Elgan speaks
...and her words thunder across the land

Lies. All lies.

Monday, Jun. 1, 2009
10:09 p.m.
June 1, already. I can hardly believe it.

Thursday: We drove to Toronto, checked into our hotel, ate dinner at a fabulous Indian restaurant (I had the leftovers for lunch the next day), and went to bed.

Friday: Hubby went to his conference, I went shopping. I bought a new keyboard for my iMac and a protective cover which will (hopefully) keep hair and bits of dust and skin and peanut butter from gumming up the works. However, I haven’t yet attached it to the computer. I also bought bubble bath, bath salts and some cuticle oil/tool at The B0dy Sh0p, engaging in delightful conversation with the salesgirl who must have been in raptures at my desire to spend money. Another lively exchange occurred with a young girl manning a jewelry kiosk in the middle of the mall, selling mostly amber but other semi-precious stones as well. I warned her that I wasn’t going to buy anything, and she was fine with that, just happy for the attention and the conversation.

I returned to the hotel for my leftover Indian food, had a nap, then walked over to the district where I was to meet Hubby, got into another conversation with a girl in a boutique selling skin-care products, telling her that none of them really work since they don’t have active ingredients (unlike the “doctor” brands that you pay through the nose for), and that she was best to stay out of the sun, not smoke, and if she felt she needed a moisturizer, to apply a few drops of olive oil where necessary.

Then I joined Hubby, drank red wine, ate crackers and cheese, hobnobbed with some fellow wizards, walked back to the hotel where we were joined by Hubby’s librettist and director, ate at an incredible Thai restaurant, and then spent a pleasant evening listening to a contemporary opera. Beer was consumed with a young composer at a pub, and then we all went to bed.

Saturday: I waited a half-hour for my daughter at the corner of Spadina and College (she was late), shivering in the cold wind. What’s with this unseasonably cool weather? She finally joined me and we went knitting book shopping. I also bought for myself a gorgeous skein of yarn, hand-dyed, silk and bamboo. It cost a fortune. What the hell was I thinking? We got to my mother’s residence in time to see the nurse making a fuss over her.

Hubby had arrived before us and she had risen from where she was sitting, only to yelp with pain when she put her weight on her left leg. Her knee just suddenly starting hurting very badly. As long as she wasn’t using it, it was fine. So they got her a wheelchair, we ate with her in the dining hall, and then afterwards took her upstairs to the nursing station where they decided they would take her for X-rays.

We then chilled at Little Princess’ for a while, visiting with her and her BF before getting back in the car (I’m so sick of the car) to drive to Hubby’s parents’ for dinner and to stay the night.

Sunday: Back in the car, returned to Toronto, loaded up all of Buddy Boy’s gear (except for his acoustic guitar which he lent to a friend for the summer) in the trunk and roof-top carrier. We paid a quick visit to my mother to see how she was doing (much better, thank you) and then headed down the highway. There was a tiny space for one person to sit in the back seat. While Hubby was driving, it was Buddy Boy back there (who didn’t mind). When I was driving, my son sat in the front seat and his father sat in the back. I didn’t know my husband was claustrophobic before this. He really suffered for the two and-a-half hours I drove from Kingston to Dorion.

We arrived home around 11 p.m., unloaded the car, and I went to bed. My menfolk stayed up a bit partying, but I had had enough.

Today I did laundry, baked bread, and caught up on the internet things I had missed while I was away. I was so looking forward to having my son home, but he went off with his friends, phoning to say he wouldn’t be home for supper. All this comes after he told me how much he was looking forward to my home cooking. Bah. Humbug.

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