Nauseatingly cute, no?

Surgery for Scott

Yesterday I accompanied Scott to the hospital for a CT scan of his kidneys. An X-ray taken a few months ago indicated the presence of a large kidney stone, while an ultrasound was inconclusive. I wasn't keen on him getting a CT scan, as our GP had warned us that the radiation from a single CT scan was equivalent to something like 500 chest X-rays, or 4.5 years of normal radiation exposure. Even the urologist told Scott that the scan would be negative. Scott elected to have the scan anyway, just to be sure.

Surprise!

Scott has a 2.5 cm stone in his left kidney. It cannot be passed and cannot be destroyed with lithotripsy, so surgery is the only option. The image above is a scan of a 1 cm stone. (We did not get copies of the images from Scott's CT scan, so I downloaded someone else's scan from the web.) Scott's surgery is scheduled for mid-June.

I snapped some shots of Scott in his hospital gown, but I fear the retribution I would suffer if I were to post them here.

As if the bad news wasn't enough, Scott underwent a two-hour root canal yesterday evening. The dentist wanted to quit halfway through and schedule another appointment, but Scott made funny noises and produced spittle in such a way as to convey that stopping was not an option. At one point I wandered into the room to see how Scott was faring. The dentist said, "You should feel sorry for me, not him. Me. I deserve cookies." Frankly, I think the thousands of dollars in insurance payments that the doc has received are payment enough. Thank goodness for medical and dental benefits.

There's something wrong with me.

At least, that's how I'm made to feel when I tell people that I don't like cottages. I simply fail to understand the appeal. If I have a hankering to soak up some sun (highly unlikely), I can grab a drink and relax on my back deck. If I want to admire nature, I can gaze into the tree-filled cemetery behind my house. If I want access to a lake -- why would I want that? I can't swim. But if I want unrelenting heat and humidity, rattlesnakes, biting insects I can't even name and a toilet that we're not supposed to flush very often, well then I can go to the cottage! Oh boy!

Tag! I'm it.

As a relative newcomer to the wonderful world of blog, I was unfamiliar with the concept of "tagging" and "memes." Now that I have been tagged by Orange Blossom Goddess and asked to complete a meme of my own, I feel greatly enlightened.

1. Five minutes to yourself; how would you spend them, ideally?
Being thankful for all the good in my life. I spend far too much time being negative.

2. Five bucks to spend right now; how would you spend it?
Candy, candy and more candy. (I've been having a terrible craving for sweets lately.)

3. Five items in your house you could part with, right now, that you hadn't thought of already?
I don't suppose I can name any of Scott's things?

4. Five items you absolutely, positively, could never part with in your house?
I don't count my pets as items, so let's see, what else is there?

• The tooth pillow that my mom made for me when I was little,

  
  

































• the pen sketches of Strawberry Shortcake that my brother drew for me when he was ten,

  
  



























• the bookcase that my dad and I built together,

  
  







































• the beautiful gate that Scott crafted for my 31st birthday,

  
  




































• and, of course, my photo collection.

5. Five words you love?
I love the way my brother pronounces "corn." Aside from that, no special words are coming to mind at the moment so I'm going to borrow Heather's method and open a dictionary... Eden, nonconformist, meander, leisurely, sierra. Granted, for most of those words it's the meaning that appeals to me more than the sound.

Does size matter?

Some people think so.

Trash

The third annual 20-Minute Toronto Makeover takes place this afternoon. At 2:00, Mayor David Miller and teams of volunteers will hit the streets to clean up what has become an unsightly problem in our city: litter.

As I walked to the bus stop this morning I watched an older fellow picking up garbage. It appeared to be a struggle for him each time he bent over, but he slowly persisted until he had cleared a long stretch of grass beside the sidewalk. I don't know if he owned the property or if he was simply being a good Samaritan, but I gave him a big smile for his efforts. (He probably would have preferred it if I had given him some assistance.)

It is beyond me why ignoramuses toss their trash on the ground when there are so many trash cans and recycling bins available.

Bling

For those who do not know, I am symbolically engaged to my boyfriend's mother. You see, a few months ago she gave me a claddagh ring that she had originally purchased for herself while on vacation. It fits perfectly on my right ring finger and I happen to prefer wearing it crown outward. According to Irish folklore, this means that I am considering love.

Scott's mother would really like Scott and I to get engaged. She makes no secret of this fact. For Christmas, Scott's mother urged him to give me "something small and nice" as a gift, nudge nudge, wink wink. Ever the obedient boy, Scott bought me an engagement ring.


Yes, that's correct, it's a paperweight, a gag gift. If I cared one iota about the tradition of marriage, I might have been a bit miffed (much like Scott's mom).

Tales of toe woe

If someone with whom I am not acquainted happens upon this site, he or she may wonder about the origin of my nickname. After all, anybody can make a stick of butter explode in their oven; that doesn't make them a calamity. No, no it doesn't. But can just anybody smash both of their big toes within a one-year period? Aha! I thought not.

Toe number 1 fell victim to a laptop computer which suddenly decided to leave the safety of my lap for the exhilaration of a free-fall. This wasn't one of those newfangled light-weight laptop computers, either. Long story short, my toenail eventually turned funny colours, then popped off one day when I caught it as I was pulling on a sock.

Toe number 2 has an even more sorrowful tale. I was tamping gravel in preparation for building a garden wall, and since I don't own steel-toed boots I was wearing running shoes. My usual lack of coordination led to the forceful meeting of tamper and toe. Another long story short... well, perhaps a photo array will convey my pain.

Care for a mint?

I love Happy Bunny.

Beware

Samson shows his mighty claws.

Bizarre animal behaviour

Do they do this sort of thing in the wild, or has domestication
addled their brains?

Back to our regularly scheduled blogging.

When I was young, my mom used to pin orange and lemon peels to the furniture to discourage the cats from scratching the upholstery. Mom claimed that felines hate the scent of citrus. Recently I left a plate full of orange peel unattended, and what did I find when I returned but Molly happily licking the peel. This makes Mom's practice of pinning peels to upholstery seem just a tad eccentric.

NOW we're done.

Their bums are touching!

Scott asked for photos, Scott gets photos.

I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille.

No, we're not done yet.

Make sure you get my good side.

Vogue!

We're so gorgeous we can't stand it.

Feeling out of Allsorts

We do love to play with our food.

Fun with hats

Here we have Scott making funny shapes with his toque

after a few drinks at Pauper's.

Scott, Scott and more Scott

I'd love to post a photo of Scott wearing a Hedwig the Owl puppet-hat, but he asked me to delete that photo a long time ago. Posting the photo would reveal the fact that I haven't deleted it. Hee hee. Instead, here is a cute photo of Scott enjoying a meal at Big Daddy's Crabshack.

Sure enough...

...Scott has been complaining about the fact that I have posted pictures of our dog, our friends' baby, my brother's girlfriend and my parents, but no pictures of him. So I give you... Scott.

Shroom baby

This is a photo of a man allowing his baby to crawl around in the mushrooms in the produce section of the Loblaws Forest Hill Market.

Busted!

This past Saturday Scott and I attended a Toronto Rock lacrosse game against the Philadelphia Wings. It was a kick-ass game, with the Rock trailing badly in the first quarter, then catching up and keeping it close until their sudden-death victory in overtime.

Scott and I were caught on the "Kiss Cam" during the game. My brother and Laura were in attendance and made sure to razz us about it afterwards. Apparently they weren't the only acquaintances of mine who were present; I have also received messages from a colleague and one of my floor hockey teammates asking if I attended the game. I'll have to remember to avoid major sporting events if I'm ever running from the law.

Ava Beth

This is Ava Elizabeth, the daughter of my best friend, Amy.

Ava recently announced that she has ordered herself a little brother or sister, due in mid-September. Good work, Ava!

Have you ever seen a more adorable pair of dimples?

Weredog

Scaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrry.

Chapter 2

So... My parents, my brother and his girlfriend (Laura) came over last Saturday to celebrate my mom and Laura's birthdays. My dad (pictured left, flanked by Laura and my mom) brought groceries and was planning to BBQ a special meal, but I was in charge of appetizers. (Smart party planners give me the simple tasks.) I placed a bunch of frozen hors d'oeuvres on a baking sheet and preheated the oven. Before long, smoke was pouring from the oven vent. I opened the door, saw the bubbling butter covering the floor of the oven, and called Scott over discreetly. Being sensible, Scott suggested that I turn off the oven and let it cool so that we could clean up the mess. But nooooooo, I insisted that we had to get the appetizers ready first.

BOOM! The butter caught fire, blowing the oven door open. Someone instructed Scott to use salt to extinguish the fire, so he took a shaker and began sprinkling salt on the flames. My mother tore open a box of salt and threw the contents into (and onto, and under, and all around) the oven. A bit messy, but it did the trick.

Still, before long, the entire house was filled with smoke and the smoke detectors were screaming. The cats had scrambled to various hiding spaces and half of the humans had grabbed their coats and jackets and headed outdoors, along with the dogs. Scott, my dad and I decided to run around opening windows and fanning smoke out the best we could, remaining indoors until we were almost overcome.

Eventually, my dad cooked the appetizers on the BBQ and also prepared a fabulous meal. In spite of, well, me, I think the birthday girls had a good time.

Living up to my name

I'm not a chef. Let's get that out of the way. I had company over for dinner last week and at the last minute I realized that I hadn't thawed any butter for the bread. (I use butter so infrequently that I store it in the freezer.) Having just cooked a beautiful stuffed pork tenderloin (lovingly prepared by some guy at the grocery store), I figured I would put the stick of butter in the oven as it cooled.

Bad idea. The oven was still really, really hot when I put the butter in it. Of course I didn't bother to use a plate; I just tossed the wrapped stick of butter on the top rack.

And then I completely forgot about it.

Stay tuned for Chapter 2, which tells the story of the next time I preheated the oven...