Bee Still

My good friend, Big Liver Girl, had a WAY more interesting week than me. Like, so much interesting that there will be memorial plaques in front of her house and children will sings songs aroung campfires about it.

There has been a distinct buzz around the southeast corner of Big Liver Girl's house lately. Quite literally....she noticed more bees around her back patio recently, and noticed that the bee activity centered around an area where a vine had worked it's way under the siding.

Upon closer examination, she was able to see that the bees had not only gotten INTO the house, they had set up a colony and were secretly plotting a full-scale invasion. Rather than screaming and fainting and selling her house, which would have been my first response, she called her bee guy to come and take a look. (It is telling that she even HAS a bee guy. I wouldn't have the faintest notion who to call if my house had been taken over by a herd of bees, but Big Liver Girl has a bee guy on speed dial. Last year she had a ball of bees in a tree in her backyard, and found a bee guy to take care of it. That is one seriously resourceful woman, if you ask me.)

When the bee guy came, he determined fairly quickly that they had a shitload of bees in between the ceiling of the dining room and the floor of the upstairs bedroom. (By the way, a "shitload" is a very scientific term, meaning "more than a metric tonne", but smaller than "a biblical plague".) Here is the floor of the bedroom, complete with carpet ripped up and floorboards explosed, ready to be torn asunder. Big Liver Girl said that the wood was actually hot right above where the bees were nesting. Her two daughters are admirably unflappable and stoic, but I'm sure even they would have skedaddled right smart if they had known they were sleeping inches from a mass of bees the size of a Buick.

The bee guy pulled up the floor boards to reveal the shitload of bees and.....about five, big honeycombs!

He quickly did what bee guys do, capturing the queen and re-locating her outside (so that all her loyal minions would follow her out of the house and to a bee box with a much more desirable address.) And then he harvested the honey. It was like Winnie-the-Pooh's house on the best day ever.

Big Liver Girl set up a honey-processing plant in the kitchen, which resulted in an impressive lot of beautiful, golden sticky stuff.

Also, it was her 20th wedding anniversary the next day.

My life is infinitely less interesting. Which is okay by me.

The Beginning of an Era

Thing 1 turned 16 a month ago, and has been dying to get her driver's licence ever since. And today she did!

She got her G1 licence, which used to be called a "beginner's" licence in my day, back when the earth was cool and Oprah was poor. She can only drive with a licenced driver who is over 18 in the front seat, not between the hours of midnight and 5 a.m, not on major highways, and without playing "Nickleback" at any time. (Okay, that last one is my rule.)

Like all government-sanctioned activities in Canada, there is a determined and unwavering effort to make sure you do not enjoy yourself one bit while held captive in their offices. There is no where near enough seating, the air conditioner, like the staff, is testy, and the decorator clearly worked in a Soviet-era prison before emigrating to Canada.

After waiting about 40 minutes, it was finally Thing 1's turn. We went up to the counter and Thing 1 answered a couple of questions and did a vision test, and then she had to get her picture taken and sign her licence. Who knew that this would be the toughest part of the day?? She signed her name, but it had to match her passport's exactly. First of all, she signed that thing a year ago, and secondly, a 16 year old doesn't sign her name very often. (She also said she literally hadn't put pen to paper since school let out a month and a half ago!) The very nice man behind the counter let her give it a couple of goes, but honestly, it was very tense by the time she got it right. Then she had to have her picture taken, and she blinked. Twice. By the time we were on the third picture we were both laughing so hard, and I could detect that my darling girl was on the verge of really losing it and sinking into hysteria and possible seizures. Finally, she got a picture that did not make her look like she was sound asleep, a terrorist or under pharmaceutical influence.

After all that, she wrote the test and passed easily. Big smiles all around. (Just for the record, we saw three people who did not pass, one girl by just one wrong answer. I'll bet it was quiet around the dinner table at those houses tonight.)

I can't wait until Thing 1 has her full licence and can take over some of the ferrying and chauffering of her younger sister. And guess who will teach Thing 2 to drive? This is an era I'm going to like.

We Need To Talk....

Dear Formerly Fabulous Client,

You know, this has been great, it really has, but I think it's become clear to us both that this just isn't working any more.

We used to have such a great time together; I'd do your hair and you'd really like it and then you'd over tip me and and we'd have a blast the whole time. I used to really look forward to seeing your name in the appointment book, and you couldn't wait to come in and have your hair done.

Maybe I've been taking you for granted, giving you the same highlights over and over again. Maybe I should have pushed you to try something different. Maybe I'm just not adventurous for you.....(I really do think that a whole head bleach application is a bad idea.) And it's been getting longer and longer between appointments.....I'll confess, once or twice I thought you might be seeing someone else behind my back.

But lately, you've been booking appointments and not showing up. Or cancelling at the last minute. And let's be honest here, you have been a big fat drag when you do show up; hung over and cranky with very greasy hair. And your boyfriend is a jackass and I'm tired of hearing about it. And it's becoming more and more obvious that we are just not good for each other any more.

So, Client, I think we should see other people. Really, it's for the best. I'm sure another hairdresser will be much less concerned that you sleep in past every. single. freaking. Saturday appointment, and leave a hole in her day the size of a Buick. Some hairdresser's don't mind that. Unfortunately, I do.

Good luck to you, and I'm hoping we can still be friends. Take care, and stay away from the 40 volume peroxide.

Thanks,
Mrs. Loudshoes.

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.

Fore

I don't think I've ever heard anyone who golfs describe themselves as "good" golfer. Every golfer I ever knew moaned about their short game or their tendency to slice or how that last shot off the 18th tee could have been better. I have a solution: play with my daughters and me. We will make you look like both Tiger Woods and Arnold Palmer on their very best days in comparison.

My father, a very experienced and dedicated golfer of many years, offered to take Thing 1, Thing 2 and I out for 9 holes last night; a very generous offer, considering it would take years off his life and scar his very soul.
Thing 2 has had some lessons, but Thing 1 and I are very new to the sport. All three of us have a LOT to learn.

While my dad hit the ball like it was supposed to be hit, and went more or less straight towards it's target, the rest of us flailed away like electrocuted monkeys, occasionally making contact with the ball, sometimes making it go towards the hole and even sometimes both at the same time. I made one memorable shot at one point where the ball went exactly 90° to the direction in which I meant for it to go...how does that even happen?.....it was like physics took a holiday. Thing 1 took out a few divots out of the ground that were the size of your head. Thing 2 managed to put a ball exactly and precisely in the middle of an enormous puddle.....she couldn't have done it again if her life depended on it.

And although everyone kept their sense of humor and no one (including dad) got too frustrated, I'm sure golfing with us was a memoral departure from his usual golfing experience.

Things My Father Does Not Usually Hear From His Golfing Partners:

• "It's my turn to play the pink ball, you played it last time."
• "Wait a second, I broke a nail."
• "My pants are falling down"
• "I lost my hairband"
• "Which way is the hole?"
• "Oh, look! A baby duck!"
• "I want a golf cart for Christmas!"

Without a doubt, the highlight for the girls was driving the golf carts. Driving a golf cart is all kinds of fun, even when you are used to driving an actual car. Something about a golf cart lends itself to hilarity, and the ever present possibility of driving it into a pond or tipping it over gives the whole thing an air of slightly contained hysteria.

Despite our lack of prowess, I think we all enjoyed ourselves. I'm pretty sure my dad is almost over it.

Cheap at Twice the Price

This is what I dream of in February.
When there is snow up to my armpits and the wind cuts through my coat and the slush and the cold are making me want to hibernate, what gets me through is knowing that the summer will arrive. And the best part is, summer is free. It costs nothing, but is infinitely wonderful.

Here is a sunset over Lake Huron. This sort of gorgeousness happens every night. For free.

I would wager that there are few places more gorgeous than southwestern Ontario in the summertime. Last year, we had a rather cold, petulant, sulky sort of a summer, which makes this year all the more delicious. It has been hot and sunny and utterly beautiful for weeks already, and it's only the end of July.
We've had some very hot and humid weather recently, which makes for some pretty theatrical thunderstorms. And rainbows. This was last week, one night after dinner. Again, totally free of charge.

Yesterday, Big Liver Girl and I took various children to the beach. The wind was up, so the waves were high, providing a solid afternoon's entertainment for all involved.
Here I am, testing the undertow before letting the kids in.

And here are three of the kids wave running and having a ball. Despite the cool wind, the water was incredibly warm. Warm for a lake in Canada, anyway.

Wavy lakes are fabulous entertainment, and again, free.

Here is the sky last night, from my back yard.

This is how I spent the last week of my vacation, and every unclaimed moment since. And since I got that book out of the library, that week was pretty cheap. The only cost was the glass of ice cold riesling that's just out of camera range.

Summer gives good value, no question.

The Mister Makes Me Laugh

The Mister and I stopped off at Costco on our way home from work, to get supplies for the salon.

On our way to the check out, we passed a guy who looked and sounded EXACTLY like Jackie Chan. I mean, exactly. And in his cart were 6 huge birthday cakes and 4 ginormous watermelons. Nothing else, just that.

I said "did you see Jackie Chan there? I didn't know he shopped at Costco." And the Mister replied "did you see what was in his cart? I want to see that movie!"