Everett and I put our backs up against the south side of the house and took a break about halfway through yesterday afternoon, which turned out to be sunny and perfect for pulling up dead flowers and vegetables and digging holes to transplant perennials. I had brought a thermos full of hot tea, and there was pop and juice in the house for the boy.

Those who know me well would probably say it wasn't possible that I'd work too hard, but by the time we were finished in the garden at Golden Grain Farm yesterday, I was exhausted enough to consider going straight to bed. Not smart enough to do it, mind you. Sat up and watched Juno instead, and was in bed by 11.

This morning I made a big breakfast of bacon with whole wheat pancakes slathered in caramel sauce and yogurt, and all four of us actually sat down together to eat.

My head is not right, though. It feels like a combination of neck migraine and a cold trying to establish itself. It's 4:30 and I've only now gotten washed up and dressed. Am going over to Golden Grain Farm to get some wood for tonight's fire, and that will be the extent of my outdoor exertions today. Pretty much everything is done gardenwise, except for watering-in the flowers for the winter. It seems amazing to me that there are still flowers over there whose leaves are green and unfrozen. Daisies, speedwells, snapdragons .... they must be tough little buggers.

Scott requested Everett's help to go throw flax bales onto the back of a truck, so that's where they are. There will be serious whinging tonight, I'm sure, as Everett moves far too slowly for Scott to stomach without impatience, and Scott is too demanding for Everett's tender sensibilities. But I made him go, because he needs the exercise. If he had his way he'd sit at the kitchen table all day and do homework, or anything -- absolutely anything -- but physical labour. He complained yesterday too, when I made him help me.

There is both good and bad news in my extended family, and I'm not at liberty to share it just yet. Joan will blog her own happy news soon, I'm sure, and as for the other, we are holding our breaths for more information on the diagnosis front before we get too freaked out. I'll keep you informed if and when I am permitted to pass these things along in more detail.

Is it normal to often feel quite sad more than three years after your mother dies? Because I still do.