Wednesday, 29 September 2010

Yesterday, the Universe Pooped On Me.

First, the dog (read, idiot) went out for his morning run while Peter fetched the paper – wait – the dog fetched, Peter retrieved. But Chip is a Labrador Retriever, so why doesn’t he just get the paper?

Because that idiot dog would rather roll in poop.

How do I find out about it? Ah, the good part.

I'm fresh from bed, dressed in my warmies and thinking about toast and an ice-cold glass of milk when Chip comes up for his morning "OMG it's Joyce it's JOYCE! I worship JOYCE!!”

He runs through my legs as I go to scratch his back. I realize  my pants leg is wet and look down. And see a lovely smear of . . .

Green, unidentifiable, poop.

Good. Freakin’. Morning.

I shriek, as is my favourite thing to do first thing in the morning. I chase the dog away, ripping the clothes from my body, shuddering and gasping and trying not to imagine what type of animal that had effectively just marked me.

Friggin’ GROSS!

Chip got a Palmolive and cold-hose bath immediately.

Then, I get to my office downstairs, where my cat has spent the night. Across the top of my desk is a nice little trail of mouse droppings, courtesy of number one and number two.

Sigh. My pets are SO fired.

I just knew it was going to

be one of those days.

Friday, 17 September 2010

It Wasn't What I Thought. . .

So I walk into the pavillion to unload my wares for a weekend of selling Gold Canyon at the Richmond Fair. Entering the building, I see a group of four people hovering around a stroller. Everyone is oooing and aaaahing over the apparently beautiful child in the stroller. The parents of said child nodded in agreement to every compliment.

I knew I had to go check out the chosen one, to see what the fuss was about. I was just about to go for a peek when one of the parents took her out of the stroller.

I nearly peed myself from laughing when what was revealed was a giant, furry cat.

Nope, not a baby at all. And making it even more perfect was the second cat that was pulled from the stroller.

I should have know, really. I mean, who doesn't take their cats to the fair, right?
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Thursday, 16 September 2010

The warmth of a cozy fire…is it really worth all the work?

There are many things to enjoy as the weather gets cooler. One of the best parts of staying warm during the cooler months is being able to spark a cozy fire in the woodstove.

From the newsprint on my hands to the tangy smell of the sulphur as I light the match and put it to the pile, the anticipation of knowing I will soon be as cozy as a cat in a ray of sunshine makes me work just a little bit faster. Then, a brief prayer for that magical chain of events: match to paper, paper to kindling, kindling to logs, and finally, heat to my cold limbs.

I’ll settle on my giant pillow, waiting for the heat to emanate through the glass door of the stove. The warmth will make my skin tingle, get hot enough to make me wonder why my clothes haven’t caught on fire. If I could, I would purr. A strong gust of heat hits my face as I open the door to add more wood. The crack and snap of the logs, the smoky, comforting smell of the fire, a kitten in my lap doing the purring for me, I am mesmerized by the dancing flames.

However, that blissful state of warm-well-being doesn’t come at a leisurely price. Sure, the cavemen stumbled onto something really great when they discovered fire. However, since the surprise of that first mystic spark, a legacy of painful, tiring work has awaited any soul that longs for the hypnotizing flames of fire.

Once we get through the finding and purchasing, there will be seven or eight face cords of wood in one huge pile in our yard. And unfortunately, that wood ain’t stackin’ itself.

Two and a half hours later, Peter and I have decided there’s enough wood inside to get us through until the snow falls. There are three cords of wood in the laundry room, as well as the following additions to my personal inventory:

  • A new form of wood pile arachnophobia. How do spiders grow that big, anyway? Do they dine on chipmunks? And why do they choose to say hello when you’ve got their log in your arms? Don’t they know how dangerous that is?
  • Splintered shins, arms and chin (yes, chin: but my hands are splinter free, thanks to my gloves, and no thanks to that giant spider)
  • A new hole in my favourite sweatshirt, compliments of last year’s downed cedar. I knew the tree would get even eventually. I’m sure the scar won’t show after a year or so, and the blood will come out, compliments of my Tide Pen.
  • A back aching with muscles I didn’t even know I had.
  • Bruises so colourful they look like abstract tattoos.

As I sit and let the heat of the fire soothe away my aches and pains, I won’t think about doing this again in a few months. Maybe by then I’ll have found a magical wood-stacking fairy.

Sunday, 12 September 2010

I Got My Exercise Today . . .

At the Catholic church. Stand up, sit down, kneel, genuflect, repeat with such regularity that you have no idea what the priest is talking about.

The singing. . . where is the passion? I understand that some need ritual, some need the hymns of old to remind them of how the church came to power, why the Catholics know what they are doing.

It makes it hard for us mere mortals to stay awake.

The priest told great stories of the prodigal son. And we all need to hear that one once in a while.

There was a banner hanging above our heads that said “Our Lady of Ransom”. I looked at my husband and asked “Did Mary get kidnapped?” When I politely asked the sweet lady next to me what that meant, she had no idea – and she was wearing one of those little CWL pins (Catholic Women’s League).

I know the Catholic church fulfills the spiritual needs of so many, but I certainly didn’t get it.

Catholics? Anyone? I mean no disrespect. I still think we’re all going to be surprised when we get to the great hereafter (shouldn’t it really be after-here?).

I will happily accept comments on how the Catholic church feeds your soul.

Friday, 10 September 2010

Herding 100 Cats in IKEA . . .No, Really.

What would we do without YouTube? I mean really, YouTube is the answer for surviving the summer re-run season . . .donchathink?

Thursday, 9 September 2010

Date Night Gourmet – Steak, Baked Potatoes and Salad

Because really – sometimes all you need is a really good steak and potato, right? We threw in some fresh greens and vegetables to make it ‘healthy’ but really, I just couldn’t wait for the steak. Meat and flame, how hard is that?

The drinks? Coronas and ice cold water. The music? Rock and roll goes GREAT with steak.

Does anyone else overload their baked potato? Butter AND sour cream AND salt? Chives too, if we had them. . .

Conversation on steak night is pretty thin. We are too busy being carnivores. But we grunt and give each other a romantic thumbs-up (meaning meat-good) to stay connected during our gourmet meal.

How do you like your steak and baked potato? What’s your favourite cut of beef? We favour the bone-in rib grilling steak.