Sorry For Being a Boob that was Unclear About My Boob

 Whoever was "a wee bit fretful" on my boob's behalf, I adore you and I apologize for my superstitious fear that if I said unequivocally "I do NOT have breast cancer", cancer would drop out of the ceiling and punish my hubris. My doctor did, in fact, say "everything's fine", and I had been on such a sine wave of absolute denial and abject terror (for something that millions of women go through every day), I wasn't even sure how to feel. 

No, that's dumb, I feel good. It's the summertime, my children are home, my best friend was just here for Bluesfest, we found a perfect desk for Eve at IKEA yesterday and my mom bought it, my dad is feeling better, and I yesterday I made TWO phone calls I'd been dreading and got two annoying things crossed off my list. Local corn is out, and I just made a really good turkey sandwich.

Pat, you live next to Hamilton? For some reason I thought you lived near Nicole - probably because I first saw you commenting on her blog, and as we all know, that's how geography works, right? It was the Tiny Shop Bakery at Hanes Corn Maze that we went to, and everything we got was fantastic. Matt and Eve are headed back to Hamilton (the city) this week-end to take delivery of her bed and put the second coat of paint on her room. 

I bought the bed when we were down the last time, and the staff at Sleep Country in Ancaster were so lovely and helpful and found us the perfect bed and assured me that we could buy it and schedule the delivery later (because we weren't sure when Matt and Eve would be coming back). So I bought it and had to pick an arbitrary day for delivery which they said I could change later, and then immediately started worrying that they were just shining me on and when I tried to change the delivery it would be an issue. And then when I called back to change the delivery they called me back within five minutes, changed everything and sent me an email with the updated delivery date immediately. Now that I'm talking about it, I need to go leave them a great review online and send a thank-you note. I am so pleasantly surprised and delighted with the whole experience. Or maybe I should wait until they actually deliver the correct thing? Oh Lord, now I'm worried I've jinxed myself. If I've ever said I'm not a superstitious person don't believe me, clearly I'm seconds away from throwing chicken bones and reading tea leaves.

Photo dump from our last visit to Hamilton (the city). Eve worked her butt off building her Target bedside table and painting. The colour it was wasn't terrible, but it literally looked like someone had walked on the walls. We went to the nearby Canadian Tire and got some paint, then went to look for a hammer because we had realized we had everything but. We ended up finding the same employee who had sold us the paint in front of a glass case of hammers that was locked (are hammers a big theft risk?) and a bit intimidating - there were a lot of them, and they were mostly really expensive. When we told him we needed a hammer he said "are you doing carpentry, or putting together IKEA furniture?" Eve told him kudos for not making assumptions, but she was literally in the midst of putting together IKEA (Target) furniture, and he sold her the tiniest most adorable and very affordable hammer (with a surprising amount of heft to it) that was exactly what she needed.

And while we're on the subject of Hamilton, and in reply to Steph's comment, on Sunday we SAW Hamilton (the musical) - twice postponed, we didn't really believe it was going to happen until the music started. I think I said last year that after listening to the soundtrack a million times and getting to see the movie of the Broadway version that maybe I was okay if I didn't get to see the real thing. Eve said "that's dumb", and she was correct. It was wonderful. Eve and I had a subscription to Broadway Across Canada that year so we had our regular seats pretty far up in the orchestra section. We had bought another pair for Matt and someone else, still in the orchestra section but a few rows back. We ended up taking Eve's friend Jackson. I asked if she was going to sit with him and she snorted and said "uh, no, I'm sitting in the good seat". All's fair in love and theatre, I guess.

Then we went home and picked up another friend and went to the grocery store to get snacks before Drag Race. So the vibe for the whole day was artistic, you might say.

Oh Hey

 I just remembered that I have at least one of the esteemed-and-beloved Nicole's blog posts to read and comment on, possibly more, which reminded me that I usually make myself blog before I read other people's blogs as my reward, which reminded me that oops, it's definitely been a while since I blogged, so I checked and... oof, nearly a month, what the heck? 

I think what happened is I kind of got in the habit of blogging on Thursdays (Nicole blogs on Mondays, her cheerful, lovely way of greeting the week, which is so fitting, and me blogging on Thursday as I crawl to the end of it, covered in bagel crumbs and bits of book tape, is also kind of appropriate), either in a Surly way or otherwise. Then the last two weeks of school got a little nutty, as they are susceptible to being, and then it was the summer which means I lose track entirely of what day it is. And also there's the probable-ADD thing, and my ever-prone-to-going walkabout memory, and, well, here we are on - *peers around for a calendar* - July 6th.

Hey, remember my sort-of-long-drawn-out boob-related saga? The whole thing was delayed by the tornado-ish weather event, and then finally my doctor's receptionist called and said we needed to make an appointment for her to give my results, and it was on my birthday, but it could be a phone appointment. Which led me to think that it must be good news, because what kind of monster would make a phone appointment to tell someone they have breast cancer on their birthday? And my doctor is decidedly not a monster. I literally read on Twitter about someone who found out they had cancer on their birthday just before the appointment, and if this was before Covid a phone appointment wouldn't have even been a thing, so that saved me a bit of spiraling. My doctor is also going on maternity leave again, which is one of those good news/bad news things (how wonderful! But shit! It's hard for doctors to take maternity leave, so good for you! But crap, I hate having to go to a different doctor! Did I mention I think I have ADD, and I've been working on addressing a long list of things since I turned fifty, and now she's leaving just as I was about to get to this one? Oh well, the last locum she had was really good, hopefully the new one will be too). 

Eve and I had a fantastic few days in Hamilton (not at Hamilton, which my friend Steph says she always thinks when I mention Hamilton, which is entirely fair, and in fact this Sunday we are going to SEE Hamilton, not visit Hamilton, so the confusion will be even more justified). We scoped out her room in her student house for next year, met two of the six other girls she'll be living with, dropped off stuff from home, picked up stuff we had left in Matt's brother's garage, visited our professor and her daughter and grandkids, I visited my brother in law and his lovely wife and children while Eve hung out with some university friends, and Eve did some work on her room while I ran errands. 

Friday morning before we headed to the house we went on an adventure to find a little bakery I had scoped out because my professor's daughter loves pie and we thought it would be nice to pick some up for dinner that night. It was a beautiful drive sort of out in the country, and at one point the next GPS direction was "take highway 52 to Copetown". I thought this would make a fantastic insult, and it is one of my enduring regrets that I didn't instruct Eve to get her camera out in time to get a picture of the sign so I could Tweet it back to racists and transphobes on Twitter who get a hair up their ass about other people being accorded basic human rights. "Pronouns chapping your butt? Try taking the Highway 52 to Copetown". (It's good that I amuse myself, right?)

When we got to the bakery I was backing into a parking spot and I spotted the guy parking beside me and thought he looked a little scary - I'm not sure I can articulate why. He was sort of thickset and hairy and looked a little glowery? Anyway, it was nothing but a passing subconscious observation. We got into the bakery and I heard him describing things to his companion and immediately revised my earlier estimation because he was sweet and earnest and possibly gay and lovely. After we bought our stuff and were leaving, he was also returning to his car and Eve said "I saw that guy and thought he was kind of menacing and then he was so cute - he said 'oh no, they're out of raspberry? Son of a BEEhive'", and then I burst out laughing because what are the odds we were thinking the same exact thing? Well, quite high actually, but funny that one of us said it out loud or we wouldn't have known.

Earlier in the hotel room was one of our other moments of week-end telepathy. I was in the bathroom and I said disconsolately, "I made sure to get Dad to give me a tape measure so we could see if you have room for a double bed and I put it somewhere and told myself to remember where but I don't." Eve said serenely, "I know where it is". I said something motherly like "shut up, you do not", and she said "Dad opened the little shoebox you put my glasses in and I saw it and thought 'I'd better remember that's where that is because Mom never will'". Hmph, but also, thank goodness.

Well crap, this is easy, why did I stop? Do you ever stop blogging and then can't figure out what you're supposed to blog about anymore? How am I? Well who cares, that's self-centered. But wait, it's my blog, it makes sense to blog about how I am. World events? Buggerfuck, that way lies madness. 

I should post some pictures. I'll do that tomorrow. Or Thursday. Wait, tomorrow IS Thursday? Sigh. How are you? It's my blog, I'm allowed to ask.