Life and Social Awkwardness

Just Life:

Clare's chair is finished and has been viewed and approved by Tom, her husband and best friend for fifty years.

I want to start a new project ... maybe something for Jesse's baby? ... maybe the chair for the Well? ... maybe another plant table to put in the shop?  The shop, by the way, is closed more often than it is open.  I think it may expire.  But maybe it is just the winter doldrums.  It would help if they shoveled the steps and either took down the OPEN sign or unlocked the door.

Maybe I should start a new knitting project.  I just found something on-line called a love cocoon ... a soft little bag for a newborn ... or maybe a balaclava for Lucas whose hat slips down over his eyes when he is sledding with us? ... or maybe something new for Chelsea Katherine?

Peach is our resident visiting dog these days ... and she and Kenya have established a truce if not a friendship, so life is simpler now.

The power was out for 12 hours yesterday and I cooked on the wood stove and finished reading The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. It reminded me of 84 Charing Cross Road, another novel written as a series of letters.  I am thinking of recommending a trio of books for a book club evening: those two and No, I Don't Want to Join a Book Club by Virginia Ironsides ... all three are about reading and life, but more about life.  All three are British.  The third is wickedly funny, and is written as a series of diary entries rather than an exchange of letters.


On People:

I have met two people recently whom I have almost disliked, almost on sight.  This doesn't happen often to me; I wonder if other people have this kind of almost instant negative reaction to people.

One is a young woman who oversteps boundaries ... becomes far too intimate given our relationship ... (she works with my dentist) ...  She laughs too loudly and seems insincere as well. Perhaps a single example will show what I mean.  The first time I met her and had a tooth filled, the dentist was trying to ascertain whether there were rough edges and asked me to run my tongue over the surface and tell her.  I said I wasn't sure, and this young woman said, "Well you have to tell us; I'm not going to get my tongue in there and do it for you."

The other is a man who seems to be wearing a sign saying "kick me".  He is like one of those Dickensian characters with names like Calvin Cringe or Geoffrey Grovel.  Before he even spoke to me, I felt disdain, and, as soon as he opened his mouth, my feelings were validated.  Probably years and years of being disliked on sight had made him into a man who behaves as if he expects to be hit; a fearful, overly apologetic man ... a little like one of those  pathetically submissive dogs who incite other dogs to bully them.

They would make great characters in a piece of fiction ... one larger than life ... the other smaller ... one at either end of the spectrum of timidity and brashness.

It's not that I have no sympathy for socially awkward people. I am one myself.  I do not do cocktail parties or art show openings well at all.  I feel wooden ... as if I have overstayed my welcome or have left a conversation too abruptly and rudely.  I used to hate parties on the lake ... the ones that occurred outdoors two or three times a year.  I did not play horseshoes or feel competent engaging in competitive sports, and I always felt inferior to all the women who seemed so comfortable making polite small talk and brownies which they passed around.  I would find a spot for my chair on the outskirts and become glued to it for the duration.  Thank goodness the lake community no longer feels like a group of mismatched strangers who just happen to live in close proximity to one another, and feel obliged to eat hot dogs together on special occasions.

I was reminded of my own social ineptitude yesterday when I went to toast the first anniversary of the SNIP group (a spay-neuter-(barter)-initiative programme to prevent unwanted litters of kittens).  Too few familiar faces, too much waiting around till it was time to break open the champagne -- it was cocktail party time all over again ... and I felt very uncomfortable.  I was glad to scuttle home to my hermitage and the dogs.

Decrepitude and Treats

I am writing this with a mouthful of soggy padding pressed up against a small excavation in my upper jaw ... 

This morning Chelsea went back to her people and I rushed off to the dentist to have the broken tooth pulled ... that cost me two special treats this month, more than what I received for looking after Oberon for a month.

Yesterday I took myself out for a special treat ... a wonderfully relaxing massage ... Thank you, Remi.

I still have money for looking after Chelsea coming in, and a bit of Remi's money left ...  and I will have Peach arriving next week ... so this was looking like a great month for special treats until I began to receive several bits of news designed to put the kibosh on treats for a while.

The first was the need for new glasses.

The next two came yesterday ... reminders of prepayment of taxes in March and June.

The last came this morning ... the extraction and an estimate for a partial plate ... to be done in the summer.

I hate the thought of a partial plate ... and not just because of the expense.  I hate the thought of any mechanism in my mouth.  I know people who are always losing their partial plates because they take them out when they are uncomfortable.  And then there are all those jokes about false teeth ending up in odd places ...

I don't like the idea of anything unnatural in or on my body.  Contact lenses for example.  Even snorkeling with just flippers, a snorkel and goggles takes getting used to all over again every time.  The one time I tried extra gear I ended up ripping everything off and just swimming.  I don't even like wearing a hat, so my little phobia might derail my good intentions for the expensive partial plate.


 

Moules et Frites at Le Hibou

I have been meaning to start my special treats for myself for some time.  I decided to start with the Tuesday special at Le Hibou:  moules et frites.  

I love moules et frites and we have a long and happy history.  I used to eat them in Ottawa ... in the market with a group of friends ... at a tiny little hole in the wall on Rideau with my best friend  ... on a wharf  in Bretagne frequented by truckers with a lovely gay friend, now deceased.  Always moules et frites with red wine.

The moules et frites at Le Hibou lived up to all my expectations.  They were served with a broth that had a strong hint of coconut and a glimmer of heat ... and a wonderful French stick with which to sop up the broth.

You will recall that I wanted to spend my extra money ... money from dogsitting ... money from selling funky furniture ... on special treats for the soul.  Well this was my first attempt ... and it failed.

The owner of Le Hibou  and our waitress announced that our meal was on the house ... a thank you for the carousel and the nice things I had said on my blog about Le Hibou.

My goodness!  All I have done is tell the truth ... and play with their logo and give them a tiny gift because I am so happy they have become part of Wakefield.

We Used to Die; Now We Outlive Our Body Parts ...

Good Grief!  I am falling apart.

This week I have appointments with the eye doctor and the dentist ...

I almost didn't make it to the eye appointment because I locked myself out of my house and had to scoot across the lake with Kenya and the kicksled to try to catch Peter before he headed off to work.  "Do you know how to break into my house?" I splurted out as soon as he opened the door.  Kenya dashed in and made a tour while Peter served me coffee and said he would come over and try. 

Kenya and I made it back across the lake before Peter, let Chelsea and Remi out of the porch and greeted Peter who opened the door without damaging anything.

My memory seems to be the first casualty.  I had forgotten that I had locked the doors, and gone out to clean up after the dogs and the garbage men.

In the afternoon I went to the eye appointment and discovered that my left eye's close vision has changed again and I have the beginnings of cataracts.  These two problems likely explain why I find it difficult to read these days.

On Friday I have a dental appointment to re-do a filling that was initially installed with a root canal in 1995; re-done in an African country a week or so later; fell apart in November, 2009, and was re-done in Quebec; broke a week or so later; was re-installed; and broke up again last Thursday.


It would be lovely if all the parts simply died at once ... the way they used to in the good old days ... or would it?

Remi has joined our household

Clare's Chair ... finished?

Clare's Chair ... almost finished ... with cushion Oberon's mom brought from Egypt

Sparking with the dogs on the lake ...

Chelsea: old and lumpy but very sweet and loves to play on the ice with us

The End of the Saga ... The Beginning of Fun

The sled arrived this afternoon.  A new driver in his fifties said they had decided to call in the old guy.  He was returning to UPS to tell the supervisor that the road was A1 ... cleared, wide, sanded ... etc.

Now I just have to put it together.  I may have to call in the big guns for this.  but I will try myself first.

In the meantime I am painting away ... working on Clare's chair  for a corner in my dining room, and a three tiered corner plant holder for the upper hall way.   I like working for myself ... for my home ... and I suspect that I would be happier just doing these pieces for fun rather than even thinking about selling them.

I have been getting migraines again ... and I am wondering if the wood stove is to blame ... or the dryness of winter operating on my sinuses.

Chapter ??? in the Saga

February 4, 2010
The Saga Goes On ...

I got two calls about the sled this morning ... one from the owner of the kicksled company ... apologetic and understanding ... and one from a female UPS employee in Ottawa who thinks this whole thing is just as foolish as I do.  She said it is not just me; that as soon as we have our first snowfall, especially here in Quebec, the driver turns chicken.  She told me that he refused to take the sled yesterday because he is afraid of my road.  I told her (as I had told everyone else) that the road was fine but if he was scared of it he should leave it with my neighbour on Pike Lake Road.  She said she would tell him the road was fine ... plowed and sanded and that the garbage truck was in on Wednesday and I had a Purolator delivery yesterday ... so what the hell is wrong with UPS.  It was the first time I have laughed when talking to a UPS employee.

Keep your fingers crossed ... maybe I will see the sled today!

Update again:

She called back and informed me it would definitely come tomorrow.  She was having a meeting with the driver and the supervisor this afternoon and the driver would be told to either deliver it to my house, or, if he was afraid of the road, to leave it at my nearest neighbour's place on Pike Lake Road.  If I hadn't seen it by afternoon I was to check at the neighbour's.

This driver will likely end up with his ass in a sling over this ... but you know what? ... I don't much care.  It seems to me that drivers should be able to drive.  And if they are driving in the Ottawa region, they had better be prepared to drive in snow.  This year it has cost almost $1200 to keep that road plowed and sanded ... and we have had almost no snow this year, so it is in topnotch shape.  In fact it is the first year I have been able to park at my house instead of 1/4 kilometer away.

If this camera shy sled  really arrives tomorrow I will post a photo.

The Kicksled Saga Continues ...

They did not deliver my sled today.  Now they say they will deliver it tomorrow.  I will believe it when I see it.  The last one I bought came directly from Finland ... with no trouble at all!

There are now two delivery services I will avoid:  UPS and DICOM.

OTTAWA, ON, CA	03/02/2010	10:36	THE PACKAGE WAS LEFT IN A UPS FACILITY / DELIVERY RESCHEDULED
	03/02/2010	6:49	A CORRECT STREET NUMBER IS NEEDED FOR DELIVERY. UPS IS ATTEMPTING TO OBTAIN THIS INFORMATION / THE ADDRESS HAS BEEN CORRECTED. THE DELIVERY HAS BEEN RESCHEDULED
OTTAWA, ON, CA	02/02/2010	9:08	A DELIVERY CHANGE REQUEST FOR THIS PACKAGE WILL BE PROCESSED / DELIVERY TO AN ALTERNATE ADDRESS WAS REQUESTED
OTTAWA, ON, CA	01/02/2010	17:51	A CORRECT STREET NUMBER IS NEEDED FOR DELIVERY. UPS IS ATTEMPTING TO OBTAIN THIS INFORMATION / NO ONE ANSWERED THE PHONE WHEN UPS CALLED
OTTAWA, ON, CA	29/01/2010	18:15	A CORRECT COMPANY OR RECEIVER NAME IS NEEDED FOR DELIVERY. UPS IS ATTEMPTING TO OBTAIN THIS INFORMATION / DELIVERY RESCHEDULED
	29/01/2010	10:49	DRIVER NEEDS SECURITY ACCESS WHICH MUST BE OBTAINED FROM RESIDENT/CONSIGNEE IN ORDER TO ENTER BUILDING
OTTAWA, ON, CA	28/01/2010	10:49	THE PACKAGE WAS LEFT IN A UPS FACILITY / DELIVERY RESCHEDULED
	28/01/2010	6:30	OUT FOR DELIVERY
	28/01/2010	4:50	ARRIVAL SCAN
LACHINE, QC, CA	28/01/2010	2:50	DEPARTURE SCAN
LACHINE, QC, CA	27/01/2010	23:33	ARRIVAL SCAN
OTTAWA, ON, CA	27/01/2010	20:30	DEPARTURE SCAN
	27/01/2010	15:54	EMERGENCY CONDITIONS BEYOND UPS' CONTROL
	27/01/2010	5:30	ARRIVAL SCAN
LACHINE, QC, CA	27/01/2010	3:03	DEPARTURE SCAN
LACHINE, QC, CA	26/01/2010	20:25	ARRIVAL SCAN
BLAINVILLE, QC, CA	26/01/2010	20:00	DEPARTURE SCAN

Tracking results provided by UPS:  03/02/2010 10:51  ET

Yesterday and Today

Cracks in the facades [can be] seen as opportunities; inspiration erupts as you careen over bumps in the road; you love the enticing magic that flows from situations that other people regard as rough or crooked. "That which is not slightly distorted lacks sensible appeal," wrote poet Charles Baudelaire, "from which it follows that irregularity -- that is to say, the unexpected, surprise and astonishment -- is an essential part and characteristic of beauty."  (From Rob Breszny this morning)

I have finished the kitchen wall and shelving.  This morning I added two pieces to hang my measuring cups and spoons ... and I fear I may have gone too far.  I am not sure that the "slight offness" of the latest holders could be considered artistically beautiful ... or that Wabi Sabi really means getting it slightly wrong ... but at least now the area over my sink looks neater and things work better.

Have you ever noticed that once you clean up it becomes easier to keep it that way ... at least in the short term?

Today

Yesterday

Mrs. Doubtfire and the Sled

The Sled Saga Continues

Today I spoke with Oky.  He was the third UPS spokesperson I had contacted.  Last week I had a few conversations with Tracey from DICOM and with Ron and his son from Kicksled Canada.  An unexpected benefit of all this is that I seem to have overcome my phone phobia.

Oky tells me that UPS drivers do not carry cell phones.  That is why this driver could not contact me as requested. In a previous post I mentioned that they do not seem to have snow tires or experience driving in Canadian winters either.  I am certain that deliveries here in the Gatineau Hills require both the tires and the ability to drive in snow, and I am not sure how one can be an efficient delivery person, especially outside urban areas, without a cell phone.

Oky read through the delivery notes and started muttering about denied access.  Like the last person I spoke to at UPS, he thought I must live in an apartment with an access code.  I explained that this was not the case.

Oky asked whether it was a building site with an unsecured building and no access.  I explained that it is a fully finished house.

I told Oky I thought that the driver had had trouble with access because of my road, and described the road with all its freshly plowed surface and freshly sprinkled sand.

I suggested that perhaps the driver had got lost, that he had ended up somewhere else.  After all if he was unprepared to call me for directions, it was a distinct possibility. 

Even without a phone, he could have managed to find me.  He could have asked at any house on the lake, and he'd have been given directions to my place.  Hell, someone would have hopped in his truck and directed him.  They'd likely have offered to drive, for pity sakes.

It is not that difficult to find me or to deliver a package.

So who do they hire at UPS?

At DICOM they hire people who break sleds but who know how to find addresses and then drive to them.  The second DICOM driver (not the one who broke the sled on its way to Ottawa) was a woman. 

At the risk of sounding sexist, I wonder if that might account for the difference.  A woman  might have been more willing to ask how to get here.

Update on Mrs. Doubtfire

On a totally different subject, I feel great.  It has been years since I have experienced a surge of energy that has lasted more than an hour or two.  I have been cleaning and painting walls and installing shelves that I painted ... and I still energy to spare.

I have also noticed that Mrs. Doubtfire's belly rolls seem to be receding. 

Isn't all this supposed to happen in the spring when one feels impelled to spring clean ... or just before childbirth, when one feels a need to scrub floors and feather a nest?

Well, it ain't spring, and I ain't no spring chicken about to pop out babies.   But I no longer feel as if  I am wearing Mrs' Doubtfire's body suit.