Me & Emil

"Mom. Are you going to stay in your pyjamas all day?"

This is a question Emil quite often asks me when he is here on a weekend, as I'm in no hurry to get dressed. Yesterday, for instance, I slept till nearly 11 after being up till one the night before, and then I was busy making fagioli soup and doing dishes and talking to my ex, Emil's dad, on the phone. Who had time to get dressed before three o'clock? I'd even been outside in the perennial bed, pulling weeds and quackgrass, in my fluffy green housecoat. Living on the farm — what freedom!

Emil phones me most Thursday nights, if he and his gang are not off at a dance somewhere or busy with some other activity that runs late.

His opening statement is always, "I had a good day at work today."

His typical questions:

"Do you have your pyjamas on right now?"
"Are you wearing your glasses?"
"Is Scott home?"
And usually, "What did you have for supper?"

Emil reading to me.

Recently I decided he needed more variety in reading material so I have been bringing home books from the library for him. He has his own collection of old favourites that he looks at, whether he's at the group home or here, and when I suggested getting library books he didn't seem interested. He likes the ones he has and prefers to avoid change of any sort. However, I still think new and different books would be a good thing for him. His reading skills are at the level of a student in Grade 1, though I've been surprised at how well he actually does read. And I'm hoping that in time his skill level will rise, although if they couldn't achieve that in all the years he went to school and had special-needs teachers and one-on-one time with aides, maybe it's just not going to happen.

The point is, books broaden your perspective and enrich your life, and I want both for him.

He's enjoying the books. That's no surprise; he's loved books since he was a wee babe in my arms who could only point at the bookshelves whenever I carried him into the livingroom, and if I didn't sit down and read one to him, he'd cry.

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Lorna has left a new comment on your post "They Know Where I Live": 

when we were in the grocery store, the woman ahead of us had bought a huge amount of food, but left her points card at home, so she offered the points to us. It was a pleasant surprise and a generous offer.I wish I'd had something to offer her in return, but we just smiled at each other for the looooooooong time it took to get her groceries packed. 

People are goodhearted and will help when they see a way to do so. 

I find it difficult to make the connection between what I hear about in the news — terrorism, murder, rape, theft, and on it goes — and what I see in my own life. 

Dad and I were talking about this the other night on the phone. I think the topic of the moment was domestic violence by men against women and children. I said the extent of it even in Canada is so shocking; you and I, were we raised in a bubble or what? "Maybe we're bubbleheads," he said.

Because to us, it's so unthinkable it's like it can't be real. Yet we can't argue with the statistics; they can't be that skewed.

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Jenna Doodle

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Birdie has left a new comment on your post "Goodbye Jenna": 

I was just clicking around in blogland and came across your post. Even though it is my first time here I couldn't jest leave without saying something. 

Losing a pet is so hard. In our brains it should be so easy because it is just a dog/cat. But our hearts know so much better. Pets offer us so much love and acceptance. They just love us because of who we are and not who we should be. That is the reason it hurts to much. You are losing a best friend. 

Sending love to you and your family. 

I hope that clickable link there leads to your blog, Birdie, so I can check it out.
Thank you for the kind words. 

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Annette Erickson has left a new comment on your post "Goodbye Jenna": 

I'm so sorry to hear this Kate. Made me tear up as I read your post. It's so hard to lose a pet that's been at your side for so many years and yes, of course, we deeply feel the void when their presence is no longer there. I know I'll be facing the loss of my cat soon and I dread the thought. Goodbye Jenna. 

And wouldn't it be somewhat easier if they -- if we and all our loved ones -- just died in our sleep? But maybe not. I know it helps to have a chance to say goodbye.

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Goodbye Jenna

We lost our Jenna Doodle last weekend.

She’d gone under Scott’s half-ton to lay down while he was loading fenceposts into the back. She never goes under vehicles so he didn't expect her to be there and didn’t see her. 

The first I heard of it was when he came into the porch and yelled, “Find a vet! I ran over Jenna!”

I called the vet in Yorkton, where Scott has taken Ducky for his scratching (which is still an unsolved problem). It would take over an hour to get there. Scott phoned a vet in Preeceville, an hour from here, and described her injuries; it sounded like the dog would have to be euthanized, the vet said.
At her age — she was 13 or 14 — there was no point in putting her through more hell. Even surgery, were it an option, would be too hard on her.

By the time I threw on some clothes and headed out to see the situation for myself, Scott was sitting beside her on the grass in the outer farmyard and she had tried to move, he said, toward his hand, and so what I heard and saw as I approached was her crying and writhing in pain for 10 or 15 seconds that seemed like forever. There was no way she would not suffer terribly over rough roads on a trip to the vet, even if it was only a half-hour drive; and then just to be euthanized. 

“We have to shoot her,” I said to Scott. “We can't let her suffer."

“I can’t do it,” he said.

“Do you know someone who can?” I said, wondering if I had the guts to do it myself. I like to think I would if no one else could. But last time I fired a rifle was at age 17. What if, now, I wasn't a good shot and one bullet didn't do it? What if I caused her fear and more suffering? It needed to be one shot; it needed to be instant death. 

Scott's brother Bruce said he’d come over. 

 I went out and sat with Jenna for a few minutes, caressed her face, thanked her for being a good dog, told her it would soon be over, that we would see to it. I comforted her as best I could and said my goodbyes. Scott brought a double lawn chair to shade her from the sun, and we sat with her. Finally I left him there and came back into the house.

He felt terrible, of course, and all I could really do was say that accidents happen, don’t blame yourself. We are doing what has to be done, now, for her sake.

I tried to keep busy, not knowing what to do with myself. I took the garbage out and tidied the kitchen, but didn’t want to hear the gunshot. I went to the south side of the house, into the office, and put the radio on.

By the time I looked out the window again Jenna lay stretched out, unmoving, on the ground and Bruce was taking a shovel from the back of the truck. It seemed to take him (maybe them; I suppose Scott was helping, but I couldn’t see the burial spot) a long time to dig a grave for her in a quiet corner of the yard, in the trees where Casper (our last old girl) is buried.

It was hard to look out, seeing Jenna’s body there. Her suffering was over, but it was sad just the same; a rotten way for her faithful, gentle life to end. When I saw Scott and Bruce walk out of the trees toward her body, my heart broke for Scott. I knew it would be killing him to see her and pick her up, and that he would do it gently, as if she were still alive, and that he would feel like crying but would not do so in front of his brother. Together they carried her to her final resting place.
It was all I could do to step outside later, aware that she was not coming to greet me as always, wagging her tail and “talking” with excitement because we might be going for a walk.
The next day I visited her grave and threw all my poppy and lavender seeds onto the freshly turned soil. 

Who will keep us awake at night now, cursing at her barking as she warns off the coyotes/foxes/raccoons/whatever prowling the perimeter of the farmyard? Who will meet us in the driveway with a toothy doggie smile when we come home at the end of a working day? Who will flop onto the ground and roll onto her back for a belly rub as soon as we pat her head for more than two seconds?

Weep at the death of a dog? Of course. We said goodbye to a friend; a sweet, gentle spirit we loved, who loved us.

They Know Where I Live

Early in April I decided to get a better grip on my "cash flow" by leaving my credit card at home and relying on actual cash. Each paycheque = so much into the savings account + so much into the chequing account + so much cash in my wallet. Straightforward and simple, it means there is no big credit card bill to pay at the end of the month; I'm not charging up anything, anywhere, that I will have to pay for later. If I run out of cash before the next payday, then I just wait a little longer to buy certain things. 

This has meant quite often passing things by that I would formerly have purchased. I skip some of the shopping/browsing I might normally have done. Instead of having/doing whatever I want right now and to hell with the size of the bill in a couple weeks, I wait till the next budgeted cash infusion. It's been an education, as I believed I'd always been at least a little bit frugal. I could and did pay off my credit card bill every month, but it was always a shock to my system to see the amount due. Small purchases really add up.

Anyway ... I'm getting to it, I'm getting to it ... the reason I started talking about this ... is that one of the reasons a handy credit card got to be a habit was that any time you ran out of cash, you had credit. Right? And now I don't have that convenience because my card is not with me. So yesterday morning I had no money but grabbed $25 of Scott's off the kitchen table before leaving for work and left him a note: "I'll pick up some beer." He's been in the field, cultivating I believe, for several long days and doesn't get into town so I thought he'd appreciate the gesture. 

And what do you think happened at the liquor board store? Yep. With one customer ahead of me and one in line behind, it occurred to me to wonder whether the box of beer in my hand might cost more than $25. I've never paid attention before; just grab what I want, tender the card, and bob's yer uncle. Who cares? I want it, I buy it. But this time, I was chagrined to be told at the counter that the beer would be more than $32. 

And this is the beauty of where I live: the guy next to me started fishing in his wallet, and so did a clerk. They'd lend me whatever I needed, they said. 

Yeah, yeah: they know where I live. But still ... it was just so very ... I don't know ... civilized! Like — like having brothers and sisters or old schoolbuddies everywhere you go. I gratefully accepted a loan of $10 and the beer is chilling in our fridge right now.  

I scrounged up 10 bucks and went to town this afternoon to repay her. No need to rush, she'd said, but I couldn't help thinking maybe I'd caused her to short her own cash supply! You never know. It does seem that everyone is using credit cards, because no one at the store yesterday was sure they'd have $10 cash to lend me. They all had to look into their wallets and see.

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Lorna has left a new comment on your post "Life at Golden Grain Farm": 

Peace in the kingdom is gorgeous! 

These images inspired me to tack them up in the 'relationships' bagua of our house to represent me and Scott.

Life at Golden Grain Farm

... On a good day, that is ... when there is peace in the kingdom:

The pages for two months from Llewellyn's Witches' Calendar

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Lorna has left a new comment on your post "The Other Side of 60": 

You have the most amazing people within your blogging companions. 

This is true! I count you among them. 

The Other Side of 60

Where on Earth did I first discover Wise Web Woman? At the moment I've no idea. I only know that when I see she has updated, I'm there reading, right now. Why? Because she's a fabulous writer, of course, but that's not all. It takes more than authorial skill to keep my wandering attention. But what is it? It's so difficult to describe what it is about someone's internet presence that grabs and keeps me. Maybe it's because she lives in Newfoundland, a place I've never been, and so I get to see it and its people vicariously. Maybe it's because she's an Irish immigrant and I imagine hearing the Irish in her voice when she writes. Maybe it's because she's had an eventful life and my favourite writing is autobiographical and Wise Web Woman has a lot to say. Other than that, maybe part of it is that Wise Web Woman seems like a kindred spirit. I mean, when I read her answer to Question #5, I thought: That's very similar to my idea of the holiday I hope to take before I die! You know, there are some people who, when they write, make you feel like you could knock on their kitchen door and sit right down and have coffee with them for an hour — every day. That's Wise Web Woman for me, and here are her answers to my 5 questions:

1. What flowers, if any, will you plant this spring?

None, soil poor I am alive with forget-me-nots and dog-roses which delight me. All over the meadow. I did plant lupines 2 years ago.

2. Do you have a #1 must-see, can't-wait-till-later blog right now (not a relative or close friend, though it can be themed and does not have to be a personal blog; of course, my blog is disqualified so my feelings cannot be hurt -- hee!), and why does it keep you coming back for more?  

Ok apart from yours? It would have to be "Going Gently". http://disasterfilm.blogspot.ca - life in a small village, animal lover, small farm, good cook, emergency room nurse, gossipy.

3. What are your other common stopping places on the Internet? Please list up to five and give me their urls. I'm sure you've got at least that many. 

(1) Hattie always good politically and ceramically (!) http://hattie.typepad.com/hatties_web (2) Time Goes By - brilliant on the aging process http://www.timegoesby.net/ (3) Yarn Harlot - what can I say, I love her and her knitting and her books http://www.yarnharlot.ca (4) Arts & Letters Daily http://www.aldaily.com/ (5) My journey to mindfulness - gentle musings from an 80+ lady whom I adore. + various political, newsy stuff.

4. When you go to a potluck meal, do you have a best dish that you usually take? If so, what is it and do you share your recipe? If so, please do.

My potluck can be chili, Irish lasagna, an orange chicken thingie on a rice bed. None of which I've written down but I will oh hang on - here's my chili recipe : http://wisewebwoman.blogspot.ca/search?q=chili

5. What's your idea of a fabulous holiday? Is it one you have already taken, or one you hope to take before you die?

My ideal holiday would be to go off with 3 or 4 good friends, rent a house for a month in New Mexico or Portugal - in February - and everyone have sketchpads and crafts and a laptop for writing and have a 4 hour dinner every night in candlelight and talk about our days.

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Go and bookmark THE OTHER SIDE OF SIXTY for yourself.
And WWW, thank you for these great-looking links! I'll be checking them out, for sure, as soon as we get a rainy Sunday morning here.

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Maggie Turner on "Ugliest Ashtray Contest": 

Kate, I had one that rivals your specimen, but it is gone, and in a way I'm glad, because I made it myself. Not all creative efforts result in beauty, but I had to find that out for myself. That ashtray is resting somewhere in someone's home, or in a landfill site. 

Beauty and ugliness are both in the eye of the beholder, but let's face it, the beholder's tastes change. In my twenties I bought my mother a set of ceramic mugs and matching coffee pot that I thought were the most beautiful works of art. Twenty years later I could not figure out why I ever thought they were worthy of my mother's kitchen. UG. LY.

Ugliest Ashtray Contest

When I bought my little camper, it came with some pots and pans and dishes and this, the ugliest ashtray in the world. It's so ugly that I haven't been able to part with it. I figure there must be an Ugliest Ashtray contest somewhere, someday, and I have the perfect entry!

If you have an ashtray that can top this one for pure disgustability, please send a photo.

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Maggie Turner on "It Begins": 

Your farm is so different than the farm I grew up on Kate! We were in Niagara and grew tender fruit, very labour intensive from March until the snow flew, then nothing. Tender fruit needed all kinds of specialized attention, each type of fruit had its own demands. We didn't have any field crops, crops that could be harvested with a tractor, everything was hand picked, and packed. There were a few tasks that a tractor could do, harrowing the vineyard rows. I love seeing how your farm works! 

It's an education for me too, actually. I never worked on a farm, though I lived on one as a teenager. We had livestock for only two years, I think, and I only had to put the ducks in at night. I don't remember any other chores. It's interesting to see close-up how things are done, especially on an organic farm where they treat illnesses (in cattle or soil or crops) in a different way than conventional farmers do.

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Maggie Turner on "Let's Go to Kelvington": 

That is an incredible picture of Scott and his Grandma! 

He goes up to Kelvington every second Saturday to make supper and eat with her, taking turns with the rest of the family so that Grandma doesn't have to cook anymore. I hadn't gone along for quite a while, so this visit was long overdue.

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Maggie Turner on y"Tealites from Thailand": 

That is a wonderful thing, that the ticks carrying Lyme disease are not in your area! They are in our area, although I haven't seen any, I'm not sure I would recognize them if I saw them. We are using permethrin sprayed clothing, and wearing high rubber boots when walking around in the bush, and we are hoping that will work. But in your hair you say! How do they get up that high, I thought they hung out in the grass, so much for that bit of misinformation. 

 I walked under the trees a couple times, but wasn't in long grass. At least, never for long. A person passes through once in a while. 

I had repellent oils on my shoes and socks and hands and neck, etc., and in my hair! and wore long sleeves and had my jeans tucked into my socks. I also had a hat on part of the time.

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Lorna on "Tealites from Thailand": 

Those are lovely tea light holders. Even though I claim to not be an animal person, I find joy in so much animal-related art.

I still can't imagine what life on a farm can be like---I only know I have none of the skills that would help. 

I don't do any farming, Lorna, so can take no credit for skills, whatsoever. I'm just in the fortunate position of being able to live on a farm without having to grow the crops or feed the livestock. Occasionally at seeding or harvest time when Scott starts early and goes late, I whip up a meal to take to the field if it dawns on me that he might be starving out there, and usually find out that he planned to be home in half an hour so it wasn't necessary. 

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Tealites from Thailand

Our kids got home safely from Asia and brought us this lovely set of tealite candle-holders from Thailand. Gunnar was in Wynyard this past weekend for a funeral on the other side of his family, and Scott and his mom drove over to have breakfast with him on Sunday.

Yesterday I had to run to town on business and then, once out and around, figured I might as well zip over to Karen's at Margo. She had one of her little granddaughters there so I got to see them both. We will have a newborn added to the family next week; can't wait to hold the wee darling!

It was one of those days when it's hot in the sun and cool when the sun goes behind a cloud. So when the yard was shady, I went out and pulled weeds and quackgrass from the perennial bed, and when it was sunbeaten, I stayed in and washed dishes and worked a little on the computer. By suppertime all I wanted to do was take a nap, so that's what I did as soon as I could permit myself to lie down.

It was an early night, that's for sure, and I fell asleep listening to the wild exuberance of bird calls just outside the bedroom window. The soras have returned, and they are the loudest of all at this time as I guess they are doing their courting. I keep saying it sounds like a jungle out there, and yesterday there was a call I could've sworn came from a monkey! Also, I've identified one pair of the ducks on our dugout as Lesser Scaups. Thank goodness for the Birds of Saskatchewan book that my friend and mother-in-law Pat gave me when I moved back to this province.

Today's an actual hot one. I've got the sprinkler running over the flowerbed and will be moving it around all day to water the front lawn. I'll be working at the computer. I'll be baking bread and, of course, washing dishes. Scott's out in the field, cultivating. I didn't see him at all yesterday except for when he brought me the last cup of bitter coffee from the pot before bolting from the house. It got me out of bed so was much appreciated. And I was asleep when he came home at dark.

I did, alas, find two woodticks in my hair yesterday and they had both already bitten into my scalp. Little bastards. And they are hard to discover; I had been checking quite carefully, I thought, and been faithfully applying essential oil repellants to my neck and ears and even my scalp - right about where the little bastards had settled in to make a snack of me. "Those don't work," a couple people said, to which I could only reply that we don't know how many ticks I'd've found had I not slathered myself with the oils. However, the oils are obviously not foolproof. Dammit. Today I have two itchy lumps on my head where the ticks bit.

Last week there was an "expert" on CBC radio, talking about ticks, and she said that here in Saskatchewan we are fortunate that the kind we have are dog ticks, not the kind that spread lyme disease. I hope she is correct, because every year I get tick bites no matter what I do, and usually end up taking a round of antibiotics because of infection from them.

Let's Go to Kelvington

Our tour to Kelvington included a stop at the Co-op store, where we ran into my great-nephew and his dad.

We couldn't pass by the liquor board store without picking up some beer.

Scott's grandma, 107, and Scott, 56. Supper was bean and bacon soup, and pudding.

Then we went to the nursing home and Scott showed his dad some pictures on his phone.

And a couple tick-laden moose on the way home. Click to enlarge. 

It Begins

What should we do next; the brothers take a breather and share their thoughts. 

It's time to bring some cattle over to our place; Scott is carrying stakes for an electric fence.

A mile north of our place is this farmer happy to be in the field.

Synchronicity & Dogs

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Maggie Turner on "Me & Merja": 

Kate, when a series of events like the ones you describe occur, it makes me wonder about the invisible forces that swirl around us, connecting us all in unseen ways. By the way, Attila's father was 100% Finnish, born in Canada, Attila is only 50% Finnish, born in Canada. 

The word for such events, though I neglected to use it, is "synchronicity: The simultaneous occurrence of events which appear significantly related but have no discernible connections."

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Wisewebwoman on "Me & Merja": 

Interesting this. I thought of my Finnish tennis partner when I read this and all the stories she had in the locker room. Trimmest woman ever, could bounce pennies off her abs. Died of cancer. Smoker. Yeah and tennis player. Singles.

I hadn't thought of her in years.

How some people haunt us - like your friend. Nice you could do help the relative out.

Yes it was a real pleasure.

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Wisewebwoman has left a new comment on your post "Me and Ducky Doodle": 

OMG I howled reading this. When I had Chelsea she was forbidden to go on my bed. I had to back to house one morning about 5 mins after I left and I found her literally surfing the duvet. I think it is the smell they're after. They do adore us you know.

They do, which is so sweet.

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Me & Merja

When I was 11 years old and growing up in Margo, a neighbour girl the same age died after a long illness. Her last name was Hanchuk and all these years later I remember her in the month of her passing. On Wednesday morning I was thinking of her. It put me back in her little bedroom, sat at a wee table with her, tying toothpicks into bundles of 10 for use in arithmetic class.

Later that day I overheard that a man whose surname is Hietala has died. He was from my home town and now lived in Wadena. Occasionally I saw him at the café and said hello in passing.

That night I checked my email and found a letter from a woman in Finland. In searching for her relatives who had emigrated to the Margo area in the early 1900s, she had come across my blog and seen photos of the town.

Their surnames?
Hanchuk and Hietala.

I didn't even know those two families were related.

So. Nothing intuitive about this coincidence. No psychic abilities reflected here. It's just one of those coincidences that makes me quizzical, in a pleasant way, as if it's a sign that I'm right at a certain spot in my life that I'm meant to be. Like a reassurance.

This morning I found the Hanchuk and Hietala family histories in the book and scanned them for their Finnish cousin, Merja.

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Ralph Goff has left a new comment on your post "Kaddidly Hop": 

Reminiscent of "Clem Kadiddlehopper", a tv character I used to watch as a kid. Was it Red Skelton or was it one of Gordie Tapp's characters on Country Hoedown? I guess I need to look it up now. 

I remember Clem too. Thought Red Skelton was the best! 

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