This charming life. . . .

March 17, 2011



Happy St. Patrick's Day!

The only day, no matter what your nationality, everyone across the Western world is Irish.

Until tomorrow morning, when they wonder what the hell they were thinking.

One of my lifelong dreams is to travel to Ireland, on an exchange where I teach one course in a term, give a couple of public lectures and then spend the rest of the time travelling around Ireland.

Perhaps even celebrating St. Patrick's Day while there.

It'll happen one day.

I just have to get everyone here sorted out enough to allow me to go farther than Montreal.






I slept so well last night.

Once dinner was over, a dinner Emily made so that when I walked through the door instead of hearing, "MUM! What's for dinner!" I heard, "Mum. Dinner's on the table."

I want to walk into the house and hear this every. single. evening.

At least from Monday to Friday.

Likelihood?

Nil.

After this wonderful meal I didn't have to make, I went upstairs, donned yoga appropriate clothing, and did some of the relaxation stretching exercises from the night before.

I even had Stephen doing them.

Sans yoga mat, but still. . .you work with what you have.

We weren't on the floor doing warm-ups five minutes when we realized we had a much bigger problem than a missing yoga mat and a too small space.

Two problems, actually.

Frankie and Tikka.

Neither of whom could understand, grasp, contemplate any logical reason for why we would lock them out of the bedroom.

Refuse them entrance.

Engage in any kind of activity that would warrant their exclusion.

So instead of warming-up, we had to barricade Tikka in the kitchen, and put Frankie in his hut.

You can imagine their response.

Tough.

Suck it up.

Everyone deserves some alone time.

Even me.

Once we had wrangled the wild, we were able to resume our warm ups and begin the stretching exercises.

In no way did I manage to do everything right.

I know because it didn't feel exactly the same as it did Tuesday evening.

But it still felt good.

Which was the point.

Between not having to make dinner and the time spent doing my modified version of yoga, I had a very nice sleep indeed.

Much needed.

Well deserved, in my humble opinion.






During the end phase of yoga, the "corpse pose" Stephen released the hounds.

Instead of laying on the floor, palms up, listening to the soothing and relaxing yoga music piping from my little cd player. . .

. . .I was assaulted by happy puppies with wagging tails and wet tongues.

Just as welcomed and relaxing as the corpse pose.

Well, almost.

I had to get off the floor quickly, or risk some trampling by said excited puppies.






After my first class was over yesterday, we hopped into the Fiesta, dashed over the bridge to the Northside and picked up my baby from Dana's Collision.

We pulled into the parking lot, and there she was, shining, whole. . . .

I was so happy.

I ran over and told her how much I missed her, how good she looked. . . 

I may have kissed her. . .

Getting behind the wheel, sitting high enough off the ground that I didn't feel I was driving while lying down. . . .

Normal.

It felt normal.

First thing after rescuing my girl was to take the Fiesta back to the rental agency.

After we filled both gas tanks.

Standing in front of the rental agent, Fiesta keys on the counter, turning heel to walk out the door, the rental agent says,

"Your insurance only authorized the rental up to $900.00. The rental cost is $1400.00. I guess I'd better call the insurance company."

I guess you'd better.

Luckily for the insurance agent, she authorized the complete payment.

The $900.00 limit was in the event that the accident was our fault.

It was most certainly not.

And even if it had of been, I wouldn't have paid the addition $500.00.

THAT is what I pay insurance for.

Now, I am so tempted to take the total cost of the repair and the rental. $5500.00, march into Mer's apartment building, find the apartment of the woman who hit us, and remind her of the consequences of trying to get in between someone and school bus.

Driving behind school buses isn't the worst thing in the world.

Not even close.



Title Lyric: Charming Life by Joan Armatrading