Trusty Pancakes

I would have captioned that photo "Jealous, Everett?" except that his stomach would turn at the sight of yogurt on a pancake. He could handle the syrup, but that would be it.

Funny who you think of, and why. We're out of maple syrup so I cooked up a quick sauce with brown sugar and water, which made me think of Luanne, who gave me the idea back in the day; and while eating that delicious breakfast (thought I'd taken too much but no, I managed the whole thing! Scott would be proud of me), I thought "I'll give her a call later." Well, it's later and I still haven't. I worked three hours and went for a walk and now have to come up with something for supper.

Or we could just stick the rest of these pancakes into the toaster:

Dogs and Moose Tracks

2:11pm
I am so lazy! I have washed and dried dishes, eaten a breakfast of eggs and toast with Emil, and sat for at least two hours here at the computer, logging two banking hours and then catching up on a bit of email and such. And now it's time to go out for my walk, and it looks like a beautiful day, and I don’t want to go! Silly. I think it’s because I get bored out there sometimes.

There's been a moose out behind my frozen flower garden next to the house. It crossed the road and went through the ditch. I didn't see it — the dog barked up a storm — but I found its tracks, that's how I know:

Change Not Loss

23 yrs ago: Grandpa Emil, me, Baby Emil, and Mom

While Lyndsie lost her beloved grandpa today, I have been thinking of mine because it is his birthday. He’s been gone for many years now, about 17, but I remember his passing and the days around it as if they were yesterday.

First there was the phone call to my home in Alberta, where Mom and Dad happened to be visiting us for a few days. Dad might have done some golfing with friends, as it was in the spring, and Mom would have spent many hours on her knees pulling things out of the kids’ closets to send to the dump. She liked to keep busy when she wasn’t playing with the boys or giving them ice cream (and having some herself), and I was grateful to her for the help sloughing out the unused and no longer necessary junk. I was also relieved that I always had a chance to go through the boxes before they left the house in case there was anything I didn’t want to part with.

Mom took the call from family back in our home town, with the news that Grandpa was in the hospital on life support and that they thought they should do what he would have wanted, which was to let him go, and they needed to ask whether she agreed. As the eldest of the four siblings, her opinion carried weight. (As well it should! Do you hear me, my younger brother and sisters?! I should also inherit the family title and estate. I’m the eldest. You guys can go into the clergy, the army, and the navy.)

I remember Mom hanging up the telephone, visibly shocked and upset, and Dad putting his arms around her there in the dining room while she wiped her nose and eyes with a kleenex. I remember him holding her and saying gently, “It had to happen sometime.”

That seemed a heartless thing to say — but now I know it was the most comforting thing he could have said, because somehow the matter-of-factness of it moves you from — Oh my god this is the worst tragedy ever I can’t stand it! — to — This is a natural part of life, don’t freak out.

So instead of feeling like you’re in a horror movie, you shift closer to a sense of acceptance, which is exactly what helps you get through. The situation still hurts, but you can cope, you don’t have to fall apart completely. My dad’s a smart one. Practical as hell.

And 10 years later, when Mom herself was dying and afterward, I often reminded myself of his words because although her death was a tragic loss for those of us who loved her dearly, I couldn’t afford to think of it as a tragedy or I wouldn’t be of any use to anyone else — they’d end up looking after me. (As was almost the case in the first weeks following Mom’s diagnosis of stage 4 terminal cancer; I wept till my eyes swelled shut for a week, didn’t sleep, developed hives on my arms that near to drove me insane with itching, couldn’t manage simple medication and had to have Scott dole it out to me, couldn’t make simple decisions like what to make for supper; it was weird. I thought I was a centred, sensible gal, yet I … fell apart.)

Eventually I looked out from my own pain, and around at all the other people in the world living through the illness and loss of loved ones, and realized this wasn’t only happening to my family and our loved one; that death was part of the human condition, nothing out of the ordinary, although it felt like a disaster.

It helped.

It also helps (helps me -- maybe not you) to think of it as change, not loss.

Cat Castle

House for a Cat

Joanne P, your cat house awaits!
The inside height of the door (just to give you an idea of the size of the wee building) is 12 inches.
The house, built of scrap lumber, is shingled, insulated, and carpeted.
The retired gentleman in town who builds them sells them for $40. That doesn't even reimburse him fully for his labour, so these little houses for your outside cats are a steal of a deal.

All You Need is Love

So much for hearts and flowers ...

I'm all about recycling, so repurposing a birthday card to suit the occasion is fine with me. I like this kind of resourcefulness, especially when it comes to cards that disappear into neverneverland after they've been seen yet are so hard on our precious and disappearing trees.
Inside the card, which Scott left on my desk this morning while I was still asleep before he went to work, there are a dozen graphic depictions of various sexual activities.
I made a bright red checkmark beside each one and set the card near the phone, where he will see it as soon as he gets home.
Heh!

Meanwhile, I've got these to do:

and then will sit back down here and spend the afternoon working, before throwing together something for supper.

And how are YOU spending Valentine's Day?

Baby Alert

The baby is always the star of the show.

Sunny and Cold

There were sundogs yesterday; thought they meant the weather was to change.

It still seems plenty cold out there, but the kittens were sunning themselves this morning so it can't be so bad:

My uncle Neil is coming to pick up Emil and me to spend the afternoon at his place. Two of my cousins are going to be there with their kids, and I haven't licensed my minivan since the plates ran out last month. Thought I could get away without it for a while, considering Scott has two vehicles; however, his work truck has broken down and the other one is never available, so it looks like I'll be off to the Saskatchewan Government Insurance office one of these days to lay down my cash.

 It's not that I've felt stranded; I don't often go anywhere other than my weekly run to town for groceries, laundry, and Emil, and I'm just as happy to stay home, to be honest. Nevertheless, in spite of letting the laundry pile up so I didn't need to take it in, I've relied on Scott to stop at the store when he's near it, and to bring Emil out on Fridays and take him back on Sundays for the past month, and this cannot continue.

In other news, my cousin Oscar has had his final c.t. scan after the past year of interfuron followup treatment after his surgery for melanoma, and the chemo and radiation he endured, and he is cancer free. Yippee!!!! He and his family have been through a year from hell. Even so, he is one of the lucky ones.

Thirty Below = a Balmy -22F

Brekky, complete with vities

A hearty oatmeal breakfast with black coffee should fuel me up for a walk in this weather. Right?
(By the way, that's whole flax in the oatmeal, not ants; but it could be ants if I had the nerve to eat insects, because I'm catch-and-releasing about two off the kitchen counter every day. And feeling guilty about throwing them outside to freeze; but squishing them is something I can't do, it would give me the heebie-jeebies. Out they go, after being caught under an overturned glass, with a postcard slid under the opening, because what else am I gonna do, let 'em run riot in the house for the rest of the winter?)

1pm
Just sitting down to work for the afternoon, but here's a photo my sister Karen sent moments ago, taken from her kitchen window:

Click to enlarge. Great horned owl?

She doesn't dare let either of her two little Yorkies outside to do their business!

Slip of the Tongue

Emil and I went for supper together before I dropped him off on Sunday

The other day I received one of those joke/forward emails that listed anecdotes about times people have been embarrassed by things they or their kids have said. Which reminded me:

Last summer when I picked Emil up from Camp Easter Seal at Manitou Beach I stopped at this little café on the main street where I always hope to get a slice of their to-die-for pecan pie. They had run out of it and suggested I return the following week, so I replied "Oh, I only come once a year!"

Yeah. We all pretended they weren't thinking "Oh, you poor girl."

Can't Win fer Losin'

A bolt and a blowout. This tire was going, one way or the other. I was a mile from home when it did.

Is the universe trying to tell me something?

I swear, in recent years I've had a flat tire every other week. This one was on my mother-in-law's vehicle, which I was driving.

Through the Office Window

5pm
The dog is barking right behind the house and I hop up on the single bed behind my desk to look out the window, letting my eyes follow in the direction Jenna's nose is pointing. The most beautiful coyote is standing in the trees next to my flower garden, and I, thrilled, turn away to reach for the camera. By the time I'm back at the window, only seconds later, Jenna Doodle has entered the bush after the coyote, and instead of running it comes after her! Only my voice hollering through the hurriedly opened window — "You get out of here! GIT!" — scares it off, and it trots through the trees, toward the road, and is out of sight. Jenna is still barking 15 minutes later, pissed off at the coyote's audacity, though the intruder is no longer visible to me.
Ooh the excitement!
Obviously when she's barking, there's a good reason, though we don't always get to see what it is. It happens every night; I guess the coyotes are here, hoping to catch one of our cats hunting in trees around the yard. We haven't seen the mother cat for a few weeks now, nor a particular one of her kittens in recent days even though they usually stick close to the safety of the tractor shed. Darn it. And heaven forbid a fox or coyote nabs Ducky Doodle if he runs out to the road at night, let out to do his before-bed business, thinking he's a fierce big fella. Guess I'll have to slip into my boots and go out at the same time; if I wait on the step, he's unlikely to go far.

Meditation Changes Your Mind

Handy little chair I picked up for $1 at a garage sale last summer

Sure, I'm the only one who sits on it to put my boots on. For anyone taller, it's too close to the ground. It's also light and easy to move around, but good and solid.

*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,*:-.,_,.

One day last week I tucked Aunt Jean's transistor radio into the pocket of my jacket when I went walking. Quirks and Quarks was on — it's a science program on CBC — and they were having a segment called "Your Brain on Meditation" that I wanted to hear.

They've finally done enough scientific study to prove what the gurus have been telling us for many years: meditation helps fight depression, stress, addictions, and may even help us avoid such brain diseases as Alzheimer's. Meditation physically changes your brain, and the effects of such change are not restricted to the moments spent in actual meditation. The change is long-lasting.

Also, meditation doesn't require hours of chanting while sitting cross-legged on the floor. It can be as simple as sitting quietly and focusing on your breathing for just a few minutes a day.

You can listen to the show by clicking here: Your Brain on Meditation.

Sad Snow Situation

Shadows of me and dogs 

(Dad, you were asking how much snow we've got.)

The birds are already displaying courtship behaviour, which is when they flit around showing off to each other and don't notice there's a window in their way.

Gorgeous days for walking, though.

The RM has made these snow ridges in the field to help keep the roads from blowing in. Not that there's been any danger of that so far this winter.

It's nearly one o'clock. Perhaps I should get dressed and think about what I'm going to do for the rest of the day. Have polished off several cups of black coffee and eaten toast with peanut butter. Emil slept in, too, and had a bowl or two of puffed wheat cereal for brunch. An hour ago Scott headed up north with his parents to visit his sister near Flin Flon so it's just me and my boy, who says he's happy to get me all to himself for a change. As if the two of us aren't usually here alone while Scott's off working somewhere, even on the weekends.

I was up late last night, watching TV. There was a one-hour program called A History of Scotland, and then I watched Marketplace, and then a Hercules Poirot mystery.

There's no Scottish blood in my ancestry that I'm aware of, but I still find myself drawn to the history of Scotland, as I am to that of England and Ireland. Perhaps there is Scots somewhere in the genes from way far back; who knows, right? You never really do. The gene pool we know of on both sides of my family contains English, Irish, Norwegian and Swedish. But you can never know for certain who else may have contributed way back in the generations and where they came from. And then there's reincarnation and unconscious memories from other lifetimes. Anything's possible.

Last night's Marketplace was about misleading labelling of food in the grocery stores here in Canada. None of it surprised me much; I already know that if I want to eat decently, I have to start from scratch in my own kitchen. For a long time I've walked down the aisles of the store in town and -- well -- not bothered. Cookies? I make my own or do without. Cereal? Make my own or buy only puffed wheat; most everything else, except maybe Muffets, is chockful of sugar and godknowswhatelse. Bread? I make my own. Juice? I buy fresh fruit instead, except for orange juice, because oranges are such a pain in the ass to eat. Meat? Scott raises his own beef and poultry and buys pork directly from a farmer. Flavoured yogurt? No more; it's full of sugar. Frozen french fries or pizza? Nope, make my own. Not that I "never" buy any of the above, but now it's only when weakness gets the best of me.

All of which requires more time in the kitchen, and I don't want to spend half my day feeding us, but there's no doubt that simple, plain homemade food is the best way to go. Now I only wish I had someone to cook for me, because I'm not all that interested in food, to be honest. I can pretty much live on toast, granola, and the odd egg.

As for the Poirot mystery, I knew who the murderers were right from the beginning, but still enjoyed watching him figure it out.

Shit Saskatchewanians Say

Only a few differences stand out ...  at my house we like Pilsner beer but don't buy it any longer because the brewery moved to Alberta. We now drink Great Western because it's the only beer made in Saskatchewan. We like to support local business as we're able.

And I don't give a shit about hockey or football.

The rest, though, is right on the money.

Food

Cooling

Ten minutes till my working day begins, and the oatmeal mixture above (oatmeal, vegetable water saved and frozen for breadmaking, salt, molasses and oil), is still too hot to mix with flour and yeast. Usually I cook the oatmeal the night before, then add warm water in the morning so the oatmeal's the  perfect temperature to add to the dry ingredients (yeast is like Goldilocks; fussy). I forget why I did things differently this time. It happens.

Last night I riffed on the recipe below for supper. I thought it was pretty tasty, but Scott took one look (and maybe a sample, not sure) and reheated some leftovers for himself.

Hoo's Hot Black Beans with Linguini

Sauté two cloves of garlic and one small finely
chopped onion in olive oil for five minutes.

Put on water to make one normal sized package of whole
wheat linguini. Start the linguini.

Add one can of black beans to the onion and garlic.
Salt and pepper to taste. Put the liquid from the
beans in the pan too.

Allow beans to cook down for 5-10 minutes (however
long it takes the linguini to cook).

Drain the linguini, toss in the beans with the pasta.
Serve with Frank's Hot Sauce.

January Down on the Farm

Still problems with sewage system ...  

the walk

late afternoon from the tractor shed (where the cats live)

pretty, isn't it. and so peaceful.

can't go wrong with flowers. they make me happy.




On this day one year ago, I had pulled out my quilt in hopes of getting it finished. I have not succeeded. It's been folded and sat on a sewing basket since spring.

Come along on a trip down Memory Lane?


Jan 2010

Guess I disappeared from the planet in January 2009.

Jan 2008

Jan 2007

Jan 2006

Jan 2005

Jan 2004

Jan 2003

Babette

Babette

Lovely Lilac Tree in Winter

The most sweet-scented lilac bush, by the back step.

Homegrown Gal

Listen to her music here.

Belle Plaine's first CD was released yesterday.

Melanie Hankewich grew up near Fosston (about a half-hour north of here) and performed for a house concert in Wadena last year. Shadow House Concerts had secured the Good Luck Diner for a venue, and a few music lovers managed to squeeze in around Melanie's local family and friends who'd driven down for the evening's entertainment. Her bass player and a piano man accompanied her, and they too have connections in the area, so the place was packed.

We dined on delicacies smorgasbord-style, then tapped our toes while Melanie's sweet voice out-sugared the dessert.

http://www.belleplainemusic.com/

Music-loving Bird

If you're not a bluegrass fan (what's the matter with you?), stick it out anyway till around the three-minute mark for proof of my theory that birds appreciate our music as much as we love theirs.

Thanks to Marilyn at Nag on the Lake for bringing this video to my attention.