Watched the Olympic Gold medal hockey game with some awesome friends and just in case you live under a rock and didn't know it yet, CANADA WON!!!!
After our friends left we could hear horns honking from downtown so we doubled up on the big scooter and went to join in.
Most.
Fun.
EVER!
My two little dollar store Canadian flags were waved to within an inch of their little lives, we did a whackload of high-fives, there was much hooting and much hollering!! What an awesome experience to see all sorts of people, of all ages (there was a Grandma enjoying an ice cream cone, brandishing a hockey stick) letting loose and celebrating...the energy, the community....it was amazing. To think that this is going on in every Canadian city is just astounding, and very heartwarming.
Yay Canada!!!
Let's do this again in another 4 years, ok?
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Finally, a post about the cat!
Those of you who know me are probably pretty impressed that I've had the self-control not to carry on about the cat post after post. I realize that not everyone is as fascinated by her as we are. And we are. Pathetically so...we know it, we've accepted it, you should too.
Her latest thing is to nap in the laundry basket that we keep in the closet.
Can I get a "Hallelujah!" from all you cat owners out there!! How awesome is that, hey?!
For you non-cat-owning people out there (and I'm so sad for you): cats like to find little hidey-holes and sleep there over and over again. We moved the bed around a while back and found a lovely little cat hair coated nest on a blanket. You should have seen the lint trap after I washed that thing! We are used to finding these.
We've found hairy nests in the closet on piles of folded up clothes (Rubbermaid=cat-owners best friend). I found one on the top of some folded up fleece blankets stored under my sewing desk. We are clever now and always spread a towel over top of the folded, stacked bath towels so when she wants to play "The Princess and the Pea" on the tower of towels, they are protected.
(I love that cat but there's nothing grosser than toweling off and having a fine coat of cat hair left behind.)
We come back to the laundry basket nest. Oh man, but it's a thing of beauty! It's a win-win situation for everybody involved: quiet, dark, private, smells like Mom & Dad...what more could a cat want?
For us....easy clean-up! It's perfect.
Except when I throw something in there not knowing it's nap-time. She has yet to be impressed with that.
See, now wasn't that fascinating?
Those of you who know me are probably pretty impressed that I've had the self-control not to carry on about the cat post after post. I realize that not everyone is as fascinated by her as we are. And we are. Pathetically so...we know it, we've accepted it, you should too.
Her latest thing is to nap in the laundry basket that we keep in the closet.
Can I get a "Hallelujah!" from all you cat owners out there!! How awesome is that, hey?!
For you non-cat-owning people out there (and I'm so sad for you): cats like to find little hidey-holes and sleep there over and over again. We moved the bed around a while back and found a lovely little cat hair coated nest on a blanket. You should have seen the lint trap after I washed that thing! We are used to finding these.
We've found hairy nests in the closet on piles of folded up clothes (Rubbermaid=cat-owners best friend). I found one on the top of some folded up fleece blankets stored under my sewing desk. We are clever now and always spread a towel over top of the folded, stacked bath towels so when she wants to play "The Princess and the Pea" on the tower of towels, they are protected.
(I love that cat but there's nothing grosser than toweling off and having a fine coat of cat hair left behind.)
We come back to the laundry basket nest. Oh man, but it's a thing of beauty! It's a win-win situation for everybody involved: quiet, dark, private, smells like Mom & Dad...what more could a cat want?
For us....easy clean-up! It's perfect.
Except when I throw something in there not knowing it's nap-time. She has yet to be impressed with that.
See, now wasn't that fascinating?
Monday, January 11, 2010
Gonna take a sentimental journey...
I need to have some good stories to tell for when I get old....and I hope to get old...really really old.
I love older people. I used to be scared of them when I was a kid. Scared as in, run away and hide scared. Being a hairdresser cured me of that. Now I like to look at them and try to imagine what they were like when they were younger.
The old fella who comes across like a cranky old fart...at some point in his life he kissed a girl for the first time, or had a dog that he really loved. That elderly lady in her mobility scooter might have been a dervish on the dance floor back in the day. Maybe she wore her skirts a little on the short side...who can say?!
What I think I enjoy best is when someone is reminiscing and they get that far away look in their eyes because they've taken themselves right back to that moment. I'm a sucker for that.
I know an older gentleman who used to race motorcycles for BSA back in England but had to make the choice to quit when he and his wife had children. He went on to be a mining tunnel cave-in inspector...not sure if that was any safer than the racing!
One lady I met told me about what it was like during WW2 in Victoria. From her perspective it was an exciting time, with men in uniform parading in front of the Empress. She said that for her and her sisters it was a lot of fun....imagine that....fun times during a war!
I've learned that there are some benefits to being older. One of my former clients, her name was Iris (I just loved her, she was a real spitfire!) told me that "Getting old sucks. The only good thing about it is that you can belch or fart and nobody cares because you're old, you can't help it!" Well....that's something to look forward to, I suppose.
I find that I'm already able to bore my young co-workers with some stories even at my tender age of 46. (or am I 47 now? I'll do the math later)
Like how I used to use a rotary phone as a teenager...and my best friend's number was an excruciating collection of 7's, 0's, a 9 and one short 4. It was painful to dial that when you had an overwhelming need to tell her something and Lord help you if your finger slipped and you had to start again. I will still have the occasional dream about dialing a rotary phone.
There's my story about how we had a party line and often had to tell the neighbor kid to "Hang up the damn phone, Tommy!!" and hearing that soft *click*.
...and for the record....I really did have to walk a mile (ok, maybe 1/4 mile) in knee-deep snow to catch the school bus which was always still frozen rock hard solid because we were the first stop on the bus route.
Maybe my stories lack the romance of the others I mentioned but that's ok...I'm sure time will embellish them a lot and they'll be worthy of a "Tell us about the olden days!" or two.
I love older people. I used to be scared of them when I was a kid. Scared as in, run away and hide scared. Being a hairdresser cured me of that. Now I like to look at them and try to imagine what they were like when they were younger.
The old fella who comes across like a cranky old fart...at some point in his life he kissed a girl for the first time, or had a dog that he really loved. That elderly lady in her mobility scooter might have been a dervish on the dance floor back in the day. Maybe she wore her skirts a little on the short side...who can say?!
What I think I enjoy best is when someone is reminiscing and they get that far away look in their eyes because they've taken themselves right back to that moment. I'm a sucker for that.
I know an older gentleman who used to race motorcycles for BSA back in England but had to make the choice to quit when he and his wife had children. He went on to be a mining tunnel cave-in inspector...not sure if that was any safer than the racing!
One lady I met told me about what it was like during WW2 in Victoria. From her perspective it was an exciting time, with men in uniform parading in front of the Empress. She said that for her and her sisters it was a lot of fun....imagine that....fun times during a war!
I've learned that there are some benefits to being older. One of my former clients, her name was Iris (I just loved her, she was a real spitfire!) told me that "Getting old sucks. The only good thing about it is that you can belch or fart and nobody cares because you're old, you can't help it!" Well....that's something to look forward to, I suppose.
I find that I'm already able to bore my young co-workers with some stories even at my tender age of 46. (or am I 47 now? I'll do the math later)
Like how I used to use a rotary phone as a teenager...and my best friend's number was an excruciating collection of 7's, 0's, a 9 and one short 4. It was painful to dial that when you had an overwhelming need to tell her something and Lord help you if your finger slipped and you had to start again. I will still have the occasional dream about dialing a rotary phone.
There's my story about how we had a party line and often had to tell the neighbor kid to "Hang up the damn phone, Tommy!!" and hearing that soft *click*.
...and for the record....I really did have to walk a mile (ok, maybe 1/4 mile) in knee-deep snow to catch the school bus which was always still frozen rock hard solid because we were the first stop on the bus route.
Maybe my stories lack the romance of the others I mentioned but that's ok...I'm sure time will embellish them a lot and they'll be worthy of a "Tell us about the olden days!" or two.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Every time a bell rings....
Even though it was just the two of us for Christmas dinner, I insisted that we have a turkey this year. Is there any substitute for the smell of roasting turkey on Christmas Day? I think not.
I found an 11 pound bird, facebooked and googled to find the best way to cook it (10 years ago that sentence would have made no sense at all) and it turned out nearly perfect. My turkeys have never turned out golden, but they are usually mighty tasty.
I popped it in the oven at 2 and then felt like having a nap so asked Spouseman to wake me at 5 and I would check the progress. Have I mentioned that he's awesome? When I woke up the gravy was ready to go (we use packet gravy, don't judge us), the potatoes were ready to boil, the brussel sprouts & carrots were sitting in the electric steamer (awesome appliance, everyone should have one) and all that was left to do was to throw the boxed stuffing (don't judge us) in the pot.
So, I check the turkey, it's done, I take it out to rest and it's go time. We turn on the burners for the gravy, spuds and stuffing and plug in the steamer.
The steamer does nothing. Uh oh. We try a different plug and still nothing. The timer is set but the little light doesn't come on. It's never good when a little light doesn't come on, is it?
So, we are mildly peeved but we realize right away that it's minor. The veggies are tossed in a pot and cooked on the stove, no big deal. That steamer has served us well for the last few years and it's paid for itself many times over. Have I mentioned everyone should have one? Get the one with the double steam baskets and the little door that lets you add more water while it's working.
Crisis diverted, every burner is cranking out something on the stove, and we realized then that the reason the steamer didn't work was because it can't work without any water in it! Oops....hahahaha! No worries, it gets put back in the cupboard for next time.
In a bit, everything is heated up, drained, fluffed or mashed as the case may be and we proclaim that dinner is ready. Just as we start to dish up we hear a happy little muffled "DING!" of a timer going off.
Our little steamer....it still managed to be part of Christmas dinner in it's own way.
In retrospect this is probably one of those 'You had to be there." stories...ah well...what's done is done.
I found an 11 pound bird, facebooked and googled to find the best way to cook it (10 years ago that sentence would have made no sense at all) and it turned out nearly perfect. My turkeys have never turned out golden, but they are usually mighty tasty.
I popped it in the oven at 2 and then felt like having a nap so asked Spouseman to wake me at 5 and I would check the progress. Have I mentioned that he's awesome? When I woke up the gravy was ready to go (we use packet gravy, don't judge us), the potatoes were ready to boil, the brussel sprouts & carrots were sitting in the electric steamer (awesome appliance, everyone should have one) and all that was left to do was to throw the boxed stuffing (don't judge us) in the pot.
So, I check the turkey, it's done, I take it out to rest and it's go time. We turn on the burners for the gravy, spuds and stuffing and plug in the steamer.
The steamer does nothing. Uh oh. We try a different plug and still nothing. The timer is set but the little light doesn't come on. It's never good when a little light doesn't come on, is it?
So, we are mildly peeved but we realize right away that it's minor. The veggies are tossed in a pot and cooked on the stove, no big deal. That steamer has served us well for the last few years and it's paid for itself many times over. Have I mentioned everyone should have one? Get the one with the double steam baskets and the little door that lets you add more water while it's working.
Crisis diverted, every burner is cranking out something on the stove, and we realized then that the reason the steamer didn't work was because it can't work without any water in it! Oops....hahahaha! No worries, it gets put back in the cupboard for next time.
In a bit, everything is heated up, drained, fluffed or mashed as the case may be and we proclaim that dinner is ready. Just as we start to dish up we hear a happy little muffled "DING!" of a timer going off.
Our little steamer....it still managed to be part of Christmas dinner in it's own way.
In retrospect this is probably one of those 'You had to be there." stories...ah well...what's done is done.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
It's the little things...
It's 3 little things, actually.
Every day I ride the same route to work and see the same old things. I follow the side road out to the main road and then continue on to downtown. Sometimes I see the lady with the little black dog and there's a guy on another scooter who I might see ahead or trailing behind me. Same old same old.
Last summer though, at the bus stop on the side road, I couldn't help but notice a woman with 3 little boys. I'm guessing they are all ages 4 and under, with the smallest in a stroller. What made them stand out is that they were all wearing little tan bucket hats. When I went by, all three little bucket-hatted heads turned and watched me. SO cute!
I don't see them out there every day but at least once a week, there they are. It's progressed from the head turn, to them pointing , to me waving at them and now when I come up the road, they wave at me. 3 little hands, waving like crazy.
It's awesome....I'm a rock-star!
Next time I see them I think I'm going to give them a little toot of the horn...that ought to rock their little worlds, hey?
I wonder if they'll grow up and remember all this?
Oh, and since it's winter, they are all wearing red toques.
It's the little things that will drive you crazy, but in this case, it's the little things that help keep you sane.
Every day I ride the same route to work and see the same old things. I follow the side road out to the main road and then continue on to downtown. Sometimes I see the lady with the little black dog and there's a guy on another scooter who I might see ahead or trailing behind me. Same old same old.
Last summer though, at the bus stop on the side road, I couldn't help but notice a woman with 3 little boys. I'm guessing they are all ages 4 and under, with the smallest in a stroller. What made them stand out is that they were all wearing little tan bucket hats. When I went by, all three little bucket-hatted heads turned and watched me. SO cute!
I don't see them out there every day but at least once a week, there they are. It's progressed from the head turn, to them pointing , to me waving at them and now when I come up the road, they wave at me. 3 little hands, waving like crazy.
It's awesome....I'm a rock-star!
Next time I see them I think I'm going to give them a little toot of the horn...that ought to rock their little worlds, hey?
I wonder if they'll grow up and remember all this?
Oh, and since it's winter, they are all wearing red toques.
It's the little things that will drive you crazy, but in this case, it's the little things that help keep you sane.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Short people got no reason to clean
It's important to have tall friends for many reasons.
You can find them easier in a crowd. They can find someone else for you when you are in a crowd. They can reach things for you. Pictures of your short self with your tall friends make for some good laughs (some of you might remember the picture of myself and Mark that I called "The Giant and the Midget")
Probably, though, the most important benefit in having tall friends is that when they're coming over for a party you're forced to clean things that you normally don't worry about.
Like the dining room light fixture, the hood of the stove and the top of the fridge.
When you're five feet tall it's kind of an 'out of sight, out of mind' thing.
A person has to pay attention to this sort of detail if they want these people to come back again, so the cleaning frenzy was on tonight.
*(giving credit where credit is due, I didn't do any of this cleaning this time around. Big thankyou goes out to Spouseman. Good job!)
So if you're tall, and you want to visit, you've got about a 2 week window before the dust starts settling again.
You can find them easier in a crowd. They can find someone else for you when you are in a crowd. They can reach things for you. Pictures of your short self with your tall friends make for some good laughs (some of you might remember the picture of myself and Mark that I called "The Giant and the Midget")
Probably, though, the most important benefit in having tall friends is that when they're coming over for a party you're forced to clean things that you normally don't worry about.
Like the dining room light fixture, the hood of the stove and the top of the fridge.
When you're five feet tall it's kind of an 'out of sight, out of mind' thing.
A person has to pay attention to this sort of detail if they want these people to come back again, so the cleaning frenzy was on tonight.
*(giving credit where credit is due, I didn't do any of this cleaning this time around. Big thankyou goes out to Spouseman. Good job!)
So if you're tall, and you want to visit, you've got about a 2 week window before the dust starts settling again.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Just say no to crack.
Really, is there any way a person can truly describe the feeling they get when they round the corner in the grocery store and come face to face, as it were, with a big winter-white expanse of bare skin complete with a cheeky (pun intended, obviously) inch and a half of butt crack?
I was caught between being a little grossed out and wanting to giggle like a five year old.
Where is the etiquette in that? Is it like when someone's fly is open and you tactfully let them know? I always tell people if their tag is sticking out of their shirt whether it is a friend or a stranger, but the butt crack thing....that's kind of unknown territory. It's hard to know what the right thing to do is.
There's probably a website somewhere about it....I'll do a Google.
I was caught between being a little grossed out and wanting to giggle like a five year old.
Where is the etiquette in that? Is it like when someone's fly is open and you tactfully let them know? I always tell people if their tag is sticking out of their shirt whether it is a friend or a stranger, but the butt crack thing....that's kind of unknown territory. It's hard to know what the right thing to do is.
There's probably a website somewhere about it....I'll do a Google.
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