Pop Crazy!

I love colour; it makes me happy.  My living room, office and tv room are painted different shades of green and chartreuse, my bathrooms are both blue, my bedroom is pale turquoise, my son's room is cornflower and my daughter's is pepto-bismol pink.  I selected the fabrics, furnishing and accents in all of these rooms to further activate the walls, making the colours seem even more intense.  I can't get enough colour.

Last Christmas, I made a quilt for my son's twin bed.  It is mainly blue rectangles punctuated by solid white.  I also made sure to include a wild card - a lone green patch - and some floral patterns and pink, just cuz.  I made a scrappy binding and backed the quilt with a warm brown solid and some more green.

My daughter was upset when she realized that there wasn't a quilt for her.  I explained that I had started working on her quilt but it would take me more time to assemble.  Furthermore, ladies across Canada were sewing just for her!

In July of 2011, I joined a Flickr group called Unscripted.  It is a quilting bee and the first one that I've ever participated in.  The group is comprised of twelve quilters across Canada who wanted to try out some improvisational quilting.  Each of us was assigned a month.  During my month, I had to select a block that I wanted the other members to sew and select and cut fabric for it.  The fabric would be mailed out with instructions and the other members of the bee would sew a block and then mail back the finished piece.

After sewing the block below for August, I knew that I wanted some hot colours in Gwen's quilt.  The "red" in the block is actually more on the orange side than it appears.

I told the bee members that I was inspired by the quilts of Denyse Schmidt and Malka Dubrawsky, two designers with a very modern aesthetic.  I cut and mailed out stacks of pink, orange and purple fabric to the ladies in my quilting bee.  I also added in some white to break up all that saturated colour.  I asked them to be creative and to sew the fabric together in any size or shape. I also asked them to add in some complementary fabric from their stash.  Yes, all good quilters have a stash.

The ladies did not disappoint.  As the blocks started to trickle in, I was ecstatic!  You can see below that I received many different styles of blocks - all unique.

My plan was to arrange the finished blocks to my liking and break them up with light grey and smaller blocks that I had sewn.  I had purchased a huge, high quality cotton flat sheet at the Sears Outlet last year for $12.  It was very soft (high thread count) and I knew it would complement the pink, orange and purple.

Here's a picture of the quilt, before I began to attach the binding.

As I write this, I am taking a break from hand-sewing the binding to the back of the quilt.  I have one side left and I am hoping to get it finished today.

3 hours later, I've finished sewing on the binding.  Here it is right before I pop it in the washer.

And here is the final product, fresh from the dryer!  I love it!

Here is some information about my quilt:

Pop Crazy was quilted by Christine Montgomery at Quitty Prickly .  Unscripted (my Bee Girls) contributed with some of the pieces, which I later cut up and resewed or worked into larger sections.  
Dimensions are:  78 x 72.  Machine pieced, handsewn binding.

The Kids Drove Me Mad; The Wine and Chocolate Kept Me Sane. Houses Exchanged, Part 2.

I really should be planning my daughter's 7th birthday party, which is in 4 days - eeek!  I haven't made up the invites nor have I finished sewing her birthday quilt which I began last February.  I also have to update my resume and write a cover letter; try to unload our washing machine (pun intended) on Kijiji and perform additional mindless and menial tasks.  Recently a friend asked when I was going to finish up the house exchange post and I realized that I have been neglecting my blog.  So here it goes, le plus rapidement possible.

Let's see... where did I leave off? Oh yes, August of 2012.   We were about to brave some wicked French traffic...

After taking the RER to the airport hotel, we claimed our cute black Peugeot from the underground parking.  Thank goodness for the Frenchies' GPS - we would have been up caca creek without it.  Jetlag; crazed French drivers, chaotic roundabouts, demons wrestling in the backseat, hysteria in the front, all compounded by our fervent desire to arrive alive made for a somewhat dicey journey to Guer.

An obscene toll of 28 euros and 5 hours of erratic driving later, we were driving into the village.  We were immediately charmed by the landscape - lots of lush, green farmer's fields, ancient stone houses and pops of bright flora everywhere.  It was the tail end of the hydrangea display but I did manage to snap a few pictures.

We were very eager to get to our home away from home and when we turned the car into a charming laneway and saw what we thought was the Frenchies abode, I was thrilled.

Richard got out of the vehicle and tried to open the large iron gate.  Nothing happened.  I consulted our papers.
Hmmn... there's nothing about a keypad.

Richard began to punch in random numbers.  I rolled my eyes:  Like this is gonna work, rockstar.

Then he shook the gate a bit.  This would have been funny if we weren't so tired.  Oddly enough, the gate opened and a woman appeared.  Richard said what I can only assume to be something along the lines of "we're here!" but the woman looked startled and then confused.  I got out of the car to help because RB's French is comparable to my German.  Eventually, after some namedropping, the woman deduced that we wanted a maison and she pointed down the laneway.  Ha ha ha, we all laughed.  It was a bit socially awkward and I'm not entirely sure that the woman thought we were sane.

Here's Nathaniel standing in the laneway, followed by a photo of our French hideaway.

The house was pale stucco, very modern in appearance, and nicely situated on a very private lot with lots of flowers and a biggish yard with pear, apple and plum trees.  Without going into too much detail, the kitchen was well-appointed with all the usual appliances, the rooms were spacious, they had two bathrooms (toilets only) and two washrooms (tub and shower).

The Frenchies were very thoughtful folk: they had left us a bag of juicy oranges to use in their juicer;  two bottles of wine and local cider and a note wishing us a pleasant stay.  Also on the table were loads of travel pamphlets and leaflets, a binder with house info (who to call, insurance stuff, garbage day, phone numbers etc).  We signed their guestbook and were surprised to learn that they had participated in four previous exchanges (a different part of France, Spain, Germany and another European destination that I can't recall).

The house was tidy and very comfortable; I was completely at ease. Their decor was upscale Ikea with lots of pottery, bright walls and modern art (they had an abstract mural painted on one cinder block wall which I thought was very cool). The kids liked the the French version of "Craftmatic" beds, which were motorized.  I could get used to those beds; it made reading before lights out, very cozy.  I could also get used to their "femme de manage", who came in once a week, on Thursdays.  No wonder the blasted house was so clean!

I didn't take any pictures of the interior of the house so here are a few pictures of the local landscape:  Guer's trails, farmer's fields, the beach at Carnac, the menhirs, and the next door neighbour's horse.

Carnac

Biking through the French countryside

on the bike trail, the small Marian shrine, a copy of the grotto of Lourdes

gorgeous countryside on a perfect summer's afternoon

beautiful vista on the bikepath

cairn at Locmariaquer

menhirs at Carnac, dating to around 4500 BC

The festival of the Madonna of the Bikers, which organizers promote as the largest motorcycle “pilgrimage” in France

I have never seen so many motorcycles in my life!

the neighbour's horse

Looking back at these pictures, I realize that I miss our days in Guer:  fresh pain au chocolat, cheap and plentiful wine and cheese, baguettes fresh from the oven for 80 cents and the venerable religieuse: a tower of custard filled pastry that defines gustatory pleasure.  I miss the amazing boulanger that was a minute's stroll from our backyard, the hydrangeas and rhododendrons, the stone cottages, the easy living.  These are the things that I am missing.  Richard is missing the myriad "roundabouts", which are so much more fun, efficient and stylish (if roadways can be stylish!) than stoplights.  We do have one here in London near Trafalgar Road and we rode through it recently on the way to my inlaw's.  I patted Richard's arm to console him.

What I am not missing:  my children fighting in the backseat of the Frenchies' car!

To sum up: I would definitely do another exchange.  When we returned home, our house looked and smelled exactly like it was supposed to, which was a relief.  My houseplants (two orchids, a jade plant, a desert rose and a Chinese money plant) were all very thirsty, but still alive,  so that was good.  The Frenchies left the house in pretty good shape, except for the mirror in the upstairs bathroom, which was splattered with toothbrush detritus and zit juice.  I did have one truly horrifying moment, which occurred the day we arrived home.  When I opened the microwave to reheat my coffee (sadly, an oft-repeated activity during a typical day), I realized that there was something still inside.  The something was three zombified half cobs of corn, writhing with maggots and tiny flies!  Truly repulsive.  I slammed the door and retreated and of course, called the hubs to deal with the mess.  This aside, there were no major problems.

So I suppose, my only problem now is to decide where we should go next and find someone who is ready and willing to swap!

Here is a video that my husband made with some highlights of our trip. I love it!!

Houses Exchanged! Part 1

Preface:  A family of four from London, Ontario participates in their first house swap.   Homes and vehicles are exchanged; fun ensues!

The Bad Beginning
August 2012

After a nine hour drive to Montreal, we happily checked in to a Holiday Inn Express.  Our flight was due to leave the next day at 11:30 pm.  Poor Gwen had been ill for several days (and yes, it was the dastardly type of illness that requires a pot) and Nathaniel had just started to grouse about a sore tummy.  Always nice to get the flu the day before a transatlantic flight.  Although Gwen was on the mend and wanted to hang out in the hotel pool, Nathaniel wouldn't or couldn't leave the bed.  He even missed out on St. Hubert (delicious roasted chicken, Quebec style), which I had been wanting to sample since I heard about it on CBC's C'est la Vie.

After a painful night in an overchilled hotel room, listening to Nathaniel moan and groan, we got up and sorted ourselves and our luggage out.  We hung out at the hotel for the day - Gwen swam and Nathaniel stayed in bed for the morning.  After lunch, we drove down to the waterfront (Lake St. Louis), ate some DQ ice cream, walked along the pier, beachcombed and watched the kids chase geese.

At around 6:30pm, we left the van in the hotel parking lot for the Frenchies and took the shuttle to the airport.  We waited around for five hours: people-watching, eating, reading and trying to comfort Nathaniel.  The worst of his sickness had passed but he was still weak and lethargic.  Poor kid.

I won't lie; it was a hellish flight.  I detest flying at the best of times (unreasonable and unfounded fear of fatal crash), but when it's a red-eye with exhausted children, and one of them is unwell, it is unbearable. The kids were crabby because it was WAY past their bedtime, I was crabby because it was WAY past my bedtime, the plane was packed and we were ready for the journey to be over before we even left the ground.   The children slept ON Richard and I for the duration of the flight.  This was not pleasant or relaxing.  The in-flight movie was something starring a Latino midget and The Rock.  Also unpleasant, was Nathaniel vomiting orange juice (you've got to be kidding me) as the plane touched down on French soil.  Quelle horreur!  I did not make eye contact with the other passengers, who, I am sure, were completely disgusted by me and my barfing progeny. What an inauspicious beginning to our trip!

We stumbled off the plane, made our way into the airport terminal, retrieved our luggage (all miraculously there!) and took the navette (free airport shuttle service) to the Radisson.  Time for a glorious three hour nap.  zzzzzzzzz.

I was awakened by a ringing telephone.  It was Aquaduck!

Aside:  Anne's surname is Acouedic and the first time I tried to pronounce it, it came out "Aquaduck".  The Aquaduck was a bar (now defunct) in Welland, Ontario that I used to frequent as a teenager.  It is where I drank cheap and disgusting Bavarian wine cooler, caroused with my peeps and was hit on by my drunken high school English teacher.  Ahhhh... those were the days (it is hard to type sarcasm).

Anyhow, Anne's name stuck.

I roused RB and the kiddies, who did NOT want to leave their beds.  Everyone was grouchy, but I forced them to march down the hall with me to the Frenchies' room.

The warm, smiley and charming Frenchies, while complete strangers to us and the English language,  couldn't have been more gracious.  We yammered on in French, and I practiced mon Franglais.  RB and the kids were pretty quiet so it was up to me to do most of the communicating.  I relied on smiling and manic gestures to fill in any gaps in communication.  We chatted for twenty minutes or so and RB accompanied Serge down to the parking garage for an introduction to their car.  He returned with the car and house keys (yes!) and we bid the Frenchies adieu, bon voyage, yada yada yada, with a promise to see them in three weeks.

So far, so good.  Our agenda: to enjoy Paris for four nights and then make our way to Guer.  We put most of our luggage in the trunk of the car and left it in the underground parking. Paris has excellent public transportation; there was no practical reason for us to travel by car through La Ville Lumière, although watching RB navigate the traffic circle in front of the Arc De T would have been comical.

We boarded the navette back to CDG and bought four Paris Visite passes.  These offer unlimited train, bus and Métro travel for a set number of days (5 for us) in up to five different zones. These were very expensive, but worth every centime.  We used them constantly.  I think we would have seen less of the city had we not purchased them.

I had made arrangements to rent a Paris apartment (in the 2nd arrondissement) through a lodgings website and I was a bit worried because I hadn't corresponded with Jonathan, the owner of the apartment, for several days.  I was beginning to rethink our rather loosey-goosey rendezvous between the hours of 11am and 1pm on August 5.

Adding to my concern was the fact that I had paypaled J $150 as a deposit.  Let me explain. The apartment looked great online, but we were the first people to rent it.  Red flag.  Before committing to J and his very desirable apt, I asked him why he had no testimonials.  His response was that it was his first time listing it:  "only friends and family have stayed before".  He seemed nice enough on the phone, so I took the plunge and paid up.  What did I have to lose?

A month later, we were on our way to Paris, Plan de Poche Transilien in hand, and about to try to find our petit piece of Paris.  This little map was a lifesaver!

Finding our apartment was easy peasy with this baby.  We took the RER (Réseau Express Regionale) commuter train from CDG to the chaotic Métro hub of Paris Nord, and then hopped on the fourth line.  We exited two stops later, at Réaumur- Sébastopol.  Our building was about two hundred feet away.

Our Métro stop.  

RB entered the four digit door code and we were relieved when the tall wooden door actually opened!   We carried our luggage up the five-story wooden, spiral staircase, which I loved, and found the door to our flat.  I had no key and no clue.  Knocking was futile; the apartment was empty.

We did have a bit of a problem getting in because my cell doesn't work in France. I solved this problem by banging on the neighbour's door and begging to use his phone.  Artur (Arthur?) had pas de problems with me and my dumbassedness and gladly handed over the phone.

When I spoke to J, I learned that he wasn't even in Paris!  I'll admit, when he told me this, I felt a bit sick. I think he was in England.  He said that he had been emailing me for the past few days but I hadn't responded.  Whoops! Incommunicado in Paris.  He told me that I had a contract to sign, he wanted 300 euros as a security deposit and that I would have to pay 80 euros for cleaning.  I told him that none of that was on his website and that I would pay for the appartement in full, but would not pay a deposit or pay anything for cleaning.  He didn't seem particularly thrilled with this, but he agreed and said that his Uncle would let us in.  We dumped our luggage in the hall and left it there for 2 hours (I wasn't about to sit with it while we waited for the Oncle and I was certainly wasn't about to tow it around while we explored the neighbourhood).

When we returned to the flat after pigging out on French pastries and shopping at the Monoprix (the grocery across from us; they're all over Paris), Jonathan's uncle was waiting for us.  He gave us the key and departed quickly.  The flat had three bedrooms, two baths with lots of hot water and the kitchen was well-equipped and bright.  There was no tv, which was fine by me.  We later learned that the apartment was usually rented only to models but they don't "work" in August and so it was free for us to rent.  I actually wondered about the model thing when we arrived, because the apartment wi-fi code was "Parismodel" or something silly like that and there were copies of Vogue and other fashion mags on the mantle.  I suppose I was half hoping that Jonathan was some hotty male model, but alas, he was not.

Here are some pictures that I took from our fifth-floor balcony.  One is east-facing and the other west.  These photos were taken at the same time, but it appears as though I took the pictures on different days,  due to the light.

Our building's facade was very similar to this one.  The rotunda-topped edifice houses a grocery at street level.  Shopping has never been so easy!

I loved standing out on the balcony and watching the world go by.

A typical pedestrian thoroughfare in our neighbourhood.  

This place, while unassuming, had the most cheap and delicious sandwiches.  

Part two of the adventure to come.

Update -- it's here!   Part 2

House Swap!

Bad joke alert:  I was tempted to call this post "wife swap" because I thought it might get more readers. ;-)

A few years ago, when we were still residing in the Blackfriars neighbourhood, I found a great website for thrifty (aka cheap) travelers.  Here's the "about" blurb from the site:

Home exchangers trade their homes, condominiums or apartments at a time that is convenient to both parties, but these are not the only types of accommodations that one gets to choose from. For example, one exchanger traded his home for a 40-foot yacht. Another couple swapped their villa in Italy for a RV in Oregon because they had always wanted to tour the U.S. in true nomadic style. Often, home exchangers will include their automobiles as part of the package.

A $100 charge to my Mastercard later, I was a home exchanger!  I "staged" the rooms in our house by shoving all the excess junk to one side of the room, out of the camera viewfinder's range and snapped away happily.  The next step was to upload our pictures and write a description of what we wanted in a house exchange and what we had to offer.  I waxed on about the Great Lakes, the city of London, Niagara Falls, beautiful beaches, Toronto, proximity to the U.S. border et cetera.  I posted a picture of the four of us, where Richard and I actually looked good (we were going to a charity do and were looking particularly natty), and I made sure that our home looked as comfortable and welcoming as it could.

We had an offer to exchange homes with some Dutchies the first week that our profile was active.  The Mom was a psychologist and she and her family of five were coming to London so that she could attend a conference at UWO.  Our proximity to the bike path and the school was "perfect for her"! Unfortunately, the dates didn't work for us and we had to decline.  We also received offers from Italy and another from the Netherlands, but neither tickled our fancy.  The fourth family to contact us was from Ireland, in Lucan, and wanted to know if we could come in July.  We said yes, were totally excited and - ugh - had to cancel on them in December because we bought a house and our closing was only a month before we were due to leave for the Emerald Isle.  I didn't want the added expense of a vacation that summer and so we kissed the blarney stone goodbye for that year.

Fast forward two years (May 19, 2012).  Home Exchanging was not even on my radar as I had let my membership expire; however, I was still interested in participating in an exchange and when I received an email offering me a $36 renewal, I jumped.  I deleted our previous listing and updated it to reflect our new home and surroundings.  I only posted pictures of our living room and the exterior of our house because I was of course doing too many things at once and only had a limited amount of time to work on the profile.  The plan was to stage the rest of the rooms in the house and take additional pictures a few days later.

Before I had time to take pictures of the rest of the house and less than three days later,  I found this email in my inbox:

Bonjour.

Nous serions intéressés pour échanger notre maison en aout 2012 - entre le 4 aout et le 26 aout 2012 pour une durée de deux ou trois semaines à votre convenance.

Nous habitons en Bretagne, notre situation géographique vous permet d'être au centre de la Bretagne afin d'y apprécier tous ses charmes.


Nous sommes une famille de 4 personnes.

A bientôt.

Anne et Serge
Thomas et Clara

Magnifique!  We were ecstatic.  The dates work for us because RB is a teacher and is home for the summer holidays.  I think we discussed it for about two minutes and I sent an email back to Anne and Serge letting them know that we were interested and that we would be looking into flights.

It is now mid-July and we depart for France in less than two and half weeks - the first of August.  I am exhilarated and cannot believe that we are actually going on this amazing adventure.

We are swapping homes, cars and bicycles.  Coordinating arrivals and departures has been a bit onerous, as my French is pauvre; however, I have managed.  I have been sending emails back and forth to Anne (in French), which is a bit of a nightmare because she only writes in French. Bah!

The plan is to fly in to Paris and to stay overnight at an airport hotel (Radisson).  The Frenchies are spending the night at the same hotel and so we will be able to meet and exchange home and car keys.  The hotel offers a "park and fly" package ($185 Cdn) which we are taking advantage of (free parking for seven days and buffet breakfast in the a.m.).  Anne and her family will fly out of Paris the following morning and we will continue on to the city proper where we will stay for four nights. After our Parisian jaunt, we're off to Guer, in Bretagne.  We are planning to visit the coast, Normandy in particular, and perhaps a sojourn to Belgium.  I haven't been to Belgium before and neither has RB.  I think he wants to go there just for the beer.

You can view our listing here (you might have to register, which is free, to see it):

House Exchange

http://www.homeexchange.com/show.php?id=101240

I don't want to hear any cracks about my decor, people.

Also, please do not ask me why folks want to come to London, Ontario.  Everyone asks me this!  The mind works in strange ways.

Last week, we received an email from a family in Georgia, who reside in a log cabin on a mountain lake.  I told them that we would exchange with them next year.  

Stay tuned for more updates.

On Aging (Dis)Gracefully

"Hello?"

"Miss Montgomery?"


Daaaamn. It's a telemarketer.  
"Yes.  How can I help you?"


"You sound younger and younger each year, every time I talk to you".  He laughed in a self-congratulatory way that infuriated me.


Oh, he thinks he is sooooo funny. ha hahaha hahahhaa.  Laugh at this, dumbass!

I slammed the phone down.  Yes, I really did slam it because I was talking on my old school rotary phone that my stepfather rewired for me.  I'm not proud of my reaction, but really!  This! On the eve of my discovery of the dreaded senior discount on a receipt.  RB said that the senior discount key is permanently depressed at Cherryhill Mall, which of course made me laugh, but I will be permanently depressed if I start getting the senior discount regularly!

For those of you who are not familiar with Cherryhill Mall, it is populated entirely by seniors.  I used to dislike going there because of the demographic (ooh... evil admission of ageism), but I grew to love the mall's denizens.  When the kiddies were toddlers, they always got lots of attention, candy, money and smiles from the geriatric bunch, who obviously had a lot of time on their hands.

Here's a picture of said senior discount:

I saved $1.26 on "drink" and wax paper.

According to Shopper's website, the magical age is 65; however, I have heard that they will extend it to those individuals who are 55 and over.  I do not look 55!  Do I?  Please tell me if I do.  In my head, I'm still 25!

I remember the young cashier who was helping me. She was about 12 and we were talking about PC banking.  I told her that I put everything on my PC Mastercard because I get free groceries and who doesn't like free groceries?  I was just trying to make polite conversation while rummaging through my disorganized wallet.  She said that she banks with TD because at the end of the year, she receives a percent back (of what she has spent during the year).    I just looked it up on the TD website and it's 1% for every dollar spent.  So if you spend $1000 a month, or $12 000 yearly, you'll get $120 back.  Hmmn... I am going to have to check what I get for my PC. As usual, I am getting sidetracked. Bear with me while I do some googling...

According to PC banking, the stated rate of points acquisition is ten points for every dollar spent on the PC Mastercard.  If you spend $1000 a month, you'll get $120,000 points annually and $120 in free groceries.  So they're basically the same - cash or groceries.  I'll take the groceries because I shop at the PC stores and there isn't a fee to bank with PC. Enough about this boring credit card savings and back to the prepubescent cashier.

I am going to tell myself that I do not look 55 and that the cashier gave me the senior discount because we were talking about money and she wanted to save me some.  I might cry if I thought otherwise.

I can only conclude that it must be my hair.  I showeth the greyeth, therefore, I am senior.  And senior is bad (that's for all you old folks out there, nyuk nyuk).

Because why else would I choose to have grey hair?  Grey hair means old, washed-up, not caring about one's appearance. Letting one's self go.  Saying goodbye to youth and vitality, and self-pride.  I should just start wearing polyester, elastic waistband pants now, right?

My cousin told me not too long ago that I was "too young to have grey hair" (that I didn't colour) and what was I thinking?

"You can have grey hair when you're old" she stated.  She is ten years older than I am and dyes her hair.  We agreed to disagree.

A friend of mine told me that several of her friends who met me at a function (and who do not know me) said that I looked at least ten years older than she did (thanks for that).  And this was supposed to make me feel how? Good?  I think her point was that I was "letting myself go" and that I should buck up and get back to the bottle.   That I am somehow doing RB a disservice.

I guess I frighten some people, with my kinky, crazy grey hairs.

At this point I no longer give a shit about my hair.  I look in the mirror and most days I think I look pretty good, grey hair and all.  I don't have a lot of time to spend on my appearance, or rather, I don't want to spend a lot of time on my appearance.

Why are we so obsessed with looking young?  If every woman I knew didn't dye her hair, I wouldn't have this bloody problem! I don't know any men who dye their hair!

The reality is that we are all marching towards our deaths. Why deny the obvious?  Come on, ladies!  Let yourselves go!  It's very liberating and you just might get the senior discount!

Deerly Departed

Nathaniel and I were driving home from gymnastics recently and as we passed by Woodland Cemetery, we were astonished to see two deer sitting on their haunches next to the crematorium.  Can you see the deer in this picture?

Or this one:  ?

No you can't.  Because there aren't any.
Sorry for that little trick; I couldn't resist.  The next picture will be of a deer, I promise.

See?

Nathaniel was adamant that the deer were plastic statues (the same ilk as the dreaded pink flamingo).  Woodland is one of London's oldest (1879) cemeteries.   There is NO WAY that they permit people to "decorate" with plastic lawn ornaments! So I did what any mother worth her salt would do:  I slammed on my brakes, pulled a "u-eeeee" and drove back to the gates to check.

As we drove inside, Nathaniel complained:  "I don't wanna go in. I'll think of death".

The kid has a death phobia.

I said, "death is part of life.  Look how beautiful it is in here!"

I also gave him the "when I was your age..." line and told him about the countless enjoyable days that I spent roaming the Woodlawn Cemetery in Welland with my paternal Grandmother, who views the cemetery as kin of the park - both are perfectly acceptable places to bring small children.  I told Nathaniel about the pet and children's cemetery and how I liked to pore over the gravestones, reading the inscriptions and scrutinizing the porcelain photos of the dearly departed.

Silence from the back seat.

We crawled along the road toward the crematorium and sure enough, those statues were bona fide deer.  They were sitting with their legs tucked beneath them in the grass and were chewing their cud contentedly.  I was sure that they would sprint away, but they actually ignored us.  Aren't deer supposed to be skittish?  Was it beneath them to even glance in our direction?

I was amazed and awestruck as I always am in the presence of the sublime, but unbeknownst to me, the best was yet to come.

We bid adieu to the deer and prepared to leave.  You have to take a rather long and circuitous route to exit the huge cemetery and as we drove down the shady lane, I admired the many ancient headstones, statuary and grave markers - the beauty of which was lost on the 8-year-old.  I stopped the van in front of the venerable Pixley Mausoleum, which is monolithic and glorious.  Its massive door is flanked by lions, also real (heh heh), and so I HAD to stop and take a closer look:

picture by David Caloren, a librarian friend of mine (https://www.flickr.com/photos/dcaloren/5101784071)

Nathaniel refused to budge from the van:  "I'm cweeped out, Mum".  And so, I put the van in park and walked to the mausoleum ALONE (cue horror music).  I was admiring the front door, which was sadly but not surprisingly locked, when I heard Nathaniel yell:  "LOOK!"

He startled me, as I thought he was still inside the van, and so I jumped.   As I turned to see what had excited him, he was pointing directly at me. Realizing that the object of his attention was behind me, I whipped my head around and saw a buck standing less than TWENTY FEET from me!  I instinctively began backing away slowly because I didn't want it to charge me.  Don't laugh! I have been in a passenger in the front seat of a van that was twice charged by the same huge moose and it is no laughing matter. (I'll save that story for another time).

Back to the buck.  The deer did something unspeakable. It turned its back on me, so that I had an upfront and personal view of its anus, and both pissed and shat. I kid you not.  Nathaniel and I, being mature individuals, laughed like maniacs.

After finishing its business, it limped away.  It was obviously injured and we were sad for it.  Poor thing.

As we continued our drive through the cemetery, we next came upon eight deer sitting in a semicircle chewing their cud.  It was a deer party: a true stag and doe!  Again, the deer just sat there, munching away.  I think that one or two got up and deigned to look at us, but they didn't approach and neither did we.  It was a very special moment for Nathaniel and I to share.

At this point, we decided that we had to "hightail it" home to get a camera!  As we approached the Veterans' Area, we had to stop the van because there were two deer crossing the road directly in front of our van.  There were also many deer to the right and left and as I looked in my rear view mirror, I saw one standing in the road behind me.  We were surrounded!  We counted 22 deer.  Unbelievable!  I felt like we were in African Lion Safari, except it was London Deer Safari.

Should you wish to go visit the deer yourselves, I can tell you that it is miraculous to behold these beautiful creatures.  I have been three times this month between the hours of 7:30 and 8:15 in the evening and I have seen them every time.  Woodland is on Springbank Drive.

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This buck is "in velvet", so named because of the fuzzy antlers which begin to grow in May.  Bucks shed their antlers December through March.

You can see the nubbins of new antlers on this buck too:

I liked the robin sitting atop this headstone, "gazing" into the trees.  

Now go visit!  You'll love it.

kPods

On the front page of a recent edition of the London Free Press, I read the headline: Kids, today's letter is 'i' - as in iPod.  I learned that hundreds of kindergarten and JK pupils are part of a pilot project using iPod Touches to teach them how to "use applications, send e-mails, take pictures, listen to stories online and more".  The school board paid for 40 iPod Touch kits at $1200 a pop, while the Ministry of Education footed the $25,000 bill to train the teachers.

Surely I cannot be the only one who thinks that this is a terrific idea.  Why not give all of the children laptops while they're at it?  Oh wait. Laptops have gone the way of the dinosaur, like books.  Right.  Maybe they should all get iPads instead.  Because kids NEED to spend more time interacting with technology -  playing outside is so 1980.

I like my iPod, most of the time.  I use it to listen to books on tape (yes, I still call them that even though tape has migrated to cd, which has migrated to mp3... and so on) and for listening to tunes in the car.  I borrow compact discs from the library, import them into iTunes and then transfer the music onto the iPod.  A bit onerous, but free.  I did buy one song from iTunes on one occasion (it was an Old Man Luedecke song about bacon that I couldn't get out of my head), but I find my system works for me.  I also borrow children's books and transfer those files to the iPod for the kids.  I used to read novels aloud to them, once they progressed beyond picture books, but since I have polyps and some vocal cord dysfunction, I find this works better for me.

I asked my 8-year-old if he thought that Kindergarten students should have iPods.  He paused briefly and said "they're expensive and they'll wreck them, like if they drop it".

Good point, Nathaniel!  I hadn't even considered that, even though we own one broken iPod. One of the kids dropped it; the power button is broken and you can't turn the blasted thing off.  It's permanently on; it always requires a recharge.  That glowing screen is no beacon in the night for me!

Not to be outdone, my 6-year-old said "they'll get addicted and want to play video games all the time".

From the mouths of babes... "Yeah," Nathaniel piped in.  "Because they're starting so young".

I'm not sure why a kindergardener needs to use email.  Oh wait, to set up play-dates with classmates.  Why don't we give them all iPhones so they can call their friends too.   Duh.  Calling is also so 1980.  They can text their friends instead.  Once their new iPod teaches them how to read and write.  Brilliant!

Let children be children, for Christ's sake.  As for the literacy aspect of the iPod (maybe they will be listening to stories online?); I agree that children need to learn to read.  And we already have a perfectly inexpensive and durable technology that helps them do this.  It's called a book, people.  Those old-fashioned paper products that you actually have to physically turn the pages of using gasp your actual  fingers.  And that can withstand being dropped.  And that do not require a recharge or batteries.  And that you don't need an owner's manual for.  And that cost a hell of a lot less than $1200!

Here's a link to that hilarious Old Man Luedecke song that I bought.  OML is waxing on about the scent of bacon cooking...

I opened up a book, on the shelf near my Bible.
Opened up a book for culinary survival.
I took a look in 
The Joy of Cookin'
Joy of Cookin', 
oh, why, oh?
If I'm not mistaken, 
the answer’s bacon
Answer's bacon, 
oh, why, oh?

Les Souris - Eeek!

I couldn't remember the French word for mouse and had to ask my son, who goes to FI.  I love that my son's French vocabulary is now more extensive than my own.  Well, I love it and I hate it.  No one likes a smartass kid!

Here is a picture of my office (with said smartass in the foreground).  Please do not ask me what is in his mouth because I do not know or care.

I know, this is not a very exciting picture; however, if you look to the top right, above the door, you will see a hole.  Here's a close-up:

That hole was made by a RODENT!  On Friday night, the kids and I were watching Freaky Friday (2003.  Jamie Lee Curtis, Mark Harmon and sober Lindsay Lohan; I give it 3.75 stars; it's cute and funny).  I packed the kiddies off to bed, went into the office and SHRIEKED! RB and Nathaniel bolted into the room and I pointed at the hole.

See?  There really was an animal scratching in my walls, and I was NOT exaggerating about the horrendous scratching in my previous post.

While we were examining the hole, the rodent actually had the gall to stick its nose out of the hole and begin scratching again in earnest.  It was awful.  We saw its schnoz and fur and such at the hole and I was FREAKING out! I may as well have been in the fetal position.  I deplore rodents.  I have no problems with snakes, spiders, bees or other insects but I cannot abide rodents (not a fan of the lowly maggot or silverfish either).  There is a scene in the disturbing novel The Painted Bird (Jerzy Kozinsky) and it involves a farmer being eaten alive by a pit of writhing rodents. To this day, I cannot get that image out of my head.  Read The Painted Bird only if you are a masochist and are interested in the violence, and sexual and social deviance that characterizes wartime.  I should not have listened to the individual who recommended this book to me when I was a tree-planter.

Back to the rodent.  On Thursday, when I first heard the terrible clawing, and before I knew that I would have a freaking hole in my ceiling the following evening, I was smacking at the wall with a book (Bicycle Repair Manual for those who are curious), which I thought might scare the creature away. Maybe I should have pounded harder.

I went to my local hardware store and bought some mousetraps from the incompetent but friendly  employee.  He seemed to know a fair bit about mouse-catching and we debated the merits of poison over traps and decided to go with traps.  Because I am a jokester and the employee seemed like a fellow with a sense of humour, I started to call him Mousekiller.  Exempli gratia:  "Hey, Mousekiller, what do you think about rat poison?" He seemed to like the moniker.

In the mousetrap aisle, I asked MK to demonstrate how to set the trap, because I'd never set one before, but MK was clueless. I mean, completely clueless.   Eventually, I figured it out on my own, while he was fiddling with the thing, and MK congratulated me and told me to go on Youtube for backup.  He seemed embarrassed by his ineptitude but I thought it was funny.  I told him that he was not living up to his reputation and that I would have to stop calling him MK.  He thanked me for coming in and told me that I made his day.  Awww....

Anyhow, RB set the traps with gobs of peanut butter and we caught four mice on Friday night.  We haven't caught anything since then (today is Monday) and I am hoping that the evil rodent that ate our wall is one of the deceased.

Here is what greeted me in my office on Saturday morning:

Drywall dust and bits of fur / lint / insulation all over my Henry Napartuk!

And this mess:

The hole also became quite a bit larger. It doesn't look so bad in this picture, but trust me, it's ugly and disconcerting!

I am hoping that the creature that did this either:
a) escaped and had its tiny brains pulverized in the trap or
b) died in the wall.

If it's the latter, it means that there will be a god-awful smell in the office sometime soon.  Something to look forward to.

I meant to write about the pinworms (which we do NOT have) in this post and also a mini-review of another graphic novel, and lastly how I received a senior discount on a receipt (horror!!!!!!) on the weekend, but that will have to wait.

Cheers.