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.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Soccer Mom
Only in Canada. I can't imagine this happening anywhere else.
Mom said the other day, "You know that Italy won the soccer game yesterday?"
"The soccer game? You watch soccer?"
"Yes, I watched the game at home last night. Last year, Portugal won. It's always either Portugal, Italy, or Spain."
"You follow soccer?"
"Only when the Euro Cup is on."
"You know about the Euro Cup?"
"Can't help it. It's always on TV at the mahjongg club. That's how I started watching soccer."
Who would have known mom followed the Euro Cup games?
I only know a game has taken place when the blast and blare of car horns reach my ear from St. Clair. If I happen to be on St. Clair, I see cars waving the flags of the victors. Recently, I saw a red flag with a crescent and star and mistook it for the Chinese flag. But I noted none of the flag wavers were Asian. I asked several cars that got close to me, "Does China have a soccer team?" They all said yes. What was China doing in the Euro Cup? That was a very confusing evening and I didn't understand how the loyalty of soccer fans worked.
Later, I looked the flag up and realized it was the Turkish flag. That made much more sense. But why did those cars tell me China has a soccer team? Ah, maybe China does have a soccer team, but just not in the Euro Cup. That was my assumption.
I bet mom knew this.
Mom said the other day, "You know that Italy won the soccer game yesterday?"
"The soccer game? You watch soccer?"
"Yes, I watched the game at home last night. Last year, Portugal won. It's always either Portugal, Italy, or Spain."
"You follow soccer?"
"Only when the Euro Cup is on."
"You know about the Euro Cup?"
"Can't help it. It's always on TV at the mahjongg club. That's how I started watching soccer."
Who would have known mom followed the Euro Cup games?
I only know a game has taken place when the blast and blare of car horns reach my ear from St. Clair. If I happen to be on St. Clair, I see cars waving the flags of the victors. Recently, I saw a red flag with a crescent and star and mistook it for the Chinese flag. But I noted none of the flag wavers were Asian. I asked several cars that got close to me, "Does China have a soccer team?" They all said yes. What was China doing in the Euro Cup? That was a very confusing evening and I didn't understand how the loyalty of soccer fans worked.
Later, I looked the flag up and realized it was the Turkish flag. That made much more sense. But why did those cars tell me China has a soccer team? Ah, maybe China does have a soccer team, but just not in the Euro Cup. That was my assumption.
I bet mom knew this.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
The Big Prep
I got home in the afternoon to find The Boy with a friend listening to music. At 2 pm, the friend left, The Boy went to pick up the corsage for Prom Date. Ten minutes later, the sky broke opened and poured, hard. The Boy phoned me to pick him up at the florist.
He got into the car with a large fuschia gerbera corsage to match Prom Date's dress and two bouquets of flowers. He presented me with one of the bouquets! Then he got showered and dressed in a hurry. We set off for Prom Date's house, running a bit late because of the rain.
When we got there, Prom Date's parents, grandmother, aunt, and cousin were there to witness the arrival of her date. She brought out a box containing a fuschia rose. That was a boutonniere for The Boy. I didn't know that was the etiquette for girls.
P
Prom Date had trouble pinning the boutonniere on The Boy so her mother had to help.
The Boy had no trouble slipping the corsage on Prom Date's wrist.
And here they are, all dressed up, with matching flowers, on her matching deck. Beautiful.
The proud moms with their beautiful children.
The beautiful kids at the pre-prom party. Just a gathering at one of the girls' home with 30 or so of the closest friends in her grade.
I guess short formal dresses for girls are the in thing this season. I don't think any of these girls look slutty, contrary to what some friends had warned. But then these kids have incredible parental support and guidance. Yeah, no diversity, and the kids conveniently paired up, but whatcha gonna do?
The parents were also invited to this party. Am I glad I actually showered and put clean clothes on for this, looking casual, yet respectable. I could just as easily have shown up in a dirty t-shirt and gnarly, greasy hair. Servers walked around at the party to give guests food and the bartender asked the kids to bring their parents over to signal it's okay to give the kids a bit of alcohol. I think the parents were invited to admire these young adults. Do they know how lucky they are?
The Boy and his best buddies with their dates.
Were there moments this afternoon where I felt like crying? Yes there were. That's why they have proms. It's to give the mothers practice for when their kids get married.
He got into the car with a large fuschia gerbera corsage to match Prom Date's dress and two bouquets of flowers. He presented me with one of the bouquets! Then he got showered and dressed in a hurry. We set off for Prom Date's house, running a bit late because of the rain.
When we got there, Prom Date's parents, grandmother, aunt, and cousin were there to witness the arrival of her date. She brought out a box containing a fuschia rose. That was a boutonniere for The Boy. I didn't know that was the etiquette for girls.
PProm Date had trouble pinning the boutonniere on The Boy so her mother had to help.
The Boy had no trouble slipping the corsage on Prom Date's wrist.
And here they are, all dressed up, with matching flowers, on her matching deck. Beautiful.
The proud moms with their beautiful children.
The beautiful kids at the pre-prom party. Just a gathering at one of the girls' home with 30 or so of the closest friends in her grade.
I guess short formal dresses for girls are the in thing this season. I don't think any of these girls look slutty, contrary to what some friends had warned. But then these kids have incredible parental support and guidance. Yeah, no diversity, and the kids conveniently paired up, but whatcha gonna do?
The parents were also invited to this party. Am I glad I actually showered and put clean clothes on for this, looking casual, yet respectable. I could just as easily have shown up in a dirty t-shirt and gnarly, greasy hair. Servers walked around at the party to give guests food and the bartender asked the kids to bring their parents over to signal it's okay to give the kids a bit of alcohol. I think the parents were invited to admire these young adults. Do they know how lucky they are?
The Boy and his best buddies with their dates.
Were there moments this afternoon where I felt like crying? Yes there were. That's why they have proms. It's to give the mothers practice for when their kids get married.
Monday, June 23, 2008
So, That's How It is Now
The Boy's prom is tonight. He's one of the few kids in the school who actually has a real date. The others go as a group and randomly get matched up with a friend of the opposite sex as date.
He's asked a girl in his grade to go with him. They've known each other since Grade 10. They commiserated over the unfairness of a teacher who preferred drama students. In Grade 11, she helped him study for his least favourite subject to ensure a good mark. In Grade 12, they hang out, study, and do whatever school friends do together. A few months ago, she said to him, Boy, you better ask me to the prom or I will never forgive you, or words to that effect. That's how he ended up actually asking her to go to the prom with him.
To prepare for it, he's relying on advise from two other female friends, who together with Prom Date and another girl, plan out how the prom will unroll for their group and tell the others what to do. I called them the Prom Protocol Committee (PPC).
They said The Boy had to get a new suit and took him shopping. I put my foot down and said, "Don't spend more than $300 on a new suit." I figured it was okay for him to get a new suit because the old suit he's worn for all those orchestra performances, well it's a cheap suit that cost $130 three years ago and he rolls it up to fit in his backpack, and when he unrolls it to wear, the thing has no wrinkles. But could he really get a new suit for $300? I doubted it.
The girls took him to a mall and they searched and searched and didn't like any of the suits they saw no matter what the price. There was one $800 suit they didn't find too ugly. But if you buy the suit, you have to get a new shirt, tie, and shoes to go with it. You can't wear old, cruddy accessories with a new outfit. That means The Boy would have to spend almost $1,200 to get all new things. Even the kids thought this was outrageous. Wisely, they opted to rent.
So for $195, The Boy rented himself a tux with vest, shirt, tie, shoes - the whole shebang. That the girls chose for him of course. The next day, I heard him say to a friend on the phone, "You rented a tux too? Did you get PPC's approval?" These girls rule.
I told him he should get his date a corsage. He said, "What for?"
"It's part of the prom ritual," I said.
A few days later, he came home and said, "Mom, PPC said I have to get Prom Date a corsage. A wrist corsage." So I helped him order one from a local florist.
Last night, he said, "I was just reading up on how to take your date to the prom. Can I have some money to buy Prom Date's mom some flowers? I'm supposed to knock on the door and give her mother some flowers and say, 'I'm here to take your daughter to the prom.' I've seen it done in movies."
"That's a very nice touch," I said. "Has PPC approved this?"
"No, this is my own initiative."
I liked that he's finally taking an interest instead of letting PPC lead him by the nose. "Yes," he said, "I'm pretty excited about it. I just talked to Friend on the phone and he's just panicked about tomorrow."
There is a pre-prom reception that one of the girls' parents are hosting. They are catering the affair and hired a photographer to take pictures of the kids all dressed up. The kids' parents are invited too, so we can stand as proud parents beside our children. That means I have to find yuppy gear to get into and gt there.
But this prom is expensive. Here's my tally of the expenses for this one evening:
$80 - Prom ticket. He didn't have to buy one for Prom Date because PPC said you buy your own if you attend the same school. But if you bring a date from another school, then you pay for her ticket.
$40 - After-prom party
$195 - Tuxedo rental
$30 - corsage
$20 - flowers for Prom Date's mother
$40 - limousine contribution
$20 - cab fare home from after-prom party
$20 - just in case money
$50 - my car rental for the day so I can drive him, all dressed up, to Prom Date's house to pick her up and go to the pre-prom reception together
That's $495 for his evening. Aside from my wedding, I don't think I've ever spent $495 for a party.
He's asked a girl in his grade to go with him. They've known each other since Grade 10. They commiserated over the unfairness of a teacher who preferred drama students. In Grade 11, she helped him study for his least favourite subject to ensure a good mark. In Grade 12, they hang out, study, and do whatever school friends do together. A few months ago, she said to him, Boy, you better ask me to the prom or I will never forgive you, or words to that effect. That's how he ended up actually asking her to go to the prom with him.
To prepare for it, he's relying on advise from two other female friends, who together with Prom Date and another girl, plan out how the prom will unroll for their group and tell the others what to do. I called them the Prom Protocol Committee (PPC).
They said The Boy had to get a new suit and took him shopping. I put my foot down and said, "Don't spend more than $300 on a new suit." I figured it was okay for him to get a new suit because the old suit he's worn for all those orchestra performances, well it's a cheap suit that cost $130 three years ago and he rolls it up to fit in his backpack, and when he unrolls it to wear, the thing has no wrinkles. But could he really get a new suit for $300? I doubted it.
The girls took him to a mall and they searched and searched and didn't like any of the suits they saw no matter what the price. There was one $800 suit they didn't find too ugly. But if you buy the suit, you have to get a new shirt, tie, and shoes to go with it. You can't wear old, cruddy accessories with a new outfit. That means The Boy would have to spend almost $1,200 to get all new things. Even the kids thought this was outrageous. Wisely, they opted to rent.
So for $195, The Boy rented himself a tux with vest, shirt, tie, shoes - the whole shebang. That the girls chose for him of course. The next day, I heard him say to a friend on the phone, "You rented a tux too? Did you get PPC's approval?" These girls rule.
I told him he should get his date a corsage. He said, "What for?"
"It's part of the prom ritual," I said.
A few days later, he came home and said, "Mom, PPC said I have to get Prom Date a corsage. A wrist corsage." So I helped him order one from a local florist.
Last night, he said, "I was just reading up on how to take your date to the prom. Can I have some money to buy Prom Date's mom some flowers? I'm supposed to knock on the door and give her mother some flowers and say, 'I'm here to take your daughter to the prom.' I've seen it done in movies."
"That's a very nice touch," I said. "Has PPC approved this?"
"No, this is my own initiative."
I liked that he's finally taking an interest instead of letting PPC lead him by the nose. "Yes," he said, "I'm pretty excited about it. I just talked to Friend on the phone and he's just panicked about tomorrow."
There is a pre-prom reception that one of the girls' parents are hosting. They are catering the affair and hired a photographer to take pictures of the kids all dressed up. The kids' parents are invited too, so we can stand as proud parents beside our children. That means I have to find yuppy gear to get into and gt there.
But this prom is expensive. Here's my tally of the expenses for this one evening:
$80 - Prom ticket. He didn't have to buy one for Prom Date because PPC said you buy your own if you attend the same school. But if you bring a date from another school, then you pay for her ticket.
$40 - After-prom party
$195 - Tuxedo rental
$30 - corsage
$20 - flowers for Prom Date's mother
$40 - limousine contribution
$20 - cab fare home from after-prom party
$20 - just in case money
$50 - my car rental for the day so I can drive him, all dressed up, to Prom Date's house to pick her up and go to the pre-prom reception together
That's $495 for his evening. Aside from my wedding, I don't think I've ever spent $495 for a party.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
The Birthday Party
Last night, I went to a friend's birthday party. It was a very fine party.
When children are young, they seem to able to play with anyone. You plump kids together and unless they have jarringly different temperaments and social skills, somehow they find ways to get along without judgement or complaint. As we get older, we learn to discriminate. We do different things with different friends. In our twenties and thirties, we are self-absorbed and even hostile to people who are different from us. Few of us naturally reached out to befriend others.
Then as we get older and become more accepting of who we are, so we become more accepting of others. That was the birthday party yesterday. I knew the birthday girl and was plumped into the midst of a group of women who have known each other since grade school. I can just hear Bro feeling the awkwardness of that, and I know in my twenties and thirties, that would have been an uncomfortable situation indeed.
But now in our fifties, we are in our element. Some of the women hadn't seen each other for years and were trying to catch up. This was as good a set up as any for me to learn about them. Some just wanted to spend a couple of pleasant hours together. We got that too. We welcomed each other's company and were interested in what everyone is doing, with no care of how our association may reflect on who we are. Contrast that to our early years when we didn't want to talk to anyone who didn't make up look cool, or The Boy's current insistence on not mixing certain groups of friends. I like our free-form way much better.
One woman commented that in our fifties, we become the woman we imagined we'd be in our early, idealistic teen years. We make things happen and life flows. I reflected on this idea and thought, She's right - I can't deny the existence of this flow in my own life.
When children are young, they seem to able to play with anyone. You plump kids together and unless they have jarringly different temperaments and social skills, somehow they find ways to get along without judgement or complaint. As we get older, we learn to discriminate. We do different things with different friends. In our twenties and thirties, we are self-absorbed and even hostile to people who are different from us. Few of us naturally reached out to befriend others.
Then as we get older and become more accepting of who we are, so we become more accepting of others. That was the birthday party yesterday. I knew the birthday girl and was plumped into the midst of a group of women who have known each other since grade school. I can just hear Bro feeling the awkwardness of that, and I know in my twenties and thirties, that would have been an uncomfortable situation indeed.
But now in our fifties, we are in our element. Some of the women hadn't seen each other for years and were trying to catch up. This was as good a set up as any for me to learn about them. Some just wanted to spend a couple of pleasant hours together. We got that too. We welcomed each other's company and were interested in what everyone is doing, with no care of how our association may reflect on who we are. Contrast that to our early years when we didn't want to talk to anyone who didn't make up look cool, or The Boy's current insistence on not mixing certain groups of friends. I like our free-form way much better.
One woman commented that in our fifties, we become the woman we imagined we'd be in our early, idealistic teen years. We make things happen and life flows. I reflected on this idea and thought, She's right - I can't deny the existence of this flow in my own life.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
No Sale, No Sale!
Our street had a garage sale today. We put an ad in the paper. I put out several items on the lawn to sell.
A woman passed by and asked for fabric. I pulled out a long piece of blue and white striped cotton and an even longer piece of yellow cotton with red peppers on it. She asked about the striped fabric. I knew that if I gave her a price, she would buy it. I was about to part with this precious piece of blue and white striped cotton. I said, "I don't know how much I want for this. It's 18 years old."
"Oh then it will fall apart as soon as I put it in the wash," she said, "I give you $1 for it."
"No no no, I don't want to sell it. This was my son's room curtains when he was a baby. I can't sell it." So I took it back.
Next, an elderly couple passed by and wanted my free-standing hammock. "How much?" the man said.
"Urrr... $10."
He phoned his son to see if he wanted it. I started to panic. I was about to lose my beloved hammock that I've barely rested in. It's so darn big I have no room in the garden for it in summer and no storage room for it in the shed in winter. The Man hates it. I had to get rid of it. The old man came back and said he would take it. I said, "No no no, I want to keep it. It's practically new. I'll find room for it."
That's when my neighbour stepped in and said, "Stop it. You complain about it all the time. Now's your chance to give it a good home."
"You're right," I said. So I sold it to the elderly couple for $10.
The first lady came back and asked about the yellow fabric with red peppers. "I don't know what to do with such a big piece of fabric," she said, "It could just stay in my basement. But how much you want for it?"
That's it. I can't part with my fabric. For one thing, I paid over $300 for it years ago and I keep thinking I could do something fun with it. And besides, she doesn't love it. She wouldn't pay much for it anyway. "Very sorry, I have to keep this. I love it too much."
After this, I sold a cloth bag for 10 cents to a strange man, and The Boy's old broken scooter for 50 cents to the little boy a few doors down. Then I went up the street to give someone $3 for the ad in the newspaper. My haul today was $7.60 and I am still mourning over the loss of my hammock, though relieved it's no longer hogging up room in the garden.
Everything else I put back in the shed, waiting for another bout of courage to hit so I can discard them.
A woman passed by and asked for fabric. I pulled out a long piece of blue and white striped cotton and an even longer piece of yellow cotton with red peppers on it. She asked about the striped fabric. I knew that if I gave her a price, she would buy it. I was about to part with this precious piece of blue and white striped cotton. I said, "I don't know how much I want for this. It's 18 years old."
"Oh then it will fall apart as soon as I put it in the wash," she said, "I give you $1 for it."
"No no no, I don't want to sell it. This was my son's room curtains when he was a baby. I can't sell it." So I took it back.
Next, an elderly couple passed by and wanted my free-standing hammock. "How much?" the man said.
"Urrr... $10."
He phoned his son to see if he wanted it. I started to panic. I was about to lose my beloved hammock that I've barely rested in. It's so darn big I have no room in the garden for it in summer and no storage room for it in the shed in winter. The Man hates it. I had to get rid of it. The old man came back and said he would take it. I said, "No no no, I want to keep it. It's practically new. I'll find room for it."
That's when my neighbour stepped in and said, "Stop it. You complain about it all the time. Now's your chance to give it a good home."
"You're right," I said. So I sold it to the elderly couple for $10.
The first lady came back and asked about the yellow fabric with red peppers. "I don't know what to do with such a big piece of fabric," she said, "It could just stay in my basement. But how much you want for it?"
That's it. I can't part with my fabric. For one thing, I paid over $300 for it years ago and I keep thinking I could do something fun with it. And besides, she doesn't love it. She wouldn't pay much for it anyway. "Very sorry, I have to keep this. I love it too much."
After this, I sold a cloth bag for 10 cents to a strange man, and The Boy's old broken scooter for 50 cents to the little boy a few doors down. Then I went up the street to give someone $3 for the ad in the newspaper. My haul today was $7.60 and I am still mourning over the loss of my hammock, though relieved it's no longer hogging up room in the garden.
Everything else I put back in the shed, waiting for another bout of courage to hit so I can discard them.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
The Tenant
I finally rented out my mother's basement apartment. It's a cozy apartment for the right person. It's bright for a basement apartment, though it's still a basement.
The young woman who took it is in her mid-twenties, maybe early thirties. In conversation, she revealed she had moved to Toronto from Montreal last year with her boyfriend. They lived in a basement apartment where the ceiling almost touched her head. Our basement ceiling, compared to her current arrangement, is tall, she said.
She recently split with her boyfriend and that's why she was looking for her own place. She's currently in hair-styling school. Something about her gave me a good feeling. Maybe it was the modest and gentle, yet enthusiastic way she conducted herself. She seemed like a considerate person, concerned about safety and having a long stay in the apartment. But most of all, she loved the apartment, even when she came back two days later to put a deposit on it, and was so appreciative of the perks, like parking in the drive if she rented a car, use of the backyard, storage in the garage, her own door bell, a mail box. I told her this house was a very safe place for a single woman. I hoped my good feeling about her proves right.
Then this weekend, I visited mom on an errand. The new tenant had already moved in, two weeks before her time! We gave her keys so she could start moving her things in slowly. Not that we mind giving her half a month's rent free. Mom's done that before with other tenants. It's just that we hadn't expected her to move in so soon. She was sitting in the backyard smoking. Her arms were covered in tattoos. She had several piercings in her nostril and ears. I noticed she had dyed metallic red hair. Hmmn.
But at least she was still pleasant and said she was happy to be settling in. She had already called Bell to arrange for phone installation and gave me her new phone number. And she was smoking outside instead of inside the apartment.
The young woman who took it is in her mid-twenties, maybe early thirties. In conversation, she revealed she had moved to Toronto from Montreal last year with her boyfriend. They lived in a basement apartment where the ceiling almost touched her head. Our basement ceiling, compared to her current arrangement, is tall, she said.
She recently split with her boyfriend and that's why she was looking for her own place. She's currently in hair-styling school. Something about her gave me a good feeling. Maybe it was the modest and gentle, yet enthusiastic way she conducted herself. She seemed like a considerate person, concerned about safety and having a long stay in the apartment. But most of all, she loved the apartment, even when she came back two days later to put a deposit on it, and was so appreciative of the perks, like parking in the drive if she rented a car, use of the backyard, storage in the garage, her own door bell, a mail box. I told her this house was a very safe place for a single woman. I hoped my good feeling about her proves right.
Then this weekend, I visited mom on an errand. The new tenant had already moved in, two weeks before her time! We gave her keys so she could start moving her things in slowly. Not that we mind giving her half a month's rent free. Mom's done that before with other tenants. It's just that we hadn't expected her to move in so soon. She was sitting in the backyard smoking. Her arms were covered in tattoos. She had several piercings in her nostril and ears. I noticed she had dyed metallic red hair. Hmmn.
But at least she was still pleasant and said she was happy to be settling in. She had already called Bell to arrange for phone installation and gave me her new phone number. And she was smoking outside instead of inside the apartment.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
The Never-Ending Story
Well. Exams are over for The Boy. He's been busy preparing for the prom and spending time with friends to "unwind."
That is, until this morning. The principal from school phoned to say the boys were late for their whiskey punishment. Both The Boy and Friend had spent the night here. They prepared to leave the house after the phone call. An hour later, the principal called back to say they were now 90 minutes late. I talked to the principal this time.
Apparently, the boys need to spend the next three days at school moving furniture and cleaning lockers. The principal had reminded them about this several times in the last few days. They agreed they would show up. But evidently, they have selective memory and either forgot about it or chose not to observe the agreement. I told the boys at this point, they need to go through with the punishment because their honour is at stake. This is also a trust issue. So not only do they need to do the work the principal assigns, they need to do a good job.
The principal said she's disappointed she had to phone them to get them to come in. That if they don't serve out the punishment, she would ban them from attending school functions till the end of the school term. That means they will miss the prom. Ouch.
Both boys had rented tuxedos for the event and their lives now evolve around the big evening. But the ball's in their court. Will they do the right thing?
That is, until this morning. The principal from school phoned to say the boys were late for their whiskey punishment. Both The Boy and Friend had spent the night here. They prepared to leave the house after the phone call. An hour later, the principal called back to say they were now 90 minutes late. I talked to the principal this time.
Apparently, the boys need to spend the next three days at school moving furniture and cleaning lockers. The principal had reminded them about this several times in the last few days. They agreed they would show up. But evidently, they have selective memory and either forgot about it or chose not to observe the agreement. I told the boys at this point, they need to go through with the punishment because their honour is at stake. This is also a trust issue. So not only do they need to do the work the principal assigns, they need to do a good job.
The principal said she's disappointed she had to phone them to get them to come in. That if they don't serve out the punishment, she would ban them from attending school functions till the end of the school term. That means they will miss the prom. Ouch.
Both boys had rented tuxedos for the event and their lives now evolve around the big evening. But the ball's in their court. Will they do the right thing?
Monday, June 16, 2008
He Plays Me
One day last week, the weather plummeted from a choking 33C heat wave that felt like 40C to 14C. The Boy came home sweating. He had been walking fast for some reason. He said, "Mom, I'm so hot. Can you turn the air conditioner back on?"
"No. It's cool out."
"But it's so hot in my room."
"Try opening your window, turning off your computer and keyboard, and turning on your fan."
"I did that but it's still hot."
"Give it more time."
At bed time, he said to me, "I told my friends that you were moving to Afghanistan and I can live in the house. Everyone thinks it's a great idea and they want to live with me. It's one of the greatest thing a parent could do for a child to support him becoming independent. When are you going?"
"That was an idea, a passing thought that flitted through my head out loud. I am not moving to Afghanistan and leaving you the house."
"But mom, I told everyone you were."
"The most that would happen is I visit dad for a few weeks, but not in September. I am going to Orlando with pau-pau, Sis, and the kids in October. So if I visit dad, it will be after that."
"What holiday is that in October? Why are we going to Orlando?"
"Not we. You will be in school. You'll have the house that week I'm away."
"You're not taking me to Orlando? But the kids get to go? They're in school. That's not fair."
"You are in university."
"Well, this is a disappointing day. You don't take me to Orlando, you won't turn the air conditioner on, and you are not moving to Afghanistan. Get out of my room."
"No. It's cool out."
"But it's so hot in my room."
"Try opening your window, turning off your computer and keyboard, and turning on your fan."
"I did that but it's still hot."
"Give it more time."
At bed time, he said to me, "I told my friends that you were moving to Afghanistan and I can live in the house. Everyone thinks it's a great idea and they want to live with me. It's one of the greatest thing a parent could do for a child to support him becoming independent. When are you going?"
"That was an idea, a passing thought that flitted through my head out loud. I am not moving to Afghanistan and leaving you the house."
"But mom, I told everyone you were."
"The most that would happen is I visit dad for a few weeks, but not in September. I am going to Orlando with pau-pau, Sis, and the kids in October. So if I visit dad, it will be after that."
"What holiday is that in October? Why are we going to Orlando?"
"Not we. You will be in school. You'll have the house that week I'm away."
"You're not taking me to Orlando? But the kids get to go? They're in school. That's not fair."
"You are in university."
"Well, this is a disappointing day. You don't take me to Orlando, you won't turn the air conditioner on, and you are not moving to Afghanistan. Get out of my room."
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Each Day
Each day brings its own surprises.
This summer, The Exchange is coming back. I would like us to all go to France together on the same flight when he leaves. But to give us more vacation days, I asked his father to move his return up by three days. He replied that the flight was fixed and no change could be made.
I am annoyed by this and I am surprised by my annoyance. Since I am hosting his son without sending The Boy there, I think he should try harder to accommodate us. But I know it's because he doesn't know how to make the change. There is a small service fee but it can be done. It tests my patience. I shift into dominatrix robotic and want to take over everyone's lives to simply things.
Yesterday, I had the pleasure of receiving an offer to practise highway driving with Bro, an invitation to a dance recital with a neighbour, a visit from one of the women I went to India with, a phone call from a mutual friend while she was here, and a phone call from The Man. Then in the evening as I pondered whether to visit the cemetery on Father's Day and how to get there, mom phoned requesting that I take her there this morning. Of course I would book a car and take her.
This morning, I received a fright. The Man sent a photograph of him and his colleagues standing in front of a plane. They had been to Kandahar. Kandahar! The place where all the killing is. As if Kabul isn't dangerous enough. What the hell? We communicate everyday and he didn't say he
was going to Kandahar.
I wonder what today will bring when I go out.
This summer, The Exchange is coming back. I would like us to all go to France together on the same flight when he leaves. But to give us more vacation days, I asked his father to move his return up by three days. He replied that the flight was fixed and no change could be made.
I am annoyed by this and I am surprised by my annoyance. Since I am hosting his son without sending The Boy there, I think he should try harder to accommodate us. But I know it's because he doesn't know how to make the change. There is a small service fee but it can be done. It tests my patience. I shift into dominatrix robotic and want to take over everyone's lives to simply things.
Yesterday, I had the pleasure of receiving an offer to practise highway driving with Bro, an invitation to a dance recital with a neighbour, a visit from one of the women I went to India with, a phone call from a mutual friend while she was here, and a phone call from The Man. Then in the evening as I pondered whether to visit the cemetery on Father's Day and how to get there, mom phoned requesting that I take her there this morning. Of course I would book a car and take her.
This morning, I received a fright. The Man sent a photograph of him and his colleagues standing in front of a plane. They had been to Kandahar. Kandahar! The place where all the killing is. As if Kabul isn't dangerous enough. What the hell? We communicate everyday and he didn't say he
was going to Kandahar.
I wonder what today will bring when I go out.
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