Smart Tip from the Get-It-Done Guy

Resolve Relationship Conflict Quickly

 One of the wonderful things about having a snuggle-bunny is the snuggling. And one of the best things about fighting with your snuggle-bunny is making up from the fight, because then you get to snuggle. Ever in the mood to snuggle, but your bunny doesn't want to? I'll bet you get into a fight over it. And then you make up, and you snuggle. So everything's great.

Except, of course, for the fight. Fighting takes a long time, it's tiring, and it's bad for relationships. So some nice people got together and invented “fair fighting.” Have you heard of it? Just Google it. You'll find lots of versions. There are rules like, “Take it private, keep it private,” so you don't embarrass each other in front of others. Wouldn't that defeat the point? Or how about, “Avoid accusations.” Or, “No hitting below the belt.'” Why go to all the trouble of fighting if you're going to fight fair? Why not fight to win?

I guess the theory is that as long as you're going to fight, you should fight fair. But if you can just decide to fight fair, willy-nilly, then why can't you just decide not to fight at all? Because it's human nature to fight, that's why. At least, that's what I say to justify my occasional lack of self-control and infantile behavior.

Fighting Might Do Damage

Even if you fight fair 99% of the time, that extra 1% you might say something that's better left unsaid. Nothing destroys relationships like loved ones going straight for each other's insecurities. So they didn't tell you until after you were married to them that they weren't the gender you thought? Obviously it's a sensitive issue for them. Bringing it up in a fight about whose turn it is to wash the dishes is not going to win you any brownie points.

Fighting Takes Too Much Administrative Overhead

And, of course, fighting rarely starts small and stays small. Imagine a couple where one person is mainly concerned with tasks, whereas the other is mainly concerned with relationships and feelings. Just imagine how things might go: a fight starts over a task. “It's your turn to do the dishes.” “Is not!” “Is too!” The feeling-centric person then notices the conflict is generating bad feelings. That upsets them. That is a big problem. “You just had to start a fight, didn't you? You always do this! You take a nice evening and ruin it. You can't just discuss it calmly!” To the task-centric person, that is going off task. Which, of course, is a big problem. So they get even more upset about that. “You're always changing the subject. What about the dishes?” “This isn't about the dishes; this is about your inability to be an authentic human being!!”

Now we have three fights going on. One fight about the dishes, one fight about whose fault the fight is, and a third fight about how the second fight is distracting us from the first fight. Who can keep track? You might try using the grid technique from my episode on managing multiple projects, but that becomes a fourth fight: “Why are you writing out a grid? Don't you care about our relationship?” At that point, trying to explain you're writing a grid so you can track the fights that you need to fix so you can make up and snuggle ... just won't work.

Yes, there's an easier way.

Make a Fight Sheet

Did my sample fight sound familiar? That's because fights aren't original. Most of us have the same fights as each other, and we have them over and over and over. Even the fights about the fights repeat! This is silly! If you're going to get hot and bothered with your snuggle bunny doing something repetitive, there are better alternatives. For example, jumping rope.

But if you must fight, streamline the process. Create a word processing document and type in your standard arguments. Include both points of view, but just how you both say them. Don't cheat to make yourself look better than you are; record both sides of each argument. Put in a bold header for each argument to make it easy to find, and include a table of contents if it helps. Start with a title page, “Our arguments.”

Now print it out and make sure you each have a copy. Next time you start to argue, run (don't walk) to your nearest copy and hand it to the other person. Then you can each turn to the proper page and run through the argument silently. When you're done, if either of you have anything else to say, say it. Record those additions for next time, of course. Voila! What used to be a two hour argument now takes mere moments. You can look at each other, laugh a bit, and go snuggle and make up.

Yes, I'm Serious

In my life, this tip works. The idea appeared in my head in the middle of an argument, when I realized the argument was really, really familiar, but it was too late to stop it from escalating. I thought sarcastically, “There's gotta be a way to streamline this.” Then I realized it could be funny to give it a try. My first version was my partner's main points and what my responses would be. That would help me save time in proving I was right. Then I realized that wasn't fair, so I included both points of view. It was funny. We only had to use our argument booklet two or three times before almost all of those arguments lost their force.

This tip doesn't actually work because you're streamlining your arguments, it works because you're reminding yourselves how silly and futile arguing is in the first place. Life's too short. Go snuggle instead.

By Stever Robbins, the Get-It-Done Guy. 
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North from the Ravine

Walking home on Wednesday

Walking home on Thursday

Walking home on Friday

Relax

Scott hasn't been feeling well for several days, so he's been home drinking hot water with honey and cinnamon, and lying on the couch in front of the TV.

Alas for me, that means I can't sit in the living room in the afternoon to have my daily tea and birdwatch. Not without listening to the TV, which frankly I need to escape at every opportunity as it's a great big time-wasting teeth-gritting too-much-frigging-advertising irritating brain-drain that hypnotizes me just as hard and quickly as the next guy, if I let it. I've been spending most of my daytime hours in the office with the door closed, and my nights in the bedroom reading, though sometimes I get stuck in front of the tube in the evening too if I'm not careful.

For the deep relaxation that comes from 15 minutes of birdwatching, I've brought an old milking stool from the barn and set it against the outside wall of the house. After the walk, which gets my blood flowing, I brew a single cup of Red Rose tea in a travel mug and sit outside with the dogs. In my hand-me-down (thank you Aunt Jean) mink, ski pants, Sorels, scarf, tuque and glove/mitten combo, I am toasty warm, the dogs get their fill of petting, and I am content. The weather has been mild this past week. In 30-below it wouldn't be so welcoming.

Constant visitors to the oak trees are hairy woodpeckers, downy woodpeckers, redpolls and chickadees. Dozens of them. There are magpies that come too; not while I'm out there, but they check out the ground beneath the feeders every day and I like them even though they are despised by Scott because they have been known to peck the eyes from newborn calves. How awful is that. I figure if they get enough to eat they might not have to bother the cattle, though warm, moist newborn calf-eyes must be quite a treat to them.

Nature is too cruel.

Woo Hoo!

Oscar called from Regina last night to say that the report was good: no more cancer was found. He's got to undergo a year of immunotherapy now, and some plastic surgery, none of which will be a breeze, but compared to the alternative this news has Oscar, Barb and everyone who loves them jumping for joy.

He had bought a bottle of wine to celebrate and I decided to do the same thing here.

Oscar

Cousins, 1994

This is me with my cousin Oscar at the Margo School Reunion 16 years ago, when everyone who'd ever attended any Margo school came home for the weekend. Festivities were held in the rink— meals, dance, so on, so forth. Hundreds of former students showed up.

Oscar's dad and my grandfather were brothers, so Dad and Oscar are actually cousins and Oscar and I, as I understand it, are first cousins once-removed. He's only a few years older than me and we grew up in the village of Margo, and of course when a little girl like I was has a slightly older boy in the family who happens to be sweet-natured and kind, she follows him around like a puppy and pesters him mercilessly. Some of my fond childhood memories are of checkers played in the afternoons at Oscar's house — he must have had so much patience! — and of being dragged around the floor by the leg, probably because I wouldn't leave the poor lad alone. (Nowadays when I see my niece Jordan, who is in Grade 3, with my son Everett, who is 18, I think it's much the same dynamic.)

As teenagers we often went out driving around the countryside together, having a few drinks and laughing pretty much constantly. That was social life in rural Saskatchewan back then, for teenagers. It's probably the same today, although I like to think that drinking and driving has fallen out of favour. For us, there was nowhere else to go when you wanted to escape your parents' home. You got into a vehicle and went out to see who else was out and around, and then you hung out on the back roads somewhere.

Oscar married his high school sweetheart and they set up on a farm north of town and had three fine boys who are grown now; one works with Oscar in the family business and two of the three have started their own young families.

Not long before Christmas, Oscar had a mole on his neck removed and the diagnosis that came back from the lab was melanoma. His doctor got him into the operating room right away and exploratory surgery showed two out of three lymph nodes on one side were cancerous. So back into the hospital he went for radical surgery, removing lymph nodes from neck, chest and back. The next day they kicked him out and sent him home, which is a three-hour drive from the city where the surgery was performed. He spent several days in a lot of pain and discomfort but when I called him on New Year's Day he was, though still sore, starting to feel himself again.

Today he and Barb are in the city, getting the results of tests done after the surgery. With luck, the operation removed all the cancer. It HAS TO have.

Old and Young Folks and In Between

Doris, 94

At the nursing home where Grandma lives now, the auxiliary throws a Christmas party for the residents and invited guests and a photographer takes portraits, which are then attached to cards and sent out to family members on the mailing list.
Aunt Reta, I didn't have your address with me last fall when they asked me to come up with a list. I'll forward my card on to you, and make sure your info gets added for Christmas 2011.

Scott, Everett and I had supper with Scott's clan at his grandmother's house in Kelvington on Sunday. She turns 102 later this month. After the dishes were done, we three strolled over to the nursing home to see Grandma. It was 7:30, and she was already sound asleep, so we left her be and walked over to Cara's to say hello to her and her family for a few minutes. They were getting the kids ready for bed so we didn't stay long.

It was a cold, crisp night, but thankfully there was no wind so it was beautiful and there were still a lot of Christmas lights up around town. Yesterday I came back from my afternoon walk with pretty chilly cheeks, but today it has warmed up considerably and was mild enough to go all the way to the ravine with the dogs. That's only about a mile round-trip, but on days when the wind is blowing and the thermometer is in the low twenties, it's a formidable hike and I usually turn back much sooner, into the calm of the trees.

Dad turned 72 yesterday. SEVENTY-TWO!! That sounds OLD, and Dad is NOT old! Are ya, Pop?
I hope you won't be crossing my name off the will for not phoning. I did send an email, and just talked to you the other day, and figured you'd be getting calls from lots of other people so wouldn't feel forgotten or neglected. Honestly though, if I'm in as good a shape as you are when I'm 72, I'll be happy. As a matter of fact, I'd likely be happy if I was in as good a shape as you are now, as I come up to 52!

Sure and It's a New Year

On New Year's Eve, Scott, the boys and I covered up with quilts and settled in to watch the latest Shrek movie. For those who haven't seen it, it starts out with the ogre Shrek living a happily mundane life with his wife and three tiny tots in a peaceful and friendly environment. Aside from the pristine nature of his surroundings, which are less-than-satisfying for an ogre, the repetitiveness of raising children and taking care of a home gets to Shrek. He is constantly called upon to take care of the backed-up outhouse, for instance. Over and over again.

Chuckling at that, I looked over at Scott, who also deals regularly with similar issues here, and said, "See? This is part of every man's life. It's not just you!"

Shortly after, he fell asleep, and stayed that way till the end of the film.
Which reminded me of the time I took Baby Everett to a display of life-sized, moving, roaring dinosaurs, and after his initial terror he fell asleep and remained in a coma till we left the museum.

Some things are just too overwhelming.

And speaking of outhouses, we do have one. We don't use it (yet; I'm wondering if we might need to one of these days, the way things are going), but I took this photo while out for my walk yesterday:

The thermometer said 25-below, I heard, but it was gorgeous out there. Not a breeze... snow sparkling...air fresh and crisp...happy dogs bouncing around me as we made our way down the road under the sunshiny blue sky...

I didn't make New Year's resolutions, as I promptly forget them anyway. Instead, on New Year's Day I tried to do everything that I hope to do much, much more of in the year ahead—to “seed” the year:

1) Up before 9, make the bed
2) Make breakfast for everyone
3) Clean kitchen, including doing dishes
4) Listen to music; my CD choice, Robert Plant and Alison Krauss, Raising Sand
5) Dance
6) Sing
7) Bath and take the time to oil my body afterward
8) Call someone who is dear to me; I phoned Dad, my cousin Oscar, and my gal-pal Cathy
9) Have a "wrestling match" with Scott
10) Followed by a cuddle and short afternoon nap
11) Take a Medicine Walk; all walks are medicinal, right?
12) Do the Tibetan Rites
13) Play guitar
14) Eat an orange for my health
15) Read
16) Write
17) Meditate
18) Afternoon tea and birdwatching
19) Get editing work done

Well I didn’t do them all; didn’t play my bass, sing (beyond my usual mindless melody-making while doing other things), eat the orange, watch the birds or meditate. And that is okay! It was a full, satisfying day and we watched How to Train Your Dragon with the boys in the evening.

I'll drive Emil to Aylesbury House this afternoon. He's been home since the 23rd and has said countless times, "Mom, aren't you happy you got to have me here so many days?" and "Will you miss me when I go back?"

***

Were you a Led Zeppelin fan back in the '70s? Do you love Alison Krauss's angelic voice (which, by the way, my sister Karen's singing voice is often likened to)? Then here's a little treat for you, one of the songs on their Raising Sand CD, a favourite of mine:

A Poem for the New Year

Invisible Gifts

A moth that caressed a flame
Is now incinerated;
Flood waters have swept away a house,
And someone once deeply loved is now alone,
Staring at a flickering screen
In an empty room.

Even as these letters are formed,
They fade,
Just as you and I are fading,
And everything we know and love
Or think we hate,
Is being annihilated
If made of matter.

And that is why things invisible
And thus not prone to decay
Are what I silently push across a table to you
Somewhere between the soup and the pudding.
Invisible gifts cross the barrier of death;
Love given is never lost--
It creates new galaxies and lights the stars
In our heavens.

Copyright Julie Paquette

Visit

Jo Anne, Kathy, Cathy

Look at that swanky new angel-hat Cathy is wearing!

The ladies arrived yesterday in the early afternoon, shared a late lunch with me, hung out in the living room for several hours and were back on the road by 5 o'clock.

The visit was short, but sweet. One thing about them driving all the way out here was that it made me feel like it really is a "holiday season."

Safely Through Whitehorse Rapids

The end of an arduous voyage during the Yukon gold rush

This photo is among my great-great Aunt Alma's collection, presumably from the time she was nursing up in the Yukon. People went north to make their fortunes, and often lost their lives on the way. It was a rough route whether by land or water and they were often woefully unprepared. This group no doubt had good reason to rejoice when they reached their destination.

In contrast two of my high school friends from the dormitory days of Luther College are making their leisurely way out from Regina this morning, only a two- or three-hour drive. The forecast was for snow and wind and cold(er) but so far the sky is clear and my fingers are crossed that the highway's not icy, so they'll be here safe and sound in time for lunch. I'm making one of my favourites, curried eggs with toast, and am searing pork chops to throw into a casserole dish with mushroom soup to bake for supper — easy, tasty, and out of the way so that I can relax and spend the day visiting.

Slowly but Surely

Kitchen Before

Scott knocked out a wall so we'd have more space around the table, put in new windows and a new exterior door, chopped off a corner cupboard that jutted into the room, removed cupboard doors so the old wood could be painted (my aunt Rose did that), re-boarded the ceiling and painted it and the walls, and changed the light fixtures.

The windows face north so we needed to get as much light as possible.

Kitchen Now

It's a small kitchen but comfortable enough. Does the trick. There are still things to do, but none of them seem urgent although shelving without doors quickly becomes — well, late's face it: filthy — and so their open charm has worn off.

This afternoon Everett took curtain rods and curtains down from the other house; I hope to make use of some of them over here.

Reta, the plug-in has been wired for a few months so I've asked Scott several times to mount the under-the-cupboard CD-player you gave me. (Note to self: Must.Nag.Harder.) I think he said he needs some particular tool to do it with. As if I buy that one, Mr Has-Every-Tool-Known-to-Mankind.

More likely I'll just do it myself one of these days. But it will be all wrong and fall down. Kind of like when I hang pictures; they never end up where I intend, no matter how carefully I eyeball and measure. It's a crapshoot. He will be sorry!

Heh.

Bean Dish

Cellphone tower? on the way from town

3:58pm
I’m at the computer, editing a biography of Marie Dressler, when the phone rings.
“Hello?”
Crackle, crackle. It's Scott, on his cellphone a mile away.
“Can you bring me something to eat and drink? I’m on the hill.”
“Sure.”
I pull cold chicken and a loaf of bread from the fridge and start cutting slices for sandwiches while Everett goes out to start the van for me. The phone rings again.
“Don’t bother cooking anything. I won’t be here long. Just bring the leftover bean dish and something to drink.”
“Okay.”
I abandon the chicken and bread, throw the Tupperware bowl of bean dish and a tablespoon into a plastic bag, along with two alcohol-free beer and a bar of dark chocolate, and head out the door. It’s cold today but I’m dressed for it —overdressed, some may think— in my usual way, with ski pants. I’m toasty.
In a few minutes I’m on the hill, which actually isn’t a hill, but used to be before the municipality razed it flat while building up the correction line road. I drive toward the green tractor I see beyond the fence, where Scott is moving bales. He jumps out of it and into the van, tears the plastic lid from the bowl like a starving man and begins scooping bean dish into his mouth with the spoon.
I wonder aloud why he couldn’t take time to come home and eat, or even wait for me to heat something up before taking it to him; is there an emergency or what? He says, “It’ll be dark soon.” In moments he’s eaten half the bean dish, grabbed a can of beer and the chocolate bar, and is kissing me thank you before leaping out the door again.
Some people are highly dedicated to their work.


Bean Dish
Fry separately and drain:
¾ lb bacon
1 and ½ lb ground beef
Add:
 ½ to 1 cup chopped onion (optional)
1 can green lima beans
1 can kidney beans
1 can brown beans
½ c ketchup
3 heaping woodenspoonsful brown sugar (or less; to taste)

Warm and simmer, covered, for 15 minutes or for hours, as you please. Delicious hot or, apparently, cold.
[Thank you for this recipe, Suzie; it’s been a family favourite for years now and always goes over well at a potluck.]

Old Age

Emil and his great-grandmother have a smoochfest

The boys and I went with Cameron late yesterday afternoon to take gifts to Grandma and have a visit with her in the nursing home. When we arrived the old folks who hadn't gone out for the day (they've moved her into the dementia ward now, which has more staff and fewer residents) were dozing in easy chairs in front of a rerun of Bonanza. We woke Grandma up and she recognized Cameron although didn't know who he was. If that makes sense.

She raked in a shitload of new tops and a couple pairs of slippers, and was quite pleased. Grandma has always loved her clothes and that is one thing that hasn't changed. We hung out in her room for an hour or so and then left when it was time for her to go to the dining room for supper.

I woke up in the middle of last night, remembered all the other residents sitting together at the lodge in the afternoon, and thought "Where are their families?" It looked like these old people were simply out of sight, out of mind, while the youngsters they raised and the grandchildren they spoiled were all off doing their own thing now and not giving a second thought to these people they owe their lives to.

Of course that's not the case and I was being harsh in the wee hours of the morning, when shadows and light can be stark and unexpected (I really hate the middle of the night sometimes; there is no sugarcoating anything, then). Many families had probably taken their elders out for the day or had already visited, or had other celebratory obligations or live too far away or were travelling, or have come to the realization that it just isn't such a big deal to their old folks so they might as well do their own thing ... Christmas is just another day, to these residents, and they prefer their settled routines and are more comfortable being left to them.

Also, it is not easy to see your loved one, or the others, living in an institutional environment. They may be happy enough and very well looked after and even treated with kind affection by the staff and other residents, as is the case at Kelvindell Lodge, but it still gives you a regretful pause when you go there. I felt like shedding a tear as we were leaving, even though I know there is no better place for Grandma right now and I'm grateful she's not further away.

You mourn the past that is long gone—the better times—and you dread what the future may bring.

Good Time Had By All

Christmas Eve at Karen's (brother Cameron, moi, and Karen)

That's Emil's hand on Karen's back. He's giving her a rub and hasn't strayed from her side all evening.

Scott and I are up drinking coffee this morning and he's making breakfast and talking to his cousin Alex over in England. Everett's hanging out by the tree and I guess if Emil ever gets up we'll open some gifts before driving to Kelvington to spend some time with Grandma.

The weather turned warm here, hovering just below freezing. You could walk down the street yesterday, which Everett and I did while he shopped, without mitts on. It's a beautiful day.

Human Again

I'd like to say that my hair only looks like this after a day or two of lying in bed, but alas it looks like this most mornings.

Just had a day or two of hell, when my pills didn’t do the job and I’ve had neck pain and nausea. How do people with chronic illness stand it? I can see where one might choose to be put out of one’s misery, honestly, given the option of euthanasia. A person might choose it instead of toughing it out to better times. A person like me, with a low tolerance for pain and very little courage.

So again today I feel glad to be alive. For the past couple, particularly yesterday, I wasn’t sure it was worth it.

This morning I again woke up with my neck and stomach feeling crappy, thinking Fart-a, how can I handle another day of this shit? I can’t, I can’t! only this time I took a cup of coffee and went and sat by the window where I could watch the birds at the feeders (which seems to relax me profoundly), and voila, the neck thing went away and I started feeling myself again. I went into the bathroom and found myself singing (“a ha, I must be well!” I thought) and pulled a pound of bacon from the freezer and put it on to fry (interested in food and not just nauseated at the thought of it, yee ha!) and even massaged Scott’s very sore neck and shoulders, which I haven’t had the energy to do before this although he has been in a lot of discomfort. It’s a real workout to rub that boy’s back, let me tell you. I have to put all my weight behind my fists for him to feel I’m actually doing anything. I practically have to jump up and down. It takes some oomph. I am back! God it feels good to feel good.

***

If there are readers from Margo who haven't heard the horrible, sad news yet, we lost Duane Rothlander to a heart attack the other day. He was only 44 years old or thereabouts. His slightly older brother died of heart illness mere months ago. I can only imagine what this puts their family through; the world must seem a very unreliable and torturous place to them right now.

Dribs and Drabs

Scott and his sister Tanya with her grandchildren

Scott's biggest smiles are seen when he's got a lapful of small children. He should put on a few pounds and get a job as a department-store Santa.

***

Watched Heaven on Earth last week, a Deepa Mehta film that turned my stomach. I cannot watch a program depicting physical abuse of women without feeling sick, and very angry, because I know this shit is still going on, and legally, all over the world. Scott too gets upset: “Guys like that should be taken out to a field and shot. Backwards bastards.” I agree. Intellectually I’m against capital punishment and will never support it, but emotionally I can be a redneck.

***

I’ve been thinking lately of the day we got the news that Mom had terminal cancer, how shocking and horrifying that was, how the phone call announcing it was short, and after a couple hours of weeping and trying to pull myself together and breaking out in hives I called back and asked to talk to Mom herself. And she said something like this:
“I don’t want you to be too freaked out. I have to die sometime, and this happens to be the when and the how for me. At least I’ve had the opportunity to watch my children grow up and to know my grandchildren, which is more than many have. I’ve had a very good life, I’ve been lucky. And now that I know my end date, I can spend the rest of my time making the best of it. It’s a natural thing, death. It will happen to you too, you know.”

Life ends in death. That’s a fact. It’s a wonder we don’t walk around depressed all the time.

***

Remember Henry Winkler, a.ka. The Fonz in the series Happy Days? He gave a pretty good talk that a blogger posted about here.

Pizza Crusts

My boy finished high school, recently turned 18, and doesn't know what his next step will be. For now, he's home, feeling he's "not very mature yet" (his words, I understand) and wanting time to feel his way ahead. I'm all up behind that because, really, what is the rush? He's happy. I think this is the first time in years that he hasn't felt pressured by homework, and he's loving it.

It's not as if he lies about all day picking his nose, scratching his balls and playing videogames. He puts in four hours a day at whatever I assign. He's paying his room and board this way for now and, though I don't work him hard, I do work him. I haven't washed dishes more than once since the beginning of September. Tomorrow he'll probably clean the bathroom, since it's overdue and the young gal who agreed to do it for us every two weeks is stuck in town with a car that won't run and no money to fix it. Darn it. He'll hate that, but he'll do it. Not as well as Megan, but well enough. On Monday he made bagels. Sometimes I have to scrunch up my forehead for a while to think of jobs for him; that's what the list on the fridge is for, mind you. Yesterday in Kelvington I bought a couple frozen pizzas, as I usually do when they're on sale 2 for $10. I hate the damn things even if they do fill the hole; they taste like shit after you've eaten them too often and for too long. And I'm sure they're made of plastic.

Everett's pizza crusts are to die for, though, and healthy — 100% whole wheat. This morning a pizza crust marathon was my command, and he is hard at it, and loving it. He's listening to a favourite CBC radio show, WireTap, on his laptop, and laughing away as he mixes his dough on the kitchen table. It's taken me a few years to appreciate this program, but now we chuckle at it together all the time. I rant about how Jonathan should dump those so-called "friends," Gregor and Howard, and Everett thinks this is the funniest thing. "With friends like them, who needs enemies?" I always say.

He's just come into the office to inform me that, "You know I'm making all these crusts to freeze? Well I'm cooking one of them. We're going to eat one."
Oh yeah, I'm all over that.
He'll just put garlic powder and cheese on it, and oregano, and it will be our late lunch.

There was a documentary the other day about how kids don't leave home at 18 and stay away anymore, like they did (and couldn't do it fast enough, as I recall) when I was just finishing high school. They can't afford to now, apparently, due to the dearth of jobs and the cost of living. Me, I couldn't wait to have my own place and my own money and be in the city where I must have thought all the action was.

Everett is definitely not me.

He is not difficult to have around. In contrast, my parents were probably relieved to see me go.
Everett will do what he is asked, with very little fussing, if any. Me, at that age? Doubt it.

The bottom line is that I don't want to push him out of the nest. I want him to be ready to go on his own. He is not there yet. I'm okay with this; patience is the big lesson of my life; still learning it.

 I am glad he's here, and I trust that he will strike out when there is an adequate beckoning. Surely at some point he will run screaming from his mother's house. Don't they all?

***

Mmm... here we go ... midafternoon lunch ....

Check out this link on Everett's page; it's good for a few laughs. He wonders if the British would find the Canadian way of speaking as humorous as we find theirs.

Click here:

http://goldengrainfarm.blogspot.com/p/what-amuses-ev-nov-15.html

: .

More Winter Scenes

Photos courtesy of Kurt E., who still has the old camera and seems to be enjoying it quite a bit.  Methinks he will never want to part with it. Click to enlarge, for a taste of winter without the biting cold. These were taken a few weeks ago; we now have at least a foot of snow on the ground.

Everett and I went to Kelvington this afternoon. He had a doctor's appointment and I had to drop off a gift for Grandma, to go under the Christmas tree at the nursing home. Their big party is next Wednesday.
Everett went in with me and we found Grandma sitting alone at a table in the dining room, where she  faced a wall (why does this seem to be the case in every seniors' place she lives in? I swear, all three since she moved from her home in Margo. I know there is no paradise, but this crappy lot sure seems to fall to her every time. Not that she cares).
I asked her if she recognized this strapping big fellow with me. She said "I know his face ...."
We didn't stay too long. The oldsters were gathering in the dining room to wait for a choir that was coming in to sing Christmas carols.

Tree's Up

The angel Aunt Shirley made

Everett has put up the tree and decorated it, as he does each year in December.

When he was 10 and we had recently moved out here, he looked forward to unpacking our six-foot artificial tree before Christmas. But we weren't sure where it was, and Scott said he had a tree stored at his brother's and would bring it over. However, when he took it out of the box and put it together, it stood about three feet tall. Everett wept with disappointment, and we redoubled our search for the bigger tree. And found it.

Apples of Me Eeee

Goofy Pair

Emil came out to spend Saturday night with us, and he and his brother came into the bedroom to see me for a few minutes on Sunday while I was propped up, reading. He likes the new house we moved him into, "It's nice and quiet," he tells us.

Still no closet doors hung. I'll remind Scott yet again to "get right on that." Maybe I should put it on my Christmas wish list? The one year I made a list of things I might like, he went out and bought everything on it. Man, I felt spoiled and lucky. But I don't dare do it again; I'd feel I was taking advantage.


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