Back to school

After a very busy summer, our house is a tad quieter. My university age girls have left: one is in Winnipeg studying music at Canadian Mennonite University, and another has begun a Nursing program in Regina. I still have two teenagers at home: one doing online high school courses, and the other in grade 9, which brings me to a rather startling realization-- this is my last year of full-time tutoring. We've had our ups and downs on our homeschool journey--lots of fun and lots of challenges. It's hard to believe that the end is in sight: I'm already having mixed feelings. In the meantime, does anyone need eight years' worth of books and curriculum? If I sold it all, maybe my hubby could retire early. 

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Happy Anniversary to me

And to my husband. No, it's not our wedding anniversary (32 years in October). But it's our 30th anniversary of parenthood. Good gosh, where did that time go? Happy Birthday, Mrs K! 

Yikes. Time to replace the album. Good retirement project.
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Hello from the amusement park!

Last post (oh so long ago-sorry!), I said my life was like a movie. Not really. It's been more like this:

I love this classic photo, which has inspired countless internet memes. It's all the more funny to me because the terrified kid reminds me of one of my daughters (when she was little), and the girl holding her hand reminds me of my niece, who is close to the same age as said daughter.

Every time there's a chronological gap in my blogging, I allude vaguely to how challenging life has been, and I more or less hint that I may explain myself in time, but somehow I never do.

The joy of children

This is a short conversation I had with my teens the other day. 

Mom (plaintively): When I wake up in the morning, I look like Rex Murphy. [They didn't know who he was, so I showed them his picture online.]

Waiting for dawn

The houseplants near my kitchen patio door, waiting for sunrise. 

Christmas is almost officially over, as Ordinary Time begins tomorrow.  I hope you had a nice Christmas; our family certainly did. It's always sad at the end of the holidays to see the adult and college-age children going back to their jobs and studies.  This January is more poignant than usual, since Daughter #5 is leaving home, and there are various other changes afoot, some of which I did not anticipate. As they say, "Change is the only Constant" (actually, "they" is the pre-Socratic Greek philosopher Heraclitus, which I just discovered this very moment. Isn't Google useful sometimes?)

Despite the various challenges of life, my spirits are lifted because: 1) God; 2) we are POST-SOLSTICE: more hours of daylight--yay! I have trouble getting up early in the morning at the best of times, but winter is even less fun. When one of our daughters was little, she called everything between midnight and sunrise "Dark Morning," and the label is apropos, literally as well as metaphorically. 

Happy Christmas Eve

To our Ukrainian and Orthodox friends!

Here is a lovely article about the traditions of Ukrainian Christmas. Being of Slavic descent, and having been gifted with a beautiful volume of Russian folk and fairy tales in the early 70's (thanks, big sisters!), and having been introduced to Catherine Doherty's writings at young age (thanks, Dad!) I have a great love for Eastern Christian art, spirituality, rituals, architecture, culture and so forth. (How did I not mention food in that list?) I have never experienced a Ukrainian Christmas Eve feast, but someday I would love to.

Happy January First: Solemnity of Mary, the Mother of God

One of Bourguereau's lovely paintings.

Happy New Year! This is not going to be a long post, because it's still holiday time, and I'm spending it with my family. Did 2017 go by as quickly for you as it did for me? I can't believe how time is flying. You'd almost think I'm getting old or something. 

But stop for a minute (at least) and think about this--even if you're not Catholic: God chose to have a mom. You know, GOD, creator of the universe, who existed before and outside all time and space. That should tell us something about how important it is to be a mom. It's the most important job in the world. And Mary did hers to perfection (everything she did pointed to her Son). That is why we honour her.

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I'm ready to have my maternal senses soothed.

I just love antique architecture, not least because back then, they knew how to design homes for families, and they didn't mess around with ridiculously large Master suites that take up half the second floor. I really love Colonial, but this 1920s design is fabulous too. Third floor attic playroom for the kids/grandchildren? Yes, please! 

This comes from the 1920's brochure describing the design: 

"All mothers should be free from those things which disturb and distress. [Amen, brother!] They should at all times feel a sense of restfulness, serenity, peace and poise. Conditions for such a state of mind cannot be found in crowded districts, but rather in ideal private homes, in the The Winchester class, where only those influences are permitted which tend to satisfy and soothe the maternal senses."

This was back in the days when "poise" meant grace, elegance, composure and dignity, not incontinence pads.
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It's not a raging wildfire.

Not physically, anyway. Metaphorically, maybe...

It's a Saskatchewan sunset. 

As some of you know (since at least half of DOH readers are related to me by blood or marriage), my mom died two month ago today, on the feast of All Souls', Nov. 2, 2016. (I'm still processing, so that is partly why blogging has been weird and sporadic.)  

The next day, November 3, my husband and three youngest daughters travelled home to the farm where I grew up, to be with my dad and to prepare for Mom's funeral. As we drove along, I was awed by a spectacular, blazing sunset. Photos cannot do it justice, especially when you are taking snaps through a car window, using a smartphone camera, and travelling 100 kph. 

The view changed moment to moment, not only as the sun sank beneath the horizon, but as the pink wispy clouds seemed to drift (or be drawn?) higher and higher toward heaven and the darkening sky. Little snapshots such as these cannot adequately convey the sensation of looking up at the immensity and grandeur of the sky, and how relatively small I felt by comparison.

The wispy clouds reminded me of doves or angels in flight.

As I contemplated the sunset, the words of the poem "High Flight" by John Gillespie Magee, Jr came to mind. Which seemed kind of appropriate on numerous levels. The poet was a young WWII pilot (he died at age 19). Mom was buried on Remembrance Day, Nov. 11, the day we honour our war dead.

High Flight

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth,
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds, --and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of --Wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air...
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark or even eagle flew --
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

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I had planned to blog while on vacation...

But I didn't have time. I had also planned to catch up on some email correspondence with friends, but... I didn't have time. I had also hoped to do a bit of writing, but--you guessed it, I didn't have time. Is there a pattern emerging here? Now that I'm back home after ten days away, I need a rest. So I guess I'd have to say that while it was certainly a "trip" (in numerous ways), it didn't feel exactly, entirely, like a holiday (which I think should be mostly leisurely and relaxing). But there were many wonderful and amazing moments, and it was great being with my family (all but two daughters were able to make the trip), so that is ultimately what counts, holiday or not.

We drove to Vancouver, BC, which (according to Google maps) takes 15 hours and 1 minute (yes, they really did include the 1 minute), but we took a slightly longer route to get there, including a stop in my home town to rendezvous with one of our adult daughters (total 17 hours, 21 minutes).

How can you sum up Vancouver? Well, you really can't, because it's a big city (and I'm not going to glibly "profile," the way many non-prairie dwellers do about the entire province of Saskatchewan, without actually taking the time to get to know anything about it). I will likely post some pics and observations in the days to come.

We arrived home yesterday evening, having begun our return trip early Sunday morning (7:00 a.m. Mass? Yes! I wish we had that option here.) All that sitting in the car took its toll on my lower back, and I can scarcely move today. So it's going to take some time to ease back into the daily grind. But I'm glad to be home--even though it's a bit surreal to have left just as autumn was coming into her glory, and return in full-blown winter.

Our backyard before we left.

This morning.
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Blogging is sketchy because... tomatoes

Don't get me wrong. I'm grateful--grateful, I tell you, that we can grow so much of our own food, in such a small area of land, in such a short growing season. But it's a lot of work.

Some of the 2016 Tomato Harvest
(we grew 5 varieties this year)

Mr P. had to build extra bins in the cold storage room.

The ripening trays

The little plum tomatoes that had to be taken off green because frost was threatening. 

Yet another box of plums, this one in the furnace room.

Every day I check all the boxes and bins for ripe or ripening tomatoes,
and bring them upstairs for processing. 

My turkey roaster full of salsa, ready to go in the oven.

It yielded 7.5 quarts of salsa. Which was a huge pain to process by canning (more on that story later).

I've also cooked up batches of pasta sauce, and we've processed many, many tomatoes for freezing. It helps when you have kids willing to peel and chop tomatoes.
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Back in the Saddle

Miss P #7 horseback riding in Cypress Hills Park, SK

Where did the summer go? I ask that every year, and the answer is always the same: I don't know. My summer was full. So full that it may take years to write about it. But here it is, September 1. Back to School season (though as a homeschooler, I get to choose the day, and it's not today. I never start school before the Labour Day weekend).

But I am resuming blogging, if for no other purpose than to practice some personal discipline, and to get back in the habit of writing every day. The word of the month is discipline, and I'm going to need it, in order to survive September. School and harvest don't always mix.

Well, Daughters, that ol' birthday will be rolling around again soon...

And this way, I can get at least seven hits on this post. So here's a partial list. I'm not greedy, I just like to give you lots of variety to choose from.

The exquisite Nordic Ware "Heritage" Bundt pan. Available here. 

Le Cuistot Vieille 8L Oval Dutch Oven (Red).
Available AND ON SALE RIGHT NOW! (no pressure) here. 

Cuisinart 3 Qt Dutch Oven (blue)
Available here. 

Cool plant stand from IKEA. Available…where else?

The Moody Blues' best album.
 Amazon (or elsewhere if you can find it cheaper. Or at all.)

Yeah, that's really what it costs.
(But hey, it's come down. It was $47 when I put it on my Wish List.)

Available pretty much everywhere.
(Should I publicly admit that I haven't read this book yet? )

Yep.

All my life I've longed for one of these…
Amazon again.  (Some cheese knives would be nice too.)








And so would some cheese! You know that I like everything, especially Brie.





Wine and chocolate are also perfectly acceptable birthday gifts.


 


And then there's... 

Because my capacity for self-delusion KNOWS NO BOUNDS
(If I'd lost a pound for every dollar I've spent on fitness clothing, equipment, and DVDs… )
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Did the floral dictionary have an entry for Black Calla Lily?

If so, its meaning was probably on the morbid side. "Armed with floral dictionaries" LOL. Those Victorians… you gotta love em. (It really doesn't take a genius PhD in Gender Studies to see that 'repressed sexuality' and floral dictionaries were far more romantic [and sexy] than Miley Cyrus swinging naked on a wrecking ball… but I digress. We need a lot more repression these days, that's all I know.) 

As for the flowers, they are sublime. Received them from my daughters for Mother's Day. Thanks, girls. They are exquisite. The camera-phone cannot do them justice. I hope I don't kill them. I also received a gift certificate from the Paderno store. I killed that quickly enough. Details to follow. 

"You look fantastic!"

Strangely enough, moms with lots of kids hear that quite frequently (yes, even yours truly once upon a time, when rounding my age to the nearest hundred meant going down and not up). For some reason, our culture has sometimes pushed the myth that having kids turns you into an old frump. But science says otherwise. (Not that moms needed confirmation of what we already knew.)

Pa and Ma Kettle, a Hollywood stereotype. 

Having more children could have an effect on rate of aging says new research
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Baptism of the Lord

S. Ioannes Paulus, ora pro nobis

Such a wonderful feast. And I'm at home with a sick child. But for what it's worth, I'm watching the Solemn Mass from the Vatican on EWTN (yes, I know it's not the same thing). On the upside, I get to hear the Missa de Angelis and the Litany of the Saints sung (in Latin), and when was the last time I heard that in a church in Canada? Oh yeah, NEVER. But let's not complain about liturgy today.

Twenty-six babies are being baptized at this Mass (a tradition started by --who else?-- St. John Paul the Great). It's very heart-warming to see so many beautiful babies and their equally beautiful young parents (some of them are crying as they come forward for the pope's blessing--the parents, not the babies!). Can you imagine how cool that would be to have your baby baptised by the pope? The commentator on EWTN just said how uncommon it is for the St. Peter's to be filled with strollers and baby toys. That shouldn't be the case. Every Catholic church, every Sunday should be filled with baby strollers and toys and crying babies.
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Architects who totally get it.

Or got it, as the case may be. Past tense, unfortunately.

 Mr. P hopes to retire within the decade, so he's studying up on the economics of it all: attending seminars, reading articles in newspapers, magazines and online. And I'm building my dream retirement home in the clouds…and googling antique home plans.  (Say what you will about First World Problems, you DO realize that it's a kind of Purgatory for someone who's been mildly obsessed with architecture since the age of 8 to end up living in home designed in the 1970s. With glittery doorknobs.)

Very interesting: most of these homes are small by today's McMansion standards, yet they have 4-6 bedrooms. This was because in the olden days, couples had "children" instead of stuff.  I get a kick out of the homes that have front stairs, back stairs and a servant's room.

How great is the inclusion of a sewing room? 

I could probably forego one of those six bedrooms in order to get a Master bath and walk-in closet

One of the funniest things about these vintage plans is the commentary: 

"To know the value of right environment is one of the first steps in the mastery of self. It is impossible for anyone to think his best thoughts or do his best work when his home life is not in keeping with his ideals. Those who firmly fix their hearts on The Carolina for a home may be assured of the refining influence which its possession will bring."

Which explains at last why I've been unable for the last 50 years to think my best thoughts: my home life has never been in keeping with my ideals.

Then this:

"The feeling of aloneness is almost entirely unknown in small, comfortable homes like The Dover. Mental depression comes, as a rule, from tired nerves and unsightly surroundings. In the small home which has been provided with an abundance of light, life is more cheerful and housekeeping is a pleasure, provided the husband daily expresses his appreciation."

Finally, confirmation of what I always suspected: men are responsible for women's depression because: a) He hasn't given her a cute character home to live in; b) he doesn't daily express his appreciation for her housekeeping.

Oh rats. It's not all up to the men after all…

"Men change only as their environment and associates change. A good home and a good wife will enable any man to become stronger and more efficient. Any man is worthy of the highest trust who saves from his earnings sufficent to build The Englewood, and whose life companion is in sympathy with him and his work."

and

"The woman who knows that the surest way to a man's heart is through his sense of taste, and that sympathy and appreciation will lead him over mountains while criticism causes him to balk stubbornly on a level, can make any home an influence for permanent good whether it is of The Fulton style of architecture or a more humble cottage."

And it doesn't stop there. Health benefits… of sun (and by extension, home plans that have well… windows):

"Sunshine is to the physical body what joy is to the heart. Those frail of body should seek the sun porches of homes of The Kendall plan, and those frail of heart can find inimitable balm in the building and making complete a new home and a new environment. Health and home joy come to those who prepare expectantly for them."

You said a mouthful, brother!!

Six fireplaces, yes! (That's a lot of wood chopping, and ash-scooping, Mr. P) But oh, the benefits to the little woman!

The hearth that glows with good fellowship warms chilly hearts and drives out the dampness of discord and disappointments. Such hearths are guarded constantly by women who worship sacred home ideals, and who turn a deaf ear to the voice of gossip. The Haverhill will make an ideal home for those who yearn for better conditions in which to demonstrate the power of right thought."

Ha ha! It's not just a home brochure: it's social engineering!

When a normal woman comes to herself at the age of twenty, twenty-two, or twenty-four, according to her physical and mental growth, she realizes that her highest ambition is for a home of her own, affection and children, but her happiness is never complete until the love and home she wins is hers by all equitable and legal rights."

and

A child seldom becomes a burden on society whose home life has been one of happiness and contentment. The home is the localized center from which initial impulses for good or evil go out. Those who select The Rochester as a home in which to purify the environment for their children may well pay the debt to humanity which all of us owe.

If only we still had 1920s prices, when you could build one of these homes for under $5,000.