I Like It Like That

I went for a walk this morning in the misty drizzle.  Older neighborhoods with all their huge trees are delightful, as is walking in the rain.  Except your camera gets wet.  This is the tree in our backyard that W tried to kill a few years back, but it was having none of that.  He had it cut back so low we thought it would die (his marker slipped and the tree trimmers cut it there anyway, probably rolling their eyes in confusion while they did it.)  It’s gone kind of crazy since then, in a magnificent sort of way.  I like it.


This is my street when I’m almost home.  Every time I’m driving it I think I should walk back there and take a picture of it, so today I did.  Even on a cloudy dull day it’s rather beautiful.

Nope, this is not a park, it’s the side yard of the house across the street.  This is what I see when I look out my living room window.  This guy is NOT a tree trimmer.  I like that.

I decided to update my timeline picture on Facebook and this is it, a strange angled shot of the front of our house.

Yes, I have entirely too much time on my hands today.  And speaking of the timeline, I like it.  I have never NOT liked it and in fact I think it’s one of the most likable things they’ve done there.

I like that I’ve got absolutely nothing interesting to say today and filled up some blog space anyway.

Rain and Lilacs

Lilacs

Lilacs (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Is it too late to be bothered fixing up flower beds for this year?  (Please say yes.) The tiger lilies and the dogwood thrive despite my neglect but some other plants are looking dejected and thirsty and mostly dead.  In a previous life I must have had gardeners.  My ambition gets stuck in neutral and all I want to do is big fat nothing when I get home from work and just looking at the yard makes me tired.

But it’s a mercifully short work day today and I’m hoping to get more accomplished than sleeping through the entire afternoon, tempting as that might sound.

The rain has rained itself out for now, the lilacs next door are blooming and the breeze is blowing their delightful scent through my window.  Now there’s something you can’t buy in a spray bottle.

This song has been rolling around in my head this morning and I can’t seem to get rid of it.  Don’t you kind of hate it when that happens?  There’s no real cure, but sharing seems to ease the pain.

So there you go – it’s all yours now. Complete with lyrics so you can sing along.  You’re welcome.

D is for Damp

This is the scene that greeted me out the front door a couple of days ago.  If it wasn’t for bringing the paper in I would have been quite happy to just leave the damned door closed.  I’m not even going to talk about the S word in April.  What we’re dealing with here is a kind of sem-solid dense white rain. It’s annoying to slog through but it dissipates quickly.  Although not before some of it’s been soaked up by the bottom couple of inches of your pant legs and seriously messed with your shoes.

All this moisture is of course a good thing.  It’s working hard to turn our brown world to green.  The lawn people have been out and about with a similar objective.  All those bags decorating my front lawn are filled with nasty brown crap that they raked up and SORT OF carried away.  Now the bags are awaiting final pick up (which is scheduled for the middle of May but I’m going to pretend I don’t know that.)  Any day now.  That’s my new mantra.

Damp in this instance is merely dank and extremely dewy.  I will not let it be deadening, demoralizing, diminishing or disheartening.  (Why are there so damned many depressing D words??)  Sorry for saying damned again.  But think about it – Damp You!  just doesn’t have the same effect.

D is also for Draw Something, the App that teaches you very quickly that you have absolutely no talent as an artist and should not quit your day job to take up comic strip writing, even though what you have “drawn” is admittedly hilariously funny.  Just not something you’re likely to get paid for.

Here’s what the world outside my front door looked like early this morning.  I really should be venturing a little farther afield, but that would be risking personal dampness.  Because it rained again.  Look into that not so very distant area to the right across the street and you will see GREEN!  The grass is always greener on the other side of the street.  (And also in southwestern Ontario, but I’ve whined about that too much already.)  What this means is that our grass will eventually green up out of embarassment any day now.  I’m paying people to cut it, so damp it all, bring on the damp.  Just not the opaque stuff, please. I’m kind of done with that.

Gnome Gets a Facelift

On this blustery day in April we woke up to discover a completely blank space on the calendar next to the number ten.  The house was freezing cold, the wind was blowing and a wet snow was coming down so it was nice to know we didn’t have to venture out into that nonsense.

Around nine in the morning we noticed a new orange cat huddled on a plant shelf next to the hot tub.  He seemed happy enough and out of the wind and in no hurry to go anywhere.  Like home, wherever that might be.  He has been there now for over twelve hours, sleeping, grooming himself, staring off into space and doing whatever else it is cats do when they decide to drive you nuts by appearing to be doing nothing at all.  Perhaps he thinks he’s found an orange cat refuge and is going to wait us out to see if we’ll break down and feed him.  I expect he’ll be gone in the morning.  He has too much white on his chest to truly belong, although that would be a big plus for me to be able to recognize at least one of these beasts on sight.

So what do you do on a cold spring day?

You round up a couple of weathered lawn ornaments and get out your paints.  The deer required only a new coat and some sprucing up, but the reclining gnome was obviously more of a challenge.  He came this close to being tossed in the trash.  Good thing the weather stayed rotten.  We also painted a box and some little bird houses but these two took up the bulk of our afternoon.

No real change in the deer except for looking a bit more alert, but the gnome is unrecognizable as his former self.


He’s almost cute!  As far as garden gnomes go.  Now he can peek out from underneath the bushes and not scare people to death.  Or maybe that’s hoping for too much.

Of course the rest of the day was quite anticlimactic after the gnome painting concluded.  We ate dinner and watched a movie and checked on the strange cat AGAIN.  Even tried to frighten it away but it just stares and stretches and turns the other way on the shelf and resumes it’s marathon nap.

I’m not sure how tomorrow could possibly be more exciting than today.  There are a number of things jotted down on the calendar for the 11th and not one of them involves dealing with flower bed decorations of any sort.  And so far, no mention of finding a new home for a wandering cat either.  Once he sees the gnome he’ll no doubt head off on his own.

Y is for Yesteryear

Yesteryear – sometimes feels like yesterday.  Bygone days, days of yore.  Well, in this case, not exactly ancient history, but often time out of mind.  Maybe when my kids remember this they’ll think of it as the good old days.  Or a brief part of their miserable childhoods.  But I hope not.  We had some happy times.

These little scenes of yesteryear are brought to you courtesy of the big red van that took us south and west to the mountains where we spent our family holiday ski weeks.  The body of the van was a piece of junk when we got it, and an even worse pile of crap when we were done with it, but in it’s glory days it was all fixed up to be practically luxurious.  Because W worked on it relentlessly until it had new windows and plush new captains chairs and panelling and privacy curtains and a sky light and a bright red paint job.  I don’t even want to think about the amount of money we poured into that thing, but it went a lot of miles for us and it carried a LOT of stuff.

In the parking lot, after the morning ski, breaking for lunch.  Open up the back doors, and voila – instant outdoor bistro.


Our chauffeur, the infamous W.  We spent all the moola on the vehicle and ski lessons and lift passes.  None left for hair cuts.

     

Kids being kids…give them enough snacks and they’ll stay happy for miles and miles.

Mom being mom.  Probably being asked something cute and endearing from the back seat, like “Can we please skip lessons and just ski all the black diamond runs tomorrow??”  Have to love the ski hat hair and the fat lips.  I always got cold sores from the cold and the sun, so that could be why I look like I’m having the least fun of all of us.

Still, I remember those trips with nostalgic pleasure.  Looking back, never to return.  Filed under Y for yesteryear in my little box of memories.