~ visit to Mom's grave on Mother's Day ~

They paid about $1000 for an MRI so they could find out, sooner, what is happening inside Mom's body. Then they went to the kidney specialist. That was on May 17th, a Monday. Out here in Saskatchewan, my sister and I waited to hear the results of the test. The call came in the middle of the afternoon, from Dad. He launched straight into it when I picked up the phone.

"It's terminal. There's nothing they can do for her."

"What?" I said, hoping I'd misheard.

Dad choked the words out again.

"You have got to be joking," I said. "Jesus."

"I know," he sighed. He spoke fast, and was trying not to cry.

"What do you need me to do?" I asked.

"Can you and your sister go tell Grandma?" he suggested. "She shouldn't be alone when she hears this news. Mom will phone her later."

"Sure, I'll do that."

"Okay. Can you handle it?"

"Yes. Can you, Dad?"

"I guess I'll have to."

We hung up the phone, and I began to wail from some place deep inside. I fell to my knees on the carpet and wept, then went to the kitchen and laid my head on the table and wept, then went outside and doubled over onto the grass in front of the step, crying. Eleven-year-old Everett followed me, eyes wide, hand held out to touch my arm.

"What's wrong, Mom?"

I told him. Then I phoned my sister Karen, whom Dad had just called.

"Do you need me to come over?" I asked.

"I don't think so," she said. "I have two pastors sitting at my kitchen table. I'm all right."

"Okay. I'm going for a walk then and I'll talk to you later."

Everett did not want to come, so I headed for the field, crying all the while. Scott's dad drove past me in his truck, and I averted my eyes so he would not see. The sun shone and the wind blew and I walked along the fenceline, crying. Six horses came over to see me, and I greeted them and kept walking. It was the saddest walk I've ever taken, and lasted about an hour. When I came in, Everett said "I've decided life sucks."

I took the phone outside to the swing and dialed my sister Joan's home in Kelowna, where Dad had called from. Mom answered. I said "Is there anyone around there calm enough to tell me exactly what the doctor said?"

"That would be me," she said, and went on to repeat the doctor's words about how one kidney is about five times the size of the other and the cancer has spread to her lymph nodes and liver and they cannot operate or do chemo or radiation because it might make the cancer move faster rather than help anything.

"I don't want you hoping for a miracle," she told me bluntly. "I'm going to die, and you might as well face it. It's going to happen to you some day too, you know! So I just want to make the best of the time I have left, and be happy. I feel fine right now."

After I'd cried some more and thought it safe to drive, I went to Grandma's and told her I had bad news and she should sit down. I blubbered as I forced the words out. She clasped her tiny hands together and said "Oh no. I never thought I'd be hearing news like this today. Not your mother! She was always such a happy person, and healthy. It should be me; I'm old."

She did not shed a tear. Instead, she said, "Well, we have to accept what life gives us. That's all. I can't believe it."

Within a couple hours of Dad's phone call, itchy red spots were forming on my right forearm. By nightfall, both arms were covered.

~ little lamb lookalike ~

Dad phoned last night, returning my call. He said about Baby Ben that “He’s pretty goodlooking, and I don’t usually say that about newborn babies.” Obviously he's already got a soft spot for this one. Just looking at the photo Joan sent makes me happy (and sad at the same time, because I know how much Mom would love him), and the one of Jordan holding him makes me happy for her. I’m also glad for Dad, who will enjoy watching this little one grow.

Found out this morning that the little fellow is in the hospital again. Karen called to pass on the news that he wasn't peeing so yesterday Joan took him in right away and they discovered he was dehydrated. They're keeping him in a day or two for observation, but he seems to be all right. I haven't talked to Joan yet, for of course she's spending her time at the hospital. I had a feeling something was up when she wasn't home either yesterday afternoon or later in the evening when I tried to reach her. It wouldn't be unusual for Joan to be out and around a lot, but with a newborn ... less likely.

***

There is an elegant, long-necked, male northern pintail down at the creek, and a couple pairs of what I think (judging by the bird book) are goldeneyes, which I had mistakenly thought were buffleheads; there are many pairs of northern shovellers, and of course mallards and coots and blue-winged teals are ubiquitous. After living on a farm all these years, you'd think I'd have noticed all the wild birds before now. This year it’s as if a whole new avian world has opened up to me. I'm thinking as I stroll down the road with a big smile on my face, feeling utterly grateful, inhaling the scent of something (it has to be the poplar trees because I see no sign of wolf willows yet, though the smell reminds me of them) that hey, life doesn't get duller as you get older, it gets more fascinating. There are always new things to discover, apparently, and sometimes they've been under one's nose all along.

Was not quite as warm yesterday as I’d like, for wearing shorts, but didn’t find that out till I was already walking down the road. I went around past the corner and north to the north end of the creek, and spotted in the water three avocets and, among the usual suspects, a pair of what my Birds of Saskatchewan book identifies as canvasbacks.

Also saw a big muskrat (twice) swimming earnestly past me, a hawk (probably a red-tailed; I wasn't close enough to tell, but we have lots of them on the land just north of the yard) flying back and forth across the road ahead of me, a set of blackbirds (one sat peeping high in a tree along the road, and when on my way back I started singing, it did its bicycle-bell trill several times as I walked past, and put me to shame), and a grey-bodied, white-headed snowgoose that flew away when I tried to get close enough for a photo. Last night we identified a common bird in these parts as a merlin; this is a small hawk we always see north and east of the yard.

The Canada geese have not been at the creek the last few times I’ve walked down there, and I feared they'd nested somewhere else. But on the way back I saw one floating across the water, honking in some irritation, and then realized why: there was Sara, swimming earnestly after it. It must have been leading her away from a nest, otherwise it probably would have flown up and away before it reached the water's edge. Once it did, it flew low across the road and along the ditch on the other side, with Sara in full-out pursuit. I tell her -- "You'll never catch it, and if you do it'll take a round out of you," but she is determined to see for herself.

~ dog swimming after goose ~

Reprinted from "The Greenwater Report" by Jerry and Doreen Crawford in the Wadena News this week, following Mothers' Day:

"I took Doreen to the Beach Café for lunch today; things had slowed down after an early rush so we had no trouble finding a table. We had a great lunch, and a visit with Ted and Birdy Krzak. Connie was giving away a free plant to each mother. Ronnie Hirtle said he thought he should have one too, and Connie told him to go home, shave his legs, and come back with a skirt on, and she would give him a plant."

The Royal Canadian Mounted Police now contribute a list of criminal events in the area. FLFN is the Fishing Lake First Nation reserve just south of the farm here a few miles. This is also from the Wadena News:

"RCMP Report

May 8:
Theft at FLFN. Thieves took new shoes, left old ones behind."

***

The boys and I are off to Saskatoon later this afternoon. They'll spend the weekend with their dad at a hotel with a pool, and I'll be staying with a friend who is moving to Saskatchewan for a couple months to teach at the university.

I picked up a few packs of red nicotiana at the greenhouse the other day and planned to mix the old planter soil with some well-rotted manure before putting them into the pots. Before Scott left for work this morning I asked him to water them in the mornings, as these tiny plastic packs dry out every day if it's warm and sunny. He said, "I'll try." Usually he is on the ball enough to remember things like that, but after he drove off, I thought what the hell, I'll stick 'em in the dirt right now, then they're more likely to survive and he won't have to worry about them.

What a pleasure to do it, and to see it done. Flower Fever hasn't hit me this spring because it's been cool and wet and it looks like all my perennials will have to be moved away from the house so new weeping tile can be put in. Unless the garden is dry enough to be worked, new flower beds back against the trees will have to be dug. That's my plan for Sunday and Monday, with Everett's help. The boys have the day off school so I'll be taking advantage of that.

NP: silent house, but for the gurgle of the water running through the aquarium filter

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Apparently my little nephew has a doting older sister.

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One day last week I walked out to the horse pasture, which is on the west side of the trees surrounding the farmyard. When I saw this truckload of bales, it reminded me of —I hate to admit it, but on a bad-hair day, which is most of them—my hair.

The next day I pulled the photo up on the computer screen and called Everett over. "What does this look like, to you?" I queried.

"Your hair," he said. "If you were standing in front of it, you'd blend right in."

Except the bale is missing the low-priced silver highlights in my hair.

And here—

— is the little bugger that pinched my shoulder blade with his teeth when I had my back to him. It could have been worse, I know. I'll keep a closer eye on him from now on.

NP: Everett washing supper dishes

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Today marks three years since the tornado began its sweep through our emotions and the painful process of Mom's leaving us began. I didn't know then what message was being given to me when that little tree snapped like it did, but now I do: "Something's coming."

NP: silent house, but for the dribble of water in the aquarium behind me

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This pair of geese gets up and waddles off when I walk past them, on the road. They were there yesterday too. I'm hoping they'll nest here and get used to seeing me, and not be in such a big hurry to put distance between me and them. I should be so lucky.

Further on down the road the creek is teeming with muskrats. Once the dog had plunged into the water on the other side of the road to go swimming after some ducks, I stood still for a minute and that's all it took for about three different muskrats to come swimming up to take a look at me.

They really do look like land rats, don't they. Look at that tail.

After supper I told Everett about the muskrats and suggested he come with me for a sunset walk and maybe he'd get a chance to see them too. He did, but I was almost sorry. He likes to re-tell the dialogue of his favourite movies and TV shows, and it is hard to get him to shut up. Finally I said, "You'll scare the muskrats away" and he piped down for a few minutes.

We saw several, and also an American Bittern, commonly called a "slough pump" around here, standing in the ditch until we came up alongside it. I only got a photo of it in flight; not a good one. We listened to a pair of great horned owls calling back and forth to each other in the trees, and a pack of coyotes yipping a little further away. The frogs are not quite as noisy as they were a week ago, when I could barely hear myself think as I walked down the road.

On the way back we came upon Scott's nephew leaning over a culvert with a net, hoping to catch minnows. But all he'd seen so far were leeches, he said.

I left Everett with him and carried on my merry and much quieter away. Just across from our driveway I stopped and took this photograph, looking south.

We were out for supper in Watson last night and drove home cross-country, seeing flock after flock of sandhill cranes standing in the stubblefields. Those are some huge birds! They must stand four or five feet tall. What a treat to see.

And finally, some of the contents of Scott's wallet after it got washed on Saturday:

If Scott leaves his clothes on the bedroom floor, they stay there. I don’t pick them up and put them in the laundry and wash them for him. To hell with that shit; that would be positive reinforcement of an inconsiderate behaviour (well hey, he’s the one who insists on sharing a bedroom! If I had my own, I couldn’t care less what he covered the floor of his with) that I am not going to respond to by picking up after him, as so many women do, while rolling their eyes.

If the clothes stay there more than a day I grit my teeth and curse him every time I see them; if they stay there much longer I put them in a garbage bag and make them disappear. I know, I’m a cow. But a cow you oughtn’t to mess with. Moo.

Anyway, today a pair of his jeans were laying on the bathroom floor and some damp bathtowels were thrown on top of them and I asked Everett to throw them in the washing machine and Scott’s jeans while he was at it, “and make sure to check the pockets first.”

Scott came upstairs after supper (you’re welcome, darling), snarling and barking, “Did you wash my wallet on purpose?”

Teenagers, eh? I distinctly remember telling Everett to check those pockets, but there is a disconnect in the teenage brain. Everett cannot seem to take in quite all of any instructions he is given. He generally retains about three-quarters of any set of directions, even if they are short and simple.

It is a scientific fact that there is a reason why teenagers can seem so dense sometimes; it’s physical, to do with their brains not completely developed so that they cannot, unlike the adult brain, see the logical consequences of their actions. They do grow out of it, if their frustrated parents let them live long enough.



NP: Everett on his playstation, Emil asking him to get off so he can go in the bedroom and play some music before bed

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~ Here ya go, Joanie ~

Everett's auntie Joan said she hasn't seen a picture of him looking "normal" for some time, so I set him to work taking a snapshot of himself last night. He wasn't too thrilled about having me in the photo too but I thought hey, two for one, what's not to love?

Last night I slept on that little loveseat you see behind us in the picture. It beats the office floor, where we've been making our bed for the past week. Scott thinks he's got the water stopped from coming in the basement now, so maybe we'll be able to move back into our bedroom one of these days.

Diana, thanks for the encouragement to continue reading Villa Air-Bel. I will. I am. It scares the hell out of me, though, I have to tell you. Just seeing what people and governments did lays such a beating on my optimistic perspective on what humans are.

The poplar leaves popped out yesterday, woo hoo! That early green is my favourite colour, I think.

I don't have much to say. I visited my favourite numbers-man yesterday. I have to pay a few hundred dollars in federal income taxes this year, because I was too tardy to get my ass in gear and find out sooner that it would have behooved me to buy some RRSPs. I'll know better next year. It seems strange to me that someone who earns an income I thought was considered below the poverty level would have to pay taxes. Obviously I've been wrong about what that low-income level actually is. Oh well. I always tease people who pay income tax that "It must be nice to be making enough money to pay taxes!" Now it's my turn.

Now Playing: CBC Radio, Saskatchewan's local noon-hour show, Blue Sky

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~an old church near my family's old farmyard~

An incredibly strong, though warmish, east wind came up today. I fear for the property owners at Fishing Lake, where there is nothing to be done if the ice decides to come in their direction. If I'm correct, though, an east wind will blow the ice to the west shore of the lake, where I do not recall ever seeing any man-made structures at the edge of the water. So maybe it will turn out to be a good thing.

We drove home from Kelvington early last evening and I swear, the skies for as far as we could see, in every direction, were so full of flying geese that it was like being in the middle of multiple swarms of mosquitoes. Minus the stinging and slapping. It was incredible. I've told you before that we are on one of the world's major migratory-bird flight paths here in the Quill Lakes area, but this ... well, if there was any way I could have you all here to see this, you know I would. I just gaze upon the numbers of them with my jaw down at my knees.

Scott wondered if there are more here this year — not just Canada geese, but huge flocks of snow geese too, and on Sunday we passed a flock of sandhill cranes standing in the field next to the highway, and last week a flock of swans flew past us as we drove, and we saw a humungous flock of pelicans — because there is more unharvested grain laying around the fields than usual. Could be. But there are always lots of birds. What an amazing place to be.

Listening to the flocks of flying geese in the air, when I'm out walking, reminds me of Indians on the warpath, like they used to sound on those old Wild West movies.

Reply to Evian -- yes, there are real calves down here on the farm. About 60 of 'em, newborns, by the time they finish coming this spring. Real cowshit, too! By all means, swing by Wadena. Long time no see; a cup of coffee would be great.

Rosemary Sullivan also wrote a biography of Gwendolyn MacEwan, the Canadian poet. I've read that one, called Shadow Maker: The Life of Gwendolyn MacEwan, but not her other titles:

Cuba: Grace Under Pressure

Labyrinth of Desire: Women, Passion, and Romantic Obsession (I bet that's the one you're thinking of, and damn, it sounds like it's worth checking out)

Memory-Making: Selected Essays

The Red Shoes: Margaret Atwood Starting Out

By Heart: Elizabeth Smart—A Life

Also three books of poetry.

NP: Eliza Gilkyson

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~making créme à sucre (or is that sucre à créme?)
for the Sunday pancakes ~

1:46 p.m.

I am reading Villa Air-Bel, by Rosemary Sullivan. It is about a group of young people in France in the 1930s who cared for and helped artists and intellectuals trying to escape the governments of various European countries, and the Nazi and Fascist collaborators who were after them. Sullivan has been describing the politics, the propaganda, and the military action of the times leading up to the Second World War. It is disheartening and frightening to read. God, we’re a stupid species.

This may not be the best thing for me to immerse myself in at this time. I need a lift, not a dive, after waking up in a bad mood for some reason. Could have something to do with sleeping on the floor in this crowded office. Had to move upstairs away from the dampness in the basement, where there is still water coming in.

I must remember to focus on the people who used their brains and practised selfless courage, and not on the cruel and foolish ones who supported the government/dictatorship-sanctioned murder that went on on such a grand scale. And to know that this kind of thing still exists in the world today … I want to go stick my head in some sand.

Temptingly, on my desk is Self-made Man, by Norah Vincent, about her 18-month journey into manhood. She went undercover into the world of males and then wrote a book about it. I am looking forward to reading it but trying to make myself stick with Villa Air-Bel for now. What I probably need today, instead, is a good escapist murder mystery.

We are off to a concert in a half-hour or so. Everett is vacuuming. Emil is shaving. Scott's out tagging newborn calves. I'm watching a big batch of granola in the oven. The sun is shining and we've put the screens in the windows and opened them to let the fresh air in.

We were out to a delicious meal and visit at our friends' place last night, and were all yawning by 9:30 so I said "Let's go home." Hated to leave, as it isn't often enough that we get together with Faye and Rick, but this way we weren't driving half-asleep over roads where one really needs to be alert to watch for deer.

NP: vacuum cleaner

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