Some stuff happened in the last couple days that has made me really dislike the medical system in B.C, Canada, whatever. I'm not political, I don't know who is responsible, but I'm guessing it's who ever makes the budget, who ever decides that the money should go to a weird giant bridge, a large wave pool in the Mission, 'art work' to beautify the cities, but not to the hospitals for beds, or staff, or whatever it is that would benefit people that need to be in the hospital in their time of need.
Okay, my rant is finished.
Anyway, I, in my great frugal-ness, decide every year that we are not turning on the furnace until October 1st. No rhyme or reason, it just makes me feel good to declare these things. So for the past 2 days I have been getting up and turning on the oven and not just to warm up the house, but to actually bake things. Yesterday, it was cookie bars and spaghetti squash from my garden. Today, I quadrupled my recipe for Chocolate (from my garden) Zucchini cake and made roasted red peppers for our dinner tonight. I'm so Martha Stewart-y it makes me gag. It won't last. Kerry will get cold in the early a.m. and will turn the furnace on in no time. Then I can drop this facade and get back to my lazy warm self. At least I have zucchini muffins, cakes and loafs.
Some things to ponder...
...is crud worse than crap? Eli and Emily had a 'discussion' about which was worse. Apparently crud is the dirt on your body and crap is poop. One kid says crud is worse, no one wants to be crud. The other says crap is worse. I'm for crap, it's worse. I'd rather wallow in my crud for days than in my crap.(this is dinner-time conversation)
...when someone asks how old your dog is, do you tell them in months, as if he were a baby? Like Linus, he's 19 1/2 months old. He's not 2 years old, which is the magic number everyone says will turn him into a mature, well behaved dog. Personally, I think we messed up somewhere, everywhere. Kerry says when I tell him about some bad thing Linus has done during the day he thinks "And she's the one that wanted him". Nice, real nice. I thought Sally had her problems, her fear of strangers, and her ear problems, and that if we got another dog, it had to be a 'normal' dog, one you could walk on a leash, throw the ball for, keep your shoes in the open without them getting chewed on, but no. We angered the "Give-These-People-A-Normal-Dog-They've-Suffered-Enough" Gods and got Linus.