weeding and wandering
Check me out with the slacking. I’m going to chalk the first three days to jet lag, which not so much incapacitated me as reduced my capacity to anything other than going to bed late and sleeping an unreasonable amount. Blake adjusted within a day, which was a gloriously ill-timed achievement considering that I couldn’t get out of bed until 11 and he usually takes 2 weeks to adapt to the end of Daylight Savings Time.
So there was that action, and the fact that I couldn’t get my shit together to go to the grocery store and was living on diner food, pub grub and the whole chicken Mason roasted us in honour of our return and my birthday. When you can’t make the time to pick up milk, journaling seems a hopelessly ambitious task. Plus, my mom made me a cake on Saturday, and I was snacking on a ladybug-shaped chocolate birthday cake when I should have been taking a few minutes to write. And further plus, if you remember that I was getting really into weeding before I left, it will come as no surprise that I was a little obsessed with the lush intruders that greeted our return to the middle coast. I still have dirt and plant juice grimed into my skin, 3 days after I promised that I would give the weeding a rest for a little while.
Considering that I just got a copy of Lasagna Gardening for my birthday last night, I feel a little guilty about the time I spent on weeds. I’m loving this book to death, and I’m certain that the author would be wondering why I was spending my precious time this way when I could have been layering newspapers and grass clippings on what will be next year’s veg garden. You gotta love a book with a chapter on pests called, “How to ignore problems.”
This year’s birthday celebrations were pretty understated, given my low profile of late. I was able to get a dinner going with a few faithful, including Ian, Nadia, Stacy, JimZ & Mason. Dinner was marked by kooky inconvenience (running out of space and spending most of my time in an ornamental thorn bush) and ghastly service (25 minutes before anyone deigned to take a drink order in that tiny patio with empty chairs). We had a bit of a comic book convergence, with Ian & JimZ trading stories and later JimZ dragging in an artist friend who was going out for a coffee and ended up listening to our weirdness for over an hour. I capped the night with dancing at the Cave, buoyed by the presence of Pixie, her ex, his wife, etc. Not that anything is supposed to make sense in my life, but I find it delightfully odd that Pixie and I are closer now that her brother moved out than we’ve been since before the Boy and I got married. Life. Is wee-yurd.
So I’m happy, if a little organizationally challenged. Blake is off for the week, and I’ll be leaving town on Friday for a folk festival. Yesterday Scherezade and I went on a shopping afternoon in the Queen and Ossington area, which was delightful. I’ve always liked doing a boutique crawl with her, but it was especially fun to do it in a neighbourhood new to us both, and during summer clearance sales. As long as it involves good clothes, good food and the chance to draw unsuspecting clerks into our sphere of madness, it remains the best way I’ve found to run up my credit card.
Oh, I’m looking forward to wearing my new pink dress this fall. I look like an expensively-wrapped present. It’s awesome. And I bought a very cool hipster hat today that will see service on occasions not covered by my girlie broad brimmed sunhat or my utilitarian hemp Tilley. I’m surprised that it took me so long to fill this hat category, as it does represent 90 of my life.
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Don't make me send out the Blake. He doesn't listen to *anyone.*