And I don't drink, either.

You know what doesnt' help in difficult situations? This. Not in any real way, that is. I tiny bit of emotional release but other than that people just look at you oddly and your friends start to worry.

What might be behind my desire to self-injure?

A car issue. I suppose you're wondering if I mean the bit about the lease ending and the bank not keeping in touch with me regarding the arrangments I'm trying to make. You'd be wrong. Not that that situation has improved. No indeedy it hasn't. It's just not the specific catalyst for the head banging.

Well then, you think to yourself (I'd say "selves" but really, do I have more than one reader?), it must have to do with the fender bender and the problems with the hitter waffling on paying. Nope, not that either. And whilst the waffling has ended, the car is still not repaired. No fault of Auto Extremem, they're still awesome. More of a timing thing.

So, a third thing, then? How can there be a third car issue. EASILY. As it happens I'm going to assume that there may be a fourth fifth or sixth thing. Prudent assumption, I'm thinking.

The problem is this: car is still a lease. For a few days. Also covered by extended warranty, for a little longer than that. I've been trying to get it in to be looked at because the engine light came on over the weekend. If there is going to be some hugely expensive repair needed I would like it to be paid for by someone else.

I called Monday morning and made an appointment for today. When I asked about a ride back I was told no problem, but there might be a wait if I came in first thing. I said I could drop it off at 10:15. "Great!" she says. "You'll be able to get a ride right back". Yeah. So in I go this morning.

Me: Hi, I'm Jane Doe, here to drop off my car.

Service Person: Oh - well - you were supposed to have dropped it off early and leave it all day with us. What would you like to do since you didn't do that?

Me: Actually, I talked to you (ALWAYS pay attention to the names of people who promise you things will be done) on Monday and made arrangements for 10:15. YOu told me that would be fine.

S.P. (looking at computer) So you did.

Me: My plan is the same - leave it here for the day, and get a ride back when you're done.

S.P. No problem. We'll call you when it's done. The scan to see what the problem is will be ----- dollars. We'll call you when we've diagnosed the problem, and you can decide if you want to go ahead.

Me: Cost? We had a fairly long conversation on Monday about the warranty on the car. There shouldn't be any charge.

S.P.: So we did. No charge then.

She gets keys, I leave. Not long after I get back to the office I get a call.

Me: Hello, blah blah blah.

S.P. This is the service department calling. We know what the problem is, would you like us to go ahead with that? The cost will be -----.

Me: Warranty. (I think that despite the terseness of the answer it was nevertheless nicer than the answer in my head).

S.P.: So it is. There is one thing we can do here that isn't covered, which might help. Or it might not. The problem is with something covered by your extended power train warranty. But we can't do that, so you'll have to get the car and take it to one of the blank dealers in town. When can you come and get it?

Me: Well...when can you come and get me? When I dropped it off you said someone could pick me up when you were done.

S.P.: So I did. The number is 555-0000. If you call him you can arrange a pick-up.

Me: Thank you. (Why thanks? Because that's how I was raised).

So - car not fixed. Not the bumper, not the engine. Appointment for engine? Not until next week. Appointment for bumper? Just waiting on a call. Appointment with bank guy? Soon. As in as soon as I calm down a bit.

If you're not thinking about banging your head on my behalf...well, why not?

Meditation. That's what I need before I call the bank. Five minutes meditation. Much better than head banging.

For you. A bit. But Mainly for Me.

Read this.

And repeat # four to yourself four times a day.

Twas the night before Christmas

It's hard to come up with the right words to properly convey Christmas eve. So I'm going to tell the story with fewer words. Here we go!

Went to work.

Came Home.
Baked.


Had one of these.

Got picked up.

Travelled.

Went to something like this. heading for this.

Ate some of this.

Headed out to something close to this.
Had a lot of this, and it was.

Went to another one of these.

When it was time to leave, these had broken out and needed this.

This is the type of emergency that everyone pitches in on. So I did. Wearing this, these and these. In this. Coat and mitts too, thanks heavens!

A Christmas eve to remember fondly. Forever.

Dude, Where's My Car?

My poor M.I.A. car. Well, M.I.R. really. Missing in repair. Took it in Tuesday and thought I’d never get it back. I did, though, and I am totally gob-smacked at how awesome Auto Extreme is. They do things other than body work, and I would recommend them to one and all. They're on South Railway, Regina. Totally great guy owns it too. (oh relax, you guys, he isn’t single. Figures – I meet two guys over the hols: one married and one from out of town) I went from a really bad/dreadful/awful day/week to my usual bouncing optimistic in less than an hour. They

Oh, and I learned something that ya’ll should pay attention to: in this cold prairie weather you should use your parking brake either all the time or not at all. Always or never, ok? Unless you want to end up with your car in the shop. Has to do with condensation on the cable and the effect the expansion of freezing water has on cables. Maybe everyone else knew this, maybe they didn’t, but it’s a good thing to know. I’d lived here a year before anyone explained the need for a bloc heater. I just wondered what all the plugs were for. Anyway, back to the week of badness*.

First, so ma famille doesn’t panic, let’s list the good stuff:
No one I know is dying.
I'm not dying.
No one I know has recently died.
I still have my kids and they are as fantastic as ever.
I have my car back.
The Girl will (thanks yet again to the body shop) get signatures on her Rider Jersey, and pictures!
I have a house.
I am fed.
I have a wonderful family.
Co-worker bought (and brought) me a large peppermint hot chocolate, just to make my day better.

Things are well and no worries with my overdue aunt status. Soon, guys, soon!

Got the car back spic and span…and if you’ve seen my car (I have teens, and the elder uses the car from time to time) and know the weather that fact alone should make you gasp in shock. And maybe even a bit of awe. I’m seriously going to have to bake for them as a thank you.

Ok, the week:

No car from Tuesday afternoon until this morning.

Guy who hit car is waffling on paying for it.

The kitchen has two sinks. Only one can be used.

The fridge, fixed for an unknown length of time.

I have two bathrooms. Only one toilet worked…until this morning. Neither work now.

The gap at the bottom of the door is not the only problem. The handle is wrecked. Mainly this is a laziness problem. I've bought the replacement, I just need a warm-ish day and some spare time.

The Boy needs shots prior to travel. The “two business days” that the travel clinic promises to take before they call you back with an appointment is bleeding into three. No shots=no trip.

The car lease finishes on the 18th. I'm trying to make plans for that. The bank was supposed to get back to me yesterday. Nothing so far.

Until the above is done I can’t free any $ for toilet repair. I’m seriously hoping that the problem has magically been fixed in my absence.

Hair still not cut off, and as I was thinking about this past summer – which is when I decided that I’d cut it off it I hadn’t had a date by the end of the year – I realized that I didn’t just finish a year of dateless ness, I finished a decadeof dateless ness.

Baking going well except that…I’m now doing two wedding cakes this summer. I’m not really sure if this should go in the good things column or the bad things.

I am completely and absolutely ready to win a lottery. ‘Cept I should probably buy a ticket, yes?

*Should I ever decide to have a week of bad assness, I’ll let you know in advance so people like Mayb can join in.

Oh sleep it is a gentle thing, beloved from pole to pole.

I like my sleep. I really really like my sleep. Don’t get me wrong, I have a life, and I get that there are other fun things to do in bed (reading, writing, snacking, folding laundry) but sleep is a big deal. Clearly people know this about me as I can recall one Christmas where every single present was somehow related to sleeping.

Anyway,I don’t usually pay to much attention to things people tell me as I’m drifting off to sleep. My chances of remembering what was said – as opposed to just incorporating it into a dream – are pretty slim anyway, so what’s the point? I guess there would be a point if the house was on fire, but that hasn’t happened. Not so far.

On Monday night, I was just falling to sleep, rejoicing in the return of my babies to the family fold, reviewing the greatness of the just-seen Holmes movie when I heard a loud THUMP. At which point things went like this:

Me (quietly, in my head): Oh, good boy. He DID let the dogs out again before going to bed, just like I asked. Hope he remembers – now that the door has thumped shut – to put the cold air blocking towel back at the base of the door.

The Boy: ummm…mom? Are you awake ?
ME: Don’t forget the towel.
T.B.: Towel? Right. Well, the fridge door is gone.
ME: Where is the fridge door?
TB: Wha…? The door. The door to the fridge is off.
Me: Off what?
TB: The DOOR of the FRIDGE came OFF. It’s OFF right NOW.
Me: Oh. Coming.

Dazed mother lurches into kitchen. “HEY! The DOOR is off the FRIDGE”.
TB: I KNOW. I was getting something to eat and it opened and then it just wasn’t on anymore.
ME: So. (this may have been followed by some confused blinking on my part).

TB: So….let’s fix it. Ok?

Me: Yeah…fixing….ok.

This was followed by some not very intelligent fixing, fixing which nevertheless sufficed for the time. The fridge was at least closed by the end of it all. The actual fixing came the next day. When I was awake, and able to think about how to repair the stupid thing. If only I’d been awake enough the night before to wash grease off my fingers prior to returning to bed. Can’t have everything, though, and at the very least the door was closed and the towel was in place at the back door. A moderately successful evening.

I don't know. What do you think it looks like?

I occastionally have too literal a mind. This morning, for instance.

The gaming console I bought last year is in Toronto, getting fixed. With the wonder of modern techonolgy I was able to track its journey from here to there, with the added bonus of being able to track its repair status once it arrived.

Watching it travel was mildly entertaining. The first entry was a note that I had given the parcel to the courier. What wasn’t mentioned was that it was the wrong one. Right company, wrong guy. The guy I gave it to happily took it, and I signed in the space that I was asked to, but then later in the day I had a very grumpy courier complain that my parcel was HIS pick-up, and that no one tells him ANYTHING, and what is THE POINT to it all? I tried to cheer him up but still spent a bit of the afternoon worrying about the possibility that he’d throw himself off a bridge before the day was over. ‘Course, given where we are, that wouldn't be so much fatal as entertaining, would it?

The next entry was that it had arrived at the local depot. Then there was the slightly mysterious entry “Stop-off at Winnepeg, MB”. No explanation given. Did the parcel want to visit someone? Was it traveling to Ontario in someone’s car? Some employee who was going that way anyway and said that take a parcel along?

The stop over turned into a couple of days, because there were no entries until today, and today is when it all happened. Arrival in Toronto. Dispatch to dispatch (I think some bored clerk was making things up. Can something really be dispatched to dispatch?), then to the actual address where it was “Received by Rob”. Very homey that. Not signed for by Shipping and Receiving, not logged as being left in reception. Maybe Rob was out for a smoke and said that yeah, he’d take it in. When he was done, of course. Never mind, the point is it had arrived!

I found the repair bill number and decided to go to the site to see how things were going. And here was the status: “Console has arrived and we’re looking at it”. That was the message, in its entirety. And now all I can picture in my head is my console sitting on a bench….surrounded by a handful of employees with serious contemplative looks on their faces. Which may explain why I was told that most repairs take two weeks.

They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wit's end.

Nothing like the bible for nailing drunkeness on the head! No, not me. I did not get drunk, cause...well, why start now?

Anyway - a few months ago I made some home made liqueurs. Creme de Menthe and Vanilla Cordial. So last night I decided to make a grasshopper (I had a bottle of Cacao from Christmas baking) using the Magic Bullet*.

I made it, and took it into the living room to watch some TV show. And then the phone rang. Leaping to my feet (which is not my normal reaction, but it MIGHT have been the "you're an aunt" call). I bolted into the kitchen to get it before I missed it. I didn't miss it, and I'm not an aunt yet.
After that I decided to do the dishes before returning to the relaxing portion of the evening. I know myself too well: once out of the kitchen I might not have returned to the dishes at all. Dishes in the dishwasher, china washed and in a rack counters cleaned I was ready to go back to the aforementioned green goodness. And it was gone.

I now know what happens if Big Puppy has too much to drink. She gets sleepy, walks into things and then looks around with great confusion and shakes her head. Repeat as required. Hmmm. I think I know some people that do that.

Christmas was great, by-the-by, and I'll blog about the cow herding in filmy trousers on Christmas eve event later.

*I have a lot of strange and interesting kitchen gadgets. Some useful, some not so much. I'm going to review them all in the new year, so y'all can decide what your next kitchen gadget purchase should be.

The lining of the cloud

Silver...no, gold...lining to the cloud of having someone run into the back of my car:
through a tale too long to relate, an in with the Rough Riders that will make it simple for Alec to get Maddy's Christmas present signed by many many of the players. Yeah!

Good times, good times.

I love Christmas, yes? What I don't especially love is:
Burning a tray of tarts
Being crashed into by a sled, and slammed into my own car.
Being rear-ended, when I've no time to go get an estimate
Having my skirt fall off...not down, OFF...in Walmart

On the up side:
I had spare tarts
They were very very sorry, and although I have a bump I didn't actually bleed
Accident minor, and not my fault
No one...ok, no one I knew, there were actually LOTS of someones...seeing me in undies* in the kids section of the store. And I high tailed it out of there before security came to arrest the undressed perv.

*I don't know if it is a good thing or a bad thing that the undies in question were Mrs. Claus undies; red satin shorts with white fluffy trim. At least the were shorts, and not oh, a thong or something. Thank heavens for small mercies.

How many people does it take?

So we're finally getting a sink in the break room. For the past three months we've had to do our dishes in the bathroom. Very awkward under any circumstance but made worse by the placement of the paper towel machine.

How can that be a problem, you ask? Well...it's like this: we used to have a regular grab-the-towel type machine. It was replaced with a hands free dispenser. One of the anti-swine flu measures the building managers installed. The problem is that they put it so close to the sink that when you're washing dishes, or hands or whatever else you care to wash the thing keeps dispensing towels. So by the time you're done there is a pile of p.t. on the floor. You can make it run a bit less if you perch partly on the counter and lean at an uncomfortable angle. Which, I can say from experience, makes people new to the building look at you strangely when the walk in. Or, as happened to me, it will make them walk in, look at you askance and then back away slowly out the door. I'm not sure why with such a look of alarm, and slowly- I was not doing anything that looked dangerous. It just looked at little....odd.

Anyway, back to the story:
They booked six guys and three days to put a sink in. They're putting it in on the same wall that backs onto the bathroom sink to make the plumbing part easier. I did wonder why it would take so many people, and so much time. Here is what has happened to date:

9:00 am Wednesday. Six guys come in and partially cut a hole in the plaster. Then they all stand and stare at it. After some serious staring they come to my office (I'm the only one on this side of the building) and say they'll be back.

11:00. They return. And finish cutting the whole. Then they go into the back of the building. Turns out the pipes are there. They stay in the back for half and hour and then come and say they're leaving for lunch.

2:00 They stop by to say there is a problem with the water supply. Then they leave again, and don't return the rest of the day.

9:00 am Thursday One guy, not one of the original six, comes to the door to be let in. I let him in and he says "I'm here to hammer something. I won't be long". True to his word his is not long. Loud, grant you, but not long. This is where things still stand. A big hole in the wall and plaster dust on the floor. And a general perfume of glue. Smells like super glue, actually. I really really hope it isn't super glue.

I'm beginning to think that three days wasn't long enough.

Omnes paucis annis prosedae erunt

The above title is for Dr. F. For the rest of you....nothing. I have nothing as accurate as that. So, on to the blog:

Yes, young one winter is upon us
The cold that chills the spine
Is here and all hurry to warmth and comfort
Run, run if you are able at all
To do more than balance on those spikes
But wait! As you come within my compass
Where I patiently wait for my own girl
I see your long uncovered legs
Blue against the snow,
Bare midriff white as wax
And I think mayhap I have it wrong.
Is this not, then, a school?
Is it perhaps a place for high flyers
And you a barque of frailty?

Oh Frabjous Joy!

You missed the happy dance that I just did, so you'll have to do a little one (even if only in your head, I don't want anyone to get into trouble at work) on my behalf instead.

Why all the merriment? Did I win the lottery? No, but then if I did I'd tell y'all in person, money in hand, if that happened. So not that and not a home makeover win either. But this is just as good. Better, even. The Boy is not going to be going to university in Alberta. For almost certain. He's going to try for the same program in the local U. Which is mere minutes from home which is awesome! I had him stay with his dad whilst The Girl had swiney sickness. What an eyeopener, I really missed him and that was just over a week. I ended up going over to drop stuff off as an excuse to see him and get a hug.

Yeah, I know - they have to leave the nest at some point blah blah blah. I'll deal with it when it happens. I'm just happy that it doesn't appear to be on the agenda for next September.

The Girl is in driver training, The Boy is in his last year of high school, so I know time has passed but where did it go? I feel exactly the same as I did when they were four and six. Now if I could work out how to look the same as I did years ago then...well, I wouldn't need a lottery because it would mean that I had access to the (or a?) fountain of youth.

Smoke and Fire

This one is for you, Lindsay. The only thing that the rest of you need to know is that I've had a bit of bad luck vacuum cleaner-wise. Three of the vacuums I've owned have caught on fire mid-use. The Girl says four, but the last one was all smoke and no fire so I don't think that counts.

I used to think that it was all a strange coincidence. I mean I didn't do anything odd with the vacuums, unless not using it often enough is considered odd. And I suspect that people who own them and don't use them as often as they should are so common that there is no oddness in it at all.

I'm beginning to suscribe to the theory (held by the kids and maybe Lindsay) that perhaps it is me. Because I had another appliance fire issue. Not the vacuum this time. Something else. Something that had a fire (flames and all) whilst in use. And that something is so odd, so bizarre and yet so easily explained that I guess maybe I do have a problem with all things electric.

Oh, sorry, did you want to know what appliance? Ok, then: the dishwasher. Yup, and it was on. Water swishing and all. Which I would have thought would be the best place for a fire to be - I mean instant out, yes? No, as it happens. I had to turn the dishwasher off and dump a big bowl of water on it. All is well in the end but IS this the end? I mean...if I can have a fire in the one thing a fire shouldn't be able to thrive what hope is there for me? And if something is going to burn, why can't it just be the house itself? When we're all out and well alibied, of course.

is or is not that into you

So I was reading an article about the supposedly difficult task of knowing whether or not a guy is into you.

I didn't finish the article, and I would not recommend any one else reading it. Why? Because one of the signs is "what you see in his eyes when he first looks at you". That means you have to be looking at him when he first looks at you. Because the first thing he thinks may be apparent in the first second, but after that it is likely hidden.

Nevertheless, that isn't what made me stop reading the article. The author ( a woman, which should have tipped me off in the first place) insists that you don't wear ANY rings. Any at all. Because men "can't tell which hand a wedding ring belongs on, let alone which finger".

This article should have been titled "how to know if an idiot is interested in you", and it would be something you would read to save yourself from idiots.

I took a speed reading course and read 'War and Peace' in twenty minutes. It involves Russia. (Woody Allen)

Here’s the thing: I am a reader. No really, seriously, a reader. Not quite a book a day. During vacation it sometimes works out to a little more than a book a day and during the busy baking times – like Christmas – it works out to much less than a book a day.

I don’t only read books, mind you. Not a lot of magazines mainly British Columbia Magazine and the occasional Harrowsmith Country Life. I also read various blogs and online columns. Some of the blogs belong to friends and such, some to strangers that write in a way that interests me.

One of the odd things about being a compulsive reader (I’m not sure if that is an actual condition, but if it is it certainly applies to me) is that sometimes you read something in a way it wasn’t intended to be read. Say what?

Ok, here’s an example: I read a weekly sex advice column (yeah, I get the irony. Shut up). When I first found the column I went through the archives and read every single column in it. Two years worth of letters. And I did it all over the course of one weekend.

Not surprisingly, I don’t remember many specific questions but I certainly remember the overall impression: we (and I mean ALL of us) are obsessed with “normal”, which is kinda sad given that normal is not a constant, nor is it something that any two people can agree on a definition of. T

he vast majority – and possibly all – of the letters could be boiled down to our fear of not beeing seen as normal. I like this Is that weird? I don’t like that Am I normal? I don’t look like this Is that ok? I do look that. Is that odd? It was quite the eye-opener. I knew, in general, that society likes to conform. Even those who think they are not conforming are nevertheless conforming. The teens that I know that are the most proud of NOT fitting in are almost exact copies of everyone else in the group they have chosen to identify with. I just didn’t know to what extent acceptance – particularly in such a sensitive area as sexuality – mattered. Really mattered. I learned a whole lot of other stuff too but the big lesson was to question myself when I worried about what was normal.

Recently I read many years worth of archived blog entries written by someone I don’t even know. It was interesting in a sad sort of way to watch the marriage of the writer slowly fall apart. I’m assuming the blogger didn’t include every detail but such a life-change couldn’t help but be hinted at over the course of years. Despite the occasional hints, I finished the whole thing wondering how and why it all happened. Early entries spoke of such love and compatability and then there were suddenly hints of anger and resentment. I thought that perhaps as a non-player I’d be able to see some sort of ultimate truth about the whole situation. Turns out that there is no ultimate truth, at least not in a story half-told. Perhaps if the other half blogged the reason behind the sea change would become clear. And perhaps not. Maybe this all comes back to me and my own marriage break down. However many years later it is, I still find myself looking for the “why” of it all. And the truth - ultimate or not - is that I don't really need to know why.

Dear Lyn

Yeah, I could just email her but I've been sadly remiss on the blogfront, so I'm blogging it:

Dear Lyn;
We need, you and I (and possibly The Girl) to go to my little hometown in Quebec. Why? Do they have a Christmas celebration there that we'd enjoy? As a matter of fact they have....twelve.

Yes, you read that right my fellow Christmasaholic, twelve. They do something called the Twelve Days of Christmas. Twelve days of different things, different interesting Christmassy things. And not all in a row, spread out a bit so some of them are in NOVEMBER. I think this could be worth running away from home/university for oui?

Hair today

Hair tomorrow. In the end the cut didn't happen. The salon had the wrong date so they had no time for me when I showed up. And by the time my post-poned date came up, I had to choose between a retreat for The Girl and a hair cut for me. Chose The Girl. So I'll either have to wait, or just shave my head myself. Depends on how the weekend goes, I guess.

Parental Blindness?

I have nothing against Halloween. And I have nothing - or nothing specific, at any rate - against girls in their mid-teens. Yes, the giggling/texting/talking/eye rolling can make my crazy but still, they're just kids. I also have nothing against dressing up as a naughty nurse. I haven't - yet! - but I have no strong feelings against it. What happens in Vegas....you know the drill.

You know what I do object to? All three of those things in one place. As happened on Halloween this year. A 14/15 year old friend of The Girl went trick or treating as a naughty nurse. Her words, not mine or The Girl. And it wasn't some innocent "I'm a nurse" costume that turned out a little too risque. Because on the ride to the farm (I was taking her and The Girl out to visit some horses) she was quite vocal about how much her friend's fathers liked the outfit. Me, I was just creeped out.

Adieu Rapunzel

The time has come. The monkey on my back has got to go. In more straightforward terms, the cost (in detangler and frustration) of hair long enough to TUCK INTO MY JEANS is now equal to the cost of maintaining a short haircut. So on Friday....snip. The length will go to Wigs for Kids and then hopefully I'll emerge as close to a butterfly as this particular caterpillar can hope to be.

My kids have got my number

I had, for a brief bit this weekend, (Saturday night until late Sunday) three dogs instead of two. Why? Because my kids have me worked out.

They know that I'll hug if asked, always, and quite often when not asked. They know that if they ask me to make a favourite meal/salad/cookie/dessert for them I will. They know that if they have a friend that needs cheering up and they want to take them cookies that I'll bake some. They know that if someone/something needs rescuing, I'll ride in on a white horse. Or something like that.

Which would explain the extra dog. The Boy went to a party on halloween, way out in the east end. I drove him there (of course I did - let him go to a party where I haven't met the parents? Without making sure that the parents really are home? Not going to happen) and then went home to hand out candy.

The kids at the party - 17 & 18 year olds - went out to some of the neighbours, after all the little kids had been around. They were joined by a small puking lost dog. The dog went with them from house to house. No one at any of the houses they went to had seen the dog before. They took it back to the party house, where it continued to puke. And there was a cat in the house and the mom didn't know what to do with a dog. So...The Boy called me. Which is how we had - temporarily - a brindle pug. Sweet little thing he was, too. Once he stopped being sick that is.

No collar, but he had a tattoo. We signed up on the lost/found site that is a link from the Regina Humane society. No listing of it up, but there were several "ran out the door on halloween" notices up, even that early. The voice mail on the RHS phone says their hours are nine to five on Sunday but in the end they weren't open until noon. We finally got the name and number of the dog owner, but no one was in when we called. Out looking for the dog, maybe? Anyway - he was returned to his rightful owner, evenetually. And both the kids and the dogs we have were sad to see him go. I myself thought about trading him for the two we own but that would involve heart-breaking ande dog stealing so in the end I'm back where I started: two dogs, two kids, lots of love.