This little guy spends his entire summer outside our window.
Every summer.
Him, or a reasonable facsimile.
Given Em's terror for spiders, he makes television watching, spending time in the living room with the kids infinitely more interesting.
Monday was all about the dentist.
For Keith.
Not me.
I actually really dislike waiting at the dentist's office.
Everytime I come out of there I have a headache and feel exhausted.
Wondering how anyone could ever work there.
Maybe it's something in the air.
Although I was able to watch some of Wimbledon while I was waiting.
I used to love watching this tennis match only on television.
But it didn't prevent the headache, being tired, or the subsequent crankiness.
Which was apparently evident when I had been home for a while.
At least according to Stephen.
So, why was Keith at the dentist?
He'd been complaining that one of his molars was bothering him.
Complaining allot.
Stephen called the dentist and voila!
A cancellation had opened up a spot and he was plunked in there lickety split.
I was just happy he said something.
The last time he experienced this much pain in his mouth, he waited to tell me until it was critical.
And by that time he needed a root canal.
This time, in hopes of preventing another root canal, he told us asap.
But it didn't matter.
He still needs a root canal.
Luckily, they can take him really soon.
August 30th.
Since Monday, he's been feeling a bit down.
Worried that I think he doesn't look after his teeth.
No so at all.
He brushes and flosses regularly.
But teeth, like many other things, are partially controlled by genetics.
Neither of my parents have their own teeth.
In fact, both decided at the same time, on the advice of their dentist, to have all their teeth extracted.
And replaced with dentures.
Stephen remarked the other day that he thought dentures might be a good idea.
Seriously.
This is the man who cuts the kernels off his one cob of corn a year, and refuses to eat apples because he's worried about breaking a tooth.
He was feeling pretty smarmy about his denture decision until I reminded him that my parents were toothless for six months while waiting for the all the extraction sites to heal properly.
Smarmy left pretty quickly.
And. . .
It was gross seeing my parents smoke without their teeth.
It's gross seeing anyone smoke period, but without teeth is a whole other story.
And putting their Thanksgiving dinner in the blender wasn't exactly shits and giggles either.
Yesterday was quite warm.
One of those days you know is going to be uncomfortable from the minute you open your eyes.
Meaning I had a harder time than usual getting out of bed.
So I did what anyone in my position would do.
I took pictures.
I call this series, "What I See from My Bed."
You'll note most of what I see is Frankie.
As soon as I get on the bed to lay down, or read before I go to sleep, he's up there faster than you can say "dog treats."
And as usual, Goblet is perched on one of her favourite spots. This is where she sits and gives me the stink eye each and every night.
No wonder I have trouble sleeping.
Keith coming in to see what is taking me so long to get moving.
Accompanied by his usual bowl of cereal.
As I read, I can reach over and feel the smooth, cool fur of my canine companion.
Sometimes I fall asleep with my arms around him.
He loves having his picture taken.
Or I love taking picture of him.
Tikka used to be able to get up on the bed, and for YEARS she slept with me, keeping me company throughout the night.
Unfortunately, her arthritic hips prevent her from getting on to the bed.
Unless there's thunder and lightening outside.
So I just get on the floor with her for our cuddles.
She's Mummy's best girl.
No matter how long or short Frankie's visits are, they ALWAYS include an on my back belly rub.
We call him a belly bitch because he loves nothing more than having his belly rubbed.
But who couldn't succumb to that face?
Stephen.
That's who.
He is less moved by Frankie's shenanigans than I am .
Which is why I am a terrible dog owner.
I do have pictures of Stephen, but he has threatened me with divorce if I put them up.
Seems Tikka isn't the only camera shy creature in my midst.
Eventually, I did get up.
And spent part of yesterday in my office.
Or, if you prefer. . .
Lately, I have been avoiding going there because it's a mess.
No space is spared. Not even the door.
One Christmas Keith received a movie of the day calendar.
I took all the crime film related ones and put them on my door.
If I had a dollar for every time I came to my office to see someone standing there saying, "I was just reading your door. . ."
Opening the door. . .this is the sight that greets me:
The research my faithful research assistant has been compiling for me over the past two summers. There is another brown accordion file underneath the one here.
*Sigh*
Long, fascinating conversations have begun with the simple statement, "You have a lot of movies. . ."
And this and that at the top of the book shelf.
I can't reach that high.
So Stephen does it for me.
He was relocated to my office after Goblet ate some of him, became terribly ill, causing us to rush her to the vet, resulting in a $250.00 vet bill two weeks before we got married.
She hates me.
She did not want us to get married.
You'll never convince me otherwise.
I like to have lots of shoe choices on hand.
I never really know what I want to put on my feet until I get to work.
This is Keith's desk when he is in my office.
You can see how much I respect his territorial claim.
The book on top is an ethnography of Rebel bikers.
Read it.
It is very good.
My desk.
The side I actually use for writing stuff.
I haven't done my end-of-the-year clean out yet.
That's more of a weekend activity.
But it does mean being in there doesn't exactly fill me with excitement.
On the other hand, it's good to know my mess to workability ratio.
I wasn't sure I had one.
If you know Stephen at all, or have been paying even the slightest bit of attention, you know he is a bit of a neat freak.
I prefer ocd personally.
My office makes him looney.
He can't really be in there for any length of time.
Perhaps the point of the mess, huh?
When we were first together, he would attempt to clean in there.
Until I reminded him that this is truly my one and only space in the world.
All that is really just for me.
And he could take his Lysol wipes and his Windex and stick them somewhere far less pleasant.
My office is, most of the time, my sanctuary.
Messy or not.
Some of my most favourite things are in my office.
Several of Emily's paintings. This is my favourite.
Meredyth's inukshuk:
Em painted Marilyn Monroe as a Mother's Day gift:
These were drawn by an artist in Old Quebec City.
Pookie:
Mer Mer:
Emily gave her to her fourth grade teacher.
Broke my heart.
I've also received some very interesting gifts from my students.
This is a gnome.
During an intro class a couple of years ago, one of my students recounted a tale of her and her friends driving to Ontario to cover the roof of a friend's house with gnomes.
At the end of the year, she gave me this:
An Asian student gave me this wall hanging at the end of an intersession course.
She also gave me the largest piece of jade I've ever seen.
I wear it as a necklace.
I also have reminders of days gone by.
Guess who this incredibly attractive man is. . .
Along my window sill are reminders of summer adventures and warmer days.
These are especially handy during the long winter months, when I need to remember that there will be sun, beaches and ocean in my future.
As sanctuary like as it is, I still need to get in there and clean.
Dust.
Maybe even vacuum.
Or at least Stephen can vacuum.
A couple of weeks ago, I added a new gadget to my blog page.
"What I'm Reading Now."
I read a lot.
In fact, the greatest thing about my Kobo is that at anytime I have 120 books in my purse.
I read fiction and non-fiction.
Academic stuff. . .this morning I'll be finishing a journal article that explores Hayley Stark in the 2006 film Hard Candy. . . .
. . . .and if you haven't seen this film you should. . . .
. . . .as both Red Riding Hood and the wolf.
Very interesting stuff.
I recently finished Audrey Niffeneger's Her Fearful Symmetry.
She also wrote Time Traveller's Wife.
I quite enjoyed the book.
Good story.
Set in London, always a plus for me.
Ghosts and cemeteries an added bonus.
But the ending made me genuinely angry.
I thought about it for days, asking myself, WHY would Niffeneger do THAT?
Maybe that's the sign of a good book?
Keeps you thinking for days, weeks, months afterwards?
Or a bad book perhaps?
Driving you crazy? Questioning the author's sanity?
I'll have to think about that one.
The point, and there is a point, is that I am ALWAYS on the hunt for books to read.
I'll read pretty much anything, except Westerns.
And romances.
Absolutely no romances.
Share your favourite books with me, and everyone else.
Put them in the Comment's section.
No limit.
Let yourself go.
Sharing books. . . .sigh. . . .is there anything better?
Not really, no.
Title Lyric: Wisdom Lost by Old
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