Checking out the Wayback Machine

The flower garden today

And here's where I was 4 years ago:

September 2009

And 3 years ago:

September 2010

2 years ago:

September 2011

1 year ago:

September 2012


In 2009 I was still living at the old house and coming over here once in a while. Or maybe it was the other way around.

The boys have both moved out and one has returned for now; the other still comes home for weekends.

Grandma has gone.

Otherwise these old entries might as well have been written now.
Hm.
Are you still reading? Why?

September Scene

One day of cold weather ... yay!!!!
Guess who got a batch of bread made.

It's supposed to warm up again today, so I hope to get some muffins made before it does.

This coming home after a hard day of working in the hot sun and then having to run around the kitchen to concoct something to eat ... well, damn, it's nearly impossible to do it with any finesse. I don't dare sit down before starting, or I won't get going again. It's obvious one needs to plan further ahead if this is going to keep up.

I got my hands on a power tool last week — an impacter — if you don't count the noise, it isn't a bad activity. I've handled an air nailer back in the day, so it's no big deal. What's a bigger challenge is getting more than two feet up a ladder and not feeling like I'm going to be pushed backward and fall off as soon as there is any kind of kickback from fastening something into a wall. Even holding up one end of a piece of siding that gets moved from the other end ... can knock me off balance. Scary.

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The hollyhocks at "South Forks" (where Scott was raised) stand about 9 feet high.

It was a day off, if you don't count dishes, laundry, and hanging out with my ex-husband and kids for the afternoon and supper. Relaxing and pleasant, but so frigging muggy and hot, gad! I used to love the heat, but now ... give me a temperate climate, any day. Dust started blowing down Main Street as we sat in the café and it was raining lightly by the time we ran for the vehicle. I don't know whether the farmers do — probably not if they're in the middle of baling — but I welcome the moisture and coolness.

Yesterday afternoon I picked a gallon of chokecherries for an acquaintance. It was feverishly humid, as it's been all week, so I wasn't eager to go out to the trees along a fenceline. However, once you're back in the shady bush, it's really quite lovely and I enjoyed every moment of it. There were no insects out and around; Scott was baling in the field nearby; after an hour or two we both stopped our activities and had a cold beer on the dark side of a big round bale before I headed for home.

Tomorrow, if it doesn't rain much more, I'll be slaving in the hot sun with Construction Man.

Don't You Care How You Look?

Customer buying gladiolas at the Wadena farmers' market

The flower seller, on the left, sold out of glads in less than two hours. And yes, the lady on the right is who you think it is. Senator Wallin's family lives in Wadena so she is often seen at the grocery store and market and various other places around town. She seems like a lovely person, but I think that about most everyone who is pleasant and friendly, and my opinion about her politics and actions is an uneducated one ... like a good many of the opinions we hear. Not knowing all the facts doesn't seem to shut anyone up, unfortunately.

My great-aunt Marj, age 88, has two baking and garden produce tables at the market and her son Allan helps her lug everything in and then serve the hordes of hungry customers who swarm her tables when the doors open at 10. That's Allan on the right:

Joan, that is our former neighbour Hazel Rudishyn bent looking at something; she is a regular customer for my caramel corn.

When they were leaving after the Saturday market, he told me that his mother was taking him out for a meal and I teased him that he was spoiled. "I can't help it if she's good to me!" he said with a big smile.

This week was another hot one and I went along with Scott to a job site a couple times to do what I could do. I am nervous on a ladder so am not much good for half the work; I do a lot of cleanup (Scott likes a spotless work area) and fetching ("What do you mean, a -blank-?" I don't know what all the tools are called). It has been a strong reminder that a good carpenter is no dummy. The fractions! the figuring! the troubleshooting! I'm all in awe, watching him puzzle out the proper handling of some small detail that, although the average observer like myself isn't even aware of it, if not done right it will create a costly mess down the line.

One day I closely observed him making aluminum cladding for windows, as it's something I could learn to do; he didn't let me get my square little hands on the tinsnips though:

I did pound some nails into styrofoam sheating, and he chuckled and said I "hammer like a girl."

Apparently he does still think I'm a girly-girl (and let's be honest, twice this week I've jumped and screamed and clasped my hands to my breast when he appeared in a doorway and I was expecting either Everett or no one, so no wonder)(does that happen to anyone else?), because when we got home I had to go to town to pick up Everett and a few groceries, and I headed for the car without changing — wearing a man's white cotton shirt and baggy faded blue jeans held up by a belt with notches added so it cinches tight enough to keep my pants up; they were hand-me-downs from a slightly larger gal to start with, and I've gotten thinner since then — I have been saving old wornout favourites for years so if ever needed I would have work clothes to wear, and finally I get to wear them! — and he says, "You're going like that? Don't you care how you look?"

Uh, no, I don't. I've been working outside, and I'm going to town looking like I've been working outside. Is that a problem? (Scott usually "cleans up" before going to town, but then he's often been working with cattle; I'd likely wash and change then, too.) I was surprised by the questions, because he should know by now ... that I wash, and brush my teeth, and that's about it. I might wet down my sticky-up hair when I get up in the morning, but there will be no curling or blow-drying or time spent fussing. Been there, done that, wasted a hell of a lot of time when I was a young woman. I haven't put makeup on my face for at least 10 years and now wonder why I ever bothered. I think it was a way of paying myself a couple minutes of attention, which my body appreciated. Now I do that by applying coconut oil or a natural face mist on my way out of the bathroom, and my body is just as happy.

In actual news this week, my friend Bev, who was diagnosed with breast cancer this spring and chose to treat it without surgery, chemotherapy, or radiation, has posted the results of her pet scan:

http://waybacktoperfecthealth.blogspot.ca/

Fall Has Arrived in Saskatchewan

The crops they are a-turnin' colour. Soon everything will be golden.

I'm on the run these days, and tired when I'm not. So you find me in bed by 9:30 most nights, and not wanting very much to get up at 6 a.m.

It's all I can do to find time to water and deadhead the flowers that are in pots. Or to find energy to go for a walk.

I thought time only flew when you're having fun! I'm not having any. But life is good anyway.

Everett hit the rhubarb yesterday morning as he drove into town to work, with me in the passenger's seat. He's only got his learner's licence and I should've made him drive slower. For a few moments there, I was sure the car was going to roll. The boy stayed calm though, and good for him.

Anyway, gotta go as soon as Scott is off the phone. Another day in the sun and wind. The leaves have started falling from the maple trees.

Manitou Beach

Campers being dropped off in front of the main building

Usually when I take Emil to Camp Easter Seal, there is a long, slow (because Emil is not speedy on his crutches) walk to his assigned cabin, lugging his baggage and bedding. Then there is the long, slow walk back to the dining area, where the campers are gathering for lunch and saying goodbye to their parents. Emil likes me to meet the three or four counsellors who are assigned to his cabin, and then gradually he is ready to let me leave.

Not this time, though. The luggage was loaded onto a wheeled cart, the counsellors introduced themselves, I went into the office to sign a waiver so that Emil could go tubing if he wanted, and a few minutes later when I joined them again in front of the dining room, I was dismissed.

"You can go now, Mom," he said. "I want you to go."

And so I collected a kiss goodbye and danced off to the Village Perk, where I always stop when in Manitou Beach, in hopes that the cook will have his excellent pecan pie on hand. Again he did not, and I kicked myself for not calling ahead and begging him to make it. That pie is worth 10 phone calls!

Instead I had a bowl of cream of broccoli soup (no crackers required) and hot cheese biscuits (you don't need butter when they melt in your mouth). That man can cook, I tell you. If I lived there I would gain back the 15 pounds I've lost over the past year or two.

They brew a mean cup of joe at the Village Perk, too. 

Worker Bees

Today could be considered a day of rest, since I only had to be in town by 8 to pick Emil up and drive him to Camp Easter Seal down at Manitou Beach. It's been a long day, but compared to the two previous, it was Easy Street.

Yesterday and the day before were actual work days. I went with the boys to Kelvington to be the jill-of-all-trades while they prepared a house for new siding. I pulled out nails and hauled old siding away and stacked it and helped load it up and kept the site tidy and generally did whatever I was asked to do. They were two swelteringly hot days and even though they were short — we came home mid-afternoon so the boys could get out into the field, as it's haying time — I was asleep before 8 the first night, and not much later the next. And was still tired and sore in the morning.

I have a new admiration for the physical stamina of these two guys, who generally put in full days of heavy labour on the job and then come home and do farm work for several more. I'm not sure I'd survive.  I don't know how they do it.

August in Saskatchewan

Emil gets some exercise outside on the weekend.

Why does the distance from our driveway to the correction line (where the signs are) look so short in photos? It's three-quarters of a mile, and here it looks like no more than a hop, skip and jump.

When it's not too windy, half the time I head north, the other direction:

The canola field is still in bloom and if we get more heat, maybe the wheat and oats will start turning colour.

No walking for me today, though; I've been on the run. Went and purchased a car from a family friend so that I can get #2Son to work for the next while, till he gets a driver's licence or finds a place in town to live.

He had to go up on a roof today. Scary, he said. "I'm like a kitten caught in a tree: 'Oh my god, how do I get down from here?'" To which I can relate; I'm impressed he went up there at all.

And saws; there is sawing to be done. He is nervous about saws, and I don't blame him. "You should be!" I said, "Until you are taught how to use them."

Everett Gets His First Real Job

After his interview with the potential employer, he is to meet me at the local grocery store. I'm standing in the lineup at the cashout when I sense a large presence right behind me, a little too close to be the usual other shopper, and sure enough it's my grown boy.
"Well?" I turn and ask.
"I start at 8 tomorrow morning."
He is pleased. I can tell because there is just the faintest glimmer of a suppressed grin on his face; only a mother would know it is there.
"What do you think of LL?" I ask. That's the new boss.
"When he showed me around, he straightened up things on a shelf. He's the first person I've met who is as anal as me."

There are about five employees on the job and they go hard all day long, and it is physical labour, stacking lumber and so on. Everett is exhausted when he gets home, but he wants to go back the next day and there is plenty of variety in activity and he is working with other young men and this will do him a world of good. He shows me, with pride, bruises on his forearms from something he's been doing. His feet are sore at the end of the day. His first paycheque will be a revelation to him.

He has no drivers' licence and doesn't want to get one, or to own a car. We will try to change this, but in the meantime we drive him into town in the morning and pick him up at the end of the day. If the job is still a go by the end of the month -- fingers crossed that both he and LL will be happy with the arrangement -- he will need a place to stay in town.  If you are a local reader and hear of any vacancies, let me know.

Women and Elephants

Everett thought it quite surprising when, after he'd spotted a mouse in the porch and the two of us had spent an hour moving stuff outside and cleaning, I dragged (with his help) both my trunks from against a wall, spotted the rodent cowering in the space behind, shrieked and bolted for the door.

"So it's true then," he said, sounding shocked. "Women really are like elephants when it comes to mice."

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There was a thunderstorm yesterday afternoon that, during one of his many trips between house, van, and quonset as we cleaned, made the hair on Everett's arms stand up. After that we stayed indoors till it was over.

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Had trouble sleeping last night and thought, around 2 a.m., that maybe a change of location would help. So I took my pillow, laid a wool blanket and one of Mom's quilts on top of myself on the couch in the living room, and was asleep in no time. Only turned over once, as opposed to the continual flipping in bed. Don't know why it is, as our bed is perfectly comfy, but this isn't the first time the couch has been the answer to my infrequent insomnia.

Weekends are a Different Story

New bull (far left) and girlfriends eyeball the dogs

New bull leads the herd of heifers

You can say Saskatchewan has no hills, but I know better.

Rest stop on last night's walk

The new routine is only for weekdays. On weekends I shall follow my nose to my heart's content and try to catch up on my online activities.

We've got a hot sunny day out there and I intend to bask.

Also, the darjeeling tea is apparently not to blame for Thursday night's insomnia. Last night was no different. I know I was still awake at 3 because that's when I felt hungry. It's always been that way, since my party-till-dawn days. If it's 3 a.m., I'm hungry. If I find myself cold, sure enough it's 5 a.m. Didn't make it quite that far this time so am more rested today.

Scott has just come in from doing something with cattle and I am not sure I can believe my ears, but I think I heard him say something about taking the rest of the day off to do absolutely nothing, or maybe go somewhere. What????!!!!

He is also wondering if I should go to the doctor again, as I still have a nasty cough. I think it will pass; just gotta be patient. The post-nasal drip after a head cold can last a while. But he will nag me if it becomes necessary; I can count on that.

Yesterday I sat in the van as a young fella put gas in the tank, and a friend walked up and, looking concerned, exclaimed, "You have gotten awfully thin!" I have lost a few pounds in recent months, just from cutting back on bread and toast, I think. And a few pounds either way always shows, on me. When I got home I texted Karen (sister): "I'm not TOO thin, am I?" She assures me I look perfectly healthy. My favourite pair of blue pedal-pushers (showing my age here, aren't I?) are hanging off me, though, which is disappointing.  The one drawback to being skinnyish.

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Maybe you'd like to check out my uncle's new blog? Random Thoughts from a Rocking Chair.  And do leave him a comment if you do; all new bloggers need encouragement to continue. He is posting a bit of everyday stuff along with excerpts from the first draft of his memoir. This way he can post what he likes, while I cut and slash ruthlessly from the original and hope he will still be speaking to me when all is said and done. Editing: a dirty job but somebody has to do it.

New Routine

Prepping BC strawberries to freeze for smoothies

Two days down and I'm back up again. Still not full of piss 'n' vinegar but not feeling like crap either. Whew! Glad that's over. Managed to make a delicious Mexican soup for supper, do some laundry, some weeding, and go to town for groceries (and Emil) and to buy out the BC fruit truck. I've yet to get out for my walk this evening, and try to put an hour in on my uncle's manuscript, but it will be an early night because ding!ding!ding! never drink a cup of darjeeling tea from India after supper, Kathy! I laid awake till 5 this morning. Shoulda known better.

We had company last night, Scott's cousin John and his wife Helen (see her blog, Pengelly Pastimes) with their youngest son Ryan and our niece Rebecca from down the road here. I am hoping they didn't catch my cold, or Scott's ... he was suffering from it last night and this morning but went out early to a cement-pour anyway. I thought for sure he'd be home and back in bed by noon, but it's 7 o'clock now and I haven't seen hide nor hair of him. I don't know how that man keeps going.

Helen recently had a surgery and a cancer scare, and we talked about how that alters your perception of the time you have left and how you want to spend it. I thought about that some as I lay abed wide awake afterward; that and many other things. One of them was about the way time seems to be flying past so quickly and I seem to never be on top of things around here to the degree I would like to be. It's not that I'm fussy about the house or anything, compared to others, but after being down for the count for two days and then having a fairly restful day yesterday, and even with Everett's help with dishes after I made some supper for my sick farmerboy last night, every surface in the kitchen and living room was still covered when they arrived and I couldn't help asking myself, Why is that? Where does the time go?

I decided too much of it is spent at this computer and from now on I'm not even going to check my email till after supper. So this has been Day One of the new routine. Wish me luck. I'm terrible at sticking to routines. Aside from my morning cup of coffee, that is. That's an easy one.

Where Have I Been?

My great-niece Lexi, her mom in mirror

It's been a busy past week, and I was feeling 100% when I went to the hospital on Monday morning, where the doctor's office is, for a physical. But within a half-hour of coming out of the place I was blowing my nose, and by suppertime I knew something unpleasant was taking hold. And so it has been. I've been fevered and congested and runnynosed ever since. Wasted days, how I hate them. Feeling crummy always makes me think the most negative thoughts: how I'm going to be a bag lady in my old age, for instance. Positive expectations simply disappear when I feel like shit.

Today I feel a lot better — no more runny nose, no more fever — but my voice is so deep it's scary. Aunt Shirley, I see you have left a message on my phone. I will call you when I can talk properly! I was in Margo on Monday afternoon to drop off my market wares at Missy's, and after a quick stop at the cemetery I had to go see Michelle and Lexi, and then Karen, so didn't have time to come and see you too. However if Missy's "Market Mondays" continue, I'll be there every week so will see you next time.

Wildcrafting

It's not often that I venture into the bush, as I'm nervous as a deer in unfamiliar places with long grass where anything could be hiding. There are always two dogs with me, so they would alert me to any wild animal nearby, but still ... I was much more confident yesterday, with another person along.

So yesterday Everett and I went "wildcrafting," which I intended to do for an hour but we ended up out there under the hot sun for two. I was looking for plants away from roads and exhaust fumes, and we were in luck — came home with more wild bergamot leaves, more yarrow, and a shitload more wild raspberry leaves to be dried. We also found a fabulous stand of chokecherry bushes, with the unripe fruit hanging in grape-like clusters from the branches. I don't do anything with chokecherries, so they will be left for the birds I guess.

There was a hard rain last night so it will be too wet to go a-wandering again today. But we'll go again, maybe tomorrow.

Linde, re wasps: 
Take a paper lunch bag, blow it up, tie it at the opening, and hang it high in the vicinity where wasps are a problem. Apparently they will think it's another wasp nest and will move out or stay away. Let me know if it works for you!

Personal Assistant

Scott was gone to Calgary to help son Gunnar build a deck onto his house. The dog, Tank, chose the only two boards pushed together as a place to snooze in the sun.

I am working son Everett for six hours every weekday, with jobs around the house and yard.

"You are a horrible boss," he says, because I tell him what needs to be done shortly before it's time to do it. He would prefer a list made up in advance, and perhaps no choices.

So this morning I sat down and filled out this week's calendar for him. He'll be weeding, washing cupboards, washing walls, cleaning the bathroom, bathing Ducky, bagging up the recycling, cleaning the freezer, CLRing my glass pitchers, and accompanying me on after-the-dew's-gone morning walks to find and pick medicinal wildflowers around the field across the road.

I love it. So many of these little jobs are always hanging over my head, "shoulds," that I don't get around to as often as I'd like. It's wonderful to have a personal assistant. We all need one.

Broken Dink

It's a gorgeous rainy day.

The farmboys are looking for a new bull.  The old one broke his dink!

Who knew?

Dr Who and Videogames and Magpie Thieves

Everett heads for the weed patch, transistor radio in hand.

"Mom! Come and see this," he called from the foot of his bed.

I dried my hands on a tea towel and joined him at the window.

"The magpies are pulling tomatoes off." He pointed at two of them in the garden.

Now we know who's been picking the strawberries.

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In the evenings, Everett has been gently guiding me into Dr Who.  We have watched all of the season with Christopher Eccleston (best grin ever) and just finished the second episode with David Tennant as the Doctor. Monstery aliens or fight scenes — yawn — but there's humour and sweetness in the stories and some use of historical figures as the show's protagonists travel in time. I got a kick out of their version of Queen Victoria with bad teeth, which I suppose was common enough back in the day, even for the wealthy and famous.

We are watching the shows together, most evenings; it's that, or he'd like me to play videogames with him. In those I have been totally unable to stir up any enthusiasm, and haven't really given them a college try. Fifteen minutes of making my character drive, shoot, sneak, jump, solve puzzles, collect jewels or clues or energy, etc., and I'm outta there, bored.

Perogy Factory

Everett spent 5 hrs yesterday making perogies. I was ravenous at suppertime, and started my meal with a tomato and some homemade beans while waiting for water to boil so I could cook some up.

Do we love onions, much? 

After we'd all had our fill, perogies were frozen on cookie sheets. This morning I bagged up 7 dozen.

A Kind of Writers' Block

The weeds that got away on us, and a young man with nothing better to do on a sweltering day.

There can be this powerful pull to "get something on paper," and then I find myself without any idea how to translate the language of my soul. It's as if there is a great big ball of meaning that simply will not be squeezed into straight little sentences, not even if I knew what it was I am bursting to express. And often I don't.

Sometimes motivation or heart's desire seems larger or deeper than the everyday life's opportunity to fulfil it.

July Days

The camera makes my walking road seem much shorter than it is. But look at these hills! The great undulating hills of Saskatchewan!

Flowers found with broken stems or hidden behind other plants get clipped and brought into the house. Here are today's rescues:

And it's harvest time for wild raspberry leaves, from which a tea for the lady parts may be made. These have been rinsed three times and the water's been spun out; they'll sit on these tea towels overnight and then probably will need, because of the high humidity in the house,  to be dried by the light of the oven.

Wild yarrow picked yesterday was, after rinsing, spinning, and airing for several hours on the counter, put into lunchbags with holes snipped to let moisture out. The hope is that the brown paper will absorb excess humidity. These sat on the window ledge for 24 hours but have been moved to the oven, where the heat from the oven light should help them dry. If leaves and stems were hung anywhere in this house right now, they would take forever to dry.

Scott has been away for 10 days or so, and noted upon his return that the house smells musty. Our clothing, hanging in the closet, smells musty. My books probably smell musty; perhaps our bedding and towels do. When we're here all the time, we get used to it and don't notice. A few days away and we are reminded when we walk back in.

The next plan of attack regarding this godawful ridiculous humidity situation is to do with the basement — tearing out the last of some old wooden shelving, mucking around with cement, hauling up and out every possible thing that may have absorbed moisture, and so on.

An air-exchanger is going to be a must, anyway ... or so I think.