I am pleased to announce that the Broken Appliance of the Month award goes to the dishwasher. Even though we’re not quite through July, I’m pretty confident nothing else will swoop in to claim the title. (I’m looking at you, stove replaced last October to salvage Thanksgiving dinner). The cottage dishwasher has lost its mind […]
Cottage Status Report 20240718 Read More »
As I have mentioned, I have experienced an unexpected reversal in my aversion to crossword puzzles. This is partially because they have evolved considerably from their previous incarnation, which was rife with clues involving Chinese currency and Biblical references. It’s true that Adam, Eve, and their progeny still show up with some regularity, but there’s
We have water! It was a simple thing, really. Turns out it wasn’t the controller for the pump, it was the pump. A new pump was purchased. It didn’t even cost more than $1,000! And, they’ve made great strides in pump technology over the past 20 years: instead of three wires it has only two,
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When we got back from the cottage on Wednesday night, there was a Canada Post ‘pick up a parcel’ slip attached to the front door. This was decidedly odd. Normally, the mailman leaves any parcels in the parcel sequestering area of the super mailbox. This being suburbia, mail does not arrive on its own to
Suburban Status Report 20240524 Read More »
The dock spider was waiting when we pulled up in the tin boat to wake the cottage from its winter slumber. Actually, that’s not quite accurate. One of the dock spiders was waiting. The rest of the extended family was probably still asleep. Australian mutants not-withstanding, dock spiders reset anyone’s notion of what “big
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Apparently, hotels can’t build suites (as opposed to run-of-the-mill hotel rooms) fast enough to keep up with the demand. I guess the Russian mafia is still solvent and rock stars will always need enough room to house their entourage and hangers-on in the manner to which they have become accustomed. Those of us who
I’ve launched on a Marie Kondo-ish spree, decluttering closets and cupboards. My rule is if it hasn’t been touched in five years, its useful life is over, at least in my universe. Especially if it’s clothing. All of the suit jackets, even ones with exquisite buttons that look like intricate knots, even conservatively pinstriped ones
Dennis was born in a barn, or if maybe not exactly in a barn, born barn-adjacent on someone’s horse farm. But if he had put his elbows on the Sunday dinner table and his mother had said “were you born in a barn?” he would have said yes actually, I was born in a barn.
Like many of my boomer cohort, I am in deep denial with respect to my chronological age. In my head, I am in my early forties, officially grownup but still able to stay out way too late on a school night without dire consequences. The money the government sends me every month tells a different
I continue to indulge in my suburbanly-incorrect practice of brazenly walking to places like the grocery store. Naturally, this is preferably accomplished via sidewalks. Naturally, suburbia persists in its relentless mission to kill me by blocking off said sidewalks. This is due to the ongoing efforts to rehabilitate the thoroughfare known as Yonge Street (AKA
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