If There Were a Song About Ottawa

The morning did not start well. When you've rolled out of bed around 10 am for 4 of the past 5 days, 6:30 is way fucking early. I didn't recognize myself when I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth, due to, 6 of one/half dozen the other, either my disarray or my inability to focus my eyeballs.

But I finished my bits of packing, including getting all of my christmas presents into my two wee bags. Shelley and Steve gave me all sorts of lovely and delicious things made in Halifax, including a top which is a brighter colour than I normally wear, but makes my tits look almost shockingly large. And then these slippers, which I fucking love. Maybe I'll wear them with the merino socks my uncle gave me. Apparently, word on the cold feet has gotten out.

My cab was supposed to come at 7:20 or 7:25. I booked it yesterday, talking to a slow-talking and kinda confused sounding man. It worried me. My choice for the Share-A-Cab was to get there for 7 am - 1 hour early - or 8 am - 10 minutes late. I generally don't like to cut it too close, but the difference between 7 and 8 feels like more than an hour.

At 7:24 my nerves had nerved up and I thought "Okay, they've got till 7:40 and then I'm calling." At 7:37, I thought fuck it and dialed them. The slow-talking man came on the line.

"Hi, I'm Megan Butcher. I booked a cab to show up at Number Number This Street at 7:20 this morning."

"Oh. Huh. What's your name?"

"Megan. Butcher."

He's flipping madly through what sound like scraps of paper.

"Oh. Huh. When did you make the reservation?"

"Yesterday. With you." I was not my nicest self.

"Well. Well! It's just gone! I don't have your name anywhere. Huh!"

Silence.

I break.

"Oooohkay. My flight is at 8:50. Can you get me a cab?"

"Oh. Huh. Well. Unh, I can maaaaybe get someone to you by 8:20 or 8:30."

It takes around a half hour to get to the airport.

"No. Thank you. I will call someone else."

The first cab company I picked at random from the yellow pages had someone already in the North End and at the house in 5 minutes. I got to the airport with time to spare, but paid more than twice the price for the privilege. On the way there, I was thankful that I am now in a financial situation where that is an inconvenience and not an impossibility.

While I was waiting for the first cab, I flipped through the cookbook I gave Shelley: a copy of my go-to cookbook, The Vegetarian Express Lane Cookbook. It is getting damn hard to come by these days, and that is a damn shame for lazy cooks everywhere. 10 items or less! A limited but tasty palette of herbs and spices! Crazy that's it's out of print. After she opened it, I used bingo dabbers to mark the recipes I particularly liked. Last night, I made the White Beans and Sage, and we ate it at the beautiful table that Steve made, with a nice Pinot Grigio and candlelight. Like a date without the incipient heartbreak.

Steve's present wasn't necessarily the most thoughtful gift I've ever given him, insofar as it was originally a present for someone else. But these mittens are the most beautiful things I have ever knit, so I hope that fact and warm fingers makes up for the lack of thoughtfulness. I also gave him a scarf to match, though it came with the needles still in. The bazillion episodes we watched of The I.T. Crowd ("Hello? Hel-LO! Hel-lo, Computor!") helped me get through nearly another ball-unit of yarn. There's gonna have to be a lot more TV before the S's get here in a couple of weeks if'n I'm gonna get it finished.

If I'd been smart, I wouldn't have written much over the past few days, cause now I got these pictures, but I'm all storied out. Enh, it's late, so no story, just two of my favourite creatures on a spit of land at Cow Bay.