the rest of my life

where do you go from here?

2011-09-10T15:08:00.002-04:00

Hello beautiful person! Thank you for finding this blog. I'm so glad you came.

I am slowly moving all of the original content from this blog to my new blog, here. I hope you'll check it out. It's all about eco-friendly cleaning, organizing, healthy living, art, design and my life.

Peace out.

defrosting soup stock

2010-06-20T19:16:00.002-04:00

Here are some canning jars full of vegan soup stock defrosting on my kitchen counter. I just thought they looked neat.

lido key pictures

2010-05-16T17:51:00.037-04:00

I just got home from my first real vacation (from the Latin verb "vacare," to be empty - as in, what my office cubicle has been for the last two weeks) in ten years. I stayed at a beachfront resort on Lido Key in Sarasota, Florida. I didn't do much more than eat, read, sleep and walk on the beach at sunrise and sunset, so I won't bore you with an item-by-item itinerary of each day. But here are some of the pictorial highlights...

Traveling
We drove from London, Ontario to Florida. As in, DROVE. By car. It's a long trip. Ish. We did it in two days, taking I-75 most of the way.
Below is a view of Port Huron, Michigan, on the first morning of our trip. What can I say? It was something like 6:00 a.m. Oh yes. We left at 5:00.

I think this was taken somewhere in Ohio. I just liked the green leaves against the blue sky. When we left London, the leaves weren't out quite this much.

Eating on the Road
One final aside before I get into the beach photos: I had a lot of trouble eating in restaurants both during the drive down and back, and while in Sarasota. Below is me making beans and rice, our first night at the resort. Thank goodness we had a kitchen in our unit.

The Resort
This is where we stayed - the Limetree Resort.

The Beach
And finally... the ocean. Well, the Gulf, I guess.

I did yoga every morning before sunrise, and walked the beach at sunrise and sunset. The rest of the time I kind of avoided the beach, so many of these pictures seem moody and cloudy...

A man-made barrier of rocks marked the end of the public beach and the beginning of the resort beachfronts.

Below is a favorite spot where I walked each day, before turning around and heading back to the resort. It was a kind of point, with some wild dunes to the right.

Some days the tide littered the beach with seaweed.

Below are the sand dunes, where sea turtles nested. Hopefully.

Our resort - a timeshare - put out these wooden loungers for owners and guests.

The rocks on an eerily calm morning.

There were tons of birds - gulls, sand pipers, egrets, pelicans and a heron - on the beach. Every evening a woman would feed the gulls bread crumbs on the public beach.

The sand was like cornstarch underfoot - so fine and soft.

Shells
An inveterate beachcomber, I loved the abundance of shells that littered the beach.

One lucky evening I found three whole sand dollars.

The waves ground all the shells into a coarse mash - like eggshells underfoot - on the way to making sand...

Near the end of our first week I started noticing these weathered shells that looked like sea turtles. They're the only ones I brought home with me.

I think these barnicles were still alive...

My favorite shells were the ones that were worn smooth by the waves.

Seaweed
I was also fascinated by the many kinds of seaweed.

There were many ones like the example below, which were soft underfoot. I think they were sponges.

Sand Castles
Another compulsive photography subject: The many sand castles that people built every day on the beach.

Occasionally the projects veered into unconventional territory. Like the octopus, below.

In the two weeks we were there, I never made a sand castle myself. But I did created this small spiral of shells near a large sand structure that grew like a small town with each passing day.

Here's the entire structure, the day before the family who built it left.

Some people just dug holes. This one was deep.

Shells were the favored form of castle decoration.

Some sand turtles...

A sand angel...

An indeterminate sand structure with a message:

A large, sand golf club.

A beautiful moat.

I saw this exquisite castle the night before we left. I loved the details...

Like the guard house...

The turrets...

And the entrance to the castle itself, complete with leaf door.

Gargoyle-like structures on the roof...

Elsewhere: A parade of tiny turtles...

Another small village...

Labyrinths
In my last three or four days on the beach, I started making large, spiral labyrinths, walking them contemplatively. Here I've photographed my shadow stretching across one. There are about three feet between each line.

My feet, walking the labyrinth.

Feet
I couldn't get enough of the sand and the water between my toes.

Also: Yoga on the beach was bliss.

Standing in the path of waves...

One night I made my labyrinth on very dry sand, and shuffled my feet through the sand with a dragging motion so I'd be able to retrace my steps accurately. I didn't realize until I started to walk back to the resort that the sand had abraded my feet so much that they turned red.

My right footprint, photographed on my last night.

Birds
My buddy the heron. He tolerated many photo shoots.

Sunrises
Sunrise over the dunes.

Sunrise over the resort.

Sunsets
A million sunsets. Ish. I didn't know how to organize them, so they're simply chronological.

Self Portraits
I took hardly any photos of myself, strangely enough. Here's a rare self-portrait after doing yoga one morning.

Proud of my 50-pound weight loss, celebrated in a new bikini.

what i eat for lunch every weekday

2010-03-31T05:29:00.002-04:00

When people find out how restricted my diet is (I'm vegetarian and don't eat refined sugar, gluten, eggs or most dairy), they want to know what I *do* eat. And a lot of people are intrigued by the fact that I eat (homemade) soup every day for lunch. So I made this recipe video to show you how I prepare delicious soup every weekday morning for my bag lunch.

You're welcome.

spring equinox

2010-03-25T19:34:00.004-04:00

The same night I took some photos of canning jars in my back room, I sat in one of my rocking chairs and tried to ignore the awful migraine that was bouncing around inside my head... and in a spare moment, I enjoyed the sunset, as seen through my northwest window.

Since the time change, my back room has become one of my favorite places to be in the early evening. I love watching the light go from golden daylight to even more golden pre-dusk, and then fade imperceptibly to silvery pre-night.

I realized with a shock the other night that I will be able to enjoy this same light from this same spot in this same room SIX MONTHS FROM NOW. Which is pretty awesome. Here's to six months of light enjoyment.

'tis the season for raynaud's disease

2009-11-16T18:16:00.009-05:00

I have this thing called Raynaud's Disease that makes my fingers and toes turn yellow in the cold. Had my first major attack of the season today, walking to my car after work (a 15-minute jaunt in the crisp fall air). Here's a picture of my left hand after I got home. The hand is wet because I was warming it under some lukewarm running water before I got the brilliant idea to photograph it.

Basically, whatever controls the constriction of blood vessels to my hands and feet is @$&)ed up. The pallor seen in three of my fingers is where the vessels have constricted so much that blood is no longer getting through. Nice. Hurts like hell, too. Just saying.

I have to be careful to bundle up most of the time, or else winter becomes my own private hell. Summertime in the freezer aisle of the grocery store is not so lovely, either.

(I have since chewed off that hangnail on my ring finger, making a bloody mess, BTW. Also nice. Sorry.)

federline

2009-11-08T07:46:00.007-05:00

Saw this story on the Sympatico home page this morning. Apparently Kevin Federline (father of Britney Spears' children) has gotten his current girlfriend pregnant. The part that made me LOL:

"Kevin wasn't planning to have children with Victoria, and now he's upset with her," a source tells the Enquirer. Maybe he should be upset with the person who told him where babies come from, because I think they explained it wrong.

Read the entire story, here.

hallowe'en

2009-10-31T18:46:00.004-04:00

So this is my first Hallowe'en ever, on my own. Where I have to give out candy. The last three years I lived alone in Toronto, but I was in a building and kids didn't visit. Before that, I always lived with someone else, and let them do the whole Hallowe'en thing.

So I bought some potato chip variety packs, which I was hoping I would still find at 5:45PM on Hallowe'en night. Thank you, Price Chopper. And the packages even had coupons on them, so I got two FREE packs of Quaker granola bars. I am handing those out first (I can't eat them). I CAN eat potato chips.

No kids so far. Maybe I'll have none, who knows? Above is the little table I set up beside my door, with the granola bars in the basket. Awesome. I almost feel Hallowe'eny, now. Below is one of the boys, also excited. (But probably more so about possible opportunities to escape and explore the stairway.)

6 killer prayer tips

2009-10-29T21:20:00.002-04:00

From the same people who brought you the marshmallow kids. This video makes me laugh because it's so ridiculous.

(And yeah, I've totally noticed that the video is like an inch below the blog title... I just don't know enough about coding to fix it...)

the marshmallow test

2009-10-29T21:10:00.004-04:00

This video is so hilarious. I love the kids who smell the marshmallows, and then take little tiny bits off them and put them in their mouths. Plus the little guy who keeps on grimacing makes me laugh.

dare. change.

2009-10-24T09:16:00.003-04:00

Another video first posted by a friend on Facebook. Even though this is an ad (and therefore kind of cheesy), it tears me up every time I watch it.

fun theory

2009-10-23T06:37:00.000-04:00

A friend posted this video on Facebook recently. Fun.

michael bublé

2009-10-15T21:30:00.004-04:00

I recently saw the latest Michael Bublé video on YouTube, and even though (as my sister says) it's a kind of cheesy song, I really love this video for some reason.

It reminded me of another of his songs that I like, which is Everything. Which reminds me of my ex-boyfriend. But anyhow. Moving on.

(Also reminds me of dancing in my sister's kitchen with my then-2-y-o niece in my arms, singing along to the "la la's.")

Also just found this cool live video, which reminds me of old movies and cool cats.

weight loss

2009-10-04T21:54:00.005-04:00

A friend asked me yesterday if I'd lost weight. I don't own a scale, and until I went to the doctor's for the first time in two-and-a-half years recently, I had no idea how much I weighed. But yes, I was aware that I'd lost some weight. I had to go out and buy a lot of new (well, new to me) clothes when I got my current job back in May, and even those are starting to get a little loose.

I'm not losing weight on purpose. I just changed my diet to try and help the severe pelvic pain I was experiencing with every period. Cut out dairy, eggs, wheat and finally, refined sugar. Funny how not eating a white chocolate bar every day can have an effect on your weight.

But it wasn't until I was looking through some old photographs from a year ago that it really hit home - I am definitely thinner. I never had a problem with the way I looked before - I was happy with my curves (especially breasts the size of canteloupes). Things are a little, um, deflated now.

Above is a photo of me from last September, right around the time I got my new camera. In fact, at first I wondered why there were all those lines across my face, and then I remembered that, after I dropped my original camera, the photos got all messed up.

Below is a photo of me taken a couple of days ago. That's all.

in which i talk about fidelity and trust and fear and david letterman, but mostly about fear and trust

2009-10-04T19:37:00.006-04:00

So yesterday I logged onto my home page, which is Sympatico.ca, which is how I get my news (such as it is)... and I saw an item about David Letterman and blackmail. It linked to a news clip on the subject. I proceeded to YouTube (where I hoped to find better information, including the clip of the show (above) where Dave talked about the issue in his own words). I watched a few videos, and after marvelling at the over-hyped insanity which is American network news, I moved on to other things.

I don't actually have much to say about Dave and his affairs with coworkers. I like him. He makes me laugh. He's human, and fallible, and apparently not afraid to take responsibility for what he's done. I wish him well, and hope he sticks around for many more years on late night television, entertaining me.

What's really got me disturbed, however, is the reminder that good guys can cheat on their partners. And possibly hide it. And I don't want to be the one that's cheated on. Ever. But I'm not sure how to ensure that outcome, except by possibly never having another committed monogamous relationship.

I don't need to know why men cheat. I accept that some men do. I also accept that it's possible to get past an infidelity and re-establish trust and forge an even stronger relationship if one is cheated on by one's partner. What I'd really like to say to any potential mates, however, is this:

Look. I don't expect or need you to be perfect. I will never ask you to make a vow of fidelity and monogamy. But you need to know that, if you want to have sex with other women (or men) while you are still having sex with me, then you are putting my health at risk. And if you have sex with other women (or men) and hide it from me, I am going to consider that a sign of extreme disrespect. Not because I need you to be faithful, or want to make you into something you're not. But because if you don't care enough about my health to let me make informed decisions about my own sexual behavior with you in the future, you are disrespecting me.

And I won't put up with that.

I can't promise to stay with you if you cheat. I may... or I may not. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. But I guarantee you this: If you have sex with another woman (or man) and hide it from me, we are through. Because I choose to be with people who value my health and my life - and my ability to choose - as much as I do.

you are what you read while sitting on the toilet

2009-09-27T08:06:00.042-04:00

I was thinking this morning (while sitting on the toilet) that what I read while sitting on the toilet* has probably had a huge influence on what has happened in my life. I'm extrapoliting that it may also be so for you... hence this post.

For example: Until recently, I had my near-toilet magazine rack (above) filled with health magazines - mostly the free, promotional ones like Alive and Tonic that I've picked up at health stores in Toronto and London over the years. And strangely enough - although I've always had a somewhat healthy diet - I've realized that I now, without really planning it, have an incredibly healthy diet and (somewhat so) lifestyle. I've cut out refined sugar, and I eat copious amounts of fresh fruits and vegetables, whole grains, and beans daily. I also recently started drinking green tea every day. And I walk a total of half an hour daily, every Monday to Friday.

Thinking back, there was a time in my life when I was constantly reading a book that my father owned - on the power of positive thinking - every time I sat on the toilet. And a few months later I fell in love and moved 120 miles to a brand new life.

Then there was the time I stocked my bathroom reading pile with fashion and craft magazines... and I started making tea cosies.

I recently got tired of all the health magazines, so I re-stocked my in-flight reading stash with the most recent magazines that I've bought - which makes them several months old, since I've stopped buying magazines. But anyhow... there's a copy or two of O Magazine, and a yoga magazine or two, and Body and Soul... and also a couple of Fast Companies, although I didn't necessarily mean to have that particular title featured in the photo, above. Product placer, I am not. (But I will gladly accept retroactive sponsorships. Just saying, Fast Company.)

So I am interested to find out what kind of person I'll be in a few months...

(Since I seem to be shooting for multi-millionaire entrepreneur with a great yoga butt...)

*Yes, I'm talking about pooing here, people. I read while I poo. I've heard all sorts of opinions on the topic - like how it's bad for you and may give you hemorrhoids if you sit so long on a toilet that you actually have time to read something - but basically I don't seem to be able to poo if I don't have reading material in my hands. In strangers' houses, I have resorted to reading body lotion and shampoo bottles. True.

until they do things like rip open their food bags

2009-09-16T12:49:00.002-04:00

This morning when I fed the cats, I discovered that someone had figured out how to climb up onto the shelf where I was keeping the food, and had clawed into one of the bags. Awesome. If you're a cat.

they are still cute, though

2009-09-16T12:46:00.001-04:00

Baby Guy, sleeping in one of the chairs in my front room.

Tear, in another chair.

Later in the afternoon, Guy joins Tear.

there is a new master in my home, and its name is SPRAY BOTTLE OF WATER

2009-09-16T12:35:00.004-04:00

I am feeling extraordinarily guilty about using it, though. Even with cats climbing all over my kitchen counter, or clawing my bedsheets into shreds.

The first time I used it on each of them, they looked at me like, "How could you? You have betrayed us. We will find new and glorious ways to destroy your apartment when you and the evil water bottle are not present. Just saying."

the sound of me going mental

2009-09-14T06:46:00.005-04:00

Remember when I said I would go mental if I ever found one of the cats curled up in the wash basin I use to hold dirty dishes?

'Nuff said.

(Because, you know - LITTER BOXES. And little cat paws carrying E.COLI AND PARASITES.)

For added entertainment value, above is Guy on the other end of the counter, glaring at me as if to say, "Oh yeah, punk? We OWN this counter."

in which i turn from singing to other things

2009-09-13T21:10:00.015-04:00

The above photo illustration is a snapshot I just took of some stuff on my fridge. Included is a picture of me from 1999, singing a duet with my father at my church's 125th anniversary dinner. I was also a waitress that night - hence the black pants, white shirt and tie. My hair was pulled back in a ponytail, BTW. (Defensive explanation for why I seem to have so little hair.)

This morning I heard Toronto Mass Choir perform at another church in London. A friend of mine from Toronto sings in the choir, and I billeted her - along with two other women - last night. TMC is phenomenal, and gospel music always touches me more deeply than most other genres of music, but this morning I actually started weeping during one of their pieces. It featured an amazing female soloist, who can also be seen in this video, below.

The thing is... I like to sing, myself. And for many, many years I studied classical voice and wished I had one iota of the talent that this woman has in her pinky finger. I sang solos, duets, trios and quartets, all the while participating in various choirs over the years, singing everything from first tenor (only once or twice!) to first soprano.

I burned to perform. I yearned to touch people's hearts, and impress them with my skill. Deep down, however, I knew I didn't measure up. My voice cracked on the high notes. I sang flat. My solos were like all those nightmare auditions on American Idol. I loved to sing, but singing didn't love me.

It didn't help that I had crippling performance anxiety most of the time. It made my voice shake, and left me breathless and squeaking. In the end, soloing became a nightmare. I still liked singing in ensembles, but my trained ear began obsessing on the sounds I was hearing around me, and if I couldn't perfectly blend my straight voice with someone else's vibrato, I felt a physical sensation akin to nausea.

Then I started watching YouTube. And being able to see all the amazing talent out there - including this favorite recent audition for The X Factor, below - reminded me of just how mediocre I really was.

Is there a place in this world for okay singers? I'm sure there is. And I'm equally sure that, even in some small way, my singing has touched at least one or two people over the years.

But honestly? There are things that I'm much, much better at.

Seeing TMC this morning reminded me that we're all given gifts to share with the world. Not all of those gifts are soul-searing voices. Sometimes they are the ability to speak a kind word, or comfort a crying child, or raise the consciousness of a community. Sometimes they're talents like cooking, or praying, or administrating, or farming.

I have abundant talent as a writer and as a visual artist. Plus the nice thing about both is, if I don't get it right the first time, I can always edit or start over before sharing with the public. Not so easy to do with live performance.

I don't want to live with regret that I never tried hard enough to succeed as a singer. I tried very hard. I have no regrets. But it's time to move on to something else, while I still have the time and energy.

I'm not singing in any choirs now. And while I'll never say never, it's likely I'll never solo again. But my life is full, and I have other gifts to share. Besides - Dad still likes singing the occasional duet with me. If I sing again, I can always say he made me do it...

500 days of summer

2009-09-13T18:46:00.024-04:00

I saw this movie this afternoon with my BFF. Her choice, her treat.

The Verdict: Thumbs up. Even though I don't necessarily agree with the resolution of the film. In real life, that is. In the movie, it made perfect sense. I also don't want to be a spoiler or anything, so let's just say that the movie has a satisfying ending, if you believe in love.

The thing is, I'm not sure I do.

I mean, I know I've felt it. For other people. I know what it's like to feel that weak-in-the-knees, can't-stop-thinking-about-him, seriously-contemplating-becoming-a-stalker feeling. I've obsessed, I've been unconditional, and I've done the grown-up thing and moved on after it's obvious that drunk dialing him at 3:00 a.m. isn't going to change his mind about dumping me. Okay, that last part was a joke. To the best of my recollection.

Yesterday a familiar stranger slipped me his phone number along with my change for a twenty whilst I was attempting to buy peaches from him. I've included his note - with the incriminating bits like his name and his full phone number carefully left out of the shot - below.

He sells good peaches, BTW. So keep in mind that, whatever happens, I am loathe to lose my access to the best damn peaches in Middlesex County.

But here's the thing: I hadn't been thinking of him in that way. The romantic way, that is. I've been buying peaches from him for years, not counting the two most recent summers - penultimate to this one - when I was living in Toronto.

And I don't know how to say this without sounding prejudiced, but I'm having some difficulty imagining that me and Mr. Peach Seller would have much to talk about. After we'd discussed the relative merits of freestone versus clingstone varietals, I guess.

Both the phone number and today's movie have got me thinking about what the hell I'm really looking for in a relationship, though. I hadn't really planned on this kind of soul searching this weekend, but I'm figuring I'd better come up with something pretty good before I call this guy and possibly break his heart, so here goes...

I'm not looking for a lover. Which is not to say that I don't enjoy knocking boots, and wouldn't welcome some "vitamin P" with someone who could stand to be with me after the main event had concluded. But I'm not looking for that kind of thing first and foremost. (Second and hindmost, perhaps...)

No, what I'm looking for - after years of not exactly find it - is someone I actually enjoy spending time with when we're clothed. And vice versa, of course. And for me, "spending time with" probably involves conversations that don't always (unlike my last few relationships, for instance - not that I'm bitter or anything) revolve around him, and don't usually ignore most of my favorite things. Like art, and Renaissance music, and my writing. And more-than-cursory investigations of sticky issues like faith and higher calling and social justice. Perhaps you can see why I'm still single.

I'll be straight with you. My life (apart from some nagging consumer debt) is just about perfect right now. I have a beautiful home filled with all the things I love (including two beasts who pour all sorts of furry, cuddly attention on me); I have family and friends and a job that satisfies me deeply. A little more time to write and make art might be nice, and I sure do miss the yoga practice that my recurrent insomnia forces me to sleep in and miss, but all in all, I can't complain.

If I'm going to make room for someone in my life, I don't want it to be a shallow, casual affair. I'm playing for keeps. I want to go the distance with someone who actually has values that align with mine, plus a generous soul, a ready sense of humour, and some staying power. No, not that kind. Wait - yes, that kind, too. Both kinds. What?

The hardest thing for me to do right now, however, is call up Peaches and tell him the truth. My first reaction, believe it or not, was to contemplate telling him I'm a lesbian. Because, you know - it's no insult to him if I like girls. Then I thought about telling him I'm just not interested in a relationship right now. Which is mostly true, except that if the love of my life showed up tomorrow, I would be a liar.

Basically, I guess I just want to be the kind of person who can set boundaries that honour everyone involved. Which is kind of hard, because I'm still not really clear about the whole concept of "boundaries"... but anyhow...

All I know is, I'd better call him before next weekend. When I expect to have run out of peaches.

[Added later: Almost forgot. One of my favorite parts of the movie was after Tom and Summer have sex for the first time, and he line dances with people in the street. Everyone was dressed in blue. Wow, I said to my BFF. It's like "Michelle World."]

[For all of you who don't actually know me: I always wear blue.]

moar ktnz on kntrz

2009-09-07T08:34:00.006-04:00

I came into my (freshly cleaned, may I add) kitchen this morning to find the guys again on the kitchen counter. So help me Goddess, if I ever find one of them curled up asleep in that old-fashioned wash basin that I use to hold dirty dishes, I may go mental.

Ohhh... tomatoes...

OHHHH... OUTDOORS...

Cat ADD.

OHHHHHHHHH... OUTDOORS...

Sink.

Tear is taking the high road.

You can almost see the wheels churning. "Mebbe dangurous this waye." I did see him lick the soap, though.

ktnz on ktchn kntrz

2009-09-06T14:07:00.014-04:00

For as long as I've had my kittens (about 2 1/2 months now), there have been horizontal surfaces that I was reasonably certain the animals could not reach, and upon which I could therefore put anything I did not want the cats to get into.

This weekend, my most crucial cat-free space - the kitchen counter - has been breached.

Here is Baby Guy on one end of the counter. Notice he can't even look me in the eye.

Stealth mission: Passing through the dish rack. Remind me never to leave anything breakable on this thing. Ever. Again.

"Houston, we have reached the sink."

Temporary descent into the sink. Oh - and if you are ever invited to be a guest in my house in the future? Be aware that I take no responsibility whatsoever for any paw-borne illnesses you may contract as a result of these guys walking all over my food preparation and clean-up area. Just saying.

Ascent from the sink.

All the interesting stuff lies ahead.

I'm not sure what's so un-cat-smelling about one of my wooden spatulas, but both cats had to rub it with the sides of their heads. "Mine."

the first leaf

2009-09-01T21:33:00.003-04:00

Fall is my favorite time of year. The last few days I've been salivating in anticipation - I can already feel the chill in the air in the early morning, and I love bringing out the warmer clothes and blankets. There's a smell that only fall has - maybe it's the dead leaves on the wet ground, maybe it's the colour of the sunshine against my nostrils... whatever, I especially love the colours of the leaves as they turn. Today, walking home from work, I saw this leaf. I'm pretty sure it's the first colourful leaf I've seen this season. So I took a picture of it.

scarlet runners

2009-09-01T21:27:00.005-04:00

When I was at my parents' house last night picking some vegetables from Dad's garden, Dad asked if I wanted some beans. He grows scarlet runners in containers along the side of the garage, and the vines climb up the six-foot lengths of twine that he re-strings every year.

Dad climbed a ladder and picked the highest beans while I picked the low ones. Here's my loot, right before I topped and tailed the beans for my supper.

new rocking chair with a history

2009-08-30T17:50:00.005-04:00

I went to Goodwill today on my way home from my walk, because I needed a couple of dishes to replace ones I'd broken. I checked out the furniture section, hoping there might be a rocking chair... and there was. This weathered beauty was on sale for $15.

When I got it home and was wiping off years of accumulated dust and grime, I noticed some writing on the underside of the seat.

The metal tags below the writing identify the chair as the former property of St. Joseph's Hospital, which has a renowned obstetrical department. Now I can't stop wondering how many mothers and nurses have sat in this chair rocking babies over the years.

(And BTW, Laure - this is a Laurie-sized rocking chair, with a seat very low to the ground...)

river rocks

2009-08-30T17:27:00.003-04:00

My London has a Thames River, and there's a place I like to go where I can walk on the dried-up parts of the riverbed. Above is a picture of the rocks just as it was starting to rain.

Some dark grey rocks that had most recently been underwater.

Green rocks, covered with algae.

I loved how the leaves echoed the colour of the pink rock on the right.

tomatoes and a painted rock

2009-08-30T17:06:00.005-04:00

I've been getting fresh, home-grown tomatoes from my Mom and Dad's garden the last couple of weeks. Here are some of them, lined up on my kitchen windowsill to ripen.

The painted rock I bought on my way home from work one night, from some kids who had set up a little storefront on the sidewalk in the neighbourhood where I park my car. This one made me happy. I think I spent $2 on it. Sometimes it felt like I was single-handedly keeping these kids in business, since this was not the only rock I bought over the course of the week that they were there.

yoga with ktnz

2009-08-30T16:48:00.013-04:00

This morning I did yoga for the first time in several weeks. Felt good. Michelle needs yoga. Thing is, now that I have kittens, my practice is not quite so serene and straightforward as it used to be. Because now I am joined on the mat by two creatures whose sole job seems to be to totally distract me from doing any yoga at all.

Plus they're adding an unwelcome, aggressive (even violent) element to my practice, by fighting with each other on my mat.

Momentary pause to regroup.

Another attack.

Later: Even when they stop fighting, they still distract me by clawing my mat, which is apparently the world's best cat-scratch surface, based on recent experience.

What?

Doing tadasana (mountain pose), one kitten takes the opportunity to use the mat as a cloaking device.

Yoga all done for the day, the boys stretch out gracefully. As if to say, Disruptive? Us?

ktnz in bxs

2009-08-30T16:40:00.005-04:00

Cats love boxes. I know this from long experience. They love to sleep in boxes - usually the smaller the box, the better. So after I washed my brand new canning jars, I put the empty boxes on the floor for the kittens to play with. 15 minutes later, they were happily ensconced.

Baby Guy. He chose the biggest box.

Tear (the largest cat) in the smallest box.

A little while later I turned around to see that they were BOTH in the smallest box. Here Tear is grooming Baby Guy.

Whazzup?

canning jars

2009-08-30T16:24:00.008-04:00

I love jars. I avoid plastic food containers like the plague (the phyto-estrogens they off-gas upset my hormone balance), and years ago I started using glass canning jars to store food instead. They can even be frozen, although once in a blue moon a jar will crack in the freezer if the contents expand too much while freezing. (To avoid this if you're going to try freezing food in glass yourself, don't fill the jars right to the top - leave about an inch of space for the food to expand.)

Lately I've been running out of jars everytime I cook something (usually soup) to put in the freezer; on Friday night I went to WalMart (I know, I know, but they have the best selection of canning jars) and bought three sizes: 250mL, 500mL and 1L, all wide-mouth.

Above is a picture of them put away in my pantry cupboard. Yay. Jars. I feel looked-after now.

yummy cupcakes

2009-08-30T15:44:00.007-04:00

@YummyCupcakes is the username of someone I follow on Twitter. This post is not about her. But I liked the title. (And I like her. Worth following.)

This post is actually about cupcakes. Which I bought at a community bake sale on Friday. I didn't really need any cupcakes, but they were so pretty...

I ate them all for supper that night. (The one with the jelly beans, Smarties, sprinkles and rocket candies was the best. Really.)

for laurie

2009-08-28T12:46:00.006-04:00

My BFF has been complaining that I haven't posted anything on this blog lately. Here you go, Laure.

This photo is a detail from a stained glass window in Elmwood Presbyterian Church. I was there earlier in the summer when my dad was guest preacher. All of their stained glass windows are amazing - very medieval-looking, full of rich, vibrant colours. This is a section of a window (below) that features an angel trying to shove flames into some guy's mouth. I should probably know the iconography, but don't. Whatever. The angel is pretty.

instrument of peace

2009-08-23T20:01:00.005-04:00

A few months ago, when I had a difference of opinion with someone and I wanted to be reminded that the most important thing was not for me to be right, but for me to express love and contribute to life, not death (because death is bad... no, wait - maybe it's killing that's bad... and maybe I kind of felt like killing somebody at the time), I posted the words to the Prayer of St. Francis in my cubicle at work to remind me of the values I wanted to live by. Because I need a lot of reminding, sometimes.

A friend recently lent me a recording by Olivia Newton John, and what should I find on the album but a version of the Prayer of St. Francis that I'd never heard before. It's beautiful. I hope you like it.

yard sale-ing

2009-06-06T15:32:00.012-04:00

Went out yard sale-ing with Laurie this morning. Both of us were mostly brain-dead from lack of sleep (unfortunately due to insomnia in both cases, not anything more exciting). We knew of some neighbourhood sales in Old South and Woodfield, and Laurie said there was a rummage sale at St. Peter's, too, so I let her set the agenda and basically just worked as a loot mule and chauffeur. (I'm teasing, Laurie.)

I didn't intend to buy anything because I'm experiencing a temporary dearth of monies in my bank account, but I couldn't resist these shoes at our first stop - on Elmwood Ave. in Old South. I'm not a shoe nut, but it's so rare for me to find yard sale shoes (never worn, either!) in my size that I couldn't resist. Plus they only cost a dollar. Enough said.

Not quite sure where I'm going to wear these "f*ck me" wedges that add at least five inches to my height, but anyhow...

At another house on Wortley Road I found a card box full of stamps. I need more stamps like I need a hole in the head, but anyhow...

After making the rounds of Old South (where I'm pretty sure Laurie bought stuff too, but I don't remember what), we headed to St. Peter's. The St. Pete's sale was pretty dismal - both in content and attendance - but I did find this gorgeous blue mug for 25 cents. Enough said.

They were also selling baked goods at St. Peter's, and I couldn't resist one of these cupcakes-in-a-cone. I'm not even PMS'ing, so don't ask. Anyhow, it looked pretty in my hand for the 30 seconds or so it took me to eat it.

Walking back to my car I glanced over at Laurie and decided to take a picture of her. Which I don't think I've ever done before, ever. Anyhow, she looked beautiful in the sunshine and I knew it would make a good picture, plus she wants pics of herself for some kind of nefarious purpose that I don't really feel entitled to discuss, so just enjoy this pic of my beautiful BFF.

(I just noticed there's a kind of white mark below her nose that kind of resembles a drip of snot... if she complains, I guess I'll PhotoShop the pic for her. Sorry, Laure.)

The neighbourhood yard sales in Woodfield were the best of the day. Early on I found two baskets (above and below) for $5 and $2. I need more baskets like I need a hole in the head, too, but anyhow...

Yeah, I have absolutely no idea what this thing is. It's some kind of carved wooden foot that's been fastened to this kind of stand, and there are these dowel-y things at the top... my mind hurts just looking at it. I asked the woman whose home it was sitting in front of what it was, and she said, "Honey, if I knew what it was it wouldn't be sitting there."

(If you think you know what it is, please let me know. I'm afraid I won't sleep well until this is settled. Shyeah right, I know - I probably won't sleep well after you tell me, either. Nevermind.)

Awesome house in Woodfield (which is full of awesome houses). I loved this window - it seems very European. There was a tiny little al fresco cafe set up in front of this house, and Laure and I might have stopped to rest if I hadn't bought an awesome table for my kitchen, and wanted to go pick it up and get home for a nap. Which didn't happen (the nap), but anyhow...

Found four palm fans at another house in Woodfield. These could come in handy in church sometime this summer. Except I'll probably forget to bring one with me to church. Sigh.

Picking up the table I bought for $5 from a friend of Laurie's who lives in Woodfield. The table wasn't even for sale, but I asked if she was interested in selling it, because I coveted it for my kitchen. Laurie and Margot were suitably amazed at my organizing skills when packing everything in my hatchback. Just saying.

The table in its new home - with my kitty preparedness items (cat basket and food bowls) underneath. I bought the basket in Woodfield for $1, BTW. I wish I could take a good picture of the top of the table, because it's been painted with this gorgeous sponged-blue effect. Anyhow. I love this table. The legs kind of smelled like cat pee when I wiped them off at home, so I'm hoping either 1. it's not really pee, or 2. my new kittens have no sense of smell.

food prep

2009-06-06T15:27:00.004-04:00

Took these pics a few days ago when I was making my lunch in the morning before work. Mom gave me some oranges when I was there Monday night, and I love the way they look, all cut up in my blue flowered bowl.

This is one-half of my daily allotment of work snacks. Not that I am dieting or anything. But I only have so much space to carry stuff (since I walk to work), and cut up apples in glass jars can be really heavy. These apples look totally brown by snack time, but I eat them anyway.

Come to think of it, these wedges look like a little apple army. If I played with my food, I would totally wage apple battles every day during break.

more flowers from laurie's front yard

2009-05-30T10:22:00.003-04:00

Took some photos of Laurie's flowers when I dropped her off after our visit to the farmer's market. Above is a really ugly photo, because there's something totally wrong with one of those petals, and there was a really gross brownish thing to the left of the blossom. Oh well.

These are violets that Laurie transplanted last week. They look really pretty, although after seeing the photo I realized that some of the petals look pretty moth-eaten. Oh well.

apple fritter

2009-05-30T10:14:00.006-04:00

Laurie and I went to the farmer's market at the fairgrounds again this week, and once again we got apple fritters from a Dutch bakery. I didn't take a picture of the apple fritters last week. Here's this week's fritter, half-eaten. I don't know how they make these, but basically they are sinful. That's all I know.

I nearly burned myself last week, the fritters were so fresh out of the deep-fryer. This week's fritters were pleasingly warm. We scarfed them in the parking lot before getting in my car. I somehow got sugar on the crotch of my pants, though. Not quite sure how that happened. I won't tell you the euphamism that Laurie came up with for that, either.

more kittens

2009-05-28T21:59:00.005-04:00

I've been really bad about adding more kitten photos. My sister keeps sending pics to my BlackBerry, and since I had to replace my computer hard drive I haven't had the proper BBerry software to manage my device files or upload them to my computer. Whatever. I've taken these photos from my sister's Facebook profile. Very cute, eh?

Meghan and a kitten.

Kyle and a kitten.

Kyle kissing his kitten. I know - so cute.

Kyle's kitten, Zupur.

blessings in a salad

2009-05-24T12:57:00.009-04:00

I took the above photo this morning when I went into my fridge to get some almond butter to eat with my Extra Strength Advil. I noticed that the pea shoots that I bought yesterday at the farmer's market were all backing away from the top of my fridge, as if repelled by the cold or something. Made me laugh. I know food that's stored right beneath the freezer tends to freeze, for sure.

This morning at church the guest preacher (a member of our congregation who is also a member of parliament) talked about a mission and service trip that some of the congregation took to a First Nations tribe in northern Ontario this past week. We had raised money to buy nets to allow the tribe to feed itself according to its traditional ways, and Glen's story of that visit was very moving and also heart-wrenching. Among other challenges, these First Nations people can't afford the healthier food that can be shipped into their community (a carton of eggs or a bag of potatoes can cost $20), and therefore their diets are often poor, and diabetes runs rampant through the community.

When I got home and started making my lunch, I was overwhelmed with gratitude for the abundance of affordable, healthy food here in southwestern Ontario. The above salad (my lunch) is made with fresh organic spinach and pea pods from organic farms, as well as Ontario carrots and apples. The only thing that was shipped from somewhere else was the celery, and even then it was really inexpensive (although don't remind me how many pesticides were used to create it - I might lose my lunch).

Seriously, though - that is some miracle sitting in my bowl. Awesome.

Really quick, here's how I make homemade dressing for my salads: drizzle olive oil over everything (don't ask me how much), and then splash red wine vinegar on top of that, and sprinkle liberally with salt or Herbamare. I toss salads with my bare hands. True. I usually wash my hands first, if that helps. Besides, I'm usually the only one eating my salads. Anyhow - when everything's all tossed, I test the flavour by popping a leaf or two in my mouth. If the salad tastes like something you'd buy in a nice restaurant, you probably drizzled, splashed and sprinkled right. Otherwise - lather, rinse, repeat. Wait - that's for shampooing. Nevermind.

saturday morning farmer's market finds

2009-05-23T10:01:00.008-04:00

So my friend Laurie wanted to go to the farmer's market at the fairgrounds this morning. I'd never been there (I usually go to Trail's End or Covent Garden), and wasn't expecting much. Was pleasantly surprised by the quality of the food, and the variety of the stalls. We each had an absolutely decadent Dutch apple fritter from one baker, and left with these sinful butter tarts from another, Canada Comfort Foods. The top tart is Ultimate Nut, the one on the left is Saskatoon Berry, and the one on the right is - wait for it - white chocolate. They have about half a dozen other flavours. Have already eaten the berry one. It was probably the best butter tart I have ever had in my life, apart from my mother's. True. And apparently I am PMS'ing or something, because I have totally chucked my no-wheat diet out the window.

An organic hydroponic place was selling these young pea plants. The greens are supposed to be sweet, and good in salads and sandwiches. I kept picking off little bits of them before I put them in the fridge - they really are yummy. Although I feel kind of weird eating live food - maybe how carnivores might feel if they were forced to bite chunks out of living cows, or something.

Another really cool stall was selling these body care products called From the Meadow. I had bought some of their soaps last summer when Mom, Dad and I took the kids to this bee place near Belmont. Sure enough, From the Meadow uses beeswax from the bee place in their products.

This particular cream is supposed to be a hormone-balancing one. I so need that. I've already rubbed it all over my ovaries, and the smell is wonderful - really subtle, with all-natural essential oils. I already feel calmer, like my Advil had been spiked with a Valium, or something.

Oh - and Laurie and I split a huge bag of Mutsu apples from a local orchard.

Here's my half, soaking in my kitchen sink. All these apples cost me $3. I seriously don't remember the last time I bought apples so cheaply. Yes, I know they are last year's apples. That's okay - so are the ones in the grocery store, that cost me $2/lb.

how i spent my morning

2009-05-23T07:00:00.005-04:00

I've been waking up nastily early, lately. Like 4AM. And subsequently going to bed at ridiculously early hours like 9 or 10PM. Sigh.

Anyhow, this morning when I crawled out of bed around 5 (after lying awake for an hour pretending I was a guest on David Letterman (which is one of my favorite passtimes)), I honestly meant to do some yoga. I did my morning incense ritual (which I'll probably write about sometime), made myself my morning ginger tea (in an awesome new/used mug, above, that I got from Value Village the day I got the trench coat), and turned on my computer "just to check" what was going on online.

10 movie trailers later, I ended up on Facebook and then Twitter and now I'm on my blog and honestly, I don't know where two hours have gone. I just tweeted that I'm going to try to spin online surfing into some kind of spiritual practice. True.

I love this mug. It's currently second-favorite to the one that Mac gave me, that says "Do what you like, like what you do" on one side, and "Life is good" on the other.

Added later: I also ate some almond butter out of the jar again, so I could take some more Advil. Didn't want to eat much, so I could still do my yoga. So now I'm also yoga-deprived AND starving...

how to sew on a button with a thread shank

2009-05-22T18:59:00.031-04:00

I got this awesome trench coat at Value Village* last weekend, only to discover after I got it home that it had three buttons missing. Plus an empty candy wrapper in one of the pockets, but I guess that didn't really affect its functionality too much. Not like the whole missing buttons thing.

So anyhow, I was feeling too cheap to go out and get all new buttons for the coat, so I searched through my button jar at home and finally found three brown buttons that were the same size as the buttons already on the coat. I laid them out on the coat to see how things would look with two different colours of buttons, and it was kind of quirky like me, so I said, Hell, why not?

Except I wanted the brown button in the middle to be a little higher - like in the second position from the top, not the third - which meant I was going to have to remove and sew back on at least one other button. And if I was going to go to all the trouble of sewing on new buttons, I figured I might as well make sure ALL the buttons were sewn on well.

So I decided to remove and re-sew every single button on that coat.

Yeah.

And don't be thinking that I really like sewing buttons, or anything. I'm freaky, but not that freaky. Just OCD.

This was probably the funnest part of the whole job - choosing a bunch of different shades of thread to sew the buttons on with. Because I figured if I was going to sew on different coloured buttons, why not use all different colours of thread, too?

I swear, I handn't been drinking. I don't drink. Who needs to drink, really, when you can think up fun crap like cutting off and sewing on 12 buttons for absolutely no reason?

Okay, I only cut off nine. Three were already missing.

I did get a little distracted for a while, taking pictures of the spools of thread. Or maybe it was just procrastination. I REALLY don't like sewing buttons.

Now comes the really fun part, and don't go thinking that I'm going to explain this well, or anything. 'Cause I'm not. Even if I DO have a Home Ec. degree. Which I do. And which is where I totally learned how to do this.

Oh Jeez, I just realized I totally uploaded the same photo twice. Awesome. While forgetting to upload the photo that was SUPPOSED to be in the above place. Do you know how long it's going to take for me to upload and then figure out where to position the code for the correct photo? Sigh.

Okay, I timed myself. It took less than 30 seconds. But FELT like forever. True. So anyhow, you need to scroll back up to the duplicated photo for the next instructions: You'll need a match, or a toothpick. I usually use a toothpick, but you can tell how long it's been since I've sewn on a button, because I haven't had a toothpick in my apartment since I moved to Toronto. And I'm back in London again. The toothpick (or match) will leave a little space between the button and the fabric of the coat, which I will magically turn into a thread shank further down in this blog post.

Yeah, I know I have awful cuticles. I should probably get a manicure, but I don't believe in manicures. For reasons that I refuse to divulge right now.

Which reminds me that I need to tell you what a shank is, and I'm already totally bored with writing these instructions, so I'll just say that if you have the kind of buttons where you can see the holes when you look at them head-on, your button doesn't have a shank. If you have the kind of buttons where you just see buttons (no holes) when you look at them head-on, your buttons probably have shanks.

Unless you've been drinking. In which case, all bets are off, and I wouldn't suggest trying to sew buttons in that condition, either.

The shank makes it easier to button and unbutton the coat, because it leaves room behind the button (but before the fabric...) Oh, I should just shut up now. You probably aren't even listening. Nevermind. Enjoy the pretty pictures.

For those of you who are still hoping to figure out how to make a thread shank on a shankless button, I really apologize. But that's what Google's for these days, isn't it? (And if you've found this blog post via a Google search... I really, REALLY apologize. The line forms to the left.)

Above, you need to sew on the button with the match (or toothpick) stuck between the button and the coat. The matchstick will come out later, I promise. This is not at all the setup for a practical joke. And by the way, aren't those matches awesome? I got a whole bag full of matchbooks from a former client, and they're from all these cool places that this couple went, like this inn in Quebec. True.

(Also true: When they gave me the matches, they guessed that about half the couples whose weddings were commemorated by matchbooks in the bag were probably divorced now. True. AND awesome. And why did everybody stop handing out commemorative matchbooks at weddings, anyhow?)

After you've sewn through the holes of the button enough times (I usually do about three times), bring the needle back to the front of the coat, like this. Or just look at the picture in perplexity, drop your jaw slightly, and wonder unloud: Wha..?

Wrap the thread about six times between the button and the coat, to create the thread shank. Finish with a knot somewhere. I would tell you how to do that part, but I usually bury my threads, which is way too complicated to explain in a blog. Plus it's a secret, really. They make us swear in Home Ec. university that we'll never tell non-Home Ec. peeps. Sorry.

I was going to show you a picture of how neat and tidy all my button sewing was from the inside of the garment, but it took me, like, three or four tries to get something even remotely neat looking. Which is why the thread colour in the above photo doesn't match the others, in case you were wondering.

Just to really mess with your minds, here's a little reinforcement thingy I added behind one of the buttons I sewed (I think it was on a pocket). The previous owner had nearly ripped the button off, and the fabric was all holey. I was afraid it wouldn't hold a button, so I used this tiny scrap of fabric to reinforce the button. I'm pretty sure there's a name for what the fabric thingy is supposed to be called, but of course I can't remember it right now. You can call it George, if you like. I'm gonna.

A finished button. One of the brown ones. Obviously. Did I mention I sewed on 12 of these babies? Yeah.

The finished coat. I am totally loving this coat even more, now. Which kind of proves that theory, that people who invest a part of themselves in something tend to love it even more. Like when they make delinquent youth paint murals on graffiti-infested walls, and then nobody tags them again. Only my example uses trench coats and middle-aged women. Nevermind.

*Value Village is a used clothing store, in case you didn't already know that. And were wondering why a new coat that I bought would have missing buttons, and a candy wrapper in the pocket. Just saying.

sewing thread

2009-05-20T19:04:00.001-04:00

I sewed some buttons on a used jacket I bought at Value Village last weekend. Will post the button-sewing story sometime soon. Thread is good.

kitchen sink

2009-05-20T19:02:00.003-04:00

Washing dishes is a spiritual event for me. I LOVE the kitchen sink in my new apartment. I love my kitchen, period. No, I'm not high.

favorite stones

2009-05-20T18:59:00.002-04:00

I also have a thing for stones. Above is some malachite, along with some real beach glass (not the fakey, tumbled stuff you buy in home deco stores) that I found at Grand Bend years ago.

Yellow quartz, I think.

new rocking chair

2009-05-20T18:55:00.005-04:00

I'll admit it, I have a rocking chair fetish. This is my latest (not so new, now - I think I got it two weeks ago) acquisition: A bentwood rocker found at the Rotary rummage sale. It cost me $15. I sit in it every day.

Bentwood curlique. I like furniture that is useful AND looks beautiful. And that totally makes me wonder how they got the wood to bend like that.

more flowers from last week

2009-05-20T12:56:00.005-04:00

I took these photos last week during either my noon-hour walks or after work. Above is a dandelion from a lawn on Dufferin Ave., I think.

These forget-me-nots are from my friend Laurie's backyard.

White flowers called I know not what, from Laurie's front yard.

pantry stew (a cautionary tale)

2009-05-17T20:07:00.013-04:00

Doesn't this stew look awesome? Too bad it doesn't taste that awesome. But don't worry - it's not because this recipe is no good. It's because I can't seem to stop burning things, lately. Usually while I'm goofing around on Twitter. I need to make one of those red circles with a line through it and the Twitter bird and a stove in the background. "Don't tweet and cook." Or something.

Anyhow, I made up this recipe on the spur of the moment when I was hungry last night and wanted to cook something with ingredients that I had on hand. Hence the title (pantry stew). You could also call this "too lazy to go to the grocery store" stew.

Actually, the main motivating factor behind making this stew was that I had a bunch of yellow-eyed peas in my fridge that I'd cooked Thursday night in my crockpot, and I was afraid they'd go bad if I didn't MAKE SOMETHING WITH THEM ALMOST IMMEDIATELY. I'm a little averse to the fart-like rotting food smell that too-old cooked beans make, y'know? I also wanted the stew to be somehow tomato-y, but the only kind of tomato ingredient I had on hand was a jar of spaghetti sauce. Done. But I didn't want a stew that TASTED like spaghetti sauce, so I had to think up some weird new flavour twist to explore. More on that later.

So I started by chopping one sweet Vidalia onion. I think you could use any kind of onion - I just happened to have sweet Vidalias on hand - thanks to my Mom, who had two big bags of them, and was giving some away. I think she might have got them from the Shriners. Whatever - you probably don't need to know why I was using a Vidalia.

I also chopped about five or six stalks of celery, but crap, I forgot to photograph that part. To be honest, this entire recipe is kind of light on informative photos. Above is the chopped celery and onion, sauteeing in olive oil in my soup pot.

Once the celery and onion were a little soft, I added the cooked yellow-eyed peas. You could use any kind of cooked beans in this stew - or even a mixture of beans. If you cook your beans from scratch, use one average-sized package of dried beans. Don't ask me how much that is. Just average-sized, okay? If you're using cooked beans, I'm guessing you'd need about three cans of beans for this recipe, although by all means use less if you're not too fond of beans. Wimp.

Next I peeled and chopped about four large carrots, I think. I didn't want to chop them the same shape as the onions and celery - hence the rounds. Whatever. Add the carrots to the pot.

The infamous jar of spaghetti sauce. Add a jar or can of spaghetti sauce to the pot.

Now comes the interesting part. I decided to add a tablespoon of curry powder to the stew.

And a tablespoon of garam masala (which is an Indian spice mixture, and my latest favorite spice).

These tortilla chips have absolutely nothing to do with the recipe. I just had them sitting on my counter while I was cooking, and thought they looked pretty. So I took a picture of them. I think they would totally taste good with this stew, though, come to think of it. Too bad I ate all of them before the stew was done.

Finally I added a bit of water to the stew, until it reached the consistency I wanted. Don't ask me how much water I added - all I can tell you is it looked like this when I was done.

Awesome, eh? The above picture would be the bottom of the soup pot after I spent too much time on Twitter and accidentally burned my stew. Also, I dropped my camera - really hard - rushing to take this photograph. Good thing my second (and current) camera is a shock-resistant one, eh? (Guess how I destroyed my first camera...)

In an effort to salvage things, I dumped the hot (but not totally cooked) stew into another container, and then went to work on the bottom of the soup pot. Fun stuff. Do I know how to rock my Saturday nights, or what?

Was not too impressed to discover (after scrubbing the pot for five minutes) that the pot seemed permanently stained with burnt. Awesome. Like I need to be reminded, every time I make a new recipe, that I totally sucked at cooking one night. (Epilogue: I got the rest of the burnt marks off the pot this morning. Yay.)

Okay, a little tangent: I blame my stove for all my cooking mishaps. Twitter notwithstanding, if my cute little vintage stove actually WORKED PROPERLY, I wouldn't burn so much food. But this charming antique has only two temperatures: lukewarm, and EXTREMELY HOT. And the burners won't work at all unless you turn them to EXTREMELY HOT first, and then turn them down to lukewarm once they start to heat up.

Perhaps I'm a little lazy, but I figure if the burner is already on EXTREMELY HOT, I might as well get some use out of all that power. So I usually let the pot heat up until the food is bubbling, and only then turn it down to lukewarm. Kind of as a time-saving measure, see? (Mom, you don't have to tell me: I've turned into my father, haven't I?)

I had a friend over today, and she wondered why I didn't ask my landlord for a new stove. But see - a new stove wouldn't look this cute, would it? Nevermind.

After I got the pot cleaned up, I finished cooking the (now smoke-flavoured) stew, and added Herbamare to taste. Which was kind of burnt. The taste, that is. Reminded me of nothing more than campfire food, and I haven't been camping since I was a kid. Also, my apartment smelled like cooked BBQ. Which was not so charming, considering that I'm a vegetarian.

The finished stew. Finally ate some for supper tonight. (Oh - and last night's supper? The rest of the bag of Tostitos and a slab of fudge while I cleaned up the stew fiasco. True.) The stew actually didn't taste that bad, if you plugged your nose to avoid the topnote of burnt. The curry and garam masala really give it a lot of depth. Or something. I'm guessing I would totally love this stew if it wasn't burnt. So there you go. You're welcome.

nettle soup

2009-05-16T21:09:00.025-04:00

Okay, so today I was at the farmer's market downtown, and Dolway Organic was selling stinging nettles. I'd heard about these things. There were all sorts of signs posted at the Dolway stall, saying don't eat the nettles raw - they're supposed to be prickly, or something.

Good thing they came pre-packaged in plastic. Which is like an organic oxymoron. But anyhow. I bought one bag.

When I got home I totally wanted to cook something with them right away. I pulled out one of my favorite vegetarian cookbooks, The Greens Cookbook by Deborah Madison. I figured if anybody could tell me how to cook nettles, she could.

I didn't find any recipes using nettles, but Madison did share some interesting facts... like how saints use to eat nettle broth for sustenance, or something. And how nettles are supposed to be an amazing green colour when they're cooked. Awesome. I am totally going to eat nettle broth all the time if I ever become a saint.

So basically I was on my own. I started with one leek. Sorry, I didn't take any pictures of the leek before I cut off the tough, dark green parts. Basically you just chop off the leaves, and remove a couple of the outer layers, and then make a slice lengthways through the leek without actually cutting it in half. Leeks tend to be sandy, and you need to wash out all the dirt, like I'm doing above.

When the leek is washed, chop it roughly. Honest, this is me trying not to be compulsive about the widths of the chops.

Heat some olive oil in a soup pot.

Add the chopped leeks, and saute them until soft.

In the meantime, if you're feeling adventurous, you can keep yourself busy with an activity like washing five large potatoes. I do this kind of multi-tasking all the time. Which is probably why so many of my recipes end up burnt.

Because I wanted a good picture for y'all, I kept my eye on those leeks. Right here they are perfectly sauteed. If you still have some other stuff to do (like chopping the potatoes, below), you might want to take the pot off the heat for a little while. Just saying.

My awesomely chopped potatoes.

Add the chopped potatoes to the pot and fill with enough water to cover everything, plus about another inch of water. Or soup stock. You could use soup stock instead of water. I totally forgot about all the soup stock I have frozen in my freezer. Doh.

Okay, now this was totally the most nerve-wracking part of the recipe. Like I did not want to touch those nettles, okay? I just upended the whole bag into the pot. I'm thinking at this point that maybe I've misjudged how many potatoes I should haven't added. (sic)

Luckily the nettle leaves poked down into the pot without any trouble (although I did worry about touching the cooking spatula to anything else, and haplessly transferring raw stinging nettle needles). I think there was something else I wanted to tell you at this point, but I forget what it was.

Here are the cooked potatoes and nettles. (And leeks.) I think everything took about 35 minutes, after the water started boiling. Oh - I remember what I wanted to tell you. I was kind of worried, when I put the nettles in the pot, that I should have removed some of the stems. There were a lot of stems. But I was not interested in putting on some surgical gloves just to pluck off all those leaves... so I left the stems. To be honest, I didn't even wash the nettles. I'm hoping that they washed them at the organic farm. They do that kind of thing, right? I'm sure they would pre-wash things like stinging nettles. Kind of like a public courtesy. Oh well - if they weren't washed, this soup may be a little gritty, that's all. If you're ever foolish enough to actually try making a soup out of LEAVES THAT CAN MAKE YOUR HANDS ALL ITCHY IF YOU ACCIDENTALLY TOUCH THEM, I'll leave that judgement call about washing them up to you.

(In the meantime, I'm feeling pretty sorry for the poor fool who first figured out that you shouldn't eat nettles raw...)

Put the cooked vegetables in a blender with enough water to cover the solids, and puree the soup in small batches. And by small, I mean whatever size you're comfortable splashing all over your kitchen if the blender lid should malfunction.

This is the pureed soup. I'm still waiting for the amazing green colour to materialize.

(True aside: My notebook touch pad is malfunctioning, and when my thumbs pass near it while typing, my cursor tends to randomly fly somewhere else on the screen. Which is not so endearing when it ends up in the middle of the code for the photos, and I need to delete text without screwing up the code. Like right now...)

When you have pureed all the soup, add salt (or Herbamare, my favorite seasoning) to taste. Somebody was asking me what "to taste" meant. (Actually, nobody asked - but I figure some of you might wonder). Basically, it means that you TASTE the soup, and if your first impression is, Wow! I would totally pay $15 for the privilege of eating a tiny bowl of this soup in an overpriced restaurant, then you don't need any more salt. If, on the other hand, your first impression is, Meh, you might want to add a bit more salt. Unless by "meh" you mean, OMG this stuff is WAY too salty, in which case I'm sorry to inform you that you've just wasted a $5 bag of organic nettles.

The finished soup. It was really good, and not at all gritty - so I'm pretty sure they did pre-wash the nettles.

I didn't really mean to post this photo. Most of you probably don't bottle your soup in canning sealers and freeze it in single-size portions for the following week's lunches. I sometimes get carried away with the camera, though. Sorry.

BTW, I made another recipe today, but it didn't turn out nearly as well as the nettle soup recipe. And by "didn't turn out nearly as well," I mean it was basically a total fiasco. Story and photos to come, likely tomorrow. In the meantime, check out these awesome day-old mini cupcakes and fudge that I bought inside Covent Garden this morning. The fudge, BTW, got totally eaten during the fiasco cleanup.

Oops. I guess I forgot to edit a photo of the fudge. Sorry. But those cupcakes are awesome, eh?

lilacs

2009-05-16T11:57:00.007-04:00

Lilacs have been in bloom this past week in London. Here are some photos taken mostly in my friend Laurie's yard. The first two photos were taken on a really windy day, so I'm happy I actually got images that weren't totally blurred.

The above lilacs were taken indoors at my parents' house. Their neighbour had given them a bouquet, and Mom put the flowers in the dining room.

african violets

2009-05-16T11:54:00.002-04:00

My mom got these african violets from my Aunt Sylvia. Back in the fall, maybe. (I'm kind of hazy on that part.) Mom recently asked me to take a photo of them for her, so she could show Aunt Sylvia how pretty the blossoms were. So here you go, Aunt Sylvia.

kittens - day 8

2009-04-28T10:00:00.003-04:00

My sister sent some more photos of the kittens, taken yesterday (the "day 8" referred to in the blog title). Don't think I've mentioned on this blog, but one of the five kittens has died, so there are only four left.

sunday night curb surfing

2009-04-26T19:51:00.013-04:00

I love curb surfing. Tonight's score was a dining room chair picked up right outside my front door - a match for another chair I'd rescued a few months ago. I think it belonged to the cute guy with the kids who just moved out - the seats on both had been recovered with a disgusting dusty rose fabric that was filthy with children's paint and greasy blotches. But as with the previous chair, when I removed the fabric, the original pleather upholstery was in great condition, and all it needed was a wipe with a damp cloth.

Above is the frame with the seat removed. I have to apologize for the really lame how-to instructions on this project: Basically I just turned the chair upside down on my work table and unscrewed the seat from the frame. But I didn't take a picture of that part. Sorry.

Nor did I take a picture of how disgusting the chair looked before I cleaned it up. Nor did I take a picture of the tools and screws I used to put it back together. Luckily I had a spare wood screw in my toolbox, since this chair was missing one of its seat screws.

The finished, reassembled chair is on the right, beside the aforementioned mate that I rescued during the winter. I love their simple lines, and the black seats and dark wood look really great in my front room. Oh - forgot to mention that I also waxed the chair backs (the part that would touch the back of someone sitting in the chair), because the wood finish had weathered off both, and they looked a bit dodgy.

Today's find in its (temporary?) new home - at one end of my front room. I need to get some felt pads for the chair legs, so that they won't scrape against the floor whenever I lazily slide it around my apartment. Right now it's serving as an ersatz side table for the chair beside it.

narcissi

2009-04-24T12:49:00.006-04:00

Bought these flowers at the grocery store, possibly last Sunday afternoon. Narcissi are like tiny little daffodils. Only tiny. And little. (A glance at the Wikipedia article I just hyper-linked tells me that "narcissus" is the genus name for a whole family of flowers that include actual daffodils. So there you go.) They smell kind of nice. I thought they looked cheery, which is what made me conveniently forget that I'd promised myself not to buy pesticide-laden plants anymore.

Some time-lapse photos.

The second day.

Also the second day.

The fourth day.

Also the fourth day. They are starting to ~~rot~~ wither.

The fifth day. They are totally going to pot. Wait - they're already in a pot. Oh well. Guess they don't have far to go.

too many phones

2009-04-24T12:33:00.005-04:00

This is a photo of an actual situation I noticed in my bedroom last night. I tend to compulsively carry around a cordless phone and my BlackBerry wherever I go inside my apartment. (I have three cordless phones in total, BTW.) Two of them ended up beside my bed last night. Awesome. Hyper-vigilance, thy name is Michelle Lynne Goodfellow.

tumblr and whrrl

2009-04-23T15:00:00.012-04:00

Apparently the new social media are not allowed access to sufficient vowels when choosing their names. Not quite sure why ~~old people like me should put up with this~~ this should be. Anyhow, I saw a blog on Tumblr a couple of weeks ago and got the bright idea to start my own Tumblog. Or whatever they call it. The ~~time-wasting black hole~~ endeavor kind of engaged me for a few days, but basically the only thing that's on my Tumblog now is a bunch of my imported Twitter tweets. Which begs the question: Why not just use Twitter?

I thought the Tumblr blog looked cool, for sure. Very minimalist, very clean. Plus I liked the fact that I could upload photos from my mobile device, which I HAVEN'T QUITE FIGURED OUT HOW TO DO YET ON BLOGGER. Not that I'm ~~bitter~~ bitter, or anything.

Then I saw a photo story on Whrrl. Which also seemed very cool. Except after I created a Whrrl account, I could not FOR THE LIFE OF ME figure out how to create an actual photo story. It was one of those "just kill me now" scenarios. Kept clicking on the various hyperlinks on my "home" page, and kept NOT FINDING THE INFORMATION I WANTED. And their "help" page was no help at all. You can't even delete your account all by yourself - you have to WRITE THEM AN E-MAIL and ask if they'll be so good as to delete your account for you. Whatever.

Hence I am blogging a lot more on Blogger again. Which is as it should be. Except for the ~~f*cking~~ nagging mobile uploads issue.

My Tumblr feed
My Twitter feed

A few hours after I posted the above rant, a lovely (I'm extrapolating here) woman named Heather Meeker - the Director of Corporate and Marketing Communications at Pelago (the makes of Whrrl) - sent me a very helpful e-mail:

Hi Michelle,

I just read your blog post about frustrations with Tumblr and our service, Whrrl. I found you via your tweet (@emelgy Aimless kvetching about Tumblr and Whrrl: http://tinyurl.com/dd3gw6) and hope you don’t mind me reaching out to you.

I wanted to apologize that your experience with Whrrl has been less than fantastic. You are right - at this time, you are not able to start a story from the Whrrl.com website. However, you can start a story through our iPhone application or via any phone with SMS text capabilities. If you’re interested to learn how, I’d be happy to walk you through it.

Here’s the good news - we are working to enable anyone to start a story from the Web. That feature is coming soon, and we’ll be sure to tweet and blog about it, once it’s completed.

Please let me know if you have any questions. Again, sorry to hear your about your experience with Whrrl.

Best,

Heather

OMG! I don't know why I am continually surprised to discover that people actually READ my blog posts. In this case, I felt compelled to send Ms. Meeker an even lovelier response:

Heather,

Thanks for your e-mail. Good to know that there are real people out there to take care of your Whrrlers. Too bad the same can't be said about Twitter - I have submitted help tickets to them several times, and have never once heard back from a real person. Whrrl wins the service game this time around.

I appreciate your offer to help me learn to use Whrrl from my mobile device, but (being that I am living in Canada, with a dubious mobile service provider) I suspect that the whole mobile uploading thing would be a bit of a challenge for me, and possibly beyond Whrrl's technical support skills. Once you begin to offer the web service thingy, I may revisit the whole Whrrl thingy.

Until then, cheers and good luck with your other customers. I'll be posting your offer of aid as an addendum to my blog post, so that people will know what nice guys you are over there at Whrrl. Er, Pelago.

Best,

MLG

So there you have it. My work here is done.

kittens - day 3

2009-04-23T10:54:00.003-04:00

More pictures of the new kittens, sent by my sister. Aww...

trinidadian black-eyed pea stew

2009-04-22T19:29:00.032-04:00

After uploading all the photos for this post, I almost didn't want to start writing the copy. Contemplated a nap. Decided to persevere. So this is a recipe for a Trinidadian stew. I can't vouch for its authenticity, not being Trinidadian. But it sounded good.

I based my recipe on the above recipe for Trinidadian Black-Eyed Pea Soup.

I found it in a book called World Vegetarian by Madhur Jaffrey. She's like the Godmother of Indian cooking. I don't know if she knows anything about West Indian cooking... but I bet she can fake it. I'm also thinking she's looking pretty awesome in that photograph, because her Wikipedia entry tells me she was born in 1933. If her recipes keep me looking that fine when I'm 70-something, I'd be happy.

This is a package of dried black-eyed peas. I'm totally making this recipe from scratch, sorry for your luck. You can take the wimpy way out and used canned black-eyed peas. I'll enable you that much.

For the real cooks out there, pre-soak the beans in a pot full of water. I'm using my Crock Pot here. Soak the beans for several hours (eight is always quoted as a good number, but I'm pretty loosey-goosey with cooking times myself, so feel free to make it up), then drain off the soaking water, re-fill your cooking vessel, and cook the beans until they're done. I totally meant to cook my beans in the slow cooker overnight, but forgot to. This morning I was greeted by some beans that had been soaking for about 20 hours. Awesome.

I also made the mistake of trying to cook too many beans for the capacity of my Crock Pot. They made a total mess of my counter and my kitchen floor when the cooking water boiled over. Also awesome.

When the beans are done they will be soft (i.e. try one and see if it breaks a tooth or not). Another way to tell if beans are done is by blowing on them; if the skins start to curl away from the insides, then they're done. I really wanted to demonstrate that technique in the above photo, but apparently my beans weren't cooked enough. I called them done anyhow.

I had the brilliant idea that I would like to cook the entire stew in my Crock Pot, and so I rushed to clean it out after the beans were cooked. I don't really recommend trying to wash a REALLY HOT Crock Pot. Like really - pretend I never even suggested it might be possible. But this hypothetical woman I might know? She does it all the time. And when she doesn't burn herself, it's mostly successful. Just remember to unplug the outside container first if you should be so foolhardy, yourself. After all that work, I realized that IF THE BEANS WERE TOO FULL FOR THE CROCK AND MADE IT BOIL OVER, then the stew would probably be, too. And maybe even more so. Ya think? So I cleaned this bugger for nothing. Sigh.

Okay, don't be frightened. I meant to have a nice picture of three lovely bell peppers to introduce the whole chapter on "How to Roast Peppers," but I neglected to actually take that photo. I'm sorry. The charred mess, above, is actually what these things look like after they've been roasted. When I do them, anyhow. Simply wash and dry the peppers and put them on a cookie sheet lined with aluminum foil. Then stick them under the broiler and turn them regularly. This is one instance when the presence of a smoke alarm anywhere near the vicinity of your kitchen will be really annoying. I had to take the batteries out of mine before these babies were done. True.

Cover the roasted peppers with plastic wrap (if you're fond of zeno-estrogens in your food supply) or aluminum foil (if you're playing Russian Roulette with Alzheimer's), and let them sit, covered, for 10-15 minutes. This helps sweat the skins off. In theory. The above peppers have done their sweating, and as you can see from the middle pepper, the skin should just peel right off without much trouble. I totally recommend you let the peppers cool completely before trying to remove the skins. Not that I follow my own advice. But I totally recommend that you do.

The peppers will now be all limp and slimy; slice them in half lengthwise and remove the stem end and seeds. You may need to scrape all the stray seeds with a knife or something. I don't recommend you use your fingers, because that then becomes a lovely game akin to the whole peanut butter on the roof of your mouth phenomenon. Chop the seeded peppers into a large dice.

Take an onion.

Chop it into a fine dice.

Take some sinfully yummy coconut oil (my new favorite cooking oil, because of its high smoking point and delicious flavour - and its multitude of health benefits including weight loss and anti-infection properties (I'm not making this stuff up, although that doesn't mean that it's true)), and heat the oil in a skillet.

Saute the onions in the coconut oil until they're soft and slightly browned. My onions are a little browner than you're aiming for. Thought I'd offer that up as a bit of a cautionary tale. (More like I just got preoccupied with other stuff in the kitchen before I took the photograph.)

Remove the onion from the heat and add the chopped, roasted peppers to the onions. You can see how successful I was at removing all the pepper seeds. What can I say? I always use my fingers.

Take four carrots.

Chop them into a medium dice. Note that my dice qualifiers are totally arbitrary and only meant to sound professional. Which I am not. At least I've styled the photograph in such a way that it appears to demonstrate how to chop carrots into a dice. I've forgotten what I actually did here, though.

Saute the diced carrots in more coconut oil. Add them to the onions and peppers.

Next comes a bunch of fiddly little ingredients that you add to the onions, peppers and carrots. Start with 4 tablespoons of uncooked brown rice.

Then add this much ginger. I'm calling it 1 1/2 teaspoons, but then I like ginger. If you don't like ginger, add less. Or none. Why are you even making this recipe if you don't like ginger, though?

Okay, the next few photos might be a bit confusing. The recipe called for allspice, which I don't have. But I'm thinking, "Allspice is called allspice because it tastes like all the baking spices." You know - like cloves and cinnamon and nutmeg. I think. So here I'm adding a tiny bit of ground cloves. If you have allspice (show-off), just add some allspice and forget about these other spices, okay?

This is cinnamon. I think.

I'm pretty sure this is nutmeg. I'm pretty sure I don't remember how much I added. Seems to me I was grinding this thing for a long time. I like nutmeg, though. You might not.

Okay, now we're adding some mustard. The recipe called for dried, ground mustard, but I totally didn't have that either. This is prepared mustard from a squeeze bottle. I was thinking it was Dijon or something, but then I noticed the label said honey mustard. Doh. I don't think it will matter, though.

Okay... now here the recipe called for thyme, and I don't have any of that either. But I'm thinking that thyme and sage are kind of the same, so I added ground sage. Sounded good in my head, anyway.

The recipe also called for bonnet peppers. I think those are super hot. I'm not a bit fan of even barely hot, myself, so I substituted red pepper flakes. Feel free to improvise with an eye towards your own particular level of hotitude.

This liquid that looks like dishwater is actually vegetable stock that I save from cooking vegetables and freeze until I need it in recipes. Yes, I am that awesome. Feel free to use plain water if you must, or some kind of vegetable boullion from the store. Total aside: Guerilla Firebox is telling me that I'm spelling boullion wrong. Totally had to look that one up, just to be sure. Don't know where they're getting their spell-check words from, but I think boullion is totally the way Americans spell that word. The French spell it bouillon, and the English and Canadians add another 'u' in there somewhere, I think.

Add everything (black-eyed peas, vegetables, rice, spices and herbs) to your cooking pot, and then add the stock or broth until everything is just covered. I don't like watery soups, which is why this recipe is called "stew." Go ahead and make a soup if you really want a soup. I don't. Simmer the stew (soup) for about 45 minutes until the rice is cooked. You'll know it's cooked because the individual grains will be all puffed up and splitting apart.

This is what my stew looked like when it was done.

Okay, now comes another confession: The soup recipe called for fresh cilantro. I didn't have any of that either. I made a special trip to the grocery store after the stew was all cooked, because while the stew tasted good, I knew it would be so much better with cilantro in it. I LOVE cilantro. Some of you might not. In fact, to some of you, cilantro might taste like soap. True. I'm so glad I'm not one of those people. Anyhow, to finish off this recipe properly, you really need some fresh cilantro.

Cut off a big handful of the leaves, and wash them well. They'll probably be quite sandy, and that's such an unpleasant feeling against the teeth, let me tell you. To chop the cilantro, I use a pair of scissors. It feels like cheating, but apparently real chefs do it that way too, so I'm passing the tip along for what it's worth.

This is what my finished, finished stew looked like. And it tasted awesome. Really.

Packing up leftovers into glass sealers, so I can freeze them for another meal. You don't have to be that anal if you don't want to be. So there you go. You're welcome.

potato recipe

2009-04-22T12:22:00.020-04:00

This is one of my favorite ways to eat potatoes. Recently, anyhow. For this recipe you will need: whole potatoes (preferably waxy ones, but if you don't know what that means, don't worry about it, or at least try not to use baking potatoes in this recipe), olive oil, salt, garam masala (an Indian spice blend), red pepper flakes and lime juice. Start by washing the potatoes and putting them (whole and unpeeled) in a large pot with enough water to cover them.

I seem to have chosen a winning bag of potatoes this time around; had to cut off a lot of rotting spots before I put them in the pot. It's alright if you have to do this. Just don't be cooking any rotting potatoes, okay?

Here are the potatoes cooking in the pot. How long will they take to cook? Gosh, I don't know. I usually put the timer on for about 25 minutes, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. I often ignore the timer whenever it goes off. Which basically means I don't know how long it really takes to cook anything. You can tell they're done when 1) You can stick a fork in the potatoes and the fork goes through them easily, or 2) The smoke alarm goes off. I don't necessarily endorse option 2), because it doesn't guarantee that you'll actually be able to eat the potatoes. Just saying.

Cooked potatoes. Yum, yum. When I took this photograph, I was planning on eating both these potatoes for my lunch. I apparently have no high glycemic fear.

Mash the potatoes with a fork. I like them kind of chunky - the point is not to make real mashed potatoes. I would have called this post, "mashed potato recipe," in that case.

Drizzle extra virgin olive oil on the potatoes. This is my favorite brand of extra virgin olive oil. I see I have cleverly hidden the actual name when taking this photograph. No product placement here, Gallo.

Sprinkle the potatoes with salt. I prefer a New-Age-y organic herb salt called Herbamare. It's good. Really.

Sprinkle a bit of garam masala on the potatoes. I use my fingers. You don't eat my food, so it doesn't matter. Go ahead and use your own fingers - I dare you. (Better yet, I dare you to sprinkle the spice directly from the open container. Re-read the above comment about the smoke alarm first, though.)

Sprinkle some red pepper flakes on the potatoes. I don't really like spicy food, so I use the "air kiss" version of sprinkling here, but you may actually want to get some pepper flakes on your own potatoes. I have bad flashbacks from my childhood when I accidentally sprinkled too many red pepper flakes on my Mother's pizza during family outings. (That's "Mother's" as in the restaurant, "Mother's." Not my own mother. Her pizzas came out of a box.) Repressed memory just surfacing: OMG, my brother and I totally used to dare each other to eat the red pepper flakes straight from the jar at Mother's!

Sprinkle a bit of lime juice on the potatoes. I'm a total esoteric foodie, so I prefer fresh lime juice. Go for the bottle instead, if you like. (You'll regret it, though. Just saying.)

I use one of these wooden citrus reamer thingies to juice my fresh limes. Yes, totally a pain in the @ss.

That's it. No more sprinkling needed, unless you have some other brilliant ideas. These potatoes will go well as a side dish for just about any meal, or - as I've chosen - the main feature of a solitary repast where no-one will notice (or ask) why you're not eating anything else with those potatoes. You're welcome.

kittens

2009-04-22T10:03:00.008-04:00

My sister's cat, Tulip, had these kittens sometime between Monday night and Tuesday morning. This picture was taken when they were less than 24 hours old. I want them all. (But will probably settle for two.)

Funny story about Tulip: A year ago my sister brought home two kittens for my niece and nephew. The kids named them Ted and Tulip; Ted belonged to Kyle, and Tulip belonged to Meghan. The gender attribution was little more than wishful thinking, however: At that young age, it was really unclear whether the kittens were actually a male and a female. Even I couldn't tell, after multiple examinations of their rear ends - and I consider myself somewhat of a Doctor Doolittle. As time went on, it seemed like they were both males, but the names stuck.

Ted and Tulip were awesome cats - so friendly, and very tolerant of being carried around by Meghan and Kyle. Ted, the more adventurous of the two, would follow Kyle out to the road every morning when he waited for the school bus, and unfortunately one day Ted was hit by a car and killed.

Tulip has received much love and attention ever since, and when he suddenly started getting very fat, my sister suspected he might actually be pregnant. When she added that she had once seen a stray cat mounting Tulip, the evidence seemed pretty conclusive. Also helped me make sense of Kyle's story about the "bad black cat that bit Tulip's neck." Hope he was not too traumatized from witnessing that primal scene. Country kids sure grow up fast...

Anyhow, Tulip had kittens yesterday. Awesome. As mentioned above, I want them all. Before the kittens were born, Kyle and Meghan had decided amongst themselves that Tulip would have five kittens; Meghan would get three (because Tulip was her cat), and Kyle would get two. Personally, I think Kyle should get the extra one after the tragic loss of Ted, but anyhow...

Tulip did, indeed have five kittens. Am starting to think that my niece and nephew may have some latent prescient powers.

various photos

2009-04-21T12:18:00.007-04:00

Going a little nuts taking pictures lately... Here's a smattering of them for your viewing pleasure. They uploaded in reverse chronological order, so I'm leaving them that way. Doesn't really matter, for the sake of enjoying them. Above is a new rubber (silicone) scraper I got at the grocery store on the weekend. I can't resist this colour. Makes me think of robins' eggs and Caribbean water.

Also bought these narcissi at the grocery store. Impulse buy that is making me very happy right now.

At a rummage sale on Saturday I got this egg separator. I don't really need an egg separator - can't remember the last time I separated an egg - but I love its design.

At the same rummage sale I also got these three chunks of amethyst. They were totally dusty, but look AMAZING since I've washed them.

Below is a random shot of the top of my toilet tank. Slice of life, you might say.

Above is my cutlery drawer. The sight of the silver-greys inside the creamy white drawer makes me so happy every time I open it.

My aloe vera plant. I recently moved it from my kitchen to my front room, which gets better sunlight.

rocking chair

2009-04-11T19:12:00.008-04:00

I have loved rocking chairs since I was a kid. Their soothing action always calms me. It wasn't until I saw contemporary remakes of traditional designs, however - with 21st-century proportions and finishes - that I began coveting a rocking chair (or seven) for myself. I still have this dream of filling my living room with no other seating but rocking chairs, so all my guests can comfortably rock away the hours whenever they came to visit. (Or get suitably seasick. Which might also be fun.)

East of London there is a farmer's market called Trail's End, where a furniture seller carries finished and unfinished oak rockers that would look at home on any gracious country veranda. I visit them every once in a while, sitting in the generously-sized chairs and dreaming of a day when my budget will allow me to purchase one of my own.

Today my friend Laurie suggested an impromptu visit to Goodwill to find a single dinner plate to replace one I'd broken earlier this morning; while in the store, I saw a gorgeous wooden rocker with simple lines and a wide seat, and I was smitten. It was marked $49.99, and I decided it would be my birthday present from my family. When I took it to the cashier, she informed me that it was 50% off! Whoo-hoo! - a rocking chair in perfect condition for 25 bucks.

The sturdy chair (pictured above) is now in my middle room, where its simple wood finish blends perfectly with my bookshelves and floor. A little piece of heaven. Doing a little happy dance about my rocking chair right now...

on death and dying (and maybe resurrection)

2009-04-09T13:18:00.020-04:00

Warning: This post is mostly serious, and not really very funny at all. Sorry.

Late yesterday afternoon I fell into a bit of a funk, reflecting on the fragility of life, and the loss we feel when we someone we love dies. Yeah, I could have picked a better topic to think about. Win some, lose some.

Easter week is always bittersweet for me. Having grown up in a faithful Christian family, Easter was one of the high points of each year, with the added bonus of the ever-popular Easter Bunny-induced chocolate-feasting sugar rush.

Then my brother had to go and kill himself during Easter week about 12 years ago. At the time I found his subconscious timing very significant: I mean, if you hate your life and want a new one, what better time to make a change, right? Re-awakening, re-birth, resurrection... they all seem particularly possible during the first few weeks of spring.

I'm sure he didn't realize how much he would f*ck up Easter for the rest of us, though - that year, and in the years to follow. I remember that one of the funeral home visitations fell on Good Friday, and we had to postpone his actual funeral until Easter Monday.

He left this existence on a Wednesday afternoon, probably sometime between 4:30 and 5:30PM, when my parents found him. I'm not big on anniversaries (even missed my best friend's birthday this year - doh!), so I never notice when the actual anniversary of his death has gone by. But I vividly remember the events of that Easter week, and last night around 5PM I found myself thinking, It was on a day like today, on this particular day of the week, at this time of day, that my brother made the decision to finally give up, and take his own life.

And I felt sad.

My feelings were heightened by the knowledge that a little girl that one of my Twitter followers knew has died in the last day or two. TheBloggess normally writes bitingly funny stuff that makes me laugh out loud, but not yesterday.

Death puts the people who are left behind in a kind of weird limbo. That's what I remember the most about my brother's death. For about a week, I was shocked that life could go on - that other people out there were working and playing and laughing and swearing and generally just living their lives as if nothing of significance had happened. Mourning his death separated me from the rest of the world - sealed me in an insulated bubble where the only things that existed were pain, memories and (thankfully) semi-regular infusions of grace and caring from the people who loved me and my family.

So Easter week is bittersweet for me. I still love Easter Sunday, and singing Alleluias. But I'm also wary of the pain traps that may be lying in wait around the corner of each day once Palm Sunday (the Sunday before Easter) is past. And sometimes I feel like I'm being dragged reluctantly through the entire Easter experience - desperately wanting the assurance of renewed life, but unwilling to suffer through the accompanying reflections on death that it requires. And I feel for the young couple that has just lost their baby girl: They, too, will experience the special sadness of Easter every year, as my family does.

I've been listening to some recorded lectures by Clarissa Pinkola Estes - the well-known Jungian psychoanalyst and author of Women Who Run with the Wolves - this week. In one lecture Estes says that the wound is the only thing that brings light. She asks, "What good can come from allowing what is good and ready to die?" The wounds are doors, she insists - doors to the new life.

Open the door, I tell myself. Step through. David died; Madeline died. But the rest of us are still here, with more living to do...

i killed my basting brush

2009-04-03T07:36:00.007-04:00

For everyone who wants to know what I did to my basting brush (an explanation assembled from a number of tweets on Twitter):

I have a cast iron frying pan. Old-fashioned things appeal to me. Plus it adds iron to my food, and heaven knows I need iron.

What with all the blood I lose every month.

The thing about cast iron frying pans is, things tend to stick to them. (In this particular equation, "things" = "food.")

And to prevent "things" from sticking to cast iron pans, you need to occasionally "season" them.

And to "season" cast iron pans, you basically need to burn oil in them. Until the burnt oil creates a coating that keeps food from sticking.

In theory, if not in practice.

Mom, you'll be happy to know that my smoke alarm is still working.

the process of being funny

2009-04-03T06:17:00.015-04:00

I have always envied comedians - especially improv specialists. I would watch them perform onstage, and marvel at how they could be so funny without any (apparent) effort or preparation.

One of the qualities I have always loved about my best friend is that she seems to live with one foot squarely in the realm of the sublimely ridiculous at all times. I have occasionally thought of funny things to say, myself... but usually about 13.75 hours after the comment would have had the most comedic impact.

When I began writing for my blogs, I was delighted to discover a latent funniness creeping into some of my posts. I didn't know where the humour came from, but celebrated its presence nonetheless.

Since joining Twitter, however, I have begun a grossly unscientific study of how words become funny. (And in the process have laid a lot of rotten eggs. I might humbly add.)

My first observation is that funny stuff can indeed bubble up spontaneously from the netherworld. I don't know exactly where ideas come from (although I have always been fond of Stephen King's explanation: His muse comes along and shits on his head), but I have learned that - sometimes - funny ideas are just there for the taking.

I have also observed that funny can't be forced. Many's the time I have been setting up what seems like a really awesome joke... only to choke at the punchline. Which never comes.

Other times, I can't seem to stop the flood: One funny idea will lead to another one, and then another one, and then suddenly EVERYTHING within my puny reach seems ripe for ridicule.

Which leads me to yet another observation (that I first made years ago while watching that episode of ST-TNG where Data tries to figure out what makes things funny): usually "funny" also involves "laughing at somebody's pain or hardship."

Which in turn has made me kind of ambivalent about humour, and even more determined to stay on the "Force" side of the laughter fence (as opposed to going over to the Dark Side). (Not to be confused with the DarkTime, Laurie.) (Laurie is my aforementioned best friend (who may very well be the only person ever to read this post), and she owns a canary who calls night-time "The DarkTime." Nevermind.)

I recently blocked a Twitter follower who was upset that I had made a joke out of one of her tweets. I'm not proud of what I did (although it was funny). I am determined to use my powers for good. Which in the end (I find) is leading me to what I like to call the "Lucille Ball" school of humour... i.e. Making Fun of Oneself First and Above All Else.

(I have a spectacularly huge amount of material to work with there. Thankfully. Although it does seem to entail injecting an astonishing number of menstrual references into my tweets. Sorry about that part.)

Another observation I've had is that sometimes (most of the time, perhaps) I can't think of any funny thoughts at all. And I've had to come to terms with the fact that I can't be making myself giggle every moment of the day. (Heaven knows I'll save a lot of money on Depends if I don't.)

My most recent observation is that humour is like a muscle: The more I use it, the stronger and more reliable it becomes. And what I love most about my new-found comedic sense is that it's making me see the world in a different way. I'm always looking for the snort-milk-out-my-nose underbelly of every situation, now. And suddenly, the world is much more interesting. Without the addition of recreational drugs, I might add.

Which reminds me of a true story: Last night I was on the phone talking to a friend with whom I've recently been reconnected, and at one point in the conversation he said, "Do you mind if I roll?"

And I, in my total obliviousness, though he said "row." As in row on his rowing machine, or something. Which would have been fine with me, although a little bizarre. I didn't realize he was that much of a work-out nut.

Just to be safe, I asked, "What???"

"Do you mind if I roll?"

"R-O-L-L?" I stubbornly spelled out, picturing him now physically rolling back and forth on his living room floor. Just for fun. Which would also have been bizarre, but hey - to each his own.

Then the penny dropped, and I realized he was talking about weed. Which he then explained he used to unwind at night and make his subsequent working hours the next day more bearable. To which I responded, "I think I use Twitter that way."

So if nothing else (and it's not chopped liver), my Twitter activities are preventing me from taking up a much more expensive habit. And avoiding the subsequent loss of brain cells.

Nevermind.

Follow me on Twitter: www.twitter.com/emelgy

tulips

2009-04-01T07:42:00.004-04:00

Took these photos at my sister's place a few days ago, when I was there looking after her kids.

daffodils

2009-03-22T13:54:00.004-04:00

A friend brought me a pot of daffodils a few days ago. They are awesome. I want to eat them, except they probably taste gross. And likely are poisonous.

melon in dish rack

2009-03-17T18:16:00.006-04:00

Took this picture of a melon in my dish rack a few days ago. TMI, perhaps, but it makes me think of a breast.

twitter

2009-03-14T06:40:00.017-04:00

So, I've jumped on the bandwagon. Not that I had any real purpose in mind when I did so - mostly I was just curious about what happened on Twitter, and wanted to check it out for myself.

I have contacts who are really into the social media marketing scene, and they'd been recommending Twitter for a year or two. I've got a bit of time on my hands right now, and was looking for some online entertainment... so...

What I'm finding is that Twitter is like one of those crazy midway rides that spin you around in every direction after you've foolishly eaten way too much cotton candy and elephant ears. Not that I'm knocking that feeling. Just sharing some words of wisdom, for what they're worth. (Note to Mom: You don't want to join Twitter.)

On a deeper level, I'm really enjoying it. Once you get past all the scammers trying to peddle their get-rich-quick schemes, there are some fascinating things to be found in 140-characters-or-less sound bites. A Twitter contact of mine recently posted the question: What do you want people to know about you? What kind of people would you most like to meet on Twitter?

My responses:

"I would like others to know that I'm pretending to be here for the networking while secretly enjoying the random tweets the most."

"I would most like to meet people who can make me laugh milk out my nose, or make my eyes widen in amazement."

There are certainly plenty of people who can do the latter. Like my friend Teresa Tarasewicz, owner of City Lights Bookshop in London, ON (aka @CityLightsLondn):

"Glorious burst of sunshine just made things better... no, don't go... wait... stay a bit longer, I have beer. (reaching hand towards fading beams)"

Or @TheBloggess, who writes:

"The Ultimate Argument For Legalizing Weed - Undeniable benefits that...OH MY GOD MY HANDS ARE HUGE! http://tinyurl.com/dfgo95 (via @cracked)"

"Also, I just want to point out that I have more followers than @cracked. It's awesome. And by "awesome" I mean "kind of a travesty"."

Ultimately what I'm enjoying about Twitter is the enforced restriction of having to communicate in 140-character chunks. It's not as easy at you might think. But it engages my mind in ways that I can't quite explain. Some recent tweets:

"My downstairs neighbours must hate me - I'm always dropping heavy stuff on my bedroom floor at midnight-ish." sent 11:30PM, Friday, March 13 2009

"Really??? The person in an apartment below me who showers ev wkday @ 515 showers @ 445 on Sat? That's some cruel sched." sent 4:46AM, Saturday, March 14 2009

"Wht's rlly cruel is waking up ur insomniac-tendencied nghbor @ 445 whn she went 2 bed @ midnght-ish. Aftr dropping smthg." sent 5:15AM, Saturday, March 14 2009

As you can see from the last tweet, running out of characters can lead to some desperate txt abbrevs. I have a friend who posts 100-word blog entries - as in, EXACTLY 100 words - no more, no less. I'm toying with the idea of 140-character blog posts, myself. Wait, isn't that what Twitter...? Nevermind.

Footnote: Follow me on Twitter @emelgy

Photo credit: ©2009 Michelle Lynne Goodfellow ~ Taken at some ungodly hour of the morning after I couldn't sleep because my neighbour was taking a shower at 4:45AM.

new art journal

2009-02-23T12:02:00.004-05:00

I bought this beautiful new journal on Friday with funds from a Chapters gift card I'd been given recently. I needed another journal like I needed a hole in the head, but I couldn't resist the gorgeous blues in the picture on the front cover. I'm going to fill it with collages and intentions for my new life.

yellow flowers

2009-02-19T15:39:00.007-05:00

Mom brought me these gorgeous yellow flowers when she and Dad came to dinner the other night. The larger blossom is a little disfigured, but apparently Mom didn't have a lot of choice, the day after Valentine's Day.

antler

2009-02-16T13:52:00.006-05:00

I found this really awesome antler while helping some farmers set up saplines in their sugar bush on the weekend. I'm currently displaying it in my front room; my friends think it looks like a claw. I'm guessing it's from a white-tailed deer, which are common in this area. Hard to tell from the photo, but the short tip has been vigorously chewed by some kind of rodent.

what have i done?

2008-12-27T18:09:00.014-05:00

File this under "S" for stupid things that women do to try and improve their looks. A couple of friends have recently coloured their hair, and their locks look gorgeously shiny. I coveted their glossy manes, and wanted to acquire some of that glimmer for myself. I found an over-the-counter product today at the drugstore - Clairol's Shine Happy - which promised a clear shine treatment in only 10 minutes! How could I resist?

I don't colour my hair. I'm not interested in colouring my hair. I love my natural colour - which some people refer to as "mousy" - with its God-given highlights and blonde streaks. There are now some healthy grey streaks mixed in there, too. Bring it on, I say.

My hair does look kind of dull, however - at least compared to my salon-treated friends'. I just finished with my box of instant head-bling, and am wondering what could have possessed me to do this to myself.

Notice that I am drenched. That's from the showerhead in my tub - but I'm getting ahead of myself.

First, I read the instructions found inside the box. Dire warnings about not getting the solution in my eyes nearly deterred me before I even got started. How to explain that one to the grandchildren? Yes dearie, I blinded myself trying to get shiny hair...

Armed with a makeshift eyebath should things go awry, I suddenly realized I wasn't going to be able to see during the 10+ minutes my hair was getting glossied, since the solution wasn't supposed to come into contact with metal (my eyeglasses' frames), and, due the abovementioned potential for blinding, the wearing of contact lenses was not recommended.

I memorized the instructions and pulled on the gloves supplied with the kit. Double-checking to make sure I was adding the correct solutions to the appropriate containers, I mixed everything together, and quickly applied it to my damp hair. Got some solution on my forearm, which was immediately bleached white. Decided now was a good time to dampen a towel as recommended in the instructions, and wipe all excess solution from any exposed skin (including my forehead, ears and neck).

Also decided that if I ever do this again, I'm going to leave it in the hands of trained professionals at a salon. Hard to tell if one is giving oneself chemically-induced vitiligo when one can't see two inches in front of one's face.

After the longest ten minutes of my life (which were really only eight-and-a-half minutes, because my scalp was burning and I was tired of waiting), I bent over my tub and rinsed out my hair with the new adjustable showerhead that my parents gave me for Christmas. Proceeded to get water (and possibly some of the solution, I worried) everywhere within a three-foot radius, including the inside of my right ear. Was wearing gloves as the instructions suggested, so I couldn't tell when my hair was clean. Couldn't check to see if the water was rinsing clear (also as the instructions suggested), because I was keeping my eyes fiercely shut in order to avoid blindness. Couldn't have seen anything with my eyes open anyhow, because I wasn't wearing my corrective lenses.

After rinsing for what I hoped was a sufficient amount of time, I removed my gloves to apply the conditioner included with the kit. Squirted the recommended dime-sized amount halfway across the bathtub. Scooped up as much as I could (by feel - still couldn't see) and rubbed it into my slippery locks. Wasn't convinced I'd rinsed out all the previous solution, so after some back-and-forth debate with my inner hypochondriac, who was convinced she was starting to feel a burning sensation in the corner of one of her eyes, I rinsed out the conditioner a minute early and stood up, damp, sweating and swearing with my outside voice.

I just checked my nearly-dry hair in the bathroom mirror; am disappointed to report that said hair does not seem noticeably shinier. My neck, on the other hand, feels itchy and irritated, and the skin on my hands is dry and tight. Maybe this stuff has some potential as a mild skin peel...

how i spent my christmas eve

2008-12-25T05:09:00.019-05:00

I was lying in bed late last night, trying to remember the last time I didn't go to church on Christmas Eve. And to be honest, I think last night was the first time ever. I've gone to church on every other Christmas Eve of my life.

As I approach the new year, I've been reflecting on the year past. Normally New Year's doesn't mean that much to me, since I measure my life by my birthdays, and not by the calendar year. But at this time last year there were many new things just about to happen in my life, including a job that I began in the second week of January, 2008. How strange, one year later, to be leaving that job and searching for another.

It's about balance. I loved the work, but it had taken over my existence. I was doing noble things, but had set aside many of the activities that I loved most, including my creative writing and visual art. In the end I realized I was waking up unhappy more days than not. Life had lost its juice. I yearned to be in a place - live in a place - that would feed my inner callings. Less and less did it seem like that place was Toronto.

As a result, I have upended my life and moved away. Or should I say towards?

I find myself facing new beginnings once more. I am in the waiting place yet again. Exhausted from my move a month ago - all that painting and unpacking! - part of me just wants to hibernate for the rest of the winter. December has been a blur, compounded by frequent commutes back to Toronto for my work with the Chorale.

I've observed a few of my favorite Advent rituals - the Wesley-Knox Christmas concert with Denise Pelley, the RCCO Carol Service - but last night I wasn't ready for Christmas to happen. How did the days go so quickly?

I enjoyed the Chorale's Indigo concerts within the last week, and I've even made it to Sunday services at various churches this month. The music is running through my head. The scriptures have been read in my presence. I wasn't feeling the magic, though.

Yesterday I woke up intending to do some cleaning in my apartment and maybe (hopefully! finally!) unpack my library and set up my meditation/yoga room. My best friend and I had tentative plans to hang out in the afternoon, and then I was likely going to go to my new/old church for Christmas Eve.

When I tried to go online first thing in the morning, however, I realized my phone line was dead. That one event threw a spanner in the works. I couldn't pick up Laurie when she got off work early, since I had to wait around for the Bell technician to show up. When he finally finished, it was nearly suppertime. Laurie wasn't picking up her phone, and her voice mailbox was full.

I packed my bags for my trip to my sister's this morning, and ate some supper. Laurie finally called me back, and that's when I made the decision that I wanted to do nothing more than spend Christmas Eve with my best (and Jewish) friend, working on my apartment.

I fed her some of my supper and put her to work folding boxes and flattening packing paper. Sometime after nine we finished for the night, all my books unpacked and safely in my bookshelves. Both exhausted, I drove her home, and I'm sure she hit her bed as quickly as I did.

The evening couldn't have been more perfect. I got to spend time with one of my favorite people, who sometimes feels left out at this time of year; we laughed a lot; I now have a meditation room; did I mention I got to spend time with one of my favorite people?

Christmas in the past has been about catching that warm fuzzy feeling, for me. I think I'm there...

castile soap

2008-09-28T08:12:00.011-04:00

I have a thing about soap; in fact, I may write a future blog post about my love of soap in general. But today I want to talk about a particular kind of soap - castile soap, also know by the French name "savon de Marseille" (which means "Marseille soap").

Soapmakers in the Marseille region of France have been making soaps in the traditional manner for hundreds of years. The soaps have a pure vegetable oil (as opposed to rendered animal fat) base, and are much milder to the skin than tallow-based soaps. (They're also animal-friendly - important to me as a vegetarian.)

Castile soap was traditionally made with olive oil, although Marseille soaps eventually came to be made with either olive oil (which produces a green soap) or palm oil (which produces a cream-coloured soap).

You can still buy castile soap today, and it usually comes stamped with the oil content (below).

Castile soap is made throughout the Mediterranean region, but the soap made in the Marseille region of France is one of the most well-known. Marseille soap will be stamped with the word "Marseille." I bought this soap yesterday at L'Occitane, a French chain of soap and body care stores.

I'm using this soap in my kitchen, of all places. It makes a great dish soap if you rub the dishcloth on it, then wipe the greasy dishes. This soap is scented with lavender, but I also love the smell of pure olive oil soap without any scent - it's subtle and earthy, and makes me feel virtuous.

my blackberry

2008-09-07T07:33:00.002-04:00

I love my BlackBerry. If you'd told me six months ago that I would get a BlackBerry (and that I would come to feel that I couldn't live without it), I would have told you you were crazy.

I thought I knew myself well. I thought I knew what helped keep me organized, and what would drive me crazy. Turns out I was wrong.

I'm a very visual person, and I like to see everything laid out in front of me. (In an organized fashion, of course.) Don't give me directions; give me a map. Don't tell me something; write it down for me. Don't hide my schedule in binary code; give me some paper and a pencil, already.

But my BlackBerry has become one of my very favorite tools. Yes, it's addictive. (And yes, I'm kind of ambivalent about that part of it.) But it helps simplify my life so much that I'm seriously figuring out how I can afford to keep it, should I ever leave the job it came with. (BlackBerry plans are a little more expensive than those of your average mobile phone. Go figure.)

Why do I love my BlackBerry so much? It does so much - all in one tiny little package.

It's a mobile phone.

It can receive e-mails. (IT CAN RECEIVE E-MAILS!!!) That feature alone blew me away the first day I had it. No more having to log on to my computer when I want to check and see what's going on. (And a lot is going on - mostly business. Which is why I got the thing in the first place - it made sense to the organization.)

It can SEND e-mails. (IT CAN *SEND* E-MAILS!!!) How ridiculous is that? Someone needs a two-word reply on the fly? No problem! I have (dare I say this) responded to e-mails from just about anywhere: the grocery store, the health food store, restaurants, my car (no, I wasn't driving at the time, officer), my bed in the middle of the night, and the while using the toilet.

It has a web browser. I know cell phones have been able to browse for years, but this is the first time I've had a mobile plan with browsing. Brainerd and I were at a choral management conference a couple of weekends ago, and during a session on strategic planning we were able to view, right there and then, the vision and mission statements posted on the Chorale's website, and discuss some changes we needed to make to them.

It's a PDA (Personal Digital Assistant). One of my favorite features (oh, who am I kidding - they're all favorite features) is the address book, because - get this - you can click on someone's name and have the choice of phoning them (at any of their million locations), texting them, messaging them (Blackberry has its own messenger service between users) or e-mailing them. And like all PDAs, it also has a calendar/datebook and assorted sundry functions (calculator, etc.).

It's a camera. (Okay, I don't really use the camera all that much. I have a much better digital camera that I take with me almost everywhere, too. But if I WANTED to use my BlackBerry as a camera, I could. I even used it this morning, to take a photo of a sidewalk I saw during my morning walk, apparently created during Canada's centennial year.)

(1867 - 1967: Yay, Canada! Oh, and BTW, one cool feature about the BlackBerry camera is that I can immediately upload photos to my Facebook profile. Like that.)

It's a clock - and an alarm clock. My watch stopped working a couple of months ago. I haven't noticed. The BlackBerry is with me everywhere, so I always know what time it is. I only wish that it also had a timer. I mean, the alarm is kind of like a timer, except it's not. You have to set a clock time, as opposed to an elapsed time. Here's my advice to the BlackBerry people: BlackBerry people, make a BlackBerry with a proper timer. I love the ring I've set for the alarm, though - it's called ChiGong: a gentle, Tibetan bowl sound. And my ringtone for incoming calls is equally soothing - it sounds like a single chord played on a harpsichord.

It's a GPS (Global Positioning System). Took me a while to figure out how to navigate the map functions, but I still get a kick out of the device telling me exactly where I am at any given moment. Brainerd and I took a research trip to Cape Croker, ON (near Wiarton) last spring, and when we got lost on the winding country roads in the Native reserve, it could tell us exactly where we were. Sweet. The GPS can't give you directions to brand new addresses, however - which I discovered to my dismay when trying to find a friend's house in a brand new subdivision north of Toronto. Might not have helped me much, anyhow: the houses were so new they didn't even have street numbers on them, yet.

It's an mp3 player. (I haven't used that function yet, but I'm sure it's awesome. Awesome.)

My number one favorite reason I love my BlackBerry, however, is that I can create lists on it. Like shopping lists, and To Do lists, and lists of my favorite inspirational quotes. I currently have 29 lists on my BlackBerry, and I add more every week. No more paper lists that I can never keep track of! I always have my BlackBerry with me, so I always have all my lists. I consult them constantly throughout the day, and especially when I'm shopping or packing for trips. My CrackBerry definitely feeds my list addiction.

Number of times I have left my BlackBerry behind in a store or business: 3

(I have a constant mantra now whenever I'm leaving a store: Do I have my BlackBerry? Where's my Blackberry?)

That's about it. I highly recommend the BlackBerry. Mine is a Curve. I've heard iPhones are pretty cool, though. May have to check those out, someday...

cheese

2008-08-30T17:47:00.001-04:00

I have become a cheese addict.

I've always loved cheese - with macaroni as a child, on pizza, on tacos... and as an adult I learned to appreciate some of the finer cheeses, such as creamy Brie, aged cheddar and true Parmigiano Reggiano... but I didn't truly fall in love with cheese until last weekend.

Visiting a winery as part of a choral management conference, I was mesmerized by the well-stocked cheese cooler in the vinter's agreeable little food shop. I chose two cheddars - a horseradish-flavored one and a smoked one - and took them to my sister's that night. The smoked one, particularly, became the focus of every meal I ate at my sister's for the rest of the weekend, and I craved it for days after I left it behind at her house. Even her kids loved it - said it tasted like ham (which made the adults laugh, since I've been a vegetarian for over 20 years).

This week, back home, I have tried to seek out new and different (to me) cheeses, first at my local grocery stores. At Dominion I purchased some standard provolone (long a favorite, although I generally prefer it smoked, and had to settle for plain), spiced Gouda, and a cheddar with olives and red peppers in it. Loblaws offered some more exotic choices, including a chunk of Oka and another Quebec cheese I'd never heard of called Hercule du Nord.

The Oka (pictured on the lower right in the photo above) has been interesting. It came with a gritty orange-ish rind that, upon tasting (I'm usually not deterred by rinds), I learned was decidedly inedible. (I think it may have had ashes or something in it.) Even cutting off the rind didn't rid the cheese of its distinctively strong aroma and slightly bitter taste.

The Hercule du Nord (a semi-soft, ripened cheese like the Oka) has turned out to be much milder in flavour and very pleasant.

I eat my cheese in thin slivers, usually with fruit or tomatoes to provide contrasting tastes and textures between bites. The above cheese was photographed during my al fresco breakfast this morning, and was accompanied by peaches. The provolone (in the upper left) was a perfect foil for the sweet ambrosia of peach juice.

This afternoon I stumbled upon a cheese store that's been open in my neighbourhood for a year or two, but whose threshold I've never crossed. About Cheese is my new favorite food shop; it's filled with really fine cheeses (including several local artisan and organic choices) and other foodie stuff like imported spices and artisan bread.

I asked if they carried a smoked cheddar (still pining a week later), and they let me sample a sheep's milk one from Stratford, ON (photo below, left). Sold. Then, wanting to broaden my horizons a bit, I asked which cheese they've been featuring recently, or were really excited about. I was treated to a sample of Lost Lake organic chevre, which made me swoon with its creamy tartness. I almost asked for a second sample, it was so good. Bought that one, too (photo below, right). They were my supper tonight, with a couple more ripe peaches.

I think I'm going to have to get a second job to pay for my cheese habit; these specialty cheeses don't come cheap. I'm so excited that my summer memories will be tied to these new flavours, though - and I can't wait to try some more cheeses. Remind me to revisit About Cheese again late in the day on a Saturday - today they sent me home with a free loaf of sourdough bread which would have otherwise been thrown out before the store opened again after the holiday. Sweet.

In a recent blog entry, a friend who has moved her family to Belgium was unfavorably comparing Canadian cheese selections to those she's discovered in Europe; maybe she's never been anywhere like About Cheese?

the return of my smile

2008-08-05T11:17:00.002-04:00

Driving home yesterday from a visit to my hometown, I couldn't stop smiling - not because I was going home, but simply because I was happy. Happy is a good thing. (So are vacations.)

I'm still trying to sort out in my mind what the difference is. Is it just the vacation, or is it something else? (Like the end of my period, and several blissfully migraine-free days?)

Part of it, I'm sure, is from hanging out with my parents, friends, niece and nephew for several days. Being surrounded by people who love you is certainly a balm for the soul.

Another part of it is taking a break from worry - and in my case, much of my worry over the past several months has revolved around my job.

I'm trying to prepare myself for the eventual return to work next week. How can I carry "vacation brain" back into my regular life?

A work in progress...

kissing a mango

2008-07-31T10:33:00.000-04:00

Sitting at my breakfast table
this morning eating two fresh mangoes
I find myself
thinking that eating
a mango is not unlike
kissing.

Warm, wet, slippery
bold nibbles,
smooth flesh,
darting tongue tasting
sweetness.

the retreat - in retrospect

2008-07-31T03:29:00.000-04:00

Day One: Monday, July 28, 2008, 2:00 a.m.

“Are you happy?”

That question, asked me by my cousin Lorraine moments before I left her parents’ 50th wedding anniversary celebration two nights night ago, caught me off-guard and has haunted me in the 30 hours since.

First of all – why wouldn’t I be happy? Do I seem unhappy?

Oh, who am I kidding? I have been tremendously unhappy for months. I’m so conscious of it, I’m afraid unhappiness hovers around me like bad breath or b.o., subtly repelling everyone unlucky enough to converse with me during the course of my days.

I have a rewarding job that I love (although I often find it incredibly stressful). I am surrounded daily by amazing people who cherish me, and whom I love.

Why should I be unhappy?

I blame a vitamin B12 deficiency. Which I am afraid I now have. I didn’t realize this until Saturday morning, when I was talking on the phone with my sister, and telling her I was a little freaked-out by what I believed to be a retina (one of mine) in the process of detaching.

Our mother had a detached retina several years ago, and I have since had laser surgery to “staple” the dubious retina in my own right eye. (Those are two words – eye and staple – that should never be used in the same sentence, eh?)

I was in the middle of using the computer when I noticed that I couldn’t read the screen. There were flashing lights in one of my eyes (never did figure out which one), and a blotch like a floater that wouldn’t move out of my centre of vision. When the effects didn’t disappear after a minute or two, I started Googling “detached retina symptoms,” and had scared myself into an almost-certain trip to the emergency department of the local hospital when my sister called.

Turns out she occasionally experiences the same thing whenever her B12 is low. She described my experience exactly, and told me it goes away as soon as she takes some sublingual vitamin B12. I was already scrambling through the kitchen cabinet where I keep my supplements before she finished her last sentence.

The visual disturbance disappeared almost immediately. But I was left with the frustrating realization: my B12 is low. The fact that I even keep B12 in my kitchen cupboard should be an indication that this is not an unfamiliar occurrence. I mean, I’m a vegetarian who has often dabbled in strict veganism. Vitamin B12 is only found in animal products. But I’ve been very solidly lacto-ovo for a few years now – I love eggs and cheese – and it’s frustrating to think that even this has not saved me. (Then again my sister, who has never been vegetarian, is also occasionally deficient. Genetic pernicious anemia, anyone?)

So I’m now taking two B12 pills per day. (Hadn’t taken any for months.) Had another visual disturbance yesterday (again at the computer). Googled “B12 deficiency symptoms.” Depression, brain fog and insomnia jumped out from the list. So there you go. My unhappiness is really my body crying for cobalamin.

Then again, maybe I really am unhappy. I am certainly very much awake in the middle of the night, and that’s not a good thing.

Why am I doing this?

(The retreat, that is.)

I’m not sure. During my regular, workday existence I often find myself craving unlimited amounts of unprogrammed time, in which I imagine I might do any number of restful, relaxing and restorative activities. I crave sleep. I wish I could meditate without the screaming voices inside my head reminding me of all the things I should be doing while I’m wasting time meditating.

I feel a vague sense of unease – maybe even terror – however, as I anticipate the next few days. At the heart of this discomfort is the knowledge – which I tend to avoid voicing whenever possible – that I am lonely. Have I just given myself the ultimate dare? Can I be alone on purpose?

I haven’t figured out all the rules for my retreat yet, although I have a good working list. No internet. No telephone. I was going to try no computer, but then I got this burning desire to write, and the thoughts don’t come out as quickly when I have to transcribe them longhand.

And even then, I suspect I will make a few phone calls (I’ve been a bit negligent in telling my family about my plans, although hopefully my mom and my sister will read the item I posted on Facebook and not be too surprised or concerned).

No shopping (unless I decide to walk to the local health food store for some iron supplements, which I suspect I may also need in addition to the B12). No banking (except when I go pay my quarterly GST remittance).

Should I just give up now?

No. I want to do this. But what, exactly, I want to do is still to be determined. Am I seeking a crucible experience, where I come out the other side transformed and a little shell-shocked? Or do I want a warm-fuzzy experience where I feel at one with the universe?

To be honest, I just want to shut up the voice inside my head that never stops its high, thin whine of anxiety. I want to figure out where the off switch is. And exercise my ability to use it.

I also – and I didn’t realize it until I sat down to write this – want to write. I miss writing. I write for work – grants, reports, PR material – but it’s not the same.

So I’ve turned off my modem and wireless router (in case I can’t control the urge to open Internet Explorer), and have turned on my computer. Like it or not, I have the feeling this experience is going to be documented electronically.

Day Four: Thursday, July 31, 2008, 3:00 a.m.

It has been a good three days. Insomnia obviously hasn’t gone away, even though I’ve tried giving up ginger tea (the only recent change I could think of that might be causing the sleeplessness). But on the other hand, I’m learning to embrace middle-of-the-night wakefulness.

The retreat hasn’t been what I expected, but I have found happiness, regardless. I journaled about my experience for the first couple of days, but in retrospect it is only so much drama and meaningless chatter. I struggled with menstrual cramps and migraines. I couldn’t decide what to do, and bounced from activity to activity (within the boundaries of my apartment, and the constraints of my “retreat rules”). In the end, I spent several hours on Day One reading back issues of my favorite magazines, and that quiet pursuit was finally enough to still my screaming mind.

Day Two, I threw my healthy eating regimen out the window and bought a bunch of treats (ice cream, strawberries, cake) to take my mind off my ongoing physical discomfort (more cramps, more migraines). Paid my GST remittance, bought some stamps. Got in the habit of going for a walk in the late afternoon or evening. Was a little distressed by the fact that I didn’t seem to be doing much spiritual work, but I told myself if I was happy, it was all good.

And strangely enough, I was happy.

Day Three (yesterday) I spent a lot of time working with my hands: cleaning, cooking, trying to pull staples out of a chair I’m refinishing, knitting. For months now I’ve been listening to the Eckart Tolle CDs that Brainerd gave me for my birthday, but not until now have I really started to understand what it means to be present. Or rather, before now I haven’t spent much time actually BEING present. Present is good.

It has been a good three days. I could continue the retreat today, but no longer feel the need. Ultimately, I guess I had to disengage from my regular life in order to find a way to return to it in a new way. I could go back to work today and it would be all different.

I’m going to enjoy the rest of my vacation, though. And I highly recommend Tolle's A New Earth. It would not be overstating the case to say that it has saved my life.

the retreat - preparations

2008-07-27T17:13:00.001-04:00

I'm on vacation.

Other than the obligatory week I usually take off between Christmas and New Year's, I don't remember the last time I actually had a holiday. Oh wait - yes I do. I went to England the spring my nephew turned one. Missed his birthday. He's nine now. 'Bout time I had another vacation, eh?

I am writing this with a splitting migraine, so it's going to be much shorter than I'd anticipated. But I'm doing something that some people might consider very strange: I'm having my own little silent retreat, starting tomorrow, for four days.

I haven't figured out all the details, yet. It's going to be here in my own apartment, and I'm going to try (try!) to avoid the computer and the telephone. I have no television. (Did I say I was going to try to avoid the computer?)

I want the retreat to include yoga, and meditation, and prayer, and chanting, and reading, and maybe some art making.

I just went grocery shopping (not my favorite activity with a splitting migraine) to stock up on food. Other than paying my quarterly GST remittance sometime this week, I'm going to try to avoid stores and businesses. And spending money. And driving. And talking. I'll probably do about half an hour of e-mailing every day, if I need to. No Facebook. (Did I really say no Facebook?)

See ya when it's done.

how to buy really green

2008-03-11T07:47:00.000-04:00

How do you know if what you're buying is really green or not? My favorite eco-friendly consumer advocate, Debra Lynn Dadd, has written a new book that answers exactly that question. Really Green covers easy green principles that anyone can learn, to help each of us understand the kinds of things that really DO help health and the environment.

It contains all the information you need to be able to tell the difference between products with real environmental and health benefits and those with misleading green hype. In this book, you will learn:

* What "green" really means
* The true foundation for defining green products
* The life cycle of green products
* The eighteen basic principles that define what's green
* The five basic types of green products
* All about green packaging
* Various shades of green products
* The cost of green goods
* How to spot misleading "greenwashing"
* How to change your buying habits to be green

Click on this link to find out more and buy the book today!

have you been celebrated today?

2008-03-10T05:38:00.000-04:00

I was talking to my best friend the other day, and mentioned an encounter I'd recently had with the employee of a client.

"She adores me," I told my best friend, basking in the remembrance of this woman's affection. "It's nice to be around people who absolutely adore you."

("And if I haven't mentioned it lately, I adore you," I hastily added. (My friend's going through a bit of a rough patch right now.))

It is nice to be around people who absolutely adore you. It's a balm for the soul. Then my friend surprised me by listing all my wonderful qualities before we said good-bye.

(She's a very good friend.)

I now find myself wishing I could return the favour - not only to her, but everyone else in my life who affirms me - and not only them, but also everyone in my life whom I adore.

Like my mom, and my dad, and my sister and her family... and my friends, and my employer, and all the amazing members of the Chorale who've been so supportive of me. And my clients, past and present, who are brave and trusting and willing to be vulnerable...

Have you been celebrated today? I'm giving away adoration for free...

the annihilation of suffering

2008-03-09T19:28:00.001-04:00

I just spent half an hour in a virtuous, self-satisfied (but possibly ill-advised, from an emotional point of view) attempt to send blessings upon the lives of all the men whom I love, but who do not love me back. You know, all the guys I'm still carrying a torch for - or who, for various reasons, cannot choose to be with me in the way that I want (because of significant others or, in at least a couple of cases, sexual orientation).

(What can I say? I have really bad "gay-dar"...)

It is nearly spring (despite piles of snow outside my window), and my heart wants to quicken along with the birds and the bees. The natural world is on the brink of waking up after months of cold hibernation, and I long to be awakened, too...

My ex-boyfriend's grandmother called me a couple of days ago to chat, and after we hung up I found myself in a funk of melancholy - reminded (after weeks and weeks of being blissfully forgetful) of how much I had loved this man, and how much it still pains me that he has apparently chosen a whole new life without me in it.

A day earlier, at choir rehearsal, Brainerd read a passage from Pema Chödrön's book, When Things Fall Apart. A phrase jumped out at me - something along the lines of "desire is the root of all suffering," a well-known Buddhist teaching.

I looked up the reference online, and found this from the scriptures of the Buddha:

"What, however, O brethren, is suffering?...the loss of that which we love and the failure in attaining that which is longed for are suffering..."

And what is the annihilation of suffering?

"The radical and total annihilation of this thirst and the abandonment, the liberation, the deliverance from passion, that, O brethren, is the annihilation of suffering."

Umm, maybe I'll take suffering... LOL

(Read the entire passage, here.)

Seriously, though - while it is agonizing, this longing I feel for the men I cannot be with - would I really wish it away? There is a deliciousness to the peculiar dances of the heart that I cannot abandon.

And then today I found myself reading an article about Rumi in the latest issue of Spirituality and Health, and I discovered that the great Sufi poet had an intense (non-sexual, apparently) attachment to his mentor and teacher, Shams.

I am in love with You.
What's the use of giving me advice?
I have already drunk the passion.
What's the use of candy?
They say, "Bind his feet in chains,"
but they can't bind up my crazy heart.

Shams eventually disappeared, likely fallen victim to assassins. "With Shams gone, the final veil was removed, and the sun (Shams) of Rumi's own heart could be revealed. The love that had been awakened could now be realized as an attribute of Rumi's own self. Rumi would later be able to teach with conviction:"

There is no Love greater than Love with no object.
For then you, yourself, have become love itself.

And so I found myself sending blessings to all the men I love: the ones with wives, the ones with ex-wives and new partners, the ones who swore they never wanted kids and have now become fathers with other women, the ones who are still single but apparently never wanted to change that status with me, and of course Mac, who seems to believe that a career as a singer and happiness with me are mutually exclusive.

I sent them love, and I sent them good wishes for the lives they are now living. I blessed their families and their well-being.

They may not have chosen me... but they may allow me to be revealed to myself...

to cut or not to cut

2008-02-10T19:41:00.000-05:00

I have short hair.

I mean really short.

And, as of about 6:30 this evening, it is even shorter. I have measured. It's just under an inch long - all over my head.

This is going to make just about everyone in my life - family, friends (male AND female), employer - unhappy.

I, on the other hand, am ecstatic.

I used to have really long hair. Down-my-back long. I finally cut it all off about three or four years ago when I realized that I was developing what may be the beginnings of female-pattern baldness. The hair on the crown of my head was very thin, and even when I had my hair pulled back into a ponytail you could still see my scalp in places.

I was only in my late thirties, but I felt like a woman twice my age, hair-wise. I never, ever, wanted to have "fluffy head" - the teased, female equivalent of the comb-over. I always admired the honesty of men like my brother who, when he began balding in his mid-twenties, simply started buzzing his hair off. I mean, it is what it is, right?

So I buzzed my own head, and donated 13+ inches to Locks of Love - a charity in the States that makes wigs for disadvantaged children. Hardly anyone in my life was enthusiastic about the cut, but there were comments along the lines of "It suits you," and "You have the bone structure for it." One client matter-of-factly declared that "at least it [would] grow back."

I didn't grow it back, however. I'd had hair this short once before, in my first year or two of university, and I'd loved it at the time. I'm sure my family was terrified I was going to come out as a lesbian (I didn't - because I'm not - not that there's anything wrong with that), but we all survived my first escapade into super-short territory, and eventually I succumbed to girly-ness and grew my hair ultra-long again.

But I missed the FREEDOM of short hair - the deliverance from the hassles of styling, "product" and accessories. When my hair is ultra short - get this - I don't even need a comb. All I need is a toque to make everything lie flat until it's dry (I tend to look kind of like a dandelion, otherwise) - and I dry in ten minutes.

I've tried growing it out a couple of times since the last big cut. Each time I get to about two inches long and realize that my thinning hair hasn't miraculously grown back. Styling becomes a hassle. The bald spots will not be covered up. And I hate the way my hair feels with goop in it - put there in hopes that I can make all the stray bits behave.

This time I think everyone in my life got together behind my back and made a pact: Let's convince Michelle that she's absolutely gorgeous with longer hair. They almost had me fooled, too. I was keeping my hair long until I got a job. And then when I got a job, I kept the hair long until after my dad's birthday. And then, the weekend of the birthday celebration, everyone (and I mean EVERYONE) had something good to say about my longer hair.

(And a few choice things to say about my sometimes-shorter hair.)

I gave in. Figured they must see something that I didn't. I thought I would look beautiful with NO hair, but maybe I was wrong. I began practising conscious hair-growing-out. And hated every minute of it.

Sometimes - from some angles - I thought I could see what other people were talking about. My face did look pretty with a frame of hair. Sometimes. But other times my bangs wouldn't lie right, or the bald spot would show too much, or my hair would be too spiky from the eco-friendly hair gel I found. I began obsessing about my hair. When would it look really good again? How long would it take for my hair to grow long enough to satisfy my low-maintenance-but-looks-great dreams?

I quickly began to dream about buzzing it all off. I vacillated back and forth. I preened in front of the mirror, hating every second I wasted trying to make a decision.

This afternoon I read an interview of Pema Chodron in O Magazine. Chodron is a Buddhist nun who has very short hair. I like her hair - and more importantly, I like her. She is beautiful to me because of who she is on the inside - and what she does with her life. I made my decision: The hair was going.

The cut itself was traumatic. Not because I hated to see the hair falling to the floor (well, okay, that did kind of bum me - I mean, I'm the one with the immaculate-floor fetish) - but because my hair clippers really need to be sharpened. Dull clippers - can you say ouch? And the itchiness of cut hair on bare shoulders... (shudder)

I don't know what other people see when they look at my buzzed head. A butch lesbian? A boy wannabe? A cancer victim? A skinhead? A prisoner of war?

I don't know what they're repelled by, but I don't care anymore. Life is too short to be so miserable about something that is so easily remedied. I felt OLD with my thin, growing-out hair. I felt like a middle-aged schlump. Now I feel fresh and clean and edgy and gorgeous. I can run my hands over my head without collecting a gummy residue. I am once again happy being me.

Enough said.

cookbooks

2008-02-10T05:23:00.001-05:00

Michelle's top ten favorite cookbooks

I have a recipe-sharing group on Facebook (Share your recipes (vegetarian and vegan friendly)), and a friend recently posted a Wall comment recommending the Moosewood series of cookbooks. At one point in time I had the entire Moosewood series, and I highly recommend them. But I've been downsizing over the last year, and in an attempt to free up some space on my bookshelves I got rid of all but one shelf of my cookbooks.

I used to be a cookbook junkie. (I used to be a book junkie, period.) I read cookbooks as though they were novels - just for fun - and I used to have about 75 of them. I've cut that number by two-thirds. I mean, I rarely USE cookbooks. I rarely use recipes. Most of what I cook I make up as I go along, based on past experience. But here are the 10 favorite cookbooks that I still own:

Unplugged Kitchen by Viana La Place. I am in love with the way this woman - an Italian-American - describes food. Her book is full of descriptions from her childhood, and is also an "unplugged" manifesto; she encourages readers to eschew modern kitchen appliances like food processors in favour of time-honoured tools such as the food mill. (I own a food processor. I don't own a food mill. But I can appreciate her approach all the same.) Favorite recipe: Damiana's Purslane Salad. (La Place's description of purslane piqued my interest, and I was delighted to discover that it grew as a plentiful weed in my father's vegetable patch. I ate a lot of purslane that summer.)

The New Laurel's Kitchen by Laurel Robertson, Carol Flinders and Brian Ruppenthal. A vegetarian classic, this cookbook is also an invaluable vegetarian resource, with tables of calorie counts and nutrients for all the recipes and most of the common vegetarian foods, guidance on how to eat a well-balanced vegetarian diet, and tips for special populations (children, pregnant women). A must-have for any new vegetarian. Also by this author: Laurel's Kitchen Caring: Recipes for Everyday Home Caregiving, a cookbook of comfort food to feed loved ones who are challenged by illnesses such as cancer and AIDS.

The Greens Cook Book by Deborah Madison with Edward Espe Brown. By the celebrated first chef of the famous San Francisco vegetarian restaurant, Greens, this book is a classic of fine vegetarian cuisine. I was encouraged to try making homemade pasta after first reading this book years ago. Highlight: Lots (LOTS) of recipes for salads, soups and homemade pastas.

Raw: The Uncook Book by Juliano. I was raw (eating only raw food) for over eight months several years ago, and Raw was a wonderful inspiration for me (although, as with most raw "cooking," the recipes are quite time-consuming). Highlight: The photos! This book is absolutely gorgeous, and it makes you want to go raw if only for the visual pleasure of the experience.

The Old World Kitchen: The Rich Tradition of European Peasant Cooking by Elisabeth Luard. This book isn't vegetarian, but because it's about peasant food there are plenty of vegetarian (i.e. inexpensive!) dishes. I like simple things. Peasant food fits the bill. And the descriptions of peasant food from the different regions are fascinating. (Plus there's a whole chapter on potato dishes. Need I say more?) Favorite recipe: Colcannon (an Irish potato/kale dish).

Tassajara Cooking by Edward Espe Brown. Tassajara is the location of the Zen Mountain Center, a Zen Buddhist practice centre founded in 1967. This cookbook is not just about recipes, but a "zen and the art of cooking" treatise. A joy to read. Favorite recipe: Carrot Salad: carrot, salt, lemon. (Did I mention I like simple things?)

James Beard's Theory and Practice of Good Cooking by James Beard. Again - not vegetarian, but very, VERY useful. Beard, the one-time dean of American cooking, describes in great detail the reasons behind any and every cooking technique you could ever want to use in Western cooking.

The Joy of Cooking by Irma S. Rombauer and Marion Rombauer Becker. Another fantastic cooking resource; I rarely use it, but keep it around in case I'm ever inspired to make classic favorites like homemade lemonade or apple crisp. Favorite recipe: Lemonade.

Wholesome Harvest: Cooking with the New Four Food Groups - Grains, Beans, Fruits and Vegetables by Carol Gelles. Want a bunch of hearty, basic vegetarian recipes that are inherently nutritious? This is the cookbook to have. I got rid of Diet for a Small Planet years ago in favour of keeping this book, which is much more useful. Favorite recipe: Lentil Apple Soup.

Extending the Table: A World Community Cookbook by Joetta Handrich Schlabach. Written in the spirit of the Mennonite More with Less books by Doris Janzen Longacre, this book is an extravagant feast of recipes (again - not vegetarian) from around the world. The combinations of foods and spices from different countries are what I love about this book. Favorite feature: Descriptions of day-to-day life in third world countries. Very humbling and inspiring.

On top of the above cookbooks, I also have three books I'd love to own, but don't:

Happy Days with the Naked Chef by Jamie Oliver. Actually, I would probably take any of Oliver's books. But this is the one I know. I first saw this book in a client's home, and I used to take it down off the bookshelf in her kitchen every time I dusted - just for the pleasure of flipping through the pages. I've never seen one of Oliver's shows, but I love his enthusiasm for good, fresh food. Favorite recipe: Fresh mint crushed with sugar in a mortar and pestle, which makes an unbelievably beautiful green garnish for ice cream.

Mollie Katzen's Sunlight Cafe, by Mollie Katzen. Katzen was a member of the original Mooswood collective, and the author of several other vegetarian cookbooks. Breakfast recipes to serve all day. Favorite recipe: Hash browns with diced beets. Don't knock it until you've tried it!

In Tuscany by Frances Mayes. Not strictly a cookbook - travel writer Mayes is well-known for her Under the Tuscan Sun memoir - this is a coffee-table visual extravaganza of the Tuscany region with, yes, recipes interspersed throughout the book. Favorite page: The description of "bacci," or Italian kisses. (As in real kisses. Not food.)