New Hip Day

My November Day Three

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Just look at this weather! Would you go out in that? Those are some giant killer snowflakes falling from the sky. I wonder if my neighbor ever wonders why I take so many pictures of his garage.

W has been safely delivered to the hospital for his surgery. We had to arrive before eight so we avoided the worst of the morning traffic, and we missed only one turn. Seriously, what are the odds? It was the last major one before the surgery centre, so no panic. We gave ourselves lots of time to drive around in circles.

It’s wonderful to be able to park your vehicle right at the door for fifteen minutes to unload your patient and help him carry all his stuff in and up to the second floor. It’s orthopaedic surgery so they are used to slow hobblers with crutches and walkers and canes.

Leaving the city centre and getting home was simple, since most of the traffic is headed in the opposite direction in the morning. And now I’m waiting to hear how it all went. And thinking up excuses for not walking outside today.

I might miss a phone call. I have a big pot of vegetable soup simmering on the stove. There’s no one here to point out to me that I haven’t gone for a walk yet. My finger tips hurt. My glasses might fog up. It’s Tuesday. The snow has stopped falling for now, but it’s impossible to predict when it might start up again. Do I really want to get caught out in that?

Yes, those are all pretty lame reasons, but the mini trampoline is also calling me; “…it’s outside or me, you can’t ignore both of us!” Sigh. Some people talk to their pets or their plants, but I don’t have either of those. It’s just me and the furniture.

It’s so quiet in here without the resident noise maker who has the satellite radio and the tv and the computer going all at once while he’s talking on the phone or trying to tell me something from three rooms away.

Anyway, enough blather for November Post Number Three. Stay tuned (or tuned out) for more exciting trips to the scary city centre coming up soon.

A Walk Around the Block

 

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When Canada Post ended home delivery and advised us that our new mailboxes would be situated a mere four or five houses away, out the window went my plans to use fetching the mail as my new fitness plan. The boxes being so close also made it very hard to justify complaining bitterly about the inconvenience. However, I devised a new plan to head off in the wrong direction and go all the way around the block, thus giving me some much needed exercise and another reason to be annoyed.

The first two days of the new mail delivery system I took the car. Yes I did. Not specifically to get the mail, but I was out doing other things and it seemed foolish to drive by the mailboxes without stopping. The next day I walked directly to the mailboxes and back. It took less than five minutes.

Today I did the around the block thing. I braved kids on bikes and random pedestrians and oncoming traffic and probably blisters. I should check. Maybe I won’t be able to go the distance again tomorrow.

No, I’m fine. Damn.

This is not even the most fun I’ve had all day, believe it or not. I spent a couple of hours this morning amassing loot and filling my storage containers and watching my troops die in Clash of Clans. I cannot explain why this is fun, it just is. I especially like the wizards in their little blue hoodies.

Anyway, it’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood, and my pictures are proof that I was out there! What bliss if my life never gets any more complicated than this.

Promises to Keep and Reasons to Weep

Man, sometimes my titles are about a hundred times better than whatever comes next!

Someone told me today that vacations are like a bunch of weekends all strung together.  I’ve been back from my holiday for just under two weeks and already I’m longing for another stretch of strung-together weekends.  But no one wants to hear a person whine about how badly they need another holiday. So I’ll just keep that to myself and enjoy my disconnected weekends like everybody else who has no more travel plans for the summer.

There are a couple of promises I’ve made to myself, meant to improve my attitude and my life.  One is to stop saying the F word on my drive to work.  And also on my drive home from work.  And at all other times of the day or night.  Well, two out of three isn’t so bad.  Anyway, I broke this promise to myself today.  Twice I think. Maybe three times, I don’t know, I can’t keep track of what slips out of my mouth in traffic.  Whatever, tomorrow is another day.

The other promise I’ve made to myself is to avoid like the plague talking about work or anything work related here, simply because I rarely have anything pleasant to say about it.  And nobody wants to listen to whining about that either.  However…. it appears to be a day for promise breaking.guidedog

Our optical office has recently acquired one of these giant dog statues from the Canadian Guide Dogs for the Blind charity.  Notice the hole in his head for donations.  This is probably harder to walk off with than a coin box sitting on a counter, plus a lot cuter.

What I have a problem with is the “contest” that’s currently underway to “name our guide dog.” No one asked me for my opinion about this, because they’re all smart enough to know I would think it’s stupid. Which I do.  A big plastic dog doesn’t need a name.  So with no input from me they have made a big poster asking for name suggestions and promising a “prize package” for the winner.  All you have to do is write your dog name, your human name, and your phone number down on a piece of paper and drop it in the draw box.    Would it not make more sense to give out the ballots in exchange for a small donation, rather than for free?  Otherwise doesn’t it all seem just a tad pointless?  And kindergarten -ish?

It appears that no one put any thought into how the winning name is actually going to be chosen, or what the criteria is for submitting a winning entry, or even what the prize package will be.  This lack of planning is what drives me crazy. And then it turns out it’s not a random  draw at all, because now everyone (except me) has been asked to go through the ballots and choose their favourite dog name from the ones submitted, and then the draw will be out of those names only.  How is that fair?  But more importantly, why do I even care?

Well of course even though I think the whole idea is dumb I’m a little miffed that I wasn’t consulted about any of this and thus didn’t get the chance to tell everyone they’re nuts.  And when potential dog namer customers ask me what the prize is I want to tell them I have no F’ing idea.  But I’m not saying that word.

Anyway, tonight, left on my own with the ballots, I decided to go through them and choose one for the bowl of finalists.  Seriously, we have a yellow cereal bowl for the blank ballots.  Professional is a word we don’t appear to understand.  But anyway, that’s beside the point.  The point is I ended up with twelve names that I think deserve consideration.  But they won’t get it, because I like them, and I don’t take this whole thing seriously enough and I’m just making fun of everything.  All true.

Here they are, in random order:

1.  Moneydog

2.  Blindy

3.  Princess Glitter

4.  Seesaw

5.  Barky

6.  Taxicab

7.  Cat

8.  Batdog

9.  Fluffy

10.  Cheezie

11.  Melonhead

12.  Woofy

The ballot I snuck into the pile of finalists was “Seymour” because I think that one might actually have a chance.  But these other dozen?  Priceless.  All deserving of a prize package for originality if nothing else.  Perhaps I’ll suggest that we hang each of these names in turn around the plastic dogs neck at hourly intervals throughout the workday.  See, if anyone would just bother to ask, I do have some really good ideas.

Park and Pay and Pay and Pay

A week ago I delivered W to the airport at five o’clock in the morning.  In retrospect, that’s not seeming  nearly as insane as going to pick him up yesterday during rush hour.  His flight was due in at 5:25 p.m. so I left work just before that, figuring if I could get to the airport in half an hour, that’s about how long it would take him to get off the plane and claim his luggage, and he could just walk outside and there I’d be!  Great plan, hey? And the funny thing is, it actually kind of worked out that way.  So NOW what am I supposed whine about?  Well, there’s always something, isn’t there.   

I drove into the pull in/pick up/pull out area which used to be a nice little strip of parking meters and spaces, but is now a long row of parking stalls with one huge meter for every five or six spots. I sent another text to say I’d arrived, and he sent back he was claiming his bags.  So I got out and put four dollars into the machine for ten minutes and it spewed out a little piece of paper that said I had to leave at 6:05.  Failure to vacate the space before the alloted time meant that I would have to put in another four dollars for every 90 seconds I chose to stubbornly remain there.  Maybe it was five minute intervals.  Something ridiculous.  The rate used to be four dollars for twenty minutes.  But the airport has expanded and everybody gets to pay even if they’re not going anywhere.  Anyway, W came strolling up the walkway at 6:04.  I thought we should win some kind of prize for synchronicity or something.  We pulled out of stall number 22 with seconds to spare.  Of course the adventure was only half over because we had to drive back to the city in amongst all the other maniacs with death wishes.  As you may have guessed, we’ve lived to see another day.  Cab fare is something exorbitant like an arm and a leg and your first born.  And the drive is no less crazy.

When we were close to the exits for home W suddenly decided he wanted to take the first one and drive by the shop to see if Kenny’s truck was there.  I did, and it was, and he had me drop him off.  Really?  You’re not even home yet, and you need to stop by work??  So I came home with a suitcase and no husband, after having risked my life to collect him. Never mind having been prepared to bankrupt myself at a parking meter.  Ungrateful bastard.  I have to keep reminding myself he’s really good with that snow blower.

I Would Maybe Open the Door Wider

I answered the door that afternoon because I was expecting some registered mail. Normally when I’m home alone being a complete slob I ignore the doorbell. I could be in the shower, is what the bell ringers are supposed to think before they wander off to bother someone else with their offers of “buy a ridiculous number of booster juices and get a free pass to the local mud wrestling contest and a chance to win a hot air balloon ride for six .” Things you don’t need or want or even know exist until some stranger is standing there on your doorstep all ecstatically happy to be the one brightening up your otherwise dull existence with this incredible offer. They always look so pissed off when you turn them down.

Anyway, it’s not so much something I’d take back as something I’d add on to the latest door answering episode. It was Roxanne, our Ward 2 Councillor at the door. And no, I didn’t know she existed either, but she turned out to be a very nice lady going around in her councillors area to say hello and discuss issues or questions about council related stuff. It would have been nice if I’d had any idea at all what is going on in our community and could have conjured up some kind of semi intelligent question to ask her, but it would have been even nicer if it had occurred to me to have her come in for a minute, off the cold doorstep and out of the freezing wind. Hind sight is such a beautiful thing.

She gave me a copy of a little two page newsletter, so now I know there’s a co-op community garden somewhere in the area, measures in the works to calm the traffic on Georgian Way (who knew it had gone wild?), and that the Silver Birch Lodge expansion will include a chapel, a library, an auditorium, recreation areas and a green house. I’m tempted to get an application package just to see what that kind of independent living apartment might cost a person. Having a full-time personal aid might just be cheaper.

And the lovely Roxanne, Councillor, Ward 2, also gave me a coupon for Dairy Queen! I do love a councillor who drops by bearing gifts. So I’m going to subscribe to her newsletter by e-mail, and study up on where the electronic driver feedback signs are located, and maybe even get myself to care about the environmental impact of the 500 kV double circuit transmission power lines that are in the works for the county. And the next time she drops by she’ll think somebody new moved in because I’ll be able to blather away about urban and rural property devaluation, or some such important sounding issue convincing her that it’s dear to my heart and high on my list of priorities, instead of drawing a complete blank and saying ever so vaguely that everything seems to be fine.

And a coupon for a Wendy’s salad – I’ll make that suggestion. Anonymously, and via e-mail, but hey, it’s a start in my sudden blossoming pursuit of community awareness.

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