Good morning! It’s very nice to see you. I hope you had a great week.
Grab a mug. I’ve got a pot of tea on. Let’s catch up.
A basket in a basket
Wednesday afternoon, I had a rare meeting at the office. I work almost exclusively from home and have done so for years. This was a nice treat to see some of my colleagues in person for the first time in a looong time.
Near the end of my meeting, I got a call on my phone. The caller ID was Alice’s school, so I excused myself from the room and took it.
I think in all the years of Alice being at that school, the school has only called a couple of times. I was a little concerned something was wrong. The cheery tone on the other end of the phone told me otherwise.
“You won the pink basket!” said the woman.
“I won the… what?” I asked.
“The pink basket! From the Easter Seals raffle!”
It all came back to me. On our way out the door of the parent-teacher interviews last month, Erin and I dug the change out of our pockets and bought a handful of tickets for the Easter Seals PEI fundraiser. I honestly didn’t even look at the prizes.
The woman had a little giggle in her voice.
“And just so you know, you won the PINK basket,” she said.
“OK, great,” I said. “Thank you. I’ll pop by to pick it up.”
I grabbed it from the school office the next day. The pink basket (rather than the blue basket) was filled with all sorts of goodies apparently preferred by women. Alice and I had a good chuckle when they got home from school as we poured over the basket, bemoaning that I couldn’t take advantage of the girly Tim Hortons gift card or partake in the woman chocolate.
The last laugh was on us, because as soon as Jane set her eyes on the basket, they turned into cartoon hearts. She grabbed every flowery candle, scented cream, and pink hairband her hands could carry.
The basket has been mostly pillaged now. The gift cards went into my wallet (gender expectations be damned). My favourite item is a locally made basket woven from rope. I knew right away what I’d use that little beauty for.
Thought I’m sure it wasn’t made for this purpose, I know a perfect sourdough banneton when I see one.
It worked great.
I’m still on my sesame seed kick. I cannot stop coating every loaf that goes into my oven with sesame seeds. I’m told on good authority by some of the other bread enjoyers in my house that I can take a break from this particular seed tradition any day now.
(I shan’t stop anytime soon.)
I fixed the window
Our kitchen window is a finicky thing.
The first year we lived in the house, the window (which is a fairly modern vinyl style) was so stuck, it took extreme effort to get it to open or close any amount. We had so many other things to take care of in the house that I didn’t investigate it until we’d lived here almost 10 months.
I wish I had done so sooner, because the damn thing was fairly simple to fix. I took the floating pane out and saw it had somehow jumped from the little thingy in the runner that allows it to glide up and down smoothly. It was fighting against the braking mechanism that holds the window in place when you flip it down to clean it.
I fixed that, and we had many years of happy window usage. I’m a well-known enjoyer of a cross-breeze at the height of summer, and this window is mandatory to keep that air flowing.
I’m not sure exactly what went wrong, but at some point last year the dang window jumped the runner again, and we’ve had problems ever since. This time, we had the opposite problem. Not only were we not fighting against the braking mechanism, there seemed to be absolutely no friction at all. No matter what we did, the window decided on its own it wanted to be in its desired state, which was closed. It slammed itself shut with such weight and ferocity, I was worried someone would lose a finger.
For the better part of the year, we’ve been using a stick (or whatever is handy at the moment) to prop open the window to our desired height. I kept promising I’d fix it, but I didn’t get around to it until yesterday.
It took a bit of tinkering, but I managed to get the parts moving properly again. It now opens and closes like a window should. I can look forward to another season of cross-breezes with all my digits attached.
Living in the Quack
My friend Jacques (who besides being an absolutely lovely guy is an actual journalistic treasure) posted something on Facebook this week that hit home for me.
I had this exact experience just days before, so I shared my own photo in response.
To which Jacques replied:
I’ve known Jacques for 24 years. Go sign up for his excellent weekly newsletter and then buy all his books.
Dunnock Bay
Besides The Quack, I also write a weekly fiction serial called Dunnock Bay, set in a tiny town on an island in Maritime Canada that may not actually exist. New stories come out every Sunday morning. If you like the gentle nothingness of The Quack, you may also enjoy Dunnock Bay. Think Vinyl Cafe meets 44 Scotland Street.
This week, Diego is nervous about an invitation to a potluck at Celeste’s house. He’s been trying to become besties with her for as long as he can remember, and this is his big chance to impress her with his famous baba ghanoush… which he might have cheated with a bit in the recipe. Read it here.
(I also do all the illustrations for Dunnock Bay. The above is the pattern on the Wedgewood china serving bowl Diego uses for his baba ghanoush.)
Thanks for hanging out with me for another Sunday morning. You rule.
If you enjoy reading my work, please share it with others. Like. Comment. Share. It all helps.
Have a great week.