Music

Wadena Community Hall last night after a delicious catered supper. If only I could eat more!

Yesterday there were bluegrass and old-time music workshops for musicians in the afternoon, followed by supper and an evening of entertainment. It wasn't intended to be a dance but there were dedicated "stubblejumpers" who got up onto the wooden floor at every opportunity. We love our waltzes and polkas around here.

I realized that bluegrass, in particular when there are vocals and not just instruments, makes me happy. They can even be singing about that poor Jewish carpenter twisted and suffocating on a cross, and no matter: I will be smiling. The singer's wiry voice reminds me of Uncle Bob and his old-time guitar in the kitchen after family suppers, and my feet are tapping and swinging. Happy.

Finally caught up on Doc Maclean’s blog. His Century Tour webpage takes readers on a pictorial tour of Canada — lots of great road shots, human scenery and stage venues with heart. We travel along with Doc and Big Dave as they come across outstanding B&Bs, tasty meals, the Remembrance Day ceremony in Port Hardy, a gravesite with a unique marker (a bicycle with antler handlebars), bits of local history; it's a parade of delighted movement across the land. The tour ended in December and Doc isn’t blogging anymore, darn it. Looks like I’ll have to wait for the next tour.

It’s been a few years since I’ve been on a “road trip” and I’ve had no desire to take another one recently, but Doc’s blog sparks a tiny urge … (hey Shelly, how ‘bout it? My old road-trip pal). It makes me remember how wonderful it always was to meet people, who seem invariably good. Doc may have also inspired me to try my hand at the old washboard that came down from the Johnson side. Between that, Mom’s accordion, Everett’s piano, Emil’s harmonica and my acoustic bass, I could be a full band – if only I could play and sing at the same time. If only I could play, period!

For Valentine's Day, here is a passage from the bible, I Corinthians 13, that Joni Mitchell has put to music:

LOVE

The Luxury of a Saturday

Everett likes to listen to CBC Radio on the weekends. He likes the science show Quirks & Quarks, the comic The Debaters and Wiretap, and Stuart McLean’s Vinyl Café. To keep busy while he listens, he takes over the kitchen. Today he’s making cookies and I can hear him chuckling; last night we had pizza for supper, using the crusts he prepared and froze a couple weeks ago.

I should go over to the other house and start the boys’ laundry. They need their clothes clean and ready for school – wait! They have no school next week! Hey! I don’t have to go anywhere.

Friday All Day

Get out of my sun, woman

Early this morning Buckminster Duckster III had to go outside to do his business and I was awakened by him (somehow; don't ask me) and stumbled to the door to let him out. But not before he danced around in circles and knocked two of my pictures to the floor (they were still leaning against the wall in the hallway) in the dark, so today I moved them to Grandma Johnson's gateleg table in my office. They can lean safely against the wall there.

Ducky threatened to take Scott's hand off this morning when he approached the bed, where me and my little friend were still snoozing. Most peculiar, as the little beast likes Scott well enough. Guess he was just letting the big fella know that Ms Wonderful shouldn't be disturbed during her beauty rest.

Me and my pal Cathy (if I had curly hair and we both put on a few pounds):

Wee Hours Brekky

A doting Uncle Scott with one of his great-nieces.

He gets all googly the moment there is a baby in the vicinity and it's one of my favourite things about him. He is also affectionate toward dogs and cats and never gets snarky when without consultation or warning I bring a new pet home either to visit or to stay. Another of my favourite things about him.

It's 2:30 a.m. and I'm at the computer, munching, because I had to get up and eat. Otherwise I'd have lain awake another god-knows-how-many hours. Peanut butter toast and a side of cottage cheese; let's call it a very early breakfast. A midnight snack would be more along the lines of tortilla chips, in this house.

Here's what I know about my sleepless nights, which there have been few of since my late teens when I was fool enough to drink coffee in the evenings: around 3 a.m. I get hungry; at 5 a.m. I get cold. No matter where I am or what I'm doing.

Now Playing (quietly, of course): Randy Bachman's latest, a — wait for it! -- jazz album:

Melody Gardot

My newest CD arrived in the mail today.

Another gorgeous blue sky day, about 15C-below, snow bright white, light wind ...

This is just for my sister Joan, who says on her website, Sweetlight Photography, that the one kind of music she thinks she doesn't like is jazz. So check this out, Joanie. You like Norah Jones, don't you? Isn't she considered a jazz singer?

Anyhoo, there's jazz I don't like -- it's instrumental -- maybe it's fusion -- I don't know what the hell it is but there is definitely some that grates on my nerves within moments of hearing it. Vocal jazz is a whole other ball game though and I luvluvluv Gardot's stuff.

Okay, here's Melody Gardot:

Three Hens Escape Oblivion

Three Hens Escape Oblivion, 2005

The "house concert" we attended on Tuesday night in Wadena was a small affair with some very big talent. After helping ourselves to the smorgasbord of Chinese food, chicken and burgers, an audience of some 30 of us trekked upstairs to watch Joel Fafard perform.

Fafard is an acoustic guitar player who kept toes a-tappin' throughout his two sets. I picked up two of his CDs: the one whose cover you see above, and his new one, which has been tucked away as a gift for some lucky person on my good side.

Be sure to click on the youtube video and listen to him play a tune, after following the link in the first paragraph.

Lucky Ducky

Somebody likes everything about me, even my dirty laundry.

Karen called the other day. They'd been back from Mexico since Monday and have been catching up on sleep and, in her case, struggling with a migraine.

Would I like to keep Ducky for another month? Hell yeah.

Her female Yorkie should be going into heat and Karen would like her to have every opportunity to mate with the male Yorkie they've got. (I know, three housedogs! What do they need Ducky for?) When Ducky's around, things might go less well.

Did you know that spayed males can still get it on? I didn't. I thought male dogs were all finished with that business once they couldn't breed anymore. But not our Ducky. He's still a sex machine.

So Lucky Ducky (or Sucky Ducky, as Scott calls him) is here for a while longer. He's graduated from the tote-bag in the closet where my laundry was collected, to the basket I finally brought over from the other house. Strange as that is, because he's got the run of the house -- we let him on the furniture, on the beds -- even under the covers, god help us. Why he prefers the laundry ... well, who knows how dogs think.

The Funeral

Bev and her big red snapper

When Bev's father died last week, she came out to spend the week with her mom and the rest of her family and to help arrange his funeral. When Scott and I arrived at her mom's for a visit, Bev and her brother were behind the back fence, clearing snow away to expand the parking area.

The funeral was held in the town hall yesterday afternoon, attended by some 200 people. Afterward we went over to the house to join the family for a few drinks and a delicious supper made by one of Bev's nephews. I did not even finish my third rye and coke but have a slight hangover today. What a lightweight, eh? Oh well, it was worth it. We sat at a long table in the basement and had many laughs and a few "history lessons" from some of the older crowd that joined us.

I found out that vodka didn't always agree with my youngest sister Joan, who was dropped off after school one day, along with her friend Stacy, by Bev's younger brother. The girls went straight upstairs, which Stacy's parents thought suspicious, so they followed shortly after to check things out and found the girls, each with her own pail, leaning over the side of a bed, puking.

Hi Charlotte! Yes, your dad was telling stories ....

Bye Bye Boobies

This print has yet to be framed and hung.

A friend of mine is in surgery today, having a radical mastectomy. It was only a week ago that cancerous lumps were discovered in her breasts and lymph nodes, and her doctors are wasting no time letting the disease spread further than it already has.

They say that humour helps people beat cancer. If that's true, then Kathy will beat the shit out of it and live happily ever after. She's looking at this as the breast-reduction surgery she hasn't been able to afford till now but has always wanted. A quick way to lose a few extra pounds. Now that's what I call positive thinking; Kathy has found the silver lining in this very dark and heavy cloud.

She's got a tough row to hoe. Recovery from surgery, then radiation and chemo; there's nothing funny about any of that but if there is anyone who can make us laugh along with her, she is our girl.

My thoughts are with Kathy and her husband Rick today, and with their two boys; they must all be reeling from the shock of all this happening so fast, and the fear that comes with it even though the prognosis is good.

Lagoon Lament

Where will all the pictures go?

Mon 10:38pm
Scott arrived around 9 this morning for coffee and I broke the news: the sewer had backed up last night while we were out. Was he thrilled? Oh, certainly. Did he curse and swear? Nope. Must be on best behaviour or something.
He must have been a very bad boy in another life, because he's getting no breaks in this one.
So I roused Emil out of bed (one last day home from school, to finish blowing his nose) and took him over to the old house, where water could be used. And while poor old Scott cancelled his plans to work in town and came over here instead to spend his day shovelling snow, augering a hole through the ice on the lagoon, and getting the drainage system working again, I took ye olde minivan to town for an oil change, visited my old friend Bev Semko at her mom's (her dad's funeral is Thursday), and then went and bought $265 worth of groceries and came home just in time to make a quick but delicious—if I say so myself—supper. If you like pasta, spinach, tomatoes and feta cheese, that is—Popeye Pasta is the name of the recipe I followed—as opposed to meat and potatoes. Scott goes into withdrawal if he doesn't eat potatoes at least once a day and sometimes more. So he's often in that condition, when I'm the cook.
After all that, he had the waterworks shipshape once more and Everett did dishes while I spent the entire evening here in my office, catching up on the four hours of work I missed today. That four hours flies by, though, when I get my teeth into something.
It's 20 below and snowing, and that's the scintillating news from Saskatchewan.

***

An entry on Alex Waterhouse-Hayward’s webpage, which I recommend to you, includes the following poem written by his estranged aunt, now in her nineties; a gorgeous photo of WH's aunt; his memory of her and their estrangement. Just click here. Be prepared to lose an hour poking around his webpage. I'm telling you.

Evening At Home
(with bitterness)

There you are
Sitting before me,
Relaxed…sprawling, almost,
Your newspaper making little
Hackneyed rustlings.
And I am here
In the red armchair,
Hands loose in my lap,
Doing nothing.
Dreaming.

Not a word has joined us
For half an hour.
The silence is not expectant,
Not comfortable-
A dull, slate colored silence.

I ask myself, wonderingly:
“How can you miss someone
Who is right before you?”
Because I miss you,
I am unspeakably lonely
Even as I gaze upon you.
(You turn a page…there is a
Crackling.
You light another cigarette.
And I reach for a magazine
Three months old.)

Such As These – Dolores de Iruretagoyena de Humphrey, Mexico D.F. 1955

The Corn is as High as an Elephant's Eye

Everett clears a path to the birdfeeders after the heavy snowfall.

"Oh what a beautiful morning
Oh what a beautiful day
I've got a beautiful feeling
Everything's going my way-ay ...

There's a bright golden haze on— "

Oops, sorry about that. It's just that the sun's shining brightly into my window and the sky is blue as can be, and I've slept in and don't have to go anywhere today. Life could only be more perfect if my sisters and girlfriends were all coming over for coffee this morning, and if Mom was still alive and I could talk to her on the phone. I may not have everything I'd like, but the sun's out, the sky's blue, and life is pretty damn good.

Actually a trip to Kelvington is in order, since we didn't go last weekend and so Grandma may not have had a family visit for more than a week. I never know who else has gone to see her so I always assume no one has, and I'd better get my ass up there. Emil wants to go too but as he still sounds a little stuffed up, I'm not sure he should. Grandma never catches colds, but other residents might.

Not sure I mentioned that last time I was at the nursing home it was 11:30 a.m. and Grandma had taken off her clothes and gone back to bed. This is so unheard of, for her, that even though she assured me she was feeling fine, I mentioned it to an aide. The aide had just returned to work after a holiday and said it seemed to her that Grandma was a little "down," when she got back.

"Sometimes they get like that when they get old; you know how it is," she told me.
"I don't know, actually," I said, "but I'm finding out."

I like to imagine what Mom would have been like if she'd lived to 93, like her mother. She would have been a lovely, sweet old lady, that's for sure. In May it will be five years since she died. Five years! Hard to believe; feels like yesterday I was rubbing her feet and being asked to fetch this or do that because she didn't have the energy. I took to kissing her goodbye before I left, every day, because I was afraid it might be the last, unless she was feeling so good everything seemed normal, in which case I'd fall back into my old ways and take her for granted and not kiss her. We're not a kissy, huggy family, or weren't, though I've become more outwardly affectionate in recent years. Back when Mom was dying, I sometimes wondered what it would be like after she'd been gone a few years; it was hard to picture my life without her in it.

Now I've gone and made myself cry. Can tears hurt my dirty keyboard? It's filthy. Maybe they'll clean it right up! Or maybe I can make a salty mudpie.

Half Back

Scott whips the yard into shape.

Guess what I got for my birthday? A pulled muscle in my back. Yippee!
Spent the last half of Thursday and all day yesterday regretting my lack of adequate sympathy for people who live with aching backs all the time. Because it is no fun, nosiree, no fun at all.

Fortunately after a day-and-a-half of popping pills that didn't help me get comfortable, and ordering others to cook and wash dishes because even a short while standing just about made me pass out (though I managed to get groceries yesterday and remain upright at the checkout counter while the clerks hand-wrote two rainchecks for a little old lady ahead of me and I swear it seemed to take forever), I awoke this morning as good as new. Woo hoo! It is good to be able to whiz through the kitchen again without thinking about it.

People with chronic back pain, I salute you for your stamina.
Me, a tiny bit of discomfort and I'm good for nothing.
Scott's back goes out and before you know it he's up and working through his pain.
Not this chick. I take a pill and go straight to bed. Wuss.

So I've gotten a lot of reading done in the last day or two. Good to a Fault, by Marina Endicott, is a novel set in Saskatoon. It's about a single woman who runs into a family-filled car while making a left turn at an intersection. It turns out the family is living in their car, on their way to Fort McMurray to find work. The resulting trip to the hospital brings a diagnosis of cancer to the young mother, who ends up having to stay there for laborious treatment. Since the rest of the family has no place to go, the woman takes them home and, when their father abandons them, starts looking after the three children and their bitchy old grandmother. It's a big change for her but she does it well, falling in love with the children so much that she's prepared to keep and care for them after their mother dies, as she's expected to. And that, my friends, is all I'm telling you.

Good to a Fault is one of the Canada Reads books this year. I have been unwilling to put it down since the first page, so that might tell you something.

And now that I'm feeling human again, I can get back to carrying out a few of my plans for the week that had to be postponed, like getting more of Emil's things moved over here. He came for birthday cake on Wednesday and never left, due to a cold. He's been snuffling and blowing and coughing ever since, but may be on the mend today.

51 Years

Happy Birthday to me.

As you can see, I'm as old as my years— look at the string on my glasses.

Thinking about Mom today, thanking her and Dad. Life's been very good to me. I've been fortunate in my family and friends, blessed with children, and had the luxury of living in a peaceable land.

Hare Salon

At the hair salon.

Pat, my mother-in-law from heaven, as I like to call her, phoned this morning. She had a cataract operation last week and isn't supposed to get any water in her eyes.
"Could you drive me into town today to have my hair washed?" she asked.
"If I can get out the door," I said.
Last night when I went to take Ducky out to do his business, I couldn't get the door open. That was fine with Ducky; he starts visibly shivering the moment he sees me put my jacket on. Ducky's bladder apparently makes up half his body volume so I knew he could easily last till morning, and it didn't occur to me to go out the front door with him, since we haven't used it in months and the step has a snowdrift on it.
Prince Charming had to come over and rescue me today— the locks had frozen or something—and then I picked Pat up and off we went to town. There's still quite a bit of snow on the roads and you know what? It finally looks like winter is supposed to look around here. There are tall sundogs though so the temperature's probably going to drop drastically.
The bunny above is the resident pet at the hair salon. The stylist remarked, What better place for hairy animals, than a hair salon? Her 13-year-old dog was there too, laying on my feet as I waited.

Little Lord Fountleroy Makes Himself at Home

Buck Duckster the IIIrd, a.k.a. Little Lord Fountleroy, or Ducky

Ducky is the first chihuahua I've been well acquainted with, and now I understand why people love these little dogs. He is the cuddlingest, sweetest, quick-on-his-feet creature; he keeps a close eye on the people he cares for; he couldn't be cuter or more attentive. I am smitten. I like dogs to start with yet have never wanted one in the house to clean up after, let in and out, and so on. But Ducky? No problem; he can do no wrong. Seriously, something must be the matter with me. Or am I getting old and even more softheaded? I will hate to see him leave for home when Karen and Dick get back from their holiday in Mexico. Only one more week to enjoy the wee fellow.

Some 3000 people around the province are without power and heat due to the heavy snowfall over the weekend, but between our two houses we're perfectly snug. The roads are in rough shape and the schoolbuses didn't run today, but Scott drove Everett into town this morning so he wouldn't miss two scheduled Grade 12 departmentals. I've barely poked my nose out the door, shame on me. Will have to be sure to go for a walk with the dogs tomorrow.

It's been oh-so-quiet in the house; the wind shrieked around during the night, but today there's no sound outside of the furnace fan and Ducky's toenails on the floor when he accompanies me from one room to another. The radio's been off since late afternoon and I haven't even listened to any music. Through the window now, after dark, the yardlight glints off the fresh white snow and everything looks peaceful.

Storm Stayed

How do you like the snow overhang out my office window?

Kinda looks like the underside of a great spaceship passing directly over the house. Guess who watched Star Trek with Everett last night.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

The snow’s still blowing and ice crystals sting your face (I was out filling the bird feeders, sweeping the step and knocking snow off a flattened lilac bush), and Scott said my van wouldn’t have made it to the other house yesterday.

He came this morning with the tractor and pushed snow around the yard but the potluck for his grandmother's 101st birthday in Kelvington is postponed. I made "bean dish" anyway; it won’t go to waste as long as Scott and Emil are around to help eat it. Baked a batch of bread too, so supper is taken care of. Everett's just pulled the eight loaves from the oven and is slicing into one. I can almost hear his drool hitting the kitchen floor from here.

Can’t say as I mind a winter storm when we’re all safe and warm at home and have everything we need.

The Big Dump

Chloe and I waded through the snow to the road, just to see how deep it was.

Sat23Jan/10
2:35pm
So much for my big plans to move Emil and his stuff over here to GGFarm today. By the time Scott left for the other house (Emil was there and we don't leave him alone overnight) late last night, a lot of snow had already fallen, and it’s been coming down hard and heavy all day. I went out a while ago to give Chloe her pill – which is pushed into a chunk of wiener (thank you, Faye: why didn't I think of that? it beats putting my whole hand into her mouth) — and discovered there’s been six inches of the fluffy white so far. It’s beautiful out there, but not the best for Emil to walk through. Scott just called to see if I want anything from town and said he spent the last two hours pushing snow out of the yard over there with the tractor. He’ll have to do the same thing here before it will be easy for Emil to make his way to the house.

















Hm. Not too inviting.

It’s a relief to allow myself to stay home and leave Emil where he is.
Everett’s cookies are coming fresh and furious out of the oven, so I’ve had some with some milk and made myself a pot of tea.
Scott came over yesterday morning, saying he didn’t have enough ambition to get any work done and felt lazy. For him it was a wasted day, although he did spend a couple hours trying to get the printer working after it’s sat idle since October, and he did sand the window casings in preparation for one last paint touchup. Before he went home to check on a cow that had been bleeding from her mouth and to try to reach our very busy vet, we agreed he’d come back here and we’d go to town for supper and groceries.

As always, we drove the entire length of Wadena’s main street before making up our minds which of the four open restaurants to go to. We chose the one that appeared through its front windows to have the fewest customers, and I went along with Scott’s idea to order two Chinese food dishes to share. They turned out to both taste about the same — and bland — so it wasn’t a satisfying meal; rather disappointing, instead. But we went to the grocery store on full bellies, which helped me resist the urge to buy potato chips, jalepeno poppers and chicken wings for easy snacks— they were all on sale, but I'm trying to be strict when it comes to convenience and processed food, and junk food. I did impulsively pick up Crispy Crunch bars from the 2 for $1.89 bin, and Emil thanked me not only last night when we dropped off some groceries over there, but we’ve spoken twice by phone today and he’s thanked me again, both times.

We hauled the bulk of the groceries into the house here at GGFarm and put them away, then poured ourselves rye and gingerales and pulled up to the table for a couple games of crib. At 11 Randy Bachman’s Vinyl Tap came on the radio, rebroadcast from last Saturday; when we’d had enough of cards, we reclined in our new loveseat in the dark living room, holding hands, and laid there listening to the show till it ended at one in the morning.

Best to stay home:

And Now We Can Really Move In

Guilty of emptying the cookie jar, Everett and his after-school guest/cousin Xander try to look sweet.

The furniture in the living room is finally out of the boxes it came in, but now covered with blankets so that Little Lord Fountleroy won't leave his hair all over it. Of course, we could refuse to allow him on the furniture, but what fun would that be? He's on his winter vacation, after all, and deserves some doggie luxury.

Scott built a railing on the outside step this afternoon so I'll get cardboard boxes from town for serious packing and transfer Emil over here on the weekend. Aside from his clothes and things, the contents of my china cabinet can now be crated up, my books can start coming over, the rest of my kitchen stuff can come to its new home, framed pictures can go onto the walls; but no rush. All in good time. Why, it could take me two years ....

***

Our donation to disaster relief in Haiti will go by Canada Post to the Red Cross, Saskatchewan branch. Here's the address if you're in our fair province and want to mail a cheque:

Canadian Red Cross
Sask Office
Box 4740, Stn Main
Regina, SK
S4P 3Y4


***

For those who want to give online, my friend Jean has started a relief fund that you can contribute to, here. Jean says, "If you are still looking for a worthy organization for Haiti relief funds, Mercy Corps is a great choice. They have a reputation as an efficient organization with lots of experience."

What Happened to Winter?

Rose-breasted grosbeak.

Now we've got unseasonably mild weather. But no one is complaining.

A lot of people go to Mexico. Karen and Dick got there yesterday. Cathy's going in a few days. Kim and Daryl seem to go often, as it's their favourite holiday destination in the winter months. Scott looked at me this morning and wondered whether we are missing out on something, whether going to Mexico is a trip we should be wanting for ourselves.

Having been there once, I told him it's a place he should go, that he might enjoy it and besides, we have friends (Andries and Mayte) down there whom we'd like to see again and very likely won't unless we make the trip.

But first ... the house and renovations have to get paid for. And Scott has to figure out how to run his business so that he can actually take time off for leisure. That's a big hurdle right there. And somehow we both have to get excited about the idea of going anywhere. As it is, my idea of a perfect day is one where I don't have to leave home. Fortunately I have a lot of those perfect days, afforded to me by my lovely little job that requires only a computer and internet connection.

Which reminds me, I'd better get back to it.

Tea Time

Getting my Little Old Granny groove on.

Me and one of my piggy friends meet for tea in the living room most afternoons.

***

One of the books I grabbed off the library mystery shelves is called All Dolled Up for Murder.
One of the characters is a "purse-dog trainer."
Who knew? Those teeny tiny dogs have to be taught to stay in their owners' purses.
I'm not sure whether to believe it or not. :)

***

Ducky arrived on Sunday. He is the lovingest little love-a-duck; he's made his tiny chihuahua self at home on Everett's bed and then when E gets up in the morning, Ducky clicks down the hallway and ... tries to jump onto my bed, slams against the mattress and falls to the floor. After I pick him up he snuggles up beside me till I roll on out. A frigging hairy dog-ass in my frigging bed ... I can hardly believe it myself, but it's Ducky. I can't help loving him and being a complete pushover.