After dropping Everett off at the Baptist Church, where he had his piano lesson on Wednesday, I carried on toward the highway into town, where I would make a right turn and head back to Main Street to buy flowers for Karen's birthday and then ... blah blah blah, ten thousand errands. About a block before reaching the highway I saw Scott's half-ton go by and wouldn't you know it (that boy misses absolutely nothing), by the time I got to the end of the street he'd turned around and met me at the corner. We pulled our vehicles alongside each other at the stop sign on the side street and rolled down our windows. After asking me where I was going, he eyed the van and said "You should go wash that thing."

"Not today," said I. "I have a cold and don't want to get damp." Usually when he makes this suggestion, I have no excuse; I just don't listen. It's only going to get dirty again right away, after all.

"If you drive over there right now," he offered, "I'll do it."

That, I took him up on. It was cold enough that the two doors to the car wash were shut tight, but Scott lifted one up so I could drive the van in, then went back to his truck and put his rubber boots on (always prepared for anything, the lad) while I dug in my change purse for loonies and toonies. After coming up with five bucks worth, I handed them over and then sat in the van in warmth and comfort while he sprayed the dried mud off the vehicle.

***

This week Everett completed four Grade 10 correspondence courses he started in September. The final exams were to be written in December, but we had to request two extensions in order to finish. He'll write exams for these at the end of May.

In January he began three more courses through correspondence, as well as two through the school in Wadena. Those two are a snap for him — cooking and computers; he's well on schedule with them both. But the other three have till now had to be set aside so he could get the old ones done by the end of this week. Now he's tackling the new ones.

The kid's got a pretty heavy schedule: he uses my computer weekday mornings between 8:30 and 10, when I sit down to my half-day's work, and again from 7 to 9 every school night he's doing homework. From 10 to 4 o'clock, except for an hour he takes off for lunch, he sits at the kitchen table and works on his science assignments. The kid deserves a medal. He's been putting in this much time all along (not counting another six or eight hours over each weekend) and, even so, failed to complete the courses on schedule. The reading material is extensive and the assignments are long, and he does not do anything quickly. Not one thing, that boy. He does them very well, mind you; his marks are pretty much all in the 90s.

In the bare-branched trees several feet from the kitchen window are two small birdfeeders he keeps filled with sunflower seeds. They are popular attractions for chickadees, sparrows, junkos, redpolls, purple finches, and woodpeckers. It's a regular feeding frenzy out there. The other day Everett called out, "Mom! There's a green bird!" I yanked Birds of Saskatchewan off the bookshelf and he flipped through it to identify the one he'd seen: a ruby-crowned kinglet. Today we went through the same exercise, only the new (to him) birds were magnolia warblers, which have patches of bright yellow feathers mixed with black. They kept flying up to the window to look in at Everett as he worked at the table. Finally he suggested I go sit with him so I could see what they were doing. I did, but they stayed away as long as I sat there. Not that I sat for long; five minutes, maybe, before I came back to my desk without catching them at their antics. Birds have always liked that kid.

***

Who says I'm persnickety?
I do: if I'm eating a salmon sandwich or a homemade chicken soup and get even a tiny piece of bone in my mouth, I can't eat another bite. This is also the reason I no longer order a sausage-and-egg burger when I breakfast via a fast-food drive-thru: once I bit into a piece of bone in the sausage patty. That was the last time. At least bacon doesn't have bones in it, so I won't lose my appetite.

Everett climbs into the loft every day; there were at least two sets of kittens born earlier in the week. One mother has her litter hidden where they are hard to get at, but Cuddles has hers out in the open so she can show them off.

It's hurricane windy and winter cold here, but hasn't snowed or rained. I am staying indoors, will fan the flames of the fire that Scott made before going out to tag and castrate (I think) a newborn calf, and will do some baking and roast a ham for supper. It's a good day to have the oven on.

I'm told that the link I posted to Joan's blog doesn't work. Try this:
Yada-yada

We hit Saskatoon just in time for the Friday afternoon rush hour and met Donna and Dalton in the parking lot of a Boston Pizza in the industrial end of the city. You could feel the snow coming; the wind was freezing cold, and mean. Emil was vibrating from excitement. I had time to snap a photo and watch the three of them dash into the restaurant.

By the time I got over to Cathy's I was silently cursing careless drivers and their foolish hurry. Cathy, who's accustomed to it, ferried us to the restaurant where we met Mom's cousin (and mine) Judy for supper, and a little later in the evening I went over to Judy's to wait for Emil. Before Donna and Dalton delivered him around midnight, the snowstorm had blown in and slowed everything down and I had started to wonder if they'd make it safely from the concert venue to Judy's end of the city. When their van pulled up I ran out to the street with Emil's winter coat, but he was having none of that. Though the back of his head was plastered with wet snow before we got into the porch, he insisted he was not cold. The first question he asked, after announcing that he'd enjoyed the concert and that Dalton had bought him a Brooks and Dunn T-shirt, was "Is Judy still up?" As soon as he was in his pyjamas he cornered her in the living room and regaled her with the event highlights.

The city streets were in rough shape late last night and this morning but the highway hotline informed me that the pavement most of the way home was in good condition. Word was that more snow was on the way for Saskatoon and points west, and that a nasty storm was yet to arrive. I decided to head back to the country rather than risk being snowbound for several days. Much as the company would have been pleasant, I've become a homebody in my old age. (Also, Everett has to get four more accounting lessons completed and mailed by Thursday at the latest, or he won't be eligible to write the final exam for that class at the end of April. I need to be here to wield my mighty whip.) I would take a slightly alternate route, on a flatter and straighter highway, to avoid a 39-mile section that I expected to be less than safe with its steep ditches and non-existent shoulders.

So we crunched our way to the van over icy slush around 8 o'clock. Judy had offered us breakfast but if you've ever waited for Emil to finish eating, you know that we wouldn't have gotten out the door before 9. I was anxious to beat the forecast bad weather, so instead we picked up bacon and egg burgers at an A&W drive-thru on our way to the highway.

Very few drivers had the good sense to slow down on the slippery roads, so it was a relief when we got about 15 minutes east of the city and the ice and snow layering the pavement disappeared, leaving the Yellowhead Highway dry and clear.

Everett from his homework spot at the kitchen table early last night:
"Mom! What the hell is that sound?"

Moi, cocking an ear and scurrying to an open, screened window:
"Cranes. Sandhill cranes."

A tiny flock of about a dozen flying low (for cranes, that is) over our roof.

The mallard ducks have returned, too.

***

Frogs are starting to croak, one at a time, here and there. In days there will be a symphony. Unless ... unless it snows. The forecast for the weekend is for "the storm of the decade" or somesuch thing. Just in time for my trip to Saskatoon with Emil so he can finally get to the Brooks and Dunn concert and SHUT UP ABOUT IT. But this morning the sun is shining and it's hard to believe a foot of snow is about to drop on the newly uncovered dry grass.

These two photos were taken within one minute of each other, the camera facing north for the first, and west for the second. I had the loveliest walk. There is no way that heaven can be better than this.

Emil has been looking forward to this concert, and "I just can't wait"-ing, since Christmas when his dad bought him three tickets; one for him and two for his companions, whoever would take him.

On the weekend Emil began to worry aloud that maybe he'd get sick and not be able to go. The next thing we knew (and it was no surprise), he had a stuffed-up nose and a slight cough. I advised him to stay home and rest till he felt normal again. By Wednesday he was better but stayed home yesterday to be on the safe side; sometimes going to school and work tires him out so that a cold gets worse, whether it is coming or going.

So he felt good enough to go to the concert, but his companion, Mrs. Basky, was not at her usual post at the Co-op checkout counter when I went in on Wednesday. Then he began to worry about her. What if she was sick and couldn't go— what then?

I might have to take you myself, I said.
But I don't want to go with you, replied the little bugger. I just won't go then.
Tough shit, said I. You're going if I have to drag you there. I have not listened to this constant yapping about it for the past three-and-a-half months for nothing.

When I got home from town yesterday and reported that Mrs Basky was well and healthy, he was relieved. But then, since we are meeting her and her husband in the city so the three of them can go out for a pre-concert supper, Emil began to worry about me. "What if you aren't feeling good tomorrow, how will I get to Saskatoon then?" he wanted to know.

Lordy be.

"I'm fine. Healthy as a horse. Don't worry. I will get you there. Now please QUIT WORRYING!"
It's enough to make me sick.

So help me god, Gord, if after this concert he carries on the same way till the James Taylor show in July — and something tells me he will — you are going straight to the top of my bad books. I never thought I'd say this, but your generosity (none of these tickets are cheap, folks) is driving me crazy.

What a day yesterday was. The heat was a complete surprise. Everett and I headed for the road after a stop to scratch this calf's head (this one is half of a pair of twins, and at two months old is still tinier than today's newborns) and to photograph this funny-coloured, shy heifer that stands out from the crowd of blacks and reds. I think she has a pretty face.

We'd barely gone any distance before Everett said "I shouldn't have worn my boots" and ran back to the house to change into runners. Then it was only a few minutes later that the sun forced the removal of Scott's jean jacket, which I was wearing, and only moments more when the green jacket came off and I was down to bare arms. Everett insisted I carry the stick (he thinks this will be a weapon against mountain lions) while he brandished a smaller, pointy one he calls his "knife."

We walked the mile to Golden Grain Farm (the killdeers are back, running along the edges of the sloughs and calling to each other) and by the time we got there we were complaining: it was as hot as a midsummer day. Snow in the ditches was quickly turning into raging small rivers, some of which were about to overflow onto the road.

We had a drink and sat on the step to rest and cool off, but it was too hot there and we went and stood in the shade of trees instead. After a few minutes when the only sounds to be heard were the rustling of junkos in the bush, checking us out, a wind came up from the west, gathered force, and blew loudly through the yard. It provided enough relief from the heat that we were able to make our way home in comfort.

We saw a huge flock of birds at a distance, too far to distinguish what they were. I've yet to see the snowbirds on their migration to the north but Scott has spotted them once. Any day now, I'll be able to stand looking up at them for 10 minutes as they pass over -- flocks so large I'll be amazed, as always.

On the weekend I washed walls and Scott sanded and primed them in preparation for painting. Here he is, hard at it.

•••

When Cathy was a kid, in the days when Mao Tse Tung was in the news perhaps, they had a cat they called Mousie Tongue.

•••

Was doing the last Tibetan Rite, the “dog stretch” repeated 13 times, when Everett started telling me about my brother Cameron’s purchase of a computer and how he calls Gord all the time for help figuring out how to operate its programs. Everett repeats the conversations word for word and I collapse on the floor, laughing till I cry. Everett worries at first that he’s “killing” me. Every time he imitates Cameron— incredulous, confused, complaining about how his computer works, or doesn't work— it cracks me up.

•••

This ad is now showing in Norway (thanks Pat). Ladies, take your calcium!

•••

It's 20 degrees Celsius today, and too nice to be indoors. I must go out.

Here are a few of my favourites from Tom Walmsley's collection of poems, What Happened, published in 2007:

Night Blind

1
leaving aside the tree itself &
whether it was an act of progress
through rebellion or mutiny to
eat & know good & evil &
leaving aside possibilities of
patriarchal plots the
woman eve succumbing & corrupting
& leaving aside the nutty idea any of it
actually happened i say

isn't the point the
big point that he ratted her out that
he the man adam pointed the finger at
her & if she even the disobedient sidekick is
the true problem the sinner the cause of
the fall is that why it's been decided it
has been preached that ratting out isn't
nearly as bad as disobedience &

in some sermon somewhere the
point should be shouted that adam was
a genuine pussy & i think the lesson is
when you rat out your neighbour's friends
relatives strangers because it's a law-
abiding patriotic thing to do
then the rat &
the ratted are both banished to the
land of nod but only
one of you can hold up her head.

3
you bought a plant a prayer plant
6 inches tall that opened in
the day closed its leaves every night until
one night we fought about God you
the defense & me the prosecution &
nothing changed but the
prayer plant closed up its leaves &
never opened them again.

Sin

8
oh man i was born hungry &
now i'm starving trying to
stuff your whole body down
my throat on & on &
i am never full

did you think it was love?

10
i'll tell you what:
i don't care about your house or
servants or ox or donkey &
there is nothing you own i need.

i think i'll take your wife.

how do you like your salary & title
now how do you like the tennis court &
heated pool the sauna and the jet-ski your
sexy car & snappy threads your
many travels & famous friends how
did you like dating cheerleaders voted
most popular being the
coolest in school snickering
at me in sixth grade surrounded by
friends i was in a corner laughed
at by girls hey
neighbour your wife isn't laughing.

how do you like me now?

Here it is: evidence that I have washed a car this century. Without the photo, no one will believe it. My van was repaired and ready to be picked up early this week, so I returned Karen's Grand Prix about two days ago.

It was probably muddy again by the time I drove over several miles of gravel roads to get it to her. But the proof's in the picture.

(Dad: I took the box with the old portraits along and we opened it together, with our fingers crossed. They arrived in good condition. I took a picture of Karen holding up the photo of our lookalike great-grandmother next to her own face, but she might hurt me if I post it here. I'll send it direct.)

The Canada Geese are all over the place now, in fields next to the roads, in pairs and larger conglomerations. Hawks and merlins are back in full force, and on my way to town today I saw a flock of robins.

My niece Cara was having some work done on her new vehicle so I picked her and my great-nephew Kade up outside the shop and we went to visit Grandma (my grandma; his great-great grandma) till it was ready. When he called me Grandma instead of Auntie Kathy a couple times, obviously noticing some resemblance between me and his real grandma, I made sure to call her right away and suggest I could take her place if ever she needs a stand-in.

I went into the storage room under the stairs tonight to put something away and yep, there is water starting to come in. One year to the day since the river ran through the house. Maybe it won't get so bad this time. We've had a bit of water in the storage room every year, but nothing like last spring.

Chances are there could be water in the basement at Golden Grain Farm too. I didn't drive over to check because the van got stuck in the driveway yesterday— in slush. All there was to be found was a broken shovel with which I could make no headway, so it was fortunate I had my cellphone along and Scott had his. I didn't have to walk home without my doggie escorts.

Nor did I walk over today, because someone saw big Cat tracks right here at the corner three days ago. It's a little unnerving.

All too frequently a bird slams into one of the kitchen windows. This little redpoll was still breathing so I advised Everett to pick it up from the snowy ground and hold it safely out of reach of cats and dogs till it got its wings back.

I talked to and stroked it while it looked at us with bright-eyed curiosity for about five minutes before flitting off to sit in the branches of the trees near the feeders.

Yesterday at the Co-op store I had ice cream in my hand and put it back in the freezer so I could stop in and see Grandma before going home, but it was a quarter to 2 when I got to the lodge and Birdline was on the CBC radio phone-in show and let me tell you, it was not easy to tear myself away from that. The calls about wild birds people have spotted around the province, and Trevor Herriott's expert answers to bird-related questions, are endlessly interesting. But I did manage to tear myself away from the radio and go indoors. Grandma was already down in the dining room, ready to play bingo, so I didn't stay more than a few minutes to say hello, tell her I'd just picked up my repaired van and bought groceries, would see her next time I'm in town. In a short time I was on my way home (listening to Birdline again) to get some more work done.

Tom, here's the bit about water:

A chiropractor told me that when you don’t drink enough plain water, nothing works properly and it manifests in all kinds of apparently unrelated discomforts and illnesses — even migraines. Oh, and for every cup of coffee or bottle of pop consumed, you need to drink an extra cup of water over and above the minimum recommended daily amount — which is about four cups for kids, and six to eight cups for adults, depending on their size.

Here's the note, not sure where it came from:

Water

1. Three-quarters of us are chronically dehydrated.

2. In more than one-third of us, the thirst mechanism is so weak that it is often mistaken for hunger.

3. Even mild dehydration will slow down one’s metabolism as much as 3%.

4. One glass of water will shut down midnight hunger pangs for almost 100% of us.

5. Lack of water is the number one trigger of daytime fatigue.

6. Eight to 10 glasses of water a day significantly eases back and joint pain for up to 80% of sufferers.

7. A mere 2% drop in body water can trigger fuzzy short-term memory, trouble with basic math, and difficulty focusing on a computer screen or printed page.

8. Drinking 5 glasses of water daily decreases the risk of colon cancer by 45%. It can slash the risk of breast cancer by 79%, and one is 50% less likely to develop bladder cancer.