I go out walkin', after midnight, out in the moonlight, just like we used to do. . .

July 23, 2011

So tired this morning, was I, that I poured cereal in the coffee filter.

And this is what I had to look at while I was attempting to wake up with the assistance of my mug of coffee.

Made sans cereal.

People wonder why I am so unbalanced.

Look what I have to live with.







Last evening, around 8.45 pm I said to Stephen that if I didn't get out of the house, more specifically, if I didn't get out of the kitchen-where-we-now-live-and-work-and-almost-sleep, I was going to crack.

Mentally.

Not physically.

That would leave a terrible mess.

We went downtown for a walk along the river.

Of course, it wouldn't be us if we didn't have children who were willing to take advantage of an opportunity for a drive somewhere.

We stopped and picked up Mer, who jumped into the back seat with Pookie and off we went downtown.

But once we got there, they went their way.

And we went ours.

Dealing with me when it's humid is one thing.

Mer. . .

One of us would be floating in the Saint John River this morning.






Even at 9.00 pm, sun on it's way down for the day, it was excruciatingly humid.

We parked behind the Fredericton Public Library and started our walk at the overpass walkway.

The one built by the city to prevent foot traffic running across four lanes of traffic in an attempt to get to the river trails.

I hadn't been on the overpass for a long time.

And at the end, noticed, probably for the first time, that the supports for a no-longer-existing-bridge-to-the-northside were still there.

Home to all sorts of birds.

I was really trying to get a picture of the teenaged couple making out at the end of the overpass.

Obviously, I wasn't successful.






The trail along the river dotted with people just like us, hoping for some respite from a hint, a modicum of breeze that may just blow off the river.

There was a little.

Not much.

Just enough to whisper across your brow and remind you of days of yore when glorious, magnificent breezes blew from the river, refreshing and welcoming.

Having not been on this trail for a while, I noticed all sorts of new things.

Stone benches upon which to place bottoms to ensure the resting of tired feet.

Views of the other side of buildings I normally only see from Queen Street.

The lighthouse, where yoga happens every Wednesday evening.

So we know where I'll be on Wednesday evening this coming week.

This trail takes you behind the Beaverbrook Art Gallery and the Marion McCain Atlantic Gallery.

Where all sorts of odd and interesting things can be seen.

I don't know what it is.

But I thought the stone shell was really neat.

And of course, statues are a must on any walkabout.

As are these newly installed placards of people most people either don't know about, never heard of, and don't really care about.

Finally at the bridge, we were able to catch a bit of breeze.

From the biker driving past us at furious speeds.

Probably hoping to cool themselves down by their sheer effort of peddling through the slogging, oppressive humidity.

At the same time, I was able to get some very nice pictures of the river at night.

I was really enjoying being outside, even in the humidity.

But Stephen, Captain Practical, had been keeping an eye on the sky and had noticed several instances of lightening.

He claims he heard thunder.

And drew my attention to the foreboding clouds hovering above us.



Signals of more thunder and lightening rain storms in the very near future.

Being married to Captain Cautious, means that when he decides its time to leave to avoid being struck by lightening, you leave.

Because listening to the bitching and complaining just isn't worth it.

We walked back through the city.

Queen Street, by the Fredericton Playhouse.

Which is currently offering The Bricklin.

Something about a car.

And, as Stephen gleefully, joyfully pointed out, tossing aside momentarily his Captain Cautious cape, there was a Bricklin parked in front of the Playhouse.

Apparently, ugly cars trump being struck by lightening any day.

And when we returned to our car, sitting behind the library, there were two little imps sitting on the curb.

Mer and Keith.

Who apparently decided it was better to wait for us to eventually return than it was to walk home.

Keith was carrying a growler (I think that's what it's called) of Picaroons melon something or other.

Which apparently holds 5 Picaroons beers and he just didn't want to carry it all the way home.

Imagine my delight at seeing the two of them sitting on the curb in front of the car.

I actually heard them before I saw them.

Mer does have the kind of voice that carries.






Fredericton, as is much of the country I suspect, is under a heat and humidex warning.

Keep young children and the elderly inside.

I had planned on taking my mother out for a meander around downtown, but we've rescheduled for tomorrow, when the high is 24 and the humidex has f***ed off for a few days.

Imagine the tales I'll have to tell taking my mother downtown.

And this morning, after depositing Emily and Meredyth at Empire to peddle their labour power for minimum wage, I am taking Tikka for a bath.

U Wash Dog Wash.http://www.uwashdogwash.com/home/

The heat and humidity have only brought into sharp relief her pungency.

Plus her nails need to be trimmed.

Knots and mats need to be removed.

And it's just me and Tikka.

As Stephen and Pookie are male bonding at Kent Building Supply http://www.kent.ca/kbs/en/index.jsp over tower fans and foam pipe insulators.

I haven't spent alone time with Tikka in a while, so it'll be quite pleasant.

For me, anyway.

Later, Stephen and I are FINALLY going to bask in the air conditioning of the Harriet Irving Library, open today from 1-5, and then, to the nursing home for our usual Saturday evening fare of beans and homemade brown bread, coupled with a visit with Mum.

And her tower fan.

Just another relaxing Saturday in the life of Stephen and Dawne.



Title Lyric: Walking After Midnight by Patsy Cline

Let's paint our (office) green. . .

July 22, 2011

OMG.

It.

Is.

Sweltering.

No other word for it.

40 degrees Celsius with the humidex.

104 degrees Fahrenheit

I don't mind the heat so much.

Given that I spent all winter complaining about how cold I was, the heat is not an issue.

But the humidity is an entirely different matter.

You can practically squeeze the moisture out of the air like water from a sponge its that humid.

We've had two almost appearing instantaneous thunderstorms already.

Sunny one minute.

Dark as midnight clouds, booming thunder, pelting rain the next.

Tikka cowering and quaking underneath the kitchen table.

Frankie sitting at the window watching it all happen, and wondering why he can't go outside and cool down, even just for a few minutes.

Me driving home from work, barely able to see if there's a car in front of me, and wondering why I am even bothering to use the wipers.

Because even at high speed they're not doing anything to improve my visibility.

Logic and common sense would have been to pull over, perhaps.

But Stephen home, alone, terror stricken Tikka, Frantic Frankie and contractors, electricians and plumbers (Oh My!) showing up who knows when was enough to spurn me onwards back to the ranch.
According to the Weather Network, there is supposed to be a break in the weather by Sunday.

I hope so.

I don't know how much longer Stephen and I can remain civilized with one another, given our current living conditions and the oppressive heat.



Our plans for today were so very simple.

Me having coffee with friends before their month long adventure anticipating-the-arrival-of-their-next-grandchild.

And then connecting with my beleaguered research assistant, who hasn't seen hide nor hair of me for the entire week because of the mayhem in my living room.

Stephen meeting me at the air conditioned Harriet Irving Library for 10.30 am, so we can bask in the coolness of the Commons and drink venti Starbucks while working on our respective projects.

Doesn't it just look cooler?

But you know what they say about the best laid plans.

After meeting with my research assistant, I returned to my office to check emails before heading to the library.

And there was one from Stephen.

Sharing more joy and happiness with me.

Apparently, there was a frayed wire found in the wall once the contractors had removed all of the gyprock.

A wire that needed to be replaced asap, because until it was, nothing else was moving forward, meaning our living room would continue to look like this for an even longer period of time.

The frayed wire is the one resting directly in front of the pipe.

Stephen called our electrician immediately and he said he'd be here after 11.30 am.

Fearing a melted pipe, he called the plumber, again, and they would arrive sometime around 3.00 pm.

As soon as I had finished reading his email, there he was, in the flesh, standing in my office.
having just dropped Keith off at work.

He flopped into the comfy blue chair, turned the fan to blow directly upon him, and repeated the events I had just finished reading in his email.

Already, he looked worn out, and it wasn't even 10.30 am.

We decided to be responsible, forgo our cool trip to the library and return home to face the expensive music being played by the contractors, plumbers and electricians.

He then, as an afterthought, said that my former-mother-in-law, with whom I am very close, called to see how things were, and specifically, what was going on with Her Nibs, Miss Meredyth.

I decided to call her back from the office, because I had no idea who was going to be in the house or how much noise they were going to be making.

So Stephen heads out the door.

I dial, she says hi!

And there is a knock at the door.

I don't even say hello to her, just, "Hold on a sec. . .someone is at the door."

Opening the door I see none other than my handsome husband standing at the door.

In his haste to get back to the house, he grabbed two plastic, toy motorcycles.

Thinking they were Em's car keys.

I suspect he would have had a hard time starting the car with them.

But you never know.

Or it was just a physical manifestation of his state of mind.



Once home, I was confronted with a hot, cranky and bored Emily.

As if there was something I could do about it.

All I could do was sit here and wait for the various men who claim they are fixing my house to arrive, assess, repair (hopefully) and leave.

While, of course, inciting the terror and anger of Frantic Frankie.

As it was, someone from the restoration company had dropped off a box of paint chips for me to peruse.

That was about the only welcoming site in my house.

And it gave me something to do while I ate lunch.

Salad.

Hummus.

Grapes.

Exciting. I know.

Contractor and electrician arrived at the same time.

I had already picked out the color I wanted for the living room.

Scarlett Sage.

Trust me.

It'll look good.

Stephen selected the office color.

He spends the most time in there.

Lime something or other.

Looks sort of like this:

Keep in mind, he's been very stressed this week.

Or maybe he thinks this is the best way to keep me out of the office.

By blinding me.

As a testament to how hot it is, Stephen actually agreed that going to a movie last night was a good idea.

Normally, I have to fight, threaten, beg, plead, barter, or just one of those if it's a good day, to get him to even agree that seeing a movie is a good idea.

Keith and Em were already at the movies, as they both had the day off and had previously made plans to head to the dark, cool theaters for the afternoon.

Harry Potter.

Keith was working the night we went to see it.

Knowing Stephen was in need of a laugh, we saw Horrible Bosses.

Initially, we were in the third row from the front.

Tolerable.

But shortly afterwards, we found ourselves sitting right up front and to the right.

Because that's what happens when someone spills their upsized Diet Coke a couple of aisles behind you and all of a sudden your Birkenstock clad feet are swimming in a sea of Diet Coke while the boob behind you mutters a weak apology while running back to the concession stand for a refill. 

Further, the theaters are built on a slant, so that liquid runs down to the front of the theater where it pools.

And sits.

Ice melting.

Sitting amid a pile of melting ice and Diet Coke is an offense to Stephen's Mr. Clean-OCD-sensibilities, so off to the very front of the theater we went.

Fine for Mr. I-have-legs-longer-than-most-people's-torsos.

Lots of room for him to stretch his six foot four inch self.

But for us mere, short, mortals, sitting in the front row results in nothing more but a headache from being to close, a neck ache from resting your head on the back of the seat, and a back ache from the slouching so you can rest your head on the back of the seat.

It just isn't a nice world for short people.

But. . .

It was an air conditioned front row and to the right theater, so I tolerated it.

Because sometimes tolerating is all you have.

Title Lyric: Let's Paint Our Teeth Green by Margot and the Nuclear So and Sos

Yes, I'm closed for renovations. . .

July 21, 2011

The weapons of house destruction should be arriving shortly.

Last evening, Emily and I packed up the half of the living room where they'll start this morning.

 

Couch, loveseat, tv cabinet, coffee table, end table, numerous plants, lamps, pictures, shelves, all shoved into the other end of the living room.

Persian rug rolled up.

Not without difficulty.

Frankie and Tikka were on the rug as Em and I were rolling and for some reason they couldn't grasp that rolling it meant that they could no longer stand on it.

And for some reason they were loathe to jump from the rug to the floor.

Honestly.

The contractors just walked in.

Me and Stephen moved from office to kitchen with our laptops.

One, they started in the office.

Two, Frankie is in the crate, letting us know how he's feeling about these new strangers parading through our home.

Company for Frankie = less barking from Frankie.

Tikka upstairs, downstairs, following the contractors, looking for any affection they feel like bestowing.

When I moved to the kitchen, she stood resolutely at the top of the stairs, refusing to come down with me, looking at me as if to say,

Are you REALLY going to leave them up here on their own without my surveillance?

Let the games begin!






It would appear that clearing out half the living room wasn't enough.

At this moment, the two young men taking on our reconstruction nightmare are moving the heavy furniture to the company's storage facilities.

Including the three antique chairs.

But NOT the antique library able.

I do want to stay married and moving that table out of Stephen's sight will result in immediate divorce.

And possibly dismemberment.

The kitchen is starting to look like a small jungle, as what stays in the living room will be covered in cardboard.

Even Frankie isn't immune.

I kind of like all the plants in the kitchen.

Somehow I don't think Stephen will agree.

The two tropical plants inherited from my neighbour have been moved outside, as have all plants I think will survive out there, where they will remain until this is all over.

And everything else is just being moved to whatever free space is available.

Leaving the living room looking quite bare.

The only reason the couch is still in there is because they couldn't get it out the front door.

I know we got in, but how remains a blank spot in my mind.

And Tikka is just taking everything in her stride.

Now that the initial excitement of new people doing strange things in the house has subsided, she's content to just wait things out.

And it'll be a long wait.

The time line: a month.

A very long month.

Just so long as everything is done before I leave for Murray Corner.

Because NOTHING is going to keep me from my week at the beach.

That's the only thing holding me together right now.






All this from one little crack in a pipe.

And, oddly enough, Stephen has managed to miss ALL the moving of things and packing of stuff.

Someone will pay later.

Dearly.






Pookie and Mum's Day Out was a huge success.

We started out with a hair cut from Norma-the-most-amazing-hairdresser-in-the-world-at-Klub-Soda.

That Keith initiated the hair cut request sent waves of joy crashing into my heart.

There was a time, not so long ago, that getting Keith to agree to a hair cut was akin to getting Em to clean her room.

Except now he willing gets his hair cut.

Em is still completely unwilling to clean her room.

However, Keith didn't have an appointment, and when I called Norma, she said,

I can certainly cut his hair, but I need him here now.

So as Keith was heading for the shower, I told him to stop, get himself dressed, brush his teeth, spray on some cologne and get himself into the car.

ASAP.

Ten minutes after I hung up the phone, he was walking into Klub Soda.

And I was trying to parallel park.

Luckily no one had the camera for that.






Keith doesn't so much get a hair cut as a nest trim.

Hair grows down.

Atop Keith's head is the closest thing to a human hair bird's nest I've ever seen.

I call this his 90s boy band look.

And it's misleading.

Underneath his bird's nest cap is a tangle of hair.

Everytime he gets it cut, I'm amazed at what collects on the floor.

And in the end, the effort was worth it. 

Such a handsome young man, my son!






After his ears were lowered, as my father calls it, he wanted to get a pair of Birkenstocks.

He's the only one in house who doesn't have a pair.

So a couple of doors down from Klub Soda is River Valley Footwear.

Where Birkenstocks, all kinds of Birkenstocks, an entire wall of Birkenstocks are available for purchase.

I found at least two pairs I wanted.

But restrained myself.

Or rather, my bank account restrained me.

Keith came out with a lovely pair of Birks just like his mummy's.

Only bigger.

Thankfully, he'd cut his toenails.






Finally, hair cut, feet covered in impressive German made sandals, we were ready for lunch.

Which was good, because I was hungry.

Very hungry.

It was busy when we arrived at M&T.

But we managed to secure a table by the window, and within a few minutes we were tucking in to a Louisiana chicken wrap for me, and a chicken, bacon, Swiss for Keith.

Just writing about it makes me hungry.

M&T is so prepared, they even had a Keith-sized spoon on the wall, waiting for him.

That's service!






After lunch, we headed uptown to the optometrists so Keith could get himself new glasses.

What happened to his other ones is something I promised would not be put in my blog.

But suffice to day an expensive lesson was learned.

And then the movies.

Transformers 3.

Yes.

I had already seen it, but Keith didn't.

And I would have watched anything to spend time with him.

After the movie and Em had finished work, we had to do a small tour of the mall, as Em felt the burning need to spend some of her pay on MORE clothes.

Soon she'll be able to open her own consignment shop.

Finally, having left the house at 11.30 am, I pulled into the driveway at 5.50 pm.

Made a salad.

Said hello to Stephen.

And went back out to visit my mother.

Home at 8.30 pm, packed up half of the living with Em, went out for an ice cream to thank her for her help, and then, blissfully, at 10.00 I was able to crawl into bed.

Exhausted.

And wondering what the hell was going to happen in the morning.



Title Lyric: Closed for Renovations by JP Loughran