On being naked....
Last night, as I was slipping into a freshly made bed, I was thinking how nice it would be to sleep naked. How nice would that be? No t-shirt twisting up in my arm pits, no pajama pants bunching up. Just the feeling of crisp, clean sheets against my skin. Sounds lovely, but it's not going to happen here.
One of the supposed perks of living in the country is the privacy. Really? In the past 7 years, I think we have had more drop in "visitors" than we ever had living in the city. And they drop in at the most inopportune times. Like 6:30 am on the coldest day this past winter when their car overheated. Or at 10:30 pm on a hot summer Saturday night when their dog cut their leg. Or how about at 8:00 am on a frosty Monday morning when they were having a guitar pick emergency. Yup, their life was pretty much over if they didn't get to buy a few picks.
Our home is about 100 feet or more from the highway and we don't have a lot in the way of window coverings. We do have blinds, but they are seldom pulled down. If someone was driving by at 80 kilometres an hour caught sight of me changing in the bedroom, they wouldn't have any idea what they were looking at!
On that particular morning of the guitar pick emergency, I was relaxing on the couch - it was my day off after all - in my cozy mauve bathrobe, having just had a long, hot shower. My hair was all wrapped up in a thick mauve matching towel. Yes, I was in the Martha Stewart mode of matchy-matchy stuff. I was sipping a cup of Earl Grey tea, contemplating what to do next...paint my nails, give myself a facial, do a bit of knitting...I had the whole day ahead of me to decide. Then, BAM! I heard the door of our front porch open and slam, and saw a man peering through the living room window at me! Crap! I got up and pulled myself together the best I could, making sure no girlie bits were exposed and went to the front door. Of course, the dogs were totally freaking out at the intruder and I had to yell through the door, asking him what he wanted. Over the noise of the dogs (and you have never heard such barking until you hear my dogs bark), I told him we were closed. He told me that since I was home, I could open up the shop. He had driven a long way to get these picks!
You see, these were the days when we had the shop on our property, and this was one of the reasons we moved into town. Our store hours also happened to be posted on several signs Tuesday - Saturday 10 - 5. No mention of 8:00 am on a Monday. Anyway, I put some clothes on and went out and sold him 2 Dunlop picks for a grand total of $1.13. (My wet hair froze on the walk over to the shop!) Since my relaxing spa day had been shattered, I went back to the house, got dressed presentably, fed the cats, loaded the dogs in the car (still my hair was wet) and toddled off to Pickering, I just wanted to be alone. After a nice dinner with Mr Knits and a good sleep, I then returned to the shop early the next morning. At least I had some privacy at our home in Pickering. On a main street. With neighbours less than 30 feet away.
There really is no privacy in the country...and most of the time it's a good thing to quote Martha. I have more real friends than I have ever had, I know more people by name, and a 5 minute trip to the grocery store takes at least half an hour because one simply must catch up on all the gossip. Seriously, I wouldn't have it any other way.
Now that we live up here, I just have make sure I'm up and dressed by 6:00 am to greet any visitors that happen by and invite them in for a cup of tea. That's life in the country.
One of the supposed perks of living in the country is the privacy. Really? In the past 7 years, I think we have had more drop in "visitors" than we ever had living in the city. And they drop in at the most inopportune times. Like 6:30 am on the coldest day this past winter when their car overheated. Or at 10:30 pm on a hot summer Saturday night when their dog cut their leg. Or how about at 8:00 am on a frosty Monday morning when they were having a guitar pick emergency. Yup, their life was pretty much over if they didn't get to buy a few picks.
Our home is about 100 feet or more from the highway and we don't have a lot in the way of window coverings. We do have blinds, but they are seldom pulled down. If someone was driving by at 80 kilometres an hour caught sight of me changing in the bedroom, they wouldn't have any idea what they were looking at!
On that particular morning of the guitar pick emergency, I was relaxing on the couch - it was my day off after all - in my cozy mauve bathrobe, having just had a long, hot shower. My hair was all wrapped up in a thick mauve matching towel. Yes, I was in the Martha Stewart mode of matchy-matchy stuff. I was sipping a cup of Earl Grey tea, contemplating what to do next...paint my nails, give myself a facial, do a bit of knitting...I had the whole day ahead of me to decide. Then, BAM! I heard the door of our front porch open and slam, and saw a man peering through the living room window at me! Crap! I got up and pulled myself together the best I could, making sure no girlie bits were exposed and went to the front door. Of course, the dogs were totally freaking out at the intruder and I had to yell through the door, asking him what he wanted. Over the noise of the dogs (and you have never heard such barking until you hear my dogs bark), I told him we were closed. He told me that since I was home, I could open up the shop. He had driven a long way to get these picks!
You see, these were the days when we had the shop on our property, and this was one of the reasons we moved into town. Our store hours also happened to be posted on several signs Tuesday - Saturday 10 - 5. No mention of 8:00 am on a Monday. Anyway, I put some clothes on and went out and sold him 2 Dunlop picks for a grand total of $1.13. (My wet hair froze on the walk over to the shop!) Since my relaxing spa day had been shattered, I went back to the house, got dressed presentably, fed the cats, loaded the dogs in the car (still my hair was wet) and toddled off to Pickering, I just wanted to be alone. After a nice dinner with Mr Knits and a good sleep, I then returned to the shop early the next morning. At least I had some privacy at our home in Pickering. On a main street. With neighbours less than 30 feet away.
There really is no privacy in the country...and most of the time it's a good thing to quote Martha. I have more real friends than I have ever had, I know more people by name, and a 5 minute trip to the grocery store takes at least half an hour because one simply must catch up on all the gossip. Seriously, I wouldn't have it any other way.
Now that we live up here, I just have make sure I'm up and dressed by 6:00 am to greet any visitors that happen by and invite them in for a cup of tea. That's life in the country.
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