My Blowdryer's Back

And my VISA is in trouble—
Hélas, hélas,
wool's worse than crack...

We were really worried about this vacation, I have to tell you. Worried we would get lost. Worried we'd open the tent and discover it was missing parts. Worried the car would not get us there without losing parts (the exhaust system is extremely ill). Worried there would be no place left at the campground to put the tent. Worried the food would suck, because we knew that after one night of campfire cooking, we were going to want to go out somewhere and let someone else do the fire-making. Worried it would rain. Worried the ladies at Lettuce Knit would think I was a complete dork. (Okay, it was just me who was worried about that. Spiff is far more confident than I about my abilities to just land in the midst of strangers and not stutter, swear too much, or reveal my entire life story after one glass of sangria. I think I only said f*ck once and only told a small part of the story of my visitation woes with the ex. Phiou.)

Anyway, we needn't have worried, although when we got closer to the campground, this sign did make us a bit nervous about the food-finding part:

Except that they lie. Food's good, beer's cold,
we were glad they were open. Although...
they were out of Guinness. They had Stella. We forgave them.

The campground at Earl Rowe Provincial Park is lovely, though the waterline of the swimming area is so thick with stinky mud that you feel as if you have signed up for the Sulfur-Saver Pedicure Pack when you try to venture into the water. The fish, who found my legs delicious (which is very nice of them but I'm quite ticklish), added a certain element of surprise to this bizarro spa experience. And we were definitely not helped by the fact that for most of our beach time, we seemed to be downwind from a pig farm. Cows, I can handle. Sheep, even. But man, pig shit really burns the nose hairs. Still, it could have been worse. It could have been chicken shit. Next year, we try Darlington, which, I hear, is nicer, although located in the shade of the ever-photogenic natural phenomenon known as the local nuclear power plant.

Now, I thought Québec people were nice. I grew up in New Hampshire and lived in Boston for fifteen years of my adult life, and I'm used to Yankee grouchiness, so Québecers were a refreshing change. But Ontario people...they take the cake of niceness and ask you if you want extra icing with that. In fact, they apologise for the size of your (we thought) ginormous breakfast muffin and give you half price because it came out smaller than the rest. They also know how to make filter coffee that actually tastes like coffee. You apparently don't have to be called espresso to come out alright here....

We got hyper-sunburned on the first day and had to avoid the sun for the rest of the time. Hmmm, what to do, what to do. Well, like dutiful tourists, when we went to Toronto for the day, we went here:

The Say-En Tower, she is very tall, no? (Translation from
Québec English to New Hampshire English, just for Norma:
Ayuh, that's one wicked hyooge towah, alroight....

We stood on the Glass Floor, through which you can look and test your resistance to vertigo. After jumping out of a plane a couple of years ago with Spiff, I'm pretty good on that score, but it is freaking weird to be standing on what looks like nothing that high up:

Nope, the ticket price doesn't include the barf bag.
And Spiff's feet are not, in fact, that big. My freakishly short
Barney Rubble feet throw off the perspective.

Even she got in on the act, all the way to the top.

Then we tried to find our car back at the Toronto Convention Centre garage. We got lost there (so, see, I wasn't wrong to worry a bit), but the people who were at the "International Conference 2005" being held there were so nice to us that it wasn't too bad. People everywhere were coming up to us, holding out their hands and saying, "You made it! Welcome! Are you looking to register?" We thought, wow, these Ontario people, they are SO incredibly FRIENDLY, it's almost bizarre! Then, on our fourth or fifth trip up and down the escalators, we noticed what it said on the shopping bags people were carrying. Heh. It was the International Alcoholics Anonymous Conference 2005....

May I say, I am extremely glad that I asked about where I could find my car, not where I could find the bar....

In fact, it was so hot that we did indeed find a bar afterward, to have an evening Kilkenny, because Queen's Head, too, was out of the Guinness. Toronto has a Guinness supply problem, I think....Anyway, this pub was three blocks away from Romni Wool. So, ladies of Toronto, no, I did not actually walk by Romni and resist it. Duh, what kind of a girl do you think I am???

Seriously, I could have gone down to Romni, but I was having a nice time talking and relaxing with Spiff, and I wanted him to know that he, not my fiber frenzy, was my focus for the vacation. Yeah, okay, cue the "awwwww...wait a few years, honey...." Hey, I'm crazy in love with the guy. I can't help it. And I'll just order from Romni online....

Then we ate at a lovely little restaurant called Jules, on Spadina, where you can get the kind of food Spiff's Maman might cook. Mom, I ate another nearly raw steak. It was great. I'm still here.

After dinner, we went here to join in on a wee little Stitch and Bitch:

I stitched and Spiff didn't bitch. I had sangria. I fondled Koigu.
I met bloggers and non-bloggers alike. And I wish
there was a Lettuce Knit in Montréal, complete with
tables and sangria. Megan (in cool red shoes), you rock.

And I figured that if Stephanie was going to have me pose with the soul-sucking baby blanket which will, no doubt, fight its horrific karmic destiny as a soul-sucker and turn out to be just fine—in fact, a lovely comfort to the little person who will snuggle with it—I would ask her to pose with me and you-know-what:

Stephanie is taller than me. And has better hair.
I enjoyed her company immensely, even though she
is in on the plot to take over the world.

I'm really sorry, Steph, that's all I had with me for projects. You were absolutely worth, at the very least, the Frankentank. But I had to take this pony puke dishrag present for my daughter along because it has to be finished. You know the deal. Forced knitting monogamy. Unfortunately, when I am on vacation, I knit about as fast as this little guy:

He was our site-mate for the week.

Stephanie gave me a present as part of the plot, by the way. She carded it herself. I was just astonished:

Uh, oops, wrong photo. Ahem.
Curly sheep or tangled-beyond-help camp hair?
Not even Stephanie can card this stuff....

Ah, here we go, this is the real soft stuff...some Corriedale, I believe, and some merino that is just to die for. I put my face in it and I'm not ashamed to say so:

You're sneaky, Steph. Very sneaky. I loooooove this stuff....

I was also highly encouraged by all at hand to buy this:

I have absolutely no self-control. Alchemy Bamboo is gorgeous.
And no one told me not to. Imagine that.
Even Spiff said go for it. I love that man.

I had a blast and Spiff...well...he was not insanely bored. He took pictures and fended off a couple of perverts...they thought he was just sitting there to ogle us and wanted to join him in the fun. He even offered to drive me back so I could have a drink with the hilariously funny and very friendly ladies in this group and not further damage the V(ehicle)W(ounded) in the process. We went back later than we intended...and Stephanie nicely pointed out that along the way to my car, there is a Neurology Centre, in case, you know, I have a brain blow. I hope I'm not the only one who sees the humour in the fact that there is an enormous funeral home directly across the street from the Neurology Centre's entrance. So, you know, if it doesn't work out in one place, you ain't got fah t'go, honey....

And now, for the mystery photos for Cara and Laurie:

Cara, do you have any idea who this little guy is?
and what is he feeding on?

And a flower story for Laurie:

I bloomed,

I tried to contain myself,

Uh, whoops. I just became a lesson in how not to spin.
So, Laurie, these three photos are life-stages
of the same flower, which blooms for a day.
Any idea what it is?

Next post, I aim to have Pony finished, because I aim to please. (Please tell me I am not the only person who, without fail, finishes that phrase in my mind with "You aim too, please....")

July 3, 2005 5:11 PM  | Permalink  | Comments (13)  | Print