It's frisbee season, when most other areas of recreation are pushed aside, pushed back, or pushed under to make way for it.
Knitting, reading, blogging, house keeping, cooking, even jogging... These are things that become neglected in my life from mid-May until the end of August. I can hardly regret it, since I adore the sport, and it covers many bases: recreation, socializing, exercise, and even family time since Sweetie McPie and I often play together, watch each other play, and have lots to talk about on the topic. We bring the kids to our league games - they're sometimes bored, but often then enjoy playing outside, interacting with our teammates, and we often stay afterward to throw (er, "throw") the disc with them. Constance thinks we're very cool for being able to run around like we do at our age!
Although frisbee makes up a big part of our social life in the summer, it's not really the important part of our social life. I'm ashamed to admit that it's hard to keep in touch with anyone who we don't run into in person - which happens to be our closest friends and family. The days fly by, and suddenly I haven't talked to Mum or Dad or Taller Funner Sister or Comic Sister or Susie-Q in weeks that are threatening to become months. And then I get dragged back down into the fray... Which, after a weekend of seven games of frisbee, with another two nights of league play upcoming, is really just the need to SLEEP. After eating.
And see... It's time to get changed to run off to my game, so I can't even finish, or make my real point.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Monday, July 9, 2007
Picture perfect vacation
Our week at a cottage north of Peterborough was amazing. We did away with as many rules as possible (except for the safety-related ones, of course), and basically did nothing but relax, swim, sunbathe, read, eat, chat, and watch a few movies. The children transformed into true Cottage Creatures. Findley was in feline heaven, with so much space inside and out.
McPie roused himself on the last day and devised an ingenious treasure hunt, with maps, hidden clues, and buried treasure (candy jewels and real money!). The treasure hunt was prefaced with a little Fear Factor action. Apparently, Corona = Ew! Pee! in the mouths of children.
In general, the week was an amazing opportunity to escape every stress of real life, and spend real time with family. McPie's mum, sisters and niece and nephew joined us for the week, so it we finally had a chance to visit unhurried. And happily, good cookin' runs in the family!
Here is a photologue of our cottage life. Excuse the formatting (I'm tired of fiddling).
The first day, the kidlets were eager to sail the stormy seas of Clear Lake in the rowboat. The boys rowed, the girls heckled.
McPie roused himself on the last day and devised an ingenious treasure hunt, with maps, hidden clues, and buried treasure (candy jewels and real money!). The treasure hunt was prefaced with a little Fear Factor action. Apparently, Corona = Ew! Pee! in the mouths of children.
In general, the week was an amazing opportunity to escape every stress of real life, and spend real time with family. McPie's mum, sisters and niece and nephew joined us for the week, so it we finally had a chance to visit unhurried. And happily, good cookin' runs in the family!
Here is a photologue of our cottage life. Excuse the formatting (I'm tired of fiddling).
The first day, the kidlets were eager to sail the stormy seas of Clear Lake in the rowboat. The boys rowed, the girls heckled.
Ready, aye, ready. 
Will ya look at these jokers?
The cottage's property was just-unkempt-enough. Rustic but charming. Most importantly, the entrance to the lake was nice, the water was refreshing but not too cold, and the bunkie was stocked with plenty of water toys.
"Tuba mask"
If you imagine you hear a loon calling when you look at these, you wouldn't be far off...
Heave!
Will ya look at these jokers?
Land, ho!
The cottage's property was just-unkempt-enough. Rustic but charming. Most importantly, the entrance to the lake was nice, the water was refreshing but not too cold, and the bunkie was stocked with plenty of water toys.
"Tuba mask"
Flotation devices facilitated relaxation, even on the water.
What's a cottage without a hammock? It was a favourite place to relax, and could accomodate multiple occupants.
Boys like to cuddle too.
Mom McPie caught napping
Inside, the cottage was also rustic yet charming. There was no phone, but there was a TV and DVD player. Mostly importantly, there was plenty of space for all of us to spread out.
Indoor shenanigans.
Findley's been known to relax anywhere...
Unfortunately, I didn't get pictures of the wildlife - otters in the rocks by the dock, falcons soaring overhead daily, loons floating peacefully past the end of the dock, and the usual frogs, crayfish, and daddy-long-legs that kept the kids amused.
If you imagine you hear a loon calling when you look at these, you wouldn't be far off...
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Likely old news, but...
So You Think You Can Dance? be damned; this video made me cry. At work. Real tears. Two of them.
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
Bureaucracy: hurdled. Language: lamented.
We went away for a week to a cottage that we rented. All the "Ontario summer cottage" clichés applied. It was divine. I will post an update with the details soon. There will be pictures.
In other news:
I think I finally have a health card. A temporary paper one, but the real thing is in the works. It was a strange process. After much perusing of web sites, and calls to the Régie de l'Assurance blahblahblah, I determined that I needed to visit a local community health centre to make my application. We stopped in on the way home from work. I had my pictures, a variety of documents "proving" my address, and the application I received from the province. Most importantly, I had Sweetie McPie with me. (And that's not a gushy afterthought. His presence had real, practical implications!)
It turned out that none of my documents (bank statement, income tax statement from the province of Quebec) were valid proof that I lived where I said I lived. In Quebec. I had an INCOME TAX STATEMENT FROM THE PROVINCE OF QUEBEC!!! Dated two months ago! But that didn't prove I lived in Quebec. (At this point, I turned to McPie and commented with much bitterness about all the $$ I blithely chucked at the QC gov't for living in the the province for a mere three months. Because I am honest. Grr.)
No, I needed a municipal tax bill (gas, hydro, etc), or rent receipt or something more... concrete. I pointed to McPie: "But, all the bills are in HIS name!" (And of course, although the clerk spoke better English that I did French - which is always the case in Hull - there was a still language barrier that precluded a more philosophical argument of the issue.)
The clerk turned to McPie, and they proceeded to discuss en français. She directed him to write down on a piece of paper that I live with him at the address noted. She turned to her colleague who was a "commissaire" (notary), and got her to also sign this affadavit. She checked McPie's driver's license. (*I* have a Quebec driver's license!!) He didn't have show any of the documents that they had wanted from moi.
Then she stamped a few things, gathered the goods to send away (my ORIGINAL birth certificate, pictures, and McPie's affadavit), gave me an piece of paper to serve as my interim card, and sent us on our way.
It seems quite fishy to me. There seem to be holes in the process. I also suspect language bias. But that's my fault, isn't it? (I'm not being facetious. My lack of language is getting more and more tricky, not to mention embarrassing de temps en temps.)
I'm going to have to sign up for La Constance et Ben Ecole de Langue en Français. Toot Sweet.
In other news:
I think I finally have a health card. A temporary paper one, but the real thing is in the works. It was a strange process. After much perusing of web sites, and calls to the Régie de l'Assurance blahblahblah, I determined that I needed to visit a local community health centre to make my application. We stopped in on the way home from work. I had my pictures, a variety of documents "proving" my address, and the application I received from the province. Most importantly, I had Sweetie McPie with me. (And that's not a gushy afterthought. His presence had real, practical implications!)
It turned out that none of my documents (bank statement, income tax statement from the province of Quebec) were valid proof that I lived where I said I lived. In Quebec. I had an INCOME TAX STATEMENT FROM THE PROVINCE OF QUEBEC!!! Dated two months ago! But that didn't prove I lived in Quebec. (At this point, I turned to McPie and commented with much bitterness about all the $$ I blithely chucked at the QC gov't for living in the the province for a mere three months. Because I am honest. Grr.)
No, I needed a municipal tax bill (gas, hydro, etc), or rent receipt or something more... concrete. I pointed to McPie: "But, all the bills are in HIS name!" (And of course, although the clerk spoke better English that I did French - which is always the case in Hull - there was a still language barrier that precluded a more philosophical argument of the issue.)
The clerk turned to McPie, and they proceeded to discuss en français. She directed him to write down on a piece of paper that I live with him at the address noted. She turned to her colleague who was a "commissaire" (notary), and got her to also sign this affadavit. She checked McPie's driver's license. (*I* have a Quebec driver's license!!) He didn't have show any of the documents that they had wanted from moi.
Then she stamped a few things, gathered the goods to send away (my ORIGINAL birth certificate, pictures, and McPie's affadavit), gave me an piece of paper to serve as my interim card, and sent us on our way.
It seems quite fishy to me. There seem to be holes in the process. I also suspect language bias. But that's my fault, isn't it? (I'm not being facetious. My lack of language is getting more and more tricky, not to mention embarrassing de temps en temps.)
I'm going to have to sign up for La Constance et Ben Ecole de Langue en Français. Toot Sweet.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
For my fans
Kashi Go Lean +
Bran Buds +
PC Ancient Grains +
flax meal +
bee pollen +
plain yogurt +
drizzle of honey +
splash of milk =
Breakfast of (mortal) champions.
Or, as we Angle-Gatinoise say, champignons.
Bran Buds +
PC Ancient Grains +
flax meal +
bee pollen +
plain yogurt +
drizzle of honey +
splash of milk =
Breakfast of (mortal) champions.
Or, as we Angle-Gatinoise say, champignons.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Confessions of a closet TV watcher
I'm watching "So You Think You Can Dance?".
I love it.
Granted, it's like the "finals". Or something like that. I don't really know how these shows work. I assume that the embarrassing tryouts would be intolerable. All I know is the dancing is really kicking ass.
It occurs to me that I LOVE watching dancing. I thought it was just ballet that got me going but no, dancing in general seems to do it. Don't know where it comes from; it's not something I or anyone in my family does, as a rule. (Though my dad is a pretty peppy lead.)
It was so cool seeing all the different styles. I didn't start watching until Ashlee and Ricky, who's music was awesome. My fave number (see, I've got the lingo!) was obviously Sara and Jesus - it' was electric. They were so unfair to the Russian girl doing the hip hop. She was awesome.
(Hm. I love ballet; I fall asleep at operas. I'm guiltily lapping up So you Think You Can Dance; I cannot for the life of me understand why anyone would spend as much as 30 seconds watching American Idol. (I've even tried, to no avail.) I can remember word for word things I've read on a page; recited poetry or aloud reading sounds like a different language to me unless it's rreeaalllly rreeaalllly ssllooww. Think I'm visually oriented?)
The TV thing: McPie is at a show tonight, and I'm home with the kids. They are now sleeping. I'm lost in my moment of freedom. So I watch TV.
(We had an awesome night: visit from Maman solidified the kids' good mood; at dinner they were all "Yummy supper Hevver! Thank you!" (magic to a parents' ears); and there were presents from Dad...new clothes for everyone - even me! - he'd snuck off to Old Navy at lunch time today.)
Another confession - I'm not even knitting while watching TV. Though I may pick it up. Friday Night Lights is on next...
(I promise that as soon as FNL is over, I'll get back to Alice Munro. McPie won't be home til midnight... Lots of time. And I'm avoiding work.)
I love it.
Granted, it's like the "finals". Or something like that. I don't really know how these shows work. I assume that the embarrassing tryouts would be intolerable. All I know is the dancing is really kicking ass.
It occurs to me that I LOVE watching dancing. I thought it was just ballet that got me going but no, dancing in general seems to do it. Don't know where it comes from; it's not something I or anyone in my family does, as a rule. (Though my dad is a pretty peppy lead.)
It was so cool seeing all the different styles. I didn't start watching until Ashlee and Ricky, who's music was awesome. My fave number (see, I've got the lingo!) was obviously Sara and Jesus - it' was electric. They were so unfair to the Russian girl doing the hip hop. She was awesome.
(Hm. I love ballet; I fall asleep at operas. I'm guiltily lapping up So you Think You Can Dance; I cannot for the life of me understand why anyone would spend as much as 30 seconds watching American Idol. (I've even tried, to no avail.) I can remember word for word things I've read on a page; recited poetry or aloud reading sounds like a different language to me unless it's rreeaalllly rreeaalllly ssllooww. Think I'm visually oriented?)
The TV thing: McPie is at a show tonight, and I'm home with the kids. They are now sleeping. I'm lost in my moment of freedom. So I watch TV.
(We had an awesome night: visit from Maman solidified the kids' good mood; at dinner they were all "Yummy supper Hevver! Thank you!" (magic to a parents' ears); and there were presents from Dad...new clothes for everyone - even me! - he'd snuck off to Old Navy at lunch time today.)
Another confession - I'm not even knitting while watching TV. Though I may pick it up. Friday Night Lights is on next...
(I promise that as soon as FNL is over, I'll get back to Alice Munro. McPie won't be home til midnight... Lots of time. And I'm avoiding work.)
Monday, June 4, 2007
What hurts more than a half marathon?
Ok, other than an actual marathon?
A frisbee tournament. Most especially Gender Blender. After the first tournament of the summer, every year, I think to myself "Why? WHY do I inflict such pain on my body?" Also, I shake my fists at the gods.
Six or more games of frisbee crammed into a 16 hour period; games which are intermingled with snacking, tending blisters and/or injuries, drinking beer, dancing, general carousing with teammates and rivals, and a few short hours of sleep when our bodies finally capitulate.
And then the six hour drive home.
It's totally addicting. Working your body as hard as you can within a team situation is one of the most incredible experiences I've discovered. There are ups and downs and aches and pains, wins and losses, but regardless of all that, the overwhelming feeling at the end of it all is one of camaraderie and accomplishment. (I know it sounds utterly cheesy, but it's so very TRUE!) And the buzzing I feel in muscles and joins is thrilling even when it's uncomfortable.
Every year, I know that the tourneys for the rest of the summer will get easier and easier. It's the first one that hurts the most. And GB is the hardest, because of the skewed beer:frisbee:sleep ratio.
That was a digression. I meant to describe our weekend at Gender Blender per se. In a nutshell: camping tournament, our team was a Roman legion, we carted our ark of "bull's blood" (ie: cocktail) around to distribute to the masses in a magnificent chariot built by Sweetie McPie. McPie and I avoided painful hangovers and were able to play hard, though our skills need refining after a winter away from the disc. Our team went 3-3. It was HOT. Edging toward 30 degrees and sunny - but we came away with sunburn free. Pictures to come...
Traffic through the GTA is HORRIFIC. We took the ETR to avoid the worst, but to no avail. There was nothing "E" about it - we PAID to sit on a parking lot north of Toronto. Ottawa to Peterborough (300 km) took the same amount of time as Scarborough - Fergus (100 km). We vowed to never move back to Southern Ontario, where the urban seems relentless and inescapable.
All in all, it appears that the weekend shenanigans miraculously cured my plantar fasciitis. Either that, or the usual discomfort I normally feel in my foot simply pales in comparison to the discomfort I felt for the next couple of days in my calves, hamstrings, quads, abs... We've pretty much taken this week off from all activity, including laundry, vacuuming, getting out of bed...
We're looking forward to another one-day tourney this coming Saturday, a fundraiser for CHEO. It's the day after our Wine Club meeting (rumour has it we're visiting New Zealand!), so it will be interesting to see how our bodies fare.
A frisbee tournament. Most especially Gender Blender. After the first tournament of the summer, every year, I think to myself "Why? WHY do I inflict such pain on my body?" Also, I shake my fists at the gods.
Six or more games of frisbee crammed into a 16 hour period; games which are intermingled with snacking, tending blisters and/or injuries, drinking beer, dancing, general carousing with teammates and rivals, and a few short hours of sleep when our bodies finally capitulate.
And then the six hour drive home.
It's totally addicting. Working your body as hard as you can within a team situation is one of the most incredible experiences I've discovered. There are ups and downs and aches and pains, wins and losses, but regardless of all that, the overwhelming feeling at the end of it all is one of camaraderie and accomplishment. (I know it sounds utterly cheesy, but it's so very TRUE!) And the buzzing I feel in muscles and joins is thrilling even when it's uncomfortable.
Every year, I know that the tourneys for the rest of the summer will get easier and easier. It's the first one that hurts the most. And GB is the hardest, because of the skewed beer:frisbee:sleep ratio.
That was a digression. I meant to describe our weekend at Gender Blender per se. In a nutshell: camping tournament, our team was a Roman legion, we carted our ark of "bull's blood" (ie: cocktail) around to distribute to the masses in a magnificent chariot built by Sweetie McPie. McPie and I avoided painful hangovers and were able to play hard, though our skills need refining after a winter away from the disc. Our team went 3-3. It was HOT. Edging toward 30 degrees and sunny - but we came away with sunburn free. Pictures to come...
Traffic through the GTA is HORRIFIC. We took the ETR to avoid the worst, but to no avail. There was nothing "E" about it - we PAID to sit on a parking lot north of Toronto. Ottawa to Peterborough (300 km) took the same amount of time as Scarborough - Fergus (100 km). We vowed to never move back to Southern Ontario, where the urban seems relentless and inescapable.
All in all, it appears that the weekend shenanigans miraculously cured my plantar fasciitis. Either that, or the usual discomfort I normally feel in my foot simply pales in comparison to the discomfort I felt for the next couple of days in my calves, hamstrings, quads, abs... We've pretty much taken this week off from all activity, including laundry, vacuuming, getting out of bed...
We're looking forward to another one-day tourney this coming Saturday, a fundraiser for CHEO. It's the day after our Wine Club meeting (rumour has it we're visiting New Zealand!), so it will be interesting to see how our bodies fare.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)