Wednesday, May 4

day 10380: the importance of having wood

I overreacted. I know I have a tendency to do that. But you don’t understand. Let me preface this by telling you about the bet that JB and I have that he cannot burn all the wood that I gathered for Triscuit’s bonfire this Saturday.

Curry crab at Indochine is riding on this. And if you’ve ever been to Indochine, you know this is a BIG deal.

“Ok, are you sitting down?”

“Yes… why????????????”

“Terry just called. The woodchipper is making its way down the beach and grinding up all the wood in its path…”

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! What about MY wood?”

“Don’t know. The chipper hasn’t gotten there yet. It’s still a little ways up the beach. Terry’s going to put a sign on it. I’ll update you when I get home.”

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The HORROR!!!!!!!!!!”

But there’s more to the story. I spent two days gathering the wood and lugging tree sized logs from one end of the beach to the other. Let’s not even talk about telephone poles and who’s-its or what’s-nots. I heaved, I hoed, I raked, I cleaned up the beach until it was very nearly spotless… the logs I didn’t have the strength to lug and pile up, I stood up, replanted and created my own version of beach art. Really, it looked more like a dead forest.

Like the anal accountant that I am, I even organized by size… for “easy burning.” Six wheelbarrows full of kindling to start the bonfire, smaller branches to get the fire going stronger, logs cut and logs uncut (i.e. trees).

(Yes, I know I am anal. I have come to terms with it. So should you.)

But there’s more. There was a temper tantrum on day two. It was a gloomy day. I had not planned on beach cleanup day… especially by myself while Triscuit worked on replanting grass in the front yard. I was feeling like slave labour, and friends of Triscuit’s last-summer-after-me-before-me-again-fling came rollerblading by. Needless to say, it was not a pretty sight.

I did the whole girlie-jealousy thing, but held it all in until everyone was out of sight or long departed before I let loose. I teared. I huffed. I flung stones with all my might into the murky grey waters of Lake Ontario.

I was not a happy camper. Neither I, nor my new pink work gloves were having fun anymore. I flung my rake down, turned over the wheelbarrow, planted my sand covered hiny on the beach and refused to do anymore.

Then, it happened.

Two kids… not more than sixteen… came riding by on their bikes. One stopped, lowered his sunglasses, whistled and rode off again…

I must be cute when I'm mad.

It cheered me up enough to go to the batting cages to work off the rest of my "grumpiness."

"Don't worry, your wood is fine. JB will have to burn it all this Saturday though, since Terry promised that it'll be gone by the end of the weekend. So you're going to lose your bet..."


1 comment:

teahouse said...

Heh heh heh, you hottie!!

And I've always been freaked out by wood chippers. Even before "Fargo."