Monday, December 28, 2009
My Favorite Present....By Far!
I hope everyone's Christmas was a fabulous as mine and that they were surrounded by family, food and friends (unless that was not what they wanted, in which case, they were surrounded by movies and Chinese food).
Thursday, December 24, 2009
![[bathtub.png]](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoNyC25h2bZOY0YWXNguda-6t54B6TSu3i7mp64p6LohkyLpxnZA5Rr00jh70E4YW7ePmtZXerKL2HCJlZSgc6prNOgNhH08v2htFZDWgFwSdpv4ZXzd08AvfpYp7Gn_7cFcsXKO5y9vA_/s1600/bathtub.png)
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Dogs + Strollers = Madness
Dear Lady at the Bulk Barn With a Dog in her Stroller Who is Standing Ahead of Me and Talking WAAAAY Too Loudly on Her Cellphone While the Rest of Us Are Trying to Go Crazy from Bruce Springsteen Screaming at Us That "SAAAAA- nta Claus is Coming to Town!" -
Stop it.
Let your dog run. That's what he wants to do.
How do I know? Well, he keeps banging up against the mesh.
Just sayin'.
Stop it.
Let your dog run. That's what he wants to do.
How do I know? Well, he keeps banging up against the mesh.
Just sayin'.
Friday, December 18, 2009
A Christmas Killing
This week has been insane with pre-Christmas preparations. Insane, I tell you! Between the cards and the shopping and the wrapping and the concerts, it's been a real bind trying to fit in my shortcake cookie bingeing.
When I get to feeling crazy rather than committing myself to a saner course of behavior, I do a strange thing: I focus on a task that will lead to even more crazy. It's just what seems to work for me.
Let me back up a bit. Several weeks ago, I woke up to feed the cat and found several small mouse-droppings deposited around the sealed can we keep the cat's grub in. When I first spied them, my philosophical mind calmly appraised the situation and concluded, Hey! Such are the perils of living in a 130 year old house.
Fine. The days rolled by. The mouse dropping persisted. I cleaned them up dutifully and tried to remind myself to set the trap, a reminder which quickly and swiftly drowned in the sea of Christmas crap that has become my brain. And then it nibbled at the $40 worth of fixing I'd purchased at the bulk store to make homemade granola (as gifts, of course. Gifts!) Sullying the granola, Intraweb, was just a bridge to far. That's when I set the trap.
The first night it licked the peanut butter off of the trap without being caught. Okay. That can happen, I guess. The next night, I doubled the amount and woke up to an empty trap. Again. Oh, it's ON! I thought. So I covered the trap, Intraweb. Saturated it with Skippy. That did the trick.
Success!
When my husband came down, I proudly announced that I'd killed the mouse that had been tormenting my fragile psychic balance . Oh, yeah, and could he also kindly get rid of said mouse. Sure, he said. It was the least he could do. That's when he informed me that I had killed not one but two mice.
"Yeah," he said, as he lifted the impaled mouse towards the trash. "One in the trap ad one just dead BESIDE the trap." Huh?!
"I think this one just died of grief."
Let the Christmas drinking begin.
When I get to feeling crazy rather than committing myself to a saner course of behavior, I do a strange thing: I focus on a task that will lead to even more crazy. It's just what seems to work for me.
Let me back up a bit. Several weeks ago, I woke up to feed the cat and found several small mouse-droppings deposited around the sealed can we keep the cat's grub in. When I first spied them, my philosophical mind calmly appraised the situation and concluded, Hey! Such are the perils of living in a 130 year old house.
Fine. The days rolled by. The mouse dropping persisted. I cleaned them up dutifully and tried to remind myself to set the trap, a reminder which quickly and swiftly drowned in the sea of Christmas crap that has become my brain. And then it nibbled at the $40 worth of fixing I'd purchased at the bulk store to make homemade granola (as gifts, of course. Gifts!) Sullying the granola, Intraweb, was just a bridge to far. That's when I set the trap.
The first night it licked the peanut butter off of the trap without being caught. Okay. That can happen, I guess. The next night, I doubled the amount and woke up to an empty trap. Again. Oh, it's ON! I thought. So I covered the trap, Intraweb. Saturated it with Skippy. That did the trick.
Success!
When my husband came down, I proudly announced that I'd killed the mouse that had been tormenting my fragile psychic balance . Oh, yeah, and could he also kindly get rid of said mouse. Sure, he said. It was the least he could do. That's when he informed me that I had killed not one but two mice.
"Yeah," he said, as he lifted the impaled mouse towards the trash. "One in the trap ad one just dead BESIDE the trap." Huh?!
He paused here for affect and pointed at the un-smushed one.
"I think this one just died of grief."
Let the Christmas drinking begin.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Holy Mess
Dear Woman Who Just Left This Bathroom Stall,
What the holy hell just happened in here?! My brain is racing through the possibilities. Did you splay starfish-style against the walls of the stall and misfire? Did you decide to practice a little Pilates while you had some downtime?
Only moments before, we made eye contact as you passed. I made note of your cute shoes and age- appropriate haircut. Now here I stand ankle deep in your urine, wiping down the toilet seat and wishing for a HAZMAT suit.
How is all of this even physically possible?
Let me be clear: if you continue to do this - leave filthy messes for complete strangers despite being in your mid- to late- thirties - someone is going to point it out to you. Perhaps even write you up in a blog on the intraweb in the hopes that you will come to your senses and snap out of the fact that you do NOT have a penis and CANNOT pee standing up. Get me?
In the meantime, I'll be here with a roll of toilet paper wrapped around my hand mopping up a grown person's mess.
K'Thanks.
Laura Francis
What the holy hell just happened in here?! My brain is racing through the possibilities. Did you splay starfish-style against the walls of the stall and misfire? Did you decide to practice a little Pilates while you had some downtime?
Only moments before, we made eye contact as you passed. I made note of your cute shoes and age- appropriate haircut. Now here I stand ankle deep in your urine, wiping down the toilet seat and wishing for a HAZMAT suit.
How is all of this even physically possible?
Let me be clear: if you continue to do this - leave filthy messes for complete strangers despite being in your mid- to late- thirties - someone is going to point it out to you. Perhaps even write you up in a blog on the intraweb in the hopes that you will come to your senses and snap out of the fact that you do NOT have a penis and CANNOT pee standing up. Get me?
In the meantime, I'll be here with a roll of toilet paper wrapped around my hand mopping up a grown person's mess.
K'Thanks.
Laura Francis
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Uniforms
If someone told me I had to choose one thing to wear for the rest of my life I would probably choose this outfit.
The skirt. The hat. The jacket. It all works.
It is also almost 100 years old, so I know it would last.
Plus, I am forever wondering whether the outfits I'm wearing are appropriate for registering woman for the vote. With this one? No worries.
The skirt. The hat. The jacket. It all works.
It is also almost 100 years old, so I know it would last.
Plus, I am forever wondering whether the outfits I'm wearing are appropriate for registering woman for the vote. With this one? No worries.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Best Books of 2009
This weekend's book section of The Globe and Mail marked the beginning of a sea of "Best of" lists that will appear in print and on screens in the coming weeks.
"Best of" lists are usually compiled just before Christmas and despite their ubiquitous appearance this time of year, they are universally reviled by the more cynical among us because they seem mostly manufactured to move "merch" off of the shelves of your local big box bookstore.
I actually like these lists. They are a reminder of all of the books I've read that year and of all the book I can still read if I hunker down and willfully ignore all of my family and friends needs. It's just what you want to do right around Xmas, non?
Here is my pick for the two best reads - fiction and non - for 2009:
Small Beneath the Sky by Lorna Crozier
This was, by far, the best non-fiction book I read this year. It is a memoir of growing up on the Canadian prairies in the late 50's and early 60's. Crozier is a Governor-General Award winning poet but her prose is equally as powerful. There is intimacy and humor in the retelling of her life with her family. The details are loving woven together, the language is rich but most of all, the book is deeply moving.
The Help by Katherine Stockett
I picked up this book after reading a profile of the first-time author in the New York Times. She spoke about growing up white in the South and how it was not uncommon to be raised by a black woman who you loved but knew nothing about. Her book, told from the perspective of 3 black maids circa 1959, was a risky choice to have made for a first-time writer, but the choice was inspired and well-executed. I read the book in 2 days, wept my face off and then promptly started passing it around amongst friends and family. The mere fact that it hasn't spent more than a week on my book shelf is a testament to the writing and ultimate success of the book which has been on the New York Times Bestseller list for more than 40 weeks. Hurrah! It is meant to be passed around and treasured.
"Best of" lists are usually compiled just before Christmas and despite their ubiquitous appearance this time of year, they are universally reviled by the more cynical among us because they seem mostly manufactured to move "merch" off of the shelves of your local big box bookstore.
I actually like these lists. They are a reminder of all of the books I've read that year and of all the book I can still read if I hunker down and willfully ignore all of my family and friends needs. It's just what you want to do right around Xmas, non?
Here is my pick for the two best reads - fiction and non - for 2009:
Small Beneath the Sky by Lorna Crozier
This was, by far, the best non-fiction book I read this year. It is a memoir of growing up on the Canadian prairies in the late 50's and early 60's. Crozier is a Governor-General Award winning poet but her prose is equally as powerful. There is intimacy and humor in the retelling of her life with her family. The details are loving woven together, the language is rich but most of all, the book is deeply moving.
The Help by Katherine Stockett
I picked up this book after reading a profile of the first-time author in the New York Times. She spoke about growing up white in the South and how it was not uncommon to be raised by a black woman who you loved but knew nothing about. Her book, told from the perspective of 3 black maids circa 1959, was a risky choice to have made for a first-time writer, but the choice was inspired and well-executed. I read the book in 2 days, wept my face off and then promptly started passing it around amongst friends and family. The mere fact that it hasn't spent more than a week on my book shelf is a testament to the writing and ultimate success of the book which has been on the New York Times Bestseller list for more than 40 weeks. Hurrah! It is meant to be passed around and treasured.
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