Fred Penner

Emil with two of his favourite women.

Donna and her daughter have both worked with Emil at the high school as aides, and today they were out cruising and stopped in. They stayed for about an hour and Emil still hasn't stopped vibrating.

During the course of the conversation I was reminded how careful I have to be when I speak to Emil. Of course I'm already aware that I mustn't say anything I wouldn't want repeated — word for word — but today was an example of why I have to think twice about figures of speech and colloquialisms and such, too.

Donna and her husband took Emil to a Brooks and Dunn concert in Saskatoon a couple years ago and, music lover that he is, Emil mentioned that the duo is performing in the city again tonight and he'd sure like to go but alas, has no tickets. He went on to talk to the ladies about James Taylor and Fred Penner, the children's entertainer, adding vehemently "If you don't like Fred Penner there's something wrong with you!"

Naturally I had to say that everyone has different taste in music so there's not something "wrong" with you if someone's music isn't up your alley.

"Yes there is, Mom! You said 'There's something wrong with anyone who doesn't like Fred Penner!' "

But - but - but - I didn't mean it literally ... try explaining that to Emil! I'm not sure he gets it. Now I remember that conversation though. Maybe I was right in the first place. Maybe there IS something wrong with you if you don't like Fred. I mean, what's not to like?

Click here and put your cursor on Fred there, in the middle. He'll sing you a tune.

Fred was playing and singing for kids and their parents when my boys were small. Now that they're 17 and 21, Fred has been touring the country and playing in university bars. In a radio interview he said these university students were all kidlets back in the day, and when he plays the bars they know all the words and sing along and it's a wild fun time. I believe it. What's not to love about these songs? And imagine a bunch of inebriated twenty-somethings who can sing along. How often do you find that nowadays? I mean, that people actually know the words to songs and can join in and enjoy themselves.

Fred Penner saved my skin on many a road trip with Emil and Everett. Between him and Sharon, Lois and Bram, all I had to do when a kid got fussy in his car seat was plunk in a cassette tape and voila, instant contentment from the back seat. Sweet relief in the front. It even worked if I had no cassette handy; I'd heard the songs enough to know them myself, so I'd just have to start singing. Every parent needs a tool like that one in her brat-busting kit.

Everett Does the Turd Tour

Another reason I thank heaven for kids living at home: we have two farm dogs with no damn manners.

Little Miss Honestly, Erin (see my favourites in the sidebar) has tagged me to do a quizzie thing. I am no good at these but I did enjoy Erin's, so here goes:

Ten Random Things You Don't Need to Know About Me:
1. I turn my nose up at fried egg yolks that are overcooked or broken.
2. I feel guilty for a moment when I kill a mosquito or squish a woodtick. Was it really necessary? Hmm?
3. I will swallow a baseball before I will cry in public.
4. I wear wool socks.
5. Thong.
6. I love the colour fuchsia.
7. I found this image on a blog this morning and felt like I was looking into a mirror no one else can see into.






From the Bogwitch's webpage. See the link to it in her comments below this entry.
8. I paint my toenails in summer and wear two silver toe-rings year round. Crows like shiny things.
9. Jesus Christ Who Cares? Heh.
10. I admit, I do. I love to read this stuff about other people. Anybody here wear toe-rings? Some of you probably have facial piercings and such. Not me. Having my ears pierced was enough trauma.
11. Can't cheat, have to list ten:
12. I'm running out of things to tell and there are some you'll never know. Never. NEVER!
13. My chequing account never, ever balances. Pain in the ass.
14. I don't mind playing cribbage.

Bogwitch has a meme-thing at her blog that would be fun to do among people you've spent time with. Like, Cathy, maybe I would tag you because we know each other so well.

Tuesday, I Meant Tuesday

Taken from the living room window just now.

I love it.

Mostly because I don't have to go out in it, and snow means there's no pressure to go out and work in the garden.

***

Wow, Pat, thanks for this link:
http://www.hornbyeagles.com/webcam.htm
How fascinating is this, to have sitting open on my desktop?
A bald eagle sits atop her nest and we're looking right in on her from behind; she swivels her head, she adjusts her position, she picks at some moss (well it could get dull after a while, sitting there; baby must be asleep). We hear her moving; we hear the traffic below. It's noisier than where I live. Boats on the water, maybe. Now some crows or gulls. A fly has landed on the nest. Don't suppose she'll bother with it.

Luck of the Draw

On the table next to my desk

8:02pm
“Woohoo, I do have some luck!” I said out loud to myself after hanging up the phone. Marilou called early this morning to tell me I’d won the first-prize draw from the greenhouse – a 12-inch potted petunia. So I guess I’ll have a petunia after all. I’d decided not to buy any annuals this year because I saved seed from calendula, zinnias, cosmos and poppies in the fall. But I also know I’ll see the old standbys as I stroll the greenhouse aisles and pick some up in spite of myself, for instant colour in the garden.
So I’ll have at least one lonely little petunia in my onion patch thanks to Althea, now 7, who pencilled my name and phone number on a scrap of paper and stuck it into a plastic pail with the others while I sipped black coffee from a styrofoam cup, ate an iced doughnut, and squeezed down the aisles of greenery to see what her mother was offering for sale this year. All the usuals, but it was so miserable outside I wasn’t in the mood to load up on six-packs of flowers. I approved the two-tone rosebush my sweetie liked and had offered to buy for me, and that was enough. When we get some warm weather I’ll do a proper shop.
For now, I’m hauling two huge, leafy potted tomatoes and the rosebush out of the porch and onto the step when the sun’s shining, and worrying that they’re getting chilled by the icy wind. “Wilt a little,” I said to them, “if it’s too cold for you out here. Brrr. I’m going back in.”
Yes of course I talk to my plants. Don’t you?
At tea time I went out and stood under the sun with my travel mug to look down at the weeds that are growing like themselves, and then up at the birds. There were six hawks circling high above my head and calling, to each other I presume. Six! Could that be a set of parents and their offspring from last year? A wild guess. These didn't look like the usual red-tailed hawks I see everywhere I go, but they might have been. Hard to tell from so far beneath.
The fuchsia peony that was ruthlessly dug up and transplanted last spring, before leafing out and then drying up, is poking a red tip from the ground. Yay! You were right, Maggie -- it made it. The shasta daisies are making an appearance this week. In this cold, I wonder why. Guess they know what they're doing. Plants can be trusted to grow no matter what you do to them, it seems.

We should have a litter of kittens here any day now, too. Kiersten Kat is starting to look like she's got a cardbox box in her belly. Wonder where she'll have them; in the loft? in the toolshed? in the doghouse? Never know, with cats. Looking forward to it though. That is, if Kiersten remains safely on the job. Every year Everett finds a litter of kittens near death, starved and freezing, their mother disappeared; and guess who ends up with them in her house, helping feed them a milk formula with eye droppers and wiping their wee bums with a damp cloth? You have to, or they won't "void." Yeah. I don't look forward to that; or to the thought that once Everett leaves home, I'll be doing it by myself. Kids can be pretty handy to have around.

It's Cold Out There

5:09pm
A little pot of tea is brewing on the countertop. When it’s ready I’ll pour a cup and sit beside Everett on the couch and watch him play Halo or whatever godawful game he’s got on his x-box. He loves it when I observe; I know this because he starts narrating. However, I still don’t understand the attraction of games that seem to do nothing but shoot at and destroy targets. I guess I’m missing the strategic aspects of the games that hold players’ interest.
Watching him play will bore me to tears within two minutes but I’ll hold out till the first cup is empty, anyway. It’s what mothers do. Isn’t it? Show interest in their children’s activities?

I’ve been at the old house twice today, managing loads of laundry in the washer and dryer. Went to Marilou’s greenhouse (I wore my ski pants and my winter jacket; there were snowflakes falling through the air) to pick out the rosebush Scott offered to buy me this year in Mom’s memory. Tanya had such a good idea when she gave me that first one, the first summer after Mom’s passing. I’ve continued the tradition and even though Mom didn’t have a favourite flower that I’m aware of, whenever I look at my roses in bloom I think of Mom and that means a lot to me.

A batch of whole wheat bread is ready to go into the oven in a few minutes. This will keep Everett happy, as he prefers homemade bread to all others, even for lunch sandwiches. Emil likes the store-bought stuff for sandwiches; thank goodness, or I’d be baking twice a week instead of once. There’s a pork roast in the oven, too, for the benefit of the serious carnivores. For me there will be cream of broccoli soup and warm buttered bread. Emil just eats anything and everything. All of it, if he can get away with that.

Well, off to sip that tea and try to understand the allure of videogames.

5:46pm
It’s not Halo, it’s Oblivion (so-called) and it’s more of a finding-magical-things game, with lots of onscreen reading and conversation. Still dull as hell to watch but Everett likes science fiction and fantasy so it’s up his alley apparently. I sat next to him and observed as his character made his way through castle corridors, stone streets and a fairy forest. And as expected, Everett narrated and I didn’t last long.

We still don't have our big TV over here, among other things; this TV (thanks Dad) is sitting on Mom's accordion case on the floor. We use it for videos (and Everett's xbox) and that's all. Pictures have yet to be hung. In a way it feels like we're still camping here. It's not cosy yet.

Snow Way!

Seen on my walk in the pasture the other day

Not today, oh no! It rained hard yesterday and snowed last night and again this morning. Sigh.

(Everett, laughs): "You wrote that just as you were actually sighing."

And then he mimicked me. Brat.

Is It Spring? Is It Winter? What?

Main Street Wadena

Alas, not today. Rain has pounded on the house all night; now it's sleet beating against the windows, and snow is forecast. All righty then! We don't live in a tipi so we have nothing to complain about. Except that I have been asked to go to town and pay some energy bills, so must venture out in this deluge. Then again, I don't have to ride a horse the six miles to town so I still can't complain. Always look on the sunny side of life, as they say in MontyPythonese.

I went along on a quick trip to the hardware store about a week ago and, as always, took a book along to read as I waited in the half-ton. However, the book wasn't even cracked open as I was too intent on people-watching. For a little town — 1200 or 1500 people — there is a lot of traffic downtown. I don't know half the people I see as they come in from miles around and, after all, Wadena isn't my hometown, but there are still a lot of familiar faces and you know what? Just as when I'm in an airport, I never, ever get bored. I can sit for hours just watching all the different people strolling by with their cellphones stuck to their ears or their little suitcases on wheels pulled behind them. Endless variety. Well it's the same on the main street of this little place.

We are still getting large flocks of noisy snowgeese passing over the yard. This picture was taken last week; today there is a green tinge on the branches of the willow tree:

What XanderCuzz (13) and Everett (17) Get Up To

1) Meet Hoolio (shouldn't that be Julio?). Xander took this photo from atop Everett's shoulders.
2) Stirring cheese sauce and straining spaghetti for supper.


They wanted to play on the x-box and their noses were out of joint when I wouldn't let them.
"It's a school day," I said; but Everett had no homework, and thought that meant—
"Hell no," I told them. "Go find something else to do. Go outside and sneak around, smoking cigarettes and drinking beer, like we did when I was a teenager."
Amazingly, they didn't really complain, although they did try to reason me out of my unreasonable stance. After all, they had no homework.
Eventually they ended up dragging sticks through the gravel on the driveway. This entertained them for a long time and then they were so pleased with it they took pictures.

Tues

Empty birdhouses. So far. I bought this set at Ten Thousand Villages for $18 or $20.

My Sidekick

Caught in the act!

That's Everett's caption for the photo.

Emil was actually asking me what was in the tube. It was icing.

One of his favourite pastimes is going to the Co-op store. While I fill a shopping cart, he strides down the aisles and says a loud "Hello!" to anyone he knows. I can hear his crutches clicking away in the distance.

To anyone he doesn't know, he says "Hello, what's your name?" and often follows it with "How old are you?"

***
Monday after school
Me: “Come to think of it, I talked to Gunnar on the phone today. He’s got a new puppy— an English pug.”
Emil: “Did you ask Gunnar to sing something for you?”
Me: “No. Why would I do that?”
Emil: “I don’t know. I just thought you might.”
Everett and I laugh, and Everett says to me across the table, “One time I mentioned that Gunnar had been here, and Emil asked if you’d made him sing.”
Emil: “Do you want to hear Gunnar sing?” He is dead earnest, but Everett and I can’t help giggling. The question seems to come out of left field.
Someone has said something to get Emil thinking along these lines, but for the life of me I can’t remember what that might have been. It was probably me, too.

Snow in April

Alexander was over yesterday, hanging out with Everett. I enlisted their muscles to carry the lawn furniture out of the shed and set it under the oak trees, whose lower branches had just been sawed off.

Wouldn't you know that this morning we'd awaken to snow and a freezing temperature.

***

A perfect day for baking bread and making granola and reading my new library book, Burmese Lessons.
If you've never enjoyed the living words of Canadian author Karen Connolly, you're in for a treat. You are drawn in from the very first sentence and within several paragraphs you care what happens next and don't want to put the book down.
I first discovered Connolly many years ago when I picked up the travel memoir of her months spent in Greece as a young woman alone. You were right there with her as she sat on the floor, leaning against the wall of a small stone building, watching goats graze and nibbling on feta cheese. After that I read her novel about a gentle, peaceful man in solitary confinement in an Asian jail for decades. And now her love affair with Burma, the Burmese people and a Burmese revolutionary.

For a full and expert review, click here.

Grandma's New Outfit

Grandma needs a new pantsuit for dressy occasions, so Aunt Reta put me on the hunt for one. Today I checked out Wadena's dress store.

What kind of pantsuit does a tiny 93-year-old lady like?

I didn't find one but got some good deals and put together this set for a summery day.

Let's hope she doesn't hate green. The pants are green pedal-pushers (What are they called now? Anyway, woo hoo, Shirley! they won't need shortening!), and as you can see the pretty blouse is bright green.

I also found a second pair of pedal-pushers, white with pinstripes and large pockets; cute.

The flowered T-shirt is particularly pretty due to the strip of lace running vertically behind the flowers. I rather covet it myself. Might just have to go back there for another one.

Cheek to Cheek

Ferme aux pissenlits, a.k.a. Ste-Edwidge Farm, by Louise Martineau

Don't tell me the dandelions are already up in Quebec, Louise!

***
Louise is still working on her cows; her son says her painted cows look like blobs.
However, Lou, that is exactly how cows DO look sometimes -- like giant blobs. So you're not that far off anyway.
***

The vet advises us to put Chloe Doodle down. I've cancelled her Monday appointment to be spayed, in view of that fact, but haven't got the heart to make an appointment to euthanize her. She seems so happy, so lively, so glad to be here. It just doesn't seem right and we are having trouble taking that step.

***

I was out on the back step at 7:30 this morning, black coffee in hand, wearing my fluffy white housecoat with a winter jacket on top, sitting in a lawnchair overlooking the slough, listening to the frogs and various birds including snow geese off in the distance. Gorgeous calm day, eastern horizon pink behind the trees; a flock of long-necked swans flew over my head.

Later, after a walk to the ravine with the dogs, I sat on a flat rock in my herb garden and listened to the birds calling to each other all around the yard. It's heaven, I tell you.

I didn't sing it then, but often do while out walking around here:

It's a Dogs' Life

How Casper and Chloe spend their days

While me, I have three million things to do and, to be honest, only feel like doing one of them: and that's getting outside for a walk. To hell with the dishes, work, supper -- who needs 'em?

Living Skies - No Kidding

It's like the skies are filled with swarms of mosquitoes for as far as the eye can see. Only they're loud mosquitoes; last night the flock that settled in the field southwest of our house drowned out the already-loud singing of the frogs in our own yard.

All night. They were still gabbling this morning when I woke up. I wonder what that's all about. Are they smaller flocks meeting for an evening's mating dance? Previously acquainted flocks that have lots of catching up to do? Parts of the same flock that have to compare notes and make plans for the next day's flight routes? Maybe the intense noise keeps coyotes and foxes at bay when the birds can't see their predators approaching in the dark.

Saskatchewan licence plates say "Land of Living Skies" and there are some folks who don't see the significance of that. I laugh when the CBC does its radio call-in shows and someone calls in to say the "motto" is meaningless. Where are these people's heads, I wonder? They must either be city dwellers who don't experience this display of bird migration and have no idea what they're missing, or they are people who never look up and don't listen to what's going on around them. The secret: be still, be quiet for one whole minute. How easy is that? And with the snow geese flying over on their way to northern nesting grounds, you don't even have to do that much. You can't miss 'em.

Granted, we live on a migratory flight path. Maybe we're just lucky. But I imagine most of the province is passed over by these huge flocks of birds, and not just snow geese either. There are sandhill cranes, too, giant long-legged birds that stand like flamingos as they feed in the stubblefields, and fly over, high, in slow, lazy circles.

A few of the snow geese last night, seen from my back step:

Land of Living Skies

Spruce grouse next to the driveway

The flock of snow geese is so noisy a half-mile away, landed in the stubblefield, that it sounds like the hum of an engine. I can only say Wow.

And when they fly low over the house, their wings make a mechanical zing.

Lost Day

It's been a wasted day, to be honest, unless you're someone who believes sleeping is a good way to pass the day.
I woke up feeling pretty sprightly at 9 but by 11:30 was exhausted from doing nothing and crawled back into bed for another short snooze. Then woke up tired yet again and decided a walk in the warm wind and sun might fix me up. It didn't. By the time I got back in I was doing that thing you do before you empty your guts -- you know, where you're hot and cold at the same time? That thing. So I did what was called for, took a pill, and slept till 7:30. Now I'm rarin' to go! What's on the agenda for Saturday night? Not much. We'll probably watch a movie. The best part of that might be eating potato chips and sipping on gingerale. My life is so exciting.

Everett had to go out and rescue a garter snake from Chloe Doodle this morning, and when I was out in the afternoon there was another one crossing the lawn and Chloe was barking and pouncing at it. I didn't have the nerve to pick it up and deposit it elsewhere but Chloe listened when I told her to leave it alone, so I was impressed with her. Another dog I used to have, Annie Doodle, when she saw a snake would roll on it until it was dead. That was lovely, as you can imagine.

Have I mentioned that her hair is growing back in? Yeah, so that's a good sign that maybe, just maybe, she has beat this demodex thing. Although she still has bloody, raw patches of skin, so maybe she hasn't beat it. She's got an appointment to be spayed on the 27th but I need to take her to the vet first, to see what he thinks. If he doesn't agree that she's got the parasitic infection beat, we probably should put her down before the mosquitoes and ticks get bad. The former were out today, I'm told. I don't want to put my doggie friend down, so I have kept hoping and giving her every chance. Her diet has been modified to include vast amounts of raw beef and bones over the winter (our yard looks like an above-ground graveyard; it's gross), and we're making sure to buy kibble that doesn't have colourings and preservatives in it, and I even made herb tea to boost her immune system and mixed it with the dry food; she licked that right up.

I was in bed by 9 last night because my Mr brought the screens up and put them in the windows, and I could lie there listening to the frogs croaking and singing. There must be thousands of them in the slough behind the house; it's absolutely wonderful. I just lie there and smile, and smile, and smile. I love the sound. And wonder why it is that some frogs croak, and some sing. Or do they all do both? Must see what I can find out.

On a Friday in April

"There were times when I could not afford to sacrifice the bloom of the present moment to any work, whether of the head or hand.
Sometimes, on a summer morning, I sat in my sunny doorway from sunrise till noon, rapt in a revery, amidst the pines and hickories and sumacs, in undisturbed solitude and stillness, while the birds sang around or flitted noiseless through the house, until by the sun falling in at my west window, or the noise of some traveller's wagon on the distant highway, I was reminded of the lapse of time.
"I grew in those seasons like corn in the night, and they were far better than any work of the hands would have been."
-Henry David Thoreau, in Walden Pond

The City = Money Spent

When we drove past this dog on the roof of a house in Yorkton yesterday, the man behind the wheel quickly made a u-turn and said "Get the camera out! Otherwise no one will believe us."

Had a visit with Agnes (my second mom) and Elgin McLelland while we were there, also saw Chrissy L-Bo on a meal break from her cooking job at Zeller's, and two people from Margo.

Came home with four cordless phones (our old one interfered with my iMac; it would wake it from sleep, and turn it on from Off) for the price of two; an ironing board because Everett bent the old one out of shape, not knowing how to put it down (not that I iron more than twice a year but when you have to, you have to); a new clothes brush and one of those sticky-rolly ones with tape on it (they don't work, either, for what I bought them for: the furniture we bought in August came with all this sawdusty stuff stuck in the microfibre and nothing removes it -- not the vacuum cleaner, not a damp cloth, not my fingernails without a lot of time and cursing, nothing -- I am going to have to go over it all with tweezers and what a pain in the ass that will be. Should've taken the furniture out of the boxes it came in, before December; then would have felt all right about returning it. As it is, the vendor shrugged when we told her in January, but she offered no options, solutions or apology; we won't shop there again, I guess, even though it's not her fault it took us four months to inspect our purchase); Louisiana hot sauce from Peavey Mart; new doorknobs for the office, bathroom and bedroom doors; $42 worth of organic apples, oranges and tomatoes from Superstore, since our local Co-op doesn't get organics in regularly (we aren't fans of big box stores and prefer to help keep our local businesses in business, but sometimes they just won't let us! Though the Co-op has now got a line of organic products in, so good for them -- they're trying); and a "thing" to hang the garden hose on.

We hate shopping. It's a dirty job. But you know: somebody's gotta do it.

God Damn Dishes

Sigh.

:)
Just kidding.
Rick even offered to do the dishes after we had supper with him and Faye on Thursday night.
After I scraped myself off the floor, we all went for a short walk in the cool evening air, instead, and then sat about drinking wine, rum and/or tea and eating chocolate fudge.
The dishes above aren't those from Thursday night.
They are what awaited me on the kitchen counter when the boys and I arrived home around 8 last night.
***
I'm told Chloe Doodle had a standoff with a coyote in our back yard yesterday morning. Didn't think the little hound had it in her; neither animal was backing down, till the coyote heard a human voice from the bedroom window and vamoosed.

Dinner for Four

The slough behind my garden, where a pair of gigantic Canada geese have been hanging out on the water that is open

I have to do last night's supper dishes this morning (we had my sister-in-law Lynn over so I visited with her instead of cleaning the kitchen after we ate), do the Tibetan Rites and squeeze in four hours of work sometime today, make dessert for tonight's supper with friends, and then make the simple supper. It's going to be an easy one, too -- pork chops browned in a frying pan and then baked in mushroom soup (always a favourite around here)(we just bought half a pig; it's *real* farm-raised pork, not factory-farmed, and that makes a huge difference in flavour) and home-made cabbage rolls, which I bought from a lady (Mary Psovsky) in town yesterday, and a green salad and maybe some steamed carrots. Someone else will have to wash and peel potatoes if he wants them, because I abhor that job.

I intend to do all the kitchen work in the most enjoyable manner I can -- listening to music that I love and singing along, dancing around the kitchen, and maybe even sipping on a glass of chilled white wine to put me in the "party" mood. If all goes well, the food will be prepped and the kitchen cleaned up before Faye and Rick arrive, so I can relax and maybe, if I don't pay attention, have one too many glasses of wine. Nah; it isn't worth the headache I'd likely get.

Another Week

Me and Chloe Dog got out for a walk across the road to the old homestead this afternoon. There's not much left there now but some old junk and a crumbled foundation, but you walk back into a beautifully private, treed meadow on a slight hill. This would be your view facing south, if you built a house there. I've always pictured the spot with a tipi in the centre of it.

We had company for the weekend, and after they left this morning, I talked to both Dad and Joan on the phone. Joan's updated her website; go have a look. Especially if you live near Kelowna.

Paska

The making of paska, an Easter bread, by chef Mary Woloshyn

Willis and I made the rounds of hospital patients yesterday and then strolled over to the nursing home to have afternoon tea with the longterm-care residents. One of the local ladies was making this traditional Ukrainian paska so we admired her handiwork.
















You have to move quickly to get all the tiny pieces of dough into place before they rise too much, but when you're successful, the finished product looks like this:

Still Alive

Photo taken from the parking lot at Ten Thousand Villages on Avenue C in Saskatoon

The store was just about to close when I drove past it on my way back from dropping the boys off with Gord in North Battleford, our halfway meeting-point, on Saturday. The fellow behind the counter was counting up his cash and gave me a few minutes to zip through the store and see what I could see. I ended up buying some funky birdhouses. Photos to follow one of these days. I hung them out in the oak trees this afternoon before hurrying off.

So Emil and Everett are gone to Edmonton. I've run into town for the past two afternoons — on Tuesday for a hair cut and today for my palliative care volunteering — and of course no trip to town is short and simple. Hell no. You always have to do 40 other things too: get the mail, stop at the library, go to the bank, pick up groceries, drop off things at the goodwill, take recycling in, blah blah blah. There is no such thing as a quick trip. Yesterday I wanted to wash the duvets and two of the quilts Mom made, so did a stint at the laundromat too, where they were done in an hour instead of the six it would have taken to clean them at the old house. We still don't have a washer and dryer hooked up at the new place so laundry remains a pain in the keester to do.

Among my CDs of choice this week is one by Leon Redbone. If Everett were here he'd be climbing the walls, because Redbone's songs are all so singable and I never shut up. Plus, I can whistle:



On the night table is A Mother's Story: the Fight to Free My Son David, by Joyce Milgaard with Peter Edwards. That is one terrible, sad story that makes my guts churn. Talk about not getting your prayers answered ... for more than 20 years. Talk about being screwed over by the police, the courts, and even your so-called friends.

Now that my running to town is done for this week, I hope to do some baking: more jam-jams, since the first batch disappeared like magic; some raisin-rye bread, as Cathy picked up some rye flour for me and I haven't made raisin-rye bread in some years; and bagels. We need some home-made bagels. Good intentions; how much do you want to bet I don't get more than one of those things done by Sunday. The inlaw clan is descending for the Easter weekend so I may be busier than usual-- that will have to be my excuse even though only Gunnar and his girlfriend will likely be staying at our house.

* Heather, tell your dad I picked up another bagful of books for him at the library today. All giveaways.

Ducky Doodle, the Dumpling Dog

The morning ritual:
Ducky comes upstairs with Everett, who opens the basement door. I hear Ducky's claws clicking toward me down the hall, as fast as he can come. He jumps onto the rocking chair next to the bed, then onto the bed beside me, and I say good morning and pet him. He presents his chest for rubbing.
I get up and make the bed, then take my coffee and go sit in my housecoast in the armchair in front of the living room window to watch the birds. I invite Ducky to join me and he hops up and makes himself comfortable. I pet; he presents his chest for scratching.
The afternoon ritual:
I take my tea to the armchair and Ducky hops up and snuggles in while I sip the hot brew and watch the birds at the feeders. There are redpolls, black-capped chickadees, and two pairs of woodpeckers -- downy, and another pair that is almost twice the size, also black and white but with some red on the male's neck, just as the male downy has. Must set the bird book beside the chair so I can figure out what they are, next time. And of course, magpies land on the ground under the oak trees once in a while to scavenge for sunflower seeds.
Today on my way back from Karen's (she'd made doughnuts; yum) I saw and heard crows. We've also seen a few Canada geese. Yep, spring she is a-springing, even though it's below freezing again.
I had to leave Ducky at Karen's for a few nights, but keep thinking I hear his nails clicking toward me in the house and then am disappointed when I remember he's not here. Everett, too, says he misses him already. We look longingly at the empty laundry basket where he sleeps during the day. Nothing in it now but a quilt, a rawhide bone, and a squirrel hand-puppet. We sigh. And he's only been gone a few hours. Pathetic.
This morning I made jam-jams. It's been years since I've had jam-jams!

*** See Scott's cousin Lasse's photo of a leaping lamb ... cute cute cute. Click on the photo to enlarge it.

Sitting Up Late

This isn't a good photo of Grandma but it's the best I can do since the lodge is quarantined due to the Norwalk virus. Aunt Reta, who came up from Phoenix for Uncle Bruce's funeral, won't be able to visit Grandma one more time before starting her trek home on Saturday. How much does that suck, after coming all this way and being unlikely to get back for some time?

The picture above was taken during a recent visit to Grandma. I took her a bag of Werther's toffee and she seemed to enjoy handing them out. It's just over a year since I moved her from Wadena to Kelvington. She weighed 72 pounds at that time. Since then, she's gained more than 30 pounds and twice I've had to go shopping for pants another size larger. She's gone from wearing 6Petites to 10Petites. Has her health improved that much? Well yes; she was in horrible shape the day I moved her. She had to go by wheelchair everywhere and I needed helping getting her in and out of my vehicle. She'd insist on trying to walk herself, and for the first few days the staff kept a belt around her waist so they could keep her from falling while they walked beside her.

This afternoon I had a real treat. I glanced out the office window and saw, on the other side of the frozen slough behind the garden, a coyote hunting mice by the fence. It was a beautiful young animal with thick luscious fur, rust-hued on the backs of its ears and legs, and a playful attitude. It pounced at a spot on the snow and then dug frantically, and the next thing I knew a small dark rodent stood out against the white snow, on its hind legs as if it was calling the coyote out for a duel. The coyote danced with the mouse for quite a while, almost coyly and with what appeared to be a slight, sweet smile, before the mouse disappeared into the coyote’s narrow, sharp snout. It pounced and dug, sticking its nose into the snow several more times, while a hopeful magpie watched from a fencepost just feet away.

Finally I heard growling from next to the house; our beast Chloe had noticed the wild dog. In a few moments she started barking and the coyote threw its head up in surprise and looked toward the house before bolting reluctantly toward the line of trees to the south. It went barely through an opening and then stopped and turned to look back at the dogs, both of which were now barking. The coyote took a few more steps onto higher ground (or higher snowbank) behind a few trees and laid down to watch the dogs. It wasn’t until they lit out toward it that it leapt up, yipped as if to complain about the inhospitability of these damn domestic servants, and ran out the other side of the trees and along the edge of the field, out of reach of my binoculars.

Naturally my camera wouldn’t turn on because the batteries were dead. Can they not invent a camera that will notify you when your batteries are getting weak before they're actually dead, so that one doesn’t miss such opportunities? You'd think so.

White Knucklin'

Everett's 17 years old and seems to be in no rush whatsoever to get his driver's licence. Unlike me and any other kid I've ever known, who could hardly wait till the day they turned 16. Anyway, he's finally got his learner's so I made him get into the driver's seat the other day to go a mile down the road to the old house for something. It's his knuckles that are white, not mine. I thought it was supposed to be the parent who was nervous when their kid drives, and not the other way around. Not in this case; he's so cautious, I'm tempted to tell him to stomp on the gas pedal.

After two weeks with this weird cold, and one night this weekend when my migraine meds didn't work so I spent half the night on the floor with a puke pail, I am finally feeling normal again. I don't know how people with chronic illness or pain do it; I really don't. Hats off to them.

We're getting a dose of winter again today. Cool wind, snow. I wore my ski pants this afternoon. Laugh all you want; I didn't have to hurry into any buildings.

***

Lately Emil’s been showing off his knowledge of homonyms.
“Mom. Sometimes two words sound the same but they’re spelled different and they have different meanings.” He says this so earnestly. “I’ll tell you some. Their and there. T-h-e-i-r, and t-h-e-r-e.”
I listen and say “MmHM. That’s right.”
“Or close and clothes. C-l-o-t-h-e-s is like clothes you wear, and c-l-o-s-e is like close the door or the drawer.”
“Or shoe and shoo. One is s-h-o-e, like the shoe that you wear on your foot, and the other one is s-h-o-o, like when you shoo a fly away.”
He goes on to explain the difference between son and sun, then adds “I’m pretty smart you know.”
That’s true, I say. He goes on:
“K-n-o-w, like what do you know today or what song do you know, or no like no you can’t.”
“W-o-u-l-d, like would you like to do something with me or would someone make fun of you, or w-o-o-d, like wood you use to make a fire.”
There is a quite a long list, and as long I will sit beside him on the couch he will continue edumacating me.

Love Me Like a River Does

Some people don't like a lot of vibrato in a voice, and I often fall into that camp. But not in this case. It really works for Melody Gardot in this song, which has some of the sexiest lyrics I've heard in a long time. Not too much, not too little ... just right.

Does it make you wish your honey was home, and your kids were not?

eBay Infant

Princess Ann dishes

Resting on my butt for a few minutes while onions sauté for the cheese soup I'm making. A good time to make a short entry.

When Dad came out from Kelowna for Bruce's memorial, he brought me the above set of dishes, which belonged first to his mother and then to Dad and Mom. Out of curiosity she had asked me five years ago to poke around on the internet to find out what they're worth. I had no luck then, but this afternoon I went to eBay to try again. Not that I'd part with them, you understand. I've even managed to make room to display them on the shelves of our little kitchen.

Again I was unable to find these particular dishes online, but I did end up with lists of Princess House crystal for sale and when I saw a couple good deals, figured I'd try to pick up a couple things I've wanted for a long time but are no longer available as new items.

Learned a good lesson when, as highest bidder for a tabletop knife-holder (I won the auction for tabletop spoon- and fork-holders several minutes earlier), the countdown to the end of the auction was down to five minutes and as I watched the seconds tick away I thought I should be prepared to raise my bid at the last moment. I put my cursor in the bid box, ready. With 10 seconds left to go, the other bidder topped my bid by 50 cents and I missed beating the new bid by one second! Next time I'll have that bid box filled out and my finger hovering over the "Enter" key. Hmph.

***Aunt Reta just told me these dishes were on the head table at Mom and Dad's wedding supper. Nice to know. How lucky am I to have an aunt who knows all these interesting tidbits and thinks of telling me?

Yesterday we loaded up the back of the half-ton for a trip to the dump, so I put on my "work" jacket—not because I did any hefting but because it's spring weather and my winter coat is too warm. After a leisurely drive through the countryside we nipped into town for mail, a few groceries and some gas.

I noticed a tiny puppy in the vehicle next to ours and her owner gladly stepped over to show her off. In no time at all she drew other admirers, wondering whether ... well let me put it this way: Note to Sheila B~ to find homes for puppies, take one with you when you go to public places!

This is Peanut and her girl:

Good Time for a Snuggle

Buck Duckster III, also known as Little Lord Fauntleroy, at tea time.


I've had a cold since Monday and have been staying close to home. Not suffering; just resting. Strange mild cold, and two others in the household have a variation of it.

The snow is melting.

Buck Duckster's cushion:

Redpoll Rescue

Birds hit our living room window almost every day; sometimes more than once a day. Most of them "stumble" midair and fly off to get their bearings in a nearby tree. This little redpoll had struck the glass hard, his fallen body embedded deep into soft snow below the window. Everett scurried out to scoop the tiny creature gently into his hand. Was it alive? Its eyes were closed, its head drooped, but wait! One eye opened, just slightly, to peek at us. After several minutes the bird was alert but still unmoving in the palm of Everett's hand, but when I spoke to it in soothing tones and tenderly caressed its feathered breast, it flew a few inches and clung to his bunnyhug. Twenty minutes later it attempted to escape to the sky, but crash landed at Everett's feet instead. He quickly grabbed it before Chloe Doodle the Dumpling Dog could check it out too closely. When the redpoll finally made a successful flight into the trees, Everett had been standing patiently in the yard for 40 minutes.

Uncle Bruce

Bruce's obituary was to be brief; there would be no rhapsodizing about his heroic qualities either in the obit or at his memorial; he wanted everything to be down to earth and factual — no weighting of his earthly existence on the side of saintliness. "He wasn't perfect," my aunt Shirley said, as we sat down to put the obit together. My reply: "He almost was!" He could sound gruff, but he was a gentle man; he never hurt anyone, to my knowledge; he took care of his family and I am pretty sure that anyone who ever needed his help got it.
He was 15 years old when I was born and although I was likely teased and playfully roughed up as a little girl, my Uncle Bruce always treated me right as I grew up. When he started bringing his girlfriend Shirley out to Margo on weekends, they never came without chocolate bars for me and my younger siblings, which of course made their arrival much anticipated. It was Uncle Bruce who started my Christmas gift-buying habit. When I was in Grade 3 and sister Karen was in Grade 1, he gave us his year's collection of pocket change, which filled a tobacco tin or two. We'd work and save to add to it so we could afford presents for all the family, and we had a lot of fun finding the perfect gift for everyone. When we were a little older and Bruce and Shirley were married (we sang Whither Thou Goest at their wedding, wearing short matching blue fortrel dresses that Mom sewed for us, with ruffly white blouses), Karen and I were invited to stay with them in the city during summer holidays. They'd be at work and we'd play their Hey Jude Beatles LP and walk to the neighbourhood pool on hot afternoons and I'd terrorize my poor little sister if she didn't do just as she was told; she probably still has nightmares. Years later, after I'd left home, weekend visits weren't complete until I'd driven out to Bruce and Shirley's farm for a cup of coffee with them. I don't think either of them has ever said an unkind word to me and after 51 years, that's a pretty decent record.

Anyway, after that little ramble, here's Uncle Bruce's obituary:

Archie Bruce Benson was born in Wadena on June 27, 1943, and passed away at the age of 66 on Feb 27, 2010, in the Wadena Hospital.
Bruce was the eldest son of Doris (Bartley) and Emil Benson and was raised along with Grace, Reta and Neil on the family farm eight miles north and two miles east of Margo. During some winters the family lived in town and the hotel patrons got a kick out of little Bruce, who, sent by his dad to encourage a certain gentleman to come back to work after dinner, would use some colourful language.
After graduating from Margo School, Bruce studied drafting at the Saskatchewan Technical Institute in Moose Jaw and then worked for the City of Regina. While living in the city he met Shirley Scott, a Foam Lake girl transplanted to Regina, and they married in 1969. After several more years in the city they purchased the farm next to Bruce’s childhood home and made it their residence for the next 35 years. There they raised their two children, Karla and Gerald, and farmed until moving into Margo in 2008. Over the years Bruce also worked for Doug Domeij and for Wheatbelt in Wadena.
Bruce volunteered with the Emergency Medical Service in the City of Regina and after moving home, sat on the boards of the Sask Wheat Pool, the Margo Community Club and the Margo Co-op. Some of his favourite pastimes were hockey, fishing, camping and hunting, and he loved old cars.
He was very good to his kids, and when they had children of their own, Bruce was a delighted grandpa. His smile showed off the Bartley gap between his two front teeth — a trait shared by many of his close relatives, including his granddaughter Gracie.
Bruce was predeceased by his sisters Naomi (who died in infancy) and Grace, and by his father, Emil. He is survived by his mother, Doris; brother Neil (Rose) Benson and nieces Heather, Jolene, Leanne and families; sister Reta (Carl) Morris and nephews Nathan, Damon and family; brother-in-law Don (Grace) Johnson and Kathy, Karen, Cameron, Joan and families; wife Shirley; daughter Karla (Dallas) Dareichuk; son Gerald; and grandchildren Tristan, Gracie and Paxton. He will also be missed by Marley, the little dog Bruce called “Fluffy.”
Bruce would be pleased if donations in lieu of flowers were made to the Margo Hall.

Forty Days

Each day for 40 days this glass on the kitchen window sill will be refilled with fresh water.
I learned about this ritual from a neighbour who attended the Greek Orthodox church. When someone dies, the water is placed out for 40 days for the spirit of the loved one to come and drink.
It's a reminder of Bruce many times a day; it's a prolonged, private goodbye; it helps me mourn.
It brings to mind the biblical promise of the Christian god not to send another flood after the one that lasted 40 days and 40 nights. It's a reminder that there won't be another Bruce, either.

Your Long Journey

After you've spent a few hours with someone meeting their death, you may be fortunate enough to understand that it was time to go and that he was ready. At least, that's what Bruce told me on the day he went into the hospital, and while I hoped he was wrong about being "on my way out," as he said, I can understand that he had had enough. I'm glad he was ready, even if the rest of us really weren't ready to part with him.

Anyone who's had to say a final farewell to a loved one had best prepare to shed a few tears if you're going to listen to this song, a duet by Alison Krauss and Robert Plant:

Quick 'n' Dirty

I've spent a lot of time at the hospital over the past week with my Uncle Bruce, who passed away on Saturday afternoon. Between that and working in my office ... well, you can understand why I haven't had time to update. Will get back to it when I can. - Kathy

Emil at the Lodge

Looking out the café window at suppertime.

On Sunday we finally got to Kelvington to see Grandma, after stopping for a fast-food meal at the service station at the highway. I gave Grandma all my excuses for it being so long since we'd been there: stormy weather snowing us into the yard; Emil's cold lasting too long; this, that and the other. Her response: "Oh, is that it?"

After two hours it was time for her to get ready for bed so she walked us to the door. Emil had worn winter boots instead of running shoes, and sat on a piano bench inside the front door to pull them on. Grandma sat in a chair against the wall, alongside two other residents who watched Emil's progress with some interest. He had a lot of trouble, but did not want me to help, so Everett and I waited patiently. And waited.
He struggled to hold his foot up so he could get hold of the boot; oh it was painful to watch, believe me.
"Good thing there's no fire," I said. "Are you sure I can't help you?"
"No, I can do it myself."
We waited. He kept trying. No luck.
Finally I suggested that the liner in the boot was twisted or squashed and maybe I should have a look. Emil thought he needed to sit on a lower chair, then he'd be better able to manage. He moved over beside Grandma and carried on, but took off the boot and let me straighten the liner first.
The lady and gentleman watching had been making comments to each other: "His foot is turned the wrong way" and "I used to slide a plastic bag over my foot."
Finally the lady told Emil, "Put a plastic bag on your foot and it will slide right into your shoe."
Emil got excited. "Actually," he said, "it's a boot, not a shoe!"
She looked perplexed. I explained that Emil thinks very literally, and always corrects me when I say, for example, "It's nine o'clock" if it's actually five to nine. Or if I tell him to go get in the car, when what we drive is a van. Close isn't good enough. He can never let it slide, even if he's understood what I meant.
They got quite a kick out of that.

Little Ol' Laddie-Hoo

2:08pm
Everett sits behind me on the couch. He says “You would look funny on video.” I have just put on a CD and am dancing and singing in front of the picture window, looking out at the bright snow covering the lawn.
As long as I’m still dancing and singing, I figure I must be doing all right.
Everett’s bedroom is at the bottom of the stairs and he closes the door when he plays videogames. I can’t as loudly call down as I can yodel “Little ol’ laddie-hoo” and this has begun to drive Everett batty.
I live in fear of becoming youtube fodder. Heh!

Family Newsletter

Joni van Gogh, a.k.a. Joni Mitchell, self-portrait

Things are peaceful around our house and the boys have been home all week, with classes shut down while the teachers busy themselves elsewhere.

Everett baked cookies one afternoon; I made eight loaves of bread yesterday, and Everett mixed up bagels, which I boiled before putting in the oven.

In family news:

Karen dropped off some food for Buckminster Duckster III one afternoon and stayed for a couple cups of green tea. They enjoyed their week in Mexico. I asked if they'd go to the same place again and she thought not; it was uncrowded and quiet and perfect for a laidback holiday, but if you want to explore and do things you have to travel out from the little village where they stayed. Next time they'd opt for a more touristy location.

An uncrowded beach! That is right up my alley. There aren't enough of those.

What else:

Emil got a hold of Neil, so he drove out yesterday, stayed for a couple cups of tea, and left with a bag of Everett's cookies. Woulda had fresh hot bread if his departure had been delayed by a half-hour. He and Rose have been putting new flooring in their house and since he'd been sawing on the main floor, she was busy cleaning. We know what that's like. Neil's legs still get really sore after very little exertion, since he had a stroke several years ago. Someone told him that can go away, but it can take seven years. He's got his fingers crossed.

News of Uncle Bruce is that he's pretty tired, not going much further than to the shed for a cigarette ... and at the same time, that he and Shirley went to Denare Beach recently to babysit Karla's kids. That long drive (six or seven hours from here) and a couple active grandchildren require some energy, so maybe he's feeling better these days.

I haven't been to see Grandma for a month and although there is usually some reason -- road or weather is bad, something else is on, I'm lazy, Scott and I plan to go and then he doesn't show up till I no longer feel like going, Emil wants to go but has a cold and has been sneezing and sniffling all over the house, so on, so forth. There is always something. I am determined to get there this weekend. Maybe she forgets you were there five minutes after you leave, but she is always happy to see you and it's not only for her that I go, anyway; it's for me. And the boys. We will not have Grandma here forever.

Joni Mitchell sings and plays River, one of her most beautiful songs, in her younger days:

Packing Up the Treasures

Grandma Johnson's china cabinet gets emptied out.

Scott had an offer of help to move heavy objects this week, so it was time to get prepared. I took Emil and Everett with me to the old house yesterday afternoon; they packed up treasures of their own, while I carefully wrapped up old dishes that once belonged to my grandmothers, my great-grandmother, my great-aunts and my great-great aunt.

There are a few other items that didn't require padding: two antique flashlights, one that Grandpa Benson (his birthday today) gave me; a tiny carved set of three wooden cooking utensils that were made by my great-great-great grandfather for my great-grandmother; a brass and enamel bell.

I also made a pile of things to drop off at the recycling centre in hopes that someone else can use them: glass teacups that came from a garage sale with a punch bowl we never used; most of the Christmas mugs (keeping only my one favourite); flower vases that don't get used because I have too many. Now I just need to unpack the boxes so I can get back over there, pack the giveaways into them and haul them to town.

Lucille Clifton

What? Doesn't everybody stand on the toilet lid and look out the window while brushing their teeth?

And yes, this pig has wings. Which is why it's one of my favourites: it reminds me that there is always hope that the impossible is possible.

Lucille Clifton has died. Here's one of her poems:

There is a girl inside
There is a girl inside.
She is randy as a wolf.
She will not walk away and leave these bones
to an old woman.
She is a green tree in a forest of kindling.
She is a green girl in a used poet.
She has waited patient as a nun
for the second coming,
when she can break through gray hairs
into blossom
and her lovers will harvest
honey and thyme
and the woods will be wild
with the damn wonder of it.

Music

Wadena Community Hall last night after a delicious catered supper. If only I could eat more!

Yesterday there were bluegrass and old-time music workshops for musicians in the afternoon, followed by supper and an evening of entertainment. It wasn't intended to be a dance but there were dedicated "stubblejumpers" who got up onto the wooden floor at every opportunity. We love our waltzes and polkas around here.

I realized that bluegrass, in particular when there are vocals and not just instruments, makes me happy. They can even be singing about that poor Jewish carpenter twisted and suffocating on a cross, and no matter: I will be smiling. The singer's wiry voice reminds me of Uncle Bob and his old-time guitar in the kitchen after family suppers, and my feet are tapping and swinging. Happy.

Finally caught up on Doc Maclean’s blog. His Century Tour webpage takes readers on a pictorial tour of Canada — lots of great road shots, human scenery and stage venues with heart. We travel along with Doc and Big Dave as they come across outstanding B&Bs, tasty meals, the Remembrance Day ceremony in Port Hardy, a gravesite with a unique marker (a bicycle with antler handlebars), bits of local history; it's a parade of delighted movement across the land. The tour ended in December and Doc isn’t blogging anymore, darn it. Looks like I’ll have to wait for the next tour.

It’s been a few years since I’ve been on a “road trip” and I’ve had no desire to take another one recently, but Doc’s blog sparks a tiny urge … (hey Shelly, how ‘bout it? My old road-trip pal). It makes me remember how wonderful it always was to meet people, who seem invariably good. Doc may have also inspired me to try my hand at the old washboard that came down from the Johnson side. Between that, Mom’s accordion, Everett’s piano, Emil’s harmonica and my acoustic bass, I could be a full band – if only I could play and sing at the same time. If only I could play, period!

For Valentine's Day, here is a passage from the bible, I Corinthians 13, that Joni Mitchell has put to music:

LOVE

The Luxury of a Saturday

Everett likes to listen to CBC Radio on the weekends. He likes the science show Quirks & Quarks, the comic The Debaters and Wiretap, and Stuart McLean’s Vinyl Café. To keep busy while he listens, he takes over the kitchen. Today he’s making cookies and I can hear him chuckling; last night we had pizza for supper, using the crusts he prepared and froze a couple weeks ago.

I should go over to the other house and start the boys’ laundry. They need their clothes clean and ready for school – wait! They have no school next week! Hey! I don’t have to go anywhere.