Sweet Sara

Sara stuck under the front step

Sara Doodle the Dumpling Dog is a five-year-old blue heeler/border collie cross who is terrified of thunder. When area farmers use scare cannon to keep the hordes of geese out of their fields, Sara will do anything to get into your house and hide in your basement. This is the same dog that made a wide berth around me one afternoon when I'd been snapping my bubblegum.

The other morning when the boys went out to catch the bus, Everett informed me that Sara was unable to get out from beneath the step. She'd managed to get herself in there somehow so should've been able to get out, but apparently not.

Just a few shovelfuls of soil to deepen the hole did the trick, and she was soon out, wagging her tail and running around the yard with Chloe Doodle. She spent the day lying on the grass with our two dogs and then headed home to the old place a mile down the road, where we moved from, in time to greet the kids there when they got dropped off by the schoolbus.

Winkn Blinkn n Nod

"The boys are happy."

Three bulls were taken out of wet corrals (or wherever they were) and put onto the grass in our pasture.

I walk out to the fence every day and lean over it, tell them how handsome they are, and pretty much get ignored.

I don't go over the fence when they're in there, except to take this photo; and there's an electric fence inside the other fence, so I kid myself that it is any protection if I get behind it fast. It's not; a pissed-off animal this size would walk right through it. Same with the permanent fence I suppose, as far as that goes. Anyway, I'm nervous around these big beasts, but am told they're more scared of me than the other way around. Good, but I don't care.

So we're wary of each other.

WAS Unidentified Bird NOW Harris's Sparrow

This little fella has been at the feeder outside the living room window for several days, but I can't find him in my Birds of Saskatchewan book.

With luck, a shout out to my favourite group of bird lovers will bring a swift answer to the question: Who is this?

*** Thanks to those who knows, the bird has been identified as a Harris's sparrow in breeding plumage. He'll be on his way to a northern forest to start a family.

HEAR HIS SONG at this page: click here.

Wednesday

Just a couple more minutes in the office after supper.

Finally we've had a gorgeous spring day! Finally I used the hoe! Take that, blasted weeds!

Note the new feature on the right: a little bit of tarot.

Nighty Night

The front of my nightshirt.

I am reduced to using the photo booth on my iMac to come up with an image for today. Still learning how to get pictures off the new camera. Long dull story I won't go into.

Yes I'm ready for bed, and that's where I should be, instead of sitting here reading onscreen.

Started The Letters of F. Scott Fitzgerald this morning. Looks promising.

Where does a girl have to go to find painted daisies around here? There were none at my favourite local greenhouse, so I drove an hour-and-a-half to the one where I bought painted daisies last year. (Not enough. I want more.) And they didn't have any. Where to, next?

Last year's painted daisies:


It was not a wasted trip by any means, as I met two girlyfriends for lunch and then came home with two trays full of bedding plants. The Flower Frenzy has begun.

Some Mothers

My great-great grandmother, Mary Jane Walker. At Portage la Prairie, Manitoba.

Reta, who would the little girl standing in front of her have been?






















My sister Karen with a portrait of our great-grandmother, Caroline Engene. Some serious genes going on between those two. Karen is at least 20 years older than the lady in the oval frame, but still the spittin' image:










The Wendy Klein print reminds me of Mom, because of the joyful noise those gals are making:

Cold Fingers

Perhaps the last photos taken with the camera we bought for ourselves for Christmas 2002.

Yesterday on the phone:
"Where are you?"
"Yorkton."
"Where?"
"At the mall."
"Doing?"
"Just met up with C and J and the baby; had coffee with F; thought I'd look for something for you."
"Me? Oh, you want ideas. I always like a new CD."
"I was looking at digital cameras."
"Really?"
Alpha Dog (pfft) described two—a larger camera with a fancy lens, and a smaller one, half the size of a cigarette package. You may shake your head at me, but I preferred the little one (unless I could have both, but that would be greedy!). I won't carry a big beauty with me on walks or in my purse, and that's that for that. Better pictures, or fewer pictures: no contest. Backwards as that is.

Carl, your fresh flowers (roses) got to O.Z. one afternoon this week. It was well worth my while to play delivery girl, because on top of the customary hot beverage I was offered, Lily had been making cabbage rolls when I phoned. Guess what we had for supper that night (the frying onions were to go with the perogies)(note to self, phone Mary to order more)(I chopped up two-and-a-half onions; do we like onions much around here?)





















Emil and I had planned to go to town for a garage sale and the Mother's Day farmers' market today, but it's frigid out there; the garage sale has probably been cancelled and there's nothing I really need at the market, so that plan isn't so appealing anymore.

Everett was thinking ahead when he took shortening out of the fridge last night to soften up for his cookie-manufacturing efforts this morning; he's out there right now, still in his housecoat, mixing up dough and listening to Quirks and Quarks on the radio.

My fingers are cold.

***

Everett just brought me a wooden spoon full of cookie dough.
Now Emil's just come into the office to kiss my cheek.
It's Mother's Day every day around here.

I Love My Library

Truman Capote: "I knew over four hundred of them [multiple murderers.]"

Lawrence Grobel: Is there anything they all have in common?

Truman Capote: "Eighty per cent of multiple murderers have tattoos. Interview after interview after interview, the person always turned out to be tattooed, either a little bit or a lot."

and

"They all believe in God."

Banksy

To see a gallery of the graffiti artist's work around the world, click here.

Fred Penner

Emil with two of his favourite women.

Donna and her daughter have both worked with Emil at the high school as aides, and today they were out cruising and stopped in. They stayed for about an hour and Emil still hasn't stopped vibrating.

During the course of the conversation I was reminded how careful I have to be when I speak to Emil. Of course I'm already aware that I mustn't say anything I wouldn't want repeated — word for word — but today was an example of why I have to think twice about figures of speech and colloquialisms and such, too.

Donna and her husband took Emil to a Brooks and Dunn concert in Saskatoon a couple years ago and, music lover that he is, Emil mentioned that the duo is performing in the city again tonight and he'd sure like to go but alas, has no tickets. He went on to talk to the ladies about James Taylor and Fred Penner, the children's entertainer, adding vehemently "If you don't like Fred Penner there's something wrong with you!"

Naturally I had to say that everyone has different taste in music so there's not something "wrong" with you if someone's music isn't up your alley.

"Yes there is, Mom! You said 'There's something wrong with anyone who doesn't like Fred Penner!' "

But - but - but - I didn't mean it literally ... try explaining that to Emil! I'm not sure he gets it. Now I remember that conversation though. Maybe I was right in the first place. Maybe there IS something wrong with you if you don't like Fred. I mean, what's not to like?

Click here and put your cursor on Fred there, in the middle. He'll sing you a tune.

Fred was playing and singing for kids and their parents when my boys were small. Now that they're 17 and 21, Fred has been touring the country and playing in university bars. In a radio interview he said these university students were all kidlets back in the day, and when he plays the bars they know all the words and sing along and it's a wild fun time. I believe it. What's not to love about these songs? And imagine a bunch of inebriated twenty-somethings who can sing along. How often do you find that nowadays? I mean, that people actually know the words to songs and can join in and enjoy themselves.

Fred Penner saved my skin on many a road trip with Emil and Everett. Between him and Sharon, Lois and Bram, all I had to do when a kid got fussy in his car seat was plunk in a cassette tape and voila, instant contentment from the back seat. Sweet relief in the front. It even worked if I had no cassette handy; I'd heard the songs enough to know them myself, so I'd just have to start singing. Every parent needs a tool like that one in her brat-busting kit.

Everett Does the Turd Tour

Another reason I thank heaven for kids living at home: we have two farm dogs with no damn manners.

Little Miss Honestly, Erin (see my favourites in the sidebar) has tagged me to do a quizzie thing. I am no good at these but I did enjoy Erin's, so here goes:

Ten Random Things You Don't Need to Know About Me:
1. I turn my nose up at fried egg yolks that are overcooked or broken.
2. I feel guilty for a moment when I kill a mosquito or squish a woodtick. Was it really necessary? Hmm?
3. I will swallow a baseball before I will cry in public.
4. I wear wool socks.
5. Thong.
6. I love the colour fuchsia.
7. I found this image on a blog this morning and felt like I was looking into a mirror no one else can see into.






From the Bogwitch's webpage. See the link to it in her comments below this entry.
8. I paint my toenails in summer and wear two silver toe-rings year round. Crows like shiny things.
9. Jesus Christ Who Cares? Heh.
10. I admit, I do. I love to read this stuff about other people. Anybody here wear toe-rings? Some of you probably have facial piercings and such. Not me. Having my ears pierced was enough trauma.
11. Can't cheat, have to list ten:
12. I'm running out of things to tell and there are some you'll never know. Never. NEVER!
13. My chequing account never, ever balances. Pain in the ass.
14. I don't mind playing cribbage.

Bogwitch has a meme-thing at her blog that would be fun to do among people you've spent time with. Like, Cathy, maybe I would tag you because we know each other so well.

Tuesday, I Meant Tuesday

Taken from the living room window just now.

I love it.

Mostly because I don't have to go out in it, and snow means there's no pressure to go out and work in the garden.

***

Wow, Pat, thanks for this link:
http://www.hornbyeagles.com/webcam.htm
How fascinating is this, to have sitting open on my desktop?
A bald eagle sits atop her nest and we're looking right in on her from behind; she swivels her head, she adjusts her position, she picks at some moss (well it could get dull after a while, sitting there; baby must be asleep). We hear her moving; we hear the traffic below. It's noisier than where I live. Boats on the water, maybe. Now some crows or gulls. A fly has landed on the nest. Don't suppose she'll bother with it.

Luck of the Draw

On the table next to my desk

8:02pm
“Woohoo, I do have some luck!” I said out loud to myself after hanging up the phone. Marilou called early this morning to tell me I’d won the first-prize draw from the greenhouse – a 12-inch potted petunia. So I guess I’ll have a petunia after all. I’d decided not to buy any annuals this year because I saved seed from calendula, zinnias, cosmos and poppies in the fall. But I also know I’ll see the old standbys as I stroll the greenhouse aisles and pick some up in spite of myself, for instant colour in the garden.
So I’ll have at least one lonely little petunia in my onion patch thanks to Althea, now 7, who pencilled my name and phone number on a scrap of paper and stuck it into a plastic pail with the others while I sipped black coffee from a styrofoam cup, ate an iced doughnut, and squeezed down the aisles of greenery to see what her mother was offering for sale this year. All the usuals, but it was so miserable outside I wasn’t in the mood to load up on six-packs of flowers. I approved the two-tone rosebush my sweetie liked and had offered to buy for me, and that was enough. When we get some warm weather I’ll do a proper shop.
For now, I’m hauling two huge, leafy potted tomatoes and the rosebush out of the porch and onto the step when the sun’s shining, and worrying that they’re getting chilled by the icy wind. “Wilt a little,” I said to them, “if it’s too cold for you out here. Brrr. I’m going back in.”
Yes of course I talk to my plants. Don’t you?
At tea time I went out and stood under the sun with my travel mug to look down at the weeds that are growing like themselves, and then up at the birds. There were six hawks circling high above my head and calling, to each other I presume. Six! Could that be a set of parents and their offspring from last year? A wild guess. These didn't look like the usual red-tailed hawks I see everywhere I go, but they might have been. Hard to tell from so far beneath.
The fuchsia peony that was ruthlessly dug up and transplanted last spring, before leafing out and then drying up, is poking a red tip from the ground. Yay! You were right, Maggie -- it made it. The shasta daisies are making an appearance this week. In this cold, I wonder why. Guess they know what they're doing. Plants can be trusted to grow no matter what you do to them, it seems.

We should have a litter of kittens here any day now, too. Kiersten Kat is starting to look like she's got a cardbox box in her belly. Wonder where she'll have them; in the loft? in the toolshed? in the doghouse? Never know, with cats. Looking forward to it though. That is, if Kiersten remains safely on the job. Every year Everett finds a litter of kittens near death, starved and freezing, their mother disappeared; and guess who ends up with them in her house, helping feed them a milk formula with eye droppers and wiping their wee bums with a damp cloth? You have to, or they won't "void." Yeah. I don't look forward to that; or to the thought that once Everett leaves home, I'll be doing it by myself. Kids can be pretty handy to have around.

It's Cold Out There

5:09pm
A little pot of tea is brewing on the countertop. When it’s ready I’ll pour a cup and sit beside Everett on the couch and watch him play Halo or whatever godawful game he’s got on his x-box. He loves it when I observe; I know this because he starts narrating. However, I still don’t understand the attraction of games that seem to do nothing but shoot at and destroy targets. I guess I’m missing the strategic aspects of the games that hold players’ interest.
Watching him play will bore me to tears within two minutes but I’ll hold out till the first cup is empty, anyway. It’s what mothers do. Isn’t it? Show interest in their children’s activities?

I’ve been at the old house twice today, managing loads of laundry in the washer and dryer. Went to Marilou’s greenhouse (I wore my ski pants and my winter jacket; there were snowflakes falling through the air) to pick out the rosebush Scott offered to buy me this year in Mom’s memory. Tanya had such a good idea when she gave me that first one, the first summer after Mom’s passing. I’ve continued the tradition and even though Mom didn’t have a favourite flower that I’m aware of, whenever I look at my roses in bloom I think of Mom and that means a lot to me.

A batch of whole wheat bread is ready to go into the oven in a few minutes. This will keep Everett happy, as he prefers homemade bread to all others, even for lunch sandwiches. Emil likes the store-bought stuff for sandwiches; thank goodness, or I’d be baking twice a week instead of once. There’s a pork roast in the oven, too, for the benefit of the serious carnivores. For me there will be cream of broccoli soup and warm buttered bread. Emil just eats anything and everything. All of it, if he can get away with that.

Well, off to sip that tea and try to understand the allure of videogames.

5:46pm
It’s not Halo, it’s Oblivion (so-called) and it’s more of a finding-magical-things game, with lots of onscreen reading and conversation. Still dull as hell to watch but Everett likes science fiction and fantasy so it’s up his alley apparently. I sat next to him and observed as his character made his way through castle corridors, stone streets and a fairy forest. And as expected, Everett narrated and I didn’t last long.

We still don't have our big TV over here, among other things; this TV (thanks Dad) is sitting on Mom's accordion case on the floor. We use it for videos (and Everett's xbox) and that's all. Pictures have yet to be hung. In a way it feels like we're still camping here. It's not cosy yet.

Snow Way!

Seen on my walk in the pasture the other day

Not today, oh no! It rained hard yesterday and snowed last night and again this morning. Sigh.

(Everett, laughs): "You wrote that just as you were actually sighing."

And then he mimicked me. Brat.

Is It Spring? Is It Winter? What?

Main Street Wadena

Alas, not today. Rain has pounded on the house all night; now it's sleet beating against the windows, and snow is forecast. All righty then! We don't live in a tipi so we have nothing to complain about. Except that I have been asked to go to town and pay some energy bills, so must venture out in this deluge. Then again, I don't have to ride a horse the six miles to town so I still can't complain. Always look on the sunny side of life, as they say in MontyPythonese.

I went along on a quick trip to the hardware store about a week ago and, as always, took a book along to read as I waited in the half-ton. However, the book wasn't even cracked open as I was too intent on people-watching. For a little town — 1200 or 1500 people — there is a lot of traffic downtown. I don't know half the people I see as they come in from miles around and, after all, Wadena isn't my hometown, but there are still a lot of familiar faces and you know what? Just as when I'm in an airport, I never, ever get bored. I can sit for hours just watching all the different people strolling by with their cellphones stuck to their ears or their little suitcases on wheels pulled behind them. Endless variety. Well it's the same on the main street of this little place.

We are still getting large flocks of noisy snowgeese passing over the yard. This picture was taken last week; today there is a green tinge on the branches of the willow tree:

What XanderCuzz (13) and Everett (17) Get Up To

1) Meet Hoolio (shouldn't that be Julio?). Xander took this photo from atop Everett's shoulders.
2) Stirring cheese sauce and straining spaghetti for supper.


They wanted to play on the x-box and their noses were out of joint when I wouldn't let them.
"It's a school day," I said; but Everett had no homework, and thought that meant—
"Hell no," I told them. "Go find something else to do. Go outside and sneak around, smoking cigarettes and drinking beer, like we did when I was a teenager."
Amazingly, they didn't really complain, although they did try to reason me out of my unreasonable stance. After all, they had no homework.
Eventually they ended up dragging sticks through the gravel on the driveway. This entertained them for a long time and then they were so pleased with it they took pictures.

Tues

Empty birdhouses. So far. I bought this set at Ten Thousand Villages for $18 or $20.

My Sidekick

Caught in the act!

That's Everett's caption for the photo.

Emil was actually asking me what was in the tube. It was icing.

One of his favourite pastimes is going to the Co-op store. While I fill a shopping cart, he strides down the aisles and says a loud "Hello!" to anyone he knows. I can hear his crutches clicking away in the distance.

To anyone he doesn't know, he says "Hello, what's your name?" and often follows it with "How old are you?"

***
Monday after school
Me: “Come to think of it, I talked to Gunnar on the phone today. He’s got a new puppy— an English pug.”
Emil: “Did you ask Gunnar to sing something for you?”
Me: “No. Why would I do that?”
Emil: “I don’t know. I just thought you might.”
Everett and I laugh, and Everett says to me across the table, “One time I mentioned that Gunnar had been here, and Emil asked if you’d made him sing.”
Emil: “Do you want to hear Gunnar sing?” He is dead earnest, but Everett and I can’t help giggling. The question seems to come out of left field.
Someone has said something to get Emil thinking along these lines, but for the life of me I can’t remember what that might have been. It was probably me, too.

Snow in April

Alexander was over yesterday, hanging out with Everett. I enlisted their muscles to carry the lawn furniture out of the shed and set it under the oak trees, whose lower branches had just been sawed off.

Wouldn't you know that this morning we'd awaken to snow and a freezing temperature.

***

A perfect day for baking bread and making granola and reading my new library book, Burmese Lessons.
If you've never enjoyed the living words of Canadian author Karen Connolly, you're in for a treat. You are drawn in from the very first sentence and within several paragraphs you care what happens next and don't want to put the book down.
I first discovered Connolly many years ago when I picked up the travel memoir of her months spent in Greece as a young woman alone. You were right there with her as she sat on the floor, leaning against the wall of a small stone building, watching goats graze and nibbling on feta cheese. After that I read her novel about a gentle, peaceful man in solitary confinement in an Asian jail for decades. And now her love affair with Burma, the Burmese people and a Burmese revolutionary.

For a full and expert review, click here.