Well, a month has gone by like a week and I haven’t blogged on. Life does interfere with our plans sometimes. So does death. We lost my SO’s sister on August fifth. She’s has a rough time with what must be a record of some sort for survival on dialysis and had been failing badly for the last year or more. We weren’t sure when we said goodbye last summer that we’d see her again and we’re very grateful we made the trip to Timmins in late June.
After a visit from the SO’s daughters and their families on the sixth, we headed north again on the seventh, driving as far as the surviving SIL’s cottage north of Huntsville on the Friday. On Saturday she accompanied us for the remainder of the very long drive to Timmins where we arrived in time for the visitation Saturday evening. The funeral service (followed by cremation) was held on Sunday afternoon, a first in my experience. We stayed at the hotel Sunday night and began the return trip Monday morning. The whole thing gave new meaning to the term “last respects” as there is no one else who could have taken me that last time to a city I detest.
On the way home we gave ourselves a coupel of treats in the form of a visit to the Belle Vallee woollen mill where they go from sheep to blankets on antique milling machines, We saw the process from start to finish and I came away with yarn and roving for my DD and myself.
Monday night was spent back at the cottage on Round Lake but we didn’t linger longer this time, leaving fairly early for the last leg of the trip home. We stopped to examine a Jeep thing (for the second time). We stopped at the Spinrite Factory Outlet tent sale in Listowel where a few more items followed me home.
And we stopped to visit a farm where I’d spotted a sign for St. Bernard puppies on the way up when we had no time to stop anywhere. We met “Junior”, an enormous, long-haired male, his lovely wife, a pretty short hair whose name escaped me, their recently rescued adult female friend, Molly and their adorable ten-and-a-half-week-old son, the remaining puppy. To my credit and/or dismay, I resisted firmly and we came home puppy- and dog-less. The female needs us but I fear she might not fit into our household. The puppy is wonderful. I have their phone number but he may well have found his home by now.
I am not as virtuous as I may come off. The only reason Molly and/or the puppy did not come home with us would be Hannah.
The SO has long longed for a Newfoundland Dog. He found Hannah on Kijiji and called and we were going to see her when we were in Windsor at the end of July. That didn’t work out but the owner (or his wife) met us in Tilbury on Sunday, August 2 and – of course – Hannah came home with us.
She is a Newfoundland from Newfoundland, ironically, having came to Windsor as a puppy with her original owner who promptly died. She was locked in a garage by heighbours until the owner’s landlord surrendered her to the animal shelter from whence she was purchased as a gift for the seller’s husband. After that it gets a bit murky and I don’t hold out a lot of hope for the marriage but Hannah needed a secure home. She’s a loving bear of a dog, smallish for a Newfie but still our second largest furry family member. She has abandonment issues, understandably so the timing of our lightning trip north was not ideal. My DD, who minds the farm when we roam, spent many hours “relaxing” on our patio, teaching Hannah that people do come back (three times a day) and offering love, assurance, companionship and exercise as she brought her Lab pup to run our guys ragged.
Everyone was glad to see us (perhaps especially my daughter) and life proceeds as normally as is possible in a large, laid back household that harbours two retired eccentrics, four dogs and five cats. Hannah and our Rexie had a set to the other night that left the usually victorious Rexie with a cut below her eye but it’s healing and they seem to be getting along agreeably enough. Ulster, the DD’s Lab, stirs things up regularly. Rexie’s lost some weight after the several under exercised years since I have been able to take them all to the beach daily. Charley, the St. Bernard, is turning into the grouchy old man of the lot, second only to The Ed in that category. but you can’t blame him as Ulster can be a bit trying at times. Barney, the Yorkie, retreats to the safety and companionship of his pussycats after brief periods with the “real dogs” but nobody threatens him; they just don’t always see him which can be perilous when you weigh less than five pounds.
I have been reluctantly turning the housework over to my daughter in favour of more studio time (and if you believe that I would like to show you a bridge in Brooklyn I’ll sell you cheap) with the result that OZ may actually make it to the gallery by the changeover at the end of the month.
It’s not finished and never will be if I don’t stop adding stuff and it’s hard to get a good snapshot even in the generous studio area as it’s large. I had hoped to deliver it today but the finishing is tedious and can only be done a little at a time so next week it is.
I have almost resisted working on my next obsession but will at least be able to avoid the dreaded “between projects” slump since I am champing at the bit to get at it. I’ll keep that one to myself for a little while as it’s guaranteed to offend at least some people.
With that I must be about another day (or what’s left of it by the time I get downstairs). Kitchen chores and prescription refills call this morning and I ought to eat something. I really don’t know where the time goes . . . .
Maybe we could consider bringing Molly into our lives now that things are back to normal . . . .
