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My Second Job

2012-02-10T14:57:00.002-08:00

My second job was delivering newspapers. My friend Sharleen and I (we were 13 in Grade 9) decided we needed money - more money than we could make babysitting. We heard of a route coming open; a boy in Grade 8 was moving on to bigger and better things, so we decided to split the route and split the money.
It was a large route covering a lot of ground. The boy, Ian, walked with us the first day showing us each house and explaining where people wanted their papers dropped off. Once a month we were expected to knock on each customer's door and collect the monthly fees. We were also supposed to try to get new subscribers, if we could. Ian had always carried all the newspapers himself, but Sharleen and I each found our half-load quite heavy. Ugh. 'What did I get myself into?', I thought.

Once the route was ours we had to decide how two girls should do the work of one boy. If we'd been smart, we would have split up and walked through half the route each, but we were not smart - we were gabby - so we walked the whole route together and alternated delivering papers. Idiots!
We lived in a small town. In the 70s not many people locked their doors at night, and certainly none did in the day time. Most people wanted the paper on the front porch, some in the mailbox, and some through the mail slot in the front door. One lady, however, wanted her paper delivered to her dishwasher!
Ian showed us where to open the back door, take two steps inside the kitchen, and place the newspaper on top of the portable dishwasher (one of those affairs on wheels with a faux wooden top). We were incredulous! We don't knock? We walk right in?
'Yup', said Ian.
Nearly every day the lady of that house was home, in her kitchen, and she would nod and smile as I tiptoed in and put the newspaper down. Then I backed out, pulling the door closed as I went.

Once a month, as I said, we had to collect money. I was glad we were together for this part, since I was still a gawky-shy-nerd, despite ascension to junior high school. We also tried knocking on doors to get other people to subscribe, but the most success we had was to get one man to commit to taking the paper every second day, if we could find someone else to alternate with him. We never did.

One day while collecting, I was bitten by, of all dogs, a dachshund. I had stepped into the front hallway of one house, invited in by the lady while she went to get her money. I was just standing there and her little dog leaped up and bit the meaty part of my hand at the base of my thumb. I was much too shy to say anything, so I hid my bleeding hand from the lady and reached with my left hand to take the money. When I got home later that day my mom was furious, and called the lady to ask if the dog's rabies shots were up to date.
I was mortified. Of course the lady didn't know what had happened and thought my mom was crazy. Explanations were given and the next day that lady demanded to see my hand, and then apologized when it was clear that I'd been bitten. "Why didn't you say anything?", she said, exasperated. I couldn't explain; I was too embarrassed.

Another day while collecting, we saw a boy from school. This boy, Ray, had red hair, pale eyelashes that fluttered a lot, and a lisp. I knew he was an outcast at school, and that people called him names. I didn't really know what 'fag' meant; someone said that Ray 'liked' boys, whatever that meant. Did he want to kiss boys? (I honestly could not imagine what else was possible - those were innocent times.)
I do remember being surprised when he opened the door, and then thinking that of course he had to live somewhere, and then I wondered about his family and if they knew that their son was called names at school. He asked us what we wanted and then rolled his eyes and went off somewhere in the house to get the money. I heard him saying in that TONE with that LISP, that the newspaper girls were here for their money. I also remember thinking that if he didn't lisp, and roll his eyes and be so, so, WHATEVER, then people might not make fun of him.
What did I know? Did I think he wanted to be different? That he enjoyed being called names, being shoved in the hallway, having no friends?
I thought about Ray as I walked home. We didn't discuss it, but I remember thinking that if he was that way in his own home, then maybe he couldn't be any other way. He was that way everywhere at all times. He couldn't help but be who he was, even if it meant being an outcast at school.
Now THAT was a bit of a revelation.
(I, on the other hand, was learning to be all sorts of different people - whatever got me the most approval in any given situation.)

I don't remember how long I lasted at that job. I know at some point the $36.00 per month, split between us, wasn't enough to keep me interested in slogging through the route 6 days a week, and that when I decided to quit, Sharleen (who had asthma, but a lot more determination than I had) decided to do the route herself.
My second job, paying $18.00 per month, taught me to budget my money, taught me to knock on stranger's doors and even go inside, taught me that dachshunds were not to be trusted, and taught me that people are what they are. Even if it hurts.

My First Job

2012-02-03T15:54:00.002-08:00

Inspired by Friko, I've decided to do a series on all the jobs I've had. Most are normal, some a little unusual, but I bet if you think about it you've had some unusual jobs too. This wasn't one of them, or maybe it was......

Like many girls my first paid work was babysitting. I had it easy - my customers were the next door neighbours, and their one child was always already in his crib when I arrived to babysit. Basically I was paid to watch TV and eat ice-cream. Their house, unlike mine, was immaculate. I never saw any evidence of toys - they were always picked up and put away somewhere by the time I arrived. The little boy would sometimes wake up - I would hear a small cry, and I'd go into his room, which always seemed really warm, and he would sit or stand up in his crib and look at me. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness I could see him in his little yellow or blue sleeper, looking at me. He usually wasn't quite awake, and I would stay and look at him until he lay down and went back to sleep. If he seemed to be really awake I would wind up a little musical toy that was attached to the side of the crib and he'd lie down almost immediately. I found out later that his mom always wound up that toy when she put him to bed, so he'd been conditioned to know that it was time to sleep. I never once changed a diaper, never held him, rocked him, or had to clean up a mess.

These neighbours had a dog, named Rua. She was a Staffordshire Bull Terrier, similar in size and breed to a pit bull. She never intentionally did me any harm, and I felt safe having her there in the house with me, but she was so eager to be loved that if I made eye contact she would see that as a signal to jump up and put her paws on me as high as she could. Because she was nearly 40 pounds of sheer muscle, and I was tiny, this would knock me over, and I would be licked and stepped on nearly to death. As long as I didn't make eye contact everything was fine. One day when I came over to babysit, Rua was sitting on a towel in the living room. Mrs. Neighbour told me that Rua was 'in heat' and that she would have to sit on the towel all evening. I took this to mean that Rua had her period! Huh? I'm sure I turned 6 shades of red when I figured it out.
Whenever Rua wanted to stand up and wander away I had to tell her to go back to the towel, and good girl that she was, back she'd go, looking abashed and resigned all at once. I wonder if she had cramps? I think that was my hardest session of babysitting at that house.

When my eyes grew tired of staring at the TV and not staring at the dog I'd go to the freezer, find the ice-cream (it was always vanilla) and root around in the cupboards for something to jazz it up with. Invariably this was Roger's Golden Corn Syrup. I'd pour a completely outrageous amount of the sticky stuff over the ice-cream and as it cooled it got to be kind of chewy. I'd stuff my face with that (thin as a rail back then I hadn't even heard of dieting), leave the dish in the sink, and go back to the TV. At that point in my life I had not been trained to clean up after myself (and I struggle with that to this day).

The most exciting part of the evening came when the the neighbours came home. I wore glasses to watch TV, but never in public, and never outside (though I should have - I missed a lot, and was horrible at sports when I couldn't see...). I was embarrassed to wear those ugly things! Anyway, Mr. neighbour knew that I would have my glasses on to watch TV and he loved to tease me, so he and his wife would park the car in the driveway and sneak up to the front door, quietly turn the key and then BURST in, to see me snatching the glasses off my face in great consternation. 'Almost caught you!' Mr. neighbour would shout. And I would shrivel a bit more into the couch and wait to get paid.
I was horribly shy and gawky, and a late bloomer to boot. I don't think the word 'nerd' had been invented yet, but when it was I fit the bill.

The very first time these neighbours asked me to babysit I was 12 or 13. They offered me 50 cents per hour and I countered with 35. See? What a nerd. I think they ended up paying me the 50 cents per hour under the guise of giving me a tip. At the end of the evening Mr. Neighbour (after scaring the bejeepers out of me) would walk me home. Even though my house was 15 feet away from his house he would walk me down his driveway, along the front of his lawn, along the front of my lawn, up my driveway, and right to the door. We never cut across his lawn; other than his shoes during lawn mowing, human shoes were not allowed to touch that lawn.

My first job paid me a princely 50 cents (give or take) per hour, and taught me absolutely nothing except not to make eye contact with a bull terrier, and not to relax with my glasses on. When it came close to time for Mr. and Mrs. Neighbour to come home I actually sat with my hands gripping the sides of the eyeglass frame, ready to whip them off at the sound of the key in the door.
When I grow old and demented, and have to go and live behind locked doors in the old folks home, the staff are going to wonder why I throw my glasses off every time they come in to change my diaper.
Speaking of diapers, since I never had to do it while babysitting, the first time I ever changed a diaper myself was the day I gave birth to my own daughter when I was 26. The nurse showed me how. I didn't make eye contact with her, either.

Kitchen View

2012-01-20T18:58:00.000-08:00

I love my kitchen. Before we did this renovation there was only solid wall here. Now we look out to the ravine every day and usually see birds and squirrels, or the occasional raccoon or coyote.
Even when no animals are about, the evergreens are lovely, to me.
The view has been a little different lately, but just as nice.

(Click to enlarge)

Remember the 'I Spy' books? I could write one of my own here, based on counter top clutter:
~~~
I spy some onions, a blender, a cup, a cutting board, cookbook, a towel hanging up.
A mixer, a some lemons, a sugar bowl too, a poinsettia, and plenty to do!

Some butter, and syrup, a small pepper mill, a shiny round teapot that's steeping here still.
Some hand soap, and look at that tiny pink square, my ipod, the 'nano' provides music there.

Up above are some bird houses, beer steins, a bowl, a rooster and hen, must I fill every hole?
I'm almost done naming; don't go away yet, the corner displays mom's old canister set.
~~~
Enough clutter-rhyming for now. I could go on and on....
The rain has started. The view will be different tomorrow.

The make-up artist

2012-01-06T13:02:00.000-08:00

Over a year ago I posted about my daughter here. She had decided to attend Vancouver Film School to become a make-up artist.

I worried that she'd find it hard to balance work and school. I hoped she wouldn't give up.
A year later I can say that she most definitely did not give up. Somehow, she managed to support herself and not only achieve her goal, but excel.
I am so proud of her!

Here's a link to read a brief article and see her portfolio. The work these students do is phenomenal; the corrective and special effects are amazing, and contribute so much to the story. I don't think I'll ever watch a movie the same way again.

Now school is over and the work of finding a job begins. Like before, I wish her all the best and I know she'll do well.
~~~
If you know our family you may see some familiar faces in the portfolio....

You will be relieved to see NO picture this time

2012-01-01T19:00:00.000-08:00

Well, Happy Gosh Darn New Year!

Today while out at New Year's Day Brunch my husband and I looked out the restaurant window to see at least two naked men changing after a Polar Bear swim.

One was rear view only, but the other was the Full Monty!

I don't know whether to feel uplifted by this, or shriveled. Maybe I should feel 'in the pink'!
Either way it was good for a giggle; a great way to start a new year.

May 2012 be just as revealing, surprising, eye-opening, and funny for all of you.

P.S. Brunch was good, but I didn't eat any of the sausages. Just couldn't.

Cat vs. Dog: a Christmas Tale

2011-12-29T13:29:00.000-08:00

Cast of characters:

1. 10-year old resident cat.

2. 10-MONTH old visiting dog. Still a puppy, really.

3. Litter box. To the cat, it's a toilet.

Sequence of events:

1. Cat lives here. Cat is King!

2. Daughter and son-in-law bring dog over for Christmas visit. Dog is interloper!

3. Cat is dignified and regal.

4. Dog is goofy.

5. Cat watches dog from strategic vantage point.

6. Dog innocently wanders past, oblivious to cat.

7. Cat CHASES Dog.

8. People react and yell. Chaos ensues.

9. Dog is caught and held. Dog is scared.

10 Cat is chased away and given a little spanking.

11. Cat stomps off to kitchen and eats some of dog's food.

12. Dog is oblivious.

~~~

13. Time passes.

14. Humans eat Christmas dinner. Yum.

15. Cat digests dog food.

16. Cat visits litter box, leaving massive and pungent treasure due to unaccustomed dog food.

17. Humans sit around, semi comatose from Christmas dinner.

18. Dog walks past previously unnoticed litter box.

19. Dog decides that litter box is some sort of Christmas BUFFET.

20. Dog reaches in and grabs (with paw? mouth? who knows?) large and succulent cat poo.

21. Dog puts cat poo on small carpet in front of litter box.

22. Dog ROLLS on massive squishy yummy cat poo.

23. Dog rubs face in same. Arf Arf Arf this is wonderful.

24. Man of the house notices dog behaving weirdly in utility room and suggests that son-in-law see what's up.

25. Son-in-law waves off dad-in-law. Son in law says dog is just playing with 'something'

26. Odor of flattened, smeared, cat poo wafts into family room.

27. A nanosecond passes.

28. !?!

29. Men spring off couch; men yell; dog jumps up from mat; dog runs around scared; men catch dog.

30. Dog is temporarily tied to front door.

31. Daughter comes running from other room to find dog smeared in poo and tied to front door.

32. Daughter drags dog to bathroom.

33. Dog has unexpected Christmas bath. Dog is not thrilled.

34. Cat sits on Christmas village, in triumph.

35. Cat 1; Dog 0. Merry Christmas!

Merry You-Know-What

2011-12-25T00:02:00.000-08:00

This is the general mood around here.

In case anyone was wondering.

Fathers and Sons

2011-12-16T11:39:00.000-08:00

Talk about the 'world in a grain of sand'. Did Blake have a son?

~~~

We had occasion to have our son in the car with us when we had to stop and pick up a few groceries.
He doesn't live at home any more and we miss doing things for him.

Dad to son: This won't take long. If you need some groceries for yourself, I'll pay for them.
Son: OK dad. Cool!

Shopping starts. We grab cart, son grabs hand basket. I confer with husband over bananas and squash; son goes his own way.

We go down one aisle; we see son scooting down another, items accumulating in his basket.

Nearing the end now - our cart half full, son's basket full.

Dad peers into son's basket.

Dad: Hey that peanut butter's full of sugar. How about you put that back and get the natural one without all the added crap?

Son: Well dad, how about I pay for my own groceries and then I can get what I want?

A few seconds pass. I look at these two, who are really quite alike. Dad 50, and son 21. Both kind, reasonable men.
They look at each other. No antagonism - just measuring, assessing. Looking.
Eternity in an hour.

Dad: Well, how about you get what you want, and I'll still pay for it?

Son: (Smiling) OK dad. Let's go then.

Me: *smiling*. We go.

The Weather Outside is Boring?

2011-12-13T19:17:00.000-08:00

It's pretty blah out there. No exciting snow, no blustery wind, no cosy rain, no gentle late fall sun.

Just grey, cool-ish, blah.

I'm remembering last spring; the deck was warming up, annuals were grabbing hold, and it was nice enough to go and take pictures of outdoor stuff.

And just like that, summer was here.

At least things were happening out there.

Whereas now.....nothing. Just blah.

We need some action around here!

This time last year

2011-12-08T11:55:00.000-08:00

Today is my berfday! I call it a berfday, because birthdays remind me of childhood. Balloons, cake, presents, fuss. Of course I don't call it a berfday out loud.

This time last year I was here:

and often here:

and frequently here:

and all over here:

People sang to me is a foreign language:

and I was the embarrassed center of attention for a few minutes.

But that berfday ended in a "zero", and I felt the need to do something extraordinary.

This year's berfday ends in a "one", of course.

We'll spend the day doing errands, take a walk, go for a quiet dinner for two, and then have the family over on Sunday.

....and I'll enjoy it just as much.

This wasn't meant as a solicitation for Birthday wishes. In fact, if you are moved to comment, then please tell me about a memorable birthday of yours. Or what you would like to do to make a memorable birthday.

Or if you prefer a quiet day with no fuss at all.

Or if you still picture birthdays as childhood celebrations (like I do).

Honestly, shouldn't there be some balloons in that picture?

2011-12-07T10:01:00.000-08:00

In spring we plant a lot of annuals in pots on the deck. These plants are perennials - don't ask me what they are. I was going for a zen effect in this pot. You can see that the predominant colour around here is green, green, green. the annuals give us some nice contrast. Here's a nice burst of spring and summer colour to give temporary relief for the December blahs.....

Oops. Green again.

View from the deck

2011-12-05T18:25:00.000-08:00

I've been inspired by DJan. She enjoys the critters she sees around her balcony. Over the next little while I'm going to show some of the flora and fauna on and around MY deck....which is attached to a normal house in a smallish yard in a regular subdivision, in south-western BC.

Small and suburban, but so busy with all sorts of swooping and scurrying.

I love it.

I'll try to post a picture every few days.

A bird in the hand

2011-11-13T18:28:00.000-08:00

A bird in the hand...

is recovering a bit

after being in the jaws of Homer the Hunter.

Yeah, you.

My children: One of each.

2011-08-14T11:14:00.000-07:00

Here they are, my girl and my boy. They've survived the sibling rivalries of childhood to become friends. Both no longer living at home, they actually make the effort to get together and DO things.
With EACH OTHER (gasp)!

In spite of my attempts to raise them non-stereotypically, they seem to have fallen into place as a girly-girl, and a 'boys will be boys' boy.

Or so I thought.....

Wait a minute....Who's this? My daughter and my...other daughter?

Ummmm, I've never seen him, er her, like this before...

He/she reminds me of someone...

Yep, that's my son. All boy.

~~~

OK, OK, it was 'dress a man in drag' day at my daughter's school (Makeup Design for Film and Television, at Vancouver Film School), and her dear little brother offered to humiliate himself for the sake of her education.

I guess it's OK that he was a girl for a day.

But, my girl, my real girl, well, she is ALL girl!

Except on beard day.

Here she is with her beard application partner, posing outside the school.

~~~

Yep, I have two kids. A girl and a boy. One of each.

They're getting younger!

2011-06-05T16:18:00.000-07:00

A customer has paid me a HUGE compliment.

"Kathryn", he says boozily (having just returned from lunch a little more flammable than when he left), "when that husband of yours leaves you for a younger woman....(dramatic pause), I will have you."

I am so completely stunned by this pronouncement I hardly know what to say. My face, however, lets out a snort, which I quickly cover with my hand. I love his use of 'when' instead of 'if'. I love his earnestness. I love his generosity. Imagine taking someone else's leavings? How kind!
I love his optimism.
He is 15-20 years my senior, with pink face and white hair. A little rotund. Also, he already has a wife.

I resist the urge to tell him I already have a father.

The proposition before this one was even worse, if that is possible. A few months ago a man in his 80's (I swear), followed me off the ferry. He was wearing a fedora. A fedora! And a suit made in the 40s.
While standing at the curb waiting for my ride he leaned towards me. Thinking he was going to ask for directions (to the nearest raisin ranch), I leaned toward him.
"Tell me", he says, in heavily garlicked, accented English, "Arra joo marreet?"
"Pardon me?", I say.
"Arra joo MARREET, wit HUSBAND?
(HUH? Is he asking me if I'm married?)
"Um, yes!", I say. "Why?"

"I lika da look of joo", he says. "Iah see you no wear paint on joo face. I lika dat."

OMG. He was asking if I was married because he likes the look of me. OMG.
He likes me because I don't paint my face. ACK!! ACK!!
I have the strong urge to put on a ton of makeup. Immediately. Permanently.

My reassuringly young and suddenly studly husband arrives to pick me up and I DIVE into the car.
"Hi honey! Glad to see you too!", he says.
~~~
The propositioners are getting younger. Who knows what the next few months will bring?

What was THAT about?

2011-06-01T10:58:00.000-07:00

Inspired by Deborah's post about a week in her life I decided to attempt a week in MY life. Just to balance the universe, so to speak. Where hers is refreshingly foreign, interesting, varied, and stimulating, mine is, well, has foreign components, weird, monotonous in it's variety, and zzzzzzzz........er, ummm, back to weird.

Sunday: Shop for groceries. Plan meals. cook...eat, do laundry, etc. Ponder incessant rain.

Monday: repeat of Sunday. Different food. Sporadic rain.

Tuesday: our work-week starts on Tuesday. Ringing phones, mumbling men, humbling, stumbling, bumbling men - all wanting motorcycle parts. Some know what they ride, what they want, what it's called. Others are confused about the names of their own motorcycles, are vague about what they want, and absolutely do not know what the parts are called.
One writes, in what I can only imagine to be a quest for valves and a cylinder:
"Want gud used vavles and clinder."
Vavles? Clinder? OMG.   I am tempted to write back in kind, but decide not to waste the energy. One has to know how to spell in order to really appreciate a good spelling tragedy.

Wednesday: Men, please take a look at your motorcycle and find out what it's called. The brand would be a good start. The model, a pleasant surprise. The year - the icing on the cake. Please. Look at your insurance papers. There's usually a clue on there.  A clue like the exact make, model and year.
For heaven's sake please stop telling me you ride a Maximum. It's a MAXIM. No Mum about it. Either you're obsessed with size, or too attached to your mother. Please.
And, for those with other obsessions....It's a VIRAGO. VIRAGO. Not a Viagra. Please do not phone me and tell me you ride a Viagra and then expect me to respond in a mature manner. I can't.

Thursday: Yes, my husband can fix your bike. Yes, he knows what he's doing. Yes, you'll have to leave it here. Yes, it's a piece of crap because you haven't maintained it. Yes, the air filter is important. Yes, the money you saved on not maintaining your motorcycle will have to be spent now (in spades) to make the bike safe and usable.   Yes, your brother-in-law has made a noble attempt to clean your carb. Yes, he's lost/improperly installed a few pieces. Yes they were important. Yes, he's not a mechanic, but I'm sure he's a great accountant/plumber/cook/framer/banker/security guard/logger. Oh, he's unemployed? No, we don't need anyone here right now.

Friday: Oh, you pushed your bike all the way from the mall 8 blocks away because it wouldn't start?
Wow, that's a long way to push this heavy bike. In the rain too? Bummer.
OK - here's your kill switch. Yes, that's right. Now flip it. There. Shazam!
Yes, you pushed your bike 8 blocks and now you find that someone flipped your kill switch and now you've flipped it back and now the bike starts and now you are embarrassed. Bummer again!
No charge!
Have a nice day.

Saturday: Customer calls and wants to speak directly to husband/owner. does not want to leave message with me (wife). Tells me "I want to talk to him. You don't know anything".
I tell him it's my job to take messages , with details, so husband can prioritize call-backs. Customer uncooperative, but leaves number.
Calls back 5 minutes later, (I see his number come up on call display) in wild and crafty attempt to get to speak to directly to husband/owner, but hangs up in my ear when I answer.   I make note, and tell husband that customer is being a jerk. Husband too busy to call back as is occupied with other customers, other phone-line, mechanic's question etc.
Jerky Customer calls back 3rd time. Sprinkles f-bomb liberally in attempt to intimidate me. Tells me I'm a liar when I say husband is too busy right now. Tells me that he, customer, was in the shop earlier in the day and saw husband 'just sitting around'. Tells me I am being RUDE to HIM (customer) because I won't just go and get husband.

Something snaps. I see red. I scream into phone. I use F-bomb too. I hang up phone by repeatedly banging receiver as hard as I can until phone breaks. I stand up, collect purse, storm out of office.
I see husband (on other phone line) stop conversation and look at me with jaw hanging open. The world goes into slow motion. Blood pressure up thru roof, steam coming from ears, blood squirting from eyeballs (well, almost). "Is it that jerk again?", husband asks. The words come to me as though I'm under water - slow and heavy. "Yes", I scream, "and you can effing tell him he can effing eff off!"
And then I can hear again; the mechanic's air gun in the back, the traffic out front, the other phone line ringing, people talking.
I go to the parking lot and sit in my car. Husband offers to drive me home. I decline, but stay in car to sit and breathe calmly for a while.
What happened to me? I NEVER do things like that. Never scream. Seldom swear. Never at a person. Never break things. Never slam things. Never lose control.
Sigh.

Sunday: Recover from work week. Don't go grocery shopping. Don't do laundry. Barely cook. Hardly eat. Vent to friends. Think about life.

Monday: do a bit of shopping.  Plan meals, cook, eat. Look at laundry pile. Contemplate price of new phone. (the one I broke does work, but only on speakerphone now. receiver is toast).

Tuesday: Back to work.

Conversations with Customers

2011-04-21T22:15:00.000-07:00

Telephone: Ring Ring!

Me (middle-aged world-weary wife of Motorcycle shop owner): SuperSport!

Customer: (young male, talking on cell phone while driving, arghhh) Hi, I'm going down Fraser Highway, heading to Route 10. Do I turn right or left?

Me: that would depend on which direction you're coming from. Are you heading North or South?

Customer: Ummmm.....

Me: (slowly and clearly) are you heading for the mountains or the States?

Customer: (pause, then triumphantly) the States!

Me: OK, you're heading south. When you get to Route 10, turn East.

Customer: so....right or left?

Me: East would be towards Ontario, and West would be towards the ocean. So....?

Customer: so drive towards Ontario?

Me: Yes, but stop a few thousand miles before you get there.

Customer: (totally missing my pithy humour) Ok, are you on the right or left on Route 10?

Me: We're on the North side. That would be towards the mountains!

Customer: Ummm. OK, I'm almost there.

Me: What are you hoping to find once you get here? Which part do you need?

Customer: I have a 1998 blah blah blah (name of motorcycle) and I need a side cover.

Me: right or left?

Customer: when I'm facing the bike or sitting on the bike?

Me: There is only one left and one right on a motorcycle. Does your left hand change to your right hand if your friend is sitting on your shoulders and then he gets off to look at you?

Customer: (long pause, deep thought) Ummmm....no?

Me: so which sidecover do you need?

Customer: Ummmm....North?

Where have I been?

2011-04-20T20:48:00.000-07:00

It's been a while. A few things happened.
We took a trip to Disneyland with our adult children. It was stress, stress, stress, fun, fun, fun, stress, stress, stress. After it was over, I realized that the fun far outweighed the stress.
We got busier at work (thank god).
Our son got hurt at work. Not a lot, but enough. He's OK, and I'm grateful.
I guess it's all just life happening.
There have been a lot of funny, and meaningful, things I'd like to blog about. I've still been reading other's blogs and getting a lot of inspiration and laughs from them. I've started following some, and un-following others.
I'll try to get back to blogging soon. There are a lot of things I have to say.
Look out!

Lentil and Brown Rice Casserole

2011-01-28T17:38:00.000-08:00

For Nancy, at Life in the Second Half, who is trying to eat more meatless meals. Sorry it took me a few days to get this posted......

~~~~~~~~~

Lentil and Brown Rice Casserole:

(My family loves this - it's a good comfort food best served with crusty bread
for dipping, and a salad!)

1/2 cup dry red or white wine
1 & 1/2 cups chicken or vegetable stock
1/2 cup dried lentils, washed (I use red lentils)
1/2 cup uncooked brown rice (do NOT use white rice-the casserole turns to mush)
1 cup mashed canned tomatoes
1 medium onion, chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
1/4 tsp dried thyme
1 small bay leaf
1/4 tsp salt
pinch pepper
1/4 tsp dried basil
1/2 cup (approx) shredded cheese. (The recipe suggests Swiss cheese but I use
whatever I like...)

Mix everything but the cheese into a 6 cup casserole. Cover tightly with lid or
foil.
Bake in 350 degree oven for 1 & 1/2 hours (that's one and a half hours) or
slightly longer until lentils are tender and liquid is absorbed,
stirring 2 - 3 times during baking.

Remove lid, remove bay leaf, and sprinkle cheese on top. Return to oven for 5
minutes or until cheese melts.
Serves 4 as a main dish, or 6-8 as a side dish.
(Note: I always double this recipe because he-who-will-not-be-named will eat 3 helpings and then
have more for breakfast the next day....)
Enjoy!

Kathryn : )

I get it now.

2010-12-30T19:44:00.001-08:00

As a toddler, she was given paints and crayons. Encouraged to draw and paint, dabble and create.
She did well in elementary school, great marks on all her projects, and I marvelled at the fact that she spent as much time on the COVER PAGES as she did on the actual content. As long as she got good marks, we didn't mind how long she spent on the extra stuff.
In high school. she took art and photography, as "easy" electives to compliment the maths and sciences into which we guided her.
She did well at all of it, all of it, and graduated with honours, and scholarships to two universities.
We thought she'd major in English, one of her best subjects, but she really could have chosen anything.

Her summer job, after Grade 12, was to work with a team to paint a Remembrance Day mural for our city.
"What a neat summer job", I thought. "How great that she gets to have a little fun before settling down to her studies in the fall."

Here's her portion of the mural - four soldiers walking along a war-torn street, crosses from Flanders Fields in the background.

She went to university, and became bored. Did well enough at her courses, but wasn't motivated to try hard. She just wasn't interested.

"Maybe you should take a year off", we said.
So she did.
She got a job as a waitress (It's called a SERVER, Mom!), moved from the suburbs to the big city, and met her sweetheart.

Instead of going back to university she applied to Film school; to the Make-up and Specialt Effects department.

"What?", we said.
"Well, I don't want to be a server all my life", she said.
"What about university?", we said.
"I'm not interested in university", she said, and paid the deposit at the Film school.
"What's she going to do with that?", we thought. "I know we live in Hollywood North, but geez, the movie industry is so unstable, and how's she going to make a living, and when's she going to do something serious, and...and..."

She's an adult now, and fully self-supporting, so we really have no say in the matter, and she continues to make her quarterly deposits at the Film school.

About a month ago, my husband and I went to Mexico for two weeks, partly to celebrate my 50th birthday.
When we returned there was a present waiting for me.

It's a view of my favourite camping lake - with a white sandy bottom that makes the water an amazing Caribbean blue........and she's captured it perfectly. She painted it for me. She painted it.

And suddenly, finally, something in my 50-year-old brain clicked.

I get it now.

She's an artist. An artist.

School starts this January, and I wish her ALL the best.

Congratulations, sweetie. I know you'll do well.

I get it now.

Delkiboose

2010-10-09T16:11:00.000-07:00

Canadian Thanksgiving is this Monday. We're having our dinner on Sunday, like a lot of people do.
This year I've been hearing a lot about a "delicacy" called a Turducken, which is a deboned chicken stuffed inside a deboned duck stuffed inside a deboned turkey. Who thinks of these things?

I've been thinking that we could do this in a big game version: a deer stuffed into an elk stuffed into a caribou stuffed into a moose. Delkiboose. If it's good enough for birds, then it's good enough for mammals, eh?
~~~
In other news, it's been a slow day here at work. Out of 18 phone calls, 14 were from Dave's friend Lloyd.
When I see his name on call display I'm tempted to answer as some other business.
How about, "Alzheimers Pizza! May I take your order again?"
~~~
The other day it was just Dave and me here. No customers. For some reason we decided to see if we could name a disease for every letter of the alphabet.

Asthma! he shouted.

Botulism!, I countered.

C-C-C-Cardiac Arrest! he said.
That's not a disease, that's an event, I said

Diabetes!, he said, ignoring me.

Then, it happened. That perfect synchronization that can happen between couples that have been married a long time. That merging of the minds. That pairing of souls....

Erectile Dysfunction! we chimed, simultaneously.

We basked in the glow of this for a few seconds, then resumed.

F-F-F Flatulence! I said, after some thought.

I knew you'd say that, he said.
Then:
Gout!

Hirsutism! I trumpeted, then wondered if this means that my legs are officially diseased...

I-I-I....he gasped
I-I-I...(deep thought)
I-I-I've got to go and do some work!

...and just like that, as mysteriously as he came,
he was gone.

Back to work, leaving me groping for a disease starting with J.

and THIS is why I haven't blogged in a while. It's all trivial around here.

Voyage of the Poo Sucker

2010-07-24T10:22:00.001-07:00

Technorati Tags: jobs,poo,emergency,mess

I don’t have any pictures to go with this post. You will thank me later, I expect.

My son has a job. It’s one of those jobs that you talk about when you are older and you’re trying to tell your kids that life was harder “back then”. In my son’s case, he will probably, hopefully, be right.

My son’s company does, among other things, waste removal. For most of the summer my son does Catch Basins, or “CBs” . A pumper truck, loaded with 1 driver and 1 labourer, drives the local streets, stops at storm drains, and the labourer (my son) gets out, lifts the grate off the hole and then uses a remote control to position a boom (small crane) over the hole, lowers a hose, and sucks out the sand and silt. The truck carries a tank for waste and another tank holding water used to flush things out.I think my son enjoyed the job for the first hour of the first day last summer; after that, not so much. However he has stuck with it, and is still at it while he figures out what he wants to do with the rest of his life. In the meantime, he has to set his own alarm, get his 19-year-old self up very early, make his own lunch, and be at the truck yard by a certain time each day. As parents, this delights us to no end: valuable skills that will stand him in good stead the rest of his life!

Some days our son doesn’t do CB’s. Instead, he does laser cutting (digging holes for construction using concentrated beams of water that can “cut your arm off!” if you don’t watch what you’re doing).

Other days he works at cleaning out septic tanks and/or pit toilets. Everywhere there is a basin and a substance that fills it, my son may be required to empty it out. As he says, “It’s a SH***Y job, but someone has to do it.”

Yesterday was a pit toilet day. For my more genteel readers: a pit toilet is an outdoor toilet positioned over a large hole. One uses these at campgrounds and public places not connected to the sewer system. If you’ve ever used one of these and wondered, “What happens when it fills up?” (and who hasn’t sat there and pondered this while listening for the distant splash or plop), now you know. It gets sucked out!

The community of Pemberton is located a few miles north of Whistler BC, home of the some of the events of the 2010 Olympics. To get there, one must travel the beautiful Sea-to-Sky highway for 2-3 hours. The road is winding, the scenery breathtaking. The destination, in this case, not so lovely. Somewhere in Pemberton six pit toilets are filled to capacity, brimming with a pungent primordial soup. The two men locate the toilets and start to work. The driver positions the truck, my son inserts the hose and the truck pumps it all into the holding tanks. Everything is as hunky-dory as it can possibly be in such absurd and smelly circumstances. The truck is now full, and the two men set off for home.

Purveyors of poo, exporters of excrement, these shippers of sh** sail down the Sea-to-Sky highway at a jaunty clip! Talk turns to the weekend ahead and a pleasant drive continues until the frantic honking of horrified passers-by alerts the men to a problem.

The twisty road has set the boom a swinging, and this swinging boom has bumped a cap on the holding tank. The cap has parted company with the holding tank, apparently some miles back up the road. The result is an excremental exodus. A trail of breadcrumbs this is not. Pulling the truck over has mixed results. My son runs to the back of the truck to survey the damage. What was formerly a steamy stream has now turned into a powerful pile of poo. A muddy mountain, if you will.

“How much poo?,” I interrupt breathlessly.

“Oh, bigger than dad’s Honda civic!”, say my son. “More sh** than I’ve ever seen in my life.”

A few million of my brain cells explode at this spectacle, but I urge him to go on. He continues with the story: apparently there is a valve inside the vomiting exit port, which is controlled at the truck’s dashboard. “Shut off the effing valve”, my son yells at the driver, and the valve is shut off forthwith. At this point most of the contents of six pit toilets is now percolating at the side of the road just outside the town of Squamish BC (which I shall now ever more think of as “Squeamish” BC, for obvious reasons).

“Was there, er, toilet paper in the pile”, I ask, trying to picture the problem (I am a visual learner, incidentally).

“Oh Mom”, he says, “Toilet paper, tampons, diapers, condoms….”he trails off and his eyes glaze over slightly. I feel another billion brain cells popping and decide to think about something else. But I can’t.

“What did you do then?” I ask, wondering about post traumatic stress, if not for him, then maybe for the tourists driving by on the highway. Is there counselling for this type of thing? What form will their nightmares take?

Fortunately there is a spare cap in the truck. Once the tank dribbles out it’s last, the cap is attached and an eerie silence fills the air. A cricket chirps, oblivious to the load of lava sliding his way. Driver and labourer look at each other and consider their options. The phrase, “Oh Sh**” comes to mind, but remains unuttered. No point in belabouring the obvious.

There is only one option. The driver flips a switch. My boy manoeuvres the boom, lowers the hose, and a fresh round of poo-sucking begins. “It’s different when you can actually SEE what’s happening”, my son explains. “ It seemed to take forever.”

He sucks up as much of the mess as is possible, and the driver calls the regional district office to explain that there is a stretch of highway where it is best not to stop to change a tire. They request that a street sweeper truck be sent out. The regional office dispatcher tells the men that they will take it from there, and my son and the driver once again set off homeward. They get back to the yard after a 10-hour workday; some of it an easy ride and some of it a hot, stinky lesson in humility.

We don’t normally talk about poo in polite company. Such talk is reserved for doctors’ exams when we are asked to describe it and encouraged to produce it daily. After that, we don’t discuss it, even though it is something we ALL have in common.

When people ask my son about his job I don’t know what he tells them, but if and when he moves on, whether it be to a “cleaner” job or to go to acting school (his dream), he will have earned the right to be there. I’m proud of him, my poo-sucking young man.

The Man in the Yellow Shirt - The Great Wall

2010-07-18T10:36:00.000-07:00

My husband often wears a yellow t-shirt. Maybe it's because he has 16 of them.
This is the story of a backyard, a patio wall, and the man in the yellow shirt. A story of danger, intrigue, mystery, suspense, courage, shovels, swearing, dirt, the wheel-barrow, the level. Man vs. the elements.
The taming of one small corner of the planet, a triumph of the human spirit.....a wall going boldly where no wall has gone before...........and the man in the yellow shirt who tamed the dirt, tamed the yard, and ultimately tamed me (well, no, not quite).

First, he dug. And dug, and dug. And dug some more.

Over 70 wheel-barrow loads of dirt were removed from this small area.

I don't have a "before" picture, but it was all weeds. Weeds, I tell you, weeds!

Then he put over 35 loads of stones in, as part of the patio foundation.

Then, he bought and carried all of these Allan blocks to the back yard. They weigh approx 75 lbs each, and he used about 45 of them. This was the dangerous part. Danger of dropping block on foot. The courageous part was me watching him almost drop block on foot. Repeatedly.

Did I mention swearing?

He carefully places each stone, mindful of my ~~screeching~~ reminding him to use the level.

A purposeful stride to the next block. Thinking "Whose idea was this wall, and when am I going to have some beer?"

These are the caps - about 60 of them were used, at about 30 lbs each. He had to rent a special saw to cut them for the curved area and other tight spots.

Now some of the previously-removed dirt comes back to fill in the planter areas. this is the intriguing part. Dirt go away - dirt come back.

He goes to get more dirt. Things are shaping up.

The photographer is relentless!

Artful stepped planter area: to be filled with stunning greenery.

Bedraggled old greenery to be rearranged/removed.

Money to be spent at nursery; credit card to be further melted.

This is still the old greenery. Not enough form, shape, colour!

It's mostly shady back here, so a few hostas and other shade-lovers are in order, I think.

Another angle. I love this wall, and plan to praise the man in the yellow shirt daily for the rest of our lives.

Or, until I get distracted.

I think my deck pots need scrubbing.

Oh man in the yellow shirt....another chore for you....

(Just kidding, I'll do it myself)

A final shot of his holy walliness.

We're off to the store to buy some plants.

We'll tackle what to put down as an actual patio some other day. Now he's talking about putting in a Japanese garden instead of a patio. We'll see. This is the mysterious part of the story...and the suspense.

Stay tuned for plantings, patio or garden construction, and more stunning images of the man in the yellow shirt!

The Flowers - they talk to me...

2010-07-04T19:42:00.000-07:00

Howdy! Mah name's Coral. Coral Nasturtium. Ahs a been growin and growin, fit to bustin out all over.
Ahs a bin soakin up that there rain and suckin it right up mah stem, ah have. Gits so a girl caint suck up no more rain without showin' off her pistils n stamens n such. Never thought ah'd see the day when ah would open up mah petals just as easy as yuh please, n let all n sundry see mah insides n such. Ah feels kinda funny bout that. Still, it seems all the uther gals 'round here are doin' it. Guess ah'm no better nor worse than the rest of'm....

What's that yer sayin? Yuh wants ta friend me on Facebook? What the hell's Facebook? That one o them naughty sites where gals lift their petals and wave their dad gum pollen around? No sirree, ah aint a goin' ta expose mahself ta that there cow poop. ah jest aint that kind a flower.

Mumble, mumble mumble....

Now take mah cousin Arleen. Arleen Fuschia. Now SHE would do anythin ta git herself some more attention. Flippin back her petals and stickin her parts way out. Shameless she is! Shameless!

Go on, ask HER ta go on that there Facebook naughty cow poop site. Oh Arleeeeeeen.....

What? Whaddya want Coral? Quit yellin at me - ah'm tryin ta get me a suntan. Jezebel? Who'r you callin a jezebel? Why you little nasturtium.....ah hope a little ol slug climbs all over you, ah surely do.

Sheepdip.

A trade-off

2010-07-04T11:14:00.000-07:00

I need to exercise.

I am a bit overweight, and there are a few nasty diseases that run in my family. This year I turn 50, and the biggest gift I can give to myself is to improve my health. I have already started to eat better, and am making good, 'tho not perfect, progress on that front.
I know all the great reasons to exercise (here's a partial list), and I know that it IS possible to find an extra 1/2 to 1 hour a day if I really try. Right now I spend too much time on the computer, and too much time watching TV. WAY too much. I love my TV shows, and I love my e-mail friends, and I love the blog world. BUT, those things are sedentary.
So here's the trade-off: It's time to spend less time on my butt, and more time on my feet!

Are any of you on this same path? Are you further ahead? Would you like to join in? Have you tried and failed/tried and succeeded? Do you find it ironic that I'm blogging about this (as opposed to just doing it?)

I'm not about to turn this into a fitness blog. It's just a reflection of where I am on my journey...and I'm interested to know where you are on your journey!

Incidentally, if any of you have a story to share, involving slightly chubby, sedentary, 50-year-old women who have managed to get fit, I would really like to hear it.
Come to think of it, any motivational story will do.
Really, anything.
Help!

On the Phone at the Bike Shop

2010-06-25T15:23:00.000-07:00

Dave: Hello

Customer: wah wah wah?

Dave: For which bike?

Customer: wah wah

Dave: What year?

Customer: wah.

Dave: I don't have any of those.

Customer wah wah wah?

Dave: How much would it be if I had it? I don't know, I don't have it.

Customer: wah wah wah!

Dave: OK, you want to know how much I'd charge for a part I don't have?

Customer: wah !

Dave: OK.....a MILLION dollars!

Customer: wah wah wah?

Dave: Yep, a million bucks. Canadian.

Customer: wah wah wah?

Dave: That's just under a million bucks American.

Customer: wah wah wah...wah wah

Dave: Because, if I don't have it, it must be really rare. For something that rare, I want a million bucks!

Customer: wah wah wah WAH wah!

Dave: Yes, you probably CAN get it cheaper on EBAY. Why don't you try that? Bye!

Click.

Me: Did you enjoy that?

Dave: Yup.

~~~~~

Another stimulating customer encounter...at the Bike Shop.

Conversation at the bike shop

2010-06-22T17:42:00.001-07:00

Him: Jeez, I've got a headache. Fixing that bike gave me a headache!

Me: Were you exposed to any bad fumes?

Him. No, but I set a rag on fire right in front of my face.....

Me: Would that be a highly flammable, chemical-soaked rag?

Him: Maybe.

Me: Ah.
~~~
The End. Another deep conversation at the bike shop.

Where have I been?

2010-05-21T14:22:00.001-07:00

One of my ~~scarce-as-hens'-teeth~~ loyal readers, Jo, mentioned that I haven't posted much lately.
Without going into agonising detail (like I usually do), I'll just say that it's our busy season as work, and I've been a little preoccupied with some "stuff" happening at home, and I have lost all my marbles.

I do have another blog post in the chamber, ready to fire out when I get a moment or two.
It concerns motorcycle parts, scantily-clad women, the US postal service (and I use the term service, loosely), humiliation, and a guy named Steve, in Germany.

Stay tuned...
...and thanks for your loyalty, all ~~three~~ of you!
Kathryn : )

The plot thickens...and then it curdles.

2010-05-08T14:33:00.001-07:00

I'm re-using a title I used already. I was updating a group of friends on some events in my life, and that expression seemed to fit the situation.
Now I'm going to talk about a different situation, so same title, different story. OK? OK !
~~~~
Remember my last post, about me finding a strange pair of boots in my front hallway, and jumping to conclusions? (I nearly said jumping to conTUsions, lol - that's what the men in my life do).

Anyhow, my dear husband has told me more than once that I need to "not always think the worst".

Believe me, I try.

But, what would you think if the following happened to you?
...................
I was getting into my car to go to work one morning. It is MY car, but other people drive it occasionally. I LOVE my car - fun to drive, good on gas, and the rear seats fold forward to create a totally flat, large cargo area in the back. Perfect for lugging around motorcycle parts and other weird things. Large enough to sleep on!
As I climbed into the front seat on that particular day, I glanced in the back. Amongst the usual collection of cloth grocery bags I saw....

...a pair of underwear.
Men's underwear.

Not the type my husband wears, but the kind my son wears. Cotton plaid boxers. Except I don't recognize them as being HIS in particular; just youthful plaid cotton boxers.

Now, what would pair of men's underwear be doing in the back of my car? Try as I might, all sorts of weird images come to mind. Some of them I will not share. (brokeback mountain). Oops.

Has someone been sleeping in my car? There is a homeless shelter a few blocks away, and I have heard of homeless people sleeping in people's cars. Would a homeless person leave their underwear behind? Why did they take it off in the first place? Has their naked body touched the inside of my car? Did they get dressed in the dark in a hurry and forget to put on the underwear?
Also, one of our son's friends has recently left home and sometimes needs a place to stay. Is it his? Is my dear son letting his friend sleep in my car? How do I feel about this? Bamboozled, as usual!

I can't stand the thought of driving this pair of underwear to work with me (what if I were to get pulled over for speeding?), so I pick it up in such a way as to hold the fewest threads possible at the very end of my fingertips, and transfer it to a garbage can sitting in the driveway.

The garbage can has some rainwater in it ; I see the underwear sink in and I realize I have made strange underwear soup. I wonder if I need to do something about this, but I choose to go to work instead. There, I will find my husband, and I will rant and rave until he phones our son and asks about the underwear. Not that it's our son's underwear, but it is young man underwear, so he should have to explain it.

I drive to work and in the 20 minutes it takes me I manage to start to think about groceries, the Olympics, hockey, menopause, my parents, supper, cat hair, k d lang, needlework, the fact that the back of my hands look old, etc........and I FORGET about the underwear!

Later that night, the underwear comes to me in a dream. I am re-immersed in wondering where it came from. I toss and turn, and decide that my son is letting homeless people sleep in my car and that my husband knows all about it and doesn't care.
I wake up to find my husband already showered and dressed.

"Good morning bunny!", he says cheerfully to me. (Yes, I am his bunny!)

"Someone left their underwear in my car", I croak. "Who's been sleeping in my car?"

"Oh", he laughs. "I got those from the rag bag. I was using them to polish blah blah blah......."

~~~~~~

I guess I need a bit more practice in "not jumping to conclusions".
But wait, why is my son throwing away perfectly good underwear?

I'm over the shock now. It took a week.

2010-04-11T16:34:00.000-07:00

I think I've recovered sufficiently from the Easter weekend to post about what happened here on Easter Sunday morning.
This is how it goes when your children are young adults.

~~~~~~
Very strange here - no Easter treats, no one interested in chocolate (except me, secretly) any more.
Dave and I woke up to find evidence of a 'house guest' in our midst.
Our 19-year-old son went out last night, to a club, and we didn't hear him arrive home.
BUT...
We found a pair of boots in the front hallway this morning, obviously belonging to a female: very tall black leather boots with high spike heels.
Argh.

There is only one bedroom door closed: our son's. Our 22-year-old daughter doesn't live here any more, and all other spare rooms are unoccupied.
We can only conclude that our dear son has brought home a female from the bar last night.
We also conclude that this must be someone we do not know; he was seeing a vegetarian girl (who wore running shoes all the time), but is no longer.
This does NOT sit well with me. NOT AT ALL.
I want to burst into our son's bedroom and wake them up and tell him to take his ~~floozy~~ "new friend" home.
Dave wants to wait until they wake up, and then talk to our son more discreetly.

I rant and rave at Dave and the cats: This is totally inappropriate, this is MY home, this is WRONG, this is EASTER SUNDAY for cripe's sake (the irony of me being even more upset on a religious holiday when I'm not even religious is not lost on me). When are they going to wake up? The grandparents are coming over!

Dave is more sanguine: maybe there is a reasonable explanation.
Like what? I say. He's got a transvestite in there?
Argh.

I am mad that Dave is not more disturbed by the situation.
Is he secretly proud of his son, the stud?

Suddenly, our son's bedroom door opens and he zips into the bathroom.
Dave and I exchange glances; "Go and see who's in that room", I hiss.
Dave refuses: Just go and ask him whose boots those are, he says.

I waylay my boy on the way out of the bathroom, yelling, "T_______ (his name), Whose boots are those?".
My tone is nasty. I am ready for confrontation. I am near tears.
~~~~

Ahem.
Turns out they are our daughter's boots. She too was out last night, and ended up closer to our home than her home.
Since she's coming here for Easter dinner tonight, she thought she might as well sleep here. (this is so logical and practical that my head explodes!)
I follow T____(son) back to his room and find T____ (daughter) sleeping in his bed, and that he had been sleeping on a pad on the floor!
He climbs back under the small throw he's been using as a blanket and says he's cold.
Why didn't you put T_____(daughter) in the guest room, I say?
We didn't want to make noise (opening up the hide-a-bed), he explains.

Not only has my son NOT brought a strange girl home from the bar, he has been a gentleman and given his bed to his sister (this same sister who would never in a milion years have even set foot in his room when they were growing up, lest she get his cooties on her).

Suddenly I feel warm and fuzzy. (like a unicorn kissing a care-bear under a rainbow with sparkly hearts exploding in the background).

Dave says I have to learn not to let things bother me so much, and not to assume the worst.
I mumble that it's the wrong time of the month, and he says, "That's still happening? I thought it stopped years ago",
so I say, "I'm still a spring chicken!" and "Let's have another baby!"
to which he says "Are you insane?",
and I say, "I'm kidding, kidding, kidding....(no I'm not insane, are YOU insane to think I meant it?)

Meanwhile Milo (the cat) has gone into T___(son's) bedroom and all three of them have gone back to sleep.
Happy Easter,

Kathryn : O

More Chesterman Beach-last part of trip report

2010-03-21T16:28:00.000-07:00

OK, now even I am tired of this three days trip that's taken months to report.

Still, the beach pics are lovely....

We took only pictures, and left only footprints.

Does this NOT look like a dragon? What do you see?

My mother-in-law sees a heart, complete with veins and arteries!

A hobbit house?

It's more artsy when you frame the object off-centre. So I did.

Go ahead - click on it! A Sand Dollar is a work of art.

Looks like he's walking on water. Sometimes I think he does.

It's a big beach when the tide is out. It's starting to clear up here, too.

What's this? Another (Love) Mussel?

Click to see the colours better. Sublime!

Another artsy shot. I like to call it "Broken shell on sand".

Or "Sand under broken shell"

Or "Shell that is broken, above sand that is underneath".

Whatever you call it, it's quite clear, isn't it?

Cliquez-la, s'il vous plait!

...and still another artsy shot: "Barnacles on Rock".

or, perhaps: "Barnacle Ghetto on Lithic Structure (based on the novel 'Push' by Sapphire)"

Sorry, couldn't help it.

Click on it anyway.

The waves are lovely, in they creep,

for they have promises to keep...

and foamy bits to sit and steep,

in artsy photo, very cheap!

(I'm channeling Robert Frost)

Look at all the reflections of the photographer (me) in the bubbles.

Oh! Finally - a bit of colour. A jaunty young urchin out for a stroll.

A very slow stroll. OK stuck there, but waving a bit.

If you haven't clicked before, you could try it now.

But wait, what light from yonder window breaks?

It is the sunset in winter, and there is no window!

"Dave, dave - the sun is out!", I scream.

(But Dave is having a nap in the room, and misses the following spectacular scenes)

"Giant Rock in Winter Sun"

"Foamy Sea in Pinky Glow"

(subtitled: "What are those clouds doing in the background?")

Click, damn you, click like you've never clicked before!

Oh, oh oh, I am AGOG at this!

"Sun Behind Weird Cloud"

Oh! (Luckily there is no one on the beach to hear the noises I am making)

Oh, oh, oh!

OH!

"Goddess of Light behind Cloud-that-looks-like-a-hedgehog-playing-chess-with-a-turtle!"

Clicking on this photo will bring you good luck.

"Sunfish doing Yoga under water against a Rock"

Namaste!

"Two Sunfish Making Foamy Love in a Crevice"

No, wait, is it three? Who can tell?

"Purple Urchin Craving a Dairy Queen Blizzard"

(I put my heart and soul into these captions, you know.)

"Ululating Undulations"

"Rippley Beach Sand"

and, finally

"Picture taken by Camera Timer to Prove we were here Together!"

Clicking is optional.

The End (of the trip report).

My husband's Love Muscle

2010-03-13T20:03:00.000-08:00

While we were at Chesterman Beach, on our trip to the beautiful Wickaninnish Inn, my husband showed me a Love Muscle.

The beach was fairly deserted, not a soul nearby, and he took me behind the driftwood to show it to me. You'd think that after 25 years of marriage that the novelty would have worn off, but he still likes to surprise me with exciting sights at odd times.

It was a beautiful thing, glistening softly in the pale winter light. From a certain vantage point, there was a heart-shaped aspect to it.

You MUST click on the picture to see the true beauty of it.
By the way, he says it's spelled "Mussel", not Muscle".

Whatever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
More beach pictures next time,
Kathryn : )

The Beach at the Wickaninnish Inn - or Chesterman Beach (winter 2010)

2010-03-08T10:55:00.000-08:00

I've managed to drag out this trip report for over a month; I just didn't want the trip to end.
A two-minute walk from the front door of the Wickaninnish Inn brings you to beautiful Chesterman beach.
These pictures speak for themselves.....click on any to enlarge.

I've got a lot more beach pictures to post. Stay tuned...

My body inspires poetry

2010-03-03T09:30:00.000-08:00

After my recent 3-week cleanse, where I lost 4 pounds without really trying, I dared, at last, to have a peek at my body in the bathroom mirror.
Even though I covered part of me with one hand and covered 82% of my eyes with the other, I still saw a flash of flesh.
Completely unbidden, the following words came to me.

(sung to the tune of "My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean")
~~~
My belly is out of proportion,
My boobies hang down to my knees
My buttocks show signs of distortion,
I want my teen body back PLEASE.

Bring back, bring back,
O bring back my body to me, to MEEEEE
Bring back, bring back,
O bring back my body to ME!

My muffin top makes a tsunami,
whenever I shimmy or cough
I can't stand the visual whammy,
So next time I'll leave the lights OFF.

Bring back, bring back,
O bring back my body to me, to MEEEEE
Bring back, bring back,
O bring back my body to ME!
~~~

And how was YOUR day?

Is this how they feel ALL THE TIME?

2010-03-02T09:35:00.001-08:00

I'm a Canadian who was born in Vancouver, and a have been a BC resident all my life. I've never lived further than 20 minutes away from the Pacific Ocean, and always in sight of the Coast Mountains - here in south-western BC: truly the most beautiful place on earth.

I enjoyed the past few weeks more than I ever thought possible. The Olympics, the athletes, volunteers and organisers have inspired me more than I can describe.

I feel so darned patriotic. So proud and lucky to have been born and live in this great country. The flag makes me happy; the national anthem makes my heart swell; and I think that the rest of the world must be jealous. Everyone must want to live here now. How could they not?
I want to wear red and white every day. I want to tell everyone in bloggie land which country I come from, and I fully expect the congratulatory comments to come rolling in. (Tongue only partly in cheek)

This plethora of pervasive patriotic pride is a true delight; it has seeped into my bones, filled my heart, and lightened my soul.
As I ponder this magical and unaccustomed glow a thought strikes me....

Is this how Americans feel ALL THE TIME?

Trip report interrupted one last time - 21 day cleanse

2010-02-22T18:22:00.001-08:00

Just after Dave and I returned from our fabulous Wickaninnish stay (see previous posts), I decided to follow another Blogger, Bonnie, on a 21-day cleanse. Bonnie's daughter had done the cleanse before and raved about it, and I had been wanting to eliminate certain foods from my diet, so I jumped on the bandwagon.
Basically, you take 3 weeks and eliminate the following 5 foods from your diet:
Wheat (gluten), Dairy, Meat (ALL animal products), Caffeine, and Alcohol.

I was especially motivated because my naturopath had suggesting eliminating wheat and dairy as a way to clear up my perpetually stuffy nose. I had been tested for allergies and had none, so she looked to my diet for ways to help things work better. I had half-heartedly tried to eliminate one or the other for nearly a year, with mixed results; I had never been able to discipline myself to stick with it for any length of time

Bonnie's suggestion came right after a few days of absolute indulgence, and I was ready to "trim the fat" so to speak.
A few other people said that they were going to try the cleanse or that they would be interested in the results, so here goes.  For Bonnie's result you may click to the following link:
http://originalartstudio.blogspot.com/2010/02/21-day-cleanse-report.html
She has a great blog, so you might want to grab a cuppa and settle in.

My results and observations:

Week One: I was overwhelmed with planning, shopping, and cooking. SO many foods have wheat, gluten, sugar, and/or dairy in them. Read your labels - it will blow your mind!
I ate a lot of beans, rice, tomatoes, rice pasta, marinara sauce, hummus, corn tortillas and corn chips, salsa, guacamole, peanut butter, apples, rice-milk and fruit smoothies, and an agave-sweetened wheat free cereal. It wasn't half bad, but I exhausted my vegan meal repertoire.
I felt headachy the first few days (probably caffeine/sugar withdrawal), and a bit crampy from the sudden increase in fibre. I toughed it out through the headache, and drank more water to help with the fibre processing.   After a few days my nose cleared up and I really enjoyed just breathing. My digestive-waste-processing system changed from it's usual sporadic dysfunctional norm to what is probably the perfect system. The way it was meant to be. I won't go into too much detail, but it improved in every way. EVERY way. Poo nirvana. Poo-vana!

Week Two:
I still took a lot of time to plan, shop, and cook, but I went to the internet and other sources to get more ideas. I cooked a lot from "How it all Vegan", a vegan cookbook I had here already. Excellent book! Before I started the cleanse I noticed that my knees sometimes hurt when I got out of a chair. During week 2 I noticed that my knees no longer hurt. I felt a weird lightness - like when you try to lift something up and it turns out to be lighter than you thought it would be, and your arm lifts it higher than it meant to. This is how my whole body felt - as if every cell in my body was just a smidge lighter.
  The opposite of sluggish and lethargic.    I was not light-headed, just light-bodied! I didn't weigh myself at this point - I had been eating a lot of nuts, avocado, and using olive oil to cook, so I didn't expect to see any significant weight loss.
So, by the end of week 2 I have a cleared nose, better sleep (I can breathe with my mouth closed and not drool or snore), a "lightness" in my bearing, and have reached Poo-vana.

Week Three:
I became so relaxed about what to eat that I didn't plan my meals, but just shopped for more fresh fruits and veggies when needed, and threw meals together from all the healthy stuff I now had in my cupboards. Agave syrup, steel-cut oats, vegan mayonnaise (pretty good!), dried and canned beans, vegetable broth, decaf and herbal tea; these are my new friends. Need a recipe? Go to the internet - milliions of options.
But.....
I started to feel really tired. Tired all day, and wanting to nap in the afternoon. I thought it might be lack of protein, but I reviewed my food choices and realized that I had been getting adequate protein. Iron? Maybe - I'll still have to review.
Suddenly I remembered vitamin B12 ! Apparently a vegan-like diet often doesn't provide enough vitamin B12 without supplementation. I had been taking B12 off and on for the past year, but had run out just before the cleanse and hadn't remembered to get more. I quickly bought some B12, and have added it to my daily regime again. Now, a day after the official end of the cleanse, I feel less tired....and I'm still on the cleanse!

Going forward:
I LIKE feeling light. I LIKE not being bloated. I LIKE losing weight without really trying, and I LIKE Poo-vana!
I miss some things: cheese, fudge, ice-cream, to name a few, but it's not the end of the world.
I've lost 3 or 4 pounds without trying. I was never hungry during the three weeks.
I KNOW that this way of eating is good for me. I feel better physically and emotionally. I know I'm now doing what I can to lessen my chances of heart disease, cancer, and diabetes, all of which run in my family.
I will add fish and/or chicken once or twice a week, and I will have "normal" food and/or wine at family gatherings and restaurants if there are not enough vegan alternatives. As much as possible I will remain wheat/dairy/sugar free - I think they were the main contributors to my dietary woes.

The cleanse was made easier for me by the fact that my husband willingly joined in. I didn't have to cook differently for him; he added fake beer and the odd real drink of alcohol, but stuck to it other than that. He wants to continue with the new regime - he has no more heartburn and feels better overall, too.
If anyone wants to ask me a question you can comment here and leave your contact information. I'll be happy to answer anything in excruciating detail !

Trip report - Part 6 - More about the Wickaninnish Inn.

2010-02-15T14:25:00.003-08:00

We resume our trip report after I fell off the couch in ecstasy at my reminiscings of the Wickaninnish Inn.
I've now climbed back on, strapped on a seatbelt, and am ready to share a few more moments of delight about the "Wick".

Food. Where shall I start? I did not bring my camera into the dining room until the breakfast the last morning. Two reasons for this: I didn't want to annoy people with my flash, and I also wanted to disguise my yokel-ness. Hyuk hyuk. By the last morning, though, I couldn't resist. We were up early, the restaurant was mostly empty, and I didn't need the flash. Our breakfasts:

Mine: Lemon Buttermilk Waffles

White Wine Poached Pears & Cranberries

Clotted Cream & Candied Walnuts

His: Seafood Benedict

Bubble & Squeak

(note: the bubble and squeak is the veggie cylinder in the foreground, topped with sausage patties and tomato-basil "jam".)

(also note: the custom woven table runner, by local artisan, under Dave's plate)

Here's a link to one of the Wick's menus in their main dining room, "The Pointe Restaurant". Try not to drool on your keyboard!

View of "The Pointe Restaurant" on a misty day.

More happy thoughts:
The restaurant staff, from host to server, call you by name. "Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. X." Such a step up from, "Hi guys, how are you doin' tonight?" Love it!

To their everlasting credit, the restaurant offered Dave's favourite gin, Hendrick's, and they made me a mean Caesar with fresh basil and cilantro. Mmmm.

There is a dedicated staff person to bring around the bread basket. In this basket are THREE choices of fresh-baked artisan bread: delights like leek and onion, challah, sausage. Selection changes nightly, and you can buy whole loaves of these breads in the Driftwood Lounge downstairs. A come-hither look at the bread server brings him swiftly back to your table. Dave and the bread man exchanged meaningful glances more than once. About the bread, of course.

In addition to the regular dinner menu there is a weekly special 4-course "tasting menu" with optional wine pairings. I had this one night and it was SUPERB. I didn't have the wine pairings - I can only handle four sips of wine - not four glasses. Plebe!

The wait staff were great; knowledgeable about the food, personable, attentive, but not hovering.

The after-dinner tea selection comes via a tea box: little vials of loose-leaf tea for you to open up and sniff. From old standards like english breakfast and darjeeling, to exotic herbal blends, to good old chamomile. Once you make your selection you get a large and drip-free pot. Lovely.

Another brownie point in my book: the entire Inn supports the local artistic community and local economy. From the hand-adzed pillars seen throughout the main structure, to the art and driftwood furniture in the rooms, to the photographs in the halls, to the wood, glass and fibre crafts on display in the lobby, to the artisan produced menu choices, one is surrounded by local talent. A true "Canadian West Coast" experience.

Oh, one more thing. The day we arrived I was looking out the window of the lobby, busily snapping pictures of the view. One of the front desk staff noticed I had my camera, and asked me if I'd seen the eagles. "Eagles! Where?"

"Right out here", he said, and then he left his post, led me out the front door, and pointed up:

Next post: The Beach!

Trip report - Part 5 - The Wickaninnish Inn

2010-02-11T16:23:00.000-08:00

Gosh - I've managed to make the report longer than the actual trip. Oh well, It's nice to relive it all.
On the last trip post we had just seen the road sign for Tofino, and a Tsunami Evacuation route sign.
We turned toward Tofino and soon saw another sign:

Leaving Tsunami Hazard Zone. Good!

A few more minutes of driving and we finally reached our destination - The Wickaninnish Inn.

What can I say, other than fabulous! EVERYTHING was wonderful, from the setting, the staff, our room, the view, the food , the service...simply amazing. I've only been home a short time, and I would go back again in a heartbeat. Twisty highway and all.

I took pictures of almost everything, so prepare yourself.

Beautiful hand-carved doors between the hand-adzed pillars.

Our room had a forest and ocean view. A staff member from the front desk escorted us to the room and showed us all the amenities.

A welcome letter from the manager, with a complimentary fruit plate.

The balcony: behind the deck chairs you can see the bathroom with two-person soaker tub. Heavenly.

The view of the stormy seas, from our balcony. The sound of the surf is amazing. Powerful and soothing all at once.

Command central - the desk in our room, with all the usual stuff, plus snack basket, wireless AND wired internet connection, mini-bar, and a hand-crafted driftwood chair. My laptop slept here.

Complimentary raingear to borrow. Call the front desk with your shoe size and they'll deliver gumboots to the room!

Coffee, tea, and hot chocolate. The usual stuff, but the coffee maker was the kind that takes those little pods - what fun! - and there were REAL creamers in the mini-bar, and the tea was definitely a step above generic orange pekoe. (I am so easily impressed it's ridiculous, but little things matter. They matter!)

If you manage to drink it all they'll bring you more. No problemo!

On the fireplace mantle: Books on local flora and fauna, a guestbook, and binoculars to borrow.

Once again, the two-person jetted tub - this time from the inside looking out. (I was going to say two-man jetted tub, but that wasn't quite accurate in our case. Not there's anything wrong with that...)

More bathroomy stuff: The best make-up mirror in the world, a hand-crafted wooden box of cotton swabs and pads, nifty shampoo and conditioner type stuff, and, lest your eyes be assaulted by the site of jarring technology, a hair-dryer nicely bundled away in a cotton drawstring bag. It's another little thing, but who wants to see something plastic in amongst all the wood and glass and ceramic loveliness?

Not I.

One thing I forgot to take a picture of: In the bedside table is an alarm clock with a CD player. Underneath is a drawer with a CD holder, and 10 CDs of various Canadian artists. One of them is playing softly as you re-enter your room just before bedtime.

As you take in the aural delight, you notice that your bed has been turned down, and that your robes have been placed side by side, holding "hands" with their sleeves and intertwined belts. Oh my! I felt like I had walked in on Robeo and Juliet!

One more thing before lights out. Someone has carefully place two bottles of water on the bedside table. They anchor a small card with next day's sunrise and sunset times, the predicted high and low temperatures and the high and low tide times. Tomorrow's weather is highlighted.

I am in love with the Wickaninnish Inn.

...to be continued

The Accidental "O" Fan

2010-02-08T21:55:00.000-08:00

In case you were unaware of it, the 2010 Winter Olympic Games are being hosted by Vancouver and Whistler BC, Canada.
I was fairly neutral about us hosting the Olympics - I liked the thought of showing off our beautiful province to the rest of the world, but I knew the cost would be extraordinary. The security budget alone would be enough to run a small country. We have homeless people here, and goodness knows the money could be spent on them, or on healthcare, education, etc.
BUT

I am a bit of a sucker for amazing athletes striving to be the best, national anthems (especially sung by children), medals, crowds, excitement, tears, jubilation, triumph, understated national pride (well we ARE Canadian), and all that good stuff.

Today I was messing about in the kitchen, listening to my Ipod. Suddenly, above the noise of my tunes, I heard a noise outside. Some sort of loudspeaker, coming from behind our house. There is a small ravine and forest between our house and the main street behind it, so most of the normal traffic noise is buffered, but the loudspeaker broke through - right through my closed, double-paned kitchen windows.

At first I thought the neighbour kids were playing the radio on their outdoor speakers, but I soon realized that the sounds I heard were LIVE.

I wondered what it could be, and then had an epiphany. Turned off the stove, grabbed my house keys and camera, and went out the front door. I was still wearing my slippers, but didn't want to take time to find socks and put on shoes.

I walked around the block towards the main street and noticed that a crowd had gathered.

"Did I miss it?", I asked a man who was holding his two young sons.
"No", he said, "Here it comes now!"

And there it was.

First this:

and then this:

and then people started to step out into the street...

and then THIS!

Holy Cow! An Olympic torch bearer. Running with a torch - carrying a flame that's burned continuously all the way from Athens, Greece. For thousands of miles. Carried and shared by hundreds of people.

He was 10 feet away from me. Wearing that white (for snow) suit, and those red (for Canada) mittens, with traffic stopped in both directions, and hundreds of people cheering and taking pictures.

It was kind of special.

and then he was gone. Running on to pass the flame to the next torch bearer.

I felt a surge of emotion, and fought to hold back tears.

Tell me, is this national pride....

or have I started menopause?

Trip report - part 4. Come on baby, let's do the twist!

2010-02-04T21:32:00.099-08:00

After leaving the majesty of Cathedral Grove, we use the car heater to dry our soggy selves, and my shirt to dry the camera, both of us wondering why I had to take pictures of wet trees. Why?
Meanwhile, Dave speeds along the wet roads at breakneck speed, determined to make it really challenging for me to take pictures.
"It's for the blog!" I wail. "Slow down!"
Mario Andretti-driving-a-Honda-Fit obligingly changes from ZOOOOOM to ZOOM.
We soon reach beautiful downtown Port Alberni. The only picture I take is the following, knowing that I won't see one again for some time...

As much as I love to patronise this institution, I really don't want to see one in Tofino. It just wouldn't be right.

~~~

Finally, we start on the last leg of the journey. The long and winding road to the fabulous west coast of Vancouver Island.

Let me stop for a moment and think of all the words to describe that last stretch of highway. Twisty, curly, windy, convoluted, swirling, spiralling, curvy, twisty, curvy, twisty, curvy, whoop-de-whoop, roller coaster, tilt-a-whirl.

And here we go. Note: Yellow signs denote curvy sections, hazards, speed suggestions etc. They could have saved a lot of money on signs if they'd just painted the whole damned road yellow. Bright yellow.

At first, things seem fairly straightforward, albeit wet.

Wet, and foggy, and snowy....

Soon, however, we start to see the little yellow signs. This one says, and I paraphrase: Curves ahead! We suggest you slow to 50 kph (30 mph) for the next kilometer.

This one's not so bad. They only want you to slow to 60 kph
(40 mph) for the next kilometer.

These 3 yellow signs say, respectively: caution, rocks falling, road getting narrower. Holy Cow!

In the distance we see another yellow sign.

This one says: Rockfall Hazard Area. No Stopping for 1 km.

In the distance are three MORE yellow signs: a caution, another wiggly one telling you to go 40 km (25 mph), and then an abrupt turn warning.

This theme repeats itself a few hundred times over the next 90 minutes.

I'm distracted, momentarily, from the ~~hundreds~~ millions of yellow signs by this beautiful lake. Kennedy Lake, I think. It's lovely, and a welcome break from the yellow signs.

And then, at last, the yellow signs come to an end. The end of the curves. The end of the rock hazards. The end of the danger.

In the distance we see other signs. Green and blue signs. A directional green, and a calm- looking blue. We squint. What does the blue sign say?

Tsunami Evacuation Route. Oh boy.

to be continued...

Trip report interrupted AGAIN. Husband injures self. Wife stoic.

2010-02-01T12:24:00.062-08:00

Howdy all,

In an abortive attempt to slit his wrists (gee, abortion and suicide in one sentence) and get out of finishing the renovation on our ensuite, my dear Dave has sliced himself up and had me take him to the clinic for some arm embroidery.

It went something like this:
Dave holds exacto knife in right hand. Cuts lino tile and presses so hard that blade snaps and jagged edge of snapped blade slices left wrist. Dave takes one look, sees several layers of skin exposed and blood gushing out, and decides to stop renovations momentarily.

Wraps rag around wrist and wanders out to seek validation for work stoppage. Finds teenaged son playing video games in room and says, "Er, I could use a little help out here".
Son reluctantly pries game controller out of hand and walks over to dad.
Helps dad wrap better bandage around gushery. They add duct tape for good measure.
Dad walks out to family room to find wife (me).
"Er, could you drive me to the hospital?"
Wife sees makeshift bandage, rolls eyes (in her mind), puts on shocked and caring face, and reluctantly lets go of new love of her life (the laptop).
Wife: did you sever an artery?
Husband: No
Wife: a vein?
Husband: No.
Wife: then lets go to a walk-in clinic. We don't want to sit around for 8 hours in emergency, do we?
Husband: No.

Wife goes to put on socks/shoes and get purse and book.
Husband goes to computer to look up local clinic hours.
Husband and wife zoom off in car, find clinic, and wander in.
Nice receptionist takes Dave in even though the clinic is supposed to close in 5 minutes. Wife settle in with book. Wife know all about waiting rooms. Wife has sat in waiting rooms MANY times, waiting for husband to be taped, stitched, casted, stapled, reassembled, untangled, drugged, x-rayed, cauterized, and vasectomized. Usually not all on the same day. Anyway, wife knows to bring a book to read.

Meanwhile, doctor wanders out from treatment room, asks receptionist/nurse "Where do we keep the (makes sewing gesture) tray... for , you know, (makes sewing gesture again)...
Receptioninst: Sutures? bottom cupboard on left. (she doesn't have to think about this, but I'll bet she is tempted to make cupboard-door-opening gestures).
Doctor processes this for a moment and then wanders back to treatment room.

Doctor futzes around getting equipment ready and then brandishes bottle of disinfectant, saying, "This is going to hurt a bit."
"No it's not," says Dave, "It's going to hurt a LOT", and he grips the table.
Doctor pours disinfectant into gaping flesh, and Dave grits teeth.
Doctor gives Dave shot, to freeze arm for suturing.
Doctor makes 3 sutures and starts to tidy up.
"Wait a minute", says Dave (voice of experience), "those are pretty big spaces! That'll rip apart in no time!"
Doctor: "You've got to take it easy with that arm."
Dave: Naaaaaaah
Doctor looks at Dave and makes 3 more sutures in between other sutures.

Dave is released to care of wife who asks, "Did you get a prescription for pain killers?".
"No, I don't need any pain killers", says Dave. "Hey can we stop at the liquor store?"
Wife rolls eyes (in her mind AND on her face) and stops at liquor store. Offers to go in, even.
Dave leaps from car and goes in, buys bottle of gin, and comes out all smiles.

Next Day:

Back at it again, this time with exacto knife AND nail gun. I'm keeping my socks on.

(By the way, both pictures were taken post-injury, with wound already stitched and taped up.)

The bathroom is coming along nicely.

Trip report, part 3

2010-01-31T20:45:00.000-08:00

Monday morning dawned bright and glorious. No, not really, but I felt bright and glorious, because today was the day we were to head across the island to the west coast! Wheeee!
We sprang from bed. Again, not really, but we did get up and packed and out of the resort fairly early, then zoomed into downtown Parksville to Smitty's for breakfast.
I have nothing but complimentary things to say about the Parksville Smitty's.
Clean, warm, welcoming. Great service. Tea cups with no coffee or lipstick stains. Hashbrowns in a choice of shredded or cubed (you have no idea how happy this makes Dave. No idea.)
Eggs cooked right. A non-dribbly teapot that holds more than one cup of hot water. Fluffy pancakes with real butter and Smitty's own syrup.
Delightful!
The only odd thing was the sign outside. I wish I had taken a picture, but we zoomed away too fast.

As you might guess the sign is supposed to advertise current or upcoming specials. This one said:

Senior Liver. That's all, just "Senior Liver".

This led to all sorts of conversation, speculation, and laughter. We got quite a bit of mileage out of that one. All the way to the liquor store, 3 blocks away, where we stopped to pick up "supplies" for the next two nights. God knows we need lots of alcohol to get through two days and two nights of togetherness on a beach.

Once stocked up with "supplies" we headed west. Driving was wet and dismal, but we didn't care (except for when I tried to take pictures from the car and kept getting the windshield wipers in the way). Ack.

At any rate we drove on, snapped photos, and quickly approached Cathedral Grove.

Cathedral Grove is "one of the most accessible old growth temperate rainforests in the world." (from their website).

As proud Canadians, Dave and I love trees and we love to hug them whenever we can. It's what we live for (among other things). Hence the following RAINY, WET pictures.

That's the wet bum of our car. Did I mention it was raining a bit?

....and below, are some TREES. Not just any trees, but old majestic, marvelous, magnificent trees. Many trees....and they just kept getting BIGGER.

We wandered in the wet for a while and got pretty soaked. There's nothing more fun than getting your freshly-washed-with-shampoo-from-the-resort-hair all wet and plastered to your head. Nothing like getting your cute leather boots all smooshy. Nothing like realizing that you need a bathroom, and then having to walk through giant puddles as you look for the outhouse...

(and I thought MY roots were noticeable)

Just look at the size of this thing!

(and the tree is big too).

After we finished hugging every tree in sight, we climbed wetly back into the car and splashed our way out of Cathedral Grove, FINALLY heading on the last leg of our journey westward.

Next stop, Tofino.

But first, a VERY twisty highway.

to be continued...

We interrupt this trip report...

2010-01-29T16:04:00.000-08:00

2 Newsflashes:
1. I'm going to join Bonnie in a 3 week cleanse and am about to zip over to Chapters to see if they have the book I need. Expect 3 weeks of whining and moaning as I do something that requires a little effort.
2. Yesterday afternoon Dave and I went to London Drugs for a few things. We each had our own car, as we don't do well when we drive to work in the same vehicle. Something about different driving styles. Ahem.
Anyhoo - Dave arrived before I did (different driving style) and was already parked and in the door when I got there. I parked 2 spaces away from his car. We were in the main parking aisle directly in front of the store, only about 10-12 spaces from the door. It was late afternoon, but still light out.
We emerged from the store about 20 minutes later.
Some wonderful soul, a pillar of society no doubt, had punched in the window of Dave's 92 honda civic and stolen his IPOD. What a loser. In broad daylight right in front of the store!
We were NONPLUSSED! GOBSMACKED! ASTOUNDED!
Two "look on the bright sides":
a) Dave got a new larger capacity IPOD for Christmas and hadn't started using it yet. It was an OLD, beat-up IPOD that tempted the hooligan to break the window. Idiot. So we were mollified by that.
b) There was something much more valuable in the car, in a container, and the idiot didn't have the time or intelligence to steal it. We were relieved at that, too.
I guess the real point is that there are idiots out there who will smash in your car window, in broad daylight, just to get something that is worth relatively little, and these same idiots don't always get the big prize.
Dave has created a new window out of plastic and duct tape, and will buy a used window on the weekend and fix it all up. We didn't have damage or theft insurance on the car because it's old and not worth much.
I don't understand thieves. I really don't. But I went home feeling lucky; it could have been worse.

Trip to the Island, Part 2

2010-01-28T21:48:00.000-08:00

Ferry line-up at dawn....

I didn't take any pictures while on the ferry. I'm just so used to settling down with a book and beverage. Dave and I sat there in companionable silence for most of the trip. Weve been married for 25 years now and no longer need to talk. If I want something I glare and expect him to read my mind. If he wants something, he farts. Apparently he wants something quite often.

Back to our companiable silence of glares, mind-reading and farts: He with his sudoku, me with my book, "The Children's Book" by A.S. Byatt. I started it on the ferry and am enjoying it so far. It's very rich - a sumptuous read (no farts so far).

We arrived in Nanaimo at about 10:30 am, and zoomed up the island highway to beautiful Nanoose Bay. We were booked in to the Pacific Shores Resort, a time-share/hotel, where our niece works. She was clever enough to arrange for an early check-in, so we were able to get into the room, run around, open drawers, play with the gas fireplace, flick the TV on and off and on and off...., take pictures, make coffee, make tea, un-set the alarm, figure out which light switch was connected to which light, jump on the bed, connect to Wi Fi, rent a movie, read about the resort, look for emergency exits, stage a fire drill, run back to the car to see if we locked it, run back to the car to get my slippers, read the room service menu, unpack, ~~steal~~ smell the soap, try the phone, you know, get comfy.

We were lucky enough to get a great room - a whole suite, in fact. It had a separate bedroom, a full kitchen, living room and dining room. Here are a few pictures of the suite, and the view outside our window. Delightful little kitchen with fully stocked spice rack!

View from the hallway through the dining room, living room, and out to the bay.

Jetted tub and heated tile floor. There's also a separate shower and toilet area. AND a makeup counter. My daughter loved this feature when we stayed here for my niece's bridal shower. (Just thought I'd throw that in there).

The view from our suite - the estuary leading to Nanoose Bay. These time share units are available for something over $80,000 for an eighth share. We didnt buy one (duh, no really), but it was fun to stay there for a night. We didnèt get to sample the restaurant; we had lunch with Daveès parents, who live 20 minutes away, and dinner with our niece and her husband. They are cute young newlyweds. Our nephew-in-law is a hunter, so he and Dave talked about shooting and killing and maiming and skinning and blood and guts. Our niece and I talked about other things. Civilised things. No blood.

Back to the pictures: Did I mention that the weather was very grey and overcast? A lot of my pictures are this way - wet and sombre. We didn't mind - we were planning on going to the west coast the next day - to Storm Watch!

To be continued....

Trip to Vancouver Island

2010-01-28T09:17:00.001-08:00

The first in a multi-part post of our (Dave's and my) trip to Vancouver Island.

I spent 10 years living on Vancouver Island, and even though it was over 30 years ago those must have been very important years (ages 7-17, grades 2 through 12) in terms of establishing my sense of "home". To this day, whenever I get off the ferry near Nanaimo, where I grew up, or even in Victoria, where I just visit, I feel like I've come home. Perhaps it's the arbutus trees (Madrona more officially), or the rocky landscape. Or the ribbon of highway winding through the evergreen landscape. Maybe the mood is set on the ferry. Whatever it is, I need to get back to the island - to visit several times per year - and hope to live there again as soon as possible.

At any rate, Dave and I just got back from three nights - two on the fabulous west coast - and I'm renewed.

Part One:
We set off early to catch the 8:30 Horseshoe Bay ferry in West Vancouver. The sun was rising as we reached the terminal. I tried to snap pictures from the car, and was semi-successful.

More later.....(I promise the pictures get better - especially the ones NOT taken from the car).

As promised....

2010-01-13T20:07:00.000-08:00

Toilet on Driveway

For your discussion group: What does the toilet say about the driveway? What does the driveway say about the toilet? Discuss the relationship between the toilet and the driveway. Would things be different if the driveway were on top of the toilet, instead of vice-versa?

Shower Stall in Living Room

(also, old vanity in living room, and pool table in living room)

For your discussion group: How could the shower have done things differently? Does the living room NEED the shower to be an effective living room? What role does the pool table play?

~~~

Yes, we are renovating. Again, still, and always. I'm not complaining, because my dear husband doses all the work himself. He is wonderful! To forestall any smart questions, Yes, he does have clothes on during the renovations.

See? Clothes on!

(Our ensuite bathroom, sans fixtures)

One more masterpiece:

New Vanity in Front Hall

For your discussion group: Was it fair for vanity to stop hall from sowing his wild oats? In the end, vanity will leave hall and move in with toilet, right in full view of shower. Write an alternative ending for the story.

~~~

I'll post pictures of the renovation as it happens. I would kill for a DQ blizzard right about now.

Kathryn : )

There's a toilet on my driveway.

2010-01-12T20:21:00.000-08:00

1. There's a toilet sitting on my driveway. It's been there for two days. It is ecru.

2. One day when I came home from work, I found that my bored and out of work 19-year-old son had folded ALL of the family laundry, including my big fat granny panties. Mom underwear. Ugh.

3. Before Christmas we bought a wedge of Brie, and we haven't been able to find it. It's not in either fridge. I fear it's in a car or in a cupboard.

4. There is a fibreglass shower stall in my living room. It has been there two days. It is white. I feel that there is a connection between it and the toilet in the driveway.

5. One day about a year ago, I found a partially eaten waffle in my mailbox. The bite mark was ringed with jam. We don't eat our waffles that way in my family. Therefore, I have to conclude that the waffle came from an outsider. Or the mail carrier.

6. Our cat, Milo, learned to pee in the toilet (not the one in the driveway) entirely by watching my husband and son use the toilet. He does not stand on his hind legs to do it, however. He developed his own technique.

7. One night, several years ago, when everyone was sleeping, my husband was awakened by a noise in the house. He got up to investigate, creeping down to the family room, where the noise was coming from.
He flicked on the lights and yelled, "What the f*** is going on in here!".
There, on the couch, was our 15-year-old daughter and her 15-year old boyfriend.
They were sitting up, talking.
My husband sleeps in the nude.
That boyfriend didn't last. Wimp.

8. I will post pictures of items 1 and 4 tomorrow. The rest I will leave to your imaginations.

MY grass is greener

2010-01-10T09:39:00.000-08:00

Greetings!
I read a few blogs. I have a few e-mail friends. I watch the news. Most of you all out there are enjoying a REAL winter. Cold temperatures, snow, the works.
I LOVE winter. Oh I've never really experienced a truly cold winter, like those of you at 40 below, but I like winter temperatures around the freezing level, snow on the ground, cosy fires, hot chocolate, the still and hush of a snowy landscape. It nourishes my soul.

Before Christmas we had a bit of snow and a short cold snap, but Christmas day dawned wet and green, and we've been mostly that way ever since.
Today's morning news report says we are in for 200 mm of rain by the end of tomorrow. That's about 8 inches for you non-metric types. The temperature is about 11C (think 52F or so)

I would gladly trade with any of you for a few wintry days. My green and lukewarm for your white and cold. If you are hating the snow and cold, and want to ~~get back at me~~ help me out, could you please go outside and make a snowball, and throw it in my general direction? West coast of Canada, near the US border? Come on, if all of you work together I might get my own little snow storm.

Meanwhile, my grass is greener.

Attitude Adjustment

2010-01-03T09:43:00.005-08:00

It's dawning on me that I can't control every little thing in the universe.

Rather than go insane (tried that - not liking it!), I'm now choosing to adapt (oooooh).

Prepare myself to be unprepared.

Acknowledge that's it's all a crap shoot, or if it is a plan, it's certainly not MY plan.

As part of a baby step to learning to be less in control, and more able to go with the flow, I am crocheting an afghan. In bright riotous colours, and not in any particular pattern.

This is a real stretch for me. I love patterns and order and predictability. I love to plan.

However, in order to grow and survive in this chaotic world, I need to be a bit more comfortable with "Random".

Yes, the afghan is made up of same-sized units (so it will actually fit together and lay flat), but the units are all random combinations of colours, and the finished affair is almost certain to clash with every room in my house!

Talk about an earth-shattering development in my little world. I don't even know how big the thing will be or when I'll decide to stop adding to it. Much against my nature I have so far refrained from doing the math to calculate the amount of yarn needed per hexagon, and therefore the finished size. I bought 15 balls of yarn and I'll see how far I get. And....I'm allowing a guest crocheter to do a few hexes and mail them to me. HER random colours won't even go with MY random colours! My world is flying off it's orbit as I type this!

Wish me luck. I wonder what my next baby step will be? Cooking supper without a recipe? Letting the machine choose my lottery numbers? Whoa - one step at a time.

Kathryn : )

P.S. I must give credit to Lucy, for inspiration and instruction. Never met her, but like her already!

Happy New YARN !

2009-12-31T14:20:00.004-08:00

I'm using all these luscious colours to make an afghan. In the New Year.

I do have some resolutions, but they are quite similar to many other peoples'.

I do have some reflections, but those are similar too.

Great minds think alike, eh?

So Happy New Yarn, Happy New Year, Snappy Poo Beer, Flappy Dew Spear.....

and here's to 2010!

Kathryn : )

Recently, formerly active mom

2009-12-29T11:20:00.012-08:00

Is there a term for a mother who no longer actively mothers? A mom whose children have grown up and don't need her to feed and dress them? To set rules? To guide and advise? To nurse and chauffeur and remind and nag and admonish? To kiss boo-boos?

Ex-mom isn't quite right.
Passive mom? No, not quite right either.
Retired mom? Former mom?
Wrong. Wrong!

Chiddow? No, they haven't died; they've just grown up.

Maybe it's like the American President. Once they're no longer doing the job they're still called President so-and-so. What was once a vocation is now just a title. In honor of what they USED to do.

Mom-no-longer-in-office? Nah.

The ironic thing is, if you're an effective mother, you gradually work yourself out of a job. Planned obsolescence, in a way. Not designed to break, but to withdraw, to disengage.

To let go.

The great philosopher Velcro said it best: "RRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiipppp!"
(As in TIME has RIPPED my BABY from my LOVING ARMS. That's twice now, and it's not getting easier.)

It's pathetic, really, the way I just can't face reality. Like an aging starlet auditioning for leading lady, but getting the role of "old woman on bench". A background character in a filler scene, destined for the cutting room floor.

Two stories come to mind on this morning that I contemplate stale motherhood.

First story: This morning I made muffins for my 19-year-old. He still lives here, but just barely. He's been quite sick with a cold. Coughing and hacking all night, ignoring all advice to come home earlier than 3:00 am, to eat something other than fast food, to rest a little.
Last night he finally confessed that he hasn't been eating much lately - too sick - and that he needs to eat some good food.
This morning I laid out the wholesome ingredients: - nutri-flour, real butter, milk, eggs, blueberries (his favourite), and stirred the muffin-batter with passionate, motherly, jiggly arms.
Lovingly spooned it in to the cups and double-checked the oven timer. Popped those steaming bits of heavenly goodness onto a serving plate and drizzled butter on top, perfectly timed for his noon-ish emergence from the lair-cum-bedroom.

"Muffins!" I exclaimed breathlessly. "Fresh blueberry muffins!". "I've made them just for you", I trilled!

"Oh", he said, jiggling his car keys and guzzling cough syrup straight from the bottle, "I'm going out for breakfast with Anisha and Isaac".
And then he left.

I am now alone in the house with 12 muffins. Okay, okay, now only 10 muffins. Burp.
But, the point is - he doesn't need me. Wah!
He has total freedom, and I'm still emotionally stuck to him like the dingle-berry on my cat's bum.
I'm supposed to rejoice in his independence? Bah. I want to shove a muffin in his tail-pipe!

Second story:
Last summer I was out walking on the sea-wall in White Rock. A sea-side community with touristy shops, ice-cream parlours etc. Both sidewalks on either side of the main drag are thick with strollers, walkers, and runners of all ages. Beaches clogged with youth and beauty and bare skin....

A shirtless young man, of about 16 years, is walking toward me on the sidewalk. Behind him is a group of four women between 50-60 years old. Across the street the young man/boy spies a woman who must be his mother. It's an accidental meeting, but he wants something.
"Mom", he calls, and then louder, "MOM"! (like he's about to ask for the car keys or to borrow 20 bucks or something).

Without hesitation, with nary a conspiratorial look at each other, the four women behind the young man shout, in perfect unison, "WHAT?", and then burst into cackling, hysterical laughter.
They laughingly look around them, to see if everyone gets it. Does everyone get the joke? Yes, we do! They aren't his mom, but they still answer to Mom!
The young man starts to laugh then, as does his real mom, and the rest of us within hearing range.

We all get it: Once a mom, Always a mom. Even if we only practice occasionally. We still glow with pride; we still worry and fret. Sometimes we hover.
Maybe it should be called, "Mom-on-standby". We don't have to re-learn how to ride the mom bicycle, because we never really got off of it. We just coast, or pedal off in new and exciting directions, but we always circle back. Just to check. And if called, we'll be there in a heartbeat. Baking pans and band-aids and all.

Feeling bitter-sweet today,
Kathryn : )

Random Happiness

2009-12-27T17:33:00.018-08:00

This is the limbo between Christmas and the New Year.

For me, days of rest, relaxation and resolve. The most guilt-free days of the year, between the cyclone of Christmas, and the New Year, new goals and the advent of our busy season at work. Good intentions and unpredictable results.

One of the good intentions involves seizing the day and living in the moment. Finding happiness lying on the ground, picking it up and squeezing the poop out of it. Simple pleasures, fleeting moments. Bright and sharp and clear.

Some random things that make me happy:

A varied thrush eating a leftover baked potato. Cold. With snow on it. Probably the first potato he ever had in his life. Wonder what he thought of that?

A bevy of bushtits (love that name) decimating the suet block. Such flighty things, travelling in chittering clumps. Here and gone.

My daughter and mother wearing the scarves I made for them.

...and my son, and daughter's boyfriend wearing THEIR scarves...

...and my brother and father wearing THEIR scarves....

....and my husband wearing HIS scarf - the one I fudged a bit because it was my first one, and he said he'd have it so I could give the better ones to the rest of the gang. He's like that.

...and finally locating our missing cat. Half-way up the 10-foot Christmas tree. All 20 pounds of him. Just chillin' and thinking cat thoughts.

Happiness appears in the oddest places. Grab it and hold it tight, just for a moment!

Kathryn : )

Tragedy Strikes Local Village. Many Stricken.

2009-12-22T11:27:00.023-08:00

'Twas a peaceful day in the village.....................

Suddenly, a plague descended upon the townspeople.

Witnesses see a mysterious CREATURE slinking through the village, striking innocent victims at random.

At last the CREATURE is revealed. It's Milo-zilla!!!!

There goes the Church!

Kathryn (and Milo) : )

Mother Nature's Gift

2009-12-10T10:34:00.018-08:00

To all those who are expecting a thoughtful post, saturated with meaning, brimming with wisdom and beauty:
You've come to the wrong blog.

This IS about nature's gift to me on my birthday (which was a few days ago), but it isn't particularly insightful, respectful nor anything other-ful. OK, maybe AWE-ful. Not full of awe, but just plain awful. The post, that is, not the gift, which was, er, splendid.

First, though, an apology for being absent for a month. I've been wrapped up in hand-wringing guilt, gut-wrenching worry, and basic survival. This is absolutely normal for me. Also, I've been going to work, sitting in Starbucks, gabbing with friends, and doing crafty things.

AND.... Annie has nominated be for a blog award, even though I have been very lax lately. (Annie, I will do the award acceptance-and-pass-it-on-thing just as soon as I get a chance. I thank you profusely as I hold my hand to your feverish brow and ask you if you've lost your mind.)

Annie is a beautiful person, living her dream life in a peaceful Cariboo valley. I want to be just like her when I grow up, which will probably never happen, considering the fact that I will never grow up, as evidenced by the following....

You can see from the photo that it's just about freezing in this neck of the woods. At night, it IS freezing, and this fact has great relevance to my story.

We have a few bird feeders scattered about the yard, as well as a round plastic birdbath attached to one of the feeder poles. I take great joy in watching the furred and feathered friends who decimate the suet and suck down the seeds at a budget-breaking rate. Nature in action right outside my kitchen window!

The night before my birthday, I cleaned and re-filled the birdbath and placed it back outside. It remained clean for about a nano-second before someone flew by and pooped in it, but it was a lot better than before. I went to bed knowing that nature's creatures would once again have access to clean, clear (and chlorinated) water.

The next day....

First let me tell you about water turning to ice. Generally, water will freeze first around a shallow perimeter, and then move gradually toward a deeper center. Think of the frozen edges of a lake. Water expands as it freezes. As my little lake of birdbath froze from it's edges toward the center, it expanded and "squeezed" (squoze?) the deeper water in the middle.

Suddenly, in the dead of night, we experienced a re-creation of the big bang. A perfect. crystalline moment that I wish I'd captured in video. In a birdbath, no less. The last bit of water in the birdbath finally froze, creating what was, for me, an amazing gift from mother nature.

That's right: an Ice-Weenie.

Aqua Erectus.

H2O Unplugged.

Look at it in all it's firm splendour.

A rock! A monolith!

Firm and unyielding, it proudly stands and points to the constellation of Orion (either that or the outlet stores across the line in Bellingham, I'm not sure which).

It's not every woman who gets a gift like this on her birthday.

I think it's a sign. A sign that although I am one wrinkly year older, I am not one whit more mature.

Kathryn : )

The Big Orange Circle of Life

2009-10-26T10:33:00.026-07:00

Late October finds us once again preparing for that pagan holiday: Halloween.

Over 20 years ago I carved one small pumpkin for my first baby. Later, two pumpkins were carved for excited toddlers; me wielding the knife and they raking out the seeds and pulp with tiny fingers. Much mess and delighted laughter.

Later still; they grew to be able to draw the faces, hold the knives, and scoop out most of the muck. Invariable I cleaned up - at first because they couldn't do a good job, and later just to finish off their hurried efforts. Odd strings of orange slime pasted to counter-top edges and transferred from shirtsleeves to chair backs.

The tween years arrived. The costumes evolved from cute to macabre, fuzzy to gory. Interest in pumpkins waned slightly, and we no longer got them at the pumpkin patch, or grew our own, but grabbed them at the store during harried candy runs between work and home. Frenetic carving by Mom, candy flung into a bowl, and arguments about why they couldn't go trick-or-treating on their own this year even though "everyone else is allowed to!" Dad arriving home from work and being spun around at the front door and pushed back out to trail after impatient dead cheerleaders and chainsaw-massacre victims.

Older teens. Too old to look like they care about costumes, but too young to miss out on a pillowcase full of candy. Token make-up smeared on faces, and coat-less slouching out of the house to meet friends and knock on a few doors. Dad finally allowed to come home from work and stay home, only to be dragged outside to see 13 pumpkins carved by MOM. (I had to do something with my obsolete enthusiasm).

Mom and dad watching Halloween night TV with firecracker-traumatized cats scuttling about the house, all of us waiting for the kids to come home. Circumspect inspection of piles of candy dumped on the family room floor for sorting and trading. "That one looks like it's been tampered with - throw it out!". Rolled eyes and reluctant compliance. Pumpkin candles sizzled out by raindrops or burned down and flickering out on their own.

Finally, last year, I didn't carve any pumpkins. Didn't buy any. No roasted pumpkin seeds, no stringy muck. Lit a few candles in plastic pumpkins and placed them haphazardly in the driveway. Gave out candy to a new crop of kids I didn't know. One of my kids living elsewhere, the other one out at a party. Crappy Halloween - I felt empty.

This year - Hoo boy! My son and his girlfriend, blossoming young adults, decided to do it all. Drove to the store, bought the pumpkins with their own money (I don't care about the money, but it's a sign), scooped, carved, and cleaned up on their own!

They even bought a pumpkin for ME to carve.

Holy Cow. Talk about your circle of life whapping you in the face with delightful orange muck!

You cannot know the joy I felt, buzzing around the kitchen, roasting seeds, making pumpkin muffins, and watching "The Shining" (channel 53's fear fest playing discreetly in the background). I don't know whose smile was more manically gleeful - mine or Jack Nicholson's!

Sure, things have changed. The pumpkin have evolved from triangle-eyed innocents to cult movie characters (recognize Frank the Rabbit from Donnie Darko?). The kids are now definitely too old to go out trick-or-treating (and I will definitely not be able to sneak any candy from their spoils of war). Instead of "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown", we'll watch "The Simpson's Halloween Special". The cats are either too old or too deaf to flinch at the firecrackers, and Dave and I will go to bed before the remaining kid arrives home for the evening.

But, the Great Pumpkin has risen again, at least at our house, and the Big Orange Circle of Life continues.

A trip to London Drugs

2009-09-24T14:06:00.024-07:00

Call it a shopping trip, call it impulse buying, call it retail therapy, call it what you like. I went to London Drugs today while Dave was at the dentist.....heh heh heh. Another Canadian retail gem, it fills in some of the gaps left by my beloved Canadian Tire, because as much as I love Crappy Tire, one cannot buy prescription drugs nor skincare products there. At least, if you can, I haven't found that aisle.

So, off to LD to buy some hairpoo and other items. I got a bit carried away due to the fact that I had a basket over my arm and stuff kept jumping into it. Not my fault. Anyhoo, the first thing that jumped in was this Joico Hairpoo. HEAVY!

Not only is it one big mama of a hairpoo bottle, it also helps with one's balance. Says so right on the bottle, and here it is balancing on the fencepost so I can take it's picture. Here's a closeup! Isn't it talented?

After that I found the hairpoo I REALLY wanted, this pantene super volume stuff, because I've been noticing a lot of hair ripping falling out lately, so I've decided that I need to make the most of what remains. Here are my new pantene twins, and I hope they puff up my hair like botox-y lips, for that sexy tousled look we all want at all times.

Here are the twins. May they serve me well! Oh dear....a sudden, scary thought. Does this stuff plump up ALL the hair on one's body? Hmmm....This could lead to a bit of a 'fro below....

(if it does I'll let you know!) No I won't.

(So much for that wispy new underwear I just bought).

Ahem! Now on to some skin stuff:

I bought this Aveeno hand cream stuff because I saw a positive review of it in a QUILTING magazine, and I am currently in training to become a QUILTER and have bought all the stuff, so now I feel that I must have the handcream of a quilter, as well. Makes sense, no? Besides, I like the name. Aveeno, aveeno, aveeno. Ah-VEEEEE-no!

Then I saw this cool body wash stuff, so I threw that in the basket too.

Then I saw.... DAVE? Dave got out of the dentist and came into LD, so I had to run away down the aisle and around the corner so he wouldn't see me (and stop me). So much for more Aveeno.

Around the corner from the Aveeno aisle is the hand soap section. I hurriedly grabbed an olive-leaf scented pump bottle and scurried around back to the skincare aisle. I caught sight of Dave looking for me, but dropped to the floor and rolled behind a display of hot water bottles, where I waited until he passed. I saw him pressing buttons on his cell phone, so I quickly turned mine off!

As I got to my feet I found myself face to face with the Oil of Olay section. Interpreting this as a divine message from above I grabbed a bottle of Olay Total Effects (7 in 1 Anti-Aging Moisturizer, plus 'Touch of Sun') and thought, "What the heck, you only live once (but look like you've lived 8 times by the time you're done). I am ready for anti-aging. Bring it on! De-wrinklify me! Puff up the rest of me to match my hair!"

Suddenly I heard Dave approaching again, so quickly dove behind a tower of Depends (unlike the Oil of Olay, I refuse to interpret THIS as a message from above. Not ready for Depends yet. ) until he passed. Crawling under his radar, I rounded another aisle. I found myself right in front of a new product I've been wanting to try: Tetley Tea Infusions. Here it is, and I see I've accidentally intentionally photographed the French side, because here in Canada we are all bilingual, which means we all have two lips, and therefore can sip some of this Tetley Tea Infusions through a straw. I'm so glad I'm bilingual. Oh Canada, bien agiter!

OK, enough pictures of my shameless consumerism. Dave eventually caught me in the Premature Halloween Candy aisle, where I was trying to open up prevent a bag of Tootsie rolls from jumping in to my basket. Failed.

He added some batteries and a new water bottle, and we headed for the checkout.

As we left LD, Dave turned to me with suspicion love in his eyes. "Isn't your phone turned on?", he said.

"Honey", I said, "Never mind the phone. I bought this new Pantene stuff and can't wait to try it...."

Kathryn : )

There's nothing like a good BM

2009-09-21T15:46:00.005-07:00

Hi there,

First, a picture of my son, and my cat.

For no particular reason.

And now to the topic at hand, one that's near and dear to many of us:

Man there's nothing like starting the day with a good BM.

Today I had two, out on the deck.

Dave was with me, and he had two as well. After 25 years of marriage we often do this type of thing together.

They came out warm and steamy, but quickly cooled in the crisp autumn air.

In between the first and second BM we had coffee.

I honestly thought I was only going to have one BM this morning, but after the coffee I got the urge to have another one.

If Dave had his way he'd have at least 2 BM's every day, but I usually like to have one every couple of days.

And I usually like to have my BM by myself, so I don't have to worry about the look on my face, or the sounds that I make. Silly for me to be shy about it, but I am.

I debated long and hard with myself about whether to post any pictures, but finally decided that those who know me can handle it, and those who stumble on this blog by accident really don't have to come back.

Unless they're quite immature, like me.

Without further ado.....my two BM's, before I disposed of them and let the squirrels eat the residue.

(Warning - they came out a funny shape and I don't know why.)

Yes, these are my Bran Muffins (BM's).

What did you think I was talking about?

Kathryn : )

Now what's this all about?

2009-09-21T09:48:00.009-07:00

Now why is the dew on this plant all around the edges of the leaves? Very pretty - like a beaded edge. But what's it really all about?
Dave says it's the meniscus effect augmented by the boundary phenomenon. I know he just made all that stuff up instead of saying "I don't know".

Why is the spider upside-down? To get a head rush? Is this normal? Do they always do this?

Of all places to sit in the garage, why does Milo choose to sit in the sawdust under the table saw? Why?

Why am I so happy when I see this?

My mind is full of questions this morning.

Kathryn : )

A trip to Canadian Tire

2009-08-23T17:13:00.002-07:00

Howdy all,
Dave and I went to Canadian Tire today. What is Canadian Tire?, you ask.
Well....
How can I describe it? Basically, it's a House of Worship for all agnostic Canadians, a just a darned great place to go for all the other Canadians.
It started out as a TIRE store for gosh sakes. Hence the name.
Then.............they diversified!
You start your trip into Canadian Tire (or Crappy Tire, as many people call it, not because the tires are crappy, but because we Canadians have a weird sense of humour and have to put down our Canadian Institutions. It's really a term of endearment. Trust me. Just like we call Tim Horton's "Timmy Ho's", but I'll leave that for another day)

Back to Crappy Tire:
First you go through a shiny chrome turnstile. Whee!
Then, you glide past the credit kiosk, trying not to make eye-contact with the person who tries to get you to sign up for a Canadian Tire credit card. (We already have one, thanks!)

Once past the quagmire of the credit kiosk one is free to wander at will.
In our case Dave immediately took off for the tool section, while I shot off in the other direction toward the housewares, patio furniture, and handy gadgets areas.
I contemplated the coffee makers and crock pots, delighted in the dishes, marvelled at the mugs, prognosticated at the plastic containers, hemmed and hawed at the home decor section, and ruminated over a rack of spices! Picked up item number one: a bag of Masala Spice mix (the recipe on the back looked interesting).

A little later I leaped into the lighting section and ogled the Ott Lights. Anyone who is a stitcher knows what an Ott light is, but for those of you who don't - it's a light with a full spectrum or daylight bulb in it. I stopped to bow in adoration at the version that folds up, but couldn't justify buying it. Ott lite, I'll be back for you someday. Wait for me!

As I left the lighting section I rounded a corner and was nearly mown down by a large man pushing a buggy at breakneck speed. It was my husband!
"Looking for toilet paper", he announced purposefully, and whizzed past me into sections unknown.
I glimpsed two boxed office chairs in the buggy before he disappeared from sight.
After a lot more browsing I realized that I had lost Dave completely, so I whipped out my handy cell phone and called him!

Him: Hello?
Me: It's me! Where are you?
Him: (Tersely) I'm in automotive, waiting for them to put more (effing) tire gauges out.
(Dave is passionate about tire gauges)
Me: Well, I'm happy to browse some more, so just phone me if you can't find me!
Him: OK. They're out of (effing) toilet paper too, those slimy dogs!
Me: Oh dear! They've lured us here under false pretences. TP in the sales flyer, but none on the shelves!
Him: We'll have to get it some other (effing) place.
Me: (In soothing tones) I'm sure we'll find it at Safeway. Why don't you go to your happy place and get yourself a new screwdriver or something?
Him: (Somewhat mollified) Well maybe. I had my mind set on that (effing) TP. Double rolls.
Me: I know. They have no right to treat us this way. I'm going to go and buy a spatula.
Him: OK. Bye.

I wandered to the kitchen ware section and speculated on a spatula. Settled on a nifty number with blue silicon paddle and eco-friendly splintery wooden handle.
Wiggled the wooden spoons and nearly chose a cherry wood one, but left it for another day. After all, a new spatula and a package of Masala spice mix should be enough for anyone, right?

Eventually found Dave getting ready to head for the checkout. Cart full of aforementioned desk chairs, a handcart dolly thing, a few tire gauges (how many do we need? Is he buying them as stocking stuffers?), several packages of paper towels (in lieu of TP?), and a chopping knife.

Quickly seizing the opportunity I grabbed a bag of chili-lime pistachio nuts and a package of Voortman's Almond crunch cookies that were in the impulse section next to the batteries and Bic lighters.

What a haul!
Trundled home, and Dave put away his beloved paper towels in the space left by our decimated TP collection. Must get some TP somewhere! Meanwhile I put together one of the office chairs for my craft room, and am now resting my right arm, which is sore from screwing in the (effing) bolts to hold the thing together.

Hope everyone had as good a day as we did!
Kathryn : )

CATCH-UP POST

2009-08-21T14:30:00.002-07:00

Oh dear - it's been 10 days.

A brief catch -up then:

Finally got to meet an Internet friend in person. Alberta Ann and her husband Wilford came by for supper on their way to Vancouver Island. I think Dave scared them a little with his overall Dave-ness, but they handled it fairly well! I'll post a picture or 2 at some point.

While they were in our neck of the woods our son was away camping and managed to lose his cell phone in Osoyoos Lake for the second year in a row!

Before trip.......

Me: Don't lose your phone in the lake like you did last year.....

Son: (a tad scornfully) I'm not going to do that again mom!

After trip.....

Me: (Innocently) So you lost your phone in the lake, eh?

Son: (exasperated) The only reason I lost it was because it was in the pocket of my shorts when I jumped in the lake!

Me (I have no response to this stunning logic, and my tongue is now bleeding from biting it)

So...Off we go to the phone store to get him a new phone. He's on my contract, so I get the bill, but he pays me back. All this will change when he's 19 and a legal adult!

Anyhoo, fortunately I have a $150.00 credit towards a new phone.

Unfortunately, he doesn't want any of those cheap phones.

Fortunately he wants to buy a phone just like mine!

Unfortunately I got mine on an extreme promotion ($49.00) and the same phone now costs 400.00 MORE!

Fortunately the girl at the phone store encourages us to call our service provider and HAGGLE!

Unfortunately I'm not so good at haggling, and while I get some discount on the monthly contract I don't get a much discount on the actual phone, just my 150.00 credit, leaving phone still costing $300.00.

Fortunately the girl at the phone store tells me to CALL BACK AGAIN and KEEP HAGGLING!

Unfortunately this whole process takes over an hour and Dave is waiting for me to get to work

Fortunately my son gets on the phone and does a bit of haggling himself and we eventually get another 150.00 off the phone, so son is OK with paying 150.00 himself and we are feeling stoked about the whole affair. (while forgetting that we wouldn't have to be paying anything at all if he hadn't lost another phone in the lake).

Unfortunately son has little money to last until payday, so fortunately mom pays for the phone and then son buys mom a latte to celebrate and all is rainbows and sparkles and dolphins and unicorns and lollipops between mom and son. Son must pay mom back next payday. Mom feels like a dorky pushover, but wants son to have phone so mom can keep track of son. Mom wonders if she is normal, decides she is NOT normal, but doubts she will ever be able to do anything about it.

Son (who has a day off) goes home to play with new phone. Mom goes to work to earn money to pay for roof over son's head, future crises, etc.

More later,

Kathryn : )

My Favourite Things. Mine.

2009-08-08T10:40:00.001-07:00

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Sapling-like ankles, a husband who’s smitten,
Laundry that’s folded without static clings
These are a few of my favourite things

Cream coloured ponies and crisp apple strudels
Dumbbells and barbells and waistlines like noodles
Low interest mortgages absent of strings
These are a few of my favourite things

Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes
Sons who go driving and don’t end in crashes
Daughters who listen to wisdom I bring,
These are a few of my favourite things....

When the frog bites, When my knees sting
When I’m feeling saaaaaad
I simply remember my favourite things
And then I go out
To Dairy Queen and buy myself a blizzard.

Tales from the Bike Shop

2009-08-05T11:36:00.003-07:00

Yes, Yes, I'll post the conclusion to "Kath and Dave's Excellent Adventure" later, much later.

But for now, while I'm at work, it's "Tales from the Bike Shop".

http://www.motorcycle-parts.ca/ <---don't click here unless you want to go to a motorcycle website.

(Our web guy says that I have to do some link development for our motorcycle shop; this means plastering a link to our website from all sorts of places including this place.)

Two things happened that struck my funny bone like a hammer on an egg (WHAP!):

1. A customer of ours - I'll call him Bobo - called me up out of the blue, and sounding a bit inebriated, (in the middle of the day!), proceeded to start to tell me a dirty joke. Something about a white man and a black man and body parts etc. I had no chance to even protest that:

a) I'm at work and don't have time for jokes

b) I'm offended that he thinks I want to hear a dirty joke (do I give off vibes or something?)

Anyway, he gets partway through the joke and promptly forgets the punchline.

"I'll have to call you back", he says, briskly, despite the slurring. And hangs up.

I'm sitting there with my mouth open (Seems I am doing this more and more these days).

A few minutes later he calls back, tells the end of the joke, and then says "Don't tell Dave I told you this joke, or he'll kill me!"

I tell him, "I tell Dave everything!"

"OK, goodbye", he says quickly, and hangs up.

I'm laughing, not at the joke, but at the fact that this kind of weird thing happens here. Never in my 20 years at my former job, did I get a dirty joke call from a drunk customer. Ever.

----------------------------------

2. A customer comes in and asks if we have any metric nuts.

Dave tells the guy "Maybe my lovely wife can answer that - ha ha".

(Maybe this is why our customers think that I want to hear their dirty jokes)

I politely refrain from comment and wait for the speech....

Whenever customers come in and ask us for small things like nuts, bolts, screws, washers, etc Dave goes into a rant about not having time to look for small things, how much money his time is worth, did the guy bring in a sample with him, how can he look for something without a sample, no you can't go back there and look yourself, etc etc. Then he pronounces "If you want me to go back there and look for some obscure nut/bolt/screw without anything to go by, then it's going to cost (dramatic pause) TEN BUCKS per ITEM!" (Arms waving expansively).

Today, however, when the moon in the 7th house and Jupiter aligned with Mars, when peace shall reign the planets, and LOVE, LOVE will fill the stars............

Dave goes "back there" to look for metric nuts.

Very quickly he returns with exactly what the customer needs.

"How much do I owe you?", asks customer.

"NOTHING!", says Dave, "NO CHARGE!"

"Really?", asks customer, No charge?" (sounds like the guy has just won the lottery)

"NO CHARGE!", yells Dave, "It's Christmas in August!" (Arms waving expansively).

"Wow!", says customer. "This is wonderful!"

(The guy practically glides out, euphoric)

Rainbows and sparkles fill the air, and I am left wondering "Where am I?"

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Coming up next: Kathryn takes us on a tour of her craft room!

----------------------------------------------------------------------

While the Kid's away.....

2009-08-01T20:33:00.029-07:00

The parents play!

(or.....Kath and Dave's excellent adventure!)
Kath and Dave took a rare Saturday off today to create their very own 3-day weekend. Kath and Dave were very excited and had all sorts of plans to relax, rest, recuperate and get a few things done around the house.

Kath and Dave are a bit burned out from work and the recent heat wave. Kath had been near tears too many times in the past few weeks, and Dave was growing a little tired of the drama. OK, a LOT tired.
Saturday morning came early as Kath got up at 4:15 AM to say goodbye to son-who-is-going-camping. (ed note: Kath can be a pathetic idiot at times).
After son had left for the ferry, Kath decided to stay up and not miss A SINGLE MINUTE of her most excellent upcoming weekend. She checked her e-mail, sipped tea, made delicious apple muffins, and fresh coffee.

Eventually the sun rose, and Dave did too, after a much-needed sleep in. Kath and Dave looked at each other, faces bright and shiny with the promise of the day ahead. They sat at the table, eyes sparkling as they congratulated one another on daring to take a Saturday off in the middle of the busy season. "Some things are just more important than money!", they exclaimed in unison.
Little did they know that things would, eventually, go terribly, horribly wrong.
(mysterious and foreboding music plays faintly in the background).
After breakfast, Kath and Dave got busy with all manner of things both relaxing and productive.
Dave scooped the cat box, Kath loaded the dishwasher. Dave cleaned out a junk drawer, Kath
threw in a load of laundry. Dave puttered industriously, Kath puttered industriously. Things were going well.
At some point, Kath expressed a desire to go to the Organic (she calls it Orgasmic) Grocer to get some wholesome food and vitamins.
"Excellent idea, Kath!", chirped Dave.
"Not as excellent as all of your wonderful ideas!", replied Kath, a loving look on her face.
"You Rock, Kath!" sang Dave.
"Not as much as YOU Rock!" trilled Kath.

(Saccharine filled the air)

Kath and Dave got into their jolly little car and trundled off to the Orgasmic Grocer, pure and wholesome thoughts in mind. They bought a few vitamins and some wonderful ingredients to make their own high-fibre cereal. Not that they're at the age where they need fibre, or anything. They also got a free "Alive" magazine. Not that they're at the age where they like getting free stuff, whether they need it or not.

Here's a photo of some of the wonderfully wholesome things that Kath and Dave bought.

While standing in the check-out line, Kath had a great idea. "Sweetie-poo", she said, "I've heard that red wine can be good for one's blood pressure. What say we continue our quest for good health and wholesome activities by going to the liquor store and getting a nice, healthy, bottle?"

In an amazing coincidence, Kath and Dave BOTH have high blood pressure! Surely the fact that they are together 24 x 7, at home and at work, has nothing to do with it. But I digress.

"Excellent idea, Kath!", chirped Dave. "You ROCK!", he sang.
"Not as much as YOU Rock!", she trilled lovingly.

They hopped, again, into their jolly HOT little car, and drove across the street to the liquor store.
Little did they know that the activities of the next few moments would set in motion a downward spiral of greed, gluttony, malice, betrayal, and treachery!

(more of that music in the background. Now a bit louder)

Still innocent of the forces at work against them they entered the liquor store, where they were at once teased and caressed by the air conditioning.

"Oh, oh, oh!", they moaned, like Harry meeting Sally.

The other shoppers quickly backed away.

In their excited state, Kath and Dave picked up not only a delightful bottle of red wine, but a few other things. Obviously the air conditioning was too much for them.

Much of it was healthy - made from grapes, tomatoes, clams, mint, and....well.....distilled grain.
They emerged from the liquor store, delighted with their purchases, and flung them happily into the car.

"Say", said Dave, looking back toward the Orgasmic Grocer across the street. "Is that a BAKERY over there?"
"It sure is!", answered Kath, secretly delighting in her youthful husband's excellent eyesight.
"Hey, Sugar-Pea", said Dave. "What say we go over there and see if they have any wonderful pastries?

"Excellent idea, Dave! You ROCK!", said Kath
"Hurry up and get in the car, wench!, he said manfully.

Kath did as she was told. She loved it when he was forceful like that.

They drove back across the street toward the Orgasmic Grocer and walked into the bakery next door. "Just ONE wee pastry each?", they asked each other.
"Yes, just ONE EACH!", they agreed, and looked at the pastries.
The pastries looked back, and called to them, like sirens at sea, calling out, "Hey, Sailor!".
Time passed. 'Eternity in an hour', as Blake wrote.
Kath and Dave bought THREE pastries each. (They are now fluent in pastry patois)

The day was going so well that Kath and Dave decided to stop in at Safeway and buy an onion.
"Just an onion, fuzzy bear!" Kath called out lovingly as she stayed behind in the car to keep the windows rolled down for the sake of the pastries.
"Right ON, sugar cube!" sang Dave as he skipped gaily into the store......and had his second encounter that day, with AIR CONDITIONING.

It was an encounter that would change their lives.

Back at the car, Kath sang a little song to keep the pastries company.
"You make me feel like a natural WOMAN!", she brayed, to the mind-numbing horror of some innocent passers-by.
"Don't stare, dear", a mother admonished her child. "The poor devil was born that way, and can't help it."

Kath sang on, oblivious, her hips gyrating to the music as best they could while still seat-belted on to the hot, sticky seats. "Everybody have fun tonight! Everybody Wang-Chung tonight!"
"Squeak, squeak, squeak!", complained the seat.
Kath noticed that she could make different musical notes with the seat, by rubbing her sweaty legs across it in varying speeds. Quickly she improvised, by ear (or leg?) Beethoven's "Ode to Joy" (just like at our wedding, she remembered mistily)
She soon moved on to more difficult pieces, like the theme to "Bonanza". By the time she mastered "Flight of the Bumblebee" the seat was SMOKIN'! (and a crowd had gathered)

So she returned to singing......a medley of humpback whale tunes, in the hopes that dear Dave would hear her calling.....

The crowd dispersed. Rapidly.

Meanwhile, inside the store, Dave had just finished choosing a delicious red onion, when the strains of Kath's dulcimer voice reached him. As she whooped out a chorus of Broadway show tunes and segued into the Wim-a-way song (In the jungle the mighty jungle.....) he was struck so full of love for that durned spunky little woman, that he made a few extra purchases.

After going through the check-out ("Someone's a lucky girl!", exclaimed the check-out woman) Dave hopped like a bunny out to the car.

He opened the door, and held out, with a flourish, some gifts for his dyn-o-mite lady.
Roses and lottery tickets!

"Here ya go, little prune whip", he chuckled manfully.
"Oooooh", she squealed, delight squirting from every pore.
"Ah jest loves a gamblin' man", she crooned.

Kath and Dave took their purchases home in their jolly little sweltering car.
"My armpits are glued shut", thought Kath, as she stared lustily at the lottery tickets.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Time for a change

2009-07-22T20:11:00.003-07:00

Yep, you are (still) here!
I've changed the header photo.

Time for a bit more orange in my life, and a little less blue.
A bit more sherbet, and a little less poo.

A dish of ice-cream, a bowl of sauce,
some cleaner sneakers, a new lip gloss.

A tidy desk , a cleaner car,
a day perverse
and a night bizarre.

A frozen meatball, a jar of jam,
a life-sized toy-boy
carved from spam.

a new bird feeder, a guest
nuthatch,
some afternoon tea,
or a Kafee Klatsch!

(did I spell that right?)

a breast augmentation,
some fat reduction,
a tummy tuck
after liposuction!

an enzyme peel, a bikini wax
an accountant's help
with my income tax.

a turkey wattle, a chicken gizzard,
some hot mcnuggets,
and a DQ blizzard

a step machine
to work my thighs
to heck with that,
a side of fries

Just had to end this with a rhyme
so here I go for one last time

Ok, that is enough I guess.
Can you tell there's nothing on TV tonight?
(and I'm a mess...)

Why I am going crazy

2009-07-20T17:30:00.007-07:00

Several reasons for why I'm going crazy. Not all I can share in detail, but some I can.

(This is a flower from a pot on my deck. I think the flowers are trying to communicate with me. This one screams "Good morning!", doesn't it?)

1. There is cat vomit on my carpet. A new batch every day, it seems. One blob, in particular, looks a little like Elvis! Not sure whether to clean this one up or sell it on Ebay.

(This flower looks like Lucille Ball. "Ricky, Ricky!", she's calling....)

2. My son called me at home, from his cell phone, to ask when supper would be ready.

The punchline? He was calling from his bedroom. It took me a full minute to understand that he was, in fact, phoning me from inside my own house. (Kind of like those atrocious horror movies from the 80's where the babysitter finally figures out that the killer is ALREADY INSIDE THE HOUSE!)

Once the light bulb went on in my addled brain, and my mouth stopped flapping silently like a fish out of water, I was able to suggest that perhaps he could walk to the kitchen and ask me in person next time. If it wouldn't be too much trouble.

(These guys ar walking towards me, like zombies! See their little legs?

Creepy.)

3. A customer at work phoned me, and reamed me out, because I did not read his mind.

Really! This led to another episode of me staring at the phone trying to comprehend what was happening, and spending a few seconds doing the fish-mouth thing again.

Much later, after a blunt phone call back from my dear husband to aforementioned customer, and then an apologetic phone call from customer to me, I have developed a slight uneasiness around the phone. Trouble is - I have to answer the darned thing about 200 times per day.

Who will it be? Will they be mad at me? Will they want supper? Are they already in the building?

(This one looks like a pink elephant. See his ears? His trunk?

Apparently he's just gotten out of the shower.)

4. The nasturtiums are taking over the world!

(I think they ate the cat)

I need a vacation.