Once Upon a Flowerbed

Once a vast and colourful flowerbed, now a pile of clay and black dirt

And I don't care!
Soon it will be grass — which I don't mow — and now my flowers are in front of the house, where I can see them while washing dishes or sipping on my coffee in the morning. And I can go through the flowerbeds, vanquishing weeds with my trusty horseshoe hoe, in about 30 minutes. Why, it's almost too easy. Whatever will I do with myself now, during my 10-minute breaks between hours of computer work? Heh. Just kidding. Always lots to do out there: digging up dandelions, watering, deadheading.

Scott is talking about making a place for a small vegetable garden behind the house, which is where it used to be before I staked my claim back there and left only room for a few tomatoes and green peppers. I hope he does; and also that he takes care of his tomatoes and potatoes and whatever else, because I'm not into it. He keeps on top of the weeding -- whereas I ... well, flowers come first in my heart, and vegetables I'd rather buy at the farmers' market than spend time looking after. However, if he grows them, I'll process them; make salsa, probably.

At 5:30 this morning I was up, standing in my housecoat on the step, waiting for Ducky Doodle to do his business. This is my idea of the best time to rise and shine; it's calm and beautiful outside, and you get a longer day out of it.

I went back to bed to read and have coffee, though. I'd really feel noble if I went for my walk right away, but I can't do it on an empty stomach and it takes me quite a while to feel like eating.

How lucky am I to have had for almost 10 years this luxury of mornings free to read and write and even go back to sleep if I choose? I am so very grateful for this freedom.

Here's what the flowerbed back there used to look like:

Yeah, I might've been crazy.

My Sister is a Clown

Scott finally bought a new barbecue

He put it together yesterday afternoon outside one of the sheds and was dragging it to the house when I went to take Emil back to town. I helped him haul it and, since it was so windy and we thought it might blow right over, suggested we tuck it in under the lilac trees where it's calm. But no, said Scott— it will get scratched up if the lower branches touch it.

And that's one difference between us. I couldn't care less if the barbecue is scratched up. I just don't want it to tip over.

He's as fussy with the appearance of his laptop, which sits on a table in the living room and looks, to me, like a handy spot for the television remotes when it's not in use. Hell no! they might scratch the lid of the laptop.

Who cares? I think. Well, he does.

***

It's cold and windy again today. I took the above photo while standing on the doorstep, glad I don't have to walk today. Fingers crossed tomorrow will be more pleasant.

***

Called Dad this morning. He was waiting to head onto the golf course. They've got so much flooding in Kelowna that at least one course is not usable at all, and others have only portions of their fairways available. So it takes longer to get onto the course as there are fewer of them, yet as many avid players.

According to Joan, if I just complain about the weather, it will change. Ha!
Go read her blog, and leave a comment. She has posted twice in a row in a short time; it's a miracle!
She thinks no one reads it, because I'm the only one who ever leaves a comment.
Comments are not the only indicator of readers, I keep telling her and anyone who will listen. Lots of people read regularly for years and never, ever leave a comment. They're like ghosts; even when they're there you don't see them.
Keep blogging, I tell her. Those of us who like you like IT, even if you don't think your life is exciting enough to blog about. I think she's a good writer, and her sense of humour and goofiness comes across. I remember once telling Mom how Joan had entertained us with her silliness, when us three daughters were living in Kelowna during Mom's last year, and Mom remarking, "So Joan is a clown, eh?"

Foot Draggin'

Just beyond my front window

Emil doesn't want to go back to the group home when it's time on Sunday evenings.

"Get ready," I say at 7 o'clock, and he replies "But I don't want to go till my watch says 8 o'clock."

So I say, "That means I'll be getting home later than I'd like, so go get ready now!"

He says okay, but then spends a half-hour in the bathroom. Don't ask me what he's doing in there that takes forever. He drags his feet at every opportunity; I want to kick his buttocks. Instead I remind myself that this is an opportunity to read for a few minutes while waiting, or in this case write.

Relax, Kathy.  Go with the flow. You cannot really hurry this boy, try as you might. All it does is make you cranky when you fail to get what you're after. You're better off to take a deep breath and let him be. And you'll get out to the vehicle, and you'll get him dropped off in town, and you'll get home ... eventually. And you'll live.

Thick-Skinned People Live Here

The bodies of the people who live here must require a scrub pad and a three-inch screw for cleanliness

Whenever I notice Scott's "bathtub-cleaning tools" next to my scented oils on the edge of the tub, that is my exact thought.

We've got a humid, mild day here, quite damp, with an east wind and a forecast for an inch of rain. We don't need it. But around the yard there is serious action because Scott decided to start removing the layer of topsoil from my old flowerbed behind the house, and it now looks like a moonscape back there. The ladies who wanted some of my perennials have not come to get them, so the boys dug them up and dumped them under some shade trees for now. My new flowerbeds have no space for these rather large plants, but I did dig and transplant several smaller herbs just moments before the giant blade scraped over the ground.

We were up early for a Saturday morning because my great-aunt Marj was bringing 10 frozen apple pies to the farmers' market for me. We had to be there when the doors opened and couldn't stay long before getting those pies home and into the deep freeze. But we were there long enough to buy two more of Aunt Marj's pies — Emil wanted a cherry pie and a rhubarb pie — and I had laid claim to two bags of her homemade lefse. And bought a couple loaves of bread from another table while making my tour of the hall.

So now I've made a pot of fresh coffee and am waiting for Scott and his brother to come in and have some with lefse and pie. I plan to work a couple hours today and tomorrow since yesterday was a write-off; it started with "the neck thing" at 7 a.m., medicinal treatment, and sleep till 10 a.m., and then I had to be in town by one o'clock to take Emil to his massage appointment so there was barely time to eat, clean the kitchen, have a bath and dress before it was time to go.

We arrived home around 4:30 after all the errands were run, and there was time to haul in groceries and put them away, and make a quick supper, and then work? No. I don't know about you, but I find it difficult to sit up straight for several hours at the computer in the evening. I guess my body is tired by then. So instead I washed and dried dishes, put them away, climbed into pyjamas and then into bed to read. It was a beautiful night -- when I went out on the step to feed the old dog, the evening-scented stock was blooming! It took me by surprise. Glorious scent. I could have stood out there all night, but the mosquitoes were too quick to find me. Oh for a screened-in veranda...

Duck Dog

Burning old bales

It wasn't the first day I'd've picked for lighting a fire, but it's been so powerfully windy for so many days that I guess the boys figured they'd better go ahead and get one more job out of the way.

Today I think they're seeding; at any rate, they're coming in here expecting lunch at 12:30 so I'd better mosey on to the kitchen. I've got to put my small but powerful brain to work and come up with an accompaniment to the sausages Scott laid on the countertop when he tendered his hurried request.

Meanwhile, it's a dog's life:

Sara swims after some ducks

She has actually caught them sometimes; it takes them a while to get enough lift, and Sara jumps when she gets close, and ... I have made her let a duck go, and watched it slink away over the water.

Those Were the Days

Out of Order

"You just want to be outside all day!" my sister Joan said to me one time she was here. It was spring and the ubiquitous woodticks had her freaked out, and I had flower fever and was impatient to get the bedding plants into the ground.

Outdoors these days I've been reminded of my earliest memories of contentment. As small children my sister Karen and I spent time at Grandma & Grandpa Bensons' farm, where water for drinking, cooking, laundry and dishes was pumped by hand into a sink in the house, and the outhouse was just beyond the clothesline, from whose posts hung a rope-and-board swing at both ends. We'd lie cosy under warm blankets while Grandpa got a fire going in the cookstove for breakfast. Kitchen cupboards weren't built in like they are today, but were tall cabinets that stood on the floor.

 The screen door would click shut many times throughout the day and on the step, in the sun, the flies buzzed lazily. A bare mattress hung on heavy chains between two tall spruce trees and we lounged on that makeshift hammock for many hours. Karen carried a hen around. There was a toy cupboard in the living room; there was a painted clown with a round bottom, so that it wouldn't tip. We ate Hostess potato chips and were excited about the plastic disks with stickers on them (images of cars?) that we found in the bottom of the bag.

Those were the days. Or as my friend Maggie calls 'em, the "goodle" days.

Bull Pen

"You lookin' at me?"

"What do you think of this earring?"

The bulls were moved over here to our pasture recently and happily so, as there's 30 acres of fresh, untouched green grass for them to pig out on. If you don't count the water, and we've got lots of it in every direction this year; but they like to wade into that to find new shoots, too.

And the two of them get along like the best of buddies:

Days Off

"runnin' like a white-assed deer" (lyric from a Joni M tune)

Emil wants to go a-gallavanting today. I seem to need more flowers. He wants to go visiting at Margo. I want to go to the greenhouse at Kelvington, where I haven't been yet this year.

But first, my walk.

Where'd the Day Go

Nearly Full Moon

In the Beginning:

• walk around yard in housecoat, with coffee mug in hand, admiring plants
• work in the a.m.
• men for lunch; throw leftovers together for supper casserole
• Emil to massage therapist; no other help for plugged-feeling ears, maybe this can make something move
• credit union (cash), hardware store (seed for red poppies and bachelor buttons; birdseed), post office
• BC fruit truck for nectarines and oranges
• groceries with Emil; he doesn't shop, but stalks the aisles for people he knows
• haul groceries into house (about 10 trips; the part I dislike)
• put groceries away (the part I like)
• heat casserole, eat w/Emil, run some out to Scott at 8pm

A late supper brought to the field

In the End:

• And now to bed, with Virginia Woolf! And an open window to listen to the birds and frogs on this mild evening.

Hayes Comes to the Farm

Hayes, my great-nephew.

My niece was taking her daughter Trea to a gym class and needed a minder for her little fella. I live "on the way" so it worked out perfectly. Me and my buddy took the stroller down the road, then sat on the step and rested before coming in for a bite to eat.

Saskatchewan Flag

Saskatchewan flag at grocery store

Deer on the Run

Deer in cattle pasture

"It froze again hard last night," I heard him say to someone on the phone early this morning.

But the sky is blue today.

Perhaps it's like this day in Virginia Woolf's life:
"A bitter wind blew splinters of sunshine."

She Returns

A pretty front yard in the city. I coveted the flowerbed, to which this photo does no justice whatsoever
.

While out here, the only thing blooming in our yard are the tulips and one small bleeding heart. And some lovely dark fuschia lobelia in a pot in the porch.

There have been a couple heavy frosts, I'm told, explaining the black withered death of my portulaca. But they are the only plants that couldn't weather the weather. I expected the carnage to be far worse, and stopped at a greenhouse while leaving Saskatoon in order to fortify myself to face the damage. $75 later ...  but now I have a couple more items that no respectable flower-lovin' gal should do without: elegant red nicotiana, white ones with their evening fragrance, orange and yellow calendula to bloom through the fall ... and so on. They are tucked safely onto the floor behind the driver's seat of my old-lady van for now, out of the elements.

I've only poked my nose out on the step and it smells GLORIOUS out there! It's the poplar trees, right? Gotta be.

Yesterday  marked seven  years since Mom's passing. When she was dying I couldn't imagine living beyond her for years. And— of course this makes no sense at all — I still can't.

Jumped the Gun

Dammit; it's been snowing since 5 a.m. The flakes are mixed with raindrops, and the snow mostly melts when it hits the ground, but I'm leaving this afternoon for several days and the forecast is for frost tonight. So, though at first I said I wouldn't, I bundled up and hauled in all the pots I could carry. They will be safe in the porch till I get back. Those annuals in the ground already will have to take their chances, as sheets used to cover them end up soaked and crushing the plants beneath. Can't win fer losin'!

Every spring in recent years it's been the same ... in Saskatchewan we think the May long weekend it's safe to put our bedding plants into the ground. Well, maybe once upon a time it was; but not anymore. In future I am going to have to find a way to restrain myself from planting on beautiful warm days like this past weekend, and wait till June instead. It won't be easy. I've tried before, and failed; warm weather compels me to cooperate with the nurslings, which silently beg to be freed from their restrictive trays. But after lugging all these heavy pots in, saturated with rain, maybe I've learned my lesson. Patience.

The Slough is Coming Closer

Still rainy; the new flowerbeds love it (see my little camper back in the trees?)

Another wet dark day; puddles in the grass.

Scott leaves to work at the old school in Kuroki, which is now a private home where he has done repairs and renovations. I sent four pots of lambs' ears for the lady's yard. Still need homes for daylilies, shasta daisies, peonies. Two gardeners want some but haven't come for them yet. There is probably no rush when it comes to Scott going through the back yard with a cultivator; a more pressing anxiety, if there is one, is that they are getting weedy.

I make myself a couple large mugs of coffee and come back to bed to read Virginia Woolf's diary.

I think about Grandma Benson, shut my eyes, which water, and imagine her here with me, patting my shoulder and saying in her stoic, slightly clucky and unsympathetic way, "Don't be silly."

Talked to old beau Jeff yesterday; he is enthusiastic about his experiences after smoking salvia and going to send me some, which I may not have the courage to try.

I'm reading Jacob's Room as I go along in Virginia's diary at the same time she was writing the novel, but am more interested in Virginia's own life.

J's Room: "As for the beauty of women, it is like the light on the sea, never constant to a single wave. They all have it; they all lose it."

Among women there is so much discussion about inner beauty being what's important and how we're all "beautiful," and I think fine, but why do we have to be beautiful?

J's Room, re beauty: "No one can count on it or seize it or have it wrapped in paper."

...

"Thus if you talk of a beautiful woman you mean only something flying fast which for a second uses the eyes, lips or cheeks of Fanny Elmer, for example, to glow through."

Diary: "so many smashes and tergiversations."
Gotta look up that one.
Tergiversate: 1) equivocate; make conflicting or evasive statements. 2) be apostate; change one's party or principles.

Tomorrow I take the day off and, in the afternoon, head to the city for a weekend of gospel-singing at a One Human Family choir workshop. I'm all about the singing; love the music; put up with the morning prayer in order to do it.

Halt

Before we moved here, this was someone's idea of a fence-repair job: lean stuff up against it! 

It's been drizzling or downright raining since early morning, so there was no gardening to be done (no sweat; the last of my bedding plants were relocated yesterday) or walking, though I did pull on my ski pants and winter jacket to take chicken fat (or whatever the liquid is that comes out when you roast one) out to the cats in the tractor shed, and strolled to the end of the driveway before coming in to dry off.

There will be many depressed farmers around here for the next while, as their field work has come to a halt.

On the Move

Men on the move

Scott and his brother have checked their fences today and brought the bulls over to our pasture.
I have transplanted flowers and strawberries. Five of my purple coneflowers, moved in the fall, haven't come up yet. Could mean another visit to the greenhouse.
Doesn't seem like I've done a lot today, but I'm beat. Maybe one more leisurely stroll around the yard before it gets dark and cooler ....

♫ Hey Big Spender ♫

Scott bought a new toy: a bigger mower, with a grass-catcher. 

Yesterday I went to my first garage sale this season. I don't need a thing! But am looking for child's wagons to use to move my heavy, full flowerpots around the yard, and wooden photo frames for my wall collection of family pictures. I brought home one 5" x 7" frame, and:

to help keep mosquitoes at bay out on the deck: can't have too many

the cutest little flowerpot, right

A chocolate-melting cup and a noodle bowl w/chopsticks

All for a grand total of $2.
♫ Hey Big Spender ♫ 

A Time for Sowing

Seeding has begun, in our corner of the cosmos.

That's what's going on outdoors.
It looks like we may get rain today, too.

Indoors, I am trying to get the laptop to do what I want so I can use it for certain aspects of my job, and it's being unreasonable and uncooperative and speaking a language I don't understand.

The binoculars are for birdwatching through the window.

After spending several hours yesterday afternoon without getting the required results, I was washing dishes when Scott came home, said hello, and asked me immediately, "What's wrong?"

"It's that obvious?" said I. "I'm frustrated as hell."

It was so exhausting that after eating a light supper I laid down for a half-hour in hopes of getting a second wind. And then went out, dug up a couple dozen perennials, and transplanted them into the new front flowerbed. This I know how to do! And it is satisfying to see the greenery out there where I want it.

Now if only things will start going my way at the kitchen table.

The Daily Palaver

Male American goldfinches, seen above, arrived at the feeders first. The paler females appeared yesterday.

You try to come up with something to post every day!

The webpages I'm most loyal to are those that have new content every time I manage to get over to them; if I'm disappointed too many times, I tend to stop going back.

Here, it's my habit to post some sort of photo at least, and even if there's nothing much going on, just saying hello gets me started and then I can be surprised by what comes up, sometimes, if I just sit down here and give it a minute or two and post something — anything. It's really all about my own entertainment, to be honest, and my own love of letterwriting and journalling. My entries won't contain the solution to world peace or a learned treatise on philosophy or a witty satire on lifestyle or insider stock tips; I'm not even sharing all my bitchy life dramas (and I do have a few!) with you people. If a friendly how-dy-doo isn't good enough for you, dear reader ... you will be disappointed here.

Today I've got someone coming over in an hour or two and I'm still in my housecoat and pyjamas and haven't eaten breakfast. The house was cold so I didn't feel like making my habitual fruit smoothie; I cranked the furnace on instead and will wait till things toast up. The wind's being a bit mean and the sky's grey so there's no incentive to go outside yet, even though transplanting a dozen speedwells into the new flowerbed out front is next on my gardening agenda.

[Anyone local want well-established shasta daisies or daylilies? They are here for the diggin; I've no place to put them and they could end up ploughed under if no one takes them. Also there are three peonies that I've no new home for; all yours, just come over and get them. They aren't quick to recover from transplanting but they will eventually.]

And I want to put in five hours at work on the computer before doing something with ground beef for supper; something like meatloaf, which is one of my favourites. Can you go wrong with ground beef? Not usually. But blechh. I'm bored with cooking. And dishes. Would rather live on fruit smoothies.

Had a little mostly one-sided conversation with Emil, who apparently believes clowns should be nice people:

Emil
"I like The Simpsons.
There's a guy named Crusty the Clown. He's not very nice. He shouldn't even be a clown. He's mean.
Crusty the Clown always sounds like he has a sore throat when he talks. I don't like the way he talks. Maybe he does have a sore throat."

Me
"So, what do you like about The Simpsons?"

Emil
"I like everybody except Crusty the Clown. He's mean.
Poppa likes The Simpsons too."

Florence Foster Jenkins (Cover Your Ears!)

While doing my work, which requires plenty of internet surfing to find information and photographs relating to a variety of subjects, I come across the most curious things.

Today, while searching for an image to illustrate Canada's Immigration Act of 1976, I stumbled upon this. Don't ask me how. But I just had to share it with you. Perhaps you will stop saying, "Oh, I can't sing!" This lady sure as heck couldn't, but she didn't let that stop her!

For more information about this performer who couldn't sing worth a hoot but sold out Carnegie Hall, click on this link.

I've already sent it to my sister Karen for whom, as for me, listening to Florence Foster Jenkins "sing" is horribly irritating. As a matter of fact, I can guarantee Karen won't make it to the end of the recording; I didn't.

I've often heard people who can't remain on pitch while certain they are excellent singers, but I've never heard of anyone taking it to such extremes in public and so able to convince herself that her voice was worth listening to, and more: worth paying to listen to.

All I Want for Mother's Day is a Bath Pillow

All sliced, so the mess is made only once

Been hard at work the last few days, as well as struggling with the neck thing again; however today I'm feeling normal and the sun is warm and the wind isn't being a bastard, so I plan to spend much of it outside with a hoe or shovel in my hand. Imagine I'll come in with a sunburn, but don't care.

And the new green leaves have popped out, and the birds are singing up a storm all around. This is my idea of heaven, though naturally it would not be heaven for everyone. For instance: wood ticks. Frightful things. But they're not going to stop me enjoying the outdoors. My heaven is certainly different from the heaven of others; and that makes perfect sense to me. A city boy recently told me that a few days in the quiet countryside (it's far from quiet, I have to say,  but compared to the Toronto traffic I guess it is) unnerved him, and he craved the sound of traffic again. Everett, on the other hand, who is now living in Edmonton, tells me he's coming out here with his dad this week to get a few lungfuls of fresh air, because even after living in the city since September he's not become accustomed to the "smell" of it. (He actually has no sense of smell; he "tastes" what the rest of us smell.)

Woke up yesterday morning to the sound of the lawn being mowed ... a summer sound if ever there was one. Felt as if I was living a life of luxury, to lie abed while the household's early riser was out there working. Although I suspect that riding around on the lawnmower is a rest, for him, compared to the other work he does.

And yes I am thinking of my "moms" today. My little grandmom, gone more than a year now, and my mom, gone almost seven. If you've still got your mom and your grandma in your life, spoil them rotten today.

Sights of Saskatoon

I will never believe this little baby is 14. Never!!

Cathy, left, after the show with her daughter Emma and her mom Elaine

The city of Saskatoon has prettified its streets by such scenes as this: Joni Mitchell, who calls the city her hometown,  with a view of city bridges behind. I took this picture though the window of Cathy's car on a rainy day.

Sights of Toronto

With false captions for those who find my blog somewhat ... too ... dull ...
Does this help?

The mall across from my hotel; there was a bomb scare there the day before I arrived

A pair of lesbian transvestites I ran into at the mall

When you're eating your meals alone, they should at least look good. Supper: grilled vegetable sandwich w/ sweet potato fries. 

A trapeze act hired to entertain me in my hotel room; they had a real workout. Bet they were sore for days.

My Spiderwoman capabilities allowed me to scale the outside walls of the hotel and enter rooms whose occupants had left their purchases behind while they went sightseeing. This way I don't have to do all my *shopping* at the mall.

Housekeeping

Sign that our cleaning gal has been here

Home, at last! Only six days away but it felt like a long time.
And the sun is shining. There were tinges of green in the trees outside Saskatoon, but they became fewer as I drew closer to Wadena. However, the frogs are still having a heyday and if the sun keeps it up today, it won't be long till we're bathed in the kelly green of brand new poplar and willow leaves.
I've been outside in my bright green housecoat —thankyou Joanie!— pulling grass and weeds from the flowerbed and flowerpots, spotting new growth in the old flowerbed (so many plants to be moved yet), and thinking I'd like to spend the entire day outside.
Might just let myself do it, too.

Rosebud Mountain

The "mountain" above looks close, but it is actually a mile away from where I stood on the road to take this picture. Last spring the municipality (I assume) decided to store gravel in an unused farmyard; so there it is. Rosebud is the name of the area in the countryside where we live.

Not far from the gravel pile is a country hall that has been used for many years for dances and parties. Sometimes when I'm sitting up reading late on weekends the deep drone of the bass is audible from across the field between the hall and our place. For only a moment there is a sense of "missing all the fun," but it is just old habit. You couldn't drag me out of my cosy bed to that noisy hall; not with a herd of wild horses. I know exactly what I'm missing: nothing. Or put another way: been there, done that, got the Tshirt.

The flight to Saskatoon was uneventful yesterday but for a small boy, too young to make intelligible words yet, who peered over the back of his seat ahead of my row and entertained. The two ladies beside me laughed and played with him -- "Boo!" --  and I went back to my reading until he'd holler at me in his garbled language to Pay Attention! I wasn't to be allowed to wriggle out of it that easily. Smiling toddlers; gotta love 'em. Or else.

There's been heavy rainfall throughout the night and it's still windy and wet out there. Cathy and I will attend her daughter Emma's musical theatre performance this afternoon -- I've never seen her onstage so this is a long-overdue event for me -- and tomorrow I'll head down the highway home.

Scott, when we spoke on the phone while I was away in March, insisted on putting the receiver to little Ducky's ear so that I could speak to him. The dog reacted by pawing at it. This trip, when Scott did the same thing and I said a few words to the dog (not my idea, I'll have you know; too silly, but I obliged), he licked the receiver. Awww.......

Lone Spruce

Old Barn, Lone Tree

That's it then, for Hog Town. A hearty brunch with a work colleague, a stroll out in the sunshine, and here I am, packing up for the trip to the airport, where I'll spend yet more time people-watching before we take to the air in four hours.

I understand I may need my jacket when getting off the plane in Saskatoon. Hard to believe at this moment, when it's hot and I'm wishing I had a fan in my hand.

Doc Makes It To The River

Last year Doc MacLean stopped at the little Anglican church in Wadena as part of his tour across Canada. I got this little video but until now YouTube wouldn't allow me to upload anything longer than about 20 seconds. Suddenly I'm no longer persona non grata. I've got privileges! Woo hoo!"

I'm a big like-er of Doc's songs and always yodel alongside his "sultry tones." Yodelling works for me because I rarely remember lyrics. As a matter of fact, I have no clue what most songs are about. Doc puts a lot of effort into his storytelling so this might be disappointing to him, but what can I do? It's the way I listen to music.

Speaking of listening to music, after Maggie and John left last night (I'd given them tea and coffee in my room) I figured I'd better go down and eat something. Not that I was hungry, but I didn't want to be caught in my room unable to sleep because I hadn't eaten enough. And no piano player! He only plays Monday to Wednesday nights in the lounge. Guess I should have seized the day, the night before!

Looks like it's shaping up to be a hot day. At least, that's how it feels in here.

Ravine in Spring

How things look back home

Scott called early this morning and mentioned that at home, it had frozen during the night.

Here the tulips are over a foot tall, and blooming! The grass is green ... the birdies sing ... and everything!

Had a fine visit this evening with my Katimavik friend Maggie, whom I hadn't seen for some 30 or more years. It was only two hours of chatting but she and her husband had driven an hour-and-a-half after work to get here, and had yet to make their way home through pouring rain and then they work tomorrow morning. Within a very short time I thought what a shame Scott wasn't here, as the two men would have had a lot in common. We managed to have some good laughs and solve the world's problems and I have decided to assume we'll get to spend another evening sorting things out before 30 more years pass. (It's my head; I can dream if I want to.)


It is midnight, time for this tired gal to hit the hay. Will have more time to ramble another day. Perhaps tomorrow evening, when I'm sitting in this hotel room by my lonesome, with my head near to exploding with all the new information I'm taking in for work. With my luck tonight I'll be practising my new database skills instead of getting a good sleep. Can't help it; my brain functions like a Nazi sometimes.

Buds

Taken above my driveway 

And I was excited to see those buds, believe me!
Now here I am in Toronto, where the first thing I noticed was that THE LEAVES ARE OUT!
What a treat to see that. And the lilacs are starting to bloom! Back home ... well, you've seen: buds only.

It was one in the morning before I managed to fall asleep in Saskatoon, and then the alarm went at 4 a.m. and I was up, drinking coffee, eating Cathy's delicious banana chocolate chip muffins, and being driven to the airport by my sainted friend who got out of bed at 4:30 rather than make me take a cab. Thank you again, Cathy. You really go beyond the call of friendship duty. I owe ya bigtime.

The early departure was so that I could take a direct three-hour flight rather than fly west to Calgary and then east again. I was fortunate enough to sit with two lovely ladies (three blonds in a row, were we) whose conversation made the trip seem short and sweet. One of them (Hi Andrea!) even offered to drop me off here at the hotel on her way home, and then was kind enough to wait for me till my luggage became available, when she could have jaunted off right away. I swear, when it comes to the very decent and kind people I meet, I am one of the luckiest women in the world.

It was just past noon when I got checked in and up to my room, unpacked and settled in, and looked in the mirror. Hoo boy. Obviously very tired. However I didn't dare take a nap for fear of missing my tea-time appointment with Barbara and Deb (see The Middle Ages blog; link's in the list of Canadian webpages down below), so I took a nice long shower to perk me up and then headed across the street to the mall, where I walked around for an hour until it was time to meet. This was my first in-person meeting with internet friends, and it was no disappointment. These two gals were so easy to talk to it was as if we'd known each other for a hundred years, and by the time we parted ways, I hated to let them go. I got what looks to be a gorgeous picture of the two of them, but it'll have to wait till I get home before you get to see it. Pretty sure Barbara's camera is toast, due to the photo she took with me in it. (I should've warned you, B.)

Back at the hotel I took a stroll through the building to see how late the restaurant is open and find some snacks to keep in my room. My plan was to get to bed early, catch up on the sleep I missed last night, and be perky for tomorrow's learning curve. But someone was playing the piano in the lounge, and I am oh so tempted to go down there and listen to him while eating something. Except that I'm not hungry. Guess I could drink. But not on a mostly empty stomach. Hm. We'll see. Meanwhile sitting here with Scott's laptop is perfectly restful and relaxing. The only thing I'd enjoy more is if he was here with me.

Boy is the traffic outside my fourth-floor window ever loud! With luck it'll make white noise that'll help me sleep like a baby tonight.

There is a lot to see and do in this city, but it's unlikely I'll avail myself of any of the tourist attractions: Casa Loma, which would be fascinating to see, and the Royal Ontario Museum ... and that's only two of many. I've only got Friday evening free, and a couple hours Saturday afternoon before flying back to Saskatoon, and it might be wise to leave those spots open for now just in case this old girl actually needs to rest at some point.

Country mouse in the city, that's me.

My Pet Moose

We guess this little darlin is a year-old female. During yesterday's walk was the third time I've come upon her in the past few days. She stood looking back at me for quite awhile before deciding she should hide (sorry about the wind; honestly it is the wind, not my breathing):




Thanks to Joanne, I've remembered that today Mom would've phoned her and given the annual spiel:

Hooray Hooray
It's the First of May
Outdoor screwing
Starts today!

And on that note I'll leave you for now, as I've got to spend the morning doing laundry, packing, and preparing to drive to Saskatoon, where I'll spend the night at Cathy's and catch the plane to Toronto at 6 a.m. You may have to live without my wondrous words for an entire week, you poor things! Unless I've the inclination to get on the laptop in the hotel room in the evenings. We shall see.

From A Year With Rumi: Daily Readings by Coleman Bark:

The way you make love
is the way God will be with you.

*This is Rumi's variation on the Golden Rule.

Food for thought, isn't it?

Retired workhorses— granary and grain truck

Yesterday was pretty much a write-off, though I did manage to sit here for one hour and work. The rest of the day and all of the night were spent wondering what in the hell it is I do to bring this upon myself. In hopes of relieving the pressure on my neck I semi-reclined on the couch for part of the night. There was no real sleep to be had, but I dreamed anyway.  The mind is an entertaining beast when you're awake enough to observe what it gets up to. Quite inventive!

After sleeping most of the morning I am caught up on the hours missed last night and now feel almost normal. My fingers are crossed that it remains so for the rest of the day. That deadline still needs to be met, and I've got to prepare for a week away from home: do laundry, pack, and so on.

Sure hope this kind of migraine thingy doesn't spring itself upon me while en route to Toronto during the three-hour plane ride, or when I'm there working over several days.

Snow Geese

There's a flock in the field south of our yard, and are they ever noisy! And easily spooked. I was still quite far away when they left the ground and, not ready for it, missed recording the first moments. But the sound made by their wings as they first take off is enough to make you stand there with your mouth open. It's almost overwhelming.

I'm not feeling right, dammit (neck thing, third day in a row), but have to work this afternoon if we're to meet a deadline, so am going to go for a short walk and see if that helps any. If it doesn't, sitting here will be hell on wheels. You know how it is when all you want to do is sleep to escape it, and you can't.

Accident on Main St Wadena

Maybe this thing ...

...hit this thing.

It appears no one was hurt, but the ambulance showed up anyway just moments after I snapped these pictures when Emil and I came out of the Co-op store.

A Quick Hello

Flat, my ass! Lo the undulating hills of Saskatchewan

It is freezing cold out there this morning, and I haven't even had breakfast yet, but have a busy day ahead that must include a brisk 45-minute walk. Sigh. Some days I sure don't feel like it.

And now, it is time to make this morning's smoothie: kiwi, banana, spinach, yogurt, blueberries, apple, orange. It will be olive green, but I don't care; it will taste delicious and look at all the vitamins getting down my neck! This pleases me no end.

I'll leave you with the following film, which my sister Joan says was an eye-opener for her and her hubby:

Watch Forks Over Knives online:

http://www.filmsforaction.org/Watch/Forks_Over_Knives_2011/

Oh, and look! Since it's soon dandelion season, why not make good use of the pesky plants?

Other Places to Read

Out behind the chicken coop sits this old thing, probably an apartment for mice now.

I have gathered some links that might be of interest:

http://greatgreths.wordpress.com/

The Unbearable Lightness of Being Me contains some stunning photographs

http://blog.thecanadianencyclopedia.com/blog/posts/classic-shipwreck-songs/#more-3795

Classic Shipwreck Songs, by Gary Cristall on the Canadian Encyclopedia blog; contains a 5-minute audio recording of Leadbelly

“When Edith Wharton—then Edith Jones—was a little girl, her favorite game was called “making up.” “Making up” involved pacing around with an open book and (before she could read) inventing and then later half reading, half inventing stories about real people, narratives that she would chant very loud and very fast. The constant pacing and shouting were important parts of the game, which (according to Wharton’s memoir, A Backward Glance) had an enraptured, trance-like, slightly erotic aspect. Her parents spied on her, and it made them nervous.” 

http://www.nybooks.com/blogs/nyrblog/2012/mar/21/making-up-edith-wharton/

Making up Edith Warton, by Francine Prose in The New York Review of Books

And that's that for that! 

I will be slaving hard indoors for most of the day, trying to meet a deadline.