Thurs 28 June 2007

As part of their graduation day doings, the Grade 12s and their escorts parade through the seniors' lodge and the carehome to show off their finery. After they'd done these two tours, Emil was dropped off at Weneeda Park Lodge, where Grandma lives, and I got them together for a picture.

When Emil and I went to the clothing store to have him measured for the tux, we then had to choose which one we were ordering. To me none of them looked much different from any other, and I told Emil to look through the two catalogues of available suits and pick one he liked. He flipped a few pages and then said, "Can I get an orange one?"

Orange has been his favourite colour since he was an infant. Once during a regular medical checkup he laid on his back next to a poster that was almost wholly orange, and ooh'd and ahh'd (I guess it was cooing) with enthusiasm. He wasn't even six months old, as I recall.

"No," I was relieved to say, "they don't make orange ones. But you could have a red vest and bowtie."

"Okay," he agreed. That was easy.

***

So, the day is done. Emil had a great time and we were home by 10:30.

Everett's face looks no different than it did yesterday and unless there is a miracle by morning, it looks like we'll be doing hospital time in the city again.

We've been planning to go to the city this weekend anyway, so I doubt I'll be updating before Monday.

*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,

If you're wondering why you don't receive notifies like you used to, it's because -- well, don't make me explain, just sign up again:

Birthday boy about to blow out what were supposed to be 19 candles, but we seem to have miscounted and put 20 instead. He didn't notice.

The graduate (grad is tomorrow) checks out his rented duds in the store mirror this afternoon:

And last but far from least, Everett's face and neck were swollen and dry and his hands and forearms were bumpy and itchy when he got up this morning. The only thing we could figure was that he'd applied a comfrey lotion to these areas the past two nights; something he hadn't used before. I took him to the doctor anyway.

She didn't think lotion should cause these symptoms and said not to put anything at all, even shampoo, on his body for the next 48 hours, then bring him in to see her Friday morning. If he isn't better, she'll send him back to the hospital in Saskatoon.

Trying not to worry, trying not to worry ... however, puffiness, swelling, and itchy skin rashes are some symptoms of kidney problems. If he's not better on Friday, this possibility will have to be investigated seriously.

His neck is swollen enough that he cannot comfortably turn his head. His ears are red and swollen (no lotion was applied there). It's a mystery.

I've laughed at him a few times because his puffy face reminds me of the fat face of Peter from Family Guy, one of his favourite programs.
But it's more nervous laughter than actual amusement, believe me.

***

For a visual treat, visit Corey Amaro's webpage,
Tongue in Cheek. It's a lengthy download for those of us still saddled with dialup, but worth the wait. Corey is a California girl who married a French man over 20 years ago, and has lived in his country ever since. They've raised two children together, and Corey has an eye for beautiful things and for a good photograph, and she loves antiques. I spent several hours poking around, reading her old entries about life in France and seeing the country through her eyes.

*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,

If you're wondering why you don't receive notifies like you used to, it's because -- well, don't make me explain, just sign up again:

Last week I went into a store in town to buy some lingerie. While I was in the store I thought I’d look for a good pair of house slippers, since the store carries the Naturalizer brand that Mom always recommended as a quality shoe. Dad’s visit to a podiatrist some time ago, when he was having foot pain, garnered the information that people like him and me, with high arches, should never go barefoot in the house; we should wear shoes with sturdy support. The store didn’t have any slippers but did have one pair of backless leather slip-ons in a size 6 for $100, so I bought them. And they’re great. I’ve been wearing them around the house, taking them off before going outside, and am often reminded of Mom when I see them on my feet. And dare I yet say that my feet don’t get sore after standing at the kitchen cupboard for a couple hours?

Spending that $100 required some quick second thought though. I still have a habit of thinking that someday I’ll have lots of money to buy better quality and more expensive personal items, but that right now I am just squeaking by and can make do with cheaper stuff. And when is this far-off day I imagine is going to come? I’m 48 already, and I can manage to buy a pair of $100 shoes that I will certainly get my money’s worth out of. It is foolish to keep living with $20 shoes (or more often I buy them for $2 at garage sales) if they are not what I want; they end up worn for only a short time before they’re falling apart or I’m not wearing them any more because I don’t really like them. These ones, however, I love.

When I was in Saskatoon in the early spring I went to an antique store to see if they had any jewellery that appealed to me. While there I saw this painting and stood in front of it, tempted, for some time. The dancing people in the picture exhibit such joy that I wanted to bring it home, but talked myself out of it. We have no extra wall space as it is; already we have framed pictures with no place to hang.

I couldn't stop thinking about the painting though, and when I was in the city again a couple months later, I told myself if it was still there, I'd buy it. And it was. It's an unsigned painting but on the back is a tag upon which is printed both "Tenier" and "Festa Campetre," so I started doing some internet research.

From what I can see, it's a sort of copy of a 17th century painting called "Flemish Kermess," by David Tenier the Younger. The basic structure of the painting is the same ... the church in the background on the left, the building in the right forefront, the dancing crowd, the folks seated at the table. Surely my painting was not done by Tenier (after all, I only paid $35 for it), but I am a sucker for pictures of people having fun. For now it's hanging on the wall in my office, overlapping my Canada Council arts calendar and a brim of Grandpa's fedora.

Due to my attraction to people during happy moments, although I am not particularly a fan of Marilyn Monroe I have an almost life-size framed-glass black and white photo of her famously standing over the hot air grate, barely holding down her skirt. The gorgeous 1950s sex kitten appears to be feeling beautiful and enjoying being admired. What gal has never felt that way at some time in her life?

*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,

If you're wondering why you don't receive notifies like you used to, it's because -- well, don't make me explain, just sign up again:

~ Mother's Day bouquet ~

First day of summer, and Emil's birthday. Nineteen years ago he was born, with a head the size of an orange. I had to reach my hands into the holes in an incubator to hold him for the first two weeks, and when finally they let me take him out, he looked at me intently with black eyes for a few moments as if to say "Ah, so that's what you look like!" and then fell asleep in my arms.

He invited Grandma for birthday cake tonight so I'll bring her out before supper. Have to go into town and buy a cake and do my usual weekly running around: bank, library, grocery store, doctor, so on, so forth. Oh, and find a birthday present. The kid couldn't give me a single solitary hint what he would like. So he's getting a shirt and a CD, so far. He'll be happy with that, mind you. I don't need to shop for more.

Usually Everett likes his hair thick and shaggy and fights a haircut like it's an execution. So last week when he said "I need a haircut" I gasped and said to Scott "Did you hear what I thought I just heard?" and yes indeed, he had. I jumped on making an appointment for Saturday and on the way into town asked Everett what kind of haircut he wanted. "Really short, like Emil gets," he said.

Voila.

Had Grandma out for the afternoon and supper last weekend; caught her with a mouthful of apple pie in this picture. Emil had just polished off the last piece.

~Father's Day flowers ~

Isn't this a lovely old vase? When Grandma moved from her house to the lodge, I was the lucky one who got it. Wish she could remember something about it, to tell me. Maybe it belonged to her mother.

Mother of a 19-year-old, wearing a shawl (broomstick crochet) made for her 30 years ago by her grandmother:

***

The Journal of Beatrix Potter from 1881-1897
"Sun, Jan.27, 1884:
There was another story in the paper a week or so since. A gentleman had a favourite cat whom he taught to sit at the dinner-table where it behaved very well. He was in the habit of putting any scraps he left onto the cat's plate. One day puss did not take his place punctually, but presently appeared with two mice, one of which it placed on its master's plate, the other on its own."

*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,

If you're wondering why you don't receive notifies like you used to, it's because -- well, don't make me explain, just sign up again:

~Little Ben at four weeks old~

After an entire week of baby-loving, I am experiencing withdrawal from this sweet thing.

I arrived in Kelowna, BC, last Tuesday to find Joan exhausted and little Ben needing a lot of holding. It was my pleasure to lend my arms. For seven days I carried, snuggled, rocked, fed and burped the wee fella to his (and my) heart's content. Nothing else. I did not cook more than one meal, and that was just vegetable/cheese scrambled eggs. I did not do dishes. I did not call friends. I did not even visit Dad; he had to come to me, which he did several times.

Once I went for a walk. Once I went out and pulled grass from the flower beds. And that was it. The rest of the time I totally and completely relaxed (except for one day lost to some strange flu; that was spent in bed, nauseated and fevered), and totally enjoyed giving my sister a break from the needs and demands of her little one, or maybe reading a story to my niece, who is five, at bedtime.

Pretty lazy. Who knew a whole week could fly past so easily, so quickly? A couple nights I kept Ben with me so Joan could get a good chunk of sleep. I logged many satisfying hours of not saying to myself "Oh, I should be doing something else, not just sitting around." It was great to have so much time with Joan and Jordan, not trying to accomplish anything beyond keeping that baby happy. It was a real good rest for me.

Dad drove me to the airport on Tuesday, and I snapped this photo as we were circling over Kelowna to head out for Saskatoon. Joan, I could almost pick out your house -- I'm sure I saw the dog park near your place.

*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,

If you're wondering why you don't receive notifies like you used to, it's because -- well, don't make me explain, just sign up again:

Out walking, I met Scott coming back from a bull-chase (neighbours' bull had gotten in with his cows), riding the quad. He stopped to talk, and when I declined his offer of a ride home — why sit on a noisy machine when one can walk in peace and hear the birds? — he parked it and came for a walk with me.

It was late in the afternoon and we hadn't gone far when another neighbour came alongside us and stopped his half-ton to chat. We stood jawing for about an hour and a half before I got tired of standing and said I'd walk on to the next driveway and pick up the week's supply of eggs, then make my way back.

There has been a lot of rain, as you know. The ditches are full.

After I got back with the eggs, Scott and I walked back to the quad, enjoying the sunset sky.

***

I'm off to Kelowna tomorrow. The wild roses may well be in bloom by the time I get back.

*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,

If you're wondering why you don't receive notifies like you used to, it's because -- well, don't make me explain, just sign up again:

Some years ago I read a book about a young Calgary woman's travels in Greece. Karen Connelly's writing was so alive that I felt I was right there with her. I intended to search out more of her books, but never did, till recently.

From the library I borrowed The Lizard Cage, Connelly's fictional novel about a long-term political prisoner in solitary confinement in a brutal Burmese prison. Its central character, the singer Teza, is still with me when I sit to do my yoga. He was a devoted Buddhist who relied on meditation to help him cope with his pain, malnourishment, and anguish. I compare my life with his when feeling anxiety myself: what have I got to worry about? I live in luxury and relative safety, while so many people in the world are hungry and cold and in danger from their own governments. It helps me get my perspective straight.

Now I am reading Connelly's journal of a time spent in Thailand: Touch the Dragon. Early in her days there, she is taken to visit an English-speaking monk, who tells her:

"The Buddha was not a god, you see, not in the Christian sense. He was not the creator and destoyer. He was a man who believed people could have power over themselves and escape from suffering if they let the outer world fall away, if they did not cling to things, to events, even to each other."

Connelly, only 17 at the time, wrote:

"It's impossible to let the world fall away. I believe in gravity, in being held to things, history, other human beings. The monk and I argue about this for a while. He is so detached from the world, its people and tragedies, whereas I feel that all of it is somehow my responsibility. Even if I do little, I must think of everything: Afghanistan, starving children, floods, disappearing rainforests. The monk maintains I should put that energy into my own life and the lives of those close to me: I shouldn't be a compassionate whiner."

***

Been out digging in the dirt, final-prepping a flower bed to move perennials from alongside the house to. Put Everett to work excavating grass from near the doorstep so I'll have a place to plant sweetpeas, and they can grow up on the railing. Can't do without sweetpeas. Scott will probably have a bird when he comes home. Poor lad, what he has to put up with.

But holy it's hot today: 32 degrees Celsius, and that's in the shade. By the time I finished putting in the edging for the new flower bed, my face was so flushed I wasn't sure if it was the heat or the digging. Figured I'd better take a break and can get back at it after supper. Lots of well-established perennials to move: delphiniums, daylilies, hollyhocks, columbines, lilies. Might not have room; might have to squeeze. Our spacious vegetable garden area is under water, or it would have been a perfect spot for all these.

I moved a dozen fiddlehead ferns to a shady lane alongside the garden shed, and planted the last of the violas, portulaca and snapdragons into pots, and am beat. Beat! I tell you. And can hardly wait to get rested and out there again.

*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,

If you're wondering why you don't receive notifies like you used to, it's because -- well, don't make me explain, just sign up again:

These little sweethearts are the creation of my cousin Karla (and her hubby; best give him some credit). Paxton, smiler extraordinaire even immediately after a nap, was wide open to someone he'd only just met.

About his big sister Gracie, Mom would say, every time: "I get a kick out of that kid."

Happy kids.

*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,

If you're wondering why you don't receive notifies like you used to, it's because -- well, don't make me explain, just sign up again:

~ springtime near Saskatoon ~

Tues 29 May 2007
9:07 a.m.

I have fond memories of waking up, at age 19, in a tidy second-floor bedroom in northern New Brunswick. Near Kedgwick, to be exact, where I and another Katimavik buddy billotted with two old people out in the country for a week or two. They spoke French and we spoke English, so it was like being in a fairy tale. Everything was new and strange and magical.

The morning light, filtered through gauzy green curtains, tinted the walls. When you open your eyes to something like that, it makes you feel all is well with the world. You want to get up, you feel ready to face the day. There is a sense of order and cleanliness; you’re starting off right.

Here, age 48, I’m on a three-inch thick foam square on the floor in my office, squeezed in amid piles of books, boxes, clothing, paper. The phone starts ringing above my head at 7 in the morning. I don’t want to wake up and deal with any of it, mostly because there is no way of dealing with it. It can't be cleaned up and organized, because there is no place to put any of the stuff. I am trying not to let it make me crazy, but there are times ....

On the positive side, the window is open and the cool rainy air smells wonderful. I drove to Saskatoon yesterday and brought Everett home and, though tired and looking rough (his face and scalp are peeling, his arms are red, bumpy, and itchy, and the large patch on his right shin is still discoloured and scabby), he is feeling fine. He's taking a strong medication for another three days, and I am keeping him home so I can keep a close eye on him.

And, I've said it before and I'll say it again—
I like baldheaded men!
Whoops, that damn Christine Lavin song came out of me again—

I meant to reiterate that at least we are still in our own home. A couple weekends ago, when Dennis was here, we took him for a drive around Fishing Lake to show him the extent of the flooding.

This row of cabins faces away from the road where I took the photo; we are seeing them from behind, where their owners used to be able to drive up and park in their back yards. Normally these lakefront homes look out over the lake. Now they are in the lake.

*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,

If you're wondering why you don't receive notifies like you used to, it's because -- well, don't make me explain, just sign up again:

~ University Hospital parking lot through Ev's window ~

Sat 26 May 2007

This story has already been repeated some two dozen times, so let me give it to you point-form:

• infected rash, weeping sores, on Everett's left leg
• topical ointment and oral antibiotic prescribed Sunday before leaving city
• swollen eyes and red itchy arms Tues a.m.
• doc in town can't diagnose, sends us back to S'toon to Emergency Room, scared shitless
• nurses, interns, doctors ask same questions over and over; admit Everett to pediatric ward, put him on IV drugs
• take blood, take swabs of weeping sores
• dermatologist team, infectious diseases team, so on, so forth, poke, prod, question for two more days
• by Fri we're sure Ev has had an allergic reaction to the original antibiotic and is now recovering; the leg is cellulitis that has become infected through scratching

Scott came home Wednesday, I caught a ride home yesterday, and Everett will be in hospital on IV drugs till Sunday or Monday if all goes according to plan. He is feeling well enough to enjoy his stay in the ward, particularly as he can play computer games and watch movies to his heart's content.

His room overlooks the South Saskatchewan River and the visitors' parking lot, so I spent many hours watching pelicans circling effortlessly, high above the people coming and going. It's amazing how fast the time can fly by.

*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,

If you're wondering why you don't receive notifies like you used to, it's because -- well, don't make me explain, just sign up again: