Six months later....

Hey guys, remember this?

That's Rosie, sitting there acting all demure and quiet, with Tonka's big rear end in her face. Well, six months makes a lot of difference in the life of a dog (or two). Here's a shot of Rosie and Tonka now, at 7 months old, fishing for the beluga whales printed on the bottom of the pool:

It would be a bit more than one could handle, if these two weren't the sweetest dogs alive. Rosie is 58 lbs., Tonka's around 75.

Also...

...Today marks three years of wedded bliss. And is this my 100th post? I do believe it is. Congratulations to me.

Something expensive is afoot

I had a new experience yesterday. I like to document all new experiences in some way, and since the doctor didn't let me keep my x-rays, I figured I'd write about it here.

For awhile now, I have had a sore foot. My family doctor called it a hallux valgus, but when I told that to the podiatrist's receptionist, she said "you mean a bunion?", which made me feel much less dramatic. I prefer the latin name.

I made the appointment ages ago and finally, yesterday, I had to figure out where it was and make my way there. Turns out it was quite far out of the downtown core, and so I had to take the bus to get there. I am not a bus person. The bus freaks me out - I am constantly worried that I took the wrong bus, that I missed my correct bus, that I will miss my stop, or that I won't get out of the bus in time when it does stop. I tend to sit near the doors and pay close attention. I have also learned that some bus routes are more civilized than others. On this particular stretch, we passed two hospitals - one of them the local mental hospital - and the front of the bus became an entangled mess of walkers, strollers, and people switching seats to allow the elderly or troubled passengers to sit down. I stuck to the back.

This bus smelled like a mix of exhaust and halitosis. I sat next to a nice elderly gentleman, I'll call him Italian (his sandals looked Italian), who was returning home with his recent purchase, a DVD copy of a Verdi opera. He was a largish man, however, and our hips were squeezed together a bit uncomfortably, a fact that neither of us was willing to acknowledge as the bus lurched side to side. I picked him as my seatmate because he was relatively nicely dressed and his hair seemed clean, and didn't look like he would smell bad, which was more than I could say for the rest of my fellow passengers. I stared out the window with great purpose for at least 15 blocks before my predicted stop, and then pulled a move typical of me: so worried that I would miss my stop, I got out four blocks earlier than I needed to. I tried to seem casual as I walked behind my bus, waiting in traffic, and watched as the other passengers got off up ahead, right where I needed to be.

Anyway, I finally got into the waiting room of the podiatrist's office, and filled out the form. I have had so many specialists in my day that I know this form well: allergies to any medication? Nope. Any of the following conditions? Only athsma. Any perscription meds? Only ventolin. I like this form. I was a dentist-surfer for years so I have filled it out many times. The one at my current dentist's office is super-detailed; it takes a good 20 minutes to fill it out and asks about every disease under the sun. This one was simple, though - I was done in about 2 minutes. I guess they don't really care about your athsma when they're working on your feet.

I sat and waited. And waited and waited. I picked a seat next to the magazines but this made me sit directly across from a woman and right next to a man, and we were all really concerned with not letting our feet or elbows touch the whole time - not an easy feat, this was the tightest waiting room I'd ever seen.

I got in to see the doctor and it was pretty quick, being that I was their last patient of the day. I actually had to ask him to slow down at one point as I wasn't catching what he was saying (next stop, the hearing centre next door). Consultation, x-rays, talk of orthotics, then they made plaster casts of my feet, which was super fun. I doubt I will get those back. There was a nurse there who croaked "I'm real bossy. Been here 35 years. Put your feet here, hon, and stand like that. OK hon, now let's do the other foot. OK hon, that's great sweetie, thanks." The next one told me that none of the nurses there were married.

Turns out my feet are collapsing under the great weight of my body as I lumber through life. OK I'm joking, I'm not that heavy, but for some reason the tops of my feet are losing their structural integrity, causing my hallux valgus (or bunion, as others may choose to call it) and forming little claws on the backs of my heels, like Rosie's dewclaws. I went home with a piece of rubber strapped to the bottom of my foot and moped around all evening like a lame horse, even though nothing had really changed in the course of my day. My cruel husband still let me make dinner.

These orthotics are going to set me back $635. Only $300 of it is covered by the cheap bastards at my work, so I'm on the hook for $335. I figure it's better than surgery, though my mother reminds me that with surgery I get two weeks off work. You don't get time off for orthotics. I am nervous that I will never wear stylish shoes again, as I do love my high heels, but I figure I'll cheat for special occasions.

Bottom line is: getting old is expensive. Specialists are expensive. Thank god the ship is coming in (slowly), but that's a story for another day.

Another post with zero pictures

I always forget my camera, or my cables, or both, so you are treated to another post with no pictures.

I just got back from the kind of weekend where one needs a few days of nothing but water and lemon juice to clean out one's pipes. I actually overheard one jolly fellow say "I'm gonna have this cigarette then go find my pants." It was that kind of weekend. I found myself unable to stop disco dancing beside a campfire, which is unusual behaviour for me. At least I wasn't alone.

And my dog was kind of embarrassing. She was generally very well-behaved and sweet. However, she ate the following non-dog-food items this past weekend: the steak right off of someone's plate three doors down, a big chunk of banana cake with cream cheese icing, potato salad, a turkey burger, pieces of a tofu-and-jerk-chicken skewer, and a bunch of random buns and chips. Needless to say, we were at the vet last night dealing with a bit of gastric upset, manifested in scary poos. Sorry, too much information. And a warning: dogs are expensive.

We shared a cabin with my girlfriend Fiona (jeweller extraordinaire, who re-made my engagement ring after last year's mishap) and her hysterically funny partner Dom. Who is english, and could preface anything with "Dahling" and make it sound sweet. They brought their pooch and the doggies got along famously, and they also brought their very loud sound system. We had a lot of cocktails and partied to the wee hours and busted a gut laughing, which felt like a million bucks. At one point, the cabin beside us was briefly (2 songs?) transformed into a nightclub, complete with couch-dancing and flashlight strobes. Good times. We called it the Canadian Shield Dance Party and I'm sure the noise of it carried across the lake like crazy and irritated all the rich cottagers.

This weekend we're having a gathering at our place and I'm a bit worried. About the weather, about people not coming, and about the little black food thief. I think it might be embarrassing. I may have to tie her up on her rope, which she won't like, which will make her bark, or if there are no other dogs there I may get Grandma and Grandpa to take her for the night.

Onto the requisite garden talk: Remember when I said I didn't have any grapes? I lied - they were just hiding. I have a LOT of grapes. I don't know what they will taste like or whether they'll make it, hiding from the birds and the bugs, but I look forward to trying. Also I still have some plums on the tree, and they're getting larger, so I'm keeping my fingers crossed that I will at least have a few.

The veggies are great and there's no sign of cucumber beetles yet (knock on wood), though I would like it to stop being so damp out so the slug-fest can end. I hate the damn slugs. Pretty soon I will be pulling up potatoes, garlic, and onions, and will be able to start eating beans soon enough as well. I have baby tomatos and the peppers are getting ready to do their thing, so I am getting the diatomaceous earth tomorrow. Pumpkins are in full bloom and are awesome, though I don't think they like this rainy dark weather either. The rest is a bit of a messy jungle. When fall comes I will move the strawberries around a bit because I planted them too tightly. I should also rip out the borage before it drops seeds, because I am really starting to resent it.

Hey can everyone who reads this post leave a comment of some sort? I think I'm yodelling into the darkness here.

What's my name? Where do I work again?

(Sigh). I'm back at work.

(pffffffffffffft. That's the sound of me being deflated). I have been back now for 4 days, and I think it was a terrible idea. I should have taken 3 weeks off. Except I had a lot to do this week and next week, they're sending me to Winnipeg on a 6 a.m. flight. In Gennyland math, that means I have to get up at 4, and leave the house at 4:30.

Complain complain complain.

Vacation ended, not a whole heck of a lot got done on the house but we're in good shape, I cleaned it about 48 times - or rather, swept the floors 48 times - and spent a bunch of time sitting on my arse. Summer's in full swing now, so I don't spend a lot of time in the garden, which is ironic. I almost can't - it's been taken over by borage and that stuff is prickly. I dislike it. I am slowly ripping it out, as I discover it smothering or shading my prized peppers, tomatoes, beans, and other things you can actually eat.

So far everything's doing really well, though I am worried about the lack of blooms so far. The tomatoes are blooming, sort of, and the beans have started, but the squash and cukes are still bare. The bonus is that I haven't seen any cucumber beetles yet. The pumpkins are ready to burst forth with new life; I think there will be blooms by this weekend. Sunday - I'm calling it. I will let you know. They're doing really really well.

Therefore, I really hope that frost comes late this year, because it seems I will have a lot of things on the vine in September. Thems squash need time to get big and the plants are still teensy.

Cilantro's completely taken everything over, but I'm going to start ripping it out because it's all gone to flower. Next year maybe I'll start anew, and have it grow only where I want it to grow. I guess I can plant it in the fall - or just scatter the seeds willy-nilly, which seems to work just fine.

Lettuce is getting ready to bolt but I continue to eat it - this variety doesn't seem to go bitter, which is really nice. Usually I miss my lettuce by waiting too long. We've been putting it on everything but could have salads every night for 2 weeks on my supply. Swiss chard is coming up, so before it gets big I'm going to have to figure out what the heck one does with Swiss chard. The peppers look like they're ready to bloom - the plants are short but stocky and dark green and hardy-looking, so I'm happy about that, seeing as I grew them from seed. Now I need diatomaceous earth to keep the earwigs out, those slimy little bastards. I'm disappointed in the output of my rhubarb - the stalks were all skinny, so I didn't pull them out, and now the leaves are all spotting and withering. It does this every year. I think it's very old, possibly spent. Maybe I need to rip it out and plant a new rhubarb bush in a new spot for next year.

I have plums. Not many clean ones but I have plums. The tree was filled to the brim with them, but they've slowly begun succumbing to the same disease they get every year, but I have my fingers crossed that because I had so many green ones, there will be at least a few that make it this year. I am encouraged by this not to rip the tree down, but to try to fix it for next year. The trick to the great output seems to have been to cut off all the non-producing branches, because the tree itself seems to be quite happy. I'm not sure if it's a disease, or bugs (curculio? caterpillars?), or something nutritionally wrong - or all three frankly - but I'd like to get a professional opinion before this happens again next year.

The flower gardens are typical of my summer flower gardens - messy, weedy, the large plants are in the front and the small plants are in the back, being dwarfed. I am no landscape architect or garden designer. My interest in horticulture is scientific, I seem to have zero aesthetic abilities. Why would anyone put Veronica in the front? Shasta daisies? To be fair, I think those migrated, but still. Now I have to wait until they're done blooming to move them to the back. Meanwhile, I had columbines at one point, but I have no idea what happened to them, and my hens and chicks have been engulfed. The whole thing is shot through with quack grass and these unruly prickly things with yellow flowers that get tall, and of course raspberries. The dread black raspberries, which tangle everything up. I need to trellis them but have of course been too lazy to do so.

I had a ton of grapes but now I have none. Bugs? Birds? Whatever, now I have tons of grape stems. Probably for the best, grapes are poisonous to dogs.

Anyway, that's the yard update. I have to whippersnip because it hasn't been done in a month and everything's shaggy. I figure, since my house is under construction and I am back at work, that's the least of my concerns.