Trea Gracelyn Enters the Scene

My great-niece Trea Gracelyn, four days old. (pronounced Traya)

Wouldn't wake up for me, and I didn't want to disturb her. I'll get my chance.

This is Karen and Dick's first granddaughter.


***

I stopped to see Grandma both on my way to The Pas and on the way home. When I was leaving her room yesterday , she said "What's your name again?" First time she's said that, except in a dream I had a few years ago when she'd asked "Who are you?"

Every time I've gone to the nursing home lately she's been snoozing on top of her bed. Morning, afternoon, early evening, it's all the same. Doesn't sit up while you visit with her, but says she's feeling fine and all's well. Does look that way, though her face seemed noticeably round last time.

***

The debate is on about whether to get the H1N1 vaccine. The population of this country seems to be split about 50-50 between who's planning to get the shot and who is not.

***

Look out Lu, here I come!

The lips that dazzle babies.

I've been working "ahead" most every evening this week, banking hours so that tomorrow and Monday can be travelling days of about five hours each. Tonight will be another late night. In the morning I'm headed up to The Pas to see my young friend Luanne, whom I haven't laid eyes upon for some 15 years. Maybe there will be time to look up some of my Engdahl cousins while I'm there.

The road north is not my favourite; as soon as the evergreens start crowding the highway, the scenery bores me -- because there is none. The spruces block the view. I must remember to stop at the library this afternoon after Willis and I do our palliative care visiting, and pick up some talking books to keep me awake while driving through the tunnel of trees.

Scott and I spent last night here at GGFarm, since -- woo hoo! -- he's got everything working as it ought. Actually when I arrived after having supper with the boys at the old place, he was already here, lying in bed. He'd slipped on a roof while shingling in the afternoon and caught himself by falling on his left hand. The jar had put his neck out and he was moving like a decrepit old man. I gave him a Vita-flex treatment and he felt better this morning. Still wish he'd quit shingling. I hate thinking of him either up on roofs or down in holes, which he's also been frequenting since sewer problems began around here. The idea of it gives me the heebie-jeebies.

Time to head for town. We've got sleety rain and it's damn cold. I'll be glad to visit at the hospital and nursing home, where they keep the heat cranked up.

x's and o's

MacLean and McLean

The National steel guitar on the left was built in 1929; the one on the right in 1932.

Doc MacLean and Big Dave McLean managed to fill that little wood-lined church with their two powerful voices, sans sound system.

The pews were full. Halfway through the concert, Bev S., seated next to me, said, "Now I know why I hated church so much." Her ass, along with everyone else's, wasn't happy. Note to self: next time, bring cushion.

The Margo contingent even made an appearance. I sat next to Emil in the second row and when he saw Cuzzin O come in with his wife, he said loudly "Mom— Mom— there's Oscar and Barb!"

That was only the beginning of an evening where Emil made his presence known to all. Always a pleasure for Scott and me, who prefer to remain slightly less noticed at a public gathering.

"That's a Good Song!" Emil calls out at the end of a tune.
I was chuckling about this until recalling that at the last concert we attended, Paschall and Dahl, it was me who called out those exact same words. Oy. Where oh where does he get it?

Granted, there were only a dozen people in attendance that time. That's my excuse.

***

Today is the day of the week that households in our R.M. can drop off household garbage at the truck in Kuroki, so I made myself a double cup of tea for the road and headed down the grid, which is soggy with melted snow. There were a couple pretty soupy spots till I got to the highway, so I came home the other way. A round trip of about 40 minutes. (Karen, I thought of phoning you to meet me for a quick drink at the El Kuroki, but Everett's been looking forward to using the wireless so much that I didn't want to delay.)(Any baby yet?)

The weatherfolk are predicting temperatures of 14 and 16 degrees this weekend, which seems hard to believe when the air's hovering around 0C.

Wireless internet was connected up two weeks ago so it was well past time to get the computer to GGFarm and use it. After the schoolbus dropped the boys off at home, Everett and I packed up the iMac and lugged it over here. I'd dusted down the new desk (Hi Grace) earlier today, so we set things up and Everett sat down to check out one of his favourite sites, Red Vs Blue. I gave him an hour to websurf, while I soaked and scraped gummed paper lining from the bathroom wall, where the previous owner had applied a decorative wallpaper border. Got it about half off before it was my turn to come and play with this thing.

But I'm sitting on a stacking stool. Not good. Today, the computer. Tomorrow, the chair!

Little Dead Folks

Petit Mort

I found this photo on a webpage some time ago and now can't find the link to tell you what these pieces are or who the artist is. All I can say is the jpg is named "petitmortsmall" and if these appeal to you, an internet search using the jpg name might find them.

I feel a "little dead" today myself so it seemed a suitable image for an entry. It's cold; I've started a fire in the basement to warm up the house before heading over to GGFarm to get wood and do the rites and come back here for supper before it's time to leave again for a house concert in town. A headache's been trying to happen so my fingers are crossed that it gets no further.

The concert is not being held in a private home but in the St John's Anglican Church, a small place of worship that will host Big Dave McLean and Doc MacLean tonight. They are on their Century Blues Tour.

*** "La petite mort, French for 'the little death,' is a metaphor for orgasm." - Wikipedia

*** The two little kittens seemed to be doing very well for about two days, and then they died.

Leaves and Snow

Green leaves and fresh snow, today.

To me, they don't go together.

Weather lore suggests that when the leaves don't dry and fall from the trees as usual, the winter will be particularly cold.

On the other hand, I've been told that the local muskrats are not building up their houses on the water, which means the winter will be mild.

Hm.

***

Scott's got the furnace running at GGFarm and has been working on the lagoon over recent days, so maybe I'll be staying back there soon. Yesterday my pal Bev and I both had to go pee out in the snow. I can handle that in this mild weather but sure don't want to be doing it when it's 20 below or at night.

The Painter Louise

La Vieille Grange, by Louise Martineau

This building is not far from Louise's cabin in Quebec, where she goes to put her feet up and relax every chance she gets.

She's planning to do a painting using my photo of Scott out checking the cattle, which was posted here this summer. I'll put it up here, too, if she lets me.

Back in 1978, when we were in our late teens, Louise and I were participants of a volunteer youth group sponsored by the federal government . You've heard me mention Katimavik before. As a group of 30 kids we spent nine months living in three different Canadian provinces, working in small communities. I don't recall actually doing very much work, mind you, but we forged some pretty strong bonds of affection and a good number of us are still in touch.

A few months ago Scott came home from one of his customer's homes and told me the fellow had heard that a long time ago I was a member of a group that used to hand out flowers at the airport. Hee!! I had a good giggle when I realized he must have been thinking of Katimavik, because at the time, people who'd never heard of it before were convinced it was some evil cult out to steal their children.

First Snow

Yes indeedy, that's snow you're looking at, still there at 1 p.m.

It's probably not here to stay, but it might as well, it's been cold enough for the past week. Alas, the farmers don't all have their crops off so we hope the snow melts and things dry up enough to complete the local harvest.

The temperature had plummeted by yesterday morning. After school Everett went to the barn to feed and cuddle the cats, and discovered two tiny kittens unmoving, two of their siblings missing, and a dead one being eaten by its mother. He gathered the survivors into his arms and brought them into the house. "Mom, I need your help!" he called from the porch. For a frightening moment I thought his arm had been accidentally amputated or something.

Every year we rescue kittens from certain death, though this pair is older than the very young ones Everett usually finds abandoned, starving, and freezing. These two are from Cuddles' second litter this summer; the first batch, beautiful healthy kittens that I showed pictures of in the spring, was also killed and eaten. We don't know how they were killed, but they had bite marks on their necks and their mother was found eating their bodies.

An online search for an answer to what is happening suggests that moving their nest can stress the mother enough to cannibalize her offspring; this is exactly what may have happened the last time as well as this time, when well-meaning children thought they'd put the kittens in a warmer or safer place than their mother had chosen for them. Granted, she's not the best mother in the cat world, sweet as she is, though it was obvious that she loved those kittens. She was purringly blissed out when they nursed, and after they were killed she very obviously mourned them for days. Your heart practically broke for her.

No one actually saw Cuddles kill them, so it's possible they were killed by a tomcat or one of the other mother cats here on the farm and that Cuddles was just cleaning up the carcass in order not to attract other predators to the living kittens, or to recoup some of the nutritional investment she'd already put into her babies. However, this doesn't seem to happen to the litters of the other mothers, so it's a bit suspicious.

We managed to get the kittens on their way to warming up; they were so cold they wouldn't drink and we had to give them droppersful of warm milk. Everett's heading off with Gord for the weekend so Alexander, from next door, has taken them to his house and is looking after them there. Can't say as I mind one bit.

***

Last week a tech guy came out and hooked up wireless cable at GGFarm. Now my computer needs to be moved over there. I hope to get that done this weekend. Below is one of the last photos you'll see of me hard at work in the office here at the old place.

Apples Grow in Saskatchewan! Who Knew?

A 25-pound box of tasty, fresh organic apples arrived on the bus from my cousin Lynn's orchard here in Saskatchewan.

Lynn also grows cherries. I couldn't find a webpage to steal a photo from, but click here to peek at the orchard. The Western Producer printed a nice photo of Lynn, and Joanne (thank you ma'am, and how did the surgery go?) clipped and kept it for me, but it's over at the other house tonight (you know... the lonely house with the lonely dogs) or I'd scan it for you.

While the boys were getting ready to walk to the road and catch the bus this morning, it was snowing. There, I said it. It was gone the moment it hit the ground, but it's still been a miserable grey windy cold day.

In the afternoon I dropped off my minivan for an oil change and winter checkup, and met Everett at the library. From there we moseyed on afoot over to one of the cafés on Main Street a block away, and while we sat inside eating poutine (moi) and a grilled cheese sandwich with fries (lui), snow came down pretty good again. I was dressed for it though: ski pants, scarf, quilted vest, wool-lined Hudson's Bay jacket, gloves. Nobody even looked at me funny, unlike the reaction when I dressed that way on Sunday ("It's not that cold!"). Again the snow melted right away, but it would be no surprise to me to wake up to an inch of the white stuff.

Ferrets and Tipis

A blackfooted ferret, once extinct in Saskatchewan, is released into the wilds of Grasslands National Park.










Here are the tipis the kids and teachers slept in. They had no heat, and they had raised wooden platforms to sleep on. It wasn't very comfortable at 6 below, but there was a campfire outside that at least one kid resorted to for warmth in the wee hours.
Scott slept in my van, seen at left.


***

Watch Oprah tomorrow (Wed). Stephanie Nielson is going to be on. She's the young mother of four who was in a plane crash in Arizona one year ago that almost killed her. She's a devout Mormon with a heck of an inspiring attitude toward living. She really knows how to live well.

Handsome Creature, that Moose

This gorgeous fellow crossed the highway in front of us.

My mother-in-law, niece and I were on our way to a potluck/drumming session of the Likeminded Ladies when this impressive beast made his appearance in an open field. I managed to get the camera out of my purse and hand it to Pat while stopping the vehicle and rolling down her window so she could take the picture before he started running.

But he never did run. When he stepped onto the pavement he turned his massive head and looked at us before continuing, otherwise uninterrupted, on his merry way. For one moment there I wondered if he might decide to take a run at the van, as moose have been known to do. Thank goodness he didn't. Instead he crossed the road and ambled away, in no hurry whatsoever.

70-Mile Butte

At Grasslands National Park, they hiked to the top of 70-Mile Butte.

The second photo is the view from the top.

Fairy Moth

For several months since removing it from the lapel of a blazer, this fairy was pinned to the curtain in the bedroom.

Unfortunately every time I see it I think it's a moth, and jump because it's right at eye level and close to my face.

Not that I'm afraid of moths, but I'm easily startled. Over and over again by the same thing, apparently. You'd think eventually I'd get over it, but no. Finally I put the pin somewhere else.

It's early afternoon and Emil and I are looking forward to Scott and Everett arriving home in a couple hours. This is one of the faces that will greet them, poor buggers. Maybe I'll get my morning hair combed by the time they get here so they won't be too frightened.

Tipi Love - I've Got It

Word is, they took more food than they needed.

And last night was cold, Scott said when he called earlier; the thermometer was reported to have dipped to minus-6F. "I don't think anyone slept through the night," was his pronouncement on the suffering of those who slept in the tipi as well as himself, alone in the van.

At least 500 people attended the release of the blackfooted ferrets, or maybe even 1000, he figured.




I don't know where this tipi is, but the photo was taken by Richard Blaschak. It feeds my tipi love.

[See Mr Blaschak's comment below.]

Men on the Go

Sending them off with finger food.

It's so cosy: rain pattering on the tin chimney, the fridge running, me in Mom's thick plaid housecoat at 11 a.m., having been woken by a phone call an hour ago.

I was up around 6:30 when Scott and Everett were scurrying around trying to get out the door to meet their travel companions in town before 7. The air was a bit hot though, with Scott cursing because he hadn't finished packing last night before going to bed, and now couldn't find everything he wanted.

Poor Everett, I thought, he'll be regretting inviting Mr Cranky along, right now. I peeked my eyes over the ledge next to the stairs and looked at my son standing next to the door. "Is it safe to come up?" It may be evil to chuckle at Scott's expense when he's having a hissy fit but sometimes there is no better way to respond, either.

The call this morning was Scott, still taking care of business from the road. He is working on construction projects committed to last summer and every day he turns down a new job or two. His work is stacked to the ceiling and a "holiday" did not fit into his timetable. On the other hand, he desperately needed a break because when he is here he eats, breathes and sleeps work; there is no escape from the gotta-do's. This may do him good (a change is better than a rest? why.am.i.doubting.that) and, since the kids will be sleeping in a tipi and the weather is not fit for camping, at least I know Everett isn't going to freeze to death on Scott's watch.

I don't know if they'll go to any museums on this field trip; their time might be taken up by eco-tours, hikes and such. But at a museum or zoo I like Scott to be my companion. He notices everything there is to see, while if alone I pass right over half the fascinating details in a display. Everett will benefit from Scott's sharp eyes and attention to detail.

I hope that by now he is chatting with the five teenagers riding in the van (he's left me his half-ton) and, though driving, is getting into a holiday mood. He'll be sleeping in the van tonight, which may be more comfortable for an old fella like him than the hard ground under a sleeping bag. I'm not sure what state he'll arrive home in, but my fingers are crossed he comes back rested and refreshed. It's a tall order, considering he'll be on the go for three days with a group of kids.

Wednesday

Jackhammering through the old cistern wall.

Scott's standing on a chair, where he must have felt he could safely suggest that I stand under the jackhammer and help support its weight with my head. "Just the right height," he figured.

***

Everett's class is going on a field trip from tomorrow till Saturday, and Scott is going along as a driver. The blackfooted ferret, once thought extinct, has been raised in captivity and schoolchildren are off to witness them being released on Friday morning back into the wilds at Grasslands National Park down in southeastern Saskatchewan.

Preparations are under way. Scott is doing his laundry and has gone to town to wash the van and pick up molasses (so I can make a couple dozen chocolate chip banana bran muffins to send along for their cold breakfasts) and whatever else he wants to eat. We're not quite sure what kind of cooking facilities there are; we imagine Scott can cook a sausage over a fire, and that Everett will eat bagels with cheese.

***

Emil will be sure to say that he's happy he gets to spend a couple days alone with me.
Na na na na na, I'm his favourite mother ....

The Bartley Brothers

My great-grandfather, Grandpa Jack, is on the far right.

His youngest daughter, my grandmother, was already in bed when Scott and I arrived at Kelvindell Lodge last night at 7 o'clock. She wasn't asleep, but said she had nothing else to do. An aide came in to call her for the bedtime coffee snack, and she got up and accompanied us down the hallway.

"I have a heck of a time getting out of bed these days," she said, slightly off-balance. She's using a walker now, and kept saying she'd be going home soon, and wondering if we'd take her home after she'd had coffee, sure that her room was only temporary. I'd reply that she's been living there since January, and see all your stuff? Photos of your family on the wall and the TV, and look, there are your afghans on the bed, and there's your purse, and your clothes in the closet. Well, she'd say, she has a few things there but she's only been there a couple days. Tanya, Scott's sister who is a nurse at the lodge, says they have to keep an eye on Grandma now because she occasionally says she's going out and heads for the door.

I'm the eldest of all my siblings and cousins, and I remember Grandpa Jack quite well. He lived till I was about nine. My memory of him is as a sweet, tiny old man in a chair, but I also recall that he had a cane. He sported that impressive moustache all his life. Grandma has a photo of him as an old man, a small oval-framed headshot. I must make a copy of it. I have a very nice portrait of him and my great-grandmother taken about a year after they were married. In it, he's sitting down and she's standing next to him, but still her head is not far above his. They're dressed formally and look serious and handsome as hell.

***

It's a bread-baking day; I've got oatmeal in a pot, brought to a boil, and now it will sit, burner turned off, with a lid on for several hours before I throw it into the kneading machine with whole wheat flour and yeast, oil and honey, and perhaps some sunflower seeds.

Last Sunday in September

Not a favourite poppy, but nevertheless still blooming.

It's cold, grey, windy and rainy, and the sewer has been backing up (if it's not one thing it's another, only usually a half-dozen of them for my poor Scottie to deal with) at GGFarm so I'm at the old place, spending the afternoon in and near the nice warm kitchen, cooking up a storm: a vegetable broth (with diced potatoes, celery, onions, turnips, carrots) that will be simmered for two hours and then blended, divided up and frozen as a base for quick and delicious soups (my preference by far is a cheese soup, which is to die for); a sausage-zucchini fry; bean dish (always a big hit on the potluck circuit, it's like chili but without the chili, and with lima beans and bacon as well as the usual ingredients); and banana bran muffins. Everett's going to make his famous chocolate and butterscotch chip cookies after I'm out of the kitchen, when the frozen margarine has softened.

Later Scott, Emil and I plan to drive to Kelvington to visit our grandmothers. He's got some drywall mud to apply for his brother-in-law who lives there and Emil is excited because the last two times I went, he had a cold and couldn't go.

There's a risk of frost tonight for this part of the province. Might have to cover my jalapenos and tomatoes; fortunately there are just a few plants but unfortunately my puppy Chloe thinks that things like blankets are meant to be dragged off and chewed upon, breaking the stems of plants in the process. Could mean a night on the chain, for her. She is a funny dog. Yesterday I found a common snipe on the lawn, dead, near the garden. After having a close look at it, with its very long beak, I put on my gardening gloves to pick up and move the carcass somewhere it wouldn't be stepped on when we are out admiring the stars after dark. Chloe grabbed it right out of my hand! Little bugger. She wouldn't let Scott pick it up later either, when he tried.

Not much else to report. Life is good, life is good, life is good.

Cosmo City

Emil goes for a stroll.

My garden has got so many cosmos that I have been pulling them up like weeds from places where they were crowding perennials like purple coneflower and brown-eyed susans.

It's not easy for me to throw them onto a heap, roots and all, and let them dry up. It goes against my grain. So sometimes I stick them in a vase with water — indoors of course I do, but I mean outside. Here, a cream can of some sort that's been hanging in an oak tree all summer does double duty as a vase.

Harvest in Full Swing

Swathed fields.

I could drive through these for hours and miles on gravel roads and never, ever be bored.

***

Fascinating story in the news about a buried treasure dug out of the countryside in England. With pictures ... click here.

Happiest Dog Ever

Chloe found a treasure.

From somewhere in the bush she dug up this old moss-covered boot and dragged it onto the lawn, so pleased with herself.

***

Online life is getting back to normal since I borrowed Kate's modem (which she no longer uses since she's got wireless internet) to see if the problem with my iMac was a fried modem. And indeed that was the case. I hadn't been getting online properly for several days before there was a clap of thunder on Friday morning that woke everyone up with its volume, and it seems that was the last straw for my modem. Fortunately for me Kate's willing to part with hers so I don't have to make a special run to the city.

***

We hit 32C yesterday; it was hot hot hot. I think I mentioned before that Saskatchewan's heat record has now been broken due to the unseasonable weather. No complaints from me. But it's weird. Flowers that normally bloom in the spring -- lupins, for instance -- are in full bloom now. All the flowers are bursting out in glorious colour in this sunshine, while the maple tree that greets you at the driveway is spreading its yellow leaves all over the front lawn. Strange contrast. I'm happy to see that my jalapeno plants are getting a chance to finish growing their peppers, which I'll chop, bag and freeze to make salsa. My spicy-food-lovin' fella eats an entire batch of it every month; I tell everyone he even puts it on his ice cream.

***

Everett got up on Monday morning with an eczema-like rash on his forearms and under his eyes. Scott thought it looked like hives. Everett says he's eaten nothing unusual. We had him take an Aerius pill for allergies once a day, and I pulled chickweed from the garden and made two teas: one for him to wash his skin with, and the other to drink. The rash is on its way out.

It makes a very tasty tea. I also steamed some of it; you can eat it like steamed spinach. Delicious. And here I've been tearing it from the ground every year and throwing it away! Must pick and dry some to have on hand through the coming winter, along with the plantain leaf for cuts and bites and stings, the yarrow and spearmint for colds and flus, and so on. My house is full of drying herbs in paper bags with holes in them for ventilation so they don't get mouldy. I took the dehydrator over to my aunt Shirley's after it ran steadily here for weeks; she's going to dry tomatoes in it, and I'm going to let my herbs dry naturally instead. I've got calendula flowers steeping in olive oil to make not only a tasty salad dressing but an anti-inflammatory massage oil, which I will try on my neck next time it acts up, and Cara, it is supposed to make a good baby oil -- I'll give you some to try and you can let me know if it works wonders. Only a month till I'm holding a new great-niece or -nephew in my arms ... and how nice that I don't have to do any of the work to make it happen. Can't beat that.

***

I stayed over at the old house last night to watch the first episode of Eastwick, starring Paul Gross as the troublesome warlock who comes to town. The show didn't impress me in the least and if it doesn't improve it won't be on the air long, and Paul Gross is no Jack Nicholson (remember the movie The Witches of Eastwick?), but he doesn't have to be. He's just plain good to look at and I'll watch the show for that simple pleasure, as well as to see what Gross makes of the part. I told Scott, who watched with me, "He's almost as good-looking as you are." No I did not take Sweet-Talking 101 at university but some things you just learn over time, right ladies? (as Ellen Degeneres would say; I love her show, or parts of it, but don't watch it very often come spring).

***

With what looks to be another beautiful day in store, it's not going to be easy to sit indoors and catch up on the hours of work I've missed since Friday. This morning I'll go over to GGFarm and stroll through the garden, keeping company with my old girl Casper and my little girl Chloe as well as Ralph the black cat, my familiar, who follows me through the flowers, sits nearby and comments in his deep voice from time to time.

Short Hiatus

Computer problems: please stand by for god knows how long. Nobody out here in God's Country seems to know what to do with a Mac; always a frustration when there is a problem that is difficult to diagnose. I can't even get online with my dialup; am posting from a friend's house (thanks Kate) and being awed by her highspeed internet. Woo hoo! I can see it will be well worth the cash payouts to get it up and running.

Till then ... adios....

Around the House

September Brings Summer

Harvest is under way.

Today I saw my first large flock of Canada geese, this fall, grouped up for migration.

We're finally getting summer weather. After nine months of unseasonable cold, we're now breaking records for September temperatures.

Nothing too new. It's Scott's 50th birthday and he's celebrating by fighting strep throat, lying on the couch, watching TV, and being pissed off about not being able to work on such a fine day.

Around the Yard

Didn't Everett do a fine job on the Adirondack furniture?

Scott suggested (after I'd bought the paint) that it would have been wise to choose a colour that would match the house. We haven't picked a colour for the siding yet, so his point was moot.

However, it turns out that the colour looks great with the flowers. Don't you think? And hey, I could do with a purple house.

Tree-Climbing Mutt

The dog who climbs trees.

She is a plague to the three cats who live in the farmyard, one of which can be seen, barely, in the maple. One of the cats will let the pup chew on him, and will snuggle up with and rub against the pup. Quite cute.

Still Under Construction

My living room.

Actually, last week I unpacked the reclining chair from its box and left it right where it'd be the first thing Scott saw when he came in the door. He thinks it's very fine. As do we all.

Alas, there is still window trim and some touchups to be done in the living room, as well as putting the baseboards back on, so it seems sensible to leave new furniture in cardboard for now.

I don't need much room, just enough to spread out my yoga mat in front of the picture window. Speaking of which, I haven't done the Rites today. Must get back over there and do them before I forget. It's so nice out, I won't be able to stay indoors but will have to come in and escape the sun after an hour or so in the garden, I'm sure. The house has remained cool all summer, which is welcome on the hot days.

Out With the Gals

Girls love desserts.

What more can I say?

Feverfew for Migraines

Tea made from feverfew tastes medicinal. Add a sprig of fresh mint.

An herb-growing fella kindly gave me a lemon verbena plant this spring. Now that makes a beautiful tea.

***

Off to town. It's my monthly afternoon for visiting patients at the hospital and residents at the nursing home. My palliative-care team partner, Willis, will be waiting for me at 2 o'clock and we'll wander the rooms and hallways for two hours or so, chatting with people. Willis has already met most of them, having lived in this area for a lot longer than me. She used to do home care for Grandma in Margo, actually, and was very good to Grandma, taking her on restaurant outings and such.

Checking Cattle

Scott, the Pied Piper of his cattle.

They all come to see what's up, and he counts and inspects.

Alpaca

A neighbour at the nursing home is this shy alpaca.

At least I think it's an alpaca. Maybe it's a llama.

A few years ago, a woman was seriously hurt when she entered a livestock pen that llamas were used to protect. One of the animals simply sat on the woman, so that she could neither get up nor breathe properly.

Fortunately her husband went looking for her and was able to get the animal off in time to save her life.

Blue Jelly and Dilled Beans

Our road on a summer evening.

It's Labour Day, a national holiday, so the kids are home and even Scott seems to be taking a day off.

While digging through boxes of recipe books I pulled out one I read years ago and kept: Blue Jelly— Love Lost and the Lessons of Canning, by Debby Bull. Using an unusual method, the author lifts herself out of the depression following a heartbreak. How does she do it? Through canning.

Blue Jelly contains 15 recipes, one of which I am following today after picking green beans at Faye and Rick's last night at sunset. The water in the canner is taking forever to boil, to sterilize the sealers. Shoulda started with hot water; live 'n' learn. It's been some years since I've made dill beans or pickles, and I never was more than a beginner.

It's a lovely little book and I'd recommend it to anyone. Especially anyone with a broken heart.

Joni

Joni Mitchell's painting of herself, her grandchildren and her daughter.

Indian Summer

Some flowers normally blooming in July are blossoming now. It's been a strange summer.

Don't suppose you've gathered that I've got a thing for brass? Aunt Jean gave me that little cauldron on the left after asking me what I'd like from her china cabinet. On the front of the cauldron is a witch stirring a pot over a fire.

There's been a full or nearly full moon all week, and it shines directly onto the bed. After some six years in a basement bedroom with a north-facing window, always closed, I was tickled to be able to have the window in the bedroom at GGFarm open all night several times this week. Summer's been too cool for this, till now. I bask in the bright moonlight like a sun-shy vampire.

Everett is applying the third and final coat of paint to the lawn furniture. He was pleased to receive an honorable mention at school for having an average in the 80s last year. He was surprised to get anything, he said, because he always thinks he's dumb. This is so weird. Where does he get an idea like that? It's so far off the truth, and he's had plenty of experiences that prove it.

Emil's barricaded in his bedroom, listening to Dead Can Dance. When I arrived an hour ago, it was Valdy I heard through the door while rinsing some fresh feverfew clippings and taking the dried basil leaves off their stems. The dehydrator's been running for many days. Yesterday I brought in more calendula flowers; can make a skin cream out of them, or tea. The ones dried last week are in a jar with olive oil for cooking or salad dressing.

I'm wearing a new skirt, expecting Scott to arrive any time to get cleaned up. I'm taking him out for his birthday supper, along with our friends Faye and Rick. We're off to The Old House Café. Just need to wash my sticky-up hair before we leave. Made the mistake of using my texturizing shears on it a little too enthusiastically. Oh well. It always grows.

Not Quite Hawaii

The bird in the birdbath broke off the first summer I had it, but Helen gave me this dancing lady and I thought she'd be a nice addition to the garden.

Okay, back to work. I'm hard at it. Two more hours to go; maybe three, if I get ambitious and want to bank an extra hour for some paid holiday in the future. That would be wise. But the sun is shining, even though we've just had a few sprinkles, and you know what that means: Kathy wants out.

Camp Easter Seal and Such

Emil was disappointed, he said, when I arrived to pick him up from Camp Easter Seal.

He tells me they were busy: swimming in the mineral pool (“refreshing,” he pronounced) filled with the healing waters of Lake Manitou, a variety night, Harry Potter at the drive-in, horseback riding, a singsong, a wagon ride, a murder mystery evening, a banquet and dance on the last night. He is never ready to come home.

Yesterday was the boys' first day back at school. Emil is in Grade 12 for the third year in a row, if I'm counting right (don't count on it). People keep asking me, so let me explain: students like Emil, who have developmental delays, can continue going to school until they're 22 if they are still progressing along the learning curve. Emil's practising life skills like counting money, shopping, and cooking, among a variety of other useful classes. This year he'll work two full days a week at Mallard Industries, where he worked only mornings last year. It's a sheltered workshop where employees are supervised. Emil's job is to sort plastic containers that people have brought in for recycling. He likes his job, he says. When he finishes school in June, he'll go on to full-time work at the recycling centre.

Everett's in Grade 12 this year and both boys are in the same home room.

It's summer, yippee! My flower garden is gorgeous, though sloppily riotous. Honestly, why can't I just be happy with it, ever? Oh no; always I have to be thinking about the changes I'll make next year. But sometimes I walk around the corner and it dazzles me. I hope we don't have a freeze for many weeks. Hmph. Likely story.

I'm over the stiff neck/back business finally and was able to put in a full day at the desk today. This morning I hustled out to the herb patch to harvest some oregano before the bees got really busy, in which case I wouldn't dare disturb them. And now I'm about to package up the tomato sauce I made while I was over here (the old place) yesterday, and freeze it.

So I'll just leave you with a couple links to visit:

Corey Amaro was traveling by motorbike in Europe with her French Husband:

Go back a ways; her photos and stories of the trip make me want to go there. Maybe someday, when I can imagine enjoying travel again. It's been many years since I've had that urge. But I enjoy every entry in Corey's blog. She's so full of heart and the love of everyday living.

I wonder what Corey and French Husband would have thought if they'd come across a stop sign in the Cree language? You'll have to scroll down the page, which is part of young Stephan's account of his time with Katimavik (I think Everett should consider a stint with Katimavik when he's done Grade 12. The nine months I spent with the project back in 1978-79 are among the dearest memories I have, and account for some of my dearest friends). According to Stephan, "the Cree word for stop is pronounced chipchee."

And now I am getting outside to enjoy a couple hours of sunshine.

A Farm is a Home for a Dog

Don't they look happy and contented?

They (not the one in the middle; Sara was just visiting) were making a racket around five this morning. Even the little one was barking. I hear a neighbour's cattle were out, so that was probably the reason.

Finally we've got summer days. The flower garden is glorious. Today I rescued a drowning grasshopper from the rainwater barrell. There are quite a few grasshoppers around; Chloe likes to pounce and chew on them. I see them in my flowers and remind myself that "There is plenty for all."

Everett applied the second coat of paint to the lawn furniture today. It looks great but still needs another coat. He's not happy but hey, what can you do? Of course there will be a photo of the finished product.

Nothing got done at the house this weekend. Don't ask me why. Other things got in the way, I suppose. Scott woke up with a cold during the night and is lying about, this afternoon. Except for loading up some cattle from the pasture in preparation for hauling them to a sale, he hasn't accomplished anything obvious today.

I'm about to head back over to the new place and might climb into bed myself. My neck is stiff as hell; don't know what I did to it. I haven't done much either. Some dishes at both houses. Snipped the sage and put it in the dehydrator. Put away the dried herbs first so there'd be some free trays. Pulled some weeds, watered the cosmos in the flower pots. We've got heat; after the past month of cold and rain, I almost forgot to see whether plants were starting to dry out.

The concert last night was good but only about 13 people attended. That must have been disappointing for the performers, who drove two hours to get out here. It was held in the Anglican church; nice little church, all wood, quite small. Very cosy. Next on the house concert list is Joel Fafard, who has made a name for himself and is generally getting well known, though that may not mean much in these parts — people are just plain busy at this time of year, and when they're not busy, they're tired. Dragging themselves to a concert may be too much to ask. Sometimes it's the last thing I feel like doing, too.

I Ate Too Much

Not really. I made sure to save room for dessert.

This is the last year for The Old House Café, the fine dining establishment in Kuroki. Chef Julia will be found next summer down at the beach instead, flipping burgers and sizzling fries. "Not that there's anything wrong with that," but I hate to see the place close up. Few places around here have good grub and the pretty atmosphere.

We're off to a house concert in town. Paschall and Dahl, a '40s swing/jazz/blues duo.

Leaves are Starting to Turn Colour Already

The footpath into my tiny herb garden is made with woolly thyme, which releases a flowery fragrance when stepped on.

The Likeminded Ladies are meeting for supper tonight at the Old House Cafe in Kuroki, so I am working like a dog trying to log enough hours for today and to make up for yesterday, when as well as picking and prepping herbs for drying, I had to make use of the gallon of raspberries Everett picked from the patch the day before. I made a double batch of freezer jam, which turned out delicious, if I say so myself.

Listening to Delores O'Riordon (formerly of the Cranberries) sing, as the live guest on the cultural affairs show Q on CBC Radio. I like her music but love hearing her Irish accent just about as much. Charming.

And now, back to work.