Meteor, Strep Throat

"I found a video that is like when I show you how to play a videogame."

Everett said this when I got to his place last night after work.
By the time I had watched it with him (and he was right, for sure; it could almost have been him and me on that couch. I'll add the link when he sends it) and we had visited a bit, it was 7:30. He didn't feel like cooking and neither did I, so we walked downtown for supper.
He had his usual.
I promised you a picture, and you shall have it. See below.

I had the Chinese food smorg; for me, mostly vegetable chop suey.

Did I tell you we had a meteor go over on Sunday night? Through our living room window it looked like lightning had lit up the entire sky, and a minute later the house shook. They are saying the meteor hit the ground somewhere in east-central Saskatchewan, which is where we live. A friend in Kelvington, which is a half-hour northeast of us, posted on FB that she saw the fireball's flames.

Scott's got strep throat and went to the doctor today — that's when you know he's feeling rough. Anyway, the doctor said "You've just got a cold" and sent him home without a prescription. Honest. The boy's got razor blades in his throat and a two-ton truck on his chest. He knows when he's got strep — he has had it quite a few times — and the doctor didn't have the sense to listen to him or try to help.

Effin doctors, sometimes.

The drive home through the dark countryside this evening was sad, listening to the news about Paris.
Effin people.

Doctor Kate plugged in the kettle and made Scott some yarrow and spearmint tea, with strict instructions to drink a mug of it every hour till he goes to bed, and to do the same tomorrow. Ya gotta do something in hopes that things don't get worse. Strep throat is dangerous. You don't mess with it. You don't take it lightly. I bought Fisherman's Friend lozenges and NeoCitran cold and flu mix for Scott while picking up groceries (comfort food was on my menu), so he should be okay. Except maybe I'll get him to put VicksVapoRub on the soles of his feet, and then socks, before he goes to bed.

Poor guy, he'll soon be hiding from me.

Everett tucks his french fries into a grilled cheese sandwich. 

And here's the video he showed me.

On Writing

A book I can heartily recommend: Stephen King's On Writing.

The first half is autobiographical. Loved it.
The second half is about how he writes and what works for him as both writer and reader.

A few quotations:

"Writing is refined thinking."

"No one can be as intellectually slothful as a really smart person; give smart people half a chance and they will ship their oars and drift ... dozing to Byzantium, you might say."

"... the job of fiction is to find the truth inside the story's web of lies."

"People love to read about work."

"I'll take a moment to call up an image of the place, drawing from my memory and filling my mind's eye, an eye whose vision grows sharper the more it is used ... You'll find it easier to accomplish the more you attempt it."

"In many cases when a reader puts a story aside because it 'got boring,' the boredom arose because the writer grew enchanted with his powers of description and lost sight of his priority, which is to keep the ball rolling."

" ... unspoken contract that exists between writer and reader — your promise to express the truth of how people act and talk through the medium of a made-up story."

As the Day Goes On

9:40 a.m.

In recent years there are sometimes moments when I remember that I’m mortal and may not have much time left, maybe not even next week, maybe not even tomorrow. I ask myself, then, if there is anything I’d rather be doing, have always wanted to do. There isn’t. 

Okay then, am I making the best of each day? Well, maybe I’m not making the best, but I’m pretty happy with where I live and what I do. There could be more creativity, more accomplishment, and definitely more loving joyfulness, healthful physical activity, and beauty. Not only am I open and receptive to those; I crave them. Don't we all?

The big picture is pretty much what I want it to be.

The details are where I could put some extra attention.

10:23a.m.

I’ve been clearing kitchen counters, wiping them and the stove, putting things into the sink, putting other things away, starting a pot of oatmeal porridge, measuring ingredients for raisin rye bread, washing and draining raisins, organizing the spice drawer, and various other tiny tasks, perfectly content, still in my housecoat, munching on an apple.

12:05p.m.

I think of all the people who aren't enjoying my good fortune and blessed life; those without homes, those separated from loved ones; those who don't feel safe, those who are ill and suffering, those who are grieving a recent death.  I'm grateful to be where I am. 

12:31p.m.

The dryer was banging so loudly I had to take two pairs of jeans and a sweater out so that it could spin. Since I was down there anyway, I've ended up carrying bags of recycling up the stairs and out to the porch, where it's handy to grab on the way out the door. One more long-forgotten task, halfway completed.

Now that I've heated myself up via several flights up and down the stairs, the snowy air outside is calling to me ... .

Image Source: CBC News

I have put in my order for a poppy like this, and whatever it costs me, I'll make a donation in the same amount to the local Legion or something. 

She Comes, She Goes!

"I missed my corner!" she said when she finally got here. "It was foggy!"

And then we had to hit the road again immediately in order to make it to the notary public's office before five.

The plan was to stop in at Emil's place of employment afterward, but when we finished up the business and were ready to go, it was 10 minutes to five and Emil and his household would be sitting down to supper. We had at least a half-hour to kill before we could go over there, and Joanne didn't dare leave the next day without spending a few minutes with Emil.

"Why not see if Everett wants to come out and get a bite to eat with us?" Joanne suggested.

I was pretty sure he wouldn't, but hopped down from the Yukon and entered the store, where in a few minutes Everett would be finished for the day.

To my invitation, he shocked me with a "Yeah, sure."

He always has the same thing: a grilled cheese on brown, and french fries (no gravy) and a pop. He opens the sandwich, lines up a row of the fries in the cheese, and puts the top back on. One day I'll get a picture.

Meanwhile the only one I got was taken from outside the front window while Joanne was paying for supper.

Everett didn't deign to accompany us to his brother's; he was anxious to get home and relax after the day's heaving and hoing at the lumber yard.

Joanne and Emil side by side on the bench in his entryway; this is Emil's "picture" smile.

Emil was excited.

"Why didn't you phone and tell me you got that new mattress topper on Friday?" he demanded to know. "Then I would have come out to your place for the weekend while Joanne was here!"

"Was I supposed to? Sorry," I said, about three times in reply to his twice-more-repeated query. "I didn't think of it." Oops.

"It's obvious," Joanne commented later, "that he adores you."
Awww! That's sweet to hear.

She struck out this morning over snow-filled roads, and I picked Emil up at lunchtime and took him to his dental therapy appointment. Tomorrow is the Remembrance Day statutory holiday so I went into the office for a few hours to get a headstart on the work we'll face Thursday and Friday.

Paper Place Etc

I’m sitting in front of my computer that now has a clean space under and around it because I’ve brought in a shelf from the news office and placed it beside me.

Wonderful. Thanks Alison.

At first I didn’t think I'd want it because it isn’t sturdy enough to hold books.

But my mind quickly recalibrated upon recalling how much I also need a place for papers and all the shit that gets piled next to my keyboard: pens, lip balm, stylebook, tarot cards, mail, notepaper, phone and so on.

We brought the shelf home in the back of a truck.

“The feet of it are wrecked and will gouge the floor,” Scott told me.

So we left it in the truck for a week; he could find rubber feet for it, he said.

Yesterday I decided to bring it in with or without rubber feet. We have those floor-protector things; I’d put them under the existing feet.

“If you wouldn’t mind bringing it up to the house next time you come in,” I said. He was going back and forth anyway. “Or don’t. I can get it.” It's light and easy to move. 

Before leaving for town, he got the shelf out of the truck and set it on the gravel. “Where are you going to put it?"

"The office."

"It’s not going to fit.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” I said. “I’ll make it fit.”

I had the perfect place all ready and waiting, so I hiked that thing up on a shoulder and trucked it into the house.

I’m quite lovin’ this shelf already. It’s a huge relief to have all this shit off the desk.

Could We Have This Weather All Winter Please

"You gonna sleep all day?" asks the voice at the bedroom door.
It's 9:15 and I've been awake only a few moments, stretching and sighing, listening to Joanne and Scott chat in the livingroom, thinking how pleasant it is to hear them out there.

joanne admiring the mist; i'm behind the window in the back door

misty morning

The sun has burned off the fog, Joanne's gone north to see another friend, and I've been out for a heavenly walk.

Then a lovely sit on the back step.
And now: breakfast dishes to be done! Oh the humanity!

CumpNy

Joanne is here so we have feasted. She made a zucchini and spinach lasagna that is the best I've ever had. I got things out ("Where's the parmesan?" "I need a bowl" and so on), cleaned as we went along, and so on. We were both plenty busy till the casserole pan went into the oven.

We also went to the Xmas farmer's market in town this afternoon and blew some wads of cash.

One of my purchases, times seven:

Crocheted dishcloths; I bought all there were in these bright colours, came home and straightaway threw all the old faded ones into a plastic bag and relegated them to the cupboard beneath the bathroom sink for cleaning rags.

We took a drive out to the Rose Valley countryside, shared a toasted chicken footlong from Subway, and picked up an extra bottle of wine for the evening. We lit candles and listened to classic rock on one of the TV channels and ate cheesecake with dark coffee.

We always have fun, me and Joanne.

Lunch with Rhonda

Yesterday I had a lunch date with our cousin Rhonda. She let me take her picture in the restaurant, but I forgot to ask if it's okay to post it here. Assuming she would say yes, I'm posting it especially for you, JOAN, before I head into the office.

Look at this sweet face ... 

Note the blackface hunter in the background. A tableful of men in camo came in; goose hunters, I presume.

Ripe Old 23

Everett's birthday is today.
I've been flipping through the journal of the year of his birth, looking for something of interest to post here.
One of the things I wrote was when he was just a couple days old and, eight weeks premature, still in the neonatal intensive care unit at the University of Alberta hospital.
When babes are so tiny — actually he wasn't that tiny at 4 lb 2 oz — breastfeeding can take more out of them energywise than it puts in, and so moms pump their milk and the babes are tube-fed so as not to burn up calories when the infants so desperately need to put on weight.
Of course, the best thing is to get the baby on the breast a.s.a.p., so you always try a bit of that before they are tube-fed.
I had written that Everett had no problem latching on, that he seemed to enjoy being held and snuggled, and that most of all he liked it when I sang to him.
I had to laugh at this, because of all the "goofy" things I do that irritate him since he was in his teens, my "singing" is perhaps the worst, in his estimation now.

Everett prepares to give out Halloween candy

Coat Challenged

There's no getting around it: I have far, far too many coats. For some reason, Scott only teases me about the abundance of shoes, never about the plethora of jackets. Maybe that's because he never trips over them.

In the porch

In the hall closet

In the office

Of course, a girl likes to have a coat for every situation, and one for all types of weather. And there are some that can't be parted with; for instance, I can't get rid of the mink that Aunt Jean handed down to me, though I don't think I wore it even once last winter.

Fortunately we now have a place in town that takes clothing donations, so one of these fine days I will get ruthless and sort out the keepers from the giveaways.

This morning we awoke to snow on the ground. I bet this time it will stay. Which means I go from fall jacket to winter parka, and out come the ski pants and clunky boots.

One Day in October

It was one of those afternoons when, depending on whether or not the sun was shining and where you were in relation to the wind, it could be either quite cool or too warm.

I had instructed Emil to dress well for his walk around the yard and up and down the driveway, and then I had taken the dogs and headed down the road myself.

This is the recording I made upon returning:

Crossing the University Bridge

It's been a long day.

We've been to the city and back.

We've been in a hospital, a shoe store, and a café.
Emil had a first-time adult clinic visit and all's well; he's getting new crutches and will have his AFOs repaired/modified. He came home with two new pairs of shoes and enjoyed the outing, he said.

I'm beat though. This is all you get from me today.

x's and o's though

xo
k

Plug 'n' Play

"You know how I'm always keeping an eye open for short little videogames you might be able to play," Everett says on Thursday night. We'd been to a café for supper and were about to watch Torchwood and Doctor Who; one episode of each. "I think I found one."

Oh joy. I have yet to try a videogame that holds my attention, though I know they must exist.

"Wanna try it?"

Why not. He calls it up on his laptop and I sit there and click around, trying to figure out what the point of the "game" is. It's the simplest game ever, I'd say, suitable for perhaps a three-year-old, which apparently is the level of my gaming abilities if my son is correct.

It's called Plug n Play; the characters' heads are electrical plugs, and their asses are sockets. 

It's gotta get better, I think to myself, and I've gotta give it a college try. So I plug heads into asses and cords into sockets and so on and so forth. This goes on for five minutes and then Everett's phone rings and it's his dad so they chat while I "play" for another five minutes and then Everett comes and sits down beside me.

For god's sake, when is this going to get fun or even interesting?

My face says it all, doesn't it?

Plug n Play, my ass.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Any time we go to a restaurant, Everett usually has a grilled cheese and fries.
Behind him is the reflection of the restaurant behind me.

What We Do in the Shadows

We may have been out of the office by 5:30, but it was 6:30 by the time I picked up $50 worth of groceries and got home. I was finishing a nice glass of chilled wine and talking to Cathy on the phone when Scott arrived and told me we were invited for supper at his mom's. Going out again was the last thing I felt like doing, but I put my pants back on and did my bra up and went anyway.

His sister Lynn's been out from Calgary and she'd cooked up a delicious chili (she called it spaghetti sauce) that I liked so much I ate two servings of. They'd been to the farmer's market and bought lefse, so even though I was already stuffed I had to roll one up with butter and sugar. And then there was rhubarb pie. Well, I had to have a thin slice of that too, just for the taste. Scott and I were both stuffed and yawning by the time we came home.

Why didn't we go straight to bed? That would have been the sensible, natural thing to do. But no. He put the TV on and I happened to go into the living room just as a movie was beginning. And it was the best thing! I laughed and laughed and laughed some more.

What We Do In The Shadows, it's called. It's a New Zealand "documentary" about the lives of four vampires sharing a home. If you haven't seen it, by all means CHECK IT OUT. 

And Milk

You'd have to add milk, wouldn't you?

Posted on FB

I probably wouldn't need the vodka.

Who's in?

Prezzies

Not only do I leave my sister Joan's with new-to-me items of clothing, but she has recently bought herself a pair of handknit slippers at the place she takes her drycleaning, and she is determined to buy both me and our sister Karen a pair on the way to the airport.

What kind of sizing is it when 10R is actually a ladies' 6?

Scott's mom Pat and his sister Lynn have just returned from three weeks touring the Maritimes. (Mary, they didn't want to get too far outside of St. John's when they were in Newfoundland so decided not to go to your place.)

One of the things Pat brought back has ended up on my kitchen table. It's a small, flat dish.

"What's it for?" I ask, due to the fact that it comes with a little wooden paddle.
Apparently it's for serving slightly warmed and softened cream cheese.

The little paddle reminds me of the carved tools that Grandma Benson's grandfather made for her when she was a wee girl, so I get them out of the china cabinet:

He even put the hand grip in the shovel handle.

Winter Wanders In

I'm slow to get going this morning. Still getting my second cup of coffee down, and it's 9:30 already. I should be dressing and leaving for town. On days like this I'm particularly glad to have the kind of job and employer I do — as long as I get the work done in good time, nobody's breathing down my neck to be there at a certain hour.

My sister Joan has already left me a comment this morning and so now, after just being at her place, I can picture her at her computer with her own cup of coffee.

This time when I went to Kelowna, I packed very lightly and left space for the hand-me-downs she always sends back with me. (I rarely buy new clothes; between Joan and Cathy, I am well stocked and don't have to shop often.) Among the loot were two tight, stretchy dresses made of T-shirt material; I am using one of them for a nightie. It's perfect: short enough not to wrap around my thighs and irritate me; long enough to keep my ass warm.

Too pretty to be just a nightgown, but ... .

My shoulders were cold in bed this morning, though. Time to throw another blanket on, I guess. Wouldn't you think that the thermostat, set at 68F for the night, would keep a girl warm enough under five layers of covers (including the sheet)? Apparently not.

And now ... will I take my ski pants off the hangar and start wearing them today? Is it too soon? Also, I need new ones. Bought the ones I have from the Sears catalogue last year and they were too big for me then -- yes, even the small size -- but I kept them because it was more convenient to, and wore them too, just rolled up the cuffs -- but I wouldn't mind finding a pair that actually fits and giving these away. Alas it would mean I have to go shopping ... which means I'll probably forget all about it before that ever happens.

Oh the trials and tribulations of Kate, eh?!

From this blog five years ago:
from an old handwritten journal, when Everett was five years old:
Still in bed. Have to get up and help Emil dress in eight minutes. Everett’s beside me, pissed off because he can’t get married yet and have a wedding. And he asked me how babies are made (and I gave him an introductory explanation) because he is definite about wanting to be a poppa when he grows up… He got his 8”x10” school picture yesterday and was excited enough to show it around the class (the aide told me) and then all around the café where I took the boys for lunch. “I’m handsome, right?”
What a laugh this is now!
But a perfect example of a reason I can't just throw these old journals in the garbage.

I'd like to say that the landscape still looks like these pictures, but the rain we had yesterday turned to snow and this morning there is a white layer of it on the ground. Unless the snow melts, the photo above is already old news.

Can't Go Back and Don't Wanna

Trying to keep ekeing away at the old journals written when I was in my teens. I don’t much want to, but there’s no other way except either storing them or chucking them without keeping sakes worth keeping.

Inside cover

For instance, I won't part with this letter from Mom, written in March 1978. Little sister Joan’s letter is printed on the other side; I’m sure I’ve posted it before. 

A ha! I see Mom sometimes did exactly what she wanted instead of what she thought she "should," too. Good.

There are a few things amusing to see, but destined for Dumpsville or the fire I plan to build. Not today, maybe, as it’s been raining since I got up.

We girls often went "for coffee" when I was in Grade 12, and someone sketched us:

Barry, the first beau with whom I began vigorous calisthenics at age 18.

When Cathy and I were roommates.

And finally, for those who don't connect with me on Facebook, here's a flyer from the drive-in from around the time I lived in Saskatoon and went to university:

Click to enlarge.

Not Too Terribly Far Back Machine

Surely can't complain about still having green grass and live foliage on some of the flowers!

Five years ago, we had this:

And HERE'S WHAT I WAS BLOGGING ABOUT on this day in 2010.

The Mountains of Saskatchewan

This morning I don't feel like doing what I should do — bake bread — but for a change I do feel like washing the few dishes that are in the sink.

What if I do what I feel like doing? Will the world come to an end?

I think not.

The mountains of Saskatchewan

Eugene Stickland put me onto this:

STORYCORPS

It was created by a man who set up a booth in a busy place so that people could interview each other and it would be recorded and archived for posterity.

Eugene's blog is HERE.