Pa just told me that the forecast is for no frost until the end of October.

The end of October! That’s unheard of, around here. But it would be great. My morning glories, after all, have only had two blue blooms on them so far, and it’s a miracle that we haven’t already had a frost. My cosmo bushes (out in the garden) are only starting to bloom. I tell ya, another month would be heaven! The tomatoes would actually get a chance to ripen on the vine. Everyone else's has, they tell me. Not ours. I've picked four boxes already, green, when frost threatened a couple times.

See those massively tall sunflowers? I still turn around quickly, thinking someone is out in the garden with me, and it's only these standing people.

Farmbeau is out combining the last 50 acres these guys have to do. He gave me a 50-dollar bill to pick up beer for him in case I went to town, but I decided to go tomorrow instead, when Barney and I can rent a family movie for our Movie Night.

Then Pa came in with a message: "My son said to tell you he would really like a beer when he gets in tonight."

Don's just off the schoolbus and gone with Barney to give the pigs a pailful of vegetable scraps from our kitchen, and as soon as he's back, we'll go.

Pa said, "I wouldn't mind something either, but I'm not supposed to have it." He's diabetic.

"What?"

"Coke."

"Diet Coke you want, then?"

"No, no, you can't drink that stuff, that's terrible crap."

I agree.

Barney and I went for a most wonderful walk together around the farm this afternoon. It's great having him home. He spends his mornings doing schoolwork and his afternoons being a sweet little boy. And I mean sweet. He still picks a dandelion or a clover or an alfalfa spike, and gives it to me with a flourish.

xoxoetc
~~~Kate

9:50 a.m.

Farmbeau’s gone to oversee the pouring of cement in two places in town.

Don loves to honk horns. He accepts the fact that not everyone will allow it. But Beryl the Busdriver is a real sweetie and lets him give it a honk when he is getting off and on the bus.

(Less tightass people let him honk their horns, is my thought.)

We’ve got to leave for Dawne’s right away. She phoned and offered me a row of corn last night. Ours was already getting tough when I threw three grocerybags of it, husks and all, into the freezer. So I’m going to drive out to her place, have a visit with her, and Barney and I will pick the corn.

****

from Clementine via email:

Soon it will be my time to follow my dreams and accomplish what I want for myself. I do for everyone else and alot of the times feel there's not much coming back.
I remember what you told me years ago: "Everyone can go fuck themselves, I'm doing what I want." I think I'll get a t-shirt.
In the meantime it's work,clean, listen to kids fight, and worry about anything that needs to be worried about.
oh yeah and the fence!

On the way home from BC, we stopped at the Enchanted Forest and strolled contentedly (i.e. well shaded) on a winding path through the giant trees. You name the fairytale character, we probably saw it that day.

We passed the Three Pigs and each of their houses, and a pirate’s ship, and The Little Old Lady Who Lived in a Shoe. We peeked into the house where the Three Bears entertained Goldilocks. Don was put out that he was too big to go inside.

Barney, spotting a little statue off by itself among the ferns, called out gleefully “Hi Tooth Fairy! Thanks for all the money!”

And as we neared the exit gate, there was a little pond with its resident ducks -- next to a vending machine, naturally, where for a quarter you could buy a handful of feed for the friendly little waddlers. Barney cleaned out my change purse and proceeded to delight both himself and the ducks.

Don was horrified.

“I can’t walk there!” he said. “I’m afraid of ducks!”

We jollied him through, as there was no other exit nearby and because we knew that the ducks weren’t dangerous. But as he passed slowly through the tiny flock gathered around his feet and his crutches, with Farmbeau and I on either side of him, he visibly shuddered and almost threw himself off balance.

But he made it.

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

Barney’s going to homeschool. Did I tell you already? Anyway, he is. Today we picked up textbooks for the four or five core subjects he’ll be studying for Grade 6. Tomorrow he puts his nose to the grindstone.

We’re into fall weather now. Farmbeau heard there’s a risk of frost tonight, and went and covered up the tomatoes and peppers. I was in the middle of doing dishes (gotta have the kitchen spikkety-span for tomorrow morning, when someone is coming for a tarot card reading) and packing a cucumber salad into jars to store in the fridge for up to six months. If it lasts that long.

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

Barney: “Hey Mom! Is there such thing as an electric blanket?”

“Yep.”

“Freaky! How does that work?!”

Getting Things Done in No Time . . . or How to Warp Time
by Doreen Virtue

'How do you have time to write so many books?' an interviewer recently asked me. She explained that she had a deep desire to write a book, but didn't feel she had enough time.

As we all know, time is relative. When you're sitting in traffic, time slows down. But when you're having a fantastic evening out on the town, time rushes by. Time doesn't actually exist, except by our measurement of the moon and sun cycles. Humans actually began measuring time so that farmers would know the best times to plant and collect their crops.

When I visited Fort McMurray, Canada, on the summer solstice of 2000, I was amazed at how the 24-hour daylight affected me emotionally. There was no sense of rushing to try and complete tasks before nighttime, since there was no nighttime.

Many people on the spiritual path stop wearing watches. When I was at the New Age Trade Show in Denver, someone asked, 'Does anyone know what time it is?' No one amongst the people in the vicinity was wearing a watch!

My son, Charles, has mastered the art of warping time — a topic I wrote about in my book, Healing with the Fairies. I use time-warping to complete books on deadline, and to allow me to have plenty of leisure time in the midst of a busy schedule.

Here are some tips for getting things done . . . in no time at all!

1. Picture the outcome. When I'm writing books or making new oracle card decks, I visualize them as already being complete.
I often use a physical anchor to help with this, such as creating a book cover on my computer and then posting it on my office wall.
Once you've imagined something as being complete, then it IS complete on the etheric plane. Anything complete on the etheric plane MUST manifest into physical form.
If you're unsure of some of the details, add the thought to your mental picture, ‘This, or something better, God.’

2. Don't worry about time.
If you worry that there isn't enough time, your body becomes tense. You create a self-fulfilling prophecy of not having enough time. A tense body blocks the inflow of creative ideas and blood to the brain.
Instead, affirm: "I have all the time in the world," and notice how your body relaxes, and your breath deepens.
This relaxed state helps you channel divine ideas and wisdom.

3. Don't think too much.
Let your body and heart work on the project, and let go of analyzing or worrying.
Focus upon, ‘How can I help make the world a better place with this project?’ and don't allow yourself to think self-demeaning thoughts.
Use your feelings, rather than thoughts, as you work on the project. This opens you up to new concepts.

4. Chip away at it.
Many of my books are written in 30-minute increments. The old saying is, ‘Write a page a day, and in a year, you've written an entire book.’
It's amazing how much you can accomplish when you spend just a little bit of time every day on it.

5. Start in the middle. Or at the end.
Who says that you have to write a book, or begin any project, from the beginning? Start with any concept or idea that you have, and build around it.
This method helps prevent writer's block.

6. Pray and stay positive.
During your prayers, ask for help in staying motivated and focused upon your project.
(My book, Archangels and Ascended Masters, lists who in heaven helps with specific types of projects, such as writing, arts, music, healing, etc.).

Don't discuss your project at all with skeptics or those with negative tendencies. In fact, in the beginning, it's important not to discuss your project too much at all!
Talking about a project too much can dissipate your energy and enthusiasm for it, since it will soon feel like old news if you talk about it too much.
Channel your enthusiasm instead into taking small action steps toward the fruition of your project.

7. Follow Divine guidance. If your gut tells you to read a book, call someone, go to a website, or take a class — then do it.
When we pray for help with projects, heaven intervenes in mysterious ways. Even if the action seems illogical, it might be THE piece of the puzzle you've been praying for.

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

White Light at Night

The angels have asked us to visualize the earth surrounded with a thick cushion of white light, before we fall asleep each night. They say this is necessary right now for protection and healing of the earth and inhabitants.

White light is the essence of angels. It is pure love, wisdom, and light. With all of us surrounding the earth in the various time zones, the planet is continuously showered in beautiful light. White light is absolutely powerful and healing. It's a good idea to surround your home, vehicles (and the vehicles next to you), your projects, and your loved ones with white light — and don't forget to surround yourself with white light, as well.”

~~~ xoxoetc
~~ with apologies to Doreen for my choice of photo

~~~~~~~~~Barney the Stoneskipper ~~~~~~~~

And who knew? Henry Ford was an innovator in square dance.

“Square and Round Dancing:
The decline in popularity of the old-time sets was addressed by American automobile magnate Henry Ford. Ford, who drew on his assembly-line methods for breaking down tasks in car manufacturing, worked with dance teacher Lloyd "Pappy" Shaw to create a system for standardizing and calling square dance moves that has been credited with popularizing modern square dance around the world.” - The Canadian Encyclopedia

It looks like the heatwave has finally broken. It feels as if fall has arrived. After no moisture to speak of all summer, now just when the farmers are halfway through getting their crops off, it started to rain during the night and has been pouring all day. I don’t think I could stand to farm for a living.

Don is at school for the first day of the new academic year. Barney is going to homeschool, though when it came down to making a decision one way or the other he was unwilling to risk liking homeschooling less than he likes school. Which is a fearful way of thinking, one that he will probably suffer from for his whole life.

I couldn’t let that pass without trying to show him alternate possibilities. He could try it till Christmas and then go back to public school if he should hate home study. And he needed to be reassured that I thought he would like independent study and have help when required.

***

My aunt phoned.
“You’ve got a new cousin!”
This morning her daughter went to her doctor, who was going to induce her (? - I thought she wasn’t due for two more weeks), and when he checked her she was 9 cm dilated. He said “Go straight to the hospital, do not go to the bathroom.”

When she got to the hospital, the doctor told her to push. She did, and out came Gracie Rose, a five-pound girlie.

Wow.

“She can’t be one of our family if it was that easy for her,” Mom said, when I called with the announcement, “but good for her.”

She has Mom’s name. I like that.

In the back of the hometown schoolyard was a set of heavy iron swings. On one side of them was a row of wooden teeter-totters. On the other was a broadjump pit whose run-path began at the south end of an old locked shed. Behind that small building, facing a farmer’s field on the other side of a wire fence, we smoked cigarettes we’d filched from some adult’s pack.

The schoolyard was edged on its south and west sides by two rows of caragana trees, with a path down the middle of them. Poplar trees grew here and there among the caraganas and there was one that had a V just the right height for me to get into and sit. When I wasn’t perched in the crook of that tree, I was running up and down the shadowy path past it, playing some variation of Cowboys and Indians.

In the corner where the rows of caraganas intersected was a wide triangle of larger poplars with footpaths crisscrossing the bare dirt at their bases. This was a sort of Lovers Lane; inside it, you were in heavy bush and could not be seen from the schoolyard or the road. Initials and arrows entwined in hearts were carved into the bark of the biggest trees.

When some public utility was put in, they bulldozed this corner down and dug a trench across it. What a shame. It has never come back to what it was — a mysterious magical place. I always look when I drive by, on my way out to my sister’s.

The school has long since been shut down. It went from my highschool heyday of 16 to 20 Grade 12 graduates, to six and then 2 and then 1 and then none. The school division shut it down and bused the kids to the next town. That’s when my home town changed; it has never been the same since. The children do not gather there anymore.

First they sold the gymnasium, which was small but fairly new because my hometown school struggled for many years to get a gym built. It ended up across the highway, turned into a restaurant that seems to always have cars and trucks parked in front of it.

The rest of the school was opened up to the townspeople to come and take whatever they wanted: library books, student and teacher desks, whatever was still there. Then it was sold to a local farmer who started a business building grain bins. He uses it for an office and workshop. The wall of half the elementary school -- the east walls of my Grade 4, 5, and 6 classrooms — has been knocked out and the interior walls are open to the elements.

It’s kind of hard to drive by there now. The place still calls to my heart, my memory. The swings are no longer there. They have been painted and incorporated into a bright playground of colour near the main street. But before they were moved, and well into my 20s and 30s, whenever I stayed with my grandparents I’d wait till after dark and walk the block or two to the school. I’d go swinging on the old swings, happy as a bat whipping its way through the night air.

A Deadly Arrangement
by Denise Osborne

Sprinkled liberally with tidbits about life energy and feng shui, the art of placement, this book suffers from only two things: poor proofreading and poor editing. Or should I blame it on the author, who perhaps wrote flowing pithy prose that was butchered by an editor? Can't see it. But she wrote a lot that a good editor would have cut.

The storytelling gets in the way of the story. I’m aware of the writer as I read. At this point, I don’t much care about any of the characters or what is happening to them. I just want to find out more about feng shui so I can do more than close my bathroom door and toilet lid for financial stability.

But as I read last night, I debated whether even that was worth slogging through this pedestrian novel when I have more than a half-dozen unread treasures on my gateleg table in the office.

Now I do, that is. The picture above was taken on the first day I set it up, before I covered it with books and tarot cards and more books.

Note the mysterious white box. It has been filled with Hawkins Cheezies, Macintosh Toffee, Saskatoon Tea, and a set of my friend Ray's beeswax candles, and mailed to a kind benefactor.

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

How about some real writing?

We all come and go unknown
Each so deep and superficial
Between the forceps and the stone

Well I looked at the granite markers
Those tributes to finality - to eternity
And then I looked at myself here
Chicken scratching for my immortality

- Joni Mitchell, the song Hejira

An unfamiliar car drove past our driveway and into the other yard. Farmbeau came into the house later and said “There was a carful of people here this morning, looking for our neighbour’s place. They were coming to see his crop circles.”

“Which neighbour?”

“I don’t know. It’s funny we haven’t heard anything about it till now, the way people talk. It would be pretty hard to keep it a secret, especially from my brother -- where he works, he talks to everyone and hears everything."

He paused.

"Maybe they don’t want a whole bunch of people driving on their crops to get to it. That could be."

He added, "It wouldn’t be the first time there have been crop circles in the area. My cousin and her husband had some little ones right near their house once. Nothing fancy.”

To see fancy, follow the link below. There are some pretty snazzy crop circles. I didn’t know that. But I want one of those calendars.

http://www.earthfiles.com/

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

My boys are home, and it is luvvly luvvly luvvly.

xoxoetc
~~~Kate

When I turned 40, I bought myself the first "expensive" purse I ever owned.

I'd looked for it for 20 years. It was like a miniature briefcase, all leather, pockets, and zippers. It had a place for everything, so that there'd never have to be any digging or dumping.

Oh yeah, it was a beaut! My ex (whom I still lived with at the time), always broke, looked at the bill and almost threw up.

I said, "Every woman deserves a good purse sometime in her life."
I thought, laughing all the way, "That'll teach you not to buy me a birthday present!"

Four years later, I don't carry it often because even empty, it's heavy and pulls on my shoulder, causing a neck migraine. I carry a fanny pack instead, with just my wallet in it, for a grocery run into town or a drive to Grandma's. The only time I take my purse is when I leave for a few days at a time and may need all those essentials tucked tidily into its compartments.

But *the* purse is still the keeper of my wallet, keys, and all the various and sundry that have no other proper place... the bank books, the tiny pack of kleenex, the spare eyeglasses, stray cough-candies, lip balm, a couple tampons, a notebook and pen ... all the things one likes to keep near at hand.