Construction Time Explained

Well, the contractor showed up today. Only 2 months late!


It’s a darn good thing that I have lived around construction workers for most of my life. I understand what they really mean when they say, “I’ll be there at 8 o’clock Monday morning.” What I don’t understand is why they say it in the first place.




I think that, for the most part, they have good intentions. They really mean to be there at 8 a.m. on Monday and they believe that they really will be there at 8 a.m. on Monday. They want to get the job done, because that’s what it takes to get paid. They have already taken the time to price out the materials and factor in the time. They know what they have to do and what they need to do it. It’s not – quite – rocket science to do an estimate and provide a quote, though to the uninitiated it can appear so. And they want to please; they often depend on word of mouth promotion.



I have a theory about the frequent discrepancy between a contractor’s Monday 8 a.m. and everybody else’s. Contractor time is very different from everybody else’s time. Their calendars and their clocks do not run like normal calendars and clocks. Monday at 8 a.m. to a contractor could be Wednesday at 2 p.m. (when that hair appointment is scheduled) to the customer. Or it could be Friday at 9 a.m. (dentist). Or it could be two months down the road right after the next contractor has been contacted to replace him. Like in my case. My new fear is not not having a contractor, but having too many contractors.



Ultimately it isn’t even my problem. Well, it is, but I’m not the one paying the bill. Nor am I the one waiting for the rest of my funds for the sale of my house to be released by the lawyer.


3-ply 2x10 beam and support post under exterior kitchen/dining room wall. 





So far the contractor has provided three reasons why he didn’t show up sooner: 1) he lost my cell number; 2) he left messages on my old number (not realizing that it wasn’t my number anymore) and I didn’t get back to him; and 3) he had a big job at Huckleberry Mine. He seems to favour the Huckleberry Mine reason over the others. I’m guessing that it sounds less lame and more prestigious than the first two. I don’t really care. As I said, I’m not paying for it and I’m not waiting on any funds. It’s not like the house was going to fall down around me if the work didn’t get done immediately.



The important part is: he’s there now. And if the other guy does show up, well, I’ll just have to break his heart. I’m not all that concerned. He didn’t give a specific time and date, so it’s very likely that there is no day and hour in his space/time continuum that will ever coincide with a day and hour in mine.

The reality of the phenomenon has nothing to do with the space/time continuum. I just think that’s a clever out for construction workers. And I like saying space/time continuum. It sounds cool. The truth is that it is the nature of the construction business – and many construction workers – to be… unpredictable. First, there is no guarantee that the lumber yard will even have all of the material needed for any specific job at any specific time. There could easily have been a huge run on 2 X 4’s on the previous Saturday, for instance, and the next shipment isn’t due until Tuesday. Chances are that the lumber yard isn’t open before 8 anyway. Although, when the contractor said Monday at 8 a.m., he could very well have meant that that’s when he would be down at the lumber yard, banging at the gates, assuming that the customer understands that those darn 2 X 4’s don’t magically appear on site.



Downstairs bathroom shower stall waiting for shower stall stuff to be put up and sealed



Second, the construction business dictates the common necessity to take on more than the contractor can actually ever even hope to manage efficiently. Jobs get cancelled; particularly renovation jobs due to regular stress-induced fights between spouses who have hired a contractor over details like gold-plated faucets vs. functioning doors. It’s always good to have a back-up contract in the offing.

Third, the construction business is intrinsically bound to the feast or famine (boom or bust) principle. Particularly in the north here, people tend not to do a lot in the winter months. Then, come spring, everyone and his dog wants something done and contractors suddenly find themselves in high demand. After months of being idle and watching the coffers dwindle, they feel like supermen and think that they can accomplish Extreme Home-Makeover-like feats single-handedly.


Fourth, simple jobs are never as simple as they seem. Murphy ’s Law has a distinct and indisputable passion for construction work. Contractor’s get lulled into the belief that they can wrap up a job by Monday morning at 8 a.m. only to discover that the quicky installation of a window in an existing wall really means re-building the whole wall due to dry rot or black mould from a long-ago, forgotten or undetected plumbing leak, or the rewiring of an entire house because the owner insists that the window must be in the same spot as the electrical panel and doesn’t understand that electrical panels, once placed, do not easily give up their spots. If you ever wondered why contractors charge so much, you should spend some time with some of their customers. These guys put up with a lot!




Equipment breakdowns are yet another hazard on the road to Monday morning at 8 o’clock. There’s nothing worse than a drill calving or a skill saw dying or a hammer… Oh, getting left on top of a wall at the last job and dry-walled in like a heretic in medieval times. These things can be traumatizing to contractors, who have been known to become emotionally attached to their tools.



Hole in wall behind shower.  There was a leak and the only way to fix it was to create another make-work project.



This afternoon I did what most construction customers do when there are contractors working unsupervised in their homes and invented an excuse to dash home from work for a few minutes. Not checking up, mind you, just forgot my lunch. The work was progressing quite well. The crew of two was by no means slacking off while the boss was off doing who knows what besides working on place. I’m not crazy about having anybody in my house while I’m not home and I have to admit that there was some measure of trepidation about leaving three strange men, men who listen to country music, alone with power tools in my basement. My inner suspicious victim half expected to find them sitting in my living room drinking beer and watching porn on my laptop. I hadn’t gone so far as to strategically place a hair on the edge of my panty drawer, but I was relieved to see that they were working diligently at their assigned tasks. It was a good thing that I did “forget my lunch,” though. They were one sheet short of the wall board stuff for the down stairs shower and so I was able to solve that problem for them by ever-so-congenially assuring them that if they couldn’t find a match I would not freak out about it. “Get something as close as you can and use that on the ceiling.” I’m such a good construction customer.

Tomorrow will be round two where they will complete the shower, patch the drywall behind the shower, replace the inner workings of the downstairs toilet, install a new bathroom fan upstairs, repair the drain in the ensuite sink, vent the bathroom and kitchen fans to the exterior and install two roof turbines so that I don’t have to replace the shingles in three years (they should last another 10 to 12, giving me time to save up!). Whether or not they will complete all that in one day is yet to be determined. I may be having my Saturday morning coffee with them. By then we could be the very best of friends, or that space/time continuum thing may rear its ugly head and they may not be back for days. It’s a construction business toss-up.

Is It Nap Time?

I’m not much of a gardener. I can recognize a tree and tell the difference between one and say a bush. I know that perennials come back every year and annuals keep green house operations in the black. I know that tulips, daffodils and gladiolas grow from bulbs and petunias grow from seeds. I know that rose bushes need to be judicially pruned, but I’m not sure when. I can generally tell a weed from a not-weed. I’m not all that fond of worms.


I’ve tried my hand at gardening once or twice. It wasn’t pretty.


But that didn’t stop me from buying a house that requires not just some gardening, but a total landscape makeover. The previous owner, in an effort to reduce the amount of mowing her tenant would have to do, covered almost the entire yard in gravel. On a daily basis I stand outside or gaze out my bedroom window perplexed and overwhelmed by it all.


Beneath the gravel lies a layer of lumber wrap – the cheaper alternative to landscape fabric. It was a valiant attempt at keeping the weeds at bay. And I must say that it nearly worked! The weeds were laughing so hard, they almost forgot to grow. But they composed themselves and the riverbed- look is quickly – way faster than I can keep up with – turning green. And in this case green is not good.




The back yard today



In my probable naivety, I have devised a plan. It involves a shovel, a wheel barrow and almost certainly a good deal of pain. In order to cut down on the pain part, I’m doing my best to recruit volunteers with shovels of their own to assist by taking on some of it. A few have stepped up and offered to sacrifice their healthy backs to the cause. If my vision is even remotely possible to achieve, it will be worth it.

I estimate that there are three to four dump-truck loads of gravel that have to be moved. I’m guessing that I may need a much bigger shovel than the one I have, but I think that I might be better off working up to the upgraded spade. Like any fitness program, one must start out with the lowest weights and fewest reps, increasing incrementally. Can you say Ben Gay?



The end result, God willing, will see my yard transformed from a chaotic jumble of gravel, plants and weeds to a veritable Eden. (I already have the apple tree!) The main feature in my Eden will be a classic, seven-circuit Cretan Labyrinth which I will construct using – you guessed it – the existing gravel. There’s nothing like repurposing to give gravel… Well, a purpose. Around the outer edge of the labyrinth will be a vegetable garden (but not this year). I’m thinking some potatoes, some peas and some carrots. Maybe some other stuff, but I don’t know what. Beyond the circular veggie patch will be lawn, dotted with two or three small flower beds and a couple more trees. I’m hoping to score one of those funky hardy oak trees. Some day.





My beautiful apple tree



Eventually a fence will be in order. I would like to do something interesting and I have an idea that involves some rather elaborate scroll work in treated plywood, which is way beyond my current ability to achieve, not only because I don’t have a jig saw, but I’m a bit power-tool-aphobic. I can draw the pattern and help construct the frame work; I’m fine with the low-tech stuff like hammers. After all the gravel shovelling is said and done, I could probably dig the post holes…. It’s all a future thing anyway.

For now, a goon-spoon, some back and shoulder pain and sheer determination are the order of the day.

Is it nap-time yet?

How Many Reunited High School Friends Does It Take To Mow a Lawn?

How many reunited high school friends does it take to mow a lawn?



That was just one of many life-altering questions that was explored this past weekend. Others included: How many ways can one mis-use the term ‘and such as?’; Can lawn darts really cause stiff muscles?; How often do the police knock on my door?; Can the community compost be both closed and a photo-op?; and Who ever thought that a mimosa was even remotely acceptable as a substitute for coffee in the morning?


New and exciting concepts were tested for validity – besides booze for breakfast. Those included HDMI cables for hooking up a laptop to a television; being befriended by a tuckered out toddler at the Farmer’s Market; actually cooking a meal to eat at home; Boggle-ing minds; and going to a pub to watch an NHL play-off game where only the oblivious and reluctant could win free drinks.


In a nutshell, the previous two paragraphs sum up the weekend where I spent approximately sixty hours with two dear friends from high school that I hadn’t seen in an estimated 26-years. Thelma and Louise came to visit me with one apparent objective: To reintroduce my middle-aged and previously sober system to alcohol. Well, maybe two objectives. We also had tons and tons of fun. It was like the last quarter century + of being apart never happened.


Besides having Thelma and Louise (not their real names in case you were wondering) as house-guests, I discovered a few things that I may have already known intellectually, but now know emotionally and spiritually. I’m not too old to have fun. Houston is really a pretty cool little town. And staying in touch is one of the most precious things in the world. Here we were, three nearly-fifty-year-old women who, in spite of having learned a thing or two over the years, still full of passion for life and still filled with genuine love for each other. I’m in total awe of how marvellous we all are.


Our children (nine, collectively) are all grown up. We’ve had a variety of jobs and experiences. We’ve all been married (two of us still are). Two of us are grandmothers. We are strong, intelligent, creative and amazing people. From being thrown together randomly in classes in school, we forged a bond that somehow, though highly elastic, has never been broken.


Before their arrival on Thursday evening, I have to admit to thinking that this might be an elaborate joke of which I would be the butt. I couldn’t believe that they would actually make the 13-hour journey just to see me. It was a moment of deep self-doubt. Why would they do that? Then again, why wouldn’t they? I would – if I wasn’t too chicken to drive all the way to Chilliwack by myself! When the phone rang and they announced that they were passing the welcome to Houston sign, my heart soared. Then dropped like a stone. Dear God, what if we couldn’t find anything to talk about? Should I change my clothes? It was like preparing for a blind date. I even tested my breath in my hand.


But all inhibitions were pushed aside when they hugged me! Well, most of them were. Having to sing Do-wa-ditty during my turn at lawn darts was extremely, extremely uncomfortable. I can’t say I was overly crazy about spending an evening in a pub either, but that was just my inner hermit balking out of habit at the chance to have a night out. I have come to the conclusion that pubs are not so bad when you are with people you love and can laugh with. (Hockey games notwithstanding.) Thelma and Louise reminded me who I used to be. While I’ve always thought of myself as being somewhat unconventional, I realize now that I’m not as avant-garde as I was wont to think of myself. I’ve a propensity of erring on the side of caution, taking the safer, most comfortable routes to originality. I contain my creativity to that which is not too far-out or quirky.


So I’ve decided to join the Red Hat Society.


I’m not old enough to wear a red hat yet. But I figure that I will have a whole year to find just the right red hat. And I shall wear purple!


As for how many reunited high school friends it takes to mow a lawn, well, the answer is three, three ex-eighteen-year-olds who are all thankful that the lawn is small.

Flood Alert! And Life Goes On

Little is more frightening then having your home threatened by a natural disaster. The citizens of Slave Lake, Alberta recently had their town decimated by wild fires that spread with sickening speed through their homes and businesses. I can’t even begin to imagine the horror of being so helplessly at the mercy of Mother Nature in her wildest of tantrums.



 





The Walking Bridge at 14th Street - just a few blocks from my house.





The Bulkley River east of Houston



This week, my own town is dealing with the opposite threat. Water in the creeks and rivers is rising to unprecedented levels, spilling over the protective banks in some places. This is not the first time that we have had to deal with flooding. In 1997, homes along the Bulkley River were flooded and the owners evacuated for their safety. In 2000, a less sever, but equally frightening flood happened. This year, the waters rose so high that the dykes were raised with gabions as the water came dangerously close to breaching these barriers between rushing waters and our homes and businesses. On Friday evening, with the water level less than a half metre from the top of the levee, Houstonites were given notice of an evacuation alert.



Bags were packed. Basements were emptied. Businesses began the tedious process of protecting stock by moving it up off floors. Hundreds of volunteers gathered to help with sandbagging efforts. Everyone prayed for the rain to stop and the waters to recede.


On Saturday, the sun did its best to force its way through the clouds. To distract themselves from the pending evacuation potential, people took advantage of the reprieve and hauled out lawn mowers and weed whackers. The hum of gas-powered mowers could be heard throughout neighbourhoods as the cheerful yellow dandelions met their makers by being brutally beheaded with razor-sharp blades. Between the mowing, the whacking and the raking, people checked the web for updates on the grave situation surrounding their home-ownership duties.



The Train Bridge over Buck Creek. 



I marvelled at the way that life continued amid the looming danger around us all. Was this optimism? Were people in denial? Did they just want their lawns to look nice for the inspectors after the water withdrew?

As I pushed my own manual reel mower back and forth, I wondered if I was wasting my time. I could hear the water in the creek, only a couple hundred feet from my house, rushing madly along its course, doing its best to get the runoff past our town and away to the ocean with its larger capacity to handle it. It had a long way to go! And there are other towns with their own rain and runoff being added to it along the way. I worried about my house and my neighbours, my daughter and my friends. I worried about the stray cat that hangs around between my house and the neighbour’s. What would become of her if things got bad? When I finally stowed my little mower in the shed, I checked for updates and checked in with loved ones to make sure everyone was still fine and to offer assistance should it be necessary.


I did a bit more yard work. I cleaned my house. I baked cookies. I gave some thought to organizing my office and setting up files for my business. I sorted through the knitting patterns that still need to be typed up and posted on Ravelry. I paced. I prayed. I finally made some supper and organized a small get together with a few people to watch a movie. Again, I marvelled at the normalcy of these activities. At any moment someone could come banging at my door with an order to get out. I wondered if I would go peacefully, or if they would have to drag me from my house kicking and screaming! Thankfully, so far, that hasn’t been put to the test. Hopefully, it never will be.


This morning the dandelions have already repopulated many of the neatly trimmed lawns. They don’t seem the least bit worried about the high water table and over-burdened river beds. In fact they are relishing in the excess moisture. One can practically see them assert themselves in an attempt to cheer up the locals with their pretty yellow blooms; an attempt, I’m sorry to say, that almost always fails. I don’t know why people hate them so much. I think they are quite pretty. But I must admit that I wish they were not so assertive in my gardens. Then again, I don’t care much for my gardens as they are and at least the dandelions are adding some colour to the vast greyness of the gravel that presently covers 90% of my yard. (What was that woman thinking?)




One of the homes under water next to the overpass as you come in to Houston.



Anyway, I’m about to foray out into that greyness and see what I can do about some of it. There are vines to dig up and weird features to remove. I want to see if I can lay out the future labyrinth without having to move a tree that is in the way of the labyrinth’s expected reality. Not sure how I’m going to do that, but if nothing else, I can stand there and look wisely contemplative. Not owning a shovel and not having a good rapport with any gravel gnomes, I doubt that much will be accomplished. This whole yard work thing is a bit over my head. One would think that 24 years on an acre of land I would have learned a thing or two about it. But alas, I’m not much of a gardener and I always had someone else to defer that sort of thing to.



I see I sort of got off track. The latest update from the Emergency Operations Centre is that the Buck Creek levels fell 17 cm overnight. Yay! Things are looking up – or down as the case may be.

Spring Wonderland

I’m sitting at my patio-cum-dining-room-table looking out at the enormous snowflakes plummeting out of the sky and gathering in confused patches on the deck, the lawn, the trees and the car. It’s May 17th and instead of spring blooms a thickening layer of the white stuff is giving tulips and daffodils great pause in opening up. It’s the craziest spring I can recall. Neither the snow nor the foliage understands what’s happening.



Optimistically, I donned capris this morning. The rain was not going to stop me from dressing in clothes appropriate for the alleged and theoretical season. My rationale was that it wouldn’t likely rain all day and, if I put on long pants and socks, at some point the sun would jump out and pump heat down up on me, making me regret my choice. If I have my druthers, I prefer cool to hot. Now I think that long pants and socks may be my saving grace. There is a limit to my optimism!




Snow accumulating on my deck May 17, 2011



I’m thinking that the snow shovel I bought at a garage sale last Saturday was a good investment. I wasn’t planning on putting it to use just yet, but there appears to be a chance that it could come in handy. I’m also thinking that it’s a good thing that I haven’t changed my tires yet. Something keeps telling me to wait. Until today I thought it was the $95 dollars it will cost me to have them changed over, but maybe it’s the fact that winter isn’t done yet. If I wait much longer, there won’t be any point! In four months I’ll be forking out another $95 to have them changed back. I might just risk it. But I will look for some rims this summer, which will save me most of those $95 shell-outs and should pay for themselves in... oh, three or four years. The question is: Will my van last that long?



If it wasn’t for work, today would be a great day to start a new knitting project. I just don’t know what I want to knit. I have a pair of socks that are proving to be more difficult than I had anticipated – there is a huge logistical challenge to knitting intarsia in the round. I just can’t seem to sort it out in my head, let alone on the needles. Every now and then it starts to make sense and I think I have it worked out, but in practice, it just doesn’t come through. Oh, well, I’ll keep plugging away at it. Maybe the snow will bring some inspiration. Winter conditions usually do.

Good grief! It looks like November out there! The term Spring Wonderland just doesn’t have the right ring to it, but that’s what we got.

It's a Spring Wonderland out there!

The Power of Positive Thinking

Remember Norman Vincent Peale and the Power of Positive Thinking? I don’t.



The book was first published in 1952 and has the reputation of being the most famous self-help book ever written. I never actually read the book and I don’t know much about Mr. Peale, other than he wrote it. I have no idea what the philosophies of the book are. It was first published a whole decade before I was born and by the time I became aware of it in my teens, positive thinking – well, thinking of any kind, really – was somewhat lost in the realm of perceived, adolescent omnipotence. In retrospect, that very delusion, though perhaps wrongfully positive, probably helped me survive my teen years and make it to adulthood relatively intact and unscathed.


While I missed The Power of Positive Thinking (it is on my to-read list), I have read a great deal on the subject. The Law of Attraction, The Secret (dumb book, by the way), Creative Visualization, How to Manifest Anything, The Art of Manifestation, Real Magic (it’s not what you think), The Power of Intention, Excuses Begone!, and a few others that I can’t recall at the moment. The basic premise of all of them is quite simple: Think positive!


But what is thinking positive? I’ve learned – the hard way – that it isn’t pretending that everything is okey-dokey. It’s not ignoring problems. It’s not giving up or just accepting things as they are, although that is sort of an important factor. It’s not not being angry or sad. It’s not denying reality. There’s quite a bit of hard work and determination involved. Discipline is key.


For years I looked for the magic formula, the instant solution that would make my life perfect and dissolve all my problems. Oddly, I never found it.


Well, that’s not entirely true. There is a magic formula; there just isn’t an instant solution.


Well, that’s not entirely true, either.


Are you sufficiently confused yet? It’s okay. I still get baffled by it.


And the point of this missive was not to dispense instructions on the subject. The point, I think (that was a couple of hours and several interruptions ago), was to share with you a story about how positive thinking is working in my life. Right now. This very moment.


Two months ago I was lying on a massage table in a friend’s basement while she practiced Reiki techniques on me. Reiki is an energy therapy system that targets the ethereal body, chakras, energy meridians, the aura, etc. and is designed to be used in healing (not curing – there is a vast and significant difference!). I’m always happy to lend my ethereal body to those who are developing healing skills of this nature – especially when it’s free because they are completing their practicum! (Just to be clear, I always offer Healing Touch or Reflexology in return as a professional courtesy. We need to support each other and it’s the least I can do.)


Now a lot of people think this sort of thing is a bunch of bunk. And that’s okay. I only mention it because it was the catalyst to a huge leap of faith on my part that required positive thinking in order to succeed.


As I lay there, I felt a gust of wind blow through me. It was hot and searing and left me feeling quite empty, which is a good thing by the way. I left feeling light and cleansed. Being empty like that gives one the option of choose what to fill one’s self back up with. I chose happiness.


A few days later, I hopped out of bed and announced to my husband of 14 ½ years that I was leaving him. I couldn’t believe what I was saying; the words just poured out of my mouth in a flood of long over-due emotional release.


Now where is the happiness and positivity in that, you may wonder. Well, it allowed me to explore and redefine myself and my priorities. And it strengthened and enhanced my relationship with my husband in ways that, on that particular morning, I would never have thought imaginable.


I bought a house. I moved out. I set up my household. I began the process of – as cliché as it may sound – finding myself (still got a ways to go on that one). And Dave and I became friends. I discovered I like him a lot better when I’m not fantasizing about blowing up his band room! Now we talk. We laugh together. We enjoy being together and feel comfortable just spending time. We don’t take each other for granted. We look forward to seeing each other. We are at absolute peace when we are apart. He lives his life and I live mine. There are no expectations. No strings. It’s utterly and profoundly wonderful to know that he’s there, but he’s not in my hair, so to speak. And it is all due to the power of positive thinking – with a bit of self-confidence mixed in.


I’ve never lived on my own – really – before. If I think too hard about it, it’s still a bit scary and overwhelming. But I count my blessings every day. Every night before I fall asleep I think about all the good things in my life and I thank the Universe for each of them. Every morning when I wake up I tell myself that something wonderful is going to happen today. And it does. (Sometimes to someone else, but that just gives me the opportunity to be happy for that person.)


Last week I got a letter from the bank telling me that the interest on my mortgage was decreased. I got a rebate from Visa – can you imagine!? This week I received a housewarming gift in the form of a cheque – enough to buy a few things for the house – and I got a refund from Telus – again, can you imagine? – that I wasn’t expecting. Not a fortune by any stretch, but most welcome and appreciated.


Life is good. And it’s good because I choose to think positive thoughts, welcome and accept the goodness that is around me into my life, and I am grateful when the goodness arrives whether it is expected or a delightful surprise.


There are times when I have to work at it. Every now and then the old habit of negative thinking rears its ugly head and tries to pull me down. Like last week when I couldn’t figure out Netflix. The solution was ultimately simple, but I got blinded by frustration and couldn’t see the forest for the trees (or the shows for the ease, as it were!) for a while. But now I can laugh about it. Silly me!


What it comes down to is patience, I think. I put it out there that I need or I want this or that and, if I’m patient, this or that arrives. Eventually. The being patient part is a bit trying for me still, but it’s getting easier. And the more impatient I am, the longer it takes, it seems. Next Reiki appointment, I’m going to ask her to work on my inability to wait for things. That and erase my penchant for eating cookies for supper, even if I do follow up with a guilt-ridden carrot stick for dessert. But that’s a whole other blog.

Perfect Returns

I’m standing outside in the library court yard enjoying a bit of fresh air and, what to me is a perfect spring day. Well almost!



Yes, it’s cloudy, but there is a hint of warmth in the air. I scan the trees on the hill side and neighbouring yards, looking for that patina of green that tells me the trees are dressing up again. There is none. My perfect spring day crumbles.


It’s not like the trees weren’t bare this morning when I walked to work. But spring happens fast in this country and I was hoping that maybe, just maybe, a few leaves would have taken the opportunity to break free and unfurl for me.


The trees are on strike, I think. Or maybe they are still in shock. This has been one of the coldest and most miserable springs I can remember. I hope it isn’t an omen.


It’s the sixth of May. The river is rising, being filled with run-off from the mountains. Why aren’t the trees at least trying? I return to my office and plunk myself down at my desk. I sigh.


I’m not much of a summer person. I don’t like excessive heat and I’m not all that fond of the bugs that come with it. Fall is my favourite season. Things cool down, the landscape is filled with bright yellows, oranges and reds, and the smell of wood smoke fills the air. I wonder why I want spring so badly today…


Perhaps it’s the fact that winter lasted so long. I don’t mind the winter, but there is a limit to the enjoyment one can get out of snow. It’s pretty when it’s fresh, but a few snow ploughs and sand trucks later, not so much. I also want to get out and clean up my yard a bit. Every time I find the time, it’s raining or the wind is so strong that raking leaves would just be pointless. I have a hankering to wash my van. I want to give the outside windows a bit of polish. I want to paint the deck rail. I want to start schlepping all the rocks out of my back yard and find the soil underneath so I can plant some grass. I want to mow the lawn. (Mental note: look for cheap lawn mower…) Oh, and I want to wear capris again. The sixth of May and I’m wearing a sweater over a shirt. I have socks on. I want to be barefoot. Before the bugs get too bad or winter returns. On the other hand, I don’t have to feel bad about not doing all that stuff and knitting instead.


I think I’ll bake cookies tonight. Chocolate chip cookies. Yes, that sounds like a cheerer-upper thing to do. Chewy, gooey, chocolate chip cookies warm from the oven with a frosty glass of milk will go ever-so-nicely with a Miss Marple mystery.


The perfect has returned!