Seriously, How Do I Look?

Finding out one is sensitive-bordering-on-allergic to shellfish when one lives in a province like Ontario is not so big a deal.  Basically that means taking vegan glucosamine and avoiding the tackier cocktail parties. Now move that same one to the coast and tell that one, patiently and using small words, that shellfish is not a friend; while at the same time introducing that one to the mountains of tasty sushi they create by the cartload on every street corner in the province of B.C.


Then leave that one unmonitored for three weeks.  You know who you are.


There is not enough Benadryl in the world to return my face and hands to their original, streamlined appearance.  I look and feel like I am made of Jell-O.  And I will do it all again because this one knows her sushi days are numbered, both by her immune system and the fact that, despite what Husband promises, there are no free range, organic soft-shelled crabs in Alberta. 

The Eyes Have It

Folks who enter the building I work in usually do so while looking at one of four things:

1. Their feet

2. The Middle Distance (like Buddha, with gym shorts)

3. The ceiling

4. Directly at me every time. Every. Time.

Feet-lookers usually have earphones in and tend to bump into the non-sliding sliding doors, always good for a chuckle.

The Middle Distance gazers also tend to have earphones in but usually don't trip over people because they are too busy oozing super-cool and, incidentally, tripping over the carpets.

The ceiling fans tend to be wobbly, shy folks who are clearly practicing looking more confident by not staring at their feet but haven't yet mastered the Middle Distance Gaze, or the ability to walk around the info-pamphlet kiosk.

The guy who looks directly at me, every time, is clearly mentally categorizing my bones in order to ensure he doesn't lose any of them when it comes time to bury the body.

Giving The Gears

We loaned our van to a friend a month or so ago. He was extremely grateful right up to the point that it caught on fire.

Removal of the smoking relay from the dashboard resulted in the discovery of approximately 3000 other things which were broken or about to break. Time of death was pronounced and Husband set about hunting for a replacement vehicle.

What we need:

A functioning, all-purpose vehicle capable of towing a load of up to 1400 pounds through the Rocky Mountains; suitable for utilitarian and recreational purposes.

What Husband bought:

A late-model Ford Explorer, low mileage, body in excellent condition; interior very clean; one owner from new; does not have reverse or gears 3 through 5.  

Husband can do complicated math in his head without moving his lips or his fingers. He gives a good back rub and once used a leaf blower to clean the living room so I am confident that he has the necessary ingenuity required to replace anything our ‘new’ ‘vehicle’ may need, up to and including the transmission.  Which it needs.


Husband is never happier than when he has a project and never more satisfied than when that project is completed successfully, against all odds and public opinion.  I am constantly amazed, endlessly impressed and vastly proud of him.  Best Husband ever.  Despite the fact that, as far as the neighbours are aware, we have O.J.'s get-away vehicle up on blocks in our garage.

You Can Go Home Again

I flew home to Ontario for a few days.  It was good to see family and spend some quality time in the house I grew up in.  I don't get to visit as often as I would like so when I do, there are things I like to make certain I experience...


Mom and I always cook a meal together, shuffling around each other at the counter; me complaining about the quality of her knives and her patiently explaining, one more time, her secret Yorkshire pudding recipe.  Then she lets me beat her at Scrabble and we plan some gardens. Dad and I discuss books and old western movies and wrangle about who starred in what film.  I always learn something new, for instance I did not know that the late, great Gene Autry was the first cowboy to fight off aliens in the 1939 film 'The Phantom Empire.'  Huh.


It was good to be home.  I had missed sleeping in a house warmed by a wood stove and my Dad's horrible, horrible coffee.  I had missed watching mom knit so fast her fingers blur and the sound of blue jays outside my window at dawn.  I had missed snowshoeing along rolling hills and pick-up trucks filled with good ol' boys and dogs. 


But most of all, most of all, I had missed cheap cheese.