And I shouldn’t mess with it. As events of this morning unfolded, I realized my wickedness from the night before has caught up with me. 🙂
I can tell I’m about to go on holidays…I know this mental space. I micromanage things I shouldn’t, I race around trying to fix-at-the-last-minute all the things I should have dealt with earlier (getting the van serviced, getting the dog groomed so she won’t be too hot in our unusually hot and dry rain coast summer…), and I forget where I put my “to-do” lists (yes, plural…I keep rewriting them because I keep misplacing them).
It’s not pretty in my head today. I realize this as I am on hold via Bluetooth, trying to register my son for a swimming lesson we were waitlisted for….while driving on the TransCanada Highway to take him and his best friend to sailing camp which is 20 km from our house, and for which there’s a chance we’re going to be late. Being late makes me “mental” and even though I’ve learned all the outward behaviour of being “chill” about schedules, what goes on inside me is very far from chill.
Anyway…the swimming lesson. The 24 hours I was given to claim the lesson spot is going to expire within minutes and while the muzak is playing and I’m feeling stressed because my cell phone always drops calls in this part of the world, my husband is beeping in with his call. “But if I leave my spot in the phone queue maybe my son will lose his chance for this lesson which he loves?” And there aren’t a lot of things he loves besides his computer time, nintendo ds or tv…all of which I hate. So I stay with the queue.
“But why is my husband calling me?” Then it dawns on me. The van is supposed to be at the garage at 9am. He had said he’d take it. The clock on the dashboard reads 8:51. I’m supposed to be in his car.
I’m in my van.
And the nice fellows at the garage, who squeezed in their crazy customer who pleaded with them to try to fit in the van today had been very clear: They needed the van by 9…the 9:30 I had suggested was not going to work for them.
This is only ONE event from this morning and as I write this, it’s still what any of us would call “mid morning”.
Those of you who know me personally are likely having trouble concentrating on the description of my morning because “wicked” is not a descriptor you’d use of me. I have heard things like “Martha Stewart’s illegitimate daughter”, “kind”, “thoughtful”…not wicked.
I don’t think my friends in the ‘hood can even begin to visualize the mischievous part of my personality. But it’s there. Oh, and it was having fun last night.
My husband had been up on the roof after dinner, trying to sort out something in the house that required my paying attention to it and then calling out through the open window to him whether there was any difference. So I suppose that got me thinking about the roof. And it’s been hot. And when he was done, he left the ladder there where it was easy to access.
“I’m going on the roof!” I call out.
I’ve never been on our roof, and we’ve lived in this house 11 years. So this announcement intrigued my husband, who I invited up with me. As we were surveying our street we noticed a man and a woman walking around the corner onto our street. They were noticeable because they were wearing matching colours and were carrying something. They would confer at the end of a driveway and then go up to the front door, or not, depending on what their clipboards told them.
“Canvassers” said my husband.
The blue was an unusual shade…a recognizable shade of blue. In Canadian politics, there are currently three national parties of any significance and each is associated with a colour. The orange of the New Democratic Party, the fire-engine red of the Liberal Party of Canada, and this particular blue…it’s the Conservative Party, which is also the party in power.
But a federal election is looming…by October 19th…and I’m not supporting the “blue” party. Not a snowball’s chance in hell. I don’t know if it was the novelty of the roof, but after the clipboard people decided they would come up our driveway, I figured they were fair game.
Ding Dong.
I hang over the roof, staring down at their “C” insignias on their blue shirts. “Hi” I smile at them charmingly, even though I am struck by the incredible irony of them, on my doorstep, announcing they are with Andrew Saxton’s “campaign” (their words, not mine) on the very same day Canada Post delivered “Andrew Saxton, MP: Your Guide to More Tax Cuts and Benefits” which was produced and distributed from his office with MY money. Yours too if you live in Canada.
I get that politics is a game-especially the campaigning part of politics…and I’m sure “my” party did the same things when they were in power. And I highly respect anyone who is willing to stand for public office. But I am emboldened by them showing up like this…today of all days. All bets are off people…if you’re going to do stuff like that, then I’m going to waste your time. We have a nice chat and I don’t tell them what I really think. I may have even stretched the truth when they asked if Andrew could count on my support.
I can hear the sharp intake of breath from my friends as they grapple with their disillusionment. How can this be the person they know? 🙂
The canvassers are going to send Andrew by sometime so I can waste his time too.
And despite my morning, I am not contrite. But I did take a lovely box of scones to the fellows at the garage before I sat down at the computer…because that’s what Martha would do.
Well, she would have baked them, and if I weren’t busy being crazy-person, I would have too. Although sitting and writing has calmed me…maybe I can get back to preparing for our upcoming RV trip.
