a long weekend

Saturday

Supposed to run first thing but who does this but storm troopers, psychopaths and middle-class professionals? Next weekend will kill me. Shower, breakfast, coffee, newspaper. Read the Globe in about ten minutes, which is still too long. Make lists, clean fridge, get groceries at 8. Aisles already busy with organized white people. Home, unpacking, day getting very warm, break out the shorts. Lunch, Oona resisting her nap, as usual. In the afternoon we all take a big walk through our neighbourhood and then downtown. People out on their front steps, out in front of their houses, on the porch, on the sidewalk, walking around, looking at everybody and nothing. They might not know how many provinces are in confederation but they are up to the minute on who is renting that house down the street and what their story is and how long they've been there and how long they'll last and why doesn't that woman work, maybe she's on disability. Downtown is busy, Oona still in that carry-my-hat stage. Pain in the ass. On the way home we pass an odd little building which calls itself a Ukranian Parish, not two words that seem to go together. Chicken breasts and rice for supper. Later we watch The Descendants, which is generally melancholy but redeems itself (at least for C) with how handsome George Clooney is. 

Sunday

Everything earlier in the summer, the sky full of light by 5:30, To the studio by seven. Slept deep so back stiff slow walking. Finish putting together an IKEA metal cabinet that had sat in its box for a year at least. Ink paintings for a book cover, Mount Tai, a revered peak in China. Is everything revered in China? Thoughts crashing towards noon, time to go. Home, C telling me about the new outdoor market at the Memorial Centre. Exciting times (for C). Her purchases: tiny bars of soap that look like Han Solo encased in ice, artisanal bread, rhubarb. What is artisanal bread, I ask, and why does it have the consistency of brick? You can have it with the leftover Kraft Dinner on the stove, she says. Oona resists her nap. Pain in the ass. Take her over to Julian's, his backyard full of people celebrating the completion of his BA in German. Oona wears a ring frisbee as a skirt. Home. Make apple pork chops and roasted potatoes for supper. Very good. Oona eats nothing. While C dozes on the couch, I watch three episodes of Breaking Bad. Sympathize with the main character, although instead of cancer I just have cats.

Monday, Victoria Day

Knew it would hotter than stink so in the morning to the ferry and Wolfe Island, a walkabout, lunch and an aborted line for ice cream. Oona good (and fun) until the end, coming home, when she whined (and was a pain in the ass). Resisted her nap, despite all threats and removal of 'babies' (dolls). Played in the pool with mommy in the afternoon. Fish and chips for supper. Watched The Andromeda Strain, the miniseries version, good in the first half, weak in the second. C says Benjamin Bratt is the poor man's Lou Diamond Phillips. Air cools off, promises a storm. Somewhere idiots are blasting off the last of their fireworks.