So Long, 2016

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…” – Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

To paraphrase, “It was a shitty year, it was a wonderful year…”

In 2015, after a month in hospital, Mum died in August. We had a F**k 2015 get together in the new year, and had hoped 2016 would be a hell of a lot better. That hope was short lived, as Dad died in January—during one of the biggest snowstorms of the winter—five months after Mum. We finally laid Dad to rest, next to Mum, on the first anniversary of her death, when all of us sibling could be together again. Between the two of them, it felt like I was never going to stop crying.

It did get better. Somewhat. I still mourn, I just don’t cry as often. But I’m at that age, now, when my friends are losing there parent, too. Three fathers, and two mothers this year. And with each, it brings it all back.

Fortunately, the year wasn’t all doom and gloom. There have been some great moments, as well.

I traveled from one end of the province to the other, and discovered a love for whales that I didn’t realize was so strong. Humpback whales on the southern end, and northern right whales and pilot whales on the northern end. If I had to choose any other creature to be, I would be a humpback whale. They are magnificent, gentle, intelligent creatures.

I’ve written a few dinner theatre comedies over the years, but this year I wrote and directed a drama (dramedy) for a one-act film festival. I got to write some meaty dialogue with a deeper meaning to me than anything I’d written before. I am quite proud of it.

I spent more time with family over the past year, and realize how lucky I am to have such wonderful siblings. Not everyone can say that.

So, I sit here on New Year’s Eve, with the Christmas tree lights, and there counterparts in the window illuminating the room, as per tradition, and I say good-bye to 2016 with a feeling of… peace.

I look forward to 2017, and hope it will be a hell of a lot better. My goals- not resolutions- are to worry less, and write more; to find the things that will help to make me the person I am supposed to be. And I wish for you to find yours.

Happy New Year!

Book ‘Em Danno!

January 25, 2013

Dear Bloggary:

Tonight I was reading through a few blogs that I follow, and came upon this fun idea. It’s called “Finish-the Sentence Friday” It originated from a blog called, Can I Get Another Bottle of Whine. (Yes, Dear Bloggary, I agree, it is a clever title.) The premise is that they start a sentence, and you are invited to finish it. So, although this is blog/diary (Bloggary) I’ve decided to finish it… the sentence, that is. (Indulge me, Dear Bloggary.)

The sentence of the week is:

When I was Younger, I tried…

…to start my own library. (Yes, Dear Bloggary, I am that nerdy.) I was about ten or eleven, and my father had set up a tent in our back yard. I loved to read in the tent,  and always had books scattered across the floor.  Neighbourhood kids would come in, look at a book or two and leave. That was when I got the bright idea to start my own library. (Yes, Dear Bloggary, I do sometimes get those.)

I went into the house, got the supplies I thought I might need, and lugged them out to the Buttercup Library. (Named, Dear Bloggary, after the tiny, lemon-hued, wild flowers that had sprung up  around the tent.) I constructed and taped card holders onto the inside, back covers of books, and fashioned fancy paper cards out of Manila paper to fill them. After I found an old stamp and pad that would work perfectly in my library, I opened for business. It was fun to stamp out the books and file the handful of cards and watch the neighbourhood kids  happily take my favourite books home.

Unfortunately, things didn’t go as well as I had anticipated. (Yes, I’m sure you figured it out, Dear Bloggary.) My books did not arrive back in due time. Some I tracked down, and managed to retrieve. Others…well, I mourned their loss. I guess I was a bit naive about the honesty and reliability of others. I still am, sometimes. (What is the moral of the story here, Dear Bloggary?) I’m not sure of the moral of the story. Maybe it’s to look before you leap. Or, trust no one. (Yes, Dear Bloggary, I watched too many” X Files” episodes.) All I know is that not every story has a happy ending. So, just close that book and move on to the next… if your friends haven’t stolen them. (Yes, Dear Bloggery, in retrospect, a book store might have been a brighter idea.) The End.

Yours,

Shannon

 

 

What’s New?…Besides the year.

January 1^st, 2013

Dear Bloggary:

Happy New Year! Sorry I’ve been absent for such a long stretch, but I’m back! Did you miss me? (That was a rhetorical question, Dear Bloggary, no need to get insulting.)

Last you heard from me I was in the midst of rehearsals for “Steel Magnolias”, and decided to put the blog on hold. (No, Dear Bloggary, I can’t walk and chew gum at the same time, either…And the play was a huge success, thank you for asking.) Everyone did an excellent job in this production and I felt very good about my own performance. (Well, Dear Bloggary, I have to pat myself on the back, no one else will.)

I decided to get myself an early Christmas present this year. A cat. After Stephanie moved in with her boyfriend, and took her cat with her, I missed having a furry friend in the house. (Oh, sorry, Dear Bloggary, did I forget to mention that Stephie moved out and got engaged? Yeah, that happened. I will become a monster-in-law next fall.) Now to get back to my previous train of though. I went to the SPCA to adopt one of the harder to place cats, and found a two and a half – three year old female feline, Patches, whose name I changed to Pasha. ( Because, Dear Bloggary, it sounds more like a name and less like something used to cover a hole.) The poor little thing was in a room all by herself, because she freaked out around other cats and when I went in to meet her I immediately felt a kinship with her. (No, Dear Bloggary, I’m not quite as anti-social as that, but I certainly understand anxiety around others.) Her previous owner had been an elderly lady who went into a nursing home, and I’m not sure if she ever played with the cat, as Pasha didn’t seem to know how to play. And she jumped and ran away at any little noise or quick movement. And before she got used to her new home, she sometimes hissed and bit. (Yes, Dear Bloggary, she’s socially awkward like me.  And no, the biting and hissing did not go over well with Mark.)  She’s better now, as she plays with her toys and even cuddles on my lap. All she needed was a gentle hand and a soothing word. (Yes, Dear Bloggery, it worked on Mark, so why not a cat?) She even made nice to holiday company and visited with everyone.

Christmas time was busy, as usual, but it has come and gone, and now the task of packing up has come. (No, Dear Bloggary, packing up is not nearly as pleasant a chore as unpacking, but a necessity.) Now to get on with the  new year.

Farewell, 2012, thank you for all you have taught me. Welcome, 2013, as you offer me another year of possibilities.  Happy New Year to all who read these words. Cheers! To all of our possibilities. ♥

Talk to you soon,

Yours,

Shannon

The Red Menace

Saturday, September 21^st, 2012

Dear Bloggary:

AHHHHHH! (Excuse me for screaming at you, Dear Bloggary.) “They” say primal screams help when you are frustrated. “They” lie…at least in this case. Unfortunately, screaming does not scare rashes away – which is the cause of my frustration. The cat took off, though – she’s the epitome of the “scaredy-cat”, everything chases her off.

It’s been about two weeks since the first small batch of red bumps popped up to say hello, and I brushed them off as nothing to concern myself with, and rubbed a little lotion into them. But, the unwelcomed visitors liked it here so much that they invited all their friends over for an extended holiday, and like unwanted house guests, they are a pain…only literally. What began as a mere irritation has turned into a war of nerves. Physically and mentally. The temptation to scratch has evolved into the need to patting myself and go topless to help ease the feel of thousands of pin pricks and burning. (Sorry for the mental image, Dear Bloggary.) The relief is momentary.

After my own attempts to chase the bumpy buggers off failed, and the infiltration of the red menace expanded, I thought it was time to call in the big guns. But after a trip to the doctor, blood work, and the clinic, the war rages on. A new frontal assault  with a second cortisone cream and antihistamine pill has begun. I remain optimistic that we shall prevail. Though I have yet to figure out how this war even began, I am determined to put down my enemy before I go totally insane. (No, Dear Bloggary, that hour has not passed, I’m only slightly insane…believe it or not.)

The symptoms have eased slightly and I am hoping for a decent night’s sleep. (Yes, Dear Bloggary, fingers crossed.) I hope to awaken refreshed and ready to continue the battle, but sleep is seldom restful during times of war. (Fine, Dear Bloggary, I’ll stop with the war analogies and simply say, “I wish this bloody rash would go away before I rip my skin off!)

Yours,

Shannon

The *Itch Is Back

Tuesday, September 18^th, 2012

Dear Bloggary:

This isn’t the first time I’ve wanted to rip my skin off, but it’s been a while since I’ve wanted to so badly. (No, Dear Bloggary, it’s not some bizarre cult ritual.) I’m covered in rash from chin to chest, upper back to upper arms. Itch is my new middle name. (No, Dear Bloggary, there is no ‘B’ in itch.) I’m starting a new version of “The Itchy And Scratchy Show”, It has me walking around shirtless.  After a week of trying various treatments that didn’t stop the spread, I finally saw the doctor. We still haven’t figured out the cause, but a treatment has been prescribed. It makes me smell slightly like a jar of Vicks, but if it works, I’ll endure the mentholated aroma. (No, Dear Bloggary, you may not call me Vicky…and that’s ITHCHY! No ‘B’!) I suppose I’ve been a little irritable lately, but, hopefully, that will subside along with the irritation.  At least it’s not as serious as my last severe itch. Contact dermatitis is a much better diagnosis than malignant melanoma. (Yes, Dear Bloggary, I had a brief stay at the Hotel Melanoma, and no, you may not call me Mel, either. You are becoming a bigger irritant than the rash.)

At least I have another day off work to walk around topless before I have to endure the extra pain of material friction. (No, Dear Bloggary, I don’t believe a rash was the reason for Kate, the Duchess of Cambridge going topless.)

I suppose I should wear a top to rehearsal tomorrow night. Although the cast is all women, the windows have no blinds, and Paparazzi are everywhere. (Yes, Dear Bloggary, that was a joke…and you may call me Kate.)

I should go now, Dear Bloggary. Hopefully, I’ll get some sleep tonight, or tomorrow I may be itchy with a ‘B’. (Yes, Dear Bloggary, I meant bitchy that time.)

that time.)

Good night.

Yours,

Shannon

P*ss Off!

Tuesday, September 11^th, 2012

Dear Bloggary:

How do you know when someone is too drunk to function in public? (No, Dear Bloggary, I wasn’t staggering while giggling and asking people if I was walking straight…at all. It was a rhetorical question.) My answer would be, when you unzip and pee on the gate of the local garden centre in front of your wife, kids and dog. (Yes, dear Bloggary, that actually happened.) And when told that the establishment had facilities you yell f**k off, also in front of said family. I’ve always thought I was a little less than classy, but next to this sot, I’m a friggin’ Royal. (Yes, Dear Bloggay, if I were a Royal, I would introduce you to Wills and Kate…but not Harry. He’s too busy running around nude…possibly peeing on fences.)

What a day yesterday! Over 75 mm of rain on already saturated ground, flash flooding, dike breakage, evacuations, road closures, a rash on my arms… (No, Dear Bloggary, the rash has nothing to do with the flood, I just thought I’d throw that in because the itching is driving me crazy, right now.) I’m glad my family made it through with relatively little damage. (No, Dear Bloggary, through the flood, they don’t have a rash…that I’m aware of.)

On a more serious note, today is 9/11 and I’ve been remembering the terrible tragedy of eleven years ago, the families of loved ones lost, the bravery of the rescuers, and the generosity of the people in the Atlantic Provinces who housed and fed stranded airline passengers, rerouted here. I don’t want to dwell only on the horrible acts of those few delusional religious extremist and the heartbreaking result, but also on the good, brave, kind people who came together to help their fellow man. If there is one thing of which I am sure, it is that there are more good people in the world than bad. (Thanks, Dear Bloggary, you’re one of the good ones, too.)

So, Dear Bloggary, to sum up, one way or another it has been a pissy few days.

Yours,

Shannon

My Obsession

Saturday, September 8^th, 2012

Dear Bloggary:

Oh, the waves! The waves! Mark and I went down to Peggy’s Cove for a little jaunt. Leslie is definitely making her mark. (No, Dear Bloggary, Leslie is not the local graffiti artist, it is the latest hurricane.) It was a beautiful day, with little wind, but the ocean was extremely riled up, as Leslie continues her way north…and the colours! Turquoise, aqua, deep blue, royal blue, if it’s a shade of blue, it was there. Rocks that you could normally walk on were under water while others were smashed by the undulating sea.  I could have stayed all day watching the white foam reach for the sky. (Yes, Dear Bloggary, I have an obsession. My name is Shannon, and I am a saltwater addict.) I could never live far from the ocean without becoming deeply depressed. It is my calming influence.

So, eventually we had to leave the beauty that is Peggy’s Cove, to pick Stephie up from work and go to see Mark’s 94 year old, grandmother. She  and Mark’s aunt and uncle drove the 1800Km from Ontario. Did I mention she was 94! She had surgery last December and they weren’t sure she would make it. You’d never know to look at her now. And her mind is sharp as a tack. She remembers things that I couldn’t.

Well, I had better go to bed now, Dear Bloggary, I need my sleep. They’re calling for up to 70mm of rain tomorrow and thunderstorms, so I’ll be very nervous driving to work. (Yes, Dear Bloggary, I know the thunder won’t hurt me, but it makes me jump, anyway.) Sweet dreams.

Yours, Shannon

Scented Socks And Dolly Parton Wigs

Friday, September 7^th.2012

Dear Bloggary:

I love fall. (No, Dear Bloggary, I love fall, not falling. My klutziness has nothing to do with it.) Autumn is my favorite season; the air, the colours, my birthday. It just makes me happy.  The air has had that crisp, cool smell to it that is invigorating.  (Yes, Dear Bloggary, crisp and cool can be smells.) And I can feel it coming. (Fine, Dear Bloggary, I can smell it coming.)

Speaking of smells, the smells of fall are much better than the smell of rum I had on my socks most of the day, yesterday. (No, Dear Bloggary, I wasn’t wearing rum scented socks, I broke another plastic bottle at work. At least this time it was just a half pint of rum, instead of a pint. They are just not making plastic caps the way they used to.) Between the broken wine bottles three weeks ago, broken case of beer a couple of weeks ago, and these two latest incidences committed by yours truly, people are going to start thinking I’m an alcoholic, as I wander around smelling like booze all the time. (No, Dear Bloggary, I don’t dab it on like perfume, it’s a consequence of cleanup and backsplash aftermath.) The boozy paper towels in the garbage can don’t help, either.

I just received notification that I’ve been offered a part in the play for which I auditioned on Tuesday! I will be playing the part of Truvy in “Steel Magnolias.” (Yes, Dear Bloggary, the part Dolly Parton played in the movie. No, Dear Bloggary, I know I don’t look like Dolly Parton. I don’t have to, I’ll be playing Truvy, not Dolly Parton…but don’t put that blond wig away just yet. Hmmm.)

Between rehearsing for “Steel Magnolias” and writing the script for the Village Follies next dinner theatre, my free time will be limited, but I’ll try to keep in touch, Dear Bloggary.

‘Till next time, good night.

Beep, Beep!

Tuesday, September 4^th, 2012

Dear Bloggary:

What a busy day! The roadrunner was at it again. (Yes, Dear Bloggary, I am referring to myself, not the cartoon character.) Stephie and I high-tailed it to Lunenburg today. (No, Dear Bloggary, I don’t really have a tail, and neither does Stephanie…yes, Stephie did, if you count her pony-tail. Funny you should mention pony tails.) While there, we took an historical horse and buggy ride around the town. It was great fun, but we got a belligerent horse (Frank). Apparently, he has a crush on one of the other horses, (Charlie) and when our driver (Lisa) made him stop to have a drink, Charlie passed us, and went around the corner. When Frank started up again he wanted to follow Charlie, but Lisa wouldn’t let him. (It’s not confusing, Dear Bloggary, keep up.) So, Frank started whinnying and clomping. Lisa apologized for him, and I told her not to worry, it was just his version of stomping his feet up the stairs and screaming into a pillow for not getting his way. (No, Dear Bloggary, I never did that as a kid…much.)

After that, we went into the Fisheries Museum. My favorite part was the giant fish tanks. (No, Dear Bloggary, I didn’t jump in…tempting as it was.)

After the two hour drive back, I had to zip into town for my cooking class. I was starving, as I had only eaten a banana all day, and the thought of those fish at the museum was making me hungry. I would even have eaten a roadrunner, or Charlie the horse. (No, Dear Bloggary, I wouldn’t eat Frank, he’s my friend, now, and friends don’t eat friends…isn’t that a rule?) But I didn’t eat, horse, or fish, or roadrunner, I ate a tofu dish, and it was delish!

Finally, I auditioned for a play; Steel Magnolias. I love the story. Having a diabetic daughter, it touches me on a personal level. (Yes, Dear Bloggary, I have my fingers and toes crossed that I can be a part of this production.)

That’s all for tonight, Dear Bloggary. It’s been a long day. Goodnight.

Yours,

Shannon

Close Encounter Of The Celebrity Kind

Sunday, September 2^nd, 2012

Dear Bloggary,

I had my first close encounter of the celebrity kind, today, if you don’t count local celebrities, (Some of whom are friends of mine.) or politicians…Or Lenore Zann, (who is both actress and politician) because we went to school together…Or Jonathan Torrens, who has attended two of my dinner theatre productions, but with whom I’ve never spoken. (Okay, Dear Bloggary, it wasn’t my first celebrity encounter. Sheesh. But she is the biggest.)

Anyway, as I was saying, a celebrity came through my check-out, this afternoon. I recognized her voice, and when I looked up, there was Anne Murray. (No, Dear Bloggary, I didn’t ask her what she has against wind turbines. Although, Mark seemed to think that being at work, with a large line-up of customers was the perfect opportunity to get into a political argument.  Good thing he doesn’t work with the public.) And the first thing I thought upon seeing her wasn’t, “Hey, her song Snow Bird was the first song I learned to play on Ukulele, in elementary school” it was, “Wow, she’s a lot shorter in person…and not as young as I remember.” (No, Dear Bloggary, I didn’t tell her she was a little old lady, I just thought it.)

I conducted myself in a professional manner, but the look she gave me when I asked for her autograph, er, signature on her credit slip made me smirk. (No, Dear Bloggary, I didn’t keep it to sell on Kijiji.) I’m just glad I didn’t start singing Snow Bird in front of her. That would have been embarrassing. I probably would have forgotten some of the words. (Yes, Dear Bloggary, I just went through all the words in my head, and I remember every one of them. Damn! Opportunity missed.)

At least I now know that in the event of another celebrity encounter that I can guarantee that I would keep my cool. (Yes, Dear Bloggary, Johnny Depp is  exempt from that guarantee…and Hugh Jackman,…and the cast of Star Trek…and…well, I guess we’ll have to cross that bridge when we come to it.)

That’s it for tonight, Dear Bloggary. Pleasant dreams.

Yours,

Shannon

Mooning

Friday, August 31^st, 2012

Dear Bloggary:

It’s a special night, tonight. Did you see the blue moon! (No,Dear Bloggary, I didn’t drop my drawers in the cooler at work.) Although, some people are calling it the harvest moon, I think blue moon sounds more romantic. Now I feel like singing. “Blue Moooooom, You saw me standing alone…” If it were still visible, I would go out and bay at it. (Redundant? No, Dear Bloggary, that was singing, not baying.)

I thought about performing some ritual in honour of the blue moon tonight, like dancing naked on the lawn, but we settled on having a campfire in the backyard. (That’s right, Dear Bloggary, I didn’t want to traumatize the neighbours, my dancing sucks.) I believe one (or more) of the neighbours was also celebrating the blue moon, as the sweet smell of Mary Jane began wafting through the air. (No, Dear Bloggary, that’s not a women’s perfume.) Combine that with a few drops of rain, and I decided the celebration was over…for now. I’ll dance naked later.

Oh, by the way, I talked with two people today who said they were acquainted with you, Dear Bloggary. (Yes, you can thank J and B for visiting.)

That’s all for tonight. Good night, Dear Bloggary.

Yours,

Shannon

A Class Act

Thursday, August 30^th, 2012

Dear Bloggary:

Do I smell like whiskey? Yeah, I had a little accident at work today. (No, Dear Bloggary, I didn’t drown my troubles with a couple of belts.) I knocked a pint of whiskey on the floor. As I watched it fall, I thought, “At least it’s plastic, so it won’t break.” I was so naïve. Did you know that plastic caps explode when dropped? Well, consider yourself schooled. The cap flew across the room and hit the wall, while the amber liquid made a puddle on the floor. (No, Dear Bloggary, I didn’t dumped Pepsi on it…the floor likes its whiskey straight.)

So I met a nice couple from New Jersey tonight. They got a kick out of our loonies and toonies. I thought I was being charming as I explained the names of our Canadian money…until I tripped on my shoe lace and did a funky sort of chicken dance. (Klutz, thy name is Shannon. Funny, Dear Bloggary.) At least I left them with a silly story about this clumsy Canadian who smelled like whiskey. Yeah, I’m a class act. I wonder if they blogged about me.  Hmmm.

That’s it for tonight, Dear Bloggary.  This whiskey girl needs her beauty sleep.

Yours,

Shannon

Winning!

Wednesday, August 28^th, 2012

Dear Bloggary:

So, I went to The Merb today, all by my lonesome. I decided to make it an adventure, so I took the back roads. (No, Dear Bloggary, I didn’t take a map or GPS. I know how to get there.)

I decided to go up to Green Hill to take some picture from the look-off (of which I already have thousands) before heading to the beach, because I have a photo obsession. I didn’t bother to “Google Map” the directions to it like I did for my trip to Walton, because I’ve been to Green Hill before, (as a passenger) . It couldn’t be that hard to find, right? Well, it wouldn’t be for those who are not directionally challenged. (Yes, Dear Bloggary, I know you’re not surprised I got lost.) I made a left at the Green Hill turn-off, but after that, the confusion gremlins took over. I found every place but Green Hill. I did, however, manage to find my way back to the main road. Win! (No, Dear Bloggary, it wasn’t just a case of shithouse luck that I went in a giant loop.)

The nip in the air was not what most people would call great swimming weather, but I’m not most people. I got to the beach, changed into my bathing suit, and started down the boardwalk. A woman coming the other way said, “You won’t last long down there, it’s freezing. We were only down there for a minute and turned around.”…She doesn’t know me. The cool air just makes it easier to get in the water. And the waves! I was in heaven. The lone occupant of heaven.  (Yes, Dear Bloggary, the whole ocean to myself.) Win!

All in all, it was a great day, Dear Bloggary.

Yours,

Shannon

Two’fer Tuesday

I forgot to post last night’s entry, so you get two tonight , for the price of one!

Monday, August 27^th, 2012

Dear Bloggary:

My goal, today, was to visit the Walton Lighthouse and I achieved my goal, but I think I should have brought a shovel with me on my adventure, for grave digging, (No, Dear Bloggary, I didn’t murder anyone.)

The dead were along the side (mostly) of the road; two skunks, three raccoons, four porcupines (or parts thereof) and one poor indistinguishable creature. (No, Dear Bloggary, they weren’t clumped together like some sort of strange, animal cult, suicide pact they were in separate locations.)

I also witnessed a scene from a Hitchcock movie, as hundreds of birds descended upon the wires along the road in front of me. I tried telling them to flock off, summer isn’t over, yet, but they wouldn’t listen. And the apples lying all over the ground under the trees confirmed the fact that fall is coming. (No, Dear Bloggary, gluing them back on the trees won’t fool Mother Nature.)

I took more than enough pictures along the bay from Walton and Burntcoat Lighthouses, to Anthony Park and Maitland.

The tide was on its way out, so I walked down onto the rocks at Burntcoat, (Home of the highest tides in the world!) I was wearing my sandals, so I decided it was best not to go down any further than the dry, first level, while the two young ladies behind me ventured out onto the slippery, grassy rocks. I should not have felt as self-satisfied as I did, when one of the girls slipped and fell, and upon getting up…fell again. At the age of fifty, I’ve finally learned my lesson.

That’s it for tonight, Dear Bloggary, see you tomorrow.

Yours,

Shannon

Tuesday, August 28^th, 2012

Dear Bloggary:

I lost my funky big toenail! My big toenail turned black ten months ago, after I dropped a spoon on it. (Yes, dear Bloggary, a spoon.) Mark drops a frozen turkey on his foot, and nothing. I drop a spoon, and it’s Goth  toenail. I was finally able to cut the last of the black off, today! (I get excited over the littlest things.) Of course it waited until the end of sandal season. I might have to wear sandals this winter to show off my nice new toenail.

I went to the movies with my friend L tonight. She was a little stressed, so we decided on a comedy. It was hilarious. It’s the second movie in a row we’ve been to that has shown dangling penises. (No, Dear Bloggery, it wasn’t the dangling penises that made them hilarious. I was just stating an observation.) Although, these penises were very funny…not the penises per se, but the way in which they were used…I mean, the situations in which they were portrayed…(No, Dear Bloggary, they were not porn movies! Honestly! )…as a means of comedy, they worked well. My point is that they were very funny. Oy.

And on that note, I will say good night, Dear Bloggary.

Yours,

Shannon

Kidding Around

Sunday, August 26^th, 2012

Dear Bloggary:

Sorry I missed writing yesterday. I had a date with a dinosaur (several, actually) and old stones, and I was exhausted when I got home. (No, Dear Bloggary, that was not a euphemism for serial dating old men…or Mick Jagger, et al) I went to the Fundy Geological Museum. I hadn’t been there since they renovated, so my hubbie and I decided to take a little jaunt to Parrsboro.

That stretch of road is my all-time favorite. High or low tide, I never get tired of the view of the bay, especial from Lower Economy though to Five Islands. LOVE IT!

The new look of the museum is very child oriented, so naturally, I had to behave like a big kid. When you consider the age of the fossils, I am just a kid. Perception; isn’t it great?.

I was attacked by a dinosaur, (It wasn’t my fault he/she crossed the rope barrier.) but only my hand would fit in his/her mouth. (No, Dear Bloggary, I’m not that big! The dino was small-ish.) I did my Vanna impersonation to demonstrate the giant millipede and its tracks. (Yes, Dear Bloggary, I realize I look nothing like Vanna White. Thanks for pointing that out.) I was going to run right over to the motion activated, plush triceratops, but I patiently let the little girl go up to him/her first. (I don’t think anyone saw me tapping my foot.) I felt like a “big girl” as I fed him/her some plastic leaves while patting his/her snout. I dug for fossils in the dirt grid.  (And I found them all, thank you very much!) But the most fun was playing with the dino puppets. (I had to speak for both of them, as Mark was a party-pooper.) The two little girls thought I was perfectly normal;  their mother, however, was probably wondering when I had to be back at the asylum. Mark, surprisingly, seemed unashamed to been seen with me. In fact, he took some pictures.

It’s exhausting being a fifty year old kid!

Not much happened today besides work, Dear Bloggary, so that’s about it for today. Good night.

Yours,

Shannon