Summertime will be a love-in there. . .

August 23, 2011

Vacation: Day Two

Yes, yes, it’s my birthday.

44 years old.

There.

Enough said.

Yesterday was spent exploring our beach.

And it was quite an exploration.

I wish I had my camera.

Again.

After a nice, long lie in we hauled ourselves out of bed, had some lunch (yes, it was that long of a lie in).

Impatient to get on the beach during low tide, I was out the door with the dogs as soon as the last dish was dried and put away.

I didn’t even wait for Stephen to shave or change his clothes.

Frankie was so excited, that, seeing there was not a person in sight, I let him off the leash to run down the stairs to the beach on his own.

Either that, or have him drag me down face first.

Three hours later, he climbed back up those stairs much calmer than when he came down.

With the tide out, we were able to walk, and walk, and walk.

And we did.

There was not one inch of the beach in our vicinity that wasn’t explored.

With plans to explore even further along the coast in the coming days.

This shore line has such different terrains.

Our beach is soft sand.

But to the right and left of us are massive rocks delineating the boundaries between properties.

And even the rocks are different.

On the left are huge boulders, big enough to walk on, sit on, but hidden nooks and crannies where the rocks meet.

Or almost-but-not-quite-touch.

Bits of shell, smaller rocks, twigs are among some of the hidden treasures living in the nooks and crannies.

Sometimes bits of sea glass wedge themselves in there.

And we have found piles of sea glass since we’ve been here.

Only two days.

I can’t imagine what we’ll have collected by the end of the week.

On the other side of these rocks is another sandy beach.

And in front of the rocks, moving into the ocean, are piles of seaweed, little pools of water, lots of places for Tikka and Frankie to investigate.

There won’t be a spot of beach, ocean floor, seaweed, rock, hermit crab that won’t experience being sniffed by at least one, if not both, of the dogs.

Not a bird that won’t be chased from its sitting place by Frankie, who always looks so confused when he can’t get one.

To the left are layers and layers of sedimentary rock hardened by centuries of waves crashing against them.

The rocks are actually layered to mirror the waves.

And they must be 12 feet high at their highest point.

Luckily, they are formed in such a way that they’re graduated forming steps to make getting up their easier.

And in a couple of places, there are deep, pool like spots in the rocks, making the perfect spots for long sits, watching the tide come in, talking or not talking, staring off in the distance at the never ending ocean or the Confederation Bridge and Frankie cavorting in the ocean.

We must have stayed there for an hour at least.

At one point, we got up to check the tides, not wanting to find ourselves in a position where we had to swim back to our beach, as opposed to walking. . . .

Stephen announces there are two other people walking in our direction and I should leash Frankie.

I check to see how close these two people are.

Keith and Em.

No glasses means Stephen can’t see who is coming.

Just that people are coming.

Stephen! It’s Keith and Em!

Frankie hears Keith and Em and is off like a rocket to greet them with an enthusiasm most people reserve for rarely seen family members, and to invite them to come see these awesome, amazing rocks Mummy and Daddy found.

The four of sat companionably.

Keith found a stick for Frankie which meant lots and lots of entertainment as Frankie ran into the waves to retrieve it.

And Tikka attempted to get it from her.

I didn’t want to leave.

But a smattering of rain, and hunger drove us to finally accept that we’d have to leave the rocks for the day.

Knowing that we’d be back tomorrow.

Definitely.

Keith and Em BBQ’d hot dogs and zucchini for dinner.

I boiled beets and new peas.

Such a feast of fresh veggies and processed meat.

I told Stephen to enjoy those hot dogs because he won’t be getting them for at least another year.

After taking the dogs to the beach, and everyone getting themselves showered, we are going to PEI.

We can see the Confederation Bridge from our beach.

And it’s only about 15 minutes away by car.

I’ve actually never been to PEI.

Something that astounds Stephen.

So off we go today.

A rather nice way to spend a birthday, I think.

Title Lyric: San Francisco by Scott McKenzie (the number one Top 40 song the year I was born)

Sitting on the front porch swing . . .

August 22, 2011

We are on vacation!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yesterday morning, at 7.30 , we awoke and began the two hour process of getting the cars packed and ready to go.

Not an easy process with two cavorting canines dancing around your feet, following you everywhere you go, standing in front of you when you needed to move forward.

And that was before we packed up Frankie’s crate.

As soon as the crate was folded and put into the living room, all hell broke loose.

From that moment on, they acted as if we were conjoined twins, attached at the hip, because they knew something was going on and they were not going to be left behind.

No way.

And of course it was very humid, meaning with all the running around and collecting things, Stephen was starting to look like he was lactating.

Keith was a great help, running up and down the stairs for things I needed, forgotten on an already was downstairs trip, lugging things, like Frankie’s crate and the very heavy coolers out to the car.

Em, in true diva fashion, took care of herself while the rest of us were running around like chickens with our heads cut off.

In fact, when the cars were packed, the house issues, like watering plants addressed, Stephen, Keith and I ready to go, we had to wait for Em.

Just like every other time we go anywhere together.

So we sat down and watched Coronation Street whilst waiting for M’Lady to get herself beautified, organized and packed.

I don’t even want to know what she brought with her.  

Finally, we are ready to go.

Stephen and Keith squeeze themselves into the air conditioned, leather seated, Sirius satellite radio’d Ford Escape, complete with Tikka and Frankie as their back, backseat drivers.

Me and Em pile into her Hyundai Elantra, sans air conditioning, with standard radio, groceries as our only companions.

Other than each other of course.

It was a hot drive with no air conditioning, hot air blowing through the vents and no open windows because that compromises gas consumption.

We stopped for lunch and bathroom needs at the Salisbury Big Stop, at which point, after driving for an hour and a half, dodging in and out of lanes, keeping her speed and remaining vigilant, Em was pooped.

This was her longest driving expedition thus far.

She was ready to turn over the reigns to someone else and just sit and relax.

Further, excitement only ensures that Tikka and Frankie will generate more pee and poo than you could imagine two dogs could manage.

Sure enough, there was a steady stream of pee from both of them.

And poo, too.

In particular, Tikka, who took it upon herself the night before, while everyone was snug as bugs in rugs, to partake of a delicious bag of marshmallows.

Creating interesting experiences for those of us who know her, love her and have to watch her expel said marshmallows.

A break then, was more than necessary.

While eating lunch, I informed Stephen and Keith that their lap of luxury driving experience had come to an end, as in a state of chivalry, all things right, and my telling them, we were trading vehicles.

Em and I needed an opportunity to dry our sweat drenched garments.

Stephen was, of course, more than obliging.

Keith less so.

Too bad.

I outrank him.

We arrived at our little home away from home around 2.00 pm.

This was THE moment.

Would this cottage be what we had hoped for?

Or would we again experience the holiday from hell we endured last summer at Hilda’s-House-of-Horrors in Mergomish?

Nope.

Perfect.

This place is perfect.

Odd, as most cottages are prone to have things about them that mark them as unique.

For example, the fridge is in the entry way, the stove in the family/tv room, and the square-u shaped kitchen not big enough for two people to stand side by side.

Or at least not big enough for me to stand side by side with someone else.

But it’s functional, has enough space for me to do what I have to do, so I can schlep to the fridge and have one of the kids watch the stove as they peruse the satellite television.

By 3.00 pm the cars were unloaded, food put away, bedrooms selected and filled with our various odds and ends.

Meaning it was time for the beach.

Which was good, because Frankie was apoplectic at this point, knowing there was an ocean somewhere, the smell of salt air tantalizing his nostrils.

It was all we could have wanted and more.

Outside of the fact that the family from whom we are renting use the vast land behind us as a family campground.

Several trailers, campers, RVs dot the landscape from our backdoor to the beach.

So long as there isn’t too much socializing, I’m good.

I socialize 51 weeks of the year.

One off doesn’t seem like too much to ask.

Before heading to the beach, however, we needed to change.

I never managed to get a smaller bathing suit.

When I put my bathing suit on, the crotch was at my knees.

It looks like you’re wearing a dress! Stephen exclaimed, while laughing at me.

Hmmmmmm. . .where are those black, spandex shorts I packed?????

Because wandering to the beach in a 1850s looking bathing suit was not my idea of a good time.

And I could only imagine what it was going to be like when wet.

A maxi dress, perhaps?

Move over Angelina Jolie.

The beach was perfect.

Tide on the way out, water warm and so salty you could see the salt in the water.

Walking down the steps to the beach, we were treated to a ocean vista that made me, (and not for the first time I suspect) wish for my camera.

To the left, there were rocks bigger than any I’d ever seen before, creating a barrier between our beach and the next.

Luckily, these rocks were traversable and we were able to walk over them to the next beach.

Affording us a little more privacy.

Meaning we could let Frankie off his leash to swim and play as much as he wanted.

And believe me, he wanted.

Keith threw sticks. Frankie retrieved them.

Two sticks are a must, as Frankie adamantly refuses to drop anything he is holding in his mouth unless he assesses there is a better offer on tap.

Stephen, Em and I basked in the coolness of the salt water, all of us warm and wanting from our hot, sticky drive.

Tikka waded in to her belly and then barked at us when we refused to come in to where she was comfortable.

Keith has already suffered his first I-was-throwing-sticks-for-Frankie injury.

More will happen.

To all of us.

Believe me.

Swimming and other shenanigans experienced, it was time for supper.

We don’t own a BBQ.

Although after a week with one, I imagine we’ll be picking one up on sale when we return to Fredericton.

And Keith loves to BBQ.

Tonight’s menu: steak.

And he did an excellent job making sure mine was rare and Stephen’s and Em were not.

Accompanied by fresh corn on the cob and salad, with homemade apple pie for dessert, it was the perfect meal to celebrate our coming to the cottage.

After supper, Stephen and I went out onto the front porch and just sat.

Evening breeze blowing around us.

Frankie and Tikka drying out.

Heavenly.

Simply heavenly.

  

Title Lyric:  Sitting on the Front Porch by Dolly Parton

I'm just serving food for thought. . . .

August 20, 2011

Vacation Countdown: 1 MORE DAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Although, for a brief moment yesterday afternoon, we thought the whole beach vacation may just be a dream.

Our little red Ford Focus station wagon had an appointment at Riverview Ford at 11.00 am.

The front passenger wheel is in need of a wheel bearing.

At least that's what I think it needs, if I can recall what Stephen said.

When it comes to all things car, I usually hear the same thing you would hear when Charlie Brown's teacher begins to speak.

Wha wha wha wha. . . .

By 3.30 pm, we were hit with the latest challenge to our sanity.

Our car won't be ready until Tuesday.

All I heard Stephen say into the phone was,

Dawne is going to be livid.

We are leaving on Sunday.

And there is no way we can get four people, two dogs and all the things we need to take with us to the cottage in Em's 2000 Hyundai Elantra.

But before we could even come that conclusion, we sat in our shared home office, jaws to the floor, wondering how the hell a car dealership couldn't have a wheel bearing in stock when they knew Tuesday, yes, Tuesday when the car was in for its oil-and-filter-change that we needed a wheel bearing replaced.

Because they told us that we needed the wheel bearing replaced.

So they knew.

And they still didn't have one.

Once we picked our jaws up from the floor and re-aligned them in our mouths, we decided to just rent a vehicle for the week.

So we called Discount Car Rental, got a quote for $352.00 for the week for a Ford Escape, and we'll pick it up tomorrow morning on our way to take Keith to work.

Because it is going to take a hell of a lot more than a wheel bearing to prevent me from getting my week at the ocean.

I'd want at least a missing limb, organs flying out of the body with reckless abandon, or something that caused a lot of blood loss before I would even contemplate not going.

Plus, Keith and Em took the entire week off work to go, and the idea of sitting at home with them for an entire week is far worse than paying for a vehicle rental.

And when we return, rested, invigorated, tanned, Riverview Ford will be informed that they are chipping in, if not paying in full, the car rental.

Just because I can.

And just as an after thought, why is something as simple as going to the beach for a week such a challenging thing for us to do?







Knowing that remaining in the house whilst still reeling from the news of the car was going to lead to nothing good, I packed Stephen into the car and off we went to the Community Kitchen to volunteer.

We needed to be reminded that there are far worse things in the world than a wonky wheel bearing and at least we were in the position to rent a vehicle meaning our vacation was still a go.

And we picked a night to go!

Within 20 minutes we'd served 60 plates of spaghetti with sauce and two pieces of garlic bread, including soup, beef or fish chowder, for anyone who wanted some.

The salad they were able to serve for themselves.

Poor Stephen.

He was up to the hairs on his six foot four head in pots, pans and restaurant sized stainless steel containers.

Literally.

We were the last two volunteers to leave, as it took the two us the better part of 30 minutes to get the remainder of the dishes washed and dried.

Stephen's hands were so water pruned I'm convinced his fingerprints were obliterated.







My mother, who is not coming with us for our vacation, was hoping for an outing tomorrow.

I was hoping to take her out.

But. . .

These outings work because we have the perfect car for taking my mother out.

High enough off the ground that she can get in comfortably.

And enough room in the cargo area to just lift her wheelchair in, no folding, taking pieces off required.

The Elantra: too low.

And unless the wheelchair is as collapsible as a child's stroller, there is no way we'd get it in the car.

A Ford Escape?

We'd need a forklift to get her into it, because there is no way her legs could make that much of a stretch.

And a step ladder?

I don't think so.

My mother astride a step ladder?

If I wasn't so tired that would almost be funny.

I called to let her know of our most recent car calamity, and that it wouldn't be possible to go for an outing until we come back from the ocean.

She was fine with that.

But, she did have a small list of groceries she wanted me to bring to her tomorrow when I go for my Saturday beans and brown bread.

And it will be beans.

Last week they served pizza.

So this week, beans it will be.

Never have two Saturday's passed without beans.

Her list:

Cranberry juice
Navel oranges
Bread and butter pickles.

Normally my father takes care of these things, but he's out of town until Sunday.

And when he'll be in to see Mum is anyone's guess.

So I am the bearer of all things groceries until he returns.

And the chief bean eater.







The day wasn't a total disaster.

An ad for Meredyth's apartment was placed, by moi, on Kijiji Fredericton this morning, with (hopefully) enough incentive to entice someone to want to rent it for September 15.

http://fredericton.kijiji.ca/c-real-estate-apartments-condos-bachelor-studio-River-Facing-Bachelor-Apartment-Lease-Takeover-W0QQAdIdZ307080434

She's informed that two people have already contacted her.

Keep your fingers crossed.

Keep everything crossed.

We need someone to take over her lease.

And if anyone is willing to take over Mer, we're fine with that, too.







After the car, the kitchen, we needed some respite.

As there were no kidlets in our midst, we decided to check out the newest restaurant in our little corner of the world: The Oriental Pearl.

Small, cozy, reasonably priced, very good food, it was just what we needed to get our bearings (no pun intended), reconnect with each other and the real world.

As it only opened Tuesday, there are still some things they need to sort out.

Service was a bit slow.

But that was fine for us.

We needed some time alone.

Sitting.

Relaxing.

We sorted out finances, talked over issues, ate chicken balls, chicken chow mien, chicken fried rice, egg rolls and fortune cookies. . .

And at the end of it, felt much better.

More content.

Bellies full of reasonably priced, very good Chinese food can do that for you.




Title Lyric: Chinese Food by Jin

We will never be, never be, anything but loud. . . .

August 19, 2011

Vacation Countdown: 2 Days!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And the preparations have begun.

Last evening, while Stephen made our dinner of vegetarian spaghetti, I sat at the kitchen table and started "The Lists."

List One: The Dinner Menu for Each Night We are At the Cottage.

While we are away basking in the peace and serenity of the ocean, I have committed to preparing one meal per day.

Supper.

Breakfast, lunch, snacks, in-between grazing, whatever, are the responsibility of the person wanting to eat.

As is the clean up of any mess they make while in the midst of their preparations.

I am not going on vacation to have to answer the question: What's for supper?

As the cottage has a BBQ and we don't, the menu revolves around what can put on that BBQ.

With an accompanying side salad, and if I am feeling really adventurous, perhaps some new potatoes.

Anything else, they can get it themselves.

List Two (only to be determined after List One is created): The Groceries We Will Need to Buy from The Superstore, Victory and The Big Potato.

Once the dinner menu was created, the grocery list soon followed.

Really not much different from our standard grocery list.

However, everything we need must be purchased beforehand, as there really isn't any major grocery store anywhere in the vicinity of where we are staying.

And even if there was, I wouldn't be going.

I detest grocery shopping under normal circumstances.

While on vacation?

I'll dig clams and eat brush first, thank you very much.

The Superstore will be the longest stop.

Victory for the chicken and steak, some fruit that is just as good and half the price than the Superstore.

And Sunday, while en route to the cottage, we will stop at the Big Potato to get all the veggies we will need for the week.

If we run out, there's always brush and seaweed.

Or dog food.

List Three: Grocery Items Already in the House.

I am not spending money on things we already have.

So purging the cupboards upstairs, downstairs and the freezer for those items we already possess is a critical vacation strategy.

The trick is to not take anything more than what we need.

That was the first year we went on one of these adventures and ended up taking far more than was required.

Which meant we had to repack all the stuff-determined-to-be-non-essential-only-after-we-got-there and haul it all back home.

An error I will not be making again.

Even if we are taking two cars with us.

List Four: All Other Items that Must Come With Us.

And this is the tricky list.

Because we have to fight the urges to bring things we want, but don't need.

And the things we must absolutely must have.

Like Scrabble.

Clothes.

All our meds.

Not that there are a lot, but there are some.

Toothpaste.

Also on this list are all the things we need to bring for the dogs.

Frankie's crate.

Tikka's meds.

Their bowls, food, snacks, blankets, toys.

They require almost as much stuff as the kids do.

Luckily, the kids are able to pack for themselves, so at least the responsibility for bringing what they need doesn't fall to me.

I'll be lucky if I can remember to bring enough underwear, my Crocs and a sweater.

Let alone anything else.

And Stephen?

He can pack his own stuff.

My father?

Forgot enough underwear the first time he came with us.

Requiring a trip to the only convenience store for a bottle of laundry soap.

And he washed them himself, thank you very much.

Because there are just some things I won't do for my parents.

Washing their undies is one of them.

After the lists were done, but not complete. . . .

. . . .because I continued to add to all of them as we cleaned up after dinner and I imagine I'll keep adding to them until we pull out of the driveway. . . .

. . . Em and I went to the theater to see Glee 3D.

I didn't want to go.

In spite of working on my new course, preparing for our vacation, caring for homeless cats and engaging in the everyday tasks that make up my day, I've been in a bit of a funk the past few days.

A lot of stuff hitting us this week at once.

A barrage of crap and issues, some of which have to be dealt with and the rest stuff that has nothing to do with me and that I want no part of.

So going to a movie wasn't at the top of my list of things I wanted to do.

Again, as usual, Em was right in forcing me to go.

The bright lights, singing and dancing of the Glee cast lifted my spirits as I sang along in spite of the numerous nudges from Em that were a feeble attempt to remind me that I wasn't at the concert, I was sitting in the theater with other people who, perhaps, didn't really enjoy listening to me sing along to the Warblers' rendition of Raise Your Glass, or with Rachael as she belted out Striesand's Rain on My Parade.

Not that I really cared.

Because I was starting to feel better and if seat singing and dancing was the cure to my issue blues than too bad so sad for the other dozen patrons scattered throughout the theater.

If I want to raise my arms, clap my hands, tap my feet, I will do so.

And Em can give me her patented stink-eye-from-behind-her-3D-glasses-all she wants.

Title Lyric:  Raise Your Glass by The Warblers

We could be lost then found. . .

August 18, 2011

Vacation Countdown: 3 days!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Three more days before I am walking along the ocean floor.

Gazing into the endless horizon.

Watching hermit crabs in their constant quest for larger accommodations.

Collecting shells, sea glass, interesting bits of rocks. . . .

Only three more days.







Until then, however, we are living in the never ending lost and found.

Lost glasses were the focus of yesterday's shenanigans.

Keith's.

Again.

Em's cell phone dominated our discussions for the previous week.

And then, of course, there was my cellphone.

Lots of lost.

And then, suddenly yesterday, some found.

Specifically, a white cat.

A young, male, gorgeous, very well cared for all white, we're-thinking-male cat.

Not more than eight or nine months old.

Friendly, affectionate. . . .

Em mentioned to me yesterday, when she picked me up from work that she had watched a white cat attempt to chase squirrels up our linden tree in the front yard.

The squirrels won.

The cat made it about halfway up the tree before falling back to the ground.

But it kept trying, apparently.

Moxy.

It's got moxy.







I arrive home from dropping Em off to work, checking on my camera (another story all together), and learning what USIM means when it shows up on my cellphone, there was a white cat sitting under the tree in our yard.

Very close to the road.

Actually kind of scared me.

Parked the car, dogs in the kitchen window, bodies vibrating with excitement that Mummy was finally home and would soon be showering them with all the love and affection they feel they deserve.

And then, across the front lawn, a beeline towards me and Stephen, the little white cat.

Weaves in and out between my legs.

Rubbing up against me.

I couldn't help it.

I did.

I picked it up.

Purring, it rubbed its nose into my neck.

Already I was treading into very dangerous territory.

The perhaps-we-should-consider-keeping-this-cat-that-so-obviously-has-a-home-somewhere-but-it-really-seems-to-like-me.

I put the cat down when our neighbour from across the street came over.

She is the "knower of all things" in our little neighbourhood.

And I do mean of ALL things.

If you want to know how come your neighbour just picked up stakes and moved without even putting their house on the market, or why the ignoramus up the street is such an idiot, or how come the people in the third house across the street are virtual shut ins, you ask our neighbour.

She is a lovely person.

A wonderful neighbour.

And you wouldn't believe how useful it is to have a knower of all things in your immediate vicinity.

She, too, noticed the cat around our area yesterday.

In her yard, in fact,

She and her husband are huge bird lovers.

In fact, presently there is a mama and baby woodpecker frequenting their bird feeders.

Meaning they don't want any cats in their yard.

Especially cats that scale trees.

While we talked about the cat, what to do, who to call, the little white cat jumped from my arms and rolled around in the driveway by my feet.

But it never left.

Frankie and Tikka were behaving as if Armageddon has suddenly arrived on our front lawn.

Carrying on, barking, howling, running from window to window like lunatics.







Stephen got the phone book and my cell phone and I called the SPCA.

Closed until today.

With our neighbour, we decided to walk over to the house where people moved without selling because apparently they were left another house and are renting this one.

Perhaps the cat belonged to one of the renters.

No such luck.

And while I was holding the cat, it spied a squirrel and off it went.

After speaking with the woman renting the house, I looked for the cat, but it was nowhere to be seen.

So I went back to my house.

Hadn't even been inside to see the dogs yet.

An oversight they made certain I understood would never happen again.






We had dinner.

Took the dogs for a run to the potato farm.

Frankie running through wheat fields so high all we could see where the very tips of his ears.

He's my little Wheat Baby.

After our walk, we returned home.

Keith had just finished cutting the grass.

I headed upstairs to continue working on a course proposal for an advanced film studies course.

Mer popped in at one point to collect Keith for a movie.

All while I sat at my computer, dogs at my feet, headphone in my ears listening to the BBC crime drama Above Suspicion.

My version of in-house-after-dark-not-at-the-beach peace.

Working on the extensive bibliography, lost in the land of crime dramas, I suddenly hear Stephen calling for me.

And walking down the stairs towards the front door to see the little white cat peering into our sidelight window.

Goblet on the inside staring back.

No hissing.

No growling.

None of the weird things strange cats do upon meeting one another.

Stephen collected a container with food and water and we took the cat to the back deck.

And spent the next half hour or so debating about whether or not we should keep it in house overnight.

I was concerned for the cat.

Our pets are of the curious type and there was no way anyone would be getting any sleep if the cat was in the house overnight.

So we did all we could to make it comfy on the deck.

Food, water, blankets.

And off to bed I went.

Troubled.

Feeling terribly.

Mulling over how I could get the cat in the house without creating ructions with the rest of the animals.

I never did come to a solution.

And this morning the cat wasn't on the deck.

But I have a feeling I'll be seeing him later.

And taking him to the SPCA.

Not because I want to.

But because we are soon to be taking in Mer's Jasper and I don't know if we could manage four cats.






Yes.

Mer and Jasper.

Moving in September 15th.

Stephen being Stephen we headed to the vets on Tuesday with Mer and Jasper.

For shots and checkup.

Jasper, not Mer.

Although I thought about it.

Jasper is in perfect health.

Good news for Mer who spent the entire drive worried the vet was going to take Jasper from her, and accuse her of being a "bad mother."

He's scheduled to be neutered September 2nd.

And then he'll be moving in with us.

Beginning the process of introductions with the rest of the animals.

Apparently this is quite a long, involved process if done correctly.

And not the Dawne's approach: put them in the house together.

Wait until the dust settles and everyone has found their corner.




Title Lyric: Lost and Found by Leona Lewis

But everyone here knows how to fight. . .

August 15, 2011

Vacation Countdown: 6 Days!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And the way things have been around here for the past few days, coupled with how I feel physically, emotionally, mentally right now, six days may be far too long to wait.

To say it has been a challenging and stressful weekend is like saying the Leaning Tower of Piza is a little unbalanced.

Have you ever experienced one of those days where you feel tired and worn out with being the lynch pin that seemingly holds everything together?

Where the ringing of the phone, the you-have-a-message-icon-on-Facebook makes you want to throw yourself under the covers, ears plugged, face fully immersed in a 4 liter container of chocolate ice cream, and a flashlight with you so you can eat least read while you gorge away your troubles?

I try not to get to this place often.

The ice cream alone is enough to make my head spin.

I don't like who I am or how I feel when I get into this space.

But even I have a breaking point.

A point at which there is simply too many balls in the air and trying to keep them all up there, stable requires more energy and stamina than I have at the moment.

Part of being a parent and partner is knowing that you have to share the burdens, the loads, the work of sorting things out and trying to make them as close to right as possible.

But today, I am feeling overwhelmed by the issues.

Truly overwhelmed.

And not all that charitable about helping.

It'll pass.

It always does.

But the waiting. . . . .

That's a bitch.







Not that there haven't been positive things happen in the last couple of days.

The nursing home provided a yummy and delicious pizza for dinner Saturday.

A switch from the usual beans and brown bread.

So excited was my mother about this that she called at 1.30 Saturday afternoon and left a message sharing the uplifting news.

As soon as Stephen heard pizza, he was ready to go.

But we waited until 5.00 pm when Em got off work.

Poor Em.

No pizza for her.

Too much cheese.

The pizza was actually laden with veggies and cheese.

And it really was very good.









The latest Emily cellphone crisis ended happily with the return of her IPhone 3.

It was, indeed, hiding in the car of a co-worker, jumping Em's ship at some point during the scavenger hunt.

Last evening, while reading The Help and trying to ignore the shrieking pain of my innards, the phone rang.

Stephen answered.

And shortly afterwards I hear him pounding up the stairs, yelling to Em that her phone has been found.

Em's happy dance was nothing short of phenomenal, sustaining and made me wish more than I ever that I had my camera so I could record it.

Even Goblet was mesmerized.

And getting her attention for more than 3 seconds is, indeed, a stupendous feat.







In spite of the crippling pain I was experiencing for no other reason that being female. . . .

. . .which in my opinion isn't anywhere near a good enough reason to make someone feel as if their insides are bring pulled out through their nostrils with a toothpick. . . .

I forced myself out of bed yesterday morning at 8.00 am to complete the dill pickle process.

And it was a process.

Stephen purchased $62.00 worth of cucumbers, garlic and dill at the Big Potato Saturday morning.

A lot more than he thought he'd have to spend, but at $2.49 a pound, and with enough pickles to fill 25 jars, what else did he expect?

And those weren't the most expensive cukes. . .they were $3.49 a pound.

The cucumbers soaked overnight in an ice bath, to ensure maximum crunchiness.

Sterilized the jars, added the three cloves of garlic to each jar. . .

. . .and if you're paying attention, that's 75 garlic cloves I peeled. . . .

. . .added the dill, popped in the cukes and added the brine.

And the whole entire process only took three hours.

Stephen did all of the clean up.

There was a lot.

Meaning we made pickles.







Of course it had to be one of the warmest days of the summer.

Complete with a nice, warm, breeze.

So in addition to making the pickles, I was doing laundry.

Em and Keith's.

Wanting to get it on the line as soon as possible.

Undies, socks, pants, shirts all blowing in the breeze.

Each second the wind blew taking dollars and cents from my power bill.

Saving money is more than enough incentive to get me up and moving in spite of cramps that would fell a world champion body builder, and hanging laundry.







This morning was about getting myself up, dressed and over to Simply for Life.

Another three pounds are gone, gone, gone.

How is anyone's guess, because I have retained more water than Marine World this summer.

I was fully prepared for hearing my SFL counsellor tell me I've gained.

Well, as prepared as I could be given my current state of mind.

After SFL we headed over to Killam Realty's head office.

Trying to figure how to get Mer out of her leash with the least amount of pain and agony possible.

For all of us.

At the end of our conversation with the very patient Killam employee, we have come up with a plan.

But not an easy one.

Basically, if Mer wants out of her lease, Mer has to rent the apartment, clean the apartment, and provide some sort of incentive to get someone to take over the lease.

She can move out whenever she wants.

But she still has to pay the rent.

So, I am taking care of getting the rental ad on Kijiji, but she is going to have to take responsibility to show the place.

Because once I am back at work, that's it.

Meaning all must be done before then.

The thought of which makes me want to throw myself under the covers, ears plugged, face fully immersed in a 4 liter container of chocolate ice cream, and a flashlight with me so I can eat least read while I gorge away my troubles.

Patterns.

I am seeing patterns everywhere.




Title Lyric: Ice Cream by Sarah McLachlan