Staring down the dawn

Squeak. Squeak. SQUEAK.

Damn that stair. It gives me away every single morning but if I’m quiet enough, if I can just tiptoe through the skimpy dawn I will have time. Something will occur to me. Some scrap I can work with and scribble down on the page and spin from. It will. I know it will. There is hope.

At this hour there is no duty. I leave the dishes in the sink (the dishwasher is broken) and open the kitchen blinds. The sky is revealing no secrets in this scant light. The day could go either way. Surely this will be the day the sun makes a peace offering? The coffee is unmade, there are crumbs on the kitchen table but mercifully no mouse in the trap. No plans made yet. The dog sleeps on his oversized bed one ear flopped open. The dog dish is empty. Continue reading

Golden year

“I grow old…I grow old…
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.” (The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot)

This week I have been trembling with excitement. Sometimes when I’m lying in bed at night it feels like my heart is trying to make a break for it. Pound its way out of my chest, leave a slick red trail across the white sheets and thud its way out the door looking for a transplant victim. Searching for a younger body, one where the breasts don’t need a winch and the butt a double skin of Spanx to lift and separate the cheeks back into their discrete selves instead of the uniglobe amalgam of silly putty and orange peel they have become. Continue reading

The perfect is the enemy of the good

Adoption discussions are passionate. People involved are highly invested individuals and groups and there’s a lot of emotional, psychological and, some argue, financial real estate at stake. Two adoptee blogs were recently Freshly Pressed and they got me to thinking.

Marriage is a fatally flawed institution that is the root of most societies’ ailments. I think for the improvement of humanity this rotting corpse of a tradition must be turned into compost and allowed to feed the worms of every dysfunctional offspring it has grown in its garden of misery. Continue reading

The omnivore’s tour of Newfoundland and Nova Scotia

Travel is broadening, especially so when you travel with an omnivore like my husband. An indiscriminate eater (which, by the way, makes for a happy marriage) he is also lucky to have the metabolism of a black fly. Unfortunately I do not share his fat burning capacity and thus when I travel with the ol’ fella, I broaden.

Over the course of 14 days he consumed

  • 6 plates of fish and chips
  • 2 bowls of creamy fish chowder
  • one lobster dinner
  • fish cakes and chips
  • 8-10 pieces of pie (raisin, apple, strawberry rhubarb, lemon meringue)
  • homemade tea biscuits and fresh bread toasted and soaked in butter
  • waffles and syrup, sausage and bacon
  • gallons of locally brewed ales.

You only live once, right? Best to go out on a full stomach.

At the Halifax farmers’ market he digested samosas, spring rolls, cupcakes, and saltwater taffy. He lugged a six-pack of Garrison Irish Cannon Red up and down the hills of Halifax all day so we could have a brew in our hotel in the evening.

Then there’s “cheese o’clock”. A cherished ritual at home, it continued on the 2014 family road trip to the Maritimes. Just as the Brits had high tea during the Raj, so must my dear man persist in his snack habit no matter where, no matter when. Comfort at the Comfort Inn in spite of the cramped quarters. An ale and a slab of cheddar on a saltine. The blue cheese we purchased at the grocery store in Halifax was carted to Louisbourg, then Baddeck and lastly Ingonish changing from a warmish blue to a suspect green. Potential ptomaine bedamned. Cheese o’clock must continue!

Stuffed to the gills following a feast at the Red Shoe Pub in Mabou, Cape Breton which concluded with a banana split built on a base of a homemade macaroon piled with sauteed bananas, warm butterscotch sauce, and topped with fresh whip cream, we returned to our charming but minuscule room at the Mabou River Inn. I lay on the bed loosening my shorts to give my gut room to expand. He crossed the hallway to the communal fridge and retrieved the Havarti.

“Time for a bedtime snack – cheese o’clock!”

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