Uneventful weekend

The next few weeks will be a bit manic, but at least at the end of them I'll have something more to say for myself! In the meantime, more scenes of our town. (Jeff gets credit for the first one.)

All of a sudden, it's spring!

The last time we visited that tavern was a year ago, when we first moved here and were still jet-lagged and disoriented. I was unable to believe I'd get through a year here - much less three - because everything felt so uncertain. It was nice to go back, and the rainbow was the perfect, if slightly Hallmark-ish, symbol of the comparative calm now. It's pretty darned comfy, this town. I've started to grow attached.

Another week gone by already?

I've just outdone the ugliness of all my previous driver's license photos including the one taken before I started reigning in my eyebrows - trust me, this is quite an achievement - with the horrific image I sent to apply for my British driver's license. (I ran out of coins at the only photo booth in town and had no time to redo it.) I fully expect the DMV to take one look and decide that giving a person who looks like a washed-up addict with a bizarre facial rash a license to operate a motorized vehicle is hardly wise. (I didn't have a facial rash, for the record, but it inexplicably showed up on the photos.) My British license will annoyingly forbid me from driving a manual transmission, which I can do more than competently, because Ontario does not keep any record of whether I did my test on a manual or automatic transmission. I would have to do a whole new driving test to prove that I will not destroy the clutch on any vehicle I come into contact with - and who wants to go through THAT all over again?

I've finally bought a pair of Wellies, to take advantage of all the fine opportunities a walk in the country provides to jump in a puddle and splash my boyfriend head to toe. Unfortunately, my He-Man calves mean that there's no room to tuck my jeans inside the boots like all the stylish folks do. I am instead forced to roll my jeans up outside the boots, culminating in tire-sized folds right at my knees, which, it must be said, are far from my best feature. It also means I must walk slightly bowlegged. Still, we finally made it across the muddy and waterlogged meadow to the pub. Which, as it turns out, is now closed for renovations. (Cue mournful music.)

All these challenges pale, however, when compared to what a friend of mine has been enduring. Her boyfriend has set up a blog of their amazing adventure at the South Pole, where they have participated in the Antarctic Marathon to raise funds for Alzheimer's research. Check it out for some great photos and an account of one of the more gruelling endurance races: The Last Marathon