Grandma’s amaryllis is in full bloom in her picture window.

9:18 a.m.

On my favourite mailing list, A wrote in to tell us about spending her father’s last days with him, in the hospital. It was a touching account of rubbing his back and recounting happy memories of times they spent together, while soothing and uplifting music played in the background.

How many of us have to be dying before we get this kind of focused, gentle attention from loved ones? How sad it is that we have to be helpless and suffering before others are free to give this kind of love to us.

So why don’t I get my priorities straight, and rub my Farmboy’s tired back for him tonight ... why don’t I play a game of Snakes and Ladders with Barney after school today ... and take a walk with Don, even if I have to walk frustrated circles around him because he moves so slowly ... why not do it now? Is there anything more important? No.

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dream

I have an inkling that Farmboy is going to surprise me with a beautiful white wedding dress, because he knows me well enough to understand that even though marriage does not have the great meaning to me that it does to some, I would still love to wear a stunning gown for one day.

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He came into the house at 9:30.
“I’m going over to ‘15’ to feed the cows. Wanna ride along?”

After a drive of five northerly miles, we park outside an electric fence and unload five-gallon pails of chop from the back of the truck. He opens the barbwire gate and carries two pails in, starts spreading the chop out on the ground.

I do the same.

Before we finish I say “Here, take a picture. There’s never a picture of me, I’m always behind the camera.”

He snorts goodnaturedly and says “It’s not like you’re out feeding chop all the time.”

“I am today,” I said, and handed him the camera.

It was windy enough that Farmboy’s voice wasn’t carrying in their direction, and there were no cattle in sight, so after several calls and no response, we set out towards the big stone pile to try to spot them. Talk about yer mosquitoes! I should’ve worn long sleeves.

“Ka-boss, ka-boss, ka-boss, ka-boss!”

Before Farmboy could, I could hear the cows calling back.

We turned and headed back toward the corner of the field, me trying to outrun some mosquitoes, Farmboy trying to establish himself at a vantage point ideal for counting cows and calves on the run. They know where there’s chop to be had and they’re wasting no time getting there.

I counted 81, he counted 79. There are supposed to be 83.

The calves were curious and rounded on me like a line of little soldiers.