Karen brought more of Mom's handiwork back with her from Dad's and suggested I choose what I'd like to keep. I had long loved the heart-appliquéd wall hanging, which I seem to recall she made for Dad, but somebody remembered and kept it for me after he and Grace moved into their new place. The colours in the cloth at the bottom are irresistible; it and the teacups below will be used on the kitchen table, and the hearts will be tacked up on a wall.

everett said “do you know what these dog biscuits taste like, mom?”
no. must taste good though, the dogs sure love them.
“do you want to know?”
not really, but okay, yes. what?
“your bread. they taste the closest thing to your bread that i’ve tasted."

i didn't take that as a compliment. he added
"they’re good!”
but even so ... i'm still chewing on that one.

From a distance yesterday while out walking I saw a Canada goose flying over the field. I listened to it squawk for quite a while; it didn't sound like any goose I've ever heard. Today on the way to town Everett and I saw a half-dozen of them sitting in a stubblefield still mostly covered with snow. Woo hoo! It won't be long till the sky will be full of wide swaths of honking geese and I will be standing out there with my head bent back, in awe.

Being a twinkle-toed member of the Happy Bowels camp, my bathroom reading remains on the stool (pun unintended) for a long, long time. The fancily embossed book is a collection of short stories by Mark Twain. Beneath it is the most recent newsletter from Amnesty International, which I donate money to every month. Beside these are books whose covers I haven't opened in months: Theatre Research in Canada and The Museum of Canada: 25 Rooms of Wonder.

Now I ask you, what reading material is in your bathroom right now?

~ matching set ~

~ with gratitude to Kieran ~

Thanks Ann for the rest of the verses to Billy Boy. Later in the day you sent them, I remembered while walking back from the dugout and started to sing. However, another song that leads off with a "Billy" came out of my mouth instead.

This is one that my sweet little mother sang many years ago when we sat around the campfire one night at Saskin Beach. It's one of few that I remember all the words to and can pull out of a hat when at a campfire and have imbibed enough ale to loosen my warbling tongue. Imagine it sung in my best Irish brogue (which isn't much, but a nod to St Patrick's) and accompanied by a skin drum.

Billy be fair and Billy be fine
He wants me for to wed
And I would marry Billy but me father up and said
I hate to tell ye daughter what yer muther never knew
But Billy there's a son of mine and so he's kin to you.

Johnny be fair and Johnny be fine
He wants me for to wed
And I would marry Johnny but me father up and said
I hate to tell ye daughter what yer muther never knew
But Johnny there's a son of mine and so he's kin to you.

Sammy be fair and Sammy be fine
He wants me for to wed
And I would marry Sammy but me father up and said
I hate to tell ye daughter what yer muther never knew
But Sammy there's a son of mine and so he's kin to you.

Well ...
You never saw a girl so sad and sorry as I was
The boys in town are all me kin, me father is the cause
If things should thus continue I shall die a single miss
I think I'll go to muther and complain to her of this.

She said ...
Daughter haven't I taught ye to forgive and to forget
Yer father may have sown a few wild oats and yet
He may be father to all the boys in town but still
He's not the one who sired you so marry who you will.

I am now one of those weird folks who walk around the store aisles humming. I catch myself occasionally, but don’t stop.

At the Co-op checkout I noticed three pails of fresh flowers and grabbed two fistfuls of bright yellow daffodils, one for Grandma and one for me. It was past 5 o’clock though when we pulled away from the curb in front of the store, and I didn’t want to disturb Grandma at her supper, which is served at 5. Instead I wrapped the cut ends of the stems in a wet paper towel and laid them in the mail catcher on Grandma’s door, as a surprise.

Had a good, long sleep last night and still didn’t really want to get up, said to myself as usual while still laying in bed, “Ah, another wonderful day,” but figuratively rolled my eyes and added “Yeah, right, who are you trying to kid.” I don’t know what’s the matter with me. Woke up cranky.

I got out of bed, folded some laundry, came up for coffee, went down and watched Coronation Street(during commercials reading Once Upon a Tomb), then came up again and was about to sit here and read my email when Scott called me to the kitchen to look at his plans for making a particular set of kitchen cabinets workable at Golden Grain Farm. Then I made a big breakfast for the two of us, since the boys had already eaten, and did dishes.

There is a migraine trying to happen. I think that’s what my problem is.

More water troubles. Yesterday they had a man with a machine come out and dig a huge hole next to the well at the dugout, a quarter-mile from the yard. Right after I took this picture Scott climbed the ladder down into the well (not the ladder in the foreground) and I got nervous and carried on my merry walking way.

The sky is the palest blue today. The sun deck is starting to warm up. My afternoon tea is dripping. Not the proper way to make tea, but the easiest. Tsk; my English great-grandmother might turn up her nose up at it. Grandma would.

Everett is making brownies for one of his school cooking labs. The aroma of melted chocolate has my mouth watering. Emil is doing his weekend chore, cleaning the bathroom counter, sink and mirror. Scott just left for Golden Grain Farm. His buddy Rick was here for a short visit, and took a heavy green sack of our household garbage when he carried on to the dump or, as they say in larger centres, the landfill.

I’m thinking of going to town. Could pick up a parcel from Sears, see if Grandma wants to go for a drive. I don’t feel like going, much. Rather be home this sunny day. Emil is all hepped up though, and is hurrying through his chores (which he skipped last weekend) so he can come along. He is hoping for a stop at the Co-op, where he fires up his elbow crutches and marches all over the store at top clippety-clop speed, looking for people he knows and whose ear he can bend.

One of the gals who works there was his aide at school a couple years ago and they share an interest in the country duo Brooks and Dunn. She and Emil are going to their concert in Saskatoon next month and Emil is determined to pre-plan everything to his satisfaction, well in advance of when it needs to be done. If he can just catch that lady at the till ....

Indoors.

Outdoors. Everett does the daily "turd tour."
That's Karen's car, which she's lent me till I get my wheels back from the repair shop. Cost to fix: more than $5000, but the insurance company is springing for it.

It’s time to start supper, but instead I’m having my afternoon tea. Was just out for a walk. It’s damn cold outside the trees, where the wind can icy-slice your face. Didn’t make a fire today though.

Last week. Scott's grandmother, Gladys, age 99, and son Gunnar who was out from Calgary.

Food. Hooray for Everett's home ec labs, in our kitchen. His first go at a batch of perogies. Now if he'd only make a habit of whipping these up.

As opposed to these:

which he presents me with from time to time.

Not that I complain when someone cooks for me. "Hell no" (this always makes me think of you, Nance). That would be foolish.

Emil's hand on the fridge door. No surprise.

Another thing I never knew (will it ever end?):

One of Canada's prime ministers died on Dec. 12, 1884, during lunch with England's Queen Victoria. He is buried in Halifax's Holy Cross Cemetery:

"Apparently, John Thompson was in London to see the Queen, and at the special luncheon that she laid on for him, he choked on a piece of food and died on the spot. Queen Victoria was so upset by this chain of events that she ordered an all-out military funeral in London, and then sent the body back on one of her own ships for another elaborate funeral." ~From Once Upon a Tomb, Stories from Canadian Graveyards, by Nancy Millar.

This is a fascinating book, borrowed from the library and due back tomorrow. But they're not getting it till I'm through. Have been reading it in fits and bursts so it's slow going. Millar has travelled Canada, strolled through its cemeteries and, finding little to none of most deceased people's histories on their tombstones, done some research of her own. Even the stones of the most famous often show no more than dates of birth and death, and Millar has remedied that for her readers, as much as she's able, province by province.

I'm a lover of graveyards. I can amble past their peaceful markers for hours, longing to know the stories they're not telling, and letting my imagination fill in the blanks.

***

Think it's spring? I do.
Mud and water on the grid road. Walking without mitts. Mild, living air.

Dear Annette,

There is no estimated time of completion for renovations to the house at Golden Grain Farm. There is also no deadline for getting moved out of the house we're in, so there is no pressure aside from coming up with the cash to pay for everything we want to do before moving in. Drywall, paint and flooring, some electrical wiring; I think Scott even wants to re-stipple the ceilings; the whole kit'n'kaboodle will be done before we live there. A new furnace is essential. Don't get me started; there is a long list of repairs that must be done shortly after we move in— new shingles and insulation, new siding ... oh yeah, we bought a real work project. And this is just talking about the house. The barn and outbuildings need repairs too. Our advantages are that Scott knows how to do most everything and has the energy of 3 men, and that the house is only a mile away.

Scott has to find the time to work over there, and I have to do the same; that's the biggest hurdle right now. And he has to lead the way; he's the one who knows how to do everything. He's also the one who already works seven days a week, so there's the challenge built in.

You know what it's like, having just done it with your new place. I am afraid; I am very afraid.

Sure, long hair was a pain in the butt, but at least I didn't look like this every morning!

(whaddaya mean I can't blame it on the hair?)

~ redpoll ~

Gorgeous days, temperature hovering at freezing point. Everett gives the wild birds sunflower seeds in small feeders hung from branches near the dining room window. He can stand right beside the redpolls and chickadees, which are not at all bashful. They are joined by house sparrows and woodpeckers. Today he said there were about 40 of them out there at the same time. They have become very vocal over the past week, like they're having a heck of a party.

Some birds aren't so fortunate. They fly into the window and don't get up again.

Yesterday morning I was delighted to discover that I can see out into the garden area through the trees behind the house. A deer was making its way across the open area and I thought that was dandy, till a little later she was right outside the kitchen window. This photo was taken from inside but when I was outside by the step, she just gazed back at me without a worry.

I've had Karen's Grand Am this week so have not been inconvenienced by the condition of my van, for now. It's going to cost over $5000 to fix, though, so it's possible the insurance company will write it off. Everett and I went into town on Wednesday and stopped at Weneeda Park Lodge to see Grandma. We found her watching Esther Gohl, another lady from Margo, play solitaire.

Went out to walk not long ago, met Scott coming home, stuck out my thumb, did a seductive (ha; goofy is more like it) dance, and when he rolled down his window, asked him if he’d like to take me for a little drive.

“Could take that paint,” he nodded toward a five-gallon pail on the floor of the half-ton, “over to the other place.”

I hopped in, and Sara the hound with me, which is unusual but she hadn’t seen me all day or been for a walk with me for a while, so must have wanted to make sure she didn’t miss an opportunity. We drove over

and went inside and I saw the new wall-less wall and went WOW! HONEY! THANK YOU!

What a difference it makes to have those two walls out of there; even more than I imagined. Suddenly the room doesn’t look tiny when you walk in. I had to kiss him, that’s how thrilled and grateful I felt.

Earworm, cannot stop singing:
oh where have you been billy boy billy boy
oh where have you been darling billy?
i have been to see my wife
she's the joy of my life
she's a young thing and cannot leave her mother

which drives everyone crazy, because i know no more and keep singing this small bit

and what put it in my head today?