Love These Leisurely Sunday Mornings

Ace has to be at the centre of everything

One day last week I allowed myself a walk that wasn't a cardio workout. This was long overdue and it did me a world of good. I squeezed under the electric wire and scouted out our own little bit of property rather than taking the road as usual. You can't march across the pasture or you'll twist an ankle for sure.

Accompanying me were the two dogs and Ace, who at one point started to disappear with the dogs into the bush till I called him to me. "They'll leave you behind out here, you know! You can't trust 'em!" He listened to me, too, but you could tell he felt he should be with his pack.

At the back of the pasture there is bush and, within it, a slough. The cows must spend a lot of time back there as the grass between the trees is beaten into paths and chewed down so it's a magical wandering-place for an afternoon visitor in the late fall sunshine of a windless day. There behind the rise of a small hill is the perfect private place for a tipi.

I still imagine having a tipi, after 20 years or more. Probably something to do with tents, with camping, the luxury/roughing-it combination that is so satisfying as long as you are warm and dry and have everything you need close at hand.

On the way back to the yard I sat and rested on a piece of unused old machinery (it was rusty metal, whatever it is) and the cat joined the dogs to dig through a clump of grass after something they heard or smelled. Although I don't think Ace can see or smell very well. Is that normal for cats?

This youngster was a little surprised we were out there

Our yard from the north

That is, one evening last week. I have to get my small backlog of snapshots up (you people are so demanding! with your insistence on up-to-the-moment reporting) because here's what Golden Grain Farm looks like this morning:

Looks like the flowerbed won't get finished unless the snow melts. Hm. Not likely at this late date.

The captain of the world organizes it from his sickbed

I've made him a pot of yarrow & spearmint tea (both from our yard), bade him put on socks and something to keep his upper back warm, made sure he's dosed himself up with Cold FX and echinacea extract, and suggested he find some comedies to watch.

My choice would be Coronation Street, which makes me burst out laughing during almost every episode. I bet if you don't watch the show you don't think of it as a comedy, but I swear a half-hour of Corrie St is funnier than any of the popular sitcoms with their "what was funny about that, I ask you" punchlines and bogus laugh tracks. At least, any that I've seen recently. Except The Ricky Gervais Show, which is also quite amusing. I definitely admire Gervais's wit and sensibility, and his ability to split his own gut does split mine. Oh dear, so much television, so little time!

Forgotten Bookmarks has an appropriate entry today, a Get Well card. You might want to swing down to the list of links at the bottom of this page every once in a while; surely you'd find something of interest. But today, click here.

Wonder what the kittenfish will think of this, their first substantial snow.

5:43pm
A coyote ran right across our front lawn this afternoon and sat in front of the maple tree till we scared it off (could it have heard my delighted shriek? or just Scott knocking on the window?) — before I could get the camera.

Flowerbed Building and Birthday Boy

Scott's cousin Kurt starts digging up the lawn

Scott walks in while I'm doing something at the kitchen counter and says, "I've decided it has to be a septic tank." He has been hemming and hawing about whether to put time and money into working on the lagoon and then maybe this winter it would do the trick, or digging a septic tank in and having done with the b.s. "Let's phone Kurt and see if he can come and help you move those rosebushes."

So I'm outside in my fluffy white housecoat with a winter jacket over top, bare feet slipped into shoes, to confab about where the rosebushes should go before Scott leaves to haul bales. A heavy frost is on the grass this morning and the forecast for tomorrow is our first dump of snow.

Kurt is racing the elements as he has to dig down a foot or more into clay, and there are stones from the old foundation, and caragana roots sometimes encroach as well. I would be frustrated as hell, jumping with both feet onto the shovel and getting it only a half-inch into the ground each time. I'm happy to let Kurt plug away at it while Emil dries the dishes I wash. Then I haul out the ingredients for a batch of chocolate chip bran muffins.

But first, tea.

Did I mention my youngest son turns 19 today?

I like to sing him that song, that Carpenters song, you know it:

"On the day that you were born
The angels got together
And decided to create a dream come true ...
So they sprinkled moon dust in your hair
And golden starlight in your eyes of blue -- "

Oh hell, here's the way it's supposed to sound!



When I sing it he gets pissed off, but I care not, because when it comes to my little sweetie, every word rings true.

Meeses to Pieces

Seen on the way to town, mother and child grazing on winter wheat

Dream House No More

To walk to either corner of our road and back doesn't give me quite the brisk 45 minutes the doctor ordered, so I usually go a few minutes beyond and then turn around. For a change I crossed the correction line and strolled down a long driveway that takes you to an old farmyard where no one lives anymore.

The barn is starting to sag a little in disrepair and the farmhouse is disappearing behind trees.

Maggie Polito, you may be envious to hear that a couple years ago when Shelly came out to see me, she looked longingly at this old house and yard with an eye to purchasing it for herself as a summer retreat. I would have loved that, but advised her to hang onto her cash and park her camper in my yard (or move herself into our house if she likes) instead. It'd be a lot less expensive and besides, the old farmhouse is no longer livable. I think raccoons have taken over the inside.

When she comes to visit she still keeps her eyes peeled for little farmyards she can make her own, though. That Alberta girl must have some Saskatchewan blood in her somewhere, calling to her "Come home, come home!"


***

Family members on the Bartley side may be interested in the photos I sat up late last night posting to the page "Aunt Alma's Yukon." See above. I will get in there and clean the page up eventually and add more of her pictures.

Meanwhile it's back to work for this old girl for a couple more hours before heading to town to pick Emil up for the weekend. Everett, in Edmonton with his dad, turns 19 tomorrow so Emil and I will purchase a cake and eat it for him. Least we can do.

***

And furthermore ... one reason I really enjoy my job ... is that in the course of a working day I often come across things like this:
A clip from Wild Life, the newest short from Amanda Forbis and Wendy Tilby.

Down on the Farm

Scott's brother Bruce throwing bales into the loft

Surely we are going to get some snow one of these days!

Meanwhile, Letters of Note has a cute one today: click here to see it.

Yesterday they had one handwritten by Madonna as an application for an early acting job. She was 19 I think.

***

Something possessed me to start cleaning the porch. You know how that goes: you pick up one thing to put it away, then see something else you might as well move while you're noticing, then what the hell the floor needs a good sweeping, and next thing you know the entire room is in flux and there goes an hour of your day. All the hours of my day are like that!

Close Call

Looking left

When you live on a farm and approach a country road like this one, where you can see quite a ways in both directions, you easily get into the habit of looking left and right and slowing but not stopping at the yield sign. This is what I’ve been doing, and obviously it has to change because on the weekend I pulled onto the correction line only to be shocked by a neighbour’s half-ton whizzing by the windshield, just inches away.

I had looked both ways — Scott was with me, and saw me do it as he himself was reaching into the back seat — but one glance in each direction is not enough. Because see that bar there? (Never mind the cat pawprints on the glass; I went back a couple days later just to take these pictures for you and remind myself how close we came to a serious dustup; the pawprints weren't there on the afternoon in question.)

Looking right

That three-inch-wide bar creates a blind spot into which a moving vehicle disappears for only a moment or two. But it’s long enough to be the cause of a terrible accident.

So, don’t look once in each direction. Look TWICE.

A near-miss like this has happened to me before. I can remember at least two other times. I swear, there are traffic angels on my side or I'd've been toast years ago.

From now on I stop completely at all intersections, even if I’m miles from a busy road, even if I feel like an over-cautious old lady. I’ll be an unmangled old lady and my passengers and other drivers will be safer, and that’s what matters.

The day after this incident I phoned the neighbour to apologize. “You can send me your drycleaning bill,” I said.

He’d seen me at the corner, thought I was going to stop, had already moved over when I didn't, and was prepared to “take the ditch” if necessary. So Scott and I were not in any danger, it turns out, due to our neighbour being 10 times more on the ball than I was. Thank goodness Mr B’s truck hurtled past before he had to hit the ditch. It must be hard to live with when you’re responsible for an accident that hurts someone.

Deb and Colin, The Friendly Giant, and So On

Oh my godenheimerness, check this out:
http://www.cbc.ca/75/episodes.html?ID=2159373773
CBC is celebrating its 75 years and Deb McGrath and her husband are saying their piece.
I crack up when Deb snorts! She is The Best.

You'll have to scroll down for Deb and Colin's bit, but don't forget to come back up and watch an episode of The Friendly Giant. Now that brings back some lovely memories. And it's still fine TV!

If you haven't seen Deb and Barb's webpage, click here. HERE!

And you can find out more about Bob Homme, the Friendly Giant, at the Canadian Encyclopedia. Click here. HERE!

And while you're poking about the encyclopedia, why not have a look at Deb's bio here, and Colin's here.

And a couple articles I've written:
Little Mosque on the Prairie (the TV show)
Stuart McLean (storyteller extraordinaire)
Nell Shipman (one of the first movie stars)

There, that should do for today's reading.
Now I suppose you're expecting a picture:

This year's batch of kittens are getting brave enough to come closer to the house. This is Birdie running up the maple tree.

Frightening Fun

My sister Joan and her husband Gary, above (he's impersonating a Scottish hooker and she's got up as Reagan, the possessed child in The Exorcist), had their annual Halloween party this weekend. Go have a look at some of their guests... mooah-ah-ah-ah ... click here.

Haunted Houses

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

All houses wherein men have lived and died

Are haunted houses. Through the open doors

The harmless phantoms on their errands glide,

With feet that make no sound upon the floors.

We meet them at the door-way, on the stair,

Along the passages they come and go,

Impalpable impressions on the air,

A sense of something moving to and fro.

There are more guests at table than the hosts

Invited; the illuminated hall

Is thronged with quiet, inoffensive ghosts,

As silent as the pictures on the wall.

The stranger at my fireside cannot see

The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear;

He but perceives what is; while unto me

All that has been is visible and clear.

So from the world of spirits there descends

A bridge of light, connecting it with this,

O'er whose unsteady floor, that sways and bends,

Wander our thoughts above the dark abyss.

For more Longfellow, click here. Don't ask me why  Blogger is f'ing up the poem's formatting and ignoring the simple html I put in to fix it. Can't win, apparently.
Thanks, Barbara, for posting this poem where I could see it!


Also, thanks to Marshall for posting this link to a POLAR BEAR CAM!
Click here. 

Moi in Hand-Me-Down Sweater

Joan, to avoid itching I'm wearing the short-sleeved brown wool sweater [you gave me] over a sleeveless brown top with a lacy bodice edging.

Still haven't figured out how to get a decent photograph with the iMac's 'Photobooth' function. It always messes up the lighting for me.

We had a little skiff of snow yesterday. Also, just missed being in a car accident by the skins of our noses. More on that later.

Check out Marion's description of the UFOs she's been seeing lately ... click here. I haven't been that kind of lucky, but was still quite dazzled by the northern lights on Monday and came across this FB photo taken by a gentleman in Saskatoon. I hope he won't mind my posting it here.

Photo by Colin Chatfield

If you are a person who has never seen the northern lights, I feel sorry for you. Honestly, they can be breathtaking. The colour can be more intense than what you see in the picture above, and they move around the sky. It's hard to explain, but let me try: straight beams of colour sometimes cascade across the sky like searchlights tagging, then overtaking, each other ... it can look like the curtain of the most grandiose stage opening and closing ....

Another Treasure Brought Home

Great-Great Aunt Alma's dishes

These dishes were given by Mom's Great-Aunt Alma to my grandmother, who passed them along to Mom, who proudly displayed them in her kitchen or dining room, always.


After Mom's passing and some time had gone by, Dad packed up a few of Mom's things for her daughters. There were three sets of old dishes; one for each of us. Karen received a set that had belonged to our Great-Great Aunt Alma, who was a nurse and travelled enough to pick up such luxuries from various places in Europe. She was single till middle-age and had no children, which might explain how she could afford nice things while her sister, my great-grandmother, on the farm here in Saskatchewan, could not.


 Dad brought me a set that belonged to his mother and was on the head table at his and Mom's wedding. They are a Princess Anne set, cream-coloured with gold edging, including every possible piece: platters, jugs, soup tureen with lid, and so on. They're displayed on the top shelves of two adjacent, doorless kitchen cabinets.


 But I think it was this set, the mottoware, that we all loved the best. I know I did. Yet we all had the impression that Joan would like to have it, and that was fine with us. Dad held onto it for her. If Karen and I wept, it was in private. (Heh.) Fortunately for me, Joan has decided she has no place to display these dishes, and so I brought them back with me from Kelowna. Karen also has no place to put them at the moment, so I did not have to armwrestle her. They're mine! For now. For we all know that one day they must go to someone else in the family, to be loved and cared for and shown off. In the meantime, where to put them?

On top of the fridge

And on top of Grandma Johnson's china cabinet

I think of Mom every time I look at them. And I love to think of Mom.

Email to Everett

You can see right through the caraganas at the edge of the front lawn now that most of their leaves have fallen. Yesterday morning I heard Scott knocking on the window before he opened the front door.

 "You get out of here! Git!" 

He said a coyote walked right down the middle of the driveway, then between the van and truck parked in front of the quonset, and straight toward the tractor shed where the cats live — as if it knew right where to go for breakfast. 

The other day the dogs and I were walking back from the north when an animal came out of our yard and went into the ditch on the other side of the road. I thought it was one of the cats, till it crossed the road again and I could see its fluffy tail. It then walked in our direction, not seeing us. I managed to get this picture before it noticed and dashed into the bush beside our house. It was a fox ... also scouting for cats, I bet. 

Didn't see Alice Cooper today or yesterday, or Misha. Hope they're just out hunting and make it back safely. 

We have about 10 cats out there and if someone indicates they've a friend looking for a cat, I can't imagine parting with even one of them. Each one comes for a cuddle, now, whenever I go out. It can be short and sweet but they're not happy till they get their due. 

Fall Colours

Fick and Raye

Hm, funny! Usually this pair will ham it up for the camera, but on Saturday they were being shy as they made their way down the steps after a night of drinking and debauchery.

Good Shat

With gratitude to Scott's sister Tanya and to the person in the vehicle who suggested she call (I owe you), here is the message left on our answering machine last night while I was away from the phone:

"It's Tanya; we're on our way to Saskatoon and maybe you can see it too... the northern lights are in the southern sky!"

I threw on a jacket, stepped into shoes and went out on the step to be astounded by aurora borealis in every direction, including straight above. I went down the steps to the lawn where I could see past the house to the southeast ... and the lights, pale green everywhere else, were bright red!

I have never seen this before. It made me think of Mom, who had seen the northern lights red once. Quite a display.

If you've never seen the northern lights, you are missing something. Hie thee to the north country and see them before you die. They are one of the wonders of the world.

To Kill a Mockingbird now Playing at Theatre Calgary

Interviews and stage scenes with actors R.H. Thomson and the young "Scout" for your pleasure!

Click here.

Damn Their Hides

What was a road lightly treed on the west, my regular walking route (you've seen plenty of photos), looked like this when we returned. It was a bit of a shock.

Yep. Just beyond this mess are the two driveways that lead into our yard.

Supposedly some of this carnage, which includes ditching, will help drain water away from our property, so I oughtn't to howl (considering the moisture problems we've had since we bought the place). The rest of the destruction might keep the road from blocking in with snow during the winter, and perhaps it will give the landowner an extra acre or two to put into crop.

What can I say. Maybe it's for the best, and maybe it isn't, but I still hate it.

Rosie and the Riveters

Great concert in Wadena last night. Four-part harmonies; what's not to love. Talented women, these.

There is always a break halfway through, where squares and coffee, tea and juice are served. This is the band's opportunity to sell some of their CDs, and of course everyone snacks and chats.

Seated at a long table in the church basement, next to the young lady on the far right, I was sipping tea and nibbling on a butter tart when someone brought over her CD for an autograph. When she opened it up for signing I noticed the singer's full name inside. "You're Alexis Normand?" I said. "I heard you on CBC radio not long ago and thought 'I've got to get her CD.' I even sat bolt upright to write your name down so I wouldn't forget. I'll take one of those!"

Quel surprise.

Beside her is Melissa Nygren, whose mom Shirley was raised on a farm near Wadena. Shirley is the cousin of a gal my age (Cindy T.) who was our neighbour on the farm, so we knew each other as teenagers. I haven't seen her forever, but she's become an accomplished artist and lives in Saskatoon, where Rosie and the Riveters drove out from.

Farideh, with the guitar, was in the One Human Family Gospel Workshop with me last fall. And the lady beside her hails originally from Australia, but found the 100% humidity where she lived too much to bear because it kept her indoors in the air conditioning all the time.

Their website is HERE, where you will find a link that allows you to listen to their music.

Visit with Shelly

After looking in on Everett in Edmonton for a couple hours, we drove out to Shelly's new place (well, three years since she bought it) and spent a day there before hitting the dusty trail home.

She and Scott had several conversations about various things; I forget just what, now. Why something didn't work, how to fix it, possible solutions, and so on. She took him downstairs where her industrial sewing machine is and doctored up a couple items for him, and he made an adjustment to the glass door of her fireplace so that it closed properly for the first time since she moved there. (Aside to Maggie Polito: She screamed when he did it in less than 30 seconds!) Till we arrived she'd kept it closed for three years by leaning a log against the handle rather than paying the minimum $1200 estimated by a fireplace professional for the new insert it absolutely needed. (Bastards!)

Whatever I added, she wasn't sure whether to believe it or not; I have seen this expression many, many times since we met more than 30 years ago:

A fearless do-it-yourself'er, she described some of her problems around the house and yard to the general contractor, who listened carefully and then offered his two cents:

As my sister Karen once said to me with a grin, "Kathy, he doesn't know everything!"
I know he doesn't know everything (thank god; he's cocky enough already), but dammit, he knows a lot of stuff. Guess he should, after being in the construction business for 30 years or more, and growing up on a farm before that. Farm boys know why things aren't working, and how to make them work.

Giant Rocks & Sundry

Let's get all these mountain pictures out of the way.

I think these are called Three Sisters:

Neither of us could remember this passage blasted through the rock, from our last trip:

You'd think it would be hard to forget:

One of the unnerving things about driving through the Rockies are the signs:
"Avalanche Area, No Stopping Next 900 Metres."
Then you see great hunks of rock sitting on the shoulder of the highway.

We only saw one elk, and couldn't get a good picture. Considering my sister's husband raises elk, it's not hard to see them any time we want, so I didn't try terribly hard. This fellow was making the road his own; we took photos from inside the truck:

More sights on our travels through Alberta:

One of Scott's many great-nieces; look at that sweet little dress

Shelly, with the Welcome thingy she bought at Mallard Industries when she was here in September

Road Through the Rockies

A heavy dread settles on my chest whenever we approach the Rocky Mountains. They are just so massive — so — so — formidable.

Nevertheless, I can't help but be impressed by the sheer size of them. There is no way my camera can do them justice. Also, I'm snapping these from our moving vehicle, through the window.

Scott can't resist telling, yet again, the story of his cousin Alex who came from England to visit and planned to walk through the mountain range from Banff to Jasper. As if he'd actually come out the other side ... no, no, only his bones would be found. If even those. Scott gets such a kick out of this, because obviously English mountain ranges are nothing like these.

At the end of the drive, in Kelowna, I get to see my littlest sister Joan and her family, and Dad and Grace, and our friends Roy and Gloria, and that's as many as we can comfortably fit in, in two days and three nights.

Can you tell Joan and I are sisters?

We spent hours on two afternoons sorting through Dad and Mom's photographs, as he is paring down his possessions and lightening his load.

Think I'll Go Out to Alberta

Somewhere around Drumheller (photo by Scott, who has a thing for falling-down barns)

Somewhere around Calgary

The boys're cookin' (Scott and son Gunnar)

Sheryne, puppy whisperer, with Leo on the way to his new home at my sister Joan's

A Little Gift from Heaven

Babyface, you've got the cutest little babyface.

I have never forgotten babysitting Kendra's mom, my cousin Heather. I was about 19 if I'm not mistaken (weren't you with me, Shelly?) when we stayed with her on the farm one Halloween night while my aunt and uncle were out kicking up their heels. If I recall correctly some of the local fellas nailed plywood over the doors as a "trick." Anyhoo, Heather was around the same age as little Kendra here and was the sweetest, happiest, smilingest baby I'd ever seen, or have since. Look at her there, still grinning!

Tomorrow we're off for a week's holiday to visit the rellies in Alberta and BC. This has reminded me of The Awful Fate of Melpomenus Jones. You can read about it by clicking here. We’ll avoid his end, and torturing our family and friends, by sticking with my carefully planned itinerary.


Joanne, I’ll be checking email while we’re away, so keep sending me your blog entries; I expect to be able to post them every day. Who knows, I may even manage to write up an entry or two myself.