Better when it’s not raining.

But that doesn’t mean I wanted hail.  And we had some.  More than once. 

The bugger of it is,  the stupid grass is growing,  and it’s really too cold to be doing very much at all in terms of gardening.  Or cutting grass.  Or just about anything else outside.   I was a bit annoyed this morning when I had to go and retrieve my winter coat from the closet upstairs.  It was 2°C out! 

For those of you who haven’t quite figured out Celsius yet, (you know,  that system that’s based on the freezing and boiling point of water?) that’s two degrees above freezing. 

Anyway,  let’s not get into any debates about which scale to use,  except that it is noteworthy that, although Fahrenheit was a German,  the Germans don’t use his system.  Hm.

 

I’m just now finishing up the leftover pizza from the one I made for dinner last night.  It’s as good the second time around as it was the first.

Yes,  I made pizza.  Not rocket science.  And,  although the dough comes out risen and somewhat fluffy,  it’s not that easy to work,  and I had to fill in the holes like a patchwork quilt. Need to find a better recipe.

Speaking of which, (like that segue?  huh?) one of our Breakfast Babe members was the recipient of some left over scraps this morning from a quilt that was made for his Grand-daughter. 

Well,  the scraps were in the form of a pillow.  Or maybe there were two?  I wasn’t really paying attention,  but I did make sure to take a photo.

It was mostly an opportunity to use the new G16. 

Needless to say,  I’m happy with that camera.  There’s a good chance I’ll say that more than once too.

 

We noticed why the house across the way was getting all spiffed up with the fresh topsoil and new plantings. 

It’s now for sale.

 

There ya go.

Not sure if they’re looking to flip the place (they’ve been there since some time when we were in Vienna) or whether it’s getting to be too small for them.  There have been larger families raised in some of the houses on that street,  some of which have had the same occupants since the fifties.  The idea of moving every few years just fills me with dread.  Unless of course,  it’s part of a “company” move,  in which case Muggins here only needs to supervise. 

I can supervise.

But there will be no more of that.  We’re here for the duration.

The shocking thing is,  most any place that size around here will go for well over a half million.  Can you imagine?  I think we’d get considerably more than that for this place,  but it’s a moot point.

 

Speaking of moving, (should we turn this into a drinking game, where you take a shot every time there’s a segue?) I made a third trip today to the Greyhound Bus Depot here in town to pick up boxes that had been shipped across the country by my sister.  I have to call her up and ask if she’s done?  Or will there be more?  I have lots room,  so it’s no big deal.  But I thought we were done with the LAST trip I made.

Not sure where these will all end up,  but she’ll likely relocate back to Ottawa.  Her roots go way back in the Ottawa area,  and as a matter of fact, she still has a hairdresser there,  “Murray” whom she goes to see whenever she has the chance.  Is that a “thing” with the ladies?

Now,  you’d think the “Bus Depot” (or whatever you call it) would be at some place like the bus station. 

That would make sense.

Well no.  It’s simply a job that is contracted out to the folks who run the Kwik Kopy.

Another revenue stream for them I’m guessing, ‘cause I don’t see how you make any money running a Kwik Kopy franchise.  But what do I know?  Maybe they’re rolling in it.

Thankfully there’s Google Maps,  because I never would have found this place. 

I find that I invariably consult Google Maps before heading out the door if I’m going somewhere new.  I need to know where I’m headed,  rather than trying to figure it out on the fly.  Too much traffic.  Too many distractions.  I don’t need to be trying to find an address AND avoiding all the clowns out there. 

Oh,  and there be clowns.  But that’s a whole rant right there. Let’s not go there.

I’ve almost turned into That Old Guy who writes down a plate number,  comes home and calls the cops.  It has crossed my mind. But I’ve resisted. 

And I don’t even have to drive too many places.  Gawd help me if I had to do a daily commute.  My head would explode!

 

I think that’s the extent of my ramblings.

 

Stick.  Ice.  You know.

 

Thanks for looking.