Our Friend Monte

As he looked in his teens, when we met.

His friends and family are together at Rosebud Hall this afternoon to mark Monte's passing on the 27th of January.

I am doing it at home in a different way:

• dressed in my favourite clothes.
• put on scented oils and pretty jewellery.
• lit a candle.
• set a glass of water on the kitchen window ledge.
• smudged the house with sage.
• sang the song that came to me.
• wished Monte well.
• thanked him for the laughs, and there were many.
• lifted a glass of red wine.

Monte was a neighbour, so he and Scott grew up scallawags together.

Losing a friend to death is ...
We just have to help ourselves get by.

Things on Things

Things on the piano

I've been coming over to Everett's about once a week to spend an evening with him watching Doctor Who. He gets up early in the morning and heads off to work before eight, and I usually sit here with his laptop and catch up on my favourite blogs, and my own.

Things on kitchen shelf

After he leaves for work, I do the dishes. The countertop is completely covered with them and I have sometimes eaten supper the night before here, and breakfast in the morning, so I figure the least I can do is wash some dishes. I can do the kid a favour by helping out.

Things on the TV

Last night he tells me he doesn't like it when he comes home and finds the dishes washed, and I shouldn't do it anymore. I must look at him askance, because he goes on to explain: he hates doing dishes and doesn't do them till he has no choice, but knows he must discipline himself to keep on top of the task, and when someone else has done the chore, he does not have the opportunity to practise self-discipline. As a matter of fact, he looks at the dishes throughout the week and allows himself not to do them, because "Mom will, next time she's here." And he thinks this is probably not good for him.

Where did I get this kid?

This morning as he was leaving I mentioned being unable to laze around the house because work beckons early; it's our new production day, since the paper now comes out Mondays.

"Good," he said. "You won't have time to do the dishes then."

Married to Javier Bardem

On the way to town in the morning, we pick up Scott's brother Bruce and before we drive out of the yard they notice a calfster is in the wrong pen. So out they go to put it right. 

It was 29-below at 8:30 a.m.
I watched from the cab of the half-ton.
Tucked deep into my parka was I.

     

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

Dream:

I was married to Javier Bardem.

OMG.

Hugging and kissing Javier Bardem was heaven.

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

Cookies for Benny

When you have a day off after the weekend, you have caught up on your laundry and dishes and can either armwrestle yourself into baking bread, as perhaps you ought, or do what you want.

I did what I wanted, and made a batch of cookies.
Last week, on my birthday in fact, an old friend died. His roommate and good friend likes these cookies, as I recall, which is what spurred me on to making them: and so some went into a plastic strawberries container before being sealed into a bag to be taken over to the house.

Out here, there is no place to recycle these plastics. So I stack and store them for throwing away lightbulbs (they keep the glass from breaking, slicing the garbage bag, cutting someone) and other sundry uses that come up. Not many. Now: protector of cookies.

And then I did more of what I wanted.
A few pictures in frames got added to the wall of "family" collection.

Honestly, I can spend all day just picking things up and moving them around.
It's very satisfying.
Like bringing order to controlled chaos.

Fairweather Walker, admittedly

The dogs set out bravely with me.

I head south, toward the sunshine.

Getting past the trees. There's an icy wind.

Wiser to turn around and stay close to shelter.

Finally February

We followed these two deer down the road a ways before turning into Faye & Rick's driveway.

It was another stellar meal by Rick & Faye, who barbecue all winter.
It was topped off by tequila liqueur.
They returned from Mexico a week ago.

Collecting Happy

Birthday card from my sister Joan, who is blogging at CollectingHappy.

Boy, age 21

Everett in his kitchen, bundling up to walk to work.

The Wind she blew the Snow about

And that's when you want to stay indoors where it's warm and comfortable and watch the snowbanks form on the other side of your window.

We are eating the most fabulous cabbage dish. And the easiest. I am in love.

•
Classic Stewed Cabbage
1/4 cup butter
2 onions, chopped
1 stalk celery, chopped
2 cloves garlic, chopped
1 medium head cabbage, cut into squares
1 (14.5 ounce) can stewed tomatoes, with liquid
salt and pepper to taste
Directions
1. Melt butter in a large saucepan over medium heat. Add onion, celery, and garlic and saute for 3 to 5 minutes, or until translucent. Stir in cabbage, reduce heat to low, and simmer for 15 minutes.
2. Pour in tomatoes and season with salt and pepper to taste. Cover pan and cook over medium heat for 30 to 40 minutes, or until cabbage is tender.

Tonight we had this in the fridge for leftovers, so I added a cup of water, a large tin of diced tomatoes, and half a cup of brown rice and let it simmer covered till the rice was cooked.
Mm Mm Mm.

Lovin' Winter

Some people, when they come in the door after a hard day's work, crack open a beer and sit on the couch in front of the TV with their laptop on.

Some wash and dry dishes while starting supper.

Which do you think I am?

<><><>

One of these years I'm going to get ahead of the game, as upon occasion I do, and have the breakfast dishes done before leaving in the morning, and supper prepared in advance so it only needs to be warmed up.

But it won't be today.

<><><>

Yesterday I walked as far as the end of the driveway and turned back. It was friggin' cold out there, and windy. Over the weekend I watched snowbanks form around the yard. Pretty things. So pretty I took pictures—through the window.

Friends are returning from Mexico, and friends are flying off to warmer climes, and I feel no envy whatsoever. Winter is nearly over and I don't want to miss a moment of it.

Last Day Age 54

We stopped at the store to pick up a cake before leaving town after work on Friday. Emil was coming out for the weekend and was disappointed that he wouldn't be here Monday for birthday cake, assuming we'd be having one. We wouldn't have bothered, but for Emil's sake I bought a chocolate cheesecake and insisted we start celebrating my birthday early. So we had some last night and will have some again today, before he goes back to his home in town.

Friday was a mild day but for the wind, and I figured flowers would make it safely between building and vehicle, so grabbed a bright bouquet on my way to the frozen deli section. I didn't need cheering up, but they really do make me smile and feel good each time I walk past them on the kitchen table. It's the big yellow ones that do it.

Flin Flon

I lived and worked in and near Flin Flon in the '80s.

Emil

V

Emil likes to lie on a bed in the evening and relax.

Another week’s work well done.

Morning at Everett's

Since Tuesdays are a long day at the office, when we are often there till 7 o'clock (when the digital files get sent to the press; the paper comes out today), I have been coming over to Everett's to spend the night. He made cheese tortilla wraps for supper last night and had bought Dad's goodie rings to nibble on while watching Doctor Who. We generally take in two episodes; I have an entire season, or more, to catch up on.

Everett gets exasperated with me. I don't like the cybermen, the daleks, or any threatening space creature. I prefer, he says, shows with no conflict. I should watch Teletubbies, he says, rolling his eyes.

Kid's got me pegged.

I was enjoying the Downton Abbey period drama series until they introduced violence and rape to the storyline. It turned my stomach. I don't watch TV to have my stomach turned. I  watch it for entertainment, relaxation. I don't want to get my adrenalin pumping, thanks very much. It's fine in its everyday state, there when it's needed, not artificially stimulated by a little square box in my living room.

That said, I love it when the evildoers get what's coming to them. And that only happens on TV.

Evening at Home ~ north of driveway ~ looking south ~

Mr Doodle

Ducky Doodle, age 7

Poor little sweetness now spends his weekdays alone in the house, snoozing.
So he makes sure to get his snuggling quota in the evenings, when he is never far from a lap, wherever one may be.

I know someone will ask, so here it is: deer-faced chihuahua.

Wind Damage

Those wicked winds last week tore a good chunk of the house wrap off. Apparently it's of little concern*, as Scott found other things to do on the weekend rather than tack it back up. He even seriously considered driving to Humboldt to do some sales shopping and, had I agreed to go along, would've.

It was the last thing I felt like doing with a day off. I baked bread instead. Got the dishes done. Had a nice relaxing bath. Running around when I don't have to, even to please someone looking for a companion, seems unwise to me. All I wanted to do was stay home.

An old beau once translated this philosophy from French to English: "I like to please others, but not at my own displeasure." These are still words to live by, more than 30 years later. Maybe they allow me to be selfish or self-serving. I hope not. Maybe they remind me to respect and care for my own needs as much as those of others. I think so.

My sales shopping consisted of flipping through a Sears catalogue, circling the things I wanted to buy, underlining the order numbers, sizes and colours, and then throwing the catalogue onto a pile of recyclable papers in the porch. I don't need any of that stuff and won't be making any phone call to order it.

I do covet a good pair of pull-on walking boots though, and have my eye on a pair of Blundstones. I have shared this information with my spouse, who did not give me a Christmas present and feels sheepish—as well he should. My birthday is coming up so he can kill two birds with one stone, if he wishes. And if not, I shall buy them for myself. I'll be 55. Fifty-friggin-five! Still alive! Let's jive! I can't drive ... 55!

* As is often the case, there is method to Scott's madness. The torn house wrap is wrecked and has to be replaced with new.

Weekend Life

Two animals have been butchered and Scott divides up the packages of beef for private buyers.

It's 5:30 through a southwest window when I come inside.

The World comes to Me

Friends travel and bring back gifts.
Shelly knew I'd appreciate these colourful warm socks from Peru.
Cathy knew a wide-strapped bag from Myanmar would get good use from me.

Calm after Storm

A walk with Jenna Doodle and Sara Doodle on the weekend

Wow, that was some wind. Wasn't it!

We spent part of our evening standing back, watching the picture window in the living room bend in and out, wondering whether it was going to break or what.

The ride home last night was a bit scary, what with the wind blowing snow so hard across the road that at times visibility was zero. Walking from vehicle to house, I thought it really could be possible for the wind to pick up someone and send them flying. I don't want to see what the house wrap looks like today. It won't be good. Still, at least our roof didn't get torn off, as I've heard happened to a building in Lloydminster.

I am all ready to go to work; just waiting, now, for Scott to finish with his cattle and pick me up before driving to a job in town.

We've started working on a website for the newspaper. See it here: http://wadenanews.ca./.
So far just a few pics from this week's edition, which came out yesterday.

Little Grace

When I was in Regina, the creative and kindly Jo Ann got inspired to finish the cloth doll she was making for me. At my request it was patterned on Mom, and when Jo handed it to me my heart filled. The print blouse, the gap between the front teeth, the blue eyes ... oh, what a lovely reminder Little Grace is, right down to the black leather shoes Jo made for her to wear.

For comparison:

Home from late afternoon walk

Talk before Sleep

Lately the books coming home from the library have been less than stellar. I’ll see their authors interviewed on TV "mystery writer" or radio "author-interview" shows and they’ll seem interesting, or friends may recommend titles, and I'll order the books in.

To my surprise, even when they are well written they are still not engaging. You might think mysteries could never be that dull, but yes, they can. There are some mystery novels where things happen so slowly — if ever — that I lose interest in the story altogether. I don't care what happens to the characters, and return the book to the library, unfinished.

I like reading memoirs, but have been having the same problem with them. They are not holding my attention. They are not taking me out of my world and into theirs. 

Yesterday afternoon called for a break from work in the newsroom and I strolled over to the library to try again. Ignoring the mystery section and passing quickly over the biographies, I instead browsed through the shelf with books whose authors' surnames start with B and signed out three hardcover novels. 

Talk before Sleep, by Elizabeth Berg, was published 20 years ago, and is about friendship between women, one of whom is dying from breast cancer that has metastasized. 

Not only does the book address the feelings of helplessness and grief when a woman you love is dying, but it evokes the way your own everyday life goes into limbo as you focus on this huge event — watching someone suffer a death by degrees. There is some examination of the characters’ marriages and how they cope with disappointment and anger in various ways. But mostly it is about how women are so comfortable and caring with each other when they are really needed.

I started reading the book in the evening after getting into bed, and only put it down when my eyes wouldn’t stay open any longer. Ding! Points for Elizabeth Berg and Talk before Sleep. The novel articulates many of the emotions one navigates during times of crisis and loss, including the examination of how one has been living and whether new actions and change are required. I'd recommend it if you have a loved one who is ill or has died. 

After Mom passed away, I read Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking, her memoir about what she went through after her husband's death from cardiac arrest. There was little in it that I could relate to, possibly because Didion was dealing with the sudden death of an intimate daily-life partner while I had time to say goodbye to Mom, take care of her, and build our mother-daughter relationship into something deeply profound. Perhaps mine and Didion's are two very different experiences; Didion's did not help me understand mine. But Talk before Sleep feels, in some ways, as if I could have written it myself.

Fifty Below. What's That When It's at Home?

With the wind chill it's minus-50C today, I'm told. Those poor animals out there. How do they manage? I suppose many of them don't.
Maybe I'll stay in, good parka or not. Skin will freeze in minutes and I'm not sure where my balaclava is.
I've spent the day vacuuming, sweeping, doing laundry, changing bedding, moving living room furniture (poor Scott, it will mess him up when he gets back from his afternoon's occupations —feeding, watering and putting straw on the ground for the herd of cattle to bed down in tonight, driving Emil back to town for his work week that starts tomorrow after two weeks off, and going to a neighbour lady's to see what's what with her frozen water pipes —  but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do), washing dishes, talking on the phone to my aunt Shirley in Margo and my brother Cameron in St Albert, and sipping on a big bottle of Bailey's I picked up for the household as a Christmas treat.
Next: make pepperoni pizza for supper.
I'm looking forward to the new season of Downton Abbey, which starts tonight. There is something about the construction in conversation of proper English sentences that I love, whether in film or books. And of course, the period costumes and sets are fabulous. As are Dame Maggie Smith and the lady who plays her nemesis, Isobel Somebody. And Shirley MacLaine too, when she appears on the show.
It could be a good TV night, as Sundays often are. Doc Martin will be on, and there is a new Canadian series called The Best-Laid Plans that is a must-see. If I can just manage not to be put off by the frequency and repetitiveness of commercials on the ordinary (as opposed to public television) channels. Often I get up to do something during commercials, and never come back.
Last night I watched Django Unchained. The violence of Quentin Tarantino's films is not to my taste, but he does have a bizarre sense of humour and I do like those endings where the main characters ride off into the sunset alive and well, so I put up with the blood and guts and keep my fingers crossed all the way through.
I used to watch Boardwalk Empire too, liking the period sets and so on, till the bloody murdering got to be too much. Such shocking visuals tend to stay with me afterward; something I do not need to do to myself.

Parka and Plough

the new parka

My swanky new parka has a large, loose, pointy hood. When it is up, Scott says, if I had a green face I would look like a certain character in The Wizard of Oz.

That's my Scottie.

I think the old plough at the end of our driveway is an eyesore. He likes it and ignores my request to move it, saying, “If you had your way, the marker for our driveway would be a bookshelf.”

I hadn't thought of that, but now that he mentions it ... .

Another Year Begins

Late afternoon light on slightly orangey-pink treetops south of our yard

This afternoon I went for a walk wearing my ski pants and brand-new handy-dandy parka (thanks to a generous aunt and uncle for whom I would edit for nothing but they insist on paying me when it is absolutely not necessary; I will be blessing them for the next 20 years as this parka keeps me toasty warm). It was 28-below, according to the thermometer on the half-ton, but the day was virtually windless and the sky was blue and the sun was sparkling on the snow and I thought, Why, this is not cold at all; it's a beautiful day and I could keep walking forever!

I had locked the old dog in the porch so she wouldn't be with me when Scott stopped to pick me up on his way into town, and I set out down the road 20 or 25 minutes before my ride came along, and was almost sorry to see the truck coming up behind me. Before he got there a gorgeous coyote crossed the road and trotted across a snowy field, stopping several times to keep an eye on me. Naturally my eyeglasses had been left at home so I didn't get the best view of the beast, darn it. Every time! I should never leave those things behind.

Scott visited his dad, who is in the hospital for respite until tomorrow or thereabouts, and I visited my youngest, ate the Triscuits he doesn't like (which were on top of his fridge) and got half a rum cooler (his dad left them at Xmas and Everett doesn't allow alcohol to touch his lips) down my neck before Scott picked me up and we headed home again. It was a short but sweet visit, as the conversation was non-stop. Topics included Dr Who, Nazi propaganda, social niceties, a possibly stray old dog that he's seen several times that, by the look of it, was unsteady on its feet and may need a home and some help, poor thing, especially in this frigid weather, and more. We squeezed a lot into a brief time. Always leave 'em wanting more, I always say.

Weekend in the Queen City

Just home from a couple days spent in Regina with Cathy (left) at the Ramada Inn. We visited with Jo Ann (right), another Luther "dormie," and were fortunate enough to be invited to her place for brunch one morning. Besides her fine cooking, I particularly appreciated this cow pitcher containing, of course, cream for our coffee:

We also went out for meals and coffee, and spent one evening at the Freehouse restaurant, which had a restful atmosphere and great food at good prices:

To my disappointment, no one played the piano.
I sat at the "fish" table:

Every time I go to Regina, I like it more.
One pictures it as a low-to-the-ground, square-shaped city, and perhaps it is, but it has a vibrant feel to it and a lot of very pretty architecture.

Also, the Freehouse has truly fabulous food and makes the best caesars I have ever tasted.

Days before Christmas

Leftovers from Wednesday night "supper"

Alison and I have been running into each other in stores and on the street for years, saying "Let's get together and crack a bottle of wine!"

Finally, we did. Two of them.

<><><>

The news office is closed now till Jan. 2nd.
Emil is home for a few days. I've got him busy in the kitchen, de-greening a couple packs of rinsed strawberries for me to make freezer jam.
Otherwise I intend to be completely lazy.
No sugar cookies, no whipped shortbread, no caramel corn (I've OD'd on the making of it), no almond rocha, no nuts 'n' bolts, no lefse.
No Christmas tree, no lights, no ornaments brought from storage, though my Wise Men beeswax candles are within easy reach in the china cabinet. Maybe I'll find a place to set them out. It's the least I could do as a nod to the season.

Unlike last year at this time, when I dug for YouTube videos of the earworm I had, O Beautiful Star, and collected them.

Here you go; there's a buttload to listen to (and watch) on this page:

http://goldengrainfarm.blogspot.ca/search?updated-max=2013-03-05T10:36:00-06:00&max-results=100&reverse-paginate=true

As a matter of fact, I may give them a spin myself; maybe some Christmas spirit will rub off on me.

I did hear, thanks to my friend Julie who posted the video on the Stubblejumpers Café webpage, Andrea Bocelli singing I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas. It made me cry and miss my mother.

Workaday World

Dark office. Light outside in hallway. Scott frying something on the stove, talking to dog, talking on phone; TV on. Coffee mug beside me on table, almost empty. Wet hair; housecoat; complainy neck. Gotta go out the door in a half-hour and put in a long day at work.

Went for lunch with my sister Karen yesterday, and my aunt Shirley.
"How do you like getting up early and heading off to town?" Karen asked me.
And I, surprising myself, replied, "I like it!"

All those mornings getting up to drive Everett to his job in town must have been paving the way.

And now: Butter toast. Dress. Move!

Resting Up

Always so satisfying to see the Wadena News pages laid out at the end of production day. 

It's my mid-week day off.
It's 11:22 a.m.
I'm still in my housecoat.

This is the life.

Home for the Weekend

A cast-iron moose has been erected alongside the road between here and Kelvington. Of course some asshole has already taken shots at it. D'uh. Brainless idiots abound.

Whoa! That was what I said when I first caught sight of this moose, while reaching for my camera. It looked huge and real. Up close, it's only half the height of a real moose. But from a wee distance it had me fooled.

More than a week has zipped by. Zip zip zip. Oh well. Isn't that life after 40?

I got a lift into town Monday morning with Scott, and then spent the week at Everett's. Just six blocks to walk to or from work, and the freedom to arrive and leave the office when I choose. Clearly it's time to order new tires for my old car so I don't have to rely on someone else or adjust to their schedule. Or we could just put a set of bunk-beds into the office for us die-hards.

I am wondering ... if I'm in town most of the day, what's the point of living out here? Except for non-winter evenings and weekends, I'll be indoors anyway. If you're between four walls a lot, what does it matter where they are?

Hm.

Got another 10 episodes of Dr Who under my belt. Everett laughs when some sudden surprise onscreen makes me jump. Little bugger.

Friday night was Moonlight Madness shopping in Wadena. I got a couple gifts purchased and stopped at the drugstore to pick up a new prescription for my neck migraines. There was a migraine coming on; I had only brought a couple pills to town with me Monday and had used them. It was 30- or 40-below, and I had no plans to go home before the next day. The doctor had not returned the pharmacist's afternoon call to request an extension of the prescription, so I was shit out of luck.

Scott would have driven into town to bring the pills, but I didn't want him out on the road so I gambled on being okay for the night. By morning I wasn't, and by the time he got in with the pills, it took the medication a while to catch up to the discomfort. So yesterday was a fairly wasted day. As was this morning.

However, while begging the pharmacist unsuccessfully to advance me a couple pills to get me through till the next day, I learned that if my condition was marked "chronic" I wouldn't have to keep running back to the doc's office to get the prescription renewed. After 25 years of the same symptoms, wouldn't you call that chronic? I don't see why not.

Why go to the doctor when all you need is a prescription renewal? Well, we shall see what can be arranged. Wish me luck. I'm always very careful not to run out of my medication, but this time had mistaken some empty packages for actual pills. I hate to think what shape I'd've been in all weekend if I hadn't still had some at home. Oof. It's been a while since I've experienced that kind of suffering, which I hope never to deal with again.

By the way, the T and T Café makes the best burgers in town. And they serve Pilsner beer.