I confess. I love going to meetings. Wait! Let me clarify. I love going to meetings at my "Up North Branch Office". Not that meetings in Sunny-Brampton, Whimsical Whitby or Majestic-Mississauga are anything to sneeze at friends. No! In fact some of my favorite Clients work in the bowels of various Toronto suburbs ...
However, I know that I am not alone in the feeling that there is something horrific about sitting on any of the 400-series highways. You taunt the angel of death as you try to manoeuvre into the HOV lane.
You gasp and swerve as Mr. No-Signal veers into that same lane without doing so at the "enter here" zone so CLEARLY painted on the road! The countless times you've narrowly averted a major pile-up caused by Little-Miss-Twitter-Updater as she sails along at warp speeds weaving in and out of lanes - her indicator light obviously broken as well ... and the oh-too-familiar-feeling of prying your cold-white-knuckles off the steering wheel as you finally pull into the safety of your driveway ...
Imagine for a moment friends, visiting Clients via country roads.
Arriving to the aforementioned meetings with a smile on your face. Your mascara not streaming down your face from the tears you wept as pieces of transport-truck-tire flew past you on the off ramp. Where the only kind of traffic you'll encounter on the way home is a tractor ... a single, solitary tractor. A tractor that pulls over and waves as you pass him, your windows down because the air is fresh and clean.
There is, however, a drawback to this idyllic scenario.
Tuesday, 23 July 2013
Tuesday, 9 July 2013
I am a sucker for a furry face. Our suburban backyard is an oasis for the neighbourhood "buns". I could not be happier. I admit to spending a little bit too much time gazing out the kitchen windows watching "the buns" nibble on clover and lounge in the summer sun. I've also seen what can only be described as "a bun-off" in which two "buns" jumped over one another over, and over, and over again, in some sort of dance.
(It was quote possibly a mating ritual, but this is a 'family blog' and so we'll leave it as "dance" and not really worry too much about what it's all about ...)
"Bun-spotting" has become somewhat of a sport at our house. The thrill of seeing "bun" in the backyard is matched only by the excitement of seeing MULTIPLE BUNS in the backyard. It is a thrill, like no other ...
Or so I thought, until a few weeks ago.