It was blustery when the boys and I left the farm to go to town, and every single person I met mentioned it, as did everyone I overheard in the grocery store, post office, library, and hardware store. You’d think we never see a bit of wind and snow around here.

Barney and I picked Don up at school and arrived at the optometrist’s in record time, only to be told their appointments are next Tuesday. I left my newest pair of old frames so the lenses can be replaced by bifocals. They're still going to cost me $275. Yep: oldladyhood, here I come.

We were to be at the lodge (at the end of the driveway above) to see Vincent at 6 o’clock, but since my mistake had bought us some extra time, we came home for supper at 4:30.

This is how one farmer stores the grain he has no granary for. It's along the road on my way to town.

I was a bit concerned that we’d have low visibility or a blocked road on the way back from town later, but I am a Saskatchewan girl. It takes more than that to keep me home when I intend to go somewhere. It takes a full-blown blizzard or zero visibility or a vehicle that won’t start.

It was a quick bite to eat (brown rice, steamed broccoli, and leftover hamburger chop suey) and back to town we went, but without Sweetiepie. He phoned Vincent to say we weren’t going to come, then told me. I packed up the boys and went anyway. It seemed strange to visit Vincent without him along. They are the old friends, after all.

Besides, it was a special occasion: Ukrainian New Year’s Eve. Staff and residents were making sandwiches and cookies, and Vincent had bought a bottle of rye so he could give us a drink in his room. (Don and Barney had coke, straight up.)

When we arrived, Vincent was on his way outside in his motorized wheelchair to have a cigarette. He was surprised and delighted to see us, and we went in and chatted (and sipped) in his room for an hour or so, until we got the call to the dining room. There, I talked with an old farmer from my home town, and to my cousin who works at the lodge. A cantankerous old lady (also from my home town, and also named Kate) came up to inquire of my cousin whether another old lady, strapped into her chair, was all right.

“I worry about these old people,” she said. “I like to make sure things are the way they should be.” She wheeled away, back across the hall to the TV room where several residents were tapping toes or fingers to fiddle music on the tube.

Another resident was very concerned about Don, who was using his walker.
“What happened to him?” she asked.
She tsk-tsked and said “That’s too bad, a young person like that” and then proceeded to tell me that she’d had a stroke and that’s why she can’t walk.

When I excused myself to go get our coats out of Vincent’s room and started walking down the hall, she called after me, “You’re tiny!” as if this came as a shock to her.

I called back “Not tiny enough!” and she grinned happily as if I’d made a real joke.

Before we left, Vincent thanked me three or four times for coming and bringing the boys along. He used to be a childcare worker; likes kids and doesn’t get to see them in the lodge often enough. “You made my night,” he said.

Happy Ukrainian New Year, all you ‘’ookabukes" out there. I’m not one, but I love your perogies, your cabbage rolls, and the fact that your holidays are celebrated all around this area. Two Christmasas, two NY’s Eves — what’s not to like?

xoxo
etc
kate