MY DEAR FABULOUS DAUGHTER,
You have asked me if anything especially interesting or amusing happened during my trip to the south of France with your dear father and our lovely friends Bev and Rob. Aside from fun in the sun (and the rain and the tornado), good food, good wine, beautiful scenery, and incredible UNESCO World Heritage sites, there were many interesting and amusing moments, however, one in particular immediately jumps to mind.
It was the end of another a long, languid day of boat travel; and we were just about to enter the final loch before dinner. This loch was different than any other we'd passed through over the previous 10 days, as rather than being situated along the canal and operated from outside an old house, this one was situated just off the side of a river we'd travelled and was operated from outside an unlikely looking bar/restaurant in a forest. We had lined up with other boats to await our turn in the loch and Rob had scampered off the boat up the embankment with a rope in hand so that he could guide our penichette to its spot in the loch. As the gates of the loch opened Captain Garth manoeuvred us forward with two other penichettes and we took our place inside. The usual air of calm efficiency that had marked our progress through numerous other lochs was interrupted by a loud hoot that came from the bar/restaurant at the edge of the loch. All eyes leapt to the fence at the very edge of the loch, behind which stood a person, beer can in hand and an arm and bejewelled hand outstretched over the fence. At first I wasn't sure of the gender of this person, but after he/she let loose another loud hoot and raucous laughter, and I'd taken a good hard look, I realized it was a transgendered person. She had short flaming red hair, wore a large beaded choker style necklace around her thick neck that rested just below her Adam's apple, she wore matching earrings, and a bright green satin blouse that was the complimentary colour to her flaming hair. Laughter erupted from the other boaters in the loch and I looked at Bev who was manning the rope at the bow of the boat and watched her mouth drop open and an expression of dawning horror cross her lovely face. Puzzled, I looked back at our flaming haired friend, who now had both hands outstretched over the fence and was howling in a gravely voice, "Oh Daddy!" I craned my neck to get a look at the object of her attention - and realized with a start that it was our own dear Rob!
Now I must tell you, that Rob did look rather universally appealing in a Ralph Lauren/Village People sort of way, wearing a well-fitting black t-shirt upon his muscular frame that complimented his short cropped silver hair and tidy moustache rather nicely. He wore a pair of shorts that exposed his athletic legs to their best advantage, and his ever handsome face was sporting it's usual expression of good nature. He smiled and offered the woman a shy wave as he carried on with the normal business of winding the ropes around the moorings and tossing them back onboard - all the while the woman was shouting that we should throw him into the loch so she could drag him out and ravish him on the spot. I looked again at Bev - her face was still frozen in a gape-mouthed expression of horror. But the horror of it all was still to come ... our transgendered friend had suddenly disappeared - an instant later there she was at the side of our boat, teetering precariously near the edge of the loch on her platform sandals. She was clearly inebriated and we held our collective breath as she stumbled over something and nearly fell into the loch. She did, however, regain her balance and let loose a loud belly laugh and as her hands flew to her blouse buttons, I knew without a doubt that next we'd see the perky hormonally enhanced breasts she was bralessly sporting beneath the blouse - sure enough ... I heard a terrible gasp come from Bev's constricted throat (the ill effect of having one's mouth agape for a protracted period of time) and your charming father exclaimed, "We're definitely going into that bar!"
"Ah-ha-ha-ha! Ah-ha-ha-ha!" the woman laughed and growled as she presented us with her hounds tooth-checkered backside and bent forward while making a motion with her hands as though she was about to drop her drawers and present us with the 'whole package' ... however the bounds of decency, to some extent, prevailed, and instead of baring her all, she smacked her bottom several times, wished us "bon journee", blew kisses and staggered toward an awaiting car, where she turned and gave us a final flash of breast before she was driven away.
I must say that I was most impressed by the calm, nonchalant way in which Rob handled himself through the entire incident. He merely shook his head and sighed at the end of it all and these spare gestures have lead me to believe that such occurrences must be a part of his every day experience and that, handsome devil that he his, he is quite used to being accosted by people of all genders and persuasions and to being the centre of their diverse fantasies.
We referred to Rob as "Daddy" for the duration of the trip.
Have a good day at work darling,
LOVE YOUR WONDERFUL MOTHER
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Feng Shui
My dear fabulous daughter,
I have been reading a book about the ancient Chinese philosophy of Feng Shui, and after the first few chapters I found myself nodding my head as a dawning understanding grew and continued to expand in my brain as I learned about the important influence of chi in one's home. As you may know, chi is the circulating life force in Chinese philosophy and medicine, and as such it is essential that it be allowed to flow freely about one's home in order to ensure the proper well-being and prosperity of the inhabitants of the household. I read with particular interest the paragraphs decrying the ills of storing worn out and unused items within the house as this results in the stagnation of chi and I was galvanized into immediate action to inspect the far reaches of our lovely home on a campaign to free chi!
I was very quickly able to determine that your dear father has unwittingly been responsible for a great deal of chi stagnation in our house, especially in the area of our bedroom closet. As you know, he has a particular reluctance to relinquish possession of any part of his collection of single socks, his mountain of stretched, shrunken and stained 20+ year old T-shirts, or his innumerable ill-fitting baseball style hats, stained with who-knows-what, in charming colours like bright orange, Tweety-Bird yellow, and sick dog dropping brown, and bearing the names of sewer cleaning equipment and garbage truck companies. You will also recall one of our oft debated but never changed household rules: only your father has the authority to determine when an article of his clothing is worn beyond practical function or the bounds of decency. Only after much soul searching is he able to set aside the beloved article of clothing and buy a new one to replace it - however, he will not actually throw worn items away, but rather delegates these detestable items as "fishing and lawn-mowing clothes" and keeps them in various locations around the house and garage. Spurred on by my newly found knowledge of Feng Shui, I have come to the undeniable conclusion that your father's lousy luck on his various and numerous fishing sorties in recent years is the direct result of the stagnated chi related to his unfortunate attire. In an effort to restore harmony to the home and to assist your father in re-establishing himself as the successful hunter/gatherer of his younger years, and as a better dressed one I might add, I have now seriously committed myself to the daunting challenge of divesting him of numerous chi stagnating articles of clothing.
My usual tradition of dealing with your father's threadbare hole-riddled sock pairs is to tenderly roll them up, wrap one cuff over the rest of the neat little bundle they form and to place said bundle in his designated sock pile after I have cut their holes into neat square and diamond shapes so as to allow him to clearly see and freely acknowledge they haven't a redeeming thread crossing their geometric designs when next he comes across them as he prepares for work. At this point he is better able to permanently dispose of them with only a hint of reluctance in his Steve Nash wannabe toss towards the trash basket. I have decided to expand upon this method of gentle persuasion, but because of the negative and destructive implications connected with taking scissors to clothing articles, I have instead adopted a method of "fixing" your father's fishing and lawn-mowing wardrobe.
Your father was only too pleased to see me busy at work at my sewing machine last week with a pile of his jeans and shorts. The first item I repaired was the pair of swim shorts purchased many years ago when the very first Costco opened in Vancouver. These shorts are a shade of green similar to that of a peeled avocado that has been left too long unattended, and they have white, grey and purple cheetah spotted side stripes and were hardly attractive when they were brand new, however their exceedingly low price in 1980-something enticed your father to possess them and now with their rips and tears and the sadly deteriorated inner swim lining ... well, I need not say more. My first course of action was to cut away the majority of the shreds of inner lining and sew straight across the remaining scraps so that the interior of the shorts was now lovely and taught with very narrow openings through which to put one's legs; second, I sewed closed the rip in the right rear side under the pocket by incorporating a large puckering dart; third, I sewed closed the large rip in the left rear side by creating a new seam, from waistband to hem, that rendered the left side of the shorts a full 4 inches narrower than the now puckered right side. Next I moved onto a pair of severely grease-stained and ripped blue jeans. Both knees were torn and the rips were ragged and several inches wide and high due to decades of hard wear and washing, so I turned the jeans inside out and sewed the edges of each hole together, incorporating wide swooping curves to encompass all of the offending tattered material. The result was that once the jeans were turned right side out they bent at the knees in the opposite direction of a natural knee bend. I busied myself for over an hour in my hasty and creative repairs to the remaining pile of worn out clothes, then neatly folded all articles and interspersed them amongst the rest of the clothes in your father's side of the closet.
It was my thinking that when next your father embarked upon a fishing or lawn mowing expedition he would notice the vigorous repairs to his clothing, glower, perhaps snort out a brief oath, then have a laugh and throw the item away. So you may imagine my shock this past weekend when I returned home from the grocery store to see your father in the front yard mowing the lawn and wearing the aforementioned green swim shorts with white, grey, and purple cheetah spotted side stripes for the entire neighbourhood to see. They hung unusually low around his hips with a large pucker in the right rear and the back centre seam was pulled over to the far right rear because of the new seam I had made. I squinted at him over my bag of groceries to determine if he was sporting a defiant look of triumph upon his face, however, there was nothing there but his good nature as he stopped the mower to say hello to a passing neighbour who was out walking his dog. Your father chatted away, seemingly oblivious to the atrocious and somewhat indecent fit of his shorts. I said a brief hello to the neighbour then hastily charged towards the front door, holding in a belly-laugh, but not before I saw the quizzical look on Mr. Holland's face as your father turned away from him and bent over to retrieve the dog's ball.
When your father had finished with the lawn he came inside and I poured him a tall cold beer and watched him give an absent-minded tug at the hem of his shorts before he sat down on a kitchen chair. I remarked upon what a good job he had done on the lawn and he told me about all the neighbours with whom he'd chatted and expressed how delightful it was to live in such a friendly neighbourhood where all the neighbours had such ready smiles. I watched his face closely as I remarked upon what excellent physical condition he had maintained all these years since he had first purchased his shorts and I couldn't resist asking him if they still fit him as well 20 years later. He gave a slight frown and said that actually, no, the shorts didn't feel quite the same as they had even a few weeks ago when last he'd mown the lawn - that he hadn't been able to pull them up very well and they seemed a little tight - he must have seen something in my face at that moment as I was struggling to maintain a wide eyed innocent expression of deep interest, for he leapt out of his chair and tugging at the hem of his shorts demanded to know if I'd done something to them. Gales of laughter ensued from both he and me and the offending shorts have not been seen since.
Now I await his discovery of the recently repaired jeans...
LOVE YOUR WONDERFUL MOTHER
I have been reading a book about the ancient Chinese philosophy of Feng Shui, and after the first few chapters I found myself nodding my head as a dawning understanding grew and continued to expand in my brain as I learned about the important influence of chi in one's home. As you may know, chi is the circulating life force in Chinese philosophy and medicine, and as such it is essential that it be allowed to flow freely about one's home in order to ensure the proper well-being and prosperity of the inhabitants of the household. I read with particular interest the paragraphs decrying the ills of storing worn out and unused items within the house as this results in the stagnation of chi and I was galvanized into immediate action to inspect the far reaches of our lovely home on a campaign to free chi!
I was very quickly able to determine that your dear father has unwittingly been responsible for a great deal of chi stagnation in our house, especially in the area of our bedroom closet. As you know, he has a particular reluctance to relinquish possession of any part of his collection of single socks, his mountain of stretched, shrunken and stained 20+ year old T-shirts, or his innumerable ill-fitting baseball style hats, stained with who-knows-what, in charming colours like bright orange, Tweety-Bird yellow, and sick dog dropping brown, and bearing the names of sewer cleaning equipment and garbage truck companies. You will also recall one of our oft debated but never changed household rules: only your father has the authority to determine when an article of his clothing is worn beyond practical function or the bounds of decency. Only after much soul searching is he able to set aside the beloved article of clothing and buy a new one to replace it - however, he will not actually throw worn items away, but rather delegates these detestable items as "fishing and lawn-mowing clothes" and keeps them in various locations around the house and garage. Spurred on by my newly found knowledge of Feng Shui, I have come to the undeniable conclusion that your father's lousy luck on his various and numerous fishing sorties in recent years is the direct result of the stagnated chi related to his unfortunate attire. In an effort to restore harmony to the home and to assist your father in re-establishing himself as the successful hunter/gatherer of his younger years, and as a better dressed one I might add, I have now seriously committed myself to the daunting challenge of divesting him of numerous chi stagnating articles of clothing.
My usual tradition of dealing with your father's threadbare hole-riddled sock pairs is to tenderly roll them up, wrap one cuff over the rest of the neat little bundle they form and to place said bundle in his designated sock pile after I have cut their holes into neat square and diamond shapes so as to allow him to clearly see and freely acknowledge they haven't a redeeming thread crossing their geometric designs when next he comes across them as he prepares for work. At this point he is better able to permanently dispose of them with only a hint of reluctance in his Steve Nash wannabe toss towards the trash basket. I have decided to expand upon this method of gentle persuasion, but because of the negative and destructive implications connected with taking scissors to clothing articles, I have instead adopted a method of "fixing" your father's fishing and lawn-mowing wardrobe.
Your father was only too pleased to see me busy at work at my sewing machine last week with a pile of his jeans and shorts. The first item I repaired was the pair of swim shorts purchased many years ago when the very first Costco opened in Vancouver. These shorts are a shade of green similar to that of a peeled avocado that has been left too long unattended, and they have white, grey and purple cheetah spotted side stripes and were hardly attractive when they were brand new, however their exceedingly low price in 1980-something enticed your father to possess them and now with their rips and tears and the sadly deteriorated inner swim lining ... well, I need not say more. My first course of action was to cut away the majority of the shreds of inner lining and sew straight across the remaining scraps so that the interior of the shorts was now lovely and taught with very narrow openings through which to put one's legs; second, I sewed closed the rip in the right rear side under the pocket by incorporating a large puckering dart; third, I sewed closed the large rip in the left rear side by creating a new seam, from waistband to hem, that rendered the left side of the shorts a full 4 inches narrower than the now puckered right side. Next I moved onto a pair of severely grease-stained and ripped blue jeans. Both knees were torn and the rips were ragged and several inches wide and high due to decades of hard wear and washing, so I turned the jeans inside out and sewed the edges of each hole together, incorporating wide swooping curves to encompass all of the offending tattered material. The result was that once the jeans were turned right side out they bent at the knees in the opposite direction of a natural knee bend. I busied myself for over an hour in my hasty and creative repairs to the remaining pile of worn out clothes, then neatly folded all articles and interspersed them amongst the rest of the clothes in your father's side of the closet.
It was my thinking that when next your father embarked upon a fishing or lawn mowing expedition he would notice the vigorous repairs to his clothing, glower, perhaps snort out a brief oath, then have a laugh and throw the item away. So you may imagine my shock this past weekend when I returned home from the grocery store to see your father in the front yard mowing the lawn and wearing the aforementioned green swim shorts with white, grey, and purple cheetah spotted side stripes for the entire neighbourhood to see. They hung unusually low around his hips with a large pucker in the right rear and the back centre seam was pulled over to the far right rear because of the new seam I had made. I squinted at him over my bag of groceries to determine if he was sporting a defiant look of triumph upon his face, however, there was nothing there but his good nature as he stopped the mower to say hello to a passing neighbour who was out walking his dog. Your father chatted away, seemingly oblivious to the atrocious and somewhat indecent fit of his shorts. I said a brief hello to the neighbour then hastily charged towards the front door, holding in a belly-laugh, but not before I saw the quizzical look on Mr. Holland's face as your father turned away from him and bent over to retrieve the dog's ball.
When your father had finished with the lawn he came inside and I poured him a tall cold beer and watched him give an absent-minded tug at the hem of his shorts before he sat down on a kitchen chair. I remarked upon what a good job he had done on the lawn and he told me about all the neighbours with whom he'd chatted and expressed how delightful it was to live in such a friendly neighbourhood where all the neighbours had such ready smiles. I watched his face closely as I remarked upon what excellent physical condition he had maintained all these years since he had first purchased his shorts and I couldn't resist asking him if they still fit him as well 20 years later. He gave a slight frown and said that actually, no, the shorts didn't feel quite the same as they had even a few weeks ago when last he'd mown the lawn - that he hadn't been able to pull them up very well and they seemed a little tight - he must have seen something in my face at that moment as I was struggling to maintain a wide eyed innocent expression of deep interest, for he leapt out of his chair and tugging at the hem of his shorts demanded to know if I'd done something to them. Gales of laughter ensued from both he and me and the offending shorts have not been seen since.
Now I await his discovery of the recently repaired jeans...
LOVE YOUR WONDERFUL MOTHER
Call Me Ruby
HELLO MY FABULOUS DAUGHTER,
Everyone here at home is well and looking forward to seeing you at Christmas. Nothing too terribly exciting has transpired over the past week, however, I did have a good laugh today as I was sorting through old photographs (freeing chi, as you know is one of my new missions in life) and found one from our house boating adventures on Shushwap Lake.
We were houseboating with the Smiths, Roaches, and Woods. We had two houseboats between the four families; we shared a boat with the Smiths and the other boat was shared by the Roaches and Woods. Between the two boats there were 9 children, all under 10 years of age, and we were having a jolly time in inclement weather, playing card games and I Spy while the radio crackled as Red Beard (your dear father in the days when the grey had not yet assimilated the majority of his hair follicles) and Beer Belly (Dave Roach) radioed back and forth to one another as they searched for a suitable beach upon which to camp the boats for the night. It was the third day of drizzing rain and although we'd shared many laughs and excellent meals, we were feeling rather unamused by the weather as we were untanned (not an actual word, but I like it and am going to use it), and largely unwashed (the head on our boat had a few problems and was emitting an unfavourable odour). Captains Red Beard and Beer Belly agreed that for a diversion we should visit the floating store in the middle of the lake and stock up on beer and marshmallows for the ridiculously large campfire they intended to build that evening, so our houseboat was soon chugging forward in the direction of the busy floating store. As we drew alongside the store, I heard your father exclaim, Hey, I know that guy on the dock - he's a customer of mine. I peered over your father's shoulder and saw a man passing a bag of groceries from the dock to his houseboat. Your father decided he was going to moor our houseboat near his customer's, but first looked at me and said, Quick, go put on some lipstick.
Put on some lipstick?! I nearly fell over - I had been camping in a damp houseboat for days, sharing a single tiny barely functioning marine toilet with 7 other people, assisting with the feeding, caring and entertaining of 9 young children during three days of spitting, spiteful rain and your father had the nerve to tell me to put on some lipstick! I looked up at him, smiled sweetly and said, I'll be right back. I searched our "stateroom" for my purse, pulled out a tube of lipstick and headed for the mirror in the head. Now I must admit that my reflected self was not the most glamourous image I had seen reflected back at me, however, given the circumstance, I thought I looked OK, even better than OK without artificial colour - however, clearly my darling husband had found my appearance to be lacking, and as you know, I live to please him, so I hastily applied the lipstick and headed back to the captain's station.
I shall forever remember the wide-eyed expression on your father's face when he saw me smiling up at him, me with with my natural smile enhanced from ear to ear with ruby red lipstick.
I never did have the pleasure of meeting his customer that day.
Have a good day at work.
LOVE YOUR WONDERFUL MOTHER
Everyone here at home is well and looking forward to seeing you at Christmas. Nothing too terribly exciting has transpired over the past week, however, I did have a good laugh today as I was sorting through old photographs (freeing chi, as you know is one of my new missions in life) and found one from our house boating adventures on Shushwap Lake.
We were houseboating with the Smiths, Roaches, and Woods. We had two houseboats between the four families; we shared a boat with the Smiths and the other boat was shared by the Roaches and Woods. Between the two boats there were 9 children, all under 10 years of age, and we were having a jolly time in inclement weather, playing card games and I Spy while the radio crackled as Red Beard (your dear father in the days when the grey had not yet assimilated the majority of his hair follicles) and Beer Belly (Dave Roach) radioed back and forth to one another as they searched for a suitable beach upon which to camp the boats for the night. It was the third day of drizzing rain and although we'd shared many laughs and excellent meals, we were feeling rather unamused by the weather as we were untanned (not an actual word, but I like it and am going to use it), and largely unwashed (the head on our boat had a few problems and was emitting an unfavourable odour). Captains Red Beard and Beer Belly agreed that for a diversion we should visit the floating store in the middle of the lake and stock up on beer and marshmallows for the ridiculously large campfire they intended to build that evening, so our houseboat was soon chugging forward in the direction of the busy floating store. As we drew alongside the store, I heard your father exclaim, Hey, I know that guy on the dock - he's a customer of mine. I peered over your father's shoulder and saw a man passing a bag of groceries from the dock to his houseboat. Your father decided he was going to moor our houseboat near his customer's, but first looked at me and said, Quick, go put on some lipstick.
Put on some lipstick?! I nearly fell over - I had been camping in a damp houseboat for days, sharing a single tiny barely functioning marine toilet with 7 other people, assisting with the feeding, caring and entertaining of 9 young children during three days of spitting, spiteful rain and your father had the nerve to tell me to put on some lipstick! I looked up at him, smiled sweetly and said, I'll be right back. I searched our "stateroom" for my purse, pulled out a tube of lipstick and headed for the mirror in the head. Now I must admit that my reflected self was not the most glamourous image I had seen reflected back at me, however, given the circumstance, I thought I looked OK, even better than OK without artificial colour - however, clearly my darling husband had found my appearance to be lacking, and as you know, I live to please him, so I hastily applied the lipstick and headed back to the captain's station.
I shall forever remember the wide-eyed expression on your father's face when he saw me smiling up at him, me with with my natural smile enhanced from ear to ear with ruby red lipstick.
I never did have the pleasure of meeting his customer that day.
Have a good day at work.
LOVE YOUR WONDERFUL MOTHER
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Mr. DW
MY DEAR FABULOUS DAUGHTER,
The leak in the roof is finally fixed (remember the drips from the ceiling onto the dinner plates last Christmas Eve?). Many attempts by roofers from various companies failed again and again, but we're certain after all the recent storms and rains that the leak is finally fixed (touch wood). Repairs to the gaping 4' x 10' hole in the ceiling were finally begun yesterday. Oh happy day, thought I, the house will look so much fresher with that nasty spider-and-woodbug-dropping-11-month-old hole gone forever (touch wood again). However, my momentary feelings of joy were quickly dashed when the dry wall fellow (hereafter referred to as Mr. DW) replaced our 60 watt lightbulb with a 300 watt flaw-seeking bulb of his own.
Now the good news is that this incredibly bright light assisted Mr. DW in seeing the two unsprung rat traps the pest control people had put in the ceiling many long months ago in search of a culprit responsible for the leak. The bad news was that a very angry Mr. DW stood upon a ladder, glaring ferociously at me (as did his trusty assistant at the bottom of the ladder) and his voice became very loud. He demanded to know who had put those traps up there and did I realize he had to reach around up there to rearrange insulation and could have lost a few fingers and been out of a job! Oh no, oh my, oh dear, oh how awful! I exclaimed, truly horrified; as you know, I think in pictures and immediately into my head popped the image of Mr. DW dancing around the house in agony, splattering blood from his once deft but now fingerless hand over walls, artwork, and the ceiling (still not repaired due to this terrible incident). I apologized profusely, and in a desperate search for some way to redirect away from me the incredibly bad chi in the room, I dragged your dear father's name into it. I told Mr. DW that both your father and I had completely forgotten about the traps as they'd been set by someone else 8 long months previous. He harrumphed and muttered about law suits and how people were going to hear about this, then he resumed work on the nasty hole.
I hung my head in something akin to shame, crept into the kitchen and closed the double doors behind me. In silence I heated a bowl of store-bought vegetable soup from a tiny Tetrapak and as I stood over the stove and stirred I decided that there was a silver lining to this cloud: the fact that the traps had sat unsprung for nearly three quarters of a year could only mean there were no vermin in the ceiling. Oh happy day, thought I as I sat at the table to enjoy my soup. My momentary feelings of consolation were once again dashed and I froze with spoon held to lips in the silent kitchen when the sound of Mr. DW's still angry voice crawled under the doors. Now I suppose he may not have realized that sound carries rather well along our lovely slate floors, however, given the circumstances it's more than possible he wanted me to hear him say, My God, this woman has to wake up to the fact that her house is full of dust bunnies and spider webs. Apparently Mr. DW's flaw-seeking 300 watt bulb had uncovered the flaws in my housekeeping talents.
I decided not to let Mr. DW's negative chi-inducing attitude affect me, instead I finished my little bowl of soup and opened the kitchen door. Would either of you like a cup of tea? I asked, in a conciliatory gesture. No thank you was the reply from both Mr. DW and his assistant. Not only didn't they want tea, but they weren't yet ready for my placating kindness - Mr. DW asked, That vegetable soup you was cookin'? Ah-ha-ha-ha I replied feeling unreasonably guilty for not serving the two men lunch, yes it was. Vegetable's my favourite, said Mr. DW with much emphasis on the word 'favourite'. Mine too, said his assistant, especially when it's home made. The good news was that I explained to them that it was store bought and from a tiny little single-serving package; this was also the bad news because it sounded pitiful - like a weak excuse for gluttony even to my own ears.
The two fellows soon finished their work for the day and will return tomorrow to finish preparations for painting. The good news is that the nasty hole and the angry Mr. DW will soon be a distant memory. More good news is that as I swept away cobwebs all over the house this morning with a broom handle wrapped with an old T-shirt encased in pantyhose (as my Grandmother Wilda had taught me) I was proud of myself for not allowing Mr. DW to get to me. Yes siree I thought, as I moved heavy furniture and the washer and dryer to better sweep up dust bunnies and spiders living and dead, the best way to deal with negativity is to ignore it. As I scoured toilets, tubs & sinks throughout the house I assured myself that I would never accept harsh criticism from someone with a 300 watt flaw-seeking lightbulb and bad attitude. Even as I used Q-Tips and toothpicks to scrub around the cracks between faucets and counter tops, I was secure in the knowledge that, truly, negative comments have little or no effect on me. I was feeling extremely good about my unflinching strength of character, and after this spontaneous bout of housecleaning I couldn't help but smile at all the gleaming surfaces surrounding me.
Mr. DW is going to sand the newly mudded ceiling tomorrow - I wonder if that will produce much dust.
Have a good day at work darling.
LOVE YOUR WONDERFUL MOTHER
The leak in the roof is finally fixed (remember the drips from the ceiling onto the dinner plates last Christmas Eve?). Many attempts by roofers from various companies failed again and again, but we're certain after all the recent storms and rains that the leak is finally fixed (touch wood). Repairs to the gaping 4' x 10' hole in the ceiling were finally begun yesterday. Oh happy day, thought I, the house will look so much fresher with that nasty spider-and-woodbug-dropping-11-month-old hole gone forever (touch wood again). However, my momentary feelings of joy were quickly dashed when the dry wall fellow (hereafter referred to as Mr. DW) replaced our 60 watt lightbulb with a 300 watt flaw-seeking bulb of his own.
Now the good news is that this incredibly bright light assisted Mr. DW in seeing the two unsprung rat traps the pest control people had put in the ceiling many long months ago in search of a culprit responsible for the leak. The bad news was that a very angry Mr. DW stood upon a ladder, glaring ferociously at me (as did his trusty assistant at the bottom of the ladder) and his voice became very loud. He demanded to know who had put those traps up there and did I realize he had to reach around up there to rearrange insulation and could have lost a few fingers and been out of a job! Oh no, oh my, oh dear, oh how awful! I exclaimed, truly horrified; as you know, I think in pictures and immediately into my head popped the image of Mr. DW dancing around the house in agony, splattering blood from his once deft but now fingerless hand over walls, artwork, and the ceiling (still not repaired due to this terrible incident). I apologized profusely, and in a desperate search for some way to redirect away from me the incredibly bad chi in the room, I dragged your dear father's name into it. I told Mr. DW that both your father and I had completely forgotten about the traps as they'd been set by someone else 8 long months previous. He harrumphed and muttered about law suits and how people were going to hear about this, then he resumed work on the nasty hole.
I hung my head in something akin to shame, crept into the kitchen and closed the double doors behind me. In silence I heated a bowl of store-bought vegetable soup from a tiny Tetrapak and as I stood over the stove and stirred I decided that there was a silver lining to this cloud: the fact that the traps had sat unsprung for nearly three quarters of a year could only mean there were no vermin in the ceiling. Oh happy day, thought I as I sat at the table to enjoy my soup. My momentary feelings of consolation were once again dashed and I froze with spoon held to lips in the silent kitchen when the sound of Mr. DW's still angry voice crawled under the doors. Now I suppose he may not have realized that sound carries rather well along our lovely slate floors, however, given the circumstances it's more than possible he wanted me to hear him say, My God, this woman has to wake up to the fact that her house is full of dust bunnies and spider webs. Apparently Mr. DW's flaw-seeking 300 watt bulb had uncovered the flaws in my housekeeping talents.
I decided not to let Mr. DW's negative chi-inducing attitude affect me, instead I finished my little bowl of soup and opened the kitchen door. Would either of you like a cup of tea? I asked, in a conciliatory gesture. No thank you was the reply from both Mr. DW and his assistant. Not only didn't they want tea, but they weren't yet ready for my placating kindness - Mr. DW asked, That vegetable soup you was cookin'? Ah-ha-ha-ha I replied feeling unreasonably guilty for not serving the two men lunch, yes it was. Vegetable's my favourite, said Mr. DW with much emphasis on the word 'favourite'. Mine too, said his assistant, especially when it's home made. The good news was that I explained to them that it was store bought and from a tiny little single-serving package; this was also the bad news because it sounded pitiful - like a weak excuse for gluttony even to my own ears.
The two fellows soon finished their work for the day and will return tomorrow to finish preparations for painting. The good news is that the nasty hole and the angry Mr. DW will soon be a distant memory. More good news is that as I swept away cobwebs all over the house this morning with a broom handle wrapped with an old T-shirt encased in pantyhose (as my Grandmother Wilda had taught me) I was proud of myself for not allowing Mr. DW to get to me. Yes siree I thought, as I moved heavy furniture and the washer and dryer to better sweep up dust bunnies and spiders living and dead, the best way to deal with negativity is to ignore it. As I scoured toilets, tubs & sinks throughout the house I assured myself that I would never accept harsh criticism from someone with a 300 watt flaw-seeking lightbulb and bad attitude. Even as I used Q-Tips and toothpicks to scrub around the cracks between faucets and counter tops, I was secure in the knowledge that, truly, negative comments have little or no effect on me. I was feeling extremely good about my unflinching strength of character, and after this spontaneous bout of housecleaning I couldn't help but smile at all the gleaming surfaces surrounding me.
Mr. DW is going to sand the newly mudded ceiling tomorrow - I wonder if that will produce much dust.
Have a good day at work darling.
LOVE YOUR WONDERFUL MOTHER
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
