vacation!

This week's ABCWednesday letter is V. After seeking out the Voortman's cookies, all that is left is Violet's Vacation (though I really want to say 'holiday', which rolls off the tongue more naturally) Anyway, my vacay also conveniently allows me to weasel out of next week's W. Whew. Interestingly, I have an X, Y and Z all ready.

But at the moment, my mind is totally on the vacation plans. Next week, I will be on a voyage aboard a cruise ship. (my virgin cruise, so to speak) One of the ports we will be visiting is Valencia and one of the things I am most excited about is going to the Lladro factory. From what I have read about this free tour of the making of the valuable, exquisitely made porcelain, it is a fascinating couple of hours even if you are not into figurines of porcelain. All the reviews from such sites as TripAdvisor were glowingly positive.

You need to book these tours ahead, so I emailed my preferred language and date. And got a prompt reply, with an apology, that all tours that day were fully booked. Damn. But the email was so personal and polite, offering other dates, etc that instead of letting it slide, I wrote back and explained about the cruise ship and one day in Valencia, la la la, not quite sure what to expect in return. Maybe a wait list of some sort? No. What I found out was that it was my ship that had booked the day's worth of tours. So, I could pay $50 to the cruise ship for the free tour, or satisfy myself with seeing only the museum and showroom. And gift shop. I found this turn of events to be most vexing. I vented long and loudly to my friend Xup who is travelling with me (though not interested in this tour) and she volunteered her indignation on my behalf. But, I continued with the email exchange, thanking them for their correspondence - really, I expected merely a form letter type response. Three days later, news came that I could get on one of the afternoon tours. Victory!

I may need more euros to buy a souvenir Lladro....

delightful and sweet

So, how did you spend your extra day?

I started mine by spending it in bed with George Clooney. Well, I was in bed and he was on the television. He was wearing a suit with an opened shirt and no tie, so I was a little confused about the dress code, but I thought I should make an effort and so wore my silky pyjamas. I actually met up with him the night before, but I didn't read the schedule properly and didn't realize he was on Inside the Actor's Studio for 2 hours. Fortunately the show was repeated overnight, which was a little awkward, but it was George after all, so I made it work. He was charming and delightful, and I went to work with his lovely smile in my mind, making me smile.

I don't get the chance to meet up with too many people when I am at work. At certain times as night blends into early morning, you meet the same dog-walkers who will acknowledge you and the same joggers, who will not. It is rare that I actually see any of my customers, which I guess is partly the point - you wake up and your newspaper is sitting at your door as if delivered by elves or spirits. But occasionally, if there is a delay and I am a little later than usual, I may run into someone as they open their door.

Such was the case one time when an apartment door opened just as I was about to drop the paper. We laughed at the synchronicity of the meeting, and through the doorway I caught a glimpse of the most amazing sunrise. I was invited inside to have a better look out over the lake. He had a telescope positioned for watching the ships that slowly pass by. We chatted amiably and I have seen him maybe three other times over the past eight years. He always takes a holiday for a couple of weeks at Christmas and again in the summer. He doesn't cancel the paper when he is away, but instead leaves a note with the dates, which is generous as I still get paid for the paper. For some reason he thinks my name is Sasha. Not sure where he got that idea (though it could be from my sloppy handwriting after writing out several hundred Christmas cards). He is also the sort of man who uses your name when he speaks (or writes) to you and it has become embarrassing to correct him, so I let it go.

So, when I got on the elevator this morning and there was a man who looked vaguely familiar, and he said good morning Sasha, I knew it was the nice man from #704. I was idly wondering what it was he was carrying in his hands when he offered an explanation.

"I was just down in the laundry room"

Okay, it wasn't much of an explanation, but by now I recognized the small appliance.

"It is just so noisy, and I don't want to wake my wife" he further explained "so I take the coffee grinder down to the laundry room to grind the beans".

Is that not the sweetest thing?

Yes, waking to the smell of fresh ground coffee is certainly preferable to hearing the fresh grinding.

And waking to George Clooney's smiling face can make the day brighter.

something soft

I know people who think that sleep is a big interruption in their day. That staying in bed is a waste of time. I am not one of them. I love sleeping. I will take any excuse to have a lie down. This is why I do not have a tv in my bedroom.

At some point, while spending a lot of time in bed these last few weeks, I finally had to admit that I desperately need a new mattress. I knew this before, but somehow have always been able to ignore it. This mattress has had a good long life and served me well over the past 20 years, but its time is over. I'm sure it has been at least two years since I last flipped it but I don't think that made much difference.

So, yesterday, while out running some errands, I decided if I went to one particular grocery store, I could also check out IKEA and Sears and Sleep Country and get a feel for a new replacement. In I went and explained what I wanted to the friendly, but not aggressive, salesman. He leads me over to the first bed and I give it a try. It is so much higher than my bed, but it is also oh so soft. I notice that sitting on the edge, it digs into the back of my knees. Yes, the friendly, but not aggressive, salesman agrees, the edges are not the best quality.

We wander over to try out another option as I glance surreptitiously at the prices listed at the foot of each mattress we pass and suppress a gulp. I have not actually had to ever buy a bed before. I took my old one from home when I moved out and it was replaced by a futon, then a bed that I stored for my SIL, then another futon which was traded for the one I have now with friends who had acquired a bed with the house they bought. I tell you, flipping those futons was no easy chore.

Bed number two was white with black piping around the edges and medium sized black flowers decorating the top and sides. I wondered how much that would show through the white and cream sheets I have. But it was soft, yet firm, and the edges didn't dig into the back of my knees when sitting on it. And it was on sale. Off he leads me to try one more option, which was even more pillowy softer than the other two. I was beginning to feel like Goldilocks. Bed number three was very soft and bouncy. I liked the bouncy. He leaves me for a moment to 'test drive' and I practice tossing and turning and laying in different positions. The softest, bounciest bed is indeed too soft and I figured I would wake up with a back ache more often than not.

Bed number two it is. I decide quickly that IKEA is not a viable option (besides, it is March Break and the place is packed) and I don't particularly like Sears. Besides I hold much more trust in a store that specializes. And this bed is half price, can be delivered for free with the old mattress taken away to be donated. In less than 20 minutes, I was out of the store with a date set for delivery.

I wandered across the parking lot to the grocery store and picked up what I needed, then decided I craved something sweet and crunchy, yet soft. Maybe chocolatey. I think I spent more time in the cookie aisle trying to decide which ones to buy.

april is a painful month

It feels like winter has returned.

But, I have been working out. Diligently and with determination.
As a result, my whole body feels battered and bruised.
I think my personal trainer may be trying to slowly kill me.

And I had to move the mouse to my left hand because of tendinitis in my right.
Now my left arm is aching.

So, I will rest and leave you with pictures of my 'garden', all decked out for Easter.

april showers

Today started out being what would be a perfect spring day - if we hadn't had perfect summer weather on the weekend. Now it is absolutely pissing down rain. Which means I won't have to water my hydrangea for awhile.

On Sunday, I went to the oneofakind art show where I spent way too much money. The plan was to meet J and we would spend the afternoon together being enthralled with the artisans' amazing craftmanship and sample lots of jams and chutneys. But, she woke up with a headache and wasn't up for it, so in the end the plan was changed and I would head over to her place after the show for tea in her garden. I figured 2-3 hours and I would be exhausted from trailing around and seeing so much stuff.

That's what I thought. Four hours later, I ran out of money. To be fair, some of what I bought were birthday and Christmas presents. And I bought myself a new watch, which I love. I don't normally wear watches, but have been keeping my eye out for something that I could read the time, but looked very decorative. I don't wear much jewellery because I am lazy, not because I don't like it. I kept it on and kept looking at it and smiled every time I checked the time.

And, it being the last day of the show, you can usually get some good deals - "these are $12, but we've had such a nice conversation, you can have them for $10", "these ones are actually $xx, but I'll let them go for $x as it's almost the end of the day and I don't want to have to pack them up and cart them home again". Which is how I came home with 3 beautifully carved eggs. I need to find a spot to display them and when it is sunny again I'll take a picture for you.

Eventually, I had to leave. J was waiting for me in her garden, afterall. I wanted to take some pictures at the Exhibition grounds (where there are beautiful art deco and beaux arts buildings) while the trees were still bare. I may have spent a bit longer than I intended outside in the warm sunshine ... but at 5pm I said, enough, time for tea. And I had to be home in time to watch the last ever Inspector Frost. I got into my car, turned it on and took out my cell phone to say I was finally on my way. And realized it was actually 6pm. Seems, the time on my new watch hadn't been sprung forward. We were going to put it off, but I had gotten her a present which was food, so I still went. I think I hit every red light on the drive (which was in the other direction from home).

We had tea, we went back to the car and I showed her what I bought (that weren't the presents), then went back inside for a few more minutes. At exactly 8pm I left to get home in time for Frost.

At exactly 9pm I pulled into my driveway, silently cursing that I would miss the first few minutes - missing the beginning of a murder mystery is never good. The packages could stay in the car. I reached over to the back seat for my purse. An hour and twenty minutes later, I was back at J's house for my purse with my house keys and cell phone inside. My neighbour with an extra key was not home. There was nothing for it, but to return to Toronto. And holiday traffic had obviously not eased up yet. It had eased for the second homeward bound journey, which only took 45 minutes.

This made up for a totally uneventful previous week, I guess.

and now, the torch

watching in anticipation, still 20 minutes away, flags and noisemakers ready… the convoy begins, cheers rise up as we look beyond the big vans for the main attraction, still minutes away there he is, the torch bearer (don’t know his name, sigh) … and by the magic of post editing, the sky darkens to illuminate the main attraction who is almost obscured by the all the lights of the vans and cop cars and streetlights… in a flash, the flame passes by
somewhere in the melee the torch is passed…

The End (for today)

55 more days to go.

how much fun is that

I was despairing of ever emerging from this deep, dark, dungeon I had dug myself into over the winter. My social life was suffering. All of my own doing, I must admit, as I couldn't find the energy or enthusiasm to do anything that involved getting dressed and heading outdoors. (unless I was getting paid)

Then, a couple of weeks ago, round about the time I was getting quite bored with my own company, my brother phones to tell me they are coming down for my birthday. This is a rare treat. In fact, I had given up inviting my family to visit, as it never happened. Not even when I moved to live nearer my brother in the hopes of more get-togethers before they moved out of town did they ever stop by. Never have they come just to see me. This meant a massive spring cleaning. Which was good in many ways. I feel so much better now in my less cluttered space, having frantically gotten rid of anything I couldn't find room for. Anyway, the visit came and went, they discovered for themselves that the 1 1/2 hour drive (in ideal conditions) is quite doable in a weekend (as it certainly was for me going the other way...) and are now making plans to come back for Easter and again in the summer. It took almost 12 years of living here. And the fact that now there are only us left and no parents to bind our visits.

Last week, I went to visit one of my mother's friends and had an interesting visit with her and next week it will be to see another of her friends who I know misses their nightly chats. This weekend I have the garden show, the Live at the Met opera at the cinema, then a dinner date to round it out. Then, on Thursday morning when I went into work, I saw a notice that I had won tickets to see Disney on Ice! Wonderful - well, you know how excited I get when I win a coffee, so this was a true over-the-moon-excitement. I have a friend who loves this sort of thing, so I told her she and her husband were invited and I would try to find a fourth for our night out. Things were really looking up for a socially exhausting weekend.

The notice said to contact my district manager to arrange to pick up the tickets. But there is a changeover in managers this month and the one I was directed to was on holidays, so I left a voicemail message. This morning (Friday morning) I went into work and the new manager was there meeting everyone. He had been on holidays (were both away?) and knew nothing about it, but there was an envelope in my mailslot. An envelope with four tickets to Disney on Ice. For Thursday night. Last night. How stupid is that?

It's a damn good thing at least the sun is shining today.
It's SPRING and I'm off to the Canada Blooms, to dream away my cares and woes.
Photos to follow. I promise.

day one

Rearranging the bedroom and changing the linens from my sickbed seemed like a good idea for a New Year's Day housekeeping chore.

The books I pile up beside the bed, but haven't read, were lined up on the bookshelf. The tops of dressers and tables cleared of useless detritus. The bed was stripped of the old linens and and new flannel sheets put in place. The duvet was finally stuffed into its fresh cover. The cat was dragged out of the duvet cover. I was standing on the foot of the bed to give the duvet a good shake to straighten it out, then another good shake to drape it over the whole bed.

It was the second shake that did it.

That knocked against the lamp, that toppled onto the poinsettia that fell, knocking over the newly placed tumbler of water. The lamp is one of those tall skinny rod shaped ones with a small shade that clips on to the light bulb. Somehow, the shade managed to pop off the bulb, which was good because I like the shade, but not so good because it may have saved the bulb from shattering as it hit the windowsill.

Abby and I peered over the edge of the bed, looked at each other, sighed. Then she settled down to watch me clean up the by now muddy rivulets snaking a path under the bed.

So began my first day of the new year.

Later, a friend and I continued our tradition of going to a movie on New Year's and this year's choice was The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. It is a visually stunning film to watch. Leisurely rambling and blessedly unsentimental, it is a tale covering the reversing life of Benjamin who is born an old man as a baby and regresses to a baby as a baby as he "ages". The CGI effects of Brad Pitt's expressions put on the face attached to the various actors who play Benjamin are arresting (it is amazing that you can see Brad in the face of the 10 year old old-man-child). Humorous moments like when the true Brad Pitt appears and his childhood sweetheart, who meets up with him after a long absence, says to him: look at you, you're perfect, stop you dead as you watch him grow younger and younger. If you enjoy a plot less fantasy of life, and don't mind a melancholic, fatalistic moral, I urge you to see this film.

5 questions before the year ends

I hope you don't mind if we conduct this interview in my pajamas.
I certainly won't mind if you read this in your pajamas. In fact I would be honoured. I'd know that you are probably relaxed and feeling cozy.

I have sufficiently recovered from whatever nasty bug invaded my body over the last week. It wasn't pleasant, and I will not gross you out with details. Besides, I'd just as soon not think about it anymore. It might come back, and I am willing it far, far away.

Now, XUP has agreed to 'interview me'.

It’s a fun, co-operative interview exercise where fellow bloggers can email you asking to join in and then you have to email them back with 5 interview questions - things you’d like to know specifically about them. Then they answer the questions on their blog and invite other bloggers to join in which means they have to come up with 5 questions for those bloggers.

Her blog is so entertaining and informative, and you never know what is going on in her head from one day to the next. So I was really curious as to what she would ask.
Here's what XUP wants to know:

1. Have you ever been so insanely "in love" that you thought you would die without the other person?

It is worse when that relationship ends and you start thinking life is not worth living anymore. And years later you realize you didn't really 'like' that person as much as you 'loved' them. While together, I don't think I thought about it that way. Maybe I'm not insane enough? Doesn't mean I wasn't foolish, though.

2. If you could change one thing about your physical self, magically and without surgery, what would it be?

I would have soft, supple, slightly oily, flawless, darker hued skin. No more of this dry, flaky, itchy, redness that I suffer with now. I'd still buy luxurious hand creme, though.

3. All the celebrities have suddenly become homeless through some natural disaster affecting only celebrities. They need to be billeted for a week in the homes of regular folk until their mansions can be rebuilt. Who would you sign up to billet?

Ellen DeGeneres. She seems to have this capacity to make herself right at home wherever she is. And can easily amuse herself, so would never be needing me to entertain her. She would make me laugh and we'd act all silly and drink mojitos. She would likely also come bearing gifts.

4. You are self-employed and seem to enjoy the freedom and even the challenges. If you were offered an office job that would be routine, not too interesting but with good people and full-time and secure job would you take it?

I do miss the commaraderie with sharing an office space with people you meet daily, and benefits would be nice to have...but no. I like that my days are so unstructured, it allows me to continue with my favourite pasttime of procrastination. I would have to become very disciplined and buy office clothes and smile at people and develop a telephone voice. It would be too drastic a change.

5. Are you looking forward to your next birthday? Why or why not?

I'm not bothered, either way. My family doesn't really 'do' birthdays except as an excuse to get together for dinner but we all live so far apart and having a winter birthday, even that doesn't happen very often. We make a fuss over the milestones, and I was actually excited about turning 50 last year, so 51 is a bit nothing. I'm looking forward to Freedom 55, though. (do I need an office job to quit to enjoy it like in the commercials?)

So, if you'd like to play along, here are the rules:

Send me an email saying: ”Interview Me” (see my profile page for address)
I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
You can then answer the questions on your blog.
You should also post these rules along with an offer to interview anyone else who emails you wanting to be interviewed.

a not unusual day

I don't make New Year's Resolutions. Simply for the fact that I know I won't keep them.

I do try to find something positive in all things that happen, and am pleased when I can do that when things go wrong. Like finding an earring while looking for lost paperwork. Or meeting someone pleasant when dashing out to the store for a missing ingredient for the planned dinner.

I have annual professional dues and insurance payments that must be made before December 31st every year. And every year, I manage to not get the cheque and paperwork mailed out in time. For 14 years, I have had to drive into Toronto to go in person to make sure that these payments and signatures are date stamped as received before December 31. The fine for being late is exorbitant enough that one will move heaven and earth to be on time.

So, since I already know that I will not be on time, I have gotten it in my head that I will simply make this an enjoyable outing and a chance to wander around an area of the city I don't normally see. This year, I decided that after walking around Yonge and Eglinton since it was just past 3pm I would stop off at Yorkdale on my way home to wait out the rush hour traffic. For those who are not familiar, Yorkdale is a huge shopping mall (1.6 million sq ft and 250 stores). It is conveniently located just off the highway and has its own exit. It also has its own subway station, a GO station and a bus station.

It took me 47 minutes to find a parking space. On the upside, it was in the first row just outside one of the main entrances right at two of the stores I wanted to shop at. That would make it easier to remember which entrance I had parked at, so no interesting tale of a lost car this time. By this time I desperately needed coffee and food and sat down at the first place I found. This allowed for people watching. Lots of people watching. Lots of people with lots of bags and packages. I counted my cash and headed into the throng. Disappointed that the bookstore didn't have any of the items I was looking for I headed over to the new Crate and Barrel that I have wanted to check out since it opened in the fall. It was far better than I had expected and I was seduced by their wares and their festive items deeply discounted. But, I resisted. No need for Christmas themed tea towels, or more candles ... and where have all these people come from??

Three hours later I left with nothing.
Except a headache.

It took 15 minutes to get out of the parking lot, but the good part was the sign on the road to the highway that said "401 westbound, express and collectors moving freely".
Good. That would mean only 45 minutes more to get home.

Because, I also left the mall without finding the washrooms.

humidity rising

Need to get me some of this




I have spent more than 8 months growing my hair out.
Got tired of having bangs that would not wisp properly.
So I've been through the hellish stage and they are now long enough to put out of the way behind my ear[s].

Am not so sure anymore.

Had forgotten just how HEAVY my hair was.
And I foolishly thought the flat iron would help the frizz problem.
Am now very tired of my sweating head.

Have booked appointment. Now must decide what to do with it. Who do I want to look like?

sometimes

Sometimes
on a sunny, breezy day I will do an extra laundry and throw in my clean bed linen just so I can have fresh air scented sheets to lie in.

Sometimes
instead of doing laundry, I will buy new socks or underwear. I'll need to buy them eventually.

Sometimes
I will simply throw the cat food at her dish if she doesn't get out of my way. The bits on the floor are just as tasty as the ones in the bowl.

Sometimes
I will put 1/4" of Nutella on a piece of bread that also has a good portion of butter. It's even tastier than straight out of the jar.

Sometimes
though not usually in summer, I will have only candles burning for light all evening, in every room I'm using.

Sometimes
the glow from the television and computer screen is the only light I use to get around the room.

Sometimes
I need more light to see.

Sometimes
I will spend an evening watching TMZ, Entertainment Tonight and ET Canada.

Sometimes
I will spend an evening not recognizing, or knowing who those people are on TMZ, Entertainment Tonight or ET Canada.

Sometimes
I don't bother closing the balcony door, even when I'm sleeping.

Sometimes
other wildlife will wander in through the open balcony door.

A Cat's Love

Pet me, pet me.

Right here, right behind the ear. Oh that's good. Don't stop. Under the chin, oh yessss. Keep going. Keep.... okay, that's enough.

Jumps off lap, shakes herself vigorously to let loose hair fly. Rubs herself down along side of chesterfield to get rid of more hair then turns around to deal with the other side.

Nice kitty.

Jumps back up on lap.

Pet me, pet me. [Pulls hand toward forehead with paws.]

Right there, on top of my head. Oohh, that's lovely. Here, let me give you a hug and drape as much of my hot, heavy, furry body around you as possible in gratitude.

Oh dear, is that a bead of sweat I see?

Let me get that for you. And there's more. I'll just lick it all off, shall I? Move your arm a bit and let me in.

What? What did I do?

Pet me. Pet me.

Not there. Oh, nevermind. I'll just go back to bed and sleep for a bit.

bees knees

It seemed such a lovely way to spend an afternoon. Sitting by the water partaking of the Strawberry Social. My friend Jan was even willing to share most of the cream in the bowl of strawberries and cream we had together. She ate her tart on her own. Now, I know that I am allergic to strawberries, but have managed to be able to eat maybe two or three at a sitting if each bite is surrounded by cream or yoghourt or, my personal fave - custard. But not this time. This years crop is not liking me as much. I haven't felt like this since the summer of 1994, when even a hint of a strawberry, or tomato, or kiwi would set my mouth on fire with tiny pimply boil like eruptions. Most unpleasant, to put it mildly.

I am feeling better today. Less fire, but certainly a lot of tenderness. The roof of my mouth and the insides of my cheeks and my lower lip are a bit raw. I thought the yoghourt would help. It seems to have the most pleasing consistency to gently coat and cool and soothe. Then I got hungry and last night thought maybe some honey would be good. After all it is good for sore throats.

Big mistake. Having it on a slice of freshly baked, very soft bread with 1/4 inch of butter also a mistake. Sigh. I was really looking forward to that.

Honey slides down your throat much easier than off the roof of your mouth.
I tried to move it along with my tongue, which only moved the pimply skin on the roof of my mouth - agony. Next instinctual move is to SUCK it off the surface. So now I am pulling all this tender, loose, pimply skin. I held my face in one of those isometric exercises for as long as I could until the suction finally released and I fell to my knees. I found a hand mirror to check that I still had skin on the inside of my mouth. It was not a pretty sight. All white and puffy. I felt very sorry for myself.

But it made me think about honey. Anything to distract. Another blogger mentioned that her son was taking a beekeeping class. Sounds intriguing. Then I read about a truck that turned over on a highway in NB spilling its load of 12 million bees. The bees were being shared by Ontario to help pollinate their blueberries as there are not enough around. And there is the Honey Moon Suite on top of the Royal York Hotel that is now home to 3 beehives after a bit of a struggle with the city. There are various laws that govern keeping hives within certain distances of residential areas, even at 16 storeys above. You wouldn't think there'd be enough for the bees to live on, but along with the rooftop garden for them to play in, there is a buffet feast in the ravines and the islands for them to gorge on. I've learned that bees travel about in 12 km range, so whatever is grown in that specific area is found in the honey they produce. You cannot get more local than that. And I'll bet most people walking along Front, or King or Queen or coming out of Union Station aren't even aware of them.

I used to drive past an apiary almost every day when I lived farther away, and I loved to stop by their roadside stand and try out their different honeys. When I was growing up, we only had Billy Bee Honey. Usually creamed. Sometimes, if my mother felt adventurous it might be buckwheat honey. What a sheltered life we had in the 60's. The first time I ever tasted anything more decadent than Clover honey was in New Zealand - their honey rivals their ice cream and would warrant a return visit just for that if my carbon footprint wouldn't put the buying spree through the roof. Now it is possible to find honey of many hues and textures and flavours. From many different countries. Local is good. But so is honey from every part of the world. And, amazingly, honey is one product that can be made naturally in every climate. Every jar is subtly different. Every taste an experience like no other. What I have in my cupboard now is a Blueberry and a Pear Blossom. At $7.95 a jar it is not to be wasted.

Therefore, I sucked all that honey from the inside of my mouth and shed a tear.

skipping naked through the dew

Around these parts we have had rather a lot of rain of late. Yesterday was actually the first day the weather forecast did not include any of the words: rain, showers, thunder storms.

The rain hasn't been that bad. And there has been rather a lot of sunshine throughout it all, so it certainly hasn't been gloomy. And, until today there has been no humidity. The clouds have been amazing, too.

So, no, I am not complaining about the weather.

I have three part-time jobs. None of them are what you might call the normal 9-5 kind. And none of them include sitting at a desk. Or in front of a computer. I consider myself very fortunate for that.

One of my jobs involves being outside. Making deliveries. In the middle of the night. I do a fair bit of walking in between a lot of driving.

I also do a fair bit of lawn walking as I make my way up to your front porch.

Where I drop off

your newspaper.

Every night. Rain or moonshine.

Now, what I have noticed over the years is that an awful lot of people have these automatic sprinkler systems. They seem to be timed to come on no matter what the weather. Rain or drought.

A few years ago when we had a water ban, a snitch line was set up to report people who insisted on watering their lawn. I don't think it was very successful, or that anyone was actually charged never mind deterred. One of the offenders happened to be the local cop shop. A friend of mine called the snitch line. Nothing changed. He tried to make sure the bag their paper was in got wet.

Really, those verdant green patches were not hard to miss among all the dull brown patches. Interestingly, once it finally did rain, the lawns turned

green!

Just like that.

Gardening experts will say that a once a week soaking is enough. Yet, there are many people who insist on a nightly or every other nightly soaking. Mushrooms are starting to sprout. Some lawns are veritable bogs.

It has rained every day for more than 2 weeks. Heavy soaker type rain. Light soaker type drizzle. Every type of rain imaginable.

Type 33 (light pricking drizzle which made the roads slippery), to 39 (heavy spotting). [Types] 47-51 (vertical light drizzle through to sharply slanting light to moderate drizzle freshening), 87 and 88 (two finely distinguished varieties of vertical torrential downpour), 100 (post downpour squalling) all the seastorm types between 192 and 213 at once, 123, 124, 126, 127 (mild and intermediate cold gusting, regular and syncopated cab drumming), 11 (breezy droplets), and [even the least favourite of all], type 17. Rain type 17 was a dirty blatter blattering against the windscreen so hard that it didn't matter whether the wipers were on or off. *

Yet, still people are contributing to this wanton waste of water. Gallons and gallons of water on a lawn that is not thirsty.

At this time of year, the dew is heavy on the leaf. Your lawn is soaked to the skin in dew.
Trust me. It is true.

At midsummer it is a tradition to walk in the dew barefoot to help keep your skin from getting chapped, or wash your face in it to help keep your complexion young.

Or roll around naked in it for healing. Or skip naked through it for fertility.

I have not encountered anyone rolling around naked. Thank God.


Folks you are ruining the dew.


For more midsummer festivities and pictures see The Iceland Weather Report

* So long, and thanks for all the fish
the fourth book in the Hitch Hiker Trilogy

what is in my fridge

I have always wanted a Smeg Refrigerator.

I don't believe I have ever seen one in real life.

But every time I see one in any of the UK design magazines I am addicted to, I drool.

Swoon, even.

And dream.

My small windowless kitchen would be transformed with such an aesthetic beauty gracing the corner.

Its rounded curves and luscious handle, its sleek 50's design would be perfect for a 1962 kitchen.

However, I do not have one of these.

I do at least have a frost free model with a separate freezer.

And it was desperately needing a bit of a clear out I realized, when I bought a tub of ice cream that wouldn't fit in the freezer even after the bag of chicken legs fell out. And those three cartons of juice that were on special? Not a chance unless the containers of unidentified fuzzy stuff were removed, along with the carton of eggs I'd completely forgotten about. There's more, but I won't bore you, or demoralize myself with the details.

I do believe you can tell something about a person by what is in their fridge. Some people are very private and do not like you helping yourself. Me, I love to snoop.

So one hour later all is in order.

What is left is the following:
1 litre of milk
3 750g containers of yogourt
1 tub cream cheese
1 jar mayonnaise
2 1lb butter
1 lime shaped bottle RealLime 1 lemon shaped bottle RealLemon
1 container store bought salad
6 small packets salad dressing
2 pints raspberries (each partialy eaten already) 1 pint blueberries

9 strawberries
1 jar Presidents Choice Butter Chicken sauce
3 1.89litres of Tropicana Juice (on sale 3/$5)
1 bottle V8
1 bottle POM juice (like the glass, hate the juice, saving to offer guest?)
1 jar peach preserves, 1 jar grapefruit marmalade
2 bottles flavoured maple syrup (blueberry, apple)
1 jug Brita water
1 jar pesto, 1 bottle HP sauce
1 bottle pomegranate paste, 2 jars curry paste
1 jar mango chutney, 1 jar banana chutney
2 red peppers, 1 head broccoli, 3 carrots
1 package Olivieri pasta
1 container freshly made tuna salad

2 tetrapak of wine (individual servings, so cute, so perfect)

And the Tupperware containers are soaking in the sink.

For another day.

I'm having ice cream.

And marinating chicken legs.

paperless

Does this qualify as poor housekeeping?

Having a houseguest over and running out of toilet paper.
Putting in a box of tissues

then running out of that as well.


Seriously
can I call myself an adult?

As my houseguest pointed out: the litter box is just under the sink.

She's great. She'll be invited back.

Maybe she'll bring her own stash next time.

a good day

Today I turned the mattress on my bed.

That made me feel so productive, you have no idea.

I'm off for a celebratory drink. And dinner.

peanut butter days

I know what it is I have to do.

The sun is shining, the lake is shimmering, the door is open and the curtain gently blowing in the breeze.

Yet, somehow I cannot make myself do it. I cannot make myself do anything.

For several days (or weeks, actually, if I were to be completely honest) I have been living within myself. Within my pyjamas. They are comfy enough for lounging in so if I absolutely do not have to go anywhere I will not bother getting dressed. If there is still peanut butter in the house and bread to put it on (soft, fresh light rye) I do not need to eat anything else.

It starts with a craving. Then extends to beyond the craving to simple inertia.

A little while ago I was reading another blogger who referred to her "peanut butter days" and I sat up immediately and thought: that is me, that describes my days right now. Her meaning of peanut butter days was different than mine, but I have had those kinds of peanut butter days, too. Oh my, yes. Scary, frustrating, impotent, totally stressful crunchy peanut butter days. But this, this is more like smooth peanut butter days. Pure comfort food.

I know that if I force myself to go for a walk I will feel better. If I phone a friend and meet up for coffee or a stroll through the gardens I may feel refreshed. I sometimes do that. And I do feel better. Alive. But it is a fleeting feeling. It lasts moments, then suddenly I am wearied of it all. I fake the gaiety. The smile becomes forced. I start to become impatient, and slightly ill-tempered. I long to get away. To be home. To be alone. How to explain this? How to deal with the fact that this company, this activity which had been enjoyable moments ago is now, inexplicably, overwhelmingly burdensome.

So, if she will allow me to borrow her phrase... I have read her posts (all of them by now, although I have not commented on any - I will, sometime) and I have read of the horror that she has gone through. The pain that she still endures.

What I am going through is no horror. It is not even really painful. It is ... spiritless.

These are my peanut butter days.

how I lost my thrift

Way back, in the mists of my financially strapped younger days, I used to keep a budget. It was very detailed. I had a cost breakdown on each bowl of cereal. I paid cash for everything. I thought about and debated almost every purchase two, three times before actually completing the sale. It was considered practically a sin to return an item. I knew to the penny how much was in my bank account on any given day. This was before such amenities as direct deposit, prepaid bills, and ATMs. It was much easier then to budget and be thrifty.

Somehow, I lost my thrift.

I have a credit card. I use my debit card for almost all my purchases that aren't business related. Pretty much every store takes credit or debit. Even Tim Hortons has a card. One could easily get by without ever using cash. It is now easier than ever to spend money without knowing whether you actually have any money.

I have steady employment and money that magically appears in my bank account every two weeks. Just as magically, it goes out of my account at regular intervals to pay all my bills. Anything not covered by the prepaid option can easily be paid on the internet or over the phone. I never have to actually hand over any cash, write a cheque, or fill out a deposit/withdrawal form. Heck, I never even have to deal with a teller. Or a CSR. And, worst yet, my bank doesn't even send out monthly statements anymore. You must access your account on the internet to check your balance or account activites.

That is how I lost my thrift.

I lost touch with cash. Literally and figuratively.