Dansk

            On Saturday in the late afternoon I went out to go to No Frills. Before going south on Jameson I rode past it to the mailbox to drop in my income report for Ontario Works. After crossing Queen I took another detour and walked over to the Salvation Army Thrift Store to look for a plate to replace the one I’d broken. I do have other plates but I wanted another one that I like so I can use two nice plates throughout the day, one for meals and one for fruit, without having to wash one for the other. They had a pack of six hand-painted Dansk plates that had a circle of earthy green in the middle, rimmed first with purple and again with earthy yellow, then surrounded by a wider ring of blue with a final rim of purple again. They were more colourful than I’m used to but I liked them and the pack of six was $10.00. The lady behind the counter put it in a cloth bag for me. Dansk is a US company that started in the 70s mass-producing the designs of a Danish cutlery craftsman. It’s now a subsidiary of Lenox. My plates are called Coba Inca Blue.

            At the supermarket I got a pint of blueberries and two half-pints of blackberries, five small bags of black sable grapes, a loaf of cinnamon-raisin bread, six chicken legs, some mouthwash and a pack of paper towels.

            The cashier was a woman in her early middle age that I’ve seen there for the last couple of years. She stands out because she has a nose and a mouth piercing which one doesn’t normally see on a white woman her age. She also has an accent that pops up and disappears. I’m guessing that she might be Brazilian but not be of Portuguese descent. She’s always very pleasant.

            I didn’t have to go to the liquor store this time because I’d bought a case on Wednesday.

            I had a can of rigatoni with meatballs for lunch with a slice of bread.

            I got caught up on my journal.

            I’ve been listening to Kate Bush’s recent live album, “Before the Dawn”. It seems that when she ran out of creative ideas she fell back on amateurish prog-rock.

            I read Margaryta’s three poems for the Poetry Master Class and critiqued them. She’s a very good writer but poems are very complicated and she sometimes loses control of where they are going. One poem seemed like it should have been two.

            I had both living room windows open and was distracted by a tough, loud woman who hangs out in front of the donut shop. She was mad at the drunk Ethiopian guy because he wasn’t minding his business and she was doing everything short of striking him as she swung her arms in what looked like a crack induced lack of body control. A bike cop arrived and diffused the situation without arresting her.

            I shined up a couple of poems to get ready for when the creative writing class restarts on February 28 and worked a bit more on a new poem with a melody that I’ve had in my head for years.

            I had a slice of toast with extra old cheddar and sliced tomato for dinner with a beer. I'd knocked the beer can over on the counter before opening it and some of it foamed out once I'd flipped the tab so I was disappointed over the loss. They say don’t cry over spilled milk but they obviously weren’t talking about beer.

            I watched an episode of Rawhide. This story begins with Gil and Rowdy going to ask Jed Reston, the owner of a large ranch for permission to let the herd graze on his land. When they arrive at Reston’s home they find his son Matt reluctantly whipping a Cherokee named Chisera as punishment for theft. They are told that they only had three milk cows on the property and that Chisera stole one. They are invited to dine there but on the way to eat thy see three milk cows and realize that Chisera had been whipped for nothing. They lose their appetite and leave.

            The next day in town Gil sees Chisera with his wife and son in the general store being turned down for supplies. Gil buys the boy some candy. Later Jed and his men ride out to the trail drive and tell Gil to get his cattle off his property. This is all over him having been friendly to the Cherokee. Gil is told that he has two days to leave before the cattle start being shot but Jed’s property stretches 200 km to the north and it would be impossible to get them off in that amount of time. The only solution is to cross south into Cherokee territory and ask permission there. Gil and Rowdy are captured and tied up but Chisera says they are friends and they are released. They get permission to graze their cattle and they give the tribe a gift of six cows. They go to visit Chisera and his family. He is trying to become a farmer and has ordered and paid for a plough but the store refuses to give it to him because the town is dependent on Reston. Gil and Rowdy go and pick up the plough. The sheriff and some townspeople try to stop them but Gil shames them into letting them go. Jed’s son Matt goes missing and Jed thinks the Cherokee kidnapped him. What happened was Matt was thrown from the mustang he'd been trying to break and the Chrokee nursed him back to health. Jed captures Chisera and says that he will hang him if his son is not returned by noon. Matt rides in two hours before that but Jed wants to hang Chisera anyway. The thing is that Jed wants the Cherokee land for his ranch and he figures an Indian War will help him get that accomplished. He’d been actually hoping his son would actually be killed. Gil and Rowdy try to stop the hanging but actually it’s Matt that stops it. Chisera gets his plough.

            Chisera’s wife Waneea was played by Carol Thurston who was of Irish descent but had a look that got her typecast as mostly Native women.