Of course, I have already phoned my mother. And tried to send flowers, though the impulse was thwarted by She Who Must Be Obeyed — Mom herself, darn her hide.

Faye and Rick came over last night, and Faye brought a dozen roses from the flower shop she works at. She’d thought of telling Scott that they were on sale for Mother’s Day, so he’d ordered a bunch. They are so pretty I have them sitting right here by the keyboard, even though I had to clear off a pile of loose papers and junk buildup to clear enough space.

Scott and I were in bed this morning — were we laying there talking? it seems I was already awake — when Everett came downstairs with a cup of hot coffee in my favourite mug. Then he went back upstairs, and came down a few minutes later with a fork, scrambled eggs, and toast on a plate. His third trip down the stairs was with a glass of juice. And finally, he came with his hands full of gifts.

He has made the most gorgeous bunch of flowers out of rolled-up paper (for long stems) and cutout pink daisies, which he has glued and taped to the greenery. They totally hold their own alongside the beautiful roses here.

Next I opened the card he’d made, and started reading aloud what he’d written inside. It was one of those “M is for ______” poems, and halfway through it I started bawling like a damn baby. I finished it and he told me he’d gotten the poem from a Looney Tunes cartoon, and I started to laugh instead of cry. With the card, wrapped in blue paper, was a half-full bag of cinnamon hearts that I had given him on Valentine’s Day and which he has been doling out scroogily ever since.

** **

Yesterday I was looking out the window over the kitchen sink when a poplar tree snapped off in the middle and jumped toward me. It happened so fast that the broken tree trunk was laying still on the ground before I had time to move. I looked at the trees behind it, all swaying a bit in the heavy wind but not more so than on many other windy days. It was much calmer, as usual, right here in the yard. Another glance at the tree laying there reminded me that it was a living tree, too, not some dead thing easy to snap off.

A mini-tornado, a wind tunnel, Scott tells me.
A message from the trees, I feel.
I hope they aren’t pissed off at me for pruning the young trees and bushes along a wildly overgrown garden path yesterday. In a way it seems as if the bush itself was saying to me, petulantly, Well here, screw you!

**

Found five ticks on me after a walk to the beaver pond with Scott on Friday evening. Ticks give me the heebiejeebies. And they’re out early, oh goody.

It was fascinating to walk over the beaver trails, the long grass flattened toward the water where they dragged the trees over it, the fresh-cut pointed stumps throughout the bush. Didn’t see any beaver, just their lodge, lots of mudhens all over the pond, and a few bright mallards.

**

Snowgeese, or whateverthehellkind of geese they are, have been circling and landing and taking off again in the field east of the yard. There are so many in the flocks and they are so loud! It is absolutely awesome to stand outside and listen, even when one doesn’t get to see them up close. But when they are on the ground near a road, and fly up as we drive by, oh that — that is astounding — it is really something to see. I haven't found adequate words to describe it, much as I grasp about.

Two sparrows are sitting puffed up on the water spout above the deck. They have a nest inside the wooden eave. They don’t look like a matching set. I can’t tell who’s who, with sparrows. There are so many around that they don’t stand out. Yesterday a tiny magnolia warbler came and perched on the kitchen windowsill.

Emil is still in bed. He came down with a cough and runny nose yesterday, so is sleeping more than usual. Poor bugger. He “hates” colds, he tells me repeatedly. He was near tears about it yesterday before he went for an afternoon nap. He might be feeling sorry for himself, but mostly I think he was just fatigued and needed to lay down and recoup.

Grandma will be home from church soon, so I will go phone and see if she has plans for the afternoon. I bought some hardy rosebushes for her as a gift from me and my mother, and will take those to her. It is too cold to transplant them, I think. The thermometer says 10 C, but Everett saw snowflakes a few minutes ago, and Scott said it was 6 below a few nights ago when he was up checking cattle in the wee hours.

He’s got some rosebushes to deliver today too.

... sometimes I don't feel like writing.