~strange clouds on Sunday afternoon~

In following the path that feels right for me, I cause pain and discomfort for others. I feel selfish because of this. I am selfish, doing what is right for me instead of what is best for others.

Now don't go writing me, saying I shouldn't feel bad about this, that others choose their reactions to my actions and are responsible for them. I know that and can use the philosophy to justify my own hardheadedness as well as the next stubborn cow can. I'm just being realistic; I am no saint.

Moving, even temporarily, will be a hard wrench for Emil. Last night on the phone he asked several times for reassurances that we would be back from BC in time for his first day of school, and I lied to him. I guaranteed it, so that he would not worry.

I’ve decided not to tell him what my plans are, because he will obsess over it so much that it will ruin the rest of his summer holidays. Everett knows the truth though, and that I am lying to Emil, and why. I feel badly about that too, because I think maybe he won’t be able to trust me to be honest with him anymore. I’ve explained why the truth would hurt Emil right now (not to mention what it would do to my sanity to listen to Emil carry on and on and on and on about it for weeks on end) and Everett seems to grasp that, but still it must put a little dint in his faith in me.

Sometimes I haven't told them the whole truth, but I have never out-and-out lied to either of them. It feels really weird and uncomfortable and I have doubts about whether it's the right thing to do in this case, even now.

***

A great dark cloud blew overhead last night as I stood out on the road, watching. When the wind began to howl loud enough to make my heart pound with anxiety, I came back to the deck and waiting for the thunder and rain. I was not disappointed. We had a lovely rain for about half an hour. I made sure the empty pails were beneath the spout to catch the water, and this morning I went out to give the southside flower bed a drink, which it didn’t get during the rain. Mosquitoes swarmed me; I hightailed it out of there and toward the road to escape them, and the gorgeous morning called me out. I headed off west, breathing in the dewy air and glowing in the gentle warmth of the sun on my bare arms and face.

The western red lilies have multiplied this year into loose colonies in the ditches. Canada anemone’s delicate white petals are everywhere, and I’m fortunate not to have missed the blossoming of the wild roses, which usually bloom in June but are later than usual because of the cool weather we’ve had. I walked between the wealth of two grassy ditches filled with these and aromatic white yarrow, blue flax, yellow clover, and some tall purple ‘weed’ that I cannot identify but which is pretty in its delicate, spiked abundance.

I was deeply happy, strolling along the damp gravel road, all alone, soaking in the brightly-coloured wonders, birds twittering all around. I was not as aware of my surroundings as I thought, though, because the pale fox I saw once before was in the ditch alongside me before I noticed him. He stopped and looked at me, and I greeted him with affectionate appreciation, and then he ran off along the fence and disappeared behind a thin line of poplar and willow trees.

I will miss the beautiful Saskatchewan sky. I love it so much. I love the whispering poplar trees, the gravel roads, the rippling fields, the wildflowers in the ditches, the scent on the air. It feeds my spirit in some essential way that I feel physically when I step outside of this treed yard and can see for miles. And I just couldn't do that in the Okanagan — I tried, and it's not the same. A lump of rock and shadowy evergreens blocks your view, whatever way you turn. There, the sky doesn't start till my shoulders, when it should be well beneath eye level! I am used to a lot of sky blue, and sky sky sky that fills my vision. Mountains filling it are just not the same! They are heavy and solid!

And then there are our sunsets. They are breathtaking. I might agree that sunsets are breathtaking wherever they are seen, but the fact is that Saskatchewan sunsets are unique in the world because of the air currents that meet over the province. They are the cause of some splendid cloud formations that, illuminated by a setting sun, can make me shed tears of gratitude and pleasure. I’m going to miss that.

One more month to drink it all in, and I'm going to go out to BC with a bellyfull to last me a year.

While in Kelowna we were invited to supper at the home of Gloria and Roy. Boxes at Mom and Dad's were mostly uppacked and we left in the mid-afternoon with their exhortation to "Go out and enjoy yourselves." So off to Winfield we went, stopping at a liquor store on the way to purchase a dozen beer and a six-pack of green-apple coolers.

Gloria and Roy's home is the only residential area left in an industrial zone, and they have turned it into a little tropical paradise of winding paths, a fish pond, all sorts of lovely blooms and greenery, all beneath a towering pine that shades the back patio where we sat sipping our libations for several hours before sitting down to dine.

I managed to slice my index finger pretty good while frenching green beans during the meal preparation. No sooner had I visualized this happening (and not bothered to ERASE THAT THOUGHT as I usually do when I catch myself imagining some undesirable event) than I pushed my finger into the blade and got all weak and fainty at the sight of my own blood. What a suck I am. Had to go sit down and do some deep breathing and my, what a clever way to wangle out of finishing my job at the kitchen counter.

While we were there Gloria had a phone call from a friend (Debbie?) who lives up in the boonies somewhere. I said I'd post some photos for her to see, so here you go, girl.

This old lamp was a genuine brothel fixture, now found in one of Gloria and Roy's attic bedrooms. Below is one of Gloria's fairy houses. Well that's what I call them. This is a small one compared to the others I've seen. They had several floors, walkways running up their sides, the whole kit 'n kaboodle. They are sold before Gloria even gets them made. I think she said she makes them out of pieces of driftwood and twigs and dried plants that she gathers. I have to admit, I covet them.

Gloria and Roy were not only the most welcoming hosts one could find, but they were so generous as to set out a spare key and invite us to come and stay whenever we liked. We thought that was pretty sweet, even though we didn't take them up on their offer this time. It's a fine thing to have goodhearted friends.

~the foothills of Alberta ~

I'll be taking Emil and Everett and moving to Kelowna in mid-to-late August. I'd been waffling on that quite a bit, thinking I could fly back and forth for a week every month, until I was on the drive home after parting with Mom. Then it became clear that if she was on her deathbed, I would not be able to leave. Very plain, very simple. I would be torn between getting home to my kids, who need me, and staying with my mom and dad, who will also need me when/if things get bad. Chances are, things will. We have to be ready for that. And I will need to be there, for my own sanity. So off we go. I expect it will be temporary, but will figure that out later and for now, just go with it.

~ driving through the Rocky Mountains ~

My sister Karen, who lives out here on a farm just 15 minutes from me, is also taking her 13-year-old daughter and moving to Kelowna in early August. We are leaving our farming spouses behind. Scott's feeling down about that today, but he understands. He's seen the shape I'm in when I'm worried about Mom from this distance. So he'll come out when he can, and so will Karen's husband Dick, probably after harvest. They both raise cattle too, so will have to come back and deal with that. But it can be done, and they are being supportive, and what more can one ask from a partner? We sisters are lucky in our menfolk.

~ driving, driving, driving through the Rockies ~

Mom's feeling fine, by the way. Just some chest pain from the kidney cancer spreading into her breastbone, and she tires easily. There were some complications from taking morphine and anti-inflammatories to handle the discomfort, and I was up in the night with Mom once. What to do seemed obvious, and I remained calm although it was quite distressing to see her in such pain. The next day she said, "Your dad would have called an ambulance. He would not have thought of telling me to do this and this, as you did, and he wouldn't have known where to massage my feet. The pain seemed to go away right after you did that."

~there is always road construction on the #1 hwy~

The first day we were in BC, I spent the day at the cancer clinic with Mom and Dad. This was the day they would find out if Mom could get on the experimental drug trial, and Dad was wound up so tight I was afraid he'd have a heart attack. He knew how much Mom was hoping to get on the trial, and was afraid of seeing her disappointed. You see, Mom's prognosis was that without treatment, she'd only have six to twelve months to live. It's only a best guess, of course, but it's a pretty daunting idea for all of us to face up to. We are scared shitless. (Well, Mom isn't; "I'm not afraid of dying," she said, "but I'd like to live a little longer than that, if I can.")

~ who knew there are pyramids in Alberta?
this is near Drumheller on our rainy drive home ~

There is the standard immunology (interfuron) treatment, but there is an experimental drug trial starting right away and she is eligible to participate in it. If she'd been diagnosed with terminal cancer even a month sooner, she'd already have been taking some other kind of treatment and would not have been eligible for this new one. So she feels rather lucky, considering the timing.

~ coming back through a rainy Saskatchewan ~

Who knows, maybe it will be the miracle cure the world has been waiting for. On the way back to their Salmon Arm condo from the clinic in Kelowna, I saw a semi-truck with "nothing short of a miracle" painted on it as I was mulling the possibilities over. Now if there is no miracle, I won't be able to believe there is meaning in synchronicities and apparent coincidences anymore. Nope. Because that, to me, was a pretty straightforward and powerful message of hope.

On the last stretch of our drive home, we were coming east out of St. Gregor, Saskatchewan, when a deer leapt out in front of the van and I drove right over it. It happened so fast I had no time to try to avoid the animal, even if I'd had a place to swerve to. A semi had just pulled out to pass on my left, and on the right, maybe 50 feet across the ditch, was a train. I had no choice but to go straight ahead and hope for the best.

There was very little damage to the van — the deer's body tore off the front license plate and put a silver-dollar-size hole in the plastic in front of the bumper, but that was all we have been able to see. Tomorrow I have an appointment to have things checked out.

We stopped and got out of the vehicle, which was covered in deer hair and snot right around to the rear window and stunk to high heaven. Scott walked back to find the license plate and pull the mangled deer off the road. I followed slowly, sad. There was probably a fawn somewhere hidden in the bushes back of the ditch's tall grass, but we would be highly unlikely to find it. "They hide so well, it's almost impossible to find them," Scott told me.

I still feel bad.

We left Mom and Dad's new condo in Kelowna on Wednesday morning. The above photo shows me with Mom and Dad just before Scott and I went out the door.

Mom said "Everyone is taking pictures of me these days." I guess it might seem rather morbid, but it's true. She puts on her best face though. Here, they had just said "But it's so early in the morning, we're barely awake!"

It was very difficult to leave. I can't remember any time in my life when my mother wept and said "I don't want you to go," and yet that morning it felt perfectly natural as I held her tight for a very long time and said I don't want to go, either, but don't worry, I'll be back before you know it.

This also was the first time in my life when I had an opportunity to do something to help Mom and Dad, rather than always the other way around. I spent several days packing, and several days unpacking and putting things away in their new condo, as well as making meals when Mom was laying down, unwell from the morphine she was taking for pain across her chest and shoulders.

Now she's tossed that aside rather than feel so shitty, and is toughing out the discomfort until tomorrow after a c.t. scan and a biopsy, then radiation that will hopefully take care of the lump on her breastbone.

Scott helped a lot too, and Mom and Dad were very grateful. So was I.

***

Mom and I both had a rough day after we left. Hers was weepy, she told me. Mine was sad and sick at heart, though I drove from Vernon all the way to Calgary, which probably helped keep my mind focused on something besides concern for Mom and Dad.

***

Look at that picture. I've been told all my life that I am the spitting image of Dad and of his mother, but here I don't see that. I mean, look at the cheekbones and the eyes on this mother and daughter. Do they not match? Scott says simply that I am an even blend of both of them.

When I look at the pictures, I see the strain everyone is under. Even Dad seems to be struggling to hold his emotions in check. He was so wound up during the move, trying to get everything to go right and in a timely fashion, that I worried about him. When we left I pinched his cheek and told him to take care of himself, too — to get his rest and try to relax. He assured me he would, but I know he won't until everything is in its place. Fortunately it mostly was and there were just details to take care of after we departed. My youngest sister Joan has been over there helping with that — putting clothing away, that sort of thing. She also came over one afternoon while I was there and helped put Mom's good dishes into the china cabinet. I didn't get to spend as much time with her as I'd have liked, just the way things worked out — but we did pass an hour together, talking, so that was something.

***

I'm off out to pick strawberries, then going to my home town to see Grandma before driving out to my sister Karen's to help her put in her slate patio.

xoxo
etc
Kate

Notice how the mother always hovers nearby in case help is required to blow out the candles? It was, too.
Emil turned 16 on Monday. Sixteen! Whoa.

We are busy preparing to leave tomorrow morning. I am sitting down here to take a break before the night's big push to do supper dishes and the last things on my To-Do list. Ran to the town library for talking books to make the long drive seem shorter, but aside from that have been putzing around the house all day.

Scott's got strep throat but that hasn't stopped him from spending half the day in the field or anything else. He's a working machine. Well, a working something. Maybe being a machine would be better for his health sometimes. Crazy bugger. Not that I'm complaining. I'll take an ambitious man over a lazy one, any day. I just wish he wouldn't run himself ragged.

I am not pushing myself much, as usual. If things don't get done, we leave later in the day, that's all.
Scott's got some cattle out taking care of the long grass around our house and driveway.
 

~ lawnmOOers, Everett called them ~

I have been getting the laundry done so we could pack, and figuring out what to do with food in the fridge, and what to make for supper, and cleaning the kitchen (with help from the kids), and falling short of my long list of things to do before we lock up in the morning. Got some work done, but not as much as I would have liked. Oh well. I don't dare worry about that stuff, for fear of imploding. All in good time, my dear, I say to myself. It will all get done eventually.

Mom has had pain in her chest and shoulders and yesterday after Tylenol 3 with codeine didn't help, Dad took her to the cancer clinic and asked to see a doctor. They were told they'd have to go to an Emergency room at the hospital. Dad refused and demanded to see a doctor then and there. Mom got a prescription for morphine and stronger anti-inflammatories, and is doing better.

Way to go, Dad! You're our hero.

It looks like there is probably cancer in Mom's breastbone and she will have to have it irradiated, which the nurse told them will "take care of it."

Anyway, I'll be seeing them both on Monday night in Salmon Arm after a day of driving through those ponderous damn mountains over curvy dangerous roads next to sheer rock cliffs overlooking deep lakes that your vehicle tumbles straight into when it goes off the road, if it isn't flattened by a snowy avalanche or a rockslide first.

Lord, give me our flat Saskatchewan roads any day, that you don't even have to be awake to drive on.

Here is what our town looks like as you approach it from the east.

See you sometime in July.

~ dashing with dandelion on evening walk~

Sunday, 10:56 a.m.

Bacon frying, pancake griddle heating up, late publisher Jack McClellan’s voice speaking out of the radio, dishes washed, kitchen floor swept; through the windows a cloudy sky patched with bright blue, trees waving, while in the office I sit with the coffeepot’s last cup of black brew. Must not forget to phone Dad, though I call there every day anyway, now.

Scott and I are thinking seriously about moving out to BC to be near my parents. Perhaps it is a kind of negative attitude, but I figure if Mom doesn’t get to live till she’s an old lady, then seeing her once or twice a year and talking to her on the phone are not going to be enough for me. I want to see more of her, as well as be there to help when she is feeling ill, has appointments, whatever. Dad will need the support too, and so will Joan, whom Mom and Dad will have to lean on because she does live nearby. I can’t take Mom's presence in my life, or Dad’s, for granted any longer. I’ve had a wakeup call.

There are considerations, of course, that can't be ignored. Scott has commitments here, has started farming with his parents and brother. Emil loves his school and will be upset if he has to leave it. Scott and I don’t like BC; we like life right where we are. The cost of living is high in southern BC, and so are rents. And so on and so forth. So it is not clear sailing, but we are going to cast about when we’re out there next week and decide whether we can do it or not.

***

12 noon

Well it was a nice peaceful morning. I had just answered the phone and was on it for only a few moments when Scott hollered in the door.

“I need help! Cattle on the road!”

Everett and I bolted out and ran around with Scott after nervous beasts, and I’ve been reminded once more that I’m not in as good shape as I ought to be. Can’t run very fast or very far. So much for all the brisk walking. Will have to take up jogging now.

Lately I’ve been insisting that Everett come walking with me. I have to slow my pace because he can’t keep abreast of me. My 11-year-old is in worse condition than I am; that has to be changed.

“You can’t even keep up with an old lady like me!” I tease him.
“You’re not old!” he insists.
“A lot older than you,” I say. “You should be able to run circles around me.”

Then he’s pissed off because he thinks I’m trying to make him feel bad. But he still picks dandelions and hands them to me with a flourish, as if I’m a fair damsel and he a gallant knight.

***

Now where was I. Mom:

“We don’t want all you kids uprooting your lives and moving out here just because of us, because of me. Especially if you and Scott don’t both really want to live here, or if you can’t make a go of it and support yourselves decently. That would be stressful for your dad — you know him, he’d fret — and that would stress me, and I have to focus on fighting this thing. So think it through, and make sure you really want to do it and can do it.”

I’d be saying the same thing to my kids if I were in Mom and Dad’s shoes. I wouldn’t want to be any trouble to them, cause them undue hardship, even if I really wanted them close by.

“Well Mom,” I said, "it is because of you. There’s no denying that. If this wasn’t happening, you couldn’t drag Scott or I out there to live. That’s a fact. But you’re my mother and you’ve been diagnosed with terminal cancer and it’s possible you won’t live another 20 years, so I want to be near you while I still can. I want my children to be near you while they still can be. ”

“But,” I added, “that is not to say the move would only be for the sake of you and Dad. There’s something in it for me too, you know. If it happens that you are only around for a couple years, do you think I would regret spending as much time with you as possible? I guarantee you I wouldn’t. But if I didn’t do it, given the opportunity ... well, that I might very well regret. So it’s for me too, it’s not just for you.”

She could understand that, but still had her reservations, so I kidded her. “With my luck, we’ll move out there and then you’ll live another 20 years in optimum health.”

She laughed. “That’s what I plan to do!”

It’s stopped raining; the sky is blue. But here’s what the street in front of the post office looked like yesterday.

***

Emil has fluid on (in?) his right lung and is taking antibiotics. Gotta watch that kid closely when he has a cold.

Everett’s evaluation for school was yesterday morning. He homeschooled this past year, and I gave him his head. In other words, I did not keep him to a strict schedule, nor did I teach him. He had textbooks and some minor guidance gleaned from the curriculum info the school division gave us, and he pretty much did what he wanted.

I worried that it might not be enough, that he didn’t have adequate study habits, that I didn’t oversee him as perhaps I ought, that he’d have to take Grade 6 over again.

But apparently not. The evaluation took less than two hours, and the teacher who gave it had Everett pegged. He saw his strengths and weaknesses as if he’d known the kid forever.

The teacher, who had never met Everett before, called his academic abilities right to the mark. He also observed his personality and what sorts of social problems he might have at school. I recognized these, have been aware of them for years, so I was impressed. And the final pronouncement was that Everett will have no trouble with a Grade 7 courseload.

It wouldn’t have been the end of the world if he’d been held back to do Grade 6 over again, but I am still relieved and pleased that he can move ahead, that I didn’t screw up by doing things the way we did.

Aside from that, we’ve had a wonderful year together, the boy and I. And he’s been happy.

Today we celebrate the end of his school year by going out for lunch and then to the local museum. Which means I’d better get a move on.

We've had rain, and rain, and more rain, and although the farmers are concerned because so many of them don't have their seeding done, the land is in dire need of the moisture.

While I feel for the farmers in their anxiety about late crops running into frost in the early fall, I am relieved. I had waking nightmares about drought in this area again.

I have used the cool week to fill the deep freeze with bread and bran muffins, and to make several batches of granola for quick fixes. I welcome the wet and cool.

***

Grandma has a beautiful yellow-eyed black cat that has been her faithful companion for four years. She didn't want him as a kitten when my sister Karen practically forced him on her, but he became a sizeable focus in her life. You couldn't have a conversation on the phone without her talking to the damn cat at the same time.

When I invite her to go to the city or anywhere, if it means being away overnight she uses her cat as an excuse not to go. Not that she needs an excuse; she prefers to stay home anyway. This time, so she could come to BC for a week, she asked my cousin to stay at the house and look after the cat. The responsibility meant letting it in and out whenever it desired, and putting food and water in its dishes.

Grandma worried about the cat the whole time. Would he be all right with her gone? He doesn't like anybody but her; that's his reputation. But I find him friendly enough; he loves a good bellyrub just like the next cat. He does stick pretty close to Grandma when he's in the house, though.

Grandma tried to phone my cousin at the house several times, but there was never an answer until the day before we were to fly back. Grandma fretted. What was happening with her cat? Why was no one ever there to answer the phone? What if my cousin was never actually there, as she'd promised?

***

Aunt Jean thinks of everything — the wakeup call, the pre-ordering of the cab, the time we all need to get up in order to be ready to leave on time. We let her look after these little decisions. I took her advice and went to the store, glad to get out of there, where the two little white-haired sisters were wondering aloud why I hadn't asked what the regular fare was because maybe even paying a bit more for it would have meant leaving in the afternoon instead of the ungodly 6:30 a.m. departure.

Oy! Sheesh! It's true, I hadn't even asked what the regular fare was. I'd just said, in my tearful stupor the week before, sure, I'll take those sale tickets next Wednesday, thanks. They were right, of course, I should've asked more questions; but having this pointed out to me after the fact wasn't something I was willing to cope with that evening.

My own sister, when she came back from my niece's place to spend the night with us, was told under my breath, "You shouldn't have left me here with these two bullies!" I was only kidding of course, because in my normal state of mind I can handle them with one hand tied behind my back. As soon as I get pissed off, they don't want to take me on. At five-foot-five and 125 pounds I'm bigger than both of them put together, and louder. But usually I just take them with a grain of salt.

Karen said back to me, "Maybe somebody else is going to be left behind," nodding her head in Grandma's direction, making me chuckle. It reminded me of our preschool days, when she'd be the only kid who'd choose to be on my team — the "Indian" team — when the neighbourhood kids were lining up to play Cowboys and Indians. She was the little sister who, when some boy on the beach would snap me with his towel, would chase him down and sit on him. She was the loyal sister who, when I'd been mean to her and she was crying and Dad was coming down the hall to straighten 'us' out, wouldn't tell on me because she didn't want me to get a spanking.

Saintly, that girl.

Now, where was I? Oh, Grandma's cat. It turned out that she got home, but he didn't return from his wanderings and she was broken up about it. Usually he'd come back by now, she thought, and this meant something must have happened to him.

I suggested to Everett that he phone and ask if she'd like him to go stay with her for a few days, for company. She said sure, so he packed up his schoolwork and pyjamas and some clean clothes, and away we went. That was early in the week, and I just picked him up yesterday. The two of them got on splendidly, and while he was there, the cat showed up at a neighbour's home. The neighbour called Grandma, who went and got him.

I asked Everett if Grandma was happy when she got him home. He said, "Oh yeah! She talked to him a lot. She said 'Where were you all this time? You had me pretty worried!"

8:07 a.m.

A rough night. I went to bed thinking I could get by without a sedative since I have calmed down a bit after hearing from the oncologist, via Joan and Mom and Dad, that Mom would have six months to a year to live if she took no treatment at all. She is going to take treatment — there is even an experimental treatment in July that she should be eligible for — so we can hope she will be around a while longer.

But I had a slight neckache and had to get up at 2 a.m. to take a pill. Already I had been dreaming -- I was with a man whose wife died of a brain tumour around Xmas. I was mothering one of their young children.

Either I woke up many times, or was conscious as I slept of how awful I feel about what is going to happen to Mom, how she may suffer. I am fucking sick about it, through and through, heartsick, soulsick. I’d say to myself to calm down, “She’s okay NOW, she’s safe NOW, she’s okay NOW” and that would help a little, to focus on the present instead of imagining the future.

I did not realize how much I love Mom or how important she is to me, until now. I took her presence in my life for granted. I assumed she’d be around a long time yet and in good health, as she’s always been.

We took pictures before we left Salmon Arm, and I cropped the best one of Mom and set it as wallpaper on my computer screen. I see her beloved face daily and my heart opens up. Love pours out, but also sadness and fear and anger and disbelief. I look into her left eye and see the resolute seriousness with which she is accepting this turn of events; I look into her right eye and see her sense of humour and the lighthearted twinkle with which she meets all of us who are rallying around her right now.

There is so much — no, not so much in quantity, but so much in depth — that I want to say to her, but I can’t say yet because I would start sobbing and blubbering and just dismay her. I will probably need to write her a letter to get it said.

Karen phoned last night, wondering how I am doing. I told her I am fine until I think or talk about it, then I cry. She said that is not happening to her, and she thinks it’s maybe because all she thinks and talks about are the good things, the hopeful positive things.

“Maybe I’m just lying to myself,” she said. I don’t know; whatever works to keep her functioning effectively must be okay. I envy her more balanced emotions and her strength to keep on accomplishing things each day. I am a lightweight in comparison, a weakling.

I stood at the checkout counter yesterday afternoon and a friend came and waited at the end of it for me. “I’m so sorry to hear this about your mom,” she said. “How is she doing?”

“She’s feeling fine right now; there’s a treatment or two that she can try, and you’d never know to look at her that anything is out of the ordinary.”

I was stating the positive, but felt I was skirting around my real feelings, which are that Mom has terminal cancer and it is the most frightening and terrible thing in the world. “It sucks,” I added in the interest of genuine communication, trying hard not to cry there in the store, and she agreed and we put our heads together for a moment.

My aunt from Phoenix was at Mom and Dad's, and my sister got out the guitar one afternoon. Mom and Aunt Reta sang together as little girls (Mom's on the left) and were at it again last week. Mom's in her glory when she's singing. She has a rich, sweet alto voice.

Today is my second day back home on the farm. It's been quite hot out but while we were away there was an inch or two of rain so everything has greened up beautifully.

I've been for two lovely long walks. There is something in the air that I can't identify but it's there every spring; I think it comes from the poplar trees, and it's intoxicating.

My emotions are not so close to the surface as they have been, but I did have a shitty sleep last night so have to be careful. I may think I'm handling things well but when you're waking up in the night with worries on your mind, you know you are still processing stuff.

I got up yesterday morning all calm and cool and went about the day trying to catch things up so I could get some work done, and then discovered a package that had come in the mail for me. I opened it up and found a lovely little bracelet that Stacia had sent, and that just threw me — the thoughtfulness and caring of it touched me so much that there were tears all over again.

So the emotions aren't buried too deeply, is what I am trying to say. I wanted to phone her last night and thank her, but knew I would be sure to start blubbering, so will have to email instead — for now.

People are so good. I know there are a lot of selfish people in the world, and there is a lot of shit going on, but the people I know personally are decent and compassionate and don't go around killing others. Maybe I've just been lucky so far.