I had a steam cleaner come in today to clean the basement carpet, the dining room rug, the stairs and the couch. A tall, husky man in his fifties showed up wearing a necklace and big rings on his fingers. I thought, Uh oh, does he know how to clean?
The cleaner said in a European accent, My machine is 400 whatever power, most people use only 100. That means the suction is very strong and your things will dry in half a day, not four days.
Well, okay.
The cleaner was smiling as he cleaned. He said - I like your house very much. It's very clean.
- Oh, thank you.
- You won't believe the filth and mess some houses are. Makes cleaning very difficult. Have to move things all over the place.
- We still have to move things here.
- But they are big pieces, no mess on them. Easy to do. You keep your house clean.
Well, with that kind of flattery, I was ready to forgive the way he looked and give him whatever he wanted. He wanted water. To drink and to put in his cleaning machine.
During the cleaning, I was mostly in the backyard, trying to stay out of his way. He just did his thing. When I came in to see the last bit of the cleaning, I saw that it was true what a powerful machine he had. The parts he went over came out light. The dirty parts were several shades darker.
When he finished, he said he preferred payment in cash. I went to the bank to get it for him. I didn't want him to leave. I wondered if he did windows. What about roofing, or gardening. Nope, he just did carpets and upholstery.
Sigh. A blinged man who cleans with powerful suction.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
Return Of The Exchange
Well. He's back.
I picked up The Exchange at the airport today. He looked tired, he had a long flight. He's the same height as The Boy, so The Boy must've shot up this past year. He wears his hair longish, just like The Boy. He looks more boyish than ever, still beautiful, still charming. He was happy to see The Boy. I was happy to see him. But I wondered what the fuss was about last year.
It felt like we picked up where we left off. For one thing, he's more at ease with us. He came down for a shower as soon as we came home. The front door was still open. He was in his underwear. I laughed, because that's what The Boy does. After, still in his underwear, he held up his soiled clothes and said, "Where I put this, in the garbage?" He's more of a kidder, more fluent in English.
The boys got ready to go to a small birthday party. I said, "It's after midnight for you. Are you not tired?" He said "It's okay. I had four coffees today. I never miss a party."
After he changed, he whizzed by me in a red T-shirt and jeans. I thought it was The Boy, then I saw The Boy in the next room. I stood them side by side. They both had on red T's and pants. It was difficult to tell them apart from the back. I gave them dinner and went outside to visit with the neighbours in the street. When they were ready to leave, they had both changed. The Boy in a blue T, The Exchange in white. I don't know why they changed and I didn't ask.
The Boy seems pleased to have The Exchange here. The Exchange is operating on second wind. I invited a neighbour to drive with me. We dropped the boys off at the birthday party. We saw through the window of the birthday girl's house that all the guests inside were girls. When I looked back at them entering the house, I said to my neighbour, "Yup, they're two good looking young men out to impress the girls."
I picked up The Exchange at the airport today. He looked tired, he had a long flight. He's the same height as The Boy, so The Boy must've shot up this past year. He wears his hair longish, just like The Boy. He looks more boyish than ever, still beautiful, still charming. He was happy to see The Boy. I was happy to see him. But I wondered what the fuss was about last year.
It felt like we picked up where we left off. For one thing, he's more at ease with us. He came down for a shower as soon as we came home. The front door was still open. He was in his underwear. I laughed, because that's what The Boy does. After, still in his underwear, he held up his soiled clothes and said, "Where I put this, in the garbage?" He's more of a kidder, more fluent in English.
The boys got ready to go to a small birthday party. I said, "It's after midnight for you. Are you not tired?" He said "It's okay. I had four coffees today. I never miss a party."
After he changed, he whizzed by me in a red T-shirt and jeans. I thought it was The Boy, then I saw The Boy in the next room. I stood them side by side. They both had on red T's and pants. It was difficult to tell them apart from the back. I gave them dinner and went outside to visit with the neighbours in the street. When they were ready to leave, they had both changed. The Boy in a blue T, The Exchange in white. I don't know why they changed and I didn't ask.
The Boy seems pleased to have The Exchange here. The Exchange is operating on second wind. I invited a neighbour to drive with me. We dropped the boys off at the birthday party. We saw through the window of the birthday girl's house that all the guests inside were girls. When I looked back at them entering the house, I said to my neighbour, "Yup, they're two good looking young men out to impress the girls."
Thursday, July 24, 2008
On Frog Pond
Dead giant tadpoles, at least 3 inches long, were everywhere in the water. They were strange looking, with frog arms and legs, and a long whip tail. If they matured, they would have been bullfrogs.
But their amphibian presence was seen and heard through out the lake. You see them on land and sitting half submerged in water. At night, you hear them. Oh you hear them.
The first night, there was a cat fight of sorts between the frogs, loons, and ducks. There was loud, confrontational squawking, screeching, hooting, ribbiting, fluttering, and splashing. After that, the frogs settled into a rhythmic lull, a constant plucking and tuning of the cello. There must've been three frogs vibrating their vocal cords on our site, producing that single note - rrrib - over and over again. Across the lake, other frogs were busier tuning their strings, testing and retesting the same series of notes like a bow drawn across a cello.
Occasional, a loon added his vocal shriek, an owl hooted his percussion beat, and lake creatures offered a splashing of water. So it was to these sounds that I fell asleep at night.
During the day though, it was different. The next day, we waited for two others to join us. Two of us took the canoe out to find a hiking trail. We didn't find it. But we picked up firewood wherever we stopped. That little paddle that felt like an hour long actually took three hours. Time gets lost on the water.
Our friends never arrived that Friday. We speculated on what happened to them. They were to provide two days of food. If they didn't show at all, would we leave the park early, or could we ration and stay till Monday? To our horror, we realized we had enough food for seven days for the three of us. Part of me regretted our friends weren't there to enjoy the beauty of the lake, part of me wished they wouldn't come so we could truly try to survive on seven days of food in five.
On Saturday afternoon, our friends found us. This is their story. At 5 am Friday, Jan phoned Lia and said, I forgot the eggs, do you have eggs?
Lia said, Huh? Who is this?
- I am on the highway now, coming to pick you up. We agreed we'd leave at 5 am.
- No, we don't leave for another two weeks.
- No, we leave today.
- Oh my god.
So Jan turned her car around and went home. That night, she had dinner with her kids and ex-husband. Lia scrambled to rearrange her weekend. She had booked appointments for that Friday and had to keep them. But she cancelled her appointments for the Monday, called a friend to take her other to the airport for Sunday, then packed what she could to join us in the wild.
They left Saturday morning at 5 am, drove four hours to the park (that's fast driving without stopping), got into the lake by 10 am, and found us by 2 pm. Lia couldn't arrange for a dog sitter so brought her little dog, Kuku. After they unloaded their canoe, the first thing Lia said was, Uh oh, Kuku caught a frog.
But their amphibian presence was seen and heard through out the lake. You see them on land and sitting half submerged in water. At night, you hear them. Oh you hear them.
The first night, there was a cat fight of sorts between the frogs, loons, and ducks. There was loud, confrontational squawking, screeching, hooting, ribbiting, fluttering, and splashing. After that, the frogs settled into a rhythmic lull, a constant plucking and tuning of the cello. There must've been three frogs vibrating their vocal cords on our site, producing that single note - rrrib - over and over again. Across the lake, other frogs were busier tuning their strings, testing and retesting the same series of notes like a bow drawn across a cello.
Occasional, a loon added his vocal shriek, an owl hooted his percussion beat, and lake creatures offered a splashing of water. So it was to these sounds that I fell asleep at night.
During the day though, it was different. The next day, we waited for two others to join us. Two of us took the canoe out to find a hiking trail. We didn't find it. But we picked up firewood wherever we stopped. That little paddle that felt like an hour long actually took three hours. Time gets lost on the water.
Our friends never arrived that Friday. We speculated on what happened to them. They were to provide two days of food. If they didn't show at all, would we leave the park early, or could we ration and stay till Monday? To our horror, we realized we had enough food for seven days for the three of us. Part of me regretted our friends weren't there to enjoy the beauty of the lake, part of me wished they wouldn't come so we could truly try to survive on seven days of food in five.
On Saturday afternoon, our friends found us. This is their story. At 5 am Friday, Jan phoned Lia and said, I forgot the eggs, do you have eggs?
Lia said, Huh? Who is this?
- I am on the highway now, coming to pick you up. We agreed we'd leave at 5 am.
- No, we don't leave for another two weeks.
- No, we leave today.
- Oh my god.
So Jan turned her car around and went home. That night, she had dinner with her kids and ex-husband. Lia scrambled to rearrange her weekend. She had booked appointments for that Friday and had to keep them. But she cancelled her appointments for the Monday, called a friend to take her other to the airport for Sunday, then packed what she could to join us in the wild.
They left Saturday morning at 5 am, drove four hours to the park (that's fast driving without stopping), got into the lake by 10 am, and found us by 2 pm. Lia couldn't arrange for a dog sitter so brought her little dog, Kuku. After they unloaded their canoe, the first thing Lia said was, Uh oh, Kuku caught a frog.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Out There
The mosquitoes were vicious, the deer flies were ferocious, the horse flies and dragonflies had a plan. The horse flies buzzed about you while the dragonflies smacked against you on a suicide attack if you enter their water. Thank god nature had already extinguished the black fly army. I have never been bitten as much as I was on this camping trip. I bear the warrior scars of having battled and lost to an unvanquishable, bloodsucking enemy out in the wilds. I can't tell if I am swollen from bites, muscle ache, or sunburn.
Still, it's hard to come back to the city.
On our first day out, three of us met in the parking lot of our access point to Killarney like we happened to be shopping and bumped into each other. It as almost 3 pm before we put the canoe in the water. The paddling across Bell Lake was easy. Even the first portage of 745 m after an hour of paddling didn't faze us.
I decided to carry the 17-foot Kevlar canoe by myself. It weighed only 39 lbs, a far cry from the 80-lb aluminum or 65-lb fibreglass canoes of yore. Still, at 5' 3.5", balancing 17 feet of boat on my shoulders was a trick, especially with my arms anchored for balance and mosquitoes saw me weaponless without swatting hands. I think they are mutant biting bugs this year; they like DEET and citronella. Despite losing the battle to the bugs this weekend, this was my personal triumph, that I could portage the canoe on my own. I feel stronger, more balanced, and more fit than when I was young. In fact, it's a powerful feeling.
After two portages, we got onto David Lake. All the camp sites we passed were occupied. The sun was getting ready to set and still we were homeless. Finally, we got to the end of the lake and saw a large rock jutting into the water. There was no one on this piece of land. Let this be a campsite, let this be a campsite, I prayed. And there it was, the coveted orange and black triangle nailed to a tree to indicate this was a designated camp site.
It was a beautiful spot. Two large rock masses dipped into the water. I designated one our luncheon rock, the other our dining rock. There were soft tent pads on several spot so we each pitched our own tent on private real estate. There was shade in between the trees and sun out on the rock. One side of the site opened to a small marsh where animals could come to feed. The other side opened to the large lake where the canoe route was far away. Perfection. I would have chosen this exact site if I had the choice of many. It was like a gift waiting for us at the end of our day. Even when it rained at night, I thought, this is good, this is all a gift from above.
Still, it's hard to come back to the city.
On our first day out, three of us met in the parking lot of our access point to Killarney like we happened to be shopping and bumped into each other. It as almost 3 pm before we put the canoe in the water. The paddling across Bell Lake was easy. Even the first portage of 745 m after an hour of paddling didn't faze us.
I decided to carry the 17-foot Kevlar canoe by myself. It weighed only 39 lbs, a far cry from the 80-lb aluminum or 65-lb fibreglass canoes of yore. Still, at 5' 3.5", balancing 17 feet of boat on my shoulders was a trick, especially with my arms anchored for balance and mosquitoes saw me weaponless without swatting hands. I think they are mutant biting bugs this year; they like DEET and citronella. Despite losing the battle to the bugs this weekend, this was my personal triumph, that I could portage the canoe on my own. I feel stronger, more balanced, and more fit than when I was young. In fact, it's a powerful feeling.
After two portages, we got onto David Lake. All the camp sites we passed were occupied. The sun was getting ready to set and still we were homeless. Finally, we got to the end of the lake and saw a large rock jutting into the water. There was no one on this piece of land. Let this be a campsite, let this be a campsite, I prayed. And there it was, the coveted orange and black triangle nailed to a tree to indicate this was a designated camp site.
It was a beautiful spot. Two large rock masses dipped into the water. I designated one our luncheon rock, the other our dining rock. There were soft tent pads on several spot so we each pitched our own tent on private real estate. There was shade in between the trees and sun out on the rock. One side of the site opened to a small marsh where animals could come to feed. The other side opened to the large lake where the canoe route was far away. Perfection. I would have chosen this exact site if I had the choice of many. It was like a gift waiting for us at the end of our day. Even when it rained at night, I thought, this is good, this is all a gift from above.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Into The Wild
Here we go, into the wilds of Killarney for 5 days.
My wilderness camping buddies are a particular group of women. I really think half of the things we pack are food related. That's because we want only fresh, gourmet food during the whole five days out. No freeze dried stuff for us.
I usually provide the first dinner. It is usually a soup or stew type dish, prepared the week before camping and frozen. It travels in a collapsible cooler, with salad, vegetables, and real cake for dessert. After that, lots of fresh fruit, vegetables, dips, pita, pasta, rice (not minute rice), and legumes (not canned beans). Which means large pots and frying pan, lots of fuel for the two stoves, chopping board, kitchen towels, and napkins. And camping isn't camping without fresh brewed coffee and herbal tea. So all the equipment for that go into the "kitchen" pack. It's just a matter of time before we pack table and chairs for our canoe trip, we are wild and crazy like that.
We want our own space to keep our snoring and thrashing to ourselves, so we each bring our own tent. That's one person per tent. People only share if they are newbies to our trip. We sleep on Thermarests, with sleeping bag, blanket, and pillow. I won't budge on this. I can't sleep without a pillow.
But these women are also environmentalists. They are careful not to produce waste. I don't call myself an environmentalist, but I don't like to add my mess to nature and try to leave a camp site cleaner than when I found it. We are very careful to leave no footprint.
Our route usually takes us over two short portages to get to a site. We try to get a site on an island. Then we set up tent for the whole of our stay, though we've certainly moved sites on a whim too.
I love the mornings and evenings best. In the early morning, we can usually spot moose drinking not far from us. The air is blue and mysterious. You feel like you don't know what the day will bring, yet you know exactly that everything will still be there the next day. I mean, no matter what happens to us, what we do and where we go for the day, you know that the blue, hazy morning will come again the next day and clear with the sunrise, the water and tree lines that obstruct the sunset will still be all around, the wind will swirl the trees to make that whooshing sound with the leaves, the birds and animals will still call out and splash the water, then night will descend again.
At night, I like lying on a rock, stare up at the sky, and listen to the water and frogs. When a loons calls or when a wolf howls, we freeze, as if the slightest movement on our part will send these animals away, even though we suspect they are quite far from us.
I always try to decipher which are the clouds and which The Milky Way. Sometimes, I try to find the constellations. The Big Dipper is always there and easy to spot. I often see Draco. But the others, I don't know what they are. That's the moment I say to myself, I should have brought my book of constellations. I say that every year. If I am lucky, I see a shooting star. I have yet to see the Aurora Borealis in action, though the sky is often pink and green late at night.
During the day, we go for short paddles and hikes, and we eat.
I have no idea what our route is each year. I let the others plan it out on the pretext I don't have a map of the park. I really don't care where we go, as long as I see no cars and concrete buildings, and I can smell the earth, stoke the fire, taste the air, and swim naked in the lake.
My wilderness camping buddies are a particular group of women. I really think half of the things we pack are food related. That's because we want only fresh, gourmet food during the whole five days out. No freeze dried stuff for us.
I usually provide the first dinner. It is usually a soup or stew type dish, prepared the week before camping and frozen. It travels in a collapsible cooler, with salad, vegetables, and real cake for dessert. After that, lots of fresh fruit, vegetables, dips, pita, pasta, rice (not minute rice), and legumes (not canned beans). Which means large pots and frying pan, lots of fuel for the two stoves, chopping board, kitchen towels, and napkins. And camping isn't camping without fresh brewed coffee and herbal tea. So all the equipment for that go into the "kitchen" pack. It's just a matter of time before we pack table and chairs for our canoe trip, we are wild and crazy like that.
We want our own space to keep our snoring and thrashing to ourselves, so we each bring our own tent. That's one person per tent. People only share if they are newbies to our trip. We sleep on Thermarests, with sleeping bag, blanket, and pillow. I won't budge on this. I can't sleep without a pillow.
But these women are also environmentalists. They are careful not to produce waste. I don't call myself an environmentalist, but I don't like to add my mess to nature and try to leave a camp site cleaner than when I found it. We are very careful to leave no footprint.
Our route usually takes us over two short portages to get to a site. We try to get a site on an island. Then we set up tent for the whole of our stay, though we've certainly moved sites on a whim too.
I love the mornings and evenings best. In the early morning, we can usually spot moose drinking not far from us. The air is blue and mysterious. You feel like you don't know what the day will bring, yet you know exactly that everything will still be there the next day. I mean, no matter what happens to us, what we do and where we go for the day, you know that the blue, hazy morning will come again the next day and clear with the sunrise, the water and tree lines that obstruct the sunset will still be all around, the wind will swirl the trees to make that whooshing sound with the leaves, the birds and animals will still call out and splash the water, then night will descend again.
At night, I like lying on a rock, stare up at the sky, and listen to the water and frogs. When a loons calls or when a wolf howls, we freeze, as if the slightest movement on our part will send these animals away, even though we suspect they are quite far from us.
I always try to decipher which are the clouds and which The Milky Way. Sometimes, I try to find the constellations. The Big Dipper is always there and easy to spot. I often see Draco. But the others, I don't know what they are. That's the moment I say to myself, I should have brought my book of constellations. I say that every year. If I am lucky, I see a shooting star. I have yet to see the Aurora Borealis in action, though the sky is often pink and green late at night.
During the day, we go for short paddles and hikes, and we eat.
I have no idea what our route is each year. I let the others plan it out on the pretext I don't have a map of the park. I really don't care where we go, as long as I see no cars and concrete buildings, and I can smell the earth, stoke the fire, taste the air, and swim naked in the lake.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Get Your Butt Over Here
That's the sign on the door of the waiting room at the hospital where I was today. I had a little procedure done. A routine scan. A screening for colon cancer. Not that I have reason to suspect I have colon cancer. It's just that when you enter your fifth decade, the doctors highly recommend it to screen out the cancer. Colon cancer is apparently the second killer of Canadians after heart disease.
To prepare for the colonoscopy, I fasted the day before. No solid food all day. No dairy, no grape juice. But clear liquids and non-grape flavoured jello are okay. I just had water and coffee. I took two laxatives in the morning, then at 4:30 pm, I started to drink 4 litres of electrolyte water. I had to drink it all within four hours. That's a 6 oz glass every 10 minutes. My god it was not easy.
In the middle of the drinking, my system started to clear. It was most uncomfortable. Every time I bent over, the motion triggered the urge to purge, which triggered a everyone-and-everything-out-of-my-way beeline to the bathroom. By the second litre, I was simply passing water. But you know, I felt my inside cleaning out as the water passed became clearer and clearer. Really, it was almost like the water went in one end and within seconds, came out the other. By the fourth litre, I couldn't tell whether I was peeing or pooing.
The instructions said not to take in any more liquid after midnight. But my mouth felt dry. So I sipped on tea anyway to moisten my mouth. This morning, I weighed four pounds less than yesterday!
I checked in at the hospital at 11:00 am. The process was not as bad as I imagined. The staff were friendly and understanding. They must know it's an awkward procedure for first timers and tried to put me at ease without being condescending. A nurse explained with an illustration board exactly what would happen during the procedure.
I was put on a stretcher and given sedation, an IV in the arm. Then a nurse wheeled me into the examination room where a TV monitor hovered the bed. I said to the doctor, I want to see what my inside looks like. The doctor repositioned the monitor so that it faced me. A nurse strapped vital sign monitoring things on me and topped up my IV. Then the probing began.
There were little aches and cramps throughout the 30 minutes of the procedure. I saw my innards. I saw fleshy, smooth lining. It was really neat.
I feared I was going to make loud explosions as I expelled water and gas throughout the procedure. I feared I would be drenched in my own mess as the procedure progressed. None of that happened. When the doctor removed the probe, I passed gas quietly a few times. That was it. Or not. Because I fell asleep.
When I woke up, I was in the recovery room. When I was given the sedative at noon, the nurse said it could put me out for about 30 minutes. The procedure was over at 12:30. I remember glancing over at the clock. Then at exactly 1:00, I woke up. Weird how exact the dose was.
But you know, I felt so clean after. For the rest of the day, I tried not to eat too much. It was hard. Sis and Bro brought food over for dinner and we had a little party. It was great. And I am clean as can be inside. No cancer, no polyps, no mysterious spots, no aliens from outer space, no evil hidden deep in my bowels. Not a bummer day at all.
To prepare for the colonoscopy, I fasted the day before. No solid food all day. No dairy, no grape juice. But clear liquids and non-grape flavoured jello are okay. I just had water and coffee. I took two laxatives in the morning, then at 4:30 pm, I started to drink 4 litres of electrolyte water. I had to drink it all within four hours. That's a 6 oz glass every 10 minutes. My god it was not easy.
In the middle of the drinking, my system started to clear. It was most uncomfortable. Every time I bent over, the motion triggered the urge to purge, which triggered a everyone-and-everything-out-of-my-way beeline to the bathroom. By the second litre, I was simply passing water. But you know, I felt my inside cleaning out as the water passed became clearer and clearer. Really, it was almost like the water went in one end and within seconds, came out the other. By the fourth litre, I couldn't tell whether I was peeing or pooing.
The instructions said not to take in any more liquid after midnight. But my mouth felt dry. So I sipped on tea anyway to moisten my mouth. This morning, I weighed four pounds less than yesterday!
I checked in at the hospital at 11:00 am. The process was not as bad as I imagined. The staff were friendly and understanding. They must know it's an awkward procedure for first timers and tried to put me at ease without being condescending. A nurse explained with an illustration board exactly what would happen during the procedure.
I was put on a stretcher and given sedation, an IV in the arm. Then a nurse wheeled me into the examination room where a TV monitor hovered the bed. I said to the doctor, I want to see what my inside looks like. The doctor repositioned the monitor so that it faced me. A nurse strapped vital sign monitoring things on me and topped up my IV. Then the probing began.
There were little aches and cramps throughout the 30 minutes of the procedure. I saw my innards. I saw fleshy, smooth lining. It was really neat.
I feared I was going to make loud explosions as I expelled water and gas throughout the procedure. I feared I would be drenched in my own mess as the procedure progressed. None of that happened. When the doctor removed the probe, I passed gas quietly a few times. That was it. Or not. Because I fell asleep.
When I woke up, I was in the recovery room. When I was given the sedative at noon, the nurse said it could put me out for about 30 minutes. The procedure was over at 12:30. I remember glancing over at the clock. Then at exactly 1:00, I woke up. Weird how exact the dose was.
But you know, I felt so clean after. For the rest of the day, I tried not to eat too much. It was hard. Sis and Bro brought food over for dinner and we had a little party. It was great. And I am clean as can be inside. No cancer, no polyps, no mysterious spots, no aliens from outer space, no evil hidden deep in my bowels. Not a bummer day at all.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
The Trickle
Really, maybe my next-door neighbour and I are too familiar with each other.
My 26-year-old neighbour is a good soul. When he was a boy, I tutored him in math. When he was a teenager, he helped out at the street festivals we organized. When his father passed away, we had him and his sister over for dinner a couple of times. When he graduated from high school, we hired him to paint our house. As a young man now, he's driven me to appointments when I am running late, he tells me about specials on sale at our local supermarket where he works, he tells me when I leave the headlights on in my car, he inquires after The Man.
But he's also a rough 'n gruff guy, not the smartest cookie in the jar. He and his friends used to party and make lots of noise. He throws his cigarette butts all over the shared drive. When lightning hit the tree in his backyard and the tree branch came crashing down into our fence, he flew into action to restore the cable on his TV. And last night... last night I didn't want to be that familiar with him.
It was midnight. I was sitting on the second step of my porch smoking. True, it was dark. But I wasn't hiding. I was right there out in the open. Neighbour stumbled out of his house and stood in the middle of the shared laneway. I heard gushing water. I turned to catch a glimpse of Neighbour in the middle of relieving himself. I had an urge to shout at him, but I put my hand up to my face to shield him from my view and sat still. I didn't want to embarrass him, nor did I want to interrupt him in mid-stream.
When he finished, he lit a cigarette and went down the street, turned around after a few steps, and went back into his house. I stayed still the whole time. He had not seen me at all. Now I am convinced he killed my bean plants a few years ago by peeing into the bean barrel out front. They were growing fine then suddenly died one day.
This morning, I went out and hosed the laneway. I think, on so many levels, I enjoy all my neighbours. And then 26-year-old neighbour does something like this. Should I talk to him, or just take the good with the bad? Because reallly, he's a good soul even if he is a blundering baboon.
My 26-year-old neighbour is a good soul. When he was a boy, I tutored him in math. When he was a teenager, he helped out at the street festivals we organized. When his father passed away, we had him and his sister over for dinner a couple of times. When he graduated from high school, we hired him to paint our house. As a young man now, he's driven me to appointments when I am running late, he tells me about specials on sale at our local supermarket where he works, he tells me when I leave the headlights on in my car, he inquires after The Man.
But he's also a rough 'n gruff guy, not the smartest cookie in the jar. He and his friends used to party and make lots of noise. He throws his cigarette butts all over the shared drive. When lightning hit the tree in his backyard and the tree branch came crashing down into our fence, he flew into action to restore the cable on his TV. And last night... last night I didn't want to be that familiar with him.
It was midnight. I was sitting on the second step of my porch smoking. True, it was dark. But I wasn't hiding. I was right there out in the open. Neighbour stumbled out of his house and stood in the middle of the shared laneway. I heard gushing water. I turned to catch a glimpse of Neighbour in the middle of relieving himself. I had an urge to shout at him, but I put my hand up to my face to shield him from my view and sat still. I didn't want to embarrass him, nor did I want to interrupt him in mid-stream.
When he finished, he lit a cigarette and went down the street, turned around after a few steps, and went back into his house. I stayed still the whole time. He had not seen me at all. Now I am convinced he killed my bean plants a few years ago by peeing into the bean barrel out front. They were growing fine then suddenly died one day.
This morning, I went out and hosed the laneway. I think, on so many levels, I enjoy all my neighbours. And then 26-year-old neighbour does something like this. Should I talk to him, or just take the good with the bad? Because reallly, he's a good soul even if he is a blundering baboon.
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
The Day After
Last night, torrential rain poured. We received 50 cm in one hour. A pool collected at the bottom half of our street, submerging some of the gardens and basements.
While this was happening, I was in pottery class with my neighbour. Her husband phoned to tell us about the flooding at the bottom of our street and the firetrucks, ambulances and city trucks that had gathered there. He said, You may not be able to get home.
By the time we ended class and came home, the water had already drained from the street. You wouldn't know there had been a flood except for one neighbour carrying wet things out of his basement to his front lawn, and a large city truck that was still parked on the street.
This morning, there were six disaster cleaning and restoration trucks on our street. At least four houses had flooded basements. Two houses have large green garbage bins in front that bear the slogan "Bin there, dump that". Everyone inquired of each other to see if their homes survived the storm. Even neighbours who don't get along asked each other, Is your basement okay?
I found out that one neighbour was driving home when the downpour came and drove his dad's car into the pool at the bottom of the street. It was stuck there for a few hours until the water drained. I see there are many new blooms on my potted flowering maples today. I guess I hadn't been water them enough.
By afternoon, we are used to the presence of the disaster cleaning trucks. There are more people walking about today than usual. I am sure they are just neighbours checking on the progress of the cleaning. When a cleaning truck drives away, I think a house just got restored. But of course I don't know that for sure.
I am just glad we did work to seal our basement foundation years ago to prevent flooding.
While this was happening, I was in pottery class with my neighbour. Her husband phoned to tell us about the flooding at the bottom of our street and the firetrucks, ambulances and city trucks that had gathered there. He said, You may not be able to get home.
By the time we ended class and came home, the water had already drained from the street. You wouldn't know there had been a flood except for one neighbour carrying wet things out of his basement to his front lawn, and a large city truck that was still parked on the street.
This morning, there were six disaster cleaning and restoration trucks on our street. At least four houses had flooded basements. Two houses have large green garbage bins in front that bear the slogan "Bin there, dump that". Everyone inquired of each other to see if their homes survived the storm. Even neighbours who don't get along asked each other, Is your basement okay?
I found out that one neighbour was driving home when the downpour came and drove his dad's car into the pool at the bottom of the street. It was stuck there for a few hours until the water drained. I see there are many new blooms on my potted flowering maples today. I guess I hadn't been water them enough.
By afternoon, we are used to the presence of the disaster cleaning trucks. There are more people walking about today than usual. I am sure they are just neighbours checking on the progress of the cleaning. When a cleaning truck drives away, I think a house just got restored. But of course I don't know that for sure.
I am just glad we did work to seal our basement foundation years ago to prevent flooding.
Monday, July 07, 2008
Competitive Comrades
Gardening is so competitive on our street. But there is also a camaraderie too. None of us hire landscape artists to do the work. We do it ourselves. Even as we try to out-do each other, we help each other build a better garden.
For example, my next door neighbour recently put up some drapes on her porch. From the street, her porch looks like a tent of mystery and excitement. When the wind blows, the drapes billow and you can see smoke coming out from the drapes as Neighbour sits on her porch smoking.
Another neighbour teased, "I wonder how long it will take Sylph to put up drapes to match yours." I said, "One day. I just need to run out and get the drapes." Neighbour then told me where to get the drapes and how much they cost. Of course I didn't get them. I like the look, but it's my neighbour's look. I personally prefer the open window view from my porch.
We have all been tending our gardens tirelessly. I am so pleased with mine. I revamped some parts and incorporated existing plants in the new garden. Neighbour decided that since I revamped mine, he has to re-balance his. So he dug out a big piece of lawn and put in a little garden at the front. I said, I have the perfect spot for that lawn you dug up. So he brought the sod to my backyard where it sat beautifully in a bare spot.
One day, while walking past our garden centre, I saw an urn I liked at 80% off. The week before, one of the neighbours and I had walked by and we both wanted that urn. But we felt it was too expensive even at 50% off. Now at 80% off and on the last day before the garden centre closes for the season, I bought two of those urns and gave one to my neighbour. She was thrilled.
I am growing a front lawn. I want to grow a nice looking lawn because two of my immediate neighbours have beautiful, lush, even lawns while mine has always been browny, spotty, and lumpy. But now, mine is at least green. Another neighbour just put down new sod to grow over her brown spots. She said, I can't stand seeing you all with green lawns while mine is brown.
Our gardens are telltale of our personalities. One neighbour's is neat and organized. His garden looks clean, though not exciting. Another grows small, frilly flowers. Everything looks neat and elegant, just like her. Another just looks neglected no matter what she does to the garden.
Mine is, well, someone said it is intuitively organic. It is aesthetically pleasing in a quirky way. It is not exactly disorganized because now there are cedar bark chips on the ground to bring the garden together. It looks like chaos reigned in. It has a feeling of abundance and abandonment, with a few hurtles just for fun. Sis' fiance referred to it as the Jungle of Nool.
I love that my neighbours give me plants from their gardens. I give them tips on what to put in their garden to protect their homes according to feng shui principles. Not that I am an expert. I am merely repeating what our feng shui practitioner told us about our house. Now we all have turtle figures in our backyards (their hard shell protects the house and its occupants), and a money tree in the kitchen window (there is a direct line from the front door to the back door. The plants blocks the flow of money out the door and attracts wealth into the house). One neighbour keeps fish now (to trigger movement in his career sector) and another keeps the Chinese kitchen gods in his kitchen (to bring luck, prosperity, and safety).
So even as we compete to see who keeps the better house and garden, we look out for each other.
For example, my next door neighbour recently put up some drapes on her porch. From the street, her porch looks like a tent of mystery and excitement. When the wind blows, the drapes billow and you can see smoke coming out from the drapes as Neighbour sits on her porch smoking.
Another neighbour teased, "I wonder how long it will take Sylph to put up drapes to match yours." I said, "One day. I just need to run out and get the drapes." Neighbour then told me where to get the drapes and how much they cost. Of course I didn't get them. I like the look, but it's my neighbour's look. I personally prefer the open window view from my porch.
We have all been tending our gardens tirelessly. I am so pleased with mine. I revamped some parts and incorporated existing plants in the new garden. Neighbour decided that since I revamped mine, he has to re-balance his. So he dug out a big piece of lawn and put in a little garden at the front. I said, I have the perfect spot for that lawn you dug up. So he brought the sod to my backyard where it sat beautifully in a bare spot.
One day, while walking past our garden centre, I saw an urn I liked at 80% off. The week before, one of the neighbours and I had walked by and we both wanted that urn. But we felt it was too expensive even at 50% off. Now at 80% off and on the last day before the garden centre closes for the season, I bought two of those urns and gave one to my neighbour. She was thrilled.
I am growing a front lawn. I want to grow a nice looking lawn because two of my immediate neighbours have beautiful, lush, even lawns while mine has always been browny, spotty, and lumpy. But now, mine is at least green. Another neighbour just put down new sod to grow over her brown spots. She said, I can't stand seeing you all with green lawns while mine is brown.
Our gardens are telltale of our personalities. One neighbour's is neat and organized. His garden looks clean, though not exciting. Another grows small, frilly flowers. Everything looks neat and elegant, just like her. Another just looks neglected no matter what she does to the garden.
Mine is, well, someone said it is intuitively organic. It is aesthetically pleasing in a quirky way. It is not exactly disorganized because now there are cedar bark chips on the ground to bring the garden together. It looks like chaos reigned in. It has a feeling of abundance and abandonment, with a few hurtles just for fun. Sis' fiance referred to it as the Jungle of Nool.
I love that my neighbours give me plants from their gardens. I give them tips on what to put in their garden to protect their homes according to feng shui principles. Not that I am an expert. I am merely repeating what our feng shui practitioner told us about our house. Now we all have turtle figures in our backyards (their hard shell protects the house and its occupants), and a money tree in the kitchen window (there is a direct line from the front door to the back door. The plants blocks the flow of money out the door and attracts wealth into the house). One neighbour keeps fish now (to trigger movement in his career sector) and another keeps the Chinese kitchen gods in his kitchen (to bring luck, prosperity, and safety).
So even as we compete to see who keeps the better house and garden, we look out for each other.
Sunday, July 06, 2008
Kinky, Not
If I write in an economical way with everything in lower case that is so fashionable with young people on e-mail, this is what I will have on the weekend:
- sausages
- cream
- room with a view
- wonder boys
That sounds like such a kinky weekend. But it's a weekend with my book club. I am bringing breakfast sausages, coffee cream, and two movies - A Room With A View and Wonder Boys.
- sausages
- cream
- room with a view
- wonder boys
That sounds like such a kinky weekend. But it's a weekend with my book club. I am bringing breakfast sausages, coffee cream, and two movies - A Room With A View and Wonder Boys.
Friday, July 04, 2008
They're So Stoopid
There is a store on College I go to sometimes. It used to be an electronics store selling computers, cameras and the like at discount prices. Lately, I see they sell other things too, like toothbrushes, fans, garden tools, bleach, lights, and gadgetry items. Especially gadgetry items.
Last week, I went in for no reason and bought food covers for camping so bugs won't get into your food while you are serving, mosquito bracelets that repel mosquitoes if you wear one, and a pair of battery operated lights that respond to sound. What kind of sound? The packaging said footsteps, banging, voice, clapping. Neat, I thought. I would get a pair and install them by the front door so that when we come home at night, the lights will turn on.
Today, I installed the lights. I was excited at nightfall to try out my lights. I went outside. I slammed the front door. The lights didn't come on. I stomped around on the porch. It was still dark. I called out Hey yoohooyoo. Nothing. I clapped my hands. Nada. I clapped my hands closer to one of the lights. Voila! It came on. I clapped my hands close to the other light. It came on too.
I tested more sounds and did more clapping. I concluded that the lights only come on when you clap kind of close to them. Or at least a loud clap in the direction of the light. The lights stay on for 10 seconds.
Well what the hell good is that? If I come home late and the street is dark, I have to clap loudly and move quickly to get my keys out to open the door. If I don't find my keys and identify the right one for my door lock within 10 seconds, I have to keep clapping to keep the light on so I can continue searching. That is so stupid.
But now that I've bought special batteries for the lights and mounted them with my electric drill and all, I don't want to take them down. What would I do with them anyway if I don't leave them up? But they are such stupid lights. No, I am not stupid to have bought them. It was a great idea that didn't quite live up to its potential.
Last week, I went in for no reason and bought food covers for camping so bugs won't get into your food while you are serving, mosquito bracelets that repel mosquitoes if you wear one, and a pair of battery operated lights that respond to sound. What kind of sound? The packaging said footsteps, banging, voice, clapping. Neat, I thought. I would get a pair and install them by the front door so that when we come home at night, the lights will turn on.
Today, I installed the lights. I was excited at nightfall to try out my lights. I went outside. I slammed the front door. The lights didn't come on. I stomped around on the porch. It was still dark. I called out Hey yoohooyoo. Nothing. I clapped my hands. Nada. I clapped my hands closer to one of the lights. Voila! It came on. I clapped my hands close to the other light. It came on too.
I tested more sounds and did more clapping. I concluded that the lights only come on when you clap kind of close to them. Or at least a loud clap in the direction of the light. The lights stay on for 10 seconds.
Well what the hell good is that? If I come home late and the street is dark, I have to clap loudly and move quickly to get my keys out to open the door. If I don't find my keys and identify the right one for my door lock within 10 seconds, I have to keep clapping to keep the light on so I can continue searching. That is so stupid.
But now that I've bought special batteries for the lights and mounted them with my electric drill and all, I don't want to take them down. What would I do with them anyway if I don't leave them up? But they are such stupid lights. No, I am not stupid to have bought them. It was a great idea that didn't quite live up to its potential.
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