The Giant Green Post

The post is giant (not that I'm saying size matters, this is more of a warning) and it's about the garden. I had meant to post bit by bit but in the crazy business of life that just didn't happen. So here you go, the summer of the garden:

When I am playing a new board game, particularly if the game is German and complicated and whoever is teaching it to everyone (naming no one here!) needs 45 minutes to get us all through the rule book, I don’t play to win. I don’t even plan to do well, although I don’t complain if I do. What I do do, so to speak, is play to learn. I figure I can wade through one game, and then when it hits the table the next time around I’ll know the game. And then I’ll play it with the hopes of doing well. Or at the least well-ish!

I decided – yesterday – that I’m going to have to think of the garden plot that way. Not that I haven’t been successful, it’s just that there are a lot of things I intend to do differently next year. Stuff that I didn’t think about until the garden was well underway. So, in chronological order here is what’s been going on:

March, 2008 I contacted the Community Garden people about getting a plot. They were polite – inasmuch as they saved their huge guffaws until I’d hung up – and let me know that I was MONTHS too late for the 2008 gardening season. Did I want to be put on a waiting list for 2009? Yes, yes I did. See? I can plan ahead!

Early January, 2009 I get an email…they have an available plot for me! Every year there are some people who don’t return, and I guess there would be those that move or die or what have you. Some people have had their plots forever, it seems. I know two couples, both of whom at the more-than-twenty-years point. The only changes one couple has done is to divide their large part in half, once the kids had moved out. There is only so much produce one couple can eat! The email wanted to know if I wanted a full plot (20’x50’) or a half (20’x25’). I opted for the latter.

February Awesome brother-in-law flies me out to BC. I find it much easier to think about gardening, as they have FLOWERS. That are BLOOMING. In FEBRUARY. Lucky buggers. Decide not to bring plants back with me. I’ve done than before, one time taking a whole flat of herbs as a carry-on. I figured that they’d die before I got them home and if by some chance that didn’t happen, I’d have to keep seedlings living for MONTHS before I could plant them in the garden. Good call, as we had to walk outside from the plane to the airport in screaming wind, with a temp at minus thirty something.

April Having decided what to plant – potatoes, carrots, peas, strawberries, tomatoes, corn and peppers – I get an email reminding people that there are no perennials allowed in the garden plots. So, out go the strawberry plans.

Late April The gardens are roto-tilled every fall. If you want it done in the spring as well, you have to hire someone to do it or do it yourself. I decide to pass on the tilling. Bad call, or at least not a great call. The soil where we ended up planting carrots was really dense, heavy with lots of clay. I should have gone the extra step. Lesson learned for next year!

May Cold. And snowy. I’m beginning to wonder if we’ll be able to use the traditional date of the May long weekend for planting. As it turns out no…it was much to cold. I did buy seed potatoes, though. And learned another lesson. Don’t worry about what the bin says, read the label. The store I went to had an enormous bin of Yukon Gold seed potatoes. So I grabbed one, and added it to the card of seeds. When we got home I put them all out on newspaper to sprout, just like the instructions said. After we’d done all of that the girl said “you do know that these aren’t Yukon Gold, right?” No, I didn’t know. Turns out that the bag I’d grabbed from the Yukon bin was a bag of Red Pontiacs. Ah well, I’ll be more careful next time.

Mid-May Time to plant. To start with we had:
Seed Potatoes, sort of sprouted
Seeds for: carrots, peas (the mange-tout kind) cucumber, pumpkins (two types, regular and a heritage orange and black)and corn.

Plants: tomatoes, red yellow and green peppers (here’s a question: I thought red and yellow sweet peppers were just green peppers, ripened. Is that not the case?), hot banana peppers and four different types of melon: Mini Sweet Watermelon, Cantaloupe, Early dew and Lambkin. I have no idea what the last one is, but it look healthy, so we bought it.

When we had everything planted it became apparent that I didn’t really understand how big 25’x20’ really is. We had a rectangle of space with nothing planted. So The Girl and I went out and bought a set of six Spanish onions, went back and planted them and considered the whole thing a job well done.

June Still cold. And when the temp. went down to +3 a few nights in a row we went to see what damage the garden had sustained. All of the peppers were sad and dead looking, and more than half of the tomatoes had definitely given up the ghost. Happily for us, a good and kind friend (yeah Allison!) had extra tomato plants, so we replanted. And got a few new peppers as well. The rest we just left, lesson learned.

Mid June Where is everything? The peas and corn have sprouted, but no potatoes, no carrots, no pumpkins no cucumbers. I thought for sure the potatoes would be up, but no.

End of June The girl is leaving for a month in BC (oooh, envy) and at least the cucumbers and about half of the potatoes are poking about the ground. The peas, too, are up. And considering that we just planted them willy-nilly in the ground and then shoved tomato cages over them they’re looking ok. Not more than four inches tall, but they’re there!

Early July Well, once those potatoes started coming up, they almost all came up with great enthusiasm. 39 for 40 potato hills have lovely green plants thriving on them. The corn looks excellent, the peas are thriving and the pumpkins are up. And in the wrong spot! Turns out that believing that I’d remember where the blank rectangle was about as stupid as it sounds. What was I thinking? So the pumpkin vines started growing in and amongst the onions. Right beside the empty space. It kills me everytime I see them.

Third Week of July I get a cold and miss a whole week of gardening. The weeds are crazy and everything that we planted is doing well. Even the almost-dead peppers have come back to life, somewhat. I take a coffee break to race over in the morning and water…the days are hot, and we haven’t had rain. In the few minutes I’m there, The Girl (who returned from BC at twelve am and went to Kenosee at nine am the same time) appears. Giant hugs and excitement all round. Turns out that the family that she went to a cottage with were driving her home and wanted to see the garden, since it was on the way. She realized someone was in the garden, and then realized it was me. Joyous reunion, many hugs and kisses. What can I say, we’re a huggy family! She is thrilled with how wonderful everything but the carrots look, and wants to pick stuff RIGHT AWAY. I explain that we’re not there yet, but that before I head to BC for a while, we’ll get some potatoes for supper. Mainly because if I tell The Boy don’t pick any potatoes whilst I’m gone he won’t, but if I tell The Girl the same thing she’ll come up with some very convoluted explanation as to why the fate of the world hung on the need to pick one plant. And that she knew I would understand. So I figured that if she got to eat something before I left, then perhaps she leave the rest be until I got back.

Last Week of July There are bald patches with the carrots and the cukes. We used seed tape for both, and in the cucumber spot I found nibbled bits of seed tape to explain the blank patches. I’m assuming the same thing happened to the carrots, although I continue to water the blank spots just in case. I never did find eat tape so perhaps some seeds were just slow. For no reason that we can figure out, the 40th potato plant peeks its leaves above ground. What was it doing whilst its mates flourished?

First Week of August Just about to go to BC for a while, so I get everything weeded and watered. The house and puppies are being watched after by The Boy, so The Girl is responsible for the garden. We pick some potatoes, and steam them with herbs from the garden (I have an extensive herb garden at the house, totally unrelated to the plot), eat them with butter and pink salt. Heaven on a fork. Even if they are Pontiac Reds!

End of August The scraggly little banana pepper plants are producing like mad, as are the peas. The pepper plants produce peppers as long as the plants are tall. Turns out they’re sweet, so The Boy is a bit sad, but still, we end up with more than twenty six inch peppers from four sad looking little pepper plants. Sadly, the green peppers don’t seem to be doing as well. And the tomatoes…lots of them, but no colour yet. And the cukes, which were a mass of flowers when I left were a mass of flowers when I returned. Will be ever get actual cukes from them?

Early September We’ve eaten potatoes, carrots, pea, onions and peppers from the garden. The melons…suffice it to say that I have AWESOME melons (ha!). There are at least six that are almost ready to eat, and if the 30 degree weather we’ve had so far continues, we’ll do just fine by the melon crop. The pumpkins are finally more than just flowers, and there are a few minute cucumbers amongst all the cucumber vines and leaves, so they may be ok too. This weather is what we should have had – but didn’t – in August. Better late than never!
So there, that’s the garden story. Overall I’m thrilled that I decided to get a spot of a plot in the community gardens. Next year I’ll till in the spring, write down what got planted where, add some sand to the carrot spot and read labels carefully before buying.

Better Yet

You know what would be nice? If people, when they see you reading during a break at work, just left you alone. I mean seriously, how hard is it to work out that you're involved in something and chat isn't what you're there for?

Better yet...I should develop enough of a backbone to say "I'm on a break and just really want to read. You can ask me about work stuff during work time. Sorry".

You'll get fails, not passes if you cook without glassses

So, I realized this morning as I was unloading/loading the dishwasher (putting it off until the morning seemed like a good plan last night, but seen in the light of day it was a bad plan) that I had no lunch makings as such for the kids. This whole back to school before the Labour Day weekend messes everything up, so I am not as prepared as I will be once I get back in the school lunch habit.

I also realized that while I did have cold cereal as a breakfast offering (because they're not babies, they can get their own breakfast) I also had blueberries that I needed to eat and/or freeze before they got mouldy and needed to be tossed.

I solved the two problems by making blueberry muffins from a recipe and winging some baked mac 'n cheese. The mac and cheese turned out fine; cheesy, creamy a bit of spice and a cruncy panko topping. Thr crunch likely won't survive being microwaved as school, but it will still be tasty.

The muffins, however....apparently any bite that had a blueberry or a chunk of white chocoalte was fine., bar the slightly soapy aftertaste. Any bite missing on fruit/chocolate was bland. And this all happened because my glasses were at work.

I checked the recipe when I got here (I brought it with me) and as it happens I read baking soda when it was baking powder and I was a third of a cup short on the sweetener. 2/3 cups sugar looks a lot like 1/3 cup sugar when you need glasses and you don't have them. And although I read barking soda and was pretty quick to realize it was baking, not barking I could have saved us all the soapy aftertaste if I'd read powder instead of soda. Ah well, lesson learned. And the muffins will be eaten, and I only used half of the blueberries. The rest got frozen, so I'll be able to redeem myself, blueberrily speaking.

Because they have a black market value.

This is from the end of my vacation...but I don't want to forget it, so I'm posting. First, a reminder:
Remeber the post about the penguin? Because you need to read it to understand this.

I went on my vacation with two half packed suitcases. One had the few clothes* I was taking, and lots of space and the other had smoked meat things as a thank you to my sizzler and her hubby (Because nothing says "thanks for having me and spoiling me rotten" like freezer packs of bbq, brisket and smoked porc) and more space.

Naturally, on my return both cases were stuffed full. And I still left things behind! I bought tea (duh), clothes, shoes (including my first and only pair of Italian dress shoes), kitchen stuff (duh again) and lingerie (yeah, you could have made this list out yourselves and been pretty much right on target). I also got to bring the penguin home! Almost didn't, and here's why:

We got to the airport and it turns out that one suitcase was overweight and one was underweight. So the check-in person said I could repack them. So I did, and decided that the penguin would just have to stay with dad until some other trip. I took it out and gave it to him. One of the check-in people said I could take it as a carry-on. I didn't think that would work. I already had two carry-on items, my knapsack of cookbooks** and a bag with two boxes of giant Pocky***. Not to mention the fact that the penguin would look like a bomb when the bags got x-rayed.

She went and got a bag and I ended up putting the Pocky and the penguin together. And off I went through security. And yes, the penguin caused some giggles when it went through the scanner. Don't know what they thought it was, but clearly it didn't appear bomb-like because no one asked me about it.

When I got on the plane I decided the penguin could go in the overhead bin, and the knapsack under the seat. I had my book, glasses and wallet in the knapsack, and knew I'd need them. The penguin not so much. It proved to me far more difficult getting the penguin into the overhead bin than I thought it would. I mean it's metal, there is no give. And it's not flat at all, totally the wrong shape for an airplane's overhead bin. I suceeded, but it wasn't easy.

The flight was direct, in the sense that I didn't have to change planes in Calgary. There was a stop in Calgary though. And as we were late leaving BC, we were late arriving in Calagary. The flight person asked everyone that didn't have a connecting flight to stay seated, so that the people who did could make their flights. Naturally, no one listened,and the aisle filled with people desparate to get off the plane so she had to say it again.

The connnecting flight people left, and then the people who were stopping in Calgary left. Which leave a dozen or more still on the plane. There was only a fifteen minute break, so no sense in leaving the plane. Or so I thought.

Turns out they wanted us off, so they could clean the plane. And we were supposed to take our belongings with us. And here's how the conversation went:

Flight Attendant: Please take your belongings, and leave the plane while we give it a quick clean prior to continuing on the flight.
Me: We have to get off? For fifteen minutes?
F.A.: Yes, we need to clean up.
Me: ok...and we have to take our stuff, then?
F.A.: Yes please, everthing.
ME: Everything? Even the overhead bin? You need to clean the overhead bin?
F.A. (with the other passengers listening, and not looking overly happy). Yes, everything that you brought on board has to be removed.
Me: But...it took me forever to fit the penguin in there. And it almost didn't come on the flight at all, because it's a bit akward. Seriously, you want me to take the penguin out, and then try to get it back in ten minutes later? It would be easier to leave it.

This, of course, made perfect sense to me. I knew what I was talking about. I'm guessing, though, from the look on the faces - all of the faces - that everyone else thought I was talking about an actual penguin. I had to show it to EVERYONE then, at their insistance. I think they were disappointed at not capturing a penguin-smuggler.

The weird thing is that the spilled bits of airplane snacks that were on the floor by me seat - they were not mine, there were there when we boarded in BC - were still there when we got back on. So I guess "clean the plane" is code for something else. Like "find the escaped snake and get it off the plane".

* Not only just a few, but totally the wrong type. The week before I left I'd been watching the weather reports. BC was setting heat records all week long. So I brought nothing warm. Not a single long sleeved shirt, even. Good thing I was going somewhere with clothes I could borrow because they didn't set any heat records while I was there. Nice weather, just not screamingly hot is all.

** I put a cookbook in a suitcase once, and it got lost. The cookbooks I took out were two binders. One with all the family recipes and one with the business cookie recipes. I wasn't going to risk losing either of them. So I kept them with me.

***The boy eat these Japanese snacks known as Pocky. They're not very big, maybe three inches. I found a box of Giant Pocky, and they were about a foot long. So I bought him two boxes (he was thrilled), and then realized that if I put them in a suitcase they'd be nothing but Pocky crumbs when I got home. So I kept them with me. Me, the penguin, the Pocky and the sacred cookbooks. And we all made it home, safe and more or less sound.

Vacablog

I am going to postpone - or possibly cancel - blogging about my vacation. Not sure why. I don't feel like blogging about anything, actually. Who knows - perhaps tomorrow I'll wake up and be all excited about blogging. Maybe.

Vacablog/09

Vacation, day one, and a bit of the night before:

So, the flight for day one of vacation left at 5:25 AM. Which is early, but it means that I have a full day of vacation when I get there. Leaving at noon makes it seem like your whole day is spent traveling. This way, arrival in BC was 8:00.

The night before…ok, I wasn’t as great at getting ready as I could have been. But I was better than usual! I thought The Girl would be pleased with how early I started getting ready. Early to me, at any rate. Not early at all according to her: I was in the bath at nine PM (nothing done at that point) when she knocked on the door and said “I would be packed TEN TIMES OVER this close to leaving. Why aren’t you PACKING?”

So when I got out of the tub I brought two suitcases upstairs. Progress, yes? But really, it was only ten. I had HOURS to get ready. I did try to sleep, for a bit. And the trying worked, since I slept about an hour. And I didn’t go to bed until I’d packed one suitcase. Of course, that meant when I got up (at two, with a departure time of 3:30ish) I still had stuff to do. And the boy never did go to sleep. I drove us out to the airport, and then we switched and after a giant hug (unprompted!) he drove home to sleep and I went to get checked in. I really just needed to get my baggage checked, because I had already done the online check-in that most airlines offer. It makes the whole check-in process much quicker. Always take that option!

No problem with the check in – I’d remembered this time to take my foldy knife thingy out before I went to the airport. Forgot to wear the right underwear, though. Still can’t figure out if the security person who asked if I was wearing an underwire bra – I beeped going through, and the wand thing beeped when he went over the girls – wanted to know because that is part of his job, or if he just wanted to know. Because when I said yes, all he said was fine, you’re good to go. But really, if I’d had a weapon, I would have said yes to that question anyway. I mean, what kind of criminal says “no, it’s a shive” when asked what may be setting the metal detector off? Anyway, barefoot and not really late at all I made it through. And I’m glad that I didn’t get there really early. There was no line to speak of at security and I didn’t have any money on me for tea or anything. So I spent my time making up stories about the other passengers waiting to board the plane.

Quiet and sleepless flight to Calgary, and quiet and sleepless flight to Victoria. Not much to see from the plane due to cloud cover, but there was a LOT of smoke cover as well over BC’s interior. Those poor people – the smoke went on and on and on.

Ma chere sister and her beloved hubby picked me up at the airport. I realized that it was this first time that anyone other than dad had met me at that airport. It was odd not seeing him but he was golfing in a tournament and I was going to be seeing him at the end of my vacation. And a change is as good as a rest, yes?

Breakfast in Victoria at Swans, and that was the beginning of people treating me to things. Seriously, I was spoiled beyond belief this trip. Ok, every trip. I get spoiled every trip. Princess for ten days, really. It was awesome.

Of course not

There was no happy dryer dance. There was, however, a "bumble bee up my pants repeatedly stinging" bossa nova, a "tap vs. knuckles vs. vise grip” quick step and a “head injury, blood and lump included” hip hop.

I can’t bring myself to go into details. Suffice it to say that I have a new washer that works, and a dryer that would work, except…there is a problem with the wiring. No power from the outlet= no working dryer.

Happy Dryer Dance

I know, I'm supposed to be blogging about the vacation. But first things first:
Today, at seven PM, the appliance round about begins:

7:00 Mover guy comes to the house and takes away three dead appliances. Two dryers and a washer. There is a dead stove down there too, but that will have to bedealt with some other day. There is also a fridge that works, but I may someday have a need for a beer fridge. 'Cept I don't drink beer. Hmmm. May have to get rid of fridge too.

Mover guy also takes a washing machine that does work. He gets it for free, I don't pay to have it removed and I get a better deal on the cost of the moving.

7:30 I'm guessing here, because I don't know how long it takes to get appliances out of a basement, but when it is done, I head off to the house of the woman that is selling me a new washer and dryer. I pay her and then go back home to clear out a space for the new stuff.

8:15 New dryer arrives, and I will have hopefully figured out how to break off the mighty putty that is holding the old hose onto the taps. Because I'm gonna need those taps!

8:30 I will be frustrated as the news stuff has been delivered and I will be struggling with the duct for the dryer. And no doubt bleeding from whatever stupid thing I've done to get the old hoses off the tap for the washer.

9:00 (a) Filthy but happy, I have a shower and rejoice in the fact that once again I can do laundry in my own home.

9:00 (b) Filthy, angry and in tears I give up and decide to spend Saturday afternoon making things right.

Really hoping for (a). Really quite desperately hoping for (a)!

Delayed Reporting

I intended, truly I did, to blog during my vacation. This plan was thwarted by a Mac and a stubborn PC. The Mac was an exercise in frustration and the PC just plain hated me. So I didn't get to a computer until I was at dad's.

The upshot of all of this is that I will tell about the trip, but in retrospect not as-it-happens. And at the moment I'm not even sure when the retrospective is going to begin. This week at some point. Maybe.

Vacation in 20 hours

I leave tomorrow for my much anticipated vacation. My longest-since-maternity-leave break. And given that my babies are 17 and almost 15, it's about time, yes?

I'm not really ready, though. Not at all, actually. No packing done. Because I haven't done any laundry. Which sounds stupid, given that I just had a four day weekend. The problem was not the time, the problem was lack of facilities. I am washer/dryer less. The plan was to have the new washer/dryer in place yesterday afternoon. I was not happy when appliances died, but I ended up with a really good deal. And I was very excited at the thought of a dryer that didn't leave rust spots on anything left in the dryer for more than ten minutes after the cycle ended. I was not surprised when the thing gave up the ghost altogether.


You'd think I would be in a panic to buy new stuff, given the lack of funds that I seem to find myself permanently in. Whoever...I had an extremely lucky serendipitous moment. I ended up arranging to buy a new washer/dryer set. $400.00 for the set, $150.00 to haul four appliances out of my basement and move two new ones in. See? I told you sometimes the weird stuff that happens to me is good stuff!

I had the mover guy set up to do all the moving on Monday. And then I got a call from my washer/dryer seller. She had the flu, and was not allowed to fly home from Edmonton in time for the move.

Right off the bat I’d like to say that I am TOTALLY fine with this. If I were to get on the plane tomorrow only to find that I am seated next to a feverish puking person I would be extremely angry at the airline for allowing said sickie to fly. So I have no problem with the delay, it will just have to be done when I get back.

This, however, means no way to do laundry before I go, and The Boy – who is house/puppy sitting- will have to wash his uniform at his dad’s house. Maybe this will prompt him to buy a second shirt. Maybe I’ll buy him one myself. Maybe not! Because of course, the Friday before I leave I:

Took The Girl to the orthodontist
Took myself to the optometrist
Had the oil changed in the car
Got the money for the washer/dryer
Got the money for the mover
Picked up the stuff from Prairie Dog BBQ to put into the thank you package

All of which, of course, required payment of some sort. And my next pay day isn’t until the 7th. Why I would want to start out my holiday with next to no money is beyond me. It just sort of worked out that way. And I still have to fill the car with gas (because I told The Boy that I would) and give him the money for house sitting. I don’t really need to pay him, but since I won’t be around to feed him, and given that he is WAY cheaper than having the puppies go to a kennel for a long stay I figured some food money would not be amiss.

I didn’t fill the freezer for him this time. I did, though, buy him four litres of milk, two of juice, a bag of bagels and a jumbo box of cereal. I am assuming that he’ll do some eating at his dad’s, and some at work (for instance this week he works Tues-Friday over the supper hour) and other than that he can work it out on his own.

We did get some of the pre-holiday chores done last night: poop scooped and mowed the lawns, moved the new bbq into the back, got the old one ready for the junk yard, moved the wood for the fire pit from the driveway to the back of the house, leveled off a path from the side door of the house to the driveway for the appliance moving guy and raked up broken branches from the last wind storm. Some house work too, but my theory is that The Boy won’t care – much less notice – if the house isn’t perfect. Not that it ever could be, but it could be better than it is. And I may yet do more cleaning. I’m leaving for the airport at 3:30, and if I can’t sleep I might as well clean. I am baking/cooking before I leave too, additions to the Thank-You box ‘ o treats.

In an attempt to make the early morning check-in easier, I went to do the online booking this morning. You can do that 24 hours in advance, and it means you can go in the short line at the airport. Naturally, that didn’t go smoothly. I couldn’t get on because my last name kept coming back as invalid. By the time I found a way to get my booking number (the insurance file), I had already been trying to call their “help”* line for forty-five frustrating minutes. Turns out my last name was fine (duh – I do know how to spell my own last name), but the booking number was wrong. I managed to be fairly wound up not to mention irate but I’ve since calmed down….somewhat.

The problem was that I couldn’t get to my reference number from the email they sent unless I had…the reference number. Thank heavens that the insurance form had a side note that included the flight booking number.

I put help in quotation marks on purpose. The line was VERY unhelpful. The recorded voice said that due to the number of people trying to book flights, the line was busy. Please call again. No number to call if you were NOT calling to book a flight, and no being put on hold with “your call will be answered as soon as a customer service representative becomes available”. Just call back. Which I did, over and over again. Not helpful, not in the least.

That is my day so far. In the end I’ve decided not to worry about laundry, thanks to the insurance form I have checked in and have my boarding pass and given that I started ridiculously early and will be skipping lunch (three people away sick, so I am working over the lunch hour) I can leave quite early. Hooray!

Vacation Blogging

I am going to make an attempt to blog every day of my impending vacation. With the exception of Friday-Saturday because I don't have a lap top and I don't know if I'll have access to a computer in Vancouver.

I may even blog today's events. Because despite the hour, there are vacation related events already!

If, or I am going to?

My homepage occasionally starts my day with an ad. Not usually a problem, as I frequently don't even notice what it is. Today, however, my day started with this in bold type staring me in the face:

If you die TODAY, life insurance could be your family's Prince Charming.

Kinda sounds like....they think it would be best all around for the family if I DID die today. Or are they trying to tell me that I am going to die today? And seriously - they wouldn't get any actual money until they're 18. So it would be living with their dad all the time, waiting to be old enough to inherit. And given how things are going at the moment I don't think my family would be all that thrilled. So forget it insurance ad, I am NOT going to die today. Not on purpose, anyway.

Opportunity may knock only once, but temptation leans on the doorbell.

When you’ve got energy you have to sublimate, temptations best left alone (murder, sex, arson, yodeling, bank robbery) there are things you’d think would work that just don’t. And because I’ve tried them out and know they don’t work I’m willing to let you know what they are so that you can try something else. Something more helpful.

Housework: this is the worst one. It gives you time to think about how to get rid of the body.

Gardening: ok, this is better, but can be dangerous depending on what’s tempting you. If it’s canoodling then hanging around fit shirtless men – or short shorts wearing women should that be your preference! – is not a good plan.

House Repairs: doesn’t work at all – just reminds you of how much easier it would be if the whole thing just burned to the ground.

Biking/Gym/Walking/Biking: similar problem to gardening.

Making Butter: No, that’s not a euphemism for something you’re trying to avoid. I mean actual butter, from actual cream. Doesn’t take long enough and while the result is yummy it can also lead to a boycott of anything but homemade butter. And that just increases your workload, so take my word for it and don’t even try.

Baking/Cooking: this one isn’t too bad. But it might explain the size that I am, so be careful with this one.

Canning/Preserving: This comes the closest. As a matter of fact, if you have boxes and boxes of fruit to can and/or jam, by the time you’re done you’re way too tired to do anything. But getting boxes and boxes of fruit is expensive and it means….

Shopping: Terrible, just terrible. I hate shopping, so the only thing that makes it moderately enjoyable is having fistfuls of money. Which I never seem to have. Which leads to the contemplation of robbing a bank which puts me back at square one.


I’ve been as helpful as possible. In return all I ask is to let me know if you find something that works. Please.

My Mother was a Circus Clown

For those of you who firmly believe that I never have even a moment of co-ordination, this is for you:

I was biking to church on Sunday. In a skirt and top, on a really lovely day. However...not far from home a spider that had been hiding somewhere decided to climb up over my hand. Which elicited a scream from me. And I didn't fall off the bike.

And because it was clearly out to kill me, I started flailing my arms in a panic, hoping to kill it first. And I didn't fall off the bike.

Said flailing arms hit the basket - which had baking, a raincoat and my only pair of glasses - which promptly popped off its hook. With one arm still flailing I managed to catch the basket before it hit the ground, and get it hooked on a handle. And I didn't fall off the bike.

The spider was either killed or disappeared on its own, I had my basket with all of its contents intact, and a shred of a shred of dignity and through the whole thing I didn't fall of the bike.


See? I'm not always a klutz. At least that's how I'm looking at the whole thing.

Sadly, that one shred of dignity melted away when we first went to stand during the service and I realized that the lining to the skirt (totally necessary, given the thin material of the skirt and the screaming fuschia of the underwear) was more or less around my waist. I tried surreptitiously pulling it into place but in the end had to scuttle past the couple holding hands, trying without an unsurprising lack of success to pull the hem of my top down far enough to hide the wardrobe malfunction. Still, it was a nice day and I enjoyed the ride home. No spiders, and I arrived home with all articles of clothing where they were supposed to be.

No, I didn't

You know how when you google something, or seach on a website sometimes (particularly if you type too quickly and spell things incorrectly) you get the "did you mean" message?

I was searching for "Cooking with Mint", and got this:
"Did you mean 'Booking with mintey'?"

I don't even know what booking with mintey would be so no, I didn't.

Millions of Peaches. Or Parcels.

I have caught the bug of online ordering. Not that I do a lot, but every now and then there is something, some ingredient or some pan or tool, that I can’t find locally that I end up ordering online. I always have whatever I’ve ordered sent to the office instead of the house, so there is no waiting around for a convenient time to take the delivery notice to the post office to pick up my package.

So far I’ve ordered vanilla pulp (twice!), a cookie cutter, a set of cookie stamps, some edible silver pearl dust for an upcoming wedding cake and some books.

After years of getting the same out-of-print book from the library every summer (yes, I’ve copied some of it but it isn’t the same), I’ve decided it was high time to buy a used copy for myself.

The book in question is a cookbook – what, me, a cookbook? I bet you’re totally surprised – called Canadian Country Preserves by Blanche Pownall-Garett. It is the book I get my recipe for spiced peaches*. A recipe that has the highest PIA factor of anything I do, including puff pastry and such. It takes DAYS. And I’m making some this summer. Just for me and those I love – it would be impossible to sell, the price I’d have to charge to cover the effort would make it un-sellable.

I really enjoy the book because she not only does she have recipes and pictures for the usual things like crab apples and peaches, but there is a host of things that grow wild that one never sees in stores. I’ll be in BC in August this year, so my hope is that the book arrives before I leave (I’m gone in three weeks). Then I can take it with me and look for island hidden treasures.

Since I was ordering one book anyway, I went ahead and got another book of scented poetry. I’d wax on about that too but I don’t know any other poetry readers. I know they’re out there, I just don’t know any.

*Spiced Peaches are an eight day task, but one ends up with sweet/sharp slippery cool peaches that are the BESTEST accompaniment to Curry. Or any other Indian food for that matter. One tends to question one’s sanity during the making, but during the eating it all becomes clear. You suffer during the making to enjoy the result. I haven’t made it in ten years, but this is the summer. No excuses!

What you see depends on what you want

I sometimes mis-read ads, generally because I've mixed up a letter or two, or because my brain read one word or phrase incorrectly.

Today, though, I read the subject line in a piece of spam correctly and yet got it completely wrong. Why? Because I'm not an older man, I'm an under-rested middle aged woman.

The subject line was "You too can spend more time in bed!"

And my instant thought was 'AWESOME. There is a way to spend more time sleeping, less time working, doing laundry, walking dogs, cleaning the house, cooking, driving, repairing things, working a second job blah blah blah. Oh. They're selling Viagra. Ok. I get it. Oops".

Shopping unzipped.

Why, when you're at a doctor's office going over an x-ray (where you had to get undressed and into that paper outfit thingy) would said doctor not mention that your dressed is still unzipped on the side?

WHY?

And if you're wondering why I wouldn't notice, well...it had a slip lining thingy, so there was no breeze or anything And it was a new Sunday-go-to-meeting dress that I wasn't familiar with. Didn't even realize it had a zipper until I took it off in the little x-ray booth thingy. Urgh.

You know it's bad when

So I haven't been blogging for a bit. I've been sick AGAIN. But now I've had a bazillion tests. Not to find out what is wrong (although that was what the doctor wants to know) but to find out why, (given my vastly improved diet, exercise routine and sleeping habits) I am STILL catching every cold that comes along. Pneumonia once, colds forever - is it possible that having pneumonia killed my immune system?

Anyway - back at work. I worked a half day on Wednesday, and that's been it for me for this week. And how did I know it was bad on Wednesday? I was in a meeting, a teleconference. I wasn't coughing - nor was anyone else - but at one point someone on the other end of the phone asked "is there something wrong with the line? We're getting a weird noise". Turns out the weird noise was me. Just breathing. Breathing that came out in whistles and rails. Hooray for liquid lungs.

"Come let us have some tea, and continue to talk about happy things"

People-ok, not many, but enough -keep telling me I need to get out there and meet someone. I’m fine with the getting out bit. I don’t want to end up as the crazy lady with all the teapots* and puppies, so I started a new plan last October:
If I’m invited to something and it is free, I have to go. If I’m invited and it doesn’t cost much I either go, or come up with a really good reason to decline. If it costs a lot, but I really want to go and the only reason I’m not is because I’m single then I go, and have fun because I’m somewhere doing something I really want to do.

That takes care of the going out bit. Meeting someone? Not so much. God’s going to have to plunk someone down right in front of me, and just to be sure I don’t walk past said fellow it would help if he was plunked down wearing a giant red ribbon. There is, of course, the possibility that the going-out part will lead to the meeting part. But given the places I seem to end up going to, that seems unlikely.

Take last night for instance. I was invited out to a craft class. Despite being totally non-crafty, I said yes. It’s a good thing the girl doesn’t read the blog, she’d be falling off her chair laughing at the thought of me taking a craft class. I am not glue-gun gifted. As it turned out, I was one in a class of twenty or so crafty, overweight, middle-aged white women - except I wasn’t crafty. I fit the rest of the profile, though! There was one thin woman in the group, and one young (say twenties or so) woman. And the only colour in the room came from the craft projects. Skin-wise we ran the gamut of colour from pasty white to pasty white with a sun burn.

I did have a decent time though and, most importantly, it saved me from my planned evening of housework. And if such a class comes up again, I know the girl would love it so I may end up going again.

*I collect teapots, somewhat unintentionally. How does that happen? Here’s an example:
Christmas 2007 I made the comment that it was odd that I didn’t have a Christmas teapot, given the number of teapots I DO have. In January, a co-worker dropped off a poinsettia teapot from the Monet collection. Then at some point in the summer, I saw the Water Lilyfrom the same collection. Both of these teapots are at work.

Last summer I bought a different co-worker some tea. It was a blend that we had both enjoyed but hadn’t been able to find. The next thing I know, there is a new teapot on my desk as a thank you. Two weeks ago, I came into work on a Monday to find a teapot on my desk with a note saying “this teapot called your name, so I got it for you. Happy Monday!”

Lastly, at a silent auction my girl ended up getting me a tea pot set. A lovely little boxed teapot with four wee cups. And somewhere in their Mayb gave me this lovely tea box. So now I have five teapots on a shelf at work, along with the tea box. Everyone that sees them assumes I’m purposely collecting teapots. Not that they’re completely off the mark – I do buy teapots myself sometimes – but I never started out to purposely collect them!

The title? Chaim Potok.

Karma.

That saying “what goes around comes around” doesn’t always happen. For instance, I was a typical – perhaps even worse than typical – veggie-hating child. I was ok with raw veggies, just didn’t like them cooked. Except corn, of course. Not liking creamed corn is like not liking puppies. If you meet someone who hates corn AND puppies, run. Run for your very life.

Sometimes Karma does catch up to one, though. When my girl was six, we got new neighbours. She took it upon herself to meet them. A feat she accomplished by marching over, walking into their house and announcing a) her presence and b) her intention of becoming best friends with them. And guess what? That line of chatter hasn’t stopped, not in the nine intervening years.

Not with them moving away to various locations. Not with anything. If she could phone the dad up – he lives in the Ukraine now – she would. And talk his ear off. Mayb bears the brunt of it, as she is the only one that hasn’t moved far away. Did they move to escape the chatter? Could be, could be.

So this spring we got new neighbours. New neighbours with small children. Three of them, and a fourth on the way. The little girl is five. Here is an actual conversation (it counts as conversation even if I only say one thing, right?) we had one day when I was leaving to pick the boy up from work:

Small Chatterbox:
Hi! What’s your name again?
Did you tell me your name before?
Do you remember my name?
Where are you going?

Me:
To pick A. up from work

Small Chatterbox:
Really?
Where does he work?
What’s his name again?
Why does he have to work?
Do you always have to get him?
Are you coming back?
Is he coming with you?
What’s your name again?
My name’s XXXX
Does he come outside?
Does he like to play?
Is he old?
Where’s that girl you had? (good question!)
What’s she doing?
Aren’t you taking her?
Does she get to stay alone?
When are you coming back?
Do you have a dad? (to be fair, I think she meant do the kids, but who knows)
I have brothers.
I’m five
How old are your kids?
How old are you?
Ok. Bye!!!
She then skips off, not one of her questions answered. Not because I wouldn’t answer, but because she didn’t even pause to take a breath between them all.

Buttery Tears

I don't know what y'all do when you're close to crying and really don't want to, but I bake. Pastry, generally. Something time consuming and fiddly, and completely distracting.

So tonight I made puff pastry. Roll, chill. Fold, roll, chill. Repeat. Until you have the required layers of cold butter and pastry. The problem with this method is that you end up with pastry. Oodles of buttery yummy pastry. Or, in this case, three dozen hazelnut Palmiers.

Don't get me wrong, I'd happily eat them all. But that would serve no purpose, now, would it? So I wrapped up three containers and delivered pastry hither and thither. Which may be weird, but at least I'm not as big as a bus. Yet.

Merci, Mental_Floss

I've been trying for years to explain my preference for across-the-pond humour over south-of-the-border humour. Not to mention my preference for spelling, grammar, world view, nudity and gun laws. Back to the point! Thanks to a bit from Mental_floss, I have the perfect line. The two shows they refer to are A Man about the House and Three's Company, by the by:


Despite the basic similarities between the two shows, the British version relied more on crisp writing and witty dialog than the slapstick and “jiggle” used to attract the American audience.

Row upon row of chairs, and this is the row I get.

Dear Woman Sitting Next to me in this long row of chairs;

There are things people shouldn’t assume. Not all squealing teenagers at a Hannah Montana concert will be girls. Crazy + Cat Lady don’t always go together. Very few people who ask "how are you?" actually want to know how you are. A man’s shoe size means nothing, or clowns would be more popular. Using a blackberry doesn’t mean the text is too small for someone sitting beside you to read. Please pay particular attention to that last one, ok?

You know what else? Don’t assume that I didn’t recognize a) your name, b) the name of your lover, c) the name of your lover’s wife and d) the name of your husband.

You’re right if you’re assuming that I wouldn’t stoop to blackmail. You’d be making a bad assumption if you think that most people would be above it. I don’t think the gentleman on the other side of you would stoop to it either, but the possibility of his having a heart attack reading the salacious details of your messages is, on the other hand, moderately high.

I get that sometimes meetings like this are boring. I myself understand wanting to nip out for a quickie – take note, striped blue tie guy in the back row – but seriously, in the men’s room? During a conference? Do you WANT to be caught?

Speaking of being caught…your insistence to online lover that your teenage son can’t possibly know what you’re doing is seriously misguided. Do you recall being a teenager? I mean, I have a teenager too, but I think even in his most self-involved moments he would notice late night arrivals/early morning departures. When this coincides with your Mr.’s out of town trips the chances that he knows go up to oh, say, 100%. For all you know, he may have his OWN late night arrivals/early morning departures going on. And if he does he either thinks you don’t know or has justly decided that what is good for the goose is good for the gander.

So…put the Blackberry away and start paying attention to the speaker. Or keep your thoughts in your head and off your easy-to-read blackberry. Thanks.

Shift your Gift

I generally like to mosey along when I'm at the office. I work hard, but I don't think I need to run to lunch, or jog to the bathroom or race to the other branch when the need me. However...

I DON'T like standing behind people who have stopped to think about what they're going to do next and have decided to have the conversation about that decision whilst they're standing in the doorway. The doorway I need to get to. Most people, when they see you waiting to get through move aside. Some politely, some with a hint of embarassment ( I do that) and some with a snort of irritation, as though their need to stand in the doorway outweighs your need to pass through it.

This afternoon, though, the two ladies in front of me weren't most people. They didn't move out of the way at all. Yes, they saw me, they just didn't move. So I said - quite politely - "pardon me" and went to move forward. At which point they stopped their discussion and one woman said "yes?" as though she was sitting at the front desk at a hotel waiting to check me in. Clearly, the only reason I would interrupt this important discussion was to ask them something. Something burningly important. Fine - you want a question, I'll give you a question.

"would you mind moving from the doorway that you're blocking? Great. Thanks".

I could have added where in the building they could find a woman's bathroom but decided against it. That's one door you don't want blocked in time of need. And her snooty "yes?" made me decide that she could use having to wander around looking for relief somewhere.

Of course I did.

I decided to take a tea break today, despite the work I need to have finished by the end of the day. I wanted to read a bit more of the current book. The current book that is with me, of course. Because I have one at home that I'm also partway through, and one in the car that is almost done. Anyway, as is my wont, I took the elevator so I could read on the way upstairs. And was joined by a guy, also going to the third floor. I know he was, because I asked. One always asks, if you're standing in front of the buttons, just in case the person wants a different floor.

The doors close, and I continue to read. And then I wonder if this is rude. I also found myself wondering if it was STILL raining outside. Day three of constant rain. So I took my glasses off and closed my book. Looked at the guy, who said "dismal day out there, isn't it?". And because I'm brilliant, I said this bit of insanity:

"I was just checking out your shoulders".

What I MEANT to say was "I was just wondering if your shoulders looked rained on, or if we were lucky enough to have the sun come out for a bit". Naturally, as soon as I said the first part, I realized how it sounded and froze, making it all that much worse. It took me until just before the doors opened to say "looking to see if you looked rained on. Not that I mind the rain. I like the rain. And it's great for farmers. The rain".

Yup, that's me at my eloquent best.

No title. My mind is a blank.

I may notice spelling/grammar/pronunciation mistakes, but I don't often point them out to the offender. Mainly because the one person I know who does it all the time is rude and irritating and nowhere near as clever as she thinks she is. Sometimes, though, I don't point it out because the mistake is just too entertaining to correct.

For instance, in pre-natal classes, the teacher kept talking about how men need to develop bondage skills. One night she actually said this: "dads-to-be might even think about going into the woods for a male bondage experience. You'd be surprised at what you might learn". Yes indeed, I bet they might! We were the only ones to find this funny, everyone else was so young and so earnest at the whole becoming parents adventure that they just nodded as though their lives depended on doing every thing she said. Or maybe they thought it was the correct use of the word, who's to say?

Today I decided not to correct the woman in the coffee room who was telling one and all (as if we wanted to know) about the surgery she is getting done to get help with her "vicarious veins" problem.

Wow. Absolutely you should get help if your veins are vicarious.

Coconut Mark II

Once again I am at work and all I really want to do is eat cake. I am still working on creating a coconut cake to add to the brochure. Fortunately, there is an office birthday today, so I was able to experiment and have some guinea pigs available to eat the thing. They're pretty good about testing, even on a birthday. I think that they're happy that there is cake, regardless of whether or not it works out.

I am anxious not because I'm hungry, or because I want cake*, but because a lot of this cake is new. I used one of my new cake rings, so I finally got to try the filling-the-same-depth-as-cake-layers plan and the filling...well, I may have a hit.

I have been working on the various parts of the cake since last week. Reduced coconut milk for the cake part, simmered with vanilla bean pod. Did that last Friday and put it in the fridge.

Ganache, made with white chocolate and coconut cream instead of the usual whipping cream. Did that yesterday afternoon.

Cake layers, made with reduced milk. They baked whilst we ate supper.

Filling. Oh, the filling. Here's where I went out on a limb. But I think it worked, if the boy's response to it was anything to go by. He doesn't often swoon over sweet things, but he swooned last night. I gave him some of the filling with three fresh raspberries folded in. He said it was the best thing I've ever done. So I said thanks. He looked at me and said "no, seriously mom I'm not being polite this is like, great".

Given that I made the cheese for the filling on the weekend -something I'd never done before - and then made the filling last night by beating the cheese with various things that occurred to me as I watched the kitchen aid do its thing, having a hit seemed unlikely. When I mentioned to the boy that perhaps, as he liked it, I should write down what I put in and how I made it before I forgot what I had done he said "go write it down. Right now. And try not to forget between here and the kitchen". Hmph. Am I that forgetful? Oh yes, that's right, I am.

*Of course I want to eat cake. Duh. It's just not the driving force here.

Long fuse

You know what is interesting about rarely getting mad with one's children? When you do actually get mad, they're astounded. And they TOTALLY listen and straighten things out.

I phoned the school yesterday and asked them to have the boy given a message in his last class. He was to come to the office when the class was over and that his mother would be waiting for him. And that he should meet her and return to class with her.

Oooh, I wish I could have heard what he was saying in his head. Because the look on his face when he got to the office was "s**t, oh S**t, I am so f*****g busted. Oh S**t". It was great. Not that I smiled, or anything because that would ruin in all. Dead silent the whole walk back to class.

Microsecond memory

I ordered something online today. A couple of things, actually. I wanted more vanilla and I decided to check the sale section. And found the most awesome thing to help with creating the wedding cake for Mayb. (that originally came out weeding cake, which I'm pretty sure is NOT what they're looking for).

I was so very excited but then, of course, the big question was do I tell her or not? I had to go and see her at lunch today, so I contemplated the question on the drive over. On the one hand, I really like surprises. On the other, I suck at keeping things secret, if the secret is my own. Tell me your secret and I can keep it locked up forever if you want. My secret? Every minute not telling is hard. Waiting for Christmas kills me, as I always want to tell people what I got for them before the 25th. Somtimes even before the snow flies.

I decided as I pulled up in front of her house that I'd tell her. And then rendered the whole debate useless by forgetting it altogether. Between the sidewalk and the front door, people. I forgot the entire thing in that brief partial moment in time. So either I'm losing my mind, or she has some weird cloud of forgetfulness floating over the front walkway.

No magic at all

So we finally got to try a bit of the cake. And it was....cake-ish. Not so terrible I'd throw it at passing strangers, but not good enough to spend one day baking let alone the marathon that it was*. So this week will be a new coconut cake attempt. A totally different angle of approach. No recipe, just improv on the spot. I suppose it could be worse than the multi-day cake, but only if I burn it or use salt instead of sugar.

*Big puppy liked it. But then I'm pretty sure even a bad cake is better than gimp and lightbulbs, yes?

And so they should

I was at a party last weekend, and there was a teenage girl there. Two, actually, counting my girl. The other girl was wearing a t-shirt that said "Vampires prefer brunettes". She was blonde.

So...was she clever enough to be ironic -which sees unlikely givern her age - or was she just being blonde, or just being a teenager? I mean, even my girl at fourteen thought it was hilarious (she didn't say anything until we'd left, and I hadn't said anything to her about it). So which do you think it is?

Belly Dancing the night away

I was going to have a mother daughter night on Mother’s day eve (the night when kids play tricks on…no wait, that’s a different night), but the girl was away on a choir trip. The boy – because he is the bestest kid ever – stepped up to the plate and went to a dance recital with me.

He was quite gracious about it too, and during the intermission met some kids from his school, so that was quite good.

The show itself was very interesting. The most interesting bit to me was the size of most of the people. Well, not their size but their ok-ness with it. I mean, I would fit in with the majority of the women their, and NO ONE sees me that undressed. Not even me. I rarely look in a mirror and the few times that I do it is because for some reason I’ve decided to wear make-up and want to make sure I’m putting everything in the right place. But look at myself anywhere else? No way.

But here are these women of all different shapes and sizes who are TOTALLY comfortable with their bodies. How can this be? Is it that dancing is not about how perfect you look, and that it idealizes womanhood, not magazine style woman-shape? There was one dancer whom I was certain was a friend’s dad, except I know for a fact he is in the Ukraine at the moment. And there she was, happy and dancing and proud. I was 98 percent impressed with all of them, and 2 percent freaked out by the masses of jiggling flesh.

You know what else was impressive? There was one group that had a girl (yes girl, maybe 16 years old) who was really very good. I pointed her out to my son – not that he needed me to point out the partially clad sixteen year old, it was because she was a good example of what an accomplished dancer could do (most of the women were amateurs). His response? “Yeah, she’s good but creepily anorexic. Freaks me out to look at her. The one on this end is easier to watch”.

So…he doesn’t believe that all women should be a size zero? Glory be.

But I want to eat it NOW

The problem with making a cake that will take four days from to finish is that...you don't get to eat said cake for days on end. And it won't be ready on a work day, which means I'll have to find somewhere else to take it to save my little family from eating it all ourselves.

Why, you wonder, would I make a cake that I was worried I'd have to eat? There is a totally logical reason: I am working on a new cake to add to the menu. This may take any number of tries - although the flavour for the wedding cake layer three was ahit on the first out of four ideas I had, so one never knows.

Anyway...there are three of us in the family. There may be any number of large cakes made until I'm happy. Three people + six cakes= two whole cakes each. And whislt one of us is as thin as a rake, the other two are shrinking, albeit slowly. Throw some cakes into that and the shrinking would turn to expanding in a hurry.

Read what you just wrote, idiot.

I've signed up for various cooking webzines and so forth. So I quite often get emails about new recipes, or cooking articles and usually the Subject line is pretty clear as to what the recipes are for: New Dishes for Spring, 15 Top Uses for Asparagus (I could come up with 20, none of which would involve actually eating it) or perhaps "Early Spring Salad Recipes".

Clearly, however, not everyone reads over their subject line (let alone the actual articals or recipes which are frequently poorly written). I arrived at work this morning to 67 emails, and mid-way through I was somewhat surprised to see an email whose subject was "New Ideas for Breasts".

And here I thought the old ideas were good enough.

Business 101

So one of the reasons my baking business has not paid me enough money to quit the regular job is that I hate the business part of business. I just like to cook, that's it.

The problem is that people want an idea of what I make. And how much it would cost to buy. It doesn't really go over terribly well when the answer is "well, I don't know...what do you want?" accompanied by "well, I guess I should charge...something".

Business is picking up, though, so I have finally made a brochure. Woohoo! So now I can just shove a flyer in the hands of whoever is asking and walk quickly away. Which is also not good for business. Ah well, at least it is a step forward!

Yet the dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from their masters' table.

As those who read this on a regular basis know, given the things she eats the bigger dog in the house should be dead.

On Monday I did the spring cleaning back yard rake. Not a pleasant task, of course, but it is a fascinating one. Fascinating in the sense of realizing as you scoop the broad variety of things the dogs eat. And yes, you can usually tell which pile came from which dog.

We were not bad over the winter keeping up with the scooping but there is always a disgusting mess in the spring. This, of course, is mainly because no one wants to go outside in a howling blizzard in the dark of night trying to figure out where the dogs pooped just so they can scoop it up.

So, spring comes – maybe not as quickly as we’d like, given that there was snow yesterday and there is more predicted for tonight – and you have to clean things up. And get a lesson in the things puppies eat which in the case of big puppy would be food and non-food items.

Some of the things were expected: string from a roast, a plastic tray from who knows what kind of meat, eggs (or maybe just the shells), crayons and various other non-food items.

The plastic gimp was a little unexpected; we haven’t had any around the house for ages so I am not sure where she got that. The big surprise, though (a surprise in two ways: why she ate it and that it survived) was a light bulb from the Christmas tree. Intact. So she ate it for whatever reason (in her mind just about anything may be food, so she always tries, just in case it is food. This makes giving her medicine easy-peasy. As long as you throw the pill at her, she assumes it is food and swallows), and it managed to get digested…and expelled…without breaking. Amazing.

Yes please, perchance!

So occasionally my dreams are creepy. Sometimes they feel like they should mean something (I still think there is some important message Ky has for me that I need to hear before I die). Mainly they're just awesome and exciting. Sometimes, though, dreams are sweeter than a bathtub of fudge and money. Like last night's adventure, when I was already having a good time saving some world - magic sword and the ability to heal !- and in a moment of "ooh, this is not safe" who came to my rescue? This guy.

Oh, I dearly want to be asleep again!.

Size Matters

I've been having some knee problems, and the occasional pack pain issues. I kinda guessed this might be from exercising. Why? Because when I jog using the Wii, I do it barefoot. I like running barefoot outside too, but it's a bit more dangerous. The good shoes I had from my sister eventually died, and the replacements were canvas sneakers, no support at all.

Anyway! Apparently running barefoot isn't just a bad idea it is a terrible terrible idea and should never ever be done, according to my doctor. Drat. I had to promise him I'd get shoes. Proper shoes. So I decided to pay for decent runners, despite the newly braces-imposed belt tightening.

What did I end up spending? $20.00 + tax. Why? Because they were, apparently, not selling because they were so small. If I wear socks they'll be fine for me. So I can be barefoot elsewhere but I will be properly shod for jogging. And they're pretty and pink!

The Bestest thing

I was in line at Dairy Queen, getting a milkshake for my girl (yeah, I know, not on the list of things we’re supposed to have. But it was getting-the-braces-on day, and she was on a liquids only diet. Surely there are occasions to break out of the ususal, yes?), and there were two teenage girls in line behind me, chatting the usual inane teenage girl chat.

Mostly usual, because they did say one thing that made me laugh out loud it was so stupid. Something that even my own teenage Chatty Kathy would have found amusing.

Girl # 1: So you know what would be so so interesting?
Girl# 2; What? TELL ME.
Girl # 1: If we like chose exactly the same thing to eat.

I sincerely hope that she has more stuff going on in her little life because if that is the most interesting thing that can happen to her she’s in for the most boring life ever.

American Express: life is better without it

I am rarely angry. Is this because I tend towards sainthood? No, it is because I am essentially lazy. Anger takes too much energy. It’s also partly because I’ve had enough grievous things in my life that I’m well aware of what is worth getting upset over and what just….isn’t.

All this being said I am now going to rant. Against whom, you ask? American Express. The card that I am DEFINITELY going to leave home without.

The girl needs braces. Six thousand dollars worth of them to be exact. The brilliant plan for paying for this was to get a credit card that is used solely for paying the orthodontist. Then I submit my claim and put it right on the card. Sadly, the plan here doesn’t cover the entire cost but I hope to be able to pay what it doesn’t.

Being an Air Miles collector, I decided to get a card that gave me air miles. The Air Miles site has a link for that (American Express) so I went for it and in due time I got the card. This morning was the big day…braces for my baby. I went to pay ($800.00 upfront!), only to be told that they only accept Visa and Mastercard. There is no sign anywhere in the office that this was the case. So yes, I was a little bit irritated with them. That irritation, though, was nothing compared to what happened next.

I left the girl there, and went to get a cash advance. I went to my own bank even though the card was not issued by them. I have to ability to pay my American Express through the bank, though, so I thought I could somehow arrange to transfer money from American Express into my bank account so that I could pay today’s fee.

Unfortunately, that couldn’t happen. What we did find out was that if I could get a pin number from A.E., then I could use an automatic teller for a cash advance. Fine, I thought, I’ll do that. My bank – with whom I have no complaint – lent me a phone and a quiet office. So I phoned the 1-800 number on the back of the card. Only to find out that I am NOT ALLOWED a pin number. Why?

Because I have to use the card and have three statements from them (which translates to three months) before I can get a pin number to get a cash advance. They have to be sure it is me getting the money. Did you follow that? I can buy a $500.00 television with A.E., but I can’t get $500.00 cash. I explained that the only thing I wanted the card for was to get cash to pay the orthodontist. I very patiently explained that unless I could get cash, I wouldn’t be using the card, and consequently would have no statements. I was then told that I had to go buy things using A.E., pay the amount and get a statement. And that I would have to do this for three months at which point I would be allowed to get a pin number and the apparently Holy Grail of cash advances.

I tried explaining again that the card was useless without the ability to get a cash advance, and she…well, she agreed with me. So when I got to work this morning I phoned A.E. and cancelled my card. And made it very clear to the help line person the reason for doing so. This afternoon I will be going to Bank of Montreal, and applying for a Mosaik Master Card.

There. Mini-rant over. This is NOT how I wanted to start my week!

More than spell check

You know what makes a threat totally non-threatening? Using the wrong word. I mean, honestly, should anyone be worried when they are told - very seriously - to watch themselves, because there are "liable" laws out there?

Mares Eat Oats

Sometimes, dreaming about strangers is a good thing. Much better than dreaming about people you see all the time. I find that when I have a vivid dream about someone I know I tend to wake up confused about what really happened. It was an hour after I’d dreamt that Mayb’s sister got married without telling anyone before I completely woke up and realized that nothing of the sort had happened.

There is – of course! – a downside. For instance, having a fantastic dream about dragons/magic swords/elves/etc. that also includes someone you don’t know brushing your hair…not a good thing. Why? Because should you run into said stranger again, you tend to babble. At least I do. Mareseatoatsanddoeseatoatsandlittlelambseativy. And it isn’t something you can explain, either. I mean really, what do I say?

“Sorry to babble, but the last time I saw you, you were brushing my hair. Thanks, by the way, because it was fantastic. Wish I’d stayed asleep longer”. No, that really isn’t something one can say. Not this one, at any rate!

Taking it Back

I have mocked Mayb for the seventeen thousand (I exaggerate, it is only one thousand) tank top thingies that she owns/wears.

Clearly, she was merely ahead of the rest of us. Because that is what Michelle Obabma wore as a top to dinner at 10 Downing Street. So I take my critique back. Well done MayB you avant-garde dresser you.

Please say you're not.

The building I work in has an office on a different floor from mine that has - by nature of what they do - lots of odd and/or old people wandering around. I meet them on the elevator, quite often with their walkers and so on. I'm ok with old people, so for the most part I don't mind the traffic.

You know what does worry me though? Getting on and having the following conversation:
Me: Hello. 3rd floor for me please.
Him: I need the 2nd. Could you see if I pressed the right button?
Me: Sure, no problem.
Him: Thanks. I have terrible vision. It's hell when I'm driving too.

WHAT?? I mean seriously, tell me that this guy got a ride. I mean, if you can't see the giant lit button that says "2", you shouldn't be behind the wheel.

Intervention may be required.

Remember how I hated making that marmalade? I do. At least I think I do, but I must have forgotten some of the cost and tediousness of it all because yesterday in Sobeys I was walking in the fruit aisle and when I went past the oranges and saw the blood oranges my first thought was “oooh, now that would make a pretty – and pretty tasty – marmalade”!

What is wrong with me? I hated all the work making the lemon marmalade and given that I still don’t like marmalade with the membranes in, I’d still have to do all the same time-consuming work that I did for the lemon.

If some crazy mood strikes me or I lose my mind and make blood orange marmalade I’ll let you know. Because selling some at least helps make up for the cost of the fruit.

That'll show him!

I just finished going through a long drawn-out set of memos from many decades ago. Memos that get more and more heated as they progress. And I highly enjoyed some of the banter. So for your enjoyment on a Monday, I am sharing my favourite line. It was from a transcript of a public record and I'm not naming names so I'm ok with passing it around.

Anyway, things are getting meaner and meaner - in a very mild way to our modern eyes - when the whole thing ends with one person shouting the following:
"YOU, sir, are an Ambiguist!"

I'm not sure if that is even a word, but the line itself is too hilarious to not use someday anyway. Feel free to do so as well, should the situation warrants it.

Not that I wouldn't want to try.

I wonder, sometimes, if I would die of excitement and happiness if I ever won the lottery. Why? Because I get pretty excited over things that may not be the lottery to you, but to me they're like bricks of gold wrapped in chocolate, covered in honey served on a plate of maple syrup.

What might these things be, you ask? A cooler and a penguin. Wait, I can explain.

First, I had the awesomest childhood ever. EVAR. Seriously, I sometimes feel guilty about it. So I look back with great fondness on it. And being a cook, I tend to remember the food related things (who am I kidding - I like to eat, so I remember food related things).

One of those things was a Scotch Kooler. We used in on family picnics (if les filles Hingston, Mr. and Mrs. Smith or Handsome Rob ever want to see how seriously hippy-like I was even as a kid let me know: I have family video featuring said cooler, my family, me and lots of skipping and some seriously fluffy milk pods), and every fall it was used to ripen fruitcake. Don't bother telling me how much you hate fruitcake. I like it, my dad and sister like it and I sell enough of it at Christmas to cover the cost of making it for us. So BACK OFF, fruitcake haters. (That line originally came out fruitcake hatters. Now you can mock those crazies as much as you want).

Anyway...most grievously, the cooler from said fantastic childhood went missing. Which is sad but little did I know that my brother-in-law is not only awesome to his wife, but he is awesome to everyone. You've heard about him getting me a flight to BC in February, and you may have heard about the cooler but I don't care. I'm telling it again because I can't bring myself to search for it in previous posts. So...I go out to visit said sister and husband in the summer of 2008. And what miraculous thing has he done? He bought me a Scotch Kooler on Ebay!! I just about fell off my chair in sheer happiness.

And it has happened again. We may not have had an actual penguin as a pet during my(or maybe we did. I'm neither confirming nor denying), but what we did have was something that we called the penguin. It was really an ice bucket, but we used it for pancakes. Why? Because it was the perfect pancake keep-warm thing ever.

Yes, I know you can use other things like your oven on keep warm setting or on low, but then they dry out. The Penguin kept them perfectly warm, with just the right amount of moistness. The penguin wasn't lost (dad has it), but I didn't think I should ask if I could just have it. Not sure how often I thought a retired person living on his own would need to keep a lot of pancakes warm, but it didn't seem right to just ask for it. I did, however, mention it to awesome-sis (who is, naturally, married to miracle-man) and she FOUND ONE. And BOUGHT IT. I was so happy all afternoon yesterday that I have no recollection of what work I did after she called to tell me. And even though I don't have the Penguin yet, I made little mini-pancakes as a snack for everyone last night, just to celebrate.

I think Miracle-man and Awesome-sis should keep the one they bought, or get dad's. And then we'll both have a penguin.

Note: I just spell checked this - I did the whole thing writing penquin instead of penguin. If penquin isn't a word, it should be. For something a bit more modern than a quill, but not as new as a pen.

Not witchcraft...but maybe some pixie dust

This is an email from J. this afternoon:

Don't be shocked if the townspeople show up with torches and pitchforks because I'm pretty sure that list could only be completed using witchcraft. Doesn't crepe batter have to chill?

It was in response to this, which may seem crazy but when his girl is grown up and there is perhaps a mini-j as well, he'll be doing the same:

This morning I:
Let dogs out
Took laundry out of the dryer and folded it and put it in kids rooms
Peeled potatoes
Took beef & beans out of fridge
Made crepes
Boiled potatoes (ok, the stove did that bit)
Woke kids up, gave them breakfast
Mixed the meat and bean mix in the food processor and put it in a casserole
Had a quick shower and washed the stupidly long hair
Unloaded the dishwasher
Loaded the dishwasher
Told A. if he wanted a shower before school he better get moving
Handwashed the bowl of the food processor and the blade
Pureed the potatoes, with a bit of cream cheese and garlic and salt and pepper
Covered the casserole with potatoes. Covered it and put it in the fridge
Set the delay start on the oven, to be ready to cook at 5:15
Told the girl that A. was finished with the bathroom and it was her turn. Because she’d fallen asleep after eating breakfast
Made two sandwiches
Found two bags and put a sandwich, some fruit and a Hershey’s kiss and one cookie in each bag
Asked A. to start the car
Got dressed
Made sure everything that could be in the dishwasher was in, and turned it on
Let the dogs out again, turned the heat down, let the dogs in and put up the barrier so they can’t get in the bedrooms
Took the kids to school.
Got to work a bit late…8:15 means staying until 4:45. But that’s ok, because M. is done at 5:00, and I need to stop at the drugstore anyway so the timing is fine.
And that is my morning, from 6:55 to 8:05

Yes, it is new.

No longer Sex and the Hamlet. Why? Because I don't watch Sex and the City so trying to be clever that way was pointless. Mainly, though, because this isn't a hamlet and there is no sex. Pixie dust, though, that I have. Not much, but I do have it. And some day I'll use it. It's blue and sparkly, by the way. Just in case you've never seen pixie dust.

She is dead to me.

The Backstory:
The boy loves Nutella. He’ll sit and read, eating bananas smeared with it. He loves crêpes spread with it – with or without bananas – and I’ve caught him just eating a spoonful of it straight out of the jar.

The Story:
I have a European cookbook (this really is relevant) and the recipes frequently refer to nut nougat. Almond nougat, hazelnut nougat, pistachio nougat – on and on. I thought at first that what they meant was paste, similar to us having almond paste available at Christmas. But the way they were using it that didn’t make sense. I knew it wasn’t nougat as in the stuff with honey and nuts like Montelimar. So what is it? Turns out that making a paste of nuts, sugar and chocolate has been popular there for a very long time. What we call Nutella, they call nougat. Voila! I’ll just use Nutella.

But wait…you can get imported nut nougat. And since I wanted to know if they were vastly different I bought some. And yeah, it’s different. How different? I couldn’t find the jar that I’d bought – that we’d all tried – so I suggested to the boy that as a snack he could have Nutella and bananas, since we had both. He looks at me, with great seriousness and a great deal of passion, (sort of like a 1930’s movie idol tossing a lover aside) “No. Seriously no. Nutella means nothing to me now”.

And here I thought the girl was the only one with a flair for drama.

The New Math

When my kids were in elementary school they were still getting problems like "if a train leaves the station at 8:00..."

This is silly math. Firstly, well, if they're in the station we've broken the law: the station is a casino. Secondly - read the schedule if you want to know when a train arrives somewhere. Not that the schedule will be correct, but neither would you calculations be.

They need to have a problem to work on, the solution to which would be useful. For instance:

If you do two loads of laundry a day, and create enough dirty clothes for a half load a day, and every Saturday you only do one load of clothes but two sets of sheets, and every fifth day regardless of the day of the week you do no laundry at all because back off I'm not a machine, how long will it take to finish the laundry backlog that consists of one and a half large tubs of dirty clothes, a pile of who knows what at the end of the hall that appeared unexpectedly when the girl "cleaned" her room and the various assorted and virtually identical black hoodies and t-shirts from the boys bedroom floor?

Now THERE'S an answer that I would find useful.

Define your ideal job

Hmm. I already get paid for reading stuff, but then I have to photocopy stuff sometimes too. And except for birthdays, there is very little baking. And never breakfast baking.

The thing is, I love making breakfast. And/or brunch. Or breakfast that you eat at supper. Which means my kids think that the normal alternative to breakfast cereal is...French omelettes. American omelettes with mushrooms and cheese and stuff. Crepes with fresh fruit. Pastry. Pancakes. Blueberry pancakes. Pain perdu. Eggs Benny. Ok, to be fair that last one has never happened on a school day. But the rest, yup, because they are they only ones around at breakfast.

Now, if I could start work by making breakfast here for people to eat...and then lunch, and then make something that people can take home in individual portions for supper. And maybe pastry and stuff for tea break well then holy hot chocolate batman I'd be the person with the bestest job ever. Ooh, and I could make tea, and coffee and iced coffee and maybe lemonade and...and...and

And this job will never happen. I remember dreaming once that I worked at some giant ranch. Was it a dream filled with hot cowboy naughtiness? Nope, it was a dream filled with making breakfast for fifteen people who were happy to eat, and who needed to stock up for a day's work. It was a sad sad thing when I woke up and realized I'd dreamed the whole thing.

I am so very very classy.

First of all, kudos to the guy for deciding a moments embarassment was worth saving me from wandering around with my shirt undone. I myself have wondered what the etiquette is for telling a guy - a guy you don't know - that his fly is undone. I know there are people (and yes, I am sometimes in that group) who say nothing, and let the poor stranger go on about their day. So I'm impressed that a guy on the elevator was kind enough to let me know I was missing a button. Sadly, what he said was this:

Him: "Excuse me, but your shirt is missing a button".
Me: look down, see nothing.
Him: (too kind/embarrassed to say "just below your boob line") ummm...right next to where you've spilled something".
Me: Dying, silently, of humiliation.

Another mountain (ok, small hill) conquered.

I finally got to bake a treat using something from the lovely parcel of cooking things that arrived this week. There's nothing like a parcel that is all about baking arriving at a job that has nothing to do with baking to liven up your work mood. Nothing that doesn't involved pharmaceuticals that is.

So what did I make? Cupcakes. Coconut cupcakes with coconut frosting and a pinch of toasted coconut to top them off. Not only were they the best cupcakes I've ever made, they were the best I've ever eaten.

Vanilla/coconut cake, light as air. Moist as all get out. Really nice flavour; not to sweet, not too blah. And the frosting...again, really light. And buttery smooth. Flecks of vanilla bean throughout. Light taste of coconut throughout. And that that bit of toasted coconut on top adds the perfect bit of crunchy yumminess to the whole thing. Woohoo! I have scaled the peak - however small - of cupcake making.

Same dog, different problem

At some point I will have had it with the bigger dog. But the thought I had last night was this:
Granted, she has eaten a half box of Bran Buds, but she also ate wax and cheese (the babybels that I had bought as a rare treat for my non-fur babies), so perhaps intestinally speaking everything balances out.

Home, James

So my parcel has arrived from the kitchen supply place in Ontario. I am now the proud owner of two heavy duty cake rings, 8" and 11" respectively, and a bottle of vanilla paste. So now I just want to go home and make vanilla pound cake - or maybe some cookies - and some really intricate cake with interesting fillings. Too bad I didn't order them sooner; I made a cake on Friday and Saturday for Saturday night and could have used them then. What I did make was eaten though, so it can't have been terrible. Ah well, I'm sure there will be a reason for another cake soon enough!

And a happy Monday to you too.

There are some things that would definetely wake one up on a Monday. Canoodling with your sweetheart in the stacks would be one. If you're a librarian, that is. Or a farmer. Are there other types of stacks? But you know what REALLY works? Coming back from a coffee break* to find a message on your phone from a neighbour telling you that your front door is wide open and your dogs are long gone.

*Given that not only do I not drink coffee but that for the FIRST time ever in the history of this office the tea drinkers outnumber the coffee drinkers I will now refer to the break as a tea break. Maybe even in an English accent should I be feeling particularly posh.

Arriving safe and sound

So, safely on the plane, off to Calgary. Slept about an hour, which is good because I didn’t sleep between Calgary and Victoria. I should have, though, because the sky was so overcast that I didn’t get to see anything anyway.

No, wait, that is a total lie. I didn’t get to see any water things until just a minute before landing. What I forgot to mention was the completely fantastic thing that one gets to see flying at 5:50 am in February. Sun rise from above the clouds! Starting a trip that way is the most incredible thing. Worth getting up early for by any measure.

I landed in BC (well, we all landed what with it being a plane and all) at 8:00 am their time and the round of being showered with fun things began. My dad and I always start any trip with a drive around the Saanich Peninsula. The only difference was that we had breakfast first, French toast (or as it is called if you’re French in the first place, pain perdu) at The Dakota. Very yummy, and very welcome as I hadn’t done much in the way of eating the night before.

The drive was mainly what it always is: lots of trees – as in actual forest not prairie scrub stuff - , lots of green despite the time of year and lots of clear skies. The overcast I’d flown in on disappeared and stayed away the whole time I was there. Unusually for a trip to Victoria it didn’t rain at all the whole time I was there.

The highlight of the trip was a tour past a horse farm that I knew was for sale. I had emailed dad, and he worked out where it was. All I can say is Holy Moly. I tried to find a link but I think it has probably sold already. So I'll have to plan something else to do with ten million.

We wandered around the back roads for a while with a stop at the Red Barn to get my supply of Grade D maple syrup and then back to his place where I had a nap. A nap! Do you know how RARE that is for me? Weird dreams, but no ringing phones, no kids arriving home and best of all no large dog doing the weird leg thing that dogs do when they sleep. Sure, doesn’t sound like that would be a problem but you try sleeping when a 100 pound dog is pummeling you.

Not dead

If you've ever wondered if a large dog could eat the netting from around a rolled pork roast (with bits of potato peelings from the garbage bin attached) and not die from it the answer is yes, it can.

She didn't even chew it. Grab, swallow run from the wrath. And puke it up intact a day later. It really is a wonder she isn't dead yet!

All growed up

I was going to make a post about my upcoming grown-up weekend, but I just realized that the song currently playing on my ipod is "A Dream is a Wish your Heart Makes". Yup, from the original Disney Cinderella soundtrack. So I may be fooling myself that I am a grown-up. On the other hand, gravity and I can certainly prove that I am aging appropriately.

Anyway...I am going out on Saturday. Without my kids, even! Not that they weren't asked, I'm just not bringing them. I might wear my hair down (but with a hairband or something, let's not be crazy) although I did try that today at the office and only lasted an hour, but still it could happen. I may even wear lipstick. I'd have to buy some, of course, but I may do just exactly that. Stranger things have happened.

The plane, the plane!

The flight to Victoria was at six-areyoukiddingmefifty in the morning. I had planned to get my packing done during the afternoon before. Which stretched to the late afternoon, then to early evening which morphed into “I’m pretty sure I can just pack before I leave in the morning”. To which the beloved boy said “mom, you don’t HAVE any morning. So pack”. So I went to bed.

Oh relax. I couldn’t fall asleep anyway, so at midnight-ish I gave up even trying and packed. Forgetting some things, as it turns out but nothing drastic so no worries. Then some sleep. Truly only some, from somewhere around two until the alarm went of at four-fifteen.

Now for those of you that complain that I never leave early enough to catch whatever flight I am hoping to catch let me tell you a couple of things. First of all, I WOULD plan to get to the airport hours in advance if said Airport was Toronto International or JFK or somewhere similar. But this is REGINA. And coming home is just as simple, it’s VICTORIA. If I were flying out of Vancouver then, yeah, I’d leave hours before. But for smaller airports I don’t think hours are needed.

So that’s the first thing. The second thing is that I did promise my dad that I’d leave some extra time for an unexpected emergency. My delightful boy claims that when it is me, any disaster could hardly be termed unexpected. Hmmph. I disagree, but I also digress. The point is I did promise so I did have extra time. I was ready to leave at 4:40.

I started the car first, of course, because it was really cold out. Yeah, huge surprise there; Saskatchewan, freezing, at half past four in the morning in the middle of February. Went back into the house and Houdini dog decided that as it had been months since her last brazen escape, 4:40 am in minus 30 degree weather would be a great time to make a run for it. Which she did, leaping past me with NO CONCERN whatsoever when I went flying backwards into a snow bank. By the time I struggled to my feet she was a black dot against the whiteness of the street. A small black dot. A far away and gone black dot.

The one good thing about Houdini dog is that she is an idiot. Despite the fact that we never take her anywhere, if you can find her with the car she will happily jump into the back seat assuming you’re going to take her somewhere so awesomely exciting that it is totally worth giving up puppy freedom. We never do, but she always hopes. Stupid yes, but helpful. Because I did track her down and did get her home in a reasonable amount of time. Reasonable for a regular morning, not so good where there is a flight waiting. I was back at the house at 5:05.

So, quick good-bye to the boy (who was still hoping, apparently, that I’d let him take me to the airport and leave him in custody of the car), dash to the car and off to the airport. Found a parking space with only a moderate amount of trouble, and freezing the whole while (I had dressed for Victoria weather), I made it into the airport proper at half past five. Only to find a monstrous line….a line bigger than any I’d ever seen. More even than the year the summer games were here. Thank heavens for online booking! I got to go into the short line. One family ahead of me, and twenty minutes until the flight left.

There were two people dealing with the pre-checked line. At one counter was a family of too many, with more than the usual amount of bags. And nothing – truly nothing – seemed to be happening. Yeah, the check-in person was staring at her computer screen, but she wasn’t typing anything. And nothing was getting checked, and the people didn’t seem to be doing anything more than standing around.

The people ahead of me – family of three – seemed to be getting quite antsy. As was I, I must admit. The woman turned and asked me what flight I was on. I told her, and she said so were they. Everyone in the big line booked on that flight had been asked to move to the short line, but they were still waiting. And time was running out.

When they did get to the teller (not the screen-staring one, who was still staring) she said that they were on a flight leaving in fifteen minutes. And then she pointed to me and said “and she’s with us too, we all need to get on this flight”. Woohoo! So I got checked on with them, sort of. All I needed was to check my bags, as I had my boarding pass from the online check-in. She put an orange sticker on my boarding pass and told us to go to the head of the security line upstairs. I raced upstairs and the security line was HUGE. I rushed to the front and showed the person my boarding pass and said that I’d been told to bud in line (even having been told to do that it felt AWFUL. I am not by nature a line-cutter). She said I can’t do that. So I…well, I pretended I was deaf and/or stupid and went and put my stuff in the next gray bin and stood at the mark on the floor waiting to go through the metal detector. I had been very careful about not having anything on me that would make it beep. No jewelry, no belt, no underwire bra. And yet I beeped. So they made me sit down and take my boots off. So there I was, barefoot and sitting on a chair wondering what my brother-in-law would say if I missed the flight that he paid for.

I didn’t, of course. Miss the flight, that is. I may have got on barefoot. And helped the family of three on the way: the dad realized that his boarding pass was still in a gray bucket at security. So I took his luggage and the mother and little boy and I kept going and he took off running. The totally adorable child of the family kept saying “is daddy leaving? Doesn’t he was a hot time anymore?” The mom turned to me and said “Cuba” and then reassured the boy that yes, daddy was coming but that he couldn’t run with the carry-on luggage. So she carried him and one piece of carry-on luggage, I took three pieces of carry-on luggage and clenched my boots under my arm and we made our way to the plane. Dad caught up just as we got to the door, we got into our seats and within two minutes of our arrival they shut the door to boarding gate. The second closest I’ve ever been to missing a flight. Tired, stressed and freezing foot-wise, but I was on my way!

Yeah, I know

Yes, I will get back to my vacation but first a question that has been troubling me since I was in the washroom a few minutes ago. Why would someone go to a public washroom, wash their hands, pee and then leave? I mean doesn't the handwashing bit go last?

And I need to come up with a believable reason for the bump on my head. Why? Because the actual reason is well...I was going to say weird but perhaps not for me. I was in line at the drugstore when the would-be juggler in line behind me beaned me with a bottle of shampoo. Why? Because he was only a would-be juggler. If he'd been any good I'm sure those three bottles would have stayed in the air and not beaned anyone or knocked anything over. But he wasn't, and they didn't and I was beaned and things got knocked.

Vacation - The Why.

So, let’s start at the beginning. The whole reason for the trip is that I was a present for my sister. My incredibly adorable brother-in-law (actually, incredibly funny; I spent the majority of my time out there laughing my head off. If laughter burned as many calories as running, I’d be thin as a licorice whip) flew me out there so I got a free trip to BC as a result of his Christmas present to her.

When he first emailed me about it last fall, he told me his plan and then asked if that would interest me. I’ve been thinking on and off ever since if there would ever be a time when the answer to that would be “no”. All I could come up with would be if A) one of my babies was graduating at the same time, B) one of the Hingstons was getting married at the same time or C) I already had a ticket to somewhere bought and paid for. And even then, I’d probably try to cash it* in and take the free trip. I replied yes without thinking of saying anything else. Not even for a second did I contemplate the whole thing. I sent a yes before he sent me an email saying he had changed his mind, and then I spent months thinking about my upcoming treat.

The one truly weird thing about being a present was trying to believe that the addition of me would be an enjoyable thing for someone. That instead of inviting myself out there and people thinking “what, her AGAIN?” they wanted me to be there. Weird, but I’m willing to work on believing it.

*The "it" here being the ticket, not my babies or the weddings. Just in case you were worried.

Vacationland

I was mainly without access to a computer (yes, they had one, but it was a Mac and clearly knew somehow that I was a PC user and blocked me at every turn) whislt I was away to I'm going to post things bit by bit. Or all at once, kinda depends on how things go!

First, update on hollow boy: he was pretty accurate on the milk amount. I left him with 10.5 litres, and came back to 1.5 remaining. A bit off on the juice - the carton was half full. He did eat everything else with the exception of a couple of pizza pockets and two burritos. I'm guessing that's because he apparently ate supper at his dads the whole time. Oh, and there was still some cereal left. Other than that, yes, he managed to eat/drink it all. And still remains skinny as a rake! He enjoyed his date with an older - and engaged - woman, and he DEFINITELY enjoyed having time in the house without all the chattering and early morning happiness that he has to deal with when the girl and I are home.

I myself missed him and the girl terribly. The puppies not so much. My sister and brother-in-law never need me to let them outside. Very relaxing.

Because I LIKE to

I'm going away on vacation. Feel free to try to rob the house, just keep in mind that of the people and pets still home one of them would love to tear you limb from limb and given the strength of her jaw (yes, part pit bull) you might want to pass on that. Apart from which, what would you really get? A TV with white lines on the screen all the time? An antique computer?

And here's the other thing: when I am on vacation, I like getting things to bring back for people at home. Why? Is it because I want y'all to have to bring me something? NO!! It is because that is part of the fun of being away. Even if all I'm bringing back is ham flavoured potato chips for Dennis. So lighten up and let me have my fun.

Hollow Boy

This is a list of what my house/dog sitting son has asked for (very nicely, by the by) in order to last for the six days I'm gone. Actually five, the first day is the day I leave, so he's covered for that:
Deli sandwiches, four to six
12 pack of mini-pizzas
6 chocolate chip bagels
Bananas, and a new jar of Nutella
Loaf of bread, home made squishy white if possible.
Cheese
12 Pack of Burritos
10 bucks for a Mondo Burrito at the local Mexican fast food place
3 dozen (or whatever one batch makes) chocolate chip cookies, preferably malted chocolate, but whatever I feel like doing
Large box of Vector cereal
1 Bag Bits and Bites
8 litres (!) milk
2 litres orange juice
6 pack of coke
Supper out once with a friend of mine
Permission to order pizza using a Christmas gift certificate

It ain't summer, buddy.

Ocasionally, if it is cold and I'm lazy (and one of those things is always true) I will leave my garbage can at the end of the driveway instead of hauling it to the top. I figure why spend all that energy hauling it over the snow on its little plastic wheels only to haul it back in a week.

Consequently, I frequently find that people have added things to it in the interim. Quite often it is bagged puppy poop. At a guess, because I've never actually checked to make sure. I'm ok with that - I'd rather people were scooping and tossing instead of letting their pets poop on my lawn for me to scoop up after them. Occasionally it is something more interesting, like a broken bike chain or an empty bottle of booze. Beer bottles end up there too, and again I'd prefer that to glass in my driveway. I even found an unopened six pack once too. Yes, I left it where it was.

Today is garbage day, and when I tossed a bag of garbage in before starting the car I noticed that there was something extra in the bin. Pants. Mens jeans, to be exact. I pulled them out. Not ripped, very long in the leg and average waist. I put them back in along with the bag I'd brought out but I sit here wondering under what circumstances - in MINUS C WEATHER - these pants came to rest in my garbage. If there are men somewhere taking off their jeans for no reason, I'd like to know about it. That should be public information or something.