After we’d left the hospital, Christian asked me: “They were really impressed with how many words she knows! Do you think she knows that many?” I’d thought of that… “Sure!” I answered. “If you add up all the little categories of her day, 10 here, 10 there… it would probably make 50!” I suppose that’s my faith in that nebulous expression that states “Kids know more than we think they do!” But, do you want to know her favorite word? The word she learned right after Mama and Papa? It’s “auf, auf” for dog. She’ll spot dogs faster than I do, when we’re riding together on the bike. She’ll also refer to the big white teddybear as “auf, auf.” I swear, she says it with a German accent.

The other day he was saying how many annuals they are throwing away… “Heck, I could bring you home a tray, if you wanted!” And although our yard already has a fair amount of flowers, I’m sure there are still places I could find for petunias, begonias, or even geraniums… So I said “Sure!” The next day, he brings me a tray of flowers. “Great! Thanks!” I tell him as I’m feeding Marie-Hélène… “I’ll check them out later.” Then I tell him to wash. I try not to nag too much…

I later go see the flowers he’s left on our porch, hoping for pink, or red, or white… and find these…

So. So? These are marigolds. In fact, I forgot the name and had to ask John to refresh my memory. I’ve never planted a marigold in my life. These are those yellow pom-pom flowers that deer won’t eat. And they don’t smell like flowers, unless you were to compare them to the corpse flower.

“They’re not awful…” I said to a friend who was visiting, and who also doesn’t like them. “What do we have against them?” She didn’t know. So, we abandoned the philosophy, settled for the fact that it reminded us of grandmas, and had desert.

I love you Grandma, I’m happy you liked marigolds, but it’s kind of like shag carpet… Soft, pretty, colorful, but I couldn’t bring myself to having any of it.

Last nigth, after having spent most of the day reading things like: “Multiculturalism, Or, the Cultural Logic of Multinational Capitalism” by Zizek, I decided to stop a bit before bed and watch an old episode of The Golden Girls. Should I admit that out-loud? They make me laugh! It’s silly…  Anyways. They often end up sitting at the table at night eating some decadent cheesecake with ice cream. Since my days are mostly a balance between reading and distracting Marie-Hélène, I haven’t been baking much. Fifteen minutes before the store closed, I decided to go get cookies. I grab my wallet, run down the stairs and put my flip-flops on. “I should get the garage-door opener” I think. So I run back upstairs, grab the remote, run back down and put on my flip-flops and open the door. Then I realise I don’t have my keys (you know, to start the car.) So, I take off my flip-flops, run back upstairs, find my keys, run back downstairs and actually make it out the door. Now, what does this tell you…

a) Jacinta, you’ve been reading too much
b) The Golden Girls are having a bad effect on you
c) You need to make time to bake cookies
d) None of the above. That’s how you always are!

In the end, it will look like this… a glass cloud on one side, like the wings of a dove. It will have four large “roots” stretching outward, covered in prairie grass, and it will have a tall tower of hope that looks out over the city. It will be a mix of artefacts, conference rooms and interactive displays. We look forward to visiting it when it’s finished!

—

It’s been a little busy around here… I’m finishing a class, working on an essay and then getting ready for the final exam. Christian and I have set up a makeshift office upstairs, me with a laptop on the couch, and Christian with a desktop and scanner on the dining room table. We’re inseperable!

Toddling from Jacinta Palud on Vimeo.

About 5 minutes later, she wanted her socks and slippers off. She’s also decided that she doesn’t care for the food we usually feed her, and it’s left me scrambling to find things she’ll actually like, worrying that she isn’t gaining weight in the process. It’s a transition, I tell myself, but it doesn’t make it any easier… Right now, she likes sauerkraut pierogies and Cheerios in milk in the morning. Yes, sauerkraut. She got that from her Austrian godmother, I say. As for her appetite right now, it comes from a hummingbird.

Happy weekend!

Last class he asked why there weren’t more protests in Winnipeg, as if there should be protests, as if what we’d learned was certainly more than enough reason to stage a revolt against our government. And some 20 students stared back at him. Some twenty students with neat haircuts, designer clothes and manicured nails.

Why wouldn’t I join a protest?

1. First, I’d have to organize it. And that would mean, I’d need a reason.
2. A bad feeling about foreign economic policy doesn’t make for a good slogan. For a good slogan, you need to be mad.
3. I’m pretty easy going.
4. Bringing Marie-Hélène would probably be ill-advised. We’re quite attached… When she’s with her Papa at Grandmama’s and she sees a picture of me, she cries. When I’m not there, they torture her like that… “Even when she cries, she’s so cute” they say.
5. What would I wear?

Obviously, that last point disqualifies me. I’m a hopeless case.

On the way home we stopped for fish at Gimli fish, in a strip mall beside the Hula Hut. Christian went to get the fish, while Marie-Hélène and I went to check out bathing suits. Christian joined us, just as I’d discovered a clearance rack with a pretty skirt. We are making an effort to save money for our summer trip, and before trying it on, I asked Christian, ”Are you sure you don’t mind if we get this?”

“No, no! It’ll look good on you. And besides, women need more clothes than men.”

Mme Palud, you have raised your son well.