Noisy Thing

The trip to Prince Albert for a medical appointment was made on a rainy day, and I waited in the parking lot for a while after my inlaws went into the building. Cool days invariably mean damp socks and cold feet, so I gave them a nice warming dry-job before heading inside, myself.

This building has the loudest flushing toilets in the ladies room, ever. I went in upon entering the office complex, and was washing my hands when the automatic flush kicked in and scared the bejesus out of me. So I knew how loud it was when, before leaving at the end of the day for the drive home, I used the facilities again and was for a second time startled right out of my skin. Even knowing it was just the toilet flushing, I still wanted to bolt out of that room as quickly as possible.

Wonder how many heart attacks or fainting fits that little technological wonder has spawned.

Thanksgiving Weekend

Brrr. It's been a cold and windy week. But that hasn't kept me from my walks, most days. I bundle up and head out, whether I want to or not.

This time of year is the best for walking across the fields. There are no mosquitoes, and no crop to trample on. And it's even more appealing because being off the road, even a little ways, is peaceful. There isn't a lot of traffic, but I still have to call the dogs and hang onto them when a vehicle approaches, or the fools will run right out in front of it at the very last moment. God knows what they're thinking, when they've been at my feet till then.

No turkey plans in our household, though relatives are coming into the area from all directions for the Thanksgiving long weekend, so we will see some family over the next day or two.

Afternoon in Margo

Aunt Shirley is ready for Halloween.

We picked Shirley up in Margo — she lives in what used to be Grandma and Grandpa's house — and went to Missy's restaurant for lunch, but Shirley had bread rising in pans so couldn't be enticed to accompany us to the seniors' centre afterward.

Where I got a refresher in the game of canasta:

Olga and Reta count up the points and Betty gathers the cards for shuffling.

And thoroughly enjoyed myself.
Is there any better way to spend an afternoon than with a gang of gals?

Lately I hear a lot about bullying and ostracization among young girls, and even among adult women in the workplace who have apparently never grown up and out of it. But I have never experienced it with a group of older women, who seem invariably kind and pleasant.

I guess it takes all kinds. Maybe I've just been fortunate. I certainly wasn't all sweetness and light myself, as a young girl; my younger siblings and their friends have lived to tell tales of my adolescent cruelty, which I now regret (not letting them live, ha ha; I mean being mean).

Making His First Home

On Sunday afternoon, Aunt Reta and I drove to town and watched Everett unpack and wash his dishes and find places to put them.

I turned the furnace on for Reta, who sat at the kitchen table all bundled up even though the sun was streaming warmly into the window.

We joked about the enjoyment of watching Everett work. Then we hung curtains in the livingroom for him.

Today we're off to Margo for lunch, and then Reta wants to spend the afternoon playing cards at the seniors' centre. I think I'm up for that; something different, and it's always a pleasure to visit with the ladies.

Aunt Reta

For Aunt Reta, who is visiting from Phoenix and likes bread made with white flour, I made these buns for supper. They are giant! I guess you can't tell from the picture.

Here she is, trying to keep warm:

Last Day

No, it's not the end of the world.
It's just the dairy bar closing for the winter.

And now ... off to the market!

Kelvington Clubhouse

On some of those sweltering hot summer days when I went to work with Scott, we retreated to the Kelvington golf clubhouse for lunch. Air conditioning! And food is so much more delicious when you have been lugging construction material around a job site all morning, and are good and hungry. [On many other days, the homeowners gave us simple yet tasty lunches in their back yard under shady trees, and joined us for an hour's visit. Not necessary or expected, but much appreciated and really nice of them to go that extra mile.]

This week the boys are slugging away outside, framing a large new house and trying to get it closed in before the seriously cold weather descends upon us. I am relieved that my help has not been requested; I think I'd be miserable out there, shivering. It's already cold, as far as I'm concerned.

Waiting

All dressed up, and no place to go.

I went to bed early last night. Nine-thirty. That's early, and I was asnooze before the radio turned itself off an hour later. But then I was up at 4:30, too hungry to fall back asleep, so I made toast and coffee and sat reading by the light of a table lamp in the living room.

Scott's parents are going north this morning for a medical appointment, and I'm to accompany them and do some driving, I imagine. Only I thought we'd be leaving at 8:30, and was ready to go out the door for the day, only to be informed that 9:30 was more suitable. Which is fine with me. An hour to putz around is always welcome.

Song for Sharon

Written and sung by the great Joni Mitchell, illustrated beautifully by Nathaniel Barlam.

Prairie Pyramids

the autumn gold of stubble 

A lot of crops are still in the field, and we've had rain recently so things came to a standstill, but the yields this year are so good that many farmers don't have bin space for all the grain they're taking off the land. Thus we are seeing these prairie pyramids all over the place:

grain poured into a pile till there's a place to put it

Even those temporary plastic grain-covers (what kind of farm girl am I, to not even know what they are called? they look like giant white worms lying out in the stubble) are sold out of the agricultural supply stores, or so I'm told.

Today is windy and sunny, so the combines will be out again any moment.

We got a bed over to Everett's little house in town, and packed up dishes from the open cabinets at our old house, and dropped them off in boxes with towels and bedding at the rental house. He said he will wash all the kitchen stuff before putting it away, since it's been sitting collecting dust. I offered to help, and was told No Thanks, I'll Do It Myself. I think he is starting to get excited about having his first place and looks forward to having things just the way he wants them.

Cold Trumps Heat, for Walking

Emil exits the Co-op store

I do not like the sweatpants and baggy T-shirt look, but I do like that his primary caregiver at Mallard Industries now does Emil's clothes-shopping, so I do not complain! I love that his primary caregiver is taking over the responsibility of driving him to appointments with the doctor and the dentist, too.

Speaking of which, he visited both, today, so I wonder how he is feeling. I'll be picking him up for the weekend in just a few hours, so I'll find out then. He apparently needs two fillings, after never having a cavity in his life (what's going on? six months ago he cut out sweets drastically from his diet, and now he gets cavities? it makes no sense), and needles to freeze his gums are not going to be easily handled, methinks. Could be my presence will be helpful when that happens. Then again, sometimes it's worse for "kids" when their parents are there, so I don't know what will be best.

Aunt Reta and I drove to Canora yesterday to visit with Joanne Bohl, who is a resident at the care home there. The hour-and-a-half we were at her bedside flew by; we will make a point of going again before Reta flies back to Phoenix. I encouraged Joanne to start blogging again, as it was a great way to hear from her regularly and she is certainly experiencing things, living in a nursing home at her young age (she is only in her sixties), that are far from as dull to readers as she herself may consider them. She said she might be able to cobble together an entry that included our visit yesterday. I suggested she mention how goodlooking and charming I was. We shall see! Ha.

It's a cool one today, and I have been baking caramel corn for Missy's Market and doing dishes and am about to go for a walk before heading to town for errand-running and son-picking-up-age. Two years ago, when I began my "health" walks at the beginning of June, I was afraid of not being able to keep them going once the cold weather of winter came. Now it's just the opposite: it's the hot weather of summer that puts a crimp in my routine. Fall and winter are absolutely perfect for brisk walking. It's a rare day when the cold — usually the wind, actually — turns me back at the end of our driveway. But heat and humidity, well, they can do a lot of damage. There have been times I've slowed to a crawl and felt like stopping completely, and wondered if I actually would make it home again. Heat exhaustion, I guess it was, or dehydration; I'm still not sure.

Anyway off I go, to keep my heart healthy and maintain my "girlish figure." Nyuk!

By the way, those of you who are active on Twitter: How do you do it??? Is it just a matter of getting into the habit? How do you find things to tweet about? What do you want your Twitter friends to tweet about? Do tell.

Credit Card Scam

Tiniest,  sourest crabapples in the world. Hope the deer like them this winter. 

"Ms J?"

Yep.

"You have a TD Visa card, you always pay your balance off each month, and you've just received your new card in the mail, correct?"

Right.

"You are entitled to a lower interest rate, which will be applied to your new card. But not to the one you are currently using, the old one."

Okay.

"So, can you tell me the expiration date on that card, please?"

No.

"Why not?"

I'm not giving you any information.

CLICK. The bastard hangs up.

Never give these callers any information. I don't care who's calling; even if they seem legit, they aren't. As a matter of fact, I often hang up without even speaking to them. However, sometimes those scammy-sounding calls are actually calls we want, so now I listen till I'm sure ... till they ask for information of any sort.

Don't fall for it. I have friends who have, whose bank accounts got cleaned out. Don't think you can't be fooled. You may learn the hard way that these criminals are good at what they do.

Life As We Know It

Mountainous cloud formations were seen on the drive to town one morning at 7:30.

It's going to be a busy week. I've got to finish those books for Scott today, no matter what.

He's working in town now, which means I don't have to drive in with Everett in the mornings, but will still pick him up at five. And, we have found a nice little old house for him to move into at the beginning of next month, so he can walk to work and get away from his horrible mother, who drives him insane with her warbling and door-knocking and interrupting to request things, and so on and so forth.

On the other hand, my son and I still have 44 old episodes of Dr Who to watch in the next 59 days, before the new season starts. He has seen them all, but I am new to the story and he is leading me through. How are we going to manage that when he's not living here? Marathon weekends, I guess. Pfft. I can't sit still that long. Or maybe I can. I don't want to.

Imaginary aliens remain uninteresting to me, but I like the people stories. I like finding common ground with Everett, even if it means watching science fiction.

An episode of the science show Quirks & Quarks on CBC Radio recently stated that the Kepler telescope has informed us there are hundreds of millions of planets out there, circling the stars. With those numbers, surely there will be some that support life, maybe even life similar to that here on earth. Now that I find exciting.

This week will require organizing utility accounts for the kid, finding and moving furniture, packing up dishes and bedding and towels, and so on. The lad only has Saturday afternoons and Sundays off, and of course the evenings, to do all this. His horrible mother will have to help. I guess there's nothing saying he has to be ready to stay there on the 1st of the month. He just has to be ready to pay the rent.

Well, there goes the stove timer I set for myself so I wouldn't sit at this desk for more than an hour at a time. On with the sunny day!

Time Flies

There are no more standing crops to be seen.

Instead there are flocks of migrating geese stopping for an overnighter in the stubble.

And I caught a glimpse of a mother moose and her young'un when I looked back past my own driveway. Click to enlarge.

 It's been a lazy morning. I awoke amid an uncomfortable night accepting it would be a pill-required day, so got up at 4:30ish and took one. Coffee was delivered to the nightstand after Scott got it brewed a couple hours later, but I ignored it and burrowed deeper into my pillow.

Everett came into the bedroom and tapped on my hip shortly after 7 so I'd get up and ride along to town with him; I'd heard him ask Scott "So what's the plan?" meaning "Am I catching a ride with you or do I need to get Mom up?" and receiving the reply "I'll be going to work," the no-brainer, really, as there is literally no day when Scott is not going to work.

I got up to get ready, but felt pretty shitty, and told Everett to knock on the bathroom door and "Ask him so he understands what you really want to know: 'Are you going to town before 8?' "

He did so and the response was that Everett could catch a ride; Scott refilled my coffee cup before they left; I sat up for a few more minutes wondering if coffee might help if I just got more of it down my neck, and realized things were not going to improve unless I slept some more. So I curled up on the couch with Ducky Doodle my trusty cuddler, and voila, a couple more hours did the trick. A phone call at 10 kept me from wasting the entire morning away, so I've been up ... but not "at 'er."

Guess it's time to start. I've got Scott's books to finish up, and dishes to do, and a walk to take. And then it will be time to head for town to get Everett home, and then it will be time to cook up some supper. And time flies, flies, flies.

Dogs' Life

Ducky, left,  with his sweetheart, Jenna

Dogs have a pretty good life, don't they?

Dairy Bar for Sale

Biker stops at drive-thru window

Six days a week I pick Everett up at work, and every other day I make him drive around town for a half-hour in hopes he'll acquire the confidence to book his driver's test. He bitches and complains (which is why I don't make him do it every day; I can't stand being in the same vehicle with the whining), but I say Hey! I am not driving you forever, boychik!

For now I don't mind, although on frosty mornings like today it's a little tough to push myself out into the cold.

On warm days we too often lately stop at the drive-thru for an ice cream cone for Ma, who figures it will be closed in a month so we might as well take advantage before it's too late. I'm partial to Rolo ice cream. Everett won't eat anything — not even fries — while he's driving, as it is too distracting, he says. But one day last week he ordered a "blizzard" and pulled into the elementary school parking lot so he could spoon it up while I hurried through the ice cream. You have to: even though I always order a "small," it's huge and melting all over the place if you don't keep it licked. Dirty job, but somebody has to ....

The dairy bar has been up for sale for more than a year already. Any takers out there? Long hours for half the year, hard work, but "they" say these little drive-thrus are deadly moneymakers. This particular one has been a busy place ever since I was a teenager and we'd drive here from Margo on weekend nights for a burger and fries, and of course in hopes of meeting up with other teenagers on the prowl. It's changed hands several times but still seems to be a going concern.

The deep-fried pickles are to die for.

An Hour in the Field

1:15pm Tuesday, it's hot, sunny and windy. The phone rings.

"We could use something to eat out here. Would you ...?"

I have just finished eating a bowl of freshly concocted Mexican soup myself. It's loaded with black beans, tomatoes, corn, and celery; it's practically stew. It will have to do, as it's well past lunchtime, they'll be starving, and I can't think of anything else to prepare in a hurry. I pack up two bowls of the soup, topped with grated cheddar and chopped red onion; two plastic spoons; two large chunks of chocolate cake; and several low-alcohol beers. Then I get on my way.

Scott's brother Bruce  is squatted down by the window of the car,  finishing his lunch. He's been pulling the baler.

The combining is nearly done, and there are half a dozen vehicles and machinery scattered about the land. I ask if they need any help and am told yes, they could use me to drive the bale wagon:

Twenty round bales will be loaded up.

I get in behind the biggest steering wheel in the world.

Scott, in the tractor, picks up and loads the bales.

I've got the easy job, just following him around the field.

It doesn't take long, and by the time it's done, the last load of grain is emptied out of the combine hopper and I drive the grain truck home:

That's it for the harvest for these guys. Now there's just field work to be done; cultivating, that sort of thing. And more bales to be brought home.
Around the neighbourhood, many farmers are still in full swing. But for our family, the pressure is off for this year. 

Growing Vocabulary

Murder mysteries by Ruth Rendell are usually pretty good. Not always, but usually. However, a dictionary close by is handy because there are often words I'm not clear on.

For instance, I knew that "verdigris" is that green stuff you see on copper. But I didn't actually know what it is.

"The copper plate had turned bright green with verdigris."

Verdigris: a green crystallized substance formed on copper by the action of acetic acid.

When my dictionary isn't handy (say I'm reading in bed when I come across something I don't understand), I pull my notebook out of the night-stand and scribble down the word and its neighbours so it can be looked up later:

"atmosphere that subsisted between the two men"

Sure I know what "subsistence" means, but this seemed an unusual use of the word. And in this particular edition of the book I was reading, there were a lot of typos. So worth checking:

Subsist: 3) reside or exist in

Okay, makes sense enough.

"A section of wall with coping along the top of it"

I'm always learning words that describe building materials. You do, if you don't just skip over them in order to get on with the story.

Coping: the top (usu: sloping) course of masonry in a wall or parapet.

"they like chucking their gash about"

This must be British slang for cash, or money. Alex — Is that correct?

"The baby had begun to grizzle"

Grizzle: cry fretfully; complain whiningly.

"when it comes time to enlighten the tyro"

Tyro: a beginner or novice

"a narrow vitrine in the rear wall"

Vitrine: a glass display case

So much vocabulary, so little time!

And now it can't be put off any longer: the kitchen counter is full of dirty dishes since I started late yesterday afternoon to bake a chocolate cake for Scott's birthday (he turned 54) and throw together Beef All-in-One Macaroni for a quick supper (Emil is home with a cold and needed feeding up, and then I ran some grub out to the field where the gents were combining till well after dark and Scott was already getting a headache, he said when I got there, so was happy to see me, bolted down the vittles, and hopped back up on the combine) and boil up some corn on the cob (purchased from the local Co-op store and shucked by Everett after work). The kitchen was spotless when I started, honest! But by the time I got back from the field, I figured to hell with it: I'd face the mess in the morning. And so I must.

And then I'm going to make some fudge for the market this Saturday. This could be the last sunny warm day of the season, so it needs to be taken advantage of; sunny days are best for making fudge, or so the story goes. And there are two cobs of corn that weren't eaten; I'm going to slice off the kernels and throw them into Mexican Soup, one of my favourites and thus a standard around our house. And I'm trying to get Scott's books organized so he can get his 2012 business taxes paid; a year's worth of invoices and bills to sort through, extract numbers from, and add up before handing the whole mess over to Don, the accountant who will make sense of it all. And last but not least, I am going for a walk! It's glorious out there. Windy but sunny and warm, and the huge gaggles of geese are not only flying over, but they are parking themselves in the fields around our yard and are absolutely thrilling to hear. American hunters have been driving in to inquire in their southern drawls "Who owns the land?" so they can request permission to go a-shooting. They get their thrills in a different way than I do.

Dear Friends

After work one afternoon, Everett picks up a few groceries and some RO water for coffee.

11:07 a.m.

Here I am, sitting down for the first time since 8 o’clock, after returning home from the drive to town with Everett. The last three hours have been spent mixing up bread dough, making a double batch of puffed wheat cake, throwing laundry into the washing machine downstairs, and so on ... constantly on the move. 

I have also been doing dishes — they seemed never to end — and transferring the makings of chokecherry liqueur from one two-quart sealer to another, since the first one seemed to be leaking.

The bread is for some folks who special-order it, and the puffed wheat cake is for the market, so I am wearing a hair net while in the kitchen. That is the thing I most dislike about cooking for others. I don’t much like wearing a hat when working or walking in the sun, either, so it comes off at the earliest opportunity.

Everett needed sun protection while working in the lumber yard, and was determined it would be a fedora. He tried on some hats and didn’t find any that fit, but when Scott and I were in Humboldt a few weeks ago I picked one up that I thought would be perfect. It was made of a breathing type of material that would keep the sun off yet let heat escape. If Everett didn’t like it, Scott said he’d wear it at work himself, so I brought it home.

Everett turned his nose up immediately, without even trying it on. Why? Don’t ask me. It’s his way: to judge without experience. It’s what we often do at age 20, I suppose; we can be unusually narrow-minded know-it-alls at that age, and if that changes by the time we’re 50, we may congratulate ourselves.

Eventually the lad gave it a shot, though, and he’s been loving it ever since. Just the other day he said, “I never thanked you for the hat. Thank you.” I'm not sure, but he might wear it to bed nowadays. Ding! "Mother Knows Best." Next, to get him to unbutton the collars of his shirts and perhaps even roll up the sleeves once in a while. We have wondered if he is ashamed of his body or what, but he says "What's to be ashamed of? I like to be neat." Ohhh...kaaay... then why won't he iron his wrinkly shirts? 

12:06 p.m.

The second sealer seems to be leaking, too. What's going on? They both leave a wet ring on the counter. A one-quart sealer full of pickled beans doesn't do that. It's a mystery.

I was at my sister Karen's one morning this week and we had a few sips of chokecherry liqueur she made. It was so divine that I came home that very afternoon and picked chokecherries around the old house where we used to live, to make my own. Here's the recipe:

Chokecherry Liqueur

3 cups chokecherries

1/2 to 3/4 cup white sugar

vodka

Clean berries and place with sugar in a quart jar, fill with vodka, put the lid on and set jar somewhere that you'll remember to give it a shake every day for two weeks. Then strain out the berries and voila: you've got chokecherry liqueur. Keep the finished product in the fridge. 

We had frost two nights ago but hadn't been out to cover tomatoes or peppers, so Scott picked a few the next day. It looks like they'll be all right. Have I mentioned fall is my new favourite season? It smells great, it's warm but not hot, and there are no mosquitoes to speak of. 

Yesterday I baked bread with organic whole wheat flour. This is my second attempt with the organic flour (besides being made from grain grown without chemical fertilizers or pesticides, the flour hasn't been treated with dough conditioners and other crap that doesn't belong in human bodies), which came from a good number of miles away and thus can be a pain in the ass to get. 

It made a lovely dough, but I didn't like the end result; found it yeasty-smelling. This time I made some adjustments but still wasn't crazy about the bread. However, when Everett got home his eyes lit up and he polished off most of a loaf for supper and pronounced it excellent. Maybe I just have to get used to the difference between this flour and the regular stuff I've been using. 

A message from "ChickenCow Hearing Clinic" was left on our phone yesterday. What kind of handle is that for a hearing clinic? Strange.

Outlaws

"Outlaws" at the farmers' market; photo courtesy of Alison Squires

I don't bake enough during the week prior to the market to fill an entire table by myself, so have been happy to have Scott's brother-in-law Walter bring Scott's sister Laurel's wild rice and related products to use up half the space.

His presence also frees me up to visit with other vendors and people who wander in. And to go to the washroom and floss my teeth.

Last Saturday I was going to drive Everett home after he got off work at 12:30 and leave Walter to hold down the fort. Instead Everett walked over to Aylesbury House to hang out with his brother, and so I stayed till the end. Fortunately there were a few more people through than there have been at recent markets, so I kept busy blabbing. That helps the hours pass, and I do enjoy meeting new people and visiting with friends and acquaintances. One of them (thanks Alison!) even bought me a piece of lemon meringue pie. It pays to go to the market! Maybe not so much in dollars, but money is not everything, is it? Nope, not by far.