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blizzard warnings - 13:52 , 03 October 2013

heelerless - 21:32 , 18 August 2013

Red Coat Inn in Fort McLeod - 11:38 , 23 June 2013

rushing into the waters - 09:53 , 21 June 2013

choosing a spot - 17:43 , 27 April 2013

14 May 2002 - 12:13

Mother's Day

Since eldest son was out of the dorm, we took a second room at the motel for Saturday night. The three sub-adult males in a double (Wife's godson prefers sleeping on the floor. Really. Even at home in his own room.), the wife and I (and all three heelers, of course) across the hall in a single. As our bed got crowded by the usual three tailed bodies, I pointed out to the wife it might have been worth a few bucks to have gotten a second bed in our room.

"Why? You want to sleep alone?" she asked.

Quite right. How stupid of me. The heelers are going to sleep wherever the Alpha sleeps. A second bed would just go to waste, unless I used it. So we all made use of the single large bed. Twice, even. Maybe three times.

They wanted to attend Mass at 10:00 on Mother's Day. And also have breakfast at Denny's. I pointed out we had better get an early start, then. Restaurants are always crowded on Sunday mornings, and Mom's Day will make it even worse. I predicted a 30-40 minute wait, silently expecting reality would be even worse.

Despite my warnings, we slept in past 08:00. And weren't loaded into the two vehicles (They had talked about putting all five of us in the Subaru, since it has five seat belts. With three heelers, too, no less. How absurd.) until almost a quarter before nine.

Knew this was a waste of time before we started.

I was wrong.

I have learned to trust the wife's judgment in many matters, but there are times when she just cannot be right.

But she was. Walked into Denny's and were immediately seated. It filled up and the waiting list started after we were eating.

Waitress earned her tip (which was generous) with our crew. Wife started off ordering the triple-meat special, which we both get and then swap bacon and sausage so we each get what we want, and the heelers get the ham steaks. But she asked to substitute bacon for sausage (complicating life for the waitress and cook, and screwing me out of my swap). And then wanted to substitute pancakes for toast.

I could see the waitress' mind working. "Geez, lady, if you want bacon and pancakes, order bacon and pancakes. They're on the menu."

That was just the beginning. Eldest son and wife's godson then followed the wife's lead. Ordering a meal, and then asking for one or two substitutions. Each. It was embarrassing.

Read the menu, folks! Every possible combination of pancakes, toast, bacon, sausage, ham and eggs is there, somewhere.

I got a smile when I ordered a straight meal, and specified I wanted no substitutions.

End result of the wife's luck or mastery? They were off to Mass, just a couple blocks away, with ten minutes to spare.

They went to a small church this time, because the godson was vastly overwhelmed by the Mass in the Cathedral the last time they were here. Claimed there were thousands of worshippers there. I was waiting outside by the parking lot, so I knew he was exagerating. But not by much.

The smaller church also has the Mass in Latin. Something the new Catholic in the group had never experienced.

They were unimpressed. The Latin was fine, but the entire Mass was recited by the clergy in front and the choir in back. The congregation said literally nothing. Just witnesses to the spectacle, I guess.

Now, since everyone else has filled their Mother's Day entries with nice things to say about their mothers, and I have already spoken one bitch about the mother of my sons, I will iterate another.

Why, when returning to the motel from Mass, knowing your purpose is to find a way of crowding five people, their luggage and three heelers into two small vehicles, one of which is already crammed to the ceiling, why on earth would you think it was a good idea to park clear on the other side of the motel from the SUV?

"It was closer, there," was her response.

Not if you're walking heelers, it isn't. Not if you are shuffling boxes and bags from one vehicle to the other.

So I moved the SUV. And walked the heelers clear around the motel from their pee break.

And another peeve for this day. As we gassed up to leave College Town, I was done pumping gas and headed in to fill my coffee mug by the time they had decided who was going to go out to pump gas. And youngest son was still pumping gas into his car when I came out.

No problem. He always pitches in when something needs to be done. But wife and eldest son were still sitting in the car. And stayed there until the tank was full, and she could park the vehicle next to the convenience store front door. Only then did they get out to get coffee and snacks.

Now I know I'm anal about some things, especially when I want to get going somewhere, but am I the only one who sees how wasteful of time this is?

Only passed two coal trains on the drive home. One was 133 cars, the other 132. Was interesting to think that some of the energy in those rail cars may already be in use by some of you, to read these words on a screen across the country.

And yes, the heelers peed on George Lathrop's grave one last time.

Spring is a good time to drive through the prairie country. The hills are either bright green or a dull tan. You can tell who is a wise land manager, and who isn't.

The bright green grasslands belong to the people who don't know what they are doing.

The tan fields are tan because of last year's grass that is still there. In other words, those folks did not graze their fields down to the nubbins last year. They left some.

That's called residual cover. It protects the land from erosion from heavy spring storms and snowmelt, provides nesting cover for almost all ground-nesting species of birds, insulates and warms the ground for seedlings, and provides a seed source for this year's crop. And when the new green grass is just starting to peek up, it is easy to see where there is residual cover, and where there isn't.

Another place that was bright green was the shoulders of the highways, where they were just bladed and reseeded from construction last year.

I noticed one steep slope where the seeded grass had failed to cover the entire hillside. Not enough soil over the coal-rich bedrock.

There was a small ponderosa, maybe three meters tall, in the middle of the reseeded hillside.

Struck me as strange, but I was a mile or two down the highway before I understood why.

That entire hillside had been bladed over and contoured by re-construction of the highway. And the slope reseeded.

But there was no way that tree was planted on that steep slope. And, of course, it could not have grown three meters in one winter.

The only way that tree could exist on that slope was if it was growing there before construction, and the equipment operators had gone out of their way to avoid knocking it down, or plowing it under.

On purpose.

How cool.

That thought kept me warm most of the way home.

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