He was only 44 years old or thereabouts. His slightly older brother died of heart illness mere months ago. I can only imagine what this puts their family through; the world must seem a very unreliable and torturous place to them right now.

Dribs and Drabs

Scott and his sister Tanya with her grandchildren

Scott's biggest smiles are seen when he's got a lapful of small children. He should put on a few pounds and get a job as a department-store Santa.

***

Watched Heaven on Earth last week, a Deepa Mehta film that turned my stomach. I cannot watch a program depicting physical abuse of women without feeling sick, and very angry, because I know this shit is still going on, and legally, all over the world. Scott too gets upset: “Guys like that should be taken out to a field and shot. Backwards bastards.” I agree. Intellectually I’m against capital punishment and will never support it, but emotionally I can be a redneck.

***

I’ve been thinking lately of the day we got the news that Mom had terminal cancer, how shocking and horrifying that was, how the phone call announcing it was short, and after a couple hours of weeping and trying to pull myself together and breaking out in hives I called back and asked to talk to Mom herself. And she said something like this:
“I don’t want you to be too freaked out. I have to die sometime, and this happens to be the when and the how for me. At least I’ve had the opportunity to watch my children grow up and to know my grandchildren, which is more than many have. I’ve had a very good life, I’ve been lucky. And now that I know my end date, I can spend the rest of my time making the best of it. It’s a natural thing, death. It will happen to you too, you know.”

Life ends in death. That’s a fact. It’s a wonder we don’t walk around depressed all the time.

***

Remember Henry Winkler, a.ka. The Fonz in the series Happy Days? He gave a pretty good talk that a blogger posted about here.

Pizza Crusts

My boy finished high school, recently turned 18, and doesn't know what his next step will be. For now, he's home, feeling he's "not very mature yet" (his words, I understand) and wanting time to feel his way ahead. I'm all up behind that because, really, what is the rush? He's happy. I think this is the first time in years that he hasn't felt pressured by homework, and he's loving it.

It's not as if he lies about all day picking his nose, scratching his balls and playing videogames. He puts in four hours a day at whatever I assign. He's paying his room and board this way for now and, though I don't work him hard, I do work him. I haven't washed dishes more than once since the beginning of September. Tomorrow he'll probably clean the bathroom, since it's overdue and the young gal who agreed to do it for us every two weeks is stuck in town with a car that won't run and no money to fix it. Darn it. He'll hate that, but he'll do it. Not as well as Megan, but well enough. On Monday he made bagels. Sometimes I have to scrunch up my forehead for a while to think of jobs for him; that's what the list on the fridge is for, mind you. Yesterday in Kelvington I bought a couple frozen pizzas, as I usually do when they're on sale 2 for $10. I hate the damn things even if they do fill the hole; they taste like shit after you've eaten them too often and for too long. And I'm sure they're made of plastic.

Everett's pizza crusts are to die for, though, and healthy — 100% whole wheat. This morning a pizza crust marathon was my command, and he is hard at it, and loving it. He's listening to a favourite CBC radio show, WireTap, on his laptop, and laughing away as he mixes his dough on the kitchen table. It's taken me a few years to appreciate this program, but now we chuckle at it together all the time. I rant about how Jonathan should dump those so-called "friends," Gregor and Howard, and Everett thinks this is the funniest thing. "With friends like them, who needs enemies?" I always say.

He's just come into the office to inform me that, "You know I'm making all these crusts to freeze? Well I'm cooking one of them. We're going to eat one."
Oh yeah, I'm all over that.
He'll just put garlic powder and cheese on it, and oregano, and it will be our late lunch.

There was a documentary the other day about how kids don't leave home at 18 and stay away anymore, like they did (and couldn't do it fast enough, as I recall) when I was just finishing high school. They can't afford to now, apparently, due to the dearth of jobs and the cost of living. Me, I couldn't wait to have my own place and my own money and be in the city where I must have thought all the action was.

Everett is definitely not me.

He is not difficult to have around. In contrast, my parents were probably relieved to see me go.
Everett will do what he is asked, with very little fussing, if any. Me, at that age? Doubt it.

The bottom line is that I don't want to push him out of the nest. I want him to be ready to go on his own. He is not there yet. I'm okay with this; patience is the big lesson of my life; still learning it.

 I am glad he's here, and I trust that he will strike out when there is an adequate beckoning. Surely at some point he will run screaming from his mother's house. Don't they all?

***

Mmm... here we go ... midafternoon lunch ....

Check out this link on Everett's page; it's good for a few laughs. He wonders if the British would find the Canadian way of speaking as humorous as we find theirs.

Click here:

http://goldengrainfarm.blogspot.com/p/what-amuses-ev-nov-15.html

: .

More Winter Scenes

Photos courtesy of Kurt E., who still has the old camera and seems to be enjoying it quite a bit.  Methinks he will never want to part with it. Click to enlarge, for a taste of winter without the biting cold. These were taken a few weeks ago; we now have at least a foot of snow on the ground.

Everett and I went to Kelvington this afternoon. He had a doctor's appointment and I had to drop off a gift for Grandma, to go under the Christmas tree at the nursing home. Their big party is next Wednesday.
Everett went in with me and we found Grandma sitting alone at a table in the dining room, where she  faced a wall (why does this seem to be the case in every seniors' place she lives in? I swear, all three since she moved from her home in Margo. I know there is no paradise, but this crappy lot sure seems to fall to her every time. Not that she cares).
I asked her if she recognized this strapping big fellow with me. She said "I know his face ...."
We didn't stay too long. The oldsters were gathering in the dining room to wait for a choir that was coming in to sing Christmas carols.

Tree's Up

The angel Aunt Shirley made

Everett has put up the tree and decorated it, as he does each year in December.

When he was 10 and we had recently moved out here, he looked forward to unpacking our six-foot artificial tree before Christmas. But we weren't sure where it was, and Scott said he had a tree stored at his brother's and would bring it over. However, when he took it out of the box and put it together, it stood about three feet tall. Everett wept with disappointment, and we redoubled our search for the bigger tree. And found it.

Apples of Me Eeee

Goofy Pair

Emil came out to spend Saturday night with us, and he and his brother came into the bedroom to see me for a few minutes on Sunday while I was propped up, reading. He likes the new house we moved him into, "It's nice and quiet," he tells us.

Still no closet doors hung. I'll remind Scott yet again to "get right on that." Maybe I should put it on my Christmas wish list? The one year I made a list of things I might like, he went out and bought everything on it. Man, I felt spoiled and lucky. But I don't dare do it again; I'd feel I was taking advantage.


***


"There are only 300 northern right whales left, and 99% of blue whales have been wiped out... I've just signed an urgent global petition supporting a new treaty to prevent mass extinction. The petition will be delivered Friday at UN talks in Japan -- check out the email below and sign on here."

http://www.avaaz.org/en/the_end_of_whales/96.php

From 51 to 200 in Three Seconds

On Friday I bent over to pet Ducky as I passed him in the kitchen, and my lower back “went out.” Well, it did something that felt like it cracked horizontally. I could barely straighten up, it was painful to walk to the bed, and not easy to lie down or get up again, either. How quickly we go from being lithe and flexible to being achey and moving like a 200-year-old.

 I wasn’t able to sit here at the desk, so Everett let me borrow his laptop and take it to bed with me. I spent much of the day tucked in under the quilts; it was a lovely way to spend time at the computer, actually, quite comfortable, although the laptop doesn’t have Microsoft Word so I couldn’t work. I caught up with all my favourite blogs instead. I made up for that today; worked this afternoon, and also did the usual extra hour that I put in every weekend so that I can take time off when it suits me, and be paid for it.

Back’s still a bit stiff but getting better. At least it doesn't hurt anymore.

***

Everett has posted a new video on his page. Click here to see it.

My Friends Write, Too

Everett fills the feeders

 Two of my friends have sent new entries for their pages (links on the left, under "Lookee here") today. Please see Joanne's letter from Out Margo Way, and Julie's Pure Christmas:

Click here: Out Margo Way
Click here: Pure Christmas

Grandma is 94

Grandma on her 94th birthday

When I arrived at the nursing home to pick Grandma up, I learned that she had been moved from her room in the ladies' main ward to another room in the dementia ward. Apparently she has been even more confused than usual and the staff felt she needs more attention, which she will get in the "locked" ward, which is like a tiny community in itself.

I let myself through the doors and entered the nearby sitting room, where I found Grandma tucked into a loveseat holding hands with another little lady. They looked like two little girls; and the other lady said with dismay, "You aren't taking her away, are you?"

We went over to my niece Cara's a few blocks away and had tea and goodies with my sister Karen and my aunt Shirley, but I don't recall Grandma saying a word the whole time unless she was directly spoken to. Did she enjoy herself? It's hard to tell.

She has become slow-moving and less able to do things like put her coat on, zipper it up, even pull on her gloves. I dressed her like a child, and Everett led her with the walker she now uses. Getting her safely in and out of my van was a struggle, as even with the stool we carry to help Emil get in and out of the vehicle, Grandma doesn't move with confidence anymore. I could still boost her up, but in the confined space of the back seat it was difficult to help her manoeuvre into position to put her seatbelt on and I was afraid of hurting her. Everett, who has the long arm and the strength to do it better than I, could not fit his larger self in there comfortably enough to reach around her and help her slide all the way onto the seat. We managed, but Grandma was huffing and puffing by the time her seatbelt was securely fastened, and then again by the time we got her out again and back to her room. She was exhausted and I suggested she lie down for a nap after I took her jacket, gloves, hat and scarf off and put them away. I had to lift her legs onto the bed. 

I covered her up with a small quilt Mom made, which lies folded at the bottom of Grandma's bed. I told her that Emil has been asking to come and see her, so we'd try to get there this weekend. When I said Emil's name she perked up and asked, "Emil?" That is Grandpa's name also, and I bet she thought of him right away.

As I went out the door I called back, "Have a happy birthday," and she echoed as I made my way down the hallway, "Happy Birthday."

The Sound of Music

Our little sweetheart snuggles in with Scott in the evenings

And here is a little something for Emma, whom I call our "triple threat" as she not only acts and sings but is a budding playwright as well, all at age 12 or so (I can never remember your age, my little dear!). For my friends who know her, Emma is Cathy R's daughter.

Click here to see a flash mob performance (to the tune of "Do-Re-Mi" from The Sound of Music) in a train station in Belgium.


Can anyone advise me whether there is something I can do so that certain embedded files don't bleed over into the right-hand column? Some do, some don't. The flash mob performance does, so I've removed the embedded file and replaced it with a link.

Local Ladies Enter Dragons' Den

Nine of Foam Lake, Saskatchewan’s ten “Breast Friends” are appearing on Dragons' Den tonight to pitch their latest business idea. The group of ladies has raised money for breast cancer research since 2004 when they self-published their first Breast of Friends cookbook. Foam Lake is about a half-hour's drive from here.

Here's an article from Saskatoon's Star-Phoenix:


From grassroots to incredible success, the Breast Friends never seem to lose momentum. Nor do they lose focus. They continue to work for the cancer cause -- raising more than $1 million for the fight against cancer via their fundraising cookbooks.

"Whenever we get tired and lose energy, there's always something that comes out of the woodwork and re-energizes us, and away we go," Patti Hack, one of the 10 "seasoned" members of the Breast Friends group, said in a telephone interview from her home in Foam Lake.

Breast Friends is comprised of Hack, Cecile Halyk, Linda Helgason, Darlene Cooper, Jacquie Klebeck, Jeannie Johnson, Val Helgason, Anne Reynolds, Nat Dunlop and Charlene Rokochy.

On Wednesday night, the group of volunteer women from Foam Lake will be featured on CBC TV's Dragon's Den. The show sees entrepreneurs pitch their products to a panel of Canadian business people in the hope that one of the "Dragons" will invest.

The Breast Friends auditioned for the show in Regina this summer, and headed to Toronto for the taping.

The group isn't allowed to reveal what kind of deal they're hoping to get from the investors prior to the show airing.

"But what I can tell you is that we don't fit the Dragon's Den," Hack said. "When people hear that we're on, they're always amazed."

That's because Breast Friends is non-profit.

Hack chuckled as she recalled a self-published author, who previously appeared on Dragon's Den, who was told that no self-published author ever sells more than 10,000 books, so his book would never be a success and that he should get off the stage.

"I remember watching that and smiling, because at that point we were way, way, way past 10,000 and we're self-published authors," she said.

While in Regina babysitting her grandchildren, Hack decided to audition for Dragon's Den. She pitched the group's business plan and talked about what Breast Friends has done for sales and donations.

"We honestly thought that would be it, but they phoned us and said 'Come and tape,' " Hack said.

Nine of the 10 group members were able to make it to the taping in Toronto.

"And we only found out three weeks ago that we're on."

In addition to television exposure, the Breast Friends group has moved onto the international stage.

"We've entered a world cookbook competition in Europe," Hack said, though there is no word yet on how they fared.

The group was also featured in the November issue of Gourmand Magazine, a cookbook magazine published in Spain and widely distributed throughout Europe. The magazine featured Breast Friends as an example of a new trend -- cookbooks that support charities.

All of the Breast Friends cookbooks are national bestsellers. For the Breast of Friends, For the Breasts and the Rest of Friends, and Breast Wishes each contain over 400 tried-and-true recipes, as well as pictures, cancer information, quotes and quips and a generous helping of stories. The group's most recent cookbook, Breast Wishes for Christmas, features about 225 of the group's favourite Christmas recipes, as well as holiday quotes and heartwarming stories.

"We hit the ground running and we have not taken a breath," Hack said.

Since they published their first cookbook for the cause, two of the Breast Friends have moved away from Foam Lake and six members of the group have retired, which has created some challenges, Hack said.

"But we still love it," she insisted. "I don't think we are at the end of the journey yet."

For more information about Breast Friends cookbooks, visit their website at www.breastfriends.ca or call 1-877-560-4547.
© Copyright (c) The Regina Leader-Post

Going Out

Darn, the sparkles never show up very well, but they are part of what makes snow so beautiful

Off to Kelvington to see Grandma today. It's her 94th birthday. Everett will come along; we'll pick Grandma up and take her over to my niece Cara's new home, where we'll meet my sister Karen and our aunt Shirley and have a cup of tea together. We'll keep it short and sweet, as Grandma tends to worry about getting back to her familiar surroundings and be confused.

***

I keep telling myself that I’m not going to come to the computer with my coffee when I first get up in the mornings, because I get tied here for too long. Instead I’m going to sit at the table or read a book. But I don’t. I keep coming here.

I also tell myself I’m going to do the advised thing and do the Tibetan Rites first thing and before eating breakfast. But that rarely happens, as the last thing I want to do when I first get up is exercise. I want to sit and sip my coffee and nothing much more.

Weekends are the only mornings I wake up, remember that I don’t have to work that day, and breathe a sigh of relief because there is no pressure at all. Except lately, now that we take laundry in and pick Emil up in town on Saturdays.


***

Time to get into the tub, wrap the prezzies, and then head out into the cold blue yonder.
Oh -- first, an email from Joanne has just come in. Will get that posted onto her blog page, Out Margo Way (see link on left).

Sad Anniversary of the Polytechnique Massacre

"I realized many years later that in my life and actions, of course I was a feminist. I was a woman studying engineering and I held my head up." - Nathalie Provost, one of the women wounded in the shooting

Read We Are Not Feminists.

Carnage on the Roads

Click to enlarge
These are likely coyote tracks, which crisscross the ditches all along my afternoon walk.

The other night on my way home from town, a raccoon ran out from the ditch and dashed in front of the truck. I had no time to slow down before I saw it come out safely beyond the driver's side, but then it turned and ran right back and I heard the tire go over it. "Oh no, luvvie...." I groaned, but what could I do? I should stop and make sure it was dead, but how? I had nothing to beat it to death with (and honestly I don't know if I could make myself do it, especially if it requires more than one blow) and I know from experience that driving over the animal again does not necessarily kill it either (been there, tried that, as a young woman; still chagrins me to think of it). If it was wounded, I wouldn't be able to touch or move it; raccoons are dangerous. So ... I damn near cried, but not quite, and drove on home feeling knife-twisting regret. The next day Everett chauffeured me down there to have a look, but we didn't see anything along the road or nearby. I can hope that the tire only ran over the raccoon's foot and it limped away and is living happily ever after with just a little bruising.

And here's the worrisome thing: I was driving less than 60 kilometres per hour when the animal ran out. That's how fast it happens; you can't slow down quickly enough for them to get across, but on the rare occasion that you do -- well, I have been in a convoy of vehicles driving down the highway at THREE kilometers per hour with a small herd of deer on the road next to them, and one deer's hoof slipped and its leg went under the tire of the truck ahead of me and the deer bounced off and away into the bush with its broken leg dangling.

It is carnage out there, and not only for the animals. People are killed every year when their vehicles collide with wildlife like moose and deer.

***

Lazy morning. It’s not as if all my mornings aren’t “lazy” ones if I choose, but on Sundays I take time to read, and don't feel pressured to get work done first. Everett sometimes comes and sits in the chair behind me and we find things to laugh about. He pointed at the blog header and pronounced scornfully that "it's a bird, it's a plane" is a boring cliché and how lame am I, etc., to which I replied Yeah, so? (That is precisely why I used it, but I didn't bother explaining; he wouldn't get it. I chuckled at my teenager's contempt for my self-embraced uncoolness and then appreciatively altered the header as per his superior suggestion.)

*** 

Cameron phoned last night; he was relaxing at home in St Albert. We should be calling each other more often, I know; it’s important to keep in touch. Mom worried about him living alone and not feeling enough part of the family. She advised her daughters to make a point of greasing the communication lines. I think she advised Dad, too, as he has stirred himself to phone all his kids on a regular basis and to maintain his and Mom's social network among friends and other relatives since she died. He may not have felt like dialing our numbers sometimes, but he made himself do what he "ought," much as Dad has always done, now that I think about it. 

I'm glad he phones, as I think about doing it a lot more often than actually doing it. He's set a good example. Go, Dad!

Sounds like my brother the trucker (that brothertrucker) will try to get a load out this way around Xmastime, since Dad and Grace are in Palm Springs and Joan and her hubby and kids are spending Xmas up at the ski lodge. My boys are staying home this year and I won't go far either, except to see my good friend Mz Bell, who will be in Regina over the holiday week. Actually I could have a real friend fest if I get off my duff and drive those two hours; I hear my high school partner-in-crime Kim will be in the city at the same time and there is another old friend who lives there, with whom ties of friendship have only recently been renewed after decades without contact.  

Based on Historical Fact

Got the Christmas Spirit Yet?

Photo courtesy of Kurt Ekstrom

Along with my amazement that there are still thinking persons who believe that women shouldn't have equal status and rights legally, economically and socially, or persons who believe women should have or already have equality but don't consider themselves "feminists" because the word has come to mean "man-haters" or "women who aren't loving, giving, family-supporting" or something, which is entirely ridiculous, it is also beyond me why there are so many Americans who don't want everybody in the country to have state-funded healthcare. I've heard the arguments against it, of course, and certainly I'm aware of the fearmongering the insurance companies are indulging in to scare the hell out of people, but I'm surprised that people buy it.

In Canada, and particularly here in Saskatchewan where it all began, we are proud of and grateful for our public healthcare system which, although like any system it has its flaws and needs to be improved, means that I can take Emil to the doctor for a checkup today without worrying about where I'll come up with the money to pay for his visit. It means that whatever he needs, if I can't afford it or can't afford the insurance or he can't, it will be provided — and that has always been the case, in all of his 22 years. I can only imagine the strain it would have put on our family if we had had to fight with insurance companies to pay for the most basic of his needs; we had enough to worry about, thank you very much.

That said, Tommy Douglas and his political party had a hell of a fight on their hands when they brought in universal healthcare all those years ago. Doctors fought it. There were strikes. There was hysteria! We were no brighter here in Canada than they are in the States, so we shouldn't be so smug I guess. It all seems so silly to us now... here. In the States, many people are still fighting universal healthcare tooth and nail. To most Canadians, that is bewildering.

Anyhoo, all this to let you know that I'm going to throw a few bucks southward to help out a mother who seems to have been left in a rough spot by the US for-profit-only healthcare system. Maybe you can afford to do the same and will find it in your heart to do so.

2:34pm
Mission accomplished! Rigel informs me that the money flowed in this afternoon. That was fast!

To Hell with Stress

Interesting program about stress on the National Geographic channel tonight.

Twenty years ago a baboon tribe got into a dump and ate tuberculosis-infected meat, and many of them died. Researchers discovered that the ones that died were alpha males, which in baboons are usually more aggressive. Aggression apparently creates stress, and stressed bodies have weaker immune systems.

The tribe had previously been typical in that the females took a lot of “guff” from the dominant males, which would take out their bad moods on the females. After the tribe was decimated and a majority of the remaining members were non-aggressive males or females, new young males that joined the group would socialize within about six months, learning that the male aggression practised in other baboon groups was not acceptable here; that the behaviours demonstrated toward the females as well as other males were gentler and the aggressive behaviour wasn’t tolerated.

Twenty years later this particular group remains socially very different than other baboon groups.

The researchers note that our society admires those who live a high-stress life, multi-tasking, getting a lot done, working hard. They make a connection between living that way — constantly pressuring ourselves to achieve more — and the problem with obesity and related health problems. The research suggests that we need to learn to live a more balanced lifestyle, limiting the number of hours we work so that we can continue to be productive for the longer term and have fewer health challenges.

Where our road joins the correction line

I long for her so often, feel the urge to pick up the phone and call. It only lasts a few moments, and I go on about my day. It's a natural missing of someone so dear that I haven’t seen in five years and don’t expect to see in the next five either. I hate that part so much, it almost makes me grit my teeth.

Emil Has Been Relocated

Emil's move was quick and easy, with Scott and Everett hauling Grandma's *Ultramatic bed and mattress from our porch here, and then transferring Emil's chiffonier (a word Mom always used for a "dresser" or  "chest of drawers") from the old room to the new. In short order we had his clothes, CDs, books, bedding, ghetto blaster, pictures and toothbrush loaded up and into the entryway of the new house, where Emil was greeted with vocal enthusiasm by the other residents, which we found quite cute. They grabbed bags and boxes and helped lug them down to the new bedroom and then visited with us while we helped Emil unpack and got his bed made up. He didn't want us to leave when the time came, but it was close to their 5 o'clock suppertime and I felt we should get out of the way.

It's unusual for Emil to try to delay our farewells, but lately he's done it more often, probably because we're seeing so little of him during the week, if we see him at all, and then on weekends he only comes out Saturday afternoon and goes back the next day. It's not enough for him and frankly not for me either. Once he gets out here he's in no hurry to return to the group home. Maybe I'll have to start picking him up on Fridays after work instead of waiting till Saturday: give him two nights at home, and make him do some dishes while he's here so it's not all just easy street.

This Friday, Mallard Industries has their annual Christmas banquet and dance. It is probably the highlight of the year for the clients and residents, and Emil loves it. He doesn't invite Scott and me to attend with him, although most people do take some family members or friends along. I guess he's like most men his age; why would you want to drag your parents along to a party?

*If you know anyone local who wants an Ultramatic bed, put them in touch with me. This one has hardly been used and Emil won't be using the electronic functions either. It would be good to sell it to someone who actually needs a bed like this.

***

My friend Julie has posted a new entry, The Glow of the Hour, on her page in the column on the left. She's nervous about putting herself "out there," and she really has put herself out there in this letter with some very personal revelations. You might leave her a comment if you recognize bits of your own life in her story.