MC is far too nice for the size of my ego. ;)
But y'know what? Sitting around at a friend's house giggling for four hours is a passtime that I should indulge in more often, even if it won't get me any higher up a 5.7 or won't improve my singing or test scores or career or paperwork.
I certainly taught me a lot about the new generation of Trojans for Winblows, though.
Lovely operating system they got there.
Ahem.
Don't nobody worry, her mp3's shouldn't be gone, just unlinked. We'll find 'em.
The past couple of afternoons have been shopping sprees. Yesterday for Mr. Pyke's car tune-up and mousetraps (despite my fervently wishing for a better solution none magically appeared), for my first harness - and for some reason they actually make a woman's harness with loops large enough for my thighs -- which means that I didn't have to forego the comfort of padding in order to get adjustable thigh-straps. For my first climbing shoes, and the salesman at the MEC was the most patient man in the universe, as he curled his sun-bleached ponytail around one finger while explaining precisely the way I want the ideal climbing shoe to mutilate my feet.
That's right, mutilate. Apparently HIS ultra-high-insanity shoes look like bananas. Mine still resemble shoes for the whiny beginner, but they're nice and tight in the toe and sharp around the edges and their horrendous oranginess makes up for the purple suede ones that everyone in the universe wears. Apparently they're also vegan shoes. Nobody would look either of us in the eye when Mr. Pyke asked the inevitable question: "are they made out of real vegans"?
Mr. Pyke bought pretty bumblebee shoes. They're more banana-like than mine too.
They seem a very good buy, actually, and both of us had a good go at trying them out on the huge climbing wall in the store.
I got to swing around on a bungee chord to try out my harness, though. WHEEEEE.
I'm all packed already for Sunday. I can't wait.
In the meantime, today has been barfing rain since the moment my eyes cracked open to the sky.
To some people, this would mean griping and complaining. Apparently around here it means extra morning cuddles, partly because I snuck in after Mr. Pyke was asleep, and perhaps partly because it was just a lovely morning for cuddles.
I most certainly didn't mind getting dragged back to bed for them. :)
Lunch with a wired and witty woman led to talk of "apple butter" and when I asked what it was we were given directions to farmlands north of Toronto somewhere instead.
We blew off the afternoon and went looking for farmer's markets, got purposely lost and drove through acres of green and turning-yellow leaves, past a marsh that surrounded the road at one point, past tiny cottages and fancy modernized silos.
We found one flea market filled with SF books and random junk, cardboard postcards from the 60s that I'm going to send to the gang in Paree and perhaps a few madmen in Montreal.
Then we found the Willowtree market and the fresh cider, fresh strawberry cider, apple butter and treacle tarts and homemade fudge and bumbleberry pie.
Only half of which made it all the way to the fridge, but MC gets some bumbleberry for dessert tomorrow if she's a big enough help in the garden. ;)
Next time we head out there, though, I'd like to focus on the bushels full of beans and pumpkins and butternut squash and baby potatoes and beets.
This time was just a fun rainy afternoon in the country, my hair extra curled at the temples, my heart breathing in the wet land.
And now Mr. Pyke is napping off the fatigue of an entire day locked in a car with a monstre and I'm going to take a bath in anticipation of movie-watching and macrame-making.
It's getting cold enough out that we're going to need ropes to hang all those houseplant cuttings that need to be taken in...
Fortunately I have rope, and beads, and all is warm and cozy and right in the world, while the clouds rush past above us.