Dear Quarantine Diary #17

Tags

dear diary, humour, sewing, squirrels

Dear Diary -It’s that time of year again: the big stink. A storm blew through just before I came back to the city and knocked thousands of apples down. They are small, hard and rife with blemishes, and in the July heat, quickly turn to cider. Last year I cut and froze bags of apple slices and I made apple jelly. I nearly melted in the process. This year I picked and froze a bag of whole apples for jelly…when it’s much cooler! Saturday was among one of the hottest days. The three of us bundled up to protect ourselves from the wasps, and filled every garbage can, bin and box I could find. Tuesday night we dragged them to the curb for a yard waste truck to pick them. Little Guy kicked the first bin, sending a thick plume of fruit flies in my face. The trick is to hold your breath so you don’t inhale them. I wonder if they can lay eggs in your brain?

The squirrels, however, are in 7th Heaven. As was the young skunk I spied strolling in the yard one morning. I wonder if he’s the fellow who started burrowing under the front steps. I filled in his hole with dirt and orange peel. So far, no further excavation. The birds have visited too: robins, cardinals, blue jays, gold finches and even a woodpecker.

We’re pretty sure this is a squirrel…

The cutest visitor was a brown baby bunny (“bb”). A mean, black squirrel chased him into the bushes. I was just “awing” when bb scampered up behind the squirrel. The squirrel stared at bb, and they nuzzled noses. Then the squirrel started chasing bb around the lilac tree several times and I realized they were playing. It was like watching a Bugs Bunny cartoon. What’s up Doc?

Dear Diary – I really thought this headline had nailed it. I was browsing through my WordPress Reader, and I thought it said this:

Record Temperatures, Long Lines and Increasing Sarcacity Will Greatly Test the Patience of Americans This Summer.

Now, I know that Sarcacity isn’t a word, but it sounds like it could be. The actual word was scarcity. But you gotta admit, unlike my blog stats, sarcasm is on the rise. Just browse Facebook posts for 30 seconds and you’ll see I’m right.

Dear Diary – This week I sang at an outdoor worship service, all good old-timey songs. I endured grocery shopping with all the city folk who don’t know how to follow arrows. I went through the Tim Horton’s drive thru twice, and enjoyed a sticky doughnut to celebrate my late friend’s birthday! She would have approved.

I sold 6 face masks to 2 friends, and I enjoyed getting caught up. I pulled out some Fall fabric – might as well look fashionable!

Mom tells me my Dad bought some Christmas fabric. Stocking stuffers anyone!?!

I went looking for my 2019 tax documents, which I never found, and ended up cleaning out 2 boxes filled with tax forms starting in 1997! I earn the same salary! $0! I also did another drawing lesson. I’d better keep my day job.

We had to tidy our laundry room for the gas guy and I’m taking bets on how long it will take us to fill the space with useless junk. The odds are not in my favour.

 I’m heading back to my folks, with or without Little Guy, but my laptop is coming with me, so he might be too. We repurposed a Scrabble board for a game my Aunt made using another repurposed board that went missing. My Mom found the missing board the next day! Murphy’s Law.

Dear Diary –

Courtesy of Pinterest

Dear Quarantine Diary #16

Tags

chocolate, covid-19 humour, dear diary, driving, summer

Dear Diary – I went shopping with Mom at Wal-Mart. It mostly went well, but at least twice, a very nice employee noticed my dazed eyes and confused stance, as I stood on my toes, peeking around boxes and swiveling from side-to-side. “Can I help you find something?” they politely asked. Embarrassed, I replied, “Sorry, no. I’m actually looking for my mother”. Perhaps I didn’t lose her in the first place. Perhaps she lost me. Seeing an opportunity to ditch the kid, she ran away when I stopped to peruse the shelf or dash down a different lane to grab an item. Whatever the reason, I’m thankful she didn’t leave me there. It would have been a hot walk home.

Dear Diary – We packed up after “online” church to head back to the city. We had to make one quick stop to deliver a large mask order. We were to meet in the Denny’s parking lot. Leave it to me to end up in the wrong spot. After 10 minutes of driving around, and multiple telephone calls, I finally made the connection. Even though we’d be on the road less than an hour, I needed to pee. I texted Hubby to let him know where we were and he texted that I might want to go back to my parents. A large thunderstorm had just come through the city and knocked out the hydro.  I don’t need a good excuse to “hang” at my folks for another day.

Thunder started to rumble in the distance less than 2 hours later. The sky grew very black. It tried hard to rain…and then it cleared, the sun came out. Disappointingly anticlimactic!

The trip home on Monday was strange. I had been on the road less than 10 minutes when my father called. A friend from the city had called to try to warn me that the highway near the city was closed…due to a shooting investigation! Yikes! I decided that I would head north before the shutdown area, which would add about 20-30 minutes to our drive.

Well, it would have only added 20-30 minutes to our drive had I not completely missed our exit! In my defence, the exit was not marked. Hubby and I exchanged several phone calls and text messages (Little Guy mans the phone since I’m driving), and I spent a significant portion of the trip completely unsure of where I was. We went quite a bit father north than I had realized, before we headed west. At one point, I no longer knew what direction I was facing. With only the sun to guide me, and Hubby’s thinning patience, we finally got our bearings and arrived home. My “detour” added closer to 1.5 hours!

Boy, did I need to pee!

Next time, I will bring the hated GPS, Gloria.

Dear Diary – Hubby picked up treats to celebrate my homecoming: Covid-19 Kit-Kat Chunky bars…now 20% chunkier. Just like me!

Wilderness Wednesday: Mud Between the Toes

Tags

frogs, garden, nature, nature photography, photography, Wilderness Wednesday

Growing up, I liked to look at my Mom had a Golden Book of Poetry. My favourite poem was this one:

Mud is very nice to feel
All squishy squashy between the toes.
I’d rather wade in wiggly mud
Than smell a yellow rose.

Nobody else but the rosebush knows
How nice mud feels
Between the toes.

– Polly Chase Boyden

While this little guy doesn’t resemble a blond pig-tailed girl with rosy cheeks in a pink sundress, I think he shares her sentiment. Cool, sticky mud between the toes.

Dad noticed him and knocked on the window. I had to creep into my Mom’s garden, barefoot and still wearing my nightshirt, to take pics, so I got to enjoy the mud too! 🙂

It’s supposed to rain today. I wonder if anyone else will play in the mud?

Happy Wednesday!

What’s In My Cup? Monday Dreamin’

Tags

#whatsinmycup, beach, humour, photography, tea, what's in my cup

Happy Monday!

Dear Quarantine Diary #15

Tags

covid-19 humour, dear diary, humour, sewing

Dear Diary – Every morning this week I’ve been getting up and tuning in to our church’s online Vacation Bible Camp. I was involved in writing and acting in the skit portion. I have to see the humiliation firsthand.  I had a great time and I’m thankful for the great team of volunteers who each brought their “A game” to make this happen! PTL!

See the whole show – all 5 days – google Wilderness Escape Markham Missionary on Youtube. Tell me what you thought!

Dear Diary – I haven’t written much this week. I haven’t done much this week. Mostly gentle sobbing at the sewing machine.

I have never been an adept sewer, particularly with the sewing machine. I can hand stitch tiny seams like nobody’s business, but I always fought with the machine. I feared I was failing Home Ec in Grade 8 because I couldn’t put a pillow together. My Dad had to help me. I sewed a few dresses in college, with discreetly tacked puckers around the edges, and I made pillowcase dolls for a few craft shows!

Mom’s friend ordered 6 medium masks (which was the recommended size for women) with ties: 2 pink, 2 purple, 2 green. Easy peasy! So easy, that I made 14 in an assortment of colours.

When she came to pick them up on Saturday, she tried one on and started to hem and haw. Which print looked better on her? Was a medium too large? Were the ties removable? Did I have elastic and how stiff was it?  I tried to patiently navigate every question. Mom even grabbed a hand mirror so she could see herself. By the time my last nerve was frayed, she decided she’d rather have 6 extra small masks with elastic…in different prints!

While she dined on the deck, I sewed like a psycho.  Threads were flying, the table piled with swatches and pins. The sewing machine itself, rumbled and revved like a car at the starting line in a drag race. I even roped my long-suffering father into cutting out the pieces to save me some time!

By the time I pressed the final one, I was slick with sweat. She was happy. She picked out 3 from the pile and I traded ties for elastic. I was done.

Then she pawed through my pile of fabric and selected 5 so I could make masks for her granddaughters. “Now”, she said, and I inwardly cringed…

Granddaughters get bling!

Could I make her 10 extra-small masks using the fabric and elastic she purchased on her way over, but instead of a double layer, could they be a single layer? Could I whip one up so she could see how heavy it would be? I whipped one up while she watched, modifying the pattern on the fly.

She called 2 days later, concerned that all the seams were rolled to prevent fraying, except the center seam. Could I fix that?

This simple request, and it should be simple, has literally cost me hours. I’m cranky. My family moves away from me when they see me coming, mostly likely muttering under my breath. More than once I’ve nearly had a complete meltdown. I’m talking ugly, snot-producing crying like a 2 year old. One such occasion was because I was overheated, frustrated, and my humidity-infused frizzy hair was hanging in my face. Every time I had to rip my glasses off to see what I was doing (or what I was ripping out), I was ripping out hair too. I desperately wanted to put it in a ponytail, a bun, anything off my face and neck, but my frozen shoulder is not cooperating (or keeping me cool)!

At this rate, I’m earning $1.67 an hour.

But at least I’m still earning something…

What’s In My Cup: Just Peachy

Tags

#whatsinmycup, ice pops, iced tea, music, summer, tea, tea cups, what's in my cup

 In vain have I struggled. It will to do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. – Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

“Just Peachy” is a real summertime treat. Big Guy gave me this tea for Christmas and I’m so glad he did. While on the sweet side (and slightly artificial tasting) when served hot, it is surprisingly refreshing served cold. With temperatures hovering around 30C these days, cold is good! In fact, David’s recommends it as an addition to fruity cocktails, and I heartily concur. Even if that cocktail is non-alcoholic! 😉

Just Peachy is an herbal tea comprised of apple pomace, artificial peach flavouring, sweet blackberry leaves, peach, natural sweet blackberry leaf flavouring, and artificial apricot flavouring. While seeing “artificial” anything in an ingredient list can be off-putting, keep in mind that it contains less sugar than juice and no added artificial sweeteners like diet pop. 

Serve it hot or cold, tall glass or cup and saucer (who says cups and saucers are reserved only for hot drinks)! Or think outside the square…

But indeed I would rather have nothing but tea.” -Jane Austen

Happy Monday!

Dear Quarantine Diary #14

Tags

bathing suit, dear diary, humour

Dear Diary – The temperature in the pool has been slowly climbing all week. Yesterday it was 92F. Some would say that’s too warm, but as someone who suffers with a chronic condition, it’s nice to be able to get wet quickly, and actually spend time enjoying floating in the pool. No more gasping, yipping and groaning as I tiptoe around the edge until I feel brave enough to slowly dunk my body like a doughnut in a cup of coffee.

Of course, there’s still a lot of gasping, yipping and groaning as I struggle into my bathing. Two years ago I visited the Little Shop of Horrors to purchase a one piece black bathing suit. I left that shop feeling slightly optimistic that I wouldn’t scar the children on the beach. I felt optimistic as I stood on the beach. Then I saw the photos. My inner babe passed out, and when she regained consciousness, immediately pulled on stretchy pants and retired to the couch with chips. Two years older with my covid body, I look like an albino hippo strapped into  my suit.

We all have hourglass figures; your sand just settles in different places.
– Octavia Spencer

My bikini is not much better. I wore it the first time I went swimming here, appropriately covered by a t-shirt. Which wasn’t so bad until it was time to get out. My ability to dress myself has been hindered of late by a frozen shoulder. Combine that with a wet t-shirt that sticks to your skin and rolls, and pretty soon I was an albino hippo trapped in a orange snare. My mother had to set me free.

Yesterday something didn’t feel right in my one-piece suit. One of the “chest” pads was all mushed up weird, giving my curves some radical angles. And the pads were enclosed in Lycra so there was no quick fix. It required a series of yoga poses to sort it out, in the pool where I could be comfortable and discreet, but I felt like I should have bought myself a drink first.

Floating in the pool is very relaxing, watching the clouds and listening to the birds . The other evening, 3 gold finches perched in a nearby tree and serenaded us. Actually it sounded more like sarcasm and heckling, but I don’t speak finch. Shortly after that, a squirrel sneaked by us, averting his eyes.

Tomorrow I’m going shopping for new pool noodles. My noodle disintegrated into several pieces, leaving little green foam confetti floating in the pool. Good news! As a kid, I could never float. I’d immediately sink the bottom of the pool, and in order to pass my swimming lessons and get my badge, I had to hold my breath to hold myself up. My covid weight has eliminated that problem.

Dear Diary – I’m contemplating some sewing projects including Celtic quilting. We made one for my brother and his wife when they were married years ago. My Mom dug out her patterns and books. Unfortunately, at some point, everything got wet, maybe during the basement flood of 2019! It was mouldy, stuck together and stinky. We managed to salvage a few patterns outside to air out. It rained in the evening and by the time we remembered the patterns, they had been pounded to pulp.

Nana’s Celtic Quilt (same pattern as the one we made for my brother)

Big Guy also provided me a large box of fabulous fabrics, and since most communities in my province are making masks in public mandatory, I’ve started producing masks to sell. There have been the usual challenges…I have ironed and sewn seams on the wrong side, have struggled to thread the needle, and stabbed myself with pins. My thumb has more holes in it than the pin cushion. The heat hasn’t helped. There are moments when even my fingers are sweating. And my frozen shoulder has made it impossible to put my long, frizzy hair up! Remember that scene in The Seven Year itch when Marilyn Monroe stands over the subway grate in her pretty white dress, and it blows up. Dad caught me standing in front of the fan, like Marilyn Monroe. I was too hot to be ashamed. I might have hugged the fan, but I was worried my hair would get caught in the fan and I couldn’t wait 3 weeks for a hair appointment.

I posted a pic of my fabric and one of my masks on Facebook, explaining that I was selling them for $5. I’ve sewn more than a dozen. As of last night, 16 friends liked my post. I guess if I don’t sell any, I’ll be a well-coordinated covid fashionista! Both of my bathing suits are black so I’ll always be coordinated on a beach!

Friday’s Tune: Canada’s Really Big

Tags

arrogant worms, Canada, humour, music

It’s summer and to start it off, Canada celebrated its birthday. Mostly without fanfare because we are all staying home. Which will also mean fewer road trips this summer.

BUT you can still experience the great Family Road trip right at home. Just pile everyone in the car in the driveway for a few hours. Once the heat threatens to overwhelm and the electronic devices are dying, throw in a cd for a fabulous family sing-a-long. I can recommend just about anything by the Arrogant Worms. Our favourite album is Live Bait, released in 1997, and in honour of Canada Day, this Friday’s Tune is Canada’s Really Big…the classy orchestral version!

So stand up and be proud and sing out very loud
We stand out from the crowd ’cause Canada’s really big

Happy Friday!

Full Lyrics

Dear Quarantine Diary #13

Tags

dear diary, family, humour, music

Dear Diary – Best hug ever! It’s been over 3 months since I saw Big Guy in person. I think that’s the longest we’ve been apart. Of course, we talked and after I returned to the city, we resumed our weekly “Halo night”. But nothing is the same as being together in person. He came down for the weekend, with a large basket of “priority laundry” and a black hawk airplane cookie cutter he made on his 3D printer. So we baked cookies too. We waved him off Sunday evening 10 lbs lighter (hair/beard cut), with 4 loads of clean laundry, and a clean car. Happy Mama!

Dear Diary – I spent the morning participating in a small, distanced outdoor recording session. For the most part, it went well. There were a few false starts, a key signature change and a set-shift to accommodate the sun. Anyone who has played or spoken outside understands the challenges. The biggest, of course, being the wind. Though my pages were taped to the keyboard stand, ironically page 2 fell flat and page 3 tried to fly away as we were singing “Be the wind inside my sails”. While a bunch of pages skittered down the driveway, page 3 caught on my skirt, allowing me to grab it in time for the bridge. I was flustered by the near-disaster. I once played a flute offertory while Little Guy clung to my skirts, and entertained himself by rocking the music stand. I planted my foot on the stand and kept going, much to the astonishment of those with a front row view of the “action”.

If evolution works, how come mothers only have two hands? – Milton Berle

Speaking of front row views, during the next song, the eldest child of the household tried to sneak out the front door. I heard the door and I could see Dad’s head following him as he edged along the porch until he could jump and run to his destination. Not only did we catch him on tape, but I caught Dad’s face, as he followed him with his eyes.

I’m pretty sure my Dad has given me the same look a time or two. No harm done. Personally, I thought it was delightful reminder of family life. 🙂

Dear Diary – We celebrated our 24th wedding anniversary on Monday. I decided I wasn’t cooking. Since there’s nowhere to go, we took a chance and ordered in something special.

It was a great pizza. The wine was purchased back in April during the lock down when I went shopping for pink champagne.

If only we had played video games too…

Dear Diary – Of course! On the day that I’m leaving for a 3 week vacation at my parents, and I’m running late, Hubby calls to tell me my computer charger is broken. Little Guy has been living on my laptop for weeks and it was one of the incentives for coming with me to my folks instead of staying in the city. Dad to the rescue – he found a charger I can borrow that works until I can find a replacement. I pretty sure Hubby and I are jinxed it. We were just discussing purchasing a new laptop for me and giving this one to Little Guy. We did this the last time I got a new laptop, and it completely died the very next day. It only stands to reason that history is repeating itself.

Dear Diary – Happy Canada Day!

I woke to Westminster chimes at 6 a.m. Dad forgot to turn off the clock outside my bedroom. The sun had already risen but since I was up, I stumbled outside without my glasses and in my nightie, to snap a few pics of the morning mist, before stumbling back to bed. I looked at the pictures at a respectable hour. Apparently I wasn’t the only turkey awake at that hour. My photo caught 3 more in the field…

While we didn’t have any of the usual Canada Day activities, like the classic car show, we still enjoyed a BBQ. As the last crimson band of sky started to fade, I noticed nature’s fireworks in the grass…fireflies. And once it was dark, our neighbours treated us to a short but brilliant display of fireworks to usher in summer.

… their shining branches dropped glowing flowers down upon the hobbits…there were fountains of butterflies that flew glittering into the trees; there were pillars of coloured fires that rose…there was a red thunderstorm and a shower of yellow rain; there was a forest of silver spears that sprang suddenly into the air…and came down again into the Water with a hiss…” -― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

Are we ready for 2020, Level 7?

Dear Quarantine Diary #12

Tags

covid-19 humour, games, humiliation, humour, life, midlife crisis

Dear Diary – I read a great post about the best way to eat a “chocolate  biscuit”. Turns out The Mottled Macaroon and I eat kit-kats the same way. Care to weight in on The Great Chocolate Biscuit Debate?  Anyone want to go buy me chocolate?

Dear Diary – what was I thinking? Maybe it was the foreign sense of freedom, the excitement of Spring, the vastly empty shelves of the grocery store garden centre. But I bought a pepper plant. I brought it home with visions of juicy red bell peppers. Only it’s not a bell pepper plant. So with red, skinny peppers starting to bud,looking suspiciously like a number of hot pepper, I cut one and brought it inside. Hubby washed and sliced, and tasted it. He said it wasn’t hot. So he sliced a piece for me. It tasted like a red pepper…for about 3 seconds, and then it started to burn. I spit it out and grabbed a slice of bread, all the while Hubby apologizing. The piece he ate was an end, no seeds, so it wasn’t spicy. What am I going to do with hot peppers?

Dear Diary – She’s back! I was asked to reprieve my role as Ima and to write the skits for our online VBC. It was no small task! On Friday, Little Guy and I braved the hot sun to film my parts…in a tent. By the time we finished, we were both wet rags. I should have watched the first couple because Little Guy cut off the top of my head. I hope no one minds that it has a “blair witch project” feel to it now!

Dear Diary – Have you ever recorded a show…and when it ends, you keep watching whatever was recorded after it? Even if it’s a crappy show. We did this and I learned about the 1958 movie Macabre. I’ve never seen it. I probably never will. I’m ok with that.  What caught my attention was the marketing ploy they used to gain audiences: A certificate for a $1,000 life insurance policy from Lloyd’s of London in case they died of fright during the film. Of course there was a disclaimer: the policy would not be honoured in cases of suicide or for those with pre-existing conditions. In addition, actors were hired to play nurses in the lobby during the film, and hearses were parked outside. Were the promotions successful? Macabre grossed as much as $5 million. 

Dear Diary – Every day is starting to feel like the Hunger Games. What new disaster will challenge me until nightfall. My “frozen” shoulder just keeps getting worse and the more I stretch it, the more other things hurt too. I refuse to go bra-less or stop shaving, even if it requires crying and yoga! The two aren’t mutually exclusive anyway.

I’m now pretty much reduced to unfashionable shirts that button up the front or are really baggy. Hubby had to help me get my top off yesterday. Normally I would perceive that as a “hey baby” move, but this was desperation. It took 2 attempts and one minor panic attack before we got it. My next plan was to cut it off.

I can’t even put my hair in a pony tail. I was terribly hot Saturday evening and asked Hubby to do it. Obviously, with 2 sons, this was a foreign skill, and without 2 functioning arms, I couldn’t demonstrate. Little Guy, having had long hair himself, was slightly more adept, but didn’t wrap the band that extra time to keep it tight. Still, it served its purpose until the hot flash passed. I now wear 2 braids like a 12 year girl, or 1 katniss braid, like a 12 year old girl in 2012.

I refuse to go down without a fight!

Let the Games begin.