Hubby and I returned Monday after going on a two-week vacation where we explored Quebec City, the Gaspe Peninsula, Prince Edward Island (PEI), and the Cabot Trail in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, which meant the young man (age 21 in 19 days) and middle child (age 23) had to feed themselves, do laundry, water my garden, pick daily from the garden, water house plants, feed and walk the dogs, pick up the mail and well you get the picture.
The young man easily made pasta for himself (a lot), ate the large lasagna I had frozen for a future family meal, okay, he did share with a friend, well middle child ate a lot of eggs. At one point before a soccer game she was to play with her sister, she sent her the following text, and took a screen shot for mom and dad:
Meanwhile one of the meals we were having, mussels in a lovely wine sauce with cornbread:
The weather has been up and down lately, cold, warm, snow, rain, etc., you really never know what to wear when you leave the house. However this past Tuesday, the weather was warm enough that I decided to wear my running shoes to the dog park. Now when I say warm enough, I mean around 1° Celsius, 34° Fahrenheit for my American followers, Canadians will leave the hat and mittens at home, put on the running shoes instead of winter boots, and leave our coat zipper down. The ground was still frozen, so I wasn’t worried about muddy shoes or paws.
The dogs were running here and there, well Cocoa was mostly walking beside me, until he would see another dog that he decided was a threat to Bear. Cocoa is Bear’s bodyguard, which is quite funny, being that Cocoa is half the size of him, and certainly cannot run anywhere near as fast as Bear can. Cocoa also doesn’t really understand Bear play fighting with other dogs, he thinks Bear is being hurt, so he is right there to defend him.
We rarely take more than two walks around the entire dog park because of Cocoa’s arthritis, and of course mine. Lately we haven’t been doing the usual circle because this leash free dog park is prone to flooding, so there is a lot of water on the ground after the snow melts. Then of course the ground freezes again, leaving ice everywhere. On this particular day, I saw the dogs running across the ice so I figured it would hold me too. Ha! (Afterthought: the combined weight of Bear and Cocoa is less than what I weigh).
I put my one foot on the ice, it holds, I put my other foot on the ice, and then I start to hear the cracks. (Now before I scare the heck out of my readers, this is a very, very small creek that I am crossing, most could run and hop over it, but I can’t; it is also only a foot or so deep). My right foot falls through the ice, seconds later left goes under. My right is wet up to the middle of my shin, whereas the left is only wet up to my ankle. I easily pull my right up out of the ice, but my left is more difficult. The ice is broken like shards of glass, and they are poking into my ankle. Thankfully my thick sock and jeans are protecting my ankle from being cut. I finally get my foot out of the water, but both my feet are now frozen solid. The walk is over, and I’m off home to warm up.
Note to self: next time remember the dogs are lighter than I.
For the past nine years or so we have been going to our local Christmas tree farm in order to chop down a tree to grace our living room (we are not in agreement for the actual number of times we have cut a tree down). Over the years we have had trees of various heights and widths, but this year we seemed to have outdone ourselves with the height of the tree. The blue tag on the tree told us it was over 8 feet tall. The other members of the family were not thrilled that I wanted such a large tree, well actually just my husband and son, since they were the ones left with the responsibility of cutting the tree down, carrying it to be tied up, and then paid for. I wanted such a tall tree, so hubby could cut off approximately two feet, in order for me to be creative and make a couple of wreaths for our front and side doors.
Well walking towards the area where we would eventually find a tree, there are a number of places you can take silly pictures (silly only because we are all adults).
After the snapshot of us being snowman, middle child sent the picture to her sister, with the caption “you have been voted off the island”. The eldest was the brunt of many jokes during our Christmas tree hunting, and was blamed for our past difficulties with picking a tree, especially since we agreed in record time this year.
There were not a lot of trees left on the farm, making it necessary for us to walk quite a long way. The main rule for choosing a tree is we all must be in agreement. Trying to have five individuals agree on the right tree is not an easy task, though this year, there were only the four of us, since the eldest moved out (she had taken her boyfriend to the same Christmas tree farm a week earlier).
After choosing our tree, and placing it in the van (yes it did fit, though the stump was beside me in the front seat), we headed over to their Christmas store so we could each buy ourselves a gift. Hubby chose a bird for his Christmas bird collection, the young man a fire truck ornament, I, a snowman, and middle child picked a lovely plate I had been admiring. When we arrived home, she gave me the Christmas plate.
Hubby’s new addition is the bird hanging from the Blue Jay. The Cardinal which he purchased last year, chirps when you walk by, driving all of us crazy, except of course my husband. Surprisingly the chirping doesn’t even faze the dogs.
Last is a picture of the Christmas wreath, which is a work in progress (please excuse the mess in the basement). It too may be a tad large!