The moon was up last night when I drove out of the yard to take Everett to check on the cats at the new place.

At my suggestion, one day he built a bale house in the barn so the cats would have a warmer place to sleep. The next day he discovered six very young kittens in its doorway. Apparently their mother is a smart cat. The following day, however, when I went to the barn with him, there were only four kittens from the litter to be found. There was a small calico cat there that Everett thought was the mother, since two of the kittens are also calico, but she was not allowing them to suckle, and neither were the other cats that they were pestering. We thought this might be normal as the older cats were more concerned with the food he had just put out for them, and not a little impatient with the kits.

"We'll have to keep an eye on them," I said. "If the mother doesn't feed them, they'll go downhill fast."

The next day Everett reported that they were acting the same way, but still seemed full of piss and vinegar. He had introduced them to commercial cat food, which he softened with water, and at least one of them was interested in it. We assumed the mother was still around somewhere. But yesterday when we got there, it was a different story.

It was a cold day and I decided to wait for him in the van, with the heater on. After only moments he was back, swinging the passenger door wide open. "Mom! One kitten is dead and the other ones are too, almost."

I went to the barn to see for myself. The three still alive were very weak, unable to move, but calling out their distress as soon as they knew we were there. I scooped them up, scurried to the van, handed them to Everett so I could drive, and we brought them home. In two minutes we were squeezing warm milk from droppers into their tiny mouths. At first they were barely able to swallow, and they were cold. Scott was home and helped us, but was certain one of them was dying right in his hand and gave up on it, setting it down and picking up one with more life. I picked the unmoving kitten up and got milk into it, encouraging it, holding it close. Even when all three were fed and settled with my favourite fuzzy blue (thank you Shelly) hot water bottle in a high-sided cardboard box, this one seemed to have no energy at all.

We found a recipe for formula on the internet and made up a batch to get them through the night, then let them sleep for an hour before feeding them again. We could hardly believe how quickly the healthier two had recovered. One of them damn near clawed my fingers off in its eagerness to get the milk and I had to hold it very securely to keep myself from being hurt. Their box went beside my bed and I made Everett sleep down there with me to help if they had to be fed during the night.

They didn't. Before we went to sleep they were inhaling milk —with snorts and gurgles— from an overturned jar lid, and once the light was out we didn't hear another peep from them till 6 o'clock this morning. Today they all seem to be doing fine, although they smell like sour milk after stepping in it numerous times.

They're out on the closed-in deck this afternoon, snuggled up contentedly on a heating pad at its lowest setting. They need to be kept warm but I don't want them to get accustomed to the indoor temperature, or going back to the barn will be hard on them. It might be anyway.

Now Playing: zip nada zilch, Everett's playing on his PS2 and I'm going to bed to read

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Surely it's not possible that I haven't posted this photo of my paternal grandparents, John and Edna. I am said to be very like my grandmother, though it's my grandfather I remember better.

Grandma died when I was six years old, but Grandpa lived till I was 21. I remember being told Grandma had died. "You're lying," I said.

***

Email to Emil's special-needs teacher, C., who looks out for my boy at school and keeps me in the loop:

Hi again,
Tell me more about Emil's self-assessment, eh?

Her reply:
Well, he was a great critic of the way things were stated - which I found amusing.

Survey statements like: I get along best with adults. AND I get along best with younger children.

Emil's response was "Why do I have to choose?"

AND

I prefer to work in a small group or by myself.

Emil's response was "Both. Do some people only do one?"

Overall, I was impressed by his ability to be a wary survey-taker.

C.

***

Now Playing: Loudon Wainwright III, Strange Weirdos, my first eBay purchase. Scott is listening to something on the radio so I have this on the walkman and am wearing headphones and no doubt sounding like a doofus, singing along. But this is great stuff, I can't help it. I'm on my second glass of white wine, but I don't think it is responsible for this pleasure.

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I try out a new recipe for supper; Brown Rice and Spinach Casserole. I serve it with a huge Caesar Salad. Scott puts some of both on his plate, tastes the casserole (I assume, because my back is turned while I chop tomatoes at the counter; bagged and froze 6 quarts today for later use in salsa, tomato sauce, chili, etc), and leaves the table to put a cast-iron frying pan on the stove to heat. After he puts frozen hamburger patties on and phones someone, whoever it is must ask him what he’s doing because I hear his reply: “making myself some supper.” He sounds like a poor hardworking man with the misfortune of living with a woman who doesn’t prepare his meals.

I don’t much enjoy the casserole myself, and mark it in the recipe book as “not very good; bland.” Just as I did with one I tried last week, Vegetable Loaf, made with spinach and chickpeas. That’s two disappointments, too close together. Maybe I’ll stick to the tried and true for the next while and wait a couple weeks before trying that recipe for Parsnip Pie. I’ve gotta dig up some soy flour anyway — I think there is some, but am not sure.

***

Everett is in danger of falling behind in his correspondence courses because when he runs into a problem he can’t solve, he sets it aside and doesn’t finish the assignment he needs to send in. Yesterday afternoon I told him to get his Math out so I could try to understand the difficulty and help him solve it. Grade 10 Math, arggh… I had no trouble with it at his age as long as I kept up with my homework, but now remember very little. Did a lot of head scratching and got impatient with his bitching —about the teacher, the makers of the course (they don’t explain it right, they don’t explain it at all, they’re idiots, blah, blah, blah), he is too slow, he might as well quit school, he’s a dummy, etc.— and gave him a lecture about his attitude and his habit of focusing his attention on what he doesn’t like rather than on solving the problem. I’m sure it had a life-altering effect on his adolescent dissatisfaction.

***

Finally called Cathy tonight, haven’t talked to her in ages. Talking with her makes me want to get together, even if I have to drive all the way to the city to do it. I said maybe we should meet in Humboldt, which is halfway, and she was enthusiastic. So maybe we’ll get around to making a plan.

No, the mouse in my van has not been seen again. I still check, though, before I get in ... you never know.

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Last weekend when Everett and I walked to Golden Grain Farm, we were glad we'd carried umbrellas because it started raining before we'd been gone 10 minutes.

This weekend the sky is blue and the temperature is unseasonably warm. Scott is out fencing— no rest for the wicked, as they say. I watched two episodes of Coronation Street when I got up; it reminds me of Mom, who was a fan for many years, and it often makes me laugh.

People keep leaving food at Golden Grain Farm for the cats and dogs. Last weekend we found about six bags of fresh bones in plastic bags in the porch, and here are the two oldsters settled in their dining room like a married couple to gnaw on them.

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One afternoon Everett and I stopped at Skeeter's, a restaurant on the highway near Margo. Fortunately we had no complaints about our fries to go.

On Sunday Scott hired a friend and his tandem truck to haul split wood from somewhere north of here, where there is more bush. They dumped it in front of one of the outbuildings at Golden Grain Farm, and Everett and I tackled it yesterday afternoon. It was a sunny day, cool enough for me to wear a scarf and sweater under a jean jacket. After 15 minutes the jacket came off; 15 more and the sweater was discarded; 15 more and the scarf followed, leaving only my gloves. (Stop imagining me naked, you'll embarrass me.)

We started out with Everett stepping over the ledge to get inside and stack the wood in rows with spaces between them for cats to patrol, while I picked the wood from the pile and set it on the ledge for him. It turned out that I move about 10 times faster than the kid so we traded places before very long. If my hands were bigger I'd have left him in the dust; too often I need to use both of them to pick up and move a block of wood, rather than carrying one in each hand. As it was, after the switch I often stood at the opening, taking a breather before he got the next two sticks of wood to the doorway.

Between us we worked for five hours, and the pile is about half moved. Both our backs are complaining, but we're going back today in hopes of getting it under the roof before the expected rain.

Now Playing in my office: gurgling water in aquarium
(anybody want a 10-gallon aquarium with fish included? please come and get it. Everett doesn't want to look after it any more and I don't want to take over.)

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Everett, one adorable boy.

Artist Damien Hirst's platinum cast of a human skull, covered with 8,601 ethically sourced diamonds, sold for $100 million

Now Playing in my office: the breathy whisper of the fridge from the kitchen beyond

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Just made my first For Sale listing on eBay. This is a scan of an 1895 Morgan dollar. It was minted in San Francisco and is rare enough that when I took it to a dealer to find out what I could about it, he said "You've just made my day!"

Everett's gone with Scott and his sister to see a buffalo farm outside the next town. I'm still in my pyjamas at 12:55 p.m. Well, it took me a long time to figure out that eBay listing!

I am reading Vincent Lam's award-winning Bloodletting and Miraculous Cures and wondering why it is so highly praised. I'm on page 47 and don't give two shits about the characters or their story. If they don't come alive soon, this book will go back to the library unread.

Agatha Christie's The Secret Adversary is far more exciting, and I'm in the early pages of The Thin Place by Kathryn Davis and Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert.

Today we (I mean the boys) have to peel 10 pounds of spuds. Tomorrow the potatoes will be boiled, mashed and delivered to the Legion Hall in town, where the high school students are putting on their annual fundraising fall supper. We donate mashed potatoes or meatballs on alternate years, but have never partaken of the meal.

Emil thinks I should get dressed today.

Now Playing in my office: Emil making breathy, giggly noises on the loveseat behind me

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Picked Grandma up on Sunday and brought her out for tea after a stop at Golden Grain Farm to show her the inside of the house. She won't remember but so what; it may still be familiar to her next time. I hope to have a nice little room there and an extra bed so she can stay longer.

Why is the photo all ghosty? Can't remember if the flash came on.

Discovered the Book Addiction in my early morning reading. Luanne, you asked me to post more about what I'm reading (do blogs count?). This lady writes a lively description of the books she's reading, as opposed to an ad or a review. Her descriptions and critiques are a little story in themselves.

Had a peek around the internet last night in a spare moment (waiting for something to boil, probably) to find out more about Thornton W. Burgess, whose invisible footprints lay, in my imagination, on the walking trails I have yet to discover at the new place.

See his bio and photo

Or read Old Mother West Wind to a child.

You can also read The Adventures of Old Mr Toad online.

A museum and an active society are named after the man.

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Now Playing in my office: the noisy old furnace

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