Off to an Auction

The sheltered workshop has opened a secondhand clothing store on Main Street, and once in a while, when I take a break from work and need something to do with myself, I stop in and flip through the clothing on hangers.

Once I picked up a brand new nightie for about $4. It was a "large" but I thought "It's a nightie, it'll be fine," and it is. Not only is it fine, but it is light, airy, and has pretty lace and other sewn features, and I have been wearing it quite a lot on warm nights. I'm wearing it now.

This week I spent $24 and came home with six new items: five shirts and one set of pyjamas. I removed the tags and laid them out on my bed for a photo (thinking always of you!) before folding for drawers or slipping onto hangers.

I lay in bed the next morning, propped up with a book and my cup of black coffee, and was so delighted by the sight of the red-checked shirt in the doorless closet. Clearly I am a lover of the colour, yet do not wear it nearly often enough.

***

There is an auction sale in Margo this morning. It starts in 40 minutes and Scott wants to go. He hopes there will be a tiller for sale. I'll pop over to my aunt Shirley's for a quick visit while he's there.

Then it will be back here so he can keep at the cupboards. He picked up a new sink in town an hour ago and should have everything he needs.

Palm Bay all the way!

Jeebus!
These things are dangerous:

They go down WAY too fast.

AUNT RETA:
HAVE YOU BOOKED YOUR TICKETS YET?

On the War Path

Out of the office by five o'clock on production day. Woo hoo!
Home, and Scott is working on the cupboards. Woo hoo!

The ants, which apparently had a little nest under the kitchen cupboard, discovered my ant annihilator: Borax and sugar. It takes a day or two, but once they've filled up on this concoction and taken it back to their nest, it's usually the last you see of them. I asked Scott how many were still alive when he ripped the cupboard apart. Just a few, he said.

They are gone and so is this cupboard.

Unfortunately some tiny red ants in the pots on my deck are doing all too well. My attempts at poisoning them without poisoning anything else haven't worked. The cornmeal sprinkled on top of the soil hasn't done the trick either. I like to think these methods decimated their numbers, and maybe it's true, but there's a ways to go.

What next? Do they make an Uzi for this?
Keep in mind this is an organic farm. No fooling around; no Roundup or chemical spray.

Layabouts

There am I, slaving away in the flowerbed, while Ducky and Jenna lounge nearby on the grass.

The poppies have begun to bloom and are quite stunning across the breadth of the garden.

My breakfast oatmeal is cooking; I have to set the stove timer, or I'll forget about it.

I'm thinking a lot about a friend who is dying, who expects to go any day now.
Helpless, ineffectual am I, not even knowing what to say, unable to express my own feelings.
It's her daughter's birthday today and she wanted to live to celebrate it with her, but didn't think she would. She has, though! I am not surprised at all.

I wish there was a way to make a person feel the depth of one's care and concern, one's esteem, but words fall far too short.

Ellen: I've just approved a comment from you, and it has disappeared! Anyway, I hope you soon have the opportunity to bake some bread. It's pretty satisfying, any way you slice it. 

Tree Stump Fairy House

Sheila is making a fairy garden.

Here's an idea I like and may implement somewhere, someday ...

If you do it, Sheila, let me know!

If I ever see a fairy, I'll certainly report it here on my blog.

Maybe.

As Dad would say:
"Kathy, you know what they say about people who (see ghosts, talk to themselves, whatever) ... ."

This, That and T'Other Thing

We went to a wiener roast on Sunday afternoon with Faye and Rick's family. Their daughter and her hubby were there with their twin girls, four months old. Their great-aunt had given them these dandy bottle-holders, which worked like the dickens:

The girlysues with their "boppy pillows."

And now ... it's back to work for me, for the next three days.
I've got the slowcooker ready to be plugged in, making a meatloaf for supper tonight.
The arborite has arrived, so I have to get the lower cabinets emptied. Not this morning, though; I hoped to be at the office already, and still have to bath and dress and wash the dishes before leaving.

Arborite waiting patiently in guest room.

One day last week, Everett and I went out for a meal together. He always has the same thing: a grilled cheese sandwich and french fries. He opens the sandwich and carefully lines up the fries on the cheese before replacing the top slice of bread.

My iPhone battery had been draining quickly and he tried to figure out why, since no one else could.

I had taken the phone to the place where it was purchased, and a clerk there turned off every app she could think of that might suddenly have started draining the battery. Why? I don't use any of the apps and there had been no problem till now. Thanks to Everett, we figured out that I had set the Display to always be on, and that was the culprit. Not that I had set the display like this on purpose! Simply that I hadn't known what I was doing.

Show Me the Money

A news story (click HERE) in  Saskatchewan contains a video recording of a bullying incident on a schoolbus.

It's suggested that the driver needed to manage the situation, in the first place.

Why is it up to the driver? In this case, it's because the driver was the only adult present. But why is that?

The driver should be watching the road, not supervising the passengers. These are two separate jobs. There needs to be a position for someone who makes sure all is calm in the seats, so the driver can focus.

The best drivers might actually tune out the noise and commotion, if any, while they are concentrated on the very important work in front of them.

Where would the money come from?
It would be a big program if implemented schoolwide, citywide, provincewide, nationally. Even with volunteers from among the parents, there would still have to be administration, criminal checks, and so on.
This is probably already being done in many places, whence one could turn for a model.

Why isn't it being done everywhere already?

No Prison Here

7:50am

Scott is mowing, or I’d be out on the step. It’s cloudy but not too cool.

Today I’ll bake bread. But there is no rush. I have all day and can start when the mood strikes. 

Among the books I’m reading — four, right now — is Oscar Wilde and the Murders at Reading Gaol.

Prison life as described in the novel is appalling. Not only was there terrible deprivation — a board to sleep on, watery gruel for meals, and the threat of beatings for merely looking at anything — but there was to be no contact with other prisoners, no friendships, no human commiseration or support. Prisoners, when moved from one place to another, had to wear a hood covering their faces, with openings only for their eyes. When made to attend chapel, the prisoners’ seats were physically separated by partition so that they could neither touch, see or speak to each other. When they were walked for daily exercise, they had to wear the hoods and pace five feet apart.

            Conditions in prisons are different now, at least in so-called civilized countries, but I have often heard people say that prisoners have it too good, with their comfortable clean rooms, three square meals a day, and so on. Not only should they have no luxuries, people say, but everyday life should be harder than it is for the honest person who has to work for a living; nothing should come easy for one who has broken the law and been sentenced to a prison term.

            This attitude overlooks the fact that, due to prison reforms and modern reasons we incarcerate law-breakers, prison life is not intended to be the punishment for wrongdoing. The punishment is loss of liberty, itself; imprisonment is only the means of carrying it out.

           

  I refer you to PRISON ARCHITECTURE, which explains it in detail: http://www.thecanadianencyclopedia.ca/en/article/prison-architecture/.

8:14am

Scott is in; gone to the basement to transfer laundry from washer to dryer, talking on phone; apparently it is "spitting." We hope for rain. We had two-tenths on Friday night; not enough. 

All my flowers are in! 

Also reading: 

• The Complete Works of Oscar Wilde; Picture of Dorian Gray.

• The Devil You Know, by Elisabeth DeMariaffi.

• The Imperfectionists, by Tom Rachman.

Ah, there he goes. 

"Byyyyyye ... ," he calls from the porch..

"Wait," say I, getting up from this chair. "Where is my kiss? My hug?"
He waits till I get there.

I say, throwing my arms about his neck, "Work! Is that all you can think about? Work? You're all about work! What about love!"

A quick kiss, and off he goes. 

There are Guide Dogs for the Blind, and Sniffer Dogs for Diabetes

When you have sleep apnea, as Scott does, it is not healthy to sleep without your C-pap machine, as your blood oxygen can get low. However if you are like Scott, you fall asleep quickly and easily, lying on the couch or even sitting up.

I have become accustomed to that, but had also arrived at a point where waking him up had gotten to be a pain in the ass. I might be snarled at; I was often ignored. I thought, to hell with you then; you know better than to put yourself in front of the TV where you are sure to fall asleep. It's really up to you to take responsibility for your own health.

That didn't last long. He'd be lying there snoring, and I could almost hear the brain cells dying from lack of oxygen. I redoubled my efforts, getting on Scott's case every single time I noticed he'd fallen asleep (and sometimes, he claims, when he hasn't). I'm not always in the room, though; sometimes I'm here in the office, or I'm reading in bed, or I'm outside, or not home.

But donchaknow, our doggy friend Ducky Doodle has decided to help. He has figured out that Scott must not sleep on the couch, and jumps onto his chest to wake him up as soon as he hears the telltale breathing of sleep. If he's already snuggled up with Scott, he'll get up and put his nose into Scott's face. What a great help he is! Smart little fellow.

Scott's at war with the dandelions.

Ralph's Rainbow

Wow! I have never seen a rainbow quite like this.

The proprietor of Mindless Ramblings posted this photo:

Click to enlarge.

Click HERE to go to Ralph's blog.

Sighful

9:42 am
It is so beautiful outside that it’s a shame to come in. I walked around in absolute bliss in my fluffy green housecoat, glass coffee mug in hand, sun warmly shining, early morning rain rising off the grass, perennials lush and green … .
The birds … far and near, all different songs …
The lonely ruffed grouse still thumping for a mate …
The pair of ducks that flies off the lawn …
The flock of wee birds chasing off a merlin …
The kerfuffle of wings on the water …
Wet dirt smeared on my fingers from pulling grass out of flowerbeds.
I’m going back out with my fresh cup of coffee.

Water that hasn't drained away in several summers has killed trees in the middle of the bush near the driveway.

Tree Sweaters

This:

I would not have thought of doing this, not in a million years.

See more sweet ideas HERE.

After a long hard day, Everett is

He spotted my car the moment I turned the corner and parked in the shade of the trees. We chatted for a few minutes before he went in to clean up his kitchen (he said) and I came home to see what was what.

My evening so far: carry in more groceries, unload bags of soil and peat and a couple new planters from car, drink two caesars a wee bit too quickly, visit with Scott before he hops on the quad and goes to look at the pasture, walk around the yard and to the road (best part of day!) where the wind is cold and turn around and come back, trim sprigs off trunks of oak trees, make oven fries, talk to Emil on the phone, get into pyjamas, have a cup of tea and an oatmeal square, and it's after nine already.

Ain't it excitin'! Tell you what; it's exciting enough.

The oriental poppies are going to make a helluva show this year.

Farming Naked

"You're not putting pictures of me online, are you?" he said, meeting me between the truck and the tractor last night.

"Just the naked ones," I promised.

Broadcasting clover.

Happiness Helper #2

Days with fair weather, long summer days, not too hot, not too cold, when I can be outside and have things to do out there, make me happy.

Not a lot to do. I don't want to kill myself. I like to work among the plants for about an hour, then come in and do something else, then go out again. All day and half the night, in and out I go. It's probably my ideal day.

Bleeding heart basking in evening light.

After picking up groceries on my way home from work, I made supper and walked out to the field to see Scott and got another dozen bedding plants tucked into their summer homes. That's almost all! Just a few more packs to find homes for. Damn it feels good to see them where they want to be. Now to watch them go crazy, growing. The wind has been hard on them but now that they're in the ground they'll withstand it better. I hope.

Simple Is as Simple Does

What is it that makes me happy? Seriously. On a daily basis — What?

1. A clean kitchen.

I threw out several recipes that can as easily be found online. 

It’s true. Give me a clean kitchen first thing in the morning or right after breakfast, and I’m like to be inspired to actually make use of it. To enjoy myself in it.

Some of yesterday's accomplishments, on their way out to the deep freeze

Conversely, let those dishes pile up and the counters fill, and there is a weight of distaste on me till everything’s clean and tidy again. The more they pile up, the harder it is for me to get started; I may ignore the job altogether until there is no choice.

I decided to use up the tomatoes and peppers in the deep freeze by making salsa.

It would be wise to wash the dishes often, even when there aren’t many, so that there is rarely a buildup. Then I would be happy more often, wouldn’t I? And happiness breeds more happiness.

And then I outdid myself by making oatmeal squares for my sweeth tooth. 

Sometimes it’s the simplest habits that are the most difficult to undertake, to establish and stick to. Even when they are essential to my happiness, or at least contentment. What the hell!

***

Somewhere lately I read this advice for when you're feeling down or even a little depressed: Get out the broom and sweep a floor. 

I decided to remember it because of its practicality. Who doesn't feel better after sweeping a floor? Even if it's only the floor in one small room, it's one step toward putting a place in order, and doing that changes my mind. 

Those of you living with clinical depression — feel free to ignore the above. I do not mean to suggest I know anything about that condition, or presume to advise. I'm talking about your run-of-the-mill, everyday crappy mood, not the I-don't-want-to-get-out-of-bed state of being. 

***

Deeper not Wider

Some people give their handwritten journals a title on the first page. I don't always remember to do it, but with the most recent notebook, begun August 2, 2014, I happened to. A title may entrench or foresee a theme that will emerge in the months ahead, they suggest. A title may help you keep in mind a life lesson you are working on.

"Deeper not Wider" is on the front page of the notebook I am coming to the end of. It's a life lesson I've been trying to learn for quite a few years already, and still don't feel I've really mastered it.

I need to make better use of what I already know, rather than casting my net out again and again, gathering new knowledge to set on my shelf of abilities and rarely take down.

On the back page I have collaged images of joy and beauty to give me pleasure whenever I see it, reminding me of that which I seek.

Throughout the notebook I have scribbled things I want to remember. Some I intend to try, like this one:

Flaky Pie Crust made from Olive Oil, by Jeff Davis
Stick 2/3 c olive oil in freezer for an hour, until consistency of gelato (more or less), then cut that into your dry ingredients in place of shortening. Then add liquid to bring it all together.

and

"The Foreskin's Lament"

and

Jen Grant, "Compostella" CD, No One's Gonna Love You Like I Do

Stacy May Fowles, Infidelity

The Promise of Energy Psychology, 2005
-David Feinstein, Donna Eden, Gary Craig

grumpy art historian

PREVENT CRAZY
•TREAT CRAZY •HEAL CRAZY
-if I ran the world

Meditation yesterday:
Mom and Grandma Benson came and we all did the Highland Fling and laughed and laughed.

Maan, by Kim Thuy
Notes from a Small Island, by Bill Bryson
Love Enough, by Dionne Brand
They Left Us Everything, by Plum Johnson

"We all have our inconsistencies, prejudices, irrationalities which, although strongly felt at the time, may be transitory. A letter captures the mood of the moment. The transitory becomes immutably fixed, part of the evidence for the prosecution or the defence." - P.D. James autobiography
This is true about diaries and journals as well as letters. She explains it better than I have been able to.

Pray to St. Anthony for the recovery of things lost.

People of the Plains, by Amelia Paget
As for Me and My House
Bird Brains, by Candace Savage

For the liver:
dark green leafy veggies
*spinach
*cabbage
*broccoli
*greens
-"especially good source of B vitamins and minerals liver needs to cleanse its detoxification pathways"

Protects against cataract formation:
-broccoli, cauliflower, brussels sprouts, and dark leafy green veggies

"Research suggests that zinc deficiency contributes to the slimming disease 'anorexia' by impairing the sense of taste and smell, and therefore the desire to eat." - Dr. Joshi

http://mannersaresexy.com/

"I know now, too, that the darkness heralds healing: that with each bout I am invited to a deeper place within myself and, paradoxically, to a deeper release. If I give myself over to depression, engage with it rather than resist it, it will take me places I never would have imagined."
-From Between Gods, by Alison Pick

@birddetective (Twitter)

Jenny Lewis, CD Acid Tongue

-an old-fashioned dance called the Irene Skipping Rope


Pics taken last night:


Emil has a little trouble making the transition on Sundays from being here to being back at the group home. He likes it there and likes his job the following week, but that switch from "Mom home" and "Work home" seems to get him worked up. I can tell because he will start talking unnecessarily about things already discussed and decided, to try to delay my leaving when I drop him off. To give him something to look forward to, we pick Everett up and go to the drive-thru for an ice cream treat. I have a small butterscotch-dipped cone and the boys each have a blizzard. When those are gone, Everett carries Emil's shoebag and packsack to the door of the group home. It's very windy; Emil does not have a hunchback.

And with that, my fine-feathered friends, I leave you and get on with the day. I've already taken three trays of potted plants from the porch to the perennial flowerbed and watered them and the ones on the deck and the pansies under the oaks. I've mixed up a batch of bread and the dough is rising now. I've run a sinkful of soapy water and filled it up with last night's supper dishes and wiped the counters and must now make my way through them. But first, just one leisurely walk to the end of the driveway. I've gotten cold, sitting here.

What the Dying May Be Trying to Tell Us About Where They're Going

Read this excerpt from the book:

What the Dying May be Trying to Tell Us

Its author, Patricia Pearson, will be interviewed on 'Tapestry' today on CBC Radio.

Listen to the full episode online HERE.

"According to Patricia Pearson, about fifty percent of the bereaved sense the presence of the dead. Her book is called, Opening Heaven's Door: What The Dying May Be Trying to Tell Us About Where They're Going."

Pearson

Another Kathy

Wise words from my "internet" friend of 15 years, Kathy:

Life can be really fucking mean so you just better have a good time while you can.

I'm reminded that we all share the human experience of, among other things, losing loved ones.

I see that her hubby has good taste in television. He too is a fan of Doc Martin, a comedic series set in Cornwall. It's one of few programs that Scott and I both watch, and I'm pretty sure Mom would've liked it.

Kathy ... she makes me laugh.

It's their 28th anniversary and Nugget has just shaken her hand. HA!! The foolishness of men; but it's making me grin all over.

Kathy's also recently celebrated five years free of breast cancer.

When I see Kathy's blog rise to the top of the list (Arts & Letters in the column on the left), I immediately go read. Kathy is not to be missed!

Here's her most recent entry: CLICK HERE.

Last Minute Check

This was the scene last Friday afternoon at the news office as some of my co-workers and I looked through the pages one last time before sending them off to press. Gotta make sure all the booked ads are there, and try to catch any unnoticed misspellings or errors.

Left to right: Rita, who does our paginating; me, editor-type; Bev, receptionist.

And here we go again! I'm off out the door shortly.