Yesterday, I had what I think was a first: a pedicure. I've had a manicure before, and almost always thought what a useless luxury it had been. Yesterday, whether it's because of my age or because my tolerance levels have drastically increased, I actually think that the manicure was worth it, and I know that the pedicure was more than worth what it cost Emily, who was the giver of the joy.
Because I am and always will be a shoe-lover and am and always was vain, I always chose my shoes for their beauty, never for their ability to make me feel good or for their actually conforming to the size of my feet. As a result, and with my prior knowledge and acceptance, my feet are objects of horror. Throw in the fact that this apartment is drier than most of Arizona and you'll know why a pedicure could have been such a delightful experience for me. Unless you count the shame.
I must compliment the woman who undertook the process with such equanimity. Nary a flinch, always a calm demeanor and a firm hand with the scary utensils. The closest she came to losing her cool was when we had this conversation over the manicure:
Me: Those are such elegant glasses!
She: Sorry, what?
Me: The glasses---they're elegant
She: You mean mine?
Me: ?????
She: Are you talking about my glasses?
Me: ......yes.....
She: And what did you say?
Me: I said, they're elegant
She: What?
Me: Elegant! they're ELEGANT!
She: Oh, I thought you said UGLY!
Actually, I took it rather hard that she'd think I could have said that. After all, there I was in all my eager-to-pleaseness, having already aplolgized to her for having exposed her to my feet. How could she?
Still it was a great experience made greater by the avocado BLT on a croissant that we got from The Works next door. Altogether, not counting angst and embarrassment, a fine experience for my now scarlet toenails and my ladylike pinkish fingernails.
Sunday, 31 October 2010
Friday, 29 October 2010
Curmudgeonly thoughts about the near and dreaded future
This is not a blog about Hallowe’en.
I do not like Hallowe’en.
I do not like it so much that I refuse to update the spelling of Hallowe’en.
Of all the holidays, Hallowe’en is my least favourite, although it runs a close and crusty second to St Patrick’s Day.
If I could do anything other than celebrate Hallowe’en, it would be to get in bed with the covers over my head, which I was doing until I felt compelled to not write about Hallowe’en.
Having said that, I just happen to have the cutest Hallowe'en photos. Click on Emma.
I do not like Hallowe’en.
I do not like it so much that I refuse to update the spelling of Hallowe’en.
Of all the holidays, Hallowe’en is my least favourite, although it runs a close and crusty second to St Patrick’s Day.
If I could do anything other than celebrate Hallowe’en, it would be to get in bed with the covers over my head, which I was doing until I felt compelled to not write about Hallowe’en.
Having said that, I just happen to have the cutest Hallowe'en photos. Click on Emma.
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| 2010-10-29 School Hallowe'en |
Thursday, 28 October 2010
Tuesday, 26 October 2010
I thought I was thinking of one thing, but...
I've been waiting for the monster storm---the wind, the rain, the thunder, possibly the snow. Nothing has been happening except that the temperature went up to 19C, which is warm for this time of year.
I can't believe I'm writing about weather---one of my least favourite topics in the world. In fact it's right up there with fussball, travelling to Las Vegas and orthopoedic science.
Actually, I wish I were able to write with some distance and more understanding about how heavy my heart is around the Omar Khadr issue, and how disappointed I am in what appears to be my country's complacency. I know that many people think otherwise, and I respect that, but I still hold to my belief that this was badly handled and has had an unneccessarily tragic result. A child soldier is a child soldier, and torture is torture. Where are the grey areas?
I can't believe I'm writing about weather---one of my least favourite topics in the world. In fact it's right up there with fussball, travelling to Las Vegas and orthopoedic science.
Actually, I wish I were able to write with some distance and more understanding about how heavy my heart is around the Omar Khadr issue, and how disappointed I am in what appears to be my country's complacency. I know that many people think otherwise, and I respect that, but I still hold to my belief that this was badly handled and has had an unneccessarily tragic result. A child soldier is a child soldier, and torture is torture. Where are the grey areas?
Sunday, 24 October 2010
It wasn't a traitorous choice
The other day, after some long-time craving on my part, and some short-time discussion with David, I bought a Kobo reader. It's the Chapters-Indigo version of a Kindle, a canuck e-reader. (Actually, now that I've googled an image, I see that Barnes and Noble and other foreign bookstores carry it too)
Don't get me wrong. I love books. I have loved books all my life, and have bought them in their thousands because I love to read, because I love the feel of them, because they make me laugh or cry, because I love a good story or a beautiful layout, and because, luckily, I could. But I live in a condo with books in bookcases, books in bedside tables and books in relatively neat stacks on the floor which I share with a man who, if he could have his dearest wish, would be able to carry all his possessions on his back. Deliberate and well-managed compromise has been one of the keystones of our long and successful marriage, and if I can use that to my advantage and still look like I'm not just falling for another gadget, well woohoo!
So, not only did I get an e-book reader, I got one with a mauve padded back, a purple faux-leather protective envelope and 100 pre-loaded classical books, and it only weighs 121 grams. Really, I have no idea what 121 grams looks like in any form, but it's very light and the size of a paperback book.
I couldn't wait to get home, charge it up and transfer some of the e-books I'd already bought to read on my laptop. Damn, it was hard. I couldn't get my laptop to acknowledge I had anything plugged into the USB port, and after a couple of frustrated tries, I unplugged the reader and visited Facebook as a way of offsetting my urge to drop the beautiful thing in the sink.
Dave, that man of generosity and compromise, spent hours on the phone with someone in a far-flung country who advised us that the motherboard on my beloved laptop was fritzed, and that we'd have to send the whole shebang back to the company, which would take 12 or 15 days after we received the special box for laptop-returning.
So that's why I'm reading Jane Austen on my Kobo in the daytime and Peter Robinson on my laptop in the middle of the night. And why in spite of our excellent analysis of how to control the books-in-the-condo situation, I'm still feeling guilt. But it's mixed with the joy of carrying 100 books in my 6 x 8 inch purple thingy.
Don't get me wrong. I love books. I have loved books all my life, and have bought them in their thousands because I love to read, because I love the feel of them, because they make me laugh or cry, because I love a good story or a beautiful layout, and because, luckily, I could. But I live in a condo with books in bookcases, books in bedside tables and books in relatively neat stacks on the floor which I share with a man who, if he could have his dearest wish, would be able to carry all his possessions on his back. Deliberate and well-managed compromise has been one of the keystones of our long and successful marriage, and if I can use that to my advantage and still look like I'm not just falling for another gadget, well woohoo!
I couldn't wait to get home, charge it up and transfer some of the e-books I'd already bought to read on my laptop. Damn, it was hard. I couldn't get my laptop to acknowledge I had anything plugged into the USB port, and after a couple of frustrated tries, I unplugged the reader and visited Facebook as a way of offsetting my urge to drop the beautiful thing in the sink.
Dave, that man of generosity and compromise, spent hours on the phone with someone in a far-flung country who advised us that the motherboard on my beloved laptop was fritzed, and that we'd have to send the whole shebang back to the company, which would take 12 or 15 days after we received the special box for laptop-returning.
So that's why I'm reading Jane Austen on my Kobo in the daytime and Peter Robinson on my laptop in the middle of the night. And why in spite of our excellent analysis of how to control the books-in-the-condo situation, I'm still feeling guilt. But it's mixed with the joy of carrying 100 books in my 6 x 8 inch purple thingy.
Friday, 22 October 2010
Something I haven't done for a while
Word of the Day
October 22
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| jawboning  \JAW-boh-ning\ |
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noun
: | the use of public appeals (as by a president) to influence the actions especially of business and labor leaders; broadly : the use of spoken persuasion If I were a president, here are some of the ways I would jawbone you to death:
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Tuesday, 19 October 2010
How much is too much?
This is a video taken by my brother Pat, which explains why he's not in it. Dave and I, Pat and our brother Sean who was down for the weekend from Barrie, went out for a drive in the Gatineau Park.
Dave is the guy in the white jacket, Sean in the blue and I might be seen if you look for an orange scarf.
And here's a photo of me, Emily and Robyn being adorable. She's really good at it, Em and I need some work.
Up there's something new, Phoebe and her mom Anne and here's something not new but darling:
Dave is the guy in the white jacket, Sean in the blue and I might be seen if you look for an orange scarf.
And here's a photo of me, Emily and Robyn being adorable. She's really good at it, Em and I need some work.
and the Roses...
Sunday, 17 October 2010
Will I Ever Stop Learning?
Dave is making poached eggs with spinach on toast and hot chocolate for breakfast this morning. Could life be better than this?
The last few days have been full of our smart and beautiful children and grandchildren, calls from friends, chance meetings with other friends and a message on Facebook from my sister who hasn't been on Facebook since sometime in May. We've almost finished eating our post-thanksgiving bread pudding, which turned out to be very tasty; I've thinned out a pile of books to include only things I really want to read and I've almost caught up on my volunteer tasks. And I don't want to gloat but Chris is now driving a BIG truck somewhere in western Canada.
It really is the small things that bring joy.
The last few days have been full of our smart and beautiful children and grandchildren, calls from friends, chance meetings with other friends and a message on Facebook from my sister who hasn't been on Facebook since sometime in May. We've almost finished eating our post-thanksgiving bread pudding, which turned out to be very tasty; I've thinned out a pile of books to include only things I really want to read and I've almost caught up on my volunteer tasks. And I don't want to gloat but Chris is now driving a BIG truck somewhere in western Canada.
It really is the small things that bring joy.
Tuesday, 12 October 2010
I Discover Some Flaws....
What a shock I got when I noticed that my last post was October 4th. Given that today is the 12th, that makes it the longest hiatus ever for me, and I wasn't even aware enough to take pleasure in it.
I have to make bread pudding today. Otherwise, Dave and I will go down in a flurry of various delicious breadcrumbs left over from our family thanksgiving feast. It feels strange though, to say that I "have" to make bread pudding---normally, that's one of my mild pleasures. I am not a person who gets verklempt over having bought too much of something that subsequently spoils. I would be very distressed if I didn't have enough of something, so as un-green as that sounds, I consider it a bonus to have come to that understanding with myself. It helps me to balance out the guilt that so often creeps, or bounds, into my life.
My other guilt-related experience this morning was discovering that even though I recently carried out a major culling of my lipsticks, the container I assigned to hold an acceptable amount of lip decoration is overflowing. Not only that, it's overflowing onto the overflowing container of eye decoration.
If I were 20, that would be forgivable; 30, verging on something to keep an eye on; 40, something I would have said I did because I could; 50, that would fall under the things excused by menopause. But here I am, in the dark end of 60 and I certainly can't justify it as something for which I get value for dollars.
The word "wasteful" comes to mind, but I trashed it.
I have to make bread pudding today. Otherwise, Dave and I will go down in a flurry of various delicious breadcrumbs left over from our family thanksgiving feast. It feels strange though, to say that I "have" to make bread pudding---normally, that's one of my mild pleasures. I am not a person who gets verklempt over having bought too much of something that subsequently spoils. I would be very distressed if I didn't have enough of something, so as un-green as that sounds, I consider it a bonus to have come to that understanding with myself. It helps me to balance out the guilt that so often creeps, or bounds, into my life.
My other guilt-related experience this morning was discovering that even though I recently carried out a major culling of my lipsticks, the container I assigned to hold an acceptable amount of lip decoration is overflowing. Not only that, it's overflowing onto the overflowing container of eye decoration.
If I were 20, that would be forgivable; 30, verging on something to keep an eye on; 40, something I would have said I did because I could; 50, that would fall under the things excused by menopause. But here I am, in the dark end of 60 and I certainly can't justify it as something for which I get value for dollars.
The word "wasteful" comes to mind, but I trashed it.
Monday, 4 October 2010
Dave hones his instincts
Saturday was a surprising day.
When I got up, I thought I'd take it easy---maybe do some washing, but get my lazy out there. Dave had a better idea. He wanted to take a ride in the country.
Riding in the country with Dave is a joy for some, an ordeal for others. He never just goes straight somewhere; he sometimes doesn't go to the intended destination at all. He'll stop anywhere you suggest. He'll back up or turn around if you see something too late to make a rational and timely decision. But it can be difficult for people who don't like to meander. I'm all right with that. If I don't like what's happening, I always have a book.
Saturday, we had a nice eggy breakfast, consulted each other about layers, maps and scarves and discussed quite civilly the necessity to stay on top of how your camera batteries were doing. Then we picked up my brother Pat and started out.
Pat's circumstances have changed lately in a number of ways---the most visible of which is that since he no longer has a car, he's lost about 30 pounds. He came out of his house, slim and tweedy, looking like a country gentleman, with his sizable stash of cameras in a battered leather case.
I thought it was a bit early for a "colours" ride, and as it turned out, I, who know nothing about weather and climate and eco-things, turned out to be right.
We had a destination though. We were going to go to Westport, a smallish town on a lake, with beautiful switchback roads and breathtaking views. But first, we had about an hour or 2 of not-being-on-the-highway, and noticing that the trees hadn't hit their peak. The clouds though were amazing, some stretched out, others fluffy, some banked like woozy apartment buildings and some actually dispensing rain. I especially liked the ones that were outlined in gold sparkling light. Go figure.
We were not on a mission, but it was lovely. Again, fine with me, until I started feeling hungry.
Always open to suggestion, Dave took a detour to the city of Perth---a really lovely little place, which coincidentally has some of our favourite restaurants and gift-shops. Lunch, which I had foreseen as a veggie sandwich and coffee from Timmies, turned out to be crab cakes, spicy squash soup and a burger with cranberry sauce and brie. We chose an inferior White Zinfandel, but bravely got through it and moved on to very good coffee and a dense dark chocolate cake with sweet cream in little dobbles around it.
We visited one of the shops and fell in love with a tabletop fountain---beautiful, lovely to listen to and expensive enough to make Pat blanch a bit. We couldn't think where we could put it and not risk water damage, so we didn't buy it, but haven't stopped thinking about it since then. I'm going to call them later to get the dimensions, just in case I have a brainstorm.
More meandering, some photo ops and we found ourselves heading northeast and crossing a picturesque wooden bridge. Both Pat and Dave took in the kind of breath you associate with a Penelope Cruz sighting, as they saw that the bridge went over a long straight stretch of railway line. We pulled over, and just as we did, the earth started shaking, the trees bowing, the dirt swirling and a frightening noise made up of Whhhoooosh, clang, zoom, chugga chugga filled the air. I'm not sure I actually knew before what "fill the air" really meant. Pat and Dave jumped out of the car, leaving doors open, and ran towards the bridge. Since I hadn't anticipated the wonder of finding a train in the middle of nowhere, I stayed in my seat, put my hands over my ears and hoped that we weren't experiencing the apocalypse.
Once I could see that there was a freight train going under the bridge, I got out, hung over the bridge with Dave and was thrilled to my back teeth by the noise, the wind, the chattering and screeching and the swaying. What a rush!
No, I have no photos---my camera's battery was down, and I'd jumped out of the car without my Flip camcorder. But seriously, I don't know how I could have done anything rational while that was going on. Dave and Pat both took photos, but sadly, the shots look like a long freight going under a little bridge. The majesty, the mayhem, the bone-tingling is missing.
Then we came home.
When I got up, I thought I'd take it easy---maybe do some washing, but get my lazy out there. Dave had a better idea. He wanted to take a ride in the country.
Riding in the country with Dave is a joy for some, an ordeal for others. He never just goes straight somewhere; he sometimes doesn't go to the intended destination at all. He'll stop anywhere you suggest. He'll back up or turn around if you see something too late to make a rational and timely decision. But it can be difficult for people who don't like to meander. I'm all right with that. If I don't like what's happening, I always have a book.
Saturday, we had a nice eggy breakfast, consulted each other about layers, maps and scarves and discussed quite civilly the necessity to stay on top of how your camera batteries were doing. Then we picked up my brother Pat and started out.
Pat's circumstances have changed lately in a number of ways---the most visible of which is that since he no longer has a car, he's lost about 30 pounds. He came out of his house, slim and tweedy, looking like a country gentleman, with his sizable stash of cameras in a battered leather case.
I thought it was a bit early for a "colours" ride, and as it turned out, I, who know nothing about weather and climate and eco-things, turned out to be right.
We had a destination though. We were going to go to Westport, a smallish town on a lake, with beautiful switchback roads and breathtaking views. But first, we had about an hour or 2 of not-being-on-the-highway, and noticing that the trees hadn't hit their peak. The clouds though were amazing, some stretched out, others fluffy, some banked like woozy apartment buildings and some actually dispensing rain. I especially liked the ones that were outlined in gold sparkling light. Go figure.
We were not on a mission, but it was lovely. Again, fine with me, until I started feeling hungry.
Always open to suggestion, Dave took a detour to the city of Perth---a really lovely little place, which coincidentally has some of our favourite restaurants and gift-shops. Lunch, which I had foreseen as a veggie sandwich and coffee from Timmies, turned out to be crab cakes, spicy squash soup and a burger with cranberry sauce and brie. We chose an inferior White Zinfandel, but bravely got through it and moved on to very good coffee and a dense dark chocolate cake with sweet cream in little dobbles around it.
We visited one of the shops and fell in love with a tabletop fountain---beautiful, lovely to listen to and expensive enough to make Pat blanch a bit. We couldn't think where we could put it and not risk water damage, so we didn't buy it, but haven't stopped thinking about it since then. I'm going to call them later to get the dimensions, just in case I have a brainstorm.
More meandering, some photo ops and we found ourselves heading northeast and crossing a picturesque wooden bridge. Both Pat and Dave took in the kind of breath you associate with a Penelope Cruz sighting, as they saw that the bridge went over a long straight stretch of railway line. We pulled over, and just as we did, the earth started shaking, the trees bowing, the dirt swirling and a frightening noise made up of Whhhoooosh, clang, zoom, chugga chugga filled the air. I'm not sure I actually knew before what "fill the air" really meant. Pat and Dave jumped out of the car, leaving doors open, and ran towards the bridge. Since I hadn't anticipated the wonder of finding a train in the middle of nowhere, I stayed in my seat, put my hands over my ears and hoped that we weren't experiencing the apocalypse.
Once I could see that there was a freight train going under the bridge, I got out, hung over the bridge with Dave and was thrilled to my back teeth by the noise, the wind, the chattering and screeching and the swaying. What a rush!
No, I have no photos---my camera's battery was down, and I'd jumped out of the car without my Flip camcorder. But seriously, I don't know how I could have done anything rational while that was going on. Dave and Pat both took photos, but sadly, the shots look like a long freight going under a little bridge. The majesty, the mayhem, the bone-tingling is missing.
Then we came home.
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