My strange life continues… and so too will my blog and more often than once a month because Sara told me I must write more regularly. I said I would try. She says that’s okay. So, I’m gonna write this blog in an email kinda way because I like writing emails to procrastinate from what I should be doing.
There is no method to what you are about to read. It’s merely madness and consider it a peek into the usual din that lives inside my head. (Ya, don’t ask me how I make it through the day with all this going on cuz I can’t figure it out either.)
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You’re probably wondering who Sara is.
Here’s the skinny… While Warren is off gallivanting in Australia for six months, in his room now lives his girlfriend Sara. Hang on, there’s more. In the room that was supposed to be my office now lives my nephew, Spencer, who moved to Halifax to go to NSCAD.
The idea of two roomies bunking in at Duncan was a gamble.
Living with humans I am not blood related to has never gone all that well…
I am crotchety at the best of times and mostly a drill sergeant. On the flip side, two of them and one of me means a possibility they might gang up on me in a strength in numbers kinda way. (They did that last night when Sara said, on behalf of both of them, “Just cuz you own the house doesn’t mean we don’t have rights.” I stared and said, “Whatever Sara. Now one of you fill up my hot water bottle and one of you bring me my special nighty-night drink.”)
Anyway… by ‘thundering b’Jesus, this roomie thing is working. No, it’s really working, in a mutually beneficial killing a bunch of birds with one stone kinda way.
Sara and Spencer have a geographically convenient mom when they need one. Course, I don’t much cook or clean. But that’s beside the point because the point is, I am here for them, no holds barred and no questions asked. I am a their fierce Tiger mama substitute for their real mamas, if occasion calls for it. I am available for mom-hugs and maybe to cook every now and again and plus I came with a big screen TV and the comfiest couch in the world.
And me? Heck, not that I am lonely or suffering empty nest syndrome, but sure, maybe I have a mite too much Netflix time on my hands, and sure, maybe every now and again I yank out the big photo bin from under my bed for a blubberfest about how my baby boys became men so fast. (Come on though, every mom does that, right?) Anyway, turns out, a little company of the twenty-something sort is a good thing for mental health.
See, living with my roomies has multiple and unforeseen benefits. I get to do things like make movies on a Sunday afternoons just cuz (see link at bottom of post), or drive to Peggy’s Cove for lobster just cuz , or sit with Sara watch entire seasons of Friends and Sex in the City or with Spencer for The Simpsons, while explaining how the series was birthed by The Tracey Ullman Show eons ago, and yes, I watched it back then.
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Top 5 of having a Sara in the house:
- When important items such as toothpaste run out, they magically replenish, WITHOUT my assistance.
- When I am caught watching Sex in the City (again), while eating ice cream hole’d up in the corner of the couch with a blankie (again), no one yells “Turn that crap off.” Sara joins me and says, “Let’s watch another one.” And sometimes she brings a couple more bowls of ice cream.
- I no longer leave the house in age or style inappropriate clothing.
- The Tupperware cupboard is always tidy.
- Sara is teaching me very important lessons such as there are some words I no longer say because the meanings have changed, and no, even if I was born in the 60s I cannot drive better after a couple of scotches.
Top 5 of having a Spencer in the house:
- I no longer have to clean leftovers from the fridge.
- Spencer cleans the bathroom and puts out the garbage, recycling and green bin every week.
- He thinks I am smart, he likes me telling stories about when I was young, and he laughs at my jokes.
- He makes the TV work and will show me how to do it myself without first saying, “I’m going to teach you how to fish.”
- When I am sad, he tries to make me laugh and if that doesn’t work, he gives me big hugs.
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While my house was being rewired, I came home on about the third day and the electrician informed me the house had NO insulation in ANY exterior walls. I didn’t believe him. So he made me get up on the ladder and look in one of the 43 GIANT holes he put in the walls and ceiling for the rewiring, and then he flashed a light into the chasm and said, “See.”
And there I saw with thine own eyes… six inches of emptiness between the plaster and lathe of the interior walls and the wood framing of the exterior walls. Had I dropped a ball from the second floor, it would have fallen straight down and into the basement depths.
I had bought a large shed. Apparently, my inspector forgot to check for insulation.
Things work, how shall I say, differently in Halifax… Not having insulation is kinda normal. People live like this for years. Case in point, the prior owners of my house lived in my house for 46 years… sans insulation. Thinking they must have somehow been comfortable, I figured, okay, maybe I should give it a try.
And then it got cold.
The 35+ year old OIL furnace starting groaning and wispy wafts of heat starting blowing up through the registers, and also from the holes and gaps in the wood flooring, but the house never got warm. I turned the furnace up higher. It was chugging nonstop, and we kept shivering nonstop, donning triple sweaters and trudging around with blankets and scarves.
And so, instead of replacing the 35+ year old inefficient furnace as I had intended to do, a couple weeks ago I had the (un)pleasure of spending thou$and$ of dollar$ to get in$ulation blown into the empty walls.
It fun like buying a new vacuum is fun, except ten times the money.
One day Spencer found an apple with a bite out of it sitting on the counter, with the bite right beside it. A few days later, Spencer and Sara came home and found an apple in the fruit dish which had imploded, from the inside out, though still hanging together. No one owned up to the apple business…
A few weeks ago, I was sitting in the main floor sitting room and heard a moving around kinda noises upstairs. I figured it was Sara. When it got quiet, I called upstairs for her. She wasn’t up there. She wasn’t even home.
Last week, Sara was in the family room, watching a movie with the door closed and heard someone jiggling the doorknob. She figured it was Spencer, and when she got up and asked him about it, he said it wasn’t him. She went to bed a little later and heard scratching on the door. Assuming it was Spencer, she yelled “Go away,” and the scratching stopped. Later, when he went to brush his teeth, she found out it wasn’t him.
So what I am saying is this: We have a ghost, but it’s a nice ghost. As we find out more about our ghost, I’ll keep you in the loop.
I have a very skinny driveway. Actually, I have the skinniest driveway I have ever seen in my life. I’ve been told the driveway is skinny cuz they’re not making any more land on the peninsula, so all houses must be squished up super close, with super skinny driveways.
My car is small, but not small enough. If I don’t push in my side mirrors, I run the risk of scraping off the paint on either my or my neighbour’s house. How do I know this? Well, my side mirrors now have colourful new stripes on them from scraping the paint off the side of my house and my neighbour’s house.
Course, I should be grateful for even having a driveway since on the peninsula driveways are actually a luxury item. Then again, so are garages. Course, so is having more than one bathroom (there is no translation for the word en suite )… So are other things I used to believe were necessities of life back in Ontario… like water softeners… air conditioning… gas heat… I could go on. Also, EVERYTHING, just everything is more expensive than in the province of plenty (the Onterrible centre of the universe). Apparently, I’ve been told this is Nova Scotia Scenery Tax for living in this gorgeous province. (Taxes NOT applicable in Ontario.)
It’s the “It’s not you, it’s me” thing. See, so far I still love Halifax—the life, the people, the culture. The problem is me… my jokes are wearing thin, and my eccentricities are noticed. My spit and shine are fading, and I fully expect I will be tossed to the curb when the next Ontario runaway arrives.
Where will I go next?
And the rest.
- There is a hole in the floor in second floor hallway of our house that, although strange, is handy for moviemaking.
- My bedroom has a fake heat register covering a hole in the floor.
- The toilet sits on a raised platform such that when in a seated position, your feet dangle about 6 – 8 inches off the floor, depending on the length of your legs.
- The garage door operates via a pulley system made out of a hunk of metal venting.
- The garage door can kill you if standing too close while opening due to metal venting pulley system.
- When opening the garage door and metal venting pulley system malfunctions, it is possible to put you had through a pane of glass and not cut yourself. I did.
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On another topic…
I’m getting better at detecting the nuances of East Coast accents, now that I know there are about 97 different accents in the Atlantic provinces. I can almost differentiate between South Shore and Pictou County in Nova Scotia, Newfoundland (B’jeeus) from PEI, but most especially and easy-peasiest, I can pick out those from Cape Breton.
How to know someone hales from Cape Breton…
- Used most liberally, *uck acts as a noun, adjective, adverb and verb in all conversations, just cuz, and amazingly, when uttered by 83-year old grandmas or 7-year old kids, it never sounds like potty mouth.
- The use of the word “yeah” while breathing in. At first, I wasn’t sure if it was a throat clearing, hiccup or heart attack. No, this is just how Cape Breton’s say “yeah.” They say it WHILE taking in a big gulp of air. It’s weird but I’m getting used to it.
PS Don’t EVER try to do this on your own cuz you may pass out and if you don’t believe me either read about it Gaelic Gasp or visit and hear it for yourself.)
Karalee quotes on running away from home…
Just cuz I bought a house doesn’t mean I’ve settled down or figured out what the hell I am doing.
People will become your friend if you stalk them long enough. (No restraining orders issued against me, yet.)
Working in a brewery is like winning the lottery, except no one asks you for money (they only want beer).
Ya ya… I’m a runaway, but who would ‘a thought it would be this much fun?
To be continued…
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Link to our recent movie made in honour of Cary’s girlfriend Myra’s 30th birthday. B’day Video