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My oldest nephew got married over the weekend in Regina and now I have a new niece! Since she is older than him, by a mere 3 months, she gains the oldest cousin title in one fell swoop!
What a beautiful wedding! I’ve been to some real lemons but this seemed to go off without a hitch. Stayed with all in the relatives and crammed 12 people into one house with only one bathroom functioning for a day. Yipes! But, no one murdered anyone else and I think we all enjoyed the stay very much!
The only thing I didn’t enjoy was 16 hours of travel time in the space of 3 days. Did get to Houston Pizza in Medicine Hat on the way back, though, and I’m presently enjoying the leftovers for lunch today. I was reading the ‘Story of Houston Pizza’ on the front of the box and it didn’t really have a point. Here’s what I would write had they commissioned me:
The Story of Houston Pizza
Houston Pizza was founded in 1970 by two Greek brothers that loved to eat! Their handmade crusts topped with a zingy, slightly drunken, tomato sauce is something you won’t find anywhere else. Then comes the meat! Pepperoni piled like a heap of blankets and then smoothers in mozzarella so thick that it oozes off the plate.
And no, you can’t get this pizza anywhere but Medicine Hat and Regina.
Sucks for you.
Yeah, it’s that good. (I’d include a photo but I believe that they must be trying to keep it top secret.)
This Victoria Day weekend was a fun-filled, treasure hunting adventure! Well, not all the time. Well, maybe not even half the time. But it was an adventure.
Saturday, houseguests continued on their way to Vancouver after a few days pitstop and Hubby, Wackyboy (as he likes to be called), and I began at 10.30 to promptly get very angry at one another. I suppose me suggesting that we each buy our own GPS machines didn’t help. First find was a jaunt through a neighbouring neighbourhood that had absolutely nothing to do with anything. Wackyboy got the find since I didn’t want to crawl under the pine tree with the low boughs and retreived himself a Hotwheels watch (which proudly displays London time. Hence his name, Wacky.)
Second location was a big of a walk but a beautiful area. Got into another argument about which methods to use - the lat./long. vs. the little arrow pointer on the screen vs. the digital compass vs. pure guesswork. Turns out a combination of all of the above works best! Hubby found this one easily once I gave up the machine and stopped walking through the wild rose prickles. Wackyboy collected a Pokemon little dude after debating for virtual seconds about whether or not he should actually collect a prize for Little Sister instead. As she wasn’t there, the ‘you snooze, you lose’ rule applied.
Third cache was a no find after 1 hour (!!!) of searching. Maggie (fondly AKA Magellan eXplorist 500 GPS unit) does NOT like being in the middle of a clump of trees on a hillside. I deciphered the hint and also was not helpful. Gave up.
Decided to take Little Sister out later in the afternoon. Just us two. Warning: do not take kids who want to ride their bikes. No, no, no. What ends up happening is that you end up pushing their bike. When you are pushing a bike around 3 kilometres of forest, you get a little cranky. Got to location, spent 20 minutes poking around, no cache. Frustrated!
Went to get a Slurpee and fill up bike tires.
I rode wee bike down the hill while Little Sister ran along behind avec Slurpee. Discovered problem with bike. Hole in back tire. Flat.
Dragged bike to next location where we had searched two previous times. 10 minute search and accidentally sat on cell phone and automatically dialed Big Sister. Funny! Dragged bike up hill, hot, tired, houseguests return. Highway is closed. Since having spent the day treasure hunting, did not go get groceries for returned houseguests. Tense.
Today, houseguests return home instead of heading East. Housework and gardening galore, but find time to do one cache near suppertime. Beautiful walk with all three kidlets, see a waterfall/spring, river, nice. Can’t get to original planned cache because of fence. Decide to do nearest cache instead. Up the hill, down the hill, up the hill, and found! How easily confidence is restored!
Look at the view, smile, and head home. Yes, adventure is my middle name.
Big booksale today for Calgary Reads of whom I knew nothing about before…besides seeing this booksale advertized in previous years. I still know nothing about them but the booksale was quite fabulous! A whole indoor skating arena sans ice filled with tables and table of glorious books. They charged me a couple of bucks to get in, which I think is simply beyond the point. I AM going to spend gadfuls of money there anyway, why the superfluous token fee?
Besides this one little old lady in black who kept pushing me around the Classics area (really lady, they are Classics because they are not going out of style anytime soon. Why the rush?), they had some awesome selection for paperbacks, surprisingly. Usually, the library disgard paperbacks are so read that the spine is practically chalk. These books, for the most part, were gently used and some looked brand new. I swear some people only create libraries for show and don’t actually read their own books but replace them as trends change.
The only disappointment were the two tables Calgary Reads deemed as Bestsellers, which they were. I was very impressed with the knowledge of the people who put that table together because the books have been very good, and might I add very literary, reads of the past couple of years. The only problem was that they wanted $5 a shot for them. Granted, it’s a lot cheaper than buying them for $20-30-50 brand new, but it would certainly bump up my book shopping accounts quite expendiently so I reluctantly replaced the Sylvanus Now signed by the Donna Morrissey, the author, and went back to getting pushed around the table by the little old lady (I think perhaps that was her job).
One last table of interest: the silent auction table. It had a hardcover copy of The Journals of Susanna Moodie by Maragaret Atwood with a starting bid of $30. There were no bids yet. They had a book 246 years old, and a few books from the 1800’s. One, in particular, a textbook of the grammar of the Cree Language looked very interesting. The starting on that one was $180, I think. The super old one had a bookplate from The Duke of Montrose. This is why I always ruin my books with plates. I plan for people to ponder me and my taste in books once I’m dust. It’ll be like a Dan Brown mystery but more tasteful and less exciting.
Getting to the point, these are the books I bought:
1. My Cousin Rachel by Daphne du Maurier
2. Misery by Stephen King (beautiful trade edition, rare).
3. Sons and Lovers by D.H. Lawrence
4. Three Novellas by D.H. Lawrence (take THAT little old lady)
5. Cry, the Beloved Country by Alan Paton
6. Obasan by Joy Kogawa (my treasure find)
7. A Widow for One Year by John Irving
8. Who Has Seen the Wind? by W.O. Mitchell (a SK standard I never read)
9. Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha by Roddy Doyle
and one book of poems for my friend, B. that I can’t say what ’tis since I have to send it to him! I bought an armful of chapters books for the kidlings and a John La Carre for the hubby. There was plenty’o'La Carre. Guy’s a maniac. The total, plus admission, was $23. Not too shabby! I just might go back tomorrow and see about Ms. Atwood.
Preceding the spontaneous flop
of the season, it is the intent of movement.
It is no meditation, no conscious thought ,
but a wicket rhythm, the comb
of all that is first and dominant.
It is some minor pack dog
snapping at the harness of the blue
and browned-eyed Husky up front.
The one you dare not turn your back on.
And here is where
the wave is rode, these undulating,
seductive drifts of snow punctuated
with troughs of sunshine, of crocus.
Monotony salted hope
in slabs of pemmican wrapped
in deerskin and wedged to warm under the arm
of one who believed this type of winter
could eventually end if only
given enough intent.
