My Favourite Book

Is not a cookbook. Though I like reading them.

Sharon Butala's The Perfection of the Morning is it.

Emil, Straightfaced as Ever

They taste way better than they look.

My uncle and aunt, Neil and Rose, drove into the snowy yard this afternoon and visited at the kitchen table for a couple hours. We drank coffee and nibbled on chocolate chip cookies.

Tonight Emil and I were at the table finishing up a supper of spaghetti, sauce and garlic toast (and fried liver for him and Scott; don’t look at me; I had nothing to do with it).


Emil: “Uncle Neil said ‘Guess I better have a banana.’ "

Me: “And so he had one.”

Emil: “Yeah. And did you know that monkeys like to eat bananas?”

Smalltown Café, Farming in the Forties, and Breast Cancer

Where we lunched on mainstreet Wadena

The new owners put on a noon smorg several times a week, and Scott filled his plate twice, then spooned up a bowl of butterscotch pudding before finishing off my toasted denver sandwich. The boy is an eating machine. I rarely go up for the smorg; I don't eat enough to make it worth my while. Besides, you can't go wrong with a denver sandwich. Can you?

Actually you can. I once ordered one in a restaurant while travelling, and there was so much short, coarse black hair in it that I sent it back and left the place with a turned stomach.

Perhaps it was the same place Doc and Morgan had such a horrid experience in.

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At the bottom of the page is a list of some of my favourite websites. Under each section, the most recently updated title usually rises to the top.

A couple examples:

You can read excerpts from Bill Nevard's 1940 journal, here • Nevard Blog.

Then there's my buddy Kathy down in the Minneapolis area, who has just gone nine rounds with breast cancer. She's recently home with perky new boobs, or "foobs," as she calls them. She's shared the whole shit show with her readers, laughing (and cringing) all the way, at • Kitchen Blogic.
If you know someone who's been diagnosed with breast cancer, Kathy offers some advice for helping your friend get through the experience. There are some things you shouldn't say or do, and some you should. Kathy tells you which is which.

Searching

Something has made a hole in an old granary in our yard where the boys are storing oats.

Scott doesn't see anything from up there.

Bruce takes a look after walking around back with a rifle; no luck.

The site stats box on this page is there to show me what other webpages readers come from, and what they are seaching for in Google, if anything. I never know what I'm going to see there. Sometimes it's entertaining. I find good blogs occasionally, which is a pleasant reward. Here are some of the recent search terms that brought people to Golden Grain Farm:

Someone from Sherwood Park ended up here while searching for "Saskatchewan ladies in gopher suits." Wow! I might just have to look that one up, myself.

Someone else arrived from Edmonton while searching for "Texas mickey of kahlua."

And by far the most common search term that brings readers is "whole wheat perogies."

Postcard Unstamped

My great-grandfather as a young man

This is a postcard in my possession.
Here's the back of it:

Shadow House Concerts Presents ...

Last night was my sister Karen's first house concert as a host; thus we were off to Margo for the evening. It was a small crowd that turned up so it wasn't a big moneymaker for Matthew (his website: http://www.matthewdezoete.com/), but Margo was a reasonable overnight stop for him en route from Moose Jaw to his engagement in Dauphin tonight, and he wasn't complaining.  Knowing Karen, she fed him up real good and spoiled him rotten. If I was a travelling musician, my sister's place is where I'd want to be staying.

Happy Birthday, Kiddo

Lord love a duck, but I am missing this kid lately.

He was the sweetest little boy that ever there was. Always cuddly and affectionate and kind and sensitive. Nowadays he plays the surly&aloof game, which may be perfectly normal for young men of his age, but I know what he's made of. Can't fool me.

First page in Everett's baby book. Apparently it took me three months to have time to write!

Tip for Traveler's Stomach

Barbara and Deb

These two bosom buddies joined the blogging world with a bang about two years ago and have never looked back. I discovered their first entry when Deb's husband posted a link on his Facebook page, and because of their open-hearted warmth and graciousness I've never missed a posting since. When I went to Toronto in May, they made the trek across the city to have coffee with me in an extremely busy mall near the hotel I stayed in. From the very first moment it felt like I'd known them forever. They are both real sweetie-pies, right to the bone.

Barbara and her husband just returned from a trip to Paris and she's shared the experience over several entries on the gals' blog, The Middle Ages. She's also provided a little tip that the travellers among you might be glad to have:

"Traveler’s stomach can get you anywhere, even in Paris. We didn’t suffer from it, but Stefanie has. This could be due to anything from food poisoning to the different bacteria in the water and food to germs from the plane trip over. Buy digestible Peppermint Oil at a health food store and take it twice a day according to instructions (or if you feel unwell). It is absolutely miraculous—if you are a bit nauseous, I swear you will feel better in about 10 minutes!"


***

Back home on the farm, we've got a couple inches of snow on the ground and the forecast is for freezing rain tomorrow. The weather seems mild now; water was coming off the roof of the house yesterday.

I've been busy working this weekend, banking hours against my trip to Saskatoon next week when I take Emil to meet his dad for the Neil Young concert they're going to. Last night (while washing roma tomatoes from Brendalyn's garden, picked by my sis Karen: thank you, ladies; the aroma of salsa is perfuming the air as we speak), stood at the countertop slicing and chopping, I was listening to Randy Bachman's CBC radio show Vinyl Tap. He said, "If you want to meet a performer, go to the venue in the afternoon when they're doing soundcheck; there's no security there at that time to keep you away." I thought Oh Randy, don't tell me that! It's not that I want to meet Neil Young, but what a thrill it would be for Emil, and if I was a nice, selfless mother ... but I'm not, so there you go.

I'm working again this afternoon but may make chocolate-chip bran muffins too; got a hankerin' for them and they stand in well for breakfast, lunch and snacks when I'm here alone during the day.

Colour

Interior My Dining Room, by Wassily Kandinsky, 1908

This reminds me of a house I lived in once. Its colours won me over the moment I walked into it, and an offer to purchase was made. We lived there for seven years. I filled that house with so much stuff that it looked much like this: warm, cosy, rich.

These are still the colours I am most drawn to. Unfortunately, walls in this colour family soon begin to tire me. It's not long before I crave a change to something that doesn't jump out quite so much, something lighter. So now when I choose paint, I am careful to pick a colour that I won't have to change before a good many years. Something that doesn't get in my face.

Passwords and Pasta

Had no picture for you today, had to use Photobooth on my iMac 5 minutes ago

Almost 10 o'clock and I am heading off to bed shortly, to read a while.

What have I got for you today?

Two things:

You know when they advise you to use complicated passwords for your internet accounts, with symbols and numbers mixed in with letters? I've never bothered. I thought "Who could guess what word I'm using?" and besides, if you're not supposed to write it down, and I choose something complicated, I'll never remember.

Well d'uh, this never occurred to me, but according to Norah Young of CBC Radio's show Spark, computer hackers don't guess. They use a computer program that runs through and tries every word in the dictionary until it comes to your password. Ahhhhh!

I never thought of that (and why don't they ever explain the reasoning behind what they tell you to do and not do? you know, so it makes sense. Some of us don't just do what we're told; apparently we're not that smart). Guess who changed her passwords into some fancy-dancy word combinations tonight.

And here's a new (to me) trick for keeping pasta from boiling over the sides of the pot. Thank you very much to Robyn at Dinosaurs Can't Eat Pizza for this:

“Do you know about putting a wooden spoon across the top of the pot to stop the water from boiling over? Someone told me about it (I don’t remember who), and it works like a charm.”

I'm going to try it next time I make spaghetti, which I will when Emil's here next week. He looks longingly around the kitchen, hoping I'll make something for supper, and I say "Got any ideas?" and he always says "Spaghetti or macaroni would be good."

He is staying at Aylesbury House, the group home, this weekend, but coming with me to a house concert at Karen's on Monday evening and then spending the night here, and the next night too because his household is driving to Regina for an overnighter to do some shopping. He didn't want to go. "I've already got my trip to see Neil Young's concert in Saskatoon on the 14th," he said. Definitely his mother's son, that one. You know, conserving his energy.

Can't Win Fer Losin

My teeth hadn't been professionally cleaned for just over a year, so in spite of regular brushing and flossing, it was not a pleasant experience. I asked the hygienist, "What more can I do?" to avoid an uncomfortable repeat every time I'm in the dentist's office. I'm willing to go in and have her clean my teeth every six months, but perhaps she could give me some tips.

"Brush more often?" I wondered.

"No," she said. "Brush longer."

It takes only 12 hours for tartar to harden on the teeth, she told me, and there are particular spots that most people tend to spend less time on.

I came home and have been brushing and flossing with a vengeance after every meal. A monster may have been created.

And then when Cathy and I were talking on the phone this morning, she told me she knows someone who is having trouble with her tooth enamel because she brushes too much.

Oh for heaven's sake. You can't win fer losin'! Now what?

That little purple-handled brush is called, the hygienist informs me, an "end-tufted" brush. I have been looking for a new one for more than 10 years and never been fortunate enough to find one even in the big-city drugstores. I got this one from my dentist in Alberta back in the day. My hygienist is going to find a supplier. These little brushes are handy-dandy for getting in behind your furthest-back molars.

Coyote Visit

I was working in my office on the south side of the house when I heard our border collie barking angrily outside, so I got up and went to see what she was so pissed off about. She was looking north, and I watched through a window for a few moments and, seeing nothing out that direction, gave up and came back to my desk.

About 10 minutes later the dog was barking again, only this time she was right beside the south corner of the house and when I peered through the window there was this gorgeous coyote about 25 feet from the back step. Had I any sense I'd have run for the camera first, but no ... I always think of these things after the fact. I was afraid it might attack the dog, so immediately I opened the bedroom window and told the coyote to vamoose. And it did. Not in any big hurry, though.

And above you see it leaving. Oh, it was a beauty. Thick healthy fur coat, and not remotely afraid of Jenna Doodle.

Physician-Assisted Suicide

Emil loves going to the store. 

Not wanting to go to bed last night, I sat up alone. Couldn't find anything to watch on TV till midnight when a movie starring Julie Walters came on. A Short Stay in Switzerland is based on a true story about a woman's decision to go to Switzerland, where doctor-assisted suicide is legal, because she was dying of a debilitating disease.

It brought back memories of Mom's final year of life. Putting on lipstick: in the movie, it was in preparation for a filmed interview about the need to legalize assisted suicide. For us, it was Mom putting on her lipstick and a brave face to look as bright as possible for what we all knew was likely our last Christmas with her. In the movie, it was the unbearable goodbye to your loved ones and the regret that your dying is breaking their hearts. Likewise for us. In the movie, the woman's death came swiftly after taking a prescribed barbituate. In our story, the death scene lasted several days, and we did not all collapse in sobs upon Mom's body after she took her last breath. That grief we each kept to ourselves, as I recall.

By the time the movie was over it was nearly 2 a.m. and then I didn't sleep for another couple hours. Had made a batch of kahlua while supper was on the stove, and drank two strong Brown Cows throughout the evening. Forgot kahlua has coffee in it.

So, Switzerland it is, if I am ever faced with prolonged suffering before death.

A Visit with Floyd

Floyd and Scott

A visit with Floyd at the nursing home in Yorkton begins with a trip to the lounge for a beverage.

It is followed by a trip down the long hallway to another lounge, where Floyd's laptop is set up and Scott tries to help him get a new browser working properly.

I sit in a chair by the window and text back and forth with Shelly, occasionally jumping up to peek over their shoulders.

George & Elizabeth, King and Queen

Mom kept this tin box with her sewing things.

Played by Colin Firth and Helena Bonham Carter in The King's Speech

Now I keep it with mine.
Except I've set it on the coffee table this past week to enjoy looking at it. Haven't been doing any sewing.

Hot Time on the Old Town Tonight

It was a day spent on the road between visits. There was snow coming down as we rode down the highway to Wynyard and then over to Yorkton this morning. The teeth are crowbarred clean for the next six months, and the cattle are supplied with salt and minerals. And it's Friday night! And here we are, just excited and happy to be home again.

I have found another Saskatchewan blog you will want to visit (speaking of visiting):

g.a.s art


And now, movie time.

Back 50, Now, Forward 50

Grandma Johnson's china cabinet with "my" stuff inside.
I say "my" because most of it is inherited and I feel belongs to everyone in the family.

Fifty years ago this china cabinet stood in my grandmother's kitchen in Margo. She never imagined a smartphone sitting atop it, or even a cordless telephone. Although it is possible the lamp was there, because one of my pair belonged to her; and I believe she crocheted the doilies that I use to keep stuff from scratching the wood. I was only a three-year-old girl then, as she dusted and polished her furniture.

I wonder where this china cabinet will be in 50 years and what will be set atop it. Whose house will it be in? Will I have a granddaughter? Maybe one of my nieces will want this piece, or their daughters.

Evidence that I walked yesterday too

"I am so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers."

- Anne of Green Gables

Virginia's Sister Vanessa

“I shall be cheerful, but I shall never be happy again.” 

- Vanessa Bell, after the death of her son 

Vanessa Bell, self portrait

Drive My Blues Away

This CD has been the soundtrack of our lives for the past week.

You can have a listen to it HERE and see if it's your cup of tea. If it isn't ... what's wrong with you?