ANd as you've all read my ravings about my garden and some of have asked to see it, here is a wee part of it. I took a pile of pics so you're going to geta bunch over this summer as this is a very big part of me and "I WANNA SHARE, OK?"
Thought you'd like to know what I do with ALL that spare time I have. This is one of the hundred or so , Peyote Stitch wrist bands I have made over the years. (I've hidden the price tag so you won't all run for the hills).
These are the "BIG SNUFFY" stuff that I take some pride in doing as a Beader and Bead Store Owner. Gotta have a few areas of life that I excel in, right?
Effing brutal 5 days and another one to go before I get a slight reprieve. Really must stop beginning my days a 6am as by 9pm, I'm pooched.
These last 5 weekends, the Mole has been out caving 1 of every 2 days and this usually means loads of mess, no car and all the housework you can possibly pile on after and before work. Not to say that I'm doing more than my share cuz, ITS ALL MY SHARE!!
So, yesterday, as the Mole is rushing around before leaving once again on a caving expedition, tossing things as he goes, he screams, "where are my sandals?"
WHAT!?!His sandals are HIS sandals - not mine, not Baby Moles (who thinks sandals are totally uncool), not Princess MustHaveA's, as she wouldn't wear them if the floor was on fire and besides, they are a size 11! No one here has feet that big.
"I don't know. Have you looked everywhere you can think of? Maybe they are in the bag you took last weekend?", I say, knowing the entire time that he has left them somewhere..
"I've looked everywhere, someone has taken my sandals and I need them, now", he laments.
"Have you looked in the car? In the office? In the bedroom?", Okay, I'm grasping here, but shit, I KNOW that they are in his bag!
"Well I can't spend anymore time looking. I've gotta go. Tell the kids, I WANT THOSE DAMN SANDALS".
Off he goes, I do my thing, go to work, come home, go to bed AND when I get up THERE THEY ARE!!! The sandals have miraculously reappeared.
"So, I guess you found your sandals, huh?" I say.
"You put them in my bag, didn't you?"
"YOU PUT THEM IN YOUR STUPID BAG", I shout! "YOU WORE THEM LAST WEEKEND AND FORGOT WHERE YOU PUT THEM", I shout.
"No", he calmly says, "You put them in my bag so I would look stupid".
I used to think that you bought a house for all the lovely things you got with the house like; bathrooms, square feet, finished floors, etc. I have revised that idea since living in my neighbourhood.
We bought this house 5 years ago as it was a very solid red brick in a good area of town, "Sunny Acres", and it was a huge step up from where we were living before. The house needed, and still needs work, the garden was a bowling alley which we soon took care of and the puppy (then 7 months old) needed some new friends. The kids stayed at the same school, our jobs remained the same so eveything was good.
5 years later, I am here to say that I will never look at buying a house the same way. When we bought our house, we acquired a neighborhood! And I mean a real neighbohood with people who stop to talk to you, watch out for you, make sure that when you are away your mail is in, play with your dog, lend you sugar, baking pans, give you plants, etc.
Then there is our summer "Street Party"!!! Its fabulous and everyone from all the streets around are invited to join in. There are Harley rides, BBQ's, bands and lousy singers, drinks in plastic cups and alot of laughter.
Melissa, if you read my blog, Gill, if you read it too, come to the street party. Its June 3rd I think.
I'm a lucky lady to have such a great place in the world to call home.
Ran out of red wine, had no vodka left as Baby Mole took the last of it to a party a few weekends ago. Even the Sambucca was gone, hefted off to the long weekend campout with Princess MustHaveA. This left me with a choice of crappy, Creme de Cocao or Famous Grouse (which I've been trying to hoist onto my big brother for ages, he's a Red Label kind of guy).
The Famous Grouse won out, but...WOOHOO...,not at all sure I should be doing this. Thank goodness for "spellcheck". This may be a big drunken mistake! But I just know that you'll all forgive my dozey ramblings. I'm not a whiskey drinker normally, but when there is no wine left, I do what all true partiers do...I find the next best thing.
I was going to weed and tend to my front garden this afternoon, but that plan is nixed now. The neighbours will see me, start conversations, want to know "Hows the family?".
That would be fucking horrible, because, when I drink...I TELL THE TRUTH! And then...Oh my god...they'd all know! Can't have that..no no no.
Must hide. I will go into the back yard and weed the flower beds quietly (and that means no playing with the dog), as Greg and Ester will hear me and want to have a conversation! Instead, I will try to hum a little ditty (quietly) to myself as I yank out, rip and tear the evil little weedy bastards out of my beloved garden!!!
Of course, the next visitors will drop by, ask to see the garden and the Mole will proudly take them back and basque in the glory of all the compliments. No...he will not say, "But, No It's Not Me You Should Be GIving This Praise To...It's Maggie Who Does ALL The Hard Work". Which, is in fact the case. Oh dear, I believe whiskey has turned me into a nasty drunk!
Thats it. I am going to frolick in the garden with my dog, sing Irish ditties and "To Hell" with anyone who doesn't like it.
Just watched Russel Peter and Robin Williams, "Live" in New York. Think I need a Tylenol for my aching sides. Now that theres nothing decent on TV to watch any more, I gave Baby Mole the job of recording some DVD's for me..these were the first 2. This is going to be a tough summer, I think.
Now, there is one thing that both my kids have in spades (in fact, my entire family) and thats "a really fine-tuned sense of humour". It started when they were really young (like 18 months old) and has developed, exponentially, since then. Sometimes I think that we are a bit OVER THE TOP with our idea of funny, but then thats what we are!
Now, Russel Peters is a western Indian. Immigrant parents, western influence. And can he zero in on all our racial biases and foibles! The guy is brilliant, pointing out stereotypes without the sharp edges. An hour of him and I thought I needed a break.
THEN, Robin Williams...I have ALWAYS admired and feared this guy. His mind is like a DVD on Fast Forward that switches stations every few seconds. He is so well informed, razor sharp and fucking hilarious, that you hardly have time to absorb one joke before he's moved on to the next.
So its been two hours now and my face is hurting, my sides ache and the dog is exhausted from watching me interact with the TV! A first, I think. He's perturbed and wants to get away from the "Crazy Lady".
I've gotta find something weird or serious to do now or I'll have bizarre dreams of Robin WIlliams with a water bottle, imitating a 50 year old having sex on viagra! NO CAN DO! Need some CSI....corpses, blood, weapons, bad guys. That'll make me sleep.
Do-de-oh-do, La-la-la. Wait a sec here, is that a skeeto? YEAH - lunch! Looks a bit stunned.
OK...slowly does it. Let myself down the wall quietly and...What-the f--k! Water bombs! Shit.. retreat, retreat.
Jeez, what the hell was that? Better have a look around and see if....Oh My God! What the hell is that thing? Its freakin huge! And white and blubbery and has no hair (except for that stupid looking bit sticking off one end). Its gotta be one of those deadly, stupid humans. Better get a closer look...I'll BUNGEE JUMP! and be backup again before it even notices me.
AUGH!! Its hideous and thrashing...watch out! Up Up Up! Damn! That was close. It almost got me. Phew, I think I'll just keep an eye on it for a moment and see what it ....OH MY GOD! Its moving and flaying around like a tree in a wind storm. Shit, its seen me! HIDE HIDE.
There simply are NO cute spiders. I am terrified of the creepy, hairy things. As soon as the Mole left for Big Hole Cave, I ran a hot bath to prepare to go to work. A good soak, wash my hair and away I go. Seemes simple enough, right?
The mosquito I stunned yesterday, was sitting quietly beside the tap and I felt badly for having traumatized it, so I left him alone. Leave me alone and its all good. I'm laying back, staring at the ceiling, which needs another coat of paint, and THERE...
Way to f--k up my bath time bliss, man. I sit up and begin to shout at it, the Mole gone, baby Mole sleeping, I am alone with an arachnid. It ignores me (don't spiders have ears?), and continues on its merry way down the wall toward me. I'm utterly freaked out by now, and I don't react well when naked and under pressure, so I start splashing water up at it.
Mr. Ugly Ass, gets stopped by the sudden rainfall and decides to turn back toward the ceiling where the weather is more pleasant. I settle back into the tub, check on the mosquito who is still immobile, and "keep 6" on Mr. Ugly Ass.
All is going quite swimmingly AND THEN...Ugly Assbungee jumps! He does this scarey, leepy thing and stops 10 inches from my head. I"M FREAKIN' TRAPPED. If I try to get up, he'll land on my head! If I flick water at him, the weight of the H2O will, no doubt drag him further downward......OH MY GOD!!!!
Covered in goose bumps, soap, and shaking like a jelly mold, I wait. Its like one of those awful suspense movies. I can't stand to look at him, but I can't look away cuz he might let more line go and attempt a landing! FUCK!
It felt like hours, but the water was still hot so it had to be minutes, but he ascends! Guess he just wanted to see me naked, huh?
I waited, unmoving, until he was back in place at the ceiling and then quickly, while watching the little bastard, finished up and lept out of my beloved tub.
I'd kill the little shit if I had any balls, but I don't. He has until the Mole returns and if he has any sense at all, he'll swoop down again when I'm gone, eat the mosquito and get the hell out of my bathroom.
PS..I tried to find a "cute spider" clip art, but THERE ARE NO CUTE SPIDERS!
The Mole is going caving again today and there si a huge pile of caving shit by the front door, the size of a Volkswagon, waiting to be loaded into his buddy, Dougs' car. I do hope Dougs' car has decent suspension as they are going to be driving for 8 hours total and I'd hate it if the bottom of the car got scraped off on the road.
Here are a few of the things The Mole takes with him; a map, 2 flashlights, a camera(my camera), memory, batteries, notebooks, helmets, GPS, compass, cover alls, hip waders, rubber boots, axes, picks, water flasks, food, friends and a whole lot more.
Although I try not to picture him squishing into muddy, dark places that no one in their right mind would want to go, I do worry sometimes (must remember to tell him to take the cell phone).
Can you just hear that conversation. me; "Hello" The Mole; "Hi, Big Boss" me; "Hi, where are you?" The Mole; "Somewhere 300 meters underground, just north of Big Hole Cave" me; "Oh" The Mole; "I was wondering if you could leave my supper in the microwave cuz I won't be able to eat it until I've lost 15 pounds of body mass" me; "Sure, no problem, should I call work and tell them you might be late tomorrow?"
Awful....I know. But I have to have a sense of humour about these things or I'd go completely crazy. I'm just glad he gave up sky diving when I asked him to. This little ticker of mine just couldn't handle it, otherwise.
I'll just go brave the Beading Demons at my shop today, risk handling a needle and thread and have heaps of scarey stories of my own to tell at the end of the day! PHEW!!
As her 21st birthday approaches, Princess MustHaveA has hinted around about a birthday cake. This is somewhat disconcerting as for 21 years I have gone on record saying, "I HATE BAKING". No exceptions. I will happily prepare lavish meals that everyone loves, buy the wine, candles, lay a beautiful table, but at the last minute when it occurs to me that all the world is not like me, I panick, catch the bus (cuz the Mole is usually out caving with the Rav4) and run out and buy dessert! At this point, it matters little what the hell it is, and it could be crushed chocolate bars on icecream. You see, I don't DO DESSERT! Never have and probably never will!
So, I felt that perhaps the universe was presenting me with a new challenge and it was some kind of character test that I absolutely, must not fail. But, Oh my God, the fear consumes me. Apart from the hatred for flour, tin foil, proper temperature readings, exact measurements, etc., I've never had any success. I know its because I'm ADD and can't read a recipe without stopping half way through to play with my dog, that I'm a failure at all things "baked".
However, and this is big, I went to the grocery store with my recipe in hand, walked up and down the isles looking in places I never go for things I never buy and left with a whopping bill of $40!!! YEAH...Another reason I hate baking.
On Saturday, since my house will be quiet, I WILL BAKE! The flour will fly, I tell ya. I will make an unholy mess, swear my fool head off, sweat it out, and create a masterpiece that commemorates the BIG YEAR!!!! I have high hopes and will galdly hang up the 'ole baking mitts afterwards, if the Gods will give me this one success!
I'm not confident enough to give out the recipe yet, but if all goes well, and there are no trips to the ER for knife wounds or food poisoning, and if friends and family shower me with sincere compliments, I will tell you all about it.
Wish me some luck, cuz I'm going to need it... Away...
They're gone...They are all gone. The Mole left at 2pm leaving a trail of produce through the kitchen. I pretended not to notice so I could bid him a "fond fare-thee-well" at the door. I pulled it off with panache as I do every damn day...GOD I AM GOOD.
The Baby Mole woke after 8 hours of sleep, slithered down the stairs, complained alot and left...HOORAY!
Princess MustHaveA left for her evening shift at The BollyWood Bistro, where she earns more in tips fop one shift than I do in two days of work. She left me several choice recipes for chocolate birthday cakes, on the table in front of where I fell asleep. I think I remember her saying "see you later, Mum". Maybe it was a dream.
I just woke up...I think I've been asleep for 15 minutes but it feels like 3 hours. I'm having a bath now and I'm going to make it last. God...don't you just love solitude?
Oh yeah, the trip to the doctor netted me a gigantic needle in the bursa of my hip. Ouch! It aches like a bitch, but I'm a tough cookie.
I know I said that I was NOT GOING TO POST, only check out everyone elses Blogs, but the most amazing day just happened. I was supposed to work the entire weekend, Sat and Sun and then pick my Mum up at the train station after work and make sure she felt "loved" on Mothers Day. Then "my girl", the lovely lady who works for me, said, "Do you mind if I work the weekend, I really need the money?".....Duh. So, I woke up this morning, took both of my adult children shopping with me (which was highly entertaining for me and everyone else at the grocery store), brought heaps of food home, put it away and BEGAN MY WORK DAY!!!
Now, the Mole was still in his jammies when I returned, looking blurry and grumpy and itching to get to his blog, but knowing full well that he had to make a lukewarm attempt at looking like he likes us. I left him alone and went to the garden.
There are so many wonderful things to look at in my garden but I always let my eye travel to those things that insult my senses. Crazy, I know, but its how things get done.
I have a entrance cubby to my basement and the door has been falling off for two years. Today, I could look at it NO LONGER. I dragged every scrap of old lumber outside, all our power tools, extention cord and screws and away I went.
Now you know that the sound of a power tool in the hands of "the little woman" brings any husband running, but evven this could not budge the Mole from blogging. I had completely renovated the stupid door by myself before he arrived. I was stumpted at reinstalling it and had to call him from his latest post to help me and he was not pleased.
The Mole, "What!" Me, "Can you help me for a minute?" The Mole, "Yeah, give me a sec" Me, "Never mind" (passive aggressive, I know). Ten Minutes Pass The Mole (now downstairs and looking at me), "Wha" Me, "What?" The Mole, "Why are you looking at me like that" Me, "Like what?" The Mole, "Are you trying to start a fight?" Me, "No, I'm trying to reinstall this door, wanna help me?" The Mole, "You don't have to talk to me like that". Me, "Like what?"
You get the picture....
So, having lured him from his latest hole, he put in a full days work around the house. He did the dishes after supper, took me to DQ for a Brownie Batter Blizzard and now I feel I can let him off the hook.
Sometimes you just have to take the reins and giddyup
After making coffee ,doing the dishes, feeding, medicating and walking the dog; after putting garden tools away, vacuuming, dusting, picking up all the dirty laundry, throwing in a load of darks; after organizing the shoe cupboard, having a bath and getting ready for work, I now have 22 minutes. I will take the poor wretched dog with me today or he will be alone and ignored for over 8 hours. This is acceptable in this house as Puppy is KING!
The Mole has a long day today, poor sweetheart. He must travel to teach a Raymond course in the AM and then go directly to work afterwards to supervise a shift that ends at midnight. Getting ready to leave is a whole other thing for The Mole.
He wakes up "slowly", stumbles into the kitchen and says "is there any coffee?", sits and drinks his coffee while watching the news, runs a bath, soaks for 25 minutes, dresses in one of the many things he has taken out and thrown on the floor, packs up a leaves! Its tough, I know.
So, after The Mole left, I ran around and redid everything I had done so that when I return home from work at 6:30 I am not thrown into chaos straight away! Nothing worse than that, let me tell you.
So, tonight is the night I will visit all my blogroll buddies. I WILL NOT POST, I WILL NOT POST, I WILL NOT POST!!! If I say it often enough, it might work.
Have a great Friday, all you hard working folk and if you're one of the lucky ones and its the start of your weekend....have a glass of vino for me.
It is time, at last, that Bob has his place on the stage of life. Passed by for so long, I give you...Bob.
Bobs' my neighbour. We share a double wide driveway, the front door of his tiny house faces the side of our red brick (at our living room window).. Sometimes, Bob yells in my window "Your phone is ringing, you'd better get that!"
Bob's about 75 years old and has NO hobbies besides people watching and hockey. He used to be a marine and loves to tell stories if you are inclined to listen. I usually listen cuz I hope that someone will find me interesting when I'm 75.
The Mole goes beserk at the start of the nice weather cuz Bob plants himself on his weeny front porch (good thing the door swings inward or he'd be some ugly wallpaper), and watches and listens to all the neighbourhood. We give him tons of good stuff to talk about - daily.
For instance, what does Bob think when he sees me sitting in the back yard with a roll of paper towel, sobbing at the table? Who knows? But he politely leaves me alone and then, the next day says something like, "when was it the kids were leaving home?"
One of his favorite things to do is irritate The Mole. It began innocently enough, but its hard not to recognize that pinched expression and to not know the mole's not irritated. You'd need to be blind and Bob is not blind. In fact his sight and hearing are better than anyones....I know.
But I like Bob. He's a good neighbour. Yeah, he knows too much, but he keeps it to himself. Yeah, he likes being the "Grand PoohBah" of the street, but I think he's earned it. It's his hobby, I guess!
For just a moment I thought I would give up blogging for good. The incident that precipitated it is too ugly to share (I'm British and we like to keep up appearances, you know), and I thought that I had violated some sacred trust by venting and ranting about those closest to me. My Password and Login were ferreted out and my blog was accessed.
I have had a few moments to contemplate and I believe that blogging is perhaps the nicest way of dealing with those issues too volatile to face head on in you physical life. What I mean is, by sharing all your family woes with family and friends, currents of anger and resentment liger longer than they should. By sharing with your blogging buds (people who are kind, sensitive and supportive but not likely to bump into you or those you blog about), you are able to deal with things constructively while letting off a whole lot of steam while doing so.
Blogging is cathartic for me and I'm staying. I will continue to be sarcastic when nessessary, witty and incredibly interesting as long as my souls needs to let loose over the ether.
After washing, blow drying and an attempt at styling my hair this morning, I give up. Looking good in this mess is impossible. Time for the dreaded "HAIR CUT".
This happens less often than it should but the scars I carry are extensive. I have had more than my fair share of scissor weilding, artist-hair-geniuses than anyone I know and for some unknown reason, the mere sight of my pathetic mid-70's doo, conjures fantasies of elaborate coifs that are intended for poodles. No matter if I bring in magazine clippings, have a long, heartfelt discussion of the previous nightmares I've experienced at the hands of a "styling-psycho" or threats of law suits, they all go the same route.
I am sure they start out well-intended, intent on following my instructions, but it all goes south somewhere around 20 minutes in. The first indication of trouble is when she starts talking incessantly (obviously trying to distract me from the growing pile of hair at my feet). When a "consult" is required, I go cold. I have had The Dreaded Consult the last 3 hair cuts,(much whispering, sidelong glances,etc.) . And price makes no difference whatsoever here. A $30 cut or a $130 cut are equally disastorous.
I am biting the bullet and scraping out the savings account for my next sashay with the stylist. I can only wear my hair in an elastic for so long before it feels as though my brains are being torn out through my hair roots, so here goes nothing.
And don't ask for pics! I "turtle" for about 3 weeks after a new doo, until I can learn to wrestle the stuff into shape and be seen in public again.
When The Mole isn't slopping around in mud and dirt in various caves and holes around the Ontario landscape, he is usually sitting at the PC blogging his little heart out night and day. This has created a few issues around our happy home as nothing else ever seems to get done. This is my beloved after an arduous lawn mowing session (half an hour -tops) that completely wiped him out. These moments of domestic torture are always rewarded with beer and a wee nap. He is unaware of this pic and I'm not telling - so its our little secret, right? The book on his tummy is titled "1,000 Places To See Before You Die", and I'll just bet he's dreaming of somewhere in the Carribean at that moment, (oh wait, that would be my fantasy). The Mole is probably dreaming of a dank, dark hole in the ground where albino salamanders and blind spiders live!
Our beautiful little digital camera takes these amazing photos undergound. It used to look all shiney and new, but now it has so much filth caked on it, its hard to tell its a camera at all. As long as it works, I'm OK. "Look out, theres a mighty big spider behind you!"
Here is how The Mole shows us what to do on an Easter weekend. The cave was a tiny one that is well travelled (not the type he usually likes) so it was just right for beginners such as my little sister. The 5 of them came home covered in mud, but excited and happy. My caving days are almost over as the days following an adventure underground are usually frought with too much pain.
As much as I love this wonderful change in the weather, there is one thing that plagues me. My beautiful, lovable, devoted Snuffy, (weighing in at 127lbs), must have a bath. Dogs sweat you know, and although he is a lovely boy, he does smell.
The problem is that I work most days when the sun is shining brightly, I return home to do an hour in the garden and then its dusk, and there is no "drying time" left in the day (and Snuffy needs at least 5 hours).
Another problem is that we have only one bathroom, it is upstairs (which are hardwood) and Snuffy is not that stable on his legs as he had surgery some time ago.
I bought a Little Tykes pool to bathe the boy in, but it won't happen until Friday and they are calling for rain...wouldn't you know it?
In the meantime, I will love him anyway, smells and all..My 127lb "fur ball". For those of you who bond the way I do, to your dog, there is little I wouldn't do for the silly mutt (with papers and a good pedigree). However, I must insist that everyone who plans a visit to our humble abode, be fully briefed on the Snuffy Scent. I am almost immune to it after years of pretending it isn't an issue...but GOD, I can't wait for his bath time! Let there be sun on Friday...Puleeez!
Summer is coming fast and furiously around these parts. I am worried I'll lose all you folks but I realise that there are better places to be than in front of your PC.
It has been glorious here, with every damn thing bursting into life and I am so in awe of Mother Nature that I have spent the entire weekend in my back yard.
I struggle with the urge to put the house up for sale every winter, and make all kinds of noises to The Mole, and then the spring arrives, and our garden begins to look like a painting again , only better than the year before, and I can't do it.
I am going to post pics of our wonder Eden for you as soon as as my Flickr account lets me. It has made me appreciate life in Ontario once again.
BUT, WINTER SUCKS! Let there be no doubt abiout it!