Divination by Apples

Way back in the stone ages- (in the 70's and early 80's when I was a kid), there were many tried and true divination methods used for determining your future spouse. Since most of us were saddled with apples in our lunches most of the time, apple prediction became a popular pasttime. The idea was to hold your apple, then turn the stem, with each turn saying one alphabet letter. Then when the stem popped out, that was the first letter of your future partner's first name. No matter what I did, I always managed to get either the Letter E, or the letter C as the first one, and always the letter B . Which bugged me as a child because the only person I knew with the initials EB was my grandfather. Certainly not the boy I had a crush on from SK to Gr6! At any rate, I wrote the whole apple thing off as a fraud. Until grade 10, when I fell in highschool love with a boy who had the initials CB. Ahhh, a match made in heaven! And it lasted right up until the end of the school year. le sigh. Then for over two years I dated a bad letter combo, MH. What on earth I was thinking, I really can't say. I escaped that abuse finally and promptly met a CB- hooray! Sweet guy, tutored me in Math, which I wanted to upgrade. And then he had the nerve to move. Not just to another town, but he moved to Ireland for University. That was back in the days before the computer and the internet. Keeping in touch meant horrid cross atlantic phone calls. We parted as great friends- Then another bad choice ...or a few...then an LB. Pretty close right? L could be mistaken for C if your handwriting was shite and you squinted. That relationship only lasted until third year University, the power of the predicting apples was so strong! Shortly after that one ended, I met a guy, he was a friend of an acquaintance i had met once, my ex-boyfriend's twin brother's ex-girlfriend's ex room mate's friend to be exact- not my type really- His name turned out to be Ed. Last name started with a B. It also turned out his first name on his birth certificate started with a C. So, covering all the bases there, EB, CB. I would like to say, we lived happily ever after-but the apples of my childhood couldn't guarantee that I suppose. We did get married after we knew each other almost 6 weeks. We are still together almost 17 years, and 4 kids later, so hey who knows. maybe those apples knew what they were doing when their little stems twisted off in the E or C spot each time! And no, I didn't plan my life around the apple, it just amuses me that things worked out this way.

I used to travel up north every summer as a child to visit my Grandparents who lived in Sudbury, Ontario. My Dad grew up there, spending his summers swimming in lake Ramsey, or out at their cottage on Lake Penage- Don't picture anything too fancy, it hadn't changed much by 1998 when it was sold, from how it looked back when it was built in the 1930s or so. (i'll have to ask my dad about what year it was). Anyway, as time went on, the cottage became more accessible by road-I imagine when my dad was a kid it was probably a dirt track going in. When i was a kid you had to walk down from the main road, close to the length of a city block, down a steep hill. Trust me, we tried not to forget anything in the car- plus with bears around, who wanted to be alone running back up there to get it?! As you came down the hill you passed the outhouse, then finally the cottage, built into the side of the rocky northern landscape-. It was a white log cabin like structure with a porch on it,( red as far as I remember)Luckily there was a porch or else we kids would no doubt have fallen and rolled down the hill every time we stepped outside, because that walkway to the water and boathouse/steambath was plenty steep and rocky. Surrounded by pine trees, and the rocky northern landscape,it is burned into my memory, and I wish that my grandparents hadn't insisted on it being sold after my Grandmother's death. The Sudbury of my childhood had very few trees,though by my teen years increasing the height of the big nickle mine smokestack has caused a resurgence in the tree population, and it wasn't as bleak. But still, visits to my grandparent's house were not as fun for us as visiting them at the cottage. We would all tumble out of the sweltering station wagon, hauling pillows and suitcases and make our way down the hill where my grandparent's dog Korky would come racing out barking. My grandmother always seemed to dress the same at the cottage (camp actually. People out there called them camps. I guess because they were hunting camps when they started using them- my grandfather actually had a heart attack while the two of them were deer hunting out there on the icy lake- naturally in the days before phones out there, they weren't able to reach help in time) Anyway, invariably she would come out, a neat tidy woman wearing her slacks or sometimes camp shorts, white socks, white biway sneakers, a cardigan or blouse (depending on how hot it was), and sometimes her white camp hat-tilley style! Her hard little rounded belly when we hugged- and how she seemed to shrink as I got older, caught up and passed her in height finally. You entered into a super organized kitchen, which in turn opened into the other main room which had two walls that were almost all windows (weirdly enough, they didn't open! just tiny circles a the bottom, which had a flip piece of wood that covered them up when it got too chilly. I don't recall it ever being too hot though, except at night). My grandparent's bed was in the corner of the room, away from the windows, on the same side as the cabinets that held the dishes, cutlery, and other cottage necessities. There was a tiny black and white tv that didn't get any channels. A radio from before they invented FM, and the other side of the room held a large table, big enough to fit 8 of us, and afreezer, chock full of food- The one bedroom was through there, we slept in there in bunk beds, the four of us kids, two per bed. I'm guessing that the room was about 7 by 8 at the very most, likely not quite that large even. In later years there was a bedroom added, in an enclosed porch outside , but I only slept in it one or two visits that i recall, with my grandmother. I was terrified of bears coming in and barely slept between the fear and the constant drone of mosquitos. Whenever i was assigned the top bunk in the little room, i would lay awake for hours because the light from over the table shone right in through the window, right into my face-while my parents and grandparents played seemingly endless games of euchre and twenty one. That's something I totally miss about the cottage, cribbage, twenty one, euchre with my grandparents. we really only went there for 2 weeks or so each summer, after we got the haying done, but i have so many memories. One time a baby bear had gotten up a tree right by the cottage door, and there was the risk in case the mama bear was still in the area- Underneath cottage, built into the hill was a big storage area- fridge etc. I'm not sure that my grandparents could close it off, but i feel like the wood and lots of outdoor stuff was stored down there. I used to make my way across the giant rocks along the shore, to the steep rockface just to the right from the camp, between ours and pitkethleys' and pick blueberries from the scrubby little bushes up top. I liked perching up there looking out at the lake, across to the island there, pretending I was the only one around. My favourite thing though was the boathouse which also housed the steam bath. There were bunk beds down there for guests, and my parents usually slept down there- Sometimes i swear I still smell the cedar in the steambath woodstove, heating the rocks to a sizzle- getting to toss a cupful of water onto them was a treat- we'd lay on the benches in there, cool damp wash cloths on our faces , trying to stay cool and remain in there as long as the adults. Then, the door banging shut behind us, we'd race out, feet slapping on the paving stone path, racing across the cement pad to the diving board or water's edge and plunging into the clear chilly lake. In the woods just outside the steam bath , but near the "beach" was where my grandparents parked the little aluminum boat that belonged to my dad, and also where my grandfather (step grandpa really) was often found cleaning fish, in his green workman pants, plaid shirt and fedora hat. Sometimes early mornings he and I would go out fishing, zipping across the lake in the silence of the dawn. I don't think I ever really caught much other than rock bass, but my grandpa would bring back some fish, and we'd be have fresh fried fish for breakfast along with the mountain of toast, bacon and stuff my grandmother used to put out. As I got older, I used to love just sitting on the dock I don't think I realised I missed it this much- One sound that can transport me there is the sound of leaves on the wind. that Rushing sounds that northern trees make, starts far away and building as it reaches the shore, wooshing away over the water. If you haven't heard it, I'm afraid I'm not a good enough writer to convey it. It's a poignant sound to me, one I've come to associate with the end of the summer. When asked to come up with a happiest memory, that is what popped into my head. The sounds I would hear laying in my bunk at night- the rush of the trees, the wind racing though them towards the water, the lapping of the waves on the rocky shore, and the Johnathan G bumping against the sides of the boathouse. I still remember how it felt, to awaken, feeling as though i was on the water, the bunk seeming to rock with the waves- Lake Penage, i miss you so!

Travel time!

The long awaited moment of our summer had finally arrived- the car was packed, the kids were up and we were ready to hit the road- Destination: Port Clyde, Maine!
About 12 kms into the trip my dd2 asked "Are we there yet?" -and not for the last time either.
Only about 1200kms remaining!
By the time we reached our stop for the night, which was roughly halfway I was thinking about buying earplugs and maybe a plane ticket for myself.
We stayed two nights in my In Laws trailer/motorhome. The kids swam at the beach, my hubby went fishing with his dad and the kids and I hung out with their Memere (their grandma Sheila), which they always enjoy.
Then early Sunday morning we were back on the road. It was just after 8:30 when we cleared Montreal. We felt we were making pretty good time.
Winding through the mountains, we saw some beautiful scenery (as we blindly followed my gps down some bizarre side roads). It was gorgeous, but there was no where to stop to pee, or eat which is kind of a necessity when travelling with 4 kids.
We came to the border in Caanan Vt without barely any warning. It was a tiny little booth, with one car ahead of us and a fantastic view of the mountains which had fog curling around their tops-
The nice border officer let us use the toilet there (thank goodness!) We were out of Vermont within 2 or 3 minutes and into NH.
It was a while before we came upon the next thing resembling civilization- a store called LL Cote in NH. We ate at subway because we had no real option for anything else, and kept on moving.
It was about 5 when we were an hour away from the cottage, so we stopped at Target to buy some milk and food supplies. A short jaunt down the tiny little highway (can you even call that a highway?), a million cries of I have to pee ( now!!!), 89 kms later and we were there-
Totally worth it. Perched on a point out in the ocean, Port Clyde is a very picturesque area which reminds me very much of Northern ontario, but with ocean views, and lobsters and quaint towns instead of mines and lakes. We unpacked, and immediately hit the beach as the tide was out- sweet relief to be out of the car, believe me! This was our first view of the beach on our street-

SAHM -synonym for lonely, or maybe acronym for Sits At Home Moping

When i thought of stay at home mom's ,before I was one, I pictured cutesy groups of lululemon sportin' moms with their styling kids having coffee and hanging at the park, or the beach, their houses, whatever. Sipping icey drinks,laughing,like yaya sisterhood of the travelling pants ( a combo of the fun,faith, and loyalty of the two movies).
I imagined myself with friends to hang with, bounce momtastic ideas off, our kids would be like siblings in their familiarity and comfort level in one another's homes.
Alas, it is not so. Finding friends is like dating. You have to attract them, have similar values and time availabilites.Thankfully you don't have to worry they will want you to put out at the end of every playdate.
I have lost more than one friend through their return to their career,(or moving away, or divorcing and moving away.) followed by the insane busy lifestyle that goes along with that.
It is hard not to worry that it is me and I am just unfriendable. The thin fancy moms have zero trouble finding a clique that wants to hang out a few times a week, hosting playdates, taking walks,joining school council together, or just doing whatever.
I have tried all the traditional mom meeting methods. Parks, playgroups, classes,school. My dd's jk class was almost exclusively bussed last year. Try getting to know other parents then!
The plain truth is I am so brutally lonely and my kids are never the right age group to ones that attend the same classes as us. Or they are only available evenings/ weekends, when I am not. Everyone else also seems to have great houses, cleaned to perfection. It is so discouraging.
I vow to get out to more things and stop living like a hermit. If I can get anyone to talk to me that is.I am running, working out, and hopefully getting the witchlike mole removed from my face, and who knows, maybe I will find some compatible friends then?

Garden woes, this heat must go!

For the first time ever, we planted a little vegetable garden. We had the wettest spring I can remember. Took us until the end of May to actually be able to go outside long enough to dig the garden and plant it.

Things were growing along nicely when suddenly all the rain just disappeared. We woke up the other morning to a bit of dampness on the patio table so I imagine it rained, but I can't confirm it.

My zucchini are shrivelling and turning yellow. My pumpkins are wilty, carrots are not even growing anymore, and my potatoes, poor potatoes, they have the longest skinniest tops on them ever from the early extended rains when they struggled toward the sunlight. I don't even know if they will grow potatoes on them! My beans are finally creeping up the bean tower,but my peppers are stunted and suffering a bit now. My eggplants basically died under the jungle like cover that is my potatoes. My herbs aren't faring much better. The truly hearty lemon verbena and mint are gigantic, thanks to the rain earlier on, but the stuff we planted later is not growing. They look exactly as they did when my husband planted them after his birthday. Maybe not exactly the same, they were way healthier looking at the greenhouse!

Now, I'm all for summer and warm weather, but it's getting ridiculous! By the time it creeps to 48 on Thursday with the humidex, I won't need to cook, I'll just be able to go out and butter my sad shrivelling veggies on the vine and serve them for supper!

Summer thrills...

School's out, and I say hooray! And for me the countdown begins. Not the excited counting the days for the kids to return to school, more like the bummed countdown of how fast the summer is flying by.
It's all bittersweet to me these days. Each passing day, every moment of growth and discovery the kids make is another day closer to their own adulthood. Next September marks the start of SK for my youngest girl, and grade 10 for my oldest son. When their feet spring out the door that day, I will hear their steps echoing away into adulthood, and I am excited for them as well as filled with wrenching sorrow that their steps must necessarily carry them away from me.
However, that day is approximately 52 days away, and I will try to remain carefree and enjoy summer with them while I can.
So far the youngest ones have been enrolled in some classes at the early years, and we've been busy with dental appointments and Drs and all that thrilling stuff. We took a trip to visit my husband's family in the bustling metropolis of Cornwall, On.
The younger kids had good time, it was their first time camping, although we did that in my FIL's motorhome so I am not entirely sure it counted as camping. We got to go for a boat ride, visit a cottage, hike, visit 2 sets of their grandparents,stopped at the Big Apple in Coburg, took a trip to Prehistoric world, and BBQ'd it up with family.
All the kids got to see fireflies for the first time. There were so many it was really lovely.
The first morning we woke up after not really sleeping,and Zans was in a foul mood so we drove to a local Tim Horton's for coffees and a treat for the kids. We were going to take the ramp to the 401 to Cornwall, but then I spotted the East Montreal one...and off toward Montreal we went!
We didn't go all the way there though, just as far as Dorion. Bailey really had to pee of course, so we just popped into the golden arches. She thought it was cool to be peeing in Quebec, though she was disappointed in the lack of French flags. I guess we've done most of our travelling through the States, where flags are in abundance.
Now Zander keeps saying he wants to go back to "The Bus" as he called the motorhome, and the beach. Poor guy, doesn't realize how FAR it was, in traffic....
Bailey was excited to get to class the day after we came back. I naively thought she couldn't wait to tell her friends about the dinosaur exhibit or the boat ride/swimming in the St Lawrence. What does she say as she bolts from the car in excitement? "I can't wait to tell Lainey that I peed in Quebec! "
Of course that was the highlight of the trip. I guess when we drive to Maine in August I should find a lot of special bathrooms for her to stop in and impress her friends!

Drs make mistakes too apparently.

So I was at the hospital Monday getting a mole removed. I've waited over a year to get one on my face done.I'm tired of kids asking me if I'm a witch. I tell them I am, but I don't usually eat kids for dinner.
Sadly the dr couldn't do it. She wants me to see a plastic surgeon because she couldn't remove it without leaving a big hole. I did get her to remove one on my arm that suddenly turned black. I'm not worried about it, but my sister was pestering me about it so I got it removed. Everything was fine. At first. All through the check in, the waiting, the choppity chopping, here was the conversation, repeated several times, with several staff ending with the surgeon and her nurse "so, you have a latex allergy?" Me "yes". She whips the mole out and I'm done and voila I get stitched up leave the hospital. I come home for a bit, not feeling really awesome. Kind of feeling dizzy and weird, and no idea why. My arm is turning a really weird shade under the bandage wrap. I go back out after 20 minutes at home to pick up the younger kids then off to get my oldest up at the highschool. As I'm waiting in the car for him, the freezing is starting to wear off. It's been almost an hour since they finished me up.
I still feel strangely like I got high or something. My arm is mottled purple around the bandaid. I'm thinking weird, she didn't say purple, she said it will be white for a while.
I sit there looking at the see through bandaid. Super slow wheels turn in my head as I'm feeling weirder by the minute. My 4 year old daughter who I just picked up from school pipes up from the backseat, "Mom, how come your band aid doesn't look like my special safe (latex free) band aid? it looks like the old ones we had" And Ding ding ding, I finally know why I feel totally bizarre and why my skin feels on fire around the frozen zone.
Ripping off the bandaid, I see my skin is beginning to rash and look ugly under there.
No harm no foul overall, but what on earth is the point in telling them that you are sensitive to something, if they aren't really listening?
It is worth mentioning that the surgeon actually called me on my cell shortly after that, having attempted to reach me at home, upset because she had realized her error, and wanting me to come in and switch it. She had called my house, my drs office, (where my dr wasn't actually sure because it didn't say on my chart I was allergic, but she felt like she remembered something)to when she finally reached me, and I was able to say, everything was fine and I already taken care of it.
But seriously, what if my daughter hadn't said something? The weird way I was feeling, I don't think I would have put two and two together on my own, cause that has not happened before.
I do know that I can't use cheap toilet paper, or some mascaras, or cheap nasty elastic underwear or socks...Certain fruits cause me grief and I recently learned it was because they are often a problem for latex sensitive people.
Latex, definitely not my friend, and I clearly have to be more vigilant on my own behalf from now on!