Labour Day

Other than a couple of hot weeks in July, it hasn’t been much of a summer in the Okanagan.  This weekend was okay, around 27 degrees, so shorts and t shirts were fine, but it wasn’t as hot as it’s been in years past.  I remember August 31, 1997, when Prince Di was killed, as a very hot night.  We were watching a video, after having heard on the six o’clock news that the princess had been in an accident.  We thought it was minor, so after popping the movie out at 9:00 PM we were shocked to hear that she had died.

Today is Labour Day, and it’s a bit overcast.  I guess it’s probably better for the poor kids heading back to school.  I always felt sick inside on Labour Day, and would spend the day moping about, feeling gloomy.  It always marked the end of the two months of complete freedom I experienced at my grandparents’ house.  I could stay up as late as I liked, sleep in until noon, spread my Barbie, her house and clothing from one end of the house to the other, and order strange foods.

One of these foods was both peanut butter and strawberry jam in the same jar.  Do you remember that?  They would also buy chips, Pop Tarts, sugar-sweetened cereals and cookies.  None of this stuff ever appeared in our house.  As well, it could be eaten all evening long in the living room, in front of the T.V.

Yesterday I came home after a night in Osoyoos, and marveled at the beauty of the apples on the trees along the highway.  They were twice the size of tennis balls and very red.  Someday, when it’s all paved over and we’re buying apples from China, we’ll think back on the beauty of what was, and wonder what happened.

When I arrived home I decided that I’d better start to package some of the baked fruitcakes and make room on the shelves for more.  I made two cases of 24 each, and put them on the closet floor in the basement kitchen.  I sighed, and said to myself, “only 148 more cases to go.”  Should I just shoot myself now?

Have you ever tried to get blood out of a dachshund?  It’s very hard, in case you’re wondering.  The vet told me that Arnie would have to spend a day there so that they can draw blood every two hours and monitor his sugar levels (he has diabetes).  I told the vet that Arnie hates him and his clinic, and therefore I would have to drive Arnie back and forth every two hours.  The vet then suggested that I could it myself with a blood sugar monitor.  I thought this was a very cost-effective idea, so decided to try it.

Tomorrow I will be phoning the vet to book a day of blood sugar testing in his clinic.  I didn’t get one drop of blood out of the dog, but instead caused a terrible ruckus.  I have a strange feeling that the vet often suggests these types of things to owners, knowing that in the words of Arnold Schwarzenegger, “I’ll be back.”

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