Tuesday, November 27, 2007
How to tell when you desperately need caffeine
You drag your butt out of bed, and into the kitchen to make some coffee. You turn on the coffee maker, and listen to it gurgle, with joy in your heart because you know your coffee-fix is mere minutes away. When the gurgling stops, you go and grab the pot and your mug, and pour yourself a nice cuppa. You take the first sip, then look at the pot, and realize you forgot to put the coffee in the filter.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
November 22nd
I have lots of wonderful memories of my grandfather.
Playing in the basement of his house on PA days. How he always remembered my love of anything tiny, and made me display units to exhibit my extensive collection of wee little trinkets, like the plastic duck, or the ceramic cottage. Trips to Swiss Chalet. Our cottage, where for years he would drive up on holiday, and spend his only time off the whole year building new steps down to the beach, or chopping wood for the fire, or whatever needed to be done. Spending the day walking around his hometown with him, hearing all about his childhood, and how life was in small town Ontario in the early half of the last century. How he wanted to hear about whatever I was doing. The giant dollhouse he built me - all on his own, complete with working electricity.
There are some less pleasant memories too.When my grandmother died, the woman he had been carrying on a long-term affair with came to the funeral. He married for a second time, and it was not a good match. He drifted away from his family, as she only wanted to see hers. But being of his generation, and being the man he was, he did not consider divorce an option, even when he knew it would be best. That drove me nuts, and not just because it meant I had to listen to her bloviate on every topic under the sun, from being an undergraduate, to how my parents should put their good china in the dishwasher.
When he couldn't get up and down stairs on his own anymore, the decision was reached that he would move into a home. His wife didn't want to go with him, and the slow process of divvying up the assets began. When he moved into Central Park Lodge, he flourished. He was around people he enjoyed, and he became quite the popular man around the lodge. He met a woman soon after moving in, and they soon became an item. He couldn't marry her, which she wanted, because of his wife, but they spent every day together. She took him up north on a boat ride. She took him on day trips. For the first time in ages, he was happy. Then he started to get worse, and she started doing more things on her own, preparing for life after him, but first thing every morning she'd have breakfast with him, and she'd stop in for lunch and after dinner. She sat with him and talked to him and made sure his food was cut up small enough.
A treasured memory I have of my grandfather is one I know I've created from a picture taken long before I was born. He is wearing a fedora, and a smart coat. He is kneeling down in the snow, and looking up at the camera with the grin he wore so often. He is young, dashing, and his kids aren't even a glint in his eye.
He died one year ago today. This morning, his girlfriend called us to tell us how much she loved him, and what a wonderful man he was.
He was my last link to that generation. Grandaddy, I miss you. We all do.
Playing in the basement of his house on PA days. How he always remembered my love of anything tiny, and made me display units to exhibit my extensive collection of wee little trinkets, like the plastic duck, or the ceramic cottage. Trips to Swiss Chalet. Our cottage, where for years he would drive up on holiday, and spend his only time off the whole year building new steps down to the beach, or chopping wood for the fire, or whatever needed to be done. Spending the day walking around his hometown with him, hearing all about his childhood, and how life was in small town Ontario in the early half of the last century. How he wanted to hear about whatever I was doing. The giant dollhouse he built me - all on his own, complete with working electricity.
There are some less pleasant memories too.When my grandmother died, the woman he had been carrying on a long-term affair with came to the funeral. He married for a second time, and it was not a good match. He drifted away from his family, as she only wanted to see hers. But being of his generation, and being the man he was, he did not consider divorce an option, even when he knew it would be best. That drove me nuts, and not just because it meant I had to listen to her bloviate on every topic under the sun, from being an undergraduate, to how my parents should put their good china in the dishwasher.
When he couldn't get up and down stairs on his own anymore, the decision was reached that he would move into a home. His wife didn't want to go with him, and the slow process of divvying up the assets began. When he moved into Central Park Lodge, he flourished. He was around people he enjoyed, and he became quite the popular man around the lodge. He met a woman soon after moving in, and they soon became an item. He couldn't marry her, which she wanted, because of his wife, but they spent every day together. She took him up north on a boat ride. She took him on day trips. For the first time in ages, he was happy. Then he started to get worse, and she started doing more things on her own, preparing for life after him, but first thing every morning she'd have breakfast with him, and she'd stop in for lunch and after dinner. She sat with him and talked to him and made sure his food was cut up small enough.
A treasured memory I have of my grandfather is one I know I've created from a picture taken long before I was born. He is wearing a fedora, and a smart coat. He is kneeling down in the snow, and looking up at the camera with the grin he wore so often. He is young, dashing, and his kids aren't even a glint in his eye.
He died one year ago today. This morning, his girlfriend called us to tell us how much she loved him, and what a wonderful man he was.
He was my last link to that generation. Grandaddy, I miss you. We all do.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
No, that timestamp is not a misprint
It is indeed 4:20 am. I have just finished totally redoing, from scratch and then copying out by hand, a group project so that it will be ready to hand in in less than 6 hours. And when I say I, I do mean me alone. Grrr. Yeah, there's a long story behind it, but I'll wait till I've had some scotch and some sleep before getting into it.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Damn you Cupid!
And there we have it. Just over two months into my school odyssey, and in my role as Diane Fossey, I have fallen hard for one of the gorillas. That's right kids, in less than two months, I've gone from total disdain for my fellow students, to crushing on one of them something fierce. And yes, I know how inappropriate it is. And no, I'm not going to do anything about it. I knew my flirty and crush-prone side would show through eventually, but I always figured it would be surface around one of the guys who frequent the coffee shops around school, or maybe one of the young profs. Never did I think it would be a student. And he's just so damn young. But terribly, terribly appealing. Oh well, I think he is in my program, so maybe I can just wait it out. Give it a few years. In the meantime, I'm going to have to start wearing better outfits to school. For no reason whatsoever. Stop looking at me like that.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Oh Frabjous day!!
Calloo Callay!
My financial worries are abated for the next little while. I can now return to purchasing such frivolous items as food and caffeinated beverages.
My financial worries are abated for the next little while. I can now return to purchasing such frivolous items as food and caffeinated beverages.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
They must be the size of baseballs.
Let me see if I've got this straight.
http://www.thestar.com/News/Ontario/article/274514
You're driving 50 km over the speed limit, and you get pulled over by the police, and you expected a ticket, but you didn't know that now you get your licence and car taken away for a week, and this is somehow everyone else's fault but yours?
Your balls must be large enough to be used in a major league baseball game, sir.
So what that you didn't know exactly what the punishment was. So what? You knew speeding was wrong. You were speeding. Excessively. You were caught. There is punishment for breaking the law, and you know what, who cares if you are "okay" with that. You don't want to get nailed? Try not driving 150km. Or even better, try driving under the speed limit, period. I hear that works. I don't speed, and have never lost my licence, and haven't ever got even one speeding ticket. See how that works?
Take the "I didn't even know about the law" line and stuff it. Ignorance of the law is no defence, sunshine. And that whole (direct quote here) "I have three kids, I have to go to work for a week and they just do not give a crap. They have no sympathy for people and it's unfair and they treat people like crap."? Makes you look even more of a douche than I thought would be possible. It isn't the fault of the police that you can't get to work. Did they make you speed recklessly? Did they stop you from driving responsibly? Hells no. You did it your own damn self, and this situation is all your fault. So sack up, and take responsibility for a really moronic decision.
And don't freaking go 50 over the limit again, because next time, you might kill someone. Dumbass.
http://www.thestar.com/News/Ontario/article/274514
You're driving 50 km over the speed limit, and you get pulled over by the police, and you expected a ticket, but you didn't know that now you get your licence and car taken away for a week, and this is somehow everyone else's fault but yours?
Your balls must be large enough to be used in a major league baseball game, sir.
So what that you didn't know exactly what the punishment was. So what? You knew speeding was wrong. You were speeding. Excessively. You were caught. There is punishment for breaking the law, and you know what, who cares if you are "okay" with that. You don't want to get nailed? Try not driving 150km. Or even better, try driving under the speed limit, period. I hear that works. I don't speed, and have never lost my licence, and haven't ever got even one speeding ticket. See how that works?
Take the "I didn't even know about the law" line and stuff it. Ignorance of the law is no defence, sunshine. And that whole (direct quote here) "I have three kids, I have to go to work for a week and they just do not give a crap. They have no sympathy for people and it's unfair and they treat people like crap."? Makes you look even more of a douche than I thought would be possible. It isn't the fault of the police that you can't get to work. Did they make you speed recklessly? Did they stop you from driving responsibly? Hells no. You did it your own damn self, and this situation is all your fault. So sack up, and take responsibility for a really moronic decision.
And don't freaking go 50 over the limit again, because next time, you might kill someone. Dumbass.
Monday, November 5, 2007
It's all for you
Because it had been far too long between "Mabel is a bumbling moron" posts, while preparing my dinner this evening, I managed to toss soy sauce all over my kitchen, and into my front hallway. All over the upper and lower cupboards. All over the stove. All over the floor and walls. All over everything. Never let it be said that I don't have the grace of a gazelle.
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