Frogs for Dad

On the loveliest of peaceful walks last night before sunset.

The leaves started coming out yesterday. This is always a thrilling time isn't it? That bright bright green is the best pick-me-up there is.

The huge flocks of snow geese have begun passing low overhead as they look for places to land for the night. I know better than to stand looking up with my jaw hanging open in awe, but it is still hard not to.

The deafening cacophony of chorusing frogs has already climaxed and abated, volume-wise, but I recorded this little bit of backyard heaven anyway. The camera doesn't pick up all the bird calls in the air around me as I stand near the barn to eyeball the lone (apparently) Canada goose on the slough. You can't see it in this bit of film, probably.

Dad said one thing he misses about living out here is the frogs in the spring.
Here you go, Dad:

After the Rain

Scott thought he'd run over the grass one more time before Faye & Rick came over last night.

New AFOs

We had rain! Yay!
In other news, there is no other news.

Emil has just put his new AFOs on.

He has to break them in in 10-minute increments once every two hours, to start. Already he says they hurt to walk in. That will likely mean another trip to the city for adjustments; maybe more.
But first, we give them a chance.

Ladyhead

Lorna: I made two small yeast-free loaves of whole wheat bread yesterday and they are okay! So Emil will be able to have a little bread on the weekends for a while, but not during the week, and that's okay for now. These are almost biscuity -- and that's okay too.

I'm also modifying my daily bread, eating it only every second day and having one slice of toast instead of two. A person has to fill up on something else, then ... I am not good at finding replacements that appeal, so I tend to nibble again in a couple hours. Or plain nibble.

Breakfast smoothies lately have been only water, frozen apples and strawberries. Scared to try that kale and cucumber smoothie recipe that was going around, recommended to treat migraines. Scared to end up throwing away a perfectly delicious cucumber!

This ladyhead vase belonged to Aunt Jean (Grandma's sister).

Her mother's grandfather (my great-great-great grandfather!) carved the wooden tools for her mother as a little girl.

Mother's Day 2013

Scott asked this morning if I'd like to go to the greenhouse and pick something out that he could buy me for Mother's Day. I'm not his mother but he has been trained to spoil me anyway. I'd far rather have the frigging closet door installed in our bedroom! But I will take whatever I can get, and flowers always make me feel good.

When I got home from the farmers' market yesterday, Emil told me he had managed to reach the pull chain on the ceiling fan in the bedroom so he could watch it go around. And he'd show me, if I liked. Which he did in the evening as I lay in bed reading. He was so thrilled about this that I pulled out the camera to catch his giant grin. That failed but at least you can see his intense concentration here:

Emil has always had a thing for fans. Lots of autistic kids do, apparently. He's only been diagnosed as "borderline" autistic, but has quite a few autistic traits. Recently I mentioned a specific date some years ago, and out of the blue he told me it had been a Thursday. Why did he know that, I asked; had something special happened on that date? No, he said. He just knows what day it was. He's pulled specific days out of nowhere before, but this time surprised me because there seemed no reason for it, no particular occasion or event to trigger the memory.

One year, his uncle Russ gave him a ceiling fan for Christmas. At the time Emil wouldn't let us install it in his bedroom. He was afraid of it, he said. Last night he reminded me of that and added that he no longer fears ceiling fans.

He has lost a lot of weight in the last two months due to a naturopath's suggestion that he alter his diet to exclude foods made with yeast, dairy, and sugar. Out went the daily sandwiches and toast; goodbye milk and cheese; arrivaderci ice cream and cake. He complains about this and thinks maybe he'd rather not follow the naturopath's directives, which were given because Emil's sensation of his ears feeling plugged (he can hear fine, and they have been cleaned by a doctor and are not actually plugged) are likely caused by excessive mucous in his eustachian tubes and sinus.

There has been no change in the plugged-ears situation yet, but his acne has cleared up and he's gotten skinny. A lot of salads will do that to you, I suppose. He assures me that he is getting enough to eat and is not hungry after meals. But he hopes that when he has a followup visit with the naturopath a week from now, he will be told he can stop following the diet. He is going to be disappointed.

***

It was a slow market day, according to the vendors at nearby tables, but I loved spending the time with my sister and chatting with all the people who stopped by our table. There were some I hadn't seen in years. That alone made it all worthwhile.

***

Of course I am thinking about Mom and Grandma today. If your mother and grandmothers are still among the living, you are very, very fortunate and I envy you. Make the best of your time with them, while you can. Make sure they know how important they are to you.

Show Some Respect

Brrrr ... Scott says the weather report claims it's 7C below, out there. I believe it. It was 67F in the house when I got up at 6:30. 

I told you I've decided to become an early riser, right? Me, the heavy-sleeping night owl. I've been setting my radio alarm to come on 15 minutes earlier at the beginning of each month. So I'm getting there slowly, but surely. The secret is to get ready for bed between 8 and 9, complete with flossing and brushing, and then don't read till midnight. I haven't quite mastered that last part, but just being in bed well before midnight seems to make a difference. Guess the body has simply had enough of it by the time the alarm goes. I never jump up the moment the radio comes on, but even with some dozing before I make the leap out of my warm bed, I'm still starting my day well ahead of the hour when I used to. Thus does one pat oneself on the back for being so noble. Hee!

On weekend mornings there is a Saskatchewan CBC radio program that starts at 6 (I think), hosted by Dan Reynish. I sometimes get a real kick out of him and this morning it finally dawned on me why that is. Yes, he's goofy, and I'm partial to goofyness, but also it's because he's forthcoming with what he gets excited about. Eventually you get to feeling as if you know this fellow, or maybe hung out with him when you were a teenager. He should be a blogger. He'd write the kind of blog I'd like to read.

Speaking of blogs, Bev has made her second entry regarding her bout in the ring with breast cancer. Check it out by CLICKING HERE and leave her a comment for encouragement, if you will. Many of her friends are calling her, saying "But not having surgery and chemo, Bev ... are you sure you know what you're doing?" as if she hasn't considered every possible outcome, already, herself. Sheesh, what do they think has been on her mind ever since the moment she was diagnosed?

They are worried that she's made the wrong decision, of course. But now that she's made it, she doesn't need this kind of input; it drags her down. I suppose there is still time for her to change her mind, and that's what her friends are hoping their comments may lead to. They have more faith in the conventional treatments. Don't ask me why. What is their percentage of success? Certainly there are many successes. But there are also many failures. It seems a real crapshoot, to me, and then as Bev says, after you suffer through butchery and chemo and if you survive the cancer, how do you know it won't reappear somewhere else down the line? You always have this fearful sword hanging over your head. 

She figures by revamping her eating habits she can not only survive this, but live long and well without concern about a reoccurrence. We shall see. But she has made her decision, and she is the one who will live or die by it, so people: Say your piece once, and then shut up and respect her decision. 

Bev won't be eating crap like this very often in future:

Here it is: $250 worth of "crack" all ready for the street ...

Kate's Crack Kitchen

Whew — there! Kate's Crack Kitchen is now closed for the week. 

Thank goodness they only have this market every second Saturday. I'm tuckered. 

That's a lie. I'm not terribly tuckered. But I've had enough measuring, stirring, wiping and washing.  

I just called Karen to see what progress she's making. She has three ovens and is baking bread and buns for tomorrow. 

"You sound cranky," I said.

"I'm not," she said. "But my back's getting sore."

Emil's aide took him to Saskatoon today to pick up his new AFOs. (We always call them "braces.") They are those Fiberglas things moulded to fit his feet and shins, and kept on by Velcro straps. They help keep him from being up on his toes when he walks. The provincial health plan covers the cost of them, which used to be well up over $1000. I am seriously grateful for Canada's medicare plan. If only we had one for dentistry! 

He's always had hinged AFOs (hinged at the heel so there is a bit of give). This time they've given him one solid hingeless piece. That may take some getting used to.

I'll get a picture of them. He's coming out here this weekend. 

"Especially since it will be Mother's Day," he told me. "You can look forward to spending Mother's Day with me."

That's right, sonny. Wouldn't have it any other way. 

This pair of Canada geese hangs out near our yard.  You see our two driveways behind them. Little Ducky always chases and one of these times they won't fly off but will take a round out of him instead. 

Making Crack

Get a root canal, and you'll be your old self in no time!
What a difference it makes when the body isn't fighting off an infection anymore.

I have been in the kitchen this week making what I call "crack" — caramel corn and chocolate fudge — to take to the farmers' market on Saturday. Sistah Karen is going to fill half the table with her fine baking so I'm not knocking myself out. Or trying not to. One does tend to get marathoning when all the ingredients are out. Might as well make as many batches as possible and only have to clean up the mess once, right? Not that I don't clean as I go; I am constantly wiping the counters and stove and washing dishes.

I'm pacing myself; it's that, or be beat at the end of the day.

Another windy day, but warm enough to prune off the rest of the deadstalk in the flower garden this afternoon.

And I found my stash of seeds saved from last fall's flowers. Next: get 'em into the ground.
If the wind ever stops blowing ....

Bread Is Now Baked on Wednesdays

It was a bit cool for working in the flowerbed today, and I'm a fairweather gardener if ever there was one. I did walk my half-hour route twice though; the second time when I hoped to hail down someone coming to our house for the first time. My directions weren't clear enough and she ended up going a little out of her way, but not terribly, so we had time for coffee and fudge and a gab at the kitchen table before she left with a batch of whole wheat bread fresh from the oven. 

Of course, there must always be a test loaf for the baker. Guess what I had for lunch. And an afternoon snack. With butter. Ooh la la. Treat of the week.

Violet's milking stool awaits me at the flower bed.

With luck, tomorrow. Meanwhile, woodtick season has begun. I felt three crawling on my neck yesterday, the little bastards.

In other news, Bev has posted her first entry about her reaction to learning she had breast cancer. CLICK HERE to follow along. 

We've Got Bloomage

Hi Julie,
We were surprised last weekend to see violas blooming all over the flower garden, practically in the snow. And there is all kinds of mature greenery ... somehow the leaves of the hollyhock, speedwell and others survived through the winter. It's unusual and must be because of the heavy snow and the warm fall we had (did we?). So many plants just kept on thriving and green right up to the first freeze and beyond.
I put on garden gloves yesterday afternoon and got started pruning the dead stalks from last year. What a pleasure to sit on Violet's milking stool in the sweet sun -- clip, clip, clip -- and see again the leafy little fellows that are among my darlings in this lifetime.
We made a flying trip to your city last Monday, on that horribly solid cold day that ripped right into your bones when you set foot out the door. Since my vehicle isn't reliable for longer trips anymore, my friend Bev had generously offered to drive me to my appointment, and so it was an hour-and-a-half in the dentist's chair and the rest of the day chitting, chatting, and navigating pavement, traffic, stores and people.
Bev has just done a complete re-haul of her eating habits in order to help vanquish the cancer she was diagnosed with a month or two ago. A local healer has pronounced her cancer-free now, twice, and Bev is continuing with other treatments in consultation with a naturopath. Bev wants to blog about it, so I've been helping her get that set up.
And I've been making fudge. Marathon four hours yesterday. Might as well do it all at once, for efficiency's sake. Taking it to the farmers' market this Saturday.
xo
K.

At the Faculty of Dentistry, U of Saskatchewan campus

The Old Poet's Waking

From Grandma's pitcher collection

The Old Poet's Waking

The old man's heart woke,

no longer in love with treble and bass, 

without weeping or laughter.

In the true bewilderment of soul

he went out beyond any seeing, beyond words

and telling, drowned in the beauty, 

drowned beyond deliverance.

Waves cover the old man. 

Nothing more can be said of him.

He has shaken out his robe,

and there's nothing in it anymore.

There is a chase where a falcon

dives into the forest

and does not come back up.

Every moment, the sunlight

is totally empty and totally full.

From A Year With Rumi; Daily Readings translated by Coleman Barks.
My thanks to Julie, who gave me this book.

The Limit

My great-aunt moved into the seniors' lodge in town two years ago, and I finally — finally! — got over to see her. Two years goes by in a wink and a whisper. Why is that?

Her beau Jerry was with her, and Scott and I had a visit with them both.
Jerry is a storyteller, and he has stories to tell.
Aunt Vera giggled at one of them, and exclaimed "Oh Jerry, you're the limit!"

I made them pose for a photo before we left.
Aunt Vera was worried about her hair. I told her she always looks good — which she does. I told her I needed the photo to show her daughter Lois and all the grandkids, so she conceded.

We had tickets for dinner theatre and it was a warm, windless evening. Scott's brother Bruce was one of the singing co-stars and I noticed when the curtains closed for the first intermission, none of us in the audience could wipe the grins off our faces. 

Is this some kind of grebe? Or a duck? Doesn't matter — we had a real spring day, with heat and everything!

This morning I called Ducky the Doodle Dog "Everett." Huh? Made me laugh.

Winter Loves Us Here in Saskatchewan

It is some six degrees below freezing, out there, with high winds. I haven't ventured out all day. Been indoors feeling chilled, then migrainey and sleepy, and now all that's passed due to a bath, a pill, and a nap and I'm fine, but still staying in. No need to freeze my buns off, is there? Nah. There's always tomorrow for fresh air and, May 1st or not, my ski pants still aren't packed away for the summer and I'm not afraid to wear them!

The root canal yesterday was a piece of cake, really, if you don't consider how much it cost (that was the biggest ouch)(you might weep if I gave you the figure but I'm thankful for the  extra work I've had since January that allowed me to pay cash for it). I've been unenergetic for several months and now suspect, after seeing in an x-ray that there was infection around the root, that my body has been working hard to keep it controlled. No wonder I've been tired and lazy. I'm fortunate it didn't abscess while I waited months for my appointment with the specialist, and that the intermittent aching in my jaw was relieved admirably by a whole clove held between gums and lower lip. That clove thing ... it really works.

There are areas in Saskatchewan that are flooding and being pronounced disasters today, and there are road closures, and many highways are glare ice. Emil and the rest of his Disneyland crew are expected back in Wadena at 3 a.m. tomorrow morning, so my fingers are crossed that they can travel safely when they leave the city after their flight arrives. The news I received via text a couple days ago was that he was having a wonderful time and didn't want to come home, but was looking forward to telling me all about it. So it sounds as if he's had plenty of fun. I'll probably go into town tomorrow afternoon to see him and hear of his adventures. They'll be getting quite the shock, coming from California temperatures to winter!

"Shite," you say?

Yes, indeedy!
We had a visit with Scott's cousin Alex (in England) via Skype ("Skype-ee," as he calls it) yesterday, and he told me in no uncertain terms: "That thing you've got on your blog now is SHITE!"
Well! I never!
Which was just the kick in the pants I needed to do something about it instead of just threatening to.
So there's a quick change, Alex, just for you.
Still no time to deal with it properly, as I've gotta be out the door in about half an hour.
Off to Saskatoon for a root canal. Yay! I have the most fun life, ever.
And this is how things look from our front window this morning:

Fortunately my driver is a travelling pro, and won't be the least fazed by this weather. It takes more than a little snow to keep a Saskatchewan girl off the roads anyway.

Yesterday the snow was almost gone:

Saw this last evening on our way to take some food to the home of a friend who lost her husband— only in his forties — late last week due, I believe, to complications from a new medication. (What can I say about that? It is a horrible shocking thing, and a lot of people are hurting, and it makes you put your hand to your heart and think that sometimes life is nothing but a great big mean betrayer.)

The moose seemed confused and trotted toward us on the highway, then turned and went another way, then came back again, several times. We were told later that the white patch is not from ticks, as we'd thought. Tick infestations happen later in the season. Right now it's normal for moose to be losing their winter fur.

Sigh. And I have to get out the door. Don't wanna! But watch me go from housecoat to bluejeans and wet hair in 10 minutes. Bye for now.

Emdot: Meandering Streamies

Marya appears to live in one of the most beautiful places on the planet. 

And man, does that woman have an eye for a photo.

If you didn't follow the link I left in my last entry, do it now. You won't be sorry.

Oh Where Oh Where Have the Comments All Gone

There's water. It IS spring.

Oh where oh where can they be?

This friggin' template ... hm ... much as it's fun, who wants to have to search for things? Rzzzl Frzzzl Grrr, as the Divine Marya has said.

I'll get around to changing the template. You know I will. That's half the pleasure of blogging: rearranging things. Heh. Designer wanna-be.

Icy and Snowy and Slushy, Oh MY

Our yard is still full of snow and slush and water, but the road I walk on is dry.

I had to wear my ski pants and winter jacket, and mitts! yesterday to walk. And Sorels to get past the driveway without wet feet. The wind was icy mean and cut glass shards into my fingers when they nakedly operated the camera.

According to outlaw-sis Laurel, up near Flin Flon they got six inches of snow the night before last.

The snow and cold and late spring is on everyone's lips. It's on the local radio programs. It's probably on the tv news.

But the sun is shining and I've got warm clothes and no water in the basement. You'll hear no complaints from me about the weather. It is what it is.

Aunt Reta:  Tell Carl I will be getting back to his manuscript shortly so he had best polish up his spectacles and prepare for Incoming! mail.

Yesterday I finished my 10-year stint with TCE and now intend to put some time into other projects that have been on the back burner. Like my uncle's memoir; he's a pretty good storyteller. Like cleaning up the office; papers have been piling up. I have another job too; check out Straight Goods News. I've been doing their social media outreach for several months and saying "Paid to read the news? Can't beat that!"

There are other irons in the fire, too, that please the heck out of me, but mostly what I'm looking forward to is the frog spring chorus. You know, if the snow melts. I mean, when.

Bird Sightings

Seen from the back step today. 

First glimpses of the season:

• dark-eyed junco
• robin!

Event at Margo Hall

My sister Karen, left, with Heather at Margo Hall on Friday night

Karen had given me (belated birthday) tickets to the church fundraising event she and friends had organized, so off we went to Margo. The hall was packed and we had a table right at the front.

I had wisely declined Karen and Heather's invitation to sing with them. They sounded great; certainly didn't need me up there. I would've enjoyed the practising, but that is all. As it turned out the hired entertainer, a comic/magician, called me onstage to help with a trick, so I got to be self-conscious and embarrassed anyway. Lesson Learned: Always Sit at the Back of the Hall.

I enjoyed seeing all the Margo faces there, though we were squeezed in so tight I didn't get much actual visiting done. Nevertheless the gals served up a fine meal and since Scott bought a shitload of tickets when we came in the door, we came home with a potted calla lily and a Roughriders T-shirt. And a long-stemmed yellow rose given to me by the magician as I left the stage. Yellow roses always remind me of Mom, now, because someone gave a plant to her when she was sick and she often commented appreciatively on the sweet scent of its blooms.

Both Scott and I were fighting off head colds so we didn't have a drink all evening, which turned out to be lucky because the police stopped us just before we turned off the highway onto the Kylemore grid. From behind, the officer had noticed our vehicle swerve to the right when Scott drove into the turning lane, so I guess he thought it was a drunk driver. God knows there are far too many of those around here. People are still stupid enough to drink and drive.

It was past midnight when we got home and I've been blowing my nose and lying about, ever since. Have had far worse colds than this, it's true, but still yesterday was a wasted day and today doesn't look much more promising. Not sure yet whether I'll get out of my pyjamas.

Just three more days of work for the encyclopedia, and I am looking forward to the change and wishing it was done already.

Lytton Strachey at Tidmarsh

This is what I've been reading for several weeks, in the evenings after I've crawled into bed. The British biographer Lytton Strachey was a bit of a character and formed an unusual domestic partnership with a woman (painter Dora Carrington; see the film Carrington) who loved him, and the man he loved, who loved her. Or something like that. There were enough love affairs to confuse anyone. But hey: whatever works, more power to ya.

A friend of mine celebrated his birthday the other day and I thought the following poem suited his lifestyle, as well as my own. Except that he and I have no interest in fame, and we are both well past 40:

Tidmarsh

Suppose the kind gods said, ‘Today

You’re forty. True: But still rejoice!

Gifts we have got will smooth away

The ills of age. Come, take your choice!

What should I answer? Well, you know

I’m modest — very. So no shower

Of endless gold I’d beg, nor show

Of proud-faced pomp, nor regal power.

No; ordinary things and good

I’d choose: friends, wise and kind and few;

A country house, a pretty wood

To walk in; books both old and new

To read; a life retired, apart,

Where leisure and repose might dwell

With industry; a little art;

Perhaps a little fame as well.

(Lytton Strachey, 1 March 1920)