“If I go to Yorkton, do you want to come along?”
Usually I say no thanks, as I already have an agenda for the day. But that wasn’t the case yesterday — after all, laundry can always wait. So we hopped into the Big White Bus (the truck I practically need a ladder to climb up into) and headed south, stopping in Foam Lake for lunch and then turning east on Highway 16.
There were salt blocks to pick up for the farm, and a grain sample to have tested, and then we both needed to do some shopping. For that we went our separate ways at the mall; I found two pairs of Clark’s sandals, having been unable to locate what I wanted in Wadena. My black corduroys are toast, worn right down into holes, and I’d like some black jeans, but oh how I hate trying on clothes in stores, and so I flipped through racks and shelves but didn’t go further than that.
And then … there was a huge greenhouse right there … well I had to go look, at least, didn’t I? And they had cosmos and wave pansies and I couldn’t pass those up. But I only bought one pack of each, so there. That’s pretty strict. They are among my favourite flowers and I was thrilled to bring them home and set them out with the little red wagonful that is hardening off in the front yard right this moment (after spending yesterday in the dark Quonset because it was windy and I wouldn’t be here to keep an eye on them and also on Goddamn Dog, who twice has taken a flower pack from the wagon and lain down to chew on it).
Since it was a last-minute trip I wasn’t able to organize a quick visit with my fiery redheaded cousin Jolene, who had plans of her own and was on the go. Darn it.
His Manfulness and I were both yawning all the way there and all the way back. It was an early night.
There’s a flat tire on Little Green so it’s going to be pumped up in order to drive to town for a repair job. I’ll go impose myself on SonnyBoy while I’m there, as it’s his day off. He hates to tell me when that is, for I’ll often stop in at his place then and put a dent in his plans. Heh! Tough noogies, I say. It’s a mom thing. All he’s doing is playing videogames in his dark, curtained rental house, but on a day off he can do it without interruption … unless … Mom. The Mom Invasion! I don’t usually stay long and, though he won’t admit it, he does seem to like his mom a little bit and we have a few laughs. Or I do. Sometimes he just shakes his head and looks puzzled. The other day I was telling him about scolding the dog while walking across the lawn with my head turned, and smacking into the flower trellis for a climbing rose. I was almost crying as I recounted my sad tale of woe. He even cracked a smile. He had to; you have to when someone’s laughing that hard, don’t you?
Here’s a cool video someone in South Africa made and sent to Doc:
I’ve watched it once or twice and still cannot tell you what the song is about. Doc’s storytelling is exemplary, but within a couple sentences I’m focused on everything but the words. In all songs, all the time. What is that? Poor hearing? ADHD? What? Anyway that’s how it is. If you have a longer attention span than a gnat and can give me a one-sentence plot, please do so. Is that asking too much? I could just sit down and listen to it again — great song, I like it, my toes get tapping, I sing along in bits and snatches — and I will, but right now I’ve got to dip myself into the tub and get ready to go to town. It’s the last thing I feel like doing on this hot, calm day when I could be plunked down here in Paradise instead. Maybe I’ll wear one of my new pairs of sandals, see if I can’t get myself a couple free blisters.
The blue flax is blooming and the columbines have begun to open. The show begins!