When They Just Don't Get It

You never know what you'll find on Marilyn's webpage, Nag on the Lake. Always something of interest, that's for sure. Thanks, Marilyn!

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Everett says to me last night: “You are too happy. You need a ‘sad’ pill.”
I am strangely flattered by this statement, though he meant it as a complaint, to go along with his “You make a song out of nothing” and so on.
His life is so rough, the people he lives with so irritating!
I’d rather be happy than sad, so this is fine with me.

Two Weeks Notice

Clearance racks at Valda's store on Wadena's main street mean my closet and two (only two! hard to believe) dresser-drawers remain full. Three tops and a knitted dress for about $40. Couldn't pass them up. This was about two weeks ago and I haven't even removed the tags yet. Tsk. Could it be I didn't really need these?

At any rate, this should be the last of my wild and crazy spending for a while, since I'm taking the summer "off" from work, or shall we say, I'm being "given" the summer off. The idea of it is a shock to my system, but not unmanageable; I intend to enjoy the summer weeks to the maximum.

Pretty Pink Flamingos

Grandma Johnson's flamingo vase, against a photo Maggie found on the internet

We had a huge thunderstorm last night while the idiots were rioting in Vancouver. Got nearly an inch of rain and some hail in our yard, but my flowers remain perky this morning except for the petunias. It was the oriental poppies I was worried about, but they're holding up fine:

Aside from my usual morning stroll around the yard to see what's new with the flowers — you never know when one will pop open unexpectedly from one hour to the next, let alone overnight — and after a good rain, to boot — I got a couple slices of toast down and gave Dad a quick call while I was thinking about him. He'll be here again in a week or so for the Margo Centennial celebrations.

Back to work I go.

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Be sure to check out Joanne's latest entry, here.

Lush and Lovely Days

Can you identify the plant that is snugged in with my hosta?

At 15, Casper still tries to keep up with me when I go for a walk.

Ducky knows we don't like him to chase the cats, so is on best behaviour here.

[Three votes for violets. Thank you!]

Thunderstorm and Dandelions

It's good to see the cattle close by

Darn it! Thunderstorm's coming in, which means a smart person would turn off her computer and unplug it from the wall. Right? Darn it. I'm working, here! Or was, until 10 minutes ago when I took a break to hoe up weeds in one section of the flowerbed.

The large and tidy flowerbeds are surrounded by tall grass and giant dandelions gone to seed. Looks so incongruous -- much like looking in the mirror at my aging face. You have to laugh, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it.
Scott figures now he might as well wait a week or two till the weeds finish their cycle, then hay the field.
Thank goodness we've no next door neighbours, or they'd be feudin' with us.

THUNDER.
This is a good reason to take a long break from work, and just enjoy the storm.

Construction at Margo Lake

Karen's Pad at Margo Lake

Scott prepares the ceiling for paint

How Karen gets her bell rung

Ducky woke me today, for what reason I have no idea, at 8 a.m.
Did he want to go outside? Hell no. Back into his bed he went.
I got up and looked out at a wet world. A nice little rain, just what my flower garden needs, even though I watered yesterday. Rain beats well water, hands down. Betcha there will be new bloomage tomorrow. Maybe the oriental poppies will all spring open! They have multiplied themselves by the umpteen squared, so I'm expecting a fabulous show any day now.

Scott's dad and uncle were headed to BC to visit their brother this morning, so Scott was up at the crack of dawn to get them on the road to the airport. Don't know how he does it — no alarm clock, no watch, just up and at 'er. Looks good on a scaffold too, don't you think? Walks around up there like a mountain goat. I'd have to have one hand holding onto something solid at all times. Even the lower rungs of ladders make me nervous.

Did I mention I saw a moose yesterday while taking my medicine walk? Yeah, me! Usually it's everyone but me who sees them. Although one evening we were driving to my uncle's and I thought "Sure would be nice to see a moose" and decided to peer into the bushes as we passed by, and within moments I saw a big blond moose lying in the trees right next to the road. So there! Look in the bush! Pay attention!

So. Karen's house. This was the first time I was inside. I eagerly anticipate sitting at her kitchen table, looking out over the glittering lake, while we sip on tea and chat. Or better yet, maybe we'll go out and wade in the water.

Karen and Dick have lots of landscaping to do, too.

Karen chats with Michelle, her daughter-in-law (marrying my nephew Marc at the end of the month)

Emil Sings. Not Workplace Friendly.

"Mom. Mom."
"What?"
"Mom. I learned a song. I'll sing it for you."




Emil still thinks "swear words" are hilarious, and anything to do with shit is ... worth a giggle.

Perogy Master

Everett's been in the kitchen again

Some time ago I learned that a lady I've known from my youth makes and sells her delicious perogies— it may well be a full-time job for her, since those and her cabbage rolls are so popular— and I decided to purchase a bag of each, every month. They are always a treat and, taken from the freezer, the perogies help make up a quick meal and the cabbage rolls, baked with tomato juice, make a tasty casserole.

Then Everett took it into his head to make perogies more often. Above is a batch he made last week, when we had run out of cheddar cheese. So he made his filling of plain potatoes, with salt and pepper. I swear those were the best perogies I've ever eaten. Without any of the usual garnishes, including butter or onions or bacon bits— they were that good.

It's doubtful he'll get interested in making cabbage rolls, more's the pity, and so I shall darken Mary's door again and see if she'll let me back on her customer list once my boy leaves home in a month or two.


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I've been slowly reinstating my blogroll, now at the bottom of the page so it is less of a distraction for me, but if you're looking for some reading, scroll on down and give some of them a try. Also, if your webpage isn't listed there, let me know— or give me time. I haven't put all my favourites in yet. All in good time, my dears, all in good time ....

Lake Property in Saskatchewan for Sale

My new toy

An old-fashioned bike: no hand-brakes (that takes some getting used to after all these years), no 3 or 5 or 10 or 18 speeds. Just ... down the road I go.

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Yippee, it's Friday! Considering I hardly know which day is which anymore, I almost always know when it's Friday and the beginning of the weekend.

Went to Margo yesterday to have a couple new tires put on my minivan and get a tour of my sister Karen's new house, which is being built on the shore of their resort development on Margo Lake. Scott is drywalling there at the moment and will soon be painting the vaulted ceiling. It's a lovely large house but I won't get excited until there are kitchen cupboards, flooring, and the painting is done. Till then houses under construction kind of all look the same, to me.

Lakefront lots at Margo Lake are selling for $50,000. The other lots are $30,000. Lake property in Saskatchewan is hard to come by and ridiculously expensive nowadays. Even at these relatively low prices, I can't afford one and Karen won't give me a Drastically Reduced Family Rate! I'll fix her: once the fancy mansion is finished, I'll just visit far more often, that's all. Heh. Not that it's easy to catch Karen at home. Considering we live 20 minutes apart, we don't get together very often. She is a busy, busy girl.

Yesterday from her kitchen window we watched a mother fox overseeing her five kits as they frolicked over by the machine shed, walking in, out and around stationary tractor tires as if they owned the place. Cute little jiggers! I remarked that they look like a cross between a dog and a cat.

It's another sunny day here, but the wind is still like icy little fingers poking at you. We need some heat now.


✿⊱╮ Listen to this episode of Tapestry:

An interview with Cristina Nehring, author of A Vindication of Love: Reclaiming Romance for the Twenty-First Century

http://www.cbc.ca/tapestry/ 

For some reason this link embedded above doesn't work; if that's the case for you, too, you'll have to copy and paste the link into your browser. Sorry about that; I don't know why it is. Anyhoo, the conversation is worth a listen.

✿⊱╮ This morning Everett saw a moose with two calves on the other side of the dugout. He hollered in time for me to jump up and look through the office window, catching only a glimpse of a swift shadow flashing into the trees.

Bottlecaps and Superheroes

Everett's found bottlecaps, all washed and dried

Uh huh. Bottlecaps. He doesn't care where they're from, he's collecting them in an old roasted-peanut jar. It used to hold chewed gum. Now that was a pretty collection to peruse, as you may imagine. Then suddenly he decided they were out and bottle caps are in. First he noticed caps on the dirt floor of the quonset, where Scott must huck them when he cracks himself a beer out there. Then he hit the jackpot, he said, when he started looking into the boxes of empties.

He came with me on my "medicine walk" yesterday, and from the moment we left the driveway till we got back 45 minutes later and sat down for a few minutes in the swing, he talked. His question out the gate was “Who’s your favourite superhero?” My answer was “I don’t have one; I don’t even know who-all there is to choose from.” He proceeded to list several dozen of them, along with their superhuman abilities. I tried to pay attention but my mind wandered more than once. He was still talking about superheroes for a while after the walk. Important subject to an 18-year-old, I guess! Or my 18-year-old, anyway.

Walkabout

Haven't found a place for this old thing; stuck it in the bush for now.

"I do not even know what this is," said the Bad Farm Girl. "A rake?"

Golden Grain Farm, a graveyard for old machinery, buildings, and vehicles

The littlest granary

Behind the barn

Behind the granaries that Scott says "have to go."

Western Spaghetti

Everett spent the day raking and bagging grass clippings

Part of the herd cleans up across the road

This came across my Facebook page today:

Most Recent Bloomage

Crabapple tree

Rhubarb patch

Please excuse me. I am watering and hoeing and digging, in between working in my office four hours a day, preparing suppers, doing dishes, wiping counters, sweeping floors, folding blankets, dusting, and squeezing in 45-minute walks. And so on.

Sensational Sunnyday

At my home away from home: best pal in the world Cathy & her daughter Emma

11:28 a.m.
   Been outside weeding since I got up, with coffee or toast in one hand. Or been inside tidying the kitchen, livingroom or boys’ room, and rousting Everett from his bed. Putting things in order while enjoying the pure pleasure of doing so. There is always a nagging feeling that I “should” be doing something else, something more, something that’s waiting, but I tell myself to smarten up and acknowledge the equal necessity of exactly what I am already doing. It’s not like I’ve been sitting on my ass staring into the computer screen all morning, or sleeping, or watching TV.
1:05pm
   Called to see if Emil would like a visit today, since he didn’t want to come out this weekend. But the household is headed off to Wynyard to see the RCMP Musical Ride, and he is quite excited. I’m excited for him!

Every spring the Musical Ride tours Canada and draws in capacity crowds:

The Ubiquitous Outdoor Bulletin Board

In Kelvington, Saskatchewan

When I was doing some research for an article on the tv series Little Mosque on the Prairie, I came across a video about the sets and settings for the episodes. The filmmakers were chuckling about the unlikelihood of the existence of an outdoor bulletin board as shown in the fictional town of Mercy, Saskatchewan, because out in the weather the notices tacked up on the board wouldn't last long.

However, there are outdoor billboards just like it, all over the place. When I noticed this one on Kelvington's main street last weekend, I snapped a photo for evidence.

These two lovebirds were taking a break in front of the drugstore:

Newborn Alert! Newborn Alert!

Hayes Christopher, my second great-nephew

OhmyIhavetogetuptoKelvingtonandholdhiminmyarms!

AlsoneedtodrivetoRockCreekandkissthatlittleHeatherBaby!

IfeelaRaisinTourcomingon.

*raisin=newborn

First day of the new walking routine

Flower bed: dandelion-free zone (that's a laugh)

Home Again

Everett tackles the brush pile from several summers of gardening

This photo wasn't taken today; hell no. Today it's winter without snow. Cold, grey, windy, and miserable, with rain threatening.

You can see we have a serious dandelion explosion. I actually like them—till after they've seeded out, that is. Then they're ugly. And they will take over your grass if you let them. Those you see here surround my flower beds on three sides (though the bed is curved), and the greenspace you see is only a fraction of the area. Scott is going to bring over some cows to "clean it up." I'll be happy to have them there, but worried about the garden. Cows respect an electric fence, but only when they want to. According to someone, maybe someone local or maybe Temple Grandin, cows know that the jolt from the fence only stings for a short blast and then is over. If they want what is on the other side of the fence bad enough, they will take the risk. Or if something spooks them, they are less afraid of that wire fence than of being eaten. I will watch from my high tower (that's funny, Pamelo Jo, about your dogs announcing Your Highness), ready to run out and chase them off. There's a lot of good 'eatin' in my flower beds.

This happens to me after beginning to weed out dandelions every summer: when I close my eyes, I see one as if it's a mandala; you know, with spokes of energy shooting out from a central core, as the dandelion leaves appear when they are still young and you look at them from above. The image is compelling because I'll see it in my mind's eye often during a day. It's even come to a point where I'd like to change the image because I've seen enough damn dandelions that day.

I'm still moving plants out there, and impatient to get them all moved, and taking deep breaths and reminding myself to relax about it. It's only May! I'm only one person! whose hands actually got to the point the other evening where they hurt, from hoeing and digging.

Good Report: was in the city yesterday for a stress test to get a baseline on my heart health, for my doctor. All's well but I need to get in shape, he tells me; walking 45 minutes a day, four days a week, should do the trick, he says. He's all about prevention, he says.

I'm looking at the great outdoors this morning and thinking shit, how am I going to force myself to go down the road in that furor? Apparently I need to toughen up if I want to live to be an old lady. Which I hope to do, since a card reader told me I would (live to be an old lady) when I was 18 or 19. She was my friend's grandmother and used a plain deck of playing cards. Now, in those days, how old was an old woman? 65? 70? My friend's grandma was in her eighties, if I'm remembering correctly. Anyway, the other things she told me were true, too; they've borne out over the years since.


And now, to work.

This garter snake is about two feet long and likes to lounge under the lilac trees.

10:44am
Ducky Doodle woke me this morning by jumping up enough to put his front paws on the side of the bed next to me; he wanted to go outside. Why he wakes me instead of going to Scott, who is already up, I do not know. He seems to stay in his crate in the closet as long as I am in bed, too, even though Scott is up and will pet him to his heart's content if the dog is on his lap as he watches TV. How do dogs think? Does Ducky think I need to be the one to let him out, so that I will know where he is? Or what? It's a mystery.

Last night Everett and I were sitting on the couch.
Me: “Yawwwwnnnnn… doodledy doodledy doo…” (or somesuch)
Everett, looking at me with disgust: “You even have to turn a yawn into a song!”

Ah, my teenage boy, these are the things you will remember about me, perhaps with a smile, after I’m gone. That I danced around the house when the music came on, that I belted out bits of tunes in my most operatic voice — all the things that drive you crazy right now.

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Don't forget, Joanne Bohl is blogging under Out Margo Way, in the column there on the left.

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Mark of True Friendship
Me: I’ve gotta shop for something to wear to my nephew’s wedding this summer.
Cathy: You can shop in my closet if you want.

Six Years

Everett wipes the raindrops off his glasses. He has started a load of clothes in the laundromat across the street, and joined me in the cafe for a bite to eat, killing time till they need to be transferred to dryers.

Noon
Six years since Mom died. While she was sick, I used to try to imagine what life would be like after she was gone; I tried to imagine the future without her, five, six, ten years after, and was unable to. Here it is, six years, and it still doesn’t seem real. Oh, it’s real. That’s not the right word I guess, though it brings a hot tear to my eye.

I sent a short memoriam verse (author unknown) to the paper:
Sometimes a note of a song 
brings us a thought of you.
Sometimes a flower as we pass along,
Or a sky that is azure blue,
Or a silver lining in the clouds
When the sunshine's peeping through.

Scott's mom called, asking if Everett could help plant her garden today. I said I’d bring him as soon as he was dressed. It’s sprinkling out there, and cold, but she was bent over the ground when I dropped him off. It’s raining hard enough near Yorkton to bring the farmers in from the fields, but here they’re still out. A news article today says about 43% of this area’s crops are in; it’s late enough that there will be a lot of worry about fall frosts.


8:34pm

From Everett's side of the café booth

Home with clean laundry and an extra boy for the weekend, and thanks to the rainfall the young leaves on the caragana trees have doubled in size in just a few hours. And the scent out there ... glorious. Now just to put up with anxious grumpy farmers who can't finish seeding till the ground dries out.