February 11, 2012
Let me just say upfront that a snowstorm on a Saturday is a waste of a good snowstorm.
15-20 cms of snowy goodness that has the potential to close schools and provide a much needed lie in.
None of which will occur on a Saturday.
Stephen was in my office yesterday afternoon when I returned from the meeting that went on too long.
I was so very happy to see him.
Because I was so very happy to leave.
And when I walked outside, and felt how mild it was, the melting that had occurred, I knew that we were on our way home to grab the hounds, head to the wide open spaces of the far, let our boys run wild and free and rid our own selves of the sludge and slime of what was a long, arduous week.
A week of trying to explain how come Laud Humphreys' bias in his research for Tearoom Trade wasn't a bad thing; how come we cannot judge impoverished people's experiences from a position of middle class privilege; the role of theory in ethnography (or how qualitative research is not atheoretical).
Plus meetings, fundraisers, fathers-who-refuse-to-let-others-into-his-house-to-repair-his-computer, highschools who apparently move students out of their selected classes willy nilly and then take three days to sort out the mess, and one very sick Pookie who hasn't diverted from his bed-kitchen-livingroom-bed circuit in the past week.
(As an aside, I am just waiting to get sick. Just waiting. Wondering if Pookie germs have invaded my being, lying in wait for the opportune moment to launch their attack. Probably when I have the most work to do.)
Once we pulled into the driveway, two furry faces were glued to the kitchen window waiting to see if this was the day when Mum and Dad get out of the car, open up the back of the car, thus indicating that a run at that farm was in their immediate future.
And the back of the car did open, and they indeed hopped inside and off we went for our soul reviving trek.
We were not alone.
Within 5 minutes of our pulling in and unloading the dogs, another car pulled in and out came an 18 month old cocker spaniel named Sam and her owners.
Who joined us on our walk.
A lovely couple.
And Sam was a most entertaining companion for Frankie and Fynnie.
Soon we were joined by two other canines and two other people, thus rounding out our little group to six adults and five dogs, all running and leaping and chasing each other.
Owners talking, laughing, getting to know the other fanatic dog lovers in the area.
I was just happy Frankie was socializing.
He was actually comfortable around all those people.
To be completely honest, for all his issues, his bravado and tough exterior, Frankie is just a push over.
At one point, a dog half his size came running towards him.
Wanting the stick that was in Frankie's mouth.
Rather than run and chase, Frankie just dropped the stick and walked away.
That's my weenie baby.
Snowstorm or not, there are obligations to be met.
Bingo with Mum this afternoon.
Dinner with friend this evening.
Groceries to get.
Quaker meeting.
Unless there is enough snow to prevent all things from happening.
Of course it's also Em's first snowstorm with a licence.
Meaning I am going to have to be the MOM and make decision I may not want to make and she may not appreciate in any way shape or form.
I see another soul reviving farm walk in my future.
Title Lyric: Walk the Dog by the Rolling Stones
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
. . .we break like the wind. . .
February 8, 2012
Tuesday was a three class day.
A long day.
A very long day.
And Mer was coming over for dinner.
In an effort to ensure that we ate before midnight, I asked Stephen to put the chicken in the oven, along with the potatoes.
Hoping that if the timing was right by the time Mer, Em and I walked through the front door, everything would be ready.
The timing was fine.
The chef was a little off.
As I was removing my boots Stephen was standing in the hallway, wearing my apron telling me there was something wrong with the chicken, it was a bad chicken, we were scammed and he'd have to get something else for supper because the chicken was a bad chicken.
Bad chicken!
After looking at the chicken, which in spite of my timing efforts was still not fully cooked, I was able to ascertain how come the chicken was bad.
It was upside down.
So instead of cutting off slices of juicy chicken breast, Stephen was hacking off pieces of chicken butt.
We managed to salvage enough chicken to feed the kidlets and Stephen and I noshed on leftover meatloaf.
Thank God for leftovers!
As per usual, when the five of us get together the meal descends into chaos.
Mer on her one day off, tired, hungry, wired, Keith feeding on her being wired, Em sitting at the other end of the table from Keith wondering in what universe is she actually related to these people, Stephen getting increasingly agitated with the rising decibel level and me just happy to spending time with all my little chicks, no matter how short lived it'll be.
I learned a valuable lesson this weekend.
Refried pinto beans with chilis, the necessary glue that hold together the well made taco are tasty and delicious.
Homemade baked beans are also tasty and delicious,
And not the best Monday lunch time meal to follow Sunday tacos with refried beans.
I have been reduced to a walking gas production center.
A volatile substance.
A potentially lethal effluvium following me at every juncture.
A veritable miasma wafting about me like dirt on PigPen.
Flatulence becoming my calling card.
Eliminating the need to write "Dawne wuz here"
And nothing, other than the gas of course, is making any effort to evacuate the premises.
Leaving me to conclude that perhaps my mother was right: academics are intelligent people with no common sense.
Because there can be no other explanation for my consumption of two gas causing foods in under twenty four hours.
Making me, literally, a wind bag.
Instead of just figuratively.
Title Lyric: Break Like the Wind by Spinal Tap
Tuesday was a three class day.
A long day.
A very long day.
And Mer was coming over for dinner.
In an effort to ensure that we ate before midnight, I asked Stephen to put the chicken in the oven, along with the potatoes.
Hoping that if the timing was right by the time Mer, Em and I walked through the front door, everything would be ready.
The timing was fine.
The chef was a little off.
As I was removing my boots Stephen was standing in the hallway, wearing my apron telling me there was something wrong with the chicken, it was a bad chicken, we were scammed and he'd have to get something else for supper because the chicken was a bad chicken.
Bad chicken!
After looking at the chicken, which in spite of my timing efforts was still not fully cooked, I was able to ascertain how come the chicken was bad.
It was upside down.
So instead of cutting off slices of juicy chicken breast, Stephen was hacking off pieces of chicken butt.
We managed to salvage enough chicken to feed the kidlets and Stephen and I noshed on leftover meatloaf.
Thank God for leftovers!
As per usual, when the five of us get together the meal descends into chaos.
Mer on her one day off, tired, hungry, wired, Keith feeding on her being wired, Em sitting at the other end of the table from Keith wondering in what universe is she actually related to these people, Stephen getting increasingly agitated with the rising decibel level and me just happy to spending time with all my little chicks, no matter how short lived it'll be.
I learned a valuable lesson this weekend.
Refried pinto beans with chilis, the necessary glue that hold together the well made taco are tasty and delicious.
Homemade baked beans are also tasty and delicious,
And not the best Monday lunch time meal to follow Sunday tacos with refried beans.
I have been reduced to a walking gas production center.
A volatile substance.
A potentially lethal effluvium following me at every juncture.
A veritable miasma wafting about me like dirt on PigPen.
Flatulence becoming my calling card.
Eliminating the need to write "Dawne wuz here"
And nothing, other than the gas of course, is making any effort to evacuate the premises.
Leaving me to conclude that perhaps my mother was right: academics are intelligent people with no common sense.
Because there can be no other explanation for my consumption of two gas causing foods in under twenty four hours.
Making me, literally, a wind bag.
Instead of just figuratively.
Title Lyric: Break Like the Wind by Spinal Tap
Monday, February 6, 2012
Smack that, til you get sore. . . .
February 6, 2012
I napped this afternoon.
Not for long. . .just an hour.
When you get up at 5.00 am, napping is essentially a given.
Of course, Jasper loves napping with Grammie.
Snuggled up tight, close, his little motor lulling both of us into a much needed, much deserved power slumber.
All was well up until we were awakened by the loving machinations of Fynn, who thought joining us on the bed would be welcomed by everyone.
I was fine with it.
But he scared the shit out of Jasper when he landed on the bed with a thud, who immediately leaped into the air, hissed, and arched his back so high I thought he was going to pop a joint.
And then marched off the bed in haughty indignation.
Only to return about 20 minutes later.
I scooped him up as I always do, called his Jaspit, Grammie's Baby Boy Kitty and then put him gently on the bed.
Where Fynn was still laying, having not moved a millimeter.
Jasper, now on the bed and feeling all Big Boy Kitty confidently walks over to Fynn, smacks him across the snout with his little Jasper paw and then turns around, walks away, tail high, large and in charge, having regained both his pride and dignity at taking a stand against the belligerent canines who think, apparently, that because of their size they can do what they want when they want to whomever they want and damn the consequences.
Not any more.
Jaspit has spoken.
I may need another nap, a much, much longer one when I get home later.
Ellie Em's Elantra had it's Merry Christmas/Happy Birthday servicing today.
To the tune of $840.00.
And another $400.00 to go.
She no longer squeaks, the fluids are full and soon, the Check Engine light will be repaired.
But still no heater.
The blower motor thingie needs replacing, is considered a "special order part" because the car is 12 years old and they wouldn't order the 350.00 part until half of the cost of the part was put down.
Hyundai always makes me feel violated.
But given the age of the car, there really isn't anywhere else to take her.
Because whoever works on her would still have to order the parts from Hyundai.
Cause that car has to last Miss Em at least 5 years, and that means no second hand parts.
New ones only.
The other $400.00 Em is chipping in half.
Time to learn that the freedom she has recently, joyfully embraced comes at a cost.
An expensive one.
Our hope is that once all these repairs have been made, the car will be good to go.
When we dropped it off this morning, I had a little "chat" with the guy at the counter about just how I felt taking the car there for repairs.
I shared with him tales of the thousands of dollars of needless repairs we were told we needed to spend on our last car, a Sonata.
I shared with him that the car was there VERY MUCH against my will and that if there was even the hint of a scam, I would be dealing with it.
In Dawne style.
I am, at this moment, contemplating taking the bill to another dealership for a second opinion, to make sure I haven't been scammed.
When we left this morning, Stephen said he thought I scared the counter guy.
After the counter guy took $850.00 of my money, which included an unexpected $175.00 charge for a "special order part", and we were walking out of the service department, I said to Stephen, I know I scared him.
Good.
Stay scared.
Because I am so watching you.
Title Lyric: Smack That by Akon
I napped this afternoon.
Not for long. . .just an hour.
When you get up at 5.00 am, napping is essentially a given.
Of course, Jasper loves napping with Grammie.
Snuggled up tight, close, his little motor lulling both of us into a much needed, much deserved power slumber.
All was well up until we were awakened by the loving machinations of Fynn, who thought joining us on the bed would be welcomed by everyone.
I was fine with it.
But he scared the shit out of Jasper when he landed on the bed with a thud, who immediately leaped into the air, hissed, and arched his back so high I thought he was going to pop a joint.
And then marched off the bed in haughty indignation.
Only to return about 20 minutes later.
I scooped him up as I always do, called his Jaspit, Grammie's Baby Boy Kitty and then put him gently on the bed.
Where Fynn was still laying, having not moved a millimeter.
Jasper, now on the bed and feeling all Big Boy Kitty confidently walks over to Fynn, smacks him across the snout with his little Jasper paw and then turns around, walks away, tail high, large and in charge, having regained both his pride and dignity at taking a stand against the belligerent canines who think, apparently, that because of their size they can do what they want when they want to whomever they want and damn the consequences.
Not any more.
Jaspit has spoken.
I may need another nap, a much, much longer one when I get home later.
Ellie Em's Elantra had it's Merry Christmas/Happy Birthday servicing today.
To the tune of $840.00.
And another $400.00 to go.
She no longer squeaks, the fluids are full and soon, the Check Engine light will be repaired.
But still no heater.
The blower motor thingie needs replacing, is considered a "special order part" because the car is 12 years old and they wouldn't order the 350.00 part until half of the cost of the part was put down.
Hyundai always makes me feel violated.
But given the age of the car, there really isn't anywhere else to take her.
Because whoever works on her would still have to order the parts from Hyundai.
Cause that car has to last Miss Em at least 5 years, and that means no second hand parts.
New ones only.
The other $400.00 Em is chipping in half.
Time to learn that the freedom she has recently, joyfully embraced comes at a cost.
An expensive one.
Our hope is that once all these repairs have been made, the car will be good to go.
When we dropped it off this morning, I had a little "chat" with the guy at the counter about just how I felt taking the car there for repairs.
I shared with him tales of the thousands of dollars of needless repairs we were told we needed to spend on our last car, a Sonata.
I shared with him that the car was there VERY MUCH against my will and that if there was even the hint of a scam, I would be dealing with it.
In Dawne style.
I am, at this moment, contemplating taking the bill to another dealership for a second opinion, to make sure I haven't been scammed.
When we left this morning, Stephen said he thought I scared the counter guy.
After the counter guy took $850.00 of my money, which included an unexpected $175.00 charge for a "special order part", and we were walking out of the service department, I said to Stephen, I know I scared him.
Good.
Stay scared.
Because I am so watching you.
Title Lyric: Smack That by Akon
I'll pick you up at half past three and we'll have lasagna. . . .
February 6, 2012
I was watching episodes of Roseanne and came across the one where Roseanne thinks she pregnant.
She's not.
But it got me wondering what would happen if I was to get pregnant again.
Not that me getting pregnant is a possibility.
I wish it was.
Sometimes.
Nonetheless, I expect that Stephen would have a heart attack and Keith and Em would move out.
Hhhhhmmmmmmm. . . . .
Last evening was lovely.
Stephen suggested tacos for supper.
We bought the necessary ingredients.
So after getting home from work. . . .
. . . .yes, work on a Sunday. . .it was the quietest place I could think of. . . .
and Victory because we needed chicken and stuff. . . .
when I arrived home Stephen was ready for me to make tacos.
As I was cooking the ground beef for tacos and for spaghetti sauce because there was simply far too much ground beef to be consumed in one meal, people started trickling in and asking if there was something they could do.
Stephen shredded cheese, cut peppers, set the table and then brought my winter composting bins to the deck so I could purge the fridge.
Emily came home, even turning her signal light on to signal she was turning into the driveway.
She came into the kitchen and the next thing I know she's adding the seasoning to the beef, heating the refried beans, and concluding that she will be having sour cream on her tacos because if she is eating tacos she's eating them properly.
Pookie shredded the lettuce,
All of this allowing me to not only make dinner for tonight, later this week, I was able to even whip up an apple crisp.
Well, part of an apple crisp.
Pookie made the top part.
Popped it in the oven.
Put the timer on.
This collective activity lead to a wonderful meal.
Everyone sitting around, talking about their week.
Because lately the opportunities to sit down together for a meal have been few and far between.
Between Keith's classes, work and volunteer work, plus the lounging in his man cave, and Em going to school, work, and driving around in her car by herself because she can and that's all the reason she needs, we haven't seen much of them.
At all.
To the point where texting has become a primary means of communication.
A sad comment on the state of our busy lives.
Getting together has become very important.
Mer is coming on Tuesday.
Roast chicken.
Em and the car.
What is there to say.
She has the car, she's driving it.
Friday she brought me home and we didn't see her again until the next afternoon.
Sunday morning I got up just as she was getting ready to head out for the afternoon.
But she did arrive home for dinner and stayed home for the evening.
The real question is, if Em has her licence, can drive herself to school, how come I am up this early on a Monday when I don't have to teach?
Because Em's first day of having her car to drive to school has been superseded by the fact that said car squeaks and squeals, has no heat, and the Check Engine light is still on.
So Stephen and I are following through with our Christmas/Birthday gifts for Em and her car is going in for repairs this morning.
We'll park it in the student lot at the high school, as we have been told several times she can't park in the other lot, even though I've seen other students park there but it isn't worth the hassle of arguing with her because she knows everything.
And she can drive herself home from school.
Tomorrow morning, though, I will be up and outta here by 6.30 am.
Because I won't have to wait.
Muahhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. . . . . .
Title Lyric: Digsy's Dinner by Oasis
I was watching episodes of Roseanne and came across the one where Roseanne thinks she pregnant.
She's not.
But it got me wondering what would happen if I was to get pregnant again.
Not that me getting pregnant is a possibility.
I wish it was.
Sometimes.
Nonetheless, I expect that Stephen would have a heart attack and Keith and Em would move out.
Hhhhhmmmmmmm. . . . .
Last evening was lovely.
Stephen suggested tacos for supper.
We bought the necessary ingredients.
So after getting home from work. . . .
. . . .yes, work on a Sunday. . .it was the quietest place I could think of. . . .
and Victory because we needed chicken and stuff. . . .
when I arrived home Stephen was ready for me to make tacos.
As I was cooking the ground beef for tacos and for spaghetti sauce because there was simply far too much ground beef to be consumed in one meal, people started trickling in and asking if there was something they could do.
Stephen shredded cheese, cut peppers, set the table and then brought my winter composting bins to the deck so I could purge the fridge.
Emily came home, even turning her signal light on to signal she was turning into the driveway.
She came into the kitchen and the next thing I know she's adding the seasoning to the beef, heating the refried beans, and concluding that she will be having sour cream on her tacos because if she is eating tacos she's eating them properly.
Pookie shredded the lettuce,
All of this allowing me to not only make dinner for tonight, later this week, I was able to even whip up an apple crisp.
Well, part of an apple crisp.
Pookie made the top part.
Popped it in the oven.
Put the timer on.
This collective activity lead to a wonderful meal.
Everyone sitting around, talking about their week.
Because lately the opportunities to sit down together for a meal have been few and far between.
Between Keith's classes, work and volunteer work, plus the lounging in his man cave, and Em going to school, work, and driving around in her car by herself because she can and that's all the reason she needs, we haven't seen much of them.
At all.
To the point where texting has become a primary means of communication.
A sad comment on the state of our busy lives.
Getting together has become very important.
Mer is coming on Tuesday.
Roast chicken.
Em and the car.
What is there to say.
She has the car, she's driving it.
Friday she brought me home and we didn't see her again until the next afternoon.
Sunday morning I got up just as she was getting ready to head out for the afternoon.
But she did arrive home for dinner and stayed home for the evening.
The real question is, if Em has her licence, can drive herself to school, how come I am up this early on a Monday when I don't have to teach?
Because Em's first day of having her car to drive to school has been superseded by the fact that said car squeaks and squeals, has no heat, and the Check Engine light is still on.
So Stephen and I are following through with our Christmas/Birthday gifts for Em and her car is going in for repairs this morning.
We'll park it in the student lot at the high school, as we have been told several times she can't park in the other lot, even though I've seen other students park there but it isn't worth the hassle of arguing with her because she knows everything.
And she can drive herself home from school.
Tomorrow morning, though, I will be up and outta here by 6.30 am.
Because I won't have to wait.
Muahhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. . . . . .
Title Lyric: Digsy's Dinner by Oasis
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