At the Corner

they watch us

hm...which way to go...

"runnin' like a white-ass deer" (in a joni mitchell song)

to the safety of the bush

My Date with the Dentist

click to enlarge

Heaven-knows a flat-roofed house isn't a very good plan when you live in Saskatchewan, but yesterday as we drove around the streets of Wynyard after my appointment with the dentist, this homeowner's solution stood out. He built a proper roof over top, so the snow will slide off and the summer rain won't pool and his roof won't collapse from the weight.

Very sensible. Looks silly, but isn't. What's silly is to build flat-topped houses anywhere there are several feet of snow every winter. You do see quite a few of them, strangely enough.

And hey. I was nervous as hell about having those wisdom teeth pulled. Even though the roots were straight and it should be a straightforward extraction, I feared the time in the chair and the consequent swelling. Yet lo, the dentist decided only one tooth really needed to go, and had me in and out of that chair in half an hour, and the only painkillers I took were over-the-counter Advil afterward — and I'm not even sure those were necessary, I just took them to be on the safe side.

Isn't it great when an anticipated ordeal turns out not to be one? I never had one moment of discomfort, except maybe for the sensation of the dentist twisting the tooth to get it out— and that was only pressure and sound, that's all.
The dentist pronounced that he'd have had me out of the chair even quicker if my mouth was larger; he has small hands, he said, and still had to figure out how to work inside my not-gaping maw.
"If your husband or kids ever try to tell you you have a big mouth, I'll be here to tell them otherwise," he said.

P-Harmony

Save You for Last

I could watch someone draw, all day!

Hilary Grist is one of the gals who came out and did a house concert for us in the fall.

Women for Women International

A letter came from Women for Women, informing me that Naomi, the young woman my monthly donations have been sponsoring in the Democratic Republic of Congo, is finished the program and another lady has been registered.

Sifeta, in the second photo, lives in Bosnia and was born the same year as me, 1959.

Naomi is the same age as Emil, 22, and is raising three of her own children and a nephew. I'm looking forward to the report detailing how the Women for Women program has helped her and her family.

And I wonder how Sifeta is pronounced.

Have you considered sponsoring a woman like yourself in another country? Except that she is a survivor of war and has witnessed and suffered violent atrocities, and cannot always successfully provide adequate food and shelter for herself and her family, she could be you.

Kazuri Beads

For Christmas my sister Joan gave me a necklace, a large bead on a thin leather strap (which I am wearing today over my favourite—and only— grey turtleneck). It had a tag “kazuri bead” on it so I did an internet search, finding this webpage: click here to peruse the pages.

Other interesting things I've come across while reading blogs:

This lady turns your child’s drawing into a piece of jewellery or a keychain:
http://www.formiadesign.com/.


Read this if you have an elderly parent:
http://athomewiththefarmerswife.blogspot.com/2010/12/thanks.html

What to Do with Old Sweaters

 Miss Kathy at Kitchen Blogic, I'll "see" your sweater-sleeves and "raise" you one photo ...

I think, though I am not sure, that I saw these craft ideas on the Found, Now Home webpage.

Links to many of the webpages mentioned here are displayed in the columns on either side. When a new entry is made in them, they rotate to the top of their categories so I know it's time to go see what's up. This works beautifully for me, for two reasons:
1) I never go to a favourite website and discover there are no new entries, and am thus never disappointed, and
2) when I come to my own webpage here, I get a little surprise because something has changed. Works for me. Easy to entertain, apparently.

Notice today how all three of the little daily extras (the tarot card, the quotation, and the excerpt from Anaïs Nin's diary) fit so perfectly together. I didn't plan that, but appreciate the co-ink-ee-dink.

Travelling to Tisdale

Archerwill kidlets cross the road

Emil and I had a pretty good trip today; it's not quite as far as I thought, to Tisdale (home of Corner Gas's Brent Butt; the town has erected a billboard too); we left Wadena by 9 and were there in time for my appointment at 10:30. The mercury has come up considerably so there was frost coming out of the pavement and a few spots were worrisome,  but I dawdled along, not in any hurry. Nice drive.

The end results are that the optometrist thinks what is happening to my eyes is normal at my age and after having a couple rounds of that swollen-eyes thing I've had in the past (depending on which doctor you talk to, it was either from stress or from an allergy; I think it was from not washing the salty tears from my skin often enough when there was a lot of weeping), and that it may not get much worse. If it does, and my eyelids fall low enough to come in front of my pupils, the government will pay for corrective surgery. If not, and I want to go that route, it is considered cosmetic surgery and the cost has to come out of my own pocket. I'm not concerned out of vanity, as I've resigned myself to all these weird changes going on in my appearance. They've got to come and there's no point bewailing them. If I'm lucky, I'll get old and wrinkly, with jowls, and that's all there is to it. As long as I'm healthy and fit, who cares if my round blue eyes turn into beady holes with pudgy flaps drooping over them? Heh. It is to laugh. But I'll tell you, the weight on my upper eyelashes makes me aware that something is going on, as if I'm tired or my eyes are swollen.

As for the dilemma of Emil's glasses, the verdict is that he sees only marginally better with them than without them, so unless he develops headaches or various possible side effects of eye strain, he doesn't need to wear them. Aren't you glad, Gord, that your insurance bought them? Because they're going into a drawer.


On the road home there was water on the pavement. Oh, and we saw a skunk out walking. As I tell people this, they say that skunks hibernate, so the sighting is a sign of spring. Or that skunks semi-hibernate, which means they sometimes come out in winter and then go back to sleep. So I still daren't predict.

We pulled into the town of Rose Valley to see if we could wangle a visit with Emil's favourite schoolteacher, who retired at the end of last month. I parked in front of this little store to make the call.
No luck: no answer. We drove around the streets because Emil likes to do that, and he got quite excited when he spotted her car, but another phone call got no answer either so I didn't go to the door. Some other time ....

on Rose Valley's main street

I have no new news about Dallas's condition, but my cousin Karla posted this picture of her makeshift bed in his room, on her FB page this morning:

And Dad called; he is back home in Kelowna. Apparently their months in the States weren't all that pleasant weatherwise — cold, icy, windy, snowy. Just like home!

Might Could Go Back to Horses and Buggies

My heroes

Everett and I weren't too far from home Thursday afternoon when we went through a snow drift, which packed snow up under the van's carriage and knocked the power steering belt off. I had the lad pull over, then got out and popped the hood. Before I could say Hm, what's this then? our neighbour on his way home had pulled over to see what was what. He attempted to get the belt back on the pulley, but it was difficult because there's so little space in there for man hands. A few minutes later another fellow passing by stopped to help, and the two of them fiddled around under the hood while I busied myself reaching under the vehicle to knock snow out from underneath. Everett is there, just out of the photo on the left, bored. Then Scott turned up and, having done this exact same operation for the same reason just a few weeks ago, before long they had us on our way again. Although Everett and I took Scott's truck, and Scott took the van to the heated shop at his parents' so some of that snow and ice packed up under the motor could melt off. While it was there he took out the tractor and cleared the road.

I think my next vehicle might have to be a truck. For sure it won't be a van.

Being stranded if you break down is rarely a concern around here, unless maybe you're a fool out in a blizzard and no one else is out on the roads. In normal circumstances your neighbours will always stop and help you, and so will strangers (and the last thing that would occur to you is to be afraid of them). It's a good place to live. It was damn cold out there too— my toes were frozen by the time we were headed toward town again— yet those guys messed around out there in the frigid weather for at least half an hour, maybe even an hour, good-humouredly. Probably around 20C-below this afternoon, but supposed to start warming up to just a few degrees below 0C tomorrow. We'll see.

Emil and I will be on the road bright and early. We have an hour-and-a-half drive to have his glasses checked out by an optometrist. In July he got a new pair when he was at his dad's in Edmonton, and he has said from day one that he couldn't see with them, and we've thought he was being stubborn (he insisted he didn't want new glasses) and made him wear them anyway. About two weeks ago when I was cleaning the lenses and they wouldn't come clear, it occurred to me that Emil might actually have known what he was talking about. Shame on me for not giving him the benefit of the doubt six months ago. Usually I would have.

And speaking of horses, a horse rescue farm is taking five of the seven that only a few weeks ago were destined for the auction (on the way to a dog food factory). Friday morning they will be loaded into a trailer and hauled to a new home somewhere west of Saskatoon. That will loosen the feed and pasture crunch here considerably and we'll keep looking for places for the last two— a stallion and a gelding. But in the meantime they can now be put together so the stallion won't be lonely and miserable anymore.

We have been offering these horses for free to horse lovers for years, without takers, but it wasn't until as a last attempt I put the call out to my Facebook friends that the network did the job that was needed. A useful tool, is that Facebook.

No Longer AWOL

coyote with broken foreleg

Everett and I were on our way to town on Friday to do laundry and bring Emil home, when I spotted an animal at some distance making its way across a field. It didn't look right though, as it was shorter in front, as a wildcat might be, so I got Everett to drive toward it. It was a coyote struggling through the deep snow, with its front leg badly broken.
It could have escaped from a leghold trap, or been hit by a car, but it would only starve to death if nothing was done. When we got to town I went in search of someone with a rifle and gave him the coordinates. Felt lousy doing it, but would have felt worse if I hadn't.

Tracy and Emil

After helping Everett haul the laundry into the laundromat, load the washers, add the detergent and plug in the loonies and quarters, I went to pick Emil up from work. He'd already left in the Mallard Industries van so I met him at the group home. This is Tracy, his primary aide in the group home. She's very good at her job, a real sweetie who likes to laugh and to tease Emil. She says he's starting to "get" it ... as Emil is a person who doesn't understand the concept of teasing and joking. He's a serious lad and takes every word at face value.

On Sunday morning when the phone rang and Scott brought it to me in bed, my first thought was that something had happened to Grandma. But it was my Aunt Shirley, telling me that my cousin Karla's husband Dallas had broken his back in a snowmobiling accident and asking me to drive her to Flin Flon to look after her grandchildren, as Karla went with Dallas in an air ambulance to Saskatoon and Shirley wasn't confident to drive up there. 
So by noon we two were on the road, and I felt like I was covering the miles into my past. It's been quite a few years since I've lived in the Flin Flon area —about 24, I guess, or 25 —and around 7 we were unloading Shirley's bags into Karla and Dallas's house at Denare Beach. I stayed long enough to get a peek at Paxton and Gracie, who are in kindergarten and Grade 2, then toured the little village to see what houses I could remember. I managed to find one of the little ones I had lived in for a while, and then motored over to Scott's sister Laurel's place. I was standing outside my vehicle, parked in her driveway, when she and her beau pulled up, wondering what the heck I was doing there. She fed me a couple bowls of delicious stew and we chatted a couple hours before I headed back toward Creighton to spend the night at my old buddy Luanne's place. You may remember I visited her up north in the fall of 2009, when she was living at Rocky Lake, nearer to The Pas.
We squeezed in two hours of talk before I hit the guest bed and she went off to her own room, having to get up early in the morning and go to work. She was already gone by the time I got up, but had left me a note with her phone number at work, and her mom's, just in case I needed anything before I left. I don't know why, but that last part cracked me up. I found the tea, the toaster and the bagels with no problem and had no need to call Zedda for help. Cute.
Then I hit the icy trail.
I pulled over on Flin Flon's main street to show you the stack from the smelter; that white cloud is something, but not a cumulous cloud, and in the 20C-below cold it was making its presence known:

Main Street of Flin Flon, Manitoba

It was a great day for travel: blue sky, clear road, and CBC radio came in perfectly for all seven hours of driving. Can't beat that. Only one long icy gravel-road detour west of Preeceville, where they seemed to be repairing a bridge:

I called Shirley this morning to get an update on Dallas's condition. His back is broken in two places; all but two ribs are broken; he has a broken collar bone or shoulder bone; fluid in a lung; they were giving him an epidural this morning to stop his lungs from collapsing; they can't operate yet because his blood oxygen levels are too low; on Sunday he could still wiggle his fingers and toes; doctors were considering putting him on a ventilator; he's on morphine, in quite a lot of discomfort when awake.
That is everything I know. We wait and hope tomorrow brings him some relief and progress of some sort. We are also giving Uncle Bruce (who passed away Feb 2010) the credit for keeping his grandson Paxton safe, as the little fellow was on the ski-doo behind his dad when they hit an unmarked snowplow ridge on their way home from an afternoon of ice fishing. They both flew off the machine, which may have landed on Dallas, but Paxton was completely unhurt.

My Little Buddy

Nothing on the tube; everything worth looking at is outside the window

When Ducky the deer-faced chihuahua came to stay with us, I went online and did some research. I learned that chihuahuas choose a primary ally and then perceive everyone else with suspicion.
This is not technically true with Ducky, though I see traces of it once in a while. He has growled at Scott several times when he approached us, but that hasn't happened for a long time. 
Wherever I am, there is Ducky, even if I get up from the desk and go down the hall to the bathroom.
Occasionally he will abandon me to sit on someone else's knee, but not usually if mine is available. And at the end of the night he'll leave his crate in the closet at the foot of my bed, where he has been lying while I read, to scamper downstairs with Everett and snuggle in under his covers.
Since I've been sitting down with a cup of tea for a few minutes each afternoon, Ducky now comes and reminds me if I forget or try to skip the "quiet time." He figures he's due some lap time, or maybe he's just doing me a favour. It's a good thing, whatever his reasoning.

Yes, in the photo I am wearing a wool scarf indoors. Years ago my mom's aunt, Aunt Jean, advised that to prevent a migraine I should try putting on a scarf and tuque. Above, I have removed the tuque because it was just too hot in the house to wear it. I've also had to unwind the scarf. And I think I've taken a pill, as the tuque/scarf combo hadn't done the trick.

To explain what my migraines are like, I've used the term "neck" migraines. I'm thinking of changing that to "neck nausea." Imagine how your belly feels when you need to throw up. Now imagine the back or one side of your neck feels like puking. Can you?

On the weekend I hung a curtain rod in the bedroom; got tired of waiting for Scott to do it, which I only did because I figured he was experienced and would do a better job than me. Next: to hang rods here in the office and in the upstairs bedroom. I'm waiting to be sure the first rod doesn't fall down, first. The curtains are on a chair at the other end of the couch from hell, with its uncleanable microfibre.

Jane Fonda Meets Stephen Hawking

Fonda plays a person suffering from Lou Gehrig's Disease in — well never mind, go read about it for yourself, here.


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Got Natalie Merchant's newsletter:

Hello,
We have just added three new videos to the Leave Your Sleep section of the website from footage that was filmed on last summer's tour.  You can view performances of "The Janitor's Boy", "The Peppery Man" and "The Sleepy Giant". To enjoy the new videos visit the website: http://www.nataliemerchant.com/w/leave-your-sleep/


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This just in, forwarded from our friendly neighbourhood accountant; all of us farmers' wives will appreciate it:

Cletus is  passing by Billy Bob's hay barn one day when, 
Through a gap in the door,
He sees Billy Bob doing a slow and sensual striptease in front of an
Old green John Deere.

Buttocks clenched, he performs a slow pirouette,
And gently slides off first the right strap of his overalls,
Followed by the left. He then hunches his
Shoulders forward and in a classic striptease move,
Lets his overalls  fall down to his hips,
Revealing a torn and frayed plaid shirt.
Then, grabbing both sides  of his shirt,
He rips it apart to reveal his stained T-shirt
underneath.

With a final flourish, he tears the T-shirt from his body, 
And hurls his baseball cap onto a pile of  hay.

Having seen enough, Cletus rushes in and says,
"What the heck are you doing,Billy  Bob?"

"Jeepers, Cletus, ya scared the  bejeebers out of me,"
Says an obviously embarrassed Billy Bob.
"But me'n  the Ol' Lady been havin' trouble lately in
The bedroom d'partment, and the therapist suggested 
I do 'something sexy to a tractor'."

Imbolc

My friend Stacia passed along good news this morning: that the groundhog has predicted spring will be here in six weeks.
I'm looking forward to putting my bare feet on lush green grass again.
Though not, I'll admit, to the water that will be coming into the basement or to the mosquitoes and woodticks.

Around the House

Rock incense from Saudi Arabia (thanks to Bev Ziola)

the birthday cards

coffee-table book

Yes, a real seahorse. Very old -- like, 50 years.

My baby holds the baby

Under my pillow. Where do you keep YOUR pyjamas during the day?

Finishing That Damn Quilt

Each night I have been putting the wooden hoop around three squares of my quilt, and stitching through the batting and the backing. Last night I felt like continuing on to do more squares, but made myself put the quilt away. Always leave myself wanting more, as the saying sort of goes.
It was one day last week that I looked at the quilt, folded up next to the easy chair in the living room, and thought I’d just take it to Aunt Shirley and ask her to finish it. She whizzes through quilts and has a frame set up in her living room. I wanted to complete it myself, as it is the one Mom helped me with, but it has sat untouched for more than five years already. I was ready to give it up and get it done. I could imagine Mom, ever practical, agreeing with me.
Then that night I finally got at it. I’ve been cursing a lot as I prick my index finger and struggle to get the needle threaded, even with the handydandy little needle-threader Joan gave me a few years ago. But already I can see my stitchery improving enough so that I can enjoy myself while doing it, and relax.
And want more.

*** For new readers: when Mom was diagnosed with terminal kidney cancer in the spring of 2004, my sister Karen and I packed up our school-age kids and moved to Kelowna to be with her. After all, we might have as few as three more months with her, or up to a year if we were lucky, according to the doctors. More than anything Mom wanted her chicks back in the nest, and we wanted to be there to look after her and help Dad.
Once we found places to live and got our kids settled in their schools, Mom said to all three of us (Joan already lived in Kelowna), "One of you girls is going to be a quilter if it's the last thing I ever do." So she helped each of us cut out the fabric for a quilt of our choice, and helped us work on them. Mine is the one in the picture. It has appliquéd squares, which was the part I liked doing best; my preference is embroidery stitching so it was right up my alley. I don't like sewing machines much, but Mom supervised. She ripped out my bad seams, laughed with me at my frustrations with the whole sewing thing, and encouraged me to work at the sewing machine in her bedroom while she lay abed. "It relaxes me," she said. She also worked on the appliqués with me, and Joan and Karen picked up a little square once in a while too, to add a few stitches, and I think Aunt Reta also may have when she was there with us. Lots of beloved hands have touched this quilt.

A Gift

If the pants fit...wear 'em.

 Phone conversation:
My sister Joan: Did your birthday present fit?
Me: I don't know, I haven't tried them on yet.
Joan: You'll love them! They're super comfy. Do you like brown? I thought of grey, but that seemed kinda dull.
Me: Brown's perfect.
Joan: They're LuluLemon. I knew you'd never buy them for yourself. You'd look at the price tag and say "That's ridiculous!"


Anyway, they fit and there's the picture to prove it. And she is right, they are super comfy.

Scrappy Coco's Beauty Parlour

Emil's never been able to shave properly, and has found it a tedious task. He wouldn't mind having a beard, he insisted, and finally I stopped pushing him to shave. Go ahead, said I; it's your face.
And so he did. But when the beard gets all puffy, it's not pretty. Every time I'd take him for a hair cut, we'd ask the lady to trim the beard.
Then I found a beard trimmer in a store and voila, we can trim up his beard and whizz his hair off ourselves, since he likes it very short (a Grandpa Benson haircut, he calls it).
Here, Scott gives it a go. It looks like he could use a shave, himself. He'd been sick for a few days when this was taken, so we'll let that be his excuse. He's feeling better now, by the way.

***

"We should call him Scrappy Coco," Everett said, likening Scott to some film character.

Little Old Lady from Past Wadena

  Doncha love teenage sons?
Yeah. This is the cake mine made and decorated with loving care.
The icing is representative of wrinkles and, he tells us gleefully, the chocolate chips are symbolic of warts and moles. All they are missing is the whiskers poking out from their centres!

My breakfast was made and served to me yesterday. I received parcels in the mail, emails, gifts, cards, phone calls and all your fine comments. Thank you kindly. It was a pretty nice day.

My sister Karen brought Vickie with her and we spent the afternoon eating cake (Karen made black forest so we had a piece of that, and a piece of Everett's, plus he made chocolate fudge so we had to sample that too), sipping coffee with Bailey's Irish Cream, reading tarot cards (Vickie), scanning old family photos (Karen) and showing Vickie how to navigate around her new blog which, as soon as she tells me she's started posting entries, I'll pass on to you. Vickie works in a fly-in fishing camp in northern Saskatchewan over the summer, and is about to embark on a trip to Britain and South Africa and god knows where. I can hardly keep track of her, so I hope she takes to blogging with a vengeance.

Vickie and Karen arrive

Once a Year

Thank you, Joanne, for the birthday song this morning and for the anecdote about your dad and me. I only have a vague memory of him, but I can happily say that I have been lovingly held in the arms of some very good men and so your dad must have been one of the first, and given me a taste for it!

I have no complaints about turning 52, except maybe that Mom's prediction about the likelihood of developing the floppy Scandinavian eye flaps seems to be coming true. Gak. It's a good thing I have long eyelashes holding my eyelids up, so I can still see. 

With my luck, I'll end up one of those people who has to have plastic surgery out of necessity ... after insisting that I'd never do it out of vanity.

from my baby book

Tales from the Lagoon

the lagoon

You've been regaled with horror stories about the overflowing lagoon ever since we moved into Golden Grain Farm.
Even now, in freezing weather, it flows over the high-level mark and has to be pumped out every other day. This is because the groundwater level is so high that it fills in under the ice. Something like that.
I don't have to deal with it on a daily basis, but I have the pleasure of sharing someone else's disgust and frustration with the situation.
Fortunately he is accustomed to going out in rain, snow, hail or sleet even if he's got pneumonia and a fever and it's 30-below. Why? Because he raises cattle and has no choice. You can't let your cattle go hungry or thirsty for a day, so out you go, even if it kills you.
You may make it back to the house barely alive, and you may end up in the hospital, but you do what you have to do until then. At that point, I guess you call in the neighbours.

***

I'm going to worry about our friends who are in Mexico, until they get back on Friday.
Have you seen this site? It was created by a woman whose son drowned while staying at a Mexican resort.

She Was a Soldier of Sorts

The summer of 1976 (at least, that's what's scribbled on the back of this photo) was when I wanted to make some money, and signed up for basic military training with the reserve forces out at Dundurn, Saskatchewan, for the two months between Grade 10 and Grade 11.
That whole summer was a shock to my system. I wasn't athletic, nor an early riser, and would have been hard-pressed to take orders from anyone.
Imagine me, then, called to awaken at 5 a. m., go straight out of the barracks to do jumping jacks, and then jog down the road for a mile before coming back to shower with the ladies, make the bed on my bunk so a coin bounced off the rough wool blanket, and head out for breakfast.
Then there'd be a day of classes in all sorts of things, like weaponry and marching and military law. And lots of "doubling" around the base carrying a rifle across my chest, at the front of a platoon that was all boys, except for me and Cindy.
That's Cindy giving me a smooch, up there. The other gals were privates, like ourselves, with whom we shared the women's barracks. I think there was only the one.
It's amazing we got out of bed at all, come to think of it, because every night we were in the mess hall, drinking and dancing till the wee hours.

Anyhow, Cindy phoned me last night. We haven't seen each other more than once in the past many years, but we had a lovely talk.

Twenty-One Years Ago

Emil, age one

This has been posted before but what the hell, since Joanne mentioned him in her letter today, I'll show him off again. He really was a little cutie.

Yesterday when I dropped him off at the group home he tried, as always, to keep me as long as possible by bringing up new topics of conversation. He surprised me by saying "I think I'd like to move back to your place, Mom."

What?
My guess is that one night per week back at the homestead is not quite enough, and he needs to start coming out Fridays after work. We'll try that.

Might as well post the picture of the entire family at Grandma and Grandpa's anniversary, 21 years ago. If you click on it you'll get a better look. The face in the top left corner is my Yankee Doodle cousin Nathan, who couldn't make it to the do. My two sisters Joan and Karen are in the front, far left. I'm standing next to Mom and Dad on the far right. Grandma is in the front, right of centre, with a light blue dress, sitting next to her sister (Aunt Jean) in the red dress, and Grandpa is standing behind Grandma.

For those who don't know, Grandpa's name was Emil. This is an old name and not fashionable as a baby name anymore, but I find the names that are "in vogue" get overused. Many of my friends have the same first name as me. Everyone and their dog was named Kathy back in 1959 for some reason. Not saying there's anything wrong with Kathy for a name, but it's bland as a biscuit because it's ubiquitous. Anyhoo, now that Grandpa's been gone for so many years, I'm especially glad that I named Emil after him, because it is a reminder I'm glad to have. It brings back fond and warm memories of someone who was always very good to me.

I also think of Grandpa when I do a little jiggy happy-dance and blurt out a softspoken "Hoo-hooooooooo!" like he used to do in the kitchen sometimes, or when I ask someone if they "Need some cash?" or when I pour buttermilk onto my granola cereal or when I water my hollyhocks with a hose and sprayer in the summertime or anytime I eat little-finger-sized baby carrots from the garden.

I don't miss my long hair. Not one bit.

Back at Ya

Ducky makes a nest for himself

Response to comments:
Barbara, good to see you, thanks for the kind words – the best kind! Heh.
You can subscribe  in 2 ways: under Get Notified (in the column on the right) you can sign up and  new entries will be sent directly to your Google Reader. You have to sign up for a Google Reader first though. A lot of people use this to keep up with websites of their choice; it doesn’t work for me because I never remember to go to the Google Reader to see what has come in. If the notices would come into my everyday mail inbox it would be a lot handier.
[Can Google Reader be set up to do this? Does anybody know? Do tell.]

If you enter your email address under Or like this on the right, you’ll be signing up for my notify list. I send everyone on this list a short email with the link, every time I post a new entry. Or – er – I mean, I TRY to send a notification every time. Sometimes I forget, or maybe I’m really faithful and then the free NotifyList service screws up and doesn’t send the notices for days or even weeks or maybe even ever.  I’ve been pretty faithful about posting entries lately though, so you can safely visit me EVERY DAY!! Yee ha!
These are the only two ways I know of “subscribing.”

Louise,
My mom made the quilted pictures. They are place mats!
There is something about the outdoors that rests a soul; when I imagine having a terminal illness, for example, I also imagine having a bed outdoors, where it seems to me I’d want to be. Cold, rain and insects are not considered in this fantasy.

Colour and Light

Getting the green light

Everett and I trudged through the deep snow to the old house to pick up my colour lamp. Scott was feeling so terrible that in spite of the antibiotics I figured it was time to bring out the secret weapon: green light. Yeah, you heard me. Call it voodoo if you will, but over the years I have experienced the green light's beneficial effects from time to time and I figure even if the results aren't drastic, so what?
Lying under the green light does seem to make things happen that you might think would happen anyway, kind of like the way things seem to happen "naturally" after you've taken herbs for a condition. If you feel nauseated, the green light sometimes hurries things along and you end up running to the bathroom before it's shone on you for a half hour. In Scott's case, it got him moving a lot of gunk out of his chest.
Or maybe the antibiotics were kicking in. They could be. They should be.
In which case, the green light is only some extra "insurance." Or let's call it a mood enhancer.
Now that I've got it here and set up in the bedroom, I'm going to do some regular light therapy to prevent my migraines. I've always only pulled the lamp out when situations got severe and difficult to treat.
The way it works is by interacting with your energy field. There is a variety of colour plates that can be used. Different light affects our energy, our aura; it's simple. Look at what is being done with lasers nowadays and you'll get some idea what I'm talking about. The laser is made of light. A few years ago a university in Texas was having positive results treating cancer tumours with light.
The science is fascinating, but I don't spend time researching. I just use the lamp and find that it makes a difference. Lying under a coloured light can be strangely comforting, too, and methinks a lot of healing comes about through feeling warm and relaxed.

***

It sounds like the rescue ranch is going to take 4 of the farm's 7 horses that need new homes, so that is half the problem solved. Now we just have to hire someone to haul the great beasts, as apparently the  cattle-hauling system isn't in tip-top shape for winter roads.

***

Everett hates it when I tease him by saying matter-of-factly, after I’ve had to explain some simple thing or remind him of something, “See? This is why you still need your mother.”

***

Here's a link to a site that explains colour therapy a little: click here.

Oh, and speaking of horses, here is one of my favourite urls: click here, then turn your speakers up and click on the horses.

Friday Report

 8:24a.m.
V of Swords again today. OK, OK, I get it!
Having some buttered toast before brushing my teeth and going out to join Everett, who is starting the van, cleaning off the snow and feeding the dogs and cats. His last driving lesson starts at 9 so we’re headed to town. He’s to do the city-driving portion of the course, which means he and his instructor will go to Humboldt. I’ll likely come home and go in again to get him.
But before coming home I’ll stop at the Co-op for dish soap and drinking water, and at the library to pick up books that are in for me. I’m getting quite a stack beside the bed and haven’t yet cracked one that’s keeping me riveted.
Scott’s requesting probiotic yogurt; he finally went to the doctor yesterday and got a prescription for sinus infection. Broad spectrum, he tells me, only six pills. Gotta have special yogurt to deal with the side effects. He sounds terrible, can hardly talk sometimes, his chest is heavy, he’s dragging himself around, coughing and choking and hacking.

2:53pm
So we met the driving instructor in front of the high school. I thought they’d be going to Humboldt for Everett’s last hour, which requires “city” driving. Don’t ask me how Humboldt streets and traffic can be considered city driving, but that’s the story I was told. Before I left he told me he would be done at 10 to 10, which means they were only going to drive around town. I had time to go to the library, post office and bank, pick up a cup of black coffee from the newest eating hole opened up on Main Street, and sit in front of the school waiting and reading the Wadena News for the few minutes before they appeared.
The instructor said the roads in Humboldt are terribly icy right now so she will wait another week or so before they go there; and that Everett’s driving has improved … “It’s amazing how much! But he still needs a lot more practice,” she told me before I hopped into the passenger’s seat and Everett and I headed to the Co-op for the weekly grocery shop. Tomorrow when I pick Emil up he will be disappointed that we don’t need to go there.


On the way to town I'd picked up a text from Joanne. (Oh yeah, now I'm an old hand at this texting business. Not.) She’s had her surgery and is feeling fine. I managed to text her back: “When do U need me to come?” Maybe I’ll be heading out as early as tomorrow. Emil says he’ll just stay in town at the group home this weekend if I won’t be here. Why? I asked him. Everett and Scott will still be home. Am I that special? Yes, he said.
He's my favourite.
:)


Today I read this important info about the safety of your clothes dryer and its longevity. I checked it with Snopes.com, and it's true. Click here to read it.

How Lucky He Is

Books on desk

Over the past two weeks I've pulled my boxes of books out of the closets while on a cleaning and organizing mission to put them out where I can get at them. In these two photos, except for my collection of old journals (what the hell am I ever going to do with those? a big bonfire one day) that are in another piece of furniture in the bedroom, these are all the books I own.
Scott insists I have way too many books, but he doesn't know his a__ from a hole in the— I mean, he apparently doesn't know anyone who really has a lot of books. This is nothing, considering the top shelf is all cookbooks, the second shelf is half-filled with empty notebooks, and the third, fourth and bottom shelves hold telephone directories, important papers and photo albums. 
And, I rarely buy books. And I only keep books I will read again or dip into from time to time. I'm a serious library patron.
I say, Scott doesn't know how lucky he is.
He complains about my shoes too, because I have more than one or two pairs, unlike himself. Compared to most women, I don't own many shoes. He needs to go look into some other closets!
Yes indeedy, he is a lucky man to live with a woman who has hardly any books or shoes. He just doesn't know it.

Bookshelf

The Ghost of Faffner Hall

Got a letter from Joanne today ... click here.
The link to Joanne's page, where she posts most days, is in the Lookee Here column on the left.

Most afternoons I ask Everett, "Wanna come for a walk with me?" Today I almost fell off my chair when he said "Yeah, I guess so." I squealed. I can't remember when's the last time he said yes.
So off we went. He had the camera this time. It was the kind of day when the skin on your hand would freeze pretty quick, but only 20C-below so we've had worse. It wasn't bad till we were out beyond the shelter of trees and the wind got to us. We didn't go too far before turning to head for home.

Casper and Jenna love the Hand-Me-Down Mink

The step always needs sweeping

Baffled

The Roving Photographer Strikes Again

Scott's cousin Lasse in Sweden, Lasse's sweetheart Marit and his daughter Erin, all keep online journals. The links are listed under "Famdamily" on the left of this page. Lasse practises his excellent English and I use the Translator link to figure out what Marit and Elin are writing. But some days the service falls far short of dependable and I am left laughing, guessing, or both.

For instance, translated from Swedish to English, from Marit’s blog:

Skinskteken we ate together with mashed potato tops and so creamy sauce of course. Since I cook in the frying bag I keep all the good and the sky is really good as a basis for sauce. As an option, we ate sweet pepper salad, pickled cucumber and jelly.
Now it's just for new efforts and find themselves in oxveckorna, as we move into!

What the heck is skinskteken? I'm not sure what a frying bag is — does she mean she keeps the frying pan lid on so the moisture and/or liquid doesn't escape? What does it mean that the sky is a good basis for sauce? And what does oxveckorna mean?

So, while Translator explains some things, it raises other questions.

Response to Comment

Lasse sent a link with his comment below:

http://svtplay.se/v/2298917/tagursparning_lamslar_stambanan


(Lasse speaks to the reporter at the beginning.)

Margo, Sask

Repairs to the hall in my home town, photo courtesy of K. Ekstrom, roving photographer

The house is quiet and serene today, as Scott is out and around doing his usual things, and Everett is experiencing his first real (as in, paid) day on the job with our friendly neighbourhood accountant. He's not sure how many hours he'll be getting but it sounds like he's to be put on the employee schedule.

Tomorrow morning he goes for his last hour with the driver's training instructor. After that we can make an appointment for the driver's test. Scott says they seem to flunk most everyone the first time they test, nowadays, unlike when we were 16 and rushing to get our licences the day of our birthday. I didn't parallel park properly (usually I could, but not the day of the test; so nervous I was soaking wet) but the tester told me to keep practising and passed me.

My hometown pub sustained severe hail damage several years ago

Yer Basic Sunday

Laundry Boy

There will be no regret involved in seeing the end of the laundromat days. We've come up with a simple solution that is not perfect but will avoid the problems that come with laundromats ... like dryers stealing your quarters and not delivering their services, and washers that don't drain, and all this when no one is around to refund your money and even if they are, you are still stuck there an extra hour after waiting for a machine to be free so you can wash or dry that last load after a malfunction. It sounds like I'm complaining, when I'm not even the one who has been doing the laundry. I swear, Everett is a prince. He sees that time in the laundromat as a perfect opportunity to read for a couple hours with minimal interruptions, so it's all fine with him.

But what, he wonders, does his mother do while he is there?

Why, she picks Emil up and has a quick visit with all the residents of the group home where he lives, and the supervisor's adorable dog, Pete the miniature bulldog sort, who gets quite excited when anyone comes or goes. I keep inviting him to come home with me, but his owner just laughs.
Then I drop off the recycling. We have an incredible amount of recycling! Has really made me aware of how much stuff we were sending to the landfill before. Horrible. Recycling is a pain in the ass, but totally necessary. If you don't recycle, shame on your lazy shortsighted ass. Nobody is lazier or more shortsighted than me, and if I can do it, you have no excuse not to.
Yesterday there were no other errands so Emil and I went for some poutine, ordered fries for Everett who came across the street to the café for a half-hour, and were joined by Dave, Wadena's coffee inspector. It is a dirty job, he says, but someone has to do it.
Afterward Emil and I went for groceries. Well, his mother went for groceries. He just struts up and down the aisles looking for people to waylay and converse with. Or to. Maybe it's more "to."

A fine long email came into my inbox this morning from Ms Bell, who is travelling in Rome right now. The little gallavanter. I have requested permission to post her letter here, so if we're lucky we can gallavant vicariously. I've suggested she try her hand at travel writing after she retires from her current profession.

***
Be sure to check out today's entry from Italy. The link to the webpage is always there, on the left under the heading Around the Planet. Here's what Louise has written today: click here. Maybe you'll want to find a new source for your chickens and eggs.

Letter Poem from Julie

Lists

I could think of my life as two lists
(which in itself is sick)
called "Stuff I have to Do"
(Worklist)
and "Stuff I love to do"
(Funlist)
and all activities are entered
into one of these lists.

You might find the dentist appointment
on the first list
and "go dancing" on the second,
for example. . .
This is all subjective as some people
may actually prefer a root canal to dancing
but you don't want to know these people.

Something I have noticed
like a slap to the head
is that lately even the things I love to do
are drifting over to the Worklist--
that is so messed up!
Enjoying a winter walk has become
"getting some healthy exercise,"
laying around with Hubby is now the dreaded
"increasing marital intimacy,"
and drawing is called "fulfilling my creative potential."

My anxiety about having fun
has become so stressful
that fun is no longer fun
and thus the Funlist is just another
neurotic guilt trip

Today is my day off
and, true to form, lately,
I sorted papers and bundled up garbage
while making the coffee,
tidied up the living room
while cooking eggs,
noticing that three more hours
of housework would be a mere beginning,
made some quick phone calls
while making toast,
turned off the screaming smoke alarm,
then sat down to my black breakfast,
wondering if I'm losing my mind.

Sit down, girl, breathe,
I tell myself,
think about what's really important.
Some women keep a tidy house
but they don't phone their lonely friends--
I take pride in the fact
that I am not one of those,
as I sweep a pile of junkmail off the table
so I can write a card to Mary.

By Julie Paquette

[other writings by Julie can be seen in her pages on the left, under Lookee Here]

Celebrities as Children

 I particularly get a kick out of DiCaprio as a kidlet; looks like an imp.

Please note that my mom's best friend Joanne has posted an entry today (see under column Lookee Here, on the left). And I am trying to armwrestle Julie into giving permission to post a poem-letter she just wrote me in response to yesterday's entry. Her poems are so full of spicy clarity.

Yesterday was spent sleeping, and last night seemed sleepless because of a surface discomfort. Damn neck migraines. Got up early this morning and took a pill, which should've been done last night before going to bed; it's so hard to know when to take them and when not to, without waiting so long that it's too late. I took one this morning, and it worked. Yippee! but makes me tired and slowmoving for the rest of the day.

I have yet to get out of Mom's housecoat. Everett's favourite radio shows are on so he is making cookies, loading up the recycling, and taking down the Christmas tree while he listens. I'm going to catch up on yesterday's editing work, missed thanks to my finicky neck. Saturday is the day we haul the laundry to town and Everett sits happily in the laundromat for two hours while I pick Emil up, get groceries and run errands; we'll head out in a couple hours. 

Exciting life, huh? How do you spend your days?

Mouthy

Scott's appointment followed mine.

It had been three years since we'd been to a dentist for a checkup and cleaning. Three years! Where does the time go? I didn't get out of there before paying $250 for my visit and booking an appointment to have my only two wisdom teeth out next month. There is nothing to look forward to in that prospect, is there? Two needles for freezing, an hour in the chair repeating a silent mantra to remain calm and relaxed while my mouth's stretched open and hands and tools dig around inside it, swelling and painkillers to follow, and finally two raw gashes where the teeth used to be. Oh, and the bill. Let's not forget the bill.
I left feeling sick to my stomach at the whole idea of that next appointment.
Every time I go to a dentist I refuse the x-rays they insist on, and every time they lecture me about how they can't do their job properly without seeing what's unseen in my mouth, and how the x-rays are the equivalent of 20 minutes in the sun and don't do you any harm, and half the time I end up letting them do it and hating myself for that because I don't believe a word of the "it's harmless" spiel but I have been learning over the years that if I'm going to pay professionals to do a job, I should also take their advice. So in spite of my misgivings I eventually agree reluctantly to the x-rays.
A dentist advised me 20 years ago to have the wisdom teeth removed, as they were crowding my other top teeth. I ignored him because they weren't causing obvious problems and why mess with something that seemed natural? In the years since, the overcrowding has pushed one of my front teeth out of alignment, which likely wouldn't have happened if I'd listened to the dentist and let him yank those wisdom teeth out.
So. I don't wanna listen, but I'm going to.

Gunless and Still Gorgeous

Click around bottom of image to play video interview with Paul Gross.

Paul Gross stars in the Canadian-made movie Gunless, which came on at 10:30 last night so I called Everett and stayed up to watch it. I’ve only read one review and it was scathing, but I never believe a word reviewers say; I’ll make up my own mind, thank you very much.
And I liked the film. Beautiful landscape of southern Alberta, no gratuitous violence, a happy ending, and Paul Gross still makes me drool, even playing a gun-happy American killer with skanky long hair. He manages to look good wearing the clothing of a Chinese launderer, which on most men would just seem silly. He takes the girl in his arms and I sigh loudly “She gets to kiss Paul Gross!” They wake up in bed together and I sigh loudly  “She gets to sleep with Paul Gross!” Everett rolls his eyes. I bat my eyelashes at Scott and say sweetly, “He’s almost as goodlooking as YOU.”
Gunless isn’t your typical Hollywood crap. Give me a Made in Canada production any day, whether it stars eye candy like Paul Gross or not. Canadians tell good stories and they tell them well, and the Canadian public’s support of Canadian productions is long overdue. I like the quirkiness of Canadian stuff; you sort of never know what’s going to come up when you’re watching a Canadian-made show.
Mind you, I wanted to like the new so-called comedy Men With Brooms, and I just can’t. I’d also like to like the Newfoundland-made series Republic of Doyle, and can’t. And as much as I'll watch pretty much anything actor Michael Riley is in, and as popular as Being Erica is, it's not for me. There's plenty I don't think much of. I’m not saying Canadians never put out infantile garbage; just that they do make a lot of excellent stuff too. Slings and Arrows, also starring Paul Gross, is one example. Less Than Kind, filmed in Winnipeg, is another.
Then, the stuff I like best often gets cancelled. For example, I loved Deb McGrath and Colin Mochrie’s Getting Along Famously, yet it didn’t last long. The harder I laugh, the shorter the run seems to be. Just my rotten luck.
And the stuff I don't get at all is the stuff that gets the highest ratings. The American-made Two-and-a-Half Men? The Big Bang Theory? How are these funny? Take out their laugh tracks and you'll wonder where the punchlines are. Yet they're getting awards left and right and are popular as hell.
I know: different strokes for different folks. I also don't "get" the popularity of hockey games, yet still call myself Canadian. Go figure.

***
From Maggie Turner's webpage:
Food labeling is a life or death issue for me, and others. The new labeling laws in Canada have not been passed yet and I need help. I will be submitting my views to Minister Stockwell Day, the President of the Treasury Board, and to Prime Minister Stephen Harper using this reliable and respectable web site: http://www.allergicliving.com/petitions/food-labelling/.
The Finance Canada And Treasury Board Secretariat has already viewed this entry, very quick to monitor public reaction. It would be great if other bloggers included this link for their readers.