T'ings

Emil and I sat side by side on the couch last night. The lamps were on, the TV was not, and we chatted.
I asked him if he liked that I was leaving the string of Christmas bulbs up all year. Indeed, he likes that.

This week I had coffee with a friend  from 'way back in the day' and the first or second thing I said was probably "OK catch me up on the last 30 years of your life — in the next half-hour."

Trying to tell someone who's never met him what Emil is like is not that easy. Which made me think that showing how he gets around the house is one way.

***
Usually I respond to each comment as I see it, but alas this efficient habit has fallen to the wayside lately. You will have to forgive me. I will reply when I think of it now, instead of going back to find it. Every one of your comments is like receiving a little gem, though, I have to tell you. Don't think it isn't.

***
When I'm a millionaire with a housekeeper, I will have the walls wiped down everywhere Emil has left his handprints.

***
WWW, those bowls and the stand are from Princess House, which my sister Karen used to sell. The company has gone out of business now. They are intended for serving crackers and dips if I remember correctly. I've never used them for that. I've never actually used them much at all. Right now they sit by the porch door with (in the top bowl) an opened roll of five-flavours Lifesavers that we don't touch, and in the middle bowl I've dumped a bag of those chocolate Rolo candies. The third is empty. Candies are expensive! and not good for you anyway.

***
I have to look up Sheila's Brush now.

***
Lori, we've got a big yard -- a farmyard -- and there's dog shit all over the place here too. It's why I say that after our two dogs are no more, I don't want another one. (Though last night I caught myself dreaming about the blue heeler I'd prefer if we were looking for a farm dog.)

***
Lorna, re the neck things, maybe I need to accept that the condition is something that must be lived with, not something that can be treated and healed. Like a diagnosis of bi-polar. After 27 years ... I give up? But am still going to get wild raspberry leaves and make tea with them every day ... can't hurt. They are a hormone balancer and that may be the bottom line here.
So I say I'm giving up,  but really I'm not.
Where do I get this inexhaustible fund of hope?

***
When Everett moved out, he left behind this huge folder containing his Art 30 homework. It's been between the wall and my desk for some years. I need something to protect the archived newspapers that I'm carrying home from the office, so the folder has been called into service.
First it had to be emptied, and I discovered several interesting pieces. Joan, I can imagine him developing serious skills. Here's perhaps a self-caricature done when he was in Grade 12.

Emil on the Move

When Emil comes to our place, he parks his elbow crutches outside on the step railing and makes his way into the house using his hands to steady himself.
He sits in the porch to remove his boots and jacket, and then walks around the house in his sock feet. Some of the time he wears his braces and shoes, but tonight he is taking a break from them after wearing them all day.
He's decided to call his dad in St. Albert and see if he's coming out for the Easter weekend. Emil likes to be alone when he's on the phone so is making his way from the living room to the bedroom.

When he gets to the bedroom, he immediately closes the door.

Sounds like Gord won't make it for Easter, but is considering coming out a week or two later.

Spring Thing

Scott has been digging snow away from the culvert down the road so that the meltwater can run away off the adjacent field. It is a raging skinny river right now.

The north side of the culvert

The south side of the culvert

And down the ditch alongside the road goes the runoff.

Frigate

Drink wine, don't drink wine.
Eat enough, don't eat enough.
Get enough sleep, don't get enough sleep.
Watch your posture or don't.
Do hatha yoga regularly or don't.
Either way, if you're me you'll still get these EFFIN NECK THINGS half-a-dozen times a month.
So drink and eat what you want, when you want. Sleep or don't. Sit straight or don't. Stretch or don't.
Dammit. I am sick of trying to figure it out, and failing.

An Embarrassment of Candle Riches

After my little candle-holding buddy arrived, I needed more beeswax tealites.
You can't find them (pure beeswax ones) at the local store, but Cathy and Roger make them at their honey farm in Manitoba so I put in an order. I asked for a dozen of their lotus candles too. Before long, there was a parcel card in the box at the post office and I was opening up the most lusciously scented package there ever could be.

On the coffee table in front of the living room window

It came as a slight shock that it has already been a year since Shelly and I made our road trip to their place. When did months get so short?

The candles are not tucked away in a closet. They are out where I can see them and, when very fortunate, catch a whiff of them. I set the new bunch next to the ones already gracing our home. Such variety! You aren't seeing the half of it, here.

Next to the kitchen table

Now, where is that page I found about someone else's visit to Cathy and Roger's? Have I posted it here before? That's the trouble with longterm blogging. You are bound to repeat yourself and forget what's what.

Anyway, lovable as they are, I'm sure Cathy and Roger constantly have friends coming and going, just as I have done throughout the years. "Well, we are in the middle," Rog says, talking about mutual friends coming from the other direction.

Ah, here it is: http://www.whereiliveblog.ca/blog/raven-creek

And here's a revisit of our trip a year ago.:
http://goldengrainfarm.blogspot.ca/2015/01/road-trip.html

Seems like just this past winter, not the one before. I won't print yet another cliché about time flying, but holy hanna!

Late Afternoon

The sky. What an incredible thing it is.

Ever changing, ever beautiful, ever alive.

Me and Eric Idle

I've discovered Eric Idle's blog and can't look away. He's a good writer and a funny person and those two together, well ... what's a girl to do!

He's a prolific writer, right now on tour with John Cleese in Australia. It's easy to fall behind in the reading, but no matter ... I tell myself ... the writing will be there when I get back.

Then we had two great dinners together, one at Kailis Bros in Leederville, and the other at the beautiful Matilda Bay Restaurant, which overlooks the water, during which Jupiter rose huge and golden as we dined. I always find the Universe comforting when humanity seems frustrating. –Eric Idle

If I don’t look on the bright side who the hell should? I always say I’m an optimist in the morning and a pessimist at night. –Eric Idle

The link to his blog is here on the page, where my "bookmarks" are listed.
And you can click on this picture to go see what the man has to say.

http://www.ericidle.com/blog/

It's the Weekend

The planet Jupiter glows, dangling in the dark sky ahead as I make my way home. The front seat beside me is full; my shoulder bag, two bottles of red wine, a big box of coffee beans and a soft parcel, the latter two picked up at the post office in the afternoon. The back seat too is full, of things I mean to get rid of and haven’t yet: books, clothing, sundry. On the floor are two 10-litre jugs of water; always have three days worth of drinking water on hand, they say, in case of a storm or something. I try.

A bagful of goodies

Still half a mile from our yard, I can see lights moving outside our back step. Scott is there with the tractor, pushing snow. I turn in and two big dogs meet my car; they have followed the tractor over from the other place. The ponderous machine holds back out of the way while I drive right up to the step, and then it heads out the driveway and down the road. The dogs stay a few minutes to see what’s what and to be petted before, one at a time, they disappear.

A rainbow of bright tops

I carry in my bag and the wine, and let our own dogs out. It’s icy and I pick my way carefully between car and porch. A second trip gets the coffee and parcel in. A third sees the water jugs set on the snow near the car, and then I back the car off the snow-buried lawn and park it for the night. The grid road calls me out and down the driveway before I return to the house, walking right past the water jugs in its shadow. It’s not till my coat and ski pants are hung up and my boots are off that I realize the jugs are still outside. I pull on a pair of boots and a jacket and go get them.

Bling!

And now I can relax. The shoulder bag and parcel go to the office. The coffee and wine go to the kitchen. The water jugs are lined up next to the kitchen door. I tear off my bra and put on my pyjamas. It’s been a long day, a 10-hour one, and now there’s nothing more that needs to be done. I ate a bun with a slice of ham at the office when we were still working at suppertime, so I’m not hungry yet, even though it’s already eight o’clock. I pour myself a glass of that wine.

Love this necklace

Ahhhh. Meryl Streep is in a movie on TV. If she really does all her own singing and playing in that movie, I'm impressed. And then there is loot, to boot ... before going to bed, I tackle the parcel Joan sent. I'm a wee girl at Christmas and have held myself off this long, and now ... voila! jewellery and clothes and a pretty bag, just what delights this wee girl. How did zat seeester know?

Thanks Joan. You arrr zee besta!

And this is barely the half of it. What fun I'm having, admiring it all.

Great Root Bear Goes for a Walk

The ice and snow are melting fast.

One last chance to admire the whipped white sugar butter snow

I still have to wear my parka.

Itchy Dog

Gawd, I love Saturday mornings. Sleeping till I feel like getting up. Reading till I feel like doing something else. Sipping on my coffee, not hurrying to eat breakfast, not getting out of my housecoat so I can go to town. Sigh. Every morning should be Saturday morning. Especially when the sun is shining into the windows like it is today.

It’s just me and The Duck home. He’s curled up on a fluffy blanket in a cosy corner beside my desk here. After two rounds of antibiotics and antihistamines, during which he virtually stopped scratching, he is back at it again. So we don’t know what the hell is going on. 

It's probably going to require another ridiculously expensive trip to the vet (an hour or two from here), which may not solve the problem any better than the first trip did, right? Or so logic tells me, because whatever the vet could do this second time, he sure as hell didn’t do the first time. 

And why not? Let’s assume it was to be a process of trial and error. Cut out the commercial dry food Ducky had been eating, replace it with a super-expensive vet-recommended kind, and see if that could’ve been the cause. Nope, apparently not. And it isn’t likely a bacterial infection, or the second round of drugs should’ve knocked it out.

If he’s got some kind of mite, then why would the antibiotics and antihistamines have given him relief? And we can’t keep him on drugs forever; that can’t be good for a dog any more than it’s good for a person. So it’s a mystery, and probably he’s developed an allergy to something in our house. But what? That is the question. What?

Could it be the egg that Scott has begun to fry up for Ducky in an attempt to get him off one of the commercial soft foods that has been a daily part of his diet? Maybe the company changed its recipe or something. Or was the egg thing begun in response to the scratching? It’s been so long that I’m not sure of the details. This has been going on since well before Christmas.

The dog is also getting quite a bit of fresh meat now, both raw and cooked. 

The scratching may be driving Ducky crazy, and it is doing the same to Scott and me. When Ducky starts scratching during the night, I say in a totally normal tone of voice, “Stop that.” He gets up and goes out to the living room to do his scratching.

I swear, he understands English.

Also, Scott notes that if Ducky is lying with him on the couch, he doesn't scratch for hours. He seems completely content. Why would that be? Could the dog have developed a psychosomatic itch due to being alone too much lately?

Your ideas and intuitions are welcome. 

Trotsky's Grandson

And then there was Leon Trotsky, who came to Mexico and stayed at first with Frida Kahlo and her husband Diego Rivera.

The Lacunae includes Trotsky as one of the characters. 

Well, what could I do?

I went googling, hoping to find a webpage that allows me to hear Trotsky's voice recorded on a wax cylinder. 

I found that, and also this little interview with Trotsky's grandson:

Pressure Points

"The uppermost portion of the ear is directly connected to your back and shoulders. Applying a clothespin for about a minute should go a long way to reduce built-up tension. Try this several times a day to lessen that back and shoulder pain."

Thanks to Mom's cousin Karen for forwarding the email about this. 

If anyone would like to read the entire thing and find out what each numbered area is for, email me.

My galpal Cathy was having sinus and headache issues, so gave it a try. I think the jury is out on whether it really was the clothespins rather than time itself that made the difference, but she's feeling better. 

I don't use clothespins to stimulate the pressure points. I bought magnets expressly for that purpose. They aren't necessary, but at least if I forgot about them (as opposed to clothespins) and went out in public, I might not get so many stares! 

Actually it's only a minute or two that one leaves the pressure on. No biggie.

What do you mean, do I really believe this works? 
I don't go for a regular shiatsu massage treatment every month for nothing, my dears. 
Now I'm not saying shiatsu or any other kind of therapy always works, but it does help some people some of the time, and I also think preventive maintenance makes as much sense as healing after an injury. 

Here I am, one of those crazy ladies who wears magnets on her ears! 

One magnet on each side of the ear holds them on; they could pass for earrings.

Me and Frida

One of the characters in Barbara Kingsolver's novel The Lacuna is Frida Kahlo.
I finished the book, its most interesting aspect the friendship between the main character, cook-turned-writer, and his friend Frida.

A print from a calendar or magazine was mailed to me months ago by my friend J, and is tacked up on the basement door. It is Kahlo's painting, Self-Portrait with Thorn Necklace and Hummingbird. 

I see it every time I come into the kitchen from the porch, and maybe that is why I don't see it. 

I fell in love with the handmade Frida Kahlo doll made for Cathy B by a dear friend, a mutual friend who went on to sew me a doll with my mom's physical characteristics.

From the library, a book showcasing some of Kahlo's belongings or collections is coming my way. 

Meanwhile, I poke around on the internet.

My Grandparents, My Parents and Me

By Frida Kahlo

I am doing a little reading while I wait. 

http://www.fridakahlofans.com/c0160.html

Thank a Feminist

If you're female and... 

...you can vote
...you get paid as much as men doing the same job
...you went to college instead of being expected to quit after high school so your brothers could go because "You'll just get married anyway"
...you can apply for any job, not just "women's work",
...you can get or give birth control information without going to jail
...your doctor, lawyer, pastor judge or legislator is a woman
...you play an organized sport
...you can wear slacks without being excommunicated from your church or run out of town
...your boss isn't allowed to pressure you to sleep with him
...you get raped and the trial isn't about your hemline or your previous boyfriends
...you start a small business and can get a loan using only your name and credit history
...you are on trial and are allowed to testify in your own defense
...you own property that is solely yours
... you have the right to your own salary even if you are married or have a male relative
... you get custody of your children following divorce or separation
... you get a voice in the raising and care of your children instead of them being completely controlled by the husband/father
... your husband beats you and it is illegal and the police stop him instead of lecturing you on better wifely behavior
... you are granted a degree after attending college instead of a certificate of completion
... you can breast feed your baby discreetly in a public place and not be arrested
... you marry and your civil human rights do not disappear into your husband's rights
... you have the right to refuse sex with a diseased husband [or just "husband"]
... you have the right to keep your medical records confidential from the men in your family
... you have the right to read the books you want
... you can testify in court about crimes or wrongs your husband has committed
... you can choose to be a mother or not a mother in your own time not at the dictates of a husband or rapist
... you can look forward to a lifespan of 80 years instead of dying in your 20s from unlimited childbirth
... you can see yourself as a full, adult human being instead of a minor who needs to be controlled by a man

-author unknown (plus I've removed the repeated 
"thank a feminist" at the end of each sentence in the original).
-with gratitude to nagonthelake.blogspot.com for posting it   
   I might add that if you're a male, you can thank a feminist 
if you are not looked down upon for not bringing home all 
the bacon because your wife can now get a job outside the 
home and people no longer think you're a poor provider or 
less of a man because of it.
     Maybe you can also thank a feminist because you can now
 be more actively involved in the care and raising of your 
children and enjoy the pleasures and closeness that brings. 
     You might thank a feminist if you know how to do your
 own or your family's laundry, make meals, wash dishes 
and clean your house. There is a certain satisfaction in 
this kind of self-sufficiency as opposed to being served
 by someone else. 

For Lorna

Lorna, this is for you:

Part One
http://www.wavescore.com/video-profile.php?u=Rvm6ZOYmPB&p=7

Part Two

Geese are Back

"Honk! Honk Honk Honk!"

I wasn't quick enough to get the camera out of my jacket pocket, unzip its padded bag, turn it on and focus it before they'd flown past, but I was quick enough to count 'em: 10 Canada geese, heading northwest!

Ooh, the excitement. The pleasure of the sight. The thrill of the sound.  Woo hoo!

A gorgeous day for a walk and, apparently, for a flight.

Looks like it's going to be another sunny, sparkly, shiny day, the kind where one wishes there was something to do out there besides walk, because you simply don't want to come indoors. Maybe I'll build a bonfire in the front yard.

It was warm enough yesterday that I thought maybe I could wash Little Green when I went to town to ferry Emil from his place to Everett's for the night. All I had to do was remember to take a fistful of loonies and toonies. But the road was slippery with mud so it would have been wasted effort, and Little Green remains a mudpie.

That's the case whether the roads are dry or wet. If it's not mud, it's dust that will stick to the car even when it's totally dry. Why wash it? The very next day you're right back where you started from. Is there a product that repels dust from clean auto exteriors?

Please note, if you are using the homemade toothpaste recipe that I posted on my Stubblejumpers Café recipe collection site, that I have updated it: CLICK HERE.

Baked Potato Chip Nachos

You may note that I never share recipes people post on Facebook. You have to "share" them in order to save them for your own future reference, don't you? I won't cooperate.

I will, however, occasionally do a search on YouTube to find the recipe video.

Here's one I'm going to try. How about you, Everett? Is it up your alley? Guaranteed, Emil will love it.



https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SNumh7pGpE4

In the Kitchen

For once it's not me doing the dishes!
Can't complain about that.

They look like a matching set:

L-R: Scott, Melissa, Gunnar

Pitchforks to Pitchers

From The Lacuna:

"From three-thirty to four, it rained pitchforks."

So simple, yet what a picture.

We've got company.

I've made a dozen loaves of bread: yesterday, so as to please them while they're here; and today, to send back to Calgary with them on Friday.

This morning:

Father and son

Darling daughter-in-law tackles my filthy keyboard

Beast on my couch

Brother-in-law Bruce 

Did get out and walk two miles with Bruce's two dogs while he cleared deadfall from the bush next to our driveway.

My dogs stayed indoors, as if it was too cold out; or maybe guarding their territory from the two temporary dogs that are house dogs. Whatever the case, it's a doggy zoo around here.

The title promised pitchers:

Belonged to my grandmothers

There Goes the Wind

Then one evening, I jumped out of my chair.
It was time! Tonight, I'd cut those lengths of parachute cord and tie them in place to make — voila — zen birdsavers!
Out came the scissors and cord, and I began to measure, snip and knot at the kitchen table.
Until Scott said, "What are you doing?" and proceeded to suggest a different and, to his way of thinking, better way.
It would mean I had to prime and paint a couple of boards, and cut the cords a different length because they would be attached via a whole different mechanism than I had visualized.
He wanted to hang the birdsavers two feet from the window, not at all what I was visualizing, and —
And there went the wind out my sails.
I couldn't paint that night, and couldn't continue as I was.
I set the cord aside and it's been there for several weeks.
In the meantime, the birds are still hitting the window once in a while, but it's not as bad as it was.
I hung half-a-dozen scarves from the curtain rod and lined up vases on the window ledge; whatever might catch the attention of a bird in flight and warn it that there is "something" there.

This is only a temporary and poor solution, however. In a certain light and from a certain angle, the bird sees only sky and trees reflected in the window glass. It can't see inside.
The birdsavers must still be made, and soon.
I just have to work up my enthusiasm again.

August Flowers

This morning:

Coffee while propped up in bed reading The Lacuna.

Notebook at my side to write down things I want to see again or do something with. For example, this quote from the book.

Frida Kahlo's cook has just delivered a meal to her studio, and she asks what he thinks of the painting she's at work on. He says, careful not to offend, something like "We're making good progress" and she responds wryly:

"As the fly said, sitting on the back of the ox, 'We are plowing this field!' "

The Lacuna is a novel I almost set aside without reading more than 50 pages. In the beginning it did not hook my attention. But before reaching its hundredth page, it had redeemed itself. From now on I'll give every book my devotion for 100 pages; that's fair as well as self-serving.

I don't know whether the following is a translation of a real saying in Mexico, or if author Barbara Kingsolver has written it herself, but it comes out of the mouth of a hardworking servant in the early part of last century.

"God gives money to the rich because if they didn't have it, they would starve."

For full dazzle, click to enlarge: the flowerbed in the front yard.

I receive some photographs and am sorting them, finding a folder on my computer, when I see "august flowers.jpg" in the list and click on it just because.
And voila! Wow! If I say so myself. You'll have seen it or something like it before, but if you're like me it will give you a lift anyway.

This LadyHeads for Her Pillow

We're out of the office early tonight; five o'clock, for me.
The streets are wet and crunchy with slush, ice and water. I bundle up and walk over to Everett's to get Little Green where I left her this morning. Everett is already in his housecoat.
I drive over to Emil's place. He meets me at the door and gets ready in record time.
I have to stop for a few things at the store and convince him to wait in the car. It's just easier that way when I'm hoping for a quick trip in and out.
When we arrive home I drive Little Green right up to the step and make four trips between car and house, hauling in my purse and some fresh farm eggs and a bag of buns I had in the fridge at the office for lunches, and Emil's backpack and the sack that carries his braces and indoor shoes, and three 10-litre jugs of drinking water, and two cloth shopping bags full of groceries. 
Then I back Little Green out to the parking area and, on my way back to the house, detour past the oaks to refill the feeders for the chickadees and redpolls. There's still a little light left and they may nibble a while yet.

Emil, with genuine enthusiasm and pride, followed by curiosity:

I like my new job, sanding. We have a store at Mallard Industries now. Do you ever go shopping there, Mom?

Me, as if a light's just come on:

Why no, I haven’t! I guess I could though, eh?

Emil, Most Matter-of-Fact Guy Ever:
That’s what stores are for.

Night of the Son

Come into my hallway ... heh heh heh ... (my Count Dracula impersonation) ...

Leaving the Christmas bulbs up. They're good feng shui.

It's the best place to stand while brushing your teeth in our house. Minutes of entertainment!

Click to enlarge.

I'll see y'all tomorrow night, if I've any energy when I get home Friday after work. Usually after a long day at the computer, I still sit down here and check my mail after being away overnight, and I still post something on this page. It might be crazy, but it's a habit.

Everett and I will be watching Rick and Morty this evening. Have a taste:

Cardboard Boxes

This cardboard box with its hinged lid has been kicking around for several years. Where did it come from? I don't remember.

Just this weekend I realized it's a treasure.

I've been storing paper mementos in it, awaiting the day I get around to doing something with them.

I've also been eyeing up empty notebooks with a view to getting the travelling journal on the road. Very nearly got things onto the kitchen table one afternoon this week, but somehow never.

Prezzies

My phone, laying on the desk, warbles a spooky tune. Karen is texting me.
"Can I take you out for lunch today?"
But of course.

Lunch is at the Greek restaurant in town. We both order the chicken burger special. I eat all the salad before taking more than a bite or two out of the burger, and am full before it's half gone. Good thing Scott and his brother and Leonard P join us; I can always count on Scott to finish my meals.

Does it occur to me to snap a few photos? Apparently not.

From me, Karen picks up a bagful of flower-arrangement sponge that a gal had dropped off at the office for her.

She leaves me with belated-birthday presents: a new garbage can she'd bought as per my orders when she was shopping somewhere, and a set of (when I get home and look in the gift bag, I text to ask if they were meant to be wall hangings or what?) "coffee mug mats."

I won't set coffee mugs on them; they'd get stained. 

The flip side.

You can't tell by the photos, but the mats are small, like a half or even a third the size of a regular place mat. They're cute as can be. Click on the images to enlarge them and have a closer look.

I get a kick out of the gift bag. Look at the extra expense that went into the making of this one:

It's an actual piece of wood. 

Suzie Was Sizzlin'

"Is it all right," I asked, ever so politely, "if I take a picture while you're singing?"
"Of course!" she said, also politely.
So I found a spot near the back of the room and got my camera ready.
My camera, my sweet little camera "what I luv."
And then I thought, why don't I make a wee video of Suzie singing and playing?
Might as well.
Now, she was playing her bass guitar for a change, for one song, so you won't get the full flavour of her concert this afternoon at Charlene's house.
And you won't get the complete song, because the friggin' camera quit on me just a minute in.
Damn machines.
This is the second time in several days that it's given me this kind of grief: "No more internal memory. Need new memory card," or somesuch thing. Baloney, of course, unless memory cards wear out like recyclable batteries eventually do.

Anyway, here's a taste of Suzie Vinnick's performance today at a farmhouse near Wadena:



Scott examined the camera when we got home and says I didn't have the memory card in correctly.
We shall see. Hope he's right.

City Slickers

When we get company who've never been here before or it's been too long, they often phone from Wadena. I give them directions to the corner three-quarters of a mile south, and wait for them there.

I drive to the correction line and make a u-turn before pulling over to the side of the road.

Out the passenger window

It usually takes about 10 minutes till they get here. I sit and listen to the radio (today it was Quirks and Quarks on CBC; guests were talking about "fake" tattoos that can read physical conditions like high cholesterol, cancer, etc., and about gleaning electronic energy from human sweat; wow, I say).

Out the driver's window. Hm, where are they? Should be here by now.

Text:
We're on Lone Tree Road by the greenhouse sign.

Text:
By the sign or by the actual greenhouse?

Text:
The greenhouse.

Text:
Oh. Okay. You can get here that way, too. Drive straight, another mile to the four-way stop, and turn left; I'll be in the little green car.

And so I back up onto the correction line and mosey on over to the Kylemore grid and toward Lone Tree Road, and soon see Kathy's car approaching from the distance. She blinks her headlights a couple times and I do the same before turning around in a driveway so the car points toward home again.

This time the girls have a pilot vehicle and pull into our yard right behind me.

Little Kath and her daughter Jessie come out from Saskatoon for the afternoon. 

 I'm meeting Jessie, age nine, for the first time. Kathy and I have known each other since she was 11 and I was 23, when her dad was my new beau. For four years Kathy and her two younger siblings spent their summer holidays with us.

Ducky thinks he's died and gone to heaven. Two more laps to sit on, four more hands to pet him; what's not to love! And when Jessie leaves her mom and me at the kitchen table and moves to the couch to draw and write in her book, Ducky goes along.

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How's this for an answer to the unspoken question, How do you account for your long life?

"I pick all my own fruit," he said. "It gives me a reason to stay living." -"Jam Man" in Prince Albert
FULL STORY: http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/saskatoon/jam-man-vows-continue-1.3453544?cmp=rss&cid=news-digests-saskatchewan

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Response to comments:
• LORI - I went to your webpage this morning again. Looks like you guys had a great time. So interesting to one who's never been up there ... like me.
• ANNETTE: Cameras, eh? I like my little digital, mostly because I've dropped it a half-dozen times and it keeps on ticking! But it does do weird things with perspective, like bring a field close that is a mile away, that kind of thing. However, it's all in fun and that's enough for me.