Look out weekend cause, here I come, because weekends were werrrre. . . .

October 4, 2010


For the first time in a long time, I had a relatively peaceful weekend.

In spite of getting up every three hours to take the dogs out to pee, poo or whatever else they have to do as a result of the medication they are taking for their sarcoptic mange.

Several times over the weekend, Emily came to me, pointing out one spot or another, asking if she had sarcoptic mange.

She spent Saturday evening cleaning her room, after working all day. Stripping her bed, vacuuming, insisting she annhiliate even the possibility that there may be been a molecule of the sarcoptic mite in her room.


Die mites, die!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!




Saturday, Stephen drove the kids to work for 11.00 am, leaving me in bed until I felt like getting up.


Around 11.38 because my need to pee superceded my desire to stay in bed.


I spent the day working on the proofreading-edits-from-hell until 3.00, when I hung out laundry, had a shower and then did the one thing I hate doing on the weekend.


Or any day for that matter.


Grocery shopping.


And while I had every intention of being at the grocery store for 3.30, it was actually 4.10 before we found a spot in the Superstore parking lot.

Of course, because I was in a hurry, the store was packed.

And my mother is not a patient woman. I called to ensure her that I would be at the nursing home by 5.15 at the latest. I also asked if she needed anything; granola bars because my dad never get the kind she likes, Sweet and Salty. . .I know there's something there, but I can't quite put my finger on it; cranberry juice because she thinks they water down the juice at the nursing home, or anything else she thought she may need.

She claims she understood that I'd be there, and that I was at the grocery store.

Not 5 minutes later, she calls my cell phone.

I say, "Hello, Mum" because I knew it was her.

She yells at me, "DAWNE! IS THAT YOU???????"

On more than one occassion, she has commented on how little faith she has in cell phones.

And she feels that yelling is the only way to confirm that she is actually talking to me, and that I can hear her.

She then says, "ARE YOU GOING TO THE GROCERY STORE??"

Me: "Yes Mum. Would you like something?"

Mum: "I NEED BIRDSEED."

Not for her to eat.

For the birdfeeder we bought her for Mother's Day. It hangs on a branch of a tree outside my mother's window.

She loves to watch the birds, and squirrels, the fox and groundhogs that roam the wooded area outside her window.

She doesn't like crows, and yells at them when they try to eat out of the birdfeeder.

They're scared shitless of her.

Mum: "ARE YOU COMING FOR SUPPER?"

Me: "Yes Mum. I'll be there no later than 5.15."

Mum: "DON'T BE LATER THAN 5.15, OR I'LL HAVE TO START WITHOUT YOU."

We say our goodbyes, I rub my ear to establish that I have some feeling left, and continue to run through the grocery store like a crazy person.

Because I wouldn't want to be late for pizza and garlic fingers, chocolate macaroons and the CTV News Channel.

Seriously, it was really good.





How come, when you're in a hurry, you run into people you actually want to talk to?

So I run by people, yelling behind me that I am happy to see them, and would love to talk, but I have to get to the nursing home by 5.15!

With Stephen behind me, trying to keep up with me, because inevitably, I pick the cart with the wonky wheel, or the cart leans to the right or left, meaning if we're not careful we would end up walking in circles.

Our grocery cart full, but probably not with everything we needed, we get to the checkout line by 4.50.

As inescapable as it is to run into people you know while in a hurry is the absolute certainty that you end up at a checkout manned by the.slowest.cashier.

Sure enough.

There I am.

There he is.

I don't want to name names, or describe this person, but suffice to say, I usually take great pains to prevent being in his lane.

But because I was propelled by my mother's disapproval, I didn't bother to take the 3 seconds I needed to ascertain exactly who was the captain of the cash register.

We are talking about someone who is so slow, I could put my empty cart in his line of one, and run all over the grocery store getting what I needed, and he still would't be ready to begin processing my order.

He looks at every item.

He comments on every item.

Even the way he speaks is slow.

It is beyond painful.

Stephen, the-man-who-loves-grocery-stores-and-has-more-patience-than-anyone-I-know, even gets frustrated to the point of wanting to get behind the cash register, push the cashier out of the way, and scan the groceries himself.

I try to be patient.

I really do.

The first, and I so hoped, only time we had this cashier, I tried to be patient, kind, gentle.

However, in spite of my best efforts, he just wasn't getting the fact that I really needed to get out of the grocery store.

He actually said to me that if I was in such a hurry, I should probably get to the grocery store sooner.

Even he wasn't so oblivious to the scathing look I gave him, peircing him through to the very core of his being.





Sunday I spend the afternoon cooking and baking.

But not until it became very clear that in our rushed panic through the grocery store, I missed several things.

So Stephen had to make another run to the grocery store to get the things I needed: potatoes, onions, milk, shortening. . . .

But the end result was worth it:

Corn chowder and homemade cheese and herb biscuits.

Stew, made early so it will season while sitting in the fridge until at least tomorrow.

And chicken parmegan for tonight.





I experienced a rare bliss: Sunday afternoon at home.

So quiet was yesterday afternoon, I was able to watch a movie. Not a good movie, but the point was I sat, watched it, and was not interrupted.

Silent Hill.

I'm not certain I got the point of the movie, which is too bad, because it had potential. Unfortunately, all the dots weren't connected and lots of questions were left unanswered.

Only Saturday evening was I informed that our cable package includes being able to order movies from the comfort of my own home.

Hallelujah!!!!!!!!!!

Of course, this means I will have to practice a level of restraint never seen in the modern world.

Or face the Wrath-of-Stephen when the cable bill arrives, because its 50 pages long.




In the future, when I experience the normal weekend I will be able to reflect back upon this heavenly and unusally blissful weekend, and cling to it like a person clinging to a buoy with great white sharks circling around them, just waiting for blood.


Title Lyric: Weekend by Black Eyed Peas