April 29th 2011

I so did not have the same kind of day as Kate Middleton.

While Kate Middleton was walking down the aisle of Westminster Abbey, in a beautiful lace gown to marry a prince of the realm, I was out in the breezeway, in my bathrobe, slippers and some rubber gloves, cleaning up the debris from the raccoon's evident raucous party in the garbage bins. She was smiling and looking radiant. I looked like I'd escaped from the "Home for the Frenzied Bedridden" and cursing enthusiastically.

Later, when she was quietly and solemly declaring her vows, I was boarding a rickety school bus to accompany Thing 2's class on a field trip, a "War of 1812" re-enactment and workshop.

Kate Middleton was signing the Registry with her new name, and curtseying to the Queen. I was freezing my ass off in a a field while listening to a guy with nothing better to do than to pretend to fight a war that was over almost 200 years ago. A guy who was so enthusiasticaly and graphically demonstrated how a field surgeon would amputate an injured leg that it bordered on the disturbing. I'm not kidding; he used a leg of pork (God, I hope it was pork!) as an audio-visual aid and believe me, I've memorized his face for when I have to testify at his inevitable trial at some point. Apparently, someone fainted earlier in the day.

It was so freaking cold I very nearly stood in front of the cannon.

While Kate got to dine on whatever Royals dine on at luncheon (probably quails eggs and diamonds and corgis) I ate my lunch in an picnic shelter with no walls and a gale force wind out of the north. Except I forgot my lunch, and had to eat a granola bar I found in my purse, and a few Goldfish crackers and a Pop Tart from Thing 2's lunch. (Note to self: Do NOT let Thing 2 pack her own lunch from now on.)

No matter how nice her day was, and how decidedly NOT nice my day was, I still don't envy her marrying into that family.

Mother Nature, You Win.

Okay, Mother Nature, I get it: you are a bad-ass.

It's been a week of brutal winter weather, and winter hasn't even officially started yet.

Last week, we got 100 cm of snow. That's three feet. Three feet of snow is a LOT of snow, especially when you have to shovel it. Then it got mild, and then it got cold, which means not only does it feel like -26°C out, it's really freaking slippery, too.

Here is a shot of our street this morning, at about 7 a.m.

Here is the Loudshoes house, all enveloped in snow, snug and warm. It was a beautiful sunrise, even if it was cold enough to rearrange the anatomy of a brass monkey. Our front porch has disappeared entirely, and those lumps on the right are a cement flower box and chair. Hard to tell, I know.

This was last night, outside the front door. I wish these pictures could convey how unbelievebly quiet it all is.

Today we got a few more inches of snow, and I am seriously considering hibernation.

Mother Nature wins.

How I Know It's Hot

It's hot. Not that I'm complaining, believe me...this is what I dream of when I'm cranky and whiney in February. But, it is hot, I'm just saying.

We've had the air conditioner on far more this summer than any other summer, I think. And I hate having the air conditioner on; I'd far rather have the windows open and let the breeze in. (When there is a breeze, mind you.)

How I Know It's Hot:

• Toby has spend the day asleep on the glass coffe table in the living room. He has reached a state of, as my friend Barb says, "cat butter".
• When I went for a run with my friend Tracey this morning, I felt as though I was running with a wet sleeping bag over my head.
• The bathroom door will only open with some strong persuasion and a good talking to. Guests are held hostage until we can wrestle the door open and let them out.
• I base my week's menus on what does not heat up the kitchen. We are likely to have cereal and cold beans for dinner. Toast is too much work.
• There is very little point in ironing anything. All my clothes look like I've been wrestling pigs in a sauna by the time I get to work, no matter what I do.
• Every drinking glass that gets put down leaves a small lake on the table.
• When you get in the car, you end up trying to steer by ESP, since holding the steering wheel is impossible until the air conditioner ramps up.
• Ice cream is an acceptable choice for breakfast.
• I see way, WAY more of other people's bountiful flesh than I ever want to. Yesterday, at McDonald's on the highway, there was a woman wearing a bathing suit and a bra, and little else. I get that it's hot, but come on.
• The cicadas are buzzing like jet engines all day and well into the night.
• Our neighbours went away for a week and they came back to find their pool water is the same colour as their lawn.
• All I want to do is lay in the backyard and let my mind wander. Oh, wait...that happens all year round.

Hot, Hot, Hot

Summer has come early to southwestern Ontario, and with it our annual fun-filled game at the salon, called "Air Conditioner Roulette". To play the game, you have to turn on the air conditioner on the first really hot day of the season, and pray to God that it A) comes on and B) sends out cold air. We have hit the jackpot on both counts for the past few years, but this year we ran out of luck.
Thing 2 and I went to the library on Tuesday evening, and they had the same problem. I guess the first day of 29°C temperatures meant that lots of people turned on their air conditioners to find they had none. No wonder it took our Air Conditioner Jedi Knight three days to get back to us.

Let me tell you, a hair salon gets mighty hot with all the people, the blow driers, the heat lamps and the curling irons and such. Everyone was very good about it, even the client yesterday that I thought might actually melt into a little old lady puddle before my eyes. Only one client complained about the heat in the salon, muttering "this is ridiculous". I'm not sure what part of the situation she thought should be more rational, exactly.

I even ventured to wear a sleeveless top to work today. I hate wearing sleeveless tops, mostly because I think my upper arms look like hams. Also, I am very aware that because I spent all day with my elbows up in the air, I am giving my client a far too intimate view of my armpits. But I knew it was going to be hot in there, and I had a full day booked, so I bit the bullet, wore the sleeveless top and packed some baby powder and deoderant in my purse.

We got through the day, and lo and behold, someone came to fix the air conditioner around noon, and by about 1 o'clock, the temperature was a very respectable 23°C.

I'm hoping next year's version of "Air Conditioner Roulette" will be less exciting.

And The Living Is Easy

Summer has finally arrived in southwestern Ontario, and by that I mean, it's what we expect when we say "summer" around here. Up until now it's been cooler and wetter than usual, and I think we thought we might never get that real heat and humidity at all this year. But the past few days have been sticky and hot, and since I complained bitterly about the cold last winter, I'm happy enough to deal.

Today was 30°C (which is 86°F) with a humidex of 40°C ( which is over 100°F) I love that Canadians give you the humidex, as well as the temperature..."if you thought the actual temperature was wicked, wait until we tell you how hot it really feels!". Like, somehow it being 30° isn't quite incentive enough to forgo decent clothing or basic hygiene, now you can cheerfully disregard common decency altogether! What good is deodorant and modesty with temperatures like these?!? (The opposite is the "wind chill factor" that we get in the winter time, "no matter how cold you thought it was outside? Its even colder than that. Why don't you call in sick to work and crawl under the table with a bottle of gin until the spring comes along?")

Last night Thing 1 and I went running, late enough for the temperature to have dropped enough to make it bearable, or so I thought. We took off at about 8:30 in the evening, and by 8:35, I had had just about enough. It felt like I was running with a warm, wet blanket over my face. You could almost get a hold of the air, it was so thick. Thing 1, always her mother's daughter, was more than willing to take it easy and cut things short.

Toby approves of this weather very much. He's never happier than when the people hang out outside with him, and the air is heavy and his lifestyle is completely appropriate.

He's way too drained to even lift his head off the pillow, poor thing. Occasionally, he will hoik his leg to give his nether regions a seeing-to, but that usually exhausts him, and he has to have another nap for about 6 hours or so. In my next life, I want to come back as a cat.

I know it's summer when the bathroom door won't open, when the glass of iced tea you put down leaves a pond of condensation on the table, and the kids smell of sunscreen when I kiss them. When we have corn for dinner almost every night, when the cat sleeps on the bare concrete of the breezeway, when there are no socks to be matched in the laundry. It's summer when I forgo perfume for bugspray, and I have to drive home quickly from the grocery store so that things don't thaw, making the bed every morning means pulling up the comforter from the foot of the bed. When we have fans on in every room, when my dinner menu is decided by what does NOT need to go in the oven, and I watch almost no television or movies, because it's too nice to be inside.

May it last.

Is It Summer Yet?

We haven't had much of a summer here in Ontario this year...the weather has been sulky and petulant most of the time, refusing to warm up and threatening rain a lot. There have been some up sides to this; as much as I adore a sauna in my backyard, I'm a teensy bit relieved that I don't have to scrape the cat up off the breezeway floor any time soon.

But I love summer....I LOVE it, and will be sorry if we don't get a good, sweaty, baking, melty couple of weeks this year. Of course, it could happen later rather than sooner....I has occurred to me that while I tend to think of summer as June, July and August, in reality, the past few years we have had summer more rightly sliding into September and October. I remember two years ago at Thanksgiving (which is in October in Canada) my mother refused to put a turkey in the oven because it was 30 frigging degrees outside, and, in her words, "that is just ridiculous". (That's 30 Celsius. Which is "really very hot" in Fahrenheit.) We had Domino's pizza for Thanksgiving dinner, which my kids and my niece and nephew declared the best Thanksgiving ever.
The Mister's birthday and our wedding anniversary is in September, so I have an occasion by which to mark each year, and it's almost always too hot to make the Mister a birthday cake. (I make it anyway, just in case you think I would miss making a fuss over the Mister, and also, pass any opportunity whatsoever to have some cake.) September can be sweltering.

I'm hoping this summer turns itself around, so that we can still do a few things that require nice weather. For example, a trip to the beach is miserable and soul-destroying in the rain, and a picnic in the drizzle will make you wonder if you could ever be happy again. I've tried to eat ice cream on a patio wearing a sweater and jeans, and it's hopelessly woeful. And picking blueberries in the rain feels as though one has been conscripted into a chain gang. Really not memories you want to make.

One good thing about this cool weather, however, is that we have only had our air conditioner on for one day this year. (Usually by this point we would be up to a week or so.) Also, no water restrictions, and, due to the inclement weather, my beer-on-the-patio-after-work consumption has been well within acceptable limits. So there's that to be thankful for.

The Cat Thermometer

It was an unseasonably warm day here today; in fact, we broke the record high of 30°C this afternoon. ("Nearly 50 years ago!" chirped the geeky weather guy....the Mister took umbrage at this, since right before that he had said "hey, it was exactly a week after I was born!" He felt the reminder that he would be reaching a pivotal birthday next time was unnecessarily harsh.)
Coupled with a humidex that reached 39°C, it was some hot, particularly for the end of September.

After completing both of the tasks I had set myself to do today. (Where DO I find the time?), I spent the remainder of the day reading in the breezeway, accompanied by a droopy, lethargic cat. Every now and again I would turn a page, and he would look over at me with his eyes at half-mast, clearly saying "dude, do you have to do that?".


A while ago, the kids and I noticed that the cat provided a rather accurate thermometer: the longer the cat, the higher the temperature. Perhaps because today's temperature was higher than we've been getting for the past few weeks, he seemed to be particularly affected. At one point, I was getting a little alarmed that he had stretched himself out to such an extent that he might never regain his normal, cat shape....it might be like trying to put toothpaste back in the tube.


Here is Toby when the temperature is nice and moderate, around 24°C:

See? Curled, but comfortably so. Nice, relaxed kitty. (BTW, the harness he's wearing is not because we feel the need to accessorize our cat, although that's not a bad idea. It's because he usually has to wear a leash when he's outside so our Crazy Neighbour doesn't take him off to the Humane Society, like she's threatened to do.)

Here is Toby on another day when the temps are a bit cooler, maybe around 18°C or so:

A tiny bit more compact, but clearly happy enough.

Here he is today:

Note the lack of soft furnishings, and the elongated pose, to maximize the surface area in contact with the cement. My friend Barb refers to this state as "cat butter".

Here he is when things got really prickly:

This is where I began to have some concerns for his overall health. I mean, we're at about 8 feet of cat here; it looks like he's dislocated his spine or something.

Despite my misgivings, around suppertime, he hoisted himself to his feet and begged for tuna (he heard the can opening.) and seemed reasonably intact, for someone who spent the entire afternoon like he was stoned out of his head.

I'm thankful that this is about as hot as it ever gets around here; I really don't want to have to see the cat thermometer's limits tested any more than they already are. I don't want to see a cat that acually puddles on the pavement.

Luckily for Toby, the temperatures are to be more seasonal in the next few days, and we should be packing up the breezeway furniture in a few weeks. Then he can regain his more dignified cat-stature, and resume his favourite winter-time position, "The Meatloaf Pose".