Tuesday 12 April 2005
9:42 a.m.

The excitement around our house after school yesterday was the mated pair of mallard ducks that landed on the driveway to share the birdseed we put out for a resident flock of quail.

Everett took the camera and tried to approach them, with Trinket sticking close to his side.

He was out of sorts last night before going to bed.
"I wish someone would just kill me," he said. "I'm boring."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know things to do."

He'd been at Joan's for the day as a playmate for Trinket on her birthday, and Joan had asked him several times what he'd like to do. He didn't know, so he thought he must be boring.

I assured him that just because he is content hanging out at home doesn't mean he is boring. Not sure he believed me. I asked what they did, then. "We went to the mall, shopping," he complained.

"I bet that was boring," I said.

"That's for sure."

"What did you guys buy?" I asked.

"Purple shoes for Jordan."

"What else? I know Joan, she bought you something at the mall."

"We had ice cream."

"I knew you wouldn't get away without a treat. You have generous aunties, don't you."

"Yep." He half-shrugged, as if that's a given.

This morning he was not looking forward to going to school. He wished he was homeschooling again.

"I wish you were too," I told him on the 8:30 a.m. drive to classes. "I liked having you around all day. But you have to finish out the year now that you're almost through it."

"Awwww!"

"Take advantage! You've got teachers and a library and kids around ... you have none of that when you're at home all day."

"I don't have any friends."

"Why not?"

"The one kid I liked got expelled."

"What for?"

"He was violent and wouldn't listen."

"And he's the one you liked, out of all the kids?"

"Yeah. We got along."

"What about the other kids? None that you like?"

"No."

I wasn't stumped for long. "So why do you want them to be friends of yours, then?"

He hadn't thought of that, apparently. I added, "Maybe instead of wanting to have friends, you need to focus on being a friend." He looked perplexed. "You know, think of something nice to say or do for someone, even if it isn't a kid you consider a friend. Be kind to somebody. Act friendly."

He was thinking that over as he got out of the van and reached back in for his bookbag.

"I'm getting out your five-good-things journal, so be prepared to write in it after school."

"Awwwww!"

"Keep your eye out for five good things that happen today."

Reluctantly, scowling: "Oh ... kay ...."

"Have a jim-dikkety-dandy day," was my last goodbye. He gave me a look, and I watched him pick his way across the parking lot, carefully, as there is so much parent traffic that it's a dangerous place.

Now, off to Mom and Dad's till pickup time at 3:15.

: Karen’s quilt ; this pic doesn’t do it :
: justice at all ~ it’s all flannel; i want :
: to do one like it, next project perhaps :

Monday 11 April 2005
11:08 a.m.

The sound of rain pattering on the deck awoke me early this morning. I could not have been more delighted if my fairy godmother had appeared at the foot of my bed to grant me three wishes. I sighed and went back to sleep for another hour, till my Emil alarm told me it was time to get up and make coffee.

The rain is letting up now. Mom phoned an hour ago. Her cousin and his wife from Candle Lake, Saskatchewan, spent the night and this morning Mom is making them listen to the tape of the Ugly Sisters singing. Poor doggies.

Seriously now, Mom must be proud of it if she plays it to her company. That’s sweet.

She's been very tired lately. At least she's not drunk on drugs, that's a huge improvement this past week. We’ve got our mother back.

Dad was not about to wear rain gear to go golfing, so I am still home, working at the computer this morning with the gas fireplace cooking away behind me. Will go after lunch instead or whenever Dad decides he wants to run out somewhere.

I gave Everett the day off from school so he could spend it with Trinket, because it’s her birthday and she adores him so. He was most excited about not having to go to school, but he enjoys playing with her more than he will admit. He is her hero (when she isn’t tattling on him for not doing what she wants) and likes to make her laugh.

It appears the Notify List image problems have been solved; you can stop sending me emails about it now! Thanks for your responses to my earlier request for info.

email:

Sunday 10 April 2005
midnight, okay monday

Before 7 a.m., it was Scott on the phone. After a short chat, I went back to sleep. At 9 o'clock, it was Karen.

"Wanna go garage-saling?" I leapt out of bed and put the coffee on, then scrambled for the bathroom. Before I could get my flannel pyjamas off, she was at the door and we were headed down the road, looking for signs.

We made a good haul. I won't bore you with the details. This time.

Then we were off to the kidlet's birthday party. I made the purple box you see above, at Trinket's request; then filled it with as many purple things as Everett and I could find.

Been at the computer since 5 this afternoon, with breaks only to eat a bowl of potato soup with Emil and sprawl on the couch with some printouts once in a while.

Enough! But got lots of work done so I don't get behind while on Mom Patrol tomorrow. Will take work along, maybe get some done that way. But if Mom's awake, I spend the time with her. If I'm not getting her something to eat or drink or measuring out her meds, or putting something away or into the washing machine, I'm working with fabric and we are talking.

She was tired today but made it to the party for a couple hours. Yesterday she spent in bed so as not to push her luck, because she felt decent only while reclined the day before.

This is the Princess Anne set of dishes she is considering selling, if anyone collects them.

Saturday 10 April 2005
1:22 p.m.

When a friend of Mom and Dad’s died of cancer some years ago, she was in a coma for several weeks and Mom told her three daughters that the sweetest sound their mother could hear would be the sisters talking together in her room.

I remembered that yesterday as I sat at Mom’s sewing machine, working on my quilt top, while she lay dozing in her bed nearby. And thought okay Mom, but if it was you, you’d want your three girls to talk about quilting, wouldn’t you? It seems she even enjoys the sound of the sewing machine (and my occasional curses), because she’s told me more than once that I could sew while she’s resting.

The quilt top is done; next, I go buy flannel for the flip side and the border. Perhaps today I’ll do that. The boys and I have been lounging around all morning, but plan to go out to return a movie (watched Spanglish last night; wow, Téa Leoni pulled off quite a character in this one), shop for a birthday gift for Trinket, and of course stop in at Mom and Dad’s for a quick visit.

^^^

Scott called this morning, feeling badly about a freshly newborn calf that died. They worked on it for 20 minutes but couldn’t get it to breathe. He is always disappointed when a calf doesn’t make it, and then feels sorry for the cow, which mourns its baby for days afterward.

^^^

Noticed this link when I read this online journal this morning, then remembered last night’s dream, where Rosie O’Donnell was the receptionist in the dormitory where I lived. Her office was in a glassed-in box near the middle-floor entry and when I walked by, she was on the phone.

^^^

These Notify List boxes below have not been showing up in their completeness and I think this is due to image problems on the Notify List website. But maybe not. Maybe it’s my computer or browser. Would you kindly email me and let me know if it is showing up properly on yours, or not? Thanks.

xoxo
etc

email:

Friday 8 April 2005
9:31 a.m.

Can't say as I mind getting out in the morning to take the boys to school. The photo above is taken from where I park the van to let Emil out to wait for the bus; the one below is in the parking lot of Everett's school. He figured he was pretty smart, getting a picture of me from the back seat.

I'm off to spend the day with Mom, who has been having "a funny feeling; not pain exactly" in her chest and torso for the past three days. Whatever it is, it's enough to be distressing for her and whoever's with her. We are trying another adjustment to her medication. The doctor told Dad to do whatever he thinks because Dad is as likely to discover the successful dose and frequency as the doctor is.

And it's the weekend! Woo hoo! Why do I love Fridays so? It's not as if I have a strict schedule during the week, or big plans for Saturday night. Must be old habit. But today I'll pick up movies for myself and Everett (Emil prefers to sit in his bedroom and listen to his Valdy or Neil Young CDs these days) and we'll sit up tonight and enjoy each other's company.

Should get back down here to the pool table. Will be losing the tiny gains I was beginning to make.

And now that the weather's warming up, maybe I should get the hot tub filled and ready to go. I just can't get excited about it. Maybe if Cathy was coming to visit, or Scott was here, the thing would get some use. But by myself, I can't imagine sitting out there enough to make it worthwhile heating.

Off to brush my teeth and bolt out the door. Looks like another beautiful day in Kelowna.

Thursday 7 April 2005
10:06 a.m.

Been at the computer this morning, getting some work done. This I'll call my coffee break.

On the drive to school this morning Everett said he didn't have any dreams last night. "I only have dreams when I sleep in your bed, Mom. Your bed must be enchanted or something."

Since the boys got home last weekend, and until last night, he'd been sleeping in my room. He turned 12 in November, so sleeping in his mommy's bed won't be an option much longer. But for now he is still a little boy who thinks it's a big treat, and I am a woman who loves that little boy and likes to see him happy.

Speaking of little boys, how about this from Mark Twain ~

Whatever a man's age, he can reduce it by several years by putting a bright-colored flower in his buttonhole.

Wednesday 6 April 2005
10:32 a.m.

Dropped Everett off at school (see pigeon-toed boy above) and drove over to Mom and Dad’s, where Joan is spending the morning. Had a nice little visit and came home to have breakfast and get some work done. Am in the middle of it right now.

Reading Virginia Woolf’s The Shorter Diary, I note she wondered whether her writing about her friends and acquaintances more than the politics of the time would make her diary less than what it should be; whether it would stand up to posterity, whether the “older” Virginia would one day read it and think it contained nothing of importance. Her diary is full of life, and masterful writing — and isn’t that saying something, for sentences that you dash off in a hurry, without much thought. I want to say to her, “It’s perfect, perfect as it is!”

12:56 p.m.

Ah, about to take a break from working, and go upstairs to forage for some lunch. Stretch the muscles that have compacted from sitting in this terrible chair I bought for $2 from a lady who had no truck to haul her junk away.

Report on Mom’s condition (for if I leave this part out, large numbers of you will be disappointed):
~ back to herself today, and mostly herself yesterday, but it was physically “not a good” day,” she said several times, due to discomfort and general malaise.
~ “Don’t ever die,” she told me after the worst of it was past.

1:16 p.m.

Well, I was going to go upstairs. Turns out the door to upstairs is locked from the other side, so I am going nowhere until Karen gets here to let me out of the basement. Glad she is on her way home, and that she has a cellphone with her. This would be quite a dilemma otherwise.

The things I won't do to get my sisters to come over, eh? Tonight they will both be here, singing with me and Steve.

email:

Tuesday 5 April 2005
9:33 a.m.

I was on my way to Mom and Dad’s one Saturday morning several weeks ago when I noticed a garage sale on the street and pulled over. A young woman had her sale items set out on a table on her driveway, and next to it, on the grass, she had folded homemade quilts and such.

“What are you asking for this one?” I said, holding up a quilted red tablecloth (see above; it had matching curtains and valances with sunflowers on them, and I thought might be useful as fabric for future projects).

“I don’t have a clue what it’s worth,” she replied. “My mother made it.”

“Your mother made it, and you’re selling it?” I was incredulous.

“I don’t really like it.”

“One day you may regret selling it,” I speculated.

“I don’t think so. We’re not on speaking terms.”

I didn’t hesitate. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I told her. “I hope you get things patched up. My mother is seriously ill. I’ve always treasured the things she made and gave to me, but when she’s gone, I expect I’ll treasure them even more.”

She didn’t hesitate either. “I never had a good relationship with my mother and I don’t care if I ever do. My grandparents raised me.”

There was another quilt, a black and purple bedspread quilted in a starburst pattern, with matching pillow shams. “My grandmother gave me that one,” the woman said.

“And you’re selling it?” I still couldn’t believe my ears. “You’re sure you wouldn’t like to have them in the years to come?” I was thinking this woman was making a mistake.

“She makes 30 of them a year and gives them all away.”

“All right,” I said (30, my ass), “if you’re absolutely sure you want to part with these ... how much do you want for them?”

“I don’t have a clue what to ask,” she grinned.

“They’re worth plenty,” I told her. “This bedspread here, brand new, would sell for hundreds of dollars.”

“Huh? You’re kidding!”

“No I’m not. A quilt like this takes many many hours to sew by hand, as your grandmother has done. And the fabric isn’t cheap either.”

“Wow.”

“Exactly,” I agreed. “Maybe you should find a marketplace where you’d get more for them than you will at a garage sale. Advertise them in the paper, maybe.”

“Nope, I want to get rid of them today.”

“Well, I’ll offer you $20 for the quilted bedspread set, and I’d be getting a hell of a deal if you said yes. They’re worth far more than that. You could ask more at a quilt shop or on ebay or somewhere.”

“Nope. Not only can you can have the quilt for 20 bucks — I'll throw in the whole shebang — both the tablecloths and the curtains too."

As I was paying for them, two ladies got out of a car and strolled up. “We stopped for the fabric,” one of them said, “but I see you’ve got it already.”

“So I do.” I picked up a shopping bag with each hand. “Are you absolutely sure?” I asked the vendor one last time.

She had my money in her hand and was satisfied with her sale, so away I went, lugging the bags up the stairs to Mom and Dad’s condo, excited about showing them to Mom. She was asleep, but when she got up I immediately took the items out of the bag and unfolded them before her. The quilted bedspread had a large patch on its underside, embroidered with “Made for my beloved granddaughter, T__S__, by grandmother E, on such and such a date.” Both Mom and I were shocked that anyone would sell a handmade gift like this, but more than that, Mom was disgusted.

“To think that a woman put so much time and care into that quilt, and her granddaughter did not value it enough — even if she didn’t really like it — to keep it in her linen closet or use it underneath a bedspread that she does like. Hmph! How spoiled can you be.”

I figured I might go back and give the young woman my contact information so that one day, when she realizes her folly, she can reach me and I can give her heirlooms back to her.

“How old is she?” was Mom's response.

“Probably in her thirties,” I guessed.

“If she’s this stupid at her age,” Mom said, “she doesn’t deserve these things. They're better off where they are.”

email:

~ Emil waits with the others for the bus ~

Monday 4 April 2005
9:46 a.m.

Emil woke me up before 6:30; been to Everett's school already, been downtown to the library, which won't open till 10. Could return a heavy bagful of books through the opening slot on the outside wall but couldn't pick up a book waiting there for me. To bide time I walked over to a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop across the street. Its warm ambience was pleasing, but the woman running it had the music so loud that when I stepped outside to plug the parking meter, I realized I didn't want to go back in. Came home and had scrambled eggs with salsa and toast instead.

Mom was here all day yesterday and Joan is staying with her this morning, or until Dad gets home from the golf course. He will talk to the family physician today and see what Doc thinks is going on. She is having some lucid thoughts, one of which was "Maybe my cancer is getting worse."

Tenderness and love rise up and out in waves.

email:

Sunday 3 April 2005
9:09 a.m.

It is a peaceful Sunday morning, with both my children home from Edmonton, engaged in their usual day-off distractions as if they’ve never been away. First thing this morning, Everett lined up his playstation games in a long row, then scratched his head over them as he decided which one to play.

My wakeup call was from Dad at 8 o’clock. He is going golfing and was to tell me whether I needed to go over there and stay with Mom, or she could come here. It sounds like she is well enough today to come here, which is a surprise. I went yesterday at 1 o’clock and she stayed awake till I left for the airport at four; she stayed up the whole time, and was up again later when Joan and her family visited; this is more than she’s been awake at one time since Monday.

She was still very confused though, not making a lot of sense when she spoke, and sometimes looking past you as she talked. Dad has been cutting the methadone back gradually and if we are lucky, that is all it is. There is always the possibility that the cancer has spread to her brain, the thought of which turns my blood to cardboard. As cute as Mom is when she can’t straighten her thoughts around, it’s not comfortable to witness either.

I’d walked in carrying a planter bursting with bright yellow violas, and Dad said “There you go, you said one of your angels would bring flowers, and here she is!” and Mom replied with a chuckle that he and I must be playing tricks on her.

After he left to go shoe-shopping I helped her into clean pyjamas, washed her face with a warm cloth (she enjoyed that), rubbed lotion into her dry feet, and worked them over with a view to some healing stimulation. She watched some of the men’s curling championships but made comments that weren’t quite connected to the game; later she laid in her bed while I sat at the sewing machine, and she rhapsodized about the possibilities of starting a quilting club back home if there isn’t one already. I’m sure there is, but if not, she was figuring out how it could all be done. This excited her quite a bit, as did the thought that I could join one if there is, and learn more about quilting even if she isn’t around to teach me.

They should be here soon. I will have to get the kitchen cleaned up and, with Jordan and Mom and the boys for company, it will be a day of hanging around the house contentedly. I’ll cook a chicken for supper.

Not to be alone in the house last night was a vast improvement. Everett and I watched The Triplets of Belleville and I attempted to make boxes with paper, following instructions I’d printed off the internet. Will probably stick to the simplest, most straightforward pattern; now just have to go out and buy some bristol board so the box will be heavy enough for my intentions.

Here they are at the door.

email: