Cheek to Cheek

Ferme aux pissenlits, a.k.a. Ste-Edwidge Farm, by Louise Martineau

Don't tell me the dandelions are already up in Quebec, Louise!

***
Louise is still working on her cows; her son says her painted cows look like blobs.
However, Lou, that is exactly how cows DO look sometimes -- like giant blobs. So you're not that far off anyway.
***

The vet advises us to put Chloe Doodle down. I've cancelled her Monday appointment to be spayed, in view of that fact, but haven't got the heart to make an appointment to euthanize her. She seems so happy, so lively, so glad to be here. It just doesn't seem right and we are having trouble taking that step.

***

I was out on the back step at 7:30 this morning, black coffee in hand, wearing my fluffy white housecoat with a winter jacket on top, sitting in a lawnchair overlooking the slough, listening to the frogs and various birds including snow geese off in the distance. Gorgeous calm day, eastern horizon pink behind the trees; a flock of long-necked swans flew over my head.

Later, after a walk to the ravine with the dogs, I sat on a flat rock in my herb garden and listened to the birds calling to each other all around the yard. It's heaven, I tell you.

I didn't sing it then, but often do while out walking around here:

It's a Dogs' Life

How Casper and Chloe spend their days

While me, I have three million things to do and, to be honest, only feel like doing one of them: and that's getting outside for a walk. To hell with the dishes, work, supper -- who needs 'em?

Living Skies - No Kidding

It's like the skies are filled with swarms of mosquitoes for as far as the eye can see. Only they're loud mosquitoes; last night the flock that settled in the field southwest of our house drowned out the already-loud singing of the frogs in our own yard.

All night. They were still gabbling this morning when I woke up. I wonder what that's all about. Are they smaller flocks meeting for an evening's mating dance? Previously acquainted flocks that have lots of catching up to do? Parts of the same flock that have to compare notes and make plans for the next day's flight routes? Maybe the intense noise keeps coyotes and foxes at bay when the birds can't see their predators approaching in the dark.

Saskatchewan licence plates say "Land of Living Skies" and there are some folks who don't see the significance of that. I laugh when the CBC does its radio call-in shows and someone calls in to say the "motto" is meaningless. Where are these people's heads, I wonder? They must either be city dwellers who don't experience this display of bird migration and have no idea what they're missing, or they are people who never look up and don't listen to what's going on around them. The secret: be still, be quiet for one whole minute. How easy is that? And with the snow geese flying over on their way to northern nesting grounds, you don't even have to do that much. You can't miss 'em.

Granted, we live on a migratory flight path. Maybe we're just lucky. But I imagine most of the province is passed over by these huge flocks of birds, and not just snow geese either. There are sandhill cranes, too, giant long-legged birds that stand like flamingos as they feed in the stubblefields, and fly over, high, in slow, lazy circles.

A few of the snow geese last night, seen from my back step:

Land of Living Skies

Spruce grouse next to the driveway

The flock of snow geese is so noisy a half-mile away, landed in the stubblefield, that it sounds like the hum of an engine. I can only say Wow.

And when they fly low over the house, their wings make a mechanical zing.

Lost Day

It's been a wasted day, to be honest, unless you're someone who believes sleeping is a good way to pass the day.
I woke up feeling pretty sprightly at 9 but by 11:30 was exhausted from doing nothing and crawled back into bed for another short snooze. Then woke up tired yet again and decided a walk in the warm wind and sun might fix me up. It didn't. By the time I got back in I was doing that thing you do before you empty your guts -- you know, where you're hot and cold at the same time? That thing. So I did what was called for, took a pill, and slept till 7:30. Now I'm rarin' to go! What's on the agenda for Saturday night? Not much. We'll probably watch a movie. The best part of that might be eating potato chips and sipping on gingerale. My life is so exciting.

Everett had to go out and rescue a garter snake from Chloe Doodle this morning, and when I was out in the afternoon there was another one crossing the lawn and Chloe was barking and pouncing at it. I didn't have the nerve to pick it up and deposit it elsewhere but Chloe listened when I told her to leave it alone, so I was impressed with her. Another dog I used to have, Annie Doodle, when she saw a snake would roll on it until it was dead. That was lovely, as you can imagine.

Have I mentioned that her hair is growing back in? Yeah, so that's a good sign that maybe, just maybe, she has beat this demodex thing. Although she still has bloody, raw patches of skin, so maybe she hasn't beat it. She's got an appointment to be spayed on the 27th but I need to take her to the vet first, to see what he thinks. If he doesn't agree that she's got the parasitic infection beat, we probably should put her down before the mosquitoes and ticks get bad. The former were out today, I'm told. I don't want to put my doggie friend down, so I have kept hoping and giving her every chance. Her diet has been modified to include vast amounts of raw beef and bones over the winter (our yard looks like an above-ground graveyard; it's gross), and we're making sure to buy kibble that doesn't have colourings and preservatives in it, and I even made herb tea to boost her immune system and mixed it with the dry food; she licked that right up.

I was in bed by 9 last night because my Mr brought the screens up and put them in the windows, and I could lie there listening to the frogs croaking and singing. There must be thousands of them in the slough behind the house; it's absolutely wonderful. I just lie there and smile, and smile, and smile. I love the sound. And wonder why it is that some frogs croak, and some sing. Or do they all do both? Must see what I can find out.

On a Friday in April

"There were times when I could not afford to sacrifice the bloom of the present moment to any work, whether of the head or hand.
Sometimes, on a summer morning, I sat in my sunny doorway from sunrise till noon, rapt in a revery, amidst the pines and hickories and sumacs, in undisturbed solitude and stillness, while the birds sang around or flitted noiseless through the house, until by the sun falling in at my west window, or the noise of some traveller's wagon on the distant highway, I was reminded of the lapse of time.
"I grew in those seasons like corn in the night, and they were far better than any work of the hands would have been."
-Henry David Thoreau, in Walden Pond

The City = Money Spent

When we drove past this dog on the roof of a house in Yorkton yesterday, the man behind the wheel quickly made a u-turn and said "Get the camera out! Otherwise no one will believe us."

Had a visit with Agnes (my second mom) and Elgin McLelland while we were there, also saw Chrissy L-Bo on a meal break from her cooking job at Zeller's, and two people from Margo.

Came home with four cordless phones (our old one interfered with my iMac; it would wake it from sleep, and turn it on from Off) for the price of two; an ironing board because Everett bent the old one out of shape, not knowing how to put it down (not that I iron more than twice a year but when you have to, you have to); a new clothes brush and one of those sticky-rolly ones with tape on it (they don't work, either, for what I bought them for: the furniture we bought in August came with all this sawdusty stuff stuck in the microfibre and nothing removes it -- not the vacuum cleaner, not a damp cloth, not my fingernails without a lot of time and cursing, nothing -- I am going to have to go over it all with tweezers and what a pain in the ass that will be. Should've taken the furniture out of the boxes it came in, before December; then would have felt all right about returning it. As it is, the vendor shrugged when we told her in January, but she offered no options, solutions or apology; we won't shop there again, I guess, even though it's not her fault it took us four months to inspect our purchase); Louisiana hot sauce from Peavey Mart; new doorknobs for the office, bathroom and bedroom doors; $42 worth of organic apples, oranges and tomatoes from Superstore, since our local Co-op doesn't get organics in regularly (we aren't fans of big box stores and prefer to help keep our local businesses in business, but sometimes they just won't let us! Though the Co-op has now got a line of organic products in, so good for them -- they're trying); and a "thing" to hang the garden hose on.

We hate shopping. It's a dirty job. But you know: somebody's gotta do it.

God Damn Dishes

Sigh.

:)
Just kidding.
Rick even offered to do the dishes after we had supper with him and Faye on Thursday night.
After I scraped myself off the floor, we all went for a short walk in the cool evening air, instead, and then sat about drinking wine, rum and/or tea and eating chocolate fudge.
The dishes above aren't those from Thursday night.
They are what awaited me on the kitchen counter when the boys and I arrived home around 8 last night.
***
I'm told Chloe Doodle had a standoff with a coyote in our back yard yesterday morning. Didn't think the little hound had it in her; neither animal was backing down, till the coyote heard a human voice from the bedroom window and vamoosed.

Dinner for Four

The slough behind my garden, where a pair of gigantic Canada geese have been hanging out on the water that is open

I have to do last night's supper dishes this morning (we had my sister-in-law Lynn over so I visited with her instead of cleaning the kitchen after we ate), do the Tibetan Rites and squeeze in four hours of work sometime today, make dessert for tonight's supper with friends, and then make the simple supper. It's going to be an easy one, too -- pork chops browned in a frying pan and then baked in mushroom soup (always a favourite around here)(we just bought half a pig; it's *real* farm-raised pork, not factory-farmed, and that makes a huge difference in flavour) and home-made cabbage rolls, which I bought from a lady (Mary Psovsky) in town yesterday, and a green salad and maybe some steamed carrots. Someone else will have to wash and peel potatoes if he wants them, because I abhor that job.

I intend to do all the kitchen work in the most enjoyable manner I can -- listening to music that I love and singing along, dancing around the kitchen, and maybe even sipping on a glass of chilled white wine to put me in the "party" mood. If all goes well, the food will be prepped and the kitchen cleaned up before Faye and Rick arrive, so I can relax and maybe, if I don't pay attention, have one too many glasses of wine. Nah; it isn't worth the headache I'd likely get.

Another Week

Me and Chloe Dog got out for a walk across the road to the old homestead this afternoon. There's not much left there now but some old junk and a crumbled foundation, but you walk back into a beautifully private, treed meadow on a slight hill. This would be your view facing south, if you built a house there. I've always pictured the spot with a tipi in the centre of it.

We had company for the weekend, and after they left this morning, I talked to both Dad and Joan on the phone. Joan's updated her website; go have a look. Especially if you live near Kelowna.

Paska

The making of paska, an Easter bread, by chef Mary Woloshyn

Willis and I made the rounds of hospital patients yesterday and then strolled over to the nursing home to have afternoon tea with the longterm-care residents. One of the local ladies was making this traditional Ukrainian paska so we admired her handiwork.
















You have to move quickly to get all the tiny pieces of dough into place before they rise too much, but when you're successful, the finished product looks like this:

Still Alive

Photo taken from the parking lot at Ten Thousand Villages on Avenue C in Saskatoon

The store was just about to close when I drove past it on my way back from dropping the boys off with Gord in North Battleford, our halfway meeting-point, on Saturday. The fellow behind the counter was counting up his cash and gave me a few minutes to zip through the store and see what I could see. I ended up buying some funky birdhouses. Photos to follow one of these days. I hung them out in the oak trees this afternoon before hurrying off.

So Emil and Everett are gone to Edmonton. I've run into town for the past two afternoons — on Tuesday for a hair cut and today for my palliative care volunteering — and of course no trip to town is short and simple. Hell no. You always have to do 40 other things too: get the mail, stop at the library, go to the bank, pick up groceries, drop off things at the goodwill, take recycling in, blah blah blah. There is no such thing as a quick trip. Yesterday I wanted to wash the duvets and two of the quilts Mom made, so did a stint at the laundromat too, where they were done in an hour instead of the six it would have taken to clean them at the old house. We still don't have a washer and dryer hooked up at the new place so laundry remains a pain in the keester to do.

Among my CDs of choice this week is one by Leon Redbone. If Everett were here he'd be climbing the walls, because Redbone's songs are all so singable and I never shut up. Plus, I can whistle:



On the night table is A Mother's Story: the Fight to Free My Son David, by Joyce Milgaard with Peter Edwards. That is one terrible, sad story that makes my guts churn. Talk about not getting your prayers answered ... for more than 20 years. Talk about being screwed over by the police, the courts, and even your so-called friends.

Now that my running to town is done for this week, I hope to do some baking: more jam-jams, since the first batch disappeared like magic; some raisin-rye bread, as Cathy picked up some rye flour for me and I haven't made raisin-rye bread in some years; and bagels. We need some home-made bagels. Good intentions; how much do you want to bet I don't get more than one of those things done by Sunday. The inlaw clan is descending for the Easter weekend so I may be busier than usual-- that will have to be my excuse even though only Gunnar and his girlfriend will likely be staying at our house.

* Heather, tell your dad I picked up another bagful of books for him at the library today. All giveaways.

Ducky Doodle, the Dumpling Dog

The morning ritual:
Ducky comes upstairs with Everett, who opens the basement door. I hear Ducky's claws clicking toward me down the hall, as fast as he can come. He jumps onto the rocking chair next to the bed, then onto the bed beside me, and I say good morning and pet him. He presents his chest for rubbing.
I get up and make the bed, then take my coffee and go sit in my housecoast in the armchair in front of the living room window to watch the birds. I invite Ducky to join me and he hops up and makes himself comfortable. I pet; he presents his chest for scratching.
The afternoon ritual:
I take my tea to the armchair and Ducky hops up and snuggles in while I sip the hot brew and watch the birds at the feeders. There are redpolls, black-capped chickadees, and two pairs of woodpeckers -- downy, and another pair that is almost twice the size, also black and white but with some red on the male's neck, just as the male downy has. Must set the bird book beside the chair so I can figure out what they are, next time. And of course, magpies land on the ground under the oak trees once in a while to scavenge for sunflower seeds.
Today on my way back from Karen's (she'd made doughnuts; yum) I saw and heard crows. We've also seen a few Canada geese. Yep, spring she is a-springing, even though it's below freezing again.
I had to leave Ducky at Karen's for a few nights, but keep thinking I hear his nails clicking toward me in the house and then am disappointed when I remember he's not here. Everett, too, says he misses him already. We look longingly at the empty laundry basket where he sleeps during the day. Nothing in it now but a quilt, a rawhide bone, and a squirrel hand-puppet. We sigh. And he's only been gone a few hours. Pathetic.
This morning I made jam-jams. It's been years since I've had jam-jams!

*** See Scott's cousin Lasse's photo of a leaping lamb ... cute cute cute. Click on the photo to enlarge it.

Sitting Up Late

This isn't a good photo of Grandma but it's the best I can do since the lodge is quarantined due to the Norwalk virus. Aunt Reta, who came up from Phoenix for Uncle Bruce's funeral, won't be able to visit Grandma one more time before starting her trek home on Saturday. How much does that suck, after coming all this way and being unlikely to get back for some time?

The picture above was taken during a recent visit to Grandma. I took her a bag of Werther's toffee and she seemed to enjoy handing them out. It's just over a year since I moved her from Wadena to Kelvington. She weighed 72 pounds at that time. Since then, she's gained more than 30 pounds and twice I've had to go shopping for pants another size larger. She's gone from wearing 6Petites to 10Petites. Has her health improved that much? Well yes; she was in horrible shape the day I moved her. She had to go by wheelchair everywhere and I needed helping getting her in and out of my vehicle. She'd insist on trying to walk herself, and for the first few days the staff kept a belt around her waist so they could keep her from falling while they walked beside her.

This afternoon I had a real treat. I glanced out the office window and saw, on the other side of the frozen slough behind the garden, a coyote hunting mice by the fence. It was a beautiful young animal with thick luscious fur, rust-hued on the backs of its ears and legs, and a playful attitude. It pounced at a spot on the snow and then dug frantically, and the next thing I knew a small dark rodent stood out against the white snow, on its hind legs as if it was calling the coyote out for a duel. The coyote danced with the mouse for quite a while, almost coyly and with what appeared to be a slight, sweet smile, before the mouse disappeared into the coyote’s narrow, sharp snout. It pounced and dug, sticking its nose into the snow several more times, while a hopeful magpie watched from a fencepost just feet away.

Finally I heard growling from next to the house; our beast Chloe had noticed the wild dog. In a few moments she started barking and the coyote threw its head up in surprise and looked toward the house before bolting reluctantly toward the line of trees to the south. It went barely through an opening and then stopped and turned to look back at the dogs, both of which were now barking. The coyote took a few more steps onto higher ground (or higher snowbank) behind a few trees and laid down to watch the dogs. It wasn’t until they lit out toward it that it leapt up, yipped as if to complain about the inhospitability of these damn domestic servants, and ran out the other side of the trees and along the edge of the field, out of reach of my binoculars.

Naturally my camera wouldn’t turn on because the batteries were dead. Can they not invent a camera that will notify you when your batteries are getting weak before they're actually dead, so that one doesn’t miss such opportunities? You'd think so.

White Knucklin'

Everett's 17 years old and seems to be in no rush whatsoever to get his driver's licence. Unlike me and any other kid I've ever known, who could hardly wait till the day they turned 16. Anyway, he's finally got his learner's so I made him get into the driver's seat the other day to go a mile down the road to the old house for something. It's his knuckles that are white, not mine. I thought it was supposed to be the parent who was nervous when their kid drives, and not the other way around. Not in this case; he's so cautious, I'm tempted to tell him to stomp on the gas pedal.

After two weeks with this weird cold, and one night this weekend when my migraine meds didn't work so I spent half the night on the floor with a puke pail, I am finally feeling normal again. I don't know how people with chronic illness or pain do it; I really don't. Hats off to them.

We're getting a dose of winter again today. Cool wind, snow. I wore my ski pants this afternoon. Laugh all you want; I didn't have to hurry into any buildings.

***

Lately Emil’s been showing off his knowledge of homonyms.
“Mom. Sometimes two words sound the same but they’re spelled different and they have different meanings.” He says this so earnestly. “I’ll tell you some. Their and there. T-h-e-i-r, and t-h-e-r-e.”
I listen and say “MmHM. That’s right.”
“Or close and clothes. C-l-o-t-h-e-s is like clothes you wear, and c-l-o-s-e is like close the door or the drawer.”
“Or shoe and shoo. One is s-h-o-e, like the shoe that you wear on your foot, and the other one is s-h-o-o, like when you shoo a fly away.”
He goes on to explain the difference between son and sun, then adds “I’m pretty smart you know.”
That’s true, I say. He goes on:
“K-n-o-w, like what do you know today or what song do you know, or no like no you can’t.”
“W-o-u-l-d, like would you like to do something with me or would someone make fun of you, or w-o-o-d, like wood you use to make a fire.”
There is a quite a long list, and as long I will sit beside him on the couch he will continue edumacating me.

Love Me Like a River Does

Some people don't like a lot of vibrato in a voice, and I often fall into that camp. But not in this case. It really works for Melody Gardot in this song, which has some of the sexiest lyrics I've heard in a long time. Not too much, not too little ... just right.

Does it make you wish your honey was home, and your kids were not?

eBay Infant

Princess Ann dishes

Resting on my butt for a few minutes while onions sauté for the cheese soup I'm making. A good time to make a short entry.

When Dad came out from Kelowna for Bruce's memorial, he brought me the above set of dishes, which belonged first to his mother and then to Dad and Mom. Out of curiosity she had asked me five years ago to poke around on the internet to find out what they're worth. I had no luck then, but this afternoon I went to eBay to try again. Not that I'd part with them, you understand. I've even managed to make room to display them on the shelves of our little kitchen.

Again I was unable to find these particular dishes online, but I did end up with lists of Princess House crystal for sale and when I saw a couple good deals, figured I'd try to pick up a couple things I've wanted for a long time but are no longer available as new items.

Learned a good lesson when, as highest bidder for a tabletop knife-holder (I won the auction for tabletop spoon- and fork-holders several minutes earlier), the countdown to the end of the auction was down to five minutes and as I watched the seconds tick away I thought I should be prepared to raise my bid at the last moment. I put my cursor in the bid box, ready. With 10 seconds left to go, the other bidder topped my bid by 50 cents and I missed beating the new bid by one second! Next time I'll have that bid box filled out and my finger hovering over the "Enter" key. Hmph.

***Aunt Reta just told me these dishes were on the head table at Mom and Dad's wedding supper. Nice to know. How lucky am I to have an aunt who knows all these interesting tidbits and thinks of telling me?

Yesterday we loaded up the back of the half-ton for a trip to the dump, so I put on my "work" jacket—not because I did any hefting but because it's spring weather and my winter coat is too warm. After a leisurely drive through the countryside we nipped into town for mail, a few groceries and some gas.

I noticed a tiny puppy in the vehicle next to ours and her owner gladly stepped over to show her off. In no time at all she drew other admirers, wondering whether ... well let me put it this way: Note to Sheila B~ to find homes for puppies, take one with you when you go to public places!

This is Peanut and her girl:

Good Time for a Snuggle

Buck Duckster III, also known as Little Lord Fauntleroy, at tea time.


I've had a cold since Monday and have been staying close to home. Not suffering; just resting. Strange mild cold, and two others in the household have a variation of it.

The snow is melting.

Buck Duckster's cushion:

Redpoll Rescue

Birds hit our living room window almost every day; sometimes more than once a day. Most of them "stumble" midair and fly off to get their bearings in a nearby tree. This little redpoll had struck the glass hard, his fallen body embedded deep into soft snow below the window. Everett scurried out to scoop the tiny creature gently into his hand. Was it alive? Its eyes were closed, its head drooped, but wait! One eye opened, just slightly, to peek at us. After several minutes the bird was alert but still unmoving in the palm of Everett's hand, but when I spoke to it in soothing tones and tenderly caressed its feathered breast, it flew a few inches and clung to his bunnyhug. Twenty minutes later it attempted to escape to the sky, but crash landed at Everett's feet instead. He quickly grabbed it before Chloe Doodle the Dumpling Dog could check it out too closely. When the redpoll finally made a successful flight into the trees, Everett had been standing patiently in the yard for 40 minutes.