Who does she think she is, Anaïs Nin?

What's My Story?

Kate — Tue, 05 Nov 2002 17:24:34 GMT

I live on a farm in Saskatchewan, Canada, with my sweetheart and two sons born in 1988 and 1992.

In 2007 we bought Golden Grain Farm and started repairing and renovating the house. I transplanted my perennials in spring 2008 and in June 2009 began staying at the house alone. Now we're moved in. There is still plenty to do, but isn't that the case even in a brand new house? A home is always a work in progress.

Since I was 12 I've kept a diary or journal, more on than off. And written letters. Then the internet came along and now my friends and family read my online journal instead.

I work from home as an editor for an online pubication. It's interesting, flexible and makes good use of my natural reddin' an' writin' skilz.

***

Why Anaïs Nin?

Who does she think she is, Anaïs Nin? contains journal entries and snapshots from fall 2002 to winter 2008.

Pseudonyms were often used in the beginning. Sorry if it causes confusion.

Go to the next entry in 2002.

Return to late 2008.

Go to Life at Golden Grain Farm, the current letter out.

Why Anaïs Nin?

Kate — Thu, 17 Oct 2002 18:45:01 GMT

I first read the diaries of Anaïs Nin when I was in my twenties, and even now I dip into them often. Nin elegantly phrased her life, perceiving subtle yet powerfully human states of mind and heart and describing them with a charming psychological comprehension. Anaïs Nin's diaries are old friends.

I'm no Anaïs Nin, and my diaries and letters aren't eloquent. But she indulged in writing hers till the end of her life, and I expect to do the same with mine.

"There is not one big cosmic meaning for all, there is only the meaning we each give to our life, an individual meaning, an individual plot, like an individual novel, a book for each person." ~ Anaïs Nin

Who am I and where do I live ...

Life at Golden Grain Farm

Kate — Fri, 19 Jun 2009 18:14:11 GMT

This is where you'll find me on the web these days, as of spring 2009.

Sun 28 Dec 2008

Kate — Sun, 28 Dec 2008 20:53:20 GMT

Ducky goes home today, boo hoo

Unlike many these days, I am in the enviable position of having no debts to consolidate. I have, however, decided to simplify by moving this journal over to Stubblejumpers Café. Bookmark the new page when you get there, and don't be a stranger.

I may occasionally send out a short missive to the notify list for Who Does She Think She Is, Anaïs Nin?, but to receive an email when I update Stubblejumpers, subscribe at the Stubblejumpers website.

xoxoxo etc,
Kathy

kateandjim — Sun, 28 Dec 2008 21:21:19 GMT

Well - it was a whole lot easier to subscribe to the Stumblejumpers Cafe, than it was to this one! lol. I just typed in my e-mail address and hit subscribe and that was that!

Hope it works. ;)
Kate

kateandjim — Sat, 27 Dec 2008 00:47:50 GMT

This was such a nice read, Kate. I clicked on over to the other posts you mentioned and, of course, read them too. I wish I could be close, with my mother.

Gee - glad your house didn't go up in flames! I was always afraid, when we had our woodstove. But we don't use it anymore and sold it a couple of years back. We'd have to get the chimney relined if we were ever to insert another one. Have been thinking about a pellet stove, but the price has gone waaaay up on those, this year.

That's something about your penpal. I used to have one in Japan. He even came to visit back in 1971/72. Have lost touch and now I don't know how to contact him. We stayed in touch from the time we were 12 up through our early 30's. So it's been about 20 - 25 years.

Happy Boxing Day.
Kate

Boxing Day 2008

Kate — Fri, 26 Dec 2008 21:34:22 GMT

"Were you trying to burn the house down last night?" Scott says. "You left the top of the stove wide open when you stoked it up."
It seems strange that, habit that it is to always do the same three things after putting wood in, and in the same order—push in the bottom vent, flip the handle to the left to lock the door, and close the top draft—every once in a while I seem to forget one of them. Or there is a nasty ghost in the house. I remember that last night I added only one piece of wood and was concerned about the end of it being too close to the glass door, and that I rearranged it as best I could. Apparently there was a hell of a chimney fire because Scott informs me there are large flakes of black soot laying on the snow all around the house. Again, we've been lucky. The house could have gone up in smoke.

This was the fourth Christmas since Mom left us. I think of the last Christmas Eve we spent together, when she dolled herself up to "look good for my family." She was weak, pale and tired, but put on some lipstick and was happy we were all in the same place for a change. If not for her condition and our knowledge that it well might be her last Christmas, we probably wouldn't have been. On Christmas Day Scott and I stopped in at Mom and Dad's for supper and she and I chatted for three hours, a real good talk, and the hours flew by.

I don't know why his name had come to mind, but lately I had been wondering where this penpal I had as a kid had gotten to. We wrote faithfully back and forth for some years, then lost touch after high school. When Scott and I got home last weekend he immediately started a fire in the woodstove in the basement and I sat upstairs in the kitchen, where it was warm, reading the local paper. When that was done I started flipping through a farming magazine laying on the table. On one page were two vertical rows of photos of people who work for the Wheat Board, and I glanced at them and was turning to the next page when it struck me that one of their names was familiar. Had I read right? I flipped back. Not only was the name correct, but he was situated in a town very close to the village postmark his letters once bore. I dashed off an email the next day and received one in return and sure enough, it was him and we caught each other up on the last 30 years of our lives.

I had the most overwhelming urge to phone Mom and tell her about this happy occurrence. Next to myself, she would remember him and all the mail that flew back and forth between our two households, like no one else. Sigh.

***

While Scott's turnips were boiling on the stovetop yesterday afternoon, Grandma opened her gifts and then I offered her a shot of Drambuie. She enjoyed that—rather quickly—but as she had had an upset stomach the other day (resulting in a call from home care to let me know she'd thrown up all over the place, was feeling fine, but I might want to check on her the following day) and is so tiny, I was reluctant to offer her a second one right away. I did request that Scott take the above photo of she and I, since I have many of her with others but am usually holding the camera myself. At 5 o'clock we went next door to his parents' house for the family meal, and at 7 Grandma told me she was tired, so I warmed up the van and drove her back to the lodge. There were fewer residents than usual at the card-table outside her room, where there is always a game of whist going on in the evening and Grandma likes to sit and watch, and sometimes plays. After hiding her coat and putting her gifts away she started walking me to the door and we were met by a young lady (only in her eighties) who lives directly across the hall. She greeted Grandma with a big hug, linked her arm through Grandma's, told me what a goodhearted lady Grandma is and how well she is doing, and the two of them carried on together. It's good to see that Grandma is happy there.

I have been taking it easy today, my only nod to the Boxing Day holiday being Bailey's in my coffee. Scott thought maybe we should drive to Yorkton and hit a furniture sale but I talked him out of it and he was only too glad to let me have my way. We need a bedroom suite for ourselves and new beds for the boys, but can wait till we are going to the city on other business rather than making the trip just to shop.

His son Gunnar arrived yesterday and would have come with us, but I'm sure he's just as glad not to be on the road today too. He'll go back to Calgary in just a couple days.

Well, it's time to put the sweater on Ducky (feels ridiculously like dressing a baby) and take him out for a short walk. It's warmed up a bit but he still starts shivering before I even open the door. He's quite the little sweetheart and has become my shadow— I go nowhere alone— and when he's curled up beside me he growls a gentle warning when Scott approaches. It's not that he doesn't like Scott—he seems to— but nevertheless.

kateandjim — Thu, 25 Dec 2008 00:22:05 GMT

Merry Christmas, Kate.

I think I'll be sending a check.

Christmas Spirit

Kate — Wed, 24 Dec 2008 18:11:35 GMT

the extent of Christmas junk at our house

A family member of one of our soldiers killed in Afghanistan has made a substantial personal investment to create and market a calendar commemorating Canadians who have died over there. The calendars can be seen and ordered by going to this website. I am not personally acquainted with anyone serving in the Canadian Armed Forces right now, but there is a young lad whose dad comes from Margo and whose mom works at the Co-op hardware store in Wadena. I often ask about him when I go in there, and she tells me she doesn't worry about him, or tries not to; that he was looking forward to going to Afghanistan. If she manages not to lie awake nights, I'm glad. I hold my breath, dread hearing his name when that of another dead soldier is announced over the radio, but I don't say that to her.

***

The other day our local CBC radio station aired an interview with a woman who is leaving Saskatoon because she can't afford a place to live there. She has an infant and a teenager and has been having such a rough time for so long that she feels she has no choice but to farm her oldest son out to relatives and take her baby with her to Vernon, where her parents and brother live, so that at least when she is desperate for food or shelter someone may help her, because she's been shit out of luck when it came to accessing services in Saskatoon. She said that just behind the swanky new Husky station north of the city, on the Yellowhead highway, there is a tent city and that families are living there. In this cold! With children? That's terrible, and I wanted to do something. But what? I wrote the radio station and asked them to follow up with actions that concerned listeners could take, and apparently they did, though I missed the show the next day. However I received an email detailing several options, one of which is to make a donation to the SOS Overnight Shelter Group. That's what I'm going to do. Its mailing address is 131 Wall St., Saskatoon, SK S7K 2C2. If you're sitting in a warm, cosy house and have presents under your tree, your bills paid, and money in the bank, please consider sending a cheque to help these people out. Even $10 will make a difference; it adds up.

kateandjim — Wed, 24 Dec 2008 10:16:23 GMT

Such a mean mother, you are. I was in the same boat - I made my son do his homework!!!! Can you imagine???

Mary Collis — Wed, 24 Dec 2008 01:23:55 GMT

Man oh man...you guys were lucky! Glad to hear it!

And thanks for passing long the Buckley updates.

Tues 23 Dec 2008

Kate — Wed, 24 Dec 2008 01:10:15 GMT

It was 30 below and never really got toasty in the van, but Emil and Everett didn't care. They were on their way to their dad's, where "the livin' is easy," and it sounds as if, should they have their druthers, they'd never come back. Hm. What am I doing wrong? Oh yeah. Making them do supper dishes, not driving Emil all over the countryside to visit people at his whim, and not letting Everett play videogames to his heart's content. I am the meanest mother of them all!

We passed this scene of bulldozed trees on our way to North Battleford to meet Gord. It is always sad to see another small forest cleared to make room for more fields. I doubt as a society we really need more space for agriculture, but individual farmers are notorious for thinking of their croppable land gain rather than the effects of decimating the tree population, which the planet is already experiencing. In this day and age surely they all know better, but they are thinking of the dollar, and considering the difficulty making a living by farming these days, it's understandable. Still, it's a pity.

In North Battleford we took the boys to a restaurant and fed them a hot meal before Gord loaded them up in his vehicle and they headed west. We retraced the miles back to Saskatoon and found Cathy out shovelling her driveway. Scott hopped out and took the shovel out of her hands to finish the job, as any self-respecting farm boy will, and Cathy went and grabbed a broom to sweep off the steps instead.

Scott and I looked at each other across the supper table last night and agreed that neither of us, even now, can figure out how we avoided being in a serious smash-up in Saskatoon on Sunday. We're still shaking our heads, trying to understand it.

Cute Ducky!

kitchenlogic — Mon, 22 Dec 2008 21:25:25 GMT

Ducky looks like Olive, the other reindeer. Cuuuuute!

Kate — Mon, 22 Dec 2008 20:52:52 GMT

That's what I wondered, but Scott said not. Said the weight was pushing us forward somehow.

kateandjim — Mon, 22 Dec 2008 20:51:31 GMT

Lucky break, eh? Maybe that load of weight you had, helped in keeping the vehicle more stable.

Cute little Ducky.

Monday 22 Dec 2008

Kate — Mon, 22 Dec 2008 19:51:06 GMT

Me 'n' my buddy, Ducky

I am dogsitting for Karen for about a week. Neither Scott nor I like having pets in our house, both preferring to enjoy them outside or in other people's houses, where we aren't the ones who have to clean up after them. But I have a soft spot for Ducky, who is sticking close; I have always said that if the day comes when he needs a new home, I'll take him.

At the moment he is on my lap here and as I type his head is often resting on my arm. This may not go on all week but for now I am making sure he feels loved and wanted, in hopes that it helps him behave to the best of his ability. It's pretty hard for a house dog to have to go outside in this weather to do his business, and tougher yet if he's not feeling confident where he is, right?

So the boys are at Gord's, Scott and I finally bought the flooring for Golden Grain Farm, and happily we escaped what was very nearly a bad multi-vehicle collision on the Circle Drive Bridge before leaving the city yesterday afternoon. We had just loaded some 800 pounds of laminate into the van and had come around a curve on the highway when a vehicle in front of us swerved to avoid a stalled vehicle in its lane. Vehicles started braking and skidding everywhere, as the road was icy, and for a moment I could not see how we weren't going to get banged up. There was nowhere to go and with the road conditions, no one had perfect control of their vehicles. Somehow Scott managed to handle ours and get through the only hole in the onslaught of heavy Christmas-shopping traffic that was ahead of us as well as on all sides and coming up swiftly behind. I still don't know how we got safely through that situation, but let me tell you, I am very grateful. I was reminded how quickly everything can change in a person's life and again, how lucky I am.

Day Before Christmas, 2002

Kate — Tue, 24 Dec 2002 19:02:59 GMT

9:56 a.m.

I have been drinking too much. It’s not that I get drunk, or even to the point of slurring my words. But I am having a drink or two or three pretty much every day, and have been for some time. And that, in my opinion, is too much.

While on the one hand I can see the sense in sitting down for a ritual glass of wine before dinner as being relaxing, what happens here is that Loverboy is forever cracking open a beer for himself and handing me one so I can join him, or else the sight of his makes me thirsty and I drink some of it or get my own. Or he’s getting out two glasses of rye and mixing us both a rye and coke, and we end up having two. In my case, last night, three.

It’s too much, it’s getting to be a habit, and I want out of it. Alcohol affects my system negatively; I know this because it has often brought on the neck thing. It’s as if I have an allergy to it.

I need to modify my intake rather than continue on with this daily drinking routine. It won’t be easy to do with someone in the house who opens a beer practically every time he is thirsty, and because I like a social drink as much as the next person. But I have to get a grip on it, be more thoughtful about what I am putting into my body.

****************************************

It’s almost 1 o’clock. I had to take a pill and go back to bed after I finished the first part of this entry. We sat up till almost 2 o’clock last night when Loverboy’s sister and brother were here visiting with us, and I awoke with the neck thing and oh, naturally my period for Christmas.

The rest of the day will be busy. I have to go to town for some last-minute gifts and groceries, and then I have to make enough lefse for both our families’ gatherings. Gifts need to be wrapped as well, and then after supper we head off to my aunt and uncle’s to open them and eat, drink and be merry.

I wish you could see the snow heavy on the branches of every tree. It is truly beautiful. We’ve had a soft but heavy snowfall and now the landscape looks like Christmas should.

Very Personal Walls, 2002

Kate — Sun, 15 Dec 2002 15:38:51 GMT

I am a collector of visual images. I like drawings and paintings even more than photographs, and often I hang onto cards people send me as well as to things I cut out of magazines and such.

Something I used to do was pick a wall and collage it. During those years, I often had an outhouse I could “paper” and that was the ideal place; it made for eye-catching scenery while one sat on the wooden bench on a mellow morning.

From there I moved on to electricity and thus fridges. I’d collage them with pictures of food at its best. Afterwards, seeing the collage reinforced my intention to be attracted only to healthy, life-giving food and drink.

Once I did my bedroom ceiling with erotic photos. It was lovely to lay abed and gaze up at them.

I’ve always wanted to do more, but never felt I lived anywhere permanently and was tired of leaving them behind when I moved. Eventually it occurred to me to put them on large sheets of bristol board so they will be mobile. That’s what I intend to do next.

Here, we have a long hallway with one ugly wall. It needs to be covered with something, and I am tempted to do a collage for it. It’s nine feet long so I can go crazy! What stops me is the thought that it might be overwhelming. There’s no window letting light directly into the hallway, and I don’t want to darken it up or make it too busy.

Still, it’s the ideal candidate for something that I have always, in the past, taken so much pleasure from.

Here you see the window in the porch where I stand to look out at the stars or watch the kids go to the bus. There are steps from the hallway down into the porch, which is quite large. The photo is taken from the kitchen doorway, and the bathroom is off to the left near the end of the hall.

What I have never done to my collages is make them washable by varnishing them, either, and I think that might be a smart idea. Gotta find out what there is to know about that.

Previous Entry

Intuitive Counselling through Tarot

Kate — Wed, 11 Dec 2002 14:52:29 GMT

I have been a tarot card reader since 1984.

I do not use upside down or reversed cards, nor do I rely on traditional interpretations found in books. My approach to the cards is respectful, but informal. I let the cards tell me the story, and I trust my intuition to help me relate the given information to what you are experiencing in your life.

I tune in to you—create a rapport—by visualizing a temporary merging of my energy with yours. I ask my spiritual guides to be present to help me be a clear channel for information. I invite your guides to assist the cards in giving you the information you need. Then I draw the cards for you (unless you are sitting across from me) and do your reading. In person, it takes about an hour.

You do not have to be physically present. "On the level of spirit, there is no such thing as space or distance." If we are not in the same room, I will write out your reading and email it to you.

I am not a fortune teller. The cards will tell you what you need to know, and that may not necessarily be whether your current beau is Mr. Right or whether you'll get that job you just applied for. They may tell you where you are likely to end up if you continue on exactly as you have been, and what you could do to affect that outcome. You can change your 'probable' future, or at least the fallout from it, by altering your attitudes and actions in the present.

Neither the cards, nor I, will tell you what to do. Decisions are your responsibility and yours alone.

The cards help you look at the conditions surrounding a specific situation; sometimes they will focus on an aspect you have not been paying attention to, and need to deal with. People often find that what the cards are pointing out is something they already knew, deep down, but had unconsciously chosen to ignore.

The ability to interpret cards is not a gift reserved for the special few. Everyone has natural psychic ability that can be utilized in this way. It's a matter of using the psychic "muscles"—just like an athlete trains regularly to strengthen hers. The more you use them, the stronger and more capable they become.

Tarot card readers are not perfect people. They are not above the problems of life, even the petty ones. They are neither all-knowing, all-powerful, nor all-loving. What they are—the good ones, anyway—are people who have learned how to set aside their own daily cares and concerns in order to focus on you and your life for an hour or two. One of my challenges as a tarot card reader is to rise above my own life perspective in order to be a clear channel for the information the cards are giving to you.

A good reading, I was once told, is 80% accurate. This is because the message the cards offer is being filtered through the reader's personal experience and understanding. It is nearly impossible to completely separate my interpretation of each card, for instance, from my view of the world.

If you'd like me to do a reading for you, email me at the address over there on the right to negotiate a trade. I happily accept sewing, baking, flowers, jewellery, books, your art ... whatever we agree is a fair deal. I do ask for some sort of exchange for my readings; otherwise people unconsciously feel as if they owe me something, and we are left with an unhealthy connection.

If you prefer to cross my palm with online silver, you can use the convenient donation button below.

Should you choose to go that route, please be sure you and I have been in contact via email before you hit that button. Write to me first and make sure I have your contact information to send the reading to. An email reading will arrive in your inbox within one week.

Interested in client feedback? I am:

"There are many tools to help us on our journey of self discovery. One such tool is tarot card reading. Kate's undramatic, nonjudgmental and peaceful demeanor in her interpretation of the cards made me feel valued and honored. It created trust in her integrity, honesty and ability. I can easily recommend Kate as a reader."
~Ann Richards, Reiki Master
(thanks Ann, cheque's in the mail)

Go back to Stubblejumpers Café.

You can use the calendar on the right to click forward and backward through the entries.

Grandpa's Shop

Kate — Mon, 09 Dec 2002 17:23:43 GMT

Loverboy and I are supposed to reshingle Grandpa’s shop, where he kept all his antique tools and collectibles.

Grandpa had an old tractor seat he'd converted to a stool, which stood in the centre of the shop. He could often be found sitting there having a smoke or just sitting. On the day of his funeral, I went out there. A group of men was standing all around the chair, as if Grandpa was sitting in it. I believe he was.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

I’ve just finished reading Strong Voices: Conversations with 50 Canadian Authors.

They were interviewed in the late ’80s so it’s not an up-to-date book by any means, but it is still inspiring. It inspires me to write, to wish I was creative in a literate way. I get all fired up with the idea of creating characters and stories and the way you don’t know when you start what will happen, what you will come up with or what will come to you.

I get fired up about it, but when I get to the computer and sit down, nothing comes but This is What I See, This is What I Wonder.

Strikes me that This is What I See would make a good title for this journal.

Titles come to me all the time, plucked out of the day, from something I thought or heard. Often I’ve written them down, thinking I’d come back to them and write about the images and feelings the phrase stirred in me, thinking if only I could describe the subtleties and drama of those images it would make a worthy slice-of-life piece. But I don’t do it.

I journal instead. I write letters.

You can now use the calendar on the right to navigate through the entries.

To return to the present, click here.

Kate — Sat, 20 Dec 2008 03:32:34 GMT

Kate,

It's an eight-hour drive, or thereabouts, between here and Edmonton. Quite often their dad comes all the way here to see them, too, which I really appreciate.

Everett's a more normal teenage boy than Emil, so I just grin and bear it. As teenage boys go, it could be worse! I have nothing to complain about and I know it.

Emil's teachers and aides spoil him rotten; they are all very generous with him. Sheila hasn't even worked with him for several years now but still makes the time in her busy life to take him out once in a while. She just invited him to come and spend a weekend at her new home, an acreage, after she gets moved this winter. He is the luckiest lad in the world to always have had such goodhearted people working with him through the schools. It's the reason I don't worry, overly, about who will look out for him after I'm gone. If the future continues on as the past and present, there will always be people in his life who care about him. For that I'm grateful.

kateandjim — Fri, 19 Dec 2008 22:33:00 GMT

How far a drive is it between you and their Dad's place? I know some friends of ours that do that because it's a 3 hour drive and they'll meet up half way. Only seems fair.

Emil looks extremely happy with his teacher. And yes - bless his little heart. My son was more like Everett! lol! "I'm outta here" he'd say..."at least Dad's not mean"...haha! He grew out of that stage, but I still remember how it made me feel.

All She Can Talk About Is Her Kids

Kate — Fri, 19 Dec 2008 20:19:41 GMT

Sheila, who used to be Emil's aide at school, dropping him off after their supper out

The phone rang yesterday afternoon while the boys were at school. It was Emil.
"Mom! I talked to Ms Bindig and she said she's going to take me out for supper tonight!"
"Good news," I said. "You'll enjoy that."
"But-but-but—" he stutters when he's excited— "is that all right with you? I thought you said we have to do baking tonight." He was supposed to bring a dessert for their Christmas dinner at the school today, and I meant to include him in its preparation.
"Don't worry about that," I said. "We'll do it after you get home."
"Okay. I have to phone Ms Bindig now and tell her. See you later!" And he was gone.

When the bus dropped him off he had only one thing to do: get ready. Would he bath? No, he'd do that after he got home. I found a Christmas card for him to give Sheila, and put together some small gift items to accompany it, then slipped a 20-dollar bill into his pocket and told him to go shave. He did a stellar job — his face looks so good when it's cleanshaven, which isn't often because he usually does a crappy job with his electric razor— and was in the porch with his braces and boots/shoes on when she arrived to pick him up at 5:30.

***

Everett: "You know what some kids at school told me? They sneak into their parents' closets and find their own Christmas presents."
Me: "That's not so unusual, I don't think."
Everett: "But these aren't little kids, they're practically grownups!"

He has high expectations of kids his own age.

***

We meet their dad on the highway halfway between here and Edmonton tomorrow, and they won't be home till school starts in early January. Everett's looking forward to getting to his dad's and "away from you," he keeps telling me. I'm "annoying," apparently. I "sing all the time, if you can call it that."
Emil, hearing this, will chime in: "I like being with you, though, Mom. I like being with you." Bless his heart.

Books and So Forth

Kate — Thu, 18 Dec 2008 17:51:41 GMT

Thursday 18 Dec 2008
11:25 a.m.

Everett, making notes about the life of that little shit Hitler, said he is sure he will have homework over the school holiday. I said "What kind of teacher would be that rotten?" He says they all would. I don't believe it.

He says, "I think I know why Hitler acted the way he did."
Why, I ask.
"Because he felt like a nobody."

The local library closes down today, till the new year. Yesterday I stocked up on books, set on the corner of the kitchen table there. Could hardly wait to get into bed and read last night.

Am into two right now: one about the underground railroad to Canada in the late 19th century, called I've Got a Home in Glory Land, and the other a fiction that is depressing the hell out of me; I don't care if the author is venerated and has won at least one Governor General's Award ... I am having to force myself to keep on reading this thing, which is supposed to be "an exploration of how humanity faces inhumanity, how lies and disappointments cannot and will never destroy truth and human greatness." I'm pushing ahead but am starting to skim. It's called Mercy Among the Children. I want to get it over with, and may just set it aside.

Of those that came home with me yesterday, one is written by Monia Mazigh, the wife of Maher Arar. He's the Syrian-born Canadian man who, while travelling back to Canada through the U.S. shortly after 9/11, was deported by U.S. authorities back to Syria as a suspected terrorist, and there imprisoned for two years and tortured. He was never convicted of anything but went through hell, and he is not the only one. I'm thinking of Mr Arar as a personal hero, because in spite of the nightmare he experienced and the fact that he is now in a position, financially at least, to retire from some of the ugliness of this life and the people in it and the institutions they profess to serve, he is continuing to fight because there are other people this injustice is happening to. Many of us would just be trying to forget it, as if that would be possible. He is using it to make a difference in the world, in spite of the cost to himself.

It appears that Grandma does have a bladder infection after all.
I stopped at the lodge yesterday to drop off some supplies (high-efficiency laundry soap, light bulbs, q-tips, shampoo and conditioner, etc) but she was down in the dining room in the middle of her supper so I left the bag with the home-care worker and came home.

While the boys were getting their haircuts in town, I walked to the drug store to do some Christmas shopping. In the lineup for the cashier I stood next to a tall, dark-haired man who was wearing only a heavy sweater over a fleecy. I touched his arm and said, "Are you sure you're warm enough in just this?"
He said yes, as a matter of fact this 20- and 30-below weather feels balmy to him, except for when the wind comes up, compared to where he lives. Where's that? I asked. The Yukon. How cold is it up there? 60 below. Oh! Well then enjoy your tropical vacation here in Saskatchewan, I told him. Just cut holes in a garbage bag for your head and arms, I joked, and wear that over your sweater to cut the wind.

Emil called down the stairs this morning before catching the schoolbus:
"Bye Mom! You have a good day, okay? Are you going to miss me when I'm gone all day?"
I called back, chipper:
"Bye Emil! You have a good day too! Keep yourself warm. I won't miss you, but I'll be glad to see you come home."

Only 20 Below today: Balmy

Kate — Wed, 17 Dec 2008 03:33:18 GMT

A visit to the doctor's office was followed by a walk across the parking lot to the hospital and a wait in a small lounge while Grandma had her lab work done. Someone has taken the trouble to make paper snowflakes and hang them from the ceiling. I wondered who, and why.

After an afternoon of running around in town, I came home tired and cranky. I've managed to get us all fed but that's all I have energy for. I'm going to get into my pyjamas, climb into bed, and read for a while.

I'll leave you with this. This morning I ran across a blog that is new to me and enjoyed the writer's answers to the questions that had been posed to her. I've never participated in one of these "memes" before but it seemed to me this gal might come up with some questions worth thinking about, so I agreed to do it.

1. What is your biggest fear?
Drowning. If I went on a fancy cruise ship, I'd have to wear a life jacket the whole time. Even then I might be nervous.

2. Some people think that throughout our lives, we have certain golden moments - times when we are in perfect sync with ourselves and our circumstances. What have yours been and how have they affected you?
Ooh, that's a tough one. I'd have to say my childhood, when I rode my bike all summer with a buddy boy and ran around outside all day, playing in the streets of the small village that is my home town. What could be better than that? I had the freedom to spend my time pretty much exactly as I wanted to ... very much like my life right now, except for these damn dishes. I think those days gave me a taste for daily freedom, so that I was never happy tied into the 9 to 5, especially if I was stuck indoors.

3. It's time to throw a dinner party for your favorite historical figures. Who is at the table? What do you feed them?
I'm not a very good food host, so it's hard to think of something special. I'd make what I like: a big Greek salad loaded with olives and feta; lots of steamed veggies, herbed; garlic toast; all served with copious amounts of wine; followed by a killer chocolate caramel cheesecake for dessert, and coffee. Oh, and my guests? I don't really have favourite historical figures, but I'd love to break bread with Anaïs Nin (obviously) and wouldn't mind meeting Elizabeth I of England either. I've always found her rather fascinating.

4. If someone offered you a chance to have total clairvoyance for a 24-hour period, would you want it? Why or why not?
You betcha. I'd want to see for myself if there really is life after death. To know that there is, rather than only believing that there is.

5. What is the worst thing parents can do to their children (outside of obvious things like abuse)?
Believe that their children aren't good enough. That they have to be better, or somehow more or different, than they are.

And now I'm toddling off to my cosy bed.
Feel free to reply to the above questions yourself: I'd be interested in your answers.

- Kathy