7:15 pm
I’m trying to hustle so Barney and I can go down and watch The Three Amigos before it gets too late. He’s putting on his pyjamas and has yet to make his lunch for school tomorrow, and I’d like to get supper tidied up before, because I won’t feel like it later.

Don is still eating buffalo chicken wings. Of course. He’ll be at the table for some time yet.

We had just gotten set up to watch the movie last night, when the power inexplicably went off as I was talking on the phone with Loverboy. He suggested looking out the window to see if the lights were on at the other house. They were, so it was a bit of a mystery once I’d checked the breaker box and nothing was flipped, so L phoned Pa, who turned it back on by flicking the switch at the pole.

He phoned later.
“Kathy?” he always says. “If you thought it was a prowler, it was me in the bush trying to find what went amiss. Didn’t see anything. Maybe it was a fluke.”

As soon as the power was back on, I came upstairs to make popcorn. By the time I got back, Barney was asleep on the couch and not waking up when I spoke to him. I let him sleep, and ate popcorn by myself while Don did the same in their bedroom and listened to Dire Straits. He’s gung ho about The Walk of Life these days.

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

This afternoon we went to the bargain store so the boys could shop. Don toured the aisles and finally got to see a former neighbour, after talking about her almost obsessively since we moved back. Barney found everything with a price sticker of 25 cents and loaded up on candied popcorn and such.

Then we headed to my home town, where a heavy lightning and thunderstorm was under way. Don sat it out, waiting in the van, while Barney and I hurried through the rain to sit in the living room with Grandma.

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

It’s time for the watering and migrating of bedding plants. We went to the greenhouse yesterday, with a blank cheque in my pocket. Came home with tomatoes, peppers, strawberries, echinacea, and blooming pink petunias. The extravaganza has begun.

When we pulled alongside Dave’s car in North Battleford, Don was grinning excitedly as he looked through the window at us. We loaded the boys and their gear into the van and headed for home.

“I wasn’t quite ready to leave Poppa’s,” Don said, but the smile on his face told a different story. Both of them were happy and had stories to tell about their holiday, and were obviously looking forward to getting home again.

I was fighting the neck thing, so took a pill and climbed in the furthest-back seat to lay down. Every once in a while I’d feel Barney’s hand on my shoulder or my head as he’d turn around, apparently to comfort me.

After an hour or so, the pill had done its job and I moved up into the front seat again, but left Loverboy driving, as the drug makes me too groggy for safety. It had started to rain by this time.

For part of the way we could see the kelly green of new leaves popping out all over the place. Closer to home, though, there was more grey in the trees. This may be because there’s been no rain here yet, to speak of. I fear another dry year.

This morning we awoke to an outside world covered by wet snow, so once more the yard is mucky and wet. I went out for a short walk in it. The air was mild and the water was dripping off the trees so fast it sounded like a light rain falling. I took the camera along but could not bear to take one more picture of snow this year. I’ve had enough of it.

9 a.m.
One perk of having no kids at home for a week is that we can up and go whenever we want, wherever we want, without a thought to whether it’s a good time for the boys to go or arranging for someone to be close by in case they need help.

So we have been going out for supper more often than we normally do.

Last night we went to the hotel restaurant in town, and had steak sandwiches — which I order because the meat tastes so good with the garlic toast. Then we headed over to the special-care home to visit with Vincent.

He is put to bed at 3:30 in the afternoon now. He had a sore caused by pressure on his tailbone from sitting in his wheelchair, and it had been healing when one of the caregivers jammed him into his chair and tore it open again, effectively cancelling out a year-and-a-half of healing. So he has been spending most of his time in bed for the past two months, and must yet lay there for another month.

He was feeling pretty down last night, and angry about this woman’s carelessness and the fact that the administration does not accept his version of events. “Oh no,” they assure him when he tells them what happened, “it was a combination of things.” Well no, it wasn’t. It was her incompetence.

He is disheartened.

“I usually take it all in stride,” he told me when Loverboy had gone down the hall to talk with his aunt, who is also a resident there. “I’ve had lots of surgeries with long recovery periods, and they never got me down like this. This is so — so unnecessary.”

He still smiles, he still laughs, but we could see the suffering on his face. His bed is by the open window, where he can look out and even smell the spring day and the peaceful evening. But he can’t get out into it.

It’s not physical pain he is feeling. No. He can’t feel anything from the chest down, except for the use he has of one arm.

We sat in his room for an hour, then went to spend some time with L’s aunt. She’d been home on the farm for the weekend and looked content and chipper. She’s had health problems for many years — she had her first surgery to remove a brain tumour when she was younger than L and I are. Now she needs constant care and can’t live at home because L’s uncle can’t stay in the house and operate the farm at the same time. Funding for home-care help was cut, and left them no choice but to move her to the institution.

That’s how Maxine ended up out here initially. She was hired as a live-in caretaker and while there, fell in love with L’s cousin Ole, moved over to his house, and married him last summer.

As usual, when we walk out of that place we are subdued. There is not much to say; we have no answer to the question “What can we do for them?” We have seen a lot of people with very little life left in them, as well as those who simply aren’t having much of a life in this institutional setting.

Vincent said “I wish they’d get some younger nurses. You know -- fresher.”

9:30 a.m.
I have been out of bed for one hour, at the computer, drinking black coffee.

My plan: work all day.
No; work all afternoon.

This morning will be bath, breakfast, and a short ramble in the great outdoors.

I got my boycut. Loverboy doesn’t think it looks like one, but I do. Love it. Short and sweet.

“There’s a blue heron in So-and-So’s slough,” we’d heard, so we slowed down as we drove past. But the heron, which would stand in the water just a few feet from the road as long as vehicles didn’t reduce their speed too much, wasn’t standing still for a photo. It wouldn’t let us get close.

10 a.m. Still groggy, eyes half closed. Coffee bitter, since Loverboy made it almost three hours ago.

At 7:30 he woke me up. He was going to do some work at the home of friends, did I want to go with? No.

He went away for a few minutes, came back, woke me again. Now did I want to go with?

Petra and I had sat up till 2 on Thursday night, after watching Far From Heaven. I’d gotten to sleep around three, and he’d woken me at 7:30 when he went out for breakfast with his son. I never did get back to sleep, but lay there in bed for a couple more hours and spent the rest of the day feeling faded and old.

We got home around suppertime yesterday, less two kids but with the addition of two new lamps, and he went out to do chores (“Put your boots on and come help,” he said. “No!” said I) while I read the 24-hour buildup of posts from my favourite discussion list. Then I headed for the bedroom to lay down and thought no, it’s too gorgeous out, I’m going for a walk instead. I met L coming with the tractor and he stopped and opened the door so I could clamber aboard, squeezing myself between the seat and the wall of the cab.

Out to ‘the hill’ we went to spear a round bale with the loader forks, and then back through the yard and out to the pasture behind the barn. We got five or six inches of snow on Wednesday night and it melted almost immediately, so the corrals were soaking wet and the cattle have been moved to drier ground.

Now loud noises make me nervous at the best of times, and L had already been cursing at the gear shifts, which were giving him grief. But after his brother let us through the gate, the tractor got bogged down in some deep mud and L had quite a struggle getting it out. At one point it seemed we were going to tip over on our side, and the loud and angry cursing combined with the tilt and the possibility of having to jump out into two feet of black mush made me sorry I’d come along.

By the time we were out and on our way back for another bale, I was craving the silent solitude of the gravel road I’d originally been headed for, and asked L to drop me off on his way by.

“What, was that so bad? You don’t want to be with me?”

“Well ... being with you hasn’t been particularly pleasant so far, and I did come out to partake of the beautiful evening. I’m after the walk and the peace.”

“One more bale, and I’ll come with you.”

“I don’t think I can survive another trip through that bog.”

“We won’t go that way.”

The second bale was to go into a drier corral next to the barn, and had to be lifted up over the fence and dropped into a metal feeder. The cows and calves were gathered around, hungry, and the honking of the tractor’s little horn was ineffectual. I hopped out of the tractor and up on the side of the fence. “Shoo, shoo!” I yelled, waving my arms, and they showed me the whites of their eyes and stayed put.

One cow had her head right inside the feeder so it was impossible to drop the bale in without injuring her. I’d have to go in and scare her back, but it wouldn’t be unthinkable for one of them to rush me — a half-unfamiliar entity — to protect her calf. I jumped off the fence and picked up a thin rail from the ground. I’d have to go in, if only to save face; it’s no secret that I’m a chickenshit, but hey, there was a job to be done. I’d go in armed.

I swung my leg up over the top railing, fully aware that the little stick in my hand wouldn’t make much difference if a cow rushed me. It was unlikely that a cow would take me on, but I was nervous anyway. It happened to L just the other day. Still, they’d likely back up as soon as I was on the ground, I’d climb out of the cowshit, and that would be that.

But when I turned to look where to put my foot next, I saw she’d already pulled her head out of the feeder’s perimeter and there was no need to go further. So much for my close encounter of the turd kind.

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

Saskatchewan’s green-on-white license plates say “Land of Living Skies.” It’s no empty boast. The skies are literally alive with birds, and have been for several weeks. First I noticed the crows and magpies, and now the geese have come. You hear their constant cacophany for 20 minutes before they fly overhead in waves of Vs. They are flying over fields beyond your own vision, and they are looking for one to land in, because it’s time for supper and they need some grain to pilfer. No matter how many times you’ve seen them, you can’t help but stop and watch, struck by the majesty of their sky-filling formations.

Beautiful. Spiritfeedingly beautiful.

The mallard ducks are here too, but I’ve seen them less frequently so far. It’s the snow geese I’ve been waiting for. They’re the ones that come in flocks of thousands, and turn a tawny gold stubblefield white. When you stop your vehicle on the road and get out, they do not visibly react. And when you walk down through the ditch, it almost seems they aren’t the least bit worried. But when you begin to stride in their direction, suddenly they lift off the ground as one dark frenzy of air and soundstopping noise. It is no less than awesome to watch them take to the skies en masse from this vantage point. I feel a little guilty for disturbing them, but when I see a flock close enough to the road, I can’t help myself.

I remember carrying my niece, Loie, into the field with me when she was about two years old. Saw her this weekend for a moment, too. When we left the boys with Dave in North Battleford, he asked me to deliver a couple CDs he’d burnt for her, so we dropped them off at the restaurant in Saskatoon where she is employed. She was talking and smiling with her co-workers just behind the cashier’s counter inside the door. I noticed a recent addition to her face: a tiny diamond wedged into the side of her nose.

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

Last night Loverboy and I went for a walk past the creek, me in my black rubber boots, he in his running shoes. The frogs are awake and this was my first concert this year. Delighted ears approached the water — the creek runs into a large slough — and I snatched excitedly at L’s arm: “Listen, the frogs are here!” It is a sound I cannot get enough of. Our approach silenced them, unfortunately, and we did not feel like being still while they overcame their shyness. We walked happily on. They’ll be around for a few days, and the weather has warmed up again. I’ll make a wholehearted attempt to get my fill.

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

A few days ago, walking on the driveway between the two houses, I got a distinct whiff of last fall.

“You do not have to get mad every time you have a right to.” - Dr. Phil

I have never seen more than a minute of one of Phil’s shows, but the little bits I saw got me thinking and checking out his website. There’s lots of useful information there for people who want to change things in their lives.

I have no problem with the proliferation of self-help books and self-appointed gurus of life and love. They all preach the same things, don’t they? Know thyself, stand up for thyself, be true to thyself, take responsibility for thyself, quit whining and take action.

Human beings need to be reminded, over and over again, of things we already know. Important things, too. It’s amazing how wise perceptions and convictions seem to slip our minds as we fall back into old habits that don’t work, don’t make us happy, and never did.

As for the quote above, it fits my life these days. I observe myself feeling pissed off about some little thing said or done, and yet letting it go and focusing on what I want, rather than on my anger.

I don’t deny or repress the irritation, but neither do I run with it.

xoxo
etc

“If you don’t believe in miracles
You could be taking bad advice.”

- Roy Forbes, Tender Lullaby

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

It’s still unseasonably cold here in Saskatchewan’s parkland, although Grandma says it’s really normal, it’s just that we haven’t had “normal” weather for the past three or four years.

That’s slightly comforting — any return to the weather of the past.

I haven’t been outdoors enough lately and am beginning to feel lethargic, almost down. Tsk. I know better. Even a short sojourn into fresh air and natural daylight is spirit-lifting.

When I got up this morning, Barney was laying under a quilt on the couch.

“What are you doing?” I asked, and he said “Waiting for you; I want to snuggle with you.” He sat up and I climbed under the quilt, put my arm around his shoulders, and felt once again how precious he is to me.

I don’t focus on him or Don enough. I am always busy at some task, whatever it be, and deal with them as ‘asides.’ This is so foolish of me, and I know it.

My habits are hard to break. Everything is more interesting than they are. [TSK]

I sat there by Barney, kissed the top of his head.
He talked about something he was doing on the computer earlier this morning, and I tuned out. Just as I do when he tells me what happened in a movie or how one of his playstation games played out. Just as I do when Don repeats sentences too many times.

Yet this is what interests them, what they want to talk about.

I can’t seem to get to that level and stay there.

*These children are hugged and kissed often.*

In a home video taken when Don was a year old, he sits at the kitchen table and I walk back and forth behind him, doing something at the counter. I never walk past him without putting my hand out and touching him gently. This is a loved child.

Now if only I could find something in common with them more than reminding them to get their school lunches made and brush their teeth.

Taking those little moments with them, to give a hug or a kiss: I do that. But I don't want to forget that since they matter more to me than anything, I'd best take full advantage of having them with me right now.

Right this minute.

xoxo
etc

From 'Women Who Run':

“When one develops adequate strength — not perfect strength, but moderate and serviceable strength — in being oneself and finding what one belongs to, one can then influence the outer community and cultural consciousness in masterful ways.

“What is moderate strength? It is when the internal mother who mothers you isn’t 100% confident about what to do next. Seventy-five per cent confidence will do nicely. Seventy-five per cent is a goodly amount.

“Remember, we say that a flower is blooming whether it is in half, three-quarters, or full bloom.”

This is Waldo, who was a house cat at South Forks until he took to voiding in the basement and was thrown unceremoniously out, for good. He has the most intense green eyes. Here he is sitting inside Don’s walker, catching some flakes.

Two kids home with coughs today, one with a running nose, both bleary-eyed and pathetic and I can’t stand it anymore, listening to coughs that make my own chest and throat hurt.

I am doctoring. Eucalyptus oil in a steamer in their room. Lemon juice and honey in hot water. Hall’s cough drops. Echinacea tablets (ran out of extract, which would be better). Oranges, oranges, oranges. Sleep, sleep, sleep. Drink, drink, drink. Wait.

Next I’ll be getting out my colour lamp and dosing them with green and yellow.

Cold inside, cold out. It seems strange to be hit by such cold outside again, in April, after the warm melty days we had. It’s only Zero, not 20 below, so I don’t know why it’s so frigid. Wind chill.

I stay indoors. Should go out and get fresh air, but don’t.