September 2, 2011
Pets are a lot of responsibility.
And sometimes that means making sacrifices for them because they didn't ask for you to bring them into your life.
You asked them.
We were supposed to go to the Hopewell Cape today.
Out by 9.00 am.
Back whenever.
But. . .
These plans were based on the assumption that Jasper, Mer's cat, would need to remain at the vet's overnight.
He's being neutered.
However, when I dropped him off at 7.15 am, I was informed that this wasn't the case.
In fact, not only will be not be staying overnight, if we don't pick him up before 6.00 pm, he'll be at the vet's until Tuesday.
Apparently, vets like to enjoy the long weekend, too.
Plus, we just couldn't afford the cost of keeping him there all weekend.
Nor should we think that's even a possibility.
That responsibility thing again.
We can go to the Hopewell Rocks another day.
And in typical Mer fashion I arrive at her building and there is no Mer standing outside with Jasper in the kitty carrier.
Why should there be?
He's just her cat.
The one she wanted, got, and had living in her house for two months before we found out.
The one for whom she can't afford vaccinations, medications, neutering.
As I already mentioned, it isn't Jasper's fault.
He certainly didn't ask to be included in the chaos of Mer's everyday life.
To make matters even more interesting, I couldn't get into her building.
Meaning I had to stand in between the doorways until someone came out so I could get in.
Luckily, I didn't have to wait long.
Her door wasn't locked when I arrived at her apartment.
Walking in, I am greeted to a sleeping Mer, Jasper beside her barely lifting his head in acknowledgement of my entry.
Making me wonder if this is something that happens frequently.
Followed quickly by I don't want to know.
All of this activity accompanied by the incessent beeping of Mer's alarm.
Kudos for trying to get up should be provided I guess.
Jasper, always happy to see "granma" got up, stretched and then came towards me purring like a well constructed car.
I scooped him into the carrier and off we went.
Mer already asleep I suspect before I even closed her apartment door.
And people wonder why I'm crazy.
Later. . .as in after I was able to go back to bed and sleep as I couldn't sleep the night before worrying I'd miss my alarm. . . .
Jasper is fine.
Neutering went very well.
But, he was coated in fleas.
He didn't have fleas when we took him to the vet a couple of weeks ago.
How he got them is a mystery to me.
Nonetheless, he's been treated for them and when I pick him up, we'll get enough Revolution to treat the other fur bearing dwellers in our abode.
I had also purchased nail caps for the vet to put on him while he was under.
Following the directions on the package, I purchased the nail size for his weight.
Because it's me, the caps were too small.
Now I have to return the caps, see if I can purchase them from the SPCA and have them adhere them to Jasper's nails, Jasper who loves to scratch at things.
Thankfully we had the foresight to purchase a scratching post from Costco.
NOTHING is ever simple around here.
Especially if it is in any way, regardless of how small, connected to Meredyth.
All that's left is to bring him here, Revolution the other fur dwellers and wait through the process of dusting settling.
Again.
Houdini is managing quite well.
The novelty of his presence seems to be waning, even for Tikka.
Less hissing, whining and growling is filling the sound cracks in our house.
Which must mean its the perfect time to bring Jasper home.
Creating more chaos.
Why not?
Seems as if the soundtrack of my life is all about chaos and cacophony. . .I'm starting to think I'm a magnet.
I will say this.
The inn is full.
No more room for anything or anyone else at this time.
However, if you're in the market for twenty somethings who hate to clean and think everything is about them, please stop by.
Believe it or not, I am actually looking forward to going back to teaching.
It has to be less stressful than living my everyday life.
Right????
Title Lyric: Full House by Kate Bush
Friday, September 2, 2011
Thursday, September 1, 2011
It ain't my fault that I'm a dawg. . . .
September 1, 2011
One week from today, at this very time (10.15 am), I will be standing in front of my Introduction to Qualitative Research Methods class, sharing with them the ritual torture and punishment that will be doled out to them from September to December.
I still just want to be on the beach. Collecting sea glass. Watching Frankie frolic amid the waves, trying to catch hermit crabs, Tikka ambling beside me just content to be outside in the sunshine.
Instead, I'll be collecting the panicked sweat of students who have heard all sorts of untrue things about my courses, watching them frolic amid the confusion of what I am asking them to do, and ambling amid the delusion that those assignment due dates on the syllabus are still oh so far away.
Yesterday we brought home the newest member of our pet pack.
Houdini.
The photo was taken from Em's cell phone, as we still do not have our camera back in our possession.
Isn't he handsome?????
ALL white.
Piercing green eyes.
A purr that would melt your heart.
And a willingness to follow whoever around the house.
But especially Em.
Although last night, while she was at work, Houdini found himself on Keith's bed, snuggled up against Keith's leg, sleeping contentedly and happily.
Particularly when he realized that neither Frankie or Tikka have regular access to either Keith or Em's bedroom.
Because our canines and felines have had very different reactions to the introduction of our newest family member.
As the oldest pet in our little kingdom, Reilley has seen a number of pets come into our home.
And as he gets older, his willingness to adapt has decreased significantly. He has not necessarily embraced our Houdini. In fact, he's been downright inhospitable. Apparently, their first meeting, in the safety of the kitchen, resulted in lots of fur flying and a pissed off Reilley stomping upstairs to sulk in solitude.
And his sulking continued throughout the night, as he absolutely refused to even sleep on the bed with Em.
Em did not take this well.
We talked through it this morning. She understands, I hope, a bit more of the dynamics of the fight for territory that will occur over the next few days.
Goblet. . .
. . . who was brought into our pet nest about 5 years ago and certainly carries the Domestic Diva Crown, has deigned to give Houdini a look, a glance, and was content to ignore him until he attempted to ingratiate himself by wandering into her territory and nestling himself contentedly on the Goblet box. A box that sits on my bureau, that is actually a decorative box given to me by my Great Aunt Zita when Stephen and I married. Nonetheless, Goblet assumed it was hers and has spent the last several years watching the birds from this perch just below our bedroom window. Houdini put himself on the top of that box to look out the window, survey his surroundings, and get a bird's eye view (no pun intended) of our bedroom.
Across the bedroom, on top of Stephen's bureau, was a vibrating Goblet.
Literally vibrating.
With fury and rage.
But luckily, our Goblet is such a Diva that to actually get off the bureau to assert herself was just more than she was prepared to engage in.
That isn't to say that she won't punish him for his transgressions at a later date.
Because she most certainly will.
Frankie.
Now this was completely unpredictable.
Our toughie boy, our intense, in your face at the front door or window little man who acts like he would eat the mailman or anyone else who comes anywhere near our territory, including anyone who has the audacity to walk in front of our house on the street, spent the entire day yesterday crying and whining every time Houdini even came anywhere near him.
Like a baby.
All day.
Running to me, a look on his face that said, "Am I still your number one boy Mama? Am I?" and he has been following me all day seeking consistent reassurance that he is still my number one boy.
But who would have thought he'd turn out to be such a marshmallow.
Toughie boy indeed. . .
And Tikka.
Oh Miss Tikka.
As the second oldest pet, and easily the largest, she has not made the transition for this little cat easy. She follows him consistently, sniffing, harassing, bullying, barking at him for no reason other than she can, she will, and much like my mother, because of her age she thinks she can do whatever she wants to do.
Unfortunately, for Tikka, she never took into account that this cat may not be intimidated by her bullying tactics. And he isn't. As Tikka's snout can not attest to.
Tikka's smart. She knows that Houdini isn't leaving. She just wanted him to know who is the boss.
And now he does.
I anticipate the dust will settle long enough to be stirred up again with the introduction, Saturday, of Jasper when he returns from the vet after being neutered.
Never a dull moment.
But I so wish there were.
Several of them.
All in a row.
Boredom, I would embrace thee if thou decidest to partake of time passing in my humble abode.
Tomorrow, we will be making full use of our family Fundy pass with all of us, Mer, Keith, Em, Stephen and I.
The kids have all have the day off.
Rare in and of itself.
A family day together?
Maybe not so rare, but most definitely an opportunity for more adventure and excitement.
My plea for boredom, again. . .
Title Lyric: Cats and Dogs by City High
One week from today, at this very time (10.15 am), I will be standing in front of my Introduction to Qualitative Research Methods class, sharing with them the ritual torture and punishment that will be doled out to them from September to December.
I still just want to be on the beach. Collecting sea glass. Watching Frankie frolic amid the waves, trying to catch hermit crabs, Tikka ambling beside me just content to be outside in the sunshine.
Instead, I'll be collecting the panicked sweat of students who have heard all sorts of untrue things about my courses, watching them frolic amid the confusion of what I am asking them to do, and ambling amid the delusion that those assignment due dates on the syllabus are still oh so far away.
Yesterday we brought home the newest member of our pet pack.
Houdini.
The photo was taken from Em's cell phone, as we still do not have our camera back in our possession.
Isn't he handsome?????
ALL white.
Piercing green eyes.
A purr that would melt your heart.
And a willingness to follow whoever around the house.
But especially Em.
Although last night, while she was at work, Houdini found himself on Keith's bed, snuggled up against Keith's leg, sleeping contentedly and happily.
Particularly when he realized that neither Frankie or Tikka have regular access to either Keith or Em's bedroom.
Because our canines and felines have had very different reactions to the introduction of our newest family member.
As the oldest pet in our little kingdom, Reilley has seen a number of pets come into our home.
And as he gets older, his willingness to adapt has decreased significantly. He has not necessarily embraced our Houdini. In fact, he's been downright inhospitable. Apparently, their first meeting, in the safety of the kitchen, resulted in lots of fur flying and a pissed off Reilley stomping upstairs to sulk in solitude.
And his sulking continued throughout the night, as he absolutely refused to even sleep on the bed with Em.
Em did not take this well.
We talked through it this morning. She understands, I hope, a bit more of the dynamics of the fight for territory that will occur over the next few days.
Goblet. . .
. . . who was brought into our pet nest about 5 years ago and certainly carries the Domestic Diva Crown, has deigned to give Houdini a look, a glance, and was content to ignore him until he attempted to ingratiate himself by wandering into her territory and nestling himself contentedly on the Goblet box. A box that sits on my bureau, that is actually a decorative box given to me by my Great Aunt Zita when Stephen and I married. Nonetheless, Goblet assumed it was hers and has spent the last several years watching the birds from this perch just below our bedroom window. Houdini put himself on the top of that box to look out the window, survey his surroundings, and get a bird's eye view (no pun intended) of our bedroom.
Across the bedroom, on top of Stephen's bureau, was a vibrating Goblet.
Literally vibrating.
With fury and rage.
But luckily, our Goblet is such a Diva that to actually get off the bureau to assert herself was just more than she was prepared to engage in.
That isn't to say that she won't punish him for his transgressions at a later date.
Because she most certainly will.
Frankie.
Now this was completely unpredictable.
Our toughie boy, our intense, in your face at the front door or window little man who acts like he would eat the mailman or anyone else who comes anywhere near our territory, including anyone who has the audacity to walk in front of our house on the street, spent the entire day yesterday crying and whining every time Houdini even came anywhere near him.
Like a baby.
All day.
Running to me, a look on his face that said, "Am I still your number one boy Mama? Am I?" and he has been following me all day seeking consistent reassurance that he is still my number one boy.
But who would have thought he'd turn out to be such a marshmallow.
Toughie boy indeed. . .
And Tikka.
Oh Miss Tikka.
As the second oldest pet, and easily the largest, she has not made the transition for this little cat easy. She follows him consistently, sniffing, harassing, bullying, barking at him for no reason other than she can, she will, and much like my mother, because of her age she thinks she can do whatever she wants to do.
Unfortunately, for Tikka, she never took into account that this cat may not be intimidated by her bullying tactics. And he isn't. As Tikka's snout can not attest to.
Tikka's smart. She knows that Houdini isn't leaving. She just wanted him to know who is the boss.
And now he does.
I anticipate the dust will settle long enough to be stirred up again with the introduction, Saturday, of Jasper when he returns from the vet after being neutered.
Never a dull moment.
But I so wish there were.
Several of them.
All in a row.
Boredom, I would embrace thee if thou decidest to partake of time passing in my humble abode.
Tomorrow, we will be making full use of our family Fundy pass with all of us, Mer, Keith, Em, Stephen and I.
The kids have all have the day off.
Rare in and of itself.
A family day together?
Maybe not so rare, but most definitely an opportunity for more adventure and excitement.
My plea for boredom, again. . .
Title Lyric: Cats and Dogs by City High
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
The cat came back. . .again. . . .
August 31, 2011
The last day of August.
Where did the summer go?
Right this minute I am blogging sans cereal or coffee.
Fasting bloodwork is on the books for 8.30 am.
How come, when I can eat as soon as I wake up I can dawdle, doing this and at there, roaming here and there.
But give me a morning, fasting bloodwork appointment and ALL I can think about is coffee and fiber cereal with yogurt.
Sleep was as elusive last night as coffee is this morning.
3.57 am my eyes popped open like a jack-in-the-box.
Frankie hogging the bed.
Stephen's melodious cacophony beside me.
Joined by the Hallelujah chorus emanating from my knees.
Losing weight has been great for my knees.
Additional exercise, especially walking, not so much.
So while I resolutely refuse to stop my downtown rambles, I do pay for it in the wee hours of the morning.
Normally, I can take a Celebrex and fall asleep with the knowledge that the pain will abate.
Fasting bloodwork, alas, prevented that from happening.
Resulting in me laying there thinking of all the things I should get up and do instead of laying there hoping to get back to sleep.
Part of my sleeplessness may be the panic brewing in my subconscious over not having any course syllabi's ready.
And classes start a week from tomorrow.
Guess I know what I'll be doing later today.
After coffee, that is.
Today we are driving. . . . . .
A 2006 red, Ford Focus station wagon!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
After all the rigmarole Monday at the dealers, they call Tuesday, just before lunch as I was trying to finish the noon deadline project to inform us the car was repaired and ready for take off.
Really? I replied incredulously. I thought there wasn't a part available in North America?
Well, he responded, when we opened the parts shipment, there it was.
Meaning we could say GOODBYE to the wretched Dodge Caliber and return to the comfort and familiarity of our family-friendly Ford Focus.
Funny how the prospect of paying for a rental car for who knows how long can make the impossible, possible.
When I returned the rental car, the agent asked me what I thought of the car.
I hated it.
He asked me no more questions after that.
Yesterday was Em's last day of her Empire Theater vacation.
Which meant it was an Em and Mummy Date Day.
Well, date afternoon by the time we got the car all sorted out, noon deadline reports in, and building manager snafus addressed.
Literally, Stephen and I pulled into our driveway, in the Focus, and I got out of the passenger seat to plop myself into the passenger seat of the Elantra.
Date days always mean Em drives.
First we headed to Swiss Chalet for lunch, her treat, for my birthday.
Over lunch, my sly little Bunny brought back to the forefront an issue that had been boiling over on her back burner.
The white cat.
The same white cat who came a-visiting to our home a few days before we left for our vacation, disappeared, reappeared to be taken to the SPCA by our neighbour.
When we heard where the cat was currently residing, we felt relief in knowing that it wasn't our roaming the streets of our neighbourhood.
But saddened that it was locked up behind bars at the SPCA.
In a momentary lapse of judgement brought on by exhaustion, Stephen said out loud in front of Em the Cat Whisperer,
If he's still at the SPCA when we get back from vacation, we'll adopt him.
Had we not been in public, I may have acted on my urge to smack him across the back of the head.
Because he signed, sealed and delivered his fate.
We would be getting another cat.
Em may not remember to clean her room, or that she has math homework, but there is NO way she was going to allow that little tidbit of info to fall into the dark recesses of her mind.
And she didn't.
While munching on Caesar salad and a chicken club wrap, Em shared her itinerary for our afternoon.
A movie, of course.
Fright Night.
With an SPCA detour prior to seeing the film.
Inwardly, my heart sank.
She hadn't said anything about it, so I, stupidly, thought she had forgotten about it.
I knew better, I was just hoping.
Paying our lunch bill, she practically flew to the car to get herself to the SPCA.
But there would be no going anywhere until she filled her gas tank.
A brief interlude at the PetroCan and then off we went, racing down the highway and then through our neighbourhood, which provides a short cut to the SPCA.
Me sitting in the passenger seat hoping, praying, Stephen didn't drive past us, and then turn around because he was wondering what the hell we were doing here when we were supposed to be at the mall.
Arriving at the Fredericton SPCA, Em practically launched herself out the car, ran inside the building and assessed in a matter of seconds that the cat, who had been named "Bones" was indeed sojourning in the SPCA cat room.
Knowing he was safe, we had a much, much bigger hurdle to jump.
A six foot four hurdle to be precise.
Stephen may have said with all sort of conviction that we'd adopt the cat before we left for Murray Corner.
But actually doing it was an entirely different story.
He was not happy to pick up the cell phone and hear I was at the SPCA.
In fact, my NOT going to the SPCA is one of the only things where he adamantly puts his foot down.
WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING THERE? he asks.
Followed with, HAVE YOU BEEN TO SEE ANY DOGS?
When I said I hadn't left the reception area, he was somewhat mollified.
Without revealing the details of our rather long conversation, he was not happy, initially, at being reminded of his promise.
More bombarded than reminded.
At the end of the conversation he had come around to agreeing to discuss the issue over supper.
For Em that meant an afternoon of movie watching while outlining her arguments for why we should adopt this cat.
Once home from our date day, she was off upstairs to change her clothes and bring down a notebook where she outlined a page worth of arguments to present to Stephen over chicken salad wraps and Caesar salad.
He was impressed with her organization, her arguments and by the time dinner was over, agreed to open our home to another pet in need of a home.
I was impressed with his willingness to follow through.
He is such a good guy.
A great guy, actually.
My great guy to be exact.
This morning, several minutes before the SPCA opened, Em and I were in their parking lot waiting for the CLOSED sign to become the OPEN sign.
And twenty minutes later we were pulling out of that same parking lot with the all white, Persian looking cat with the piercing green eyes.
Houdini is his name.
For good reason.
Luckily he's microchipped so if he happens to escape, we have some chance of getting him back.
But we plan on reforming his disappearing ways.
We managed to do so with Goblet, we have the experience and more importantly, the will.
Now all we have to do is muddle through the adjustment period.
And then prepare for the moving in and introductions of cat number 4.
Mer's cat.
Jasper.
Let the games begin!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Title Lyric: The Cat Came Back by Fred Penner
The last day of August.
Where did the summer go?
Right this minute I am blogging sans cereal or coffee.
Fasting bloodwork is on the books for 8.30 am.
How come, when I can eat as soon as I wake up I can dawdle, doing this and at there, roaming here and there.
But give me a morning, fasting bloodwork appointment and ALL I can think about is coffee and fiber cereal with yogurt.
Sleep was as elusive last night as coffee is this morning.
3.57 am my eyes popped open like a jack-in-the-box.
Frankie hogging the bed.
Stephen's melodious cacophony beside me.
Joined by the Hallelujah chorus emanating from my knees.
Losing weight has been great for my knees.
Additional exercise, especially walking, not so much.
So while I resolutely refuse to stop my downtown rambles, I do pay for it in the wee hours of the morning.
Normally, I can take a Celebrex and fall asleep with the knowledge that the pain will abate.
Fasting bloodwork, alas, prevented that from happening.
Resulting in me laying there thinking of all the things I should get up and do instead of laying there hoping to get back to sleep.
Part of my sleeplessness may be the panic brewing in my subconscious over not having any course syllabi's ready.
And classes start a week from tomorrow.
Guess I know what I'll be doing later today.
After coffee, that is.
Today we are driving. . . . . .
A 2006 red, Ford Focus station wagon!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
After all the rigmarole Monday at the dealers, they call Tuesday, just before lunch as I was trying to finish the noon deadline project to inform us the car was repaired and ready for take off.
Really? I replied incredulously. I thought there wasn't a part available in North America?
Well, he responded, when we opened the parts shipment, there it was.
Meaning we could say GOODBYE to the wretched Dodge Caliber and return to the comfort and familiarity of our family-friendly Ford Focus.
Funny how the prospect of paying for a rental car for who knows how long can make the impossible, possible.
When I returned the rental car, the agent asked me what I thought of the car.
I hated it.
He asked me no more questions after that.
Yesterday was Em's last day of her Empire Theater vacation.
Which meant it was an Em and Mummy Date Day.
Well, date afternoon by the time we got the car all sorted out, noon deadline reports in, and building manager snafus addressed.
Literally, Stephen and I pulled into our driveway, in the Focus, and I got out of the passenger seat to plop myself into the passenger seat of the Elantra.
Date days always mean Em drives.
First we headed to Swiss Chalet for lunch, her treat, for my birthday.
Over lunch, my sly little Bunny brought back to the forefront an issue that had been boiling over on her back burner.
The white cat.
The same white cat who came a-visiting to our home a few days before we left for our vacation, disappeared, reappeared to be taken to the SPCA by our neighbour.
When we heard where the cat was currently residing, we felt relief in knowing that it wasn't our roaming the streets of our neighbourhood.
But saddened that it was locked up behind bars at the SPCA.
In a momentary lapse of judgement brought on by exhaustion, Stephen said out loud in front of Em the Cat Whisperer,
If he's still at the SPCA when we get back from vacation, we'll adopt him.
Had we not been in public, I may have acted on my urge to smack him across the back of the head.
Because he signed, sealed and delivered his fate.
We would be getting another cat.
Em may not remember to clean her room, or that she has math homework, but there is NO way she was going to allow that little tidbit of info to fall into the dark recesses of her mind.
And she didn't.
While munching on Caesar salad and a chicken club wrap, Em shared her itinerary for our afternoon.
A movie, of course.
Fright Night.
With an SPCA detour prior to seeing the film.
Inwardly, my heart sank.
She hadn't said anything about it, so I, stupidly, thought she had forgotten about it.
I knew better, I was just hoping.
Paying our lunch bill, she practically flew to the car to get herself to the SPCA.
But there would be no going anywhere until she filled her gas tank.
A brief interlude at the PetroCan and then off we went, racing down the highway and then through our neighbourhood, which provides a short cut to the SPCA.
Me sitting in the passenger seat hoping, praying, Stephen didn't drive past us, and then turn around because he was wondering what the hell we were doing here when we were supposed to be at the mall.
Arriving at the Fredericton SPCA, Em practically launched herself out the car, ran inside the building and assessed in a matter of seconds that the cat, who had been named "Bones" was indeed sojourning in the SPCA cat room.
Knowing he was safe, we had a much, much bigger hurdle to jump.
A six foot four hurdle to be precise.
Stephen may have said with all sort of conviction that we'd adopt the cat before we left for Murray Corner.
But actually doing it was an entirely different story.
He was not happy to pick up the cell phone and hear I was at the SPCA.
In fact, my NOT going to the SPCA is one of the only things where he adamantly puts his foot down.
WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING THERE? he asks.
Followed with, HAVE YOU BEEN TO SEE ANY DOGS?
When I said I hadn't left the reception area, he was somewhat mollified.
Without revealing the details of our rather long conversation, he was not happy, initially, at being reminded of his promise.
More bombarded than reminded.
At the end of the conversation he had come around to agreeing to discuss the issue over supper.
For Em that meant an afternoon of movie watching while outlining her arguments for why we should adopt this cat.
Once home from our date day, she was off upstairs to change her clothes and bring down a notebook where she outlined a page worth of arguments to present to Stephen over chicken salad wraps and Caesar salad.
He was impressed with her organization, her arguments and by the time dinner was over, agreed to open our home to another pet in need of a home.
I was impressed with his willingness to follow through.
He is such a good guy.
A great guy, actually.
My great guy to be exact.
This morning, several minutes before the SPCA opened, Em and I were in their parking lot waiting for the CLOSED sign to become the OPEN sign.
And twenty minutes later we were pulling out of that same parking lot with the all white, Persian looking cat with the piercing green eyes.
Houdini is his name.
For good reason.
Luckily he's microchipped so if he happens to escape, we have some chance of getting him back.
But we plan on reforming his disappearing ways.
We managed to do so with Goblet, we have the experience and more importantly, the will.
Now all we have to do is muddle through the adjustment period.
And then prepare for the moving in and introductions of cat number 4.
Mer's cat.
Jasper.
Let the games begin!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Title Lyric: The Cat Came Back by Fred Penner
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
I love paying rent when the rent's due. . . .
August 30, 2011
Now I really know vacation's over.
7.30 am, up, drinking coffee, Frankie underneath my desk, blogging. . .all that's the same as it was last week.
It's the going to work and not going to the beach when the coffee and blogging are finished that drives home the reality that my vacation is well and truly over.
Going to my office or going to the beach.
Which do I really want to do?
Last week we were tooling around New Brunswick and PEI in a Ford Escape.
This week we are driving a Dodge Caliber.
The exact same color as the picture.
Same room inside as the Focus, if not a little more, but we aren't sure if we can get both dogs in trunk area together.
I'm on the fence about this one.
Feels like I'm driving a car trying really, really hard to be an SUV.
All I really want is my own car, returned and raring to go off on another adventure.
Alas, this seems to not be the case for us.
And who knows when it'll be returned.
After I meet a noon deadline for something at work, I have to go put out another fire.
Last week, while sitting on the front porch of the cottage, book in hand, basking in the warm glow of the afternoon sun, Keith comes out, cell phone in hand.
THAT only means one thing.
Meredyth is on the line and needs to talk to me about something.
She's upset.
She's had several people interested in taking over the lease to her apartment.
Showings all go well. . .apartment is neat and clean and everyone who has seen it is excited.
All is well until the time comes for them to meet the building manager and fill out the rental application.
It would seem, like so many organizations today, that the right hand hasn't a sweet clue about what the left hand is thinking.
Before I put the ad on Kijiji, I marched into the property managements central office and spoke with a leasing agent.
The leasing agent said:
1. The rent for that unit will be increased to $750.00, heat and hydro included.
2. Damage deposit was transferable.
3. It was a lease takeover.
The building manager informed our potential renters:
1. The rent for the unit was $810.00, heat and hydro included.
2. The damaged deposit was not transferable.
3. It was not a lease takeover.
Mer, who has an explosive temper, remained calm in front of the renters, however, she blew up at the building manager, who seems to be undermining our attempts at locating a renter.
She told Mer it wasn't a lease takeover because Mer could leave at any time.
To which Mer replied, then how come I have to find a renter?
To which the building manager had no answer.
My plan is to go back to the main office, speak with the leasing agent, again, and while I am standing there have her call the undermining building manager and tell her everything she has told me to ensure that everyone is on the same page.
And then I'll be reposting the Kijiji ad while Mer gets in touch with the formerly interested parties to see if they're still interested.
Hopefully they are.
The sooner this albatross is removed from my neck, the better.
Last Friday I was experiencing a bit of vacation induced hangover.
The early warning signs of a migraine to be specific.
So I did the adult thing . . .rested until things settled down.
Which meant no beach that day.
Because by the time I started feeling better, it was time to head to Moncton.
We had promised our city-pining children that we'd go to Moncton Friday evening for dinner and a movie.
A movie.
I know.
Both seemed to be suffering some serious Empire Theater withdrawl while we were away.
First, however, food.
Initially we had planned on going to Swiss Chalet.
My eating during our vacation period was no where near SFL approved.
And I was feeling it.
Everywhere.
Swiss Chalet, however, wasn't in the cards.
A missed turn resulted in us pulling into a parking lot next to Swiss Chalet.
And in this parking lot was a restaurant called Rossano's Italian Grill.
Ohhh, Italian, Keith murmured from the backseat.
Let's check it out, Stephen added, thinking about oodles and oodles of melted cheese on top of anything.
Yeah. Italian, deadpanned from the lactose intolerant Emily.
Lovely restaurant.
Fabulous food.
Shortly after we ordered, our waitress appeared with a woven basket full of different kinds of bread.
Stephen and I had the multigrain, Keith the cheese and Em the white Italian.
Then we started with a calamari appetizer.
Em was not the least bit interested in trying squid, but Keith dove in with relish, munching and ummmmmmming at the same time.
For our main course, Stephen had lasagna, of course, for its cheese to noodle/meat/sauce ratio.
Keith had the five meat penne. Meat. Ummmmmmmm.
Em had a burger, no cheese and fries.
I had a small chicken Alfredo.
By this time I had so blown my eating regime that a bit of cream sauce wasn't going too far to tip the balance.
The real kicker, however, was when our waitress appeared with a tray of desserts.
Not plastic desserts, like at Boston Pizza.
But real desserts.
And on that try beckoned homemade carrot cake with cream cheese icing, New York cheesecake, Turtle cheesecake, strawberry pie, etc.
What a dirty trick!
Keith and I had the carrot cake.
Em and I had the Turtle cheesecake.
And you know this week, this month, the rest of his year actually, it'll be salad and water as I get rid of the five pounds I gained while on vacation.
It would have been ten had it not been for the hours and hours of beach walking.
At this point, the little things make a huge difference.
Post dinner plans were to see a movie.
But not all together.
THE only movie playing that Stephen hadn't seen and wouldn't keep him awake for the rest of his natural life was The Smurfs.
Admittedly, I kind of wanted to see it, having been a fan of the Smurfs when I was younger.
But I had absolutely no expectations regarding the quality of the film or it's story line.
And it was free so I didn't mind seeing it, but I would have never paid to see it.
Keith and Em wanted to see Don't Be Afraid of the Dark.
Even with Katie Holmes, it seemed to hold more promise than The Smurfs, but I wanted to spend time with Stephen so what we saw wasn't critically important.
Because I had NO expectations, it was better than I would have thought.
Always enhancing kid's movies is the theater soundtrack of actual kids.
Listening to them guffaw, belly laugh, chuckle is often better than the film itself.
Stephen smiled a couple of times.
I laughed.
Verdict: a success.
Title Lyric: Dear Mama by 2Pac
Now I really know vacation's over.
7.30 am, up, drinking coffee, Frankie underneath my desk, blogging. . .all that's the same as it was last week.
It's the going to work and not going to the beach when the coffee and blogging are finished that drives home the reality that my vacation is well and truly over.
Going to my office or going to the beach.
Which do I really want to do?
Last week we were tooling around New Brunswick and PEI in a Ford Escape.
This week we are driving a Dodge Caliber.
The exact same color as the picture.
Same room inside as the Focus, if not a little more, but we aren't sure if we can get both dogs in trunk area together.
I'm on the fence about this one.
Feels like I'm driving a car trying really, really hard to be an SUV.
All I really want is my own car, returned and raring to go off on another adventure.
Alas, this seems to not be the case for us.
And who knows when it'll be returned.
After I meet a noon deadline for something at work, I have to go put out another fire.
Last week, while sitting on the front porch of the cottage, book in hand, basking in the warm glow of the afternoon sun, Keith comes out, cell phone in hand.
THAT only means one thing.
Meredyth is on the line and needs to talk to me about something.
She's upset.
She's had several people interested in taking over the lease to her apartment.
Showings all go well. . .apartment is neat and clean and everyone who has seen it is excited.
All is well until the time comes for them to meet the building manager and fill out the rental application.
It would seem, like so many organizations today, that the right hand hasn't a sweet clue about what the left hand is thinking.
Before I put the ad on Kijiji, I marched into the property managements central office and spoke with a leasing agent.
The leasing agent said:
1. The rent for that unit will be increased to $750.00, heat and hydro included.
2. Damage deposit was transferable.
3. It was a lease takeover.
The building manager informed our potential renters:
1. The rent for the unit was $810.00, heat and hydro included.
2. The damaged deposit was not transferable.
3. It was not a lease takeover.
Mer, who has an explosive temper, remained calm in front of the renters, however, she blew up at the building manager, who seems to be undermining our attempts at locating a renter.
She told Mer it wasn't a lease takeover because Mer could leave at any time.
To which Mer replied, then how come I have to find a renter?
To which the building manager had no answer.
My plan is to go back to the main office, speak with the leasing agent, again, and while I am standing there have her call the undermining building manager and tell her everything she has told me to ensure that everyone is on the same page.
And then I'll be reposting the Kijiji ad while Mer gets in touch with the formerly interested parties to see if they're still interested.
Hopefully they are.
The sooner this albatross is removed from my neck, the better.
Last Friday I was experiencing a bit of vacation induced hangover.
The early warning signs of a migraine to be specific.
So I did the adult thing . . .rested until things settled down.
Which meant no beach that day.
Because by the time I started feeling better, it was time to head to Moncton.
We had promised our city-pining children that we'd go to Moncton Friday evening for dinner and a movie.
A movie.
I know.
Both seemed to be suffering some serious Empire Theater withdrawl while we were away.
First, however, food.
Initially we had planned on going to Swiss Chalet.
My eating during our vacation period was no where near SFL approved.
And I was feeling it.
Everywhere.
Swiss Chalet, however, wasn't in the cards.
A missed turn resulted in us pulling into a parking lot next to Swiss Chalet.
And in this parking lot was a restaurant called Rossano's Italian Grill.
Ohhh, Italian, Keith murmured from the backseat.
Let's check it out, Stephen added, thinking about oodles and oodles of melted cheese on top of anything.
Yeah. Italian, deadpanned from the lactose intolerant Emily.
Lovely restaurant.
Fabulous food.
Shortly after we ordered, our waitress appeared with a woven basket full of different kinds of bread.
Stephen and I had the multigrain, Keith the cheese and Em the white Italian.
Then we started with a calamari appetizer.
Em was not the least bit interested in trying squid, but Keith dove in with relish, munching and ummmmmmming at the same time.
For our main course, Stephen had lasagna, of course, for its cheese to noodle/meat/sauce ratio.
Keith had the five meat penne. Meat. Ummmmmmmm.
Em had a burger, no cheese and fries.
I had a small chicken Alfredo.
By this time I had so blown my eating regime that a bit of cream sauce wasn't going too far to tip the balance.
The real kicker, however, was when our waitress appeared with a tray of desserts.
Not plastic desserts, like at Boston Pizza.
But real desserts.
And on that try beckoned homemade carrot cake with cream cheese icing, New York cheesecake, Turtle cheesecake, strawberry pie, etc.
What a dirty trick!
Keith and I had the carrot cake.
Em and I had the Turtle cheesecake.
And you know this week, this month, the rest of his year actually, it'll be salad and water as I get rid of the five pounds I gained while on vacation.
It would have been ten had it not been for the hours and hours of beach walking.
At this point, the little things make a huge difference.
Post dinner plans were to see a movie.
But not all together.
THE only movie playing that Stephen hadn't seen and wouldn't keep him awake for the rest of his natural life was The Smurfs.
Admittedly, I kind of wanted to see it, having been a fan of the Smurfs when I was younger.
But I had absolutely no expectations regarding the quality of the film or it's story line.
And it was free so I didn't mind seeing it, but I would have never paid to see it.
Keith and Em wanted to see Don't Be Afraid of the Dark.
Even with Katie Holmes, it seemed to hold more promise than The Smurfs, but I wanted to spend time with Stephen so what we saw wasn't critically important.
Because I had NO expectations, it was better than I would have thought.
Always enhancing kid's movies is the theater soundtrack of actual kids.
Listening to them guffaw, belly laugh, chuckle is often better than the film itself.
Stephen smiled a couple of times.
I laughed.
Verdict: a success.
Title Lyric: Dear Mama by 2Pac
Monday, August 29, 2011
Come up to my lighthouse for I have something I wish to say . . .
August 29, 2011
Woke up this morning to face the aftermath of Hurricane Irene.
The power must have gone out at some point last night, because we were awakened to the most annoying beep of the travel alarm Stephen insisted we set in case the power went out.
That man has foresight.
Luckily, thankfully, we were spared any major damage.
Branches scattering our front yard, Frankie's pool in a position I didn't even know it could hold, on-the-deck plants waterlogged.
We got off lightly, that's for sure.
The winds are still strong, but mercifully, the rain has ended and the sun has even managed to peek through the thick, grey clouds a couple of times.
Cool temps. . .feels like fall.
Reilly and Goblet were joyous at our return.
Momentarily.
Cats are fickle, vindictive creatures, and our two furry felines are not immune to rapid mood changes that would made bi-polar people sit up in amazement.
At first, they were recalcitrant. . .turning their heads away from our proffered affections, our delirium in having them back in our arms again, their fur against our cheeks.
They moved to a reluctant happiness at our return, spending most of the evening following us around, bumping up against us, weaving in and our of legs as we stood doing mundane tasks like dishes, laundry, etc.
Goblet was on Stephen faster than the speed of light when he finally came to bed.
She had a week's worth of suckling to catch up on after all.
And so far today, when we've been home, she's been following us from room to room, meowing repeatedly, as if to remind us that she was familyless for an entire week and we. owe. her.
Remember, this is the Goblet who typically sleeps from morning to evening, rarely opens her mouth for anything more than eating, and for whom following us around constitutes more exercise than she ever willingly engages in.
Reilley. . .he is an entirely different creature.
Em carted him all over yesterday, barely letting him out of her arms for longer than it took to use the bathroom.
Last evening, when we had our typical pre-bedtime girl talk, he glowered at us from atop Stephen's bureau.
He's angry with me, Em remarked.
Oh, I know, I replied.
And is he angry.
He has screamed at us since our return.
Refuses to follow Em anywhere, hence the being carted around.
This morning, he demanded his week's worth of coffee cream missed while we were away.
He received his typical just-covering-the-very-bottom-of-a-ramekin and was either going to be satisfied with that, or go without for another morning.
Hopefully by the end of the week they'll be back to normal.
Too much exercise for Goblet could cause her to actually lose a couple of pounds and Reilley could end up with laryngitis.
Our post-vacation Monday marked the beginning of dealing with all those things I didn't want to return home to deal with.
At the top of the list: our Ford Focus.
Sitting at Riverview Ford since Friday, August 19th.
Awaiting the required part since Tuesday, August 16th when we were informed that we needed said part.
Some sort of bearing in the wheel, but not a wheel bearing.
Whatever that means.
Sitting in front of the parts manager, who looked too tired to battle a refreshed and tanned me, I laid out for him my take of this situation.
And then provided him with three options, all valid from my perspective.
1. Pay for our vacation rental.
2. Fix our car for no charge.
3. Depending on how long it will take to repair our car, pay for a rental until it's fixed.
Option 1 and 2 were the favoured options until Stephen called them this morning, before we left, to find out the status of our little car.
When he informed me that it was still not repaired, still not safe to drive, I added number three to the list.
And just after I finished my lunch of salad, cottage cheese and the smallest egg salad sandwich you could imagine, we received a phone call informing us that we could pick up our rental this afternoon between 3.30-4.00.
All because the $62.00 part required to get our car back on the road isn't available in ANY Ford dealership across North America.
If it wasn't my car, I could almost be surprised by this.
It has been our year for rentals.
First, the Fiesta, which we had for a month while we awaited repair of the Focus, following the accident caused by the dimwit who thought she could drive on ice quickly to get in front of the approaching school bus, which resulted in our back end stopping her.
Second, the Ford Escape, an emergency rental if we were to get to Murray Corner.
And we were getting to Murray Corner, believe me.
Third, today's pick up.
Which will have to be bigger than the Fiesta as we do have to transport three young adults.
Possibly the dogs.
Technically, you're not supposed to put dogs in a rental.
Not unless you want to pay the additional $100.00 cleaning charge to get rid of the hair.
We had no choice but to transport our capricious canines in the Escape, as driving with them in the Elantra was just a hazard.
Consequently, last evening while the kids cleaned up the supper dishes, I was outside with our 1984 Electrolux vacuum, in the middle of a hurricane, vacuuming every last dog hair from the inside of that Escape.
It was actually cleaner when we returned it than it was when we picked it up.
Vacuuming during a hurricane?
Not on my list of top ten things to do in my lifetime.
But rather that than fork over $100.00 I don't have to have them vacuum it out.
Frugality has it's moments.
Frugal, however, was not the word of the day during our first visit to the local craft shop located in downtown Murray Corner.
Downtown consisting of the craft shop on one side of the road and Lake's Convenience Store on the other, and a United Church beside Lake's.
The craft shop was located in a building erected in 1939.
Initially, it served as the United Church hall for the longest time, until the church renovated the Church basement and turned it into their hall when the old hall needed new plumbing the church couldn't afford.
Apparently, renovating the basement was cheaper than fixing the plumbing.
Now, it serves as a local craft shop and houses the Saturday morning market.
Inside, the building was infused with the scent of Christmas, emanating from the candles lit to entice shoppers to begin their Christmas shopping early.
In fact, at the back of the shop, on what would have been a stage during the building's church hall days, there is a festive and expansive Christmas display.
Stephen inquired about the display, as Christmas was still a few months away.
The shopkeeper, a volunteer as all the shopkeepers were, informed us that the shop is only open two months of the year, so they have to sell Christmas wares.
Made perfect sense to us.
In addition to the Christmas decorations, there were all varieties of homemade crafts.
Baby, children and adult handknit sweaters, along with those knitted slippers your grandmother made, the ones with the two colors that wore out by February if you actually remembered to wear them.
Knitted dishclothes, scarves, hats, mittens, baby blankets, hand stitched quilts, painted milk bottles and bouyes, ceramic canister sets, hand stitched table clothes, table runners, place mats' sea glass jewelery: earrings, necklaces, rings; pottery mugs and vases; stained glass figures, including hummingbirds, lighthouses, hearts, cherries, flowers; tole painted signs, wreaths, and tables, and so many other things I can't even remember.
In fact, we purchased a tole painted corner table for $45.00.
I couldn't believe the price!
Painted black with gorgeous white flowers with green accents on top.
Stephen informed me that under no circumstances would there be any plants sitting on top of that table.
But it does have a bottom shelf.
And I'll post a pic if I ever get my camera back.
It wasn't just the stuff in the store that was so appealing.
The ambiance was inviting. . .like being inside was an invitation to slow down, relax, take the time to look at what was available, talk with the volunteer shopkeeper, who knew the history of the building and all sorts of other quirky things.
We also purchased a stained glass rendering of the Cape Jourimaine lighthouse, a tole painted flower wreath for my mother and a hanging chime made from old silverware.
Had it not been for the fact that we needed gas to get around and that we had spent the previous day in Charlotteown, I would have purchased a lot more.
My goal for next summers' visit, a hand stitched quilt.
At $400.00 or more, I'll have to start saving now.
Murray Corner is the perfect spot.
Out in the middle of nowhere, yet close to everything.
PEI was literally twenty minutes away from the cottage.
Nova Scotia, a 45 minute drive.
Same with Moncton.
And Cape Jourimaine, http://www.capejourimain.ca/ off the last exit before the Confederation Bridge was a place Stephen was desperate to explore while were away.
Thursday afternoon, after walking the dogs on the beach all morning to ensure they would be tired and happy to rest, we hopped into the car and drove to Cape Jourimaine.
At the Welcome Center we perused more local crafts and took advantage of their bathrooms.
Well, almost all of us took advantage of their bathrooms.
Cape Jourimaine is all about eco responsibility, sustainability, renewable energy.
And this ethos extends to the bathrooms.
Composting toilets.
In each bathroom, a large diagram explains how the composting toilets work, without using any water.
Sort of like using a state of the art outhouse.
I was thrilled!
Em couldn't squeeze out a drop.
To wash your hands, a rainwater collection system was used.
Thus encouraging you to use the water sparingly.
I could have just stayed inside the toilets, they were so fascinating, yet there were so many other things to see.
As the tide was out, we were able to beach walk for incredible distances, including a promenade underneath the Confederation Bridge.
In fact, I wanted to walk out to the second pillar under the bridge, but I couldn't judge the depth of the water, so I opted to just look at it from as close as I could get.
But still. . .to walk underneath the bridge was pretty exciting.
Afterwards walking the ocean floor, watching hermit crab smackdown as two fought over a shell, we walked back to the buildings and climbed to the observation platform, to see as far as we could see.
But we still hadn't walked the trail to the lighthouse, which is what lay at the heart of Stephen's desire to visit Cape Jourimaine.
While Keith and Em remained inside the building to explore the displays, Stephen and I headed out on the lighthouse trail.
Outside of the building was a mosquito index warning.
Set to high.
With good reason.
As wonderful as the lighthouse was, I have to wonder if it was worth the infestation of mosquitoes that hovered around Stephen like bees to pollen during our hike.
He could have been carried away by them, there were that many.
Determined to see the lighthouse, perhaps get inside he forged onward, slapping himself in a bizarre parody of lone S&M.
His efforts were rewarded when we arrived at the site of the lighthouse.
However, he was unable to get inside.
And for good reason.
While efforts are underway to repair the lighthouse, presently, it serves as one giant wasps' nest.
Inside the rotting roof above the door were hundred of wasps buzzing angrily at our intrusion into their safe space.
At the top of the lighthouse I counted at least 20 massive wasps' nests housing even more pissed off wasps.
So while Stephen walked around the lighthouse, I stayed right where I was.
But at least he got to see it.
No one was stung.
And after seeing those wasps, the mosquitoes didn't seem so bad.
Title Lyric: My Lighthouse by Pulp
Woke up this morning to face the aftermath of Hurricane Irene.
The power must have gone out at some point last night, because we were awakened to the most annoying beep of the travel alarm Stephen insisted we set in case the power went out.
That man has foresight.
Luckily, thankfully, we were spared any major damage.
Branches scattering our front yard, Frankie's pool in a position I didn't even know it could hold, on-the-deck plants waterlogged.
We got off lightly, that's for sure.
The winds are still strong, but mercifully, the rain has ended and the sun has even managed to peek through the thick, grey clouds a couple of times.
Cool temps. . .feels like fall.
Reilly and Goblet were joyous at our return.
Momentarily.
Cats are fickle, vindictive creatures, and our two furry felines are not immune to rapid mood changes that would made bi-polar people sit up in amazement.
At first, they were recalcitrant. . .turning their heads away from our proffered affections, our delirium in having them back in our arms again, their fur against our cheeks.
They moved to a reluctant happiness at our return, spending most of the evening following us around, bumping up against us, weaving in and our of legs as we stood doing mundane tasks like dishes, laundry, etc.
Goblet was on Stephen faster than the speed of light when he finally came to bed.
She had a week's worth of suckling to catch up on after all.
And so far today, when we've been home, she's been following us from room to room, meowing repeatedly, as if to remind us that she was familyless for an entire week and we. owe. her.
Remember, this is the Goblet who typically sleeps from morning to evening, rarely opens her mouth for anything more than eating, and for whom following us around constitutes more exercise than she ever willingly engages in.
Reilley. . .he is an entirely different creature.
Em carted him all over yesterday, barely letting him out of her arms for longer than it took to use the bathroom.
Last evening, when we had our typical pre-bedtime girl talk, he glowered at us from atop Stephen's bureau.
He's angry with me, Em remarked.
Oh, I know, I replied.
And is he angry.
He has screamed at us since our return.
Refuses to follow Em anywhere, hence the being carted around.
This morning, he demanded his week's worth of coffee cream missed while we were away.
He received his typical just-covering-the-very-bottom-of-a-ramekin and was either going to be satisfied with that, or go without for another morning.
Hopefully by the end of the week they'll be back to normal.
Too much exercise for Goblet could cause her to actually lose a couple of pounds and Reilley could end up with laryngitis.
Our post-vacation Monday marked the beginning of dealing with all those things I didn't want to return home to deal with.
At the top of the list: our Ford Focus.
Sitting at Riverview Ford since Friday, August 19th.
Awaiting the required part since Tuesday, August 16th when we were informed that we needed said part.
Some sort of bearing in the wheel, but not a wheel bearing.
Whatever that means.
Sitting in front of the parts manager, who looked too tired to battle a refreshed and tanned me, I laid out for him my take of this situation.
And then provided him with three options, all valid from my perspective.
1. Pay for our vacation rental.
2. Fix our car for no charge.
3. Depending on how long it will take to repair our car, pay for a rental until it's fixed.
Option 1 and 2 were the favoured options until Stephen called them this morning, before we left, to find out the status of our little car.
When he informed me that it was still not repaired, still not safe to drive, I added number three to the list.
And just after I finished my lunch of salad, cottage cheese and the smallest egg salad sandwich you could imagine, we received a phone call informing us that we could pick up our rental this afternoon between 3.30-4.00.
All because the $62.00 part required to get our car back on the road isn't available in ANY Ford dealership across North America.
If it wasn't my car, I could almost be surprised by this.
It has been our year for rentals.
First, the Fiesta, which we had for a month while we awaited repair of the Focus, following the accident caused by the dimwit who thought she could drive on ice quickly to get in front of the approaching school bus, which resulted in our back end stopping her.
Second, the Ford Escape, an emergency rental if we were to get to Murray Corner.
And we were getting to Murray Corner, believe me.
Third, today's pick up.
Which will have to be bigger than the Fiesta as we do have to transport three young adults.
Possibly the dogs.
Technically, you're not supposed to put dogs in a rental.
Not unless you want to pay the additional $100.00 cleaning charge to get rid of the hair.
We had no choice but to transport our capricious canines in the Escape, as driving with them in the Elantra was just a hazard.
Consequently, last evening while the kids cleaned up the supper dishes, I was outside with our 1984 Electrolux vacuum, in the middle of a hurricane, vacuuming every last dog hair from the inside of that Escape.
It was actually cleaner when we returned it than it was when we picked it up.
Vacuuming during a hurricane?
Not on my list of top ten things to do in my lifetime.
But rather that than fork over $100.00 I don't have to have them vacuum it out.
Frugality has it's moments.
Frugal, however, was not the word of the day during our first visit to the local craft shop located in downtown Murray Corner.
Downtown consisting of the craft shop on one side of the road and Lake's Convenience Store on the other, and a United Church beside Lake's.
The craft shop was located in a building erected in 1939.
Initially, it served as the United Church hall for the longest time, until the church renovated the Church basement and turned it into their hall when the old hall needed new plumbing the church couldn't afford.
Apparently, renovating the basement was cheaper than fixing the plumbing.
Now, it serves as a local craft shop and houses the Saturday morning market.
Inside, the building was infused with the scent of Christmas, emanating from the candles lit to entice shoppers to begin their Christmas shopping early.
In fact, at the back of the shop, on what would have been a stage during the building's church hall days, there is a festive and expansive Christmas display.
Stephen inquired about the display, as Christmas was still a few months away.
The shopkeeper, a volunteer as all the shopkeepers were, informed us that the shop is only open two months of the year, so they have to sell Christmas wares.
Made perfect sense to us.
In addition to the Christmas decorations, there were all varieties of homemade crafts.
Baby, children and adult handknit sweaters, along with those knitted slippers your grandmother made, the ones with the two colors that wore out by February if you actually remembered to wear them.
Knitted dishclothes, scarves, hats, mittens, baby blankets, hand stitched quilts, painted milk bottles and bouyes, ceramic canister sets, hand stitched table clothes, table runners, place mats' sea glass jewelery: earrings, necklaces, rings; pottery mugs and vases; stained glass figures, including hummingbirds, lighthouses, hearts, cherries, flowers; tole painted signs, wreaths, and tables, and so many other things I can't even remember.
In fact, we purchased a tole painted corner table for $45.00.
I couldn't believe the price!
Painted black with gorgeous white flowers with green accents on top.
Stephen informed me that under no circumstances would there be any plants sitting on top of that table.
But it does have a bottom shelf.
And I'll post a pic if I ever get my camera back.
It wasn't just the stuff in the store that was so appealing.
The ambiance was inviting. . .like being inside was an invitation to slow down, relax, take the time to look at what was available, talk with the volunteer shopkeeper, who knew the history of the building and all sorts of other quirky things.
We also purchased a stained glass rendering of the Cape Jourimaine lighthouse, a tole painted flower wreath for my mother and a hanging chime made from old silverware.
Had it not been for the fact that we needed gas to get around and that we had spent the previous day in Charlotteown, I would have purchased a lot more.
My goal for next summers' visit, a hand stitched quilt.
At $400.00 or more, I'll have to start saving now.
Murray Corner is the perfect spot.
Out in the middle of nowhere, yet close to everything.
PEI was literally twenty minutes away from the cottage.
Nova Scotia, a 45 minute drive.
Same with Moncton.
And Cape Jourimaine, http://www.capejourimain.ca/ off the last exit before the Confederation Bridge was a place Stephen was desperate to explore while were away.
Thursday afternoon, after walking the dogs on the beach all morning to ensure they would be tired and happy to rest, we hopped into the car and drove to Cape Jourimaine.
At the Welcome Center we perused more local crafts and took advantage of their bathrooms.
Well, almost all of us took advantage of their bathrooms.
Cape Jourimaine is all about eco responsibility, sustainability, renewable energy.
And this ethos extends to the bathrooms.
Composting toilets.
In each bathroom, a large diagram explains how the composting toilets work, without using any water.
Sort of like using a state of the art outhouse.
I was thrilled!
Em couldn't squeeze out a drop.
To wash your hands, a rainwater collection system was used.
Thus encouraging you to use the water sparingly.
I could have just stayed inside the toilets, they were so fascinating, yet there were so many other things to see.
As the tide was out, we were able to beach walk for incredible distances, including a promenade underneath the Confederation Bridge.
In fact, I wanted to walk out to the second pillar under the bridge, but I couldn't judge the depth of the water, so I opted to just look at it from as close as I could get.
But still. . .to walk underneath the bridge was pretty exciting.
Afterwards walking the ocean floor, watching hermit crab smackdown as two fought over a shell, we walked back to the buildings and climbed to the observation platform, to see as far as we could see.
But we still hadn't walked the trail to the lighthouse, which is what lay at the heart of Stephen's desire to visit Cape Jourimaine.
While Keith and Em remained inside the building to explore the displays, Stephen and I headed out on the lighthouse trail.
Outside of the building was a mosquito index warning.
Set to high.
With good reason.
As wonderful as the lighthouse was, I have to wonder if it was worth the infestation of mosquitoes that hovered around Stephen like bees to pollen during our hike.
He could have been carried away by them, there were that many.
Determined to see the lighthouse, perhaps get inside he forged onward, slapping himself in a bizarre parody of lone S&M.
His efforts were rewarded when we arrived at the site of the lighthouse.
However, he was unable to get inside.
And for good reason.
While efforts are underway to repair the lighthouse, presently, it serves as one giant wasps' nest.
Inside the rotting roof above the door were hundred of wasps buzzing angrily at our intrusion into their safe space.
At the top of the lighthouse I counted at least 20 massive wasps' nests housing even more pissed off wasps.
So while Stephen walked around the lighthouse, I stayed right where I was.
But at least he got to see it.
No one was stung.
And after seeing those wasps, the mosquitoes didn't seem so bad.
Title Lyric: My Lighthouse by Pulp
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Don't you know that you're my sweet vacation. . . .
August 28, 2011
We're back from our vacation.
Keith and Em are thrilled to return to familiar beds, cable tv. . .
. . .they didn't like satellite tv, something about nothing being on and getting news from Vancouver and Edmonton. . .
. . .internet access, televisions in bedrooms. . . .
Em pined for Reilley the entire time we were away.
Stephen ached for Goblet.
Although his earlobes were thrilled to have a suckle-free week.
And me?
I started crying last evening, on the beach, during my last solo beach amble.
Not wanting to leave was so strong at that moment I contemplated all the ways I could potentially stay.
None of which would have worked, but still, I thought about it.
The tide coming in, waves beating gently at the shore, the beach tempting me with its sea glass bounty.
As an aside, when my camera is returned, I'll take a picture of my sea glass haul.
NEVER have I been able to collect so much from one beach.
At one point, I mentioned to Stephen that perhaps there was a sea glass fairy who liberally sprinkled the beach during the late night hours, knowing I'd be on the prowl the next morning.
Stephen thinks it has more to do with our proximity to PEI.
But I like the sea glass fairy idea a lot more.
Back to leaving. . .
I cried at the prospect of returning to the piles of emails, phone messages, bills, the demands and neediness of others, the issues I knew awaited me when I returned.
As we pulled out of the driveway this morning, I had to fight to hold back the tears, not wanting Em to think I was crying because she was driving.
NEVER have I felt more relaxed, more responsibility-free as I did during that week.
No email.
No cell phones.
No house phones.
No driving kids hither and yon.
No grocery shopping.
No visiting.
No asking, begging for things I may or may not have and may or may not be willing to provide.
If I came to any conclusions over the course of this week's aimless wandering along the beach it was that I need to take a bit more time for myself.
D'uh!
At this moment, a two week vacation in the exact same spot is in the process of being booked.
Stephen mentioned we may be able to get back during Thanksgiving weekend, as we found a lovely, hidden spot, where, when the tide goes out you can walk for hours and not cover everything.
If I can reconnect with the ocean before winter, I'll be a happy girl.
As will Frankie.
He was the only other being, outside of me, who could have camped out on the beach night and day and been thrilled.
There wasn't a beach walking event that didn't include Frankie and Tikka.
But Tikka is almost 14 and doesn't necessarily find being on the beach, traversing the rocks, as much fun as Frankie does.
And Tikka doesn't do swimming.
Until yesterday at least.
We discovered, quite by accident, that there was access to a public beach area behind the local convenience store.
Which was across the street from the local only-open-for-two-months-of-the-year craft shop.
More about the to-die-for craft shop later.
While visiting the craft shop, on the hunt for a present for Mer, we noticed that the tide was out, the beach was public, and that we needed to take the dogs out for the kind of beach stroll Stephen had been longing for since our arrival.
Our private beach was lovely, but it wasn't very long, and for whatever reason when the tide was out, it didn't extend as far out as Stephen likes.
Again, I think it's because we can see Borden, PEI from our beach.
But the beach behind the store was an entirely different kettle of fish.
There were no land masses anywhere in it's vicinity.
The tide went out, seemingly forever.
We dashed back to the cottage, grabbed the dogs, invited the kids who turned us down without lifting their heads from their books, and off we went back to the beach-behind-the-store.
It looked something like this:
We walked with the dogs for two hours and still didn't see everything.
Didn't place our footprints on all the available sand.
Didn't walk the distance between the little "islands" that appear at low tide.
Not to say Stephen didn't try.
Which takes us back to Tikka swimming.
Anytime Stephen encounters low tide islands he wants to put his feet all over as many of them as possible.
Regardless of how far apart they are or how deep the water in between.
For whatever reasons, heat, insanity, joy, Tikka, who almost always stays with me, decided that she was going to stick like Velcro to Daddy.
Leaving Fearless Frankie to safe guard Mummy.
The next thing I know, Stephen is waist deep in water, and remember, Stephen is six feet four inches tall, so his waist deep is my armpit deep.
Tikka beside him with a panic stricken look crossing her face quickly followed by a look that said, if-I-must-swim-my-way-out-of-here-than-that-is-what-I-shall-do.
And she did.
In all the years we've had Tikka at the ocean, or any other body of water for that matter, she has resolutely refused to swim.
Leaving me to wonder at one point if she even could.
Apparently, she can.
When her feet were able to touch the ground, she bounded over to me, puppy-like joy filling her glorious face, and if she could talk, she would have said:
And then she turned, and looked at Stephen with such contempt and distaste.
A look that said, I-won't-be-following-you-ANYWHERE-anytime-soon-buster.
For two hours we walked along as much of the ocean floor as we could, before Stephen, always the common sense adult in these matters, suggested we head home.
It was after 5.00.
He was hungry.
And probably had to pee.
Why?????? I replied.
Because Keith and Em will be worried.
No they won't! We asked them if they wanted to come, they said no, they know where we are, so why should I be slave to a non-vacation timetable?
No reply.
The wheels were turning.
Tikka is getting tired.
Damn!
He knows me too well.
Knows that my love for Tikka, my respect for her age and her limits, is always stronger than my own personal desire to spend more time at the beach.
Even Frankie was flagging.
Although he was loathe to let us see it.
Plus, if I am to be completely honest, I was wearing denim shorts that were wet to the crotch, an unfortunate event that occurred as a result of following Stephen into the water between islands.
Wet denim is uncomfortable.
Chafes, even.
But I would have tolerated it for more time on ocean floor, had it not been for the looks of exhaustion in my puppies eyes.
I knew they'd stick with me if I wanted to go further.
But I couldn't make them do that.
Stephen and the kids?
Absolutely.
But not my loyal babies.
So we left.
Came back to the cottage to hungry children.
Keith ready to BBQ chicken.
Em wanting mashed potatoes, brown sugar carrots, and then another evening of Family Game Night featuring Clue.
Tired but happy puppies.
Well fed children and husband.
Em winning Clue.
A lovely way to spend our last full vacation day.
No worries.
I have many more tales to tell.
Taking in the treasures at the local craft shop.
Our visit to Cape Jourimaine.
The importance of paying attention to mosquito indexes
Walking underneath the Confederation Bridge during low tide.
Wasp infested lighthouses.
Em's trip to Port Elgin, perhaps the least exciting place on the entire planet, where only Em could have an adventure there.
Our dinner trip to Moncton.
Board game week adventures.
Dawne seeing a snake.
Driving home in Hurricane Irene, Em manning the wheel.
And so much more!
Stay tuned!
Title Lyric: Sweet Vacation by Lionel Richie
We're back from our vacation.
Keith and Em are thrilled to return to familiar beds, cable tv. . .
. . .they didn't like satellite tv, something about nothing being on and getting news from Vancouver and Edmonton. . .
. . .internet access, televisions in bedrooms. . . .
Em pined for Reilley the entire time we were away.
Stephen ached for Goblet.
Although his earlobes were thrilled to have a suckle-free week.
And me?
I started crying last evening, on the beach, during my last solo beach amble.
Not wanting to leave was so strong at that moment I contemplated all the ways I could potentially stay.
None of which would have worked, but still, I thought about it.
The tide coming in, waves beating gently at the shore, the beach tempting me with its sea glass bounty.
As an aside, when my camera is returned, I'll take a picture of my sea glass haul.
NEVER have I been able to collect so much from one beach.
At one point, I mentioned to Stephen that perhaps there was a sea glass fairy who liberally sprinkled the beach during the late night hours, knowing I'd be on the prowl the next morning.
Stephen thinks it has more to do with our proximity to PEI.
But I like the sea glass fairy idea a lot more.
Back to leaving. . .
I cried at the prospect of returning to the piles of emails, phone messages, bills, the demands and neediness of others, the issues I knew awaited me when I returned.
As we pulled out of the driveway this morning, I had to fight to hold back the tears, not wanting Em to think I was crying because she was driving.
NEVER have I felt more relaxed, more responsibility-free as I did during that week.
No email.
No cell phones.
No house phones.
No driving kids hither and yon.
No grocery shopping.
No visiting.
No asking, begging for things I may or may not have and may or may not be willing to provide.
If I came to any conclusions over the course of this week's aimless wandering along the beach it was that I need to take a bit more time for myself.
D'uh!
At this moment, a two week vacation in the exact same spot is in the process of being booked.
Stephen mentioned we may be able to get back during Thanksgiving weekend, as we found a lovely, hidden spot, where, when the tide goes out you can walk for hours and not cover everything.
If I can reconnect with the ocean before winter, I'll be a happy girl.
As will Frankie.
He was the only other being, outside of me, who could have camped out on the beach night and day and been thrilled.
There wasn't a beach walking event that didn't include Frankie and Tikka.
But Tikka is almost 14 and doesn't necessarily find being on the beach, traversing the rocks, as much fun as Frankie does.
And Tikka doesn't do swimming.
Until yesterday at least.
We discovered, quite by accident, that there was access to a public beach area behind the local convenience store.
Which was across the street from the local only-open-for-two-months-of-the-year craft shop.
More about the to-die-for craft shop later.
While visiting the craft shop, on the hunt for a present for Mer, we noticed that the tide was out, the beach was public, and that we needed to take the dogs out for the kind of beach stroll Stephen had been longing for since our arrival.
Our private beach was lovely, but it wasn't very long, and for whatever reason when the tide was out, it didn't extend as far out as Stephen likes.
Again, I think it's because we can see Borden, PEI from our beach.
But the beach behind the store was an entirely different kettle of fish.
There were no land masses anywhere in it's vicinity.
The tide went out, seemingly forever.
We dashed back to the cottage, grabbed the dogs, invited the kids who turned us down without lifting their heads from their books, and off we went back to the beach-behind-the-store.
It looked something like this:
We walked with the dogs for two hours and still didn't see everything.
Didn't place our footprints on all the available sand.
Didn't walk the distance between the little "islands" that appear at low tide.
Not to say Stephen didn't try.
Which takes us back to Tikka swimming.
Anytime Stephen encounters low tide islands he wants to put his feet all over as many of them as possible.
Regardless of how far apart they are or how deep the water in between.
For whatever reasons, heat, insanity, joy, Tikka, who almost always stays with me, decided that she was going to stick like Velcro to Daddy.
Leaving Fearless Frankie to safe guard Mummy.
The next thing I know, Stephen is waist deep in water, and remember, Stephen is six feet four inches tall, so his waist deep is my armpit deep.
Tikka beside him with a panic stricken look crossing her face quickly followed by a look that said, if-I-must-swim-my-way-out-of-here-than-that-is-what-I-shall-do.
And she did.
In all the years we've had Tikka at the ocean, or any other body of water for that matter, she has resolutely refused to swim.
Leaving me to wonder at one point if she even could.
Apparently, she can.
When her feet were able to touch the ground, she bounded over to me, puppy-like joy filling her glorious face, and if she could talk, she would have said:
MUMMY!!!!!!!
MUMMY!!!!!!!
DID YOU SEE ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
DID YOU SEE ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I SWAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I DID!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And then she turned, and looked at Stephen with such contempt and distaste.
A look that said, I-won't-be-following-you-ANYWHERE-anytime-soon-buster.
For two hours we walked along as much of the ocean floor as we could, before Stephen, always the common sense adult in these matters, suggested we head home.
It was after 5.00.
He was hungry.
And probably had to pee.
Why?????? I replied.
Because Keith and Em will be worried.
No they won't! We asked them if they wanted to come, they said no, they know where we are, so why should I be slave to a non-vacation timetable?
No reply.
The wheels were turning.
Tikka is getting tired.
Damn!
He knows me too well.
Knows that my love for Tikka, my respect for her age and her limits, is always stronger than my own personal desire to spend more time at the beach.
Even Frankie was flagging.
Although he was loathe to let us see it.
Plus, if I am to be completely honest, I was wearing denim shorts that were wet to the crotch, an unfortunate event that occurred as a result of following Stephen into the water between islands.
Wet denim is uncomfortable.
Chafes, even.
But I would have tolerated it for more time on ocean floor, had it not been for the looks of exhaustion in my puppies eyes.
I knew they'd stick with me if I wanted to go further.
But I couldn't make them do that.
Stephen and the kids?
Absolutely.
But not my loyal babies.
So we left.
Came back to the cottage to hungry children.
Keith ready to BBQ chicken.
Em wanting mashed potatoes, brown sugar carrots, and then another evening of Family Game Night featuring Clue.
Tired but happy puppies.
Well fed children and husband.
Em winning Clue.
A lovely way to spend our last full vacation day.
No worries.
I have many more tales to tell.
Taking in the treasures at the local craft shop.
Our visit to Cape Jourimaine.
The importance of paying attention to mosquito indexes
Walking underneath the Confederation Bridge during low tide.
Wasp infested lighthouses.
Em's trip to Port Elgin, perhaps the least exciting place on the entire planet, where only Em could have an adventure there.
Our dinner trip to Moncton.
Board game week adventures.
Dawne seeing a snake.
Driving home in Hurricane Irene, Em manning the wheel.
And so much more!
Stay tuned!
Title Lyric: Sweet Vacation by Lionel Richie
And they're from Prince Edward Island. . .
August 24, 2011
Vacation: Day Three
I can’t believe it’s Wednesday already.
How come the weeks drag by when you’re waiting for your vacation, and then engage in warp speed when you’re finally in your happy place?
Just a thought to ponder.
It was shower day today, and no one wanted to go to PEI with fuzzy legs, unshaved faces and smelling like BO.
At home, it feels as if we have an endless supply of water.
Here, we are on a well.
I grew up on well water.
My spoiled city children have not.
And when I informed Em she could stay in the shower for no longer than five minutes because there were three other people who wanted to shower, the look she gave me was somewhere between incredulous and you-have-to-be-shitting-me.
And for once she knew I was serious.
I then left to take the dogs to the beach.
Telling her she had to compact her beautification from 30 minutes to 5 was one thing.
Experiencing it?
I am not that stupid.
Keith would be more than happy to monitor her, as the time it takes her to shower is at the top of Keith’s List of Pet Peeves.
In fact, when I was preparing to tell her about her limited shower time, he ran in behind me and said,
I wanna see this.
Sibling love abounds around here.
PEI is beautiful.
After an hour and a half ramble on the beach to ensure maximum dog exhaustion for the time we would be away, we had lunch, piled into the SUV and headed for PEI.
Which is beautiful and close.
As in literally twenty minutes from the driveway of our cottage to the other side of the Confederation Bridge close.
Driving across the CB, PEI became bigger and bigger, closer and closer, the red sand beaches beckoning us, tantalizing us with their glorious red sand.
I so wanted to stop, but the kids, it would seem, were desperate for city air, so off to Charlottetown went.
Only 52 kilometers from the CB.
We had a lovely drive through little villages and hamlets dotting the coastline.
Albany.
Cornwall.
Hampton.
And Stephen’s favourite: Crapeau.
The day was perfect. . .warm sun streaming through the sun roof.
Breezes following us as we took in the gloriousness of PEI.
Every few kilometres a sign for New Potatoes would greet us.
And for potato palates far more sophisticated than ours, there were additional signs indicating which potatoes where in season.
Within minutes, it seemed, we were in Cornwall, which seems to be a suburb of Charlottetown, and then the next thing I know, I see a Wal-Mart, Indigo book store, an Atlantic Superstore, McDonalds, Swiss Chalet, the Charlottetown Mall. . . .
Sighs of relief and recognition emanated from the backseat as the kids welcomed the familiar sites and sounds of civilization.
We had already decided, however, that our destination was downtown Charlottetown.
Where new experiences awaited us.
And we were right.
First, downtown Charlottetown has to be the EASIEST downtown city in North America to find parking.
All of which is diagonal, eliminating the let’s-watch-the-idiot-try-an-parallel-park opportunities.
And $1.00 an hour. . .I think I can handle that.
Not only was parking so easy a toddler could do it, we also parked next to my Mecca of civilization.
Starbucks.
I was out of the Escape and in the Starbucks line before Stephen had fully parked.
I’ll have a grande decaf and a venti mild I said to the young girl behind the counter.
She looks at me.
Dr. Clarke, right?
Not in Charlottetown five full minutes.
I put on my Dr. Dawne smile, and reply,
Why yes! What year did you graduate from STU?
She told me, and then reminded both Stephen and myself that she had taken classes with us.
Methods with me.
Theory with Stephen.
Damned if I could remember her name.
She saved me the embarrassment and just told me.
Clearly remembering, if nothing else from any of my classes, that I am absolutely incapable of remembering names.
She informed us that she was currently enrolled in the B.Ed. program at UPEI and was just loving it.
At which point she gave me my coffee, I wished her all the best, and got out of there hoping that I wouldn’t encounter anyone else I knew, taught or otherwise engaged with for the duration of our visit to Charlottetown.
Coffee in hand, we just started wandering.
As I do when I am in any new city, my eyes were peeled for a used book store.
And I figured with a university not 5 minutes up the road, there was bound to be at least one.
Ambling up some street in downtown Charlottetown, we pass a coffee house window and seconds later here,
KEITH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Seems I’m not the only one who knows people all over.
A rather lovely looking young woman soon had my son’s attention as she asked him,
What are you doing here?
Family thing, he replied.
I think he would have talked a lot more with her had we not been there.
Em was the first one of us to spot a store of interest.
Vintage clothing store.
Inside the small store, she wandered amid racks of 1960s plaid skirts and shirts that screamed put me out of my misery.
I happened to glance down at a table to notice a small pile of books.
Em, Keith, I said, look!
And held up the Gremlin’s book.
But it was the book underneath the Gremlin’s book that immediately transported me back to 1979, the year I turned twelve and fell in love for the first time.
Shaun Cassidy.
A book detailing the life, albeit it short at that point, of Shaun Cassidy who rocketed to the top of the Casey Kasem American Top 40s chart with his rendition of FIND SONG NAME which was followed by such memorable tunes as “Hey Deenie” and “
I loved Shaun Cassidy.
Posters of his oh-so-handsome-to-my-12-year-old-eyes adorned by door and walls.
Records, books, and even a Shaun Cassidy t-shirt were critical parts of my pre-teen living experience.
When I was snapped from my preteen reverie, I held the book up for the kids to see.
I had this book! I exclaimed with such enthusiasm the bored shop keeper even looked up from his computer to see what had caused such excitement in his little shop.
Em smiled and said, “Really Mum????”
Keith just rolled his eyes.
Stephen didn’t even know who Shaun Cassidy was.
Fine. Me and my preteen self are more than happy to keep Shaun close to our hearts thank you very much.
We headed for Government House, the Birthplace of Confederation, only to be told that we couldn’t go upstairs with our beverages.
Walking out the other end of Government House we were greeted with a lovely little street for pedestrians only.
Shops and restaurants on one side.
The Charlottetown Arts Center on the other.
Natty Knitwear was one of the shops we explored.
Sweaters, hats, gorgeous mitts for covering hands on those cold, winter days, socks of all sizes, baby booties.
Moccasins, slippers, stained glass earrings.
Stephen bought me a pair of stained glass earrings.
They are beautiful.
And food.
Specifically sauces.
One caught my eye, simply because of the name:
“Holy Crap That’s Hot” sauce.
So I bought a bottle.
We’ll report on said hotness at a later date.
I could have stayed in there all day, but there were so many other adventures waiting, I tore myself away.
The Anne of Green Gables store was our next stop.
Em and Keith were not excited about this stop at all.
But I love the books.
And I wanted to see what was inside.
It was All Anne All the Time.
Including the most beautiful all white, hand stitched cotton nightgowns.
Perhaps by next summer there’ll be one in my size.
And bottles of Raspberry Cordial.
Only those people who have read Anne will know how come this is significant.
Stephen was also not excited about this particular stop, so we were only in there a few minutes before we departed and headed back out into the streets of downtown Charlottetown to see what other adventures awaited us.
The nice thing about the kids being the ages they are, and that we all have cell phones is that I can send their bored selves away from me, within reason, to explore the things they want to explore.
After Anne that is what I did.
Because after Anne came the piece de resistance pour moi.
Across the street was what I had been looking for since we arrived downtown.
After Starbucks, anyway.
Used book store.
And not one, but two!
Almost next door to one another.
With a hasty bye to the kids and a promise to call them to reconnect when I was finished I was off like a blue streak across the street, dragging Stephen with me in my wake.
The first store was chaos.
Fine.
My life is chaos so this I can handle.
What I can’t handle is unorganized chaos.
Which was the primary item on the menu for this particular book store.
After spending 15 minutes trying to figure out how the books were organized, I gave up.
Plus, it was a very small space filled with a lot of books and Stephen was getting very edgy.
So off we went to the next book store, me resting all my eggs in one basket that this one would be more welcoming and less chaotic.
It was.
Stephen parked himself outside on a chair to enjoy the sights and sounds of the street while I walked into the most organized, well maintained book store I’ve ever seen.
The Bookman.
That’s the name of this small corner of paper and hard backed heaven in case you’re in the downtown Charlottetown area.
Floor to ceiling built-into-the-wall shelves provided the homes for the alphabetically arranged books.
Hardwood floors subtly creaked underneath the feet of patrons looking for those hard to find books.
Or who wanted to save a few dollars on a good paperback.
In my case, Val McDermid’s The Mermaids Singing.
The first book in the Tony Hill/Carol Jordan series.
I’ve been watching the tv programme, Wire in the Blood, which intrigued me enough to want to read the books.
Our local Chapters didn’t have the first book, which was published in 1995, so this seemed to me to be a prime opportunity to see if I could find it in a used book store.
And I did.
In less than five minutes after walking through the door.
Of course, I bought book three.
I already have book two.
And certainly I needed to see what other treasures were hidden within these ceiling to floor shelves so I began my explorations.
While in an aisle, perusing the classics section, my subconscious registered an unmistakable sound.
Jingling dog tags.
My mind took a few seconds to catch up before a neon sign in my head started flashing at me: There is a dog in here!!!!!!!
I retraced my steps and sure enough, in the aisle I had just departed stood a sheltie.
Books and dogs?
I was in heaven.
And a friendly dog she was.
The owner of the store informed me that she was 13 years old, and her name, aptly enough, was Books.
Books’ affection and attention, plus the books in hand were all I needed.
And I almost did stay there all afternoon, until Stephen came in and reminded me he was sitting outside.
In light of the books and Books, I had forgotten he was, as always, sitting patiently outside waiting for me.
I’m only human.
For the remainder of the afternoon we wandered all around downtown Charlottetown.
Into the residential areas, even.
A beautiful park was not a five minute walk from the middle of downtown, so we headed in that direction.
More of a square than a park.
But still.
After walking through the park with its glorious floral displays, we walked by the houses surrounding the park.
Old, Victorian homes that were maintained in pristine condition.
One in particular caught my eye.
The Retirement Home for Women.
And sure enough, the windows of this beautiful structure revealed the presence of women only on the inside.
Not a man insight.
Which may explain why several of them started waving at Stephen and Keith as we walked by.
After three hours of walking, which was desperately needed in my case because my diet has not been followed as stringently as it should be. . . .
. . . .the kids were starting to become more vocal about the need for me to pick a place for my birthday supper so they could sit down and refuel.
I selected an Irish pub. . .the Irish Triangle.
Traditional Irish food is more than satisfying for weary travellers.
Although the only one of us to actually eat traditional Irish food was Keith.
Bangers and mash was his choice for supper.
Buttermilk mashed potatoes served with two spicy, delicious sausages, red pepper and onions and gravy.
I know how good it was because I had a bite of it before he did.
Em, always wary of food, had her usual fish and chips.
Stephen had the special: curry seafood penne.
So delicious.
I had the lean ground turkey burger with pita.
And fries.
It is my birthday after all.
And if a girl can’t eat fries on her birthday, what’s the point in living?
Following our delicious meal, we returned to the car to begin our journey back to Murray Corner.
But there was one more stop to make.
Keith forgot his belt at home.
So he’s spent our vacation, thus far, buttoning his pants and then putting the button in his first belt loop, making it look as if he’d forgotten to zip his fly.
We spied a Mark’s Work Wearhouse on our way out of Charlottetown, so we pulled into the parking lot surrounded by box store so Keith could get a belt.
Of course, an Indigo bookstore happened to be in the same area, so Em hopped out of the car to quickly scan inside.
I remained with Stephen, even though the call, the pull of the bookstore was almost more than I could bear.
But I, too, had a mission.
Atlantic Superstore.
We needed cheese.
Imagine that, with Stephen in our midst.
So Stephen and I wandered through the aisles of the Superstore while we waited for the kids to return.
And then, finally, we were truly off.
Only to stop just before the Confederation Bridge to fill up the tank.
Because gas prices in PEI were 1.18 and gas prices across the bridge in New Brunswick were 1.26.
So yeah, we stopped to fill the tank.
At home we were greeted with yips and wails from our beleaguered canines who probably thought we were never coming back.
As we sat down to end our day with a board game, there was one more surprise in store for me.
The kids and Stephen turned out the dining room lights and treated me to a rousing chorus of Happy Birthday while placing a cherry cheesecake AND a caramel cheesecake in front of me, along with a glass of Bailey’s Irish Cream to help wash it all down.
WOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Simply for what, again?
So delicious.
But. . . .
A day of eating things I don’t normally eat, plus perhaps getting a little tipsy from the Bailey’s lead to a rather unpleasant night.
I had an honest to goodness stomach ache.
And no relief in sight because my gag reflex is set so high only being pregnant results in any upchucking opportunities.
THAT was not happening, believe me.
So I spent a rather unpleasant night thinking of everything that was roiling around inside causing me all this grief.
But you know what?
It was worth it.
Title Lyric: Bud the Spud by Stompin' Tom Connors
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