Balls on a Teddy Bear

I'm trying to refrain from cursing a blue streak right now. Really, really friggin' hard.

Tonight is Andrew's night off. It is his only night off this weekend. It is our only night since MONDAY that we have spent together. When he got home, I was in the kitchen, playing Mrs. Susie Homemaker. I had my apron on and I was kneading bread. He caught the bug and decided to do the thorough vacuuming that the floors so desperately needed. Our intention was to tidy up, get some groceries, and then maybe rent a movie or go out for Cows. At least, that was the nice scenario I had romanticized in my head while I spun the dough and pushed it on the counter. Ahhhh...

Now? Now Andrew is in the basement with our Mr. Washie, hereafter known as Mr. Kenmore. Andrew asked me to leave him alone with Mr. Kenmore because, unlike "Big Stephanie", I have a tendency to get violent when my large appliances give me lip.

(Did everyone's mom say this to them? My mom would ask me to do something and if she sensed I was going to talk back she would say, "And don't give me any lip").

Oh, wait a second... there's a development with Mr. Kenmore...

I'm back! I am sooooooo lucky to have a husband who can fix stuff. (He once fixed a cd-player with a rubber band, which seems brilliant to me, but may make sense to other people.) He's figured out Mr. Kenmore's problem. Until we can get a new thingy-thongy, we'll have to hold down the little latch with a screwdriver to get Mr. Kenmore to spin.

OK, THAT, I can handle. A broken Mr. Kenmore, I cannot.

Here are a few more photos to liven up this dull place!



I took this photo the morning after the ice storm in 1998. This poor little tree was buckled right over. Those of you who lived through that ice storm will probably remember the sounds it made. First there was the sound it made as it came down and pelted our house and windows. It popped against the roof my parents' sunroom. Then there was the sound of trees limbs creaking and then snapping as they broke under the weight ot the ice. The days following the storm, when some of the ice began to melt, there was the sound of it falling off the trees and then skidding on the frozen ground. This was such a strange/horrible time in my life (for reasons I can't really go into), and the ice storm holds a lot of significance for me. Angela was living in Montreal during the ice storm and struggled to work over slippery streets, climbing over downed trees, and shivering through the power outage at her apartment.



This is another one from the ice storm. In my parents back yard the umbrella type clothes line had been left up and this was the result. Pretty cool, eh? No pun intended.

And since we need a photo that shows that Canadian ice can be friendly:



This was taken on the Saint John River in Woodstock, NB, around New Years about 6 and a half years ago. I don't think this wasn't my first time skating on the river, but it was the first time I played hockey on it. This motley looking crew is:

Standing (from left to right): Me,("Breakaway girl who catches figure skate pick in ice and flies through the air before landing on the ice and skidding through the boots that were the goal posts"), my uncle's friend, Wayne, ("Just give'er!"), Andrew ("Ballet on ice"), my cousin, Jon ( "Does my hat look like a zucchini or what?").
Kneeling (from left to right): My uncle, Don ( "I've got a metal plate in my shoulder from taking out bigger boys than you!") and my cousin, Andy ("The Wall" or "He's got so many clothes on, we can't get the puck past him").

taking the photo: My cousin, Jon's, now wife, Kelly ("I've never played hockey with the guys before either - we've got to do this again") - she's the one who is pregnant with twins now. I think her hockey playing days are over.

Ok, Mr. Kenmore is fixed and I've got a hot date upstairs...