Since there’s only so many years you can avoid your fair share of snow removal, I grabbed the shovel and went out after work instead of settling into the comfy chair to watch mindless tv. A neighbour had used a snow blower to remove the plug of snowplow clag at the end of the drive. So all I had to shovel was four inches of snow from the back stoop and path, the front porch and path, the path from the back gate to the street, and the almost always unused car-sized clearing.
Usually I bitch about the bend, twist, and lift manoeuvre that wracks my back. Today I hardly noticed the wracking since I was distracted by snow that smelled of roasted and burnt coffee. Another downside to a neighbourhood that’s been yuppified with multiple high-end coffee joints.
By fluke of Dg’s work schedule, I have the weekend to myself and my long list of next actions. Instead of using the time to plough through things like “Get under bed storage boxes”, “Weed garden”, or “Clean grungy bathroom tiles”, I played hooky and hopped on the bus to the oddest wool shop yet.
I knew the shop was off one of the older commercial drags and on the second floor which made sense for a small, new business. I took the slow bus because I’ve become fond of its route (yes, yes, I know, bus geekery) through my gentrified neighbourhood, to the working class neighbourhood, to Chinatown and Little Italy, to the downtown core. I trekked over the gum-dotted sidewalks, past the cheap clothing stores, the art supplies store, the feminist sex toy shop, and houses marooned by parking lots and small office towers. The shop was indeed upstairs along with a beauty shop of some sort. Up I went, expecting to get to the the head of the stairs and have to choose Door A (Stash Augmentation) or Door B (Nail Augmentation).
Instead I found one, t-shaped room with interesting yarn, one woman knitting, another woman spinning, and another woman fiddling with an appointment book. And as I made my way to back, I found an aesthetician and a client coming out of the back room deep in discussion of pedicures and the next available time slot.
Not deterred by the odd situation and weird smell (wool and acetone), I found what I came for–Himalyan recycled silk–and something extra–cotton chenille. As I waited to pay for the yarn, I had a chat with the woman using a drop spindle and I think I’ll go back to learn how to use a drop spindle in a couple of weeks. No idea what the yarn purchase will turn into
Listening to the “Little Drummer Boy” floating in the window in July.
One of the reasons I like travelling by bus even in hot and cranky weather is that I get to see people and interactions I’d never have a chance to see otherwise.
The other day I was travelling back from my volunteer gig at one of the city’s older and poorer schools. The bus moves through a series of neighbourhoods defined by the waves of immigrants who have lived and worked there for generations.
As usual the bus filled up with people hauling home groceries from small markets, women wrangling strollers, a group on its way home from the sheltered workshop. People looking out the window, reading free papers, annoying each other with clumsy parcels, staring into space. And in the middle of this, a kid with an electronic game–oblivious.
We got off at the same stop and as I turned to poke the pedestrian button, out of the corner of my eye, I see him smile and kiss his shiny game boy.
A dangerous day. Rain, rain, rain on top of ice. I am not heartened by knowing that the region I live in historically gets 50 hours of freezing rain a year.
Since this is the winter I have decided to get over being pertified of walking during and after winter rain, I headed out into the downpour to get another batch of groceries. 
I fortified myself with the jet fuel that comes out of our coffeemaker and my mad-genuis invention: a Swiffer walking stick. The jaunty teal handle looks ridiculous but the thing is light and can lie harmlessly in the bottom of a knapsack waiting for nasty weather.
I made it down the hill, across the treacherous parking lot full of cranky people who are generally unaware of the pedestrian phenomenon–at least today no young brainless buck yelled at me for having the gall to be annoyed that he nearly decked me with his grocery cart–and back up the skating rink/swimming pool without crashing down and busting myself or the eggs.
The house now smells of wet wool.
Last weekend was the City’s Open Doors event. We trooped around to see a couple of buildings we hadn’t been in and I embarrassed DG by being chatting up by one of the military building volunteers who thought I was interested in this replica of a Victoria scarf. (Actually I was looking for photos of 1890s International Tug of War).
Today on our way to the redone village festival, we were leaning over the fence at the local Lawn Bowling outfit reading the recruiting poster that denied it’s a sport for old people but whose membership committee is run by Henrietta and Edna. What do you know, a lawn-bowling guy ambles over to chat and to recruit. Again embarrassed DG by being chatted up. Apparently all it takes is a smile and a couple of questions and they’re off.
The redone village festival has done away with the parade with sad floats and pipe bands and replaced it with face and ceramic painting, giant slides for kids, and a stage for musicians and writers. When we ambled through there was no sign of the advertised buskers but lots of happy people milling about despite the road construction. And tonight we’ll head down to listen to part of the free concert and watch people quarrel about the placement of lawn chairs.
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