Life has settled into a nice routine.
- Wake up whenever I feel like it, or when Dallas can't wait to go outside any longer. I'm convinced life without alarm clocks is healthier.
- Nice strong coffee to restore speech ability
- Check email, read the headlines, verify that Kate still hasn't updated her blog
- Dallas gets played with, inevitably walked, earlier or later
- Lunch
- Reading or writing of some sort
- absolute avoidance of jobsites, while feeling slight guilt about same
- chat with friends on msn/phone/in person
- an assessment of options for trouble in the evening
- and so on, she concluded vaguely
Even the most comfortable, stable of routines gets upset during the holidays. I've been pestered into supplying a list of stuff that I might enjoy getting as presents. In typical fashion, the list is sport-centred and requires that I basically buy the stuff myself, to get the exact right thing. Eg: specific tire and wheel for my bike, specific trekking poles for my snowshoeing... My parents are irritated, but I do end up with what I wanted, and I do avoid such past tragedies as the black velour jumpsuit with blue and pink stripes-- A 14 year old tomboy's worst nightmare. All I wanted back then were jeans, GI Joes, and maybe a light saber or jack-knife.
My brother can usually find something I'll like without my input. For my birthday, he bought me some games, and the coolest deck of Pirate playing cards, complete with gold doubloon and money pouch sporting the ever saucy skull and crossbones. With awesome gifts like that- do I direct him, or let him find more pirate gold?
Then there's what to buy them. My brother has a steady girlfriend now, so it's no longer the case that no clothing has been bought for a full calendar year. He has all the electronics gizmos a person could have, and he's not into sports. Ack. Now what??
My dad provides a detailed list of what he wants, to avoid me showing up with books, which he is sick and tired of getting from me. But he changes his mind right up until the last minute, which guarantees last-minute shopping on my part. But that's my norm, so it works out.
My mom... a tough one. Usually I have to go shopping with her, which actually makes her happier than any item I could buy for her. This is always my hardest gift to give, since I loathe shopping, and she takes forever, exclaiming over every item she deems cute, furry, or interesting in the slightest way. Not exactly my style.
Today's placid lifestyle is already upset by requirements to go shopping. You see, there's a slow-cooker on sale (!!), and I need some boxing wraps and a skipping rope. I need to learn how to skip, or I'm doomed to jumping jacks at the gym which I think I hate worse.
One highlight from last week was seeing Maude Barlow at U of G. She rocks, The Council of Canadians rocks, and I am now reading her new book, Too Close for Comfort, which is beginning to rock.
