Attitude Is Everything

Originally I titled this post "My Shitty Summer Begins."  And over the course of the past four days I picked away at writing it.  But it just wasn't jelling.  Maybe it was all the negativity I was infusing into my words.  Then something happened yesterday that changed how I was looking at things.  A little background...

Remember last summer when I posted about having to replace my entire septic system?   Of course you do.  I'm sure the exciting minutiae of my life is indelibly etched on your brain.  Long story short, the guy I hired to do the job failed to show up to do it.  No calls, nothing.  By then I was in the thick of dealing with my dying dog and the septic system was the last thing on my mind.  And then the fall rains came and it was too wet to do it.  Fast forward to spring.  I won't go into the trials and tribulations of trying to find someone to do the work but let me just say this -- if you're in business in a small town and want to stay in business, return a bloody phone call.  Even if it's to say, "sorry I'm too busy to do your job."

And then, Yay!  A real live guy answered his phone and came out to give the place the once over.  They would do this, this, and this (yes, those are the technical terms) but only after I ripped up the deck and tore down the playhouse.  Call when I was finished.  Right.  And so I began.

Grumbling away in my head the whole time -- 'This was going to take freaking forever.'...'I'm too old for this shit.'...'Okay maybe it's just my back that's too old for this shit.'...'I'm going to need more ibuprofen.'...'And beer.  Definitely going to need more beer.'  And so it went.  For a couple of days. 'Cause it's a pretty big deck.

But by the third day (after a rain delay which gave the old back time to recoup) I was kind of getting into the whole rhythm of working with my crowbar and hammer.  And before I knew it I was down to the framing.  Now that was going to be a buggar.  There were some pretty heavy duty nails holding that puppy together.  Enter the best neighbour on the planet.  With his chainsaw. Without me even having to ask.  (That's all part of being the best neighbour on the planet.) And we ripped that sucker apart in about an hour.  Saved me at least a week's work.  And several vertebrae I'm sure.  And he disconnected the wiring out to the deck.  I don't do wires.

So now I'm feeling pretty jazzed.  Actually looking forward to landscaping the yard again.  Okay maybe that's pushing it -- I'm no longer dreading landscaping the yard.  And now that I've got my head around that, I'm thinking about some more inside renos.  Because the timing isn't quite right to sell and move into the tiny house of my dreams.  For now I'll concentrate on making it a place I enjoy being.  Because the money I'm about to spend would finance at least three really great trips.  Really great trips that I won't be going on...sigh. Breaks my heart.

Well...gotta go.  Me and my new-found attitude have a playhouse to tear down.

And I need to buy beer.

For my neighbour.

Book Review:  I've read a few books by Chris Bohjalian and enjoyed them all. There's no pigeon-holing Bohjalian as to genre, he crosses many lines. Midwives, one of his  earlier works, was no exception.  Excellent ending.  To be more specific -- excellent last sentence!  

Sweet Baby James

Some things just make you feel old.  Like realizing the last concert you went to was 30 years ago.  Billy Joel, 1986 (or maybe early '87) in Montreal.  I used to go to a fair few concerts but that was back in the days when you had to line up for tickets and actually had a shot at getting some.  Not like the rip-off computer system in use today.  Okay sure, maybe it allows people who don't live near the big venues to have a shot at tickets, but only if the scalpers haven't overloaded the system mere nanoseconds after they go on sale -- the recent ticket release for The Tragically Hip being a prime example.  The majority of the tickets appear to have gone to people who will now turn around and sell them at grotesquely inflated prices.  A guy I know knows a guy who paid $2,000 -- hope that was for a pair at least.  I remember back in the day (early 80's ish) being appalled at having to pay $15 to see Supertramp, when tickets for a concert routinely sold for $12.50.

So I guess the answer (aside from boycotting the secondary sellers) is to go to concerts that have lesser appeal for the masses.  Apparently James Taylor falls into that category, though I can't figure out why.  Top notch show from a guy who's been around for almost 50 years and still sounds amazing.  A guy who's still putting out new stuff.  Sure, he's got a little less hair now...okay, a lot less hair.  Then again, so did a large percentage of the male fans in the audience.  But I was amazed at the number of people in my age category, or within 10 years either side, who said, "Who?" when I told them I was going to see James Taylor.  Really?  Fire And Rain?  You've Got A Friend?  Carolina In My Mind?  Sweet Baby James? Ringing any bells?  No, eh...too bad for you. I'd see him again in a heartbeat.

And while I'm ranting about scalpers and ticket prices, let me just get this off my chest.  You pay good money to go to a concert.  That's what, about three hours when YOU DONT NEED TO BE ON YOUR PHONE, FFS!  Has 'being in the moment' become a thing of the past?  The woman beside me spent the better part of the first set scrolling through Facebook and checking stuff on Google.  She applauded by tapping her right hand against her left shoulder, while continuing to scroll with her thumb, never looking up the whole time.  I shake my head.

Was it the best concert ever?  Nope, that distinction probably goes to Paul McCartney, but the Paul McCartney of the early 70's.  Maybe it was just seeing him so close in time to the Beatles breakup.  But there was something magical about that night.  I can't remember but it might even have been my first concert.

Worst concert ever?  That's a toss up between Chicago and Chris de Burgh. Yeah, I know...who?

Best concert that never was?  Quick story -- the aforementioned elusive McCartney tickets were obtained courtesy of a salesman who used to come into a place I worked part time.  He told me he had a connection at Maple Leaf Gardens and to let him know if I ever wanted concert tickets.  Queen.  Could he get me tickets for Queen?  The day of the concert came and went.  I didn't hear from him.  Oh well.  Shortly thereafter he came into the office.  'How did you enjoy the Queen concert?' he asked.  'I didn't have tickets,' I replied.  'I left them at the box office for you,' he said.  Now he tells me.  Breaks my heart to this day to think of those empty seats.

Empty seats that my ass should have been in.


Book Review:  I picked up A Head Full of Ghosts by Paul Tremblay because Stephen King recommended it in a Facebook post.  (Pretty sure he actually posts that stuff himself because he's always posting pics and stuff about his dog, Molly aka the Thing of Evil.)  Well he didn't actually recommend it.  He was congratulating Tremblay for winning the Stoker Award and saying, told you it was good.  And it was.  Plays with your brain.  And the ending?  No neat bow on this one.  I'm still trying to figure it out.

Mi Junk Es Su Treasure

That's it, I'm done.  Last garage sale EVER.  Yes, I've said that before.  But this time I mean it.  Well sure, I meant it every other time I said it too, but this time is for real.  For really real.  How do I know?  Because after an entire week spent setting it all up, pricing everything, and then repacking all the crap that didn't sell, I had a major epiphany.  Okay it wasn't really an epiphany because I knew it all along, but this week it totally hit home -- "stuff" just plain takes up too much time.  Time that could be better spent doing things I actually enjoy.  I would rather have been paddleboarding or reading or cutting glass.  Or writing that book that always seems to end up on the back burner.  It was a stunningly gorgeous day and I spent all of it in the garage.  Sure, I could have just donated the lot and been done with it.  But hey, I made over $800 to add to the green jar.  So there is that.

I held the sale for two hours on Friday evening and four hours Saturday morning.  It was like a feeding frenzy in the garage, especially on Friday.  I put out about five boxes of free stuff, and there wasn't a lot left.  Some old Christmas lights, a binder or two.  Tack the word FREE onto things and people snap it up whether they need it or not.  Just about everyone that came through my sale sheepishly admitted their garages were stuffed to the rafters and they didn't need any more stuff, but they all left with something.  My question is this -- if you don't need anything and you don't have room for any more stuff,  why are you even out doing the garage sale rounds?  And garage salers are a dedicated bunch.  I always advertise my sales for 9:00 a.m because I know they'll start showing up at 8:00.  Saturday it was 7:45.  Friday night I advertised 6:00 p.m. - 8:00 p.m.  and I had people show up at 2:00 asking when I was going to be ready.  Four hours early.  Really?

Maybe it's the thrill of the hunt, finding that elusive treasure.  Maybe they've watched too many of those Antique Road Show type shows and think they're going to snag some priceless artifact from the junk piles.  I'm pretty sure a couple of the people that bought up a ton of stuff at mine are going home to resell it online.  I just don't think the profit would be worth the time and effort. But whatever floats your boat.  I think the real reason garage sales are so popular is pure and simple -- addiction.  Addiction to buying and addiction to stuff.

I consider myself in rehab -- not quite ready to part with all of my stuff but I've sure put a huge dent in it.  And it's getting easier every time I do a purge.  I don't think I'll quite get to the level of minimalism I want until I actually downsize the physical house and property.  That day is getting closer.  In the meantime, I'll just keep picking away at it.  Donate what I can, dump what I can't.

But no more garage sales.

Ever.

Really.

Book Review:  I'm a big fan of John Hart, read everything he's written which up until this latest addition was four books.  It was a five year wait for Redemption Road but totally worth it.  There's a lot going on in this book and a lot of characters to care about or despise.  Just wish I could have dedicated a bigger chunk of time to reading it in longer stretches.  Packs more of a punch that way.  But you know, I was dealing with my stuff.

Mystery Solved!

So I spend a week hiking the Cotswolds averaging thirty kilometres per day over seven days.  Through muck and snow, uphill and down.  Then I follow this up with another two weeks traipsing all over London, Liverpool, and Dublin in footwear that didn't accommodate my orthotics.  And guess what?  Not even a whisper of my mysterious foot pain.  Not a twinge, not a tweak.  What's up with that?  Not that I'm complaining.

But it made the bone scan I had scheduled on my return seem kinda useless. I mean, if there was anything going on with the bones in my foot, I'm pretty sure it would have been painfully obvious during my time away.  But what the hell, it was all set up and it could at least rule out bone issues.  I've had a bone scan before so I knew what to expect -- a little injection of some radioactive material, a few pics, wait a few hours, then take a few more pics.  And that, I thought, would be the end of that.

Pretty damned surprised to get a phone call from my doctor's office first thing the next morning.  He wanted to see me about my bone scan.  Could I come in that day?  Well...that was fast.  A little too fast.  Obviously there was something there.  And as I had four hours before my appointment, there was plenty of time to let my imagination run wild.  After all, the receptionist's voice had been very quiet when she called, very subdued.  Don't they usually throw out the old "nothing to worry about" if in fact there is nothing to worry?  Did the fact that she didn't say it mean there was something to worry about?

He started with idle chit chat -- "how was your trip?" and all those pleasantries. Softening the blow? Okay buddy, let's cut to the chase.

Arthritis.

Huh.  Really.  That one never occurred to me.  Nothing you can do about it but it's nice to finally know.  Ibuprofen and non-weight bearing exercise when it flares up.  Apparently it's not triggered by anything in particular.

Just life.

Book Reviews:  Didn't do much reading while I was away.  Almost zero except for on the plane. Started with Gillian Flynn's The Grownup.  Don't think this one could even be categorized as a novella, more like a long short story. So pretty happy I just downloaded it to my iPad from the library.  But it was really good, one twist after another.

And then I figured it was a perfect time to reread a couple of old favourites so as to not forget what was going on during those long stretches of not reading. And I've said forever that I was going to start back at the beginning and reread all of my Stephen King library.  Covered Carrie and 'Salem's Lot.  Carrie has withstood the test of time and it's pretty remarkable for his first novel.  'Salem's Lot scared the crap out of me back in the day (the day being in 1975) but not so much this time around.  Chalk it up to being older with a lot more real life scary shit under my belt.  And the fact that I read it in such bits and pieces. Didn't do it justice.

Came back to our latest book club offering, The Mistress of Nothing by Kate Pullinger.  Didn't know until I was finished and read the author's note in the back that it was based on the real life story of Lady Duff Gordon in the 1860's moving to Egypt with her lady's maid, Sally Naldrett.  Told from Sally's perspective.  Another of those meandering book club selections.  It was very well written, evoked the time and place beautifully.

History Lessons

We've landed in Ireland, not only during a historic year, but also during a historic week.  They are commemorating the 100 year anniversary of the Easter Rebellion of 1916 as well as the week of the executions of the leaders of the uprising.  In a nutshell, the rebellion was a failed attempt to secure Ireland's independence from England.  I have now heard the story from two different tour bus drivers, the walking tour guide, the guide at Kilhaiman Gaol, and the lady doing the Glasnevin Cemetery tour.  They all had a different slant, a different perspective.  Me?  I'm not taking sides.

The Kilhaiman Gaol tour was definitely a highlight, fascinating place to see.  With just the right amount of creepy -- the room where the condemned spent their last night, the haunted corridor where a locked cell is found open every morning, the yard where the prisoners from the 2016 uprising were executed by firing squad.

We followed up the gaol tour with a tour at Glasnevin Cemetery.  Now this may sound like a kind of ghoulish way to spend our last day in Ireland, but cemeteries are interesting places to visit.  And this one is huge. We covered barely an inch of it.  I also looked up my great-grandparents who lived in Dublin and died in the 1890's but alas, they weren't buried there.  This is the grave of Michael Collins who was instrumental in securing Irish independence in 1921.  People still leave flowers.  There were two people there just putting flowers on the grave when our tour stopped by.

One final piece of history acknowledged when we stopped by to see the famine statues dedicated to the people who died during the potato blight in the 1840's.  Very haunting images.

And that's it from Ireland. As usual I'm behind and posting this while enroute home.  I have only one question -- why are there no direct flight from Dublin to Vancouver?

Toronto isn't the centre of the universe.

Really.

Back On The Bus

Time for another Paddywagon bus tour!  Because one twelve hour bus tour just isn't enough.

First stop -- the Dark Hedges.  Known to Game of Thrones fans as the King's Road in season 2.  Few people went there until GoT sites became the thing to do in Ireland.  Now call me picky, call me fussy, call me a bitch, but I really think there should be a rule on these bus trips.  And that rule is this -- when you go somewhere that is really just a photo op, no one should be allowed to go wandering into said photo op until everyone has had time to take a pic without a whole damn bus full of people in it.  Your "oh so cute" selfie can bloody wait.  Okay, that's it.  Rant over.

Next up -- the Carrick-A-Rede rope bridge.  It's about 65 feet across, over 100 feet high (give or take on either) and basically you pay to walk over and then walk back because there is zip to do on the other side.  But you do it because it's there and there really are some cool views.  And as our tour driver said, "It's not the heights you should be afraid of, it's the falling."  Good point.

And then it was the main attraction -- the Giant's Causeway.  And it was stinking hot there.  Yes, here in Ireland.  Stinking hot.  Wicked neat place to see, especially from above.  Of course there is quite a bit of climbing involved to get to see it from above.  Did I mention the part about it being stinking hot?

One more quickie stop on the way home -- officially Dunluce Castle, but home to the Greyjoys on Game of Thrones.  Before GoT it was free to go inside the ruins.  Now you have to pay.  Can you say rip-off?  We did a photo op at the side of the road.

At the end of the day nothing takes the edge off a bus weary body like a couple of pints and a little Irish music.  And the pub in our hotel is one of the finest in the area.

That it's stumbling distance to our room is an added bonus. 

When Irish Skies Are Smiling

I'm pretty sure I'm not going to remember a lot of the Irish history that was imparted to us on a "free" three hour walking tour around Dublin.  It's "free" because you only pay at the end if you feel it was worth it.  Our guide, Patrick, had strawberry blonde hair and very pale blue eyes.  Despite that, he looked like Johnny Depp.  Three hours of eye candy with an Irish accent.  Patrick got paid.

Our afternoon was spent walking from Killiney to Dalkey, a couple of small seaside towns that are home to Bono, Enya, and Van Morrison.  We think we saw the wall around Bono's little shack but who knows.  We asked a guy walking by if he knew where Bono lived.  He said he didn't care.  And Enya lives in a castle.  So she must have a moat.  Bottom line -- neither came out to invite us in for tea.  Worst case of celebrity stalking ever.  Or the polite Canadian version...you chose.

There's nothing stereotypically Irish about the area.  Unless you think of palm-like trees when you think of Ireland.

It was one of those stunningly beautiful days where you can't tell where the sea ends and the sky starts.  

But they're missing the boat.  All of this gorgeous shoreline and not one outdoor waterside cafe to be found.  What's up with that?  And while we may not be able to find "celebrity" houses unaided, we did manage to locate some beer, cider, and wings, albeit not with a water view.

Correction.  We did see Maeve Binchy's house.  Right beside the pub where she was a regular.

And just to clarify...neither of us are U2 fans.  So why did we want to see his house?  Because we were there?  Seems a good enough reason.  And not being a U2 fan, I wasn't really aware that Bono apparently isn't very popular here in Ireland.  Evidenced by this -- what's the difference between God and Bono?

God doesn't think he's Bono.