Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 39

Tags

crafts, dear diary, family, humour, sewing

Dear Diary – I headed out Friday morning for a craft sale in my home town. Youngest Son had a PA Day and decided to join me. He was the one who commented on a passing company van:

“Well those drivers have gotta be close to a hundred. Good for them that they’re still driving.”

“How do you know that?” I queried.

“The back of the van says “Over 100 years of experience onboard”.

A few minutes before that I had noticed the overhead electronic sign with a picture of a school bus. It also said, “Watch for children”.

“There are children on the highway?” I thought. I’m driving 100km/hr and there are children?!?!”

I suddenly had horrid visions of carnage and burning vehicles as they swerved and ploughed into each other, trying to avoid the children playing tag gleefully across the highway after their brightly painted daycare van inexplicably overturned.

Friday night my Dad and I tried setting up the new picnic shelter…under stars. It was cold, cold enough to see our breath. And the grass was wet. I called Youngest son to come out and help. He had worn flip-flops. That seemed about right.

The sun was winking at us over the crest of the valley ridge as we stumbled from our warm beds, eyes still puffy with sleep, to get ready for our big day. Dad and I piled into his truck, with Mom to follow in the car. It was the only way to get everything safely to the Market Square.

I worked with a vendor on the Market Square for 3 summers, braving full day sun and steamy temperatures. We used to soak our feet in buckets of cold water and snack on slushies to try to stay cool. I suffered heat stroke at least once every year.

There were no steamy temperatures this time, though the sun was shining. It didn’t take long to set up my stuff and we settled in for a long day.

It’s hard to put yourself out there. You don’t know what would appeal to someone, and you’ve put your creativity on display. Pricing items is the biggest challenge. You don’t want to undervalue what you’ve made, but there are also expenses to be met. Inevitably, you will be judged for what you’re asking, and some people don’t mind telling you with snorts of derision before they walk away.

All day we were surrounded by the sound of popping balloons and consequently, unhappy children, as well as the intoxicating smell of churros.

The churros were delicious…and popular!

Besides dancing to avoid the persistent hornets, we watched people. Amongst the senior couples and tired parents with gaggles of small children, one dog mamma stood out, probably because she had 3 chihuahuas in a covered stroller and one strapped to her chest in a baby carrier. They were all perfectly happy. There was also a woman in a bright, matching floral outfit, which was truly a wonder to behold. And then there were the witches…

They were a friendly group of gals also enjoying the sights and sounds of the Scarecrow Festival. One even invited Mom and I to join their coven. Actually, they perform and are open to new “sisters”.

It’s the thought that counts.

I had one lady looking for adult bibs and another looking for a tea cozy. Sorry ladies.

Through the afternoon, the wind picked up. Auntie M was visiting when a wind gust flipped a row of totes into a pile and crashed my easel of mini totes. No harm was done. Shortly after we restored order, Mom arrived with lunch for me. Except she left the house without my sandwich …but remembered tea, which was the more important thing any way. She kindly dashed down the street and returned with a pumpkin danish!

So. Much. Butter. Sooo good!

Dad arrived later with my tomato sandwich. I ate it too! Sitting works up an appetite!

As the final hour ticked by, all 3 of us had aching feet and were ready for nap. With only 2 chairs, Mom and Dad improvised…

I sold one wristlet, one mini tote, and one set of 2 bowl cozies. Two out of three of those items are Christmas gifts! Everything else is heading home with me again. I’m going to need bigger closets.

Be brave enough to suck at something new.

Unknown

Dear Diary – I seriously thought he had forgotten, and it wouldn’t be the first time.

It would be raining by the time Youngest Son headed home from school, and since I had to pick up a prescription at the drug store right across from the school, I offered to drive him home. But he had to meet me at the drug store!

I made sure I wasn’t late and I parked right by the door so he’d see the car if I was still inside. It was almost 15 minutes after period 3 let out by the time I got my prescription. It’s a 5 minutes walk for Youngest Son so I thought he’d be waiting outside.

He was not.

I rolled my eyes and drove home using his route, but I didn’t see him. I sighed and hobbled into the house yelling. I was met with silence. So I left a note on the door – “Call me. I can’t find you!! Mom”. Then, mumbling under my breath, I drove to the drug store near the house because it wouldn’t surprise me that he got “confused” and went to the wrong place. I wandered through the store, but no kid.

It wasn’t until I got back in the car that I realized…I was an hour too early.

I went home and sipped tea until it was time to head to the drug store…again. It was just starting to rain.

He didn’t show.

After 15 minutes, I drove home along his route, and found him more than halfway home.

He didn’t forget.

He was heading to the drug store near the house.

He seemed very confused as to the location of the drug store near the school…you know, the one we go to all the time! So I drove to the drug store a third time. He “remembered” it by the time we got there.

Maybe next time, he can walk in the rain.

Dear Diary – I started taking that medication I picked up on Monday. Last time I was terribly I’ll but we weren’t sure if it was the medication or something else.

By the next day, I felt like a wind-up doll winding down and I couldn’t get warm. By Tuesday evening, I was a shivering, aching, head-splitting, heart-pounding, sweating mass of misery. It was the death flu all over again!

I called my rheumatologist Wednesday morning and his assistant assured me it wasn’t the medication.

The internet said it could be!

The Dr. agreed I should stop, and ridiculously slowly I am starting to recover from the “Death Flu”. I saw my ankle bone for the first time this year but I’m not sure it was worth the agony. Nap time!

Dear nap…I’m sorry I was such a jerk to you when I was a kid.

Unknown

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 38

Tags

baking, covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, food, humour, sewing, stupid people

Dear Diary – The People of Wal-Mart never fail to disappoint.

Last week, my friend and I witnessed a woman on her cell phone driving the in-store motorized cart off the premises. It was the slowest moving getaway.

Later as I waited in the car for my friend, I noticed an average looking guy with a wad of cash in his hand approaching people asking for money. He said he was homeless and needed to get a hotel room. Well, he made the mistake of approaching a well-dressed lady getting into a white SUV. She told him to “take a hike” and got in her car. So…the guy pushed her shopping cart behind her SUV and walked away.

When she stopped playing with her phone and started to back out, using a rear camera I’m guessing, she spotted the cart. She got out and like a true drunken sailor, screamed assaults at that man. I mean, she made a hardened biker look like a saint! She was hopping mad!

When she finished her tirade, she jerked the cart into the spot next to her, backed out and on her way by the man, she unleashed another tirade from the driver’s window.

As she was launching into her second tirade, not completely unjustified I might add as her vehicle could have been damaged by the cart parked behind it, I noticed that she had just vacated the parking spot reserved for parents of small children. AND, she left her grocery cart parked in the handicapped space.

When we finally left Walmart, a store employee was streaking across the parking lot, presumably to find the stolen motorized cart…

These are the People of Walmart, where we save money, shop smart…only at Wal-Mart!

People of Walmart (hilarious music video)

Dear Diary – This week has been Eat, Sleep and Sew, in preparation for a craft sale on Saturday. I’m really nervous about it and very thankful to have my parents to help with setting up and keeping me company. It’s not like I can abandon my “booth” every time I need to pee, and since set up starts at 8 a.m., you know I’ll need to caffeinate!

But I also worried about being around people. Sure, that covid thing, but it’s also that I’m an introvert and I don’t really like people. For the most part, lockdown was great for me! I was happy playing indoors by myself. If I saw the mailman once a week through the window, well that was enough social interaction. Of course, I was also blessed with my guys so I wasn’t ever truly alone. With the return to school and work, I am alone but so far, have found ways to keep myself busy. Now I’m going to have to spend 7 hours being pleasant to strangers… in the hopes that they buy my crap merchandise. I had such high hopes for my Etsy store because I prefer to play a fun and outgoing person in a virtual world!

Plus I need the cash for my fabric addiction.

But, since I store my wares in a box in the closet and not virtually, I gotta find some way to peddle sell my merch. Wish me luck!

Dear Diary – We broke into the second 12th of my 4.5 kg Toblerone bar last weekend. On Day 6…

…Hubby added it to his coffee. He said it was good, but the unmelted nuts at the bottom were alittle strange.

On Day 7…

Recipe

Oatmeal pancakes with Toblerone and a little maple syrup. It was really good and the silky milk chocolate of the Toblerone bar melted into a decadent pool while the sweet caramel nougat and crispy nuts added texture and richness.

Life is uncertain…eat dessert first.

Ernestine Ulmer

Dear Diary – Dad shared some of his sourdough started and I made my first batch of Cinnamon Raisin Sourdough Muffins using his recipe. Except that in true fashion, I screwed it up! I’ve had more than my fair share of baking disasters, and this was one of those times that I had to let intuition try to save the day.

This time it did!

I fed part of my starter the night before and left it in the lit oven overnight. It bubbled up magically. I followed the recipe perfectly until I realized I wasn’t supposed to dump the entire bowl of starter into my mix. Now I had at least 1 cup too much liquid…and nothing to return to my starter.

I added more flour and whispered a prayer.

The muffins were so moist they stuck to the paper, but they tasted pretty good.

I hesitated getting some starter because once you start, you can’t stop. Every other week you have to feed it and bake it or it dies. Now I’m stuck in a ruthless cycle and Hubby has informed me…he didn’t really like the muffins.

The bread it bakes is succulent and firm…it’s tang for days.

Charles Boyle, Brooklyn 99

Speaking of baking, gamemakers Ravensberger has come out with the official Great British Baking Show card game. It’s being marketed as a “fast-paced, family-friendly game” for 2-4 players, 10+ years old. It’s a race to be Star Baker! What will they come up with next?

On your mark, get set….BAKE!

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 37

Tags

back to school, chocolate, cooking, covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, first day of school, food, humour, school, shopping, Toblerone

Dear Diary –
What I said: I passed a dead possum on the side of the road today.
What Youngest Son said: Did it hurt?
If you don’t get it, think bathroom jokes….

This is what I live with…

Dear Diary – The first day of school passed more like a whimper than a bang, which I suppose is a good thing. This was the year that Youngest Son was going to be responsible to get himself up and to school, on time, by himself. It’s looong overdue.

But I’m a sucker.

And it’s a looong walk.

Especially in the rain.

So, while I’ve bit my tongue and paced internally instead of hollering to get a move on, I’ve still provided transportation in the mornings.

Even today when he was running late and my blood pressure was high.

Baby steps!

Less than impressed, Youngest Son’s schedule slots lunchtime at 10:10, which means by the time he walks home, he’s ready to eat the whole box of cheerios and it’s cousin, corn pops. Which also means that he’s not really eating dinner. One night he ate his veggies but not his meat. The next night he ate his meat but not his veggies. I suppose I should be happy because at least he’s getting a balanced diet.

I shudder to think what’s coming next. With co-op in periods 4 & 5, he’ll have 10 minutes to get to his work placement, wherever that may be. I’m hoping it’s online and he can steal into a corner in the library. Then I’ll only have to make one trip to the school per day…or eventually stick to the plan and not drive him at all.

Baby steps!

Dear Diary – I’m not sure why, but someone left a message on the wipe board on the fridge where I keep my grocery list. I’m not sure if it was intended for me…. “You’re not useless. You can still be used as a bad example”.

Another example of what I live with…

Dear Diary – With Youngest Son poised to leave for Uni next year, I think it’s important that Hubby and I start keep working on our relationship, so I suggested we start dating. We never really “dated” because we were poor students, and the first year of our relationship was long distance. We got to know each other slowly with in-person visits every 6 weeks or so, and snail mail. We labeled our return addresses with a nickname and the name of where we lived…I was Neurotic and he was Twit.

I probably started that.

Since Hubby is on vacation this week and even he can stand only so much t.v., he wanted to do something together. And since I have a Honey-Do list longer than both my arms, I suggested something we could do outside of our home: couch shopping!

Apparently couch shopping was more appealing than yet another episode of Forged in Fire or Engineering Dimensions. Or the rest of the Honey-Do list. Or perhaps, he’s sick of the ongoing conversation realized this is important to me.

We bought our current burlap sack couch when we bought our home 21 years ago. Neither of us liked it particularly, but we thought it would wear well…and mostly we could afford it. It was delivered the day we mvoed in. But I’m beyond ready for a change and I desperately want something comfortable where I can sit with my legs up! My ankle is perpetually swollen and the edge of the coffee table digs into the backs of my legs. We might even splurge on another chair or two so that when both kids are home, we’re not lined up, 4 on a couch, elbowing each other as we have a t.v. dinner. Especially when one of them is left-handed!

Shockingly, Hubby and I shared a lot of common likes and dislikes amongst the massive options. Neither of us wanted leather, corduroy, or royal blue velvet. We found a couple of options to sleep on and we can do it without declaring bankruptcy. It’s close though.

We celebrated with lunch at Cora’s and yes, I gave him credit for this to be a date. I even let him play his game on his phone (but only because I knew he’d probably need my help)! 🙂

Dear Diary – It’s been a few years since I made fresh pasta. I don’t know why I didn’t during covid, but that may have been because I was hoarding flour to bake brownies bread and later on, I stopped caring. Whatever the reason, Hubby asked and I like making him happy. I made the pasta; he made the sauce. It was a match made in Heaven. The sauce and the pasta. Us? There have been days…

Dear Diary – I’m not kidding. I won a 4.5kg Toblerone bar at the church’s Sunday Funday event!

As I filled out the form and stuffed my ticket in my pocket, I told Hubby I wasn’t worried because I never win anything. Later, someone asked me if I’d share it with Hubby if I won. I hestitated. I said “yes” of course, but scoffed internally because I wouldn’t win it. And I was ok with that.

On Day 1, I asked for suggestions on just what to do with a 4.5 kg chocolate bar. Only Hubby was truly helpful; He sent me a link to 10 recipes. The one that caught my eye was sour dough brioche babka with toblerone and caramelized white chocolate. My Dad just shared some of his sour dough starter. 

I smell a disaster in the making!

On Day 2, we started to confer on the best way of breaking into it.

Throwing Ax #1 or Throwing Ax #2

Holding 2 throwing axes, and knowing how good my aim actually is (I’ve won 2 of the 2 tournaments I’ve played in…and having only tried axe throwing twice, I think my aim is pretty good!), Hubby suggested the meat cleaver.

Like I couldn’t throw that if I wanted…

So on Day 3 –

Aim and GO!

Don’t worry, there is a cutting board under that. It required some muscle but I wasn’t going to let anything keep me from sweet success!

We devoured 1/12th in less than 24 hours. In fact, Youngest Son became the “parent” and took the container away from me…having failed the first when he just moved it out of reach.

Nice try, buddy. I’m very adaptable and I can use my feet to shift the box closer.

I’m not sure what the next step will be, but I’ll keep you posted!

To victory: it looks unfamiliar but it tastes like chicken.

Jeff Winger, Community

365 Days of Toblerone?

Tags

challenge, food, humour, Toblerone

So…I rarely win raffles. I never buy lottery tickets. I most certainly didn’t expect to win this at our church’s Sunday Funday event yesterday!

What kind of tea goes with this?

It feels like a challenge! Send me your suggestions, recipes, etc. for 365 days of Toblerone! ( or until it’s gone)!

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 36

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, family history, first day of school, food, humour, memories, nature

Dear Diary – I did my back to school shopping…

Dear Diary – While it was super awesome and super entertaining watching Eldest Son fell a tree, there was one problem: how to deal with a felled tree.

On Saturday, Dad loaded up the truck with the first pile of brush for a run to the woods. The “woods” is a small patch of scrubby woodlands near what was the family farm. As we bumped along in silence, passing familiar farms and villages. There were more houses than I remembered, but for the most part, all remained the same.

We passed the house where my grandmother grew up with an older couple who “adopted” her. She went to live with them following the difficult birth of another sister and her family’s move to the city. She found her own household too chaotic, and she was happier growing up in the quiet household. She quit high school and worked in a store so she could care for this couple in their golden years, before she married grandpa and moved into her in-law’s home…where she cared for them in their golden years too.

We also passed the large, old cemetery my Dad would drive by slowly because I would hold my breath going past it.

I don’t know why I wanted to go with my Dad. Sure, it was to keep him company, but there’s also something special about this patch of land, like something calling me back to it. It’s a connection to the past and I feel a kinship with the families who came before me.

My great-great-great grandfather, Patrick, arrived in Canada from Ireland in 1837 with his wife and 8 children. They cleared and settled their crown plot by 1840. In 1843, his lawyer began petitioning the government for the title that was promised. The land passed from Patrick to Edward, who died in 1917. When he died, his wife walked across several fields to these same woods at the south end of the farm. She dug up and planted a small tree on his grave. I can remember looking for this evergreen tree in the cemetery (holding my breath), which could be seen from the road on the way to the farm. It came down in 2005. The farm then passed from Edward to John, and from John to my grandfather, Roy. The farm was sold in the early 1980’s, but we still own the woods.

These woods were used in WWII to train the Royal Canadian Electrical & Mechancal Engineering units in camoflauge and equipment recovery and repair. The pigs at the farm soon learned that big trucks might mean delicious scraps, and they would run to the fence every time they heard a truck. Once, my grandmother was taken on a tour of the camp and an young officer went ahead to remind the lads to watch there language and behaviour because there was “a lady in the camp”.

The roadways used by the trainees are nearly indiscernable around the trees, but Dad had no difficulty wending his way through the gap in the wooden rail fence and into a clearing not far from the road. We spotted this puffball mushroom on the way.

Dad measured it on his next trip and said it was about 14″ across.

The only sounds were crickets and the occasional lazy bumblebee. I saw dragons flies and ants, but no other creatures. I know that there are deer and bears, and smaller critters around. We were surrounded by cedar and pine, prickly ash, sumac, juniper, and plenty of moss-covered rocks.

Can you find the road?

On the way home, we took a different route, one that led down dusty roads and over hills. When I was a kid, my Dad knew just how to hit those hills so that my stomach would roll and I’d laugh out loud. It was better than any scary roller coaster!

We stopped in the last village at a bakery in an old limestone building. The windows are low with deep sills to display the store’s wares, and the door is bright yellow…with an old, sticky lock.

We bought 3 kinds of bars to share: maple walnut, peanut butter-chocolate, and nanaimo! We earned them (or rather, Dad did)! A yummy way to end a busy day!

Life is uncertain….eat dessert first!

Unknown

Dear Diary – It felt like Fall had arrived by the flick of a switch. On Saturday afternoon, Mom and I enjoyed a lovely, warm swim in the pool. On Sunday morning, I was reaching for a sweater and regretting not packing more than sundresses.

Monday was our last day together, a bonus day since school was starting later than expected and I remained at my folks with Youngest Son longer. Determined that Youngest Son was NOT going to spend it sleeping all day, as has been his routine for the month of August, I insisted he get up and go out with us for lunch. He was cranky, but he came.

Being a holiday Monday and a small town, our dining options were limited. It’s been years since I dined in MacDonald’s. Growing up, it was the only fast food restaurant in town, and one we usually frequented on Sundays after church. If Dad was working, we’d take it to the Fire Hall. We eat in front of an old black and white t.v. and play tag on the trucks.

After lunch we played board games until Mom needed a nap. I think Youngest Son did too.

We arrived home on Tuesday and I have been unpacking bags and boxes ever since. It’s amazing how much stuff accumulates over the summer, and how well I can pack it in my tiny car!

I’m always sad to see the end of summer. I like the sense of freedom from obligations and deadlines that it brings. I know if I didn’t have routines that I would literally waste precious time, but it’s delicious simply to know that I had the space to do so. Every season has its place and like it or not, the next one is beginning. It’s time for activities to start, jean buttons to strain, and pumpkin-spiced crap to appear in every coffee shop across the land!

The morning had dawned clear and cold, with a crispness that hinted at the end of summer.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Dear Diary – I didn’t sleep well last night: ‘Twas the Night Before…

This morning, though the sun shone brightly outside, inside the mood was somber. I did my best to stay out of Youngest Son’s way as he finished making his lunch and gathered his belongings. It’s the first day of Grade 12, a year whose outcome will determine the next step in his life journey. And having attended virtual school for part of Grade 9 and all of Grades 10 & 11, thanks to covid, it feels like the beginning of Grade 9. Again.

Also, he had to get dressed!!

He wore his new jeans today, the ones I bought and exchanged for a smaller size. Though a 27″ waist, he still needs a belt. (Once again I’m reminded mine used to be 24″ and I start singing The Way We Were).

I dropped him off at the corner. I figured the day was tough enough without the long early morning walk. That walk will have to become part of his routine in preparation for Uni next year. Mama’s not living in his dorm (actually only in spirit).

Thus begins a new chapter in his life, and in mine. I was just beginning to settle into a routine at home, having quit my job, when covid shutdowns hit. Now, after 2 years I suddenly find myself in the same place I started the pandemic: home, alone, and wondering just what it is I’m supposed to be doing with my life.

So I’m doing just what I did then…starting a routine. I had breakfast. I had my quiet time with the Lord. And now I’ve said hello to you, dear diary. Time for me to begin my next chapter. Lord, have mercy!

Beginning
Just let that word wash over you
It’s alright now
Love’s healing hands have pulled you through
So get back up, take step one
Leave the darkness, feel the sun
Cause your story’s far from over
And your journey’s just begun

Danny Gokey, Tell Your Heart to Breathe Again

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 35

Tags

aging, covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, humour, midlife crisis, shopping

Dear Diary – The house felt completely empty after Eldest Son left last Thursday. We had one final quiet swim before he left and Mama Cardinal in her nest, though watching us warily, was content. We also gave her space. I puttered with sewing. Even though haven’t made any more sales, it makes me happy…and I got Christmas presents covered for the next 10 years!

Eldest son enjoyed camping trip, even if the mat he borrowed from his grandparents turned out to be the one with the hole!

Youngest Son and I continue to silently count down the final days, making every effort not to think about all the changes coming once the “s-word” starts.

I had already had my first back-to-sch*%l nightmare. We didn’t know where we were going, we were running late, and then, I didn’t know if Youngest Son had even arrived. I woke up soaked in my own sweat, my heart pounding! My own education overlapped with Eldest Son’s, and then his overlapped with Youngest Son’s, so bear in mind that between me and my sons, I have had more “First days of…” than most parents! With only a few more years to go, we think, I’ll be ready for retirement, though I suspect my stomach will still be in knots in the early days of September.

Dear Diary – On Monday Mom and I had a coffee date. We met a friend of hers, for many years, after not seeing each other for many more years. We tucked up in the back corner and alked fast and furiously. This special lady had supported and prayed for me and my family for many years, and once upon a time, her daughter and I had joked ceaslessly about how clueless boys were, mostly to cover up our teenaged insecurities. That daughter now lives on the other side of the world. I bet the boys are clueless there too! Time slipped away too quickly and she had to run, but it was so good to catch up. It’s certainly an advantage when you visit for more than a couple of days…there’s time for fun things like this!

Dear Diary – This morning our house was buzzed by the paparazzi! I don’t know how they knew I was here, unless you’ve been sharing secrets. Just before noon, we heard the thumping of a big helicopter. Mom and Dad live next to a pipeline station, so it’s not unusal to hear a helicopter or two in a week as it surveys the line from the sky. But this yellow fellow wasn’t so mellow – he was circling the house! I went out with my cell phone to snap some pics. He was close enough, the pilot waved at me. After a few more passes in a large circle, he flew off.

I wonder if he was snapping my pic too?

“Hey Buddy…check out this crazy old lady taking my picture…”

Dear Diary – It’s a simple pattern, they said. Suitable for beginners. A one hour project.

They lied.

It took me nearly 7 hours to complete 4 bowl warmers…including the cutting, sewing, ripping apart, crying, pinning and sewing, ripping apart, throwing things, pinning and sewing, ripping apart, aggravated primal growl, ripping apart, and sewing again.

They are practical and cute…

…but I’d be crazy to try again.

Maybe next week….

Dear Diary – I had to do the inevitable. Back to Sch&%l shopping. Otherwise, Youngest Son would be heading out in highwater pants. He has grown so much, and since he’s been living in his pajamas for the last 2 years, there was no urgency to update his wardrobe. I actually managed to find jeans with a 28″ waist. And they are still too big. I’ll have to see if I can exchange them.

I remember when I had a 24″ waist.

Mem’ries, light the corners of my mind
Misty water-colored memories of the way we were

Marvin Hamlisch, Alan Bergman, Marilyn Bergman, The Way We Were

I also remember when I could wear heels without the very thought of them making my body ache from the waist down. It was only a year ago that I donned my $1100 shoes (which I bought at a yard sale for $10 with the original price tag still on). I wore them for our 25th wedding anniversary, which we celebrated, not in Rome as planned, but in our backyard with goofy photos. And then I wore them to pick up our take-out Italian food. It was the closest we could get to Rome.

I couldn’t walk the streets of Rome this year, not because of covid but a literal inability to walk much farther than around the block. So instead of caressing shiny satin stilettos, I’m in search of “comfortable shoes”. It’s code for stable, ugly, old lady shoes…and every part of my being objects.

It reminds me of shopping for bras when I was a teenager. I wanted the pretty lacy ones…but needed the sturdy body armour of my elders.

I still do.

It’s why I bought that bra online several months ago. The one I break into a sweat trying to put on. The one I need to start doing a daily upper body workout so I can actually use it. It’s like trying to squeeze toothpaste back into the tube, but instead things are oozing everywhere. I’ve tried, worrying that the sounds being squeezed from my mouth will arouse the interest of the inhabitants in my house, and they will come wandering up to see where the livestock in the bedroom. If they ever did walk in on me, they would be forever scarred. It’s not pretty. It doesn’t feel good. It’s impossible.

So is finding “comfortable” shoes. I figure I have at least another month in sandals before I have to cover my tender tootsies. My sneakers will last another year. And I haven’t given up hope yet.

But it’s getting thin…

They’ve starting designing pretty bras for pretty plump princesses, so hopefully shoes will be next?

Give a girl the right shoes and she can conquer the world!

Marilyn Monroe

Dear Diary – We caught up with Auntie M last night after her recent big trip. She survived all the walking, including the one to get to her hotel. After a long train ride and since there were no taxis, she decided to walk to her hotel. It was only 5 blocks away. But it turned out that though the blocks were not particularly lengthy, they were uphill. The engineers who built them were kind enough to add stairs in places. She was very hot and tired after her uphill battle, with the summer sun beating down, when she arrived at her hotel. Imagine her delight when she entered the premises only to be met with a towering set of stairs and no elevator in sight.

My old nemesis…
Stairs!!

Po, Kung-Fu Panda

We remarked that at least her departure would be swift. Just set her suitcase on the edge and give it a good boot. She agreed, but unless it was raining or she was too sore to make the trek back to the station, she would be walking, not taking a taxi there. She’d need her suitcase wheels to work. Mom piped up, “ no you don’t…just ride your case down the hill”.

This is one of those times when I wish could draw a cartoon…Auntie M with arms and legs akimbo sitting on her case, mouth wide screaming and hair flying, as her suitcase rolls haphazardly over the crest of the stairs on the sidewalk. The big question is…suppose she made it to the bottom, how does she stop?

Dear Diary – Sometimes when it rains, God paints the sky with colour.

Last night was going to be our last meal together, so we went out with Auntie M. The day had been a mixture of blue skies and sun one minute, and dark clouds with heavy rain the next. I spent a portion of the day packing our belongings. I even took Youngest Son for his back to sch*%l haircut. But then Hubby texted that sch*@l’s start was a day later than tradition, and then Grade 9 only on the first, so Youngest Son wouldn’t be starting as early and we could stay longer if we wanted.

We wanted.

Rainbows were a sign of a promise and I felt like this one was for me. I may not ever walk the streets of Rome, or if I do, it might be in old lady shoes. My body will wrinkle and sag. My children will go off to make their own way. My business may fail. My hair will gray. Promise is a big word. It either makes something or it breaks everything. But I serve a big God. Whatever happens this year or next, I am not alone. It will be ok.

Hello September. Thank you for the reminder that change can be beautiful.

Unknown

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 34

Tags

family, food, holiday, humour, summer, sunsets

Dear Diary-This week I watched a short (& hilarious) YouTube video on hummingbirds. The most ridiculous thing was their mating ritual. Males will fly high over the female and perform a series of courtship dives. But as they swoop over the female, special feathers on their tail flutter, creating a unique sound that sounds like…a fart! Romantic “butt” farts? Apparently! But before any guys reading this cheer in celebration, let me be clear on behalf of your mates. It’s only romantic to hummingbirds. We may turn it into a joke or laugh (because when it comes to bathroom jokes and body noises, we are all still 11 inside), but in no way does it make it “randy baby”.

Dear Diary – I was looking forward to it, but once again, my angry ankle made me doubt my ability to withstand the walking tour…in 30C heat. So Eldest Son and my father went to see the WWII former bombing and gunnery school without out me. This base trained approximately 131,553 aircrew, including pilots, wireless operators, air gunners, and navigators for the Air Forces of Great Britain, Australia, New Zealand and Canada. It was decommissioned in 1969 and essentially abandoned for years. But it’s in the process of being restored, it’s stories being shared, and I think it’s a piece of history worth saving. Dad works part-time at a flying club, whose hangar and buildings was also used to train during the wars. It’s so cool to wander inside where evidence still exists of an era gone by, and see photos of this once bustling destination.

I told them they had to take photos…I really liked these ones of the barracks.

While the boys were out (and Youngest was still sleeping, his favourite activity these days), Mom and I went shopping. We bought important things, like butter tarts and a bathing suit for Eldest Son.

Though the label said the suit was large, it was a youth’s large. He couldn’t get it past his knees.

After the butter tarts, we all needed a large.

Dear Diary – A Pluviophile is a lover of rain, one who finds joy and peace of mind during rainy days. And there are days when I certainly enjoy being “stuck inside” or sitting on my back porch listening to it.

Not so much when you’re on vacation, and Eldest Son was with us for only a few days. Eldest Son, Youngest Son and I descended on my folks last week. We brought food, games, and our childlike wonder (or childish antics – read that how you will). As a Mama, I’m happiest when I have my kids with me.

We’ve played Ticket to Ride, Slay, and Carcassone, and we’re all still talking to each other.

There have been a few trips to dollerama. We read our books, snoozed, snacked, and started the new series, House of Dragons. One night we sat by the fire table until the mosquitoes found us.

Youngest mostly slept. I think he’s trying to ignore the start of school, which he will have to attend in person if he is to get the credits he needs to apply for university next Spring.

One afternoon, it had rained so hard that the planter box I gave Mom for her birthday was overflowing! It was wet outside! It was wet inside too. Eldest Son brought his camp stove in to clean it at the kitchen sink. He didn’t realize that after several hours, it wasn’t fully drained and poured water all over on floor. Mom just laughed…she had cleaned the floor the day before. Eldest Son used the mop to dry feet, so he could rescue his burning eggs.

He’s inherited my “bad luck”.

The boys entertained us as we listened to them making dinner: spaghetti!

Eldest Son started making waffles too…somehow I ended up cooking them…

We also celebrated Mom’s belated birthday (with Auntie M before she went on her own big holiday) with my homemade lemon chiffon cake:

Would Paul Hollywood approve? Who cares! It was delicious!

Even the hummingbird got sick of the rain. We sneaked out between thundering rain (and sometimes thunder) for a swim one afternoon, much to the distress of a female cardinal. We thought she was searching for her missing teen. Eldest Son discovered later that she actually had a nest in the wild rose bush right beside the pool, and we were disturbing her.

She had no idea just how disturbed she’d be the next day.

It was sunny on our final full day together and we had big plans…or rather, the guys had big plans…to topple a tree. My job was simply to record it. And maybe pick up sticks.

This rotten pine tree has been a favourite of the neighbourhood flocks, particularly the woodpecker! The trunk was studded with more holes than brown pine needles, and it desperately needed to come down before it came down on it’s own volition. Eldest Son had to remove every branch with his handsaw before tying a rope to the top. Once expertly notched at the base, Dad gently pulled the tree. It slowly leaned, crackling and snapping, and pausing halfway down for dramatic effect, before the final anti-climatic thud.

Traditionally, we have celebrated the end of summer with a DQ Blizzard, so we surprised my parents with them in the afternoon.

Before dinner, the boys and I tackled Eldest Son’s car. Youngest Son couldn’t help commenting on the amount of hair (and fries) in the car. I reminded him that when you look like Chewbacca, there’s bound to be a lot of hair. While he stood on his head to retrieve food wrappers and coffee cups under the seats, I emptied and washed the console. Did you know that coffee + heat+ sawdust creates a thin”coffee” gelee disk? Yummy! I washed the gummy change too.

By evening, we were hot and tired. Eldest Son and I hopped in the pool and washed the sky fade from pink to mauve. All the birds ceased their evening chatter, except Mama cardinal who was highly offended by our presence, and simply enjoyed this moment of peace.

But the party is over! While Youngest Son and I will stay on, Eldest Son is packed and heading home. He has 5 loads of clean laundry, a clean cook stove, a clean car, and a clean body (we cleaned the pool cover this morning. It no longer smells!). We’ll miss him, of course, but will focus instead on being thankful that we have one another.

Here’s to the twilight, here’s to the memories
These are my souvenirs, my mental pictures of everything
Here’s to the late nights, here’s to the firelight
These are my souvenirs

Switchfoot, Souvenirs

Tea With a Twist

Tags

family, food, holiday, humour, iced tea, summer, tea, tea addict, tea lover, tea time

Last Summer, Eldest Son and I sampled a couple types of hard iced teas during our week-long vacay at my folks, for research purposes. Hey – I can’t write about it if I haven’t tried it! Obviously a “hardened” tea isn’t for everyone, and lots of people have their reasons for abstaining. It’s certainly not something I imbibe on a regular basis, but it warranted a taste nonetheless.

We started with the most popular: Twisted Tea.

Twisted tea is a non-carbonated hard iced malt tea beverage made with black tea. It also contains sugar cane or honey, real lemon, ice and alcohol: beer and vodka. After it’s Original debut, the company came out with a number of other flavours: peach, blackberry, blueberry and mango. They also make a light version which has lower alcohol content, and half and half, which is half twisted tea and half lemonade.

In addition to the addition of alcohol, there’s another twist. Hard iced tea was first manufactured by mega-brand The Boston Beer Company in 2001…in Cinncinati, Ohio. It’s imported to Canada. It is 5% alcohol and 30mg of caffeine, so it provides a bit of a kick. I also found it quite sweet.

Don’t worry – I shared the can with Eldest Son and no Upwords tiles were harmed in the making of this blog post (but apparently I spelled “I Dig Tea” wrong)!

Hey Y’All is a “southern style” hard iced tea, brewed with selected black tea and lightly sweetened with pure cane sugar. It’s manufactured by the Hey Y’All Southern Tea Company in Vancouver, British Columbia, so it’s only available in Canada…and Bermuda! Vodka is the alcohol of choice! Other flavours include: raspberry, mango, Kentucky blueberry, Florida citrus, Georgia Peach, Mai Tai, Half and Half, and Southern Style.

They claim it has an “authentic old-fashioned ice tea flavour without the heavy sweetness. Well balanced and flavourful with a smooth finish”. I couldn’t have said it better myself.

Between the two, I actually preferred Hey Y’All because it had a stronger tea flavour and wasn’t as sweet.

Both companies recommend not keeping it in the fridge because temperature can affect the taste of tea over time. Rather, store it in a cool, dark place and serve it in a glass with fresh, crisp ice cubes.

They didn’t say anything about serving it this way! Stay cool and have a Happy Monday!!

Mama said there’ll be days like this,
There’ll be days like this mama said.

The Shirelles, Mama Said

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 33

Tags

dear diary, family, garden, humour

Dear Diary – It’s not weed. It’s basil.

If I wanted weed, I’d just steal it from the guy next door. He probably wouldn’t notice on account of how often he’s out smoking on the back porch.

It’s not always pot. I can smell the difference.

But he does seem to make an appearance every time I step out my back door for more than 30 seconds. Every.Time.

Reminds me of Pavlov’s dog.

My basil is on steroids again this year, or so it seems. Maybe because, like all my plants, it’s learned to survive unattended. This is the third harvest. Half of this one and all of the second (having been dried in the oven) went to Hubby’s co-workers. I bagged in clear plastic baggies and sent Hubby to work with them.

I guess that kind of makes him my mule.

He said the office smelled good.

I personally like the pervasive smell of my herbs. My nose, however, does not. Both Youngest Son and I turn into Sneezy (he also becomes grumpy), and when we take allergy medication, we turn into Dopey.

But it’s not dope. It’s basil!

Dear Diary – I will never EVER purchase prepaid VISA cards! I paid a friend’s bill with my credit card (because she doesn’t have one and needed one on record) and she repaid me with these gift cards.

I had NO idea that you have to use the exact or less than amount on it, or it will be declined.

I managed to sweet talk the clerk at Home Depot to put the exact amount left on the first card on the debit machine and I got rid of it. One card to go!

Only…I didn’t get quite the right thing at Home Depot and when I returned it, the money went back on the card. Fortunately I hadn’t tossed it yet! So now I’m stuck with a gift card with $11.76 on it. Tim’s anyone??

Dea Diary – I have a great Dad. He made sure I’m prepared for the first week of September! Youngest Son is starting Grade 12! I don’t think he’s been out of bed before 3 p.m. yet this month.

Daddy dear also voluntarily took on a “design and build” project for me: a rack to display my Nanas’ rolling pins (plus my new textured one. I have yet to successfully bake cookies with it), for a small space.

He left the finishing touches for me (which could have been a huge mistake) but I managed to varnish it without drips. It only took 12 hours to do it “right”.

I think it looks fantastic. Love you Dad, more than you’ll ever know!

(And not just because you can build cool stuff for me)!

Dear Diary – This weekend, we recorded and watched some old movies. We also caught a short video from the “hosts” of The Classic Movie channel, who addressed the challenges of showing old movies. Many movies show abusive relationships, sexism, racism, and other attitudes that just aren’t acceptable any more. Nor should they be! But I did agree with their statement that history cannot, nor should it be, simply erased. We need to be reminded of the past and the actions and attitudes of people to help us fight against the actions and attitudes of people today. We need to mourn the wrongs and celebrate those who stood up in the face of opposition to work toward righting those wrongs. To erase the past minimizes the victims and heroes of a by-gone age.

Agreed, some should never see the light of day again. But some of these movies are classics, not because of the acting or the sets, but because they tackled things head-on. For example, 12 Angry Men addressed biases that interfered with justice. A Street Car Named Desire addressed domestic violence and mental illness. Look Who’s Coming to Dinner discussed racial attitudes toward mixed marriages and challenged those states for which such unions were illegal.

Modern movies and actors are also addressing and challenging past and present beliefs, but honestly I often find the political agendas a bit heavy-handed, and the motivation for popularity, stifling.

I still love old black and white movies.

Sometimes I find movies patronizing, which is the ultimate crime.
Dito Montiel

We also watched Clockwork Orange this weekend, which is supposed to be a classic. I’m not sure I’d call it that, unless I were a horny, teenager. The storyline was ok, but I was not a fan of the erotic art or granny in her red pleather hooker boots and mini skirt. If I ever dress like that…lock me up! 😉

Dear Diary – I hate patronizing men!

Yesterday I went to the gas station in anticipation of an upcoming holiday at my folks with both of my boys! But as I inserted my card and pushed the buttons, a big red STOP sign appeared on the screen, telling me I had to speak to an attendant. Then it would revert to the start menu again. After a few attempts, grumbling, I backed my car to the pump behind me.

But it happened again.

Each time, I’d get to a different point, but I didn’t get gas.

Really grumbling, I drove around the island to yet another pump. And received the same treatment.

So I grabbed my wallet and thundered into the store.

I calmly (too calmly) explained what was happening to the gentleman inside and demanded an explanation.

“oh, Ma’am”, he says smiling, “you’re doing it wrong. There’s nothing wrong with the pumps”. He nodded with a smirk at the guys standing behind me. “Tell me again what you did, step by step”.

So I did. Even though I’ve been pumping gas for over 30 years!

“I don’t know,” he said, “you’ve done it wrong. Let me finish with these gentlemen”, nodding and smirking at them again. “I’ll go with you and show you how,” he said patronizingly, lips curled knowingly.

I let him have it!

Then I went to the gas station down the road.

It took me longer to drive there than it did to get gas.

It took me longer to drive there than it did to get gas.

If I didn’t have to make a U-turn and go out of my way, I would have let him have it again! In person.

I SO let him have it while I drove to my next stop.

Well-behaved somen seldom make history.

Laura Thatcher Ulrich

Dear Diary –

I wanna fly away on a unicorn / To a land of freedom and light.

Gloryhammer, Fly Away

Instead, I’ll visit my parents. And the last time I visited my parents, this creative bomb happened.

Hold your hat folks, I’m coming again! Lord willing, tomorrow!

Parenthood is a life-long journey, except it’s just travelling from room to room putting away
the same toys all day long.

Unknown

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 32

Tags

apple blossoms, dear diary, family, food, humour, music, nature, summer, trees, worship

Dear Diary – I knew all those games of Operation would pay off one day!

On Friday morning, after I dropped my car off to deal with the whistle-wonk sounds my car’s been making for weeks, I got ambitious. I dusted and swept the main floor, backed up and updated my laptop, caught up with an old friend on the phone, and emptied the shredder for the next round.

But I emptied the bin into the green bin (compost) on the counter, and wouldn’t you know, one tiny slip of paper drifted into an open vent on the base of my new air fryer.

Thus ensued a sick and sweaty 20 minute game of Operation, with not one, but 3 tweezers. I didn’t leave the air fryer plugged in though, you know, to make it more authentic. 😉

Dear Diary – The other day, Mr. Cardinal was pipping furiously. I think it was Morse code.

..-. . . -.. / — .

Feed Me

Dear Diary – I led worship a couple Sundays ago and vainly attempted to look slender in my new dress. Our pastors are currently speaking a series on the Armour of God. I have also shared from the same passage in Ephesians at a ladies’ event, but I used my own humourous twist in my examples of armour. Only this morning, my “armour” (aka corset) was not holding up!

It wasn’t the only thing.

Something had happened to the headset mic purchased to capture my itty-bitty intoning, so I had to use a boom stand. I don’t like them because there’s no happy middle ground. Either the A/V guys are unhappy because they can’t hear me…or I’m unhappy because there’s a mic stand blocking my view of either the sheet music or the piano keys.

Accomplished pianists play from memory. I am not an accomplished pianist.

Hubby was doing sound and together we found that comfortable middle ground…rather unharmoniously.

Something happened between rehearsal and service time. My mic was attached to a sinking stand, and was nearly resting on my clinging cleavage. Not only would it make it incredibly difficult for Hubby to pick up my crooning, but it also blocked both the keyboard and the bottom half of my sheetmusic, and in my mind, accentuated the straining lingerie. I knew it was straining because I could feel the bent boning digging into my ribcage.

With a sweet smile, I started talking and reached up to return the arm of the stand back where it belonged. In addition to bent boning, I could feel sweat welling up in my underarms. But while I managed to secure the mic higher, it refused to remain in position and the bolt to tighten it was immoveable. So was my determination. The service had started. I was going to keep smiling (and sweating) and we were going to sing.

I played and sang again this past Sunday. Someone took pity on me…and the saggy stand has become someone else’s problem.

Dear Diary – It has been a summer of firsts. Well, a couple firsts. Earlier in July, I sang at my first wedding. This past weekend, I played at my first funeral. I even broke out my little black dress. I can still zip it up but the lines hug some of my curves differently. It went well, from my perspective. I greatly appreciated the tall flower displays that partially hid me, as I felt very self-conscious standing on the platform without teammates. And I am very thankful I didn’t fall up or down the stairs.

I even wore heels. Just not to the funeral…or out of the bedroom.

I miss my heels.

Give a girl the right shoes and she can conquer the world.

Marilyn Monroe

Dear Diary – I have definitely raised a city kid. This week we braved the heat to pick up rotting apples from our back yard. It’s the downside to owning an apple tree, but I love the blossoms in the Spring. And every tree deserves to live!

In past years, Youngest Son has used a stick to stab them. Unfortunately, these apples have sat longer than they should have, so while they may look solid, picking them up with anything but a feather touch spells disaster. The stick was useless. Rather than argue, I told him to pick up the fresh, red ones and I would deal with the goopy ones.

There was something satisfying about the “splat” they made as I tossed into recycle bins and old garbage cans. For every one he picked up, I picked up more than a dozen. He objected to the smell; it reminded me of apple cider. He slipped and slid once; I laughed. I got apple on my leggings. He thought that was gross.

He would not survive on a farm. Not even a hobby farm!

But he could muscle the barely filled bins and cans to the curb for me, and we nearly completed clearing the yard of the apples that were not soup.

I slept in a bit the following morning. The sun was shining when I got up. I pulled on my robe and opened the curtains. I laughed.

I laughed hard.

The yard truck crew had left me a surprise… again!

Only at our house.

Not only was it perfectly balanced…it was perfectly balanced over my head.

I left it, hoping it would last until I could drag Youngest Son from his slumber to take a photo. But, alas! Some “mean kid” punched it on his way by and it collapsed into the street. I had to retrieve them, close-mouthed, to avoid ingesting the cloud of fruit flies.

We don’t stop playing because we grow old.
We grow old because we stop playing.

G.B. Shaw