Love is in the Air (and on the roof of my car)

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My sailor has been gone a few weeks now.  Long enough for his absence to become normalized and for me to start missing him–I mean REALLY missing him.

As I become lonelier, I notice that love is in the air and it’s not just the birds and the bees and the squirrels in the trees who are getting some.

It’s like when you try to not drink so much; you suddenly become inundated by images or joyful wine drinkers on TV, in fiction and even on the streets of some neighbourhoods.  I am noticing affectionate behaviour everywhere.

When Fifty Shades of Grey blasted onto the scene, I skimmed the first book of the trilogy, but skipped the others.  It’s not that I am averse to a hot sex scene (have you read Lady Chatterley’s Lover?), the plot didn’t work for me.  By this point in the deployment even DH Lawrence is too provocative and my reading has veered in a different direction.  (Have you read World War Z?)

My friend M is writing a novel.  It’s a murder mystery and she’s sending me chapters as she completes them.  She has a gift for writing excellent descriptions with vivid sensory details, and I’m caught up in the unfolding investigation.  The most recent chapter had the protagonist falling into bed (actually a deep bubble bath) with a handsome man in uniform.  It’s like Fifty Shades of Suds.  M, you are killing me!

A quick glance at the calendar makes me feel worse.  My sailor won’t be back for eight months–eight!  That’s 240 long, lonesome sleeps.

Thank goodness I’m not in one of my wine limitation phases.  That box of Chardonnay cooling in the fridge is the only comfort I’ll get for quite some time.

I’m Gonna Need Another Box of Wine

IMG_0427After the end of school hustle and the busy Canada Day weekend, we’ve finally reached the sweet spot–a long and lazy summer.

Sure we’re still slaves to the alarm clock for the first two weeks of July because the boy has morning swimming lessons, but getting ready for the pool is nothing compared to preparing for school and work.

I still get up an hour before I need to, in order to have quiet time to wake up and savour an extra cup of coffee.  I hate to rush and I have an almost pathological aversion to being late.  Hurrying in the morning throws off the rest of my day.

The night before the boy’s first class I dig out the lesson receipt to double check the start time–8:30, just as I thought.

Everything is going on schedule until the phone rings at 8:10.  It’s the pool wondering why the boy hasn’t turned up for his eight o’clock class.

“Because it doesn’t start until 8:30,” I say sipping my coffee.  “I checked the time on the receipt.”

“You must have misread it.  It’s an eight o’clock start and your son is late.”

Late!  We don’t do late!

The boy, like my sailor, is relaxed about minor glitches like this.  He saunters onto the pool deck to begin his class.  Me?  I am flustered and shaken because the script of my day has been thrown off and we are late–LATE!–for the very first swimming lesson.

I thrust my receipt under the receptionist’s nose so she can see I’m not one of those disorganized, tardy types.

“It does say 8:30,” she says tapping a long blue-tipped fingernail on the paper.  “The start time must be wrong because you signed your son up for the course so long ago.  I guess the schedule wasn’t finalized at that point.”

Here we have another of my issues.  I worry incessantly about missing deadlines so I am usually the first one signed up for anything.

She pushes the receipt back across the counter to me.  “It’s no big deal.  He didn’t really miss anything by coming late.”

No big deal??? We were late for the first lesson!  (Did I mention we don’t do late?)

Perhaps I’m a bit high strung.  My sailor isn’t.  He doesn’t worry about things that likely won’t happen and he takes setbacks in stride.  Most importantly, he calms me down when stuff like this upsets me.  Without his soothing influence, being late for a swimming lesson because I was told the wrong start time takes on epic proportions.

Emails aren’t going to cut it.  I worry that I’m going to be a mess by the time he comes home in March.

Happy Canada Day, eh!

004014018024My boy and I spent a sunny afternoon celebrating our fabulous country. Wandering around the downtown core of a safe Canadian capital city with a polite well-behaved crowd of fellow revellers, I was reminded once again of how fortunate I am that my parents chose to immigrate here. As a woman and a mother, I enjoy opportunities in Canada that women in many other parts of the world lack.

Wishing everyone a happy Canada Day, with special thoughts going out to the many Canadians who are far from home on this Canada Day. May you all be safe and healthy, and not too homesick!