Baking bread, transplanting annuals, working, walking, and soon to prepare a spinach salad for supper ... that's what I'm doing today. How about you?

~ my niece Jordan, age four ~

“Ice Cream. It has its own mythology, dating back to Nero. The biggest sundae ever made was 12 feet high. Marilyn Powell celebrates the lure and lore of ice cream."

You can listen to Ideas tonight on CBC radio at 9 p.m. or via the web. For more details about the show, visit the website.

This is an entry thrown up quickly; I have to get into town this afternoon.

Might as well throw in my last photo taken in Kelowna in early April. Here is where we went for a walk and a picnic:

I was a little worried about Saturday the 27th, which was exactly one year after Mom left us. Sometimes when I think I am taking things in stride, my body lets me know that I’m not. Like when I turned 40. No problem, right? So what? Why do some people get so excited about it? I certainly wasn’t, except for the pleasant anticipation of a small gathering some girlfriends had planned to celebrate the occasion with me. So what did my body do to make me miss my own party? It hit me with every barrel it could. I came down with a terrible cold, a migraine, and a painful period all at once, and spent a miserable day trying to escape it all by sleeping.

And then there’s what happened after hearing Mom’s cancer prognosis. You remember ... I’m “handling” it with aplomb, like a pro, as best as can be expected (or so I think), until my eyes swell shut and hives break out on my arms. What misery that was.

But Saturday went all right. I thought about Mom many times, but never for long. There was no time to dwell on the unwelcome anniversary and I was almost glad of that.

***

My little great-nephew is a beautiful baby. And if you know me (my mother’s daughter, apparently), you know I wouldn’t say that if it wasn’t true. I visited his parents at the Yorkton Hospital a couple times and had the pleasure of holding and talking to Babycakes. He’s a doll.

But it’s good to be home. I’ve been out walking in the constant drizzle with the hound, who makes me laugh out loud as she bounces off the shore, splashes into the water and paddles earnestly after the mallard ducks and Canada geese that smugly swim just out of her reach. That’s her head poking out of the water there in the centre of the picture. You’d think she’d give up after a while, but no.

***

I put this small memorial in the local paper:

The eyes be hid, what care ye?
The hands be not, what care ye?
The love hath stepped from earth.
What think ye love shall lose?
Heart that stoppeth beating
Ne’er stoppeth love.

Happy Birthday, Joan! If I recall the story correctly, 38 years ago today Karen and I were biking all over Margo, knocking on doors and announcing that our baby sister had been born and we hoped she would be named Suzie. We didn't get our wish there but we did get an adorable little bundle to dote on ... a smiley, sweet little darling who is no less cherished by her big sisters now than she was back then.

And what a birthday gift you received this year, eh?
We are now great-aunts. Welcome to the family, Kade!

Our little great-nephew was born this morning in Yorkton. I hope he is still there when I get to the city. Word is that he was having some trouble breathing, probably due to his mother being dosed with demerol before his birth, and might have to be transferred to Regina. I hope not. While my friend Joanne is attending filmmaking workshops (we're going to the Yorkton Short Film and Video Festival over the next four days), I'll be visiting the new little family at the hospital, and other friends and family. And shopping for outfits to wear to weddings this July.

Gotta finish getting packed, bathed, baking bread, making granola, and oh, it wouldn't hurt to do some work too. I'll be gone till Sunday. Talk amongst yourselves!

The photo above is courtesy of Mom's cousin, Bev Bartley, who took it while visiting British Columbia's Harrison Hot Springs, home of the world-famous sandcastle-building competition.

Emil - home from school on Victoria Day, busy washing dishes while it's so hot out.

~ new oven, never again to be so clean ~

I've just read two novels in a series called the Psychic Eye mysteries, written by Victoria Laurie. In A Vision of Murder, a “psychic intuitive” has a run-in with a nasty ghost in a haunted house. She explains to her detective beau and his sidekick that ghosts are people who have died but not gone over to the Other Side, or heaven. They are stuck here, more or less, until they realize they've died and move along.

I had never thought of that Other Side as heaven but darn it, the more I do the better I like the idea.

***

A telephone conversation with my friend Kim down in Swift Current gave me the prod I needed to transplant a few of my annuals this evening. I had forgotten that this, the Victoria Day long weekend, is planting time. No pots are prepared with soil because the garden's still too wet to get into, so I discarded my plans and let what was available for space right now lead the way. Thus, into the ground in three different spots went the blue lobelia, the purple-centred orange and yellow daisies, and two pretty hanging vines.

I walked to the shop after dark to close up the bedding plants that remain. It’s cool enough out there (surprisingly, after three such warm days) that it could freeze and I’d be kicking myself in the morning. But ah, the satisfaction of seeing those babies in the ground was worth it even if I have jumped the gun. If they survive they'll take off into crazy growth and happy blossom now that they’re out of their limiting pots and have room to stretch out their roots.

Tomorrow a few orange cosmos may go into the ground while I cross my fingers that the sun shines and the wind blows for another two days, drying up the flooded garden so we can prepare it for sowing on Monday or soon thereafter.

My temperature has been taken, and the diagnosis is ... that seasonal malady ... Flower Fever.

~ Spring ~

Among Aunt Jean's things was this set of quilted placemats that I have kept and put into use on our kitchen table. I figure Mom must've made them for her because I recognize a couple of the fabrics that have been used. If I'm mistaken, someone will have to tell me. Reta? Do you know?

~ Summer ~

~ Fall ~

~ Winter ~

I think of the times I danced with Mom. When we danced together at my sister's wedding, she was surprised to find me so light on my feet; lighter than she expected. We danced in my living room in an impromptu celebration when she was visiting me a few years ago and I got the phone call telling me that a breast lump was benign; neither of us had realized how worried we were until the relief of that call. And when I went to see her in the spring of 2004, after finding out she had terminal kidney cancer, we put our heads together and had a quiet little waltz in the living room one afternoon.

The deed is done. We shopped in Wynyard. We shopped in Wadena. And last but not least, we shopped in Kelvington. And voila, there we found the best deal, locally, on a ceramic-top stove with a self-cleaning oven. It now sits in the back of my van. How long will it be till it gets into the house? Your guess is as good as mine. I'll wager one week. Anyone want to bet money?

Lord but it was cold out there today. You couldn't have paid me enough to browse at a yard sale.

***

Yesterday we went to Wynyard to look at tombstones and verify to Dad that the one he picked out via brochure appeared to be of acceptable quality. I did not make it past reading possible epitaphs without tears, right in front of several strangers. Who'd have thought that would set me off? But it did, and badly.

Anyway, the deed is done. I chose some personalized stenciling to go above each name, as Mom and Dad will share the headstone beneath which his ashes, too, will be buried one day. Mom's passions — quilting and music — will be represented by graphics chiseled in the stone. I didn't see one of ice cream, darn it! And above Dad's name will be carved a golf bag, as he's gone at that game like a full-time job for so many years now. And I picked out the one epitaph that leaped out at me. Dad okayed it, so it must not be too soppy ... but I'm going to keep you in suspense for now.

***

We took Grandma to Kelvington with us. We had delivered a small flower arrangement to her and had one to deliver to Scott's grandmother, so after loading up the new stove we visited with her for almost two hours. She had a number of stories to tell of her life in the Dirty '30s, about people abandoning their farmland and homes during the drought on the Prairies and moving up here to the Parkland, where there was more rainfall and one could eat out of one's garden, if nothing else. My grandmother, age 89, sat quietly listening to her elder, age 97, talk. I've heard these particular stories before but I never tire of them. She and her young husband spent their first winter up here — a particularly cold one — in a tent set up inside a framed building (if I've got that right). There would have been many 30F below days and nights.

***

Well it's 11:30. I was nearing the end of a mystery novel last night before going to sleep, so will be glad to get to bed and back to it. Scott's been asleep since 9 o'clock (oh my exciting Saturday nights! I wouldn't trade them) and fell asleep several times sitting up in the van on the way to Kelvington this afternoon. Had a headache too, poor boy.

***

"Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?" Everett said to me matter-of-factly this morning. That kid is either going to be a silver-tongued devil, or he already is.

"Yes you have, as a matter of fact," I replied. The instances are becoming fewer and farther between, but they are not the kinds of comments a mother forgets. He's 13 now, so they can't go on much longer, and before you know it, he won't remember ever harbouring such sentiments about his mother's middleaged visage. He'll probably wholeheartedly deny ever saying such things. But I'll always remember how sweet they sounded, coming out of his innocent child's mouth.

~ a rare visit from my Uncle Neil ~
 
9:41 a.m.

This morning I could not bring myself to handwrite in my paper journal, as I have been doing first thing most mornings. Instead, after making my way groggily up the stairs to kiss my little darlings goodbye for the day, I sat in Aunt Jean’s chair with my favourite mug full of black coffee and started reading a library book brought home yesterday for Karen ... The Scarlet Pimpernel. When Cheryl did Karen’s reading in April, she said Karen had lived during the times the novel was set in, the late 1700s, and might enjoy the book. Karen is not a reader, but maybe she’ll give this one a go.

I have been thinking about Mom a lot this week. She is not here to see the beautiful green (her favourite colour) of the spring leaves. I know she is well where she is, but still ... almost a year has passed already. There is something sad about that, though I can’t say exactly what.

I sometimes think, on my blissful walks in the solitude of nature, that Mom cannot experience this sort of thing now. Then I remember that she never really did, or hadn’t for many years, if ever. It was not her thing, to walk or be outdoors. She preferred to be inside.

***

An email to my sister this morning:

Dear Karen,

I ordered The Scarlet Pimpernel from the library for you and it came in yesterday. You have it till June 8 and I imagine that time can be extended if it takes you longer to read it.

An "in memoriam" for Mom will go into the Wadena News on Wed the 24th. I plan to go to Wynyard today to look at that headstone so Dad can get it ordered.

Will go look at new stoves while we're there; the oven on this one seems to be done for. Scott keeps trying to tell me we don't need to spend the extra 100 bucks on a self-cleaning one. "Just don't let anything bubble over ... use larger containers," he says. Funny boy. Ha! I guarantee that no stove without a self-cleaning oven is getting through this kitchen door.

Maybe we'll see you this weekend. Are you doing anything special on Mothers Day? The boys keep asking me what I'd like to do, and darned if I can come up with any ideas. Will make sure Grandma is included, whatever it is, unless someone else makes plans with her.

Love,
Kathy