Workin’ Workin’ Workin’

A quick bowl of granola before starting work here in my home office. Since Farmbeau gets heartburn after eating coconut, I’ve replaced the three-cup measure of it with pumpkin seeds for the win!

I read the first book in the Maisie Dobbs series and was excited at first, as there was a psychological twist on the usual detective story.

One skill the character Maisie had been taught to use to her advantage was to imitate the physical stance and movement of a person to understand what they were feeling. This piqued my interest, as did the character’s approach to her cases.

But before I’d gotten far, I found the author too heavy-handed. Her storytelling was clunky; I always knew she was there, doing too much telling and not enough showing. Eventually I scanned quickly over the paragraphs to follow the plot. I wanted to know what would happen. Getting there, though, was not a pleasure, and I’m surprised this book went on to become a series.

Maybe because Maisie Dobbs is a unique character. Maybe the writing improves. (Gawd, who am I to criticize a published author? I couldn’t do, or haven’t, what she has done in this book. I only know what I like and don’t like, and in this case have not done a great job of explaining why.)

Some sentences that I noted:

-Coincidence was a messenger sent by truth.

-To solve a problem, walk around.

-She watched as the sun drifted away to warm the shores of another continent.


And now to begin the day’s work.

Better a Skunk than a Mountain Lion, I Say

Brat Catz

As soon as spring weather arrives, the cats start roaming around the yard. These three young ones are capering about on the maple tree.

Today there was a skunk meandering through the yard. It feasted on the mess of sunflower seed fallen from the feeders in the maple, and checked out a few other spots — the lilac bush across from the back step, the north wall of the Quonset, the parked half-ton, the burning barrel, and apparently the space beneath the step as well.

Cute little jigger! We watched from the north windows and each took a turn calling to it it, from a distance, to Go Away.

Vision Board in Progress

Oh hell yeah, I’m still here. Just didn’t get around to posting anything before now. One might think it’s been a busy day, but no. About the same as usual.

I didn’t go off the back step though, since Scott is certain that mountain lion has been in our yard — there is a trail of tracks right out to my camper from the maple tree. I don’t want to believe it, but … it makes me cautious. Don’t know how I’ll manage living here if I can’t be outside or go walking. Woodticks are shitty, but cougars are impossible.


March 27, 1940
I.O.D.E. doing much war work.
The shipment of war work sent to
headquarters was described by Mrs.
A.A. Brunsdon, who reported that
the package contained 157 articles of
knitting and sewing.
Up to 8 o’clock last night, the
returns from eastern provinces
indicated that Prime Minister W.L.
Mackenzie King’s government would
be returned by a large majority.

Wadena News, Looking Back

One a Day

This is one thing I’ve learned over the years: pace myself.

Used to be I’d give myself a long list of jobs to accomplish every day. Then I’d be on the go till bedtime.

Can’t do that anymore. Or maybe I still could, but don’t want to. I no longer push myself to the limits of my energy and end up tired and possibly cranky like some people I know. Not mentioning any names, but … you probably know who you are!

So it’s one “extra effort” a day (besides dishes and all the other putzing).

On Friday I went to town and stopped at three places. I took the rest of the day off.

Yesterday I baked six loaves of whole wheat bread and did two loads of laundry.

Today I made a huge vat of granola that will be a staple here for a month.

Tomorrow: more laundry and a batch of Frances’s Eatmore Bars. 

Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday: working from home. Grateful to have a job that permits it.

Friday: Another four-day weekend begins. I have the life o’ Reilly. Or is it Riley?

I’m not particularly ambitious, but I sure enjoy my days. And evenings, which are for doing nothing at all. I might put away the leftovers, stack the dishes and wipe the kitchen counters, but I don’t often have my foremothers’ discipline for getting the dishes done every night. I’m content if I get them done after breakfast and keep them done during the day, quite often while making supper so there aren’t so many to be done after. Then if I don’t feel like standing at the sink, I leave them till morning. I love being the boss of me.


We went for a short drive this afternoon. Scott thought I could join him to go into his mother’s house for a little visit, as he checks on her daily and makes sure she has everything she needs. He thought I could stay at the opposite side of the room from where she’s sitting, like he does.

I’d love to see her, but I’m not doing that. When they say “Stay home,” they don’t mean go to your 80-year-old mother-in-law’s home for a chat from a distance. They mean STAY AWAY altogether.

This isn’t easy to grasp, I swear. For a moment, as he told me it would be safe, I was considering it. Then: No. It’s exactly what we’re being asked NOT to do.


I worked for an hour (why not? an hour goes by like 20 minutes) while Scott made a simple supper (meat and potatoes, of course) and afterwards we watched a two-episode Endeavour, that luscious lad. By then it was 8:45 and we were both ready for bed. Can you believe it! We hardly can.

But especially at this time, it’s wise to listen to our bodies. Scott’s in bed already and I’m on my way. I may lie there and read a while, but it’s still resting.

Some days I can hardly believe anyone keeps reading these entries. So run of the mill! So everyday! So — so — same as everyone else’s days! No conflict, no drama — it would make a dull novel, that’s for sure.


March 27, 1940
I.O.D.E. doing much war work. The shipment of war work sent to headquarters was described by Mrs. A.A. Brunsdon, who reported that the package contained 157 articles of knitting and sewing.

Wadena News, Looking Back

Sailing Through Saturday

little graceToday’s Mom’s birthday. She would be 79. What a cute older lady she would’ve been.
Mind you, 80 doesn’t seem old to me anymore. Not with Dad’s spryness and wit at 81. Not with being 61 myself.

In town yesterday, I was thinking of my cousin Oscar while pulling up to a yield sign to look in both directions. I’m not going to see him again. Which of course I knew, but it hit home anyway. I didn’t see him often when he was alive, but always expected to see him sometime so that was okay.

I arrived home to a countertop bursting with carrots, apples, bananas, celery and broccoli. Scott had shopped and washed a stack of it … a sight for sore eyes! I immediately ate an apple, a carrot, and a banana.

This morning at 6:30, my fella already had a pot of coffee on and mugs set out for both of us. Later I put together a batch of bread, while he fed the dog and sanitized the cordless phones, the smartphones, and the mouses. The meeses. The meeses to pieces.

I’ve begun opening doors with a sleeved hand and closing them with my elbow; meaning to wipe down my purse when I arrive home; shutting off the bathroom taps with a cloth napkin. Washing the cupboard door handles. Paying attention.

I meant to copy someone’s tradition of having a drink and buying a lottery ticket on the anniversary of her mother’s birthday. Can’t go get the ticket, but will have that drink.