Two Dogs Dining - posted on Facebook

Yep, All Darn Day

Mom's cherished family collection of mottoware

8:19a.m.
Scott comes into the bedroom to get dressed while I sit propped against “the cow,” reading Virginia’s diary. (The cow is Scott's name for a large wedge-shaped pillow covered by a fabric that looks like suede but isn't.)
I tease him a little. “Don’t make a mess,” I say, since I’ve recently shoved his piles of papers into binders and then into drawers. “You’re the laziest man I’ve ever seen,” I say, to the busiest guy I know. “Come and sit down a minute,” I say, patting the bed beside me. “I’ve got something important to tell you.” He perches there and I touch his arm and say, very gently, “It’s Thursday today. All day.”

And Virginia, on a Thursday?

Thurs7Jan1915
On the way I walked through one of the worst downpours I have ever been in. It was more like a shower bath than natural rain. My shoes squeaked so with wet as I walked up the Library that I was ashamed.

Flowers to Migrate North of House

Kurt called yesterday to say he could spend the afternoon digging a new flower bed (actually he is extending the one he dug in the fall to save my plants from the septic tank installation) in the front lawn for me. So he spent 7 hours here and got the sod half dug out and carted away; I hope he’ll come back Sunday and finish.

I went out for a few minutes after every hour of my work here at the desk and took him a pop or carried water to the tractor shed for the cats (so they aren’t forced to go to a slough where they might be caught by a fox or coyote) or just to say hello and see what progress was being made.

 

A robin spent much of the day perched on top of the power pole in the yard, gaily chirping his “territorial song.” Click HERE to hear it. What a pleasure to open the kitchen window and listen while making supper; it begins to seem even more like spring is here to stay, although snow is forecast for the weekend. 

Today the wind is cold, but the sun's shining. 

And what was Virginia Woolf up to on a Wednesday, you say?

Virginia with her husband Leonard

"Wed6Jan1915

L. went off at 10 a.m. to give his second lecture at Hampstead. The first was a great success, as I knew it would be. He finds the women much more intelligent than the men; in some ways too intelligent, & apt on that account, not to see the real point.

Now I have to decide whether I shall go up again, to a party at Gordon Sqre, where the Aranyis are playing. On the one hand, I shirk the dressing & the journey; on the other I know that with the first chink of light in the hall & chatter of voices I should become intoxicated, & determine that life held nothing comparable to a party."

Reading Virginia's Diaries Again

Dipping into the first Virginia Woolf diary takes me back to my earlier reading of it, in the large and bright master bedroom of the house we rented in Kelowna during Mom’s last months alive in 2005. I remember the painful clarity of the time, and the numbness or frozenness in the days following her death. 

On Tues5Jan1915, Virginia writes:

"I dislike the sight of women shopping. They take it so seriously."

Want to know something more about Virginia Woolf? I'll be posting snippets from her diaries along with my own on this page, and of course much has been written about her work and her life so information is easy to find. But I like this: http://flavorwire.com/143610/59-things-you-didnt-know-about-virginia-woolf?all=1

Blecchhhh!!!

But doesn't it LOOK great??
I did say I wanted to find some smoothie recipes to help get more vegetables down my neck, didn't I? Well, here's my first attempt. It's a bit gagworthy ... er, I mean perhaps it will take some time to acquire a taste for it, and I don't think I'm going to take that time. It's not that bad ... I'll finish the rest of this glassful (maybe), but what's left in the blender ... doubt it. It's actually very flavourful and oh so GOOD for you!

Spinach and Carrot Supreme Smoothie Recipe

(found somewhere on the internet)

(serves 2)

2 cups chopped fresh spinach
1 cup chopped carrots
1 cup apple juice
4 ice cubes

Pour the apple juice into a blender, add the chopped spinach and process until blended. Next add the chopped carrots and mix well, then add the ice cubes and more juice if necessary. Mix until a 'smoothish' consistency. 

Saskatchewan Sunday

Beginning of the Day: Mr Sleepyhead

End of the Day: Dinner with Friends

Night Night

Saskatchewan Films

Seen on Main Street: lower frame covers up Saskatchewan's descriptive "Land of Living Skies"

In recent days there has been a lot of media coverage about the provincial government's new budget, which will cut out the Saskatchewan Film tax credit and effectively cripple a growing local industry that as a resident of this province I've been rather proud of.

Way to go, provincial government!

If you follow this link, you can watch clips from a number of films that have been made here in Saskatchewan:

https://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=10150758433769136

You may be surprised at the quantity — and quality, for a relatively fledgling industry.

And if you follow this next one, you will be given reasons to consider why the film industry here has and should continue to be publicly subsidized, just as it is in every other province in this country: click here.

Want to see the whole picture? The Canadian film industry has been fighting to survive in the shadow of the Goliath that is the American film industry ever since the dawn of Hollywood. "The History of Film in Canada," an article at The Canadian Encyclopedia, explains how American film has edged out Canadian-made movies and television for such a long time. It's not that Americans make better films; it's that American interests have dictated the terms of distribution and they've had the money to put behind the marketing of their products. Click here.

The Quebec portion of the article, which comes at the end, is not quite up to date (that's in progress), but Quebecers support their film industry by going to see movies made in Quebec: films made in the mostly francophone province, due to their language, have a built-in audience with a lot less competition for viewers.

Scared a Moose, Scared a Moose, Saw Her Do the Fandango!

Mismatched pair: Jenna and Ducky Doodle

Walked yesterday to the south corner of our road and, having turned around, relieved to finally have the strong wind at my back, I noticed a large dark patch in the trees about 150 feet away. Looking more closely, the figure of a cow moose came clear; she was standing still, watching me. I stopped and reached for the camera in my pocket, and when I did so she ambled away.
I was disappointed, but also happy and grateful to have seen her.

So you only get a picture of the dogs.
And a perverted cultural reference in the title that perhaps most of you won't "get" ... I come up with these a lot and many people just look at me, wondering what I'm on about. (Queen, anyone? Anyone? I think this little snippet of the song came to me because yesterday on Facebook I watched a video of a drunken man in the back of a police car, singing that particular Queen song at the top of his lungs, out of tune. Thank you Colin Mochrie for sharing that; it was a laugh). Yes I "shared" it -- if you're not connected to me on FB yet, look me up: this should help you find the right one, for there are a thousand of us with the same name.

I’ve been up since before six — went to bed about 9:30 last night, tired, but that didn't mean I could fall asleep for several hours — managed to hear some of Randy Bachman's Vinyl Tap on CBC radio in between dozings, and was as usual impressed by the way he points out things I’ve never heard before in songs, giving me a whole new appreciation for the artistry of musicians. His is truly a great show. If you've never listened to it, git thee hence.

Unfortunately the link to the show's page isn't going where it ought; instead it goes to the general CBC Music page, which is something new (and supposedly wonderful; haven't checked it out yet). But if you can find them, many of Bachman's shows are available by podcast somewhere on the CBC website. Meanwhile you can listen to CBC Radio One, which hosts the two-hour show early on Saturday nights, online. It also comes on Radio Two and Sirius satellite; you'll have to poke around. Here's something to get you started: click here. And, the show replays on Friday nights.

This past week I managed to put in 25 hours of work, and now will try not to do any over the weekend, to give myself a “real” break from it so that I don’t feel as if I’m “always” working, when in fact 25 hours a week is not “always” working, I know, but …
Instead this morning I lounged in bed with two or three cups of coffee, reading the preface to the first volume of Virginia Woolf’s diary and making a foray into her earliest entries. Then I made myself a smoothie (two, actually; one is never enough when they’re so delicious) and tidied the countertop, and folded the throws that were bunched up on the couch, and straightened the blanket on the loveseat. I got out the ingredients for a batch of bread and took the frozen vegetable water from the freezer to thaw. And now here I sit, having set the timer for one hour so that I don’t end up in front of this screen continuously till noon and then wonder where the morning went.
I hope to make bran muffins and granola this weekend, too; maybe even today. These are what I'll live on for the coming week, if I'm successful.

Here's Lookin' at Ya

Or, as the Dalai Lama says,

Limitless. . . like the ocean . . . are your excellent qualities. 

(with thanks to Barb and Deb for posting this little video on their blog this morning)

I Love My Job

And this is one of the reasons:

Today I spent five hours searching the web for images of refugees to Canada from all over the world. In the course of these travels I naturally skimmed through many pages of history and got edumacated, and that's fine, but even better than that is finding ridiculous things like the statement above.

People are so crazy, it's a constant wonderment. The things they say!

European Starlings?

Burr oaks, birdfeeders and flowerpots through the front window


Scott's pile of black dirt behind the oaks is meant for levelling the yard, but I've been using it for flowers; it's dwindling fast.

European starling checks me out; click photos to enlarge.

These birds arrived yesterday and notice me when I approach the window. Usually they all fly up and away, but I'm getting sneakier.

This is the best pic I could get to show the colour brought out by light.

Or are these brewer's blackbirds? Or purple martins? Or brownheaded cowbirds?
Any bird experts out there?

It Sure Feels Like Winter

Passed on my walk; ice circles frozen around fenceposts. Click to enlarge.

I paid a man $120 to turn up lawn in the front yard, wheelbarrow black soil to it, make a flower bed, and move some rosebushes and perennials into it. That was in the fall right before the septic tank got dug in, and it was touch and go whether the flowers would be moved in time. I had to get them out of there, or see them torn up by a monstrous machine.

Scott said, “Well, could you replace those bushes and perennials for that price?”

Maybe I could, and it would have relieved some of the pressure I felt about getting them moved — if only I didn’t actually care about the plants themselves. I care about each plant and want to see it in a safe place, not dug up, or tilled under when Scott turns the flower garden behind the house into lawn this summer. It’s not just the cost of replacing plants that concerned me; it's the life of the plant itself.

There are many more plants to be moved this spring, so I'll need to enlarge the flowerbed we made last fall.

Now I’m looking at my flowers back there — what a treat to see them again, even just their dry brown stems — without the snowy blanket — and then at the space in the front yard and figuring out the best places to put them. Because of course I want to save every one; not even one ubiquitous shasta daisy shall be ploughed under on my watch, if I can find a new location for it.

I say that now. When I'm buried under an avalanche of dirt I may say to hell with it. But that's unlikely.

Newborn Goodness

Look who made her grand entrance in the wee hours of this morning! Little Brielle Aspen.
She is a granddaughter to Joanne Bohl and a daughter to Joanne's own baby, Erin; see the happy grandma's entry here: Out Margo Way.

Week End

Scott carries Emil's bags to the door for him on a recent weekend

8:53pm

“Mom, I think I’d rather come back home with you.”

That’s what Emil said as I was leaving him in the entryway of his group home in town.

I’d told him that instead of phoning me every night as he's been doing, I’d like him to call on Tuesday and Thursday only (unless there is a particular reason he needs to talk to me) and that if, as he claims, he is missing me during the week, I will drive in on Wednesday to visit with him or take him out for a drive.
“Let’s give that a try,” I said, and he repeated the entire plan 45 times, as he does when there is even the slightest change in routine, before I got out the door. A delaying tactic.

He also threw in that since his ears are still plugged, maybe they’re going to stay that way for the rest of his life, and “I think I’m not really enjoying life very much,” he added.

"I'd say you're enjoying your life quite a bit," was my response. I'm not buying the might-as-well-shoot-me thing he's been giving me lately, due to his plugged ears. Which have been plugged for months, so I don't blame him; but as far as we and the doctors and specialists know, he just has to wait it out.

As with a young child, parting from a parent is easier if it’s not drawn out. What works best is if I remain in the vehicle and Scott carries Emil’s backpack and shoebag to the door for him. Tonight we didn’t have that option, as Scott was asnooze on the living room couch, watching the third Pirates of the Caribbean movie whenever his own snoring woke him for a few moments. Emil and I headed for town alone.

Finally after reassuring him 45 times that he’d heard me correctly about the new phoning schedule, and of course chatting with the other residents (they’re all in their pyjamas; one communicates mostly with sign language of a sort and loves Bonanza and always takes my hand and leads me to his room to show me that he’s got it paused on his TV; one tells me with a happy glow that she has a new boyfriend 20 years older than herself; one shows me a beaded red bracelet on her wrist and hugs the heck out of me; another asks, as always, if I’m going home and where’s my van and where’s my husband? They’re a predictable, delightful bunch and I have fun with them), I turned away from my 23-year-old son’s somewhat sad face and went out the door feeling a little bit sad, myself, that he isn’t thrilled to be there anymore. Like he was for the first year.

A Child of God

Rural Delivery

Uncle Bob had the rural mail route and made the deliveries in his Democrat - click to enlarge

I like our mechanic. Yesterday my minivan was at Corner Service for an oil change. Bradley always checks the tires as a matter of course, and though I knew one was low when I left our yard, he informed me that the right-rear one was, too.

I told him I have been tire-challenged for the past year or two, that it seems as if every time I drive two feet I end up with a flat tire. I am so exasperated about it that horses are starting to look like a more reliable option.

His response: "You’re driving on gravel roads all the time— it’s bound to happen, especially when the graders have been out.”

He makes it sound perfectly normal, as if I’m not cursed at all.

The photo above was taken "back in the day" at the Old Bartley Place. The outhouse and old house (it's been a barn for many many years) in the background are still there if I'm not mistaken. Someone is living in the yard again, I hear, after the farmhouse sat empty for so long. Emil knows this, so he is after me to drive out there and see what's what (we went to Margo this afternoon to visit Karen and he thought we should make a detour on the way home). He and I spent one summer in the house when he was three years old. I should dig up a photo of the "new" house, built by my great-grandparents in 1914.

Here we go— viewed from the driveway out front in 1991— moi with my rake or shovel, and Emil at the back of the house:

It would be nice to see Uncle Bob again.

He lived alone in this house for a good number of years and the family often gathered here when I was a kid. I can remember when the kitchen didn't have built-in cupboards, but instead a tall wooden cabinet that sat against the dining room wall, for dishes.

My great-grandparents lost a six-month-old baby boy while they lived in this house, to the Spanish flu that came through the area. Grandma was born in this house.

Grandma came out and helped me vacuum up all the dead moths before we moved ourselves in. A neighbour put rat poison in the dirt basement. I collaged the inside walls and door of the outhouse the summer my boy and I stayed. We had no running water. I heated dishwater on a campstove and prepared our meals that way too. It was a peaceful place; Emil and I both loved it.

Bird Life

They're back; this pair of Canada geese scouts around the dugout at the back of our yard.

They are probably the same ones that were here last year, but how would we know for sure? We're assuming.
Lots of birds have returned: crows, bald eagles, hawks, dark-eyed juncos, flocks of ducks flying over, and snowgeese, or maybe they were pelicans. I've heard of the arrival of robins and bluebirds, but not seen them. I rarely see bluebirds, and never yet in this yard. They seem to prefer the fencelines of pasture land. When the bright yellow American goldfinches get here, it will really feel like spring.

Not if You're Spider Challenged

Another animated clip sent to me by my little Everett:

"A brief journey through a world of spiders and the never-ending networks that bind their universe together: Cobwebs - Cyriak"

Kaia Leaves

Everett made a comic from this photo, back in the day

Sadly, my sister Karen lost her little dog Kaia (right) last night due to the dogly consumption of something she shouldn't have swallowed; something sharp.

Smoothies

Once upon a time I had a big appetite. I went to bed at night dreaming about what I’d have for breakfast in the morning, and looking forward to it.

Now it’s the opposite. I’ve got to make a point of remembering to eat three meals a day, and push myself to get a healthy snack down my neck in between. Over the past year, by measuring out the day's allotment each morning, I’ve managed to be sure to drink enough water. But consuming enough vegetables and fruit is one thing I haven’t mastered; I’d rather swallow a convenient slice of dry bread on a run-by than chomp on a messy orange or gnaw on an apple. Bananas are great because they’re quick and easy to eat, but I stop buying them in the late spring as soon as the first mosquito appears, and don’t start again till after the fall freeze-up.

So it was with some delight that I sipped on smoothies each morning spent at my friend Cathy’s in Edmonton and realized that this could solve my not-enough-fruit problem. Frozen berries and/or any fruit with a dash of skim milk and a few spoonsful of plain yogurt, whipped in a blender, and I’m in business! It’s easy, it’s delicious, and it gets the fruit in. 

It took me till Wednesday afternoon to bring the blender up from the basement storage room (it requires three trips up and down the stairs to do one load of laundry from start to finish; I still think we should set up the laundry room in the porch instead) so I could have a smoothie the next morning.