They're up quite high, flying in a V formation, here come the geese. . .

October 22, 2011

I despise waste.

To the point where Stephen and I have often had words about things he discards that I would have kept.

Yesterday afternoon, I walk into our departmental meeting and the table bears two heavily laden trays.

One with fresh fruit, the other with fresh veggies.

Ordered by a department-that-shall-not-be-named because I am usually in enough trouble thankyouverymuch and I don't need anymore.

Whatever function they'd been ordered and paid for was done and over and no one claimed them.

The catering guy didn't know what to do, because if no one claimed them they would be going into  garbage.

Imagine.

All that fresh, yummy, completely edible food tossed in the garbage because someone was too indifferent to do anything about it.

Luckily, a member of our department intervened and we munched on veggies and fruit throughout our meeting.

And guess what happened next. . .

That's right.

I piled everything onto one tray, because those trays are heavy without anything on them and brought it all home.

Meaning right now I have a lovely fruit salad in my refrigerator and a bag of already cut veggies for munching on throughout the day.

Nonetheless, I am still fuming at the idea that it would have all been thrown out.









Because yesterday was Friday, Em had no school for a teacher something day and was actually already at work, and Keith was hibernating in his room for the evening, I found myself home early.

As in at 4.00 pm.

Very different from my usual somewhere between 6.00 and 7.00 pm arrival time.

Meaning that by 6.00, I was ready, willing and desperately needed a walk with Frankie and Tikka.

Stephen has the flu, and feeling housebound by the time the early evening rolled around, I thought he would also benefit from some fresh air.

Because Stephen is a cranky sick person and a walk could only assist in alleviating the crankiness.

As soon as we arrived, parked and exited the vehicle, we noticed on our right two sections of the vast fields laden with potatoes.

We were walking in the fields of a potato research center.

Making the presence of potatoes not so mysterious.

Of course, Stephen thought we should harvest a couple.

Alas, we had no pockets or bags.

And I could see either dog willingly carting a load.

Any load.

Tikka's lucky she can still cart herself around.









Always prepared, Stephen brought along his head light in the event that we were still wandering when the sun set.

We were.

So bringing along the light was, indeed, a good idea.

Plus he just looks so cute.

While we were walking, musing, sometimes talking and mostly enjoying just being outside
a fellow walker's dog, who clearly possess a dog with just as much energy as Frankie, who ran through a field disrupting the pleasant restings of a flock of Canadian geese resting for a moment on their journey to warmer climes.

And as the geese flew overhead, squawking in anger, I captured the following pictures:

Standing there, geese flying overhead. . .

That was magical.




Title Lyric: Here Come the Geese by The Barenaked Ladies

I don't wanna feel distress. . . .

October 21, 2011

Yesterday was one of those days where I couldn't figure out if it was a good day or a bad day.

POURING rain when I take the dogs out at 6.00 am.

Resulting in a most reluctant-to-even-consider-doing-her-business Tikka.

And an OHMYGAWDMUMIT'SRAININGLET'SPLAY Frankie.

But most importantly, a very, very soaked Mummy when she was finally able to corral everyone and get back inside the warmth of the house.

Finally arriving at work, I get to my office and realize I don't have my office keys.

Luckily, Keith arrived ahead of me, with his key in tow, and was able to open the door.

Yeah me!

Nonetheless, I was still without the keys necessary to open the computer consoles needed for my powerpoints.

So where the hell were my keys.

I looked everywhere.

All the usual places.

Every bag I carry with me, every pocket in those bags, every nook and cranny in those bags, in my office.

And then I called Stephen.

No, he replied. I don't have your keys.

Fine.

The last option was to check the classroom where I was last teaching the day before in hopes that I left them there in the rush and fury that were the hoards of students who wanted to speak with me about their upcoming papers.

Actually, Keith did it for me.

And no keys, but he suggested I still go to the classroom to check for them myself.

All this time, I was trying to get together a powerpoint for my class at 10.00 am, trying to concentrate while inside I was in turmoil about the location of my keys.

Standing at the elevator, I was anxiously waiting, wondering what. the. hell. I was going to do without my keys and how much of a kerfuffle it was going to be to get them all replaced, when the elevator door opens and there stands a very wet, dripping Stephen.

Holding my keys.

Imagine.








The ensuing tension resulted in me concluding it was a stressful day.

Now there were little things along the way to alleviate that stress.

More specifically, dogs.

In two of my classes, I was treated to the presence of four legged, fur bearing creatures who were more than willing to soak up my stress.

Elmer and Oscar.

Two miniature dachshunds.

Now this is not a picture of the actual Elmer and Oscar.

But I will get one.

Yes I will.

In advanced qual, I met Charlie.

And after advanced qual, there was Maddy.

An eight year old rottie-boxer mix.

For whom I could find no picture.

But trust me when I say that she was absolutely adorable.

I was holding on to my sanity through the help of these always-lookin'-for-love critters.

And then, the ultimate stress breaker came my way.

Causing me to burst into tears in the McDonald's parking lot when I picked up Em and she showed me the ultimate stress breaker.

Yesterday was grad photo day.

Here's the proof.

Ha! I made a pun.

Things must be looking up.

I simply can't grasp that my baby is graduating from high school.

And so beautiful.

Whatever I did that was so deserving of such a lovely child, I am so very happy I did it.









Not only have Em and dogs created such stress relieving environments, the kitties have been providing much needed relief.

A couple of mornings ago, Wednesday I think, when I was up and working at 5.30 in the morning, frantically trying to make a deadline, Jasper hopping and jumping around like grease on a griddle.

Pookie rescued me, assuming the role of knight in shining armour.

Corralling the jittery Jasper, rendering him legless.

Jasper has been the source of all sorts of entertainment this week.

The bird feeders were put up.

Filled with seed.

Essentially turning on loud and clear Cat TV.

The next morning the two tempting bird feeders were too much for Jasper to ignore.

Sitting atop of the green chair, he sat and watched those feeders with the intensity of my father watching hockey night in Canada when I was a kid.

I don't know who chirped more.

Jasper or the birds.

Either way, they provide all the stress relief I need.

Good thing.

Because this weekend, I have 53 exams to mark, 20 research question assignments, and 18 indepth interviews.

I may end up petting those cats bald by Tuesday morning.



Title Lyric: No Stress by Laurent Wolf

I'm permanently black and blue. . . .

October 18, 2011

OMG!

I should have realized when things were going well, I was keeping up with everything, meeting deadlines and meetings and getting a full night's sleep that things were just too good to be true.

And I was right.

Post-Thanksgiving chaos and turmoil has arrived bearing its full fledged plumage.

This morning I awoke at the usual 5.30 am to get Em out of bed and opened my eyes again at. . . .

8.00 am.

The time when I am usually, breakfasted, dressed, lunch made, blog completed, dogs out for their morning ablutions. . . .

And I am just crawling out of bed.

I drove Em to school in her car because there was no way I was jumping from the passenger side to the driver's side wearing my zebra stripped pj bottoms, my too big red sleep shirt and my slippers.

One day there will be an accident when I am wandering around in such apparel.

The law of averages will make it so.

From that moment, the day has been nothing more than me rushing to catch up.

Because at 5.30 I was supposed to stay and up and finish marking the interviews for my advanced qualitative class.

Instead, as has been the pattern, I was marking them in every spare second I had.

I haven't looked at email since Friday.

And frankly, I'm afraid to.









Yesterday was given over to much needed sleep, making a beef stew big enough to last for at least three meals and marking in every spare second the day provided. 

I even ignored the house phone and my cell phone in an effort to take a much needed time out.

Because I have a shit load of stuff to do before Friday.

Funding applications and revised course proposals due tomorrow.

Assignments marked, only to be replaced with a brand new pile.

And another pile tomorrow.

And another pile Thursday.

Marking will be the themed event for this coming weekend.

As it was this weekend, except for one notable exception.

Work deadlines, assignments begging to be marked, children with issues. . .all of that is temporarily tossed to the wayside to take my mum out Sunday afternoon.

The Big Potato for our weekly veggies.

And then coffee at the mall.

I was somewhat reluctant to take Mum out given her present physical state.

She fell last Tuesday after she'd had her disorientating medications and managed to bang herself up good.

As she said on Sunday, "I was taught that if you're going to do something, do it well."

And she did.

And this was after three days.

What was the most upsetting for me during our time out were the number of people who would look at Mum and then look at me in shock and horror.

Typically I don't really care what people think of me.

But to even think that for a minute I would ever, in this or any other lifetime hit my mother??????????

Well that just brings out the less convivial side of my personality.

As some people found out.

Other than having to set a few people straight, we had a lovely afternoon together. 

And you can see why I burst into tears in the nursing home dining room when I went for dinner Saturday evening.

No one wants to see their mother injured.

And I made her promise me that she'd ask for help when going to the bathroom post-meds. 









Saturday evening finally arrives, I am home in my jammies, papers in front of me to mark whilst I sit in my favourite chair, curtains concealing me from the outside world when my cell phone rings.

Mistakenly, I answered it.

To an hysterical Meredyth on the other end, exhausted from only a few hours sleep the entire weekend, getting ready for her 11.30 pm shift at the bar, and whose toilet had overflowed.

Which proved to be the straw that broke the camel's back.

Causing the exhaustion-caused hysterics.

I did what any mother would do.

Grabbed Stephen, the plunger and a clean towel because she used all her towels to sop up the toilet water resting on her floor, and she was in need of a clean one.

And off we went to fix the toilet, clean the floor and provide a listening ear to her hysterics.

By the time we left, she was fine.

When she arrived for dinner last night, she was fine.

But for her hysterics the Saturday before, she was given a time out.

Yes.

Meredyth crawled into Frankie's crate, to see if she could.

And she thought I wasn't going to take a picture.

Or three.

Poor Frankie.

He didn't know what to do.

So he whined.

His default dealing-with-strange-and-stressful-things tactic.

The kids have adopted this stance, too.

I may need more crates.









Stephen and I have come up with our own dealing with stress tactic.

We've decided to not be held hostage by the earlier and earlier darkness.

A couple of weeks ago we purchased a light attached to an elasticized band that wraps around Stephen's head in order to provide enough light to keep me from falling over or wild critters from attacking us.

Meaning we now head to the experimental farm after dark for a nightly sojourn with the dogs.

We've come to realize, however, that I need my own head light.

Stephen walks faster than I do.

And he has a tendency to sweep the light behind us, leaving me stranded in the dark with no idea where to put my foot next.

So I'll be getting my own head light and looking like a tool be damned.

That light facilitating the after dark walks may be the only thing holding my ever crumbling sanity faintly together.





Title Lyric: Bruises by Chairlift

Never think you've got it figured out. . . .

October 15, 2011

I really should be marking the advanced qualitative interviews.

The activity I have been engaging in each and every spare minute of the day I can find, to the point where I am marking in the car and into the wee hours of the night.

At least for me.

11.30 pm.

If I don't have the completed for Tuesday, I'm concerned my class will turn feral and that'll be it for me.

It could happen.









Stephen and I turned last night into date night.

Unplanned date nights are the best.

I call him from Starbucks, where I am, as usual waiting for Em, and suggest that he and I just escape for a few hours.

Do things we want to do.

So we did.

Our first stop was for sustenance.

Because Stephen doesn't date well on an empty stomach.

Keeping it simple and affordable, we sat in a booth at Swiss Chalet and enjoyed chicken quesadillas with Caesar salads.

Diet Pepsi for me, although I much prefer Diet Coke.

Rickard's Red for Stephen.

It was a date night after all.

After dinner we headed to Costco, as a couple of weeks ago we came across some lovely curtain panels.

Lined curtain panels.

For 29.99 each.

Of course this is where not having credit cards is a major pain in the ass, because we couldn't afford them when we first saw them.

Meaning when we went back last evening, they were all. sold. out.

Fine.

It didn't prevent me from getting the other things we needed.

Twenty boxes of Scotties tissues for $19.99.

Three large containers of Lysol wipes for my cleaning loving husband.

We had lots, but one container found its way to Meredyth's (imagine) and one is in my office because Emily decided that spraying hair spray all over her hair and my computer and desk was a good idea.

Resulting on one weird feeling keyboard, let me tell you.

Wiping my desk down made me realize how badly I need to take a day, or ten, and clean my office.

We even managed to purchase some Christmas presents.

A tease to my children who read this and knowing that they're experience squirming torture wondering what I bought and for whom just makes spending the money all the more worthwhile.









But I still didn't have curtains.

Actually, we haven't had curtains since June.

And with a front to back living room with two giant picture windows flanking each end, curtain become a necessity.

Especially when the sun starts setting at 6.30 and you want to watch an hour of Big Bang Theory on Peachtree TV from 8.00-9.00.

But feel as if you're being watched because everyone can see into your living room.

So date night wasn't ending until I got my curtains.

We went to Kent.

A building supply store that provides all sorts of home miscellany.

Stephen loves Kent and is not allowed in there without supervision.

Of course, because it's us, I found the perfect panels.

Gold with cranberry floral overlay.

Perfectly matching our new-to-us-1944 furniture.

And our new, chocolate brown painted walls.

We needed four.

Kent had two.

But there were four panels at the Northside Kent.

I really didn't want to drive over to the northside on a Friday night where there is still only one bridge open in Fredericton.

But there was no other panels that we both liked, or were affordable, so after wasting 30 minutes arguing at the curtain section in Kent we decided to drive to the northside.

I was right about the bridge by the way.

I don't know what was happening on the northside last night, but everyone and their dogs and cats were driving across the Westmoreland Street Bridge.

We grabbed those panels.

I wasn't taking any chances.

And now, I have lovely curtains covering the back picture window so watching tv won't be so much of a public event.

Next pay: four more panels for the front window.

Stephen wants the same as we purchased last evening.

I want different ones.

Who do you think will prevail??????









Yesterday I was afforded the opportunity to serve as guest lecturer in Emily's grade 12 sociology class.

And Em was happy I was there. In fact, it was her idea.

I talked with them, because there was lots of time for them to talk to me.

I insisted upon it.

We talked about how, using sociology, we can use films to understand social issues and experiences.

Not a difficult topic for me to talk about at all.

What was really weird, though, was yesterday would have been my 23 wedding anniversary had I remained with my ex husband.

Stephen asked me if I thought my ex remembered that we had gotten married on October 14, 1988.

I replied that I didn't think so.

One, he doesn't remember his own children's birthdays.

Two, he's been married three times.  I am just one in a long line of unfortunate women who thought marrying him was a good idea.

Although it had it benefits.

He has a wonderful, fabulous family.

His mother, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, have all continued to welcome and embrace me into their close knit, caring family.

That and the kids made the marriage tolerable.

But after a while it was just too much.

We married WAY to young, for all the wrong reasons, and my leaving, while incredibly difficult in that I hurt the family that cared for me so deeply, was also necessary.

I was thinking yesterday that if you had of told me on the day I was married to him via the Justice of the Peace in downtown Fredericton that 23 years later, I'd be a tenured professor of criminology with a PhD in sociology, standing in front of my third child's sociology class talking about films, I'd have probably told you to stop taking those wild and wacky drugs because they were playing games with your remaining brain cells.

Which proves that you really never know what life has in store for you.




Title Lyric: Life Lessons by Lynard Skynard

I did it MY way!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

October 12, 2011

HAPPY 22ND BIRTHDAY MEREDYTH

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Meredyth continues to be one of the strongest women I know.

Determined.

Knows her mind, and as we all know, not afraid to speak up when she feels called to.

Which is frequent.

Coming into her own.

Figuring out who she is, what she wants, who she wants to be in her future.

Everyone lives their life following multiple paths, filling multiple roles, and living through the conflicts that result from attempting to negotiate the tensions that occur within the complexities of our everyday lives.

Mer is no different.

What is different is that she is learning to negotiate those conflicts with greater ease, greater understanding, greater dignity and aplomb.

Willing to talk and explore, examine how she came to where she is and how to move forward.

My Meredyth is growing up.

Beautiful, talented, gifted, she will move forward.

Simply because she is Meredyth. 

She will continue to do things her way.

I expect nothing less.

Happy Birthday baby! You continue to make my life better each and every day!

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox




Title Lyric: My Way by Frank Sinatra

Do you like sweet potatoes?

October 11, 2011

Our Thanksgiving was as plentiful and bountiful as always.

Roasted to perfection turkey, pumpernickel bread stuffing with walnuts and raisins, Dad's sweet potatoes with cream cheese and maple syrup, lite cream cheese in deference to my lifestyle change, brown sugar carrots for Em because she can no longer consume my parsnips in a tarragon cream sauce, beets for Mer because she loves them and as she says, "they turn my poop purple", my homemade olive oil drizzled potatoes baked in the oven for Em because she can't eat cream cheese potatoes and my mother loves any potato resembling a French fry that she can dip in her ramekin of ketchup, our homemade Ukrainian dill pickles, pumpkin pie that was not homemade but was very, very tasty, homemade cranberry sauce. . .

. . .that Stephen wanted to make using 5 pounds of cranberries.

Luckily I walked in just at the nick of time, and informed him that all one needed to make cranberry sauce for 8 people was two cups of cranberries.

Imagine what I would have done with cranberry sauce comprising 5 pounds of cranberries, which, when including the sugar and water would have been around 8 pounds of cranberry sauce.

Imagine.

But that was the only disaster I was able to narrowly avert.

My father transported his potatoes in a glass 9 x 13 pan complete with it's own pain-in-the-ass-lid to get off.

Plastic lid.

As I was putting his sweet potatoes in the oven, covered with tinfoil, he came into the kitchen and stated that the lid was heat resistant up to 400 degrees so I should put it back on and then put the potatoes in the oven.

My innards nudged me to overrule him, as I am the grande dame of dawne's house, but I was tired, having just taken him and my mother to Costco, the kids were hungry and whining, and all I wanted to do was make my tarragon cream sauce, heat these potatoes and get everyone to the table to eat.

I did as he said.

And then went to the bathroom.

Only to shoot off the toilet as soon as the stench of melting plastic reached my nostrils.

Which was about the same time as it reached my Dad's nostrils.

Now, I have an oven with it's bottom dotted in red plastic.

Melted, hardened red plastic and me with not one f***ing clue about how to get it off without a chisel.

And just as an aside, if I had covered the landscape of my father's oven with dots of melted, hardened red plastic, I would have NEVER heard the end of it.

I would have been reminded of my transgression during every family dinner, every high day and holiday until the end of time.

My dad said he was sorry.

And that he guessed the lid wasn't heat proof to 400 degrees.









Prior  to dinner, I had made arrangements with my father for him to meet me, Stephen and Mum at my house for 2.30, at which time we would all pile into my car and go to Costco.

My father wanted to see inside Costco, peruse its aisles to assess whether or not it would be in his best interest to purchase his own membership.

Or just make arrangements with me everytime he wanted something from there.

Given what he determined would be of any use for him, that may work out to about once a year.

About as many times as I could manage shopping with my father.

Our hour and half meander through the aisles resulted in me and Stephen purchasing a family pack of Premium Plus crackers for the kids, as well as a bag of multigrain chiabatta buns shaped like triangles.

Dad bought himself 3 liters of honey, 30 hearing aids and two bottles of cranberry juice for Mum.

Mum just sat in her wheelchair, watching all that was going around her, and commenting on how little my father's shopping habits have evolved since her moving into the nursing home.









Thanksgiving Monday.

Like Easter Monday and Boxing Day, Thanksgiving Monday is one of the three days in a year where I am almost completely responsibility free.

Where the day greets me not with, "these-are-all-the-things-that-you-have-to-do-before-you-can-rest-your-head-on-the-pillow" but with a "hey! The-day-is-yours-do-what-you-want!"

Three days out of 365 I experience this joy.

Livin' on the edge.

That's me.

Instead of being lurched awake by some contemporary popular music at 5.30 in the morning, I was pawed awake by a bladder challenged Tikka at 8.00 am.

Constituting sleeping in for me.

Instead of eating breakfast at the computer in a rush while Frankie stares at me and whines, I was able to eat breakfast leisurely while Frankie stared and whined at me.

Instead of running around trying to get ready for work while dragging the sleep addled Emily into the waking world, I was able to sit at the computer, mark papers and listen to Em complain about Mer wanting her to take her shift.

Em took the shift.

But Em woke up on her own steam and I was able to do all the emotion management from my desk.

This was turning into a regular holiday.

Three whole times a year.









But a whole day off was just not in the cards for me.

Almost, but not quite.

9.00 pm.

I had just finished watching two episodes of Big Bang Theory, had taken my melatonin and was happily contemplating going to bed when the phone rang.

My father.

NEVER a good sign.

EVER.

Sure enough, I was right.

My mother had fallen at the nursing home while attempting to negotiate the bathroom with her medicated-riddled systems.

Watching her do this in the past lead me to conclude that there would come a time when she was going to fall.

And she did.

A goose egg on her forehead and at the back of her head.

My father, of course, wanted me to go and make sure she was okay.

Of course he did.

Why should he drive into Fredericton to make sure his wife was okay.

I go to the hospital, because this is where I was told she was going to be.

Waiting and waiting, I call the nursing home only to find out that she wasn't coming to the hospital, as the nursing home doctor determined she didn't need to.

So I rush down to the nursing home to find my mother in her bed, ice pack behind her head, ice pack on her forehead, trying not to sleep because she is worried she had a concussion.

I'm worried too.

And if anything had happened to my mother over night, there was going to be a doctor in this city who should be worried about how long she'd be keeping her licence.

Luckily, no such incident occurred.

And my mother appears to be fine.

My father and I on the other hand. . . .

Let's just say I am not a happy camper with him right now.

Not coming into see my mother and a plastic splattered oven.

How much am I supposed to take?



Title Lyric:  Sweet Potatoes by SIA

My golden slippers are laid away. . . .

October 8, 2011


And the shits and giggles associated with multiple cat ownership and the introduction of two new cats into our happy family home continues.

Apparently, because I was at Starbucks marking advanced qualitative interviews and didn't actually witness the events myself, there were ructions.

Initially, things started out amenable enough.

Jasper started by frolicking in our room, capturing Goblet's attention.

Meaning she was sitting on her Throne, aka the Goblet box, on top of our dresser her eyes wide, pupils dilated, watching him attentively, waiting for him to make his move.

And he did.

Jumping on her, he wanted to play, and she was willing to do so, so long as there was nothing untoward happening.

And then the untoward happened.

Of course.

Kittens don't have the brain capacity to know when to stop.

Nor do some adults I know, but that's another story.

Jasper misread Goblet's acquiescence for an invitation.

To burrow under her and attempt to suckle.

Suckle Goblet.

Who was probably unaware that she even had the physical capabilities to do so.

And stunned that Jasper did.

The resulting kerfuffle was a stunned, overwrought and feeling-completely-violated Goblet who disappeared into Emily's room, seeking sanctuary from a cruel kitten who had the audacity to inform her of her biological capabilities.

Jasper just went downstairs looking for other amusement and entertainment, unaware of the shit storm he'd just created by just being his special self.

And I missed the whole thing.

Damn you marking! Damn you!









In spite of all the work Stephen and I have to do this weekend, we decided to take a time out yesterday afternoon and just enjoy the day.

A lovely, unusually warm October day. . .around 23 degrees, breezy, the kind of day that just screams come outside because the weather isn't going to be like this much longer.

Probably not even into Monday.

So we showered, and off we went.

Arriving downtown on a Saturday afternoon, we were able to browse through stores we usually only encounter on Sundays when they are closed.

Going inside these stores was very enjoyable.

And of course, reminded us that we were in no position to be able to afford any of the goodies proffered.

Looking was just as much fun.

And a lot more affordable.









Not that we didn't purchase anything.

Just not things we didn't need.

For example, Stephen has been on a quest for size 13 slippers for months.

Size 13 slippers are, indeed, hard to come by in Fredericton.

Almost impossible.

Our luck changed, however, when we encountered a shoe store downtown, went inside, and lo and behold, didn't they have a pair of Foamtread slippers. . .

. . . .the slip on kind, not the ones you actually have to take the time to put your feet into, in a size 13.

For only $56.00.

But at this point, more would have been paid if only to cease the whinging and whining about not having slippers.

The little things.

Really. . . it's the little things that made the world go round.

I just hope that this pair of slippers doesn't succumb the same fate as the other two pairs of slippers he's had in the last two and a half years.

Hopefully, now that he has outgrown his puppy faze, all slippers will be safe.










We also purchased a wrap around your head light thingy for Stephen to wear when he takes the dogs out after dark.

Which will be happening more frequently, as the sun sets completely by 7.30.

We get home from work at 6.00 pm and by the time supper is over its 7.00 pm.

Making for a short walk in daylight.

Clearly something had to be done.

Hence the Stephen light that wraps around his head.

Hopefully the little woodland creatures who may inhabit the farm space under the cover of night will be as frightened of the night light as they are of the sun.




Title Lyric: Golden Slippers (no artist)