Changes in the Landscape, Loud Noises, and Body Heat

Another of the roving photographer's pictures

This is the last of the grain elevators still standing in my home town, Margo. When I was growing up, there were three; the village was a busy little place then. Now that the other two elevators have been moved away to private farms, when the train goes by it sounds really loud from Grandma's house (now Aunt Shirley's) two blocks away. I never realized how much those three huge buildings blocked the noise.


***

People phone here at 7 a.m. quite often due to the nature of Scott's work in construction, and I don't really want to kill them though it might seem that way for a few moments. I fall back asleep quickly; no problem. But I wish I could figure out how to lower the volume on the phone so that my body doesn't lift six inches off the bed from the shock of the damn thing ringing out in the silent house.

***

The Co-op fuel truck is here delivering oil for the furnace. That'll be a thousand-dollar touch, easily. The dogs are worked up and barking, both inside and out. I have decided to train myself gradually to keep the indoor temperature lower; to be more environmentally responsible. Normally the thermostat is set to 72F and still, unless I am moving, I'm cold: I sit here at my desk with a blanket on my lap and several layers of clothing on my back and arms. Why not aim for 68F if I'm going to be all covered up anyway? This week I've kept the daytime temperature at 70F. Next week it will be 69. The week after, 68. I can't imagine going lower, but who knows. Faye L-bo keeps hers at 61 or something; don't ask me how, but obviously it is possible to do this and be comfortable. Maybe I'll get there myself someday. Meanwhile, two pairs of wool socks on my feet instead of the usual one do make a huge difference. Faye keeps a pair of wool slippers in her porch, which I put on the moment I take off my shoes or boots at her place; she usually turns the heat up before I go over, but the slippers help a lot too.

A stylish gal asked me the other night, when she noticed my wool socks, "Are you a cold person?" I answered yes because it's simpler than explaining my theory that my body temperature is abnormally high and thus the air feels cooler against my skin than it does to people with a lower body temperature, which is why I have to dress warmer than most.

Also, if there's a draft anywhere, I will feel it and shiver. A fan turned on in a room will drive me from it, even on a summer day, unless the temperature is particularly high.

***

See how grain elevators work: click here.

More from the Roving Photographer

Main Street of Kuroki

Apparently this old grader is on display in Kuroki

Biggest tree in Wadena

I see you guys like Kurt's photos. I'll be sure to show him all your comments.

It's snowing heavily today. Scott and I headed for Wynyard at 9:30 this morning but turned back a couple miles south of Wadena due to the poor visibility. Didn't think it was worth the risk, nor did we feel too badly about having to postpone our dental checkups.

Before coming home we fuelled up the half-ton, bought a couple jugs of drinking water and some groceries (could be snowed in for a few days, best be prepared), dropped off a library book, got the mail and stopped at the credit union. The 2011 calendars are out, presumably with Scott's photo of the dilapidated house in the middle of a field that realistically should not still be standing, that he had called "Spirit of Endurance" and that the credit union had sent him a $50 cheque for because they were going to include it. So we were surprised to discover that the photo they used isn't that one, but instead a shot of the old hayrake that sits near the entryway to his family's farmyard. They used the correct caption but the wrong photo. Oh well. Considering the number of submissions they must have received, we are doing well to have one from our camera included, and it's a pretty nice calendar.

Tracks on the Tracks

I lent Scott's cousin Kurt the old digital camera and told him to take some pictures when he's out and around. He dropped in last night to bring my library books out; we pick up each other's when possible to save the other a trip to town. We haven't figured out what animal was ambling along the train track; it obviously had excellent balance, anyway. A fox? Coyote? If you click on the picture you'll get a larger view.

Here are a few more of his photos:

Catholic church in Kuroki

What -- No Photo?

I can hardly believe this myself. I had a two-year-old here today and forgot to get my camera out. We could have had photos of curly cuddly sweetness! Alas, old Auntie Kathy hasn't got much of a memory anymore. Tsk.
I had forgotten how "busy" two-year-olds are, too. I was telling her mother that I don't remember having to worry too much about my boys getting into things when they were toddlers. A hem. Well of course not ... our house was childproofed then, 16 years ago.
And Cindy, you know that rubber plant Gwyn was reefing on? It looks like she straightened it out! It looks good!
***
It's past 11; I've been on the phone with my friend Luanne for an hour-and-a-half, and am going to climb into bed and read a while.
You could always look on the left at Everett's page, "Stupid Crap," where he recommends some silliness he's discovered on the web.

Winter Here to Stay

Through the living room window

It's lovely out there: still, trees covered in hoarfrost, quiet.
Or was. Scott's brought the little tractor up and is moving snow away from the house.

***

I decided to get out of the house.

Pretty foggy looking north from the end of our driveway.

But it made for a magical walk.

There were half a dozen cattle around our yard this summer. Today they got moved across the road.

The ditches are seriously full of water. I could probably ice-skate on them for a mile. Most summers these ditches are all grass.

Looking back down the driveway.

***

Here's how things looked a year ago: click here.

Lazy Saturday Morning

Rick and Faye, lovebirds

A dozen of us met up at the Kelvington bar last night for steak and lobster, which the hotel cooks up once a year or so. Roads were shitty -- slippery and rutted with snow and slush -- and it was foggy,  but the company was excellent and so was the food. The photo above was taken last weekend when Faye and Rick (the L-bo's, as Scott calls them) stopped over for a short visit Sunday afternoon. Now the yard's got a foot of snow covering it.
Most of us went to the L'bo's for drinks after supper. Eyebrows were raised when I put on or took off my ski pants and winter jacket over a long-sleeved thermal shirt, a fleecy, a lined quilted vest, jeans and wool socks. It seems to take forever, which is the part I hate. But I was warm in cold vehicles and on my way to and from them, so I don't care how high the eyebrows go. I'm toasty and relaxed instead of shivering and tense, even if I do look like I'm ready to take off across a field on a ski-doo.
Alas the L'bo's are a bad influence and generous hosts, and I drank a couple sambuca and Irish creme shooters -- though only sipped them -- after two rye/ginger presses, tall, during the meal. I thought I'd be safe. But no; not feeling great this morning. Booze and me are going to have to part company completely, apparently.

Reply to Comments

From the Oxford Canadian Dictionary:

Feminism: the advocacy of equality of the sexes, esp. through the establishment of the political, social, and economic rights of women.

Humanism: 1. an outlook or system of thought concerned with human rather than divine or supernatural matters 2. A belief or outlook emphasizing common human needs, seeking solely rational ways of solving human problems, and being concerned with humanity as responsible and progressive intellectual beings.

Fortunately these two "isms" aren't mutually exclusive.
I'm lucky enough to be part of a generation of women who were handed equal rights on a silver platter, hard won by women who came before us, so that it's easy to think inequality is not really a problem anymore. That's here in Canada; in most of the world, women are still treated like chattel, legally and socially. It hasn't been that long in Canada, either, that women have enjoyed a legal right to custody of their children after a divorce, or the right to own property, or the right to vote, or even to own their own bodies to the degree that they can legally choose to get an abortion. 
And women are still providing most of the domestic services in their homes shared by men. For free, and often neither acknowledged or appreciated, but taken as a given. The oddities are women like me, who refuse to accept that it's their duty, and not their husbands', to make the suppers, do the dishes, and clean the bathrooms. I get those things done — and the grocery shopping, and so on — because they need to be done and if I don't take the initiative, they won't get done and my own life will suck, and I'm not willing to live in a hovel. But I never, ever think of these things as only my duty or that I've fallen short if I don't do them consistently or well. To hell with that.
These are my personal politics and they are sometimes a struggle to maintain in the face of sexist expectations that are so entrenched we don't even realize we're cowtowing to them.
In my household there has to be an exchange or sharing of domestic responsibilities that we both agree on, and when we don't, Kathy is not happy. And you've heard the saying "When Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy." My feminist activism is not public; it takes place on my private turf. I think this must be what Maggie was talking about. It requires as much energy and focus, maintained, as any other kind of activism. When they say "The personal is the political," I know exactly what they mean.


***

I'll be looking up recipes on the internet for some of the ingredients from Saudi, like the dried lemons. Bev gave me some ideas but I'll still want recipes. Lately I have no inclination to cook; none whatsoever. So it could be a while. But I'm thinking curries. Mmmm.

Saudi Arabia in My Kitchen

A hometown gal (some of you will remember Bev Ziola) has been living in Saudi and is in Canada this month to visit with her family. She was out here the other day to pick up some belongings we'd stored for her, and she came bearing gifts. I scrambled to find small containers to sort them into until later, when I put them into small plastic bags.

Among other things, there's a cinnamon stick, fenugreek, cardamom, dates, dried lemons, black cumin and a variety of incense in its natural state, including frankincense and myrhh. One of the incense rocks is called Scare the Ghosts Away. The kitchen smelled divine.

***

My Remembrance Day observance yesterday consisted of watching We Will Remember Them, a documentary shown on CBC that profiled a number of Canadian soldiers killed in Afghanistan, as remembered by their families, friends and comrades in arms. It was very sad, of course; one mother echoed my own discovery about grief when she said that people expect sorrow to become less over time, but that in fact it does not. According to those interviewed for the film, their soldier sons, daughters, fathers, husbands and friends were committed to their jobs and believed strongly that what they were doing over there was worthwhile and that somebody has to step up to the plate to help the Afghani people, so why shouldn't it be Canada and the Canadian armed forces?


***


I was on the living room floor a few minutes ago, doing the Tibetan Rites, when Everett said there was an unusual woodpecker at the feeders. I assumed it was the downy or the hairy, which are regulars, and that he simply hadn't noticed them before. But I got up to look and was surprised to see a pileated woodpecker. The thing was huge and I've never seen one here in the 10 years since I moved back.

How cool is that. I'd be tickled if it stuck around.


***

In response to my wondering why this blog was nominated for the Feminist award, I received this email today:


Hello Kate,
Mea Culpe!  I nominated you for both the Feminist Award with the Canadian Weblog Awards, and the Life award.
I nominated you for the Feminist award because I feel true feminism is lived first, expressed as political strategy and dogma only as necessary.  Seems to me most "feminists" have it the wrong way round, and you have it the right way round.
Anyway, best of luck with the Awards.
Maggie
http://www.maggieturner.net

Remember, it's Remembrance Day

Tank

Tank is not a fitting name for this six-month-old Yorkie who is looking for a home. My sister Karen hopes his new owner will give him a new and nicer name. He is for sale for $550. Did you know that Yorkies are among the few canine breeds that do not shed? How nice is that.

The Tank who belongs to Gunnar (Scott's son, my stepson) is an English bulldog — now his name suits him to a T.

***

Do you know anyone who has multiple sclerosis? If so, you've heard of the liberation treatment they are experimenting with; it's similar to an angioplasty for the heart, only with this they're opening up arteries in the patient's neck. A local lady has had it done and has been blogging about it. I've put a link to her blog in the list on the lower right of this page; check out Karen's Liberation.

The province of Saskatchewan has been funding experimental trials but most patients still have to travel to Europe and spend upwards of $10,000 from their own pockets. As you can imagine, many people aren't in a financial situation that permits them to do that.  Karen's community held fundraisers to help get her where she needed to go.

***

Barb, if I've read correctly the voting for those awards doesn't start till the new year. But thank you anyway. The thought does count. Actually, these awards are juried, which likely means only the jurors vote. Damned if I know. I'm sure Ms Schmutzie will explain it all when the time is right. I have no idea how my blog got nominated for a "feminist" award, though naturally I am one -- what person with a brain isn't?
Oh, and Saskatchewan sticks with Central Standard Time all year round. We don't suffer through the change, except in trying to remember that everyone else is suddenly an hour earlier than they were before.

***

I'm taking the day off in honour of Remembrance Day. It sounds like the roads are passable, though my old Dodge van may have to plough through the deep snow to get to town. Scott has already brought a tractor out and cleared the yard, but it looks like I'll have to shovel out my wheels before I can go anywhere.

He managed to solve the problem mentioned yesterday in the tarot section, so the card was right after all: things were back to normal by the evening. My Hero.

***

Molly Johnson is one of my favourite singers:

Ready for Winter

Brooder house now garden shed

It looks like we got the plant pots and the lawn furniture put away just in time, because last night the rain turned to snow and this morning the ground was covered. It's been blowing hard all day and looks like mid winter out there, with half a foot of snow if not more.

I guess it's time; winter has really arrived.


***

There is a good possibility that an opening is coming up in one of the other group homes in town very soon, and Emil will be able to move there. With luck that will solve the problem. Unfortunately it still leaves the other residents in his present lodging in an unpleasant situation. I hope someone is advocating for them, too.

He was pleased with the close trim of his beard yesterday and commented that he looked younger and handsomer. I had to agree, because his whiskers were getting pretty bushy.

Tomorrow is the Remembrance Day holiday and he gets the day off, and is determined that I go in and see him, maybe bring him out here. Who knows what state the roads will be in? I may well be going nowhere if this weather keeps up.

***

Judging by the snow, there's no point in hoping for an Indian Summer. I thought we'd already had it. But according to this article, it would only be later:

In the fall, it seems that almost any warm day is referred to by most people as "Indian summer."

And, while their error is certainly not of the world-shaking variety, they are, for the most part, in error. Here is criteria for an Indian summer:

As well as being warm, the atmosphere during Indian summer is hazy or smoky, there is no wind, the barometer is standing high, and the nights are clear and chilly.

A moving, cool, shallow polar air mass is converting into a deep, warm, stagnant anticyclone (high pressure) system, which has the effect of causing the haze and large swing in temperature between day and night.

The time of occurrence is important: The warm days must follow a spell of cold weather or a good hard frost.

The conditions described above must occur between St. Martin's Day (November 11) and November 20. For over 200 years, The Old Farmer's Almanac has adhered to the saying, "If All Saints' (November 1) brings out winter, St. Martin's brings out Indian summer."

Why is Indian summer called Indian summer? There are many theories. Some say it comes from the early Algonquian Native Americans, who believed that the condition was caused by a warm wind sent from the court of their southwestern god, Cautantowwit.

The most probable origin of the term, in our view, goes back to the very early settlers in New England. Each year they would welcome the arrival of a cold wintry weather in late October when they could leave their stockades unarmed. But then came a time when it would suddenly turn warm again, and the Native Americans would decide to have one more go at the settlers. "Indian summer," the settlers called it.

Source: The 1985 Old Farmer's Almanac, with my thanks to Lilye


***

We watched the movie Kick-Ass last night and in spite of the graphic violence, I liked it because the superhero in it was a little girl who seriously kicked ass. Damn, she was good. And I never mind seeing the bad guys get what they've got coming.

Groups

Christmas market

On Saturday morning I drove into town and picked Emil up at the group home, then dropped him off at the front door of the community hall and went to find a parking place. It was a gorgeous sunny day, a pleasure to walk back down the street to meet Emil on the sidewalk. The hall was packed; Emil was in his glory, strutting with his elbow crutches down the crowded rows between the tables, hoping to see someone he knew.

After an hour the hordes had thinned out, likely headed home for lunch, and I sat down with Aunt Marj at her table for a little visit between customers. That's where I was when I took the picture above. There was a lunch of turkey on a bun being sold in the kitchen but I used the carrot of a restaurant lunch to get Emil out of there after an hour and a half.

There was a wide variety of goods and I was very tempted by a silver fairy pendant that was a perfect match to my silver fairy earrings, but managed to check myself. After all, I rarely remember to wear the necklaces I already have, or most of my earrings for that matter. Instead I bought something I've been in the market for — a hammock. My one impulse buy was a pan of homemade brown sugar fudge.

Emil came home with me after we had chicken burgers at a café, then stayed for supper and overnight — once Everett agreed to let him have his bed and to sleep on the couch himself. This is the first time Emil's spent the night here since moving out at the beginning of September. It was good to have him here. Full nest, I guess.

On Sunday after supper I was driving him back to town to the group home and quizzing him about the conditions there. One of the other residents has developed a behavioral problem and Emil was asked to be patient while a solution was found. After two months things have not improved substantially, and I wanted to know how Emil was feeling about it all. He told me that although he loves his job, and he loves everything else about living at the group home, he would be willing to give them both up in order to move home. As if that wasn't shocking enough to me, could Scott and Everett and I move him home next weekend? Because he has had enough.

I said of course we'll move him home if he is sure he understands the practical consequences of moving out. He seems to. I asked him to say nothing to others about moving until I'd had a chance to talk to the lady who runs the place. I spoke to her by phone yesterday and will talk to her later today; she may present some sort of option. I hope so. It's not that I wouldn't like my son here again in some ways, but that we have all made the adjustment to him living away and it has to happen eventually no matter what, so moving home would seem like a step backward.

My fingers are crossed that things will work out to his advantage. This afternoon I'll pick him up after work and take him for a haircut and a beard and moustache trim, and maybe by then we'll know what we're going to do.

Chippendale Everett

 

 

He may wish to kill me (quite justifiably) when he sees I've put this one up, but it's so darn cute.

***

Check out webpages written by Canadians by clicking on either of the two Canadian Weblog Awards nominee buttons over on the side. I may move them around over the coming weeks while fiddling around with the template as I'm prone to do, but they'll be on the page somewhere. If you follow the link you should find a list of recent entries by nominated bloggers. Go, Canucks! Which is the closest thing to a sports cheer that will ever come out of my mouth.


***

Yep, he's standing over my shoulder right now, thinking up ways to end my life. I'm reminding him how much he loved that little bowtie and wore it with every outfit for a while. When I was going through old photos the other day, I found several where he was wearing it. He is reminding me that if you squeezed the bow, it squeaked. Also, he is mortified by all the comments that he looks like me.

Everett Turns 18 Today

She'll Be 93 in a Month

Scott and I went to his sister Tanya’s for supper on Sunday and I got dropped off at Kelvindell Lodge on the way. Grandma was in the dining room; she looked closely at my face and asked “Where did you come from?” and we went together down to her room. She used a walker, and when we got there she lay down immediately on her bed and proceeded to say absolutely nothing except, in response to my attempts at conversation, “Oh?” or “I don’t know.”

I should probably feel bad saying it, but it was a relief, an hour later, to walk her back to the dining room, settle her into a chair in front of her supper, kiss her and leave. It's not easy to have a chat all by myself. Perhaps a better thing to do would be to stay where the other residents are hanging out, and talk with those who are more into it. Grandma is happy just to listen.

Smelling, Tasting

Jam-Jams

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Barb, there's only one one gelatin-free brand of yogurt at the Co-op (one of the two grocery stores in Wadena, and it's the one where we shop because the other one doesn't accept debit or credit cards; cash or cheque only) and Everett says it tastes funny and won't eat it. Fussy brat.

Have I mentioned that he has zero sense of smell, but he can taste food that is inches away from his mouth? So much for the theory that it is our olfactory sense that is responsible for most of what we taste. (I can "taste" mucousy granules or viruses in the air or whatever it is that people with head and chest colds give off, so maybe he comes by this sensitivity honestly enough.)

As for the cookies he won't eat because of the animal product in their ingredients, well ... more for me, then. But next time I'll buy Crisco all-vegetable shortening. Normally I would have anyway. What was I thinking?


I have the filthiest keyboard in the world. It really is disgusting. Good thing I can't smell or taste it.

***

Here's the recipe, as requested:

1 c brown sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
1 c shortening
6 tbsp syrup
1/2 tsp salt
3 or 4 c flour
2 tsp baking soda mixed in with 3 c of the flour

Cream sugar and shortening. Add eggs and syrup, then remaining ingreds. Chill the dough at least an hour before rolling out and cutting with a cookie cutter. Bake in hot oven (375F or so) for about 8 minutes. Cool and fill with jam or date filling.

This is the recipe Mom put into the Lutheran Ladies cookbook back in 1983.

Is It Too Soon?

Elves for sale

Someone's been busy preparing for Christmas craft sales. These are my friend Shelly's army of elves, which make dandy seasonal decorations and gifts. The baskets can hold candies, oranges, nuts, or any number of treats, and the elves without baskets have sweet little arms that will hold a gift bottle of wine or Irish Cream or whatever the recipient might fancy. I'm the proud owner of an elf that she gave me many years ago, and it's still one of the pieces I set out every December with fond affection.

This weekend the local farmers' market is holding its annual Christmas sale. Will there still be some white stuff on the ground by then? It's melting fast.

Today I'm getting out for a walk in the sunshine, no matter what. I've been so focused on working that I've hardly poked my nose out the door for days. Shame on foolish me. When do you full-time office workers manage to get outside for exercise? I can't remember how I did it and got anything else done. Maybe I didn't.

Everett is making jam-jams today. This, after he found a recipe on the internet for sourdough pizza crust, made it, and was roundly disappointed in the result. The sourdough starter had to be used, as it must once a week, and Everett wasn't up for his usual bagel-making. I did warn him that the recipe called for a lot of starter and very little flour in comparison, but I'm his mom ... what do I know? He ignored my reservations and went ahead. The verdict: "I won't be using that recipe again." Which didn't stop him from eating half the cheese pizza anyway.

He just informed me that the shortening he's using is not animal-product-free, but is pure lard, which means that he won't eat the cookies because he's a vegetarian. He also won't eat anything that contains gelatin, so now eschews marshmallows, yogurt, and a variety of his former favourites. The kid's got willpower.

It's not always easy to come up with enough work to keep him busy four hours a day, five days a week. But I wouldn't be doing him any favours by letting him sit about; maybe I'll have to increase the hours to eight, before he'll want to move out. And get Scott to add chores to the list. It's all good for me so far. The fridge interior is spic and span. The living room furniture has been cleaned meticulously, using packing tape to pick up the fuzz and such. I haven't done the dishes in two months; not more than once, anyway. The barn cats have a lovely new bale house in the tractor shed to keep them warm on the cold winter days to come. Jenna the eight-year-old border collie also has one, since her senior, Casper, won't let her in the insulated doghouse I bought for them last fall. Everett raked all the fallen leaves from the grass. He washed the windows. He sweeps the floor. All without a word of complaint, because there is a time limit, after which he is no longer at my beck and call. He's happy as long as he knows where the boundaries are.

Little Ducky the chihuahua and the terrier from the next farmyard have been busy trying to mount Jenna, a dog we thought was a spayed female when we adopted her. Now we discover that although she has never had pups, she has also never been spayed. Let us hope that these two eager fellows meet with no success; they're both so much smaller than her it's a bit of a circus act as they try to get their groove on.

Classic Croonin'

Now Playing at my house: Bryan Ferry, As Time Goes By





Have you ever wondered if the birds enjoy our singing as much as we enjoy theirs?

More Like Spring

Through the bedroom window

Apparently the prudent thing to do is to move the snow away from the house, particularly since it's begun to melt. The sun's shining and oh, if winter could only be mild like this for the next six months... mind you, winter whips by quickly nowadays, as does all time.

This morning I awoke from a nightmare: we were buying a house in a city; one that also needed renovations, like the house we're in right now. What a relief to find it was only a dream! And I'm not just talking about the renovations. Cities are places we go for medical appointments with specialists or to purchase goods we can't buy out here, and to visit loved ones who live and work in cities, but the thought of spending any length of time in an urban environment or even a small town is a stomach-turning idea for both of us. We like our space, and lots of it. One day the large yard/lawn to mow may be too much for us and we may not be able to drive, so living in town will look more attractive. But with luck that's a couple decades away.

***

Headsup:
A reader recently informed me that when she tried to leave a comment, Google responded with the message that she was to "go away" and that she would be reported for "abuse" if she tried again to comment. Thanks for letting me know, Marion. I have no idea what this is all about and have posted a question about it on a user forum, but received no responses as yet. If anyone has info to share, or if this has happened to you, please do speak up.

Brrr

Looks like winter to me.

And there's more of the white stuff coming down, too.
The trip to Kelowna has been postponed for various reasons, mostly to do with the weather. If this snow melts as predicted and water starts coming into the basement again and the pump down there malfunctions or the pump freezes in the lagoon and that backs up and Everett has to handle it ... and he doesn't know how ... we would be kicking ourselves for leaving.
Ah well. Another week to work ahead so there's less crimp in my cash flow when I'm away. That's smarter anyway.

Snowdrifts

Keeping warm

The wind howled and stormed so hard last night that I lay awake till 3:30, anxious. Even Ducky awoke, came barking out of his traveling crate in the closet near the foot of our bed, and pawed at the side of the mattress to get my attention. I sat up, gave him a cuddle, took a walk around the house (inside of course) and looked out all the windows to make sure half the yard hadn’t blown away. Fortunately the yard light makes everything visible at night, and it didn’t look half as bad out there as it sounded indoors. Once back in bed, I realized there was no use trying to sleep, because I was hungry. It never fails that if I’m awake at 3 a.m. I find myself hungry. So I got up and ate some granola while looking for something to watch on TV at that time of night. So much for having a hundred channels; nothing much could be found. I caught the last few minutes of a Ron James comedy show before going back to bed. It was 4 before I finally fell asleep.
And yes, there are snowdrifts around the yard. Some of them four feet high. Or deep.

Wed 24 Nov 1997
6:52a.m., from an old handwritten journal, when Everett was five years old:
Still in bed. Have to get up and help Emil dress in eight minutes. Everett’s beside me, pissed off because he can’t get married yet and have a wedding. And he asked me how babies are made (and I gave him an introductory explanation) because he is definite about wanting to be a poppa when he grows up… He got his 8”x10” school picture yesterday and was excited enough to show it around the class (the aide told me) and then all around the café where I took the boys for lunch. “I’m handsome, right?”

Morning Would...Be Winter

Through the kitchen window

Yesterday's rain turned into blowing snow before I hit the hay last night, and shows no sign of letting up. It'll be a cosy indoor day for some of us. I'll be working here at the computer, and Everett will make bagels. Scott's gone off to do something he shouldn't instead of something he should (heh! that's my opinion) and Emil, who called last night and said he'd walked to his job in the rain yesterday because the handi-van is broken down, will have walked the block this morning through the snow without winter boots on and is probably sitting at his work station with wet shoes right this moment.

This will melt, I'm sure. Although I do remember Halloweens in my teen years when the ditches were full of snow that wasn't going anywhere. I remember because I slogged through snow up to my thighs to escape an irate homeowner whose house we'd just toilet-papered. He thought we'd done worse, but hadn't stopped to find out before starting his chase. He didn't catch us, either. (For those from Margo: It was Elmer who ran hollering after Kim and I, not knowing who he was after: "You rotten little bastards!"); we'd also taped photos of naked women, torn from magazines, onto his and Grandpa's windows. Oh we were evil tricksters. No soap for we two!)