The Sky is Falling

Seems that the whole fiasco that caused the mortgagecrisisresultingingovernmentbailingoutautoindustrywtf nonsense is playing havoc with the stock market. And now, apparently, things aren't working the way they should be. As in stocks go up when they shouldn't and go down when they shouldn't. As in when Doug buys something it goes down and when he sells, it goes up. Well, not always, but often. And that's because the sky is falling. It's been going to fall for the past couple of years. How do I know this? Chicken Little Doug tells me. Every. Single. Day.

It starts at 6:30 am every morning – except when we're in Hawaii – then it starts at 3:30 am. Doug turns on his Android and starts checking the market. And then the fun part begins. Looking at charts. And then he wants me to look at them too. I'd rather stick a fork in my eye or run with the bulls in Spain. I've learned to not move when I first wake up, or open my eyes, because that's when I get the running commentary on what's going on in the market, the tsx, the dow, the S&P, short, long, bull, bear, blah, blah, blah.

The pace picks up when the tv is tuned to the market channels and all the pinheads are yelling above themselves and at each other over whether Barack Obama caused the shares of Amazon to fall, or world peace to disintegrate. It's kind of like listening to Nancy Grace when she gets all shrieky saying “breaking news, breaking news”, when it's all a rehash of some case that is a year old. And everyone is going crazy because the market is down the market is up the market is sideways and then someone's head explodes and all's right with the world. Until the aftermarket. And the opening of the European market. Then the Asian markets. 24 hours of nonstop freakenomic entertainment. And all the while voices are calling – the sky is falling, the sky is falling.

Yes, indeed, if Doug is right and the the sky IS falling, you know where I'm going to hide? Under my bed, counting my change. You may join me if you wish.

Sister Wives

I just finished watching the last episode of Sister Wives – the show about a polygamist family living somewhere in Utah.  I had expected it to be based on what I’ve read in the news – a bunch of people living in a gated compound where the elders determine which young girl will become the next wife of the creepy guy that belongs to the compound because no way in hell is he getting any woman the normal way.  So it was a surprise to find that the family was mainstream and modern, well except for the whole 3 wives and 1 fiancee situation. 

I really don’t understand what’s in it for Kody – the husband.  Doug says that he can’t imagine putting up with having more than one of me.  He only watched one episode and was all “That guy is crazy”.  He always has the deer caught in the headlights look on his face (not sure if its because of the wives or what he may have smoked when he was younger).  

But really?  I could have used some Sister Wives when I was a young mom trying to balance work with kids and there was no husband around.  The women on this show would have made my life so much easier.  Meri is the First Wife, works outside the home and appears to be the family organizer.  Janelle is the Second Wife and is one of the breadwinners – she prefers it that way.  Christine is the Third Wife and is absolutely hilarious.  She’s the one who stays home with all the kids and keeps things running smoothly.  These women are strong and opinionated – WHERE WERE YOU GUYS WHEN I NEEDED YOU???

Back to Kody.  He works as a sales rep, drives a beautiful Lexus and looks like he’s just a bit out of his element.  Looks like your typical guy.  Married to three women, engaged to a fourth.  Just celebrated his 20^th anniversary with Wife No. 1; Wife No. 3 just had her 6^th child; the wedding is just a couple of days away to soon to be Wife No. 4 and he decides, on camera, to announce to all the women that he picked out the wedding gown.  Ahh Kody.  You might want to remove that bullseye you have painted on your forehead.

Because, Dude, you managed to piss off each and every one of them.

The fiancée is pissed because she is aware that this may cause problems with the existing wives, Wife No. 3 has just had her 6^th child and MAY be a bit hormonal – she takes off her microphone and walks out after telling him that when they got married he didn’t give a rats ass what she wore, Wife No. 1 is having the most difficulties with the idea of Wife No. 4 and Wife No. 3 never had the big fancy wedding with the big fancy wedding dress.  Kody, Kody, Kody.  What WERE you thinking?

So really, what’s in it for him (besides the obvious)?  If Doug pisses me off he only has to deal with me.  If Kody pisses one of his wives off, there’s a good chance that he has pissed them all off and has to apologize to all of them.  Individually.  Four times e.v.e.r.y. time.   

Sister Wives – they rock. 

What's the deal with WOOD?

I was reading my newest edition of House and Home during breakfast (aka quality time with my husband) and mentioned to Doug that the editor was editorializing a discussion she was having with her husband that a lot of women have with theirs.  At which point, totally unprompted, Doug chanted "men should leave all decorating decisions to women".


But I said, no not that - the other major discussion:


To paint or not to paint WOOD (all in caps because it's up there with GOD).


The editor was talking about her kitchen cabinets - they were cherry and she wanted to paint them a charcoal colour and add sleek metal pulls.  I was all, absolutely!  I would love to have that in my kitchen.  But of course her husband didn't want to paint wood.  I ran into that with so many clients where we wanted to repurpose furniture or cabinetry and for the most part any mention of paint caused anaphylactic shock in men.


(We once had a cabin that was made all of wood - the floors, the walls, the cabinets, the ceilings - everything was wood.  I wanted to paint the walls to brighten it up and Doug just laughed and laughed, saying "You don't paint WOOD".)

So I asked him "What's the deal with you guys and wood?"

And this is what he, in all seriousness, said:

"Men have a closer relationship with wood than women do.  We work with it and women don't."  And then he left the room.

I'm all "What?  You're What??  OK Mr. Computer Programmer/woodworker guy, I failed to notice the amount of whittling, carving and sanding that was required everytime you wrote some code".

And he pointed out to me that he had built the room downstairs (and yes, I do remember those gorgeous 2x4's) and had made a coffee table and I will concede that.  And I promise never to paint the coffee table that he made.  But really, this relationship with wood is just weird.

At the end of the magazine they have a regular column called "Ask a Designer".  And the questions was about how to decorate a master bedroom.  Cameron McNeil, the designer guy, said about the furniture that was in the room:

"Your wood furniture is nice, but all of it together seems a bit heavy.  To vary the look, paint your bedside tables in Bone White".

Now there's a man worth marrying.

This is NOT airing our dirty laundry, Doug

Doug doesn't want me to post these pictures, but considering that I'm the anal one and I'm good with it here they are.

This is what our kitchen looked like after three days without hot water.  Apparently one of the side affects was that we couldn't take out the garbage and recycling or put anything back in the cupboards.

What you can't see is that the garbage under the sink is full.  That 's why we just piled up the used coffee filters.

Pioneer Days

We’ve spent the last three days without hot water. Sucks to bits. Doug had to completely shut off the hot water tank because it sprang a leak. Which meant we couldn’t use the dishwasher. Or the shower. For THREE days. That’s how long it took to get someone over to install the new one.

For three days I’ve been boiling water on the stove, chopping wood, using the treadle sewing machine, lighting candles, melting snow…..ok, not really, but it was reminiscent of days gone by.

But now it’s fixed. And I’m off to shower, finally.

Impulse Shopping

Doug and I have been known to impulse shop. And not on the stuff that marketing gurus have determined that people will impulsively buy if you position them near the checkout or at end of aisles. We’ve gone out for breakfast and come back with gym equipment. Gone for coffee and come back with a television. Gone on vacation and bought an apartment. And the conversations that took place to get us from say, eating breakfast to "hey we need exercise equipment", were quite interesting. No marketing executive could have predicted how impulsive people are if they are Doug and me. There was nothing at the cashier that hinted to us that we needed to get in shape. Nothing! That would be counter productive to them – they don’t want people to stop eating. Except that one of us probably said “ugh, I ate too much”. That’s all it would take. Off to the races! We need to get in shape and we need to do it RIGHT NOW – let’s go buy some gym equipment!

Last Christmas our stove went on the fritz. It started cooking the turkey and then suddenly decided to shut itself off and not start up again. It’s a gas stove so there really isn’t a lot that can go wrong. It’s old, it didn’t cost a lot and really, didn’t owe us anything (and once it caught onto that concept it went "oh hell yeah"). Doug took it apart, we ran it through the clean cycle and it would work, sometimes. And if it did work it would take up to 40 minutes to come up to temperature. Dinner parties were a luck of the draw. Come at 6:00, we’ll eat by oh maybe 9:00. Or we’ll order pizza. Who knows???

Here’s the thing. We buy only big ticket items on impulse. You would think that we would have gone out and bought a new stove long before we had major problems. I wanted to. Doug didn’t think we should. WE should try and fix it. Really?? WE can buy an apartment in Hawaii because we went there on vacation once and we had the discussion that kinda went like “Wouldn’t it be nice to live in such paradise and holy crap look how cheap it is to buy apartments here”, but we can’t buy a stove that will actually work without me threatening to stick a fork in it’s face. For a year we have had the discussion. Granted, all of our appliances are white and if we are to replace any one of them it will change to stainless, and then I suppose, you can surmise that all would need to be changed in order to match.

Regardless, fast forward to this Christmas and the game we like to play called “Spin the Dial on the Stove”. The first three hours passed uneventful as the turkey aroma filled the house. The aroma was interrupted by the distinct smell of gas around hour 3.5. So we did what most people would do. We turned it off, then turned it on, then turned it off, then turned it on and it still wouldn’t light. 10 people for dinner – no pressure. Start up the barbeque. Only it completely dries up any juices that might have turned into gravy. Doug takes the stove apart yet again and realizes that he can light it with the barbeque lighter once it shuts itself off. The turkey comes off the barbeque and back into the oven. And each time it gets to temperature and shuts itself off, Doug relights it and we continue on.

Using the handy dandy device that Roddy bought me for Christmas, Doug and I are elated when it registers that the turkey is cooked. An hour and a half late, but no matter. Everyone has wine, there are plenty of veggies, salmon for the non meat eaters, gravy thanks to chicken broth, and non-dairy non-wheat dessert.

And the Christmas Miracle – besides the other one….

We’re getting a new stove – one that’s planned.

No More Hockey Pucks

It’s a well known fact in my family that I like to cook all meat until it is done – well done. No hint of blood. At. All. Roast beef? – crispy on the outside. Pork Chops? Crunchy like bacon. That’s why god invented gravy. And for years the kids didn’t know any better.

Until one day when Roddy came back from having dinner at his girlfriend’s parents and very excitedly asked me “Did you know that you can eat roast beef rare?????”.

Really….Apparently, he informed me, it was very good.

Years passed, and now the kids come home for meals on occasion and while their tastes have changed – some are vegetarians, some won’t eat red meat and others have wheat and dairy allergies – and I have adapted by cooking to everyone’s food issues, one thing that hasn’t changed? Cooking meat until they’re hockey pucks. And I think Roddy had enough because for Christmas this year he gave me:



And it’s amazing. What a great invention. It wasn’t that I really wanted to cook roast beef or steak or pork chops until they could chip your front teeth – I just didn’t know when to stop.

And now this thing tells me that it’s ok, move away from the heat and no one will get hurt.

My husband – Mr. GQ

Doug just came in and told me that he was too dressed up to hang around the house. Yipee – let’s go somewhere! Then he finished his sentence “I think I’ll slob it down a bit”. He always knows the right things to say.