It’s going to be hot today. Hot and humid. 33 degrees with a humidex of 38 or so. The first really sticky hot day of the summer.

I hate the humidity.

When I was younger, it was not so bad. Of course, I was skinny then. But also, we had a pool growing up, so if it was hot you just threw on a swimsuit and jumped in.

Pools are scarce here in Subdivisionland.

There are young families who are living in the biggest house they can afford. There are backyards like bowling alleys. There’s wildlife just over the fence waiting to come and drown in your oasis of cool — or, if your pool is of the blow-up variety, puncture it so it deflates.

Plus — honestly — would I REALLY want my neighbours to see me in a bathing suit? Hm. I think NOT.

It’s kind of a bummer.

Sometimes I think it would be lovely to have a pool, especially when we have kids. Growing up with a pool was wonderful. I spent my summers swimming all day long, or playing hard and jumping in the pool periodically to cool off. All that swimming and playing made me fit and healthy, and I was as brown as a berry for the entire summer.

It was pretty awesome.

I know we’ll have some sort of pool for our kids, even if it’s just of the paddling-pool variety. I love those pictures of kids splashing about in a kiddie pool. I love the look of joy on their faces, from splashing and running in and out and having a great time.

Of course, there’s every likelihood that I’ll plop my big ol’ self down in the padling pool too, just to stay cool. No telling what kind of trauma that will cause the neighbours.

In the meantime, as the cats stretch out on the cool tile floor in the kitchen… I am thankful for our air conditioning.

I’ve always had a bad case of wanderlust, a desire to travel and see other places in the world. I’ve had a bit of the travel bug, ever since I was very small. I come by it naturally — my father has it too. (He used to joke that he joined the Air Force to see the world, and he saw Flin Flon.)

It’s always been there, but sometimes it’s stronger than other times. It comes and goes. Sometimes, it’s so strong, it’s hard to describe. When I have it bad, it’s like a weight or a pressure on my chest, an actual physical feeling. Sometimes, it’s like a nervous energy, like that “spring fever” feeling people get in spring where they need to get outside or they’ll go mad.

I’ve been feeling it a lot lately. I don’t know what triggers it, but it starts off a cycle of talking about other places and daydreaming about other places and reading about other places. I get this twitchy feeling of needing to get away and go somewhere. I start talking about living in other countries. I read about other countries, and resorts and places to stay and cities in other countries. I look at job listings in other countries. I listen to the BBC World Service.

When I lived in Japan, I listened to the BBC World Service late at night. It was the one time in my entire life where that feeling of wanderlust was satisfied, and I felt like I was part of the world. I would lay in the dark and listen to stories and requests for songs from other people out there in the world listening to the BBC World Service, and I felt connected. I felt like I was part of things, and that I belonged there. I had a feeling of being this tiny speck on the planet with a connection to other tiny specks on the planet, and it felt great.

Most times, when the travel bug hits me, I get a little obsessed. Fortunately, these days, these fits of wanderlust are fairly short-lived. I dive into looking at this stuff, I talk about it a lot, but it passes in a week or two. I listen to the BBC, but it doesn’t last long.

It’s one of those incredibly ironic twists of fate that I married someone who has absolutely no interest in living abroad, of adventures out in the world. He’s a homebody.

BDH has told me, whenever I start on one of these cycles of wanting to get out into the world, “No.” He tells me very patiently, I might add, each time I raise the possibility of living in this country or on that island or whatever, that he has no interest in moving, thankyouverymuch. I think he knows that the passion will burn itself out soon, and it’s mostly idle talk anyway. He lets me dream and obsess and chatter, knowing it will pass in time.

The problem is, I’m getting older, and I am beginning to feel some twinges of regret twined with the travel bug. I’m starting to feel bummed.

I know that my life is (statistically) half over, and I haven’t done some of these things and been to some of these places. And the older I get, the less likely it is that I will ever do it. When I was younger, there were so many possibilities, and I was mostly fearless. I WOULD get up and go somewhere, given the chance. It was a real option for me. Now, the possibilities dwindle, and I get more comfortable and less adventurous. I’m no longer brave. I know I will likely never live on a tropical island somewhere. I won’t ever sail the South Pacific and explore. I won’t live in a cute flat or a cottage somewhere in Ireland or the UK.

I’m not unhappy with my life, don’t get me wrong. I have a good life going here. I just sometimes dream of a life I wish I had lived out there in the world, and it’s kind of sad to realize that it probably won’t happen. When I was young, it felt as though it was all possible.

I guess that’s what happens as you get older.

Oh well. I may not travel the world, but I have the internet to satisfy my wanderlust a little bit. I have air conditioning and creature comforts and a comfy chair, from which I can look at places live, in real time, that I only ever dreamed about. I still have the BBC World Service.

I have issues.

• Garbage collection: Why is it that our garbage collection is so inconsistent? I mean, surely to doG it’s not THAT complex a thing. One week, they come by at 11:30 in the morning. The next week? 10:30. The next? After noon sometime. And then, as you’re laying in bed, snoozing, you hear them come by at 7:15. Four hours difference from week to week? What can cause four hours difference in a pick up? Did a new neighbourhood just suddenly materialize out of thin air and need garbage collection? And then this morning, they picked up the other side of the street at 8:30, and our side? Still waiting. I. DON’T. GET. IT.
• People who claim outlandish allergies as a way of getting out of doing something: There are people out there who, rather than doing something they don’t like, claim they are “allergic”. Which, I have to say, annoys the hell out of someone like me who is independently keeping the antihistamine business going. I used to work with this hypochondriac nutjob who claimed she was “allergic to the cold”. PLEASE. What’s so wrong with just admitting you don’t like going out in the winter? I do it all the time. Then there was this guy who claimed to be allergic to cream cheese. All other cheeses? Just fine. Velveeta? He’s good. Dairy products in general? No problem. But bring a bagel with cream cheese near him and Oh-my-god-my-ALLERGIES. I mean, come on. You’re a grown man. Just say you don’t like cream cheese and move on, for the love of doG.
• Badly-written computer-geek-talk in movies: Not that I understand a lot of this stuff, but it makes BDH mental. Scriptwriters need to do a little more than just string techie words together, or make every computer system with a super-easy “backdoor” that is simple enough for a third-grader to hack into. If you’re going to make it up, then make it up COMPLETELY — don’t do a half-assed job of it and think it’s okay. Because honestly? BDH can’t suspend disbelief in those cases, and sometimes it makes me want to dump a bag of popcorn on his head.
• Cats who like to barf from height: Why do my cats get on the highest thing they can find before they barf? And why did it have to be the daybed with the comforter that doesn’t quite fit into my washing machine?
• People who talk about themselves in the third person: Do I really need to explain this one? Is the bizarre pretentiousness of it not self-evident? And give them five minutes in the penalty box if they are a white woman who does it while trying to sound all cool and ghetto, as in “Mary don’t like dat.” I think it should be okay to slap these people, as a public service. Hard.

This weekend, I spent a lot of time away from my computer. I had forgotten how much time there was in a day when you are not parked in front of a computer. Sometimes my blogging, and the research required for blogging, and just the general faffing around that comes with surfing, can take far longer than I expect. Hours fly by.

So I decided to go offline for awhile.

It was the perfect weekend for it. The humidity had been blown out by the huge thunderstorms that came through on Friday evening, replaced by bright sunshine and reasonably warm days. It was beautiful outside — the perfect weather to be out doing stuff, and to have all the windows in the house open.

I spent hours in my garden, mostly pulling weeds and trying to beat back a ridiculously healthy bunch of periwinkle. I transplanted periwinkle runners to the shady side of the house where grass won’t grow. I planted herbs in my vegetable garden. And I planted annuals in some of the bare spots left by the crazed weeding I had done.

I also did some cooking and some baking, because the weather was so gorgeous and no longer oppressively hot. I sent BDH off to his Sunday D&D session yesterday with a loaf of pumpkin bread to share with the gang. Tonight I made a lovely, spicy beef stir fry and some basmati rice for dinner.

And yesterday, I spent hours on our front porch in the shade. A gentle breeze was blowing, the skies were clear, and the neighbourhood was relatively quiet. I sat out and did some knitting, rocking in my rocking chair with a beverage beside me. It was really relaxing.

So much of our lives are caught up in computers these days. we work on computers. We play games on computers. We read, we watch videos, we learn, we socialize, we communicate on computers.

There’s a big beautiful world out there when you hit that “off” button, you know?

I’ve been on a bit of a baking kick for the last week or so. I don’t know what it is, but I’ve just felt like baking.

Back in the old infertility drug days, baking was a sure sign that I was taking my injections and that my hormones were in top gear. (I know Kelly misses those days, when she’d call and I’d be up to my eyebrows in flour and kneading a loaf of bread while chatting on speakerphone.) But since I am off the drugs and high on life nowadays, I’m not sure what’s causing this urge to make tasty deliciousness. I think it’s most likely just that I love to bake, and haven’t made anything in a little while.

One thing’s for sure — it’s smelling really good around here lately.

Last week, I whipped up a small batch of cowboy cookies, a particular favourite of BDH’s. Since he’s been getting up and getting on the treadmill faithfully every morning, he deserved a treat. Two cookies in his lunch pail each day (plus two for his coworker who loves my baking).

Then there was pumpkin bread. I had a can of pumpkin left over from when the girls were sick, and it’s been calling out to me to make something since then. So from Kelly’s recipe, I made two moist, spicy loaves of delicious. Our house smelled of cinnamon and nutmeg all day. I love this pumpkin bread, and have been devouring it like nobody’s business.

Today, I’m thinking of making a lemon poppyseed loaf. It’s been years — maybe twenty years — since I have had lemon poppyseed loaf. I’m kind of in the mood to make one. And since I am grating lemon peel, I might as well do a batch of lemon blueberry muffins.

And possibly, I’ll make some more pumpkin bread and give it to BDH’s coworker and maybe put the other loaf in the freezer for BDH to take along when he gets together with his friends on Sundays.

DUDE. I am out of control.

Is there a 12-step program for baking?

We got some rain last night. Not enough to bring down the humidity, and so the air conditioning is still running, but at least enough to cool things down a bit and give the gardens a little water. I wish it would pour down rain. Or at least, a nice steady rain. Something to wash away the humidity and give me a chance to get out and get some weeding done afterwards.

I got up this morning and felt like being busy. After a weekend of sitting around and sweating, it was nice to have a cooler morning to wake up to. So even though I was tired, I felt like getting some things done. I have been doing laundry and dishes and sweeping and mopping. I might even have a go at the carpet cleaner today. The thought of sitting down at my computer is actually not as appealing as usual, because it’s a break in my momentum.

I know, call me crazy.

I really enjoy cooler, rainy days in the summer. Since we don’t have a pool and we don’t have kids, really hot, sunny days are wasted on us. Both BDH and I are more apt to get things done when we’re not bound by heat and humidity. It’s funny, because as a kid I loved the heat and the sunshine — but then again, we had a pool, and I loved to sunbathe. Nowadays, I prefer the cooler spring and fall weather.

I am sure I could enjoy the sun and heat again, but I don’t think I’d be as busy. I’d forego a lot of the chores and just want to play. Or I’d be a lot more minimalist — if I lived in the Caribbean, for example, I’d not have as much carpet to clean and I’d be using a clothesline and I’d bake a whole lot less. And I probably would not have the big yard and gardens that need tending. We live in accordance with our environment. And so here, where the weather is changeable and we have four distinct seasons, there’s more to our home and there are more things we try to do in it.

So a break in the humidity here is a welcome change. It’s like a mental “reset” button.

A few days of nice, steady rain would be nice right about now. There are things I’d like to do. There’s a lemon on my sideboard that is crying out for me to bake something. I’d like to get the carpets vacuumed, not to mention cleaned. I have lots of laundry to get done.

I know there are lots of little children’s songs asking the rain to go away, but how about one that encourages a little downpour?

It’s been one of those weekends.

It’s humid. Stinky-and-hot-like-an-armpit humid. I’m no fan of humidity, I can tell you… unless there’s a beach or a pool nearby. A day like this in Barbados, for example, would not bother me. Not one bit. But as I garden in short fits and starts, I must admit to being sorely tempted to buy one of those inflatable backyard pools.

Yesterday I went out on the porch, where there’s shade, and did some gardening. I put flowers in the many pots that I have — some for the porch, some for the patio. I was dripping with sweat. I was only out for about 45 minutes at a time before I would have to come inside to the air conditioning.

Today I moved the pots for the patio into the backyard to decorate our patio. As I stepped on to the patio to place the last one there, the pot shattered in my hands in midair. Dirt and flowers and shards of cheap clay pot were everywhere. And so that was another half an hour in the sun and humidity as we cleaned up the mess.

All week, I’ve been running the dishwasher only to have the dishes come out dirty. Turns out, the water softener was empty. I put the remaining three bags of salt in, but hurt my back. And to add insult to injury, there’s a kitchen full of dirty dishes that need washing, from the time we waited for the water softener to run a regen cycle.

Last night, I looked out the back window to see our lovely neighbour, hugely pregnant with twins, and her husband entertaining the couple they bought the house from. Our former neighbours were very nice, but superficial and irresponsible. They’re also the type of people who have literally been given absolutely everything in life. And oh yeah? Now she’s pregnant too.

Another reminder, right there in your face. It’s like being starving, and everyone around you is eating an ice cream cone. Something delicious that you want more than everything but can’t have. You feel self-pity, and jealousy, and hurt.

I dissolved into tears.

A few hours watching Love Actually after that almost — ALMOST — made the pain go away.

Today I am the poster child for allergies. Sneezing my brains out. Puffy, runny, itchy eyes. Circles under my eyes like a raccoon mask. Blowing my nose constantly. I’m a beauty, I can tell you.

Le sigh.

I feel it is just best to stay in today.