~ looking for a recipe ~

Friday 7 Oct 2005
12:27 p.m.

It's raining again. Sigh. We definitely aren't going to make it to BC before the passes become even more of a threat to my chickenshit nature than they are already. The harvest will be held up yet again. Or maybe, at this rate, they won't even get the crop off before the snow flies.

The boys are home from school today, and they get Monday off for the Thanksgiving holiday. We pretended it was Friday and watched a movie together last night.

The movie needs to be returned, and we are out of drinking water, so I need to make a trip into town. It looks none too pleasant out there, but away I go.

I'll leave you with these wise words:

"As soon as we find the meaning in our challenge, our resistance to it melts away. Often, awareness of the lesson is all that is needed to resolve the problem. If not, the awareness brings us courage and ways to work through it." - www.higherawareness.com

Wed 5 Oct 2005
4 p.m.

Here, let me copy out Everett's note for you in case it's too difficult to read. It amuses me. I was having a snooze when under the weather on Sunday, and he had his weekend chore to finish:

"Dear Mom,
I didn't want to vacuum while you were asleep so I went outside. Please do not be p'd off. See you later.
Everett."

He has just walked in the door, given me about 10 cold kisses -- I guess it's chilly out there today, I haven't been out, been working here at the computer and baking bread (so he's thrilled, since I've hardly baked all summer, and has just cut into a loaf and will probably eat a good half of it smothered in butter), and now I need two things: a walk in the sunlight, and a laydown, as I feel weak and tired.

Best go out, as we have only another hour of sunshine probably, and the fresh air is important. I can always sleep later, or when I'm dead.

Tuesday 4 Oct 2005
1:08 p.m.

It froze hard overnight, was about 6-below this morning, Scott said, when I asked why we were so fortunate as to have a fire kindled in the woodstove before I woke up this morning. “Because it’s cold out there!” he said. And yes indeed, my cheeky snapdragons and brave little petunias had a layer of ice crystals on them when we went out the door at 8 o’clock to go into the hospital for blood tests (getting cholesterol checked)(ack, we've reached that age!).

Afterward we went to D’s Diner and had black coffee with overeasy eggs, crispy bacon, fried potatoes, and brown toast. We sat in a booth next to the front window, which overlooks the main street, and listened to the old farmers teasing each other at the tables nearby. I said to Scott, “I could sit here all day.” I don't actually hear much of what they are saying, as just like when I listen to songs, I hear the melody and harmony but rarely the lyrics; but it's the overall ambience that I can relax into. It's warm, unhurried, and goodnatured.

This weekend for the first time I ran into one of the town's local celebrities, former journalist and national broadcaster Pamela Wallin, now Canadian Consul to New York City, in the lineup for the till at the Co-op store. I had a greeting from a work colleague of hers from long ago days, and finally had the opportunity to pass it along. She seems likeable enough — smiling and friendly, like most everyone around here is, truth be told.

I remarked on this to Scott after we left the hospital lab, where there was so much joking going on: patients were giving the lab techs grief over taking blood, the lab techs were giving the patients a rough time right back, a lady in the waiting room was complaining about the horrible brew "they're making me drink" and so on and so forth. I didn't have my health card (ensuring that my medical costs will be paid for by the Saskatchewan government; hooray for medicare! read it and weep, ye non-Canadians) with me, but the clerk made sure I got through anyway so my trip to town wouldn't be wasted. If you live in a big city, the easy camaraderie even among strangers out here might surprise you.

***

I'm feeling a lot better, thanks for asking. Not taking any long walks yet; going to bed early; and not pushing myself hard.

Gotta go, appointments 15-minutes' drive north in 15 minutes. Scott is supposed to be in from picking stones now so we can leave. I'd best be ready.

xoxoETC
Kate

Monday 3 Oct 2005, 9:51 a.m.
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Copyright (c) 2005 Julie Tkachuk

Think of a problem you are experiencing. Then imagine that this problem is a small pebble. See yourself picking up that pebble and holding it as close as you can to one of your eyes. Even if it is small, the pebble will completely block your vision.

Holding a problem, or pebble, close is what many people do with the challenges they face. One of my favorite authors, Raymond Charles Barker, writes, "They [people] place the tentacles of worry and fear around the problem so that it cannot go away. They give their whole attention to it. They think it and feel it. Then they re-think it and re-feel it."

One of my main beliefs is that I create what I think about and focus my attention on. I also know that where my mental attention goes, my emotions follow. So when I spend time thinking about what I don’t have and/or the mistakes I have made so far in life, I feel negative. My mood is miserable and correspondingly, my phone doesn’t ring, my income stops flowing, my internet connection goes down, etc.

I am getting much better at catching myself quickly and turning my thoughts around. For time and time again, I see that when I consciously think about something joyful (past, present or even imaginary), I feel good. Once I set a more positive thought pattern in motion—presto, change-o—friends phone to ask me out, traffic lights turn green as I approach them, there is more money in my bank account than I thought I had, and so on and so on.

So stop worrying about your problem. Make the conscious choice to think about something different. Instead of worrying and feeling fear, look at the situation from a distance. In other words, hold the pebble at arm’s length and gain a different perspective. As Albert Einstein said, "The significant problems that we have cannot be solved at the same level of thinking that created them." So do something that takes you to that higher level of thought. Meditate. Rollerblade. Jog. Take a bath. Go to the mountains. Go fishing. Do something that makes you feel good.

When you rise above and detach from your problems you stop giving them a whole lot of attention. And something wonderful happens. Those negative situations start to dissipate. They begin to disappear. Why? Because your emotional distance creates the mental and physical space for new ideas and experiences. And come they will so pay attention to them. You may think of phoning someone, going somewhere or doing something new. Follow through! As crazy as some of these ideas may seem, follow your instincts.

As you act on your inspired ideas and/or follow through on new opportunities that are presented, detach from any outcome. Follow all clues and trust that one thing leads to another. If one thing doesn’t work out, it’s because something better is on the way, or the time is not right. Your job is not to know how, when or why things come. It is to hold your mental attention on what it is you want long enough for it to become your reality.

Also, when acting on your inspired ideas, make sure that any action you take feels joyful. If you attempt to control or manipulate something into being, the ending will not be a happy one. If something doesn’t feel right, don’t do it. Let joy be your guide.

Okay, so you’ve looked at your problem objectively and learned something from it. You’ve taken your mind off of it and listened to your instincts/intuition/gut. You’ve taken appropriate action. What to do with the pebble now?

Let it go. Drop it so that it becomes just another small bump on your path.

After years of wrapping the tentacles of worry around your problems, relax and allow yourself to embrace life and live it fully. Right here, right now, and forevermore.

Reproduced with permission from Julie Tkachuk's monthly e-zine. To subscribe, send an email with the word SUBSCRIBE in the subject line to julietkachuk@telus.net. Visit www.julietkachuk.com.

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~ my walk Tuesday evening
in the swathed oat field~

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Friday 30 Sept 2005
9:30 a.m.

For a day and a half I have not had the energy to do a damn thing. I caught Emil’s cold sometime Wednesday, and by suppertime was ready for bed. It’s been two long, fever-filled nights of half-delirium, and this morning the sinus-cold symptoms are pretty much gone. It’s moved down into my throat and chest.

I have managed to finish a job left undone on the kitchen counter Wednesday, by adding more of my neighbour’s homemade butter to the mixture of grapeseed and olive oils in the blender, and getting that concoction put into pretty glass bowls with plastic lids and stored safely away in the fridge. I’ve had the energy to wipe the counter to clean up the mess, and to eat some toast, and to run myself part of a bath with three drops of eucalyptus oil and three drops of rose oil added.

But I’m so out of breath I thought I’d sit here for a few minutes before adding more water to get it to the temperature that enables me to climb into the tub. This is a bath I need, according to Scott, the ever tactful one. I have been sweating for two nights; this will do me good. Although I may well have to go back to bed when it’s done, as baths usually suck me out more than invigorate me.

I don’t want to go back to bed! I wasn’t able to work yesterday, so will have to put four hours in over the weekend to make up for the loss. And I mean to put in four hours today. But it’s early yet, only 9:30; maybe I can manage it.

Yesterday I wanted to get some vitamin-D-manufacturing sunlight on my skin, so went outside in the early afternoon, wearing Mom’s very heavy, very warm housecoat. I stood, leaning against the house for a while; then sat; then walked around the house and deadheaded my flowers; and finally stretched out on the swing and laid there about 15 minutes, listening to the wind and watching it blow through the trees, the top halves of which were bare against a very blue sky.

People sometimes think about what they would do if told they had a very short time to live. I have always said I'd want to be outside as much as possible, and to have my sickbed near an open window where I could not only see out but smell the fresh air. This desire was only reinforced as I lay on the swing. If I’d brought a warm blanket to cover myself with, I might have stayed out there all day.

Instead, before I got cold, I made my way indoors and spent the afternoon on one of the couches.

All right, now I know for sure I am still fevered. I just had to shuck my nightie in order to sit here and finish this entry. But fever is good, right? It means the body is fighting the virus with everything it has; it means my immune system is doing its job.

This may sound strange, but being able to sit at my desk naked is a rare treat. I'm not often warm enough to find nudity possible, let alone pleasant, unless I'm in a steamy bathroom or under the bedclothes. Even in the second instance, I often have to get up and put something on to cover my back and shoulders, or I won't be able to sleep.

Wouldn't it be nice to have the body thermostat that men seem to have?

Anyway, I'd better get my fevered brain out of here before I say something stupid. With luck, by this afternoon I'll have a bit of oomph again and be able to apply myself to my work.

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Tues 27 Sept 2005
11:32 a.m.

Just kidding about the horses, heh heh. They're lovely, even when they do gallop over and surround me when I walk in their pasture. They're friendly and curious, but ... I have seen pictures of horse bites, and who knows? Not that any of these have ever done such a thing, to my knowledge.

But I remember a way back when I was 20 (in my New Brunswick heyday), when I rode a horse every day for almost a year, that one time the animal was grazing in front of the log cabin when I tried to catch and saddle him up. I reached for his halter and he spun around before I could say Hidee Ho and the bottom of his hoof was, in less than two seconds, all I could see in front of my face. How lucky I was that time ... I could have been toast! I like to think his kick was simply a well-aimed warning ... but I don't forget how quickly a horse can do that. I keep on my toes.

They caught me the day before yesterday out there, though I made it to the trees before they reached me, so I felt somewhat protected. Then they were all around me, sniffing and milling about. I didn't dare step away from the poplar tree I stood behind, until I realized I was standing next to a dead branch and could leap up on it, which I did, thus making a huge cracking sound and scaring the horses off.

Monday 26 Sept 2005
11:17 a.m.

I am reading An Interrupted Life, the Diaries of Etty Hillesum. Here are two excerpts from the introduction, written by J.G. Gaarlandt:

"Her God, in a sense, resides in her own capacity to see the truth, to bear it and find consolation in it."

"The first big street round-up took place in Amsterdam and voluntarily Etty decided to go with the trapped Jews to Westerbork. She did not want to escape the fate of the Jewish people. She believed that she could do justice to life only if she did not abandon those in danger, and if she used her strength to bring light into the life of others. Survivors from the camp have confirmed that Etty was a 'luminous' personality to the last."

~ my favourite lake ~
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Sunday 25 Sept 2005
1:11 p.m.

Beth’s story about hearing her son’s laughter before he was born has reminded me of something that happened when the Likeminded Ladies did a “journeying” workshop together. We used drumming to facilitate our journeys, which were led by Trent Deerhorne, a shaman from the Saskatoon area.

For one journey, or meditation, he drummed and chanted while the rest of us sat, or lay, and listened. Almost immediately I could hear a woman’s voice chanting in harmony with his. Since it is not uncommon for my inner ear to hear harmonies to any melody I am listening to, I did not think much of it, but assumed that was what was happening. The woman’s voice continued throughout the session.

When we discussed it later, it turned out that all of us had heard the woman’s voice. Some had thought one of the others was humming along with Trent. None of us had done so.

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Saturday 23 Sept 2005
10 a.m.

Man, the weather changes fast. Yesterday, I dressed like an eskimo to go for a walk. Wool scarf, hat, padded vest, gloves, the whole nine yards. I wouldn’t have been surprised if snow had fallen in my path. Today the sun is shining, the sky is blue. I’ll still dress warm when I go out though. Better safe than sorry.

So here’s the garden path. It doesn’t look like much in a photo; there is no contrast, it’s all green and shadows. But it’s one of the places I love to walk. Wish it went on for a mile.

I strike out in all directions when I walk, and one of my favourite paths is through the horse’s pasture, down to the dugout. Walking through the treed part of it, where they have eaten the grass down between the tree trunks, is a calm and peaceful passage. I always get the urge to sit down and close my eyes there; but never have.

Once out in the open, where the horses can see me and the dog, there is some trepidation. They are friendly and have been known to come running at full speed right up to us, which makes me nervous as hell. I keep an eye on them. Yesterday they looked, but kept grazing.

No matter how cold it is when I first step out, by the time I come home I’m beautifully warmed up and don’t really want to come in. But there is more work to do, so in I come, thinking in another hour or two I can go out again. The porch is overflowing with construction equipment and recycling; it’s time to deal with it, take it all out of the room and put it outside somewhere. Maybe today we’ll get around to that.

If you go around the corner you see above, you look down the stairs that lead to our living room in the basement. Behind the blanket is Scott’s old friend the beer fridge.

Only in my house will you find a green sun. With eyelashes and pouty red lips.

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Friday 23 Sept 2005

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It’s a cool, drab, windy morning. Talking with you on the phone spiced it up. And since you’re dreaming about a fall tour, I took the camera out with you in mind. We’ll take the same tour as if you’d just arrived. As if you aren’t taking that when you visit this web page — and as if most of these pictures haven’t appeared onscreen before — but anyway the one above is what I see when I go out the door and down the step. If I walk straight out to the middle of the driveway and turn back to look at the house, this is our front yard ...

The shade garden is tiny. Wildflowers for shade were here the last two summers, but they didn’t bloom this year. Maybe Scott weeded them out in the spring before I got home. Or maybe the hostas I put in last August wouldn’t let them reseed. I am disappointed. The wildflowers were always good for a delighted gasp when a new bloom suddenly appeared. The hostas didn’t put on any show to speak of.

Here’s the deck “before” we get to it ... what a fricking hillbilly porch! Today the mop leaning in the corner is visible but there's no pail upside down on a post; quite often it would be there. The farm version of trailer trash, we. Even my welcoming witch’s cauldron and broom, usually strategically propped up in full view, have been pushed aside, covered up.

That’s a TV under the white plastic, if you were wondering. No one we’ve asked needs one, we’ve no place to store it, it’s garbage. Seems a shame; I could still advertise it on the local Freecycle list but I don’t have much hope there either.

When I planted flowers in this crescent bed last summer, there were 3 to 12 of each type and I thought I’d get the “mass planting” advantage. But no, it’s still not enough to make a visual hit to my liking. The speedwells are past their bloom now and the daylilies are pretty much done. Imagine how good this would look if those browneyed susans spread across the whole bed at the back? But a couple of those didn’t come back this spring; that’s the way with those particular flowers and me. They are supposed to be hardy and spread aggressively, and I love them, but for me there are never enough. What you see, except for a few orphaned petunias I stuck in the front, are all perennials. Next year I’m going to plant annuals — deep-pink cosmos — across the entire back of the bed. Other ideas welcome.

The bed behind is newly made only weeks ago, filled with lilies, carnations, and a miniature bleeding heart. Among them all, next spring, I’ll broadcast the poppy seeds that came from the same lady. Meanwhile, the planters with their daisies, portulaca and petunias got hauled off the grass, onto the flower bed.

This rock sits in the wild raspberries at the back corner of our yard. I like to sit there sometimes, especially when the boys are in the kitchen with the windows open. Then I can listen to them talking or singing (Everett, he likes to sing). If you lived here you’d have the area reclaimed for the yard and it would be a lovely little destination. I just plough through rosebushes up to my waist and don’t go there without long pants).

Running out of things to look at here! The path to the garden is one of my favourite places. It’s all green and shady, and just ... too short, but sweet. I almost always stop in the middle of it, just to relax a moment and let my eyes wander over the “forest” floor. Forest floor, ha! I never think of bush around here as forest. Why is that, I wonder; only deep forest is forest?

You are seeing about half of the garden space. Behind the bush on the right is another side of it. If I was ambitious, I’d grow some commercial garlic, as Julie imagines. I have thought of it, actually, but ... that's as far as it got.

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