Another Pig

How doth he love me? Let pigs count the ways.

It had been a while since my pig collection was added to, but Scott topped it up this Christmas.

His first gift to me 10 years ago, when love was new, was a stuffed pig on a keychain. He was, he said with a grin, "a pig for your love."

And the pigs kept on coming.

Now, when he gives me a hard time about all my "junk," I say "But darling, you gave me half of it!"

***

It's been great having Everett here with me; another body in the house fills it up just right. In the mornings before school he comes and sits in the rocker by my bed and chats with me. All I have to do next is get him trained to bring a cup of coffee along.

***

It's time to get back into hand-written letters again. I'm sponsoring a woman in the Democratic Republic of Congo, which as you probably know is a severely war-torn country where the women have often been raped and enslaved as well as seen horrors that would probably put me right out of my head. They've lost family members, and they're destitute. My $27 a month will help her get into some kind of self-supporting business and will be put to use in the community, too, perhaps enabling her children and others in the village to go to school. I don't know anything about her yet, but we can write to each other and translators will facilitate communication.

To find out more about the operation Women for Women International, click here.

Dogs in Sweaters

Chloe keeping warm.

Okay, at 30-below maybe there's no such thing as being warm, even in a toasty insulated doghouse surrounded by flax bales. But normally robust farm dogs (and cats; note Michu soaking up the sun on top of the bales) manage fine as long as they've got good shelter.

Chloe, however, has something going on with her skin that is causing her to lose patches of fur; the vet at first thought it was not something she would recover from and said that animals that get the infection called demodex, caused by mites, are best put down. He said they get scabby and lose fur so that no one wants to pet them or have them near, which is "not much of a life for a dog." But he was unable to see any mites in the skin scrapings he looked at through a microscope, so thought it worthwhile trying to treat her because it may be something else-- sarcoptic mange, perhaps.

She got a shot of antibiotics, a month's supply of horse pills that I had to give her by putting my hand halfway down her throat (glad that part's over), and some sort of gel applied to a spot between her shoulders once a month for three months. Eye drops immediately cleared up the green goo that had tipped us off that something was wrong. We'd noticed her skin was wrinkled but figured she must have loose skin to grow into or something. Wrong. The vet recognized the problem immediately. She had already lost a lot of hair and had bloody, scabby spots that weren't healing. We'd thought she must have been in a fight with a raccoon or something.

After a month of treatment, not only can you see her pink skin through her thinning fur; there are now patches of hair completely gone. When it was 36-below the other night, I started calling her into the porch to sleep. Due to her excessive naughty chewiness it was necessary to block off an area so that she wouldn't damage Scott's tools or anything else that's out there. But she was good as gold; curled up on the matt and you didn't hear a peep from her. No bathroom accidents either.

During the day she's outside though, so when I left for Margo yesterday afternoon to visit Karen it occurred to me that a sweater might help a little. There was a hand-me-down that Joan gave me (I've worn the hell out of it so it was in a bag in the van, on its way to the recycling depot) and I put that on her and then laughed my head off. Too cute.

Chloe is tied up because the old dog, Casper, is eating outside the photo frame. At 10 months of age, Chloe has gone from pretending to respect Casper's dominance while lying across the food bowl so Casper couldn't get any grub, to growling so that Casper backs off. She is so greedy that, even with two food bowls some distance apart, she will run back and forth between the two in order to keep Casper from eating. Must've been underfed as a pup, unless it's in the nature of huskies to be this way. Don't dogs in northern sled teams need to be fed in individual food bowls and tethered so that they can't fight over them? Chloe will even take individual pieces of dog chow and carry them around the yard to cache them.

Oh no, I've become one of those people who goes on and on about her dog.

My Dad is an Old Bugger Now

Dad turned 71 today.

This photo of Dad and my niece Jordan was taken about six years ago, when we visited Joan and Gary in Kelowna and Mom and Dad came down for a few days. The summer sun was sweltering and thank god for air conditioning, but we still spent every moment we could out on the shady balcony, sipping on cocktails.

Once Scott looked out the door from the kitchen and, seeing Jordan's sippy-cup near Dad, asked "Do you want me to refill your glass, Don?"

***
Cameron came through town on his way back to Edmonton so Emil and I met him for breakfast. "For some reason," he said, scratching his head, "I thought Dad was 75."
For all but three weeks every January, Dad is exactly 20 years older than me, which is why I can always remember his age.

The New Year's Eve Feast

Oh indeed we got festive. To leave the store I wrapped cut flowers in grocery bags and carried them next to my body, under my coat. Grandma Johnson's candlesticks graced the table. We had spaghetti, Emil had ice cubes in his gingerale, and my water glass did wine-holding duty. We had Aero bars for dessert and listened to Emil's new Don Ross CD. {Thank you, Grandpa.}

Karen says the thermometer dipped to 42-below during the night.
Forty-two below. Whoa.
It's warmed up to minus-26 this afternoon, which eases my mind somewhat since both Scott and Everett are on the road home today. It's still dangerous to be travelling so it'll be a relief when they arrive.
Poor old Everett had to get on the bus at 6 a.m. (poor old Gord, who had to get up at 4 in order to deliver him to the depot) and poor old Cathy had to go out in the cold at 1:55 to pick him up in Saskatoon and take him to her place, where Scott can lasso him on the way past.

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On the way to the city Everett was fascinated by the snow swirling across the highway and filmed it with my little digicam. He's got a way to go before he can narrate like Boris Karloff:

We've Made It Another Year

You see four of me? What have you been drinking?

It's cold and snowy outside, warm and toasty inside. Just me and Emil all week; "quiet," he says, without Everett and Scott in the house.

I've got to work a bit yet before driving a mile south to stay overnight with Emil, watching comedy specials on the tube. Maybe he'll be up for his favourite movie, Roger Rabbit, tonight. He always says he wants to watch it with me, but never feels like it when I suggest it. Whatever happens, it'll be a lovely relaxing evening in front of the woodstove.
Emil and I are missing Scott's nephew's wedding shindig in Calgary tonight, so Scott will have to cut enough rug for both of us. The whole clan "motored to" Calgary, as they used to say in our local news write-ups. Unfortunately Scott didn't take the camera; but he did get a blackberry and can take pictures with it. Which should be useful for my blog, because he has a good eye. He didn't take the blackberry either. He didn't leave his head behind, no. What do you mean?

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So here's to you ...
[I'll tip a glass later, in front of the Christmas tree]
See you on the flip side, as they say.

Travel

The road to Saskatoon.

Everett and I left before 8 a.m. yesterday in spite of radio warnings not to travel unless it couldn't be avoided. The highway was covered with snow that had fallen through the night and more was expected, bringing with it poor visibility. And of course it had to be about 25-below.

I've heard these kinds of warnings before and then, once out on the highway, wondered what they were talking about. Not this time though. Even though I drove slowly and carefully, it was pretty ugly and more than once I considered turning back. What traffic was behind us whizzed past as if the road conditions were no danger (I don't understand that, but then I was out there so must count myself among the idiots), and what traffic we met swirled up the snow so badly that for a few moments it was nearly impossible to see where we were going.

At the halfway point things were looking pretty bleak. We picked up breakfast at a drive-through and then carried on. The snow had stopped falling and the snowplows were out. I got Everett to the bus depot on time and got him on his way to Edmonton before heading over to Cathy's and having a relaxing cup of tea. Icy roads and deep cold combined with impatient drivers are a terribly stressful combination.

We had a nice visit, I got to see Cathy's girls too, we watched Julie and Julia last night (Meryl Streep -- wow, she is something else) and this afternoon I hit the highway and headed for home. It was minus-20 or so but the highway was decent this time.

The road home.

And Finally, the Flooring

Look what Scott did!

He finished late last night.

It's true what they say about laminate flooring though. It may be relatively inexpensive, stand up well, and look pretty, but it shows every footprint so that when the sunlight shines on it, it looks dirty.

We thought we'd risk it for several reasons, one of which is that there is natural light only from north-facing windows in the room where we put it, and I thought maybe footprints would be less likely to show up so much. But no -- wrong again.

The other reason was that Scott was still talking about enlarging the dining room someday, and so the flooring would need to be replaced anyway. We got such a good deal on this laminate that we figured it wouldn't hurt us too badly if it had to be torn up.

***

Just finishing up the morning's work and will put in another couple hours, then head for Kelvington to deliver Grandma's Christmas present. Found a really nice set of wool hat, scarf and matching gloves, all of which she needs. She doesn't go out much, but the hood of her coat is so large that she always complains, when she pulls it over her head, that she can't see. Even the thin little leather gloves that she used to have have gone missing. And the headscarves she wears tend to be thin silky material, not anything warm. So we'll get her fixed up.

Foggy and Cool

New elevator in fog, old elevator with bins on right.

Finally got some Christmas shopping and treat-making done, so just have some wrapping to do now.

Emil's decided to stay home this year because Gunnar (Scott's giant lad) is coming out from Calgary for a couple days and Emil wants to see him. So Everett (my giant lad) put up the Christmas tree last night and decorated it.

On Wednesday I'll drive Everett into Saskatoon to catch the bus to Edmonton. It'll be a first for him so he's nervous, especially after the horrific murder that took place on a bus in Manitoba about a year ago. Can't blame him, although it could have happened on the street or anywhere -- when people are crazy, they're crazy no matter where they are and even though there was a bus full of people, no one was able to help the young man who was killed.

We both got haircuts today after school and later we stopped at a restaurant for a snack — for me, baklava and tea; for Everett, cheesetoast, potato wedges and coke. We found a gift for the boys' dad and then gassed up for the trip and dropped off some almond rocha and whipped shortbread for the fellow who's brought vanilla back for me from Mexico on his last two holidays and won't let me pay him for it. He scratches my back ... I scratch his.

Another hour to work before I call it a night. Have managed to bank up enough hours that I can take three days off this week, with pay. It'll feel like a real holiday.

Starry Starry Night

Shoot! We had a going-away gathering for Audrey tonight, and I never thought of taking the digital camera out of my purse. D'uh. So you're stuck with Evil Kate, taken by the handy photo booth built into the computer.
Don't mess with me.
You can see why I am feared by children.

It's warmed up! Woo hoo! I think it was minus-11C sometime today; Aunt Jean's mink coat wasn't really needed tonight.

That's it for my report. It's midnight, it's starry, and it's time to climb into bed and do some reading. Last night at nine I figured I'd get my nightie on and lie under the covers listening to the radio, then get up and do a little bit on the computer. Alas I could not stay awake. It's not very often that I am pulled so deeply and quickly into sleep.

Pings Bangs and Creaks

7:30pm
Can you watch the stars glitter through your bedroom window as you lie in the dark? I can. And the moon. And sometimes even a planet makes its way through my line of vision during a long night.

***

I could say it's quiet, alone here in this house. But it's not. The furnace is running a lot, trying to keep the house warm. There are pings and bangs and creaks that give me the heebie-jeebies, though I know it's just the ductwork expanding and contracting. These are the times a nice well-behaved little deer-faced chihuahua would be nice to have around. Unless he barked at every noise.

The boys were home from school yet again today when the schoolbuses didn't go out due to the cold, and Scott was down with something flu-like. I went over to make a phone call for work and put together a couple meatloaves; one for a potluck tomorrow night and one for the deep freeze. We've already got a lot of leftovers to get through and with Scott not feeling up to snuff, there's no point preparing more food till Thursday. Not till the roast chicken and the chili disappear from the fridge.

***

Last night a pack of coyotes was howling close to the yard. Poor animals, they must suffer in this extreme weather without insulated doghouses and flax-bale duplexes and an easy supply of food.

Grandma's Christmas Party

Emil isn't quite ready to part with Grandma.

He and Everett attended the lodge's Christmas party one afternoon last week; I flitted through, both before and after running errands around town.

They had musicians (a fiddler and a piano player) — a visit from Santa — and a pretty good-looking lunch, from what I saw.

***

It's cold. The radio this morning said 30-below in Saskatoon; 49 below with wind chill. Fortunately the sun shone all day. I put my gloves inside my mittens, consigned my "extreme cold" jacket to the laundry room as not worthy (my arms are cold in it), and dug out Aunt Jean's mink coat. Picture me — three-quarter-length fur coat, one of those tuques with braided ties, black ski pants and white Sorels. The picture of fashion, no, but pretty much warm. Still I didn't try to stay out much longer than from house to car, without a good hood; the wind bites. They were warning this morning to keep your skin covered, as it could freeze in seconds.

Progress

Bubble lights go up in the kitchen. Note that "fine figure of a man."

I've been busy working in here at my desk and Scott's been trimming windows, replacing baseboards, hanging light fixtures and so on. Very time-consuming. It's a pleasant change to have someone else in the house with me.

The only drawback is that Scott likes commercial radio stations or a CD blaring loudly while he toils, and thus I grit my teeth while hoping my head won't explode. Hey, if that's what it takes to make progress in this place ...

It is still miserably cold out — down in the minus-thirties with wind, today — but the sun is shining. Sadly, even though all the windows are brand new, they still collect water and ice along the bottom of the glass and in the corners and today after I did dishes the ones on the north side are completely steamed up. I thought that was an "old windows" thing. Guess not. Or, as Scott says, these windows aren't properly engineered for our weather. They were made in Calgary, where the climate is drier. Hmph. I think the windows are flawed, period. But they're in now, so what're ya gonna do? Keep soaking up water from the sills before it runs down the walls and puddles on the cork flooring, that's what.

Who's in the Doghouse?

Chloe gets up and stretches her legs before bounding toward me.

I'm on my way out with a bucket of water in one hand and a bucket of dog and cat food in the other. A heated blue dish sits next to the new doghouse setup, so that their drinking water doesn't turn to solid ice.
A gentleman in town builds animal shelters in his backyard workshop, and I asked him to construct an insulated one big enough for two German shepherd-size dogs that would, if they had half a brain, keep each other warm inside it. Within a week he delivered it, with a hinged roof so we can easily install a heat-giving lightbulb should we choose. Scott tacked a piece of carpet over the door to keep the cold air out.
Alas, the old dog will not let the young one inside so poor Chloe would lie outside the door, as close to the old dog as she can get, on top of some flax straw. She'd be covered in frost in the morning.
So the doghouse has been moved over beside the long shed and surrounded with flax bales, formed to create a central chamber for the pup, next to the door. From there a short tunnel turns into an entryway. There Chloe likes to lie during the day and soak up the sun. We fear that the old dog has commandeered the central chamber too and may not even be letting the pup that far in. Might have to build a duplex with separate entrances.
Dogs. Gotta love 'em but they can be a pain in the ass.

***
Today's listening:
CBC Radio's current affairs show
cd: Joni Mitchell, Night Ride Home
cd: Doc MacLean, Narrow House

House Ghost

Me 'n Pa.

Naturally the weather cooled off when he flew in from Kelowna— that was to be expected— but it came as a shock to have the mercury drop into the minus-thirties just as Dad was getting ready to leave. I know he will be glad to get the hell out of here tomorrow when his flight leaves Saskatoon.

He spent the week at Karen's— she at least has a decent bed to offer to guests and frankly I'd rather eat her cooking than my own— and got in as much visiting in the area as he could. There were a lot more old friends he'd like to have seen but only so much time and energy; even I, Number One Child, felt fortunate to get to see him three times while he was here. Dad and I are both of the "said all there is to say in the first half-hour" camp and, while I can sit longer than he can, I didn't have to since two of the visits were in my kitchen and I could keep a little bit busy while making conversation. Dad's ass suffered on the wooden kitchen chairs. Can't wait to get moved over here to the comfy padded swivel chairs with arm rests; then a person might be able to sit and chat in comfort.

Scott's got the bathtub drained and everything in working order once again. Though I've told him he's insulted the resident ghost because inexplicable annoyances keep popping up for him to deal with. One day he'd made the morning coffee and we'd been here some hours afterward, and then I left for a while and came back to discover the 10-litre plastic jug, nearly full and thus heavy with drinking water, had somehow tipped onto its side and leaked through the loose lid, leaving a large puddle of water on the kitchen floor. How could that have happened? Scott is not the kind of person who leaves lids loose or full water-jugs precariously balanced; I'm the kind of person who does that sort of thing, but I hadn't been near the water jug that day.

He better make friends with that ghost, that's all I'm saying.

Big Buncha Bull Dung

Someone left a remark in Everett's textbook.

Sometimes ya just have to.

When Scott says this is a house from hell, he may not be that far off. He did some painting in here this afternoon, then cleaned his brushes in the kitchen sink.
I smelled a strong sewer odour but thought it must be the paint fumes, though they seemed more intense and gaseous than before.
Finally Scott noticed the bathtub half-full of white liquid – what he’d washed down the sink had come up in the tub.
WTF? And it’s still there, even after he took the plunger to it.
He is hornswoggled as to what’s going on now; the kitchen drainpipe must be clogged somewhere, he says, but how on earth the liquid made its way to the bathtub ... It seems to be one thing after another and we are just shaking our heads. And cursing loudly, in his case.
Scott will figure out what’s wrong and what to do about it but one can see why he’s tired of the whole ball game.You’ve finally taken a step ahead and then have to stop and take care of some new problem. And it’s constant – one thing after the other. Will it ever end? It doesn’t appear so. What else can possibly be or go wrong with this place? It’s beyond common sense already.

Sneaky Bugger

The harvest is done, and there's no snow.

The other night I made supper at the old place, lit a fire in the woodstove so the basement would be toasty for Scott when he arrived home, and then after waiting till about 8 for him get there, gave up and drove back here to GGFarm.
I stepped into the porch of this completely dark house, dropped my heavy purse, filled up containers of food and water for the dogs and took them back out to the front yard. Before coming in, I grabbed a basket of clean laundry from the van and when I got indoors carried it to the bedroom. There I noticed a still body in the bed, covered from head to toe. Must be Scott, I thought, but that’s funny – I didn't notice his truck when I drove in. Saying nothing, I went out to the entry and hung up my jacket while looking for his coat and shoes. Not seeing them, I began to get nervous: who the hell is in my bed and how the hell did he get in here? Then I saw Scott's cap on the floor and let my breath out.
“But how,” I asked, “did you get here? Your truck's not here.”
His grin was as wide and pleased with itself as a rainbow.
“I drove in right behind you,” he said.
“What? No way.”
“That’s not all. When you went into the house the first time, I came up on the step and stood outside the door. You walked right past me, and I slipped in while you were outside.”
“No way!” I said again. "You're full of it."
“Well, you are oblivious.”
I must be. Granted it was dark, I didn’t expect anyone to be standing there, and I had my hood up so wouldn’t have seen anyone standing so closely to my left. And I bet the bugger followed me with his headlights off, too; there is no way I wouldn’t have seen his truck behind me otherwise.
Hmph. I know I can be absent-minded and since I am a Brilliant Eccentric Aquarian Genius, it's only to be expected. But oblivious? Or, as Scott likes to say to me in another way, "Are they friendly spirits, Bullwinkle?"

Thursday All Day

Me and my shadow -- an adolescent Husky/Shepherd cross named Chloe.

I put in four hours on my day job and then, particularly in this gorgeous weather, head out to walk with the girly-sues.

This week Emil and I have been living with mild chest colds, so my walks are short. I don't want to tire myself out. As it is, by suppertime I feel like lying down anyway.

Late in the afternoon I go over to the old place to see Emil and Everett after school and make supper. Once the meal and cleanup are out of the way, and there's been a chance to catch up with Scott after his working day, I hop into my van and drive back here to work an hour on a part-time project I'm involved in (fascinating; involves extensive reading about World War II, which I know far less about than I realized). I aim for bed, and my library books, at about 9 o'clock; but that's on a good night. Lately I don't seem to get there till 10 or later.

Right now I'm reading The Flying Troutmans, by Miriam Toews. It's about a young woman who returns from a broken relationship in France to take care of her sister's two kids when her sister ends up in a psychiatric hospital. They take an odyssey across the States to find the kids' dad. Toews is the author of A Complicated Kindness, which won the Governor General's Award a few years ago and was a finalist for the Giller Award. Great sense of humour, this gal.

This ice wouldn't hold me yet, but it's so tempting to strap on my skates and go for a glide.

Chloe also shadows Casper, the 14-year-old lady.

On the Table

After school.

~Mon night~
I worked here in the office this afternoon, then went home to make supper and work in the kitchen for a couple hours before coming back here (after a delay to watch the last half of Battle of the Blades; the skaters I liked least, won).
When I arrived at the house Everett hadn’t been home from school long. He was coming back from the barn, where he goes to feed the cats every day, and then pulled out his math homework at the kitchen table. He was in a talkative mood so I got a glass of skim milk and a couple of his fantabulous cookies and sat down to snack and chat.
He mimicked this kid in his class who mumbles so badly that Everett asked him to repeat himself about four times and still didn’t understand; another student sitting nearby had to tell Everett what he was saying: “Can I borrow your notes?”
I laughed till I cried. Literally.

***
Why is there an onion in a bowl on your kitchen table, you ask?
I got an email touting a raw unpeeled onion as the sucker-upper of flu and cold viruses. You're supposed to keep one by your bed and even in every room in your house.
Should have checked it out on Snopes.com, as it's not too likely that onions are a miracle preventive or healer. Thought it worth a try though; the worst that can happen is I'm out the cost of a bag of onions.

***
Kate, that gourd you gave me is still drying on the kitchen table.

***
To make it easy for him, the envelope for Scott's donation to the Lung Association is ready to go to the post office, awaiting only the tucking-in of a cheque.

***
Sudoku puzzle book: thank you Luanne, now Everett and I are both doing them.

***
Grandma Johnson's candlesticks, on a doilie she crocheted.

***
A cloth measuring tape I just bought so I can get the right length of Emil's inseam. Shirley, when I got you to shorten those pants for him, I overlooked the fact that the pair I gave you to figure length were also too long.

Do I Have To?

You can't see the shovel in his right hand, but his attitude is showing from miles away.

"Why do I have to?" he wants to know, when I send him out to dig in the garden. At the moment he's moving a line of speedwells forward and he is not happy about it. He feels used and abused.

The boys have three days off school. Emil got the sniffles and has stayed indoors since Sunday evening, but Everett has been conscripted into his mother's service. Earlier he pruned dead flower stocks, and yesterday he decimated the lambs' ear population. Oh, the agony of it all.

I'm stuck at this computer for another three hours today, so had best get back at it. Wish I could trade places with the kid.

Too Many Books, Too Little Time

The latest stack of library books.

I also scored one of Gabrielle Roy's memoirs at the recycling centre in town. Hard cover, to boot.

Homesick, while begun, is set aside to return without finishing. It's about a woman who's moved to her parents' for help raising her son. Didn't hold me. Its author is the Saskatoon writer responsible for The Englishman's Boy.
The Mystery Guest was skimmed but left me wondering why I wanted to read it. No doubt I heard a radio interview with the author and the book sounded scintillating. But again, the printed page did not hold me. The narrator had been called out of the blue by an old love who'd dumped him with no explanation five years earlier. Now she called, invited him to be the one unknown guest at a dinner party; the narrator is certain all will come clear when he sees her again. But by now I don't care.
Home Land has been added to the pile of go-back-unreads.
On the other hand The Bookshop, which I picked up this morning and had nearly finished before noon, is a short and lively little tale of a widowed Englishwoman who opens up a bookstore in an old house shared with a poltergeist. Engaging from start to finish, unless things change at this late point in the story. I'll be diving back into it first chance I get.

I'm grateful to my local librarian for not complaining when I ask her to order in so many books for me, particularly when I don't read them all. If they don't snag me, why should I? Too many books, too little time. My motto.

***

Saw a bull and a mare moose on my way to Kelvington last night. The bull moose walked along the bush before turning sharply to disappear into it. As he made his way in, he had to sway his huge dark head from side to side so as not to bang his wide rack on the bars of naked poplar trunks.
I was thrilled. It’s still rare, to me, to see a moose. I stopped and snapped photos but it was too dark for them to turn out.