When Everett does dishes, he is methodical. He takes the first five minutes to organize the dirty dishes painstakingly. The other day I suggested that Emil help by drying. Everett said no thank you, he'd prefer to do them alone. Why? I asked. Because, said Everett, the drying dishes are carefully placed and Emil has a habit of pulling an item from the middle or back, thus making things collapse. And that will never do. Dishes are placed "just so" on the towel.

Now those of you who give me gifts are thinking "Ah ha! She needs a dish rack and drainboard!" But no ... they have been purposefully discarded. Our water is so hard that it marks the rack with iron and other minerals, and so it looks dirty and ugly unless one keeps on top of it, which I never do, and then when I get around to washing it, it requires scrubbing and even then doesn't look really clean. A dishtowel can be thrown into the washing machine and voila!

***

Last night I was watching a biography of Gloria Steinem on TV.

Usually on the bio channel there are no commercials during any particular show, but last night, disappointingly, there were. One featured Queen Latifah touting 41 long-lasting lip colours. Lipstick, make-up ... slapping things like that on my face has been so far from my consciousness or concern for so many years already that I don't even think about wearing it on dress-up occasions. What I still have—eyeliner (maybe), mascara— are so old they should be thrown out. I'm pretty sure they're at the back of a drawer in the bathroom, where they are rarely seen, and that is why I still have them.

***

I tease Scott about being a wealthy man, because he works seven days a week (so he must be, right?). He gets pissed off and insists on setting me straight, as if I was serious. I tsk, "Oh, you rich men. You always think you're broke, no matter how much money you have in the bank." He absolutely hates that.

***

Today marks five months since I started doing the Tibetan Rites, and I am pleased to report that I have not had to take a pill for the Neck Thing in the past four weeks. This is the first time in 20 years that I can say this. Is it due to the Rites? I don't know for sure, but chances are they have something to do with it.

~ Scott fixing endgate on his roofing truck ~

8:14 a.m.
Scott brought coffee downstairs before leaving the house so I am up earlier than yesterday. I like that. Now if only he would do it at six o’clock…I might get so much more done in a day.

This morning they are checking bull semen. I am curious about how they gather their samples, but not enough to get dressed and go out and watch. Anyway they aren’t doing it here. They’re loading up the bulls and hauling them over to his uncle's, where there is a different handling system and it will be easier than doing it in the barn here. So I'm told.

I am reading an unauthorized biography of Harper Lee, who wrote To Kill A Mockingbird, was made rich and famous by it, and apparently never published another thing.

Both my boys are still in bed. Everett may be awake, as he answered the phone earlier. He has been sleeping on the basement couch for so many months now that I almost forget there is some urgency to get him a proper bed. Not that there’s any point in urgency; nothing can be done until we get moved.

Scott has suggested I clean out this office and put a bed in here, but that would mean taking boxes of photos and such over to Golden Grain Farm for storage. Every place over there is due to be a construction zone, as he plans to work in the basement as well as the main floor, so I’m afraid my photos may get sawdust-dirty or drywall-dusty and prefer to keep them here.

Gord is picking the boys up on Tuesday morning and they’ll be gone for a month so maybe in that time there will be some movement forward at the house. The kid doesn’t complain, but it’s amazing that he doesn’t. Once in a while, if a certain someone is up watching TV when he is trying to sleep, he gets annoyed if the noise keeps him awake. But mostly he’s just a goodnatured boy who makes do with whatever is available. He's not demanding in the least.

I drive over to Golden Grain Farm at a normal pace each day, sometimes twice, but now almost always return at about 10 mph. Yesterday morning I saw that cormorant in the water at the ravine but again it took off when I stopped for a photo.

I have been yodeling (if you can call it that) a lot lately after watching a couple episodes of How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria? on TV. They are having a contest to choose the singer who will play Maria von Trapp in the new Andrew Lloyd Webber musical The Sound of Music.
It is driving Everett nuts. That's what mothers are for and I'm particularly good at it.

Golden Grain Farm has three slim oak trees lining the west edge of the front lawn. Beneath them were several peony bushes and two clumps of tulips, and I added shade-loving plants from my flowerbeds here: ostrich ferns, hostas, a bleeding heart. I also stuck in a few pale yellow petunias.

This photo doesn't display much but the trees. I shall try to do better in future.

A little wooden sign that says "Lonely Little Petunia" could be put into the onion patch with a petunia next spring. Remember that song?

"I'm a lonely little petunia in an onion patch
An onion patch, in the onion patch
I'm a lonely little petunia in the onion patch
And all I do is cry all day!"

Have I got the words right?

It is another gorgeous day. Rain was called for yesterday and there were clouds and thunder, but nothing came of it. I went to the other house and watered part of the garden last night, not trusting the forecast. Good thing. The wind has been unrelenting this spring and the rain sporadic, and my flowers need all the help they can get.

To deep-water the entire flower garden, it would take about four hours. I am limiting myself to one hour per evening or early morning.

Usually I use a sprinkler, but sometimes I stand with hose in hand and give the flowers a morning spray. Then I think of Grandpa, whom I remember misting the hollyhocks outside the kitchen window at their house in Margo.

I think of him while hoeing, too, because one summer when I lived in town and had a little vegetable garden, Grandpa used to come over and hoe out the weeds for me sometimes.

Oh, life was good with him for a grandpa. I had two wonderful grandfathers, both of whom were very, very loving and generous to me. Is it any wonder I expect the men in my life to spoil me rotten?

My sister Karen had a shadow this afternoon when we gathered for birthday cake and ice cream. Several times when he called her "Grandma" she ignored him because she didn't realize he was talking to her.

Emil turned 20 today and has been telling us all week that this means he is no longer a teenager.

While the other students write exams next week, school finished for Emil yesterday and he brought home his report card:

"Work Habits—Emil's work supervisors are pleased with his progress. He requires very little supervision at his work station. At school, Emil shows self-motivation and adaptability. He works well with his peers and shines with positivity.

Behavioural—There has been tremendous growth in this area over the past year, which suggests steady progress in the area of maturation. Emil is open to discussion when rare situations require intervention.

General Comments—His ability to adapt to change and to increase his ability to attend to tasks are areas of improvement worthy of celebration."

Aside from the reading, cooking, and written language skills that Emil's modified program focuses on, he is still learning functional math skills as follows:

• Recognizing names and values of coins
• Understanding and comparing coin value
• Matching coins to simple price tags
• Independently using a vending machine
• Consistently recognizing coin values with decimal representation
• Reading a calendar
• Knowledge of date/day
• Identifying time (days, date, reading digital time)
• Reading an analog clock (on the hour/half hour)
• Using a clock to determine when to get ready for next class

He'll attend school again in the fall to carry on with these studies.

Everett has been weeding and mulching his strawberry patch, and I, after moving more perennials from here to *Golden Grain Farm, have come home to get out of the sun. I left him there to spend an hour with his computer, and met up with this bird as I went out the driveway.

I am a bad girl. I admit it. Raising Cain: Protecting the Emotional Life of Boys is overdue at the library and I don't care. I'd rather pay the fine than return it before I'm finished reading. I hope my librarian won't lose sleep. She might.

*Dad, according to the Wadena history book it was naturalist and writer Thornton W. Burgess who originally owned the property, gave it the name, and used it as a summer home. Although there is lots of information about him on the internet, as he was well known in the early 1900s for his children's bedtime stories, the museum and society dedicated to him has no record of him spending any time in Saskatchewan.

Everett's life sucks. We make him work. Last night he threw the last of a pile of firewood into the woodshed at Golden Grain Farm. Tonight he had to do some raking on the lawn, recently cut after getting a bit long in places. Tomorrow he will be weeding "his" strawberry patch and mulching it with the grass clippings.

It is fairly certain he is looking forward to leaving here for the entire month of July. City life will be easy in comparison; a real holiday.

After an appointment in town this morning I went to the lodge to see what Grandma was up to. She already had company, as my Uncle Bruce and Aunt Shirley were there. I don't see much of them but it will be twice this week because Emil wants to have birthday cake and ice cream at their place on Saturday afternoon. He turns 20.

Outside Grandma's room there is a little meeting place where a jigsaw puzzle is always in progress on a table tucked into a corner. These two sisters, one a longtime resident and the other just lately moved in, looked so cute I snapped a photo and tried to sneak away. The flash caught their attention so I didn't make it out of sight. (Anne Danyluk on the right, for you Margo readers.)

We're out of salsa again so I got another batch made today. This should last Scott and me about a month. He eats it on everything; why, I suspect he even mixes it with his milk.

***

For the best picture of a tornado I have ever seen, click here.

~ Emil is making his school lunch for the next day ~

The efficacy of echinacea tincture as an immune-system booster became evident to me around 20 years ago, when I began taking it at the first sign of a cold. Over the years there has been disagreement; some studies proved its usefulness, while others claimed it ineffective. I ignored the studies; echinacea worked for me, shortening the span of head and chest colds from a week to about three days, if that. There were even times when the cold virus would be stopped in its tracks after only 24 hours of taking the echinacea every few hours. Since the herb has amply demonstated its powerful influence on my health, I've never been without a bottle in my medical arsenal.

When I turned 49 this year, my pal Shelly mailed me a kit for making my own. Along with cheesecloth, a tiny funnel, two little glass bottles and a screen, the kit included a small jar half-full of dried echinacea root, to which I added vodka. Tightly capped, it went into the cupboard with the coffee cups and was shaken daily for two weeks. Then it was strained and funneled into the bottles and placed into the fridge. Easy as pie. Now I just need to buy a few echinacea augustifolia plants (purple coneflower, which I have never had any luck keeping in my flower beds) and in a year or two, if they survive, I can make my own from scratch.

Nowadays when there is a sniffle I dose myself and my family at regular intervals with echinacea tincture, alternating with ColdFX, a ginseng derivative. We don't travel without either one.

***

Shelly, I have the correct email address for you. Can you find out how to check your junk mail filter to see if my address is being blocked? If so, you can approve the address so it won't happen again.

On the way to town I caught sight of a cormorant sitting at the creek. When I got out of the vehicle to try for a closer picture, it flew off. Haven't seen it since.

There is a great blue heron that is often stood in the water or flapping its huge wings off in the other direction when we get too close. At Golden Grain Farm we have seen black-capped night herons so are hoping they have a nest nearby.

Made another trip to the greenhouse today (Somebody ssssssSTOP me) and after hoeing and raking the soil where more yellow daisies and marigolds will be planted, I sat on the grassy slight rise near the garden and watched and listened to the birds around the yard. There is a cardinal gathering nesting material, late as it seems to me, and a pair of small birds has moved into the faded blue birdhouse next to the garden.

Sometimes while working in the garden there is such a kerfuffle of splashing in the slough that I stand to find out what's going on. I never see anything but ducks floating on the water but the other day there were northern flickers—beautiful birds, and there are a multitude of them around here— dive-bombing near the surface.

This fellow has got a good camera and an eye for the province's birds.