Anakana Schofield – Author of Bina, Martin John and Malarky

Mason bee’d

At the garden today i was delilah to hear the Mason bees chattering in their little house, which is located right beside my plot. At first I couldn’t distinguish what the sound was, but then I noted activity in the little plug holes and realized the bees were remarking to each other.

I finally plunged some seeds into the soil and tidied up the strawberry plants and deslugged the landscape. The geraniums I collected from the giveaway garden out by UBC last summer have begun to bloom and … they are purple, a lilac purple colour, which I am thrilled about, since I’ve been romancing purple tulips all season long.

The Mother’s Day begonia from my Beloved is a strong, annunciating pink in a corner of its own and I have to say I had a moment of very brief admiration over the fact my plot is waking up. Partly the strawberry patch is so healthy looking because it’s had so many years to establish itself.

My planting was so erratic that I have a feeling it may not produce quite the plumage I’d hope for, so will pick up a few more starts in case disaster strikes.

Had a lovely tour of Mme Beespeaker’s garden tonight — have a sweet bunch of Forget-me-nots- on my desk from it, adopted a pumpkin, a zucchini plant and my first nasturtium ! And enjoyed some of her fennel in a tea I brewed tonight. The guinea pigs also downed a chunk of said fennel. I love her garden because it is like several gardens in one. A whole nesting of different continents. Plus Bees live there, which makes it even more special.

I usually nail it when it comes to comedy and my son. We share a similar sense of humour. The other day I scooped a book from the side of the road. The title was: Letters to a nut by Ted L Nancy.

We cracked the book this evening and within a page or two (letters) my eyes were blurred with tears of laughter and I had to take my glasses off. We read on and cracked up further. Finally I laughed so much I had a serious pain in my belly and had to interrupt the read aloud to go and cook the small male a hunk of bison.

It’s the first time I’ve cooked bison and the packet warned not to over cook it.

The small male was also delighted by 20 copies of T H P Orchestra’s 45 rpm 1977 Canadian disco hit and attempted convene one of the twenty with a bashed up plastic blue kids record player I bought on Main Street for a dollar two months back and surprised him with to a degree of scorn.  Unfortunately said record player does not work, but clearly the influence of Ted. L. Nancy and T H P Orchestra inspired. We realized we had sound, this was amazing, we had never had sound. We did not have motion but we did now have a record. (a 45 rpm)

Unfortunately I had to abandon the bison to attend to the excitement of the small blue record player. There was some disagreement over who should regard the bison and who the record player, but we continued ensemble with the record player. Lo and behold a surgical operation of unscrewing and examination was performed. The poor old undercarriage of the record player looked like it had been dropped out of a plane, but there was a suspiciously isolated spring that I persuaded the small male to reattach. We added power and we had a new hum of a motor!

Unfortunately the bison, long forgotten, was now sealed in a most inappropriate manner to cast iron, but we were at such a tentative moment in record player repair I dispatched the small male to stab the bison and turn it off. Another part discovered in the undercarriage was nominated as a possible needle. It did not look promising but eventually a wedge, poke, prod, forced snap, and deep breath gave a bit of an old scuzzly noise and the excitement mounted.

It was nothing short of a miraculous smile that came over the pair of us as the blue machine moved and needle was placed and an extremely slow and droning version of said 70’s pop song began. The singer sounded like his tongue was being tied up with dental floss and his arms were being forced on two tractors.

I then informed the small male that we had twenty copies of the same record that we could play forever on a continuous cycle of identical droning. He was thrilled. The bison was less than splendid, but we concluded we now bring in the ace talents of our resident kinetic sculptor/ motor-man extraordinaire Jeremy and all will be well.

We returned to letters to a nut. I’ve noted a pre-emptive disabling amount of laughter on announcing the addressee of the letter and a few words extracted in anticipation of what the letter may promise. I cried so much I looked like I’d been to a funeral.  I never anticipated how much laughter I would share with my son and as he ages he has a wonderful habit of reliving funny conversations and exchanges and stories. I especially enjoy when he regales me with other peoples stories of laughter, stories we may hear or collect in passing. He’s a gas man, as they say in the Motherland. My ma sent me a text recently: she said she often thinks of the things he said in Mayo and smiles. I think he may have weighed in with strong opinions on effective farming based on the urban Vancouver model.

I’ve been also laughing a great deal working and collaborating with Lori on our performance art piece.

Working hard with Lori on our performance art piece for Chaos at Open Space in Victoria next month.

We are, it must be said, having a riot.

I am looking for a Ukulele to use for it, if you’ve got one that’s abandoned or ignored in the corner.