At the greenhouse: Marilou’s fairy bed or maybe gnome garden. She has it set up on an actual old bed frame.

I was browsing through the Canadian Oxford Dictionary after looking up “chesterfield,” which here in Canada is any couch or sofa (we never call a couch a sofa; are there places in Canada where people do?) — otherwise it’s a couch whose arms are the same height as its back (something I never knew) — but anyway the word was used in a book to describe a man’s coat so I looked it up and yes it buttons up the front and usually has a velvet collar.

Anyway I was browsing through the dictionary, as you do, learning new things, when I came across “pinhead” and read the definition. I asked Scott what he visualizes when he thinks of a person who is a pinhead, and he said a tiny-headed idiot. I have always visualized a tiny pointy head on the idiot; Scott has imagined it round. The actual definition is the flat head of a pin. (“A stupid fool” is also one of the definitions.)

I read the dictionary with fascination; he finds the phone book humorous. Maybe we are a perfect pair!

Joan gave me this dictionary and it’s well used, believe me, Joan!


Maggie: The farmers market here is small and sometimes the only traffic is people who come for the fundraising lunches (community groups take turns providing these) and go straight to the kitchen, not even browsing the market tables. It’s one reason I don’t go as a vendor even though I’m not working other than in my home office; I’ve been bored silly, stuck behind a table inside the hall for four or five hours. It’s a different story when lots of people stop by your table, even if they don’t buy anything. I liked talking with longtime acquaintances, and … well, I’m one of those people who “will talk to anyone,” as Mom used to say. That’s common with smalltown people here in the West. There’s no such thing as a stranger: if you’re willing, you’re chit-chat material.

Besides the odd table selling other stuff, there are only a few tables with baking and garden produce and in comparison to prices in city markets, the Wadena Farmers Market is cheap, cheap, cheap. Aunt Marj sells a pie for $8 and yesterday I saw a pie on another lady’s table for $9. In Saskatoon you’d likely pay $12 or $15. Marj sells a big loaf of homemade wholewheat flax bread for $3. You can’t even buy a regularly priced loaf of crap bread at the local grocery store for $3 out here!


Emil went with me yesterday, which was cold and rainy. We got in there and he went his way, I went mine. He looked for people he knows, not items to purchase. When I caught up with him I asked if there was anything he’d like to buy. Yes! he said. A package of peanut butter and marshmallow squares ($5 for a package of eight). Is that all? Oh okay! A package of chocolate chip cookies ($4 for a pack). That was it for him.

Those peanut butter squares are so sweet I felt almost sick after eating one, tasty though it was. The cookies were like cardboard compared to my recipe, but Emil liked them. There are none of those left this morning.

I bought a two-foot-long, padded flannel tube for Scott to try under his neck at night. He uses a rolled-up towel; I thought this might be better. Haven’t heard the verdict yet.

I bought a bag of “instantized” wild rice from Scott’s brother-in-law, Walter, who sells it for Scott’s sister, Laurel. She lives up at Denare Beach and is part-owner of the wild rice plant there.

I picked up the eggs, and bought a loaf of Aunt Marj’s flax bread, and I don’t remember what I sang into her ear as I hugged her hello, but later I was thinking how a person feels connected to and easy with relatives even if one doesn’t spend much time together. Being related, even distantly, gives a familiarity and an affection you don’t have to work for. Marj is the widow of one of Dad’s uncles. She told me she’ll be 93 in September.

Then we (okay I; Emil waited in the car) checked out two garage sales in town. At one, I spent $7 and came home with an accordion-file box, a pretty picture frame, a black sweater (my other one got covered with dog hair when we visited our kids in Calgary, and darned if I can get it off), a green short-sleeved linen shirt, a cotton box on a folding wooden frame, and an address book. The latter, priced at 25 cents and never used, was thrown in for free. They’re handy for passwords and such. I write mine in, in a coded shorthand only I can decipher.


The clouds had cleared off last night and I heard Scott say he was concerned it might freeze. I was already in bed by then. The power had gone out around 10:00 so I snuggled in and listened to a podcast on my phone. There was a documentary called “The Women are Coming,” about a group of 17 women in Vancouver who organized a trip to Ottawa, picking up more women on the way, to lobby the federal government to legalize abortion. That was in the seventies. Thank you, ladies. I would never counsel a woman to have an abortion, but women’s bodies are their own; they are more than baby-making vessels and no one should be able to tell women what they can and cannot do with their own bodies. Abortions are a terrible, regrettable thing; but women have every right to make the choices they feel they must.

This morning the sky is blue. Scott’s out mowing; gonna get those dandelions if it’s the last thing he ever does! It’s a losing battle but even a small dint in the yellow is better than none. Emil’s just gotten up and is going to have his Sunday bath “so I don’t have to worry about it tonight after I get home,” he says, as he always does. I will have to check the temperature of the water for him; I insist on it because Emil and heat and cold don’t communicate with each other. He’ll be calling me any moment now. When he gets out of the tub I’m going to make a big pot of oatmeal and call Scott in to have some with us.

I don’t think it froze last night. The tomatoes and peppers in a tray on the step look okay.



2 thoughts on “Sunday: BRIGHT AGAIN

  1. Loved this visit.


    On Sun, Jun 3, 2018, 1:09 PM Stubblejumpers Café, wrote:

    > Stubblejumpers Café posted: ” I was browsing through the Canadian Oxford > Dictionary after looking up “chesterfield,” which here in Canada is any > couch or sofa (we never call a couch a sofa; are there places in Canada > where people do?) — otherwise it’s a couch whose arms are the sam” >

    Liked by 1 person

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