One was a square meant to make a bag or wrap a present. I'll probably tack it to a wall.
The red one I've got on the kitchen table.
Tuesday, October 20, 2015
Gifts from Afar
When Cathy B came visiting this summer, she was bearing gifts of fabric.
One was a square meant to make a bag or wrap a present. I'll probably tack it to a wall.
The red one I've got on the kitchen table.
One was a square meant to make a bag or wrap a present. I'll probably tack it to a wall.
The red one I've got on the kitchen table.
Monday, October 19, 2015
Bookends
I have set aside three – count ‘em,
three! — books that I was reading. Usually I don’t feel too bad doing this to
one book, but three! That feels almost disrespectful. Nevertheless, when I’ve
read a few chapters, taking plenty of time to get into the story, and don't much care what happens to any of the characters, there is no reason to feel guilty.
I did finish A Bad Time for Sorry,
but only by skimming through to the end. It started out well, with a
protagonist who “tuned in” violently abusive men in a hired vigilante way, a different premise than any
I’ve ever read, but before the end it was overwritten or something. There was too much description of
weaponry and feminine pulchritude and lusting after a certain male character, and I
lost interest.
Made my way through quite a bit of The
Orchardist, but … lost interest. Jumped to the last chapter to satisfy my curiosity. It never happened. I might well have missed what I was looking for somewhere in the middle, so just might take one last look.
The Devil You Know … had to force
myself to read past the second chapter. Skimmed a bit more, but … nah. Its author was interviewed on The Next Chapter on CBC radio, and this show always manages to make every book sound interesting (that's what it's all about, right?), but half the time when I get the books they've discussed, I'm sorely disappointed.
Wild Rose? Well, I won’t return it
to the library just yet. We shall see.
All this just to say that I may write about what I'm reading, but these are not necessarily recommendations.
***
Joan is about to head out the door to take Ben to his school, and my niece Jordan is soon ready to catch her bus, and Karen and I are still in our pyjamas, drinking coffee. We have a couple hours before we have to drive across the city to the airport. We'll be back in Saskatoon at suppertime and plan to take Cathy with us to have a meal at the restaurant where Karen's daughter works. She's got the night off and will join us. We'll spend the night at Cathy's, not have any reason to hurry in the morning, Karen will have time to do a little shopping before we leave the city, and with luck we'll be back home before dark, before moose and deer become a danger on the roads, and with an evening to unwind before the routines start up the next day.
There has been some goodnatured "complaining" (isn't it nice to be wanted?) about the trip being so short -- only two nights. When I booked the tickets I chose the most leisurely hours of departure that were reasonable so that there would be no 6 a.m. morning flights or midnight arrivals, and no getting home late the night before we have to get up and go to work the next day. For once I'd like to not feel exhausted when I get home after a trip. So we shall see.
It's a lot of money to spend for only two nights but it's just as much to spend for four nights, y'know? Somehow I don't feel that more time is necessarily better. We've had a good visit and two mornings when we haven't had to rush around to get out the door. For me, quality is far more important than quantity. It will still be hard to part with Joan when she drops us at the airport this morning, knowing we may not see her for another year; I sure hated to see Dad walk out the door last night after supper. But it wouldn't be any easier after four nights either.
All this just to say that I may write about what I'm reading, but these are not necessarily recommendations.
***
Joan is about to head out the door to take Ben to his school, and my niece Jordan is soon ready to catch her bus, and Karen and I are still in our pyjamas, drinking coffee. We have a couple hours before we have to drive across the city to the airport. We'll be back in Saskatoon at suppertime and plan to take Cathy with us to have a meal at the restaurant where Karen's daughter works. She's got the night off and will join us. We'll spend the night at Cathy's, not have any reason to hurry in the morning, Karen will have time to do a little shopping before we leave the city, and with luck we'll be back home before dark, before moose and deer become a danger on the roads, and with an evening to unwind before the routines start up the next day.
There has been some goodnatured "complaining" (isn't it nice to be wanted?) about the trip being so short -- only two nights. When I booked the tickets I chose the most leisurely hours of departure that were reasonable so that there would be no 6 a.m. morning flights or midnight arrivals, and no getting home late the night before we have to get up and go to work the next day. For once I'd like to not feel exhausted when I get home after a trip. So we shall see.
It's a lot of money to spend for only two nights but it's just as much to spend for four nights, y'know? Somehow I don't feel that more time is necessarily better. We've had a good visit and two mornings when we haven't had to rush around to get out the door. For me, quality is far more important than quantity. It will still be hard to part with Joan when she drops us at the airport this morning, knowing we may not see her for another year; I sure hated to see Dad walk out the door last night after supper. But it wouldn't be any easier after four nights either.
Sunday, October 18, 2015
Airports and Destinations
The first leg of the journey is the two-hour drive to Saskatoon. Then we fly from Saskatoon to Calgary, and change planes to Kelowna after a two-hour layover.
Seen in the Saskatoon airport:
Dad (who paid for our flights, bless his heart; very generous) picked us up at the airport in Kelowna and took us over to our sister Joan's, where we had beer and pizza and a nice evening together:
It's Sunday morning and we are coffeeing and chatting and coffeeing and chatting some more.
Seen in the Saskatoon airport:
 |
| "Celebrity" sighting: Manitoba actor, Hollywood movie star (yes he is!) and youth activist ADAM BEACH |
 |
| Dad and Karen |
Grade Eleven
So I'm reading through journal two.
At 17, I am deciding to do less complaining in the journal. (Never succeeded.)
I am 5'4" and 125 pounds, and think I am "fat."
Oh, and "ugly" and possibly "shallow."
I have "zits." My friends give me perms.
Some of the girls are getting married or having babies while still in high school. I note now, looking back at the couples, that many of these are still together four decades later.
Tucked among the pages were these pics of my friend Kim at the high school:
After having the flu for 10 days, I weighed 115 pounds and thought that was just fine and hoped I'd stay that way.
After Grade 11, I joined the militia for a summer job of "basic training."
At 17, I am deciding to do less complaining in the journal. (Never succeeded.)
I am 5'4" and 125 pounds, and think I am "fat."
Oh, and "ugly" and possibly "shallow."
I have "zits." My friends give me perms.
Some of the girls are getting married or having babies while still in high school. I note now, looking back at the couples, that many of these are still together four decades later.
 |
| Wonder where this corduroy shirt is now. And ha! ha! that flip! Oh the hours I spent with a curling iron ... |
Tucked among the pages were these pics of my friend Kim at the high school:
 |
| Ms Cool |
After Grade 11, I joined the militia for a summer job of "basic training."
Saturday, October 17, 2015
Friday, October 16, 2015
Road Upkeep
Dump leather purse that weighs "a couple pounds," keep what I need to carry around the airport, and find lighter bag.
Catching the metal bird to Kelowna tomorrow.
Chauffeur Karen will be at my door at 7am.
Which means, packing done, 11:16pm is well past this little girl's bedtime.
I'm tired, too; maybe I'll actually fall asleep before the wee hours. Wish me luck.
Catching the metal bird to Kelowna tomorrow.
 |
| The grader came by. |
Which means, packing done, 11:16pm is well past this little girl's bedtime.
I'm tired, too; maybe I'll actually fall asleep before the wee hours. Wish me luck.
Thursday, October 15, 2015
Freedom Now
When the kitchen is spic and span, I like being there.
This week baking bread wasn't on my to-do list ... or okay it was, but I crossed it off. That is the beauty of being the Boss of Me!
My friends are still processing vegetables from their gardens. I am thinking "Good for you; delicious," but am relieved not to be doing the same thing. When I have days off, I want them to really be days OFF — not days where there are a bunch more chores that must be done on top of the usual tasks, as is the way with garden veggies. I guard my free time; I want to be free to make choices in the present, rather than making them in the spring and now having no practical choice but to deal with the result.
So when I've got the dishes done, that's good enough for me. Usually it's enough to inspire me to prepare a favourite recipe or try something new. This week I made omelette muffins one night for supper, following directions found online. That's a recipe I'll keep. Another day I made a tried and true standby, SPANISH BEANS, and a pan of JOHNNYCAKE to go with it, and even some oatmeal squares to satisfy my sweettooth cravings.
Getting the laundry done and tidying up the house and going for a walk or two, and maybe sitting down with a nice cup of tea in the afternoon, make for a perfect day off. I don't require any more excitement or novelty than that.
This week baking bread wasn't on my to-do list ... or okay it was, but I crossed it off. That is the beauty of being the Boss of Me!
My friends are still processing vegetables from their gardens. I am thinking "Good for you; delicious," but am relieved not to be doing the same thing. When I have days off, I want them to really be days OFF — not days where there are a bunch more chores that must be done on top of the usual tasks, as is the way with garden veggies. I guard my free time; I want to be free to make choices in the present, rather than making them in the spring and now having no practical choice but to deal with the result.
So when I've got the dishes done, that's good enough for me. Usually it's enough to inspire me to prepare a favourite recipe or try something new. This week I made omelette muffins one night for supper, following directions found online. That's a recipe I'll keep. Another day I made a tried and true standby, SPANISH BEANS, and a pan of JOHNNYCAKE to go with it, and even some oatmeal squares to satisfy my sweettooth cravings.
Getting the laundry done and tidying up the house and going for a walk or two, and maybe sitting down with a nice cup of tea in the afternoon, make for a perfect day off. I don't require any more excitement or novelty than that.
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
New to Me
There is a tendency to work eight hours straight when I'm at my desk and focussed on finishing what I've started. I try to get up and walk around whenever possible; for instance, I probably use the dictionary and the Canadian Press stylebook five times a day, but I like that it's across the room so I have to march over there. I stroll the first time reading a printed text. And in the middle of the day I go over to the store or the library or run some small errand, just to give my brain and body a break from the screen and the chair and get some fresh air.
One day last week, to kill time before returning to the office, I went into the used clothing store on mainstreet Wadena. I found two blue tops on a rack and snatched them up; one a royal blue bunnyhug and another a slightly stretched-out knit sweater. Good blues are not that easy to find!
And with secondhand clothes, one can afford to have plenty, and to have new (to me) items often. My favourite shirt came from the store on Main Street, and now this sweater that I’m enamoured with.
It has reminded me of Mom and Grandma; how they both loved new clothes and liked nothing better than to show you what they'd just purchased. I'm no different; sometimes I'll come home with a couple bags of stuff and lay it out on the bed just to admire it. My sisters are the same. Maybe all women are?
One day last week, to kill time before returning to the office, I went into the used clothing store on mainstreet Wadena. I found two blue tops on a rack and snatched them up; one a royal blue bunnyhug and another a slightly stretched-out knit sweater. Good blues are not that easy to find!
And with secondhand clothes, one can afford to have plenty, and to have new (to me) items often. My favourite shirt came from the store on Main Street, and now this sweater that I’m enamoured with.
It has reminded me of Mom and Grandma; how they both loved new clothes and liked nothing better than to show you what they'd just purchased. I'm no different; sometimes I'll come home with a couple bags of stuff and lay it out on the bed just to admire it. My sisters are the same. Maybe all women are?
Tuesday, October 13, 2015
Rosemary and Red Meat
There's a mythbusting type of program I caught on TV sometime in the past couple weeks, where the host went to science to find out whether it's true that barbecued red meat is carcinogenic.
She found out that it is, unless it is marinated for at least two hours in a liquid (oil) that contains rosemary. There are other herbs that can have an effect, but rosemary is the one I remember because it's the one I've had growing in a pot on the step all summer. The marinating process cuts the likelihood of carcinogens being created by about 80%.
She found out that it is, unless it is marinated for at least two hours in a liquid (oil) that contains rosemary. There are other herbs that can have an effect, but rosemary is the one I remember because it's the one I've had growing in a pot on the step all summer. The marinating process cuts the likelihood of carcinogens being created by about 80%.
 |
| The rosemary is on the right; on the left is spearmint, which will be mixed with yarrow to make an immunity-boosting tea. |
Monday, October 12, 2015
Bro
My brother Cameron is out from St. Albert this weekend, and stopped in here after a visit to the boys at Everett's.
He had spent the previous day on the dock in front of our sister Karen's house on the shore of Margo Lake, and was particularly proud of two photos he took with his phone-camera.
The wind last night was so wild and loud that it was scary. It bowed our living room window inward, which is always a concern. Scott says he's going to change that window to one with smaller panes of glass.
He had spent the previous day on the dock in front of our sister Karen's house on the shore of Margo Lake, and was particularly proud of two photos he took with his phone-camera.
 |
| "What are you doing?" He's just realizing I'm taking a picture of the picture on his phone. |
Sunday, October 11, 2015
New Growth
3:12pm
An hour in the flower bed swathing
the delphiniums and hollyhocks, and trucking them over to a bare spot behind
the quonset. Just in time for hard whips of rain to start hitting me in the
face.
Yesterday I clipped down the
speedwells and the thyme.
Everything has new growth
underneath.
Saturday, October 10, 2015
Fall Day Off
What a perfect day! Heaven surely isn't better than this.
The wind was whispering in the poplars:
You couldn't stay indoors if you tried.
I pulled the tomato and the green pepper out of this planter, and scared two mice out from under it.
They, however, didn't shriek. They just bolted into the flowerbed where I was about to start pruning.
I had second thoughts, believe me, about continuing.
It's so nice out, I went for two strolls. Long, leisurely ones.
In the late afternoon, I put some wild rice (and beef) sausages into a frying pan to cook slowly for Scott. And me? Raisin rye bread with cheddar was my supper:
I've been eating a lot of raisin rye bread since baking eight loaves of it on Tuesday:
It's nearly seven and Scott is not home yet. He expected to be combining only till dark and thought we could go to Bev and Paul's, so that's what we'll do.
I went out to the shed and filled a cardboard box with chopped wood to take along. Then I was inspired to dig out our burning bowl so we can have a fire here one of these days. And I didn't get to a lake yet this summer either. What the hell! The things I like best, and I don't do them? It's foolish.
Scott (?) had built a bale house in the barn, for the cat, and stuck the burning bowl behind it. I had to climb up and then down behind it and get all strawy, ew! But at least with Bob the BarnCat right there, master of his general vicinity, I didn't worry too much about disturbing any mice.
That last hour or two of daylight is always so pretty:
It's tempting, isn't it? I almost went again:
The wind was whispering in the poplars:
You couldn't stay indoors if you tried.
I pulled the tomato and the green pepper out of this planter, and scared two mice out from under it.
They, however, didn't shriek. They just bolted into the flowerbed where I was about to start pruning.
I had second thoughts, believe me, about continuing.
It's so nice out, I went for two strolls. Long, leisurely ones.
In the late afternoon, I put some wild rice (and beef) sausages into a frying pan to cook slowly for Scott. And me? Raisin rye bread with cheddar was my supper:
I've been eating a lot of raisin rye bread since baking eight loaves of it on Tuesday:
It's nearly seven and Scott is not home yet. He expected to be combining only till dark and thought we could go to Bev and Paul's, so that's what we'll do.
I went out to the shed and filled a cardboard box with chopped wood to take along. Then I was inspired to dig out our burning bowl so we can have a fire here one of these days. And I didn't get to a lake yet this summer either. What the hell! The things I like best, and I don't do them? It's foolish.
 |
| Out beyond the barn |
Scott (?) had built a bale house in the barn, for the cat, and stuck the burning bowl behind it. I had to climb up and then down behind it and get all strawy, ew! But at least with Bob the BarnCat right there, master of his general vicinity, I didn't worry too much about disturbing any mice.
That last hour or two of daylight is always so pretty:
I don't want to go for a third walk at this time, but I go to the end of the driveway a couple times:
It's tempting, isn't it? I almost went again:
Looking Back Lessons
Why, in my journals, do I insist on putting date and time,
rain or shine?
When reading back these things, I
don’t even glance at the date.
What’s the next journal on the
timeline?
Shoot, it’s only May. It’s still
1975 and I’m still at Luther College in Regina.
A lot of complaining, decent writing and what seems to be clear and intelligent though definitely teenage thought, and plenty of playfulness.
That playfulness is still around.
 |
| My mission, which I have chosen to accept. |
I’ll work my way through the
second journal over the next four days off. Most of it isn’t interesting; after
all, been there, done that. But I find myself laughing out loud
fairly often. Guffawing. Recognizing. Remembering. Gladly farewelling.
And anticipating burning, with some
glee.
It’s gorgeous fall weather and Bev
has invited us to Kuroki for a bonfire, but Scott is combining and we can
commit to nought.
Friday, October 9, 2015
Breathe It In
Winter is coming on, and it's dark by seven o'clock, so I texted Everett on Wednesday.
"TV night tomorrow?"
He was game, so after work yesterday I went over, not sure whether we'd be watching Torchwood or Doctor Who, and not really caring. It's all about spending time with my boy, and doesn't matter to me what we do, although he'd probably prefer to play a videogame and, as much as he's tried to interest me in a couple, I find myself bored silly.
Perhaps, he insists, we just haven't found the right ones for me.
A "nice" weekend is forecast, so the boys hope the crops dry up enough that they can get back onto the combines. I plan to do some pruning in the flowerbed, now that there's been a hard frost and most things have stopped blooming. There was still a lone daisy out there, and roses! How do they do it after such cold? Tough buggers.
These are perfect days for walking.
"TV night tomorrow?"
He was game, so after work yesterday I went over, not sure whether we'd be watching Torchwood or Doctor Who, and not really caring. It's all about spending time with my boy, and doesn't matter to me what we do, although he'd probably prefer to play a videogame and, as much as he's tried to interest me in a couple, I find myself bored silly.
Perhaps, he insists, we just haven't found the right ones for me.
 |
| Walking south toward the corner |
A "nice" weekend is forecast, so the boys hope the crops dry up enough that they can get back onto the combines. I plan to do some pruning in the flowerbed, now that there's been a hard frost and most things have stopped blooming. There was still a lone daisy out there, and roses! How do they do it after such cold? Tough buggers.
 |
| The corner where I'll turn back. This road runs east-west and is too busy for nice walks. |
 |
| And back home again I'll go. |
Thursday, October 8, 2015
Be Reasonable: Do It My Way
I’m not as sensitive to discomfort as the girl
in The Princess and the Pea. Or am I?
If I put a double-size blanket on a single
bed, the extra weight from the sides of the blanket hanging over the mattress
will annoy me all night.
If I sleep under a duvet that is too large for the
bed I’m in, the top always seems to be flopping into my face irritatingly.
And
if I climb into an unmade bed, the sheets and blankets will be bunched up and
wrapped around me throughout the night hours so I don’t sleep well. After realizing this, I will always make an unmade bed before trying to sleep in it. Even if Scott's asleep in it, if he has the covers all messed up I will disturb him in order to straighten out the sheet and blankets before I get in.
There might be some royal blood in me after all.
Overstuffed drawers are inconvenient and confusing. Keeping clothing organized is no easy feat.
It's sometimes necessary to change during the day. Depending on the weather or if I'm going somewhere I hadn't planned, I may take off garments that are not due for the laundry basket after only a few hours of wear. They can be worn again. So what do I do with them? I don't want them back in with the unworn clothes in the drawers or the closet; there are no hooks in the bedroom to hang them on, and when there have been (in other bedrooms) the hooks have been overloaded; there is no chair to throw them over and when there was, there was always a neatly stacked pile of too many clothes on it so the chair was of no use other than as a clothes rack and an eyesore. You can imagine how I felt about that.
I have been trying out a system of my own invention that is keeping my two major drawers from getting on my nerves.
Top drawer: freshly laundered clothing.
Bottom: Worn once, can be worn once more. And I always look there first, before choosing something from the top drawer.
It's working pretty well, thank you very much. How many years has it taken me to come up with this simple plan? Too many.
Overstuffed drawers are inconvenient and confusing. Keeping clothing organized is no easy feat.
It's sometimes necessary to change during the day. Depending on the weather or if I'm going somewhere I hadn't planned, I may take off garments that are not due for the laundry basket after only a few hours of wear. They can be worn again. So what do I do with them? I don't want them back in with the unworn clothes in the drawers or the closet; there are no hooks in the bedroom to hang them on, and when there have been (in other bedrooms) the hooks have been overloaded; there is no chair to throw them over and when there was, there was always a neatly stacked pile of too many clothes on it so the chair was of no use other than as a clothes rack and an eyesore. You can imagine how I felt about that.
I have been trying out a system of my own invention that is keeping my two major drawers from getting on my nerves.
Top drawer: freshly laundered clothing.
Bottom: Worn once, can be worn once more. And I always look there first, before choosing something from the top drawer.
It's working pretty well, thank you very much. How many years has it taken me to come up with this simple plan? Too many.
Wednesday, October 7, 2015
In Grade 10
Away at school in Regina, living in a girls' dormitory, apparently there were plenty of sleepless or at least late nights for a 16-year-old girl:
Why I don't sniff at Ouija boards:
April 1, 1975
What I need is self-discipline. I learned that to get my own way with my parents when they've said no to something is not to sulk but tomore or less, in a sense, martyr yourself keep the old pleasant smile on and act like you've accepted the refusal with grace.
And this, which made me laugh out loud:
My school work is very important to me — there are only 2 things in this world that mean anything to me right now at all, and my marks are one of them because I have high ambitions and I'm going to need the same kind of marks. Unfortunately I've blown that this year by slacking off on everything and tossing all self-discipline out the window. There's no one to blame but myself so as of now I'm going to try to whip myself back into shape by concentrating completely on academic subjects. That's just not in my nature but I'll have to think positive — it's going to be a pain in the ass.
And this, about my youngest sister Joan and our brother Cameron, also younger than me:
Thank goodness our sibling relationships have changed! I count myself lucky that people are forgiving and we all get along so well now.
Every weekend, I told myself, I'll make my way through one of these journals. It could take the entire four days I have off, because there is a lot of repetitive, boring stuff to skim over. I'll tear out what's worth keeping, what is a reasonable example of what life was like at the time and how I felt about it, and relegate the rest to a burning barrell. Ya gotta start sometime, said I; there's no point in waiting any longer.
Looking at this first one, kept as an assignment for an English teacher, it's easy to see that 40 years isn't that long ago.
Goodbye, journal of Grade 10, girl of 16. I hereby relegate you to the dust heaps of history.
Why I don't sniff at Ouija boards:
Several years ago I discovered a high school friend on FB and she remembered me as a daddy's girl. I had no memory of this ever being so, unless maybe when I had been a baby. I recall a lot of butting heads when I was a teenager! However ... one thing I know is that memory isn't reliable.
April 1, 1975
What I need is self-discipline. I learned that to get my own way with my parents when they've said no to something is not to sulk but to
And this, which made me laugh out loud:
My school work is very important to me — there are only 2 things in this world that mean anything to me right now at all, and my marks are one of them because I have high ambitions and I'm going to need the same kind of marks. Unfortunately I've blown that this year by slacking off on everything and tossing all self-discipline out the window. There's no one to blame but myself so as of now I'm going to try to whip myself back into shape by concentrating completely on academic subjects. That's just not in my nature but I'll have to think positive — it's going to be a pain in the ass.
And this, about my youngest sister Joan and our brother Cameron, also younger than me:
Thank goodness our sibling relationships have changed! I count myself lucky that people are forgiving and we all get along so well now.
Every weekend, I told myself, I'll make my way through one of these journals. It could take the entire four days I have off, because there is a lot of repetitive, boring stuff to skim over. I'll tear out what's worth keeping, what is a reasonable example of what life was like at the time and how I felt about it, and relegate the rest to a burning barrell. Ya gotta start sometime, said I; there's no point in waiting any longer.
Looking at this first one, kept as an assignment for an English teacher, it's easy to see that 40 years isn't that long ago.
Goodbye, journal of Grade 10, girl of 16. I hereby relegate you to the dust heaps of history.
Tuesday, October 6, 2015
Something Scratching
Emil and I were here alone on
Saturday night when I heard something scratch at the front door.
Now there is no step up to the
front door, as it’s been set back a foot or two for a year or more, waiting for
Scott to take the new siding from where it is stacked inside an outbuilding and put it onto the house. For more than two years it has waited, and I have begun to "nag." It's well past time.
But back to the matter at hand.
Neither of our dogs would scratch
at the front door, which we never use, so it would have to be Sarah from the
other farm; she comes over whenever something scares her, like rifle shot or
thunder. But she wouldn’t be able to reach the front door without a step there.
I looked through the glass and saw
nothing unusual, but it was already dark so what would I see anyway?
Hm.
As I turned away, another scratching and scrabbling, this time at the window behind me!
What the hell! And again, nothing there.
That
made me nervous. Had someone walked into the farmyard, where our dog would be
too busy wagging her tail to announce anyone by barking, and was now trying to
scare me, thinking it was a joke to throw things at the windows and door? Had Scott driven in unnoticed and thought he’d
rattle my chain?
If
so, or if we had any friends like that, who thought it would be funny to
terrorize a woman on a farm at night, I wouldn’t be amused. I went to the porch
and locked the door, just in case. You never know who could be out there in the
dark, and maybe I could buy myself enough time to phone for help before they
got inside. Yeah, my imagination wasn't making a lot of sense. If the house was to be stormed, why would anyone bother giving me fair warning? But I didn't think of that till later.
As
I returned to the kitchen, there it was again, that scratching and scrabbling
at the window, and this time I saw what it was: a small white and grey bird.
What the hell was it doing, smacking into my lit windows at night?
Still, a relief.
And not a robin; even better, as a
robin trying to get into your window is a portent of a death, and apparently I
am more superstitious than one would ever guess. My sister Karen had a robin persistently at her kitchen window at the time we were reeling with the news of Mom's terminal cancer diagnosis, and it was too much of a coincidence to be ignored.
 |
| Harvest has been halted following the rainy weekend. |
Monday, October 5, 2015
Butala Books
My favourite book? The Perfection of the Morning, by Sharon Butala. It's a memoir of her life on a south Saskatchewan ranch with her new (at the time) husband. I loved it so much and read it so long ago that I might just read it again.
Another of her books that I read was The Girl in Saskatoon about a young nursing student from the Endeavour, Sask., area, who was murdered in the city in 1962. Her killer has not yet been found. The CBC program W5 did a show on it all these years later, about how the victim's sisters are still hoping to find the murderous prick.
Butala's latest is a novel about life on the Saskatchewan prairie as a young female settler from Quebec who is abandoned by her husband. He sells their farm and home out from under her and their child, as men could legally do at that time.
Butala does some beautiful writing, sometimes describing what I feel myself when out walking. For instance:
And calm rose from the land itself that, as she walked, seeped into her too.
and
Then, slowly, as she walked, stood, breathed in deeply, her muscles unclenching themselves, she would begin to remember what it was to be herself, grateful that she could still find that place where she recognized who she had always been.
Unfortunately, the text has been poorly proofread and there are errors and omissions in punctuation and though at first I ignored them, after a while they started to bug me. Also, I do not like sentence fragments, and there are too many; we may have to blame Butala herself for those. But Sharon Butala deserves better than a shoddy proofreading job, I say, pissed off at the book's publisher.
And then I was tootling along quite nicely, overlooking those details, when Butala wrote in a kiss on the prairie that read like a Harlequin romance ... not believable in the least. And so now I'm afraid the story's all going to be predictable and trite. I may not even finish it. We'll see. It's Sharon, after all. She has never let me down.
Meanwhile I've started reading A Bad Day for Sorry, by Sophie Littlefield. It's had me chuckling since Day One; it's different, for sure. If you're a man who physically abuses women, Sophie Littlefield has created a character who will come after you and teach you a lesson you will never forget. Or if you do, she will find you and teach you an even rougher one. I have been fortunate enough in my life not to experience or witness the physical abuse of women, but I still fiendishly enjoy the thought of an abuser getting his just deserts.
Another of her books that I read was The Girl in Saskatoon about a young nursing student from the Endeavour, Sask., area, who was murdered in the city in 1962. Her killer has not yet been found. The CBC program W5 did a show on it all these years later, about how the victim's sisters are still hoping to find the murderous prick.
Butala's latest is a novel about life on the Saskatchewan prairie as a young female settler from Quebec who is abandoned by her husband. He sells their farm and home out from under her and their child, as men could legally do at that time.
Butala does some beautiful writing, sometimes describing what I feel myself when out walking. For instance:
And calm rose from the land itself that, as she walked, seeped into her too.
and
Then, slowly, as she walked, stood, breathed in deeply, her muscles unclenching themselves, she would begin to remember what it was to be herself, grateful that she could still find that place where she recognized who she had always been.
Unfortunately, the text has been poorly proofread and there are errors and omissions in punctuation and though at first I ignored them, after a while they started to bug me. Also, I do not like sentence fragments, and there are too many; we may have to blame Butala herself for those. But Sharon Butala deserves better than a shoddy proofreading job, I say, pissed off at the book's publisher.
And then I was tootling along quite nicely, overlooking those details, when Butala wrote in a kiss on the prairie that read like a Harlequin romance ... not believable in the least. And so now I'm afraid the story's all going to be predictable and trite. I may not even finish it. We'll see. It's Sharon, after all. She has never let me down.
Meanwhile I've started reading A Bad Day for Sorry, by Sophie Littlefield. It's had me chuckling since Day One; it's different, for sure. If you're a man who physically abuses women, Sophie Littlefield has created a character who will come after you and teach you a lesson you will never forget. Or if you do, she will find you and teach you an even rougher one. I have been fortunate enough in my life not to experience or witness the physical abuse of women, but I still fiendishly enjoy the thought of an abuser getting his just deserts.
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| This bull moose turned his back on me but neither ran nor came closer. He just kept an eye on me. |
Saturday, October 3, 2015
Driveway
Turned south, into the cool breeze, and thought No; I’ll avoid it by going across
the road instead, between the trees.
Around the grassy bend, up the slight hill, long wide view across the baled
field. I don’t walk onto it because it’s open to the wind.
Back to
the road and turn south, where now the wind in my face is no problem. Did such
a short jaunt up the hill warm me up that much? It must’ve, because with a hat
on and a scarf, and my gloves and a fall jacket, there was no thinking about my temperature.
To the corner we went, the dogs and I. Cool grey day, intoxicating scent of
moist ground and leaves, snowgoose flocks flying over. Having turned back I’m too
warm; off come the gloves and hat; jacket opens; sweat runs down from boobs
while I videotape birds in flight.
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| We have one neighbour on our two-mile stretch and this is their driveway as seen from the road. |
Emil strolled around our yard and agreed that it was darn nice out there today.
The chicken noodle soup we had for supper didn’t need crackers or toast. Didn’t need additional salt or pepper. Had chickpeas in it, and sautéed fresh celery and onion, and steamed carrots. It should turn out this good every time.
Friday, October 2, 2015
Four Days Lay Before Me, Whatever Shall I Do
Theresa, have you received Saskatchewan's beautiful fall days? Because they've been pushed out by something cold and nasty. I hope they made it to you in Montreal.
We drove cross-country between here and Nut Mountain last night, and there were dozens of sets of headlights to be seen in the fields around. All that activity at night ... The race is on, full throttle.
Rain is forecast for this weekend, but it feels like snow to me. As soon as I got home tonight I jacked the furnace up to 72F.
Picking Emil up after work, I insisted he wear a winter jacket and leave the summer one in the closet. He wasn't happy about it, but Wise Ones Take the Advice of Mothers.
"Are you glad I'm here, Mom?" he has asked me several times since we arrived. "I bet you're looking forward to spending the weekend with me."
What can I say. Of course. It'll be short and sweet though because his household is going to a Tim Hus concert in Kelvington on Sunday and he has to be back in town early to catch his ride.
He always asks if I've missed him and I say no, and he says he hasn't missed me either. It's always the exact same words, same sentence.
He has kissed me on the cheek several times and patted my hand. I think he missed me. And it is nice to be in the company of someone who has missed you.
We drove cross-country between here and Nut Mountain last night, and there were dozens of sets of headlights to be seen in the fields around. All that activity at night ... The race is on, full throttle.
Rain is forecast for this weekend, but it feels like snow to me. As soon as I got home tonight I jacked the furnace up to 72F.
Picking Emil up after work, I insisted he wear a winter jacket and leave the summer one in the closet. He wasn't happy about it, but Wise Ones Take the Advice of Mothers.
"Are you glad I'm here, Mom?" he has asked me several times since we arrived. "I bet you're looking forward to spending the weekend with me."
What can I say. Of course. It'll be short and sweet though because his household is going to a Tim Hus concert in Kelvington on Sunday and he has to be back in town early to catch his ride.
He always asks if I've missed him and I say no, and he says he hasn't missed me either. It's always the exact same words, same sentence.
He has kissed me on the cheek several times and patted my hand. I think he missed me. And it is nice to be in the company of someone who has missed you.
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