My Little Piece of Agnes Laczo Art

I became acquainted with Pete when I read something he'd written (I think), which included the fact that he lived in a tipi. As I was quite interested in acquiring a tipi of my own at the time, I probably introduced myself via letter. He lived up in Canada's far north and we corresponded for a while; handwritten letters more than 20 years ago. His pages completely in fully capitalized letters. One thing I remember writing about was archetypes in the human experience. We were both readers. The frequency of letters dwindled to nothing after he fell in love and got married, and I didn't think about Pete again except when I saw the photograph he'd sent of his tipi. I included the picture on my wall collage when years later I finally tacked up my entire collection of images on paper.

And then some time after I began discovering many old friends on Facebook, I looked Pete up, and there he was! So we have reconnected. He is a frequent FB poster so it's a way to get to know him a little; at least, his interests. I know he is big into race horses and sled dogs and rustic cabins. And here's what he knows about me:

A painting by Agnes Laczo.  Click HERE to visit her webpage.

Or what made him think of of me. Anyway by posting the above image on my FB wall, he turned me onto Agnes Laczo. I spent a goodly amount of time scrolling through her webpage, looking at her paintings and artwork, and much of it Makes. Me. Happy because it is simply just plain delightful. What can I say.

So ... talk about making your short story long ... I purchased something from Agnes and this week it arrived in the mail from Budapest, Hungary:

That's the one I picked, but there are a whole bunch and they're lovely: CLICK HERE.

Check out her stuff. CLICK HERE.

Joanne's LeaveTaking

Went to Joanne’s funeral at the RC Church in Wadena with full intentions of attending the lunch at Margo Hall afterward. Something came up and we came home instead. Scott went back to work and I lit a candle for Joanne, then drew a tarot card: Ace of Swords. I can’t help smiling. It’s perfect: A Problem Has Been Overcome. She has been released.

The rest of today will be about Joanne. I am going to bake her recipe for chocolate cake and open a new bottle of red wine and say … goodbye? … to her. Not sure. If there is an afterlife, then … we shall commune. In my imagination we will anyway.

I don't know why all of us Johnson kids didn't call her Auntie Joanne, because in a way that's what she was to us. 

I've said before how good she was to Mom during Mom's last year ("She must spend every moment of her day thinking about nice things to do for me!" Mom said. They had a special friendship, those two) and how, after Mom passed, Joanne took special care of Mom's grown children by remembering her with such sweet appreciation.  What a lovely thing that was, for her to do. So kind, so welcome, and so healing and supportive and thoughtful.

Her obituary and some photos have been posted to Joanne's blog. See them HERE.

Joanne had a one-of-a-kind sense of humour. She loved her Wadena News and looked forward to the crossword every week. She had a sweet tooth and enjoyed baking fabulous treats. Her husband Gerald and my dad Don have been mistaken for each other upon occasion. Our families did a lot of visiting together when all us kids were kids, and our parents and our parents' parents were all friends. Between Joanne and Mom, you'd get a run for your money at the game of Trivial Pursuit. They were real buddies; more like sisters.

When Joanne and Gerald visited Mom and Dad in Osoyoos, B.C. 

Here's Joanne's chocolate cake recipe: CLICK HERE.

Here's to you, Joanne. Don't be a stranger.

Left to right: Julius Bohl (Joanne's father-in-law), Elmer Braaten, Marion Otterdahl (Joanne's mom), Evelyn Bohl (Joanne's mother-in-law), not sure who the next two are, then Edna and John Johnson, my dad's parents.  So ... our families have been friends for a long time. Reta, is that Irvin beside Evelyn? And who is the lady beside Irvin (if Irvin is behind the camera, then who is that man?). Here they are all out at Pavillion Beach south of Kuroki. 

Agnes's World

Secret Door in Closet. The artistic imagination of Agnes Laczo gives me so much pleasure. 

To go to Agnes's webpage, click HERE.

Sister Time, Pa, Airports, Sightings and Planes

On the 7^th I left for Kelowna without taking my notebook, and didn’t update my blog while away either. It was enough just to focus on all that was going on around me—the driving, the airports and flying, the people, being with Joan and Dad, meeting with some of Joan and Gary’s neighbours, shopping. Slept like a baby in the bed in Jordan’s room; better than I do here at home.
It was short and sweet until the way home when the Calgary to Saskatoon connection left without waiting for our plane from Kelowna to arrive. Karen and I with gritted teeth “enjoyed” airport life for some 12 hours, finally getting to Saskatoon after 1 in the morning. There winter and my sainted friend Cathy were waiting for us.

At least my sister and I had each other’s company and, as Dad remarked, “You two had a good visit then.” No kidding. Fortunately Karen is a doll. We played a game of Scrabble on her iPad, ate two excellent meals (paid for by WestJet, the airline that disappointed me for the first time), checked out the airport stores and watched people.

Didn’t see a lot of lookalikes but when both of us could see someone in a stranger’s face, it was always good for a grin. The first was actor Beau Bridges.

A fellow flyer on my plane out of Edmonton (Karen was already in Kelowna) was travelling minstrel STEPHEN FEARING, who seems to be a lovely person although we only said hello to each other and that probably isn't enough to make any judgment with, is it?  On the plane I coveted the daily newspaper he was reading several rows ahead of me. Instead of finding out what was going on in the world, I read my borrowed murder mystery Night Film by Marisha Pessl. 

Coincidence:

Mom’s closest friend Joanne passed away this week, and so did Grandma’s (Mom's mom's) closest friend Pearl. 

When Pigs Fly

When my sisters gave me this iron pig with wings, I took it as a compliment.
Why?
Because I'm an optimist.
I'm an idealist.
Is there such a thing as a practical idealist? That would be me.



I can also be quite cynical. But isn't that how we all are—an ever-changing mixture of traits and perspectives.

When our eldest boy brought his English bulldog here, the dog saw this pig on the coffee table and was worked up about it.
Wonder what that dog was thinking.
It was a tiny bulldog?
A strange animal?
What?
He barked and growled at it till I put it away.

Joanne Takes the Next Step

Now where did I—which closet—put my ski pants and parka?
Because it's time to stand out yet again as the most overdressed (but toasty warm) woman in town.
They laugh at me, but I am not the one shivering while the car warms up. Nope, not me. No teeth-chattering for this girl!



It was Mom's best friend Joanne who left us last night.
Her daughter reminded me that the two of them will be having one very joyful reunion, which is a lovely and comforting thought.

Sing Me to Sleep

Can you believe that?
I just spent four days with my sweet sisters and didn't take the camera out of the pocket of my purse once.
They kept me too busy for that.

Karen and I got back here at noon, and tonight it is definitely winter on the streets of Wadena.
I am very tired due to a missed flight connection (Damn you, Westjet; one more reason to eschew air travel) and have just received news of the passing of a very dear family friend.

There is nothing to do for all of it but sleep.

That's it, I'm off into the wild blue yonder for a few days.

You'll have to converse amongst yourselves.

Talk at ya later,

Kathy

Meditation on Green & Yellow & Light

If you enlarge this photo and sit looking at it casually for five minutes, you will release a layer of tension.

Click image to enlarge.

After another five minutes, you will release another layer.
You'll feel it when your body takes a deep breath and then exhales.
Check it out.
It's what happens to me, anyway.
I plan to use it as a desktop wallpaper, but I haven't been able to let go of the Zen Things list that's on there right now. I need those reminders.

Gazing at this picture works as well as sitting watching fish swim around an aquarium, or looking out the window at birds flitting about in nearby trees. You will relax.

When it happened to me—when the deep sigh came—it made me realize my body is tense, even when I'm unaware of it. No wonder I get migraines caused by muscle knots.

Jesus Murphy it's almost one in the morning. What the hell am I doing up?

Sunflower Sesame

The thermometer took a dive last week, snow came down, and this ol' gal pulled out her breadmaking supplies. There was whole wheat flour to use up before buying fresh flour. There was frozen vegetable water to thaw for the liquid portion of the recipe. There was yeast to bring to room temperature, as well as sesame and sunflower seeds.

I cannot exactly say I am back in the breadbaking saddle of doing it once a week. We shall see when and if the urge strikes again. I am not committing myself to anything on my days off besides getting the dishes done. Even that takes me three days sometimes.

But having my favourite bread again was sure a treat.

On my way to work on Wednesday I used my key to get into Everett's house and leave a loaf of bread on the kitchen table in front of his laptop so he'd see it when he went home for lunch.

When I stopped in after work the next day, he said he'd polished off the entire loaf before going to bed that night.

Parking Lot Rescue

This big ol' boy made himself at home on my desk for a couple hours this week before his owner heard he'd been found.

He has six toes on each paw, which is the size of a child's ballglove.
It was no surprise to learn that his name is Boots.

Emil is here for the weekend. He came home with me Friday after work and remarked, as soon as we walked in the door, that the dishes really should get done so the kitchen will look nice.

I have trouble staying "on top of" the dishes, probably because they are lower on my list of priorities than my freedom to enjoy life or at least to nurture myself (with rest, or with doing something I prefer to do) before attending to household chores.

So there are times, like this week, when the dishes pile up on the counter until there is no more space and we run short of clean cutlery and I think with some longing and admiration for the ambition of those women who have the self-discipline to do the damn dishes after every meal whether they are tired or not. Those women were my mother and grandmothers, from whom I did not inherit the "stay on top of the housework" gene.

Yesterday afternoon Emil washed a few dishes before complaining that he was tired of standing at the sink, and I washed a sinkful of silverware and coffee mugs, but the counter this morning remains full of dirty dishes to be dealt with.

Oh well. If piled-up dishes are my biggest hurdle in daily life, I should consider myself fortunate. And actually, I do.

And I don't mean to complain.  We have dishes and cutlery so nice (what kind of person says that about dishes and cutlery? i'm scaring myself here) that they're actually a pleasure to handle. (Sandy: different strokes for different folks; and they grew on me over time.)

Where I'm having difficulty is keeping them clean. They're no pleasure to look at when they're dirty.

What the hell is going on

It's starting to look like maybe they "had something" back in the days when a woman could never be alone with any man who wasn't her father, brother or husband. Maybe it wasn't a convention meant to curtail the freedom of women. Maybe it was for their own protection. And it's starting to make sense.

No woman willingly la di da goes off alone with some man who is creepy and frightening and known to be violent. She goes off alone with a man who seems kind and gentle and decent, a friend or lover or even a casual acquaintance who comes across as nice, as safe, as trustable.

And then the woman gets the shock of her life when he hits her and/or rapes her. 

I know men can be trusted. I trust all the men in my family, gentle men, every one, and I have sons who would never even think of hurting a woman. I know many lovely men who have never threatened or abused me or, as far as I know, any other woman. 

So where all are these other guys and where are they coming from? These guys who have murdered more than a thousand First Nations women in the past few years. These guys who beat and murder their wives and girlfriends. These guys who molest and rape. And that's just here in Canada. When you look around the world to, for instance, Africa, you can't help wondering if a large number of men are some kind of alien in a human body. 

I have been alone with three in my lifetime who gave me a serious scare, and felt lucky to get away without having something terrifying and painful forced upon me. I've known another who believes any woman is strong enough to stop any man and therefore rape is impossible. Him I wouldn't be alone with again. And as a very young woman, I was inappropriately groped by an employer and a co-worker at one of my first jobs. I laughed it off and forgot about it, afraid I was just immature and had somehow invited this treatment by my lack of sophistication. I never reported it, and I didn't quit the job either. I just became more careful.

Becoming a martial arts aficionado couldn't hurt. 

Or maybe we should never, ever be alone with a man we don't know well and trust. 

(Even then, do women and children have to worry? 

According to the history books and the newspapers, we do.)

Jian Ghomeshi obviously has serious mental health issues if he is compelled to punch women in the head or choke them. Maybe he should be in jail; maybe he would be if any of the women he abused had gone to the police.

Listening to their stories, I'm reminded that high hopes, trustingness, willingness to give someone a second chance, not taking your own experience seriously, and even naivety and poor judgment aren't responsible for what this man did. These women did not provoke his behaviour, nor did they allow it or invite it. Getting into a shitty situation and not knowing how to escape it is not a crime; violent abuse is. 

When you look at the statistics on reported rape and abuse of women and children today, the social conventions of a couple hundred years ago don't look so backward.

What a horrible shame, though, that anyone — anyone — should have to experience this kind of victimization by anyone, and that this violent mistreatment is running rampant in the world. 

Sounds simple enough

My companion CBC Radio, and books

“This is what I listen to every weekday morning right after the 10 o’clock news,” said Aunt Margaret. She was my great-aunt, actually— my grandmother’s eldest sister— and I’d been sleeping on her couch near Mile One in Victoria, B.C.

It was a CBC radio program called Morningside, hosted by Don Harron. That was 30 years ago, and that program has been my morning companion through the years, through Peter Gzowski as host, and then Shelagh Rogers.  I listened to it from a house trailer in a First Nations community in northern Saskatchewan. I listened to it from a one-room log cabin with wood heat and no running water. I listened to it from a shack on the side of a mountain in Kelowna. I could and I did and I’ve never stopped listening to it, even when, years later, they created what I thought was a dumbed-down version of the show and put Jian Ghomeshi as its host, asking questions intended to be edgy (I guess) but I found simply unimportant and dull… more of interest to a 19-year-old, apparently the new "age demographic" the CBC was targeting. Since then the questions have become more interesting and Ghomeshi has improved as a host (as, according to my friend Julie, he would, with practice), and I still listen to the show when I have the opportunity. 

It makes me remember Aunt Margaret, long gone now, who introduced me to the CBC and its many excellent programs. She also introduced me to washing all the fruit and vegetables when you bring them home from the store, before putting them into the fridge. And to the idea that a young man invited over for a game of chess was being “forward” if he brought a bottle of wine along. I didn’t agree with that one then, and I don’t now; I guess it was a generational thing.

CBC Radio has been a good companion to me all these years, many of which I’ve spent alone during the day. For a while there I read all the Canada Reads books so that when they had the conversations about them during the show I would know what they were talking about. After a couple years I gave that up; some of the books were a boring slog and there is already too little time in a life to read all the books that really interest you. However, the Canada Reads event brought Canadian authors to the attention of Canadians, and that was a good thing. There were some impressive books in there, certainly. There were also some that got far more kudos than they deserved.

Shelagh Rogers as host of the morning show was likable and when she gave that job up and began hosting The Next Chapter, an interview show on Monday afternoons with Canadian authors, I was there with my bells on. Oh, she could make those books sound fabulous! I’d get them from the library, all excited … and then about half the time, if not more, I’d be sorely disappointed. I’d find the writing poor, the editing seemingly non-existent, the — snooze. Oh Shelagh, do we have such different tastes in books? Apparently we do, or, as my internet acquaintance Eugene remarked, “She’s there to shill for CanLit.” She’s very good at it, too. I’ve been suckered in many a time.

An occasional feature on Shelagh's show is “If You Liked That, Then You’ll Like This.”  That is usually a book by a non-Canadian, and this is one by a Canadian. Several weeks ago “that” was Tina Fey’s Bossypants; “this” was Kelly Oxford’s Everything is Perfect when You’re a Liar. I ordered them both from the library and started with Bossypants. I was laughing out loud by the time I finished reading the dedication, and chuckled all the way through. Then the Canadian book was up. What a treat this would be! I thought, until I read two chapters without cracking a smile (I wanted to be entertained! Yes! just like I want to laugh at The Big Bang Theory, but it’s.not.funny either. I know, the sitcom-watching world disagrees with me bigtime but … take out the laugh track, folks, and I bet you won’t be laughing either) and decided to return it to the library without finishing it.

And this is as close as I’m coming to a book review, because really, what good are they? Aside from telling you a bit about a book’s plot and characters (which I haven't done here, so this isn't even close to being a book review, is it?), reviewing a book is such a subjective affair. It truly is a different-strokes-for-different-folks thing and tastes in literature differ widely, not only between people but between different times in the same person’s life. A book that is fascinating and informative and inspiring when you read it at age 20 is often flat, dull and old hat when you’re 40. And sometimes it’s the other way around. There are times in your life when a book can move you, and times when the same book leaves you cold because it isn’t what you need at the moment. I couldn't get through Proust's Remembrance of Things Past when I was 30, or even when I was 40, but I bet now I could. 

I will always listen to and probably act upon book recommendations made by my friends. Some of the books they rave about may be stinkers, but others will be a revelation (Thank you, Bev, for introducing me to The Buckshaw Chronicles.) When you love books and reading, you will be open to anything and make up your own mind about everything. 

But I don’t trust Shelagh anymore. Fool me once, Shelagh … fool me twice … but dammit, you fool me every time!

At the old homestead

The light. Oh, the light!

Jimmy's in Saskatchewan

Usually one enjoys a live concert more if the music has been heard before, and I have heard it but I'm still having a listen to some Jimmy Rankin tunes before attending his show. His videos are playing on my desktop but I'm not watching, just listening.

Rankin writes gorgeous songs with the hauntingest melodies and has a supple sweet voice that's a real pleasure to listen to. He's got so much good stuff it's hardly possible to pick just one video to put here. Is there any chance you don't know who he is? Nah.

 Jimmy Rankin sings songs you (OK, I) can't help singing harmony to. That's my favourite kind.
And this, one of his more recent, makes me want to go for a drive with Scott.



And after you listen to it (and sing along. You will.) you should find a shitload more videos with nice, nice Jimmy Rankin tunes online.

And with that helpful advice, I leave you and go for a walk:

Chicken coop and storage shed.

Barn and ? Darned if i know what that building is for.

Dugout in back yard.

Back yard.

Tractor shed

Think these trees on the left will ever fill in after the deer chewed them up a couple winters ago? 

Rudolph & family

Karen had just started assembling her new Xmas decs—a reindeer family—when I got there.  We set them up in the yard once we had them cobbled together.

When plugged in, this family of reindeer will light up.

My sister's front patio at AURORA BEACH.

I drove cross-country to get to her place, past the farm where we spent our teenage years and down the curvy road around Mink Lake between there and Highway 5. When I saw this scarecrow some distance across a field, it looked so much like a lady I did a double take.

I did a double take, so maybe the birds and deer do too, and don't make holes in the grain bag.

Encouragement

There are things we believe we cannot bear.

But we can bear them.

We do bear them.

-Clara, in 'The Paradise' (tv series)

Moosaraucerous

More Bales*

Another cross-country walk in windy perfect scented fall air.
You can't really ask for more than that on your days off.

That was yesterday.
This morning I went out onto the step just long enough to turn around once or twice in the sun. I had a powerful urge to sit down and drink coffee out there. Alas the coffee was gone by then and I wasn’t about to make more. Maybe Karen and I will sit outside later. Maybe she will go for a walk with me.

*Well what would you title this entry?

Geese and Eagle

Saw a pair of bald eagles on the way to Nut Mountain early this afternoon but they flew up and landed a further distance away when I stopped the car. But we were still quite excited, Pat and I.

On the way back, we saw these:

Usually I only see flocks of geese in a field. Click on image; for some reason this small one is fuzzy.

And this, overlooking the geese:

Click photo to enlarge.