It's been a long time since I had Saturday morning time to write.
Last weekend, being Easter, was loaded for bear. Four days to get 10 days worth of things done. And the weather was ucky, which is par for the course.
Could be worse. A spring blizzard blew through Alberta just lately, making life miserable there. And again, right on schedule, because brother Todd informed in a telephone call Thursday night that the first calves hit the ground just a day or two before.
If he moved his calving dates up to August, would it still snow? Yes.
So I won't complain about the -4 I woke up to this morning. Spring has come far too early here in the southern interior. We're very dry and still getting below 0 temps of an evening. Spoke to my Winfield salesguy yesterday and he informed me that he'll be buying his apricots this summer.
Snow and cold temps killed his apricot buds. I don't mind, I'm not overly fond of apricots.
Thankfully the peach and cherry trees, for the most part, having begun blooming.
Went to Revy last weekend to work in my mother-in-law's back flower bed. The tree trimmer had been there the day before - perfect. She has two ornamental cherry trees back there that are an absolute nightmare. They're opened up nicely now.
So, dug up the entire bed, removed some creeping groundcover plants that she was tired of and planted perennials: more bleeding heart including a white one, six astilbe, five coralbell, three hosta, a periwinkle and a wack of lily-of-the-valley.
There's something inspiring about an 80 year old woman planting perennials.
There's nothing more to be done in our yard for a while. Things need to grow and temperatures need to improve. I bought a fan rake last week so will get out and clean up the debris from last weekend's windstorm.
The train engineer's book is done - or will be when I change the colour of the spine title on the cover - and off to the printers. One project down, three to go.
Publishing partner Val dropped off my little usb drive with the almost-done MS of the next book. She's the primary editor of our team. However, she's stymied and needs a second pair of eyes on this one. That often happens - get too close to the thing and after a while you can't see your way through it. That forest and trees things.
So one of my to-do items is giving a first read-through on this manuscript. I think it will be interesting. It's family history written by a man who will be 90 years old this summer; was raised on a homestead in Trinity Valley (between Enderby and Lumby on your maps, south of Ashton Creek to be more precise).
Somehow, between gardening, work and book design, the sewing room has been neglected. I have fabric set out on the little spare bed, calling to be in a plaintive little voice. The dressform downstairs is dancing little jigs trying to get my attention. The spinning wheel is sulking and the loom is just leaning against the basement call, toothpick in the corner of its mouth, daring me like a cocky teenage boy to take him on.
And all of them, even the garden tools, are looking nervously over their shoulders because the motorcycle is quietly biding its time in the garage. Every day the temperatures get a little higher on the thermometer, every day the skies are clear more often than overcast. And one day soon, the Triumph will be back home and luring me out to come play.
Ooops, my accountant just called. Bryan took the books up to High Prairie and she's working on them today. We've had a social visit but she's gonna be getting into the nitty-gritty soon and I'll get at least one if not two calls for clarification. You'd think after 26 years that my books would be crystal clear. They are very clean, I happen to know because she always tells me that, but sometimes I trip.