Up up and away, in my beautiful balloon

Yesterday it was raining so hard I took a picture out of my kitchen window, thinking I may blog about this:
















Today I laugh and laugh that I thought it was raining hard yesterday. This is what I came home to tonight after a 20 minute storm this afternoon:




No it is not some sort of funky outdoor fish tank; this is the bag for cans and bottles that sits on my deck.















I was at work when the storm hit. It had been sunny and then fairly quickly the sun disappeared and it almost seemed like it was getting dark out. The rain and wind started and soon hail was pounding....................

......I'm sorry.... I suddenly have used up all my words for today and I don't feel like writing anymore, but I don't want to lose what I've started so I'll post. I'll finish in the morning.... maybe

Ok it's a new day and I'm back. However I still have an an overwhelming feeling that I am not supposed to finish the very funny story I was about to tell you, so I guess this post is over. Sorry.

The red headed stranger rode into town one day...

The legend was among us:












Evidence we were there:












I'd pay for tickets to go again tomorrow to listen to Willie wail. I know the guy is 74 years old, but he's still got it goin' on. (Ok, I sort of have a penchant for old guys with levis, Godin guitars and braids.) Most of the show was played on Trigger, the famous Martin, but he opened with a couple of numbers on the Godin.









The show was fantastic with the exception of the two wasted women sitting 2 rows behind us. It's one thing to hoot and holler and whistle between songs, but they carried on in shrill voices during the entire first half of Willie's performance. It wasn't even like they were cheering, they would talk about the neighbour they went to school with and then in mid sentence scream out a cheer. Crack? Acid? Vodka? Who knows, but our section was soon 1/2 empty as concert goers around them scrambled to find other seats elsewhere in the building.

I made a conscious decision that I was gonna enjoy the show despite them, and did my best to tune them out. About half way through Willie's set they staggered off to the bathroom. The collective sigh of relief could be heard throughout the venue. I distinctly remember thinking in my sick and twisted mind, "I hope they fall down the stairs and need to be rushed off to the hospital." But no, they returned. Thankfully whatever they inhaled, injected or ingested while they were gone for 15 minutes seemed to calm them down and the rest of the show was significantly more enjoyable. Ok, I will not dedicate any more of my energy to them.

Being in the crowd was as good as holding up a neon sign saying "I'm over 40" and I have to say that I was shocked, shocked I say, at the number of mullet hair-dos in this city. Where did they all come from? Of course there were a number of heads donning bandannas and cowboys hats, as if Willie was going to be able to see out into the darkened crowd and be impressed with the fashion of PG. Those who dug out their cowboy boots were probably disappointed to find that Willie wears running shoes.

From the comments I heard around me, I assume the rest of the crowd didn't enjoy the first opening act, 40pts - which includes Willie Nelson's sons Micah and Lucas, as much as I did. I kinda like them. Lucas' voice was sort of a cross between John Lennon and Willie Nelson inhaling helium. It was kind of funky in a "glad it wasn't longer than an hour" sort of way.

The second opener, Shay (Shae?) hails from the tropical island of Newfoundland, and they managed to impress the crowd. Their Gaelic influenced music was entertaining and they had a good stage presence. But we were there to see Willie. And we were not disappointed. Except that I waited all night to hear "The red headed stranger from Blue Rock Montana rode into town one day...."

Goin' to Woodstock

Where would you rather be:

Who's idea was it anyways?

That's the real question. Who made up the rule that North American women should be relatively hairless? Personally I'd like to dip him (and I'm sure it's a him) in a bucket of hot wax and teach him a lesson.

Aging really sucks, and I keep saying I refuse to participate, but somehow it keeps creeping into my life. I was sitting here the other day pondering life and wondering if I had time for an afternoon nap and I put my hand to my face and - oh my gosh! I had a 3/4 inch hair growing on my top lip. What's up with that? I raced to the bathroom mirror and holy cow, it was true. Upon closer inspection I noticed along my jawline a covering of fuzz that would give any peach a run for it's money. How long has that been there? and why haven't I noticed.

Wouldn't it be great if fashion dictated that 40 year old women should be like 14 year old boys - sitting in front of a mirror longing for the day a facial hair sprouts.

Being the fashion diva that I am, I knew I could not just sit back and idly let nature take it's course. I grabbed the tube of Veet from under the bathroom sink and dabbed a bit on my upper lip. But once I started there was no stopping and before I knew it my face was lathered up and I was looking like Santa Claus.

Even as I was doing it, I thought I'd better take a picture of this
cuz I'm sure it's gonna turn out blog-worthy.
Occasionally I wonder how normal people behave.

Three minutes later I washed my face and off went all the hair. I thought, "That was easy. There is no reason in the world for any woman to have a moustache." Three minutes after that, the burning started and the red blotches developed. And for the next 12 hours every time I smiled it felt like my face was cracking.

I kept checking the mirror, and thank God the redness began to subside and I didn't develop any long lasting rashes or sores. But each time I looked in the mirror I couldn't help but imagine what I will look like with a moustache and facial hair. Perhaps I would suit a goatee. I could even let it grow until it fits a braid.

Party Lines vs Friendship Circles

My mom got a new computer. The story behind that is a blog entry in itself.

As a result, I have had a few phone conversations with her this week. Tonight my conversation with her was 72 minutes. That's gotta darn near be a record. Dad musta been sleeping. This can't help but bring back memories of being on 'party lines' where conversations were limited to 72 seconds. For those who are under 30: a party line is where up to 5 neighbours shared a single phone line and you had to recognize your own distinctive ring or else not answer the phone because it was a call for the neighbour. And yes, you could pick up your phone and listen in on the neighbour's conversations. I will remind you it was only 20-25 years ago that these were relatively common. Today, well... today it's rare to find a home without 3 phone lines to itself.

I digress...

Half of my conversation consisted of setting my mom up on Facebook. Ain't she a hip Gramma?
As you know, I joined Facebook kicking and screaming. It makes me nervous how much personal info people put out there: phone numbers, addresses etc, but I can admit to it's benefits. However, I am not into adding people just to increase my friend count. Frankly I don't care if a friend of a friend's neighbour is adding or deleting the "Top Friends" application. I don't want to know every time my cousin's uncle's friend from elementary school updates his profile picture. As a result I have ignored a number of requests for friendship and I don't often initiate requests for friendship. (Typing that out it looks freakishly like my 'real life')

But today I was impressed when I got a request to become friends with Jimmy Zie-man. Knowing that Barbee has not even signed up yet, I was impressed with his bold enthusiasm to join the masses. I added him and included the details of our relationship: We lived together (in my husband's house in 2004) We are traveling to Canada together in the near future. We belong to clubs together. We are wine-makers extraordinaire.... the list goes on. As soon as he verified the details of our relationship I clicked on his profile to see what details he was broadcasting to the world. Apparently most of his friends are in Brazil and a few in Britain. Apparently most of his friends are semi-naked teenagers. And most apparently he is not my brother-in-law.
Oooops! .....I immediately deleted him.

What is happening to me?

I had a hubby day today. Haven't had one of those for a while. Together we dropped off the bike for new tires, brakes and stuff. We went and had coffee with friends (yeah, we've got some) We had lunch at Jade's restaurant. We rescued Jed from the gas station where he filled his bike tire to the point of explosion. We went shopping...

At my suggestion, we went to Princess Auto. I got some magnets to attach our snake skin curtains to the inside of the canopy (our summer sleeping quarters) Albert got nothing.
From there we went to Boutique of Leather, probably my favourite PG shopping store, where they had a buy something at the already sale price get another item at half off the sale price sale. Does it get any better than that?
Alb needed new boots cuz his are 2 years old and starting to show their age. (can you imagine owning a pair of boots for 2 years without getting new ones. Men!) And because they have CSA steel toes, Canfor will generously pay for 90% of the cost. And don't forget about the 1/2 price item they came with...







On any other day in history, I would have taken this as a direct sign from God that I was supposed to get a new leather item. But no. Today, I let Alb get a new vest too. Ooooh, it's lambskin. I think I may borrow it occasionally.






Sitting at home now, and rethinking the event, I scare myself. What is happening to me that I would pass up this perfect opportunity for new leather. (And let us not forget about me choosing to shop at Princess Auto) The only consoling answer I can come up with is that tomorrow is another day.... and Alb will be sleeping after night shift... and I don't work until noon... and the leather sale is still on....

Today is another day.

Remember not too long ago I said "Life is good." I recant every word.

The grass is always greener ... before you spray Round-Up

Last year we got grass. The growing legal kind. For the first time in our married life we have a bona fide lawn. (I don't really know what bona fide means, but the word felt right to insert here.) We didn't mess around with seeds and hoses, we went for the good stuff: sod and underground sprinklers.

Confession time. I am 42 years old and I have never pushed a lawn mower. As a result my over-scheduled husband gets to cut the grass between other jobs. This means that often when he mows, he just mows. And the weed wacking around the edges doesn't get done. Soooo, being the helpful wife that I am, I decided I would round-up the tall grass at the edges of the shed and around the flower beds. Uh, yeah. Bad idea folks. And Jed doesn't even live here anymore for me to blame.

Let's back up the story a bit. My Dad used to work for an orchard chemical delivery place and gave me some sort of 'Round-up, only more concentrated and stronger'. As if plants can get any deader than the dead that Round-up produces. Well he told me to use about a tablespoon of the stuff to a gallon of water, but this just doesn't seem strong enough when you go to do it, so I usually add about a cup or two. Listen to your Dad, Liana.

Well about a week later, when we returned from our 5 days away, we saw the results. Poor Alb. All his hard work in the yard and I have it all nicely framed with brown dead grass in a pattern that has sort of leached further than I intended it to. And I mean it is D. E. D. dead. He didn't say a word about it, bless his heart.


He just bought me a nice little girly-garden for inside. His little attached note said "I love you more." But I think he meant "I love you mower."

Life is good. (today)

As I sit here at my keyboard feeling beyond pleasantly stuffed after eating baked ham, pasta alfredo, broccoli and a little shot of red wine by the glass or two or three or four, who counts these things anyways - numbers are just trivia, I am thinking there are days when you just have to say "Life is good."

Currently, I have my own personal live band playing in my living room behind me - Just Albert and larrie, and they don't expect tips or even applause. But as I listen to him strum out a few Blue Rodeo songs and a Leonard Cohen number, I can't help but think - what if we run into Jim Cuddie or Leonard in Tim Hortons in Ontario. Okay, Lenny probably only drinks Chai tea in little bistros, but still it could happen. Not likely, but it could. Either way, life is good.

5 years of partying - disguised as organizational meetings...

We finally made it out fishing with Ron & Linda after 5 summers of trying to get it organized. But as Ron says, the organizational party-meetings are as much fun as the trip itself, so it's almost a let down to have the trip materialize.

Alb and I went directly from the family reunion at Ness Lake to the campsite at Pitka Bay. We hauled J & B's fabulous trailer and they came out the next day. We slept in the Redneck Camperette, but used J & B's trailer as storage to protect the food from the multitude of crows and foxes.

About 1AM, everyone toddled off to bed saying, " See ya about 7. Have a good sleep."

When I woke up in the morning, the dog was panting at the camper door to get out and she had her back legs tied in a knot so as not to pee on the floor of our fantastic sleeping quarters. We have not got a clock in the camper and we no longer own watches, so on my way to the outhouse I crawled into the front of the truck to turn on the cellphone to check the time. (I hate it in the summer when I wake up with the sun, lay there dozing in and out for a couple of hours, get out of bed and then realize its still only 6 AM) On this morning, I felt particularly well rested, so as soon as I woke up, I got up. (Ok, my overwhelming need to pee helped.)

I looked at the phone and then turned it upside down because the digital numbers just weren't making sense. For some reason they said 11 AM.

As I walked past the campfire with all the other members of our group standing around, I asked what time it was. Yes, it was 11 o'clock. Yes, they had all been up for 3 and a half hours. And yes, all the food and coffee was locked in the trailer. And yes, the keys were in Alb's pocket.

Ooops! Sorry guys. But I sure had the best sleep I have had in years.

... and boy did everyone appreciate their first cup of coffee that morning.

Happy 60th Anniversary Dad & Mom Z

I'm no mathematician but 135/148 expressed as a percentage means a whole lot of Ziemers showed up for dinner.

It was the first time since I married into the family 25 years ago where no one outside the family was allowed over for a meal. It was probably also a first for Mother since she married into the family 60 years ago.

As a group, we had a great time rehashing memories, creating new ones, missing absent members and welcoming new ones.

There were events that would have been unimaginable a couple of decades ago: an approved smokers area, women praying and speaking in the church service, unmarried co-eds sharing a tent, and (*gasp*) singing at the table without having to do dishes as punishment.

But some things remain unchanged: Mom & Dad have retained their uncanny ability to recognize every face, remember the name that goes with it, and make them feel like they are the most special family member. (Okay, Dad occasionally needs prompting from Mom, but that's unchanged as well) And the number one unchanged characteristic in the Ziemer family: Jesus is the head of the house.

You can't even fit the entire dining table in a photo.

Hair today, gone tomorrow.

I really try not to complain, because I know people with very little hair, and others whose hair grows about 1 and a half inches in a fast year, but my hair is so thick and grows so fast. As a general rule, I only wash it about 3 times a week because it takes so long to rinse and dry. Sometimes, on real boring days, I will sit in front of a mirror and watch it grow.

Looking ahead to our trip, I anticipate having to wash it daily to remove all the road grime and tangles that come with biking at 120km/hour in traffic. I also could envision draining the water tank and filling the septic each day trying to wash my tresses. Since I'm not willing to learn to use a sani-dump, I have opted instead to lop off my hair. (Besides, I wasn't managing to lose weight any other way.)

Fortunately for me, Kerri flew in from Texas for the family reunion and was happy to fit me into her schedule. I'm also thankful that I was the first haircut she did as about 37 other family members lined up behind me... and Kerri thought she was coming on a vacation.

As she is cutting my hair Kerri is telling me I'll need to get some product to add definition and structure to my new do. She spewed out words like pomade, fudge, mudd, modeling gel...

"Oh yeah," I say. "I think I have something in my bathroom." She took one look at the inch of dried out DEP gel that Jed left behind a year ago and said as politely as possible, "You'd be better off with nothing."

At that point I didn't have the heart to show her my fantastic shampoo find: a bar of solid shampoo/conditioner 2-in-1 from Lush that smells like licorice. I'll just keep that as my little secret.

Going.


Going.


Gone!

Soup's On!

I can cook. If I have to. While I'm no gourmet chef I don't turn out too many plates of mush that everyone refuses to eat. I prefer to take the easy way: my butter tarts are pretty decent, but they'll always be made with a frozen tart shell. I would serve you a Chicken Cordon Bleu from Costco's freezer, but I'd never pair it up with instant mashed potatoes. Some easy food, just doesn't qualify as food. My spaghetti sauce comes in a jar because I wouldn't begin to know what spices would create that sort of flavour.

When I was first married, 25 years ago, each payday I would buy one or two spices to stock up the cupboard. 2 years ago when we moved into this house I threw out things like Cream of Tartar, Paprika and Meat Tenderizer which had no bar codes and little 89 cent price tags on them. I guess I never did figure out how to use those things. If you want a tender steak, buy a tender steak, that's my theory. I managed to pare my spice rack down to 3 things: garlic, ginger and cinnamon.

Barbee has always harassed me saying things like "What do you mean you don't have thyme?" I got time but no thyme. I was at Costco yesterday and look what I found for $15 bucks:



It has 16 jars filled with different spices. There are things like caraway, marjoram, and coriander. I am absolutely clueless as to how a person might use such things. There are even things I'd never heard of. Like Romarin. Just for fun I thought I'd taste it. Hmmm - tastes like grass just like most of the rest of them. When I replaced it on the rack I put the English side out and realized it was actually Rosemary. Ooops, I guess I have heard of that. Although once again, I am clueless as to how to use it.

For now, it looks impressive sitting on my counter and it will give me something to throw away in 20 years when we move into our new retirement home.

Facebook Shmace Book

It's a ridiculous time waster from the devil. But anyone who is anyone is doing it. Even some who aren't anyone are joining in. After surviving 10 years of pressure to go on MSN (where most people go invisible anyway, so it becomes pointless) it only took a few months of pressure for the Facebook bug to get me. (You pressure-appliers know who you are and I hope your guilt swells up and overwhelms you at the most inopportune time)

However it is sort of a great way to connect with people whom you wouldn't normally just call up and say "Hey, why don't you email pics of your family so I can so how big they are?" You can just check in on people without them ever knowing it.

It brings out the voyeur and exhibitionist in even the most shy person.

It beats a tent

I went to put something in the camper the other day to prepare it for the family reunion and there, in large permanent black felt letters across the back, was evidence that Jed had been there:

I have no idea how long the neighbours have been staring at that, since I don't see that side of the camper. They, of course, don't know the story of how we came to possess the Red Neck Camperette or the fact that the amount we paid for it can easily be made in one bet with Jimmy who doesn't believe a girl can know the difference between the Barrett Jackson Auto Auction and Barret Jackman the St Louis Blues defenseman.

Last summer we borrowed a travel trailer from D&V for the weekend and on our way out of town, we drove past this, let's say "well worn," camper sitting in a yard at the end of our street. It had bright red spray paint on it saying $50. Alb turns to me and says "If that's still there when we get back I'm gonna check it out."

Shockingly, no one had scooped up this lovely specimen of scrap metal and glass while we were gone. I told Alb he could only buy it if all the windows were intact. I was willing to camp Red Neck style, but not so far as to have cardboard and duct tape windows.

Alas, God was not on my side, and the windows were about the only thing intact. It had probably been abandoned in the bush for years. The roof leaked. The floor had 3 colours of linoleum in a 2x8 foot area. The walls and ceiling were black where a kerosene heater had covered everything in soot. There was the equivalent of 3 bags of leaves strewn about. There were enough spiders and bugs to start an insect zoo. The back door was basically just a shell where the interior wood had rotted off. There didn't appear to be any blood or body parts hidden within. And... the windows were intact.

We didn't haggle with the price, we just loaded 'er up on our beautiful shiny black and chrome Ford F350 Diesel fantasy truck while the guy stood there in horror, but glad to have 50 bucks in his pocket.

It only took 2 days of overhauling to shovel it out, throw on a coat of paint, put in a new foamy, hang some $1.99 per meter fabric on the windows, build some shelves in the closet, re-line the door and replace the handle, seal the roof with rubber paint, replace the the lino with a never-ending roll-end we had in the shop, and scrape the spray paint off the windows. And voila, for less than 200 bucks, we have luxury sleeping quarters!











By-the-way... the Red Neck Camperette will NOT be coming across Canada with us!

.....Ooooops!

Smirnoff and hair clippers do NOT mix!

Bug Off!

Have you ever been hit in the face with a bumblebee at 120 km per hour? It makes a bee sting feel like a massage by comparison. This is why I wear a full face helmet rather than a cool looking skull cap.While this keeps me protected from bugs on the road, it does nothing for me at the campsite to protect me from blood sucking vermin that want to infect me with West Nile. My favourite easy, non-smelly, inexpensive remedy for mosquitoes is to take 100 mg of vitamin B starting 2 or 3 days before I head out to the wilderness (or my backyard at my old house)

I know you can do an internet search and even snopes.com will tell you there is no proven evidence that this works, but there are just as many tried-and-true users will swear by it. As you know, I am one of those who loves to swear.

One thing is for sure, it's a vitamin so it can't hurt to try. Unlike a DEET product which ate a hole in the leather seat of my car which had a drop on it for less than 3 minutes before I washed it with soap. It literally turned the leather to mush. And leather is just skin. The only side effect I have found with vitamin B is that you pee fluorescent yellow, but as long as you don't leave a dribble running down your leg no-one else needs to know.