sat, 4:45 pm

Anne Lamott’s advice (thank you again to my lovely friend Stacia, who sent Bird by Bird) to writer wannabes is to carry a notebook or something to scribble on, wherever you go. Good idea. Often it’s when I’m walking in the fields or down the main street of town that I think of something I want to talk about, and by the time I get home and in front of the computer, it’s disappeared and I can’t trace it.

It was while I was on my walk today (by the photos you can see that I have a thing about bales and stubble, can’t you? they are my favourite colour, especially when the sun hits them) that I recalled last night’s telephone conversation with Petra.

She’d caught part of some program about writing down one’s short- and long-term goals. People claimed that even when they did not consciously pursue those goals, when they later looked at their lists, 99.9% of their goals had been reached. Ring (readers of the old journal, Weird Aunt Kate’s Letter Out, may remember him; we used to work together in the basement of his home, putting out a fur-trade magazine) told me that has been his experience, too.

I have sat down to make a list of goals the odd time in my life, but never seemed to get too far. I wonder why that is. Am I afraid to commit something to paper?

Farmbeau once said I was careless, and I was offended. But there is truth to it. I am careless about the way I live. I plan very little; instead, I rush in where angels fear to tread, and then deal with the fallout. I let the cards fall where they may. I let life come to me, rather than going out of my way to meet it or to make things happen. I don’t think I have ever made a long-term goal and then worked to meet it.

sunday
12:40 p.m.

I am packed and ready to go to Saskatoon. Gotta do a few more dishes — I don’t like coming home to dirty dishes — and wait for Farmbeau to get home. He’s out, as far as I know, driving cattle from a pasture several miles north of here, to another one closer. His dad and brother will be helping, and maybe his son, who has been here since Friday evening and planned to be gone by now. I haven’t seen him this morning so I’m not sure if he got away or not.

Farmbeau has come down with a chest cold and has been feeling crappy. I thought of suggesting he might find it more restful here at home. But when I really think about it, that’s foolish. He’ll get more rest away from here, where there is no farmwork to do. He’ll still want to do some shopping in the city, and he insists on accompanying me when I go for the mammogram tomorrow morning even though I’m fine on my own.

I’m not stressed about it; last time I had one it wasn’t painful, just uncomfortable. I haven’t mentioned the new lump to him. He’ll just worry. And maybe it isn’t anything to worry about. God I hope not. I am so not ready to either be very sick and suffer while fighting cancer, or to die from it. Not that anyone ever is. But I refuse to worry about it until I know there is something to worry about. Farmbeau, on the other hand, will worry anyway.

The treatment for postnasal drip seems to be working. I am not coughing as much. What a relief. All that coughing had me tuckered out. After I saw the doc, Farmbeau and his mom said “That cough doesn’t sound like the result of postnasal drip. It seems to be coming from your chest.” But it appears that sometimes doctors are right.

Well, off to do those dishes. It's been nice talking to ya. It would be nice if you'd talk to me a little more often, but hey, I'm just glad you stopped by to check in on me. We can't all be blabbermouths.

xoxoetc
~ Kate