Bees

Currently, Ken and I are on a cruise. It hasn’t been quite the experience we’d hoped for, due to sh*tty weather. The first sign of trouble was the night before we were supposed to leave and I got an email telling us that we were no longer going to Key West and Nassau because of “inclement weather—now we were going to Key West and Cozumel. When we arrived in Florida, it was pouring and windy but we were only there overnight. Once we got on the ship, the seas were super-rocky and by that night, our snorkelling excursion in Key West had been cancelled. But it was okay—we decided to just do the hop on/hop off trolley and see the town. The next morning , I woke up and turned on the ship’s navigation channel. It showed our ship going into Key West, doing a circle, then heading back out. Now, I’m not very good with maps but it seemed to me that a loop and a “high tail it out of there” wasn’t a great sign. And sure enough, about half an hour later, there was an announcement that it was too dangerous to try and dock in Key West so we were heading straight for Cozumel. But the announcement was only in the halls, and when we went for breakfast, it was amazing how many people were coming in with backpacks and whatnot, as if they were going ashore. The family next to us kept saying, “When do you think we’ll get to Key West?” and “How much longer will it be?” until I put them out of their misery and told them, “Never.”

But Ken and I were not deterred. After a full sea day of playing trivia and winning champagne and jewellery at the art auction raffle, we went to sleep excited about our excursion the next day to the Mayan ruins and the beach. Then things got even better when we got on the bus and our guide told us that we were also stopping at an extra destination—a tequila factory. And that was awesome because we had booked a trip to a rum factory in Nassau and I was very sad about missing it because if you know me at all you know I adore factories where alcohol is made.

Once we’d finished at the Mayan ruins, where we saw the cutest iguanas and a random anteater, we got back on the bus. We started chitchatting with the guide, Payo, and I said, “I’m excited about the next stop” and he replied, “Oh yes, the something something” and I said “Pardon?” and he said “The Bee Sanctuary” and I said, “…Pardon?!” because the way he said it, it still sounded kind of like Tequila Factory because of his very thick accent so I got my hopes up, but he said it again and there was no doubt that IT WAS BEES. Then he went back to the front of the bus.

Me: We’re going to a bee sanctuary?

Ken: Apparently.

Me: Do I have to touch the bees?

Ken: Probably not.

Me: Okay then.

Ken: You’re being surprisingly calm about this.

Me: I should have had the free tequila shot at the Mayan ruins when that dude offered it. Are these rescue bees or something? Do you think they’ll be aggressive?

But I needn’t have worried. They were tiny stingless bees and we never saw any of them. And there were market stands at the bee sanctuary that sold tequila so it all worked out in the end.

In other news, I’m absolutely thrilled to tell you that my new novel, Charybdis, is going to be published by UK publisher JC Studio Press, run by the amazing Jane Cornwell. Here’s a synopsis:

Charybdis takes place in two different time periods. In the present, Greta Randall, a graduate student in Waterloo, Ontario about to embark on a PhD., is determined to continue her research into an obscure Canadian poet and recluse, Louisa Duberger, hoping that she will uncover the mystery of Duberger’s life and work. In the second time period, beginning in the year 1891, Louisa Duberger herself chronicles the tragic events of her life in a secret diary that she keeps from her eighteenth birthday until her death at the age of 25. The two timelines converge in a suspenseful way when Greta meets Matthew Shepherd, who claims to be Louisa’s great-great-nephew, and who has secrets of his own that he would kill to protect, including the last entry of Louisa’s diary.

Look for it in late spring 2024!

I’ve been feeling a little tired lately for a variety of reasons—I’m getting older, the days are getting shorter, but mostly because I ran out of iron pills. “So why don’t you buy more?” I hear you ask, and while you’d think that would be an easy solution, it’s apparently not, because I’ve gone to three drugstores in my area and none of them sell the iron I like. No, they’re NOT gummies, unlike all my other vitamins and supplements, but they do come in a soothing green and gold bottle from a brand that I get regular grocery store points with. But for some reason, all the iron is currently behind the counter, causing me to have conversations with pharmacists who are guarding it zealously, as if the conspiracy theorists are spreading around the rumour that sticking iron pills in a blender and then giving yourself an enema with them will cure you of Covid (it won’t, and please don’t tell people that you’re doing an iron cleanse because mydangblog told you to):

Me: Where’s all the iron?
Pharmacist: Back here with the narcotics.
Me: OK, weird. But I need some.
Pharmacist: Did your doctor prescribe it?
Me: No. You don’t need a prescription for iron.
Pharmacist: Well, did he tell you to take it?
Me: No! Can I just have some iron? Here’s the kind I normally take. (shows picture on my phone)
Pharmacist: Well, I don’t have that kind. Here, this is the same.

So that night, I took the new iron pill with my glucosamine, and only AFTER did I look at the bottle:

Me: Holy sh*t. I think I’ve made a dreadful error in judgement.
Ken: What’s wrong? Did you apply to that acting job at the Hallowe’en farm?
Me: No, I just took one of those new iron pills. My old ones were 28 milligrams each and this one is 300 milligrams! Am I going to rust?! Am I magnetic now? (googles ‘What happens if you take too much iron?’) Oh my god, it says here that taking more than 40 mg of iron a day can lead to organ failure, seizures and, death! I haven’t even retired yet!!

I went to bed that night terrified, and then I couldn’t sleep because I’d taken so much iron that I wasn’t tired. So to amuse myself, I surfed Facebook Marketplace and found these weird ads:

Of all the public announcements you could make, this is the strangest. Apparently Werner, at the age of 65, has become a vegetarian, or has given up being a pescatarian, or just wants to give the fish a chance, and felt the need to tell the world, as one does. He doesn’t look very happy about his decision, and I wonder if the “we” was really just his wife who was like “Werner. I hate fishing. We are no longer fisherfolk,” and Werner was like “But I love fishing,” and his wife was like “Not anymore you don’t.” Still, if we’re posting random angry proclamations on FB Marketplace, look for an ad of me looking super-pissed off with the caption “I JUST TOOK TOO MUCH IRON”. But I wish poor old Werner the best of luck in his new, non-fishing life.

Hard pass. I don’t care if they’re free; in fact, how would you even SELL bees? Like a nickel a piece, or 5 bucks for a…(googles ‘What is a group of bees called?’ Swarm, Cluster, Bike, Ball, Colony—there are a LOT of names for bees)…bushel? But I don’t want bees—they’re sting-y little f*ckers and I’m sure they’re just as happy as I am that we have a long-distance relationship.

How small do you think children ARE? And is that a ladybug or a face with giant polka-dotted ears? See, now that I’ve said it, you can’t unsee it. Either way, I’m not interested in it even if it’s free because that box is NOT big enough to store a child, even a small child. Now, a bushel of bees might fit…