Sharing My World 6


A street very close to the street where I live.

A street very close to the street where I live.

What would be your preference, awake before dawn or awake before noon?

There’s something magical about getting up before the sun rises.  It’s easy enough to do now that the days are so much shorter.  I don’t have to be up and on the road to work an early shift anymore, but this morning W had to have his truck delivered to an auto body shop a good half hours drive away, by 8 a.m.,  so I followed him there in the car to drive him home.  We headed east, away from the city while it was still dark, and watched dawn break.  I had forgotten how incredibly gorgeous the morning sky can be, with white clouds painted in yellows and pinks against a striking blue sky.  Couldn’t attempt a photo while sailing down the highway at 110 kph, but I imagined the colors I’d mix with a wide brush on white canvas.

Last night I had a strange dream in which I was driving down a dirt and gravel road, going way too fast, narrowly avoiding head on collisions with on coming traffic.  There was something about a school bus, and an old rust coloured chev but that’s all I remember.  Then suddenly I was dispensing glasses wearing just my lab coat, with nothing on underneath.  It was topless Tuesday and we were breaking the rules.  By wearing a top, I guess.  There are always crazy details in my dreams that don’t make sense and thankfully bump me back into the real world where I often have to sit up and shake my head to clear it.  If I try to sleep the morning away, my dreams get increasingly more bizarre until I wake up with a pounding headache.  Lately we’ve been getting up to the early daylight and quiet mornings in which W putters around in the kitchen making breakfast.  He has become quite the breakfast chef, actually.  Bacon and eggs, fried tomatoes, hash browns, orange juice, fresh coffee.  Yum.

Sorry, what was the question again? Oh yeah.  Before dawn will always be my preference.  That way the day is deliciously long.

If you could choose between Wisdom and Luck, which one would you pick?

Well there’s all kinds of luck, isn’t there?  Good, bad, dumb, beginners, that of the Irish.  I’d rather be wise and create my own luck.  Wisdom is supposed to come with age, right?  Well, something good should come of it.  I’d settle for wisdom.

If you were given the opportunity for free skydiving lessons would you take them? Why or why not?

Gawd, NO.  I’ve just discovered recently how afraid I am of heights and realized how I’ve spent a large part of my life avoiding putting myself high above terra firma.  I’ve always been afraid of falling.  When we were young and daring and foolish my siblings and I used to climb up to the high beams in the barn and jump into the hay.  I’ve never forgotten that adrenaline rush and the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach all the way down to the awkward landing.  It happened every time.  I was happy to finally outgrow the need to be just as brave as my older brother and pretend for my sister that I was having fun.   I’ll have to ask her if she thought jumping off into space was fun.  Maybe she was pretending too.

Is the glass half empty or half full? What is in the glass?

The glass is half full of red wine.  Since you don’t ever fill a wine glass to the brim (according to wine etiquette 101) the halfway mark could be misconstrued as full, really.   Because wine should be swirled and sniffed and stuff and you need to leave room to do that.  I am no wine connoisseur or expert and could be making this up for all I know.  I’m sure there’s different rules for different wines.  Anyway, make mine red and not too dry, fill the glass one-third to half way and then endeavour to keep it like that.  Those are my rules.

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

I’m grateful for a visit from our daughter and granddaughter on a sunny warm October Sunday, along with our slightly crazy Jack Russell grand-dog who sits on the back of the couch by the window and warns us of impending doom from passers-by.  Apparently the next door neighbors are especially not to be trusted.  W barbequed some ribs and D made her famous Quinoa Salad.  We drank some red wine and did some artwork while Kenzie worked on making her own Halloween costume from yards and yards of tulle.

This week I’m looking forward to getting a flu shot on Wednesday and seeing my specialist doctor for post op follow-up on Thursday.  How madly exciting is that on a scale of one to ten?  I have also signed up for Blogging 201 here on Word Press, and the first thing they expect me to do is set three goals for my blog.  This made me realize I have been floundering around totally goal-less for a long time.  Perhaps my world is about to change.  Perhaps pigs will take up sky diving.  Who knows what might happen in the next week full of magical pre-dawn hours.

Share Your World 2014 Week 42

Sharing My World 2

Early October Wine Grapes

Early October Wine Grapes (Photo Credit Ilares Riolfi)

Share Your World – 2014 Week 38


If you could be a tree or plant, what would you be?

I would be a grape vine in a vineyard in Italy or the south of France.  I can imagine being pampered and cared for and thus very productive with little personal effort.  Enjoying the sunshine with my family and friends, loaded down with luscious sun drenched fruit.  And doing whatever else grape vines get off on doing.

If you could have a servant come to your house every day for one hour, what would you have them do?

Head directly to the kitchen, unpack the groceries picked up on the way over, and whip up a fantastic gourmet meal.  Or something simply nutritious and edible.  This servant doesn’t have to be a master chef or even particularly skilled because I probably won’t know the difference.  As long as somebody else cooks it, I’m pretty much guaranteed to like whatever it is.  Never having to meal plan or cook again!  That would be almost as blissful as standing around doing nothing in a vineyard all day.

If you could have an endless supply of any food, what would you get?

Well if I have a servant doing the shopping and cooking, this would just be overkill.  Is red wine a food?  I’ll get my servant to reclassify it.  I’d be okay with an endless supply of that.

What was one of your first moneymaking jobs (other than babysitting or newspaper delivery)?

My first three jobs were all in the food service industry.  A little mom-and-pop diner, a tea house on the beach and a dairy bar where we sold ice cream and fast food.  Perhaps this explains my aversion to preparing and serving food, and why I’m always so nice to wait staff.  Never before or since have I felt so overworked and under appreciated.  I hope I’m able to give my servant generous tips.  And the occasional holiday in the south of France.

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

I’m grateful for the fact that last week I didn’t strangle any small screaming children.  What is up with all the damned screaming when your poor servant-less mother is trying to shop?  Seriously, cut it out.  You’ll have plenty to scream about later in life when you’re waiting tables for a living.

This week I’m looking forward to all the gorgeous weather they’re predicting for days and days!  I’m looking forward to buying some gesso and repurposing some used canvas.  Drawing and painting and putting a dent in my endless wine supply.  Oh yeah, I don’t actually have one of those.  But think how grateful I’d be if I did.  Over the top.  No lie.


Bottoms Up


Well I SUPPOSE it’s about time for a REAL post.  Said the pre-retiring mess-making cartoon-drawing officially old lady trying to make sense of this new not-classic mode of creation on Word Press.

So just ignore that, I’m not here to complain about insignificant things, because what I really want to talk about is my signature beverage.  It was a WP prompt awhile ago that made me laugh, because, really, who do we think we are, famous people with images or something?  And without even knowing me all that well you might suspect my drink du jour would be a tall glass of red wine (good guess) but it wasn’t always so.

It used to be chocolate milk.  I thought I would never outgrow it, and maybe I still haven’t completely, because that stuff is good.  Not the kind you mix with a powdered concoction into actual milk, but the kind you buy in little brown bottles or cartons which may or may not contain any real milk.  Smooth and thick and chocolate-y with coma inducing amounts of sugar.  This was such a rare treat when I was a kid that whenever we ate out (another once in a blue moon treat) that’s what I would order to drink.  Who cares about the food.  Chocolate milk goes with absolutely everything.

Then when I was a teenager trying to put chocolate behind me, Coca Cola was the next best thing.  Until it became cool to prefer Pepsi although if you did a blind taste test you’d probably have to cheat if you really wanted people to think you could tell the difference.

In my twenties and beyond, when I became extremely world-weary and sophisticated, my go-to beverage was a Harvey Wallbanger.  Because what could possibly be more sophisticated than that.  Not cheap draft beer, that’s for sure, although I admit I drank my fair share of that too, depending entirely on the money situation of the moment.   Vodka, orange juice, Galliano, a slice of orange and a maraschino cherry.  And lots of ice.  Umbrella purely optional.  But a nice touch.

W is the one who got me drinking amber rum.  Probably because the umbrellas were an embarrassment for him.  And it had to be with real Pepsi, no substitutions.  And a twist of lemon or lime.  I’m the one who switched myself to spiced rum.  He hates it.  All the more for me then.

Raising children changes everything of course, and drinking something like coffee to keep yourself alert replaces drinking anything that might cause you to pass out and miss seeing whatever it is they’re up to now.  And coffee seems harmless enough until you clue in to how addicted you are to it.  Even then, it’s not easy to give it up.  Mostly because you can’t possibly convince yourself that there’s any good reason to do so.  And besides, you spent a lot of money on that stupid Tassimo.

But pop and diet pop are SO incredibly bad for you.  I’ve had enough of them to last several life times and now I’m ready to quit.  Wine seems like a viable alternative.  I used to like white, but not much.  Then my daughter started raving about Malbec and I’ve been hopelessly hooked ever since.  It’s like store-bought chocolate milk for adults.  Plus you look way more worldly and refined sipping on something that’s not in a plastic cup or a travel mug, right?

Well I hope so.  I have a friend who won’t drink red wine because it makes her teeth and lips red.  I say, who cares?  I also say, drink whatever you want, teeth and lips be damned.  That’s the first time I’ve ever said that really, and probably the last time now that I look at it critically and while completely sober.

Damn, I should have said water.  We should ALL be saying water.  And being thankful that we have access to the clean and drinkable kind. That would be commendable, but also boring.  So red wine it is.  Until I’m at the stage in my life where they switch me to Metamucil through a plastic bendy straw.  May the wine preserve me until then.


The garbage bins and the paper and the recycling were at the curb when I turned in to my driveway after work on Wednesday night.  The inside front door and the garage door were both wide open.  The barbecue was on.  The sat-radio was blaring away.  There was a half-naked man in my kitchen.

Well, that sure beats coming home to a quiet empty house.

Yes, W is home for a while.  He drove through four provinces in two days to get here because there’s too much damned rain in Ontario.  Also, he thinks he needs to be here with me to face the scary appointments and doctors at the University hospital.  This works for me.  Plus he shops for groceries and he cooks and he cleans up the dishes.  He pours my wine.

imageSpeaking of wine, this one from B.C. is devilishly good, just like the label says.  Or my taste buds have fermented and gone to hell.  It’s a toss-up really.  All I know for sure is that I’m not telling you how much of it I consumed in the three hours between getting home and going to bed.

Today I went and got a seasonal haircut.  By that I mean there’s no guessing now about the size of my ears.  The weather is lovely and hot and I’ve got a couple of fans going for the first time this summer.  I will NOT be complaining about the heat.  Somebody slap me if I do.

Our grass is green, our trees are tall.  Two squirrels, a jack rabbit and a duck dropped by for our barbecue.   The magpies have decided our backyard is a good place for their afternoon squabbles.   And we just might get a deliciously diabolical thunderstorm tonight.

So yeah.  Life is good.