On Monday, I move. This may be the last entry as a resident of Toronto, at least for now. Peterborough, my mother's house, and school all await me.
The art is off my walls now, with the exception of two small pieces that need careful wrapping - one a Chinese symbol of love, I think (it was a handpainted wedding favour from a friend in Virginia), the other a faux stone carving of the Mayan god of wisdom. I'll probably place these two items into the same box as my great dragon mask (helm) and the half-mask I made for Rick. It's hard to remove the art on my walls as each piece is part of what makes the place my home. With the walls bare, now, I can really get down to the nitty gritty and pack the rest of my stuff. The house is empty of cats, Willi being up at the cottage with Mom, Tobe and Wiskers living with Stew's father for the time being. It's a bit lonely, but with the current state of humidity, I was more than happy that no cat was on my chest or stretched out alongside me.
Of course, Chester still has not come home. Slowly, I'm getting used to the idea that he really is gone. Mom believes he may have actually gone into the bush to die. He had been suffering from what looked like a kidney attack at the cottage. Sometimes it's hard to tell, especially when he was outside so much of the time. We will never know for sure, of course, but neither of us have dreamt of him since that one night and for us that seems like proof enough. He is gone.
As I said to Mom while I was still up at the cottage, it is a place haunted by the ghosts of many cats. Each cat we've had up there has left an impression in memory. I see Snowshoe, a cat of my early childhood, hollering from the shore at Mom and me as we paddled out in the canoe. We still slow down driving on the road at night by the hunting club expecting Misha to peek out of the field (now long overgrown) before disappearing only to be waiting for us at the door. On the big rock at the outhouse, Placi still dances, his tail held high and quivering. And now Chester will join them, sleeping in the depressions behind the house and on the blueberry rock.
Packing up house and moving away, no matter how near or far, is hard to do. Losing a loved-one, either two-legged or four, is very painful.
It's hard to say goodbye.
Thursday, August 26, 2004
I have returned from my cottage - a year older, well fed, slightly tanned and with the unbelievable sense of loss. I don't usually return from my cottage feeling like this. Yes, I often feel disappointed or depressed at having to return to my humdrum existence in the big, smelly city, and there was that vacation two years ago when I discovered that I was suffering from chronic depression and anxiety, but that was very different. We lost Chester. For those of you who do not know Chester, let me briefly explain. He is very much my mother's cat, though I fit into his idea of family, though no one else does.
He came to my mother as a feral animal, watching her from the bushes around the house, looking in at her for an entire winter, but never letting her near him. Eventually, she gave in and began to put out food for him. Eventually, in the mid or late spring, he let her touch him. One day, while she was sitting on the recliner, he jumped up and lay down between her feet. She was so stunned she dared not move a muscle. By the end of the summer, he had joined the household. He didn't engraciate himself on us or the other cats, he simply found us to be so curiously odd, and yet also comforting. For a long time, simple actions all cat owners know, like a raised bum and tail in answer to a stroke down the back, were utterly foreign to him. He had never been socialised and when he finally began to mimic the other cats, he looked terribly confused as he did so. I remember once, lying down on the floor in the living room (for what purpose I can't recall) and Chester sneaking up as though I was behaving in a completely abnormal way - as far as he was concerned, I was. In his experience, lying on the floor was something people did NOT do.
He came a long way over the five years he was with us. I sort of feel like he's been living on borrowed time since he was poisoned by anti-freeze three years ago. He almost died twice, each time the vet managed to reinflate his kidneys, but his buddy, Spike, a neighbour's cat, didn't make out so well as Chester. Ever since, Chester has had a closely monitored diet, and not infrequent boughts of diahrrea and/or vomiting after consuming even tiny portions of things on the "Bad food" list. He is a comical cat, though few would be able to agree as he has always eschewed the presence of visitors, often slinking away upon their arrival and then frolicking about once they'd left. His bond to my mother was incredible and she returned it with a huge love.
We knew we were lucky that he deigned to join our family. We knew he was a special cat. We knew we'd never be able to make him an 'indoor' cat and on Saturday after dinner when he agitated to go out, we let him. When he struck off in the wrong direction, heading for the very wild beaver creek, my mother tried to call him back. He stopped, turned and looked at her, but would not come back. He went with purpose. Anything could have happened in the wilderness - more than likely that he was caught by a fisher - or else his kidneys could have failed. He'd been showing some symptoms leading up to his departure. We won't know. I went to try to find him, walking all through the broad territory of the beaver creek and swamp, south of our property, but found no trace. After two days, we knew something was wrong.
It was the dreams that Mom and I had on the same night, two nights ago, that made us truly suspect he'd died. Hers was simple: he came to the window of the cottage, peeked in, looked at her with a calm and unworried expression, and then went away again, out into the night. Mine was a little more symbolic. I dreamed that I came out the front door of the (city) house and found on the ground at my feet his red collar. The collar, still done up, as though he'd simply slipped it, lay perfectly round on the cement and the tag faced up, showing the phone number at our cottage. As I bent to pick it up, Chester came out of the bushes at the side and rubbed my hand, then circled my legs rubbing them, too, his tail held high above him. Then, before I can get my hands around him to pick him up, he slips away into the bushes again and is gone, leaving me with only his collar in my hand.
My mother is still up there, not quite able to bring herself to let go, even though she knows he isn't coming back. Willi, my little girl, followed him around in the bush, like a small, bouncy shadow, and has spent the last three days, searching for him in all his usually spots. The little depression in the ground behind the house. Up on the blueberry rock, where she even dragged me up as if to say, "This is his spot, but I can't find him, can you find him for me?" It is incredibly sad. I have always wondered what it must be like to lose a cat and never know what happened, and now I know.
...
And now, in other much happier news, the rest of the holiday. For my birthday, my mother bought me some canvas board, turpentine, linseed oil and a palatte knife to go with the oil paints I had inherited. Then, she also gave me painting lessons. In my whole artistic life, I have never used oil paints, and of course, as some of you know, my mother had been a prolific artist. When I was a teenager, I'd never have wanted or appreciated her helping me with my art, but I'm older and wiser and realise now that there's no better teacher for me. And she's a good teacher. I did two landscapes, each of a similar view, but from two different approaches. The second one involved her taking all my thin detail brushes away leaving me only my broad brushes. That was really neat.
There was a birthday dinner at Jean's place with her son Michael and that was delicious. It also allowed me one final lesson for Mike with his new computer. I spent three nights working on his system, trying to get it to work. In the end, I had to wipe everything and reinstall Windows because he'd managed to get his computer infected with a worm (in less than a month of owning the damn thing). I set up his email acounts and reinstalled everything and generally made things work and I only had to call Rick once for help. *laugh*
My mother managed to break her foot the day before I arrived, which wasn't really a good thing, but it actually turned out kind of okay. The special cast she was given was one she could take off at night and while it was on during the day, it gave her much-needed ankle support so, in effect, her mobility was increased. It meant I did a lot of shlepping on her behalf, and when we walked together, we had to go slooooooooow, but it didn't impede her greatly.
Anyway, my vacation was nice, but really sad, and despite that, I still wish I were up at the cottage rather than here. I'm sitting surrounded by the mess of a half-packed room and knowing I need to take down my art ASAP. Once the art is off the walls, this place stops being 'home' and I can get on with things. So, I shall sign off and get on with it.
He came to my mother as a feral animal, watching her from the bushes around the house, looking in at her for an entire winter, but never letting her near him. Eventually, she gave in and began to put out food for him. Eventually, in the mid or late spring, he let her touch him. One day, while she was sitting on the recliner, he jumped up and lay down between her feet. She was so stunned she dared not move a muscle. By the end of the summer, he had joined the household. He didn't engraciate himself on us or the other cats, he simply found us to be so curiously odd, and yet also comforting. For a long time, simple actions all cat owners know, like a raised bum and tail in answer to a stroke down the back, were utterly foreign to him. He had never been socialised and when he finally began to mimic the other cats, he looked terribly confused as he did so. I remember once, lying down on the floor in the living room (for what purpose I can't recall) and Chester sneaking up as though I was behaving in a completely abnormal way - as far as he was concerned, I was. In his experience, lying on the floor was something people did NOT do.
He came a long way over the five years he was with us. I sort of feel like he's been living on borrowed time since he was poisoned by anti-freeze three years ago. He almost died twice, each time the vet managed to reinflate his kidneys, but his buddy, Spike, a neighbour's cat, didn't make out so well as Chester. Ever since, Chester has had a closely monitored diet, and not infrequent boughts of diahrrea and/or vomiting after consuming even tiny portions of things on the "Bad food" list. He is a comical cat, though few would be able to agree as he has always eschewed the presence of visitors, often slinking away upon their arrival and then frolicking about once they'd left. His bond to my mother was incredible and she returned it with a huge love.
We knew we were lucky that he deigned to join our family. We knew he was a special cat. We knew we'd never be able to make him an 'indoor' cat and on Saturday after dinner when he agitated to go out, we let him. When he struck off in the wrong direction, heading for the very wild beaver creek, my mother tried to call him back. He stopped, turned and looked at her, but would not come back. He went with purpose. Anything could have happened in the wilderness - more than likely that he was caught by a fisher - or else his kidneys could have failed. He'd been showing some symptoms leading up to his departure. We won't know. I went to try to find him, walking all through the broad territory of the beaver creek and swamp, south of our property, but found no trace. After two days, we knew something was wrong.
It was the dreams that Mom and I had on the same night, two nights ago, that made us truly suspect he'd died. Hers was simple: he came to the window of the cottage, peeked in, looked at her with a calm and unworried expression, and then went away again, out into the night. Mine was a little more symbolic. I dreamed that I came out the front door of the (city) house and found on the ground at my feet his red collar. The collar, still done up, as though he'd simply slipped it, lay perfectly round on the cement and the tag faced up, showing the phone number at our cottage. As I bent to pick it up, Chester came out of the bushes at the side and rubbed my hand, then circled my legs rubbing them, too, his tail held high above him. Then, before I can get my hands around him to pick him up, he slips away into the bushes again and is gone, leaving me with only his collar in my hand.
My mother is still up there, not quite able to bring herself to let go, even though she knows he isn't coming back. Willi, my little girl, followed him around in the bush, like a small, bouncy shadow, and has spent the last three days, searching for him in all his usually spots. The little depression in the ground behind the house. Up on the blueberry rock, where she even dragged me up as if to say, "This is his spot, but I can't find him, can you find him for me?" It is incredibly sad. I have always wondered what it must be like to lose a cat and never know what happened, and now I know.
...
And now, in other much happier news, the rest of the holiday. For my birthday, my mother bought me some canvas board, turpentine, linseed oil and a palatte knife to go with the oil paints I had inherited. Then, she also gave me painting lessons. In my whole artistic life, I have never used oil paints, and of course, as some of you know, my mother had been a prolific artist. When I was a teenager, I'd never have wanted or appreciated her helping me with my art, but I'm older and wiser and realise now that there's no better teacher for me. And she's a good teacher. I did two landscapes, each of a similar view, but from two different approaches. The second one involved her taking all my thin detail brushes away leaving me only my broad brushes. That was really neat.
There was a birthday dinner at Jean's place with her son Michael and that was delicious. It also allowed me one final lesson for Mike with his new computer. I spent three nights working on his system, trying to get it to work. In the end, I had to wipe everything and reinstall Windows because he'd managed to get his computer infected with a worm (in less than a month of owning the damn thing). I set up his email acounts and reinstalled everything and generally made things work and I only had to call Rick once for help. *laugh*
My mother managed to break her foot the day before I arrived, which wasn't really a good thing, but it actually turned out kind of okay. The special cast she was given was one she could take off at night and while it was on during the day, it gave her much-needed ankle support so, in effect, her mobility was increased. It meant I did a lot of shlepping on her behalf, and when we walked together, we had to go slooooooooow, but it didn't impede her greatly.
Anyway, my vacation was nice, but really sad, and despite that, I still wish I were up at the cottage rather than here. I'm sitting surrounded by the mess of a half-packed room and knowing I need to take down my art ASAP. Once the art is off the walls, this place stops being 'home' and I can get on with things. So, I shall sign off and get on with it.
Saturday, August 14, 2004
"Good morning, Royal Ontario Museum. Bonjour."
Uh hi. I was wondering if you could put me through to the entymology department."
"I can, but I have to warn you that, because it's a Saturday, there is probably no one in the office. Is this an emergency?"
"Well, let me explain. Okay, so I caught this spider and I've got it in a cup. It's over two inches long - I measured it. And I never seen such a big spider inside a house before. You know, usually they're those small black ones that run really fast. So I was wondering if this spider is unusual."
And so began my day at the ROM today. I am isolated in the phone dungeon and I know it's highly unlikely that I'll get a call more interesting or enjoyable than that one. I talked to the guy for about five minutes and suggested to him that if he wanted to feed it, he should probably go catch some ants. "Like the little garden ants in my back yard?" I also suggested that since he hasn't got Internet access, he should go to his nearest library and look it up. Chances are, he's just got himself one of those cream-coloured house spiders that hang out in the corners between walls and ceilings and it's probably a male, because they're bigger thanks to longer legs. But, I wasn't about to ruin his enthusiasm by telling him we don't care about his little critter. I wish him and the spider the best of luck.
A few nights ago, I went with a friend to see the Driftwood Theatre's production of A Midsummer Night's Dream in Trinity Bellwoods Park. I have seen them perform in Peterborough and they're pretty good. They travel around to various communities in South/Central Ontario with the intention of providing accessible theatre for all. Normally, I go to Dream in High Park, but in recent years, I haven't been entirely impressed with their shows - they've been interesting and alternative, but not really solid productions. Anyway, Driftwood's version of "Dream" was excellent and easily one of the best performances of it I've seen, and I've seen it at least eight times. While acted in modern dress, they kept very close to the original text and performed it with minimal distraction. Puck was outstanding as was Oberon, but what stands out as a first for me is that the entire cast was very balanced and meshed perfectly with each other. NOrmally, someone's performance irritates me either because it's weaker than the others or because the actor's voice grates, but not this time. It was super.
Tomorrow, Rick and I are heading to the wedding of my highschool friend, Liviya. She's marrying her boyfriend of five years and it should be an interesting event. His family is Italian Catholic, hers Ashkenasi(sp?) Jewish, but the wedding is actually being held at a wedding 'factory' owned and run by... Italian Jews. Wacky. The groom has taken the step of converting, which is pretty impressive, so it will be a full Jewish ceremony. I haven't been to a Jewish wedding in something like 15 years and I'm looking forward to it. Rick asked, "It's a casual wedding, right?" and I burst out laughing. "Noooooo, definitely not. It's suit and tie at the least, babe." I've never heard of a casual wedding either among Jews or Italians. They must exist, but this is not going to be one of them. Unfortunately, it is all going on up north of the city in Richmond Hill or something so our TTC ride is going to be very long. We'll leave from Rick's place and I'll spend the night following there as well because it's a nearly direct bus route from his house to the wedding.
And, finally, I'm heading to the cottage on Tuesday, but travelling from Peterborough. My intention is to take a huge pile of my clothes and whatnot to Peterborough on the bus and leave them there in order to get them out of the way. At the rate my packing is going, I'm not sure it's going to work out, but at the very least, I'll get to take a long, hot bath. From talking to my mother, I understand she's going quite mad thanks to the terrible weather. Stir-crazy, she said. Hopefully I will bring the good weather back for the final eight days up there. Anyway, I've tried to get things packed up, but I've had a box deficit. The only boxes I have are the ones I've gotten from the ROM. I have packed up all of my books, though, and half of my CDs. I'm going to take down my art tonight and sort out a couple to loan to Rick. The rest I'll stack against the wall until I get my hands on some newspaper.
Uh hi. I was wondering if you could put me through to the entymology department."
"I can, but I have to warn you that, because it's a Saturday, there is probably no one in the office. Is this an emergency?"
"Well, let me explain. Okay, so I caught this spider and I've got it in a cup. It's over two inches long - I measured it. And I never seen such a big spider inside a house before. You know, usually they're those small black ones that run really fast. So I was wondering if this spider is unusual."
And so began my day at the ROM today. I am isolated in the phone dungeon and I know it's highly unlikely that I'll get a call more interesting or enjoyable than that one. I talked to the guy for about five minutes and suggested to him that if he wanted to feed it, he should probably go catch some ants. "Like the little garden ants in my back yard?" I also suggested that since he hasn't got Internet access, he should go to his nearest library and look it up. Chances are, he's just got himself one of those cream-coloured house spiders that hang out in the corners between walls and ceilings and it's probably a male, because they're bigger thanks to longer legs. But, I wasn't about to ruin his enthusiasm by telling him we don't care about his little critter. I wish him and the spider the best of luck.
A few nights ago, I went with a friend to see the Driftwood Theatre's production of A Midsummer Night's Dream in Trinity Bellwoods Park. I have seen them perform in Peterborough and they're pretty good. They travel around to various communities in South/Central Ontario with the intention of providing accessible theatre for all. Normally, I go to Dream in High Park, but in recent years, I haven't been entirely impressed with their shows - they've been interesting and alternative, but not really solid productions. Anyway, Driftwood's version of "Dream" was excellent and easily one of the best performances of it I've seen, and I've seen it at least eight times. While acted in modern dress, they kept very close to the original text and performed it with minimal distraction. Puck was outstanding as was Oberon, but what stands out as a first for me is that the entire cast was very balanced and meshed perfectly with each other. NOrmally, someone's performance irritates me either because it's weaker than the others or because the actor's voice grates, but not this time. It was super.
Tomorrow, Rick and I are heading to the wedding of my highschool friend, Liviya. She's marrying her boyfriend of five years and it should be an interesting event. His family is Italian Catholic, hers Ashkenasi(sp?) Jewish, but the wedding is actually being held at a wedding 'factory' owned and run by... Italian Jews. Wacky. The groom has taken the step of converting, which is pretty impressive, so it will be a full Jewish ceremony. I haven't been to a Jewish wedding in something like 15 years and I'm looking forward to it. Rick asked, "It's a casual wedding, right?" and I burst out laughing. "Noooooo, definitely not. It's suit and tie at the least, babe." I've never heard of a casual wedding either among Jews or Italians. They must exist, but this is not going to be one of them. Unfortunately, it is all going on up north of the city in Richmond Hill or something so our TTC ride is going to be very long. We'll leave from Rick's place and I'll spend the night following there as well because it's a nearly direct bus route from his house to the wedding.
And, finally, I'm heading to the cottage on Tuesday, but travelling from Peterborough. My intention is to take a huge pile of my clothes and whatnot to Peterborough on the bus and leave them there in order to get them out of the way. At the rate my packing is going, I'm not sure it's going to work out, but at the very least, I'll get to take a long, hot bath. From talking to my mother, I understand she's going quite mad thanks to the terrible weather. Stir-crazy, she said. Hopefully I will bring the good weather back for the final eight days up there. Anyway, I've tried to get things packed up, but I've had a box deficit. The only boxes I have are the ones I've gotten from the ROM. I have packed up all of my books, though, and half of my CDs. I'm going to take down my art tonight and sort out a couple to loan to Rick. The rest I'll stack against the wall until I get my hands on some newspaper.
Wednesday, August 11, 2004
Sometimes, the world is a truly bizarre place. There I am, stumbling through life and something thumps me and I can't help but blink and look around. Sometimes these things happen after a strongly felt impulse or craving. Two days ago, while working at Nicole's store, I succumbed to the urge I'd been feeling for over a day. I just had to draw a My Little Pony. Those of us of a certain age remember them and no, I don't mean the new ones that are on the market that are meant to appease us in the hopes of buying them for our children out of nostalgia... Anyway, I have never drawn a My Little Pony. Well, not one that was meant to look like the copyrighted image, at any rate, because I'm sure that as a little girl, I drew them and wrote stories to match, but they weren't copies of the design. As I was saying, I broke down and drew one. Not just any MLP, though, no, I created a Hippogriff. Hippogriffs are the offspring of a griffen and a mare - a truly rare occurence as mythology states that griffens prey on horses. Today, I was back at the store and brought with me my trusty greyscale markers and shaded her in. I put a vaguely Scythian symbol on her rump because hippogriffs turn up in Greco-Sythian mythology and I gave her the somewhat lame name of "Scythia". I am deeply proud of this weird bit of fanart.
Here's where the weirdness of the world comes into it. Like I said, I was really feeling the need to draw this. Today, not long after I set down my markers, finished with the drawing, two women about my age walked into the store. One of them popped her head through the beaded curtain to ask the price of the Hello Kitty Tarot and our eyes locked. Instant recognition took place and in stunned babble embraced. Krissy, a childhood friend with whom I'd lost touch with easily 18 years ago, was in Nicole's store, where I just happened to be. We had not seen each other since I graduated from highschool - er eight years earlier - and had not actually had a real friendship since we were little girls in elementary school. With Krissy I had played My Little Pony for hours on end. We used to get scolded by our grade one teacher for bringing our ponies and combing their manes and tails on the carpet when we were supposed to be listening to story time. Until fairly recently, I hadn't thought of a My Little Pony in years, and until she walked into the store today, I hadn't throught of Krissy in easily twice as long.
Naturally, I whipped out the picture and showed it to her and she squealed with delight and admitted that just the other day, she had her ponies out of their box and was looking at them. She was contemplating taking them back to Australia (where she now lives with her husband and has for two years) but wasn't sure if she should. It's amazing the roads our lives travel on. Ours diverged so many eons ago and got tossed back together seemingly out of the blue, and yet we both had a simultaneous urge to revist our favourite childhood toys...
Initially, Krissy and I bonded out of mutual segregation. The girls ostracised us as only little girls can because we came from Somewhere Else. In both our cases, that other place was the USA. Sure, I came from Brooklyn and she from Seattle, but it didn't matter - our US commonality gave us a bond. I don't really remember how our friendship began to fall apart. I think she was held back a grade and if I'm remembering correctly, I was really mad that she was - I thought it was unfair. Then I went into the French programme and like all of my friends, she kept in the English track. French Immersion broke up all but my most powerful friendships and we lost touch. Even though we went to highschool together, ours was a massive school and with never a class together, leading completely different lifestyles, we never reengaged.
Life is strange.
Here's where the weirdness of the world comes into it. Like I said, I was really feeling the need to draw this. Today, not long after I set down my markers, finished with the drawing, two women about my age walked into the store. One of them popped her head through the beaded curtain to ask the price of the Hello Kitty Tarot and our eyes locked. Instant recognition took place and in stunned babble embraced. Krissy, a childhood friend with whom I'd lost touch with easily 18 years ago, was in Nicole's store, where I just happened to be. We had not seen each other since I graduated from highschool - er eight years earlier - and had not actually had a real friendship since we were little girls in elementary school. With Krissy I had played My Little Pony for hours on end. We used to get scolded by our grade one teacher for bringing our ponies and combing their manes and tails on the carpet when we were supposed to be listening to story time. Until fairly recently, I hadn't thought of a My Little Pony in years, and until she walked into the store today, I hadn't throught of Krissy in easily twice as long.
Naturally, I whipped out the picture and showed it to her and she squealed with delight and admitted that just the other day, she had her ponies out of their box and was looking at them. She was contemplating taking them back to Australia (where she now lives with her husband and has for two years) but wasn't sure if she should. It's amazing the roads our lives travel on. Ours diverged so many eons ago and got tossed back together seemingly out of the blue, and yet we both had a simultaneous urge to revist our favourite childhood toys...
Initially, Krissy and I bonded out of mutual segregation. The girls ostracised us as only little girls can because we came from Somewhere Else. In both our cases, that other place was the USA. Sure, I came from Brooklyn and she from Seattle, but it didn't matter - our US commonality gave us a bond. I don't really remember how our friendship began to fall apart. I think she was held back a grade and if I'm remembering correctly, I was really mad that she was - I thought it was unfair. Then I went into the French programme and like all of my friends, she kept in the English track. French Immersion broke up all but my most powerful friendships and we lost touch. Even though we went to highschool together, ours was a massive school and with never a class together, leading completely different lifestyles, we never reengaged.
Life is strange.
Friday, August 06, 2004
Thank you, Meriam-Webster, but I beg to differ about this one...
The Word of the Day for Aug 06 is:
goober \GOO-ber (the "OO" may be pronounced either as in "food" or as in "good")\ noun : peanut
Example sentence: Gerald has been trying to cut down on salty snacks this year, but he still can't help stealing a few goobers from the candy dish.
Did you know? We're just nuts about the word "goober." It's a regional term, used mainly in the southern and east-central part of the United States. But the plant didn't originate in the U.S.; it's actually native to South America. It was taken from there to Africa, where the local people gave new names to the high-protein legumes. Peanuts traveled back to North America with slave traders, and there English speakers adopted a term from the Bantu languages of central and southern Africa to form "goober." But "goober" isn't the only name for "peanut" that has stuck with us. That snack staple is also known as the "groundnut," "earthnut," and, more rarely, the "pinder," another term that originated in the Bantu languages.
In other news, I've had a few days off in a row, which is terribly exciting, and though I had every intention of using this time to start my packing and whatnot, I haven't, and instead have found myself doing such things as sleeping, reading, playing video games, eating freezies, and walking around downtown. And enjoying myself. However, now I have pretty well used up my dawdle time and cannot put off the inevitable any longer. Thus, this afternoon, in but a few minutes, really, I am going to do some laundry. When I return, I'll have an hour or so before needing to head over to Rick's. We're going to spend a low-key evening watching Hellboy and chillin'. Tomorrow it's Taste of the Danforth, and then I'm coming home to do some sorting. I've got a whole pile of boxes waiting for me at the ROM, which on Sunday, I will flatten out and stuff into a bag to bring home.
On Monday and Wednesday, I'm going to be filling in for Nicole at Nocturnalia while she is at Pensic. That will be fun, because I'll be able to dress in clothes that I can't wear at the ROM. In fact, that's one of the things I am looking forward to about starting school in the fall. I won't be required to wear business casual every day. Woo ! Of course, that's not all I'm excited about. Heh. I'm just not excited about physically moving home. I don't want to rent a truck or van (I'd prefer a van), but them's the breaks. I'm busily examining different moving truck rental prices. I will be able to split some of the cost with Stew, who needs a van, too, but I need a package that won't burn me on the kms because I will have to drive to and from Peterborough. I was so impressed with Discount when Rick and I went to the cottage in their rental car that I am seriously considering renting from them again. I think that the van will be big enough - I've moved with one of them before, and a number of things (books, for instance) will be stored at Rick's house. Anyway, I have to book that soon.
I'm kind of thinking we should have a garage sale, as there's so much crap here, mostly belonging to me, but I dunno. That's more work than I think I have time for. Oh well, more junk for Mom's garage. Anyway, now I'm off to do laundry.
This just in. Plans have to change. I'm now working tomorrow, not Sunday. Hopefully, Rick will be ammenable to this and not mind too much postponing tonight until tomorrow night.
The Word of the Day for Aug 06 is:
goober \GOO-ber (the "OO" may be pronounced either as in "food" or as in "good")\ noun : peanut
Example sentence: Gerald has been trying to cut down on salty snacks this year, but he still can't help stealing a few goobers from the candy dish.
Did you know? We're just nuts about the word "goober." It's a regional term, used mainly in the southern and east-central part of the United States. But the plant didn't originate in the U.S.; it's actually native to South America. It was taken from there to Africa, where the local people gave new names to the high-protein legumes. Peanuts traveled back to North America with slave traders, and there English speakers adopted a term from the Bantu languages of central and southern Africa to form "goober." But "goober" isn't the only name for "peanut" that has stuck with us. That snack staple is also known as the "groundnut," "earthnut," and, more rarely, the "pinder," another term that originated in the Bantu languages.
In other news, I've had a few days off in a row, which is terribly exciting, and though I had every intention of using this time to start my packing and whatnot, I haven't, and instead have found myself doing such things as sleeping, reading, playing video games, eating freezies, and walking around downtown. And enjoying myself. However, now I have pretty well used up my dawdle time and cannot put off the inevitable any longer. Thus, this afternoon, in but a few minutes, really, I am going to do some laundry. When I return, I'll have an hour or so before needing to head over to Rick's. We're going to spend a low-key evening watching Hellboy and chillin'. Tomorrow it's Taste of the Danforth, and then I'm coming home to do some sorting. I've got a whole pile of boxes waiting for me at the ROM, which on Sunday, I will flatten out and stuff into a bag to bring home.
On Monday and Wednesday, I'm going to be filling in for Nicole at Nocturnalia while she is at Pensic. That will be fun, because I'll be able to dress in clothes that I can't wear at the ROM. In fact, that's one of the things I am looking forward to about starting school in the fall. I won't be required to wear business casual every day. Woo ! Of course, that's not all I'm excited about. Heh. I'm just not excited about physically moving home. I don't want to rent a truck or van (I'd prefer a van), but them's the breaks. I'm busily examining different moving truck rental prices. I will be able to split some of the cost with Stew, who needs a van, too, but I need a package that won't burn me on the kms because I will have to drive to and from Peterborough. I was so impressed with Discount when Rick and I went to the cottage in their rental car that I am seriously considering renting from them again. I think that the van will be big enough - I've moved with one of them before, and a number of things (books, for instance) will be stored at Rick's house. Anyway, I have to book that soon.
I'm kind of thinking we should have a garage sale, as there's so much crap here, mostly belonging to me, but I dunno. That's more work than I think I have time for. Oh well, more junk for Mom's garage. Anyway, now I'm off to do laundry.
This just in. Plans have to change. I'm now working tomorrow, not Sunday. Hopefully, Rick will be ammenable to this and not mind too much postponing tonight until tomorrow night.