Was up late last night watching TV, so had my morning coffee here in the office, still in my pyjamas, while listening to the Remembrance Day service from Ottawa on CBC Radio.

So fortunate, most of us, to have never seen war close-up. I am grateful for that, for myself and my own children. A couple of my great-uncles were in the air force during World War II, and my great-great Aunt Alma was a nurse who served in France and England, if I've got my facts straight. Aunt Reta was a nurse in Korea. But as far as I know, none of my relatives were lost or injured in battle, and I don't know which of them even saw action. (Judy? Reta? Anything you can tell me?)

10 Nov 2008 Monday

Cold out there, but dragged Everett out for a walk in the late afternoon anyway. Now if I could just figure out a way to get him to shut up about movies, television and playstation games, it might be possible to actually enjoy the time spent together.

We're not a bad team, Everett and I, as long as we do things in the right order and each to his own strengths. If I throw the wood through the door, and he stacks it, it works well. He is a meticulous stacker, and I even have time to sit and sip my hot tea while he catches up. If it was the other way around, I'd be standing inside, tapping my toes, waiting for him to get more wood in for me to stack, because I move at twice—maybe three times— his speed, and he'd never keep up with me.

Blue jays are rare in this yard— at least, I don't recall ever seeing one— so I was pretty thrilled to discover a pair of them at the feeders this week. Everett got this photo through the window and they were back again today. Maybe they'll stay the winter.

It's the time of year again for stacking wood inside one of the outbuildings at Golden Grain Farm. We use these five-gallon pails to bring it home; it's good to have a fire again in the evenings, though I've kept it going all day several times in the past week. There was frost on the grass till 5 o'clock tonight. Brrr. But still no snow.

At 11:30 Scott showed up here with four hungry, chilled men. They'd been hauling bales all morning and, after I quickly threw together something for them to eat while they drank coffee, they thanked me and went out to lift and tote some more.

Some of those bales will be taken over to Golden Grain Farm and placed on the south side of the house, as was already done on the north, east and west last weekend. The existing oil furnace is old and inefficient and costing an arm and a leg to fuel, so the bales around the foundation will keep a little more of the heat in until the new furnace gets installed. Tradesmen are all so busy around here that no one can say for sure when that will be. It's been ordered, that's all we know for sure.

Then there's just the last bit of flooring to put in and the kitchen cupboard doors and drawers to paint and replace, and we can start moving. It'll be months yet. Who knows, maybe as late as spring, at the rate things are getting done. I'm not excited about it anymore, it's been too long.

Even when I spell it out very carefully over the phone, and the receipt clearly shows that the order-taker got it right, there is always someone who misspells Everett's name. He thought it was funny.

This is my "Christmas" apron, which Mom made. I put it on this morning to concoct a batch of bread. Everett has turned 16 and home-made bread, in particular the kind I make, is one of his favourite things. He'll be thrilled when he gets home from school, because I haven't been baking bread since the kneading machine motor was damaged in the flood. The 15-minute knead puts me off; just lazy I guess. Though must admit it felt good to get my hands into the dough again.

And so it is rising in the oven and I have a kitchen to clean up.

4:22pm

It appears that the bread is hitting the spot.

Everett and I put our backs up against the south side of the house and took a break about halfway through yesterday afternoon, which turned out to be sunny and perfect for pulling up dead flowers and vegetables and digging holes to transplant perennials. I had brought a thermos full of hot tea, and there was pop and juice in the house for the boy.

Those who know me well would probably say it wasn't possible that I'd work too hard, but by the time we were finished in the garden at Golden Grain Farm yesterday, I was exhausted enough to consider going straight to bed. Not smart enough to do it, mind you. Sat up and watched Juno instead, and was in bed by 11.

This morning I made a big breakfast of bacon with whole wheat pancakes slathered in caramel sauce and yogurt, and all four of us actually sat down together to eat.

My head is not right, though. It feels like a combination of neck migraine and a cold trying to establish itself. It's 4:30 and I've only now gotten washed up and dressed. Am going over to Golden Grain Farm to get some wood for tonight's fire, and that will be the extent of my outdoor exertions today. Pretty much everything is done gardenwise, except for watering-in the flowers for the winter. It seems amazing to me that there are still flowers over there whose leaves are green and unfrozen. Daisies, speedwells, snapdragons .... they must be tough little buggers.

Scott requested Everett's help to go throw flax bales onto the back of a truck, so that's where they are. There will be serious whinging tonight, I'm sure, as Everett moves far too slowly for Scott to stomach without impatience, and Scott is too demanding for Everett's tender sensibilities. But I made him go, because he needs the exercise. If he had his way he'd sit at the kitchen table all day and do homework, or anything -- absolutely anything -- but physical labour. He complained yesterday too, when I made him help me.

There is both good and bad news in my extended family, and I'm not at liberty to share it just yet. Joan will blog her own happy news soon, I'm sure, and as for the other, we are holding our breaths for more information on the diagnosis front before we get too freaked out. I'll keep you informed if and when I am permitted to pass these things along in more detail.

Is it normal to often feel quite sad more than three years after your mother dies? Because I still do.

Went to see Karen yesterday and when I left some of the elk were making their way across the pasture in a single line, as if in slow motion.

Everett's get-up was a "Peeping Tom." Fifteen people guessed correctly. There is no prize, sorry. But if you come over, I'll give you a handful of caramels. No kids came to our farm for treats so we shall be forced to eat them all ourselves. Aw.

Everett has been working on his Halloween costume for the party at school tomorrow. Care to guess what he is going as?

Emil figures he's too old for any of that malarky, so he's making his lunch instead.

I saw Hilary Swank on Ellen Degeneres this week. (I laugh out loud at Ellen, and even get up and dance. That woman is just plain openly goofy, and I love it. Wish I remembered to watch it more often, it's good for me.)
Swank is spreading the word about a program where, if you send in a ponytail 8 inches long, they can use it to make wigs for women who've lost their hair due to radiation/chemo. She said many women don't get treatment because they don't want to lose their hair. Isn't that sad, if our hair matters more to us than our lives -- but if it's true, I'm almost tempted to put up with longish hair for however long it takes (perhaps repeatedly) just to help them with this project. I have a gorgeous head of hair, if I say so myself. I mean, it's thick and shiny and I like the colour, even with the silver coming out. If it was in a wig, all cut and styled so you didn't have to fight with its stubborn straightness when you're inept at "doing" hair, as I am...

But I can't stand the thought of having longish hair these days. Even if it could help someone out this way ... hm, must consider ... am I willing to put my personal vanity and convenience second to helping others, daily for many months, while the hair grows out? I don't think so.

Hm. This from someone on the bone marrow donors list. That would mean a procedure under anesthetic, a few days of aches and pains, over and done with and a life perhaps saved. But the months of my hair having to be pinned back, pushed out of my face, caught under Scott's shoulder in bed, picked off the furniture and my clothing ... ugh, no, no! I can't do that again ...!

Such dilemmas.
:)