Except for the terrible expense, it’s kind of nice having two boys. Right now they’ve gone off to Mission Creek together to a secret swimming hole. It makes for an idyllic picture, doesn’t it? However, as Luke told me that he’d seen a mother bear and two cubs there the other day it doesn’t make me that happy.
Denis’ youngest sister Margaret and her son Brendan were here for the week. Brendan was along for the bear-sighting the other day. It was ironic as of course they raced off on their bicycles without bothering with helmets, and Margaret was worried about that. Little did we know as we sat here with newly pedicured feet that the kids were metres from a completely different danger.
We’d gotten a taste of a wasp’s ire an hour after she’d arrived from
Victoria on Monday. I said to her “Let’s go down and look at the vegetable garden,” and she said sure. We were looking at the Brussels sprouts and Margaret was remarking that she had no idea that was how they grew. Suddenly a small wasp flew out of the broccoli with ferocious purpose.
It flew straight at me and stung me at the top inside of my arm. Not being satisfied with that, it proceeded over to Margaret where it stung her on her wrist, under a bracelet! We were both saying really bad words about the wasp as we scrambled our way up the hill and back to the house for baking soda.
I made a paste of that and we soothed our wounds. For the next three days we each had a huge raised red area that was hot and then itched intermittently. Any wasp sightings caused huge spasms of paranoia. I’ve been stung by wasps before, but this poisonous little wasp’s sting was the worst bite I’ve ever had.
Worse than the sting of that, though, is the pain of having to learn stuff about what Margaret says is called Social Media. She showed me how to makes links in these blogs, and helped me with my newsletter. We looked at my web page together and she made suggestions on how to improve that.
But you know all too well what I’m like. The moment I start to think about something hard, like my web page, or ugh, ‘social media’, I start to google new recipes. I then e mail people from whom I haven’t heard in a while. Right now, for example, I’m making plum jam and thinking I’d better stake some of my dahlias.
At some point, though, the pain of the procrastination will become too great, and I’ll realize that Margaret is right. I’ll then have to mound a plate with brownies and promise myself a pair of pumps when done. Then, and only then, will I slog my way to business success using this new-fangled medium. Why does all forward movement have to be so damned painful?