The painter

His is a nice guy. Probably about my age ..ummm 60 something. And he is doing a wonderful job of getting this old house back in shape.

Best of all he loves dogs..so the transition with him being here all day when we are at work is good.

But, he will not call her Penny, he calls HER.. "Spike." All the time. And he calls "her" "him."

Today when I came home, Penny and the painter were saying their farewells and the painter said to me " I miss my dog "Spike." Apparently they had dogs all their lives, but now that he is semi retired and only working part time they decided that after their dog Spike died to go petless, and travel more often.

He loves Penny/Spike. He never calls her Penny...it's so funny. And when he calls her Spike, she comes a running. Call me anything...except late for supper is her motto. If you want to pat my furry head and tickle me belly, I'm your dream girl/boy. I will be your Spike.

Your President came to Canada today. Holy Doddle..you would have thought he was a rock star. I certainly hope he will be your rock star. We aren't in a recession in our part of Canada ..yet, and I don't think it will happen. Ontario might have different problems because that's where the build the chariots we ride.

But it was nice of him to visit. Usually Canada gets dismissed......even tho....we are a huge country, on your border...but I think we are ..just too damn nice. We don't make enough noise. We don't raise our flags up high enough. Yes, we have seasons here that are cold, but not much different that the northern states. There always seems to be a stigma. I don't know what it is.

It's sort of like when I tell people I am a Mennonite, and they get all...Amish or Hutterite on me. Yes, I was born and raised Mennonite, but I never lived on a colony. I lived a perfectly normal life in a small town, until I started a street gang. Yes, I was a gangsta....a Mennonite bad ass. In fall, we would steal crab apples from our neighbours trees, on Halloween we would tip outhouses, and knock on seniors windows and scare them. And once I turned 16 and had my driver's licence we would do all of this again, but faster because I had a car. Life was so simple then. Steal and run. Scare and run. Then laugh your ass off after it was over. Yeah, we scored. We were smooth. Until my dad found out. My gangsta days were over, and so were my driving privileges.

I don't know how I got from Obama coming to Canada to knocking over out houses, there must be a correlation there somewhere. No? Okay. Its the paint smell that is making me crazy. Tonight I made fish for supper to try to overcome the "no odour" oil paint that smelled of cat piss and oregano. Bad choice, now the house smells like rotten fish, cat piss, and oregano.

What should I make for supper tomorrow? Nothing?... Yeah I don't want to stink this place up anymore than it is.