Oh It Delivers

This evening, I felt particularly happy as I walked across campus. The grounds were a lushy green, the blossoms smelled gorgeous and the temperature was perfect.

Suddenly I became aware that in the midst of great beauty, I was whistling the tune from a 1990s Meow Mix commercial.

I understand myself to be the type of person who always has a song running through her head. But not until this evening did I realize how often I whistle/sing/hum that particular "melody". It's as though the Meow Mix commercial is the theme song of my personal soundtrack.



I sometimes sing it around supper time when Kyle asks me what I want to eat. Tonight after a heartfelt pre-dinner solo, I got specific and requested chicken livers...but instead we had an uninspired meal of asparagus, salad, and honey nut cheerios.

Chiseled

On Thursday I had my first class of "Chiseled", a weight training class offered through the university. Yes, it's called chiseled...which is what I will be in just six short weeks.

Even though I kept up with the rest of the class, I had to cheat my way through more than a few of the exercises and shook so much that I nearly fell over several times. Meanwhile, fifty-year-old women floated gracefully beside me, effortlessly lifting one another into the air with one arm.

By the end of the class, I was feeling very sweaty and humble despite being more chiseled than I was a mere 50 minutes before. As I bent over to pick up my equipment, I was so tired that I somehow lost control of my jaw. Time slowed as chewing gum fell from my mouth and landed on top of one of the weights. I was too mortified to look around and see if anyone noticed as I peeled my gum from the free weight.

......

Hopefully nobody was looking but still...why do I have to be the gross kid at Chiseled?

How to Make Coffee that Could be Considered a Crime Against Humanity

Step 1: Start off by purchasing the cheapest coffee you can find. Buy 3 containers of it to "earn" 15 Air miles at Safeway.

Step 2: As you put the coffee into the machine, activate Bleeding Heart. Feel guilty about the fact that this is probably the least fair-trade coffee you could have bought. Contemplate the tiny youthful fingers that spend their days picking low-quality coffee beans rather than holding pencils.

Step 3: Don't measure the amount of tepid tap water you're putting into the machine. Avoid using a proper tablespoon to measure the grinds. Lose track of how many you've put in.

Step 4: Be impatient. Pour the coffee into your cup before it's finished brewing.

Step 5: Consider the black hole you've poured into your cup.

Step 6: After pouring in all of the cream you could find in the fridge, taste your brew. Because it's so horribly strong, pour the coffee with cream back into the coffee pot. Add an unknown quantity of water to the top of the machine.

Step 7: Notice that you put in way too much water. Lift the top of the coffee machine, getting steam burns while rapidly tossing in wildly inappropriate amounts of coffee grinds.

Step 8: Pour coffee with cooked cream back into cup. Taste coffee so strong that it probably could have poured itself for you.

Step 9: Boil water in the kettle. Add hot water to your cup in an attempt to make the coffee less tarry and chewy.

........

Step 10: Give up on the "brewing" process.

Step 11: Add some milk (as all of the cream is gone) and a boatload of sugar.

.............

Step 12: Drink the coffee. Feel it pummel your digestive system and consider your wicked stomach ache punishment for

a) being a nard who doesn't measure things

b) buying Nabob and assisting "The Man" in his never-ending quest to keep the little guy down

Spring!

I am loving spring, taking joy from fresh blossoms and warmer days. Last week I stopped to look at the new crocuses on the hillside and thought of how this will be the first spring that my Grandma Pope won't be alive to enjoy them. Crocuses always remind me of her.

As usual, I've had my eyes peeled for ducklings and goslings on the river near our house. Yesterday while running by the river I spotted the first goslings of spring. They were insanely cute and I wanted to walk down the bank for a closer look. Unfortunately, they were guarded by their freaky, hissing Canadian Goose parents whose beady little eyes are constantly calculating how much force it would take to break my forearm. I can't wait for baby ducks!

30 Days to Decide

Last week I bought a little rug to put on our front step. I got it in the morning and put it out before Kyle came home for lunch. The first thing he said when he walked through the door was: "Yuck! Who gave us that ugly thing at front of the door?"

Like a good man, he quickly back-peddled when I told him that I had in fact made a conscious decision to bring this hideous object into our lives. According to Kyle's second appraisal of the rug, it isn't so bad, especially considering that it's just for people to wipe their feet on. He just hasn't really liked "that colour" since he went through a teal phase grade six. I guess teal is so 1992.

Then our friend Bjorn came over for dinner and I asked him to vote on whether I should return the rug. According to Bjorn, "it looks like something you would throw away after finding it in your grandma's basement." That sparked a bunch more jokes about my other old lady loves such as prune-flavoured yogurt and lentils.

But I still like the rug. And I bought it at Urban Barn, so it must be cool. What do you think? Should it go back from whence it came?

Where Have All the Underwears Gone?

I have a very bad habit of not putting my underwear and socks away after they're washed. Instead, I just bring the hamper into our room and use it like a wonderfully portable sixth drawer. Kyle lives in a constant state of confusion as to which of my clothes are clean and which are dirty.

Recently, I've felt unsettled by the fact that I seem to have much less underwear than I used to. I swear that I could go for at least three weeks without running out of underwear but now, one week after doing laundry, it's slim pickin's in the sixth drawer/hamper. I've searched high and low and can't figure out where they've gone.

I had a friend whose chihuahua used to steal the dirty underwear from her hamper and eat it. But Chaz hasn't been here in a few weeks and I've never found any evidence of munched undies.

And then you always hear about socks vanishing in the dryer but never whole pairs of underwear...

Very strange.