Summer 2009

Movie Conflict

Everett at the family reunion. That's Dad in the background.

4:30pm 19 Aug Wed
I walked in the door on Monday after driving home from Manitou, expecting to see a kitchen full of dirty dishes. Everett had been dropped off by his dad in the morning and I was pleasantly surprised to find that the dishes were washed and stacked on a dishtowel to dry. I thanked him with obvious delight and called him “My hero!” He remarked matter of factly that he’d done them for “extra credit,” which was a joke, but I caught a proud little smile from the corner of my eye.
Now it’s raining and he’s making cookies as I finish up another hour of work here at the computer, and he’s bringing me nibbles as he goes: a few chocolate and butterscotch chips in a bowl with peanuts, a teaspoonful of dough. He’s spoiling me.

8:38pm
Everett and I are talking about finding a movie to watch together tonight. He says, “But you won’t like anything we have.”
“What would you like to watch, that we have?” I ask.
“It doesn’t matter, you won’t like it. You don’t like action movies. You only like movies that have no conflict. No conflict at all.”
“All movies have conflict,” I retort.
He raises his voice and, as if mimicking a character in a movie, begins to drone. “Let’s divide this room by half and you stay on your half and I’ll stay on my half. But you can come over on this side if you want, I don’t mind.”
He goes on and I chuckle; he's not far off.
“These pancakes are delicious.” — “Glad you like ‘em.” — “I’m glad we’re friends too.”
I’m giggling now. But there’s more.
“Oh wait, I have a headache. Well, that’s okay.”
And then, “I’m making some popcorn. Do you want some?” — “That would be lovely.”
Kid's got my number, or, as his dad said when I noted that Everett makes himself scarce so that I won't give him something to do when he's idle, "You didn't raise no dummy."

At Manitou Beach

The view from the Village Perk, where I had a solitary lunch before Cathy and Emma arrived at Lake Manitou.

I have a shitload of photos to show you but organizing them on the Blogspot pages is such a pain in the butt that I'm reduced to having only one photo per entry, unless I have the time and patience to dick around editing, editing again, editing again, and so on, so forth in order to get the descriptive cutlines where I want them. No time, no inclination, sorry.

It's been raining pretty much steadily since yesterday afternoon, not long after Cathy and Emma left to make their way back to the city. I've been at the desk working all afternoon, taking breaks for lunch and to carry laundry next door to the working washing machine. Been doing this since sometime in June and it's getting tiresome, except for the opportunity to visit for a few minutes with Scott's mom each time I go, when lucky enough to catch her at home.

The machine downstairs here started leaking and we haven't replaced it because we're moving soon and plan to buy a new set for GG Farm, and the machine left at GG Farm by the previous owners isn't hooked up because we have been having problems with the overflowing, backing-up sewage lagoon and don't want to run more water through the system than we have to. Whatever. One more minor inconvenience to add to the list. Could be worse: I could be Scott, dealing with sewer pumps and all that goes with them.

***

Two men are the owners of The Village Perk and one of them makes the best pecan pie. I always have a piece when we stop there, but sadly the last one had sold before I arrived on Sunday, and on Monday we left shortly after breakfast. I'll have to look in again, with high hopes, when I pick Emil up from Camp Easter Seal on Friday.

You can see the front wall of The Village Perk by clicking here. I don't know whose photo stream this is or who the lady in the picture is or what any of it has to do with the Maldives online dating site, but there's the coffee shop, anyway. While googling for other photos taken around Manitou Beach I found this, a travel diary which describes some of Saskatchewan's rural residents as having a "bovine, slack-jawed" appearance. Ouch!! Thanks for nothing, eh? Assholes.

There are three shops offering vintage and antique wares in the resort village of Manitou Beach, and I came home with a tall, heavy brass ashtray that I will leave outside in the hope it will encourage visiting smokers not to leave their cigarette butts on the grass around our yard, as that drives Scott batty (I hardly notice them. However, it's not always me who doesn't see the obvious. Today while towelling off after his bath Scott bumped his arm against a picture that's been hanging on the wall for four years. He pointed out that it's sure to get knocked down and broken. After four years, said I, I'm not worried about it. He doesn't believe it's been four years, but I know it has). I also bought some old picture frames, with which I plan to make a large grouping of family photos, both new and old, for a wall at the new house; a set of silver salt and pepper shakers; a half-brick butter dish; and an old wooden milking stool; all the while coveting more and firmly restraining myself.

No Weather Wars

Aunt Reta and Grandma outside the nursing home.

Reta caught a ride to Saskatoon yesterday morning and will fly back down to Phoenix tomorrow. She was here just about a month but it sure didn't seem like it.

Emil and I drove down to Camp Easter Seal on Monday, amid a cold and nasty squall that lasted all day. "I wish we could control the weather," he whined numerous times, "but it's a good thing we can't, or there'd be wars fought over it." No doubt there has been more than one person to respond with a similar statement, and he's got it programmed into his brain now. It's part of the spiel.

Cathy and her daughter Emma met me there after I'd dropped him off and we spent the afternoon and evening in a cabin rental, watching TV and reading, after going out for supper. Yesterday we drove back here and stayed over at Golden Grain Farm. Made a fire and watched the stars and planes and planets, though it was cool and we made an early night of it. They left this afternoon so I guess it's back to the old routine around here till Friday, when I go pick Emil up again. It's been rainy again today but I'm sure he's still having a good time.

Emil and his Great-Uncle Neil

Uncle Neil stops in for a quick visit with Emil.

Neil had brought Aunt Reta out so she and I could go to Kelvington and see Grandma one morning this week.

We discovered that Grandma, who weighed 72 pounds when she moved into the nursing home in January, has since gained more than 30 pounds. Something is definitely going right for her there. The aides suggested we check out her pants because they are probably getting too tight for the little gal, who insisted one day last summer that she's never weighed 100 pounds in her life. So we've got some shopping to do.

**

Neil was a sparky tyke of nine or so when his oldest sister, Grace, had her first child. When that little girl was born, Neil visited the store, the service station, and every place he knew around Margo, our home town, with its population of—oh—two or three hundred maybe, at that time. The baby would be named Kathy, he announced, but if it had been a boy, he figured it should have been named Bartholemew.

Crasher Squirrel

The original Crasher Squirrel photo was taken by Melissa and Jackson Brandts in Banff in late May. The image of the squirrel has gone viral since it appeared on the National Geographic's website on Aug. 7. (Melissa Brandts)

A cheeky squirrel in Alberta's Banff National Park has gone viral after stealing the spotlight in a tourist's photo.

Melissa Brandts, who was visiting from Minnesota, had set up her camera on a tripod to capture her and her husband, Jackson, in front of picturesque Lake Minnewanka in May.

"We had our camera set up on some rocks and were getting ready to take the picture when this curious little ground squirrel appeared, became intrigued with the sound of the focusing camera and popped right into our shot!" she wrote.

The ground squirrel became the focus of the picture as the couple faded into the background.

Jackson Brandts took a few more shots using a remote-control shutter.

"A once in a lifetime moment! We were laughing about this little guy for days!" wrote his wife.

* photo and text reprinted from CBC newsletter. To read entire story, click here.

I love Canadian news stories some days.

Ducky Comes on Vacation

Little Lord Fauntleroy, a.k.a. Ducky, lies with me on the couch one evening.

We had a house guest while my sister Karen was gone for several days to a fly-in fishing camp in northern Saskatchewan: my niece Danielle's deerfaced chihuahua, Ducky. He is the only pet I welcome inside the house, because I am not a housekeeper (the hair that needs to be vacuumed; the hair that attaches to your coffee cups and plates whether you vacuum or not; the kitty litter if you have a cat; the likelihood that cats will walk on your tabletops and counters if they damn well feel like it) and Scott also prefers outside pets. But there is something about Ducky; of course, he is used to being indoors at Karen's and so I'm not about to stress him out by making him stay outside. Lord no— he shivers even in the dew of a mild summer morning, sat beside me on the step as I drink my coffee! And fortunately he thinks he's a farm dog and likes to be outside quite a bit, so did spend most of the first two days outside with our other dogs (the pup, Chloe, would not leave him alone for a moment, but our old dog, Casper, welcomed the break from the pup's constant attention). However, wherever I am is where Ducky wants to be, and I love him to pieces. What can I say. It's not that I don't love the other dogs ... but Ducky is so small, so quick, so cuddly, so adorable, so responsive, so clever ... I've always had a soft spot for him and have told Karen that if ever he needs a new home, I'll take him. Scott may not like it, but ... that's the way it will be (apparently my sister and I have that in common too, as well as our voices; but I also know that Scott, unlike Dick who has lived with him underfoot for some four years, has already warmed to Ducky). I kept him at Christmas when Karen and Dick went away for a few days, and missed the little guy when he went home again.

Scott came home early one morning to get some paperwork and on his way out the door asked Ducky if he'd like to go out for a bathroom break. Ducky went straight to his kennel, which was sitting in the porch with its door closed (but not latched) on the floor. The little dog deftly opened it with one paw and scooted inside. Scott and I both chuckled as if over the antics of one of our children.

Everett thought we should come up with a fancy nickname for Ducky, like Milton Shooberdedoop the Third. I suggested Little Lord Fauntleroy, as Ducky strikes me as a somewhat dandy little gentleman. Everett agrees, that is perfect.

Then I went online for a refresher course about Little Lord Fauntleroy, and discovered a story I hadn't remembered at all well: here it is.

Flower Power

Lavatera.



Lilies.















Gazanias with violas.


9:45pm
The garden soil was nice and wet after a 24-hour rain, so the weeds I pulled by hand in the muggy heat for about three hours today came up willingly. But my body is complaining a little tonight. Poor old woman.
The flowers, though, are looking pretty damn good. (If you don’t notice the remaining weeds, and there are plenty.) I've broadcast hollyhock seeds in some parts of the garden where there aren't any and they've come up amidst weeds that have gotten away on me and gotten tall, thus my trusty horseshoe hoe could not be called into service.

Tomorrow will be a busy day. My aunts Reta and Shirley are coming in the morning to pick raspberries, and I assume will stay for lunch. In the afternoon Scott would like to make a trip to Kelvington, where his family is gathering for a meal (his sister and great-nephew are visiting from Calgary), and I'll take the opportunity to go see Grandma for a while. In the evening we're off to a barbecue for which I'm in charge of dessert, so I've decided on a recipe shared by my friend Helen. I love it but haven’t made it since we were neighbours – it's called Pink Lady Dessert. I went to town with Scott late this afternoon for the sole purpose of picking up sweetened condensed milk, red food colouring (the icing calls for some of the juice in a jar of maraschino cherries, which I have no need for; but the food colouring will come in handy for icing the sugar cookies at Christmas) and graham wafer crumbs so I could make it. Helen kept the squares in her freezer and took a couple out for me when I’d drop over. They’ll make a good treat.
I very seriously considered trying peanut butter pie, something fantastic that I've tasted and have the recipe for but have never made. Decided I'd try my hand at it first, before I need to take it somewhere.

Everett is watching The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and just came upstairs for a freshly baked (by him, the Cookie Meister) chocolate chip cookie, announcing, "This is the best movie I have ever seen!" Maybe I should go down and see what all the excitement is about.

Diana's Big Trek

My friend Diana, resident of Banff, Alberta.

Right now Diana is off adventuring, and blogging about it. Here's the intro she's written:

"Last summer, arthritis would barely let me walk a block to the store. Now that the arthritis is under control (mostly), this summer I'm walking over 100K in 7 days through the mountains of Costa Rica to raise funds for arthritis research and education as a Joints in Motion participant. This blog is about the hike."

Go check it out, bookmark the page, sign up to follow the blog, and leave a comment. Diana deserves all the support she can get for this very worthy cause.

Job Well Done

Cameron's rig.

He left yesterday morning after helping the men carry the new picture window from the shed to the house. At the end of the day, five fellows stood on the lawn with beer in their hands, admiring the "job well done." All the new windows in, the new shingles, soffits, insulation and housewrap will make the house snug as can be.


Now, what will we do for the exterior? Aside from adding the essential eavestroughing, we'd like stucco, but that's costly, like $10,000. Might be worth it in the long run because there's no repainting needed over the years, but still: 10,000 smackeroos is not easy to come up with when there are so many other bills to pay and repairs that need to be done soon (new plumbing; roof repairs to all the outbuildings including the barn; Scott's got the full list in his head. No wonder he can't sleep nights. Why did he insist on purchasing new living room furniture right now, when we have a perfectly good set? Perhaps he's been suffering from severe recliner-lack and wasn't thinking straight). Good quality wood siding is less expensive, though not cheap, but still needs repainting at intervals and woodpeckers are always drilling holes into it. Scott doesn't like vinyl siding, though it's a more affordable option, doesn't need repainting and comes in a great variety of colours. As a construction guy, he's got issues with it not holding up well or something. He could do the stucco himself to reduce the cost, but hasn't done it for a long time and then only once, so doesn't think that's the best option.

For now, he and his little crew are off to work at other jobs after more than two weeks concentrating on our own little project. And I can have the yard to myself again and wear skimpy clothing in the garden when the sun shines, woo hoo!

Progress

Globeflower.

Scott's gone out to separate one of the bulls from a neighbour's herd of cows. The big beast broke down a fence to get to them. Boys will be boys I guess.

When Scott gets home with the half-ton, I'm headed to Kelvington to pick up our new furniture and, if it's not too late and he's not in a hurry (they want to move the furniture in through the hole in the wall where the dining room window is going) I'll stop in for a quick visit with Grandma. She was at the reunion on the weekend but seemed a little detached from it all.

It looks like the windows will be in and the digging and insulating outside the house and foundation will be done by the end of the week. If all goes as planned. Which it rarely has done, when it comes to this house.

Family Reunion

The kids kept themselves entertained.

This little fellow, my first cousin once removed, was pleased with himself when he quickly mastered the rolling of this barrell. "It's easy," he told me when I gushed in admiration of his impressive skills.

We gathered with Mom's side of the family over the weekend, at my uncle's farm. The old house I remember staying at as a small child is long gone but the memories of it remain vivid.

I remember being awake in the morning when the rooms were still cool, and staying in bed while Grandpa started a fire in the cookstove and warmed the place up. I remember the upstairs bedroom we stayed in when we visited. And being in Grandma and Grandpa's bedroom off the kitchen, and a necklace of plastic pearls, and the smell of Noxzema.

I remember the freestanding wooden cupboard in the kitchen, the hand pump that brought water into the sink, and the tin dipper for drinking water. To this day, when I hear a fly buzzing on a hot day, it reminds me of being outside on the front porch. And I still dream of lying on a hammock consisting of an old mattress slung on a chain between two mature spruce trees, like the one I whiled happy times away on as a little kid.

Oh, lots of great memories. The old house was on a hill, and between the house and Grandpa's workshop at the bottom of the hill was a clothesline. Two wire lines it had, held up on each end by two pink poles. Between each set of poles Grandpa had made a swing with a thick scratchy rope; notched at each end to hold the rope, a length of lumber provided each swing's seat. This was one of the playgrounds my sister Karen and I enjoyed when we were there, which I imagine was fairly often. I remember her and I, neither of us yet school age, running naked out in the rain.

Indoors, there was a bottom-heavy clown toy and the numerous little round plastic medallions that came in foil bags of Hostess potato chips. On each side, the medallions had paper illustrations of old cars, if I recall correctly.

Karen and I had grey plastic "wigs" in the style of little old ladies who wore their hair up in buns. Karen carried a chicken around in her arms. We rode on the stoneboat behind the tractor, picking stones and coming in dirt-black.

Grandpa hollowed out a length of log, bored a small hole in it, made a perch, a floor and a slanted roof, which he painted red, and nailed it to a tree for the wrens. That birdhouse went with him and Grandma when they moved to town and is still nailed to a tree outside the back door there.

Big Sister Tries Her Hand at Matchmaking

Dog the Bounty Hunter in my kitchen.

Some years ago a little six-string guitar showed up in my household. I never did find out where it came from, but this morning my brother Cameron tuned it up and provided musical accompaniment to my breakfast-making.

When he and the boys met me in town yesterday afternoon, I couldn't keep the grin off my face. Not because I was so happy to see my kids (which I was) but because I hadn't yet seen Cameron with the long hair and he did, approaching from a slight distance, look just like Dog.

If there are any single ladies out there who might find a 43-year-old Dog type appealing, my brother could use a tune-up by a good woman. He's free and unencumbered and lives and works out of Edmonton. The hair came along after he bought himself a big pig of a motorbike; apparently he wanted to look the part. He appears big and tough, but really he's soft and sweet ... deep down. You might have to be willing to dig a little to see it.

The Old Barn

The barn in its third incarnation.

Scott tells me that it was first the livery barn in Wadena and was more than 100 feet long (now it is about 52). It was taken apart and moved to a farm north of town, and later dismantled again and moved out to GG Farm.

Its roof, the loft floor, and various other spots are in need of repair. However, it must wait its turn. For now, the house comes first. Yesterday Scott cut out and reframed the dining room wall to prepare for the new window. He thinks he bought too large a window. "It will be like having a picture window in the kitchen," he said, "and I should have bought it only four feet deep, not five. The kitchen table will be visible from the front yard."

Oh well. He may not be happy with it, but I am thrilled with the hole in the wall alone!

Cat n Dog

Why, oh why, don't you want to play with me, kitty? Puhleeez?

But Leah the cat is having none of it. She is bristling and hissing and swatting and growling and all-around pissed off. I'm only surprised she hasn't taken a chunk out of Chloe's nose or scratched an eye out. Yet.

Email from Gord:
Cameron has a load going out Wed. He will be leaving about 9 a.m. So you should have the boys by supper.


4:45pm Tues
Emil just called. Sounds like he’s excited about traveling in Cameron’s big truck tomorrow. Gord called afterwards, saying he hasn’t been able to find cargo pants (elastic waists required) for Emil, and that he is not happy to see the boys leave; the month has flown by and he’ll miss them. I’ll be glad to see the little buggers.
Emil told me they’d been to the dentist, Dr Tomita. As always, I pronounced his name incorrectly on purpose.
“Oh! Dr Tomato must be getting old by now,” I said.
“Dr Tomita.”
“That’s what I said. Dr Tomato must be getting pretty old!”
He pauses, then says “Yeah, I think he’s in his fifties.”


Quintin helped Scott around the outside of the house again yesterday.

Fuschia Peony

My favourite peony.

Alas, the poor baby didn't bloom this year. What chance did it have? The back step, by which it grew, was to be torn out so that the porch could be lifted and worked on, so my friend made a valiant effort this spring to dig up the peony. It would not budge, as its roots were so firmly embedded into the ground.

The next day, unexpectedly, a digging machine as large and rumbly as a dinosaur showed up and the next thing I knew, the step was gone and the peony sat torn up by the roots, in three pieces, on the grass near the gaping hole left by the cement step. I quickly dug some holes in the garden and planted the roots, and the plants are alive and well in two spots, but didn't bloom. Oh, one of them tried valiantly; it formed little round buds and everything, but they shrivelled and dried up instead of opening. I'm not sure why, as the half-dozen undisturbed peonies in the yard are doing their thing right at this moment. They are light pinks and whites though, not this brilliant pink that I love.

Ah well, there is always next year, says the hopeful farmdweller.

***

Brought Aunt Reta home from Saskatoon last night; she'd flown in from Phoenix on Wednesday and had been staying with her friend Janet till I picked her up yesterday. She'll be here till Aug.19th.

And Gord has emailed me that Cameron has a load coming out here tomorrow (he's a trucker) and so I will have my boys home tomorrow night. If I listen carefully, I believe I can hear them wailing all the way from Edmonton. They are never ready to come home.

***

House update: when I got home at 11 o'clock, there were windows installed in the master bedroom and the office. Today Scott's got his nephew helping him so, as I've just finished my work for the day, I'm about to go over there and see what they've accomplished. They were here for lunch but didn't give me a report.

Sunday with Clouds

The back of the house with new insulation, housewrap, and no windows. Yes, the hollyhock blooms are black.

The first night without windows, their openings were covered by a somewhat translucent plastic. When I put the bedside reading lamp on that night, the moths and mosquitoes beat themselves against it, making so much noise I feared they'd succeed at getting through. The moment the light switched off, they stopped.

The next day the men fastened up the housewrap instead. It looks like heavy white plastic, so less light gets through. The insects were less attracted to my bedside lamp, but still they took a lickin' as the wrap stopped them from getting in while I lay contentedly on my bed, eating Rolo ice cream and skimming through a Ruth Rendell novel.






















Yesterday was pretty much a layabout day, as two pills were required, and some sleeping, to vanquish the neck migraine. Unfortunately I awoke with it again this morning. After eating some granola with buttermilk (food sometimes helps) and coming over to the old house in hopes of catching Scott for some huggin' before he headed to town to do some painting for a customer, I was still feeling crappy but unwilling to take more medication. Instead I sat at the computer and did some online reading for about an hour, and voila! the aching neck has vanished and is now just a neck. A happy little pencil neck. A skinny long neck holding up my big head, as Scott has occasionally pointed out (thank you my dear, you make me feel so attractive).

The pup, Chloe, provided some entertainment last night when she discovered the water jetting from the sprinkler could be played with. Lord luv 'er, she's sweet. A pain in the ass she can be—dragging things onto the lawn, dragging things out from under the oak trees (where I've been putting stuff I have no place in the house for, like vases and jugs and pottery wine goblets), pestering the cats and the old dog nonstop—but she is still sweet as can be and worth putting up with. The pupness will pass. She may decimate my flowers, which pains me, but this too shall pass. She may dig in my garden to bury a treat, which pisses me off, but I still give them to her for the pure pleasure of making her happy. She is clumsy and goofy, worth a smile many times a day.

Moving Slowly in the Heat of the Day

The old printing press outside the news office.

It's hot, and I guess I have to stop drinking merlot. Darn it. Two glasses did it to me. That's not fair. Next time I'll restrict myself to one and see what happens.

There was a gathering of women last night so I didn't get home till midnight, but slept like a baby. Nevertheless, not long enough. Need a nap. And to help out at the construction site if required. What I'd really like is to stay in where it's cool and nap all afternoon.

An Evening Visit

Bill and Nell's climbing roses.

I'd like to get over and see Bill and Nell one of these days, he said.

Okay. How 'bout tonight?

Yeah. I'll phone.

He did, and off we went. We made a couple quick stops before knocking on their front door in town: one for sale flyers so Scott can keep his finger on the pulse of the retail market, and one to take a photo of the old printing press in front of the newspaper office. Even so, Bill was still beautifying himself when we got there. Nell was dealing with the cleanup after supper.

My garden has one rose bush for every summer since Mom died (man, that word still doesn't seem right), and one of those roses is a climber. It was planted that first summer, but never given a trellis. My highest hope was that it'd latch onto the downward waterspout at the corner of the house and manage that way. But it never did. It does splash out in fragrant roses though, and last week I found a suitable trellis. (There are five rose bushes in Mom's memory so far, and every time I see one in bloom I think of her. Not because she had a thing for roses, but there you have it.)

Bill and Nell's back yard.


Nell's hair wasn't done or something, so her hands started flying around her head the moment the camera came out. We were at the door to leave at 9:30 and she was trying to feed us. We let her give us a sample of her excellent salsa on cheddar and a cracker, which we munched down in the entryway. But we had to bolt. Scott needed his beauty rest.

Bill was freshly coiffed.

Oh the Mess That Is My Front Yard

Leonard and his trusty trencher get down to business.

One of the unpleasant and costly surprises that came with the GG Farm property was that the electrical setup wasn't safe or right, as we discovered over the past winter when a breaker went off and all the meat in the deep freeze thawed out. According to my old classmate Leonard, a main breaker was a necessity, which meant trenching from the power pole across the front lawn to the house. The job was done in a matter of hours, as Leonard somehow managed to put us up high on his list of priorities and get to us in a matter of days from the time the decision was made to go ahead.

Kate, a reader from the northeastern US, commented several days ago about workmen and the unwelcome sight of their buttcracks. So from the safety of my kitchen window I snapped this photo for her sake. The gentleman has gone the extra mile to avoid the buttcrack exposé by wearing suspenders and tucking in his long shirt, but alas it has not helped.

And here is the aftermath. It ain't pretty. All those rocks were dug up from underground. I found a few flat ones to use in the garden, should I decide to make a footpath. And I can't say as I miss the electrical wire that was strung from the power pole, across the lawn, to the top of the porch. Visually it's an improvement. It's coming up with the $2000 to pay for it that hurts.