Andrew Johnston - Britains Got Talent 2 (1st Audition)

I am here

Did you know that the train in Moosomin comes through at 4:00 a.m.? 4:02 to be exact. The Moosomin Motel backs onto the train tracks, and yes, there are still trains that travel through Saskatchewan and seem to be timed on Karen Emilson's schedule. The last one in the evening came through at 9:00 p.m., right before bed and then the one in the morning when I wanted to wake up.

I was on the road by 4:30. I won't give you a whole travel log because that is boring with a capital B. So instead I thought I'd just hand you a few observations.

But before I do that, I have to tell you that I got my oil changed right before I left. Mark will be very proud to hear this. I went to the Minuteman on St. James St., right between Mark's Work Warehouse and Wendy's. Funny, I'd never noticed the place before . . . anyway it was recommended by Val at the office.

So, did you know that there are guys under the ground, in what I guess they call the pits?
I did like every good woman should when her car is being looked at, I went around the side of the building, sat on the picnic table and re-organized my purse. When I thought they should be done, I went back and I saw a guy's head poking up from under the ground and he's checking the undercarriage of the car. He doesn't see me and hollers out to someone, "Look, there's some thick string wrapped around the (technical word I didn't catch, but it wasn't drive shaft because I know what that is)." I crouched down to look and then of course he sees me. He pulls a knife out of his pocket and starts hacking it off.
"That's baler twine," I say.
"Baler twine," he hollers back to whoever is in the pits with him.
"We're cattle producers," I say. "That's a common thing."

I stop at Boston Pizza and pick up a half spicy perogy/half barbeque chicken pizza to go. It's usually Wendy's to go for short trips, but I go for Pizza on the long drives. This is not a boring detail because the food on a road trip is very important. I also had a Tim Horton's coffee, and six, 710 ml bottles of water with me. I'm proud to say I made it as far as Brandon before I had to stop for a pee break. I also resisted the temptation to buy M & M's and a bag of Sea Salt & Pepper chips. Have you tried those chips? Don't. They are so fantastic, you can't eat just a handful. I tried them for the first time last fall at Joe & Amanda Bouchard's and have been hooked ever since.

Did you know:
1) Gas prices are higher in Saskatchewan than Manitoba. By about four cents a litre.
2) The leaves are out on the already
4) So are the bugs.

I got into Eastend by late morning. I am Jennifer now. It was great travelling the road, seeing things as my character would, being a young woman from Toronto noticing Saskatchewan for the first time. I scribbled a few notes as I drove. Dangerous I know, but it's one of the hazards of being a writer. When the characters start talking, it isn't necessary at the most convenient times.

I'd upload pictures but unfortunately the cord that connects the camera directly to the computer is lost. So the photos will have to wait until I get home.

I am Pumped

Wallace Stegner was a Pulitzer Prize winning author who spent his younger years in Eastend, Saskatchewan. The Eastend Arts Council has turned his boyhood home into an artist's retreat and I'll be spending a week there to work on my novel. I leave on Thursday and can hardly wait.

I've been to the Stegner House twice before. The first time, I needed to sequester myself in order to get the book on BSE done.

I spent three weeks there and during that time, came up with an idea for a novel while gazing out this window in the upstairs study. I went back the following spring for two weeks and wrote a comprehensive outline and now I'm going back - with plans to finish my novel this year.

"Edge of Nowhere" is the story of a troubled, young woman from Toronto who runs away from home. Her destination is Cortes Island along the B.C. coast, where she plans to become an artist. But fate intervenes and she ends up stuck in a small Saskatchewan town.

Bugs 101

1. Wake up at 4:00 a.m.
2. There is something crawling on my arm
3. Relieved it's not a spider, I pick off the woodtick
4. Dump it in the toilet and get on with my morning

Woodticks are a testament that people can get used to almost anything.
I remember people telling me about Woodticks when I first moved here. Fortunately I didn't see one that first summer. The stories of people having to check their bodies every night before bed to ensure the little bloodsuckers didn't lodge their heads under your skin while you were sleeping, quite frankly, freaked me out. At first, I'd flap my arms like an idiot and call Mark whenever I felt one of the little, unmistakable bumps wedged up tight against my skin. Twenty-six years later, I can pick off a woodtick without thinking about it. I can even pick them off other people and the dogs.

I guess you could say, learning to live with the little brownish/red parasite was a maturing experience. Bugs don't bother me nearly as much as they used to. Getting used to the worst bug of all, makes all other critters seem pretty tame. I can step on a cockroach in Mexico without even blinking.

Unfortunately, learning to live with woodticks didn't help much with my spider phobia, but I'm better than I used to be. I now know how to drown a spider if it's in the bathtub. I can step on them or brush them off my body as long as they are small. If they are dead, I can pick them up with a paper towel as long as I don't have to squeeze too hard.

I can deal with a spider as long as:
1) It isn't too big
2) It isn't in my hair
3) It's not dangling in the car while I'm in it.

Scenario: You and I are together. I'm chatting in a most animated way, telling you a story that seems a little too long and somewhat pointless (there is an end, I'll get to it, just be patient) and suddenly you see a big spider dangling near my head or crawling up my back onto my shoulder. What should you do?

1) Tell me
2) Run away
3) Kill it fast before I notice

If you picked 3, then you are correct.
If you pick number 1, then you are going to see a whole lot of arm flapping, screaming and foot stomping. You could get hurt. If we're in the car together and I'm the one who is driving, we're going to go off the road. It will take me an hour to recover and then I'll forget where I was in my story and start over from the beginning.
If you pick number 2, I'll call you a coward and never speak to you again. Afterall, I'm the one with the spider phobia, not you, so what's your frickin' problem? Just kill the bastard and get it over with. I don't even care if you have to hit me with a hard object to do it.

And one word of caution: Don't ever think it would be funny to chase me with a big spider in a jar. Someone did that to me once but I can't remember his name because I never spoke to him again. I'm not kidding. I think he was my mother's second born . . .

Teresa's meeting with the Minister

This morning I awoke quite anxious to talk with Teresa Johnson. I resisted the temptation to phone her and waited for her call. As it turns out, she's been on the phone all morning.

The meeting went very well and she is optimistic that Minister Bjornson took seriously all of their concerns. Their delegation created quite a media stir - they were interviewed by CBC and CJOB. We thought CKY as well, but I didn't see it on the news last night . . .

I'll keep you posted on her progress.

Why God Made Moms

This email came to me from Rhonda Tycholiz in Gimli. Thanks, Rhonda!
Answers given by 2nd grade school children to the following questions:

Why did God make mothers?
1. She's the only one who knows where the scotch tape is.
2. Mostly to clean the house .
3. To help us out when we were getting born.

How did God make mothers?
1. He used dirt, just like for the rest of us.
2. Magic plus super powers and a lot of stirring.
3. God made my Mom just the same like he made me. He just used bigger parts.

What ingredients are mothers made of ?
1. God makes mothers out of clouds and angel hair and everything nice in the world and one dab of mean.
2. They had to get their start from men's bones. Then they mostly use string, I think.

Why did God give you your mother and not some other mom?
1. We're related.
2. God knew she likes me a lot more than other people's moms like me.

What kind of little girl was your mom?
1. My Mom has always been my mom and none of that other stuff.
2. I don't know because I wasn't there, but my guess would be pretty bossy.
3. They say she used to be nice.

What did mom need to know about dad before she married him?
1. His last name.
2. She had to know his background. Like is he a crook? Does he get drunk on beer?
3. Does he make at least $800 a year? Did he say NO to drugs and YES to chores?

Why did your mom marry your dad?
1. My dad makes the best spaghetti in the world. And my Mom eats a lot.
2. She got too old to do anything else with him.
3. My grandma says that Mom didn't have her thinking cap on.

Who's the boss at your house?
1. Mom doesn't want to be boss, but she has to because dad's such a goof ball.
2. Mom. You can tell by room inspection. She sees the stuff under the bed.
3. I guess Mom is, but only because she has a lot more to do than dad.

What's the difference between moms & dads?
1. Moms work at work and work at home and dads just go to work at work.
2. Moms know how to talk to teachers without scaring them.
3. Dads are taller & stronger, but moms have all the real power 'cause that's who you got to ask if you want to sleep over at your friend's.
4. Moms have magic, they make you feel better without medicine.

What does your mom do in her spare time?
1. Mothers don't do spare time.
2. To hear her tell it, she pays bills all day long.


What would it take to make your mom perfect?
1. On the inside she's already perfect. Outside, I think some kind of plastic surgery.
2. Diet. You know, her hair. I'd diet, maybe blue.

If you could change one thing about your mom, what would it be?
1. She has this weird thing about me keeping my room clean. I'd get rid of that.
2. I'd make my mom smarter. Then she would know it was my sister who did it and not me.
3 I would like for her to get rid of those invisible eyes on the back of her head.

Meeting with the Minister

My neighbour, Teresa Johnson, has a meeting with Manitoba's Education Minister, Peter Bjornson, today in Winnipeg. She is one of the spokespeople who are trying to save the Ashern Early Years School. You might remember the photo of the wolf that Greg Johnson shot? Well, Teresa is his wife. These folks don't fool around.

Last year it was decided that the Early Years schools in both Ashern and Fisher Branch would close in 2009, and the Kindergarten to Grade 4 students would move to what we call "the big school." Last Monday, the education Minister brought forward a Bill that would prevent the future closures of schools in this province without ministerial approval first. Because the decision to close our school was made prior to January 1, 2008, the School Board can still close our school. Teresa, along with a group of Parent Advisory Council members are in Winnipeg today asking that the Minister amend the Bill, to give these schools one last fighting chance.

I won't go into all the reasons why these little schools should stay open and why little children should not be mixed in with older kids. That is so obvious it is hardly even worth discussing. I can't write much about the financials because I don't have all the facts and figures in front of me. But I've heard estimates that taxes will only go up by about $5 to $10 per household in the Division if those schools are kept open. A prediction of declining enrollment seems to be the issue, but so far, the enrollment has not declined. Doesn't it make sense to close a school if the enrollment declines, but to leave it open until the numbers go down and stay down for a period of years?

A few years ago I was back home in Ontario, travelling along the bus route I used to take to school. There were a number of boarded up schools in the older neighbourhoods. A Real Estate agent explained housing trends and how it relates to schools. New neighbourhoods are built and young families buy the houses and schools are built to accommodate all the children. As that community ages and the children grow up and move away, the neighbourhood turns into a retirement area and the schools close down. Eventually, those retirement areas will turn into young neighbourhoods again and new schools will be built. In the city, parents of young children have the option of moving to where there is a school. In rural Manitoba, we don't necessarily have that same option. And once a school closes here, it stays closed.

Right now, Ashern is being billed a retirement town. When I moved here in 1982, it wasn't. Ashern was filled with vibrant young people who built businesses and their children filled the schools. Those people are nearing retirement age, and some of them are at that stage of their lives already. Eventually, young people will own all these businesses again - it is happening already. The people working in all of the government offices, hospital, etc. will retire and they will be replaced by - you guessed it - young people.

As a person whose child is grown, it would be shortsighted and selfish of me to disregard the young parents in our community who are worried about their child's safety and quality of education. Children should be everyone's concern, and while this is not my issue to fight right now, life does have a way of coming full circle. Hopefully I'll be a grandparent someday. And regardless of where my grandchildren live, I hope that they will be afforded a safe, wholesome educational experience. It's the decision makers of today who are deciding the future of children who aren't even born yet.

And that's why Minister Bjornson's Bill is so very important. He has the foresight to know that not everyone has foresight.

Good luck to Teresa and all the parents who are sticking their necks out to keep the Early Years schools in our communities open. It's a fight worth fighting and they are the right people to do it.

Tomorrow: I'll talk with Teresa about how the meeting went

Planet Earth

Car riding horse ! yes that's what it says

Lifting Weights

1. Wake up at midnight with a shooting pain in my arm.
2. After about an hour, get up and take two aspirin.
3. Get up at 5:00 and check the cows.
4. Make myself some tea
5. Decide I really need to commit to my exercise program

Okay, so I spent most of yesterday outside working in the yard. I raked all the leaves out of the flowerbeds (big job) and burned them (easier than hauling them away). I also pruned a few trees. After that, I syphoned off two carboys of wine, cleaned the jugs and carried the full carboys downstairs. Lots of arm work.

I felt fine until midnight. The shooting pain in my right arm felt like overuse. It wasn't the same as muscle stiffness but more like joint/muscle pain, the tendon in my elbow screaming, "you idiot, why did you do that to me?" A reminder that while I'm not as young as I used to be, if I committed to my exercise program (including light weights) I probably wouldn't run into these nagging injuries when I do occasionally overdo it. Solid evidence that I do need more exercise that includes lifting weights. I did start this past week but now I am committed to carrying on. The problem is: what about today? Do I go out and finish the yard with hopes of beating the rain, or do I wait a few days?

Maybe it wasn't the work at all. Maybe it was the brownie I ate after supper. My niece Kassarah made a batch of the most scrumptious brownies I've ever tasted in my life. Thick, moist and buttery with a heavy layer of chocolate/peanut butter icing on top. Fortunately, Mark ate most of it and if I'm lucky, he'll polish off the rest of that delicious temptation before 3:00 p.m. today. My resolve is good until that time of day then it's all downhill. Especially after supper when I relax with a glass of wine. Wine and chocolate - the best combination in the world.

Spring has finally arrived

This is the first morning that I awoke and actually believed that spring has finally arrived. The skies are clear and the birds are singing. My plans for the day include getting outside to do a bit of yard and garden clean up. Since we are so close to the lake, spring renewal here is a week or two behind everyone else. The consolation is that in the fall, we usually see a later frost and temperatures are generally warmer than in the nearby towns.

So far we have had no rain. That is good in a way because the pens are drying up and it makes getting in the fields easier. Around the yard, I hope to get things cleaned up (mostly dead leaves), get the flower gardens tilled and get my wildflower mix spread so that the ground is ready when the rains do come. I vow to keep ahead of the weeds this year! People who live in the city have no idea what a job it is to keep weeds out of the flower gardens in the country. Given the size of my flowerbeds and our garden, I pretty much need to pick weeds every other day to keep it clean.

It's going to be a great day. I look forward to sharing the results with you in the weeks to come.

Cartoon

Things have been hectic

Haven't had any time to blog the last few days. Here is something that my sister-in-law Sharon sent me early this morning. Something for you to enjoy since you've taken the time to visit my page.

A teacher gave her class of 11 year olds an assignment: To get their parent to tell them a story with a moral at the end of it.

The next day the kids came back and one by one began to tell their stories.

Ashley said, 'My father's a farmer and we have a lot of egg laying hens. One time we were taking our eggs to market in a basket on the front seat of the car when we hit a big bump in the road and all the eggs got broken.

'What's the moral of that story?' asked the teacher.

'Don't put all your eggs in one basket!'

'Very good,' said the teacher.

Next little Sarah raised her hand and said, 'Our family are farmers too. But we raise chickens for the meat market. One day we had a dozen eggs, but when they
hatched we only got ten live chicks, and the moral to this story is, 'Don't count your chickens before they're hatched'.'

'That was a fine story Sarah.'

Michael, do you have a story to share?'

'Yes. My daddy told me this story about my Aunty Sharon . Aunty Sharon was a flight engineer on a plane in the Gulf War and her plane got hit. She had to bail out over enemy territory and all she had was a bottle of whisky, a machine gun and a machete.

She drank the whiskey on the way down so it wouldn't break and then she landed right in the middle of 100 enemy troops.

She killed seventy of them with the machine gun until she ran out of bullets. Then she killed twenty more with the machete until the blade broke. And then she
killed the last ten with her bare hands.'

'Good heavens,' said the horrified teacher, 'what kind of moral did your daddy tell you from that horrible story?'

'Stay the hell away from Aunty Sharon when she's been drinking.'

What a Romantic Guy

Thanks to Pat for sending this to me!

More Snow

This is what we get for laughing at those smug Albertans who are always bragging about how much better their weather is than ours. Admit it - you didn't feel bad at all that they had a three-day snowstorm earlier this week. Well, it's payback time. Hopefully this system passes through quick.

I wish I'd written this

Passed along the internet by my sister-in-law Sharon:

Death of an Icon

Please join me in remembering a great icon of the entertainment community. The Pillsbury Doughboy died yesterday of a yeast infection and trauma complications from repeated pokes in the belly. He was 71.

Doughboy was buried in a lightly greased coffin. Dozens of celebrities turned out to pay their respects, including Mrs. Butterworth, Hungry Jack, The California Raisins, Betty Crocker, the hostess Twinkies and Captain Crunch. The grave site was piled high with flours.

Aunt Jemima delivered the eulogy and lovingly described Doughboy as a man who never knew how much he was kneaded. Doughboy rose quickly in show business, but his later life was filled with turnovers. He was not considered a very smart cookie, wasting much of his dough on half-baked schemes. Despite being a little flaky at times he is still was a crusty old man and was considered a positive roll model for millions.

Doughboy is survived by his wife Play Dough, two children, John Dough and Jane Dough, plus they had one in the oven. He is also survived by his elderly father, Pop Tart.

The funeral was held at 350 for about 20 minutes.

If this made you smile for even a brief second, please rise to the occasion and take time to pass it on and share that smile with someone else who may be having a crumby day and kneads it.

I'm not incompetent . . . really

1. Sleep in until 6:00 a.m.
2. Realize I’ve slept in and jump out of bed.
3. Check the cows.
4. Start having a panic attack about all of the work that needs to be done today.
5. Write my blog first.

Sometimes I feel like I’m living a stand-up comedy routine.

I’ve been trying to get an ad to a potential customer and thankfully he has a good sense of humour. For some reason the three emails I’ve sent him never arrived, so we decided I should send it by fax. I spent a day with the page sitting in the fax on re-dial and it never went through. Yesterday I had to be in Winnipeg to finalize details of the paper that I am working on frantically in an effort to finish. As I mentioned in an earlier post, I do the paper for the Manitoba Cattle Producers Association which means I sell and typeset the ads, do the page layout, source the articles, edit and write. It’s a huge job and I love it.

So yesterday I am at the office and suddenly remember that the fax I’ve been trying to send is still sitting in the fax machine at home. The paper goes to print TODAY, so I was running short of time. I phoned the potential customer and told him that I would try faxing it again. I double checked his fax number. I was heading for the fax machine, when someone I needed to interview walked in the door. We do the interview and then I took a few phone calls. I checked my emails. A few things I’ve been worried about were there in my inbox. Hallelujah! I started working on page layout. A few hours passed and, heart lurching in my chest, I suddenly remembered the fax. I began searching through the mounds of paper on the table where I was working (I left out details of the other 400 distractions that took place) and I was just about to stand up when the President walked in. Not the President of the United States, but the President of our Association, Martin Unrau. He was there for a conference call that was going to start in 10 minutes. Martin was carrying a box of donuts. It was 3:00 p.m. My mind instantly went into donut mode as the devil on one shoulder said, “Eat a donut.” The angel on the other shoulder said, “Your diet isn’t going that well. Resist the donut.” The devil said, “But you’ll hurt Martin’s feelings.” Imagine, the Devil being worried about Martin’s feelings. It didn’t help that Martin actually said, “Karen looks like she needs a donut.” Maybe it was the way I was staring at the box, I don’t know.

So I ate a donut. The conference call began and ended, then Martin and I discussed his editorial comment for the month. My mind was whirling with details of things that needed to be done. I’m was tired because I spent the night at my niece’s apartment and didn’t get much sleep because the two cats harassed me all night. I’m not used to having one cat sleeping beside/on my head, and another on my chest. I flung them off the bed a few times, but you know cats, they just keep coming back.

So I ate another donut. I was halfway home when I realize that I never did send that fax. By the time I got in the door and had my computer and files unpacked, it was 9:00 p.m. I pulled out the note I’d made earlier and re-checked the fax number. I’d transposed two of the numbers, so for the past few days my machine was re-dialing some poor old lady in Winkler.

But today is a new day and I am optimistic that sequestered away from distraction I will actually get this paper done. Unless of course something interesting happens . . . and the chances of that are actually pretty good.

Definition of a Canadian

An Australian Definition of a Canadian - Written by an Australian Dentist

You probably missed it in the local news, but there was a report that someone in Pakistan had advertised in a newspaper an offer of a reward to anyone who killed a Canadian - any Canadian.

An Australian dentist wrote the following editorial to help define what a Canadian is, so they would know one when they found one.

A Canadian can be English, or French, or Italian, Irish, German, Spanish, Polish, Russian or Greek. A Canadian can be Mexican, African, Indian, Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Australian, Iranian, Asian, Arab, Pakistani or Afghan.

A Canadian may also be a Cree, Metis, Mohawk, Blackfoot, Sioux, or one of the many other tribes known as native Canadians. A Canadian's religious beliefs range from Christian, Jewish, Buddhist, Muslim, Hindu or none.

In fact, there are more Muslims in Canada than in Afghanistan. The key difference is that in Canada they are free to worship as each of them chooses. Whether they have a religion or no religion, each Canadian ultimately answers only to God, not to the government, or to armed thugs claiming to speak for the government and for God.

A Canadian lives in one of the most prosperous lands in the history of the world. The root of that prosperity can be found in the Charter of Rights and Freedoms which recognize the right of each person to the pursuit of happiness.

A Canadian is generous and Canadians have helped out just about every other nation in the world in their time of need, never asking a thing in return. Canadians welcome the best of everything, the best products, the best books, the best music, the best food, the best services and the best minds. But they also welcome the least - the oppressed, the outcast and the rejected.

These are the people who built Canada. You can try to kill a Canadian if you must as other blood-thirsty tyrants in the world have tried, but in doing so, you could just be killing a relative or a neighbor. This is because Canadians are not a particular people from a particular place. They are the embodiment of the human spirit of freedom. Everyone who holds to that spirit, everywhere, can be a Canadian.

The Big Bad Wolf

1. Check the cows
2. Make myself some tea
3. Check my site meter and see I'm getting visitors
4. Already know what I'm going to write


On Saturday night we were watching TV when suddenly we heard a banging noise. It wasn't something crashing inside the house, but rather an echoing boom outside. We looked out the window but didn't see anything. The next morning, our neighbour Teresa Johnson called. She told me that her husband, Greg, shot a wolf and asked if we wanted to come see it.

We knew immediately the wolf she was talking about. Neighbours on all sides of us have caught a glimpse of it over the last few weeks. It has been living in the croppings of bush that separate our farms from one another. The dogs have been restless and behaving strangely. While out checking the cows at night, the yips of coyotes could be heard until one howl from the wolf in response turned the air silent. His large, unmistakable tracks were seen in the snow near where our cows are turned out with their young calves.

The occasional wolf has passed through our area over the years but this one is the first I am aware of that had taken up residence. It is an unfortunate fact that all of us have calves that die this time of year, bringing predators closer to our farms to find easy access to food. That supply will dry up very soon. When that happens, the young calves could easy become prey.

Greg explained that he was coming back from the barn with their two young children after checking the cows. He saw the wolf just on the other side of the yard fence. Wolves in paintings are nice to look at. Wolf pups playing in the wilderness on TV are fun to watch. A wolf a few hundred yards from where your children play is frightening.

The boom we heard the night before was Greg's gun. People debate all the time whether or not farmers should be allowed to kill predators on their farms. But until you've seen a bear or wolf near the house, you don't fully realize how startling it is. Predators are left alone when they keep to themselves in the bush. When they become too comfortable and venture into the farmyard, they've left their territory and now are in ours. The safety of our families is the first concern and then the well-being of our livestock.

And in case you're wondering, yes, it was a registered gun.