So the brilliant news is that Himself told his boss that he didn't want to do salt patrol this year because he was supposed to be getting married next year and he would like for that to happen and it definitely wouldn't if he worked 95 hours a week every week for the next five months. And his boss said that was fine, that he totally understood, so now he will be in charge of the biggest snow plough in the stable (big is best, of course) which means that he only has to go out when it's really bad. Instead of all the time. So we may even have a bit of a life this winter.
But of course we can't celebrate, because of course that has happened on the first day that we are all on storm watch here in Nova Scotia, with 30cm of snow and blowing snow forecast, and 80kmh winds until late tomorrow, so Himself is catching a few snores before he has to go plough the stuff away in the BIG PLOUGH (yet to be named), so people can go shopping tomorrow.
Why on earth people would bother leaving the house the day after that is beyond me, it's the first weekend of the year when you have an excuse to do absolutely nothing. But only five shopping weeks to christmas, so there you go.
So that means I am sort of alone right now and can blog. Hurrah!! Although James downstairs told me he was having a bonfire in the yard tonight. So I may have to go downstairs at some point to join in. Although it's too cold to stand in the yard, even in front of a fire. Plus the wood was all piled beside the firepit instead of under some cover, so it is wet and will take forever to light and will be smoky.
By the way, Accent Monkey, Himself and I are still laughing at that comment about trying to read your book .... still .... a day later....
I think some of you know now that we are coming to the end of an era. Apologies to those of you who don't. I can only send so many emails a day and then my hand seizes up. And I got an injection this afternoon and my left arm and hand is aching for some strange reason.
Yes, barring a major catastrophe, which is of course not unheard of Chez Queenie et Himself, we will be moving lake - and house - in January. The Melwood era will be over. We will be landing on Eagle, near Porters Lake.
We are finding solace in the continuation of the 'dark stuff' imagery.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Sunday, November 09, 2008
Third time lucky
I see Myles has a nice photo of poppies on his blog today, it being Remembrance Day.
Lest we Forget.
Remembrance Day is a holiday in Canada, as there are many many veterans here from all kinds of wars, including two (I think) veterans of World War I who are still alive.
Of course, I totally forgot about what day it was, and booked a house viewing for the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. Because I am from Foreign. So, when we tried to get down the road to see the house it was blocked off by the cops to keep it clear for the Legion parade.
The Legion won't mean anything to Irish readers, so I shall explain.
The Legion is a community centre for war veterans that serves cheap booze. Anyone can join a Legion and partake of said cheap booze whenever they want. They also hold dances and other socials and are the social centre of many small communities.
I suppose Legions are the Canadian equivalent of the local rugby or GAA club. Except that, instead of having to go to the odd rugby match in order to pretend you are in it for more than the cheap booze, you have to go to the Remembrance Day ceremonies.
Anyways, I digress, we got to the house eventually and it was not worth the gas to go look at it.
As usual.
I hate househunting. This is the third time I have done this.
Third time lucky I hope.
I keep moaning at my realtor; just find me a house and tell me what to write on the cheque. (Yes, in Canada, the purchaser has an estate agent as well as the seller).
She hasn't come up with anywhere yet. Well, to be fair, she only started being our realtor last week, when the old man we tried to buy a house from withdrew it from the market and wasted everyone's time for a week and a half. So in return for being nice about it (christamighty, it's HIS house, he doesn't have to sell it if he doesn't want to, although it would be nice if he didn't pretend he did), she said she'd help us find a house.
Up till now, we've found every house we've looked at. Himself spends hours on the Internet every night researching houses on MLS.ca (website of houses for sale through realtors) and kijiji (houses for private sale). If he makes me look at more than three a night I start to hyperventilate, so I am very glad that he is an Aquarian and likes this kind of work.
Those who know me know that the twice I bought a home, it was the first place I looked at. I just wanted a place.
However, this place has to be right, for the simple fact that it's not just me. It will be Himself's place too.
Also, it just has to be right. This is the house I will spend most of my forties in, I presume, so it needs to be hugely reaffirming and positive, so I can get on with whatever it is happens to me in my forties.
One of my friends, who is very organized, suggested we draw up a list of all the things we want in a house. That way, we can be sure everyone's needs are included and we can prioritise what we can do without.
It has to be the one.
That was all we could come up with.
I suggested we try harder. We thought for a while.
A garden, I said.
Not too difficult in Canada. Most houses come with a garden.
I came up with a house that you can have a puppy in.
Himself came up with woodstove.
That helped to narrow it down in wintery, pet-loving Nova Scotia, I can tell you!!
We're hopeless.
We'll know when we see it.
Anyways, after spending three months wandering around District 7 and telling each other that it was District 7 or nowhere, today we thought to hell with it and headed off in the opposite direction. I don't even know what District we were in. It was on the edge of the map.
An adventure.
Of course, even though it was a day off work, and the sun was shining and the sea was beautiful and it wasn't really too cold for Remembrance Day, I am on Champix right now and not supposed to want to smoke.
hahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.
For most of every day right now, I am the Dark Overlord of Thundering Bitchland, and for the remainder I am a weeping mess. Also, because I am on Champix (the wonder drug that removes cravings, so you can break the habit- not), I am having the most vivid, lurid dreams every night and waking up completely freaked out by them at odd hours of the morning.
Put it like this, if I know you, you have been in one of my dreams lately, and you should be very relieved that I can't put them on You Tube.
Oh well, I want to quit. Third time lucky I hope.
As well as dealing with me, Himself has been fighting a deeply infected root canal gone wrong for the last couple of weeks, that has gotten so bad, it has sprouted a greenish-yellowish river of pus that seems to have spread up to his ear. He is on his second bout of penicillin and Tylenol 3 is his friend right now, so he snores like a bear all night and walks around with hot things attached to his face all day.
My, it was fun. Him driving around one-handed with a Large Double Double pressed against his jaw, and me crying with rage every time he didn't hear the mental directions I was reduced to thinking at him, because if I spoke out loud I would say 'give me a fucking cigarette NOW'.
Despite this, we found a house we liked.
If we manage to get this house, I will offer all my nicotine withdrawal rage up to whatever it is that ensures world peace and improved living standards for all.
If we don't, I will have to kill something. Hopefully just in one of my dreams.
Lest we Forget.
Remembrance Day is a holiday in Canada, as there are many many veterans here from all kinds of wars, including two (I think) veterans of World War I who are still alive.
Of course, I totally forgot about what day it was, and booked a house viewing for the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. Because I am from Foreign. So, when we tried to get down the road to see the house it was blocked off by the cops to keep it clear for the Legion parade.
The Legion won't mean anything to Irish readers, so I shall explain.
The Legion is a community centre for war veterans that serves cheap booze. Anyone can join a Legion and partake of said cheap booze whenever they want. They also hold dances and other socials and are the social centre of many small communities.
I suppose Legions are the Canadian equivalent of the local rugby or GAA club. Except that, instead of having to go to the odd rugby match in order to pretend you are in it for more than the cheap booze, you have to go to the Remembrance Day ceremonies.
Anyways, I digress, we got to the house eventually and it was not worth the gas to go look at it.
As usual.
I hate househunting. This is the third time I have done this.
Third time lucky I hope.
I keep moaning at my realtor; just find me a house and tell me what to write on the cheque. (Yes, in Canada, the purchaser has an estate agent as well as the seller).
She hasn't come up with anywhere yet. Well, to be fair, she only started being our realtor last week, when the old man we tried to buy a house from withdrew it from the market and wasted everyone's time for a week and a half. So in return for being nice about it (christamighty, it's HIS house, he doesn't have to sell it if he doesn't want to, although it would be nice if he didn't pretend he did), she said she'd help us find a house.
Up till now, we've found every house we've looked at. Himself spends hours on the Internet every night researching houses on MLS.ca (website of houses for sale through realtors) and kijiji (houses for private sale). If he makes me look at more than three a night I start to hyperventilate, so I am very glad that he is an Aquarian and likes this kind of work.
Those who know me know that the twice I bought a home, it was the first place I looked at. I just wanted a place.
However, this place has to be right, for the simple fact that it's not just me. It will be Himself's place too.
Also, it just has to be right. This is the house I will spend most of my forties in, I presume, so it needs to be hugely reaffirming and positive, so I can get on with whatever it is happens to me in my forties.
One of my friends, who is very organized, suggested we draw up a list of all the things we want in a house. That way, we can be sure everyone's needs are included and we can prioritise what we can do without.
It has to be the one.
That was all we could come up with.
I suggested we try harder. We thought for a while.
A garden, I said.
Not too difficult in Canada. Most houses come with a garden.
I came up with a house that you can have a puppy in.
Himself came up with woodstove.
That helped to narrow it down in wintery, pet-loving Nova Scotia, I can tell you!!
We're hopeless.
We'll know when we see it.
Anyways, after spending three months wandering around District 7 and telling each other that it was District 7 or nowhere, today we thought to hell with it and headed off in the opposite direction. I don't even know what District we were in. It was on the edge of the map.
An adventure.
Of course, even though it was a day off work, and the sun was shining and the sea was beautiful and it wasn't really too cold for Remembrance Day, I am on Champix right now and not supposed to want to smoke.
hahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.
For most of every day right now, I am the Dark Overlord of Thundering Bitchland, and for the remainder I am a weeping mess. Also, because I am on Champix (the wonder drug that removes cravings, so you can break the habit- not), I am having the most vivid, lurid dreams every night and waking up completely freaked out by them at odd hours of the morning.
Put it like this, if I know you, you have been in one of my dreams lately, and you should be very relieved that I can't put them on You Tube.
Oh well, I want to quit. Third time lucky I hope.
As well as dealing with me, Himself has been fighting a deeply infected root canal gone wrong for the last couple of weeks, that has gotten so bad, it has sprouted a greenish-yellowish river of pus that seems to have spread up to his ear. He is on his second bout of penicillin and Tylenol 3 is his friend right now, so he snores like a bear all night and walks around with hot things attached to his face all day.
My, it was fun. Him driving around one-handed with a Large Double Double pressed against his jaw, and me crying with rage every time he didn't hear the mental directions I was reduced to thinking at him, because if I spoke out loud I would say 'give me a fucking cigarette NOW'.
Despite this, we found a house we liked.
If we manage to get this house, I will offer all my nicotine withdrawal rage up to whatever it is that ensures world peace and improved living standards for all.
If we don't, I will have to kill something. Hopefully just in one of my dreams.
Saturday, November 01, 2008
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