It was blustery when the boys and I left the farm to go to town, and every single person I met mentioned it, as did everyone I overheard in the grocery store, post office, library, and hardware store. You’d think we never see a bit of wind and snow around here.

Barney and I picked Don up at school and arrived at the optometrist’s in record time, only to be told their appointments are next Tuesday. I left my newest pair of old frames so the lenses can be replaced by bifocals. They're still going to cost me $275. Yep: oldladyhood, here I come.

We were to be at the lodge (at the end of the driveway above) to see Vincent at 6 o’clock, but since my mistake had bought us some extra time, we came home for supper at 4:30.

This is how one farmer stores the grain he has no granary for. It's along the road on my way to town.

I was a bit concerned that we’d have low visibility or a blocked road on the way back from town later, but I am a Saskatchewan girl. It takes more than that to keep me home when I intend to go somewhere. It takes a full-blown blizzard or zero visibility or a vehicle that won’t start.

It was a quick bite to eat (brown rice, steamed broccoli, and leftover hamburger chop suey) and back to town we went, but without Sweetiepie. He phoned Vincent to say we weren’t going to come, then told me. I packed up the boys and went anyway. It seemed strange to visit Vincent without him along. They are the old friends, after all.

Besides, it was a special occasion: Ukrainian New Year’s Eve. Staff and residents were making sandwiches and cookies, and Vincent had bought a bottle of rye so he could give us a drink in his room. (Don and Barney had coke, straight up.)

When we arrived, Vincent was on his way outside in his motorized wheelchair to have a cigarette. He was surprised and delighted to see us, and we went in and chatted (and sipped) in his room for an hour or so, until we got the call to the dining room. There, I talked with an old farmer from my home town, and to my cousin who works at the lodge. A cantankerous old lady (also from my home town, and also named Kate) came up to inquire of my cousin whether another old lady, strapped into her chair, was all right.

“I worry about these old people,” she said. “I like to make sure things are the way they should be.” She wheeled away, back across the hall to the TV room where several residents were tapping toes or fingers to fiddle music on the tube.

Another resident was very concerned about Don, who was using his walker.
“What happened to him?” she asked.
She tsk-tsked and said “That’s too bad, a young person like that” and then proceeded to tell me that she’d had a stroke and that’s why she can’t walk.

When I excused myself to go get our coats out of Vincent’s room and started walking down the hall, she called after me, “You’re tiny!” as if this came as a shock to her.

I called back “Not tiny enough!” and she grinned happily as if I’d made a real joke.

Before we left, Vincent thanked me three or four times for coming and bringing the boys along. He used to be a childcare worker; likes kids and doesn’t get to see them in the lodge often enough. “You made my night,” he said.

Happy Ukrainian New Year, all you ‘’ookabukes" out there. I’m not one, but I love your perogies, your cabbage rolls, and the fact that your holidays are celebrated all around this area. Two Christmasas, two NY’s Eves — what’s not to like?

xoxo
etc
kate

The dishes are soaking as I write. I was reaching under the sink for soap when Barney snapped this picture. Just out of the tub, my hair is wet and I am freshly dressed and ready to go, here, except that my first meal (poached eggs and toast) of the day must yet be consumed and the beans on top of the stove need to be simmered tender and cooled for later, when I will puree them with garlic and make a 'butter' that I hope to replace milk-butter with.

A trip to town is required today. I haven't ventured further than I could easily walk, for over a week.

The boys need their annual eye examinations after school. We are out of dog food and bird seed. Our own larders could use a restocking too.

And then the four of us are going to go visit Vincent. The kids are excited. Barney thinks Vincent is "cool" because he is an artist. Don just likes people and likes to go anywhere.

From what I gather, the residents at the lodge enjoy it when children enter their halls. I wouldn't be surprised if Don does a walking tour and talks to everyone. That's his style.

xoxo
etc
kate

It's only about 10 below as I walk out onto the road and around to The Hill.

Hill. That still strikes me ironic.

The air is not that wall of solid cold that hits you in the face at 30 below, but when I have my gloves off to handle the camera, the wind cuts the back of my hand and bites my fingers.

They sting even after I've pulled my naked hands like turtle heads into three warm layers of sleeves.

Walking back toward the yard, I imagine being lost and freezing to death, just slowing down gradually until I stop moving. In the dark. Tip of nose a frozen lump.

 

And now, away from my window and off to prepare a fabulous feast.

xoxo
etc
kate

On his birthday, we gave Barney a clear plastic birdfeeder that sticks by suction cups to the window. He filled it with sunflower seeds, but it was almost two months before the local chickadees got brave enough to visit it regularly. Now they fight each other for access to it and we watch them, delighted, from our kitchen window. You can sit six inches away from them and they are not fazed.

There are woodpeckers that collect snacks from it, too. They are a bit more nervous.

The kids are home. We picked them up in North Battleford yesterday.

It’s 30 below. I have made a resolution not to smoke in the house, so already I have cut down on my consumption of the herb mullein. I guess! If it means I have to stand outside in 30-below rather than sitting here at my computer in comfort and warmth — what would you expect? It won’t be easy though — sitting here reading and writing while having a nice relaxing smoke is one of my pleasures and habits.

Sweetiepie wants to take a drive over to Jack and Dawna’s for a short visit. My boys are glad to be home and don’t want to go anywhere. Neither do I, actually, so I’m torn. Make him happy by going with him? Or stay home with my children, where I really want to be? Make a small sacrifice in the interests of conjugal harmony, or serve my own preferences?

I made pancakes this morning, and some 'creme a sucre' to go with it. And a second batch (of the syrup, which is like liquid brown-sugar fudge) for Jack and Dawna. But the rest of the day has been spent cleaning the kitchen and catching up on email.

Yes, Dave has a girlfriend! It is official. And that is a Very Good Thing. The boys seem to like her, though she’s allergic to cats so they had to keep the kitten behind a closed door upstairs when she was over.

Well, I”ve rolled up a mullein and am going to go get some sparkly sunshine and fresh air while I smoke the thing. Sweetiepie is out freezing his face, doing something with the cattle.

This barn is near North Battleford. Nice barn, I thought:

4:37 pm

A morning and early afternoon under the effects of the neck thing, finally vanquished by a Zomig tablet around 2 o’clock. Then a bath reading W.P. Kinsella in an old Western People magazine, a new red t-shirt, and a half-hour at the kitchen sink. Half the dishes are washed and dripping dry. The other half are neatly re-stacked, awaiting their turn, while I let the wrinkles dry out of my hands and sit down to catch up on my journal.

Sweetiepie was talking about going to my sister’s to put the finishing touches on her new countertop after making a trip into town. But first, he said, he had to do some stuff with the cattle. So I’m ready, but he hasn’t come back into the house.

I’ve stuck a blade roast into the oven and will cook Jill’s spanakopita-type thingies to go with it. I took them out of the deep freeze last night to thaw for later in the evening, after we’d returned with Jack and Dawna from a late supper; but never got around to the cooking.

I called the boys yesterday and they are having a good time out in Alberta, though it will seem a short holiday to them when we meet again on Saturday. Yesterday they were going to go see The Cat in the Hat.

Barney took a kitten from here to give his dad, who’d told Jill to find a black one for him. She hadn’t managed it, so we took one of our barn cats. Barney was thrilled. Dave didn’t seem so thrilled, but I told him he could send it back with Barney if he didn’t want it and he said “oh no, it’ll be fine” and was petting and talking to it immediately.

He gave me a hug and wished me a Merry Christmas and, when we met outside our vehicles at the hotel parking lot halfway between here and Edmonton, was wearing a new green corduroy shirt. I thought “new girlfriend must have given him that.” Don, on the phone, said “Poppa’s friend Denise came over.” I have my fingers crossed that Dave picks a good one.

Grandma just phoned. There is nothing going on in the old home town. There is no one driving past her house. She went for the mail and there were no vehicles around. She went to the Co-op store and no one was in there. Things have been quiet.

Now that my hair has mostly dried, and before the sky completely darkens, I’m off out to feed Chester and the cats.

This was taken on Boxing Day just off the highway east of Saskatoon, where I had to have a pit stop. You know how girls are.

This next was taken on the way back from North Battleford after dropping the boys off with their dad. Borden Bridge is a half-hour or so west of Saskatoon.

In an intro to a compilation of writing by visitors to the monastery at Muenster, someone said "In Saskatchewan you can't help but look up."

1:13 p.m.
Thursday, Dec. 24

M face and arms and clothing are covered in white dust. There are about three warm iced sugar-cookies in my belly. And if I don't bath and get out of here, my new tradition — the Christmas Eve day shop — will become stressful rather than a seasonal pleasure.

So I'm off out of here to get ready for Santa.

Best of holidays to you,
Kate
xoxo
etc

"christmas is sparkling
out on carol's lawn
this girl of my childhood games
has kids nearly grown and gone
grown so fast
like the turn of a page
we look like our mothers did
now
when we were those kids' age
nothing lasts for long
nothing lasts for long
nothing lasts for long

down at the chinese café
we'd be
dreamin' on our dimes
we'd be playin
'you give your love
so sweetly ...'
one more time"

~ joni mitchell

there are all these places i imagine living in, that are now too decrepit or gone or exist only in a nighttime dream. now i can create characters who live in them. i can have a vicarious reality. no wonder there are so many fiction writers.

Last night I watched Titanic while listening to our collection of CDs in random one-song order. Near the end of the movie I turned off the music and turned up the TV, and heard the elderly survivor say “A woman’s heart is a deep ocean of secrets.”

On the news that followed, there was a short piece about a Buddhist’s dead body found in the Lotus position. Followers believed he’d reached Nirvana while meditating, and they mummified his body.

Most Wise Words said when Mom despaired of her father’s impending death:

“We all have to go sometime.” ~ Dad

Most Comforting Condolence:

“I know how important he was to you.” ~ Elaine R.

Most Helpful Words to self on death of loved one:

“I can handle this.” - Self

I have the courage of my
convictions.
It’s just getting the convictions
in the first place.

Are you saying "Where? Where's the town? It looks like an empty field to me!"

See the grain elevator? It's the only one left in my home town. Not long ago, there were three. We are losing our elevators at an alarming rate all across the three prairie provinces.

The town itself is from the right of the elevator, to where you see the end of the spruce trees. This photo was taken from the corner about two miles west of town, where I turn to go to my sister's farm.

10:18 a.m.

I have been up and at the computer since about 8:30. It is time to go and move my body around, particularly as there is much to do before we leave for the Christmas party late this afternoon.

Email excerpts:

To a friend who hopes I can escape the commercialism of Christmas in the city:

"I enjoy the gift-buying and giving. My family keeps telling me not to do it anymore, I think because they feel if I do then they must, but I find it a pleasure to do and can't seem to help myself. Even if it's only a little item ... I feel good about giving it. Been doing it since I was in Grade 3 and my uncle gave a tobacco tin full of pennies to my sister and I, which we then used to buy gifts for grandparents, aunts and uncles, the whole clan."

****************************************

To a list where commenting on replacing the stone in an inherited ring segued into a post about my grandmother's engagement ring and her early death at near my age:

"More and more often, at age 44, am I brought up short by the realization that we do not have eternity to gaze upon the faces of our children and loved ones or upon the breathtakingly beautiful sky. It is a hard knowledge to accept, or even to really believe."

xoxoetc
~~Kate