The reason cottonwoods poplars are called cottonwoods.  Apparently the indigenous people used the cotton seeds for a variety of things, including stuffing in bedrolls.  I love cottonwoods.  In the springtime when the sticky cottonwood buds start to come off the trees, they have a particular scent that says spring to me.  Those buds also stick to everything, especially shoes and floors, leaving yellow resin behind.  We had two huge cottonwoods in our backyard growing up and my dad hated them because of the sticky buds, the cotton fluff, and the catkins.  My dad was often at war with nature. 

 

The wild rose is the Provincial flower of Alberta and is everywhere.  All of the flowers are blooming right now.

 This dogwood was trying to escape through the fence.

Jack asked me today why he couldn't spend more time with his mom/tablet.  I told him that his grandma and I had decided that he wasn't safe with his mama right now for overnight visits.  I told him that when there was that fire in her apartment building, she slept through the fire alarms, all of the fire truck sirens, and didn't wake up until a firefighter came into her apartment and woke her up.  He knows about not being able to wake up his mama.  He said okay, and left it at that.

Jack has decided he wants to be a famous soccer player and win the Stanley Cup.  I know.  I explained to him that all professional athletes start training when they're his age, or younger;  that they give up holidays to practice their sport, and practice their sport before and after school usually.  I don't know if that put him off, or spurred him on.  He was upset this afternoon because he couldn't practice soccer before supper because we have early suppers on Wednesdays for his swimming lessons.  I can't see how playing soccer with a 62 year old grandmother would really help his chances of making it to the big time, but he wants to practice with me, and it's good exercise for me, so there's that.

The last day of pottery was this morning which makes me sad.  I still want to make things and I'm thinking of buying a chunk of clay for the summer.  We'll see.

I stopped by work yesterday to say hi to everyone.  It was nice to see my work family.  I miss them but not the work.  I don't miss dying patients.  I know not everyone is dying, but there is so much death and grief in that building that it feels like a weight some days.  I'm okay without that weight.  Eventually I will have to find somebody else to help or take care of, because that's me, but for now I'm good.  I was a good nurse and I cared for my patients very much; I like to think that I relieved some of their suffering with my skill and humour.  Working at the cancer hospital was good for my soul.  It allowed me to be kind and compassionate on a daily basis.  Plus this