Scarves Made by Bad People Still Keep You Warm

There is a woman in my workplace who has decided that I am No Good. I am Not To Be Trusted.

This evokes in me unfamiliar desires to be sneaky and devious, and maybe wear a cape, or at least a black eye mask.

She is a temporary employee, here to help one person in particular. Into her third week here, she asked this person if everyone here is ‘okay’. Further probing revealed that she was asking about me in particular. She worries that I am watching her, following her, and talking about her to other people. She asked if I am ‘threatened by’ her’.

The irony of all this is that the person she’s working with is a pretty good friend of mine, and when she was warned by this woman that I am “trying to manipulate” her, she came straight to me to share the funny, and now we are talking about this woman. Because she is crazy.

But as much as I’m keeping a sense of humour about the whole thing, (because I am not Evil and everyone here is well aware of that), it still sucks to have someone come in and decide that you are a Bad Person.

But I know how to feel better.

My very first cables. It's the Irish Hiking Scarf from Hello Yarn, done in Patons Merino. This is part of my Christmas knitting, but I'm pretty sure this person doesn't read this blog. I hope. And, since I've started down this road, here's a completed Christmas gift for my mum.


Yes, it's (another) clapotis, in mercerized cotton. It's really more of a royal blue than an electric blue, but I couldn't get the colour to come out quite right.


I also decided that I do not have enough scarves and picked up a fun green Patons for myself.

I love the weekend.

There is a Donkey at the End of This Post

This is basically a 'yes, I'm still here and breathing' kind of post. I feel kind of gagged at the moment, because while I am knitting, it is of a Christmas variety, and therefore can't be shared. I may have to post the latest projects and save them as drafts until it's safe.

Outside of knitting, my life is just ticking along. Some things are improving - work is busier and more challenging, now that I'm in a new role. It probably helps that I have no real clue what I'm doing, so every day is a learning day.

For a long time, I've felt a disconnectedness with my own life - as if I weren't really living my life but, instead, biding my time until this little period of uncertainty and fear were finished. Finally, now that I feel confident with my job status and know that I won't have to pack up and move again anytime soon (I'm feeling like I just jinxed myslef there) I'm starting to feel more in touch with my world. When I'm feeling disconnected, it touches just about every part of my life. My house gets really messy, bills go unpaid, letters unmailed, errands not run, meals not cooked. Right now, my apartment is only beginning to recover from this last bout. I know that I'm starting to come out of it when I get into a burst of tidying and cleaning activity. Last night, I cleaned out a shelf in my massive, chaotic hall closet, and immediately felt so much better. In the past few days I also got around to brushing the cat, depositing a cheque I've been carrying around for a couple of weeks, vacuuming a mess in the spare room, watering the plants, and swiffering the neglected corners of my bedroom. These are all little things - so little that when I'm hunched under a load of worry or uncertainty, they seem insignificantly unimportant.

Part of what's brought me out has been my visit home to see my parents. My mum's having some mysterious health problems right now that are leaving her completely without energy, and so I spent a great deal of my visit tidying and doing laundry and kicking the butts of my dad and brother into helping with household chores so that my mum wouldn't feel so much pressure to keep up with cleaning and cooking.

Speaking of, I should really get myself started on my own cooking and cleaning so that I'm ready for the madness of Thursday night television. Priorities, dontcha know.

I do have pictures from my Thanksgiving weekend visit - you can see them at Flickr. Want some incentive to check them out?

I present a gratuitous donkey picture for your viewing pleasure.

Leaving the Rock

It's completely normal to say 'be right back' and then not show your face for a couple of weeks. Right?

So the end of the Newfoundland sotry before I forget any more of it.

Tuesday morning was my last in Newfoundland. We got up, packed, had breakfast, and headed out. I needed to do a bit of shopping downtown for fun things to bring back for my lovely catsitter, not to mention my mum and dad. In the past year, I've been doing all kinds of travelling, but it's all been for work and hasn't involved a moment of fun or shopping. So I was determined to bring goodies back from the Rock.

Since the shops didn't open until 10 am, we took our time getting downtown, making a stop at the Confederation buliding and taking a moment to say 'hi' to John Cabot, whose Newfoundland statue looks exactly the same as the Caboto Club statue in Windsor. Just kind of funny.





We also made a stop at MUN, for the mandatory picture-taking with the university sign.





Next, we drove around St. John's, taking in the sights and going down the very steep streets. I love the rows of crooked houses, looking as if they would all tumble and crash to the ground if one were taken away, like a row of dominoes.

Next, it was to the shops, where I dragged poor Rikke and Keith through shop after shop, looking for just the right print and just the right gifts for the people at home. And myself. I finally came away with a little artcard picture that was almost what I was looking for, and a few little gifts that weren't quite what I'd hoped for, but would do. And. I went back to a shop we'd been in the very first day we were downtown, where I'd fallen in love with a little tote bag, and I succumbed to its charms and brought it home with me, where it rarely leaves my side. I like to just look at it sometimes.

We even saw a cruise ship in port, taking up about two city blocks along the waterfront, and towering high above most of the downtown buildings, looking out of place and filling the area with 2000 more tourists.

Overall, it was a great trip, and I'm very glad I went. I definitely want to go back someday and see all the things I missed this time around, like whales and icebergs and puffins and seafood. Not to say that I didn't have a lot of Newfoundland experiences this time around - I had screech and kissed a fish, touched the ocean, had chips with dressing and gravy, listened to an impromptu backyard fiddle and guitar performance, wandered the coast and visited George Street.

Oh, and I almost forgot! As I sat in the Westjet boarding area, waiting for our flight to be called, I was somewhat baffled by the dozens of people lining the walls, whispering and adjusting cameras. All was made clear when the attendant announced the arrival home of Craig Sharpe, who'd placed second in Canadian Idol the night before. He walked a gauntlet of cameras and autograph seekers, with little old women giggling to one another that he was "just as cute as he looked on tv".

I highly recommend a trip to Newfoundland. And try the screech.

Above Ground and Below

The next morning began my last full day in Newfoundland. While Keith and Rikke had planned a two week trip and were preparing to head north to visit L'Anse aux Meadows and to do some wandering and hiking, I had to head back to Ontario on Tuesday.

We got up in time to get breakfast at the hotel, then headed south, out of St. John's and down to explore the Irish Loop and the Avalon Peninsula. We took our time, driving along the coast and stopping frequently at the side of the road to take pictures of the blue and green vistas that kept opening to us.

At one point near Tor Bay, we had stopped near a house where some people were working outside, and Keith heard a woman remark, "If I only had $500 for every tourist that stopped here to take a picture! I don't know what they think they see!" Here's what we saw:



It's funny how one can become so used to anything - including beauty - to the point where it isn't even visible anymore.

We stopped at the Colony of Avalon, an historic site where you can see the open archaeological digs, and take in yet more stunning views. You can see some of the open pits in the picture on the left (kind of).

We stopped at the visitor's centre briefly, but decided to bypass the tours and displays in favour of wandering around on our own.

By this time, I was glad that I'd brought my clapotis, and had it secured snugly around my neck, protecting against the very cold wind and the occasional gusts of misty drizzle. (Oh, yeah - I made a second clapotis for myself in a more reasonable, wearable colour of Silky Wool.)

[Arrgh. Here's where blogger stops letting me add pictures. Back to good old Flickr. Maybe there's a secret quota and I've far surpassed it.]

I started to keep track of the pictures in my little knitting note book, marking how many pictures I'd taken of Witless Bay, Tor Bay, Calvert, Avalon, Bear Cove...





We drove south down to the barren area approaching Cape Race, whose claim to fame is that it was a Marconi station here that received the Titanic's distress calls. The open, empty landscape reminded me a lot of the Burren, a very similar landscape near Galway in Ireland. It was as we drove through this area that it began raining. We decided to cut the day trip a bit short, since stopping for pictures wouldn't be as easy or productive.

Instead, we headed back to St. John's, where we visited the Geo Centre, situated with its entrance and lobby on the side of Signal Hill, and the rest of the attraction located beneath the surface of the ground. It was an interesting visit, though we could have gotten more out of it if we'd visited first thing in the morning, rather than after a day in the car.

Part of the Centre is a large display of Titanic information, including many, many panels telling the entire story of the ship's building, history, financing and final voyage. It was quite interesting, and very comprehensive, if skewed and accusatory of... well, everyone involved. By the end, we were all a bit tired of hearing how it wasn't the fault of the iceberg, but of every single person involved, who had all been greedy and lazy and acted without conscience. Thanks. Got it after the first 20 panels.

Anyway, as I said, we may have been more impressed if we weren't a wee bit tired.

The part of the exhibit I found most interesting, if a bit creepy, was a model of the Titanic as it appears now - broken and crumbling on the floor of the Atlantic Ocean.



We next headed up Signal Hill to take in the amazing views from this spot above St. John's.

This is pretty much the same picture as the one in my first Newfoundland entry, only now in daylight.





I'll restrain myself from posting all of these pictures. Check out the group in Flickr by clicking on any of the last few pictures to see more.

That evening, we headed out to Vanessa and Aaron's house near St. John's, for a wonderful dinner.

I thought this would be my last Newfoundland entry, but I think I'll leave our morning in downtown St. John's for a last, brief story, since this is getting too long.

Imagine I'd been there more than five days!

The Travels of the Screeched In

When last we left our intrepid heroes, we'd just been made honourary Newfoundlanders.

The next day, we made our way to Vanessa's parents' house, where we watched the couple opening some absolutely gorgeous gifts. And many, many similar gifts - the shop where people had gone to buy certificates for place settings had wrapped them all (and there were a lot) in little gift boxes about the size of a kleenex box, and all in identical wrapping paper. It became something of a joke after the first dozen or so.

There were some really amazing gifts, including a really nifty porthole mirror that made it to St. John's all the way from Oakville (which means I may be able to find one of these myself).



And an absolutely stunning quilt done in blue waves. Amazing, and one of a kind. Maybe I should take up quilting...



After the gifts were opened and thoroughly oohed-and-ahed over, we headed out back for some casual playing of fiddle and guitar and banjo. Just... wow.



After the party, Rikke, Keith and I started to really get into our roles as tourists. We headed out to Cape Spear, making plenty of stops for picture-taking along the way.

Cape Spear is the easternmost point of North America. And it's a beautiful spot.




Maybe a little cold, with the Atlantic right there, you know, and the sea air and all. (I was at the sea!!)



This may be my favourite picture from the whole trip.


And this is a close second.



Sorry for the picture-heavy post. It's so hard to self-edit when everything I saw and pointed a camera at was just so amazing.

And now, I have officially been at the southernmost and the easternmost points in Canada. If I really want to hit all four geographical extremes, though, I've left the most challenging for last.

That evening, we met up on George Street for dinner, then we headed back to the hotel so we could get an early start on the next day.

Up next: The Irish Loop, the Geo Centre, and Signal Hill by day!

Newfoundland!

Yes, this post is terribly overdue. Sorry. Things have been rather crazy in the past two weeks what with changes at work and avoiding housework, travelling - with all of its packing and unpacking loveliness, and then finally a cold that moved in last week to kick my ass thoroughly all weekend.

But enough of that - now to the trip!

I have been wanting to go to Newfoundland for years now, but until last weekend, have only made it as far east as Quebec City. When Vanessa invited me to her wedding there this September, I decided (after much hemming and hawing) that come job or come no-job, I was going to make it out there.

I flew out Friday morning, and was blessed with a fairly uneventful flight. I was met at the airport by Vanessa and her maid of honour, Joanne, who was my host for my first two nights there. We spent some lazy, resting time at Joanne's house in nearby Paradise (really - that's the name) - Joanne trying to get through a cold, and me trying to recover from the travel lethargy that always grips me. Check out the view from my guest room window.



Next, Joanne drove me into St. John's, where we saw the main streets and the harbour, and then headed up Signal Hill to see the city from above. By this time, it was dark, so the picture isn't great.



We met up with a bunch of people who were going to be attending and involved in the wedding for dinner at the Keg, narrowly avoided a screeching in on George St., then headed home to rest up for the big day.

The day of the wedding was lovely and sunny and warm. Perfect. The ceremony was beautiful, the church impressive and gorgeous, and I got through my reading without stuttering or cursing involuntarily, so that was good. I also didn't fall down on my way to the pulpit, which was a real danger. I seem to be falling down for no good reason fairly frequently.





After the ceremony, I met up with Keith and Rikke, two friends I get to see far too infrequently. I have to say, though, that meeting up in Newfoundland was probably a lot more fun than meeting in, say, Mississauga would have been. We wandered around downtown, visiting shops and seeing the sights. And I snagged my first purchase of the trip.



Which interested nobody but me. When we stopped for a few pints at a pub on Water Street, I got to sit and pet my yarn possessively between sips of Strongbow.

We eventually headed for the reception, and were seated at the "George Street" table, which should have tipped us off immediately that we were in the place to be. We sat with a bunch of Vanessa's friends from work, who were all crazy and funny and made dinner a hoot.

Later in the evening, the sudden appearance of a man dressed in a bright orange rain slicker and carrying a broom made me wary. Sure enough, shortly after, all the 'come-from-aways' were called to the front of the room to be officially 'screeched in' and made honourary Newfoundlanders. As honoured as I am, I could go for the rest of my life never kissing a fish again. Though the screech was kind of tasty. There seemed to be an awful lot of it in that little glass. We had to repeat a heavily accented, slangy Newfoundland phrase, eat some bologna, hard bread, and a peppermint knob, wash it all down with a generous miniature of screech, and then kiss the fish. It's not so easy to find a cod as it once was in Newfoundland, so we were invited to pucker up for a trout.

I don't have any pictures of the screech-in, as I was one of the victims - er, I mean 'honourees', but I'm hoping someone else's camera caught some of it. But here is us proudly displaying our certificates declaring our Newfoundlandiness.



I'm going to save the rest of the trip for another post, because this is becoming very long and I am hungry.

See?

So. An update.

Things have changed again. And again and again.

After the emotional roller coaster that has been the past two months, it looks like I finally know where I will end up. And that's about 30 feet away from where I started.

Yep. I'm staying at the same place. This is making me feel kind of like I was handed a chance to really try something new and see what else is out there and try to find my passion, and, instead, I took the chicken way out and took a job that walked up and bit me.

But the truth is that this job is something new and different and it's something that I was thinking about getting into anyway, it's with a new company and I have a new boss and a completely new set of responsibilities. So it isn't just a matter of my being lazy and frightened.

Right?

In other news, I am getting ready to head out to Newfoundland tomorrow morning, and feeling better about the cost of a flight etc. now that I have an income again. Tonight, I'm tidying the house and packing my suitcase and trying to make sure I remove every stick of chapstick and concealer from anything I'm not checking. I hope to come back with lots and lots of amazing pictures and maybe a few good stories.

The Geek Story

As promised, I have a geeky story. But first, to gear you up for the geekery to follow, I have some geek toy recommendations. First, you have to check these out. They are the niftiest keychains around - you can plug into your tv from them and play old Atari games. From thinkgeek.com, of course.

And this t-shirt, also from thinkgeek. Just because I love it. Poor Pluto. We'll miss you, eccentrically orbiting little buddy.

The story really begins last November, when my brother Scott told me about a concert in Toronto that he and a friend were planning on seeing. It was cancelled, and he was devastated. Last weekend, the concert came back to Toronto, but my brother's friend couldn't make it. Still owing a birthday present (from February - yes, I suck) I bought two tickets and agree to go. The concert?

Video Games Live.


It's a show with a live orchestra playing music composed for video games. I've never seen so many geeks all in one place at one time. They filled the halls, the stairways, and the sidewalks, in their cryptic t-shirts and comfortable pants, and filled the air with geekspeak. And of all these geeks, my brother and I had the best seats in the house. And I have to admit that I had a pretty good time. A lot of the music for video games is very complex and dramatic, and the orchestra played it very well.

But my favourite stuff was the fun stuff. The show started off with Pong, leading into a medley of classic 8-bit game music.

They had a guy come up and pretend to be the shooting ship from Space Invaders. They had this guy, who apparently is an internet celebrity, who played piano faster than I would have said was humanly possible. Yes - he's blindfolded here.

And the very best part was the Frogger game. I did take video, but so did someone else - you can see their video below.

There has never been such an exciting game of Frogger -this is the way you've always wanted to play - with an entire audience cheering you on - applauding when you get him onto that difficult far left lilypad, and crying out in dismay when your timing is off just a little bit and you get creamed by a semi. And, of course, winning fabulous prizes for the high score.

Aside from the concert, it was a nice weekend with the family. Cards, Trivial Pursuit, the market, and lots of cheese made for a good visit.

Le Plus Ca Change

Sometimes there’s too much going on to blog about.

I don’t mean that I’ve been so busy that I haven’t had time to sit down and think and write. I haven’t been keeping up with vacuuming or banking or clearing the old vegetables out of the crisper, either. And none of it is for want of time. As a matter of fact, I’ve had quite a bit of time at home this week, including the last short Friday of our summer hours, and two shortened workdays. What has really thrown a wrench into my plans and my peace of mind and caused me to pursue a non-stop schedule of programmed distraction in the form of television and internet and to eliminate all moments of quiet and reflection is change.

What do you do when someone removes the framework of your life? How do you go about rebuilding from scratch? Do I want to recreate the same kind of structure, or do I want to take this golden opportunity to examine what I really want to be and what I really want to do? But that introduces the delicate question of what that is.

I’ve always felt somewhat adrift in terms of ambition. My worst interview question is always ‘Where do you see yourself in five years?’ I always give a very malleable, positive answer involving ‘seeing what doors open’ and ‘continuing to be alert for opportunity’ and that’s because I really have no plan. I have never truly had a ‘dream’ for my life. I can’t say that I’ve “always wanted to be” anything in particular. I know that I can be fickle and that my interests tend to wax and wane. So maybe I’m doomed – or blessed – to redesign my life every few years. Or maybe the next job, the next place will click with me in a profound way.

What is exhausting me right now is the need to tell people. Because I told people about the impending changes at work, I now have to tell all those people the results of those changes. And I don’t want people to worry about me. Mainly because I kind of feel like I don’t deserve that worry, that concern, because I haven’t started to take any real actions toward resolving everything for myself, and I haven’t really freaked out about it all yet. So I tell people, and then feel compelled to immediately blurt out, “But I’m fine. Really. I’m good. Things will work out. I’m fine.” Which is all true. But keeping all this maintained is kind of exhausting. At work, I constantly joke about the situation, which at first made people flinch a bit.

So. There. There is what is filling my head and emptying it at the same time. In the meantime, I will be sharing a story of the Geek Kingdom. Soon.

A Break

I had the laziest of weekends home and it was lovely. I went down planning to see friends and do all kinds of things, but never got hold of anyone. I dutifully sent out the emails and made the phone calls announcing my weekend down, and then never heard back from anyone until the day I drove back. All these weirdos with plans for the long weekend. Which I wasn't all that broken up about, considering that I just wanted to go to Windsor and collapse on my parents’ couch.

Friday, I arrived in time for supper, then hung out with my family and played euchre. Went to bed at about 12, and woke up at 10. Sooo nice. Saturday I felt that I should leave the house at least once, so my brother and I drove to Essex to visit Dairy Freeze and hunt the elusive Leamington tomato. At the Dairy Freeze, I had fries with cheese and gravy. And no, it could not be called ‘poutine’ in my opinion. The ‘cheese’ was melted pieces of cheese slices. It was okay for a lunch, and then we felt that we were duty bound - being at Dairy Freeze and all - to purchase some ice cream. We asked for a small dish initially, and were shown a ‘kids’ cup’ about the size that would snugly fit a golf ball. We decided to go with the medium. And regretted it. Because the size of the dish was only the beginning, establishing the base for a swirl that projected up to four or five times the height of the dish itself, as if the dish were a cone and the ice cream swirled into it in the same way. But it was very good. And drizzled and dotted with fresh raspberries and juice. And it was a perfect, lovely, warm-but-breezy day, sitting at a picnic table, watching the lazy dragonflies bumble about, and with this sky looking down on us.

With all of the craziness that’s been the theme of my life ever since 'The Big’ announcement at work, I really needed this weekend, and this day in particular. A day to sit in the shade of a maple tree with my brother, trading insults and witticisms and with nowhere to be, nothing to do but sit there and eat my ice cream and not worry about my job or my apartment or my bank account because all I had to do was make sure I was eating faster than the ice cream was melting.

Saturday night, I watched a movie while my brother WoWed. If you’re the right kind of geek, then you know what that means, and if you’re not, you really won’t care. (Trust me.) That night was another marathon sleep, not waking up until 11 am, which astonished me to the point of actually yelling, in my croaky, just-woke-up voice, “It’s eleven!?” Sunday was another gloriously lazy day; the only time we ventured out was to go buy a kiddie pool so we could give the dog a bath. Sunday night, we went to see Superman Returns, and then Monday was a leisurely preparation and final departure back to the land of work and worries, with the stress and worry trickling back into my being with every kilometre that rolled past my windows.

Everyone needs to recharge every now and then, and this was a good one. I just have to remind myself that everything will be okay and I just have to survive this.

His Secret's Out

This will not surprise many people who know my cat.

Stories

This lovely, eloquent, takes-you-there entry from Enchanting Juno today made me think about my own experience with Damien Rice's music. Beyond the wonderfulness that is 'O' all on its own, I love this cd because it has a story.

I will suffer many indignities and hardships if it means I can come out of it with a good story. Mind you, I am not one of those amazing storytellers who have the ability to pull you out of you chair and propel you to another place, another time, another personality and set of emotions using words and gestures and passion. My stories generally don't make it to the paper (or the screen) in a way that I find satisfying. But they're mine, and they're a part of me in the same way that everyone's stories make them whole.

The time I:
- ran across the Orange Walk in Glasgow (kind of a protest parade), only to be rebuffed and yelled at by the crowds who wouldn't let me through on the other side until they were satisfied that I understood why I was wrong.
- sat on the edge of a 400-foot cliff, watching the waves crash far, far below
- fell into a puddle of the worst smelling rotten onion glop that ever existed
- sang and pounded the bus seats in an international (and possibly drunken) choral of triumphant return to Edinburgh
- was rained on by hot, sticky relish
- really and truly wished I were dead, rather than lying in a puddle of... well, let's just say I was seasick and I was not alone
- was trapped in the world's smallest elevator, nose-to-nose with John
- had to wrestle a Saint Bernard to the ground in an effort to rescue two panicked pymgy goats

And so many more. Many interesting only to me, most with an element of embarassment. The chance of a good story is balm to a wounded pride.

And as for the Damien Rice cd? Well, that was the time I decided I wanted to listen to the cd that I'd left in the trunk, so I pulled over into what I thought was a thin layer of snow along the (apparently narrow and perilously close to a ditch) shoulder of the deserted back road near Vineland.

Thank goodness for roadside assistance. And cell phones.

Boston. Finally.

Two weekends ago, I embarked on the first road trip vacation since the mighty Year 2000 trips to Calgary and Winnipeg (and what I was thinking going to Winnipeg in January, I’ll never know). In comparison, this was a minor jaunt. But it was a fun trip overall, even including the car drive.

On Thursday night, the trip began when I picked up Rachel from the Long Branch Go station after work. Well, that’s not entirely true. It might be more accurate to say that the trip really began in the planning stages, which were very thorough, in a fashion completely unfamiliar to both of us. We planned what we were bringing, when we were leaving, mapped out the whole trip in manageable chunks, and even had a planning site in the form of a pbWiki. I don’t know how much it actually helped us in the planning, but it was a whole lot of fun to play with, so I would recommend it for that reason, if no other.

Thursday evening was spent getting some last minute shopping done and then ‘resting up’ (read: eating spaghetti and watching TV) for the next day’s early start. Friday morning, the lazy, rebellious part of me (90%) had trouble getting up and out of the house, so we got away a bit later than we had originally planned – though only by half an hour, so, for me? That was great.

We had a hearty breakfast of grease and sugar thanks to a local McDonalds, and then the trip started in earnest. We made great time to the border, and the weather was looking to be perfect for driving. A bit warm, but sunny and dry. As we approached the bridge, we noticed a small-ish back up. No big deal.

An hour later we were still sitting in the sun, seething as the cars in every other line seemed to slide smoothly ahead of us to the barrier. Half an hour after that, bladders full and tempers stretched to the snapping point, we pulled up to the booth in our lane. And were then forced to be cheery and friendly and cooperative with the gabbiest border guard ever, responding to such inanities as, “Wow – seems like everyone’s going to Boston.”
“Really? Huh.”
“Is there something going on there”
“Um. Cheap lobster?”
“Is it cheap there?”
“Oh, uh, I guess we… don’t really know. Probably. Maybe?”

The drive went fairly quickly, helped along greatly by Rachel’s iPod music and podcast dj skillz, and just enough junk food to keep things well sugared. The weather cooperated surprisingly well, but we could see the damage caused by some of the flooding in New York state.

We arrived at Sabrina and Chris’s house at around 6 pm, by which time the giddy-ness was setting in. They have a lovely home, with colours similar to the ones I’d like to use someday when I’m living someplace for more than a year and a half. We also met their friend Laura, who had come to spend the weekend with us. And, of course, Sadie.


We all (well, not Sadie) headed out to dinner at a nearby steak house, Rachel and I enjoying the novel sensation of not moving. We proceeded to eat too much and stay up too late.

The next morning, Sadie had to go to puppy school, so she was off, taking Chris and Sabrina with her. Rachel, Laura and I had some quality loafing time, and Rachel checked on the pool. She has a lot of skills. We headed off to Target, where we spent some quality retail time, and goofed around with hats.

Next, we stopped off to pick up some yummy sandwiches, and headed off to Nashoba Valley Winery, where we picnicked outside in the sun, with Sadie enjoying the shade and crumbs under the picnic table. And, of course, we did a bit of shopping inside the winery, too. I picked up a strawberry rhubarb wine that was pretty yummy.

Saturday night was full of fire. First, a rousing game of Celebrity, mixed in with a hot dog and chips dinner. And to top it all off, marshmallows, graham crackers and chocolate in their supreme form: the s’more. Well, lots of s’mores, actually. This infusion of sugar then fuelled a game of Canadian Cranium, which turned out to be just about the most Canadian board game since that one they made us play in high school history. It included a question about the weapon used by Jean Chretien to defend himself from an intruder into the Prime Minister’s residence (it was an Inuit stone sculpture).

Sunday, we had a nice lunch, then headed into Boston for a guided tour (guided by Sabrina and Chris) of the key sites in Boston. It’s really a beautiful city, and I would like to go back and spend some time walking and seeing more of the city. Um. When it’s not over 90 degrees and crowded. In the meantime, I took some really crappy pictures from the back of the comfortable, air-conditioned mini-van.

After doing a bit of Gar-fleck stalking, (Look – oh, not Ben. There’s not Ben again. Oop – not Ben.) we finished the day with a visit to a dog park where Sadie made a new friend in the form of a cowardly little Westie, and then had a great dinner before heading home.

On Monday we headed back to Canada, again blessed by a largely uneventful journey.

It was a great weekend, and I hope we can do it again. Even if I do get odd looks when I explain that we’re visiting friends we met on the internet. Or maybe especially because of that.

Thanks, Sabrina and Chris!

Weekend in Port Credit

This is why I love Port Credit. I was driving along Lakeshore, when I heard music and noticed this.



It's an art show in the marina. This little guy was dancing to the music of a very loud - and fortunately good - band set up in the shade. There were about 30 booths set up, with paintings and photographs for sale. And there was some lovely stuff. I would have liked to take pictures, but figured people might not appreciate my taking pictures of their pictures. Yeah.

I also enjoyed the opportunity to walk about in the blazing sun, in hopes of improving my corpse-like pallor. But thanks to these good ol' Scottish genes (thanks Mum and Dad) I remain as pasty white as ever. My hope is that by the end of the summer, I achieve a shade that stops people from either snickering with amusement or gasping in concern for my health any time I bare my legs. Right now, though, I do tend to make other people feel better. Anyone who stands near me looks rosy and sun kissed.

In yarn-related news, there is none. I have three projects on the needles, but each of them is a project that I've already done at least once. I'm working on a log cabin blanket, a baby blanket, and my second clapotis. Things are getting very, very boring, causing me to feel less and less desire to pick up the needles. In hopes of recapturing a muse or two, I'm looking at a few different patterns and yarns. I've been longingly visiting White Lies Designs for months now, trying to pick out a good pattern to start with. I think I've finally chosen the Angelina jacket. I also picked up Big Girl Knits during a moment of weakness at Indigo, and joined a Big Girl knitalong in a Yahoo group. Though I don't know yet if I'll cast on the project (the Boobalicious tank) along with everyone else.

I also have yet to master the sock, so I'm considering tackling a basic sock recipe. But try as I might, the dpns continue to fight me like a pointy, angry spider, so I'd like to get some teeny circulars and try out magic loop or two circulars, rather than risk more puncture wounds.

Until then, I must persevere with the duplicate patterns. Maybe I can rediscover the thrill if I actually achieve a FO.

Saturday Night

I have had a lovely evening.

I set out this afternoon, planning to have a quick dinner, then watch a movie or two, then head to bed. Just a normal, boring Saturday. So I headed out to the grocery store, where I lingered over my choices, taking time to think about the meals I would prepare, and carefully choosing my fresh fruits. Once I was home, I set out my meal, then cooked up corn on the cob, a grilled burger, steamed green beans, and new red baby potatoes.

After dinner, when it came time to turn on the movie, I found that it really wasn't what I felt like doing. Instead, I ventured out onto the balcony.

When I was looking for a place to live in Toronto, I was determined to have a place with a balcony, so that I could keep my patio furniture, cheap and plastic as it is, and my barbecue, given to me as a housewarming gift a couple of apartments ago by my parents. But after all that, I find that I don't ever use the balcony, and just feel guilty about it. Tonight, though, I first hooked the kitty up on his silly little harness and let him roll around on the concrete. Then I tucked him back inside, and sat out on the balcony on my own with my knitting and a podcast.

It wasn't completely enjoyable; I don't notice the train noise nearly as much when I'm inside the apartment, but there are a lot of trains that pass by here all the time. And a lot of neighbours intruded on my time, if inadvertently. The woman on the other part of my balcony, smoking and talking on her phone, the couple across the way who appeared to be watching tv from the balcony for some reason, the two guys having a conversation across two balconies. And just the mass of people all crowding this small piece of sky. I can see 63 different balconies clearly from where I sit in my little plastic chair.

But despite all this, there did come a moment, when the light was stealing out of the air, and the colours were fading from the world, and the bustle of trains dimmed, and I was knitting, watching my fingers move in the candlelight and twinklelights, and I just felt a bit of peace and comfort.

That was better than a movie.

2005

Because you can always count on me to be up to date and current, here is my video collage of my pictures from 2005.

This may have come earlier, had I known how to do this before now. Thanks, YouTube!

I Didn't Know Dollar Store Stuff Could Be Even MORE Fun

But it can! Particularly when it's dollar store stuff from Japan. Or, more accurately, the 100 yen store.

Rachele, of My Nephews Knit, was kind enough to send me this little package all the way from the Land of the Rising Sun. Half of the fun was knowing that this package was coming and wondering what would be inside. And it was a perfect way to end a great long weekend, since the package arrived on my day off, so I was here to see it slide through the mail slot and arrive on my door mat. And the fun began.

In the package are funky purple chopsticks, a cute postcard, a packaged rice snack, a little drawstring bag, and the best - the erasers. There are two different shaped sushi erasers, which are all kinds of adorable, but the very, very best are these:

These are erasers shaped like bowls of ramen noodles. Very cute, yes. But why (you may ask) are they the very best part of the package?

Here's why:

Thaaat's right.

They open up to reveal little noodle-block erasers.

Don't worry - yes, I did take some (bad) pictures in Boston, and yes, there will be an entry about the trip. But until I have the gumption to start digging through the camera wreckage to find the useable pictures, it will have to wait. Suffice it to say that it was a great weekend and there is some small amount of photographic evidence.

Until then, I have one more picture of the ramen erasers to share. Because it's just so darn cute!

Skateboarder?

I spotted this sign on the way to the grocery store yesterday.






Funny how a sign that's so common, so familiar, can give such a completely different message when it's turned upside down. It made me smile, anyway, so I thought I should share.