European Starlings?

Burr oaks, birdfeeders and flowerpots through the front window


Scott's pile of black dirt behind the oaks is meant for levelling the yard, but I've been using it for flowers; it's dwindling fast.

European starling checks me out; click photos to enlarge.

These birds arrived yesterday and notice me when I approach the window. Usually they all fly up and away, but I'm getting sneakier.

This is the best pic I could get to show the colour brought out by light.

Or are these brewer's blackbirds? Or purple martins? Or brownheaded cowbirds?
Any bird experts out there?

It Sure Feels Like Winter

Passed on my walk; ice circles frozen around fenceposts. Click to enlarge.

I paid a man $120 to turn up lawn in the front yard, wheelbarrow black soil to it, make a flower bed, and move some rosebushes and perennials into it. That was in the fall right before the septic tank got dug in, and it was touch and go whether the flowers would be moved in time. I had to get them out of there, or see them torn up by a monstrous machine.

Scott said, “Well, could you replace those bushes and perennials for that price?”

Maybe I could, and it would have relieved some of the pressure I felt about getting them moved — if only I didn’t actually care about the plants themselves. I care about each plant and want to see it in a safe place, not dug up, or tilled under when Scott turns the flower garden behind the house into lawn this summer. It’s not just the cost of replacing plants that concerned me; it's the life of the plant itself.

There are many more plants to be moved this spring, so I'll need to enlarge the flowerbed we made last fall.

Now I’m looking at my flowers back there — what a treat to see them again, even just their dry brown stems — without the snowy blanket — and then at the space in the front yard and figuring out the best places to put them. Because of course I want to save every one; not even one ubiquitous shasta daisy shall be ploughed under on my watch, if I can find a new location for it.

I say that now. When I'm buried under an avalanche of dirt I may say to hell with it. But that's unlikely.

Newborn Goodness

Look who made her grand entrance in the wee hours of this morning! Little Brielle Aspen.
She is a granddaughter to Joanne Bohl and a daughter to Joanne's own baby, Erin; see the happy grandma's entry here: Out Margo Way.

Week End

Scott carries Emil's bags to the door for him on a recent weekend

8:53pm

“Mom, I think I’d rather come back home with you.”

That’s what Emil said as I was leaving him in the entryway of his group home in town.

I’d told him that instead of phoning me every night as he's been doing, I’d like him to call on Tuesday and Thursday only (unless there is a particular reason he needs to talk to me) and that if, as he claims, he is missing me during the week, I will drive in on Wednesday to visit with him or take him out for a drive.
“Let’s give that a try,” I said, and he repeated the entire plan 45 times, as he does when there is even the slightest change in routine, before I got out the door. A delaying tactic.

He also threw in that since his ears are still plugged, maybe they’re going to stay that way for the rest of his life, and “I think I’m not really enjoying life very much,” he added.

"I'd say you're enjoying your life quite a bit," was my response. I'm not buying the might-as-well-shoot-me thing he's been giving me lately, due to his plugged ears. Which have been plugged for months, so I don't blame him; but as far as we and the doctors and specialists know, he just has to wait it out.

As with a young child, parting from a parent is easier if it’s not drawn out. What works best is if I remain in the vehicle and Scott carries Emil’s backpack and shoebag to the door for him. Tonight we didn’t have that option, as Scott was asnooze on the living room couch, watching the third Pirates of the Caribbean movie whenever his own snoring woke him for a few moments. Emil and I headed for town alone.

Finally after reassuring him 45 times that he’d heard me correctly about the new phoning schedule, and of course chatting with the other residents (they’re all in their pyjamas; one communicates mostly with sign language of a sort and loves Bonanza and always takes my hand and leads me to his room to show me that he’s got it paused on his TV; one tells me with a happy glow that she has a new boyfriend 20 years older than herself; one shows me a beaded red bracelet on her wrist and hugs the heck out of me; another asks, as always, if I’m going home and where’s my van and where’s my husband? They’re a predictable, delightful bunch and I have fun with them), I turned away from my 23-year-old son’s somewhat sad face and went out the door feeling a little bit sad, myself, that he isn’t thrilled to be there anymore. Like he was for the first year.

A Child of God

Rural Delivery

Uncle Bob had the rural mail route and made the deliveries in his Democrat - click to enlarge

I like our mechanic. Yesterday my minivan was at Corner Service for an oil change. Bradley always checks the tires as a matter of course, and though I knew one was low when I left our yard, he informed me that the right-rear one was, too.

I told him I have been tire-challenged for the past year or two, that it seems as if every time I drive two feet I end up with a flat tire. I am so exasperated about it that horses are starting to look like a more reliable option.

His response: "You’re driving on gravel roads all the time— it’s bound to happen, especially when the graders have been out.”

He makes it sound perfectly normal, as if I’m not cursed at all.

The photo above was taken "back in the day" at the Old Bartley Place. The outhouse and old house (it's been a barn for many many years) in the background are still there if I'm not mistaken. Someone is living in the yard again, I hear, after the farmhouse sat empty for so long. Emil knows this, so he is after me to drive out there and see what's what (we went to Margo this afternoon to visit Karen and he thought we should make a detour on the way home). He and I spent one summer in the house when he was three years old. I should dig up a photo of the "new" house, built by my great-grandparents in 1914.

Here we go— viewed from the driveway out front in 1991— moi with my rake or shovel, and Emil at the back of the house:

It would be nice to see Uncle Bob again.

He lived alone in this house for a good number of years and the family often gathered here when I was a kid. I can remember when the kitchen didn't have built-in cupboards, but instead a tall wooden cabinet that sat against the dining room wall, for dishes.

My great-grandparents lost a six-month-old baby boy while they lived in this house, to the Spanish flu that came through the area. Grandma was born in this house.

Grandma came out and helped me vacuum up all the dead moths before we moved ourselves in. A neighbour put rat poison in the dirt basement. I collaged the inside walls and door of the outhouse the summer my boy and I stayed. We had no running water. I heated dishwater on a campstove and prepared our meals that way too. It was a peaceful place; Emil and I both loved it.

Bird Life

They're back; this pair of Canada geese scouts around the dugout at the back of our yard.

They are probably the same ones that were here last year, but how would we know for sure? We're assuming.
Lots of birds have returned: crows, bald eagles, hawks, dark-eyed juncos, flocks of ducks flying over, and snowgeese, or maybe they were pelicans. I've heard of the arrival of robins and bluebirds, but not seen them. I rarely see bluebirds, and never yet in this yard. They seem to prefer the fencelines of pasture land. When the bright yellow American goldfinches get here, it will really feel like spring.

Not if You're Spider Challenged

Another animated clip sent to me by my little Everett:

"A brief journey through a world of spiders and the never-ending networks that bind their universe together: Cobwebs - Cyriak"

Kaia Leaves

Everett made a comic from this photo, back in the day

Sadly, my sister Karen lost her little dog Kaia (right) last night due to the dogly consumption of something she shouldn't have swallowed; something sharp.

Smoothies

Once upon a time I had a big appetite. I went to bed at night dreaming about what I’d have for breakfast in the morning, and looking forward to it.

Now it’s the opposite. I’ve got to make a point of remembering to eat three meals a day, and push myself to get a healthy snack down my neck in between. Over the past year, by measuring out the day's allotment each morning, I’ve managed to be sure to drink enough water. But consuming enough vegetables and fruit is one thing I haven’t mastered; I’d rather swallow a convenient slice of dry bread on a run-by than chomp on a messy orange or gnaw on an apple. Bananas are great because they’re quick and easy to eat, but I stop buying them in the late spring as soon as the first mosquito appears, and don’t start again till after the fall freeze-up.

So it was with some delight that I sipped on smoothies each morning spent at my friend Cathy’s in Edmonton and realized that this could solve my not-enough-fruit problem. Frozen berries and/or any fruit with a dash of skim milk and a few spoonsful of plain yogurt, whipped in a blender, and I’m in business! It’s easy, it’s delicious, and it gets the fruit in. 

It took me till Wednesday afternoon to bring the blender up from the basement storage room (it requires three trips up and down the stairs to do one load of laundry from start to finish; I still think we should set up the laundry room in the porch instead) so I could have a smoothie the next morning.

Doofus in a Sweater

Cathy gave me handmedowns on the weekend, and on Monday I wore this sweater home .

And am still wearing it. I’ve washed and bathed and changed my other clothes every day, but this sweater keeps going back on.

I’ve also moved back into my “everything in its place” purse, pictured behind. It’s too heavy even when empty to carry far, but what I want can be found immediately. That’s the $100 purse that Gord still exaggerates about; in his mind, it was $400. I bought it for my 40th birthday; my first super-purse, worth any price. Now if only it was made of lightweight material instead of leather.(Perhaps I can place an order with Nance, the purse-sewing queen.)

Finally I am sorting through the old Wadena News pile and putting the Margo Centennial stuff into large envelopes to mail to Aunt Reta and a woman in Flin Flon who has been waiting since summer for copies.So many details to take care of; I swear it's neverending. Today I got as far as sweeping the hallway and kitchen floors. Woo hoo!

Happy Little Doggies

Happy little doggies wait for me to exit the driveway.

Scott says when he tried to go for a walk with them, thinking they’d enjoy it, he hadn’t gotten far before they turned back and went home, leaving him on the road. Strange, for beasts that are overjoyed at the mere idea of a pack outing.

Gargoyles

These gargoyles with their strange barbie-doll embellishments will end up on the roof of a building in Edmonton.

11:02 a.m.
My former husband's brother is a collector of every kind of weird and wonderful "stuff" and when I was in Edmonton we stopped at his home, where he gave me a quick tour. The large gargoyles will replace small ones that are currently guarding the rooftops of his building.

On a Wednesday

On Saturday Shelly and I went for a walk at her place northeast of Edmonton.

Wed21March2012

9:57a.m.
The geese flew over the yard and made a lot of noise and called from the shore of the slough behind the house and a big grin pasted itself across my face.
The birds are back!

4:45pm
As part of my job, I get to search out video clips to add to online articles.
One thing I came across today, Alan Doyle (from Great Big Sea) singing his song that was used in Mary Walsh's off-the-wall movie Young Triffie:

Back Home

Did have a fine time, spoiled by chauffeurs, good meals and great company ... got home late yesterday afternoon and have been slowly winding down (or maybe winding back up again; not sure). Have to suit up and run into town to do some banking this afternoon, so this is what you're getting for now: a short video of my sister Joan coming out of the market in Kelowna.

Here Ya Go, Pop: Baldheaded Men

Eye Opener

I'm off gallyvanting for the next 10 days, so to those of you whose doorsteps I won't be landing on ... see  you on the flip side! I may pop in and make an entry; but then again, I may not.

I'm leaving you with a recommendation for Writing the Revolution. If you think it hasn't been a struggle for the female half of our race to get and keep equal rights in this country, even in the last few decades, this book will make you think again. It will make your guts churn with anger and frustration, but it will also make you proud of the fight women have got in them. In US.

An interview with Michele Landsberg at More Magazine

http://www.themarknews.com/articles/7316-on-writing-the-revolution

Interview with Michele Landsberg

Get it on iTunes

An Interview with Michele Landsberg 

What central issues do you see facing Canadian feminists today?

ML:

The central issue facing women today is that we are still excluded from and underrepresented in every sphere of real power (banks, government, etc) and thus our vital concerns are ignored or trampled on, for example — high quality, universally accessible child care; universal access to reproductive choice; prompt and effective remedies for harassment, battering and other forms of violence directed at women.

I would say that the most grievous injustices are inflicted on aboriginal women and girls, and immigrant and refugee women. The poverty and harms they face are sickening and a disgrace to our democracy.

In your opinion, what news outlets (large or small) in Canada today provide valuable and vital points of view for readers concerned about social justice?

ML:

Among the news outlets that still care about social justice and provide the lively analysis and research one needs are: The Monitor, from the Canadian Centre for Policy Alternatives; Briarpatch; StraightGoods.ca, Herizons Magazine (one of the last feminist magazines in the country), Shameless, Rabble.ca.

Of course, the Star and the Globe and Mail occasionally do eye-opening investigations into issues of the public interest, and these are invaluable.

From Canadian Living

One of my favourite lines in her book is Michele's response to those who say that feminism is dead. 

“Feminism dead? They said that from the beginning, and they were always wrong: Feminism is a passion for justice and equality, and that cannot die.”

Snow Day

Finally, a decent snowfall! We've had several inches since last night. It's nearly noon and I'm trying not to worry about Scott, who struck out on the highway about 7 this morning for a chiropractic appointment. It's still coming down heavily and I imagine the roads aren't in very good shape; the visibility won't be great either.

I was just out making sure the birds have enough seed for the day. The dogs thought we should go for a walk; the weather doesn't deter them from having fun, that's for sure. They were in right playful moods.

Land and Sky

Scott spends part of his Sunday afternoon putting out bales

We enjoyed the most lovely drive home after having supper and a visit with friends about a half-hour from here. Usually I find the night drive long and am anxious about moose and deer stepping onto the road from the dark ditches. But last night the sky was so bright that you could see for miles. The fields and their blotches of dark bush were well lit. I love the views around here.

 It’s not the more obviously luxurious curves and contrasts of hills and valleys and rocks that one sees in other parts of the country, but a more gentle, unassuming expanse that you float upon with the feeling that you can freely go anywhere, do anything, be anyone. There’s an unlimited perspective that encourages the mind and spirit to go great distances, to open up somehow, to feel that anything is possible.

Some of My Outlaws

Scott's "little" brother Bruce on his birthday

Dad sent me a photo that made me exclaim "Oh dear!" when I saw it. He's had a procedure done beneath his eyes that makes him look like one of the guys from Kiss, or maybe like a demon. Unfortunately he won't let me post it to my blog. I tried. I said "But your friends would like to see it!"
Alas, he prefers not.

When we were over at the inlaws' for Bruce's birthday cake, I managed to get a nice shot of Scott with his parents, but he doesn't want me to post that here either. I said, "But there are people who would like to see it! What about your cousin Alex over in England?"

Sorry Alex, no can do. What I think I can get away with is posting the pics of Bruce and his parents ... because I am not aware that they read this blog, and I don't think they'd mind anyway. Unlike some of these shy people.

Pat and Ivan

Sorry, No Moose

My trusty companion while I work at my desk

You'd have seen a photo of a cow moose with a mottled light patch on her shoulder, had I remembered to take my camera with me to town yesterday morning. The long-legged gal was meandering across the driveway in front of an unoccupied farmhouse near the road, oblivious as could be! And me without my friggin' camera. Is that not always the way.

I've been a bit under the weather for the past few days. My neck-migraines seem to come in clusters of several days in a row now, about once a month. I've managed to work, but not to go for my daily walks. Today I feel normal so far, and hope to get out for some exercise, though it's cold out. Like real winter, for a change.

And now ... I put my nose to the grindstone and get some work done.

Show This to Emil, he said

Can you imagine Emil putting on such a show?
It will be interesting to see what he thinks, on the weekend, of this video his little brother sent for him to watch.

Letter from Sifet

My friend Sifeta in Bosnia is raising chicks ...

We have been emailing each other; her son often comes to visit her on the weekends, and that's when she can get onto the internet.
I wanted to know what $30 Canadian (which is approximately what my monthly sponsorship to Women for Women International is) would buy in Bosnia. Here is her recent letter, which she has probably translated into English with Google Translator. The translation leaves a lot to be desired, but we make do:

My chickens will not lay eggs but vendors place, this chickens for meat production. I purchase them for our table. We will send you a photo and chickens. 

I hope Snjezna Olli will be terrible. When we were HLAN, in mountainous areas is missing electricity, fallen logs, covered roads, the people with no real food supplies and fuel, and medicines like it lasted 20 days, terrible. On the rain falls on 3 degrees Celsius.

I received $ 10 and replace them when the Bosnian currency get 14 km. 

25 kg of flour is 18 km in the fall was 27 km. Liltar edible oil is 3 km, 5 kg sugar 10MK, 0.5 kg of coffee 6km (here is the custom to serve guests coffee, the first part of the tradition of the Ottoman Empire who were here about 500 years from 1463 years up to 1889 years when the Austro-specific terms and expressions annexed to our country). Diesel Fuel 2.5 KM to 1 liter. Let me make a pie for lunch while my son was there to be pocastim.

Zelim that you be comfortable at work and that doprineses repair your home. I see that you go to visit her father, sister and friend, and if you do not know them because they convey greetings with us is customary if you were a friend. Now you priatelji and its closest. Before the war the relationship between people is a lot better over the potovali, visited and hung out, now it Nenek net and I was missing.

Lots of greetings from Bosnia Sifet and her family

Want to see the original? If you're one of my many Bosnian readers (ha!! Sifeta, you are the only one!), you may be able to give me the English word for those in bold above.

Moji pilici nece nositi jaja nego dace mesto, ovo pilici za proizvodnju mesa. nabavla sam ih za nas stol. Poslacemo vam i foto pilica. Nadam se da snjezna olija nece biti strasna. Kod nas je bilo  hlano, u planinskim predjelima  je  nestalo elektricne energije, pali stubovi, putevi zatrpani, narod bez prave zalihe hrane i ogreva ko i lijekova, to je trajalo 20 dana, uzasno. Dana kisa pada na 3 stupnja celziusa.

Ja sam dobijala 10 dolara i kada ih zamijenim za Bosansku valutu dobijem 14 KM. 25 kg brasna je 18 KM a na jesen je bilo 27 KM. Liltar jestivog ulja je 3 KM, secer 25 kg brasna je 18 KM a na jesen je bilo 27 KM. Liltar jestivog ulja je 3 KM, secer 5kg 10MK, kafa 0,5 kg 6KM(kod nas je obicaj da gostima prvo posluzimo kafu, dio tradicije iz turskog carstva koji su ovdje bili oko 500 godina od 1463godine pa do 1889godina kada je Austro-Ugraska izvrsila aneksiju na nasu zemlju). Gorivo dizel 2,5 KM za 1 litar. Sada cu praviti pitu za rucak dok mi je sin tu da se pocastimZelim da ti bude ugodno na poslu i da doprineses popravci vaseg doma. Vidim da ides u posjetu ocu, sestri i prijatelju i ako ih ne poznajem prenesi pozdrave jer kod nas je obicaj ako ti je neko prijatelj odmah Ja sam dobijala 10 dolara i kada ih zamijenim za Bosansku valutu dobijem 14 KM. 25 kg brasna je 18 KM a na jesen je bilo 27 KM. Liltar jestivog ulja je 3 KM, secer 5kg 10MK, kafa 0,5 kg 6KM(kod nas je obicaj da gostima prvo posluzimo kafu, dio tradicije iz turskog carstva koji su ovdje bili oko 500 godina od 1463godine pa do 1889godina kada je Austro-Ugraska izvrsila aneksiju na nasu zemlju). Gorivo dizel 2,5 KM za 1 litar. Sada cu praviti pitu za rucak dok mi je sin tu da se pocastimZelim 5kg 10MK, kafa 0,5 kg 6KM(kod nas je obicaj da gostima prvo posluzimo kafu, dio tradicije iz turskog carstva koji su ovdje bili oko 500 godina od 1463godine pa do 1889godina kada je Austro-Ugraska iz5kg 10MK, kafa 0,5 kg 6KM(kod nas je obicaj da gostima prvo posluzimo kafu, dio tradicije iz turskog carstva koji su ovdje bili oko 500 godina od 1463godine pa do 1889godina kada je Austro-Ugraska izvrsila aneksiju na nasu zemlju). Gorivo dizel 2,5 KM za 1 litar. Sada cu praviti pitu za rucak dok mi je sin tu da se pocastimZelim da ti bude ugodno na poslu i da doprineses popravci vaseg doma. Vidim da ides u posjetu ocu, sestri i prijatelju i ako ih ne poznajem prenesi pozdrave jer kod nas je obicaj ako ti je neko prijatelj odmah su ti priatelji i negov1889godina kada je Austro-Ugraska izvrsila aneksiju na nasu zemlju). Gorivo dizel 2,5 KM za 1 litar. Sada cu praviti pitu za rucak dok mi je sin tu da se pocastimZelim da ti bude ugodno na poslu i da doprineses popravci vaseg doma. Vidim da ides u posjetu ocu, sestri i prijatelju i ako ih ne poznajem prenesi pozdrave jer kod nas je obicaj ako ti je neko prijatelj odmah su ti priatelji i negovi najblizi. Do prije rata odnos medju ljudima je bio puno bolji vise se potovali, posjecivali i druzili, sada je to neneko netalo a meni nedostaje.

Puno pozdrava iz Bosne od Sifeta i njene porodice

(Joanne, I made the photo small. Does it make any difference on your screen?)

Give a Dog a Bone

Somewhere in the area, a fuse had blown and a deep freeze full of meat was partially thawed by the time it was discovered. The owners didn't want to risk eating it, so Scott brought it home for our dogs and cats. He has been parceling it out to them every morning for most of the winter; you know, even a little bit of "real" food means they have a much smaller-than-expected appetite for that commercial dry dog food they're usually stuck with.

I tossed a raw bone to Jenna, shown above, shortly before heading down the road for my daily walk. She wasn't leaving it behind for the magpies to pick at, though; she carried it the entire three miles.

Walrus in Saskatchewan

Walrus

When winter came, I soon stopped wearing my eyeglasses — the ones for seeing distant things clearly — when I went walking. It took a while to make up my mind to do it, since I didn't want to miss any wild animals that might happen by. But when you've got a scarf pulled halfway up your face and your warm breath escapes it, the lenses of your glasses fog up and they do you no good anyway.

On the other hand, if you don't wear them you see strange animals way out in the field. Some of them are walruses.

Weekend, What Weekend?

What $185 worth of groceries and $50 worth of wine and beer look like

7:49pm
Who needs a day off, anyway?
I started working shortly after my first cup of coffee and have been at it off and on all day. But mostly on, besides doing dishes a couple times and stopping to make a fried egg sandwich for lunch, and eating sausage & sauerkraut leftovers Scott brought back from his grandma’s for supper.

I worked 8 hours today; more than I do on a regular weekday. Went out for some fresh air but it was cold so I didn’t walk, just took water for the dog and cats out to the heated bowl at the tractor shed, filled a birdfeeder with sunflower seeds, grabbed some meat from the deep freeze in the quonset and came in again.

Tried to get Emil to make cookies with me but he wasn’t interested so I just worked. He was the dj, playing CDs by Jane Siberry and Bruce Cockburn for the two of us to listen to. He loves his music, and moreso when he chooses the playlist and I'll listen with him.

I'm looking forward to Cathy coming out from the city tomorrow but there’s supposed to be a storm in the province this weekend so she may decide to keep off the highway. I’ll have to call her and see what’s happening in the city; it's all clear here so far. Cath, those two bottles of wine are for tomorrow night! Hope you make it.

Fridays are My Favourites

Birdie, not yet one year old

7:24a.m.
Up early, half an hour on the couch with my coffee already, getting the cobwebs out of my head. Trevor A. has just walked in the door and is at the kitchen table with Scott, totting up hours for pay, so I’ve retreated to the office in my housecoat, bedhead and all. With a fuzzy blanket over my lap, I’m cosy in here. I’m actually gungho to get to work, but making myself take time to do some personal stuff first.

And by 8:16 I’m eating a fried egg sandwich on a bun and working!

1:05pm
Usually I'm just starting my office hours, but today I've already got my allotted amount of Friday work finished and will, after taking a break to walk and stretch my muscles, sit back down here and work a few hours ahead. It's good to be ahead of the game!

The forecast is for a snowstorm that includes this part of the province, which means I might get a lot of time in over the weekend as well. The disappointment might be that Cathy R won't be able to come out Sunday afternoon as planned if the roads get too crazy.

Have you seen this TED talk? It's called Can We Eat to Starve Cancer? Watch it online. Well worth a look.

It's cold out there today, I don't want to go............!!!!! And I have to eat something first. It's easy to forget to eat, and foolish.

Home Office Shenanigans

North

You'd never guess, looking at these photos, that they were taken on one of the most beautiful days. The temperature was mild and there was no wind; the air felt soft and welcoming.

South. Whaddayamean, treeless?

I set office hours for myself, to encourage focus and discourage distractions. They change with the seasons. In the summer I start at 10 a.m. and go till 2:30, remaining indoors during the hottest hours of the day except for 10-minute breaks after every hour to go out to the garden and hoe up weeds.
This winter I decided to try keeping away from the computer during the mornings, working only in the afternoons. This past week I’ve adjusted my schedule a little, allowing myself to put in an hour or two in the morning as long as I’ve done other things first — like eating, washing up (myself and the kitchen), brushing my teeth. Otherwise I can easily get caught up here all morning and still be in my housecoat at noon.
To avoid that, I actually set the timer on the stove before I sit down here, to make sure I get up and move around often and don’t let the blood pool in my ass.
Between timed hours I’ve begun in the mornings to pick up the bass and strum it for a few minutes to get my fingers callused up again. I’ve never been able to play and sing at the same time, as I can do with the piano, but suddenly I can croon along with a bass run … woo hoo! How fun is that! It seemed to happen by itself, after all these years, like an unexpected gift.
Later in the day I’ve also started setting the timer for 15-minute increments of working instead of waiting till I’ve got an uninterrupted hour to log in time. Got this idea from The Happiness Project, whose author suggested it as a perfectly good way to get things done. And she is right. Last night while making supper and then waiting for Scott to be ready to go to his mom and dad’s, I got 6 of those little increments in. They add up.

Just Another Day

Emil gets his fresh air and exercise on a weekend afternoon.

9:33 a.m.
He said something notable when he was here, leaning over my chair talking with some urgency, and I thought "I should write this down so I don't forget." But sure as hell, I've forgotten.

Not feeling right this morning. My neck’s out. Have eaten, washed and dressed, and will sit here for a half-hour and see what happens. Sometimes the neck thing just disappears on its own. If not, I’ll take a pill before it gets worse. 

10:58pm

Anti-inflammatory (check), gravol pill (check), busy working on film articles today: Cairo Time, actor Shawn Doyle, stuntman Russell Saunders, sisters Jennifer & Meg Tilly. 

Babette, Beatrix, and Bimbo

What in the heck is it those dogs have got out there?

Trusty Pancakes

I would have captioned that photo "Jealous, Everett?" except that his stomach would turn at the sight of yogurt on a pancake. He could handle the syrup, but that would be it.

Funny who you think of, and why. We're out of maple syrup so I cooked up a quick sauce with brown sugar and water, which made me think of Luanne, who gave me the idea back in the day; and while eating that delicious breakfast (thought I'd taken too much but no, I managed the whole thing! Scott would be proud of me), I thought "I'll give her a call later." Well, it's later and I still haven't. I worked three hours and went for a walk and now have to come up with something for supper.

Or we could just stick the rest of these pancakes into the toaster:

Dogs and Moose Tracks

2:11pm
I am so lazy! I have washed and dried dishes, eaten a breakfast of eggs and toast with Emil, and sat for at least two hours here at the computer, logging two banking hours and then catching up on a bit of email and such. And now it's time to go out for my walk, and it looks like a beautiful day, and I don’t want to go! Silly. I think it’s because I get bored out there sometimes.

There's been a moose out behind my frozen flower garden next to the house. It crossed the road and went through the ditch. I didn't see it — the dog barked up a storm — but I found its tracks, that's how I know:

Change Not Loss

23 yrs ago: Grandpa Emil, me, Baby Emil, and Mom

While Lyndsie lost her beloved grandpa today, I have been thinking of mine because it is his birthday. He’s been gone for many years now, about 17, but I remember his passing and the days around it as if they were yesterday.

First there was the phone call to my home in Alberta, where Mom and Dad happened to be visiting us for a few days. Dad might have done some golfing with friends, as it was in the spring, and Mom would have spent many hours on her knees pulling things out of the kids’ closets to send to the dump. She liked to keep busy when she wasn’t playing with the boys or giving them ice cream (and having some herself), and I was grateful to her for the help sloughing out the unused and no longer necessary junk. I was also relieved that I always had a chance to go through the boxes before they left the house in case there was anything I didn’t want to part with.

Mom took the call from family back in our home town, with the news that Grandpa was in the hospital on life support and that they thought they should do what he would have wanted, which was to let him go, and they needed to ask whether she agreed. As the eldest of the four siblings, her opinion carried weight. (As well it should! Do you hear me, my younger brother and sisters?! I should also inherit the family title and estate. I’m the eldest. You guys can go into the clergy, the army, and the navy.)

I remember Mom hanging up the telephone, visibly shocked and upset, and Dad putting his arms around her there in the dining room while she wiped her nose and eyes with a kleenex. I remember him holding her and saying gently, “It had to happen sometime.”

That seemed a heartless thing to say — but now I know it was the most comforting thing he could have said, because somehow the matter-of-factness of it moves you from — Oh my god this is the worst tragedy ever I can’t stand it! — to — This is a natural part of life, don’t freak out.

So instead of feeling like you’re in a horror movie, you shift closer to a sense of acceptance, which is exactly what helps you get through. The situation still hurts, but you can cope, you don’t have to fall apart completely. My dad’s a smart one. Practical as hell.

And 10 years later, when Mom herself was dying and afterward, I often reminded myself of his words because although her death was a tragic loss for those of us who loved her dearly, I couldn’t afford to think of it as a tragedy or I wouldn’t be of any use to anyone else — they’d end up looking after me. (As was almost the case in the first weeks following Mom’s diagnosis of stage 4 terminal cancer; I wept till my eyes swelled shut for a week, didn’t sleep, developed hives on my arms that near to drove me insane with itching, couldn’t manage simple medication and had to have Scott dole it out to me, couldn’t make simple decisions like what to make for supper; it was weird. I thought I was a centred, sensible gal, yet I … fell apart.)

Eventually I looked out from my own pain, and around at all the other people in the world living through the illness and loss of loved ones, and realized this wasn’t only happening to my family and our loved one; that death was part of the human condition, nothing out of the ordinary, although it felt like a disaster.

It helped.

It also helps (helps me -- maybe not you) to think of it as change, not loss.

Cat Castle

House for a Cat

Joanne P, your cat house awaits!
The inside height of the door (just to give you an idea of the size of the wee building) is 12 inches.
The house, built of scrap lumber, is shingled, insulated, and carpeted.
The retired gentleman in town who builds them sells them for $40. That doesn't even reimburse him fully for his labour, so these little houses for your outside cats are a steal of a deal.

All You Need is Love

So much for hearts and flowers ...

I'm all about recycling, so repurposing a birthday card to suit the occasion is fine with me. I like this kind of resourcefulness, especially when it comes to cards that disappear into neverneverland after they've been seen yet are so hard on our precious and disappearing trees.
Inside the card, which Scott left on my desk this morning while I was still asleep before he went to work, there are a dozen graphic depictions of various sexual activities.
I made a bright red checkmark beside each one and set the card near the phone, where he will see it as soon as he gets home.
Heh!

Meanwhile, I've got these to do:

and then will sit back down here and spend the afternoon working, before throwing together something for supper.

And how are YOU spending Valentine's Day?

Baby Alert

The baby is always the star of the show.

Sunny and Cold

There were sundogs yesterday; thought they meant the weather was to change.

It still seems plenty cold out there, but the kittens were sunning themselves this morning so it can't be so bad:

My uncle Neil is coming to pick up Emil and me to spend the afternoon at his place. Two of my cousins are going to be there with their kids, and I haven't licensed my minivan since the plates ran out last month. Thought I could get away without it for a while, considering Scott has two vehicles; however, his work truck has broken down and the other one is never available, so it looks like I'll be off to the Saskatchewan Government Insurance office one of these days to lay down my cash.

 It's not that I've felt stranded; I don't often go anywhere other than my weekly run to town for groceries, laundry, and Emil, and I'm just as happy to stay home, to be honest. Nevertheless, in spite of letting the laundry pile up so I didn't need to take it in, I've relied on Scott to stop at the store when he's near it, and to bring Emil out on Fridays and take him back on Sundays for the past month, and this cannot continue.

In other news, my cousin Oscar has had his final c.t. scan after the past year of interfuron followup treatment after his surgery for melanoma, and the chemo and radiation he endured, and he is cancer free. Yippee!!!! He and his family have been through a year from hell. Even so, he is one of the lucky ones.

Thirty Below = a Balmy -22F

Brekky, complete with vities

A hearty oatmeal breakfast with black coffee should fuel me up for a walk in this weather. Right?
(By the way, that's whole flax in the oatmeal, not ants; but it could be ants if I had the nerve to eat insects, because I'm catch-and-releasing about two off the kitchen counter every day. And feeling guilty about throwing them outside to freeze; but squishing them is something I can't do, it would give me the heebie-jeebies. Out they go, after being caught under an overturned glass, with a postcard slid under the opening, because what else am I gonna do, let 'em run riot in the house for the rest of the winter?)

1pm
Just sitting down to work for the afternoon, but here's a photo my sister Karen sent moments ago, taken from her kitchen window:

Click to enlarge. Great horned owl?

She doesn't dare let either of her two little Yorkies outside to do their business!

Slip of the Tongue

Emil and I went for supper together before I dropped him off on Sunday

The other day I received one of those joke/forward emails that listed anecdotes about times people have been embarrassed by things they or their kids have said. Which reminded me:

Last summer when I picked Emil up from Camp Easter Seal at Manitou Beach I stopped at this little café on the main street where I always hope to get a slice of their to-die-for pecan pie. They had run out of it and suggested I return the following week, so I replied "Oh, I only come once a year!"

Yeah. We all pretended they weren't thinking "Oh, you poor girl."

Can't Win fer Losin'

A bolt and a blowout. This tire was going, one way or the other. I was a mile from home when it did.

Is the universe trying to tell me something?

I swear, in recent years I've had a flat tire every other week. This one was on my mother-in-law's vehicle, which I was driving.

Through the Office Window

5pm
The dog is barking right behind the house and I hop up on the single bed behind my desk to look out the window, letting my eyes follow in the direction Jenna's nose is pointing. The most beautiful coyote is standing in the trees next to my flower garden, and I, thrilled, turn away to reach for the camera. By the time I'm back at the window, only seconds later, Jenna Doodle has entered the bush after the coyote, and instead of running it comes after her! Only my voice hollering through the hurriedly opened window — "You get out of here! GIT!" — scares it off, and it trots through the trees, toward the road, and is out of sight. Jenna is still barking 15 minutes later, pissed off at the coyote's audacity, though the intruder is no longer visible to me.
Ooh the excitement!
Obviously when she's barking, there's a good reason, though we don't always get to see what it is. It happens every night; I guess the coyotes are here, hoping to catch one of our cats hunting in trees around the yard. We haven't seen the mother cat for a few weeks now, nor a particular one of her kittens in recent days even though they usually stick close to the safety of the tractor shed. Darn it. And heaven forbid a fox or coyote nabs Ducky Doodle if he runs out to the road at night, let out to do his before-bed business, thinking he's a fierce big fella. Guess I'll have to slip into my boots and go out at the same time; if I wait on the step, he's unlikely to go far.

Meditation Changes Your Mind

Handy little chair I picked up for $1 at a garage sale last summer

Sure, I'm the only one who sits on it to put my boots on. For anyone taller, it's too close to the ground. It's also light and easy to move around, but good and solid.

*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,*:-.,_,.

One day last week I tucked Aunt Jean's transistor radio into the pocket of my jacket when I went walking. Quirks and Quarks was on — it's a science program on CBC — and they were having a segment called "Your Brain on Meditation" that I wanted to hear.

They've finally done enough scientific study to prove what the gurus have been telling us for many years: meditation helps fight depression, stress, addictions, and may even help us avoid such brain diseases as Alzheimer's. Meditation physically changes your brain, and the effects of such change are not restricted to the moments spent in actual meditation. The change is long-lasting.

Also, meditation doesn't require hours of chanting while sitting cross-legged on the floor. It can be as simple as sitting quietly and focusing on your breathing for just a few minutes a day.

You can listen to the show by clicking here: Your Brain on Meditation.

Sad Snow Situation

Shadows of me and dogs 

(Dad, you were asking how much snow we've got.)

The birds are already displaying courtship behaviour, which is when they flit around showing off to each other and don't notice there's a window in their way.

Gorgeous days for walking, though.

The RM has made these snow ridges in the field to help keep the roads from blowing in. Not that there's been any danger of that so far this winter.

It's nearly one o'clock. Perhaps I should get dressed and think about what I'm going to do for the rest of the day. Have polished off several cups of black coffee and eaten toast with peanut butter. Emil slept in, too, and had a bowl or two of puffed wheat cereal for brunch. An hour ago Scott headed up north with his parents to visit his sister near Flin Flon so it's just me and my boy, who says he's happy to get me all to himself for a change. As if the two of us aren't usually here alone while Scott's off working somewhere, even on the weekends.

I was up late last night, watching TV. There was a one-hour program called A History of Scotland, and then I watched Marketplace, and then a Hercules Poirot mystery.

There's no Scottish blood in my ancestry that I'm aware of, but I still find myself drawn to the history of Scotland, as I am to that of England and Ireland. Perhaps there is Scots somewhere in the genes from way far back; who knows, right? You never really do. The gene pool we know of on both sides of my family contains English, Irish, Norwegian and Swedish. But you can never know for certain who else may have contributed way back in the generations and where they came from. And then there's reincarnation and unconscious memories from other lifetimes. Anything's possible.

Last night's Marketplace was about misleading labelling of food in the grocery stores here in Canada. None of it surprised me much; I already know that if I want to eat decently, I have to start from scratch in my own kitchen. For a long time I've walked down the aisles of the store in town and -- well -- not bothered. Cookies? I make my own or do without. Cereal? Make my own or buy only puffed wheat; most everything else, except maybe Muffets, is chockful of sugar and godknowswhatelse. Bread? I make my own. Juice? I buy fresh fruit instead, except for orange juice, because oranges are such a pain in the ass to eat. Meat? Scott raises his own beef and poultry and buys pork directly from a farmer. Flavoured yogurt? No more; it's full of sugar. Frozen french fries or pizza? Nope, make my own. Not that I "never" buy any of the above, but now it's only when weakness gets the best of me.

All of which requires more time in the kitchen, and I don't want to spend half my day feeding us, but there's no doubt that simple, plain homemade food is the best way to go. Now I only wish I had someone to cook for me, because I'm not all that interested in food, to be honest. I can pretty much live on toast, granola, and the odd egg.

As for the Poirot mystery, I knew who the murderers were right from the beginning, but still enjoyed watching him figure it out.

Shit Saskatchewanians Say

Only a few differences stand out ...  at my house we like Pilsner beer but don't buy it any longer because the brewery moved to Alberta. We now drink Great Western because it's the only beer made in Saskatchewan. We like to support local business as we're able.

And I don't give a shit about hockey or football.

The rest, though, is right on the money.

Food

Cooling

Ten minutes till my working day begins, and the oatmeal mixture above (oatmeal, vegetable water saved and frozen for breadmaking, salt, molasses and oil), is still too hot to mix with flour and yeast. Usually I cook the oatmeal the night before, then add warm water in the morning so the oatmeal's the  perfect temperature to add to the dry ingredients (yeast is like Goldilocks; fussy). I forget why I did things differently this time. It happens.

Last night I riffed on the recipe below for supper. I thought it was pretty tasty, but Scott took one look (and maybe a sample, not sure) and reheated some leftovers for himself.

Hoo's Hot Black Beans with Linguini

Sauté two cloves of garlic and one small finely
chopped onion in olive oil for five minutes.

Put on water to make one normal sized package of whole
wheat linguini. Start the linguini.

Add one can of black beans to the onion and garlic.
Salt and pepper to taste. Put the liquid from the
beans in the pan too.

Allow beans to cook down for 5-10 minutes (however
long it takes the linguini to cook).

Drain the linguini, toss in the beans with the pasta.
Serve with Frank's Hot Sauce.