Snow's coming down pretty good again. Looks like a spring storm out there.

A very good friend (on the right; Little Ricky, I call him, and get away with it) spent his two weekend afternoons helping Scott over at Golden Grain Farm. I went over to inspect, naturally.
The carpet in the living room was glued down and its black backing has to be scraped up, which is a job and a half. Scott did more "mudding" (fine-tuning the drywall); once that's dry it will be time to sand and paint the walls and ceilings.

April 2008 in east-central Saskatchewan.

My head is spinning.
I have been using the Benjamin Moore website (thanks for the tip, C) that allows me to use its computer program to see colours adjacent to each other on walls, accent walls, trim and ceilings.
And I still prefer minty green over all else, except certain other green and gold hues.
Maybe this is how Scott feels when he goes gift shopping. Overwhelmed to the the point of being underwhelmed.

Play.com's review of Porn for Women:
"At long last, eye candy for the ladies. Prepare to enter a fantasy world, a world where clothes get folded just so, delicious dinners await, and flatulence is just not that funny. Give the fairer sex what they really want - beautiful photos of hunky men doing housework, cooking, listening, asking for directions, and more. Steamy captions illuminate page after page of PG-rated shots: "I love a clean house!" or "As long as I have two legs to walk on, you'll never take out the trash." Truly provocative, truly incendiary, this porn will leave women begging for more."

Made the trek into town for the usual three hours of taking care of business— whew— I'm beat by the time we get out of there. When I stopped to see Grandma she was laying down for her afternoon nap. After a few minutes of chat I picked up the Wadena News and read, and she snoozed.

When we got home, three of the gazillion cats were lined up waiting for us in the driveway.

It snowed an inch or so during the night, and doesn't look spring-like today. But crows are back in small flocks, and Canada geese are everywhere. It's a sign.

***

Alex Waterhouse-Hayward is a photographer who lives in Vancouver and draws on his past as well as his present, making his blog fascinating to this memoir-loving Prairie gal.

Everett always accompanies Emil to the schoolbus in the mornings, at my insistence. It's not that Emil isn't perfectly capable of getting there and back on his own, but it's always possible he could have a mishap with his walker; it could get stuck or tip over or something. It's never happened, but in Saskatchewan's winter weather we don't take chances and so this is the routine. It kickstarts Everett's day and gives him an unavoidable reason to get up early in the morning. He's got a "job" to do.

Today he came in after the bus left and told me there was very unusual hoarfrost that I should see. Then he announced "I guess we're not getting spring."

On the way to town last night for supper and a concert, we spotted a pair of animals — one standing, one laying—out in the field about a mile from here. At first glance I thought they were coyotes, but in two seconds realized they had rounder heads ... they were big cats! We all (there were five of us in the vehicle) figure they must have been cougars. Unfortunately they were too far away to get a picture with my digital camera. As soon as Rick stopped the jeep and backed up to get another look at them, they were off and running toward the bush to the north.

Cougars are not common in this area. Maybe these two are the reason the dogs have been going crazy barking every night. Or maybe it's that friendly deer that's moved into the garden. Today on my walk home from Golden Grain Farm I happened to glance into the garden area here and saw just this head and ears sticking up from the snow. It's made itself quite at home.

Have I mentioned that my baby sister Joan has started bloggin'?

Scott called yesterday morning, wondering if I had any plans to go to Margo to see Karen. If I did, he needed something for drywalling at a job he was on in Kuroki, and I could drop it off on my way. "But only if you feel like it," he said.

Karen didn't answer her phone but, contrary to popular belief, I would take a drive for Scott's benefit alone. It was a gorgeous sunny day and I packed along a travel mug of hot tea and enjoyed every moment of it, even though by the time I got to the house the pieces (which turned out to be the wrong ones anyway, oops) were to be delivered to, he had already left for another job. Ah well. He'd tried to call but as usual when I'm working on the computer and with dialup, the line had been busy. I keep forgetting to leave my cellphone on so he can get through, which is akin to cutting my own throat because usually he's calling before leaving town to ask if there's anything I need from there.

Leaving the hamlet of Kuroki I noted

the fancy church

and the snowed-in cemetery gates

and about six miles north, a bald eagle flew across the road not terribly high above my (Karen's, I mean) car. I didn't get a picture of that, but was thrilled nevertheless.

Once out and about ("aboot," for the benefit of you Yankee Doodles), I didn't feel like coming home. Instead I drove over to Golden Grain Farm and, while listening to something on the CD player, sat in the car for a few minutes before going in. The garden area is directly behind the house and runs its entire length, then makes a 90-degree angle and runs its width as well. Lots of space for both my flowers and Scott's vegetables. And nice and private. I'll be able to weed and water in the nude.

Inside the house I picked up the broom and gave the floor a sweeping, then listened to myself sing Blue Moon (among other things, and whistling) at the top of my lungs while looking at the walls and wondering what could be done paintwise, taking into account that I (non-adventurously, according to my buddy Cathy) am very partial to the pale mint green in our existing kitchen and will want to enjoy it at the new place, too. It makes me feel good, what can I say.

However, I am open to suggestions, people. As long as there is plenty of my green, I might be willing to use a slightly darker tone on one living room wall or something, if there's a way to use colour to make the room seem larger. I don't know what the options are, having not researched this thing.

Darker colours are all the rage for walls nowadays but these rooms are small and I don't find dark rooms inviting, even when they look really good, as many do. They're visually appealing but I wouldn't be happy spending a lot of time in them: I need a sense of light and space. So, if you can take that into account and still give me colour tips, please do. I'm not interested in becoming a design/colour pro; I just want to get the thing done and be content to live in it.

If you're standing at the kitchen cupboard looking into the living room, here's what you see:

The picture window is on the north wall:

If you're in the living room looking toward the kitchen, here's the view:

We may or may not paint the cupboards; don't know yet. They'll be gone in a few years, but for now they're staying.

Ideas, anyone?

In Joanne and Gerald's bathroom: a crossword puzzle book; a book of Canadian trivia/history; and Jeff Foxworthy's How to Talk Gooder Fastly

Gord and I hop into our vehicles and meet halfway between Edmonton, where he lives, and Wadena, where the boys and I live. Why we always meet in this cold, windy hotel parking lot is a mystery to me —habit, I guess, now—

but we pull up side by side, the boys go into the hotel to use the washroom, we transfer their stuff from one vehicle to the other, Gord and I have a quick chitchat while all this is going on, and we hit the road in opposite directions once again.

West of Saskatoon there is no snow, but east of Saskatoon there is still some and when we were within seven miles of home yesterday there were some people cross-country skiing in the ditch along the road. Still quite a bit of snow here.

It was late yesterday when I went out for a walk, and although it was tempting to strike out for Golden Grain Farm to see what Scott's accomplished over there in the past few days, the approach of darkness stopped me. It's not a good idea to be out on the road with two dogs running free when visibility is low.

Only Casper (a.k.a. Big Girl) was with me when I started out, but we hadn't gotten far before the blue heeler, Sarah, came hurtling toward me with what I would call a big doggie smile. I quickly turned away from her so that when she ran into my legs at top speed, they'd bend without snapping.

Scott tells me he saw her nearly run over by the dual tires of a tractor yesterday. It will be a sad day around here when anything happens to that dog. But she is so fast that she takes chances and yesterday she got bogged down in some snow and that was almost the end of her. Scott's dad, Ivan, only just got the tractor stopped in time. Whew. You would hear me wailing all the way to Australia.

This morning we drove over to the new place so I could admire Scott's hard work. And I did. This archway used to be a narrow rectangular opening into the hallway. To its right was a closet; he took that out to make a spot for Grandma Johnson's china cabinet.

He hopes to reach the point of being able to paint next weekend. That took me by surprise, as I didn't expect it for weeks yet. Of course, a lot of things (75 cows calving, mostly) could come up between now and then and delay the process, so we are reluctant to put my aunt Rose, the painter, on notice. We can't expect her to drop everything and come running when we are ready, so he may just paint it himself. I have to call her and see what's what.

The kitchen cupboards over there aren't looking as bad as they first did. That's due to the room being opened up by removing walls, and all the curtains taken down, so there's more light. But they'll still have to be cleaned up considerably and he's going to take off an L-shaped part that juts out into the room. One day we'll likely replace them, but for now we'll make do.

It's time to decide on paint colours, he tells me. That's easy: I like my walls light and minty green, almost white. Fortunately Scott and I don't disagree on that.

He tells me what he would like to do for new light fixtures in the kitchen/dining area, and for the living room he may do a "knock-down" ceiling and coving. I say "As you wish, He-man." He does a lot of that kind of work and sees dozens of homes, so I trust his judgment. Still, he makes sure—which I appreciate. I guess I wouldn't like not to be consulted, though I most always concur. (He'd say that's not true.)

And now, off to the city to spend the evening with Cathy and pick up the boys in North Battleford tomorrow. There is talk of a snowstorm in Saskatoon so I'll check the weather and road reports before heading out.

This 17-year-old bride would be turning 67 today.
Happy Birthday Mom, wherever you are.

It’s not so much during the day that I think about Mom, about her illness and dying. It’s in the mornings when first I wake, and at night before falling asleep, or when I wake up in the wee small hours. Then I remember things, and am sad and a little bit mad, and my eyes leak.

Here's Scott's mother. It's not a flattering picture; doesn't do her justice and she may rightfully slay me if she finds out I've posted it. She was busy playing with her new toy, a laptop, while I was over there doing some photocopying yesterday. We're applying for a grant to do some energy-saving renovations at Golden Grain Farm, and naturally they want copies of every financial statement we have, to prove that we're poor enough to apply.

I found (tucked into an old photo album) a poem given to me by a beau for my birthday in 1981, when I turned 22 . Some of it sounds like it was lifted from a well-known poem, the name of which I can't put my finger on; but other parts are surely original. Yeah it's sappy ... but read to the end for what he really thinks of my "beauty":

Your beauty has no shadow

Not like a mountain, a gem, or rose,
For these, when to a light exposed
Cast darkness in their wakes

Yours is like a candle's flame,
Ever changing and yet the same
Where 'ere I go, long as it takes
I bask in the warm, white glow it makes.

Still, I think I love your face the best.

A trusted voice, your warm embrace,
Your humour's light, and movement's grace.
I've much admired your quiet faith.

For we both know that I've had days
When I've had faith in naught but hazy
space. A void. No hope.
With you I couldn't be so much a dope.

But wondering what I most care for
It's that monkey face that I adore
I love when you simply hold my hand
When we walk, or talk, or quiet stand
And watch as nature smiles.

I know you're like a bird's sweet song
Your spirit free, your stay's not long
But when like one we laugh your guiles
To make a peace to come a while

But enough of that. I'll let it rest.
I know what I remember best.

Although it sometimes
slobbers on the pillow in the night
And though its breath
is often gross as hell come morning's light

Still, all in all,
I think that I just love your face
the best of all.

~ Warren D.

Little sister Joan did not like this particular boyfriend one bit. I have never been exactly sure why; she met him just once and for a few moments, and she was only about 13 years old. But he offended her somehow, and even after all these years she still crinkles her nose if his name is mentioned.

***

In Diana's bathroom: "There is an Oprah magazine, and The Secret, by Rhonda Byrne. Pop psychology, both of 'em, and great for quick reads."