On Sharp Objects

I'm not good with knives. Actually, I'm pretty bad in general with sharp kitchen instruments, including knives. Many years ago when Mark and I had our first 'nice' date, it was at a quiet little dimly lit restaurant with white-shirted waiters and dark red linen napkins.

You certainly see where this is going.

It was a rare treat for two broke university students to eat at a place that didn't serve pub food or pizza, and we were enjoying ourselves quite a bit in the luxurious and subdued atmosphere. Then I ruined the mood completely by cutting open the entire palm of my hand while trying to slice a roll. I spent the rest of the meal with the dark red linen napkin clenched in my fist while Mark smirked at me. Romantic it was not.

Then there was that time a few weeks ago when I plunged my hand into a sink full of dishwater and dishes and cleanly sliced open my finger on the blade of a food processor, from my knuckle to my fingernail. Dripping blood, I went up to Mark's office looking for pity and bandages.

He knows I do this. In fact, it's an established rule in our house that I do not cut bread or bagels. Every morning before work, even if he's rushed, he will cut me two slices of bread with which to make a sandwich for my lunch. If he sees me trying to perform this sort of stunt on my own, he removes the knife from my hand - carefully, as though it might explode - and asks me what I think I am doing. Over the last few weeks the slice on my finger has healed to a fine white line surrounded by new pink skin.

Now, Mark has been out of town for a couple of weeks and is currently in British Columbia. On my own, I've managed to haul a giant double headboard, double boxspring, and mattress down our winding staircase and out to the curb for big garbage day (otherwise known as free yard sale day). I did not injure myself during this process. I've also moved our Ikea bed frame from the master bedroom to the guest room, and set up a 200 year old antique bed frame in the master bedroom. Still not injured! Add to that various little construction projects around the house, and the handling of dozens of dogs at work, and I'm still safe and free from injury.

But the loaf of sourdough bread from the farmer's market. Oh, that lovely sourdough bread with the crispy golden crust. I got cocky, and thought I could cut it with our big serrated bread knife.

Yep. Into the finger it went. I stared at the jagged, dripping edges of this latest clumsy misadventure and considered going to the hospital for a few stitches. I hadn't had lunch though, and the dogs would need to go outside. Also, it's at least a 20 minute drive to the hospital. On top of that, the new foster dog has a vet appointment this afternoon.

Meh.

Earl did nothing.

We survived a hurricane on Labour Day weekend. Of course, by "survived", I mean that we watched it rain and then nothing else happened. Everyone around here goes all nuts since Juan hit like a million years before I moved here, and whenever there's a hurricane in the forecast, they all buy out the bottled water from the grocery store, and gossip breathlessly about how bad the upcoming hurricane might be, or how since the water's so warm it will be a terrible storm, or that the trajectory indicates that blah blah blah whatever.

It rained.

Also, these guys came and went.


Also, this guy is here.


Also, SOMEONE TURNED A GAZILLION YEARS OLD OMG.

Captain D's Birthday

It was Captain D's birthday last week, and to celebrate we had a canoe expedition up the Annapolis River.


After getting slightly swamped and almost tipping in some minor rapids, we were on our way.


I rode with Laurie and Ernest, and Mark was in with hot ladies Shannon and Mickie.


Nay, Jay, and Chani piled into the last canoe.


Captain D, the man of the day, was the lone wolf in his kayak.


It seemed that my boat was both the coolest and the fastest by far, so after about an hour we decided we'd pull up on a rocky little beach to celebrate happy hour and give the slowpokes a chance to catch up. We drank our beers and watched the other canoes float by across the river.


After happy hour, we launched again. As we rounded a bend in the river, I saw the property Mark and I had bought this past spring! Sadly, we still haven't named it. Here it is, as seen from the river.


As the coolest and fastest canoe, we managed to overtake the other slow boats and land first at our ultimate destination, even though we had stopped for drinks and the others hadn't.

There was just one problem, though. We'd originally launched from a pre-arranged dock, but we hadn't really thought about where we would land. We pulled up onto a random little beach in the correct general area only to discover that the ground was not solid, but squelching, sucking, sinking mud. Ernest hopped over a little brook and landed in even squelchier mud. Then he discovered that he couldn't get back. He was stranded!


Jay bravely decided he would rescue Ernest in his canoe.


Then Jay got stuck in the shallows.


Chani waded out to rescue Jay. Meanwhile, Ernest got away. We never did rescue him.


After some minor chaos wherein many canoes went in different directions and people hauled themselves up the river bank at various different points, we all reconvened at Chani and Captain D's place for a birthday supper of tacos and pie!




Good times. Happy birthday, Captain D. You are older than I am, and that's the important part.

Hurricane Mark

So we're trying to figure out what to have for lunch when I notice that Buddy, the latest foster dog, is chewing on something under the kitchen table. Because I am an EXPERT at this, I immediately know that he is not chewing on a dog toy.

I shoo him away and find the cut-off end of one of those infuriating molded plastic packages that make new purchases so very difficult to access. The rest of the package, empty of its treasure, is on the kitchen table and has been since yesterday.

I leave the end of the package on the floor. Am I being passive-aggressive? I don't know. When Mark re-enters the kitchen, I ask him to put his trash from the previous day in the recycling. I ask nicely, but even by voicing the request, the overtones of an oft-repeated-in-many-different-moods conversation are present. This is one of our 'things' that we have fightscussions about. We don't have many of these 'things', and the ones we do have are not bad, and this is one of them.

By this point in time, the kitten has found the plastic end of the package and scooted off into the living room with it. Mark follows her out to get it, returns, and makes funny faces at me until he feels that I am happy again.

I contemplate my role in this household, and wonder whether it would be better to be a silent maid or a nagging equal. I work less hours than him; should I just clean this crap up? On the other hand, I'm neater than him; why should his messes be my responsibility?

I ask him if there's any way I can get him to stop dropping things all over the house mid-stride. He ponders this for a moment but has no solution.

We make our lunches - a bagel for me and a sandwich for him. He takes the last sub bun from the bag and fills it with all sorts of fun vegetables. The empty bag remains on the counter.

We eat lunch, and because there is a client emergency this weekend, Mark goes upstairs to work for a while. The empty bag remains on the counter.

I rip up our bathroom floor for a while. I go back into the kitchen. The empty bag is staring at me.

I put it in the recycling.

Meeting my relatives

So I'm back from visiting my sister and her family. I met her new kids and neither of them screamed or cried when they saw me, so I count that as a success.

The baby, Bhutan*, is chubby and hilarious. He pretty much never cries and ALWAYS WANTS TO EAT. In fact, the only time he really gets upset is when he hears the spoon scraping the bottom of his bowl of formless vegetable slop.


We went swimming and he learned about splashing. Unfortunately, he learned by splashing himself.



The little girl, Sophia*, is smart and personable and active. She LOVES to read and be read to, and will ask for the same book to be read to her over and over. She's only three, but her attention span for books is really long.

A girl after my own heart!


We did lots of stuff with them while we were there. We did a lot of firsts, like going to the pool and playing in the sprinkler. Sophia was very cautious about the water, but slowly got more and more comfortable with both the pool and the sprinkler.


The public kiddie pool we went to was very shallow. It was also warm - like swimming in a gigantic bathtub.

And full of filthy children.

We pretty much all got sick.


In spite of losing my voice for three days, I really enjoyed my trip and had fun meeting the kids. My sister and her husband are routine-nazis, which is cause for two thumbs up in my opinion. Kids are nicer when there's consistency.

Now I'm back home and things have been crazy. The population of our house rose to an all-time high right after I got back, as we were sheltering seven dogs and six cats for a short while. Fortunately, two dogs got adopted, my parents collected their dog, and today Mark's mother collected her two cats. Between fostering and pet-sitting for vacationing family members, it got a bit ridiculous.

But that's another post.


It was good to get to know Sophia and Bhutan.


I will enjoy watching them grow up.

Zelda

It's hard to believe that we haven't had Zelda for a year yet. She's crazy, but I'm so glad we found her.


She loves running around in the yard - but since her legs are so very short and her body is so very long, she almost does a sort of rocking-horse motion when she runs.



I still keep in touch with Angel, the man who rescued her. I think he misses her and I'm glad I can tell him that she's happy and fits in so well around here.


Speaking of happy...


... that is all.

Brothers & Sisters

I'm flying out to Ontario pretty soon to visit my sister and brother-in-law and meet their two new children for the first time.


My mom has been going a bit nuts over her first grandkids. I think she sends them 'care packages' weekly. My parents have been up to visit once already, and they're coming too when I go there this week.

My mom called me late in the evening a couple of weeks ago to get advice on attaching pictures to email messages. According to her, she couldn't do it because the computer kept telling her "she didn't have the right stuff". Hmm. That's not really the most helpful description. Seeing as how we were already in bed, I chatted with her for a couple of minutes and told her we'd try to help her with her computer problems in the morning. Instead, I woke up the next morning to find I had received about six emails from my mom. Most of them had one or two pictures attached. One email had 126 pictures attached.

Oh mom.



Since I'm leaving town for about a week, I've been holding off on taking new foster dogs into the house and had put the word out that we would not be able to take in new dogs until after I got back. Of course, there was an urgent case that cropped up. There's always an urgent case that crops up. I got a phone call asking if we could help out, so I handed the phone to Mark and left the decision with him, since he'll be the one who has to deal with it while I'm gone.



Consequently, we now have two VERY adorable Chihuahua / Papillon crosses - a brother and sister pair - in our house. Yay! Mark is as crazy as I am!

Glasses in the Mail

I've recently become addicted to buying glasses off the internet. I found reviews to this website, Zenni, on a forum I read, and since the internet people said it was good, it had to be true. Either that or I was out a grand total of $20, so whatever.

I went for a peek and browsed the ginormous selection of frames. I found a pair I liked and ordered it, and the checked my mailbox at the post office every three hours for the next week and a half.

This is what I got.


I was ecstatic and quite honestly, probably a little bit obsessed. I think I still am.

I ordered another pair of glasses and some sunglasses, both in my prescription, and they arrived as promised too, and I STILL WANT MORE. Mark told me that I could order one pair every month.



Then again, he spilled boiling oil on me today and then laughed when I said 'ouch'. I'm not talking about a sheepish giggle, either. He was gut-laughing and knee slapping and not at all concerned about my well being. I got mad at him and pointed out that he'd just spilled boiling oil on my hand, and he laughed again and said it was funny. I don't think I have to listen to his opinion on glasses in light of this traumatic abusive episode.*


* Calm down there buddy; no actual abuse occurred.