Monthly Archives: January 2015

Really Snow White

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This reminded me of a funny story which I’ve told before.

But this is what old people do – we repeat things and don’t give a shit if you’ve heard them all twenty-six times already.

Granddaughter (the first) and I were sitting on the couch playing with her Polly Pocket dolls.  She was responsible for the actions and deeds and commentary of three or four of them, but I had just one.  I chose Snow White because she’s my favourite.  I had her climb to the top of the couch-back where she jumped around, lost her wig, put it on backwards, freaked out because she couldn’t see, and screamed for help.

My granddaughter sighed, rolled her eyes, and said in her firmest no-nonsense 4-year-old voice, “Oh Snow White, get a grip of yourself.”

Snow White made less of an ass of herself after that.

Here’s to the last snow white day in January.  And getting a grip when we need to.

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Art du Jour 35

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I’ve been admiring all the cut-and-paste collage type cityscape pictures on Pinterest, and this is my attempt at whatever the proper artistic description is for it.

There was going to be a moon in the sky with a face on it, but I found this cat, and there he is.  Cats are notorious for popping up in all the wrong places and looking like they belong exactly where they are.

I have done something to my left foot which is causing a ridiculous amount of pain and making me hobble around whining and feeling sorry for myself.  Google wisdom suggests ice, compression, elevation, rest, and better arch support in shoes.  And as a last resort, go see your doctor.  I have made appointments before for such things, only to have the symptoms disappear before I get there.

A tensor bandage isn’t doing much and last night the pain woke me up.  On the bright side, I have an excuse for sitting around with my feet up all day.  There’s always a bright side.

One Liner Wednesday – Insufferable

 

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When you get an idea in your head, you simply won’t let it go as you constantly search for normalcy, love, and sometimes revenge–and your vicious stubbornness inspires you to fight to the death to get what you want.

One-Liner Wednesday

(I took the female action hero personality test on brainfall and the above is my result.  I am the bride.  I had never heard of her before today.  One of the questions on the quiz asked why you were taking the test, with ‘I’m insufferably bored’ as one of the choices.  Turns out I’m also insufferably stubborn, but I’m sure it’s in a good way.  Don’t make me fight you to the death over the truth in that.)

 

Sharing My World 16

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Share Your World 2015 Week 4

Where did you live at age five?  Is it the same place or town you live now?

The year I was five we moved from one farm to another one.  Of the first farm I have relatively few memories, except that it was close to grandmas, it was a very long walk from the house to the barn and I was not allowed to go there on my own, and in the house we could run around in a big circle from the kitchen, past the stairs, through the living room and back to the kitchen.  There was a hand pump for water in the kitchen and a dark shed (where the dog lived) attached to the back door.

The new farm, to my five-year-old mind, was utopia in comparison.  The run in circles was twice as long, through the dining room, past the stairs, through the living room and into the kitchen, past the basement stairs and back to the dining room.  We could also run up the front stairs and down the back ones, and from the front lawn to the side lawn to the back lawn, across the driveway and another side lawn and back to the front.  Obviously, running around in circles at this stage in my life was extremely important to me.

A lot of family still lives in that area so I go back to visit frequently, but I haven’t lived there, or in that province, for over 40 years.

Did you grow up in a small or big town? Did you like it?

Our farm was in the midst of many small-town Ontario towns, but I consider the one where I went to high school as my home town.  It was on the shores of Lake Huron, had amazing sunsets, and filled up with beach-going tourists in the summer.  I liked it just fine.

As a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?

Hey, I still haven’t decided.  I was very good at running, with all that practice, and won lots of races in elementary school, so being an Olympic runner crossed my mind.  Then I became a lazy teenager who ran one relay race at one track and field meet (we came in second) and my ambitions shifted to obtaining my driver’s license and getting the hell off the farm.  After that, my plans were always rather vague.  University, teachers college, meeting interesting men, going to parties.  (I wonder for priorities sake if I should have put all that in reverse order.)

You are invited to a party that will be attended by many fascinating people you never met.  Would you attend this party if you were to go by yourself?

Sure.  I will be one of those fascinating people in attendance.  Just hopefully no one asks me what I want to be when I grow up.

Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?

I am grateful for our amazing weather, pretty much unheard of for here in a normal January.  I know there’s a lot more winter to come, but this has been a lovely little break in the middle.  A long cold month which usually drags on forever has turned out to be pleasantly quick in passing by.

Next week I’m going to see an audiologist.  All that running around in circles as a child probably damaged my ear drums somehow,  and I’m paying for it now.  I think I can hear just fine until people mumble at me on the phone, or garble some strange nonsense from another room, or when I decide I can’t understand what people in movies are saying without subtitles across the bottom of the screen.  Yep, it’s time.

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Wild and Reckless

foster hewit

Dad was never much of a hockey fan, although he liked to comment on Foster Hewitt’s play by play when the rest of us were glued to the tv on a Saturday night, cheering for the Maple Leafs on Hockey Night in Canada.

“What number is that fellow, Abandon?” he asked us once.

“Everybody is always skating down the ice with Reckless Abandon, if you can believe that announcer, and I don’t know, I’m wondering if maybe he has a younger brother at home called Wild.”

We stopped arguing which favourite player was better, Frank Mahovlich or Davey Keon, to laugh at the idea of the Abandon brothers making all the assists.

But then “He shoots…he SCORES!!” popped it right out of our heads.

 

Five Sentence Fiction –   Abandon

Art du Jour 33

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My inspiration for this composition came from a Pinterest pin. There’s no end to the ideas there, and I’ve pinned many.  I’d have quite a collection of my own art work if I sat down more often and used them.

I’m loving the colours here.  In my idea of a perfect world there would be predominantly reds and yellows during the day, and pinks and purples at night, with all other colours merely accents.

We are enjoying the most incredible weather for January today.  Well above freezing and snow melting everywhere.  W looked out the front window this morning and mused that perhaps winter was over.  That was a pretty delusional observation.  I’ll remind him of it when we’re in the middle of a blizzard in May.

But for now, time to bask in the sunshine.

Art du Jour 32

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Charcoal makes such a mess.  I’m not sure what all I used here, because I have my drawing things all over the place and often mixed up, but within easy reach. So I tend to grab something and see what it does, and wonder about it later.

I do know this is on drawing paper, not sketch paper.  And that I almost abandoned it half-finished because it wasn’t going the way I expected.  Or fast enough to suit me.  Because, you know, I’ve got a lot of Netflix to watch.  But I walked away and returned to it later, realizing then that it likely wasn’t such a complete disaster after all.

What else is new?  We had our wireless internet upgraded yesterday.  To me there is no noticeable difference, but our monthly bill will change of course.  And here’s the funny part.  Our internet provider has called us every day for over a week to ask us if we would like to have our service upgraded.  Sometimes they ask to speak to me, and sometimes to W.  Both of us have been telling them every single time they call that we have already arranged to have this done.  They called yesterday and we said it was being done.  Today we told them it has been done for the love of gawd and to please stop calling us.  Do none of these idiots ever talk to each other?  Were they all given the same phone list as a joke?  It’s not all that funny anymore.

Happy rainy day in January everybody!  It’s a good day for sorting out pencils and ignoring the phone.

Death By Bok Choi

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Here I am, all bleary-eyed, hooked on yet another television series on Netflix.  Do you have any idea how long it takes to watch 26 episodes which were originally spaced out over two seasons?  I don’t either, because I forget when I started watching this.  I do know that partway through my fascination with the show,  Netflix experienced streaming problems and apologized for the inconvenience of almost two days of inability to load.  That was brutal.  Almost made me want to demand my eight dollars back for the month.  But they got it fixed and I forgave them.

The Killing  is an American crime show based on the Danish television series Forbrydelsen  (The Crime.)

This is a little two season synopsis from Wikipedia, where there’s lots more info if you’re curious –

Season 1 (2011)
The first season covers the first two weeks of the investigation of the murder of local teenager Rosie Larsen and has three main storylines: the police investigation into Rosie’s murder, the Larsen family’s attempts to deal with their grief, and the fluctuating electoral fortunes of a political campaign that becomes embroiled in the case.

Season 2 (2012)
The season resumes the investigation into the murder and reveals secrets about the Larsen family as well as a possible conspiracy within the campaign race and the Seattle police department. The Larsen murder case gets closed with the discovery of those involved in it.

And when they say ‘those’ involved in it, they really do mean more than one bad guy.  The two detectives assigned to the case take two whole seasons to get to the bottom of this mess.  Just when they think they’ve got it narrowed down, new information sends them in a different direction with suspects all over the place.  Everybody has a secret or is withholding information or is basically clueless or simply an idiot.  Over all it’s a good story and well acted and I didn’t need much encouragement to start watching season three.

But there were some pretty hard to believe scenarios.  For instance, when a candidate for mayor gets shot, almost dies, is paralyzed from the waist down, weeps about it a couple of times and then hops into a wheel chair and continues on with his campaign.  Come on.  I know politicians are a bizarre bunch, but that bit was a real eye-roller.  Sorry to give that away if you haven’t watched it.

Nowhere in the first two seasons was there any mention of bok choi.  And I don’t believe anyone could actually die from an overdose.  However, if you could, W is the guilty party here.  He doesn’t eat it, but he keeps buying bags of it, every time he goes shopping.  And I keep trying to figure out ways to use it up before it goes soft and mushy and its leaves shrivel up.  I put it in soups and salads and smoothies and sometimes even eat it raw like you would celery.  Some of it unfortunately ends up in the compost bin.  And then he notices there’s only one bag left and off he goes to buy another one.  And the cycle continues.  This is not a long or interesting enough story to dedicate an entire blog post to, so I’m adding it to the end to explain the weird title.  So far it is unclear which one of us is going to die.

 

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Drink Drank Drunk

wine and cheese wine for dinner

We drank our coffee, we drunk our coffee.  We did not get drunk on coffee, and that is why, although it is acceptable to ask who drunk all the coffee, we don’t because of the association of the word ‘drunk’ with intoxication.  It just sounds better to say ‘drank’.

I would also like to say think, thank, thunk.  Because English.  It thunks.

Thanks to Electronic Bag Lady and her bag of bits, I now know the meaning of this excellent word:  QUAFFTIDE  Go there for the definition of the word, and stay for many good reads.  I think you will thank me later.

Now if you had asked me yesterday if I was done with homework for the rest of my life,  I would have told you yes.  But then EBL also said this.

Your homework is to tell me your terms for quafftiding like it’s 2015, and ideally also to relate an anecdote about such a party. It may involve Pan-Galactic Gargleblasters if you wish, and be purely hypothetical. No photocopiers should be harmed in the production of your story.

Although it wasn’t written in that exact annoying colour or font, still I have decided to take it seriously.  Never having outgrown my nerdy tendency to complete all homework assignments ever given to me,  I will now ramble off all the phrases I know or have used personally to describe what happens to you when you participate to an unhealthy degree in quafftidling events.

 sloshed, buzzed, wasted, shit faced,

three sheets to the wind, tipsy, pickled, pissed,

trashed, hooped, under the influence, plastered,

hammered, blind drunk,

on a bender, ripped,

looped

blotto

smashed,

wiggy,

stoned,

loaded, half cut,

out of your tree, and totally wrecked.

There are probably more I’ve forgotten (and most of these are no doubt no longer popular in 2015)  but that’s all I’ve got, likely because of what all that booze supposedly does to your brain cells.  Contrary to what you might have been lead to believe (because I often talk about wine and like to put words into wine glass shapes) I don’t drink much at all anymore.  My doctor asked me how much alcohol I consume on a daily or weekly basis, and I said  “Just the occasional bottle of wine.  Shit!  I mean GLASS.  Glass of wine.  Gawd.”

I drink more when I’m on a holiday or with people of like mind who are also drinking of course.  And I certainly did my share of partying in high school and university,  and socially whenever we could get away with it while our kids were young, until we decided we should set a better example for them.

I remember how impressed W’s university friends were on a couple of occasions when I was able to keep up with them consuming draft beer.  Some guys are just so easily dazzled.  I don’t remember ever seeing any Pan-Galactic Gargleblasters though.  When I’ve had enough to drink and can no longer feel my feet, I say goodnight and go to bed.  So it’s entirely possible I passed out before they joined the party.

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