I picked this ceramic glass up at a yard sale and it has been one of my prized possessions ever since. There is nothing written on its bottom or anywhere else. All I can tell by looking at it, at all the little cracks that can be seen inside it, is that it’s old.

Does anyone know where the following picture might be found on the web? Clever had printed it and put it on her wall, but wants to know what it is so she can get a better copy. Do you recognize it?

K.

We are recycling fanatics these days. It drives me nuts. Once you start collecting faithfully it is amazing how much stuff there is that otherwise would be sitting at the landfills. Shameful.

I have to take a trip to the recycling yard every week, otherwise the special bins I bought (three, meant to be a laundry sorter but used for cardboard, paper, tin, glass, plastic, refundable juice and pop containers) overflow all over the porch.

Now that I see the volume of stuff I've been throwing out all these years when I didn't recycle everything, it is kindof scary to think how the majority of people do not recycle... and I understand why, too -- because it's such a pain in the ass... really, it is. If I never had to wash another plastic bag to reuse, ever again, I would feel so blessed.

But no. I will continue to take the responsibility, though it is an ongoing irritation.

This card is from the Legend: Arthurian tarot deck, and here is its story:

Deep within the earth, Wayland practices his craft.

The Saxon smith Wayland is the Norse smith Völundr who became incorporated into the mythology of Britain. Wayland was the master craftsman to the gods, whose weapons were so fine that they sang in the air. Excalibur is sometimes said to have been forged by Wayland. The coveted work of this god of smiths led King Nidud to abduct him. Nidud hamstrung the smith to prevent his escape and then forced his lame prisoner to work. The art of the smith and magician were thought to be closely related, and it was by magic that the smith eventually escaped the clutches of Nidud, after which he sought a terrible revenge upon the king’s family.

Over time, Wayland has come to be associated with many of Britain’s ancient sites, and appears in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s The Life of Merlin. The spirit of Wayland is said to haunt a neolithic burial chamber known as Wayland’s Smithy in Oxfordshire. Tradition maintains that if one were to leave a horse and coin at the chamber overnight, on returning in the morning one would find the coin gone and the horse shod.

-- from A Keeper of Words, by Anna-Marie Ferguson

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I saw what I think is bear scat on the road I walk on each day. It was full of saskatoon berries. Some say coyotes eat saskatoons so it could be theirs. I don’t care. I’m taking the dog with me next time I go, even if it means I have to struggle with a big German shepherd pulling against the leash the whole time. Farmbeau said bears have been known to sit down in a field of oats and strip the stems. There is an oat field nearby.

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Some people’s thought turns to writing so beautifully, and Jill’s is like that.

We look at ourselves and our own (very different) lives with a kindred comprehension and way of seeing. I would be hard-pressed to explain that, except that she often says what I think, only she says it better and in a more sophisticated way. Reading Jill’s elegantly worded description of her life often helps me make more sense of my own. In the same sort of way that a Joni Mitchell song does, come to think of it.

And her writing is a pleasure to read. Try it. It’s like skating on a river of white ice under a sunny sky: crisp bracing breaths and sharp flashing silver, accomplished and easy at the same time, with a confident lope, the inevitable popsicle toes (as the song goes) of life, and a hotly beating heart under a cosy wool sweater.

[Well, if *you* can describe it more accurately, please do!]

I have read Jill’s journals from their very beginning, and for quite a number of years now. I am constantly reading Jill’s entries and thinking “This deserves one of those diary awards. It’s a standout.” I mean, constantly.

The following is an excerpt from Jill’s new journal, Debut:

Being honest is easy at first. It is when you have too much at stake that it becomes difficult or impossible.

But it is important. It works for couches and it works for relationships. You look at something with clear eyes and a focussed gaze and you assess it and you say what you really think without trying to protect other people from your opinions as if they were something corrosive or foul-smelling.

It can easily coexist with sensitivity and empathy and all of those other kinder expressions, but it has to exist or the rest of it is a sham.

Saturday
9:32 a.m.

I am waiting for the long version of Marya’s 26Things to download, and already viewing the first picture and reading the poem beside it, I am smiling and anticipating passing some lovely leisurely time perusing some of the beauty that living has to offer.

9:51 a.m.
Ah well. Couldn’t get the Expando Long Version to display any more than the first picture and its poem-cutline.

But I love Marya's journal. And Marya.

*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,

And this wavy line someone put in their sigfile.

*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,

There are two beastly bovines eating the long grass in the trees around our house. Seeing them there is a treat; I like them. Soon they'll be moved to the other side of the yard.

*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,_,*:-.,_,.-:*'``'*:-.,

What would you like to see a picture of, around here?
Taking requests.

xoxoetc
~ Kate

6:02 AM
Wednesday

Poor Farmbeau.

I was laying in bed at 5:30, awakened by a bang, listening to the thunder and thinking about getting up to close the outswung windows in case of hail (it’s been really hot and humid), when he bounded out of bed, cursing.

“What? What!”
“It’s starting to rain, god damn it!”

That’s a good thing, I thought. So, what?

“We shouldn’t have left anything last night,” he said. “I’ve got to get back to that roof.” They’d worked as long as they could for the past two days on a roof in town, well past dark both nights.

Away he went, charging out to his half-ton and rocketing out of the yard. I put on the morning pot of coffee and swept up shards of burgundy glass from the lovely piece of stained glass my sister Jill made for me, which I’d left leaning against an open, screened window in the porch. That must have been the bang I heard.

Poor me.
Fortunately, only one bottom corner is broken. It’s probably reparable without having to redo the whole thing.

::

I wonder how long he’ll be gone, whether he’ll try to work in the rain or just get the roof covered up somehow so no damage will be done. If I knew, I’d put on a package of bacon and make a big, hot breakfast for when he gets home.

xoxoxoetc
~~~Kate

Bought a new shirt on my travels. And don't you love my shoes. They have no heels.

Each day I walk briskly past this field where six of the horses are pastured. This morning two Blue Herons rose from the water upon my approach. They flew just over to the other side of the dugout, so I extended my daily stroll and disturbed them and watched them fly away, again.

I wish I knew how to show you this picture with all its attendant sounds and the smell of the warm and powerful wind that blew me right off course a number of times.

We had a rain in the wee hours of the morning and have been blessed with three-quarters of an inch of water. I lay in the dark, listening to the thunder and the wind and the raindrops on the roof, reassured that all was well with the world.

xoxoetc
~~Kate

Omigosh. We are dying of heat over here. I swear it's about 90 degrees F in the house. Yes, that's in the house.

Trying to sleep last night was an exercise in mind over matter. Normally it's possible to cool the house down at night by throwing open all the windows and running a bunch of strategically placed fans. Not so last night. I had all the windows open and the fans going, and still it was hot. Finally, around 4:30 a.m. I had to close some windows because the freeway noise was wafting in, and the room got hotter still.

The windows in the living room face east, so of course the sun was burning the place up first thing in the morning. Yes, I'm still sleeping in R.'s living room while I get my stuff unpacked at the new place. Just finished a freelance assignment, which was my first priority. Now I can focus on unpacking. But I digress...

R.'s place has no air conditioning, and the windows are mainly on one side of the house only. This means it is damn near impossible to get a cross breeze. He's told his landlady several times about the extreme heat in the house, and although she's a nice person, she doesn't seem to get it.

"I don't know why the previous tenants didn't say something. Maybe it was because they weren't there all day. Hmm. Maybe if you run the ceiling fans..."

Sure, that'll move the hot air around...

She thinks if we run the fans enough the place will cool off, but it doesn't work that way. All it does is keep it hot and windy in the house. Ah, a double pleasure.

I'd been mainly comforting myself with the thought that my new place would be inhabitable soon, and that place has air conditioning. R., however had had enough of the heat in his house, and decided to take matters into his own hands.

We packed up the kiddo and set out for Home Depot. Normally I love Home Depot. All the gadgets and gizmos and appliances and whatnot — what's not to love? But it was hotter still inside the warehouse-like store, and our toddler was getting pretty cranky. R. selected a couple of window units he thought would work, and we headed off for food, then for home so R. could install the things.

Ah...I gotta hand it to him. He got the air conditioners installed and it feels like they're working already. Boy, this is going to make a huge difference in everyone's mood around here! ;^)

So I think I'm going to go and lie on the living room floor for a while. Maybe I'll check back in when we've all cooled off a bit. In the meantime, have a lovely day and try to stay cool if you can...

- Beth

See those bare-ish windows on either side of the couch? They need curtains or something, other than the grey blinds that are there. But what? Too long will look foolish; too short will look too 'rec-room-ish' and after that, I'm fresh out of ideas.

You got any?

This *is* our living room, and it needs to be a bit more cosy. It needs window dressing. Help.

Marilyn will be moved one day, as will possibly that other picture, Nature Cycle. And the trunk with the lamp will likely be moved, too. But the couch will likely stay where it is.

So -- help.

xoxoetc
~~Kate
 

Remember Clever, the school buddy who visited me at Easter and told me about her boyfriend being too lazy to put any effort into arousing her for sex?

Well, when we left here that Friday night two weeks ago, it was to their place that we were headed, down in southern Saskatchewan. It was after 10 and already dark when we arrived, and we met her fella, who was just having his supper.

They live in a big old two-storey house, and Clever has filled it with collectibles she’s found. It is also chockful of stuff that was there while her fella’s parents still lived. The Edison you see above is one of those things.

Clever eagerly showed me around her home; it was much like touring a museum, for she has so much stuff.

On Saturday she played an old record on the Edison for me. I was in heaven. It was Al Jolson, what can I say? Scratchy-sounding but oh so wonderful.

Later, she played Patsy Cline on her modern CD-player, and we sang and waltzed together while the boys were out for a drive, and we laughed till our bellies ached and smiled till our faces cracked.

“You are so much fun!” I said, lifting a chilled glass of beer and clamato juice to my lips.

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I've asked Beth to keep posting journal entries indefinitely. She needs a place to journal, and I like the little thrill of coming to this page and being surprised by an entry here -- why, it's a dream come true -- a treat -- so I hope she does.

Now, off to Grandma's house -- once I bath, eat, and dress -- to have her at the doctor's at 1:00, two towns over.

Heatwave has broken. Thank God. Now, rain. Rain, rain, rain. We Need Rain.

xoxoetc
Kate

~~~~~~~guess what i’ve been doing~~~~~~

11:52 AM

Was awakened this morning by the phone ringing, and when I got up I checked the call display. It was Jill, so I phoned back. She had been on the phone with Farmbeau a few minutes before, discussing the measurements for the new countertops he will be installing for her, and wanted to tell him about an adjustment.

She was going to work today. We were there last night - Farmbeau measuring, and I picking up sealer jars to make pickles in.

So it was a relatively early start to my day, and since his sister left yesterday, I did not while away the first few hours of it sitting on the deck drinking coffee. No, I read my email and caught up on John Bailey’s journal, then made some breakfast --boiled eggs and toast -- for Farmbeau and I, and did the dishes. Most of them. There is still the lineup of crystal wine goblets to wash and dry. I brought home a big bottle of red wine on Saturday and have been having a glass every evening. Farmbeau’s even been having one, and I thought red wine didn’t agree with him.

letter to Dave
Hi Dave,

don tells me his concerns and asks me to talk to you about them, and I say "Talk to your dad about that."
He says "What if he doesn't listen?"
I say "He'll listen."
don says "What if he doesn't?"
I say "Then tell him again."
D: "He won't listen."
Me: "Okay. So you are tired of travelling and wish you could just stay at Dave's place. Tell him that. He'll listen to you."
D: "No he won't. He'll say 'you'll be happy when we get there.' "

He says this sort of thing a lot, where he worries and is convinced that you will ignore his wishes. I always say 'tell your dad, he'll listen' and don always says 'no he won't.'

Maybe he says the same things to you, about me not listening to him. If so, he must get pretty frustrated with us.

I told him once he stayed at your place for a week, he might feel more like travelling the next weekend.

The Super-D tea has been sent to the mail today.

Kate

ps tell don to email me; he's done it from school a couple times, and should keep his skill up over the summer