They don't call me NeuROSEs for nothing!

Over the past 4 months, Amadeus and I have journeyed over 5,000 miles together. The only glitch in our relationship is the uncertainty of where the next gas station which sells diesel might be on our path. I'm sure there's an iPhone app which would take this uncertainty out of the equation, but, alas, I'm to cheap to buy an iPhone I do not have an iPhone. Also, as my nickname would suggest, I need something to be neurotic about. The location of a diesel station is a pretty mild substitute, and an adequate distraction from, life's larger issues.

This week, Amadeus took me to a funeral in the beautiful heart of Ontario's Cottage Country. On the return journey, some 450 miles into a tank of diesel, I thought it might be wise to fuel up again as the needle on the gauge was getting precariously close to the quarter tank notch. I pulled in to a station in Trenton, Ontario, which advertised that it sold diesel. I was a little dubious, for this place was clearly a throwback in time. Not only did the pumps still have those little yellow balls floating in the bubble on the side, but there was also an actual person whose job it was to run those pumps and fuel up people's vehicles. So, I asked the proprieter if the diesel they sold was, in fact, the ultra-low-sulfur diesel for which Amadeus thirsted. Indeed, I was assured, it was that new-fangled stuff, and all of the cool kids with VW diesel fuelled up there.

Onwards we drove. Amadeus chugged right along to the next stop in our journey. When I stepped out, though, my nostrils were assaulted with that unmistakable sulfur-y, rotten egg smell. OH NOES, thought I. It wasn't ultra-low-sulfur diesel! I just killed Amadeus!!!!!

Then I heard a strange whirring sound. I looked up, and saw the large truck that was pumping out the septic tank next door.

Yeah, maybe I'll shell out some bucks for an iPhone. It's probably cheaper than therapy, in the long run.

Graceful

Two different families of swans, Prince Edward County, July 18, 2009.

As if I needed another reason to admire the President

I found this picture, lifted from The Boston Globe, to be utterly, utterly charming.

I spend an inordinate amount of time at work trying to decipher the handwriting of physicians. The old stereotype of poor penmanship on the part of doctors is, sadly, grounded in reality. Fortunately, there are exceptions to the rule. I have found that there is a direct, positive correlation between the neatness of the handwriting and the professional courteousness and overall niceness of the doctor. There is one particular physician whose notes are an absolute joy to read, not only for the perfect calligraphy, but for the care and attention to detail he incorporates into his communication.

I don't think it's a mere coincidence that Mr. Obama's penmanship is so exquisitely beautiful. The fact that he is a fellow southpaw is just icing on the cake.

The best seats (not) in the house

The Zen-Like state into which I float while folding the laundry was interrupted just now by some faint booming. I stepped out onto the moist grass and across the road to watch the fireworks being launched from Thompson Park Hill. The fact that I was in my nightgown was irrelevant. The fireflies who zoomed around me were more concerned with adding their own lumenescence to the show than with my inappropriate attire. The coyotes yipped and yelped at the cacophony which floated on the night air.

When the last of the rockets' red glare faded into the night, I walked back across the lush, barely manicured grass, letting the dew caress my un-pedicured feet. In that moment, I was acutely aware that I might not possess everything I've ever wished for .. but I'm pretty darned close.

As Canadian as ..

.. possible, under the circumstances!

So, last night, I was feeling a little guilty and pitiful that I wouldn't be celebrating Canada Day in the Great White North. I had asked for, and received, a sufficient block of time off from work to facilitate making the trip across the border, but ongoing renovations at both my house and my parents' abode put the kibosh on that idea.

Then, as I was perusing the delightful Twitter Feed of that incredibly talented Canadian mammal known as Jian Ghomeshi, I was hit by a bolt of inspiration. Jian is currently obsessed with butter tarts, which are a uniquely Canadian treat. A-Ha, I thought! I could try my hand at making butter tarts!

A quick click of the mouse later, I was on the Canadian Living Magazine website. Unsurprisingly, a search for "butter tart" within that particular site yields 2026 results, including a recipe for Maple Butter Tarts. The Gods of Canadian Culinary Goodness were smiling upon me, as I actually had all of the ingredients on hand. I chose the Maple Chocolate variation, and ..



.. they were a hit! Let's just say that I now have a little extra leverage with my extremely appreciative American husband.

Happy Canada Day, eh?