School's been out for The Boy since last Wednesday. He's been in non-stop party mode for over a week. Every time I see him, I ask, Do you still live with us?
Last night, he went to Curly's for another sleepover. So this morning, The Man and I borrowed the girl next door to play parents for a bit. No, it's because Girl's mom had appointments and asked if she could stay with us for the morning.
While we tended to our phone calls, e-mails and scheduling, Girl sat in a corner of the living room with her headset on, listening to her music and reading her book. She was quiet as a mouse.
Then we took Girl with us to meet my mother for lunch. After that, we went back to mom's to look through her paint supplies to see what else is needed before I take on the job of painting her basement. The Man and I decided to walk to a furniture store near her house to look around. So all four of us trooped out.
The sky became just a little cloudy and the wind picked up. For that reason, The Man handed Girl the car umbrella to hold. While inside the furniture store, the sky darkened and began a steady hosing of the ground. Not thinking much of it, we stepped out of the store to come home. No more than five steps later, thunder boomed, lightning clapped and the sky split open, pouring sheets of rain straight down.
Our umbrella went up immediately and the four of us - a middle-aged couple, a short senior citizen, and skinny 11-year-old Girl - huddled under it, exclaiming about the sudden and torrential nature of the rain, and noted it was not exactly rain that was coming down. It was hail - little pellets of ice that smattered to the ground and stayed ice.
Eight feet shuffled in uneven strides under the umbrella built for one, trying to head in the same direction, trying to not get wet and not trip each other. It was a futile effort. We hardly seemed able to move at all.
As we rounded a corner, we deeked into an alcove. Where did this opening in the wall come from? I've walked by this wall hundreds of times and have never noticed the alcove, a perfect piece of invisible shelter for a homeless person. Standing there with the umbrella as our awning, we expressed more admiration for the hail and rain that poured and poured, and how we could not see far in front of us.
The Man decided he would go get the car to pick us up. Girl wanted to go with him. This is an intersection in the city that is often home to the crazed, the homeless, prostitutes and drug addicts. So there mom and I stood, tucked in the wall, part of their streetscape as the rain beat around us. Mom said hello to two neighbours who went by.
The Man finally came around with the car. Girl came out with the umbrella to escort each of us into the car. We all got soaked anyway and Girl said she was cold. So I turned on the heat and told her she was a rescue ranger.
When Girl got home, she gave her mom the lunch we saved and related excitedly about her adventure and how pivotal she was in getting everyone into the car. Yeah, I think she'll remember us when she's a mom and tell her children of the day it hailed and what she did with Sylph and The Man that day.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Lazy And Lax
It is pleasant sitting here beside The Boy. He's on the desktop computer, I'm on my laptop. We sit side by side. He's playing Beatles tunes, some of which I have never heard.
The Man has gone to Port Hope to take his mother to Kingston for a doctor's appointment. It's a chance to get in some one-on-one time between mother and son, in both households.
The Boy and I have been fielding calls for The Man. Good friends have called to chat with him and welcome him back. We even have social invitations from family and friends. We are blessed to have these good people in our lives.
Other than that, I spent the day outside mostly. Sitting and reading. I wondered if my focus - my ability to concentrate on a reading a book - has returned now that The Man is back. It has not. I think it's not so much life disruptions, surprises and coasting that keep me from focusing. I think I need to wear eyeglasses full time. I concentrate better with them on. It's hard to pay attention to life when you can't see what's in front of you.
A few years ago, we all got new computers in the office. Everyone fiddled with their settings and screen colours, selecting the look and feel that defined their uniqueness. I set the default text on my computer to, well, to large. That way, I didn't have to strain to see what was on the screen. A coworker walked by, shielded his eyes and shrieked, Whoa, and those are settings for the visually impaired.
I think I have to face my impairment headon. Don the glasses and get on with reading. My book club won't wait.
The Man has gone to Port Hope to take his mother to Kingston for a doctor's appointment. It's a chance to get in some one-on-one time between mother and son, in both households.
The Boy and I have been fielding calls for The Man. Good friends have called to chat with him and welcome him back. We even have social invitations from family and friends. We are blessed to have these good people in our lives.
Other than that, I spent the day outside mostly. Sitting and reading. I wondered if my focus - my ability to concentrate on a reading a book - has returned now that The Man is back. It has not. I think it's not so much life disruptions, surprises and coasting that keep me from focusing. I think I need to wear eyeglasses full time. I concentrate better with them on. It's hard to pay attention to life when you can't see what's in front of you.
A few years ago, we all got new computers in the office. Everyone fiddled with their settings and screen colours, selecting the look and feel that defined their uniqueness. I set the default text on my computer to, well, to large. That way, I didn't have to strain to see what was on the screen. A coworker walked by, shielded his eyes and shrieked, Whoa, and those are settings for the visually impaired.
I think I have to face my impairment headon. Don the glasses and get on with reading. My book club won't wait.
Monday, June 26, 2006
Starting All Over
Now that The Man is home, he cooks. He easily slips back into his old routine. But he wakes up earlier, even without the call to prayer from the sound system of a nearby mosque.
This morning, The Man drove The Boy all the way to school. I don't do that with The Boy. I tell The Boy it's his responsibility to get up and leave the house in time to get to school on time. But The Man said he's missed The Boy's school for a whole year, so on the last day of school, he wanted to drive him. I tell The Boy this is an arrangement between him and his dad.
Later in the morning, The Man and I looked at photographs of his friends in Yemen, then we went out to do errands and have lunch on Bloor Street. I can't remember the name of the restaurant. Unmemorable food except for the fact their BLT is a triple-decker. Then we came home to set up my new free-standing hammock. I had to reconfigure my garden to fit it in. The hammock is bigger in my backyard than it looked in the garden centre.
Already, The Man has accused me of accusing him of being disagreeable. I tell him I wouldn't be having an argument about how to fix something if I just did it myself. Yesterday, I hung up an over-the-door shoe rack in the basement because it didn't fit over my closet door. He suggested I return the rack to the store. I was determined to make it work. So I built a ledge on a wall in the basement and hung the rack there. It is out of sight of living spaces and works perfectly now.
I think The Man is afraid of my new found power with electric tools and my Rambo style of getting things done. But I sure like having him around.
This morning, The Man drove The Boy all the way to school. I don't do that with The Boy. I tell The Boy it's his responsibility to get up and leave the house in time to get to school on time. But The Man said he's missed The Boy's school for a whole year, so on the last day of school, he wanted to drive him. I tell The Boy this is an arrangement between him and his dad.
Later in the morning, The Man and I looked at photographs of his friends in Yemen, then we went out to do errands and have lunch on Bloor Street. I can't remember the name of the restaurant. Unmemorable food except for the fact their BLT is a triple-decker. Then we came home to set up my new free-standing hammock. I had to reconfigure my garden to fit it in. The hammock is bigger in my backyard than it looked in the garden centre.
Already, The Man has accused me of accusing him of being disagreeable. I tell him I wouldn't be having an argument about how to fix something if I just did it myself. Yesterday, I hung up an over-the-door shoe rack in the basement because it didn't fit over my closet door. He suggested I return the rack to the store. I was determined to make it work. So I built a ledge on a wall in the basement and hung the rack there. It is out of sight of living spaces and works perfectly now.
I think The Man is afraid of my new found power with electric tools and my Rambo style of getting things done. But I sure like having him around.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Home
The Man's flight was only one hour late. We checked with the airport before heading out. I drove, avoiding the highway. It was an easy, smooth ride.
The Boy and I each brought a long-stem rose - The Boy's in white with a red ribbon, mine in red with a white ribbon. The Boy didn't want to hold his rose in public, except when I had to use the washroom. Then he held both flowers, pressing himself against the wall, trying to be invisible. So I went to the washroom often.
We stood in the crowded waiting room, watching passengers come through the ramp. I said to The Boy, "I wonder if we should have tied a giant yellow ribbon around the tree."
"Why? What's the significance of that?"
"You know, from the song, Tie A Yellow Ribbon Around The Old Oak Tree."
"I know of the song. What are the lyrics?"
So I sang him the song, humming through the parts where I've forgotten the words. The Boy inched away from me. But I moved towards him with each step, keeping him close to my song. Finally, he said, "Stop mom. You're so embarrassing."
Then I saw The Man. "There he is," I said to The Boy.
Quick as a flash, we moved into position. We placed ourselves against a pillar directly in The Man's path. We leaned into it, each with a bent knee, then we turned away, trying to look nonchallant, so that he could happen to bump into us. But The Man walked past, looking through the crowd for us. As he walked away, we chased after him.
"Help you with your luggage, mister?" I said when I got behind him.
He looked good, not even tired. It felt like I could have seen him last just yesterday. I blessed telephone technology and the internet. We did a group hug.
We got to the parking lot. He said, "I'll drive." And just like that, The Man resumed his place in our lives.
The Boy and I each brought a long-stem rose - The Boy's in white with a red ribbon, mine in red with a white ribbon. The Boy didn't want to hold his rose in public, except when I had to use the washroom. Then he held both flowers, pressing himself against the wall, trying to be invisible. So I went to the washroom often.
We stood in the crowded waiting room, watching passengers come through the ramp. I said to The Boy, "I wonder if we should have tied a giant yellow ribbon around the tree."
"Why? What's the significance of that?"
"You know, from the song, Tie A Yellow Ribbon Around The Old Oak Tree."
"I know of the song. What are the lyrics?"
So I sang him the song, humming through the parts where I've forgotten the words. The Boy inched away from me. But I moved towards him with each step, keeping him close to my song. Finally, he said, "Stop mom. You're so embarrassing."
Then I saw The Man. "There he is," I said to The Boy.
Quick as a flash, we moved into position. We placed ourselves against a pillar directly in The Man's path. We leaned into it, each with a bent knee, then we turned away, trying to look nonchallant, so that he could happen to bump into us. But The Man walked past, looking through the crowd for us. As he walked away, we chased after him.
"Help you with your luggage, mister?" I said when I got behind him.
He looked good, not even tired. It felt like I could have seen him last just yesterday. I blessed telephone technology and the internet. We did a group hug.
We got to the parking lot. He said, "I'll drive." And just like that, The Man resumed his place in our lives.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
The Bug
I want to share this story because I have the sweetest and cutest 4-year-old niece (Kid2). Sis and her family came for dinner last night and she sent this note to my sibs this morning...
------
Yesterday, there's this scary moth in The Boy's room. Kid2 watches in fearful glee as Aunt Sylph catches it in a container and asks, wide-eyed and brave, "Can I keep it?". Aunt Sylph instantly and easily makes it happen, transferring the bug into a Ziploc container. I have my reservations. Kid2 has been very obsessed with death since the loss of Granny, Dad and Friend, always asking me when I'm going to die, when Popo is going to die, etc.
Kid2 spends the rest of the evening worrying about "Princess", wanting her to get enough air, food, water. Holding onto the container in a half fascinated and half scared way, but insisting on keeping it with her as we go for gelato, as we travel in the car.
She wakes this morning and the first thing she says is "Where's Princess? Did she eat?". We come downstairs (I had given her water and some leaves before bed) and she's floating, lifeless in the water.
Kid2 is quiet and contemplative for awhile. She asks if the water bowl crushed her, if she didn't get enough air, etc. Then she starts to cry, really, really cry. Big tears streaming down her face. I hold her and start the "All living creatures have a life cycle and all moths die in about a day. Just like flowers. It's a part of life. Nothing could have stopped it." She's still crying. I'm beginning to curse Aunt Sylph.
I start the "But you gave Princess the happiest life she could have had. If you hadn't taken care of her, she would have ended her life on some wall, eventually getting wacked by a shoe. You gave her love and food and water and played with her. She died happy". That worked. She nods and smiles and says "I want to keep her in the house forever. I don't want to put her outside".
I explain that her body will fall apart and we can't do that. I remind her that we bury things that die and have funerals. I suggest we can do that in the backyard. "I'll put flowers on it and we'll live here forever and forever?". I say, "Yes".
"Can we do it now?" says Kid2. "Of course" I say, although it is 6:30 a.m., but she's no longer crying. We go to the kitchen and Princess is walking around the edge of the water bowl. We both startle a little and then we look at each other and start to laugh. I lift the lid and at the sight of Princess, Kid2 screams. She's still a little scared of Princess. It is a big, mottled, fluttering bug afterall.
"OK, so Princess isn't dead yet. You can still take care of her for now. But she probably will die sometime today and then we can have a funeral, OK?"
Thanks, Sylph.
------
That was a Kodak moment, no?
------
Yesterday, there's this scary moth in The Boy's room. Kid2 watches in fearful glee as Aunt Sylph catches it in a container and asks, wide-eyed and brave, "Can I keep it?". Aunt Sylph instantly and easily makes it happen, transferring the bug into a Ziploc container. I have my reservations. Kid2 has been very obsessed with death since the loss of Granny, Dad and Friend, always asking me when I'm going to die, when Popo is going to die, etc.
Kid2 spends the rest of the evening worrying about "Princess", wanting her to get enough air, food, water. Holding onto the container in a half fascinated and half scared way, but insisting on keeping it with her as we go for gelato, as we travel in the car.
She wakes this morning and the first thing she says is "Where's Princess? Did she eat?". We come downstairs (I had given her water and some leaves before bed) and she's floating, lifeless in the water.
Kid2 is quiet and contemplative for awhile. She asks if the water bowl crushed her, if she didn't get enough air, etc. Then she starts to cry, really, really cry. Big tears streaming down her face. I hold her and start the "All living creatures have a life cycle and all moths die in about a day. Just like flowers. It's a part of life. Nothing could have stopped it." She's still crying. I'm beginning to curse Aunt Sylph.
I start the "But you gave Princess the happiest life she could have had. If you hadn't taken care of her, she would have ended her life on some wall, eventually getting wacked by a shoe. You gave her love and food and water and played with her. She died happy". That worked. She nods and smiles and says "I want to keep her in the house forever. I don't want to put her outside".
I explain that her body will fall apart and we can't do that. I remind her that we bury things that die and have funerals. I suggest we can do that in the backyard. "I'll put flowers on it and we'll live here forever and forever?". I say, "Yes".
"Can we do it now?" says Kid2. "Of course" I say, although it is 6:30 a.m., but she's no longer crying. We go to the kitchen and Princess is walking around the edge of the water bowl. We both startle a little and then we look at each other and start to laugh. I lift the lid and at the sight of Princess, Kid2 screams. She's still a little scared of Princess. It is a big, mottled, fluttering bug afterall.
"OK, so Princess isn't dead yet. You can still take care of her for now. But she probably will die sometime today and then we can have a funeral, OK?"
Thanks, Sylph.
------
That was a Kodak moment, no?
Final Touches
The new couch is in. This is a picture of it that the store took.
The couch is delivered flat. The Boy hates it because it is not bright red. He wanted instead the one he saw on the floor in the store. It is flaming red, permanently flat (so a bed really), has a sectional cupholder at one end, and swivel backs at the other end. Quite a gaudy and gadgety contraption, just what Austin Powers would have in his shag shack.
Despite not getting what he wanted, The Boy swung into action and assembled the couch on his own. I was most impressed. He needed just minimal help to hold the couch in certain positions and figure out where certain screws and bolts went.
The couch's arrival and removal of the old couch turned the house more upside down than before. But it was good impetus to get cleaning and tidying up. We started about 1:30 pm when the couch arrived and I did not finish cleaning until 6:00 pm. It was exhausting but I felt much better after. Today, I just need to do some beauty treatment (it is never too late), stock up on some food and finish the laundry. Then tonight, we bring The Man home.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Walls Come Tumbling Down
According to The Man's travel itinerary, he's landed in Dubai and will spend the day there. If he hooks up with his cousin, they will have dinner together. Then he resumes his return home in the morning, local time.
The last couple of communications we've had felt somewhat strained. He says he's eager to come home, though he doesn't like where our home is. He's never been fond of our street nor of our immediate neighoburs. In the nine months away, he's developed a network of friends and support, picked up a new language, and experienced a new culture. I feel sad this time for him has come to an ended, that he's leaving his network of friends and associates.
He said he just wants to slip back into the city quietly, resume life as if he never left. But I wonder if he will be more cantankerous to live with, now that he will no longer circulate among an elite society of ex-pats and diplomats. Already, he's finding fault with whether I am "eager" or "anxious" for him to come home. How can I not be both?
To allay my anxiety and hone my eagerness, I attended an opening last night of gay art. I mingled with creative men and looked at pictures of pretty boys and penises. One of the artists did pastels of close up objects in brilliant colours. Those colours certainly captured my mood. Another artist did black and white photographs of beautifully juxtaposed subjects with that David Hamiltonish sensuality. That too captured my mood. A third did flatware art - sculptures made of forks, knives and spoons welded together so that from afar, the pieces of flatware look like sinewy muscles. The rawness of the male figures also spoke to my mood.
I am all ajitters. I am sure my anxiey will pass when I put my house back in order. It gets messier while you're cleaning it. In fact, it will be a mad dash around today because I managed to arrange a couch delivery for the afternoon, and The Boy wants to go see a movie in the afternoon and either to Wonderland or his teacher's farewell party in the evening. I've said no to the movie. I want him to help me clean up the house, at least his room and the basement where's he's been ensconced for three months.
We'll all need to get used to being with each other again. I get to resume my role as the bad guy, the disciplinarian, where The Boy is concerned. Good thing The Man and I made a pact not to divorce within the first month of him being home.
The last couple of communications we've had felt somewhat strained. He says he's eager to come home, though he doesn't like where our home is. He's never been fond of our street nor of our immediate neighoburs. In the nine months away, he's developed a network of friends and support, picked up a new language, and experienced a new culture. I feel sad this time for him has come to an ended, that he's leaving his network of friends and associates.
He said he just wants to slip back into the city quietly, resume life as if he never left. But I wonder if he will be more cantankerous to live with, now that he will no longer circulate among an elite society of ex-pats and diplomats. Already, he's finding fault with whether I am "eager" or "anxious" for him to come home. How can I not be both?
To allay my anxiety and hone my eagerness, I attended an opening last night of gay art. I mingled with creative men and looked at pictures of pretty boys and penises. One of the artists did pastels of close up objects in brilliant colours. Those colours certainly captured my mood. Another artist did black and white photographs of beautifully juxtaposed subjects with that David Hamiltonish sensuality. That too captured my mood. A third did flatware art - sculptures made of forks, knives and spoons welded together so that from afar, the pieces of flatware look like sinewy muscles. The rawness of the male figures also spoke to my mood.
I am all ajitters. I am sure my anxiey will pass when I put my house back in order. It gets messier while you're cleaning it. In fact, it will be a mad dash around today because I managed to arrange a couch delivery for the afternoon, and The Boy wants to go see a movie in the afternoon and either to Wonderland or his teacher's farewell party in the evening. I've said no to the movie. I want him to help me clean up the house, at least his room and the basement where's he's been ensconced for three months.
We'll all need to get used to being with each other again. I get to resume my role as the bad guy, the disciplinarian, where The Boy is concerned. Good thing The Man and I made a pact not to divorce within the first month of him being home.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Those Kinky Orchids
I have the impression the orchid is a rare and beautiful flower. Its acquisition is the subject of The Orchid Thief, which spawned the movie Adaptation.
So with curiosity, I clicked onto cbc.ca's article about a bisexual orchid.
The Holcoglossum Amesianum orchid grows high on tree trunks in China. It flowers during the drought season. High up and dry means no insects and no wind, the usual carriers of pollen. So what does this orchid do to reproduce? It self pollinates.
I may be new at gardening. But this sounds like the orchid is fucking itself. Those kinky orchids.
Which reminds me of The Boy the other day. He was reading Animal Farm the night before his English exam. After a while, I heard him shouting in the basement. Then he stomped upstairs, looking for a snack, muttering to himself, Those sneaky pigs, those sneaky pigs.
He said he had to take a break because those sneaky pigs were getting to him. How did pigs end up the bad guys? Sure, I read Charlotte's Web before Animal Farm. But that's just my point. In my world, pigs are naturally good guys.
And here I thought I was interferring with nature because tonight I took from my sister two clippings each of a white shrub rose and a japanese maple that I want to root. I have to buy rooting hormone powder and sterile potting soil for rooting.
What is natural? Is anyone normal? Whatever.
So with curiosity, I clicked onto cbc.ca's article about a bisexual orchid.
The Holcoglossum Amesianum orchid grows high on tree trunks in China. It flowers during the drought season. High up and dry means no insects and no wind, the usual carriers of pollen. So what does this orchid do to reproduce? It self pollinates.
The pollen-bearing anther uncovers itself and rotates through 360 degrees to insert pollen into its female cavity, the stigma.
I may be new at gardening. But this sounds like the orchid is fucking itself. Those kinky orchids.
Which reminds me of The Boy the other day. He was reading Animal Farm the night before his English exam. After a while, I heard him shouting in the basement. Then he stomped upstairs, looking for a snack, muttering to himself, Those sneaky pigs, those sneaky pigs.
He said he had to take a break because those sneaky pigs were getting to him. How did pigs end up the bad guys? Sure, I read Charlotte's Web before Animal Farm. But that's just my point. In my world, pigs are naturally good guys.
And here I thought I was interferring with nature because tonight I took from my sister two clippings each of a white shrub rose and a japanese maple that I want to root. I have to buy rooting hormone powder and sterile potting soil for rooting.
What is natural? Is anyone normal? Whatever.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
View From My Window
Now it's even sooner. The Man will be home Saturday night. That's four days from now.
I feel inexplicably anxious and paralyzed at the same time. Lots of nervous energy, but not the mental focus to get things done. I'm bursting with excitement to see him. But there is so much to do to get the house ready, and so little time. It's like exam paralysis all over again. Or maybe I am just nursing a knee injury, from tripping on my groovy long pants in my over-sized garden clogs going up the stairs and banging my knee into one of the steps.
The quote to take down the Manitoba maple ranges from $1,500 to $4,700. I am stunned. I will go with a quote in between that includes taking the wood away. But the latest arborist suggested I phone Bell because the tree is sitting on their lines. Removing that branch may mean taking down some of the lines, rendering our street without phone service.
Bell doesn't have a policy to cover what to do in preventative cases. The operator read through their policy with me. The problem, she said, is right now, their lines are fine, so they can't do anything about lines that are working fine. But she did promise to check into it and let me know if anything needs to be done to prevent disruption of service. Here I am trying to do the decent thing by alerting them to a potential problem.
I'm also trying to bring in a new couch before The Man arrives. Unlikely though unless I want to go pick it up. I need time and muscles.
I need to make room in the closet and clear my things out his side of the dresser. And can I lose 30 lbs by Saturday?
The Boy however is living moment to moment. He went off to his final exam this morning, asking me to make arrangements to spend time with his young cousins Kid1 and Kid2, as he left the house. What made him think of them this morning instead of his dad?
I am drinking my mint tea and taking stock of the landscape in front of me. I can't move mountains, nor the tree before The Man gets home. I suppose I can clean the house. I did stock the fridge with beer, and got a new grill surface for the barbeque. I even have a route to the airport. I wonder if I should take up smoking.
I feel inexplicably anxious and paralyzed at the same time. Lots of nervous energy, but not the mental focus to get things done. I'm bursting with excitement to see him. But there is so much to do to get the house ready, and so little time. It's like exam paralysis all over again. Or maybe I am just nursing a knee injury, from tripping on my groovy long pants in my over-sized garden clogs going up the stairs and banging my knee into one of the steps.
The quote to take down the Manitoba maple ranges from $1,500 to $4,700. I am stunned. I will go with a quote in between that includes taking the wood away. But the latest arborist suggested I phone Bell because the tree is sitting on their lines. Removing that branch may mean taking down some of the lines, rendering our street without phone service.
Bell doesn't have a policy to cover what to do in preventative cases. The operator read through their policy with me. The problem, she said, is right now, their lines are fine, so they can't do anything about lines that are working fine. But she did promise to check into it and let me know if anything needs to be done to prevent disruption of service. Here I am trying to do the decent thing by alerting them to a potential problem.
I'm also trying to bring in a new couch before The Man arrives. Unlikely though unless I want to go pick it up. I need time and muscles.
I need to make room in the closet and clear my things out his side of the dresser. And can I lose 30 lbs by Saturday?
The Boy however is living moment to moment. He went off to his final exam this morning, asking me to make arrangements to spend time with his young cousins Kid1 and Kid2, as he left the house. What made him think of them this morning instead of his dad?
I am drinking my mint tea and taking stock of the landscape in front of me. I can't move mountains, nor the tree before The Man gets home. I suppose I can clean the house. I did stock the fridge with beer, and got a new grill surface for the barbeque. I even have a route to the airport. I wonder if I should take up smoking.
Monday, June 19, 2006
Penelope Gets Ready For Odysseus' Return
I don't know what to make of this. It looks like The Man is coming home. The Boy and I are thrilled. Then we asked each other, But where will he live? And we burst out laughing.
But seriously, I need to get the house ready for The Man's return. He could arrive as early as June 26. As eager as I am to see him, his return is badly timed.
For one thing, I have to give up a vacation to be home for his arrival. Construction workers are still on the street blasting away at the sidewalks starting at 8:00 a.m. Dust is everywhere. Our next door neighbours have moved out and contractors power up tools everyday to improve the house's curb appeal. Noise every minute. And then there is the tree with the split trunk in the backyard.
I've had six tree companies promise a quote. I've only received two so far. Two said they are backlogged and will get to us as soon as possible. Two were no shows.
To cut a mature tree, I need to get a permit from the city, which takes 90 days. But the two arborists who provided quotes said in our case, taking the tree down is urgent enough that they would do so without a permit. But they still have to submit paperwork and photos to the city, which means two weeks before they can start the work.
The Man will be coming home to a house taken over by workmen. Meanwhile, I'm devastated by the heat and am unable to move about much. So the house will be dirty too. And the garden unfinished. I don't want to seed grass and put in any more plants that could be destroyed with the tree removal. He's asked for cold beer.
Thank god the wind came in tonight to provide some relief. But the temperature promises to be hot for the rest of the week. Welcome home, dear.
But seriously, I need to get the house ready for The Man's return. He could arrive as early as June 26. As eager as I am to see him, his return is badly timed.
For one thing, I have to give up a vacation to be home for his arrival. Construction workers are still on the street blasting away at the sidewalks starting at 8:00 a.m. Dust is everywhere. Our next door neighbours have moved out and contractors power up tools everyday to improve the house's curb appeal. Noise every minute. And then there is the tree with the split trunk in the backyard.
I've had six tree companies promise a quote. I've only received two so far. Two said they are backlogged and will get to us as soon as possible. Two were no shows.
To cut a mature tree, I need to get a permit from the city, which takes 90 days. But the two arborists who provided quotes said in our case, taking the tree down is urgent enough that they would do so without a permit. But they still have to submit paperwork and photos to the city, which means two weeks before they can start the work.
The Man will be coming home to a house taken over by workmen. Meanwhile, I'm devastated by the heat and am unable to move about much. So the house will be dirty too. And the garden unfinished. I don't want to seed grass and put in any more plants that could be destroyed with the tree removal. He's asked for cold beer.
Thank god the wind came in tonight to provide some relief. But the temperature promises to be hot for the rest of the week. Welcome home, dear.
The Game
Was that not the best hockey game?
I like playoff finals. The game is fast and intense, the players are focused on playing well. No fighting, few penalties. When they play like this, this is the kind of hockey I am proud to call Canada's national sport.
Next year, Go Leafs Go.
Carolina sealed their win by scoring into an empty net, winning 3 to 1 against Edmonton. Need I say more?
I like playoff finals. The game is fast and intense, the players are focused on playing well. No fighting, few penalties. When they play like this, this is the kind of hockey I am proud to call Canada's national sport.
Next year, Go Leafs Go.
Carolina sealed their win by scoring into an empty net, winning 3 to 1 against Edmonton. Need I say more?
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Re-routing
I get a kick out of talking to The Boy's friends on the phone. Yesterday, Curly called.
"Hello, is The Boy there?"
"No. Curly, is that you?"
"Yes. Umm, do you know where The Boy is?"
"Curly, he's with you."
"Wwwwhat?"
"Are you with Jock?"
"No. Jock is probably at his house."
"And you?"
"I'm at my house. (Shouts away from the phone) Mom, is Jock here? How about The Boy?"
"I dropped The Boy off at Jock's house an hour ago because he was meeting you there."
"Oh. I better get over there then. Bye."
"Hello, is The Boy there?"
"No. Curly, is that you?"
"Yes. Umm, do you know where The Boy is?"
"Curly, he's with you."
"Wwwwhat?"
"Are you with Jock?"
"No. Jock is probably at his house."
"And you?"
"I'm at my house. (Shouts away from the phone) Mom, is Jock here? How about The Boy?"
"I dropped The Boy off at Jock's house an hour ago because he was meeting you there."
"Oh. I better get over there then. Bye."
Friday, June 16, 2006
Our Old House
Our sidewalks are being dug up. City workmen are putting in gas metres on the outside of each house. A few days ago, when I walked past one of the workmen, I asked him what they were doing on the street. He said, "Oh we're putting in a beer line, direct from the brewery to your house. Everyone gets a tap. You just turn it on and out comes beer. You want yours tapped to Labatt's or Molson's?" I said either is fine, just make sure it's cold.
This morning, I heard drilling and rumbling outside. When I came out, our car was covered in white dust. There was a retactangular hole in our sidewalk.
When The Boy came home from a shortened school day, he saw the workmen on our front lawn, sitting beneath the tree having their lunch. Some were sitting on our bench beside the flowers.
Ours is a nice looking, welcoming front. Not so pristine clean and pesticided you fear stepping on it would damage the grass or you. It says come rest here abit. When you come upon it, it's like finding the perfect camp site - it's rough, but looked after, shady but dry, casual but not shabby. Really, I think our house exudes friendliness.
I am honoured the workmen chose our lawn to lunch on.
This morning, I heard drilling and rumbling outside. When I came out, our car was covered in white dust. There was a retactangular hole in our sidewalk.
When The Boy came home from a shortened school day, he saw the workmen on our front lawn, sitting beneath the tree having their lunch. Some were sitting on our bench beside the flowers.
Ours is a nice looking, welcoming front. Not so pristine clean and pesticided you fear stepping on it would damage the grass or you. It says come rest here abit. When you come upon it, it's like finding the perfect camp site - it's rough, but looked after, shady but dry, casual but not shabby. Really, I think our house exudes friendliness.
I am honoured the workmen chose our lawn to lunch on.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Perfectly Timed
Cousin Kiki has been gone for less than half a day and already I miss her. It feels like we've been partying at the house non-stop since Saturday. Sil's husband dubbed her my "domestic partner for a couple of weeks".
This time around, Kiki helped me cut back the gnarly cedars, so overgrown they threatened to cast our garden in eternal darkness; she drew my attention to the giant crack in the Manitoba Maple, thereby saving surrounding houses from irreparable damage and possible loss of lives; she inspired the Wishing Rod, unleashing a flood of creative ideas in me; she showed me how to nip my neighbour's succulent plants and strike them (ha ha, I would never even have used words like these); she provided structure, stability and companionship that enabled me to get on with some of my projects, she gave reason for The Boy and I to see more of cousins from The Man's side of the family; she allowed me to share in the joy and trepidation about her activities.
I think we share a similar approach to life: While we appreciate order and planning, we don't let the details bog us down.
Too bad she doesn't like shoe shopping.
Like her last visit, she showed up this time like a perfectly timed dose of fertilizer for me. Who am I to question why things happen the way they do?
This time around, Kiki helped me cut back the gnarly cedars, so overgrown they threatened to cast our garden in eternal darkness; she drew my attention to the giant crack in the Manitoba Maple, thereby saving surrounding houses from irreparable damage and possible loss of lives; she inspired the Wishing Rod, unleashing a flood of creative ideas in me; she showed me how to nip my neighbour's succulent plants and strike them (ha ha, I would never even have used words like these); she provided structure, stability and companionship that enabled me to get on with some of my projects, she gave reason for The Boy and I to see more of cousins from The Man's side of the family; she allowed me to share in the joy and trepidation about her activities.
I think we share a similar approach to life: While we appreciate order and planning, we don't let the details bog us down.
Too bad she doesn't like shoe shopping.
Like her last visit, she showed up this time like a perfectly timed dose of fertilizer for me. Who am I to question why things happen the way they do?
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Power Ranger
Ever since I fixed my mother's drywall, I've been quite the handywoman.
I have done the following repairs:
1. Replaced door locks.
2. Unclogged the kitchen sink.
3. Changed the furnace filter.
4. Installed a horizontal rod that suspends from the ceiling so I can hang dry my delicates.
5. Rigged a keyless lock for my garden gate.
6. Replaced the coupling on a garden hose.
7. Repaired two leaks in a garden hose with clamp-style fittings.
8. Replaced the closer on a storm door. I like using the electric drill.
9. Repaired fencing. Hammer in hand feels goods.
10. Trimmed the overgrown cedars in the garden. I like using the electric hedger.
11. Replaced a bathtub faucet.
My latest work includes:
12. Mounting the first rendition of an installation art in the backyard.
The art is the one that looks like a dead stick in the ground to the untrained eye, not the silly light bamboo stick that The Boy uses as a gun and I forgot to remove before taking the photo.
This is a wishing rod that doubles as a bluejay perch. The bluejays have been coming in to use the birdbath. They rest on this stick between dips. But aside from that, this is a rod I can hang wishes on. It is an idea inspired by Kiki. I can write out my wish on a stroll and hang it on one of the pegs on the rod. Or I can hang a laminated photograph of someone I care about. Or I can hang an empty picture frame so that the framed view changes with the wind.
In later renditions, this will be a wishing tree, with long branches stretching from the trunk. This is an art installation that will evolve with the season, the materials available, and my mood.
13. Constructing a free-standing base for my trellis. See the stand that the trellis sits in? I designed and built it.
The trellis is now a free standing unit that requires no mounting to the house. It stands behind the rose bush, waiting for the rose vines to climb it.
And that's not all. My range of house projects runs deep and wide.
My biggest challenge to date will take place this weekend. I will drain and unhinge the toilet to replace the toilet seal to stop water leaking on the floor.
Then I will regrout the tiles on a bathroom wall.
And to think I only score in the 20th percentile in every mechanical aptitude test I've ever taken.
I have done the following repairs:
1. Replaced door locks.
2. Unclogged the kitchen sink.
3. Changed the furnace filter.
4. Installed a horizontal rod that suspends from the ceiling so I can hang dry my delicates.
5. Rigged a keyless lock for my garden gate.
6. Replaced the coupling on a garden hose.
7. Repaired two leaks in a garden hose with clamp-style fittings.
8. Replaced the closer on a storm door. I like using the electric drill.
9. Repaired fencing. Hammer in hand feels goods.
10. Trimmed the overgrown cedars in the garden. I like using the electric hedger.
11. Replaced a bathtub faucet.
My latest work includes:
12. Mounting the first rendition of an installation art in the backyard.
The art is the one that looks like a dead stick in the ground to the untrained eye, not the silly light bamboo stick that The Boy uses as a gun and I forgot to remove before taking the photo.
This is a wishing rod that doubles as a bluejay perch. The bluejays have been coming in to use the birdbath. They rest on this stick between dips. But aside from that, this is a rod I can hang wishes on. It is an idea inspired by Kiki. I can write out my wish on a stroll and hang it on one of the pegs on the rod. Or I can hang a laminated photograph of someone I care about. Or I can hang an empty picture frame so that the framed view changes with the wind.
In later renditions, this will be a wishing tree, with long branches stretching from the trunk. This is an art installation that will evolve with the season, the materials available, and my mood.
13. Constructing a free-standing base for my trellis. See the stand that the trellis sits in? I designed and built it.
The trellis is now a free standing unit that requires no mounting to the house. It stands behind the rose bush, waiting for the rose vines to climb it.
And that's not all. My range of house projects runs deep and wide.
My biggest challenge to date will take place this weekend. I will drain and unhinge the toilet to replace the toilet seal to stop water leaking on the floor.
Then I will regrout the tiles on a bathroom wall.
And to think I only score in the 20th percentile in every mechanical aptitude test I've ever taken.
Monday, June 12, 2006
The Allure Of Celebrity Gossip
This whole Brangelina baby affair has got even me wagging my tongue in public as if I am a regular consumer of celebrity gossip. I am, but I am also in denial. I think celebrity gossip is my guilty pleasure the way some people secretly love...Barry Manilow, John Denver and Flakies, even though you know they are sickly sweet and bad for your image as an urban sophisticate.
So it is to my great delight that cousin Kiki, the multi-media artist, presenter at the University of Toronto's Subtle Technologies conference, guest feature of G5 Tech TV, and guest lecturer at the Canadian Film Institute, also follows paparazzi news. When we went shopping this week, she insisted on buying the National Enquirer and the People magazine featuring Angelina, Brad and Shiloh on the cover.
She knows more about what celebrities are up to than I do. For example, she exclaimed, What's going on with Katie and Matt? I ventured with, Urrr...Katie Holmes and Matt Dillon? She said, You're really struggling with that one. She meant Katie Couric and Matt Lauer. Duh, of course.
But the truth is, aside from knowing they are (was for Katie) the hosts of the Today show, I have never actually seen the show. In fact, most of the time, I don't know who the celebrities are that get gossiped about. Cousin Kiki admits as much - she doesn't know who most of the celebs are either. Yet, both of us are drawn to celebrity gossip the way a crack in the ground sucks in water.
Kiki has a friend who did a PHD thesis on the allure of celebrity gossip. Her theory is that in past times, there were the bible, Greek myths, Chinese gods, Indian deities. Almost every culture had its own polytheistic gods that bore human characteristics and interacted with humans. After that, people turned to kings and queens for stories. Their stories are our metanarrative - stories that are bigger than ourselves. In our secular world of technology, we have done away with the gods, royalty, and folklore. But we've got zoom cameras. So where we used to look for the numinous in our gods, we now we turn to celebrities for our metanarrative. We have the tools to look closer at lives that are beyond us. At the same time that we put celebrities on a pedestal, we want to squeeze the humanness out of them to make sure they are just like us.
Oh, I can say that I am doing social research, or I am assessing the social observations of Chaucer, Shakespeare and Dickens to see if they still apply in the 21st Century. But the truth is, celebrity gossip requires little effort or investment on my part. I can don a deliciously wicked persona without actuallly investing in a relationship. The carryings on of celebrities, or the way the paparazzi rewrites their lives, is highly entertaining. I really just want to do nothing and be entertained. It is my own theatre of the absurd. Wonder if Chaucer would have anything to say about that.
So it is to my great delight that cousin Kiki, the multi-media artist, presenter at the University of Toronto's Subtle Technologies conference, guest feature of G5 Tech TV, and guest lecturer at the Canadian Film Institute, also follows paparazzi news. When we went shopping this week, she insisted on buying the National Enquirer and the People magazine featuring Angelina, Brad and Shiloh on the cover.
She knows more about what celebrities are up to than I do. For example, she exclaimed, What's going on with Katie and Matt? I ventured with, Urrr...Katie Holmes and Matt Dillon? She said, You're really struggling with that one. She meant Katie Couric and Matt Lauer. Duh, of course.
But the truth is, aside from knowing they are (was for Katie) the hosts of the Today show, I have never actually seen the show. In fact, most of the time, I don't know who the celebrities are that get gossiped about. Cousin Kiki admits as much - she doesn't know who most of the celebs are either. Yet, both of us are drawn to celebrity gossip the way a crack in the ground sucks in water.
Kiki has a friend who did a PHD thesis on the allure of celebrity gossip. Her theory is that in past times, there were the bible, Greek myths, Chinese gods, Indian deities. Almost every culture had its own polytheistic gods that bore human characteristics and interacted with humans. After that, people turned to kings and queens for stories. Their stories are our metanarrative - stories that are bigger than ourselves. In our secular world of technology, we have done away with the gods, royalty, and folklore. But we've got zoom cameras. So where we used to look for the numinous in our gods, we now we turn to celebrities for our metanarrative. We have the tools to look closer at lives that are beyond us. At the same time that we put celebrities on a pedestal, we want to squeeze the humanness out of them to make sure they are just like us.
Oh, I can say that I am doing social research, or I am assessing the social observations of Chaucer, Shakespeare and Dickens to see if they still apply in the 21st Century. But the truth is, celebrity gossip requires little effort or investment on my part. I can don a deliciously wicked persona without actuallly investing in a relationship. The carryings on of celebrities, or the way the paparazzi rewrites their lives, is highly entertaining. I really just want to do nothing and be entertained. It is my own theatre of the absurd. Wonder if Chaucer would have anything to say about that.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Firewood, Anyone?
This is the left arm of a tree that is at least 20 years old. It sits in our backyard. It's been there since we moved into the house 18 years ago. The right arm, not shown, reaches straight up, with a trunk no less thick than the left arm.
I've seen this crack in the tree in the last few weeks but never noticed it. It's been like part of the scenery; I hadn't registered that it's a problem. Yesterday, cousin Kiki said to me, "What's that big crack in the tree?" That's when it dawned on me that must be the sound of wood splitting I keep hearing.
Even as we stood there looking at it, with the wind blowing fiercely above, we heard the sound of wood cracking. The bottom half of the trunk shook with each howl of the wind. The top half of the trunk leads to a branch that is sitting on Bell lines. The lines are now bent.
As I walked down the street in disbelief with Kiki, talking about what to do with the tree and wending our way to lunch, a truck drove by. It was a tree care truck. I flagged it down. The owner came back to the house with us straightaway. He sounded knowledgeable, was energetic, had clean, efficient looking equipment mounted on his truck, and both Kiki and I felt he was trustworthy.
He said he would treat our case as urgent. The tree will fall down before the end of the summer and cause a lot of damage, especially to the neighbours beside and behind us. It may come through our back window, depending on how it falls. He's quoted $1,500, half of what I feared. I had heard in the Spring someone had cut their tree down and it cost over $3,000. But his quote does not include getting rid of the wood.
I've call up a couple more arborists to obtain more quotes. Meanwhile, I'm scheming up ways to make a business of the wood that could be left in the yard. A firewood stand on the sidewalk to compete with kids selling lemonade?
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Airheaded
I often make like I am high brow, but I can be as vacuous as the next gum-popping bimbo.
I was in a shoe store today and while the store manager was fitting me for the right size, a sales clerk came in to work. She was a twenty-something and carrying a magazine, which she immediately took over to a colleague and they poured over the magazine photos, oohing and aahing. I heard snippets of "baby" and "...lina". I knew exactly what they were talking about.
When the sales clerk got on the floor to work, I said to her, "Was that THE baby?"
We exchanged a look of immediate understanding. "Yes," she said.
"Oooh...lemme see, lemme see."
She brought the magazine out from the back and said to everyone in the store, "This is $4.1 million you're looking at."
I said, "Presenting, the new Jesus."
She showed a copy of the latest People magazine featuring Angelina Jolie, Brad Pitt and their child, Shiloh on the cover. She flipped to the middle pages to show more photographs of the baby and parents. We hovered about making more oohing and aahing sounds.
I said to the sales clerk, "Only people who read gossip columns know that People paid $4.1 million for these photographs."
She said, "Yeah, I read...and...and..." She listed the gossip websites she frequents. Turns out, we visit the same sites! So she went, "Did you read that blah blah blah blah?" and I went "Yeah. And what about blah blah blah blah."
The manager finally said to us, "You two have to be separated." To the sales clerk, she said, "You get back to work." To me, she said, "You continue shopping." To which I said, "No, I need to get a job here so we can talk about this kind of stuff," indicating the sales clerk and me. Then we all laughed.
Such a blast.
I did buy some shoes. Now that I am home, I am glad to see they are the pair I wanted.
I was in a shoe store today and while the store manager was fitting me for the right size, a sales clerk came in to work. She was a twenty-something and carrying a magazine, which she immediately took over to a colleague and they poured over the magazine photos, oohing and aahing. I heard snippets of "baby" and "...lina". I knew exactly what they were talking about.
When the sales clerk got on the floor to work, I said to her, "Was that THE baby?"
We exchanged a look of immediate understanding. "Yes," she said.
"Oooh...lemme see, lemme see."
She brought the magazine out from the back and said to everyone in the store, "This is $4.1 million you're looking at."
I said, "Presenting, the new Jesus."
She showed a copy of the latest People magazine featuring Angelina Jolie, Brad Pitt and their child, Shiloh on the cover. She flipped to the middle pages to show more photographs of the baby and parents. We hovered about making more oohing and aahing sounds.
I said to the sales clerk, "Only people who read gossip columns know that People paid $4.1 million for these photographs."
She said, "Yeah, I read...and...and..." She listed the gossip websites she frequents. Turns out, we visit the same sites! So she went, "Did you read that blah blah blah blah?" and I went "Yeah. And what about blah blah blah blah."
The manager finally said to us, "You two have to be separated." To the sales clerk, she said, "You get back to work." To me, she said, "You continue shopping." To which I said, "No, I need to get a job here so we can talk about this kind of stuff," indicating the sales clerk and me. Then we all laughed.
Such a blast.
I did buy some shoes. Now that I am home, I am glad to see they are the pair I wanted.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Painting The Town Red
With The Boy involved in his school's 25th Anniversary activities and Kiki attending her conference, I found myself alone, again, all day Saturday. It rained and rained, till about 9 p.m. I was waiting for The Boy to phone at 11:30 pm for a pick up. What to do till then so I don't fall asleep?
I went first to Shopper's Drug Mart because I was completely out of shampoo. The drug store at night is a little bit weird. Its patrons were decrepit looking people and me. The asylum inmates were having an outing. We wander up and down the aisles looking for beauty products. Some of them gurgled at each other as they passed.
A scruffy young man with glistening eyes stood at the end of an aisle and waxed eloquently about the benefits of bath beads and why they make the perfect gift for a bridal shower or Mother's Day. There were intermitten sounds of mumbling, like when you don't know the words to a song and you go, Mhmm mhmm mm. I am sure he was mimicking a TV commercial I had seen. When I gathered what I needed, I shook my head (whaa-eee-whaa-eee-whaa-ee) to wake up from the nightmare.
Then I went to Home Depot to look for plexiglass shelves for the bathroom. This is a 24 hour hardware store. I've been in before at night, but with The Man. Walking in by myself is a new expereince. There were many people there - men and women, some on their own, some in groups. How is it that so many people are gathered in a hardware store so late at night planning home improvement projects? There were no workshops. They were just shopping. These were a different breed of midnight revellers. Some even looked artsy, unlike the gruff bunch that bulldozes through in the day. It was like discovering a secret society of late night do-it-yourselfers.
If I ever need advice on a project, I will get the best help late at night at this Home Depot. Such a find. Alas, I did not find pre-fab plexiglass shelves. But now I know I can custom make them. This pitches my project to a different level of desire. Not a "buy it, try it, don't like it, return it" effort any more. Custom-make means I have to be sure I want the shelves. Back to rethinking.
I went first to Shopper's Drug Mart because I was completely out of shampoo. The drug store at night is a little bit weird. Its patrons were decrepit looking people and me. The asylum inmates were having an outing. We wander up and down the aisles looking for beauty products. Some of them gurgled at each other as they passed.
A scruffy young man with glistening eyes stood at the end of an aisle and waxed eloquently about the benefits of bath beads and why they make the perfect gift for a bridal shower or Mother's Day. There were intermitten sounds of mumbling, like when you don't know the words to a song and you go, Mhmm mhmm mm. I am sure he was mimicking a TV commercial I had seen. When I gathered what I needed, I shook my head (whaa-eee-whaa-eee-whaa-ee) to wake up from the nightmare.
Then I went to Home Depot to look for plexiglass shelves for the bathroom. This is a 24 hour hardware store. I've been in before at night, but with The Man. Walking in by myself is a new expereince. There were many people there - men and women, some on their own, some in groups. How is it that so many people are gathered in a hardware store so late at night planning home improvement projects? There were no workshops. They were just shopping. These were a different breed of midnight revellers. Some even looked artsy, unlike the gruff bunch that bulldozes through in the day. It was like discovering a secret society of late night do-it-yourselfers.
If I ever need advice on a project, I will get the best help late at night at this Home Depot. Such a find. Alas, I did not find pre-fab plexiglass shelves. But now I know I can custom make them. This pitches my project to a different level of desire. Not a "buy it, try it, don't like it, return it" effort any more. Custom-make means I have to be sure I want the shelves. Back to rethinking.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Going To The Dogs
At the soccer festival prep session yesterday, the organizers managed to get several dogs and their owners out for a preview of the soccer dog parade. There were big dogs and little dogs, all wearing soccer dog jerseys.
One of the organizers, a candidate trying to unseat the current city councillor in our ward, came with her little yappy dog. But she didn't have a proper dog jersey. She brought a tiny green t-shirt with a number on it. It belongs to one of her kids. She put the shirt on the dog and the dog wore it looking...none the worst.
After a while, the candidate handed the dog leash to my friend and said, "Can you hang onto him for a sec. I need to chase down the camera crew." My friend took the leash and peered at the dog this way and that. She's not a dog lover. But you wouldn't know it because she's a photographer and her specialty is dogs. She saw something out of whack with the yappy dog. One of his front legs had slipped out of the sleeve of the t-shirt, or maybe the leg was never in. She bent down and tried to fix the problem but she was obviously uncomfortable since she didn't want to touch the dog and she kept saying, "Yucky, yucky dog."
For goodness sake. You can't fix a shirt on a dog that the dog shouldn't be wearing by not touching the dog. So I bent down, patted the dog, and tucked his front leg into the t-shirt sleeve. The dog was surprisingly compliant.
When the candidate took her dog back, we walked about a bit. My friend pointed at the t-shirted dog and started laughing. The dog had peed in the t-shirt. The shirt was now dragging on the ground and the dog was tripping over it with every step. One of the shop owners agreed to lend the candidate a real dog jersey, which she quickly put on the dog.
Later, the candidate said, "I want to visit the stores to talk to the owners but I can't go in with my dog."
I said, "So leave your dog with us."
"But I'll be inside the stores. Sometimes he bites when he can't see me."
"Your little dog?"
"Yes."
"But he let me fix his t-shirt earlier. I picked him up and tucked his paw in the sleeve."
"He let you do that? You sure it was my dog?"
"Yes. I handled your attack dog?"
There was the dog, looking sillier than usual with a jersey on, sitting on the ground between us, quiet as a mouse. He was paying attention to another soccer dog.
That soccer dog is a lizard, about three feet long, resting on its owner's arm. It too was wearing a soccer jersey. Apparently, the lizard has been featured in many soccer stories in the community newspaper during soccer season. In the dog parade, the owner puts the lizard on a leash, soccer jersey and all, and it walks on the ground, trying to keep up with the dogs.
When the camera crew came, the dogs and lizard got all the attention. The samba drummers and dancer also got some footage. The rest of us were just backdrop.
I got home and took a nap, sleeping through the 6 o'clock news and missing our moment in the end. Ah well.
One of the organizers, a candidate trying to unseat the current city councillor in our ward, came with her little yappy dog. But she didn't have a proper dog jersey. She brought a tiny green t-shirt with a number on it. It belongs to one of her kids. She put the shirt on the dog and the dog wore it looking...none the worst.
After a while, the candidate handed the dog leash to my friend and said, "Can you hang onto him for a sec. I need to chase down the camera crew." My friend took the leash and peered at the dog this way and that. She's not a dog lover. But you wouldn't know it because she's a photographer and her specialty is dogs. She saw something out of whack with the yappy dog. One of his front legs had slipped out of the sleeve of the t-shirt, or maybe the leg was never in. She bent down and tried to fix the problem but she was obviously uncomfortable since she didn't want to touch the dog and she kept saying, "Yucky, yucky dog."
For goodness sake. You can't fix a shirt on a dog that the dog shouldn't be wearing by not touching the dog. So I bent down, patted the dog, and tucked his front leg into the t-shirt sleeve. The dog was surprisingly compliant.
When the candidate took her dog back, we walked about a bit. My friend pointed at the t-shirted dog and started laughing. The dog had peed in the t-shirt. The shirt was now dragging on the ground and the dog was tripping over it with every step. One of the shop owners agreed to lend the candidate a real dog jersey, which she quickly put on the dog.
Later, the candidate said, "I want to visit the stores to talk to the owners but I can't go in with my dog."
I said, "So leave your dog with us."
"But I'll be inside the stores. Sometimes he bites when he can't see me."
"Your little dog?"
"Yes."
"But he let me fix his t-shirt earlier. I picked him up and tucked his paw in the sleeve."
"He let you do that? You sure it was my dog?"
"Yes. I handled your attack dog?"
There was the dog, looking sillier than usual with a jersey on, sitting on the ground between us, quiet as a mouse. He was paying attention to another soccer dog.
That soccer dog is a lizard, about three feet long, resting on its owner's arm. It too was wearing a soccer jersey. Apparently, the lizard has been featured in many soccer stories in the community newspaper during soccer season. In the dog parade, the owner puts the lizard on a leash, soccer jersey and all, and it walks on the ground, trying to keep up with the dogs.
When the camera crew came, the dogs and lizard got all the attention. The samba drummers and dancer also got some footage. The rest of us were just backdrop.
I got home and took a nap, sleeping through the 6 o'clock news and missing our moment in the end. Ah well.
Friday, June 02, 2006
Anyone Tracking Our Minutes?
It's been fun these last few days.
The Boy ran for vice president of the student council and got elected. He did a rap on stage at the school assembly as his election speech, sound effects, dance movements and all. The way he tells it, cheering went on non-stop and teachers had to calm the students down. The 2-minute rap stretched to a 5-minute performance because of the screaming and cheering. After his win was announced over the P.A. system, he walked by a musical theatre class in progress where two of his friends were, the class applauded his win.
At home on MSN, congrats poured in from his friends and supporters. The Boy was bathing in glory.
Yesterday morning, he said, "Mom, now that I am v.p., can you drive me to the subway?"
I said, "No. And you still have to take out the garbage." He did. It was garbage day after all and it is his job to take out the garbage. It's my job to keep him grounded.
Cousin Kiki is staying with us. She's presenting at a multi-media conference at the university. One of the cable TV stations invited her on their show and taped a 7-minute interview to talk about her art. I was in the studio with her to lend moral support. It was her first TV appearance. How wonderful for her that she received some funding from the Austalian government to present her work in Canada and she brings back a TV segment. The program also airs in Australia. She was well-spoken and interesting.
And now, I'm off to the soccer festival head office. Why? Well, I've got some on-air minutes my way too. The CBC is filming festival organizers making festival preparation. The segment airs on today's 6 pm local news. My friend phoned to say they need bodies. I am a body. So I agreed to go. Need to head out now. See you on the 6 o'clock news!
The Boy ran for vice president of the student council and got elected. He did a rap on stage at the school assembly as his election speech, sound effects, dance movements and all. The way he tells it, cheering went on non-stop and teachers had to calm the students down. The 2-minute rap stretched to a 5-minute performance because of the screaming and cheering. After his win was announced over the P.A. system, he walked by a musical theatre class in progress where two of his friends were, the class applauded his win.
At home on MSN, congrats poured in from his friends and supporters. The Boy was bathing in glory.
Yesterday morning, he said, "Mom, now that I am v.p., can you drive me to the subway?"
I said, "No. And you still have to take out the garbage." He did. It was garbage day after all and it is his job to take out the garbage. It's my job to keep him grounded.
Cousin Kiki is staying with us. She's presenting at a multi-media conference at the university. One of the cable TV stations invited her on their show and taped a 7-minute interview to talk about her art. I was in the studio with her to lend moral support. It was her first TV appearance. How wonderful for her that she received some funding from the Austalian government to present her work in Canada and she brings back a TV segment. The program also airs in Australia. She was well-spoken and interesting.
And now, I'm off to the soccer festival head office. Why? Well, I've got some on-air minutes my way too. The CBC is filming festival organizers making festival preparation. The segment airs on today's 6 pm local news. My friend phoned to say they need bodies. I am a body. So I agreed to go. Need to head out now. See you on the 6 o'clock news!
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