My Blog

I’ve been reading all sorts of opinions on St. Patrick’s Day.  It seems the day is either:

A.  An excuse to get rip-snortin’ drunk on green beer, while wearing a silly hat and a green shirt

B.  A celebration of all things Irish

C.  A celebration of the saint who brought Christianity to Ireland

or

D.  A celebration of the murderous zealot who slaughtered the Druids.

My opinion is…meh.  It’s an excuse to drink green beer in honor of things that may or may not have been done by some guy who probably existed, but so long ago that nobody really knows what he actually did.  It’s also my husband’s birthday, so let’s go bake some green treats!

Happy Birthday, Ric!

As anyone reading this is no doubt aware, I live in Middle-Of-Nowhere, Saskatchewan. It’s very peaceful here, but there are a few drawbacks. For one thing, nothing is within walking distance except the mailbox. Everything else is 25 kilometers away, except for the things that are 80 kilometers away. Oh, well.
I think a lot of people have trouble getting their heads around this kind of isolation. No, it’s not “developed” yet, and never will be. There are miles of farmland between us and anything. If my car stalled on the way home in the winter, I’d die of exposure before I could walk to an inhabited farmyard. That’s why I’m so careful to make sure my cell phone is charged!
On the other hand, I’m grateful that I’ll probably never experience the SoCal freeway system. I don’t need to worry too much when my cat goes outside. Two cars a day is heavy traffic on our street. And it’s quiet. Almost eerily quiet.

I’ve been pondering for quite awhile on some common catch-phrases.  A few weeks ago, I happened upon a story including the phrase, “fighting for your freedom”.  Wow.  That one is loaded.  Being contrary and skeptical, my deep-down reaction is, “oh, really?  Freedom from what?”.  Don’t get me wrong, we in the developed nations have a lot of freedoms that some other people don’t have.  Women, especially, in many places can’t even imagine it.  But, I don’t quite understand how sending young people to Afghanistan to risk their lives has any impact on my personal freedom.  I’m not even sure that this is the right way to improve the lot of Afghan women, much as they do need and deserve our help.

It’s my cynical opinion that the phrase “fighting for our freedom” is often used to cover up the real reason why our young people are sent off to faraway places where they are apt to be killed by roadside bombs or suicide bombers.  The real reasons probably have a lot more to do with money and power, trying to get more money and power.  But, if the leaders said they wanted to invade some middle eastern country so that a multinational corporation could increase its profits, the people would not allow it.   This is where the propagandists come in.

I don’t seem to have any answers here, just a lot of questions.  It seems to me that we are dealing with the legacy of centuries of colonialism and international bullying.  The problems didn’t arise in just the last decade or two, they have been simmering under the surface for many years.  My son believes that there will never be an end to war.  I pray that he is wrong.

Here’s the view from my upstairs landing window, last time I looked out with camera in hand.  The hanging object is an icicle hanging from the dormer roof.   It was really, really cold that day, in the range of 40 below including windchill.  It doesn’t matter if you speak Fahrenheit or Celcius, 40 below is 40 below, and it is no fun!  Fortunately, the cold snap relented.

So, my year in review.  On New Year’s Day, I will have been working at the group home for exactly one year.  That was probably the most life-changing thing that happened this year.  I still love my job and the people that I help to care for.  Imagine!  I have finally found a place where my complete inability to do anything quickly is irrelevant!  I thought that would never happen.  On top of all that, we’re all taking a class on intellectual disabilities and various issues pertaining to them, and the tuition is free!  I love learning, and I am NOT being facetious for once!

In other good news, I finally have a lead in the quest to help Tyson figure out where to go with his life.  I’m still procrastinating about making the call, somehow I will have to overcome my dislike of the telephone and get busy.  Right after New Year’s.  I promise, yup.  For my new friends, Tyson is our son, who has some difficulties resulting from a head injury when he was three years old. 

Speaking of procrastination, yet again the Christmas cards are sitting, untouched, in a pile on my desk.  Yet again I will try to send emails instead.  Next year.  Always next year, I will do better.

I’m feeling very happy and well-nourished after my latest burst of creativity. Let me tell you all about it!

The Thanksgiving ham was the bone-in kind, and it inspired dreams of pea soup.  However, a search of the cupboard revealed no peas, only lentils.  Disappointed, I put the ham bone in the freezer and wrote “split peas” on the shopping list.  Then I got thinking about the lentils.  I saved the rich, salty liquid in the roaster, thinking, “I could do something with this….”

This morning, I dug in the fridge for soup-making provisions.   There was half an onion, some carrots, celery, leftover ham and the ham juice.  I started by sauteing the vegetables a bit in olive oil, to release the flavor.  Then I tossed in a cup of lentils, a chopped potato, a couple of bay leaves, a couple of tomatoes, a cup or so of ham and covered the whole works with water.

I dumped in the jellied ham juice, stirred and tasted.  More water.  Lots more water!  Perhaps I should have been a little more careful with that stuff, it’s really salty! 

After an hour or so, I took the lid off and announced that lunch was served.  Two thumbs up!  Delicious and nutritious!  And thanks to the salty ham juice, it turned out looking like soup, not stew!

There has always been something about September, a sense of the end of things.  The fun of summer is over, and too soon we will have to endure another winter.

On the farm, September meant harvest time, a time of stress and hurry and staying the hell out of Dad’s way!  The longer it took to get the crop off, the greater the risk of damage by weather or wildlife, and every equipment breakdown increased the tension.  Then too, we were back at school and drudgery.  It was not my favorite month!  When I married a farmer, September became my time of Work!  Haul grain from the field, fix the fence that the cows just wrecked, haul more grain, feed the horses, haul more grain, take lunch to the field on the way to haul more grain, and collapse into bed until it was time to start all over again!

Now, my years are marked by the garden seasons, planting, weeding and harvesting.  The peas and potatoes are dying, the corn is ripe and the tomatoes are ripening too. Soon it will be time to pick all the tomatoes and spread them on cardboard in the basement to finish ripening.  I check the forecast every day, watching for frost, dreading frost.  The weather stays warm and sunny but I know it can’t last long now.

On a lighter note, here’s something I like to do with those zucchinis that are trying to take over the neighborhood:

Bear in mind that my attention span is very short, so I like my recipes easy.  I take a zucchini, preferably a reasonably-sized one, and cut it into manageable chunks, then slice the chunks into 1/2 inch slices.  Maybe two zucchinis, we like them!  I drizzle the slices with some salad dressing.  My favorite one for this purpose is sun-dried tomato and oregano, but Italian works well, too.  While this is marinating I heat the grill (usually it’s already busy with potatoes) then slap on the zucchini slices.  I baste them with the salad dressing that stayed in the dish, turn them once or twice basting again, and they are done!  Easy squeezy yummy!

The mighty Mezzo prowls her jungle.

Ohai, Mezzo here!  That’s me over on your left, the fierce one.

Recently, my human has been in a snit.  It seems that my profile has been deleted from Facebook.  Apparently while the human was lying about my age to get me admitted to the exclusive club (snickers), she embroidered in a few other details which the powers-that-be actually checked up on.  Who’d a thunk it?  So, she has been muttering under her breath about getting me a new emeow address and about all the work she put into making my profile “so cute”….Whatever!

I’ve decided to save her the trouble by putting my stamp on her blog!  As I have pointed out to her, I am bored by silly farming games and such, so why do I need to be on Facebook?  Cats are above such things, and we don’t talk to strangers anyway.  Hmphh.

The human refers to me as her “Little Big Cat”.  I feel that size is irrelevant.  Attitude is all that matters, and I have plenty of attitude!  The other cat who lives in the house is just a big wimp, and the dogs are putty in my paws, so I rule.  My hobbies are birding, mousing, and dog-baiting.  My only fear is of small humans.  Those creatures are terrifying!

I admire T.S. Eliot, and I feel that Song of the Jellicles describes me perfectly.  What else would you like to know about me?  My human (she likes me to call her Mummy) says I am five years old, spayed female, and I weigh eight pounds.  Statistics, so human of her!  My favorite foods are fresh-caught sparrow, roast beef, chicken and tuna.

Yes, I know you're there. No, I'm not ready to move.

I have never liked mowing the lawn.  Even when we had a riding mower for the vast expanse of grass on the farm, and even when the riding mower was working right, it was an unpleasant ordeal.  I much preferred to fence off a section with electrified tape and put in a few sheep or a horse or two, then deal with the fertilizer later.

Unfortunately, they don’t allow sheep in town, much less horses or electric fence for that matter!  We still have a very large lawn and it still needs to be mowed with depressing regularity.  The riding mower (not that old!) has adamantly refused for years to show any signs of life, and now our 5-year-old expensive self-propelled walk behind mower runs only when it damn well pleases!

I should explain that my husband is not mechanically inclined.  He did fix equipment on the farm, but under duress.  He is a cowboy at heart and he does not like engines, especially the little ones.  Like in a lawnmower.

So.  This morning I thought maybe I would try to cut some grass.  The lawn mower was sitting right where it stopped the last time, in front of the house.  It’s an ugly thing, the plastic cowling over the engine vibrated apart after the first couple of seasons.  The gas tank was dry so I saw an opportunity to put in that new blade that I bought a month or so ago.  Silly me.  The old one is rusted solidly in place.  Oh well.  Fill it up, prime and pull.  Prime and pull.  Flip it upside down and rightside up and pull again.  Sometimes that works.  Not this time.  Prime and pull.  Success!  oh.  No, it stalled immediately.  Prime and pull.  Still nothing.  I tired myself out, then came inside and wrote a note for Ric.

“What are your thoughts on asphalt?  Let’s just pave the whole friggin’ mess!”