First half:
Woke up at 4am in the freezing cold because Himself had to go to work early.
Sort of went back to sleep.
Woke up at 6am in the slightly less freezing cold to the realisation that, yes, I do have to go to work today even though it's minus 25 and that means the car won't start for ages because the battery is on its last legs.
Walked the dog at 6.25am in the FREEZING windchill.
Got in the car and tried to start it.
Third attempt worked!! Hooray. Tried to open the window so I could heat the car for a minute while getting the dog's day organized.
If you leave the ignition running without the window open, the car locks itself.
Yes, I know I should separate the key and the locking mechanism. That would mean I would lose one of them.
The window was frozen shut, so I shut the car engine off, ran around in the FREEZING windchill for five minutes (which is a long time in FREEZING) and then got back into the FREEZING car.
Got to work and remembered I forgot to plug in the slow cooker.
NO GODDAMN DINNER SO!
Got off work early to get home before dark.
Bus broke down.
Waited eleven minutes (did I mention it was FREEZING) for another bus.
Fuel gauge on the car was on empty.
Filled the car at the Esso on top of Cole Harbour hill.
Stopped at the store to get groceries.
Finally got home.
Dog hadn't frozen.
Phew.
I think.
Walked the dog again in the FREEZING. At least I could see.
The diarrhea. Which I had to scoop up. Which meant taking my gloves off.
She's been in the potato chips again, judging by the look of it.
Got to the mailbox.
Two packages from Ireland. Hooray!!
Second half.
Slow cooker is on Fast.
Tayto crisps are unpacked.
Bottle of wine is in order.
I don't have to go outside anymore today.
Oh, and Reeling in the Years, the Nineties.
When I see my ex on the screen, should I point him out to my husband....?
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
I guess the memories are in my head anyways.
I just hate when i break my stuff.
I don't have many things, and they are all very precious, because they are all steeped in memories.
But I guess the memories are in my head anyways...
So I just broke the beautiful dusky purple and blue, square pottery plate I hauled all the way from the Dingle peninsula back to Dublin in 1996, and then to Birr in 2005, and then to Canada in 2007 in a suitcase (worrying about it the whole way across the Atlantic).
The one I had Himself build me a tall tall bookshelf with a special shelf to display it on in 2008. Because it is so precious to me.
The one made by the potter who had studied glazing techniques in Japan and is now living in the shadow of Mount Brandon.
Not Louis Mulcahy. Not his pottery factory.
The one with the glaze on it that looks like Mount Brandon.
The one I looked at every day.
Reason?
I was rearranging my books and picking out ones to sell so I can buy some more, because I am already running out of things to read, despite getting four books for Christmas.
And I took one too many off that shelf they were sharing with my plate, and the rest slid down and knocked it off its stand.
I knew I shouldn't be selling my books.
GODDAMN IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Ah well, it could be worse.
It is the only thing left of Kerry that I had but.
I guess I will just have to make a pilgrimage back there.
Of course, I can't find the potter....
I don't have many things, and they are all very precious, because they are all steeped in memories.
But I guess the memories are in my head anyways...
So I just broke the beautiful dusky purple and blue, square pottery plate I hauled all the way from the Dingle peninsula back to Dublin in 1996, and then to Birr in 2005, and then to Canada in 2007 in a suitcase (worrying about it the whole way across the Atlantic).
The one I had Himself build me a tall tall bookshelf with a special shelf to display it on in 2008. Because it is so precious to me.
The one made by the potter who had studied glazing techniques in Japan and is now living in the shadow of Mount Brandon.
Not Louis Mulcahy. Not his pottery factory.
The one with the glaze on it that looks like Mount Brandon.
The one I looked at every day.
Reason?
I was rearranging my books and picking out ones to sell so I can buy some more, because I am already running out of things to read, despite getting four books for Christmas.
And I took one too many off that shelf they were sharing with my plate, and the rest slid down and knocked it off its stand.
I knew I shouldn't be selling my books.
GODDAMN IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Ah well, it could be worse.
It is the only thing left of Kerry that I had but.
I guess I will just have to make a pilgrimage back there.
Of course, I can't find the potter....
Sunday, December 20, 2009
The weekend before Christmas is really the Christmas
Big snowfall tonight.
Maybe two thirds the way up the ruler.
Standard ruler... 30 cm jobbie. Like in school.
OK. Mathematics starting.
Mathematics in the sense of one of Mr. Hensey's classes (fifth year honours) ... I am hanging out with my friends talking about the weekend, but I am also supposed to be doing maths.
The driveway is 100 metres long and four metres wide.
A little wider at either end.
The snow shovel is 45 cm wide.
I think.
Why am I writing a math post? This is not good.
Side to side. From lawn to woodland.
Over and back.
Over and back.
Pick up the spill.
Then over and back.
By my calculations (which are usually wrong and need John Brown to fix), that's 222 shovel swipes across the driveway.
Over and back.
And then scooping up spill.
Say, another 150.
That's 372 shovel swipes.
I'm pretty sure it was more than that.
Put the shovel into the snow with the blade aligned to the edge of what's left, and push along the line to the far side. Turn on your heel, and clean up the spill on the way back.
Then put the shovel back down against the clean line of the snow.
Scraaaape.
In early November snows it's mostly rain with some ice in it, so when you shovel it's like pushing water up a hill.
Heavy and wet and no fun at all.
After January, it's all ice pellets and misery. The shovel stops up on the ice and pushes into your sternum and it's hard and miserable to move it.
After I finished doing it seven times last year I found out all the men on my road used to watch me shovel ice off the driveway, and wonder at how Himself got himself such a hardcore woman...
But there's a couple of weeks in December when it's light and fluffy and perfect if it snows.
And shovelling is a meditation.
That was tonight.
I think about a lot of stuff when I shovel the driveway in December.
I feel so lucky that I get to do it. I need to think about a lot of stuff.
Today I was thinking about Ireland, because I was very lucky this Sunday; people from Ireland were all home suffering from pre-Christmas hangovers, so they were vulnerable and I got to talk to a few of them for quite the chat.
Well, I have to admit that during the section of the driveway from the road to the garbage box (about 20 side to sides), I thought about how difficult it is to build and maintain a mature and loving relationship with stepchildren who are the powerless pawns in a ridiculous battle of control freakery being waged by their mother against their father and me.
But I think about that a lot and if I write about it she uses it in court proceedings, so we'll just move on, shall we.
From the garbage box to the rhododendron bush, which is not very far, the rhododendron bush being near the garbage box for a reason, I thought about Ireland.
The lights on Grafton St.
Winking against the wet paving.
The weekend that was.
What a weekend that must have been. Everyone finally had time to go out and chew down on a few things.
I'm sorry I missed that weekend.
I would like to fly home for that weekend and then leave before Christmas. Would that be so awful?
How well everyone is doing!
Everyone I love has survived.
The recession. The revelations. The floods. The everything.
For my New Year's wish, I would like everyone I know in Ireland to be in charge of Ireland now.
It's the fact that you're not that's making your teeth ache boys and girls.
The demography is on your side, guys...
I was halfway up the section from the rhodo bush to the back of the car (the long, difficult, middle section), when I had to put the shovel down and go get the dog.
Neighbours again, not approving of the dog being allowed to wander about in what is ostensibly a wilderness backyard area...
She's half wolf for fuck's sake... what do you think she's going to do in the snow.
I got feedback on the blog tonight and was told the dog bits were boring, which I knew, but dog bits = life right now, so maybe up the ante in the life is a priority for soon.
After Christmas, as Himself would say.
Anyways, got the dog, got back in the rhythm, over and back, over and back, pick up the spills, over and back, when I noticed it was blowing snow, like it said in the warning.
Your late thirties and early forties are all about 'blowing snow' aren't they.
You shovel and shovel and shovel.
And then you get up the next morning and all the snow is drifted up against the car again.
There you go, metaphor for next year.
I'm going to post this without a resolution because I am drunk and blind (dog ate my glasses)..
I will amend if something comes to me.
Oh yeah.... make Christmas about the kids for once eh?!
Maybe two thirds the way up the ruler.
Standard ruler... 30 cm jobbie. Like in school.
OK. Mathematics starting.
Mathematics in the sense of one of Mr. Hensey's classes (fifth year honours) ... I am hanging out with my friends talking about the weekend, but I am also supposed to be doing maths.
The driveway is 100 metres long and four metres wide.
A little wider at either end.
The snow shovel is 45 cm wide.
I think.
Why am I writing a math post? This is not good.
Side to side. From lawn to woodland.
Over and back.
Over and back.
Pick up the spill.
Then over and back.
By my calculations (which are usually wrong and need John Brown to fix), that's 222 shovel swipes across the driveway.
Over and back.
And then scooping up spill.
Say, another 150.
That's 372 shovel swipes.
I'm pretty sure it was more than that.
Put the shovel into the snow with the blade aligned to the edge of what's left, and push along the line to the far side. Turn on your heel, and clean up the spill on the way back.
Then put the shovel back down against the clean line of the snow.
Scraaaape.
In early November snows it's mostly rain with some ice in it, so when you shovel it's like pushing water up a hill.
Heavy and wet and no fun at all.
After January, it's all ice pellets and misery. The shovel stops up on the ice and pushes into your sternum and it's hard and miserable to move it.
After I finished doing it seven times last year I found out all the men on my road used to watch me shovel ice off the driveway, and wonder at how Himself got himself such a hardcore woman...
But there's a couple of weeks in December when it's light and fluffy and perfect if it snows.
And shovelling is a meditation.
That was tonight.
I think about a lot of stuff when I shovel the driveway in December.
I feel so lucky that I get to do it. I need to think about a lot of stuff.
Today I was thinking about Ireland, because I was very lucky this Sunday; people from Ireland were all home suffering from pre-Christmas hangovers, so they were vulnerable and I got to talk to a few of them for quite the chat.
Well, I have to admit that during the section of the driveway from the road to the garbage box (about 20 side to sides), I thought about how difficult it is to build and maintain a mature and loving relationship with stepchildren who are the powerless pawns in a ridiculous battle of control freakery being waged by their mother against their father and me.
But I think about that a lot and if I write about it she uses it in court proceedings, so we'll just move on, shall we.
From the garbage box to the rhododendron bush, which is not very far, the rhododendron bush being near the garbage box for a reason, I thought about Ireland.
The lights on Grafton St.
Winking against the wet paving.
The weekend that was.
What a weekend that must have been. Everyone finally had time to go out and chew down on a few things.
I'm sorry I missed that weekend.
I would like to fly home for that weekend and then leave before Christmas. Would that be so awful?
How well everyone is doing!
Everyone I love has survived.
The recession. The revelations. The floods. The everything.
For my New Year's wish, I would like everyone I know in Ireland to be in charge of Ireland now.
It's the fact that you're not that's making your teeth ache boys and girls.
The demography is on your side, guys...
I was halfway up the section from the rhodo bush to the back of the car (the long, difficult, middle section), when I had to put the shovel down and go get the dog.
Neighbours again, not approving of the dog being allowed to wander about in what is ostensibly a wilderness backyard area...
She's half wolf for fuck's sake... what do you think she's going to do in the snow.
I got feedback on the blog tonight and was told the dog bits were boring, which I knew, but dog bits = life right now, so maybe up the ante in the life is a priority for soon.
After Christmas, as Himself would say.
Anyways, got the dog, got back in the rhythm, over and back, over and back, pick up the spills, over and back, when I noticed it was blowing snow, like it said in the warning.
Your late thirties and early forties are all about 'blowing snow' aren't they.
You shovel and shovel and shovel.
And then you get up the next morning and all the snow is drifted up against the car again.
There you go, metaphor for next year.
I'm going to post this without a resolution because I am drunk and blind (dog ate my glasses)..
I will amend if something comes to me.
Oh yeah.... make Christmas about the kids for once eh?!
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
December temperatures going up and down like the proverbial's knickers
Plus 5. Then minus 6. Then plus 2 and sleet. Then minus 12 with the windchill. Then plus 6 and rain. Then back down to minus 6 with no precipitation this time.
Suede coat and shiny boots. Then winter parka and snow boots. Then raincoat and wellies. Then back to the suede coat. With a shawl wrapped round it.
This morning I walked the dog in the suede coat and shiny boots and about 5 minutes out the heavens opened (I didn't notice it was cloudy because it was pitch-black dark) and poured on me, and then I had no time to change and had to drive to work in wet suede and damp patent boots, which didn't dry out properly at work because I am in the office of crazy air, so they froze (with my feet in them, and they are very pointy) when the temperature dropped to minus 15 this evening and I couldn't get the car to heat up before I actually arrived home in it.
FOR FUCK'S SAKE.
So now I am sitting at the computer (in a heated house) wearing my polar socks and my polar fleece with a hot water bottle pressed up against my internal organs, and I AM STILL COLD.
I wish it was March 31st, I said to Himself.
I wish it was May 31st, Himself said back.
'Xactly.
And it's to be colder tomorrow, apparently.
And the work Christmas do is on.
Although it being the Canadian work do, I can wear my polar fleece and snow boots if I want, and it will be all over by 6.30pm anyways. None of your Irish wear a nice dress and stay out late rubbish over here in the North Pole.
It could be worse. I could have said yes when Himself wanted to move to Alberta and I could be dealing with minus 40.
Yes, that is a feasible temperature for human existence.
No, I don't know how they do it.
So I guess I should just suck it up.
I'm all in a heap because it's coming up to Christmas and I should be in Ireland and I'm not nor will I be and I'm very sad and I keep trying to push it out of my head and it keeps pushing its way back in.
Persistently. Like Shannon when she knows the reason you want her on the deck is because there's steak on the grill.
And of course Christmas in the 'new' house is not very exciting when it's just two people and no presents to open.
We bought a new water system instead. I guess I'll just tie a ribbon round a glass and hydrate all day.
Still, I shouldn't moan. We had lots of excitement and fun with the wedding and our trip to Cuba.
It's just that was THEN.
And this is NOW.
And Himself just came back from the postbox with a key that means there's a parcel (although I think it's presents for someone else) in the parcel box but he didn't know what it was so now someone has to go back down there.
IN THE COLD!!!!!!
Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
Maybe I'll feel better at the weekend. When it gets closer to Christmas.
Suede coat and shiny boots. Then winter parka and snow boots. Then raincoat and wellies. Then back to the suede coat. With a shawl wrapped round it.
This morning I walked the dog in the suede coat and shiny boots and about 5 minutes out the heavens opened (I didn't notice it was cloudy because it was pitch-black dark) and poured on me, and then I had no time to change and had to drive to work in wet suede and damp patent boots, which didn't dry out properly at work because I am in the office of crazy air, so they froze (with my feet in them, and they are very pointy) when the temperature dropped to minus 15 this evening and I couldn't get the car to heat up before I actually arrived home in it.
FOR FUCK'S SAKE.
So now I am sitting at the computer (in a heated house) wearing my polar socks and my polar fleece with a hot water bottle pressed up against my internal organs, and I AM STILL COLD.
I wish it was March 31st, I said to Himself.
I wish it was May 31st, Himself said back.
'Xactly.
And it's to be colder tomorrow, apparently.
And the work Christmas do is on.
Although it being the Canadian work do, I can wear my polar fleece and snow boots if I want, and it will be all over by 6.30pm anyways. None of your Irish wear a nice dress and stay out late rubbish over here in the North Pole.
It could be worse. I could have said yes when Himself wanted to move to Alberta and I could be dealing with minus 40.
Yes, that is a feasible temperature for human existence.
No, I don't know how they do it.
So I guess I should just suck it up.
I'm all in a heap because it's coming up to Christmas and I should be in Ireland and I'm not nor will I be and I'm very sad and I keep trying to push it out of my head and it keeps pushing its way back in.
Persistently. Like Shannon when she knows the reason you want her on the deck is because there's steak on the grill.
And of course Christmas in the 'new' house is not very exciting when it's just two people and no presents to open.
We bought a new water system instead. I guess I'll just tie a ribbon round a glass and hydrate all day.
Still, I shouldn't moan. We had lots of excitement and fun with the wedding and our trip to Cuba.
It's just that was THEN.
And this is NOW.
And Himself just came back from the postbox with a key that means there's a parcel (although I think it's presents for someone else) in the parcel box but he didn't know what it was so now someone has to go back down there.
IN THE COLD!!!!!!
Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
Maybe I'll feel better at the weekend. When it gets closer to Christmas.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
The eye of the storm is quiet... maybe too quiet.
Sunday evening. Six thirty. Fed. Tidy kitchen. Very tidy house for reasons that are not good.
If this was the spring or summer I would be outside pottering around, but it's the winter so it's dark and cold and I am stuck inside with four hours to kill before I can go to bed with the only book in the house I haven't read which is a Patrick White, which is of course depressing the hell out of me. Which only a Patrick White novel can do.
Did he have a terrible mother?
All his novels (well not so much The Tree of Man, which is great) are about beastly women who struggle against the boredom of 1950s Sydney/ some beautiful-sounding outback station. Their children hate them. Their husbands are gauche hillbillies who get most of the sympathy.
And they take forever to die.
The current one is The Eye of the Storm. I'm not complaining about the writing, mind. it's beautiful...
... I just don't understand his obsession with the subject matter.
I'm reading an online essay about him now... apparently I am looking at the book through the wrong end of the analytical telescope... it's about Elizabeth Hunter reconciling living and dying and trying to find that 'eye of the storm', inner peace and a touch of the divine.
I had decided that the eye of the storm was the peace her family had at the beginning of the end... as in when you get to the eye of the storm, even though there is the rest of the storm to get through, it's usually not as bad as the first bit...
No wonder I didn't get a first in college!
As well as not being able to 'see', I cannot see right now, because Shannon ate my glasses the other morning.
Despite having searched the house (and tidied it on the way and having found lots of things I thought I had lost forever, including a 'congratulations on your engagement' card I should have mailed in September) I cannot find my old glasses so I am blind for the foreseeable.
I have to wait till January to get a new pair on the health insurance... major pain in the ass.
Why on earth would a dog eat a pair of glasses?
We have managed to spend another weekend without setting foot in a mall, which is one of the things I try to do coming up to Christmas, and we got our new water system installed, the dog spayed, and quite a few odds and ends done, so we are feeling pretty good about things.
And my online campaign against the crapness of the company that we bought Little 'Un's present from seems to have worked because they emailed us today and said they were express shipping it to us in time for Christmas.
So thanks to them for that.
While I was outside trying to find chores to do to get some of the sunshine into me, Himself spent some of the afternoon looking at land online.
The reason he did this (I think) is because when we checked MLS the other day to see the sale price of the house next door (which is for sale again), we noticed that an acre of swampy land down the road by the lake was for sale (for $180,000, FFS!). Then we noticed that a beautiful swathe of land by the seashore, that we walk on regularly is for sale (for $600,000 FFS!!) and that got us thinking and talking about how ludicrous the price of land is around here.
So today, Himself started looking at land in other parts of the province, and found 100 acres in Victoria County, Cape Breton, for $29,000.
Remote woodland now, not Cabot Trail picturesque.
But still.
Good price.
I hope he doesn't want it for Christmas!
I'm kinda broke right now.
But he reckons this will be the land for the compound.
Those of you who know us know about the compound.
The compound started out as a game, round about the time I read Cormac MacCarthy's The Road, which scared the bejaysus out of me.
The compound was an ongoing project we discussed while having a beer in the yard in the summer. The compound is where we'll go when the world starts to go pear-shaped.
We'd need some land. Build an off-grid housing complex. Invite some friends to come along if things ever got tough for them/ they could get there.
Some of our Irish friends got to thinking about solar-powered sailing ships... to get to the compound (although they'd probably end up sailing around a lot).
It got popular, so we decided that everyone had to have a skill.
People got really into this... we had beekeepers, librarians, flax-spinners, (hunters, gatherers, gardeners, cooks, etc).
What would we put there?
Fuel, food, weapons (yes dear).
You can while away a number of hours quite pleasantly talking about the compound.
In the summer.
When everything's good in the world.
When the winter comes, Himself gets bored and starts scouting for land.
At least this year, it's Cape Breton.
Last year, it was Northern New Brunswick.
Anyways, applications for residency at the compound if the times get too bad can be submitted to us on the back of a renewable energy source diagrammatic.
Just mail it to Eagle.
We're looking for engineers.
Specifically electrical engineers.
And, yes, I'm still in charge.
Somebody has to be and it was my idea.
That's why.
Apart from issues regarding perimeter security, of course.
And so the winter begins... a long, long drawn-out effort to not get too bored in the evening and end up gnawing my own arm off for something to do.
I need a hobby.
Any suggestions?
Nothing too expensive, I'm really broke right now.
And knitting I think is beyond me.
And nothing chewable of course.
For obvious reasons.
If this was the spring or summer I would be outside pottering around, but it's the winter so it's dark and cold and I am stuck inside with four hours to kill before I can go to bed with the only book in the house I haven't read which is a Patrick White, which is of course depressing the hell out of me. Which only a Patrick White novel can do.
Did he have a terrible mother?
All his novels (well not so much The Tree of Man, which is great) are about beastly women who struggle against the boredom of 1950s Sydney/ some beautiful-sounding outback station. Their children hate them. Their husbands are gauche hillbillies who get most of the sympathy.
And they take forever to die.
The current one is The Eye of the Storm. I'm not complaining about the writing, mind. it's beautiful...
... I just don't understand his obsession with the subject matter.
I'm reading an online essay about him now... apparently I am looking at the book through the wrong end of the analytical telescope... it's about Elizabeth Hunter reconciling living and dying and trying to find that 'eye of the storm', inner peace and a touch of the divine.
I had decided that the eye of the storm was the peace her family had at the beginning of the end... as in when you get to the eye of the storm, even though there is the rest of the storm to get through, it's usually not as bad as the first bit...
No wonder I didn't get a first in college!
As well as not being able to 'see', I cannot see right now, because Shannon ate my glasses the other morning.
Despite having searched the house (and tidied it on the way and having found lots of things I thought I had lost forever, including a 'congratulations on your engagement' card I should have mailed in September) I cannot find my old glasses so I am blind for the foreseeable.
I have to wait till January to get a new pair on the health insurance... major pain in the ass.
Why on earth would a dog eat a pair of glasses?
We have managed to spend another weekend without setting foot in a mall, which is one of the things I try to do coming up to Christmas, and we got our new water system installed, the dog spayed, and quite a few odds and ends done, so we are feeling pretty good about things.
And my online campaign against the crapness of the company that we bought Little 'Un's present from seems to have worked because they emailed us today and said they were express shipping it to us in time for Christmas.
So thanks to them for that.
While I was outside trying to find chores to do to get some of the sunshine into me, Himself spent some of the afternoon looking at land online.
The reason he did this (I think) is because when we checked MLS the other day to see the sale price of the house next door (which is for sale again), we noticed that an acre of swampy land down the road by the lake was for sale (for $180,000, FFS!). Then we noticed that a beautiful swathe of land by the seashore, that we walk on regularly is for sale (for $600,000 FFS!!) and that got us thinking and talking about how ludicrous the price of land is around here.
So today, Himself started looking at land in other parts of the province, and found 100 acres in Victoria County, Cape Breton, for $29,000.
Remote woodland now, not Cabot Trail picturesque.
But still.
Good price.
I hope he doesn't want it for Christmas!
I'm kinda broke right now.
But he reckons this will be the land for the compound.
Those of you who know us know about the compound.
The compound started out as a game, round about the time I read Cormac MacCarthy's The Road, which scared the bejaysus out of me.
The compound was an ongoing project we discussed while having a beer in the yard in the summer. The compound is where we'll go when the world starts to go pear-shaped.
We'd need some land. Build an off-grid housing complex. Invite some friends to come along if things ever got tough for them/ they could get there.
Some of our Irish friends got to thinking about solar-powered sailing ships... to get to the compound (although they'd probably end up sailing around a lot).
It got popular, so we decided that everyone had to have a skill.
People got really into this... we had beekeepers, librarians, flax-spinners, (hunters, gatherers, gardeners, cooks, etc).
What would we put there?
Fuel, food, weapons (yes dear).
You can while away a number of hours quite pleasantly talking about the compound.
In the summer.
When everything's good in the world.
When the winter comes, Himself gets bored and starts scouting for land.
At least this year, it's Cape Breton.
Last year, it was Northern New Brunswick.
Anyways, applications for residency at the compound if the times get too bad can be submitted to us on the back of a renewable energy source diagrammatic.
Just mail it to Eagle.
We're looking for engineers.
Specifically electrical engineers.
And, yes, I'm still in charge.
Somebody has to be and it was my idea.
That's why.
Apart from issues regarding perimeter security, of course.
And so the winter begins... a long, long drawn-out effort to not get too bored in the evening and end up gnawing my own arm off for something to do.
I need a hobby.
Any suggestions?
Nothing too expensive, I'm really broke right now.
And knitting I think is beyond me.
And nothing chewable of course.
For obvious reasons.
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
Maybe if I think about Cuba, I won't be so cold
Tonight is the first big storm of the winter and the wind is very strong - it's knocked the Yule wreath off the door twice now - so I am praying the power doesn't go out, because we haven't gotten round to installing a generator yet.
We take a long time to get round to things in our house.
We are getting round to installing a new water softener/ filter system on Friday. This is very exciting, because we don't have 'city water', we have a well. Unfortunately the geology of our area means we have a lot of manganese in the water. This means reddish stains on the bath, toilets, washbasins, dishwashers, etc., plus non-potable water. Which means when guests come and try to get a glass of water you have to shout NOOOOOOOOOOO and explain.
On Saturday, we will have a brand new filter system and a drinking water filter installed under the sink with its own tap.
I am very excited. I have been dehydrated for months, and I can't get the shampoo out of my hair.
Saturday, I will have firm, plump skin and shiny hair.
HOOOOORAAAYYY!!!
I just have to go check the dog is still alive... she won't come inside... she loves sitting out on the deck face towards the prevailing blizzard...
The dog is back inside now for a bit, eating her squeaky toy.
For somethin' to do, as Himself would say.
I just had to stop typing and run around the house twenty times with the squeaky toy pretending to kill the dog with it.... when does this bit end...?
Yes, anyways, storm, blizzard, potential for no heat, light, water, alone in the house of course...
... think of Cuba, Queenie.
Cuba was great.
The air smelled of vanilla.
As opposed to petroleum.
The people were lovely.
Whether or not you gave them convertibles.
But as is the nature of humans, they were particularly lovely if you gave them convertibles.
I never did an all-inclusive before.
Here's the thing.
THEY ARE FANTASTIC. Unless you have deh guilt.
about food, liquor, lying round getting waited on hand and foot.
and deh guilt goes away after a bit.
We got up in the morning and wandered over to the buffet for breakfast.
I felt like a hobbit.
First breakfast.
Then second breakfast.
Then coffee at the bar, a nice cafe con leche made just right.
Then wander down to the beach.
Maybe take a trip out to the reef on a hobie cat.
Around eleven Roberto would walk down from the beach bar and ask me did I want a mojito.
I did wake up every morning promising myself I would go to yoga rather than have a mojito.
But Roberto just looked so sad if I didn't want one.
Lunch.
A three course affair just off the beach.
Back to the beach/ book.
Or maybe a little wander over to archery at three o'clock.
Around 4.30 the sun started to go down behind the hills and we would head back to our room for a beer on the patio.
Then dinner at one of the seven restaurants they had.
Then drinkies at the bar with some nice people we met.
Columbo spent a few days with us, despite the best efforts of Air France.
Two weeks of that.
Plus one or two little excursions outside the bubble.
I know I should talk about the interesting things I saw, but for me the interesting stuff was the all-inclusive. The rest was standard Carribean island stuff.
We have been wondering if we would ever do it again.
It is very seductive.
I'm sure my carbon footprint was enormous.
It's just, I love my food, and it was soooo good, and I didn't have to put any effort into it at all.
And I love my wine and cocktails, and again, I didn't have to think about it at all.
Maybe in a couple of years.
My arm is killing me now from my flu shot so I have to stop typing. Also I am getting a mini-flu I think.
Maybe more when I am feeling better.
We take a long time to get round to things in our house.
We are getting round to installing a new water softener/ filter system on Friday. This is very exciting, because we don't have 'city water', we have a well. Unfortunately the geology of our area means we have a lot of manganese in the water. This means reddish stains on the bath, toilets, washbasins, dishwashers, etc., plus non-potable water. Which means when guests come and try to get a glass of water you have to shout NOOOOOOOOOOO and explain.
On Saturday, we will have a brand new filter system and a drinking water filter installed under the sink with its own tap.
I am very excited. I have been dehydrated for months, and I can't get the shampoo out of my hair.
Saturday, I will have firm, plump skin and shiny hair.
HOOOOORAAAYYY!!!
I just have to go check the dog is still alive... she won't come inside... she loves sitting out on the deck face towards the prevailing blizzard...
The dog is back inside now for a bit, eating her squeaky toy.
For somethin' to do, as Himself would say.
I just had to stop typing and run around the house twenty times with the squeaky toy pretending to kill the dog with it.... when does this bit end...?
Yes, anyways, storm, blizzard, potential for no heat, light, water, alone in the house of course...
... think of Cuba, Queenie.
Cuba was great.
The air smelled of vanilla.
As opposed to petroleum.
The people were lovely.
Whether or not you gave them convertibles.
But as is the nature of humans, they were particularly lovely if you gave them convertibles.
I never did an all-inclusive before.
Here's the thing.
THEY ARE FANTASTIC. Unless you have deh guilt.
about food, liquor, lying round getting waited on hand and foot.
and deh guilt goes away after a bit.
We got up in the morning and wandered over to the buffet for breakfast.
I felt like a hobbit.
First breakfast.
Then second breakfast.
Then coffee at the bar, a nice cafe con leche made just right.
Then wander down to the beach.
Maybe take a trip out to the reef on a hobie cat.
Around eleven Roberto would walk down from the beach bar and ask me did I want a mojito.
I did wake up every morning promising myself I would go to yoga rather than have a mojito.
But Roberto just looked so sad if I didn't want one.
Lunch.
A three course affair just off the beach.
Back to the beach/ book.
Or maybe a little wander over to archery at three o'clock.
Around 4.30 the sun started to go down behind the hills and we would head back to our room for a beer on the patio.
Then dinner at one of the seven restaurants they had.
Then drinkies at the bar with some nice people we met.
Columbo spent a few days with us, despite the best efforts of Air France.
Two weeks of that.
Plus one or two little excursions outside the bubble.
I know I should talk about the interesting things I saw, but for me the interesting stuff was the all-inclusive. The rest was standard Carribean island stuff.
We have been wondering if we would ever do it again.
It is very seductive.
I'm sure my carbon footprint was enormous.
It's just, I love my food, and it was soooo good, and I didn't have to put any effort into it at all.
And I love my wine and cocktails, and again, I didn't have to think about it at all.
Maybe in a couple of years.
My arm is killing me now from my flu shot so I have to stop typing. Also I am getting a mini-flu I think.
Maybe more when I am feeling better.
Winter arrives unexpectedly... weatherwise in Nova Scotia and financially in Ireland
So there I was the other day, talking to the Queen Dad on the phone, rhapsodising about the benign long term forecast for Nova Scotia for December....
... and here I am tonight, sitting listening to the blizzard wailing outside the house, wondering what the hell happened to our balmy Fall.
Nova Scotia weather. Bah.
Stingier than a Fianna Fail recessionary government.
First off. A big shout out to all my Irish public sector friends who got royally shafted in today's budget. I reckon if I was still working there, I would have taken a hit in my pay of almost EU9,000 per annum.
That is a sum not to be sneezed at.
There are arguments for and against how it all happened and whose fault it was which I am not going to get into (because I'm not qualified to speak on it), but I guess partnership is reaping the whirlwind it sowed when benchmarking took a second bite at the revenues.
Still.
It's not nice to be an essential service provider and get yourself kicked in the nuts because a shower of selfish greedy bankers and property developers (who have plenty stashed in an offshore account for just this eventuality) messed everything up for everyone.
If I were a nurse or a guard now, I'd be keeping a keen eye out for those boyos entering my sphere of influence.
I would.
... and here I am tonight, sitting listening to the blizzard wailing outside the house, wondering what the hell happened to our balmy Fall.
Nova Scotia weather. Bah.
Stingier than a Fianna Fail recessionary government.
First off. A big shout out to all my Irish public sector friends who got royally shafted in today's budget. I reckon if I was still working there, I would have taken a hit in my pay of almost EU9,000 per annum.
That is a sum not to be sneezed at.
There are arguments for and against how it all happened and whose fault it was which I am not going to get into (because I'm not qualified to speak on it), but I guess partnership is reaping the whirlwind it sowed when benchmarking took a second bite at the revenues.
Still.
It's not nice to be an essential service provider and get yourself kicked in the nuts because a shower of selfish greedy bankers and property developers (who have plenty stashed in an offshore account for just this eventuality) messed everything up for everyone.
If I were a nurse or a guard now, I'd be keeping a keen eye out for those boyos entering my sphere of influence.
I would.
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