Hodge Podge

We got only a few drops of rain, but 15 miles away they got a half-inch.

The power went off moments after the stove timer warned me it was about to ding because my bread dough had been kneaded almost 15 minutes. Whew! Perfect timing. And it only stayed off half an hour, so there was no problem baking the six lovely loaves by the time they were risen and ready nearly three hours later.

The wind was cold. I felt sorry for the flowers and didn't spend much time outside, myself. Indoors, I did unpack and put away several more boxes of kitchen stuff. Shouldn't be long before the door and drawer handles arrive and I can function in there without being so careful where my fingers go (so as not to damage the finish on the wood).

Still smoky. The sun appeared pink-red later, but this doesn't show with my camera.

Out walking anyway.

The neighbours' kids

And back to the office I go; the work week begins.

But first: oatmeal porridge and a second mug of coffee, a TAROT CARD draw, some tooth-brushing, and oh — clothes. Clothing is always good. Then to the car I must haul a stack of books to return to the library, two empty water jugs to refill, a sleeping bag for Emil (who is off to Camp Easter Seal tomorrow morning so tonight after work I'll help him pack), five loaves of bread for Everett (who pays me for them, by the way) and my purse that is goddamn heavy no matter what I take out of it to lighten the load. And last but not least, a title for this entry. Hm. What shall it be?

Life Raft for Frog or Dragonfly

There is thunder! Yay! and lots of it, and close, and loud!
Which brings me, after letting the chickenshit dogs into the porch, to the office to shut down my computer.
Whence I realize I have not posted anything here today except a tarot card. Tsk, me.

It took me long enough to employ this simple provision of something to climb on so there will be no more dead creatures in the water barrel.

And now I must shut down. It's so exciting! I might go stand out on the step.
We need rain here, and it is needed all over the province. It seems less smoky today but probably I'm just getting used to it and noticing it less.

Come on, rain. Come on!

Pop and #1 Child

Dad came over yesterday for an hour or so on his way to have supper with friends, and is leaving this morning on a roundabout route (more folks to visit) back to Kelowna. He's been here about 10 days and is more than ready to return to his own home. I don't blame him. It's good to see people, but it's good to get home, too.

Still, I hate to see him go. I didn't shed a tear, but the old eyes did get a little moist around the edges.



Fortunately it is easy to keep in touch regularly nowadays, with email and texting and cheap long-distance calling. We talk at least once a week.

Joanne's Birthday

When Mom got sick, her close friend Joanne went above and beyond the call of duty to give Mom as many lifts as she could think of. She sent cards, she mailed gifts, she called ... Mom said, "Joanne must spend all her spare time thinking of nice things to do for me!" I've told you this before, here, and know I'm repeating myself; bear with me.

Next to singing, Mom's favourite thing to do was quilting. And when she was sick, quilting was one of the few things she had the energy to do. Aside from enlisting each of my sisters and me to make a quilt with her that we each would have after she was gone, she got busy making lap quilts for special friends of hers. Joanne was one of those friends and Mom was determined to get her quilt made before it was too late.

She managed it.

Joanne passed away not terribly long ago and her husband and children have given me the quilt that Mom made for Joanne. I have a number of quilts made by Mom and didn't feel it was at all necessary that I have this one too, but was touched to receive it as a reminder of a beautiful, loving friendship.

Dad has been here, visiting from Kelowna for the past 10 days or so, and has told the story (and oh how we laugh!) about the time he found a young owl, maybe a baby, one time while working in the field. Joanne was afraid of birds, and she was coming over. Mom set the tiny owl on a doily on the kitchen table, where it sat perfectly still. Joanne, at the table, thought nothing of it ... until it turned its head. She screamed and ran ... and was pissed off at Mom for a while (of course) ... but their friendship survived the prank.

Off to Margo

If it weren't for your eyes stinging and the heavy smoke in the distance, you'd hardly know there are more than 100 wildfires up north right now. Must be getting used to the odour of it.

I went to Karen's this afternoon to spend a few hours with her and Dad. She gave us a nice supper, I helped her clean up and she sent me home with several jars of goodies — among them a fresh strawberry jam made with honey instead of sugar and granny smith apple instead of pectin.

Dad watching the news on TV

Couldn't see the other side of the lake due to the smoke hanging over the water.

Nose to Grindstone

How disappointing it is to see that 18 comments have been left on the blog, but they are all from "Anonymous!" This has been going on for about a week; the 'bots have discovered me.

I'm going to enable the word-recognition thing for a while; it will help a little, but drive Lorna crazy. Sorry, Lorna — it's either you or me! I'll switch it back before long.

And now, I'm off to help get the newspaper to press. Oh; maybe I should eat and dress first. Yeah, that's not a bad idea.

Out in our pasture.

For Your Listening Pleasure

Here. Have some Saskatchewan music:


This is Belle Plaine (Melanie Hankewich). She grew up at tiny Fosston, which is just north of Wadena.

Here's another up-and-comer:


A voice and style that made me sit up and take notice; my ears are smitten:



And here is one of my favourite singers, a class act:

The first time I heard Alexis, I was in bed listening to the radio. I jumped up to reach for a pen and write down her name, so I wouldn't forget it.
Months later the quartette Rosie and the Riveters played a house concert in Wadena, and after the show Alexis was sitting at our table in the church basement. It wasn't till I saw her name written on something that I realized it was she of the accomplished vocals I had so admired.

Then there is Rosie & the Riveters, going great guns; I'd trade a boob for the opportunity to be singing like this with others. Instead I pop in their CD and warble along, alone in my house; even that is immensely satisfying when the songs are good ones:

This is an original song written by Farideh, on the far left, who has been writing really fine stuff. And next to her is a little gal whose mother grew up at Wadena; Melissa is also an excellent songwriter.

Also, I sent out my first Five Things newsletter this morning. To SUBSCRIBE, SEE THIS.

Smoke Lifts

The smoke abated enough during the night that Scott felt he could open the bedroom window wide while I was still asleep this morning and turn the overhead fan on above the bed, before leaving for work. This cooled the air, making it difficult to continue snoozing, but I managed it for about an hour! I'm good at sleeping.

It's cooler today but the sky is still grey and some smoke remains. I feel for all those people — mostly women, children and those with health conditions — who are out of their homes and moved to shelters in Saskatchewan cities. The men of their communities have stayed to fight the fires.

I'm also thinking about all the very young wildlife that won't have made it out of the flames and smoke. Many will have perished.

Here, Dad's coming over for lunch so I have to come up with something to eat. It will be my breakfast, so ... eggs and toast? He's probably already had that today. Hm.

Also, see EVERETT FINDS A THING. For what he finds humorous or entertaining.
And sometimes, so do I.
Today it's not workplace-friendly.

100 Fires

No walk for Ms Kate today.
My eyes were stinging before I got to the end of the driveway.

Looking south down the road.

Smoke Gets In Your Eyes

This is what I wish it looked like outside but due to wildfires up north, practically the entire province is under a smoke advisory. The sky is a weird grey and we must keep the windows closed so the air in the house doesn't fill with smoke too.

The beautiful wild grasses. I can't help it, I love them.

After the good rain we had last weekend, everything is super green.

Even the old girl, Jenna Doodle, made it this far. Lately she has been stopping and waiting in the driveway for us to return. She has a pronounced limp now and is starting to look her age, getting grey on her snout. She's 13 or maybe 14.

The sun had already set but there was still light in the northwest when I went for a walk last night after the day had cooled down. It's not a good idea to be on the road with a dog when visibility is poor, in case a vehicle comes along, but there wasn't a one so I didn't have to pick up my little hound and take to the ditch. And did I ever enjoy that walk. Everything looks, smells and sounds different in the semi-dark.

I was up late last night, watching TV after Scott went to bed around 11. We had watched something together — what was it now? Lord, my memory ... oh yeah, Last Tango in Halifax, another British series Mom also would've liked. That Detroit PBS channel has some fabulous programming; if we were ever to lose that station, I'd find a way to get it back — it's that good, if you like the kinds of shows I do — shows with interesting characters, no violence or gore, and no commercials. Yay! I did my yoga while watching the first part of the new series Poldark and soon abandoned it in favour of Father Brown, the crime-solving clergyman. And finally the new True Detective came on and, because RACHEL MCADAMS, a Canadian gal, is in a role quite different from her usual, I stayed up, actually dozing through most of it and finally getting off the couch at 2 a.m.

Why is it that once in bed it takes a while to get to sleep, while on the couch it is quick? Then I slept in till 10 this morning so am feeling like a lazy lout. This is the first morning in three or four days that I haven't been forced out of bed too early due to the "neck thing." There probably was some catching up to do.

It's past 11:30 and I'm still in Mom's housecoat. All I've done so far is have toast with my coffee and go out and turn on the sprinkler and move it once or twice. Most Mondays I'd be baking bread, but with the kitchen still in a bit of an uproar I can't be bothered. Fortunately I froze many loaves while sticking to the Monday routine.

Scott installed the last cabinet yesterday and did some drywalling but the handles will take three weeks to arrive and I haven't put everything away yet. Maybe today I'll get a jump on that.

Check out THIS PRETTY GARDEN on this WONDERFUL WEBPAGE for admirers of Virginia Woolf.

When Dogs Imitate People

"Ducky," he said to the small beast tucked in beside him, "are you making fun of me?"

The Rabbit that Lives in Our Yard

The day didn't start out too well. Migrainey, nauseated. Didn't get to the office till 11:30.

But on my way to the car, I saw the rabbit that's been eating our dandelions, and heaven knows we've got plenty of those and it's welcome to them.

Nibbling on a leaf for its midmorning snack.

At least it hasn't broken my heart yet by eating my flowers.

Hanging It Out

Today's draw of a TAROT CARD brings to mind something my friend J has been saying about not drawing attention to your flaws or weaknesses. She has been attending a Toastmasters group and picking up pointers about how to present oneself and get one's message across.

While they have been telling her not to point out possible drawbacks in her own presentations, my card today advises not to waste energy trying to hide them.

A couple months ago I wrote an editorial about the inevitable errors and oversights made in publishing a newspaper. So many words go past your desk that by the end of a day, you're seeing what isn't there. It doesn't matter how capable you are, how fussy, even how intelligent; mistakes will be made, they'll be in print for all to see, and you'd better get over it and get on with the next task. I wrote that when I began working at the paper, I was a bit hoity-toity about sloppiness in published productions, but before long I came to understand that we are all probably as bad as each other. Shit happens.

Under the oak trees

I was surprised to hear how different readers interpreted it.
One thought I was apologizing for imperfections. I sure as hell wasn't. I was saying they're inevitable, period.
One thought the editorial was too personal; I should write about more important subjects, like politics. (When I know something about politics, maybe I will. What I do know about? Published typos and other errors that make me grit my teeth and struggle to maintain my healthy self-esteem.)
Another thought the piece was a bit too long.
We don't get a lot of feedback on anything we put into the paper, but one reader responded that she understood what I was talking about and that we do pretty well as far as she is concerned.

For the benefit of new readers, HERE'S THE ARTICLE. Originally I wrote it for this blog, then thought it might fit well on the editorials page, where we sadly lack input from local readers (and writers).

Where I agree with the Toastmasters: when you're trying to make a point, focus on that point. Don't be self-effacing; don't say "It's only my opinion" and "I think." It's already obvious that it's your opinion and you're saying what you think.

Where I disagree: I believe it's okay to admit you aren't perfect, that you're nervous and uncertain. A little humanity goes a long way with your listeners, who can relate to you more easily when they can see that you are more like them than not. Don't work too hard to present a polished image; let your human self show. Maybe this isn't the best approach on a speaking stage, but in life? It's the only way to go.

In the oak trees.

Among His Pets

Our house sits on 32 acres, so every spring Scott and Bruce bring a few cattle over to chew the grass down. Sometimes it's only bulls they move here, to keep them away from the heifers and cows till the fall breeding season; other times it's cows and calves. 

This year it's cows and calves.

They always seem a bit shy, but usually like to have their ears scratched.

Perfect Summer Day

Not too hot, not too cold. I lack only a friend to sip with. And a patio.

It's 7 o'clock and my mate is still out working somewhere (so that I can enjoy this luxurious lifestyle, he'd be sure to say). It's just me, the dogs, the cattle and the wine.

I didn't wait supper though. I've had steamed potatoes and broccoli, and marinated sirloin tip steak. The kitchen's smoky; I'm frying a second helping of steak.

A bike ride might be beckoning. I haven't seen the baby teals today; they were nowhere in sight when I walked north, earlier.

Emil's Big Day

Emil was drying and I was washing dishes when through the window I saw Jenna Doodle take her wagging tail toward the driveway. She lay down on the grass instead of meeting the new arrival, so I knew it wasn't Scott.

When we spotted Rose come walking under the maple tree, we were both excited. A surprise visit from Uncle Neil and his lovelier half! Emil had just been wishing aloud that he could arrange a visit with Neil and was going to phone him.

The coffee pot went on and we jibbered and jabbered for an hour and Rose and I looked at the flowers and then it was time to go.

Emil is quite fond of Uncle Neil. 

Neil was getting a goodbye kiss.

Rose gave me strict orders not to put a picture of her on Facebook.

She went home with half a dozen oriental poppies, and later I dropped off the same number — delphiniums this time — at Rita's.

I asked Everett to take some pictures on the way to her place.

Rita lives in an old train station.

Next: Emil gets his chicken dinner.
Then the double-layer cake; the two of them knocked off half of it at first sit-down.

Emil wishes his dad a happy Father's Day.

After the Rain

We got two inches of rain in less than an hour. A bit heavy as downpours go, but we were glad of the moisture. A lot of places around us didn't get enough, or any.

On the way home from Archerwill I said, "Haven't seen any moose around lately," and then this one appeared.

This bunch is happy.

Too late for the hay crop, I heard.

There are eight teal babies and they aren't sticking around. They bolt when I approach.

Diary to Emil

I am the mother of a 27-year-old man.

Here's how we both looked 27 years ago:

What a relief it was to spring him from the neonatal intensive care unit after all those weeks (he'd been 10 weeks premature).

Pages 2 and 3 of a book/letter I started writing to Emil on Oct. 1, 1988, when he was several months old.

Reading the page above, it sounds like the nurses were reporting to me as if I wasn't there with you every day, and usually more than once.

People say that having a baby will change your life, and it's true, but having your baby stuck in a hospital for five weeks sucks, and bringing that baby home makes your life feel normal. A new kind of normal, but more normal than being at the hospital for hours each day and without your newborn baby the rest of the time, and a vast improvement over everything that came before, including the pregnant months when you threw up virtually every day right till the end, and got out of bed 10 times a night to pee a tablespoon's volume, and had to heave yourself, bottom heavy, to turn over during the night.

Today is Emil's 27th birthday. Months ago he wanted to talk about it, make some plans.
"What would you like to do?" I asked. "Anything special?"
"Maybe we could go out for supper," he said. "And I'd like a birthday cake."
Not a homemade cake; no. Storebought. Chocolate. Iced and decorated. And it should say, "Happy Birthday, Emil."
He reminded me the week before this one that I had to order this cake. Then he asked me last Saturday whether I'd done it yet. That boy is a dog who loves his bones. I ordered it from the Co-op store at the beginning of the week and picked it — and Emil — up on my way home from work Friday night after a 10-hour day at the office. (Like the postmen of old, we will go to any lengths to get your paper out.)

We could go out for supper on Saturday, he suggested, and have the cake on Sunday.
Okie doke.
"We could go up to the Hendon bar for supper, like we did for my birthday last year," he thought. "That would be a good idea."
"Sure 'nuff," said I, "but the Hendon bar isn't open anymore."
"Oh well, I guess any place would be okay," he said.

Then the Wadena News came out last Monday and Scott saw the new restaurant guide on the back page. Maybe we could drive up to Archerwill, to Grandma Viv's; Emil might like that. They're having a Father's Day smorg on Saturday. I told Emil, who was all for it. I reserved a table.

Here is Emil yesterday morning, sitting at his breakfast although it was nearly noon. Like the rest of us (okay, speaking only for myself then), he likes to sleep in on the weekend.

Mr Serious. Usually he's trying to smile for the camera and looks like he's having trouble pinching off a loaf. 

My Little Sister

My youngest sister Joan, always a little sweetie (nine years my junior), became an artist overnight.
Honestly.
It just blows our minds.
Not that we're surprised she's good at everything she does.
We just never had any idea she'd be doing anything like this, to start with.  It sorta comes right out of the blue.

Anyway, she's done a lot of painting that I absolutely love, so I commissioned her to paint me a set of three flowery photos for our living room wall. She's sending them with Dad, who's driving out from Kelowna next week.

I'm so excited!

Propped up in Joan's dining room.

Joan has a blog HERE. 

She doesn't write nearly as often as I'd like, but it's great whenever she does. She's ever so lovable; what can I say.

Joan, it's my turn to say:
You remind me of Mom. 

You know she, too, would have loved Andrea Bocelli.

Lopsided

No matter what I do, the flower bed grows lopsided.

Case in point: the oriental poppies. They're the orange ones out there. They started blooming on the left-hand side. Now they're about finished on the left, but in full flourish on the right. Lopsided.

When I planted the garden, I placed everything in balance. But it has not remained that way. The purple coneflowers have spread commandingly on one side but not on the other; the shasta daisy weighs more heavily on the right; the lupins on the left didn't come back this year, nor did the blue flax on the right. There's a thick patch of hollyhocks (my favourites) on one side at the back, but there were only two on the other; I had to move things around this spring to even it all out, and still I know it won't be what I imagine.

It's wet out there this morning. This is taken through the living room window.

Some things are simply out of our control; out of mine, anyway. I've come to see that. I did my best when planning the perennial garden you see above; I've added plants carefully where I thought they'd most please my eye; after that, every summer it's a crapshoot. They do what they want.

And really, that is not so bad. For me it's an exercise in "letting it be." Appreciating things as they are instead of wishing they were otherwise.