prairie summer

Today's soundtrack:
"Fireworks" by the Tragically Hip

As a transplanted Islander, I feel it is my duty to tell you, my dear Island folk, about the nuances of a prairie summer. Below is a list of recent aspects of summer that I've discovered:

1) Middle-aged, pot-bellied men feel there is nothing wrong with rollerblading in biker shorts. And only biker shorts.

2) Gophers are ridiculously cute, but also ridiculously stupid. If they just stayed still when something came close, they'd be impossible to see. Yet every time I am out riding my bike, the noise they make diving for their burrows forces me to look, then swerve, then try not to fall off of my bike.

3) Directionality. Specifically, the sun's directionality. There are no trees, no mountains, and rarely clouds to break up the sun. The result is that after a lovely dinner, one side of you is bright red, and the other side could pass for albino.

4) No matter which direction I peddle my bike, I am always riding into the wind. And what's more, the wind has the power not only to stop me dead in my tracks, but to push me backwards.

5) The smell of manure is in no way nostalgic for me, as it is for Mom. I'll take the smell of low tide over manure any day. Now, you may think it's impossible to smell low tide on the Prairies, but all you need to do is go to Regina and walk around Wascana Lake on a warm day.

6) When I rode my bike in Nanaimo, I'd hit a few bugs. Maybe. But here, it's as though the bugs are all kamikaze fighters and I'm the target. Mosquitos, flies, wasps, little green inchworms - anything goes!

But I'm not complaining. Oh no. Considering the spring you poor Islanders have had, and the miserable summer you're in for, I'll suffer through the suicidal gophers and mind-boggling wind.

where have you been all my life?

Today's soundtrack:
Symphony No. 5 and Symphony No. 9 by Beethoven

With the exception of WWKiP day and the Stitch & Bitch yesterday, I've kept myself locked up in my basement reading. What, you may ask. Well, Fanny Burney. Yes, I was doubtful at first, too, especially when I realised I was looking at 2500 pages of Regency prose, but now I'm quite smitten. I think she may even supplant Austen as my favourite author. So now my poor neighbours are suffering through a Beethoven-a-thon in honour of the final years of the 18th century, while I read (tea in hand) Camilla and Cecilia.

Yes, that is the extent of excitement in my life at the moment.

And yes, I am fully aware of how pathetic that is.

But not to worry! After I finish with Burney, it'll be onto Swift, Defoe, and - oh why not - Burke. Nothing says relaxing year of reading for the comps like Burke's A Philosophical Inquiry into the Sublime and Beautiful. Rivetting, no?

my wrist is on fire!

Today's soundtrack:
Hockey Night in Canada

So fine. I admit it. I have a knitting addiction. Last night, as I watched the first season of Northern Exposure, my left thumb and wrist started to burn. But did I put down the knitting needles and take a break? Oh no, breaks are for wussies! So now my thumb and wrist only stop burning with ice. I am now on a knitting vacation until this burning sensation passes.

It wasn't all in vain, though. I've managed to make some lovely things.

This is the Lace Ribbon Scarf from Knitty

And this is an afghan for the Smug Marrieds.

Oh well done me. Now off to ice that wrist.