Out Of The Mouths Of Babes, Part II

The kids' nanny is three months pregnant. This being her second pregnancy, she's already showing.

This morning, I got dressed in front of Kid2. I put on a smock like top that drapes over my girth. Kid2 looked at me wide eyed and hopeful, "Are you pregnant?"

I wanted so much to say, Yes, just to see her squeal with delight, but then I'd have to produce a baby some time down the line. So I had to deflate her and said, "No, this is just fat. But look what I can do." I sucked up my tummy and my pregnancy disappeared. She didn't know what to make of it so gave me a wry smile and went away.

Pregnant, eh? She's not the first to have thought that. As Bro Bro said once, it's quite flattering actually, that people still think I look young enough to be pregnant despite my ripe old age. But the kid thinks I look pregnant, eh? Hmmn.

And then there is Kid1. One of the words in Kid2's spelling exercise is spread. We've done the dictation and she gets the word right. Then we came across the word again in her reader. She struggled with it a bit. I said, "Spread. Remember, that's the same word on your spelling list."

She said, "Oh, I thought spread is like when you spread jam on bread."

"It's the same word. But here, it has a different meaning."

Kid1 butted in, "It's a homonym," and walked away.

Homonym? Is it a homonym? I have to look that up. I don't have that knowledge on the tip of my tongue. I'm home now and I looked it up. Kid1 was right. Words that sound the same and are spelled the same, but have different meanings are homonyms. What kind of a freak is he?

Out Of The Mouths Of Babes

I don't know what Kid2 and I were doing. Talking probably. I remember her saying, They're friends, they're all friends. And I know she likes telling me about her friends and what they do together. I asked, "Are your friends the most important thing in the world to you?"

She gave me a quizzical look. "No," she said emphatically. "The most important thing in the world is my family."

"Oh. Who's your family?"

"My mom, my dad, Kid1, you."

"Ah. My family is the most important thing in the world to me too."

"And nature. Nature is important."

"Ah. Yes. Nature is also very important."

"And hope. Hope is also important."

"Right."

"My family, nature, and hope. Those are the most important things in the world," she summarized.

"Those are very important ideas. Did someone teach them to you?"

"Nope. I just decided that now."

I had to marvel. That's a five-year-old talking. Aren't family, nature and hope truly the things that still keep us whole and are our raison d'etre?

My Evil Influence

I've exerted my evil and introduced Kid1 and Kid2 to Insaniquarium!

Insaniquarium is a fish game. You feed the fish to make them grow. Once in a while, a monster comes out to attack the fish. As the fish get bigger, they lay coins that are worth more. The more money you collect, the more things you can buy, like more fish, better food, more food, weapons to fight off monsters, and pieces of an egg. When you get all three pieces of an egg, it hatches and you get a pet that helps you in the aquarium.

The kids' play style is telling of their personalities. Kid2, being a girlie five-year-old, just wants to buy baby fish. She hasn't figured out yet that you have to save money to buy food for them. She clicks away happily and somehow gets enough money to keep buying fish. Her tank is full of fish that she can't quite take care of.

For example, you can buy a carnivore that lays diamonds. But you have to feed it baby fish. That doesn't sit well with her. Yet, she keeps buying carnivores, then forgets to or doesn't want to feed it baby fish, so lets them turn green and die. She say of that, "Oh well, I didn't know how to save him so I just let him die. I can get another one later." For her, the more fish in the tank the merrier, and the baby fish are so cute! She has yet to advance to level 3.

Her brother, Kid1, being a smartass seven-year-old boy, figured out the game immediately and whips through to the advanced levels. When you feed the fish, you have to time the feedings. If you buy food when the fish just ate, the fish won't eat again. That's when he calls out, "Eat that food, you fish. It costs money, you know."

He's fearless and tries out things to see how they work. But he's also cautious. He never has more than two fish in the tank at a time. That way, his tank is clean and neat, and manageable. He really likes things manageable.

They notice different things. Kid1 can predict when the mother fish will give birth (its belly pulses). Kid2 insists on calling the mother fish a duck (it looks like one). No problem at all with the logic of a duck giving birth to fish.

I think Kid1 has learned as much about the game in one day as I have in the months I've played it. Either he's much smarter than I am or I take the Kid2 approach to my play. See how my evil has flushed out our true personalities.

Starting All Over

It's amazing how lack of sleep turns you into a grouch.

I came home from Sis' in the late morning. Because I had planned to come home, I hadn't brought much with me. I didn't have the car as The Man preferred that I stayed home to look after my own family so he insisted on keeping the car for errands. I didn't expect to have to share a bed with mom. With my cough still more active at night, I didn't want my hacking to wake everyone so I slept in the basement.

I didn't sleep well. This morning, I had no clothes to change into, no meds to take, no towel to pat dry.

I talked to The Man who told me the city workers had come back this morning to finish trimming the tree. They arrived after he left for work so The Boy had to deal with moving the car. But The Boy doesn't drive, and he didn't have a key so the neighbour couldn't move it either. Oh boy. I should have been home.

When Nanny came back from shopping, I asked her when she is leaving as I needed to go home for a spell. She kindly offered to take Niece for the whole day to free me up. Now that I am home, I fed my fish, got changed, took my meds, gathered a towel, a sheet, a blanket, and a change of clothes.

I see the tree has been trimmed a bit, but I won't worry about that any more.

A friend happened to phone. I told her what I am doing this week. She understands. There is a reason we age and move on to different phases of life. If I still harbour thoughts of becoming a mother by adoption, I think I have settled it now. I need to move on. I cannot revisit past phases of life too often.

Meanwhile, I feel fortified. I will clean up my own house a bit, then get back to my niece and nephew, with the car.

I'm A Stranger Here, Part II

This week, I'm looking after my nephew and niece at their home. Sis tricked me into doing this after telling me she has to attend a conference in France and no one is available to look after the kids, not even her fiance, who works in another city and would have too far to commute to take care of the kids. I had rearranged all my evening activities to do this for her. Then I found out in fact, they had both taken off for France together. I can't help feeling I've been tricked here under false pretenses.

I had planned to return home each day to tend to mine and my own family's needs but be with my nephew and niece in the evening, overnight, and in the morning. But this morning, Niece said she wasn't feeling well and can't go to school. Now I am spending the whole day with her and my appointments are shot. But she seems well enough playing with her nanny's daughter.

The nanny is here mornings only. As she arrived this morning, so did two other kids. These are Niece's friends. Sis has an arrangement with their parents that they share the nanny before school. Then the contractors came through. Suddenly, the house is a chaos of noise and I am not dressed.

But Nanny skilfully organizes everyone and I get myself cleaned up. After Nephew and the two friends leave for school, Nanny goes to buy groceries. This morning, she's leaving her daughter with me so Nanny's Daughter will keep Niece occupied and Nanny will return from her shopping sooner. But it still comes down to me now looking after Niece and Nanny's Daughter.

It's interesting watching the two little girls play. For one thing, they both have their finger and toe nails painted pink. They look like pre-teens already, these five-year-olds. Thank god the content of their talk is still that of five-year-olds. They sit nicely and draw pictures, telling each other what they are doing and why.

Niece is a princess. She talks in a soft voice, buys strawberries, ham and bread in their play shopping, she draws pictures of clouds and trees and rivers. Nanny's Daughter, well she keeps talking about building things. Her father-to-be is a builder. She calls out her shopping list of cheese, meat and rice, she draws a compass on her picture, sketches in people and houses and draws in directions of how to get from one place to another.

I ask them what they're doing. They both answer, "Drawing." What are you drawing, I ask. Niece tells me she's drawing a ship to look for treasures. Then she draws in a rain storm. Nanny's Daughter tells me she's drawing a map. Niece shrieks, Where's the treasure on your map? Nanny's Daughter says it's under Rockfall Land.

They've given names to the various places on their drawings. Niece will get off at Storm Hill so Nanny's Daughter needs to put a treasure there too. She will be attacked by Super Waves. Nanny's Daughter says you have to roll up the map and put it in Arabic Land. Somehow, they make their drawings and stories work. Then they tell me where all the imaginary treasures are hidden in the house so I don't inadvertently remove them.

Meanwhile, there are workers in the house, turning the attic into living space. There's banging going on, the girls are jumping around and singing. If I was a mother with young children, this could be a nice communal set up and support network; may even be pleasant. But I am not. My days of young kids are over and I have a different life to tend to. So Grrrrr and fie on all this. I want to go home.

I'm A Stranger Here

The world of teenage relationships is foreign to me. Friendships between boys and girls are so...so girlfriendy.

Last night, I woke up at 1:30 am to find The Boy on the phone in front of the computer. He hadn't been to bed yet. He was downloading music and talking to a friend at the same time. I walked into the room and he jumped.

"Jeez mom, you scared me," he said.

"Why aren't you in bed?"

"I'm talking to C-girl."

"Why isn't C-girl in bed?"

"'Cause she's talking to me."

I left the room and he resumed his conversation with his friend. I don't know C-girl. I just know she's a girl at his school.

This afternoon, The Boy came home from a rehearsal and said, "I'm going to T-girl's to play my video game, then we're having a sleepover."

I went out for some groceries and came home to find a silver SUV in my front drive. The Man said, "He's got two girls upstairs." The Boy had his fastest rock music cranked up loud, shaking the house down. Then The Boy came down to look for snacks for the girls.

"Whose car is that in the drive?" I asked.

"T-girl and C-girl have come to pick me up."

"Whoa. They drive? I don't think I'm comfortable with you in a car with a teen driver."

"T-girl drives. She's a good driver. Her parents trust her and let her use their car." True enough. That silver SUV looked like a parent's car.

I took some pistachio nuts upstairs to the girls to meet them. Where were the girls? I found them nestled in the middle of The Boy's bed, fully clothed, with the duvet over their legs, curled up very comfortably eating The Boy's cereal out of the box. It would have been normal if The Boy was The Girl.

Is that what girls do these days when they visit a boy? They go into his bedroom and get in his bed? Sylph, don't be a square, I cautioned, Don't embarrass The Boy. They seemed like nice girls. They looked me in the eye and said hello. Then I left them.

When they took their leave, they came to the backyard where The Man and I were to say goodbye. The Boy had his video games and an overnight bag packed up. There would be several people at T-girl's house and they would play video games, watch movies, and go to sleep.

I don't know what to make of all this. A part of me objects to teen boys and girls spending the night together. But there is something so happy, innocent and direct about these kids that I don't think they are secretly having group sex.

I remember a friend who outfitted her house so that there are two large rooms in the basement. It's for their teenagers and their friends to hang out. The girls sleep in one room, the boys in the other.

I remember The Boy telling me he wished our house was bigger so he could have his male and female friends over for the night.

So I think they are upfront about what they are doing. And besides, I trust The Boy.

But all this is so strange to me and I don't know the rules.

The Trimming

Last summer, a crew of city workers came on to our street and dug up all the front yards. They were installing new gas meters for the city. But there was so much digging I thought they were doing more than just putting in gas pipes.

So I asked one of the elderly workers about it. He said, "I'm putting in beer pipes for you. That way, you'll be connected to the brewery and can get beer directly from your tap." Clever man. I instantly forgave him for all the disruption and mess.

This week, two city workers came in a noisy truck to trim the trees on our street. They were rugged grandfatherly types, meticulous about their work, and took obviously pride in their efficiency. They swept up the street and tidied up a yard before moving on to the next. Once they leave your property, you'd never know they had been there, except your tree had been pruned.

When they reached my house, I noticed they had trimmed only one side. They were already sweeping up and shredding the branches. I went out to talk to them.

Because the shredding machine was on, they removed their ear phones to hear me as I leaned in close, almost rubbing foreheads with one of them.

"Will you be trimming any on this side?" I shouted.

"We will do that tomorrow. Because of the time, we have to clean up and get back to the office."

"It's not even 2 o'clock yet."

"We finish at 3:00. But we started at 7:00."

"Ah. I would appreciate it then if tomorrow you could trim up here so I don't get so much bird poop on my car all the time." I cupped my hand around his ear and my mouth so he could hear me above the buzzing truck shredder. I was so close to the man I had my arm around his neck and patted him on the shoulder when I finished.

"Okay. We'll take care of your bird poop problem tomorrow." He said with a big grin, a wink, and a pat on my back.

How did we get so friendly? Muscular, older city workers with trucks. You gotta love them. Only, they are all liars, all of them. It's been two days and they haven't come back to finish the job.

Wallow, Wallow

I am wallowing in misery because my cough persists. It robs me of sleep and I am tired, unfocused and discombobulated during the day. When I wretch, I pee my pants.

For temporary relief, I can take a cough syrup that contains a narcotic. Apparently, it's the most potent cough syrup around and if it doesn't stop your cough, nothing will. My doctor's concern is that while the narcotic stops the cough, it also puts you to sleep and is highly addictive, so she doesn't want me to take it all the time. She doesn't have to worry. While the medicine relieves my cough, it also keeps me wide awake and more alert than usual. Bro said the drug has a paradoxical effect on me - it does the opposite of what it's supposed to. So I can't take the drug and go to sleep and I can't take too much during the day because it's highly addictive. Bah.

In this state of self-pity, a friend phoned to see how I am doing. She told me a friend of hers had a cough like mine that lasted 18 months before the doctors figured out what was wrong. Turned out she had a cough that was common to street people, from the unhygenic environment of living in the street. She doesn't know how she got the cough. It took several courses of aggressive antibiotics before they got rid of it.

A street people cough? I may have a street people cough? Maybe it's my inner bag lady asserting herself. Regardless, I will talk to the respirologist about this possibility when I see him. But that's not for another month. I will ask him about the street people cough, not my being a bag lady.

Meanwhile, I have received reiki therapy to clear blockages to my healing energy. Do I really believe in this therapy? I felt nothing. The Man is urging acupuncture. Needles in my lungs? I guess when I am desperate enough. I have brewed mysterious Chinese herbs and drank willingly. I can't tell if that's helped.

And now I suck on lozenges and gulp down cough syrup with codeine, which does nothing but I take it to convince myself I am doing something to ease the hacking. I brew ginger tea and drink it with lemon and honey. I have had no appetite for a week. But you know what? I've lost 5 lbs! Woohoo! As long as my stomach is flat when I die and the undertaker doesn't say, My, this was a fat one.

Misery And Victory

I am wretched. My cough is violent and persistent. Despite a two-day relief from the hacking and a change in medication, the cough is back full force. I throw up from coughing day and night, my stomach hurts. I can barely stand up. I've cancelled social plans. I can barely concentrate on anything from lack of sleep.

In the midst of this misery, The Boy phoned to say he's staying over night at a friend's. The bunch of them are practising their band number. They are a Journey cover band but are preparing other songs too. They are rehearsing for a summer talent show.

In the middle of relaying his plans for the evening, he casually let drop, "And yeah, I was elected student council president today. But I am at school right now and I am only revealing a quarter of how excited I feel. I'll fill you in tomorrow."

Well. He did it. School council president. On Mother's Day, The Man took him to Port Hope to visit his grandmother (while I spent the afternoon with David Copperfield). He got his grandmother to help make buttons for his campaign. Earlier this week, I brought my mother over to do the same.

I marvel at all the family support he gets for his ventures, regardless of what it is - fundraising for the school, trips, personal collections of hot toys, games, videos and comic books, social plans, elections. He's living the childhood I never had and I am so glad.

Cop A Feel

There is nothing like watching a live magic show to either make you a believer or to make you realize cheap tricks are just that.

I talked Sis and Sil into spending Mother's Day with me. What do mothers do on Mother's Day when they want the day to be magical? They go see David Copperfield.

Oh David. If only you weren't so slimy in appearance, sleazy in speech, but slicker in your performance. His show is called Grand Illusion. I was grandly disillusioned.

You start to wonder what's up when he started talking. He sounded tired, rehearsed out, like he's done what he's about to do a thousand times and he's no longer interested, that he really doesn't buy into his own magic acts. But, the show must go on.

He tossed frisbees and balls into the audience to select "volunteers" at random. Only, sometimes he'd say, "You sir, can you pass the ball to the lady in front of you?" Then he'd select that lady to bring on stage as his volunteer. These volunteers were always long-haired, slim beauties. At the end of an act, they'd all gave him a peck on the cheek. All of them wanted to do that?

Sometimes, he brought "witnesses" on stage. These witnesses just walked on stage. Where did they come from? How were they selected? The impression he wanted to convey was, these were audience members selected in advance. I didn't buy it at all.

Like the young man he chose to watch over a drawing another audience member did. The young man just happened to wear a funny T-shirt and a pair of bright orange binoculars around his neck. I mean, hey, the volunteer came with his own prop. We were at a casino. What was the guy doing wearing a pair of orange binoculars? David made him turn around, put the binoculars on him, and got him to "watch" the drawing. Can you get more corny, David?

Then he set up an act where he would go through a steel door. A couple went to check out the door. David said, "Feel how solid the back side is." The man put his hand on the woman's behind to feel her bum. Right, like a husband would do that to his wife on stage! Then David went through the steel door behind a drape. Hey, The Boy did that too, when he was six.

Later, another "volunteer" effected to feel David's behind. To which he made some joke about "copping a feel." Get it? Copperfield, "cop a feel".

It got worse. He showed a video of a guy supposedly in Hawaii. The act was, David and a guest would transport themselves there and the audience can witness it all on the screen. C'mon. It's a video. Of things shot in advance. David fed his partner information that he gathered "spontaneously" from his "volunteers" to proof what we were watching on screen was live. But when the volunteers and witnesses are suspect, so is the information they generate. Try as I did to go along with his act, I couldn't get over the fact I was just watching a pre-taped video pretending an illusion. Pretty cheesy. The only magic was how he made so many eyes roll in the audience.

There were times I wondered, is that really David on stage? Why would he destroy his act like that, after building the reputation he has? I mean, cheap, cheesy and corny just don't cut it for me, man. I wanted so much to enter the illusion. Give me Ricky Martin.

But it was still fun spending time with Sis and Sil. We ate well. We fed the slot machines. It was all very maternal.

It's Hard Being Me

I went to see my family doctor today about my cough and for a change of medication. I made plans to meet mom at the herbalist after my doctors appointment so I can play witch again and brew some more medicine at home.

In the last two days, I said to my mother several times, "My doctor's appointment is at 11:15. If I am lucky, I will get to see her by 11:30. I should finish by noon so I will call you then. I'll call you around noon, but probably after."

At 11:55, I finished with my family doctor. I phoned home to check for messages. I picked up this message from mom:

Sylph, it's 11:30. Did you try to call me? Do you have your cell with you? I phoned you but your cell phone is not on. Do you have it with you? Why haven't you called me?

---

At the herbalist's, the translator said a few things to the doctor that made the doctor laugh. I don't speak Mandarin, but I understood some of what they were saying. I heard:

- Her mother has to accompany her because she's a "native born" and can't speak the language.

I said - I am not a native born. I was born in Hong Kong.

- These native borns don't speak Chinese.

I said - I speak Cantonese, and I understand what you are saying.

- She speaks a few words but doesn't understand the Chinese principles of medicine.

I had nothing to say because it was true.

- And besides, doesn't matter how old she is, she is always her mother's daughter. She'll be looking after her mother soon enough.

I said - I look after her now.

- She still needs her mother. ...Something something I really didn't understand.

I don't know if I was annoyed. The translator and herbalist didn't sound disrespectful. They were just talking and commenting on us. But I thought, damn, that's a cultural trait, talking about someone in front of them in a language they don't understand, as if they aren't there. Mom does this all the time. But both mom and I understood some of what they said. Still, not enough to be spoken to directly despite my interferences in their conversation.

---

After we saw the herbalist, mom said, "Where do you want to have lunch?"

I said, "I don't really need food right now."

"Well, you have to eat. You haven't had anything all day."

"I had breakfast this morning. I could eat now, but I don't want to go if you've already eaten."

"I had some oatmeal in the morning."

So we went to lunch. I ordered two dishes to share with her. The waitress brought the food. I dug in. Mom sat there watching me.

I said, "Here, you have this bowl of congee."

She said, "I'm not really hungry."

"But you wanted to come to lunch."

"So you could eat."

"You said you only had some oatmeal in the morning."

"Yes. Just before I left the house to meet you."

"If neither of us are hungry, why did you make us come to the restaurant?"

"Because you haven't eaten today."

"I ate. And do I look like I am at risk of dying from starvation? How can I lose weight if you keep tricking me into eating?"

"You still have to eat while you are losing weight."

Fishy Dreams

I got a pair of new fish! They are penguin tetras, supposedly peaceful, community fish. They have an amazing black stripe along the body that extends to the tip of the tail, making them look like they have a crooked tail.

I learned today that Sis has many fish dreams. I think she's dreaming about the things I do with fish, such as transferring fish from one tank to another, finding dead fish on the floor because they've jumped, and seeing fish float about in mid-air. I sit there and watch the fish in my tank and often think it's like they're in mid-air.

Then she told me about a dream she had where I arranged a family vacation for a cottage under water. To get inside it, you have to swim through the window. Sis didn't want to be there so she swam back to the top. I was pretty sure that was my dream. In the dream, I was puzzled as to why I would arrange for such a location where breathing was so difficult for us. I wanted to swim back to the top and not go back to the cottage, but I felt guilty that since I had arranged the vacation, I couldn't very well leave my family there while I took off for somewhere more enjoyable. So I stayed put, but the whole time, longed to be elsewhere.

Did Sis and I have the same dream? Or did she tell me about her dream once and I fixated on it in my daydream. Or did I have the dream and told Sis about it, so she borrowed my dream and adapted it for her own? I don't know.

I only know I have penguin tetras, that I bought them because I liked their name, and that the fish lady at the pet shop told me they were compatible with platys. I watch the penguin tetras interact with the platys in the tank. They are much faster swimmers. They eat food by catch the fish flakes as they fall to the bottom. They have bigger mouths than platys. If there were still small baby platys around, I have no doubt the penguin tetras would eat them. This is no dream.

Illness, Sin and Death

What hasn't happened this week?

My chronic night cough worsened. So much so that I threw up from coughing at night. The next morning, I woke up with a head cold. It's like my illness went to my head. There have been days I felt I was on my death bed.

Desperate for help and relieve, I turned to my mother, who steered me to a Chinese herbalist. The herbalist practises traditional Chinese medicine so she is referred to as the doctor. The herb store I went to kept their doctor in a back room. She looked kind enough but spoke only Mandarin and not a word of English. The shop manager translated.

The doctor took my pulse, looked at my tongue, looked me in the eye, then wrote out a script. One of the staff in the herb shop gathered the herbs from the various drawers and jars they had. Apparently, I suffer from too much dampness and too much yin. That is, I am too wet, dark and womanly. Comes from eating too many raw vegetables and drinking too much cold water. I need some hot stuff in me to rebalance my energy. And I likely have an allergy to something.

I don't know about the damp yin stuff, but I have no doubt I am allergic to something. Bro Bro diagnosed the same thing. He pointed at a new blood pressure medication I recently started as the culprit.

But as far as the herbalist is concerned, a rebalancing of my energy wouldn't hurt. So I went home with three packages of herbs to brew, one on each day. I make two cups of "tea" each morning, drink one in the morning, one at night.

Each package contains lots of dried leaves, twigs, almonds, tree bark and other unidentifiable dried vegetation. I add four cups of water, boil the pot down to one cup, then pour the cup of tea to put aside. Then I add three more cups of water to the pot containing the cooked herbs and reduce the water again to one cup. I mix the two cups and drink one, leaving the other for my night dose. I do this for three days.

And I gotta admit. As I brewed the tea, I wished for a cauldron, I wanted to wear a black cape, I wanted to stir, and I wanted to chant. I played out a sinister scene of medicine brewing in my head as I made my potion.

I've stopped taking my suspect blood pressure pill. Bro Bro said, "If you stop the drug, you could suddenly have a stroke." Let's see, stroke...cough my brains out and wet my pants several times a day...stroke...cough my brains out and wet my pants several times a day. It was a hard decision, but I am now a walking time bomb, at risk of having a stroke any minute.

Bro Bro faxed my doctor to suggest a change in medicine. But today I am producing phlegm. This is a different cough. If my cough is an allergic reaction, do I need to see the respirologist next month? And could I be allergic to Prozac? I need to talk to my doctor. At least the secretary was able to squeeze me in for Monday.

Today, being less hacky with my cough, I put my two platys into a bucket so I could clean out their aquarium. I filled the cleaned aquarium with water and started the pump to let the water cycle. Then I went out to dinner. When I got back, I noticed only one platy in the bucket. I looked around for the other one. I saw a dried red fish on the floor. The stupid fish had jumped out. He's always the trouble maker, this feisty one. Couldn't wait till I cycled the tank. I am angry at him, and hurt that he didn't trust me to provide for him. Now he's dead.

And now, I must take my narcotic cough syrup. I need my fix.

Be Well

I am trying to groove with this warm weather. Usually, when the sun is out and the air is warm, I get anxious. Not spring fever. But anxiety that comes from feeling life is passing me by.

But this spring, I am feeling rather optimistic. I am determined to landscape our backyard. I am determined to not go under like a vampire when it's bright and sunny out.

I have filled my calendar with impossible to keep all appointments of things I could do and places I could visit at certain hours if I find myself wondering what it's all about.

Today, I started planting again. I moved some ferns and bought some flowers for my containers. I booked The Boy's flight to France. Yup, he's going for just over three weeks for an exchange at the end of June, then come back with the boy from France. Our guest will spend one month with us. We will do group camping for one week, a wilderness camping trip for a weekend, a trip to Ottawa and Montreal, and a visit to Niagara Falls. The rest of the time I hope The Boy will introduce his exchange friend to his regular friends and hang out.

The Man roto-tilled our backyard because his friend did it and happened to have the roto-tiller available. Then he ran out and bought sod. I said, "Just because your friend is doing his backyard, you don't have to get grass-envy."

He said, "How will it be when we invite them over for a BBQ and they see the mess that is our backyard?"

I thought that's no reason to sod the backyard. But then, I don't have a better plan for landscaping yet and we do have the French exchange coming, so it wouldn't hurt to make the backyard more comfortable the easiest way possible. So sod it is. For now. Changes can be made later.

Night has fallen and The Man is out there sifting the soil in the dark. I don't know. He gets possessed with an idea so easily. Or he just likes mucking about in the dark.

Life's Like That

One day, mom noticed I had a new electric kettle. She said she wanted one too. The stove-top, no-rust kettle she was using had rusted. She was mad. I asked her how old the kettle was. She said, "I don't know...20, 30 years?" So I said, "Okay, let's all upgrade to the modern age."

The next time I was at Loblaw's, I bought her the kettle. But before I had a chance to give it to her, The Man and I chanced up Barrie way. On the way back, he stopped at a Home Depot. There, I saw a different model of electric kettle. One with a base. That means she could lift the kettle off the base to fill it at the tap without having to unplug the kettle. So I bought that kettle for her instead.

Back in the city, I gave her the kettle I bought in Barrie and returned the one I bought at Loblaw's. The next day, mom phoned and said, "This kettle doesn't work. The lid won't close and it doesn't shut off automatically. I've tried to boil water three times and it never shuts off. I have to manually flick the switch."

Well. This week, I brought mom with me to the Home Depot nearby to refund the kettle. She told me, "I don't want one with a base. I can never get the kettle to sit in it properly."

"Without the base, you will have to unplug the kettle every time you fill it."

"I would rather do that than try to make it sit in the base."

At the return desk, the woman examined the kettle. She fiddled with the lid, then with great force, pounded the lid into the kettle to make it close. She said, "It's new, that's why. I have the same kettle and the lid didn't quite fit at the beginning. But once you use it, the lid will close. The automatic shut-off switch won't work unless the lid is closed."

A man who was standing by waiting for a refund said, "That's right. There's a sensor attached to the lid and if the lid isn't closed, the shut-off won't work."

Mom took the kettle and tried to lift the lid off but couldn't. The waiting man took the kettle from mom and tried to pry the lid off. It wouldn't budge. The return desk woman took the kettle from him and with great force, pulled the lid open.

"There," she said, "You just have to do this a few times and it will be smoother." She forced the lid on and off a few times. Mom took the kettle and tried to pound the lid closed. She couldn't. The man beside her tried also. A few attempts later, he finally got the lid closed, but then he couldn't get it open again.

I said to the return lady, "This kettle is not going to work for us. Mom isn't going to the gym to build muscles in order to train the kettle to open and close. Besides, she doesn't like the base. We just want a refund."

So she gave us a refund.

Then I brought mom to Loblaw's and she chose the same model kettle I returned last week, one that you have to unplug to take to the sink. But before taking the box home, she took the kettle out, opened and closed the lid a few times, and satisfied with its construction, went to the cashier with it.

That Ricky

I told The Boy last night that his position as my favourite guy has been usurped by Ricky Martin...because oooh, that Ricky sure gyrates good. The Boy shrugged, deeming Ricky as mom's passing fancy and no real threat.

Ricky is a beautiful, beautiful man. According to AskMen.com, the question about Ricky is, which team is he on? I don't think so. It doesn't matter which team he bats for. He's an entertainer. He's delicious eye candy, with a physique and athleticism to aspire to regardless of which team you're on.

The question for me is, is he a better singer or dancer? I think he's a better dancer. I think he must have taken ballet classes. I wonder what it's like to have a crowd of 20,000 swoon at every move you make. Each time Ricky came out of the shadow, shook a hip, or raised an arm, the audience went crazy. And he knows how to move and pose.

His show is one of terrific choreography and multi-media visuals. Sometimes, he and his dancers looked like cheerleaders in white. It's that clean. Sure, his music has a nice latino beat that makes you want to shake your booty and made the pain in my arthritic thumb throbbed to the music, but really, it doesn't matter whether he has a good voice or whether you're into his music or not. The crowd was too loud and he sang mostly in Spanish so I didn't understand a single word any way. But I really like him performing barefoot.

At these concerts, it's always interesting to watch the audience. Ricky's audience is mostly women, from teens to mothers. Some women bring their whole family to see the show, which means children and grandparents in the audience. Some just bring their boyfriends. But it's the Ricky-wannabe men and teens who scream for Ricky the loudest.

Take the family in front of us for example. They stood for the whole concert. One of the men held up an 8 X 10 photograph of Ricky and kept waving it at the stage. The teen beside him just screamed and screamed. Her mother kept patting her back to calm her. I don't know who all the other members of their group was. I guess the aunts and uncles with their dates.

In my teen years, people lit up cigarette lighters at concerts. It was odd last night to see so many cell phones and digital cameras raised above people's heads, lit up in little white squares. This is the audience of the techno age.

No one stormed the stage, no one smoked pot, no one got out of control. Ushers even served beer. One even helped me find my coat after. Making people pay almost $100 for a ticket is one way to screen out the rowdy and unruly. For my part, I clapped, cheered and shook my booty. I hollered Ricky, Ricky. I blew him kisses at the end. It was fun and very civilized.