Hello

Hey there readers.

People are starting to ask why I haven't posted in a long time.  The reason is that our family is experiencing a pretty serious medical crisis.  My beautiful, vibrant Mom has suffered a very debilitating stroke and we are spending as much time as possible with her as she works to recover. 

For those of you who have expressed concern, I am so grateful for your kindness.  Several have encouraged me to begin writing again, and as things settle down a bit, I may just start doing that.

Hanging in,
Tracy

Blog Holiday...Blogiday?

Hello all you wonderful readers of this blog.  Okay...reader?  Okay, Hi Mom. 
I've appreciated all your comments during the past several months on this crazy little blog-o-ventre of mine.  Sometimes I don't know where my nutty head is and why I am sharing too many 'inside thoughts', but thank you for reading! I do hope you continue, and continue to give me feedback 'cause I'm a junkie for it.

I just wanted to let you know that I'm taking a blog-iday. I probably won't be writing for a couple weeks.  See, I help organize and direct a music gig up here in northern Saskatchewan called the Northern Lights Bluegrass and Old Time Camp and Music Festival.  It is a wonderful time and even amidst all the chaos that's happening right now trying to get it off the ground for the 7th year running, I feel blessed to be part of it.

The reason I became involved is because of my upbringing.  Music was a huge part of my family.  My grandfather played fiddle and we had many kitchen parties.  I didn't realize how important it was back then and how keenly I would miss it  when it was gone.   It was the 80s and hair gel and electric guitars and *horror* synthesisers took over people making real music. We are working to bring that real music back.  Bluegrass?  Old Time?  That's for old people!  Actually, you wouldn't believe it. It's hipster music now!  And not broken hipsters either!

Kids are coming to our music camp with their parents and grandparents.  They are unplugged, they are learning, they are around a campfire, they are forming a palate for real notes, played with real instruments.  From there they can do whatever they like.  Our festival has some talent that is jaw dropping, they come from all over North America: Saskatchewan, PEI, BC, Yukon, Louisiana, Portland, North Carolina, Alabama, San Francisco...and they are all so damn good.  As I said, I am blessed to be part of it.  It's going to take up a great deal of my time for the next couple weeks.  I hope I have some funny stories to share afterwards.

Here is a picture of Norm last year with his broken foot.  NOT a funny story!

SMASHFOOT

 
If you are curious, you can watch this youtube video.  It's a great snapshot of what we do at camp and I really wish I had styled my hair that day! 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LcnY2o0-doM

See you soon!

http://www.northernlightsbluegrass.ca/

Road Trippin'

The Lalonde Clan just returned from a real-live road trip.  This doesn’t seem like a big deal to most people I’m sure, but to us it was HUGE.  First of all, it’s summer time and as my husband keeps reminding us, we do not travel in the summer: We are Lake People.  He insists there are two kinds of summer celebrants… Lake People and People who Go to The Lake.  There is a difference, he says with great emphasis.  Lake People will turn down weddings, reunions, and other inconvenient get-togethers because --don’t you know?? --they will be ‘at the lake’.  People who Go to the Lake go if there’s nothing else going on, and if there is not a cloud in the forecast.  

Secondly, we are not car people, and when I say we, I mean me.  My mother said that from her earliest memory, I screamed when I entered a car and did not stop screaming until we arrived at our destination.  I totally believe her.  Vehicle travel is a necessary evil for me.   In the 70s, our family car was a new Chevy Impala.  I believe the Chevrolet people, in their infinite wisdom, took the new car smell Too Far.  The comforting smell of vinyl and formaldehyde never did leave that car and if I could find it today in some junk heap, it would STILL smell like that.  I am willing to bet my life.  You could take samples of that odour, bottle it and use it against your enemies to invoke a wicked combination of headache and car sickness.  The whole car-smell experience did nothing to appease my barf-inducing hatred of road trips.

So only for my dear, dear friend and former band mate, Doll, would we make an exception to leave our lake utopia and travel to Southern Manitoba.  We decided to go via Montana and North Dakota to make it a bit more interesting.  I’ve made the trip to Brandon many times and always joke that I’m ready to slit my wrists by Moosomin.  If there’s such a thing as flatter than flat, the landscape is pretty close to that.  Zzzzz. “Look kids! It’s another freakin' canola field!”  Good thing the kids are too old to play that game where you have to spot all the things on a list.  They would have checked off a crow, a fence post and a grain bin in the first 5 miles and the rest of the items would remain blank.

  “Ooooh!  Is that a fox in that field, Mom?” 

“Nope. Rock.” I would confidently say, without even looking.  

I have to say, in Doll’s area, south of Brandon the landscape does change and it becomes quite scenic, but the stark contrast between north and south Saskatchewan never ceases to amaze me.  No wonder people call us The Gap!

Our joke -- We travelled to the south to see 'The Tree'

I try to make sure we have everything we need in the car when we’re on the road.  A cooler filled with great snacks and drinks, pillows, books, a small pharmacy...you name it.  Against my will, I took many road trips as a kid and there was never anything in the car but a box of Kleenex and a dusty map of Alberta.  Summer was unbearable; no air conditioning and water wasn’t invented yet. (okay bottled water wasn’t invented yet).  I was the only kid in North America who didn’t drink pop so you could usually find me dehydrating quietly in the back seat unless I wanted to treat myself to a mason jar full of warm water that had rolled around back there the whole trip.  Sigh…good times. 

Speaking of snacks, one trip stands out in my mind.  We took a month to travel through Alaska and the Yukon.  Me & my parents.  In a ¾ ton truck with a camper on the back. I was 12.  Now Alaska is breathtaking but you see one mountain, one stand of tamarack, and one waterfall and you’re all done as a 12 year old.  On top of this, Mom & Dad had packed ‘snacks’ before we left.  Was it cookies and fruit?  No. Trail mix?  No.  Radishes and green onions from the garden? Why, yes!!  I spent the first week on the road listening to classic country, enduring nasty radish burps and begging to ride in the camper.   Why couldn’t we be a normal family, go to Disneyland and eat ice cream??  

Well, fast forward 30 years and now I know the answer to that.  I have memories and experiences that are not ‘normal’ and I am very grateful.  We had a lovely time on our little road trip with friends who are like family to me.  I hope my kids have taken some memories with them, even if they are just their Dad singing out of tune to 80s classic hits and their Mom yelling for him to turn around because we are certainly hopelessly lost.  Maybe I’ll even get to read about them someday ;)

Buffalo Jump near Cartwright, MB

Hotnuferya?

As I write this, Saskatchewan is experiencing a heat wave.  Real feel temperatures have reached the 40s.  We north-centralese (it's my word, but you can use it) are not accustomed to such numbers unless they are below zero.  This is how we differentiate ourselves from others.  “Land of the Living Skies and Home of the 40 Below.”   No 40 below this month though, this is the month that we really begin the process of Enjoying Summer.

 I don’t care what you say.  I love the heat.  I suppose if we were not at the lake and if we were stuck at home in the basement watching re-runs of Big Brother, I might feel differently.  However, we are not and the best part is….I am finally warm!  Because I am a scrawny runt, I am always cold.  I am always the last one to shed my sweater.   I am starting to mortify myself by taking my slippers along when visiting at other people’s homes like my grandparents used to. 

“Oh don’t worry, dear, I’ve brought my slippers and my shawl.  I don’t like a cold back…"

 I would much rather be too warm; I love having feeling in my toes.

Another benefit of the hot weather is that I have finally packed properly for camping!  After years of hoping for the best and arriving with four suitcases full of various assorted swimming costumes, we’d inevitably spend most of our days clad in fleece and rubber boots.  We’d finally get one glorious day of hot weather and spend it hanging our soggy clothing out to dry.  In the morning, we’d emerge from the camper to find it and the whole landscape sodden and dripping once again.   We knew it was time to give up and go home when the children began to mold and mildew, the stray dog began to resemble Shrek and I was forced to wear Crocs… I know.  I had no choice. 

Alas, we are in the wilds of Canada (a Regional Park) and the real dilemma with a heat wave here is this... cover or uncover?  There is bliss in Saskatchewan summers, but for every yin there is a yang.  Stay covered and you feel as though you will ignite at any moment.  Sweaty and irritable, you fan weakly at yourself with your palm as though this will somehow cool you down immeasurably.  But uncover and you are forced to waste precious summer moments swatting at mosquitoes and horseflies while attempting to scratch the bites that are already welting up around your ankles.  These movements resemble a jerky, un-choreographed summer dance. The Solstice Dance of the northern Prairie Inhabitants. 

There is but one alternative, other than to go indoors (which would be counterproductive to Enjoying Summer) and that is to cloak yourself in insect repellent, until your nostrils burn.

“What’s that bewitching scent you’re wearing?”

“It’s the latest from Johnson & Johnson, all the lunatics…er…outdoor enthusiasts are wearing it.  It’s called OFF.  You can find it at fine sporting goods counters everywhere.”  

We are hardy stock and we will prevail.  We will Enjoy Summer because we have earned it, dammit!  So put on that swimsuit, dip your kids in bug spray and get out there.  Before you know it we’ll be shivering and shovelling again!

It takes a heat wave to get me in the lake!

Chopped

So here we are at the lake. Luckily, the weather could not be more awesomey. (great word, eh?) When the weather is grand, it is easy to forget that we are not shoulder to shoulder in 20 feet of living space; a.k.a the camper we call home for much of the summer.  Yes, when the rain socks in for days, there is only one thing I really miss….TV.  Many of you who know me understand that I am addicted to the Food Network.

At home, if I am in possession of the remote control, we will be watching Channel 103.  We also have the Food Network on an HD channel, and my husband thinks that if we are forced to watch the Food Network, why can't we at least watch it in HD?  No, I am used to 103.  HD would be considered a Change.  I don't feel like implementing a Change right now.  I have enough to worry about and I can't remember the channel number for Food on HD.

An interesting aside is that I have tried not one single recipe I've seen in my 5 year history of being addicted to the Food Network.  This is not unlike the 423 recipes I have pinned onto my "To Try" board on Pinterest.  Oh, I have great intentions... "KIDS! Look at this appetizer! I have to make it for when so & so comes over!"  I'll scribble down the inspiration on the back of a receipt or on an old envelope.  Invariably, I’ll look at it two days later, wonder what the hell it was all about and toss it.  It’s ok because I have the recipe for a great appetizer memorized.  It's called ‘Celery avec Cheez Whiz’. That's what so & so are getting when they come over.  Judge not and try it.

Chopped is one of my favorite Food Network shows. In Chopped, four chefs square off with a basket of mystery ingredients, with which they have to quickly make a dish.  The first round is an appetizer, then a main, then a dessert.  Each course is served to a panel of snooty, pretentious judges.  After each round, one chef gets chopped.  The ingredients are always pretty weird.  For example, a basket might contain octopus, bran cereal, beets and blue cheese. Mmmm.  The judges turn up their noses at the dishes they are given. "I just wasn't getting the octopus, unfortunately we had to chop you."  “You did nothing to coax out the earthiness of the beets…for that reason you’ve been chopped.”  Harsh.  

I don't see what the big deal is.  I do this every summer in my camper.  I look through the strange ingredients left over from last year and I attempt to make a stunning presentation out of microwave popcorn, stale Cheezies, a can of cream-style corn, and half a box of Lucky Charms with all the marshmallows conspicuously absent.  The only seasoning I have is a shaker of salt that has formed into a solid block from the moisture.  I would likely get no bonus points for using the partial bag of Temptations cat snacks leftover from feeding last summer’s stray cat.  The judges, who are fraught with mosquito bites and swimmer's itch, are rarely pleased with my amuse bouche.  I've been chopped a number of times but I always seem to get invited back to compete again and again.

Fortunately, we've now stocked up on a king's ransom worth of chips, nibs, and s'mores stuff.  I hope the this next while produces some great blogging material, but I probably won't be at the computer a whole lot unless it rains and I get Chopped from my job as chief cook & bottle washer. Stop by for a visit…we’ll see what we can string together for a snack!

The Dreaded Lunchbox

Ah, the end of June is here.  If there is one thing I am even more excited about than the approaching summer holidays it is this...  No. more. lunches.  For two whole months!  Can you believe it?  It's the most wonderful time of the year.

School lunches are the bane of my existence.  “Oh Tracy,” you say. "There are certainly worse things such as global warming, civil unrest, The Real Housewives of Anywhere..."  I have but one thing to say to you...I hate lunch.

Even back in my own school days, I hated lunch.  Face it, food in a bag which has festered in a locker for 3 hours is something only the dog can get excited about. Really great and different lunches weren't invented when I went to school.  On top of this, my mom was a bit of a health food nut, so I would be eating yet another tuna on brown, gazing longingly at my classmates' lunch, wondering why I couldn't dine on cheezies, twizzlers or cupcakes.  Frankly, the only thing I looked forward to was when my mom didn't have time to bake bread and we got to have the ultimate...bread from the store!  It was referred to by the most hilarious made up name: boughten bread.  Do you remember boughten bread??  It was such a treat!  I would even eat one of those shiny, quivering squares of ham if it was between two pieces of McGavin's white bread!

On most occasions though, I would open the fridge and stare into it, hoping the lunch ingredients would assemble themselves before my disinterested eyes.  When they did not, I would shout, "THERE'S NOTHING FOR LUNCH TOMORROW!"  It was then that I would get "The Speech."  The Speech consisted of the history of what my parents had for their school lunches.

 "What do you mean there's nothing for lunch? You don't know how lucky you are! Do you know what we had for our school lunches??" 
(I did know, but it was Too Late. I had opened Pandora's Lunchbox)
"Lard Sandwiches, that's what!  And there were none of these fancy Happy Days lunch kits...noooo. We carried our lunch to school in a Lard Pail.  If we were lucky, there was enough lard left over to make a dessert...that's right, lard with molasses on top.  We were happy with our lard and never complained!" 

(Okay, I made up the last part, but it's not really a stretch. )  Sometimes The Speech would end there, other times it would continue on to describe how hard it was to get to school, uphill both ways, carrying their horse on their backs.

I started out with much enthusiasm with my own kid’s lunches. I cut out sandwiches with heart-shaped cookie cutters, I skewered grapes and cheese onto toothpicks, I baked teeny tiny muffins. I even packed little notes that said, I love you! Have a super day!  I was so cute I annoyed myself.  It was all well and good until I packed the first banana of the school year.  “Mooooom  my whole lunch tastes like the smell of banana now!!”  And so it began.

After so many years, consistently trying to pull a rabbit out of a hat 5 days a week, 10 months a year becomes a chore.  After a while, the rabbit appears taxidermied, and is missing an ear or two…even with the ever-so-helpful magazines staring at me from the grocery store checkout: Healthy and Fun Lunches Kids Will Love!  Oh shut up, Martha. Have you met my kids?

My daughter has rejected every lunch food produced in North America.  See, she will LOVE something and eat nothing else for six weeks, then she will declare that she HATES that very thing and never look at it again.  This is usually after I have bought a truckload of it.  The boy is a bit easier, he eats anything but hotdogs and asparagus. If only I could get him to bring home his thermos before it becomes a scientific experiment.

Yes, Martha, walk a mile in my robe and slippers.  You’ll be in the closet with a half bottle of Chardonnay faster than you can say, “Lunchtime!”   Cheers to my holiday from lunch!!

Of course, it's due to the consumption of lard.  Listen to your parents, kids!

The Ruby Tree

If you've been keeping up with this blog, you know Sir Landscape-a-Lot and I have been working hard lately.  K-tel was all out of Insta-Yard, so it looks like we are going to have to create this chunk of property old school.  With all the dreary, dripping weather this spring, we haven't been able to step into the yard without sinking ankle deep.  Now, after a few days of blessed sunshine, it's great guns. 

Gardening and yard work are good for the mind.  It's peaceful, thinking time for me.  As we have tackled this project, I've been thinking a great deal about my mother-in-law, Ruby.  Ruby passed away a couple of years ago, having reached the great milestone of 90 years.  It was with Ruby that I planted and tended to my first vegetable gardens. 

Ruby was very calm about things, she never really got in a flap about much (unless you were to run off to Vegas to get married, then she had something to say!) This serenity probably came about from having 17 kids.  No, that was not a typo.  Yes, one family, all from the same husband.  She really was something. After having that many kids she saw it all and probably realized that things just weren't worth getting so worked up over. 

She must have really wondered what kind of nut job her son had gotten himself tangled up with because I was probably out in the garden with a ruler, measuring seed depth.  I am rather flappable and was very concerned I was doing things all wrong. I was so worried about taking these fragile plants out of their little containers to transplant them.  Surely they would die before I actually got them in the ground!  I was convinced that there was a secret to all of this gardening stuff that I, as a young wife, did not know.  My mother always grew a fabulous garden and she seemed to dedicate most of her summer to it, so I thought it must have taken great skill and knowledge.  Why didn't I pay attention as a dreadful, disinterested teenager??

I asked Ruby a whole bunch of questions before I even got started.  She would just calmly say, "I don't know, just put it in the ground, it'll grow."  She gave me a few hints and tips, but she mostly taught me that it wasn't rocket science.  I believe that what she was trying to communicate to me was that we've been doing this for generations.  Just trust, and learn along the way.  When I think back to this time I spent with her, I'm filled with appreciation for this lesson.

At Ruby's funeral service, my parents gave our family a most beautiful gift.  They placed some money in the sympathy card, indicating that we should use it to buy a tree for our new yard in Ruby's memory.  Well, we bought the Ruby Tree this weekend; a beautiful young Pembina Plum, which bears ruby red fruit.  We chose a fruit tree because Ruby was practical and like us, she loved fruit desserts. We are planting an orchard of sorts (as much as you can have an orchard on a tiny city lot!) and we now have a plum, a cherry, and two apples.

Jaxon helped me plant these ones. It's quite appropriate because he seemed to be pretty special in Grandma Ruby's eyes.  He was her last grandchild, number 55, I think.  She couldn't always remember his name (who could blame her) so she took to calling him The Boy.  That name has pretty much stuck.

 I've never planted fruit trees before, but I believe in what I have learned.  "Put them in the ground, they'll grow."  Thank you Grandma Ruby.

The Boy getting ready to plant the Ruby Plum