Actually, oh yes I did. I don't know how many of you - most, I suspect - are aware of/participating in Mowvember. Basically, grow a mustache and raise money for prostate cancer research. It's a great thing. I know lots of people that are doing this.
You know what isn't great? Commenting - to a client at work - on a person's ugly/cheesy/hilarious fund-raising mustache. Only to find out they have no idea what Mowvember is, and that they're very fond of their mustache thank you very much.
Stupid unruly mouth - will I never learn?
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Coulda been Better
What would have been better was the filling. Shoulda been apple, or pumpkin. What, you ask, am I talking about? There is a web site called Serious Eats. And yesterday, from Cake Spy, they had this:
http://www.seriouseats.com/recipes/2010/11/cinnamon-rolls-stuffed-with-pie-thanksgiving-leftovers-recipe.html
If you don't want to read it, the gist is there needs to be a solution to leftover pie. Which strikes me as about as important as what to do about too much sex. However, I take it there are people who have a problem with the former. Probably people that worry about the latter, too, but I like to pretend they don't exist.
Their solution is to buy unbaked cinnamon rolls (yes, you could make your own but what a waste), and take apart your leftover pie. Then you spread pie filling on the Cinnamon rolls, which you have very carefully unwound. I bought Pillsbury Grands, five to a pack. I baked my own pie, but I cheated by using a pre-made crust. No way on earth at the end of a working day am I going to make pastry just to wreck it.
Once you've re-rolled your buns (Les Filles Hingston may proceed to making butt cracks. Ha! I made one!) and put them in a pan you take the top of the pie pieces that you've scooped the filling out of and dice them up. Then you sprinkle them on the buns and make the whole mess. My favourite line from the recipe comes next:
"Once golden on the tops and edges, remove from the oven. Pause and reflect if it would be simply too much to add frosting; decide that no, it would not be, and liberally douse your cinnamon rolls with the frosting of your choice".
So the pie I made was blueberry. Because The Girl asked nicely. Both kids were thrilled with our once weekly dessert being pie. All that really mattered was that there were leftovers this morning. So I did the whole unrolling, filling, re-rolling, dicing, sprinkling bit. And the result? My finger nails are purple. Because blueberries - even when baked in a pie and cooled - are slippery little buggers. And taste-wise...blueberry was not a good combination. Don't get me wrong, the buns got eaten. By four guys and a pregnant woman, though, so it's not really fair to go by that.
If I were to do this again - and I'm not saying no, but really the pain in the ass factor was pretty high - I'd do it with pumpkin. Or apple. Or, as a co-worker suggested, sour cream raisin. I thought raisin would just be like raisins in cinnamon buns, no big deal. But sour cream raisin might work.
Hey - I did a Tuesday cooking post on a Tuesday. Yeah me!
http://www.seriouseats.com/recipes/2010/11/cinnamon-rolls-stuffed-with-pie-thanksgiving-leftovers-recipe.html
If you don't want to read it, the gist is there needs to be a solution to leftover pie. Which strikes me as about as important as what to do about too much sex. However, I take it there are people who have a problem with the former. Probably people that worry about the latter, too, but I like to pretend they don't exist.
Their solution is to buy unbaked cinnamon rolls (yes, you could make your own but what a waste), and take apart your leftover pie. Then you spread pie filling on the Cinnamon rolls, which you have very carefully unwound. I bought Pillsbury Grands, five to a pack. I baked my own pie, but I cheated by using a pre-made crust. No way on earth at the end of a working day am I going to make pastry just to wreck it.
Once you've re-rolled your buns (Les Filles Hingston may proceed to making butt cracks. Ha! I made one!) and put them in a pan you take the top of the pie pieces that you've scooped the filling out of and dice them up. Then you sprinkle them on the buns and make the whole mess. My favourite line from the recipe comes next:
"Once golden on the tops and edges, remove from the oven. Pause and reflect if it would be simply too much to add frosting; decide that no, it would not be, and liberally douse your cinnamon rolls with the frosting of your choice".
So the pie I made was blueberry. Because The Girl asked nicely. Both kids were thrilled with our once weekly dessert being pie. All that really mattered was that there were leftovers this morning. So I did the whole unrolling, filling, re-rolling, dicing, sprinkling bit. And the result? My finger nails are purple. Because blueberries - even when baked in a pie and cooled - are slippery little buggers. And taste-wise...blueberry was not a good combination. Don't get me wrong, the buns got eaten. By four guys and a pregnant woman, though, so it's not really fair to go by that.
If I were to do this again - and I'm not saying no, but really the pain in the ass factor was pretty high - I'd do it with pumpkin. Or apple. Or, as a co-worker suggested, sour cream raisin. I thought raisin would just be like raisins in cinnamon buns, no big deal. But sour cream raisin might work.
Hey - I did a Tuesday cooking post on a Tuesday. Yeah me!
Friday, November 26, 2010
LIfe,
Sometimes life just sucks. Rarely, I think. At least rarely for me. I know, finances are always tight, I worry too much, the house is falling down around me but the real things, the important things are good. And even some of the not so important things are really excellent, so I really shouldn't complain. My three questions by which I measure my life are all still nos.
Is anyone I know dead or dying?
Am I dying?
Are my babies hurting, really, grievously hurting?
No to all three? Then life is good.
But...there are some not so good times. This morning I got blindsided. Stabbed in the heart, metaphorically speaking. I was so hurt, and then so angry. And then - and here's where I stopped being a baby and pulled myself together - I found myself thinking "how dare they? How dare they make me feel this way?"
Big time slap in the face, that line. "Make me feel"? No one can make me feel. Yes, people can do things that can push you to a certain place, but they can't make you choose to react one way or another. You'd think I would have this lesson down pat. For years I had a Viktor Frankl quote on my desk at work:
I can't even remember what made me put it there in the first place (he was a holocaust survivor, by the way, so he knew about things being taken away), but I had it memorized I read it so often. I think of it every now and then, when someone is trying to push my buttons just to get me angry or upset. And yet...there I was, once again, trying to blame someone else for my hurt feelings. Over something that not only wasn't meant to hurt, but something that most people wouldn't even care about.
So I chose. I chose to head out for my day-long date with The Girl, and not ruin it by holding on to pointless hurt. Not only because she deserved to have a day unmarked with bitterness, but because I did. And it was a good day.
Is anyone I know dead or dying?
Am I dying?
Are my babies hurting, really, grievously hurting?
No to all three? Then life is good.
But...there are some not so good times. This morning I got blindsided. Stabbed in the heart, metaphorically speaking. I was so hurt, and then so angry. And then - and here's where I stopped being a baby and pulled myself together - I found myself thinking "how dare they? How dare they make me feel this way?"
Big time slap in the face, that line. "Make me feel"? No one can make me feel. Yes, people can do things that can push you to a certain place, but they can't make you choose to react one way or another. You'd think I would have this lesson down pat. For years I had a Viktor Frankl quote on my desk at work:
“The one thing you can’t take away from me is the way I choose to respond to what you do to me. The last of one’s freedoms is to choose ones attitude in any given circumstance.”
I can't even remember what made me put it there in the first place (he was a holocaust survivor, by the way, so he knew about things being taken away), but I had it memorized I read it so often. I think of it every now and then, when someone is trying to push my buttons just to get me angry or upset. And yet...there I was, once again, trying to blame someone else for my hurt feelings. Over something that not only wasn't meant to hurt, but something that most people wouldn't even care about.
So I chose. I chose to head out for my day-long date with The Girl, and not ruin it by holding on to pointless hurt. Not only because she deserved to have a day unmarked with bitterness, but because I did. And it was a good day.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Tuesday Cooking Post
On a Thursday. Because it's my blog and I'm still the boss of me. Anyway - from Fine Cooking Annual volume two or three we had Burnished Chicken Thighs with Sweet Potatoes, Parsnips and Shallots. This makes the second time I've cooked parsnips and eaten them. And don't think it's because of the kids that parsnips might be a problem - they love them, I'm the fussy veggie eater in the house.
The recipe did explain the use of the word "burnished". I thought it meant polished somehow, but they meant cooked to a rich dark brown colour. And yes, the glaze was a bit shiny so I guess polished wasn't too far off the mark. I was a bit obsessive about the marinade, but The Boy (who is not a big fan of chicken) at every scrap and said the craziness with the marinade was worth it.
The marinade itself was pretty simple. The problem was it wasn't a liquid sauce that the thighs could float in all day, it was closer to the consistency of tapioca pudding. So...I brought it to work. Why not? We have a full sized fridge for 7 staff members so it's not like there wasn't any room. And it meant that I could turn the chicken every couple of hours.
Took it home and baked it. The chicken on one half of a foil lined baking sheet, the veggies tossed in oil, salt and pepper on the other. Next time I'll do the chopping and peeling of the vegetables in the morning have them in a container in the fridge ready to go. The prep work was the only delay. Not a lot of work, but still...when you're hungry every minute seems a lifetime.
Speaking of the vegetables - the shallots were peeled, and cut in half to the base, only the tops trimmed. That worked really well. They kept their shape and they not only tasted great on their own but tossing them with the parsnips and sweet potatoes added a nice flavour to them all. Part of the recipe - an unnecessary part to my mind, but both kids liked it - was cooking a few strips of nitrite free bacon to crispyness, crumbling it into chopped parsley and then tossing the mix with the veggies when they were out of the oven. I did like the splash of colour, and the added texture was nice, I just don't think the recipe would be bad or disappointing without it.
The recipe did explain the use of the word "burnished". I thought it meant polished somehow, but they meant cooked to a rich dark brown colour. And yes, the glaze was a bit shiny so I guess polished wasn't too far off the mark. I was a bit obsessive about the marinade, but The Boy (who is not a big fan of chicken) at every scrap and said the craziness with the marinade was worth it.
The marinade itself was pretty simple. The problem was it wasn't a liquid sauce that the thighs could float in all day, it was closer to the consistency of tapioca pudding. So...I brought it to work. Why not? We have a full sized fridge for 7 staff members so it's not like there wasn't any room. And it meant that I could turn the chicken every couple of hours.
Took it home and baked it. The chicken on one half of a foil lined baking sheet, the veggies tossed in oil, salt and pepper on the other. Next time I'll do the chopping and peeling of the vegetables in the morning have them in a container in the fridge ready to go. The prep work was the only delay. Not a lot of work, but still...when you're hungry every minute seems a lifetime.
Speaking of the vegetables - the shallots were peeled, and cut in half to the base, only the tops trimmed. That worked really well. They kept their shape and they not only tasted great on their own but tossing them with the parsnips and sweet potatoes added a nice flavour to them all. Part of the recipe - an unnecessary part to my mind, but both kids liked it - was cooking a few strips of nitrite free bacon to crispyness, crumbling it into chopped parsley and then tossing the mix with the veggies when they were out of the oven. I did like the splash of colour, and the added texture was nice, I just don't think the recipe would be bad or disappointing without it.
Tis the Season
I will be interested to see how enjoyable this year’s office Christmas party is. Every year since I’ve been here (and when I started I didn’t have any children, and The Boy is now in university) we’ve had some sort of after hours party with spouses/partners. One year kids were invited too.
And the parties have included things like pool, beer and chicken wings to wine, steak and the hotel Saskatchewan. Always well attended, and usually a great deal of fun, inasmuch as an office group is able to have fun. There is always that sort of weird awkwardness of people socializing not from choice but because they all work in the same place.
I don’t think this year’s party will work. Because the recipe they’re using for this is not a good one. Take a bunch of people whose only thing in common is that they work in the same place, cancel the evening Christmas party, move it to a business day, set it in the boardroom and tell your staff that they are being given time off to attend the party. Finish off with an email that says “please note that as the party is being held during office hours if you do not plan on attending you will be expected to work”. Yeah, this should be fun.
And the parties have included things like pool, beer and chicken wings to wine, steak and the hotel Saskatchewan. Always well attended, and usually a great deal of fun, inasmuch as an office group is able to have fun. There is always that sort of weird awkwardness of people socializing not from choice but because they all work in the same place.
I don’t think this year’s party will work. Because the recipe they’re using for this is not a good one. Take a bunch of people whose only thing in common is that they work in the same place, cancel the evening Christmas party, move it to a business day, set it in the boardroom and tell your staff that they are being given time off to attend the party. Finish off with an email that says “please note that as the party is being held during office hours if you do not plan on attending you will be expected to work”. Yeah, this should be fun.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
I'm guessing never.
There are some things I wish I would hurry up and grow out of. F'rinstance, someone from the unit here that I used to work in was in our office today. She came over and said "so, I hear some nice looking guy was here last week and you went to lunch"
Ok, first of all - and this doesn't upset me, it's actually kinda funny - "some guy"? Doesn't that sound like some unfortunate guy (albeit nice looking) just happened to be here last week and asked the room in general if anyone would care to join him for lunch? And that I said yes? Because that's what it sounded like to me. And it wasn't anything like that. Ok, yes it was a guy. And yes, as it happens a nice looking one (yeah me!) and yes, lunch was involved. But it was planned. We'd arranged to go for lunch together. It wasn't just "some guy". Back to the story.
The problem is, the very next thing she said was "are you blushing? You've gone all pink!". And she was right. Blushing like some nervous Nelly. At my age. I found myself getting pinker in embarrassment over being pink. I thought there would be a time when this would no longer be a concern*. I'm guessing that time will be when I'm dead. Or never. I sort of assumed the dead don't blush, but what do I know?
*as a further embarrassment, it makes it really hard to lie, because it happens then too. Can't get away with anything. In truth I'd be a terrible con man. Woman. Person.
Ok, first of all - and this doesn't upset me, it's actually kinda funny - "some guy"? Doesn't that sound like some unfortunate guy (albeit nice looking) just happened to be here last week and asked the room in general if anyone would care to join him for lunch? And that I said yes? Because that's what it sounded like to me. And it wasn't anything like that. Ok, yes it was a guy. And yes, as it happens a nice looking one (yeah me!) and yes, lunch was involved. But it was planned. We'd arranged to go for lunch together. It wasn't just "some guy". Back to the story.
The problem is, the very next thing she said was "are you blushing? You've gone all pink!". And she was right. Blushing like some nervous Nelly. At my age. I found myself getting pinker in embarrassment over being pink. I thought there would be a time when this would no longer be a concern*. I'm guessing that time will be when I'm dead. Or never. I sort of assumed the dead don't blush, but what do I know?
*as a further embarrassment, it makes it really hard to lie, because it happens then too. Can't get away with anything. In truth I'd be a terrible con man. Woman. Person.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Enough. Seriously, Mother Nature, just enough.
I started work early today. I did so with every intention of leaving early. But I can’t. Because I didn’t do work stuff, I did personal stuff. Why? Because it’s -30 out there. In NOVEMBER. So I entered a few contests. Just a few. For trips.
Some of them are trips for two that I’ll take someone, some are trips for two that I’ll pay for a third ticket and take the kids and some are trips for four, so kids and one of les filles Hingston for some added fun. Destinations for said contests? Here’s the list:
Las Vegas (at least three different contests)
Arizona (twice)
Tuscany
Disney Land
Mexico (so often I don’t remember specific locations)
Vienna
Dominican Republic
Gran Bahia Principe, Jamaica (counting on this one, the name feels lucky)
Japan (how awesome would that be?)
Vancouver
Toronto
Sandals Jamaica
Turks and Caicos
British Virgin Islands
In fact, if there weren’t a project that had to be done for Thursday, I’d think about going to Victoria. Today. Right now. But they too have snow, so maybe not. Because it is no longer good enough to get away from -30. I need MORE than that. I have needs people.
Some of them are trips for two that I’ll take someone, some are trips for two that I’ll pay for a third ticket and take the kids and some are trips for four, so kids and one of les filles Hingston for some added fun. Destinations for said contests? Here’s the list:
Las Vegas (at least three different contests)
Arizona (twice)
Tuscany
Disney Land
Mexico (so often I don’t remember specific locations)
Vienna
Dominican Republic
Gran Bahia Principe, Jamaica (counting on this one, the name feels lucky)
Japan (how awesome would that be?)
Vancouver
Toronto
Sandals Jamaica
Turks and Caicos
British Virgin Islands
In fact, if there weren’t a project that had to be done for Thursday, I’d think about going to Victoria. Today. Right now. But they too have snow, so maybe not. Because it is no longer good enough to get away from -30. I need MORE than that. I have needs people.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Apparently, it was ugly
Dental surgery is done. It went well, despite one assistant having to leave...to puke. Which is better than some other time he did this procedure. That time one assistant fainted and the other one ran into the lamp thing that dentists use and then the wall before she fainted. All because this is a fairly messy and icky looking procedure. I think you'll find the term icky in the dentist handbook.
I, on the other hand, didn't care. Scrape out all the bone you want. Cut open as much jaw as you need to. And filling the space in the bone with some poly plastic something or other? Go right ahead. Just...do it quickly, because the giant metal thing you're using to keep my mouth open and cheek back is killing me. And, I think, from what I can tell over the local, it's also tearing my mouth.
The plus side is that it's done. I'll get the use of my mouth back. I need my mouth. You know, for eating or spitting out brilliantly cutting remarks at the right moment to the deserving, or gawking in amazment at people when they do stupid things (yes, that is a necessity. I love the look of embarrasement people get you when you give them that look. The dawning realization that despite being fifty they're acting like they're five)
So at some point* I'll be able to chew on that side of my mouth again. Also a plus, my deeply embedded aversion to mirrors means that it hasn't been difficult avoiding having to see my puffy face. Half puffy. Or half face. Whichever means half my face is completely puffy. The weird thing is - or at least it seems weird to me - it is worse this morning (Monday) than it was right after the surgery (which was Friday). I thought I'd be all better by now. Partially plastic, but all better.
*That point isn't now. And given that the second dentist I saw (my dentist wanted confirmation that the surgery was necessary) pointed out the problem on the other side of my mouth. What? Some other problem? Turns out that the fake tooth I had cemented in 20+ years ago needs to be replaced. I knew there was something wrong-ish going on - floss was catching on something, and eating things like apples I had to avoid that side- but didn't realize it would entail more than a minute to fix it. So still no apples for me. I haven't had an apple since September. Hard to, when you have to bite carefully on one side of your mouth and not at all on the other.
I, on the other hand, didn't care. Scrape out all the bone you want. Cut open as much jaw as you need to. And filling the space in the bone with some poly plastic something or other? Go right ahead. Just...do it quickly, because the giant metal thing you're using to keep my mouth open and cheek back is killing me. And, I think, from what I can tell over the local, it's also tearing my mouth.
The plus side is that it's done. I'll get the use of my mouth back. I need my mouth. You know, for eating or spitting out brilliantly cutting remarks at the right moment to the deserving, or gawking in amazment at people when they do stupid things (yes, that is a necessity. I love the look of embarrasement people get you when you give them that look. The dawning realization that despite being fifty they're acting like they're five)
So at some point* I'll be able to chew on that side of my mouth again. Also a plus, my deeply embedded aversion to mirrors means that it hasn't been difficult avoiding having to see my puffy face. Half puffy. Or half face. Whichever means half my face is completely puffy. The weird thing is - or at least it seems weird to me - it is worse this morning (Monday) than it was right after the surgery (which was Friday). I thought I'd be all better by now. Partially plastic, but all better.
*That point isn't now. And given that the second dentist I saw (my dentist wanted confirmation that the surgery was necessary) pointed out the problem on the other side of my mouth. What? Some other problem? Turns out that the fake tooth I had cemented in 20+ years ago needs to be replaced. I knew there was something wrong-ish going on - floss was catching on something, and eating things like apples I had to avoid that side- but didn't realize it would entail more than a minute to fix it. So still no apples for me. I haven't had an apple since September. Hard to, when you have to bite carefully on one side of your mouth and not at all on the other.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
To sleep, perchance to dream
I didn't quote the rest of that because as far as I'm concerned there is no downside to dreaming. And I dreamt so particularly well last night that I'm going to blog about dreaming. Oh, and I skipped blogging about food on Tuesday because the meal was only half successful; steak tips in red wine butter sauce. Sauce was awesome, steak sucked. Figures - I have a terrible track record for steak cooking. Anyway, back to today's entry:
I’ve been through some tough things in my life (divorce) some really tough things (death and dismemberment. Ok, not the latter but it’s been close a couple of times) some odd things (falling down a mud well at a Haitian construction site) and some pretty cool stuff (everything else).
You’d think the divorce would be the worst thing, or possibly the second worse thing, to have happen. You’d be wrong. Shortly after the whole break up I went through – suffered through – two dreamless weeks. Yes, it is likely that I did dream, but simply didn't remember them. But as far as I’m concerned the former without the latter is pointless.
The thing is, I’d been married 8 years when it ended. And yes, it ended in a particularly bad way, but I’d lived twenty something years without being married so going back to that wasn’t terrible, it just took time. And I had one of the best childhoods you can imagine, and my family was wonderful so recovering from the break-up took time, but I did get over it. I’ve no idea where people who grew up in horrible circumstances find the wherewithal to get over a horrible marriage. Man, I’m lucky.
Dreaming, though, that’s a different story. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t dream, and dream well. I have lucid dreams (where you know you’re dreaming, and can even occasionally direct the dream) hallucinatory dreams (sane people having hallucinations is not that unusual; normally happens when you’re under intense stress or fatigue) and once – sort of – a prophetic dream*.
For years I wrote down my dreams, which helps with being able to instigate lucid dreaming, by the way. I’ve had one dream that is a long drawn out story dreamt over a number of years. I haven’t dreamt the next chapter yet (it’s been a year, at least) but I’m sure it will come along some time. I’ve thought about writing a book based on those dreams, but when you read through them you can tell what books I’d been reading and what movies I’d been watching. I’d be in court for plagiarism a dozen times. Great dream sequence, though, I loved it. Yes, I typed them out and saved them electronically. I want to be able to go over them when I’m old and grey.
So you can see how important dreams are to me. When they disappeared for those two weeks, I had no idea if it was a permanent change. And the thought that it might be almost killed me. No more saving the world dreams? No more time travel dreams? No more epic Lord of the Rings like dreams? What kind of life is that? And the break-up of a marriage is a not-good thing but losing an entire life of adventure and travel…not to be born. Suffice it to say that when the dreams returned I knew that life would eventually get back on track, and all was well with the world.
*In retrospect, it was merely a case of knowing deep down that something was not right in my world, and that worry coming out in a dream. When my world did fall apart two weeks after a nightmare of impending disaster I thought “Wow - a dream that saw the future!” Nope, turns out I just had a better idea of what was going on than I’d thought.
I’ve been through some tough things in my life (divorce) some really tough things (death and dismemberment. Ok, not the latter but it’s been close a couple of times) some odd things (falling down a mud well at a Haitian construction site) and some pretty cool stuff (everything else).
You’d think the divorce would be the worst thing, or possibly the second worse thing, to have happen. You’d be wrong. Shortly after the whole break up I went through – suffered through – two dreamless weeks. Yes, it is likely that I did dream, but simply didn't remember them. But as far as I’m concerned the former without the latter is pointless.
The thing is, I’d been married 8 years when it ended. And yes, it ended in a particularly bad way, but I’d lived twenty something years without being married so going back to that wasn’t terrible, it just took time. And I had one of the best childhoods you can imagine, and my family was wonderful so recovering from the break-up took time, but I did get over it. I’ve no idea where people who grew up in horrible circumstances find the wherewithal to get over a horrible marriage. Man, I’m lucky.
Dreaming, though, that’s a different story. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t dream, and dream well. I have lucid dreams (where you know you’re dreaming, and can even occasionally direct the dream) hallucinatory dreams (sane people having hallucinations is not that unusual; normally happens when you’re under intense stress or fatigue) and once – sort of – a prophetic dream*.
For years I wrote down my dreams, which helps with being able to instigate lucid dreaming, by the way. I’ve had one dream that is a long drawn out story dreamt over a number of years. I haven’t dreamt the next chapter yet (it’s been a year, at least) but I’m sure it will come along some time. I’ve thought about writing a book based on those dreams, but when you read through them you can tell what books I’d been reading and what movies I’d been watching. I’d be in court for plagiarism a dozen times. Great dream sequence, though, I loved it. Yes, I typed them out and saved them electronically. I want to be able to go over them when I’m old and grey.
So you can see how important dreams are to me. When they disappeared for those two weeks, I had no idea if it was a permanent change. And the thought that it might be almost killed me. No more saving the world dreams? No more time travel dreams? No more epic Lord of the Rings like dreams? What kind of life is that? And the break-up of a marriage is a not-good thing but losing an entire life of adventure and travel…not to be born. Suffice it to say that when the dreams returned I knew that life would eventually get back on track, and all was well with the world.
*In retrospect, it was merely a case of knowing deep down that something was not right in my world, and that worry coming out in a dream. When my world did fall apart two weeks after a nightmare of impending disaster I thought “Wow - a dream that saw the future!” Nope, turns out I just had a better idea of what was going on than I’d thought.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
How to Please a Man
Totally safe post. Not going to tell you how to please all men, or tell you something that would please your man, I'm just telling a story. A baking story.
I was a bit out of sorts this morning. I hadn't slept well, thanks to the side I normally sleep on being injured. I would start out on my back, or on my stomach but would inevitably find myself on my right side, in agony and wide awake. So, tired this morning, and cranky. Ok, not so cranky. I'm not very good at cranky.
The solution to being tired (or angry, sad, bored, delusional, frustrated) for me is baking. So I made chocolate chip cookies, with raspberry chocolate chips instead of the usual giant milk chocolate chips I normally use.
The only problem, of course, is this means cookies are available for eating. And The Boy isn't at the house this week, so I'd be eating them, and maybe The Girl would eat some. No no no. That is a BAD thing. So - I did what any right thinking person would do and I brought them to the office.
It was a good day to do that, as I had meetings at the branch I used to work at. They occasionally complain that they miss having fresh baked goods since I changed locations. So I got rid of the cookies and they got some baking. Yummy baking if I may be so bold as to say.
The best part is how they smelled; chocolate, raspberry, butter and sugar. Heaven in a basket. And tempting. Truly. How do I know this? I got onto the elevator, along with some random guy. Who turned to me with enormous eyes wide open in delight and asked what was in the basket (and I wasn't even wearing a red hood). So I told him. And then offered him some. (Some cookies, ok? Just cookies).
He looked at the basket, looked at me, said "really?" and took one. But the way he said "really", people. Just amazing. Like he was six, and I'd offered him a puppy. He bit into it, warm melty chocolate and all, and moaned. Ok, the moan wasn't very six year old-ish. But still. Clearly one single cookie had given him a moment of heaven. And he took one for the road, so I got rid of two before I even made it to the meeting. Good for me, good for him. And that's how to please a man.
I was a bit out of sorts this morning. I hadn't slept well, thanks to the side I normally sleep on being injured. I would start out on my back, or on my stomach but would inevitably find myself on my right side, in agony and wide awake. So, tired this morning, and cranky. Ok, not so cranky. I'm not very good at cranky.
The solution to being tired (or angry, sad, bored, delusional, frustrated) for me is baking. So I made chocolate chip cookies, with raspberry chocolate chips instead of the usual giant milk chocolate chips I normally use.
The only problem, of course, is this means cookies are available for eating. And The Boy isn't at the house this week, so I'd be eating them, and maybe The Girl would eat some. No no no. That is a BAD thing. So - I did what any right thinking person would do and I brought them to the office.
It was a good day to do that, as I had meetings at the branch I used to work at. They occasionally complain that they miss having fresh baked goods since I changed locations. So I got rid of the cookies and they got some baking. Yummy baking if I may be so bold as to say.
The best part is how they smelled; chocolate, raspberry, butter and sugar. Heaven in a basket. And tempting. Truly. How do I know this? I got onto the elevator, along with some random guy. Who turned to me with enormous eyes wide open in delight and asked what was in the basket (and I wasn't even wearing a red hood). So I told him. And then offered him some. (Some cookies, ok? Just cookies).
He looked at the basket, looked at me, said "really?" and took one. But the way he said "really", people. Just amazing. Like he was six, and I'd offered him a puppy. He bit into it, warm melty chocolate and all, and moaned. Ok, the moan wasn't very six year old-ish. But still. Clearly one single cookie had given him a moment of heaven. And he took one for the road, so I got rid of two before I even made it to the meeting. Good for me, good for him. And that's how to please a man.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Only in Saskatchewan
I decided to get a hot milky drink from Timmies on the weekend. I think this is perhaps the second time I've done that. Mainly because when I feel like a hot drink I'm usually at home in bed, and have no desire to put clothes on and go out in the cold. Much better to make my own drink. Not to mention that as far as I know they don't have Kahlua as an option for add-ons to cocoa. But I digress.
Getting into the parking lot was difficult. Why? Because there was a stuck vehicle. You might think that that's no big deal. Happens all the time, almost anywhere in Canada. And yes, it probably does.
The thing that made it very Saskatchewan was that it was a stretch SUV. With Rider flags on the windows AND the antenna. And it was being pushed by toque sporting members of a small town hockey team. Who were also wearing jackets, and fleece pajama pants. I seriously have to start carrying a camera around with me.
Getting into the parking lot was difficult. Why? Because there was a stuck vehicle. You might think that that's no big deal. Happens all the time, almost anywhere in Canada. And yes, it probably does.
The thing that made it very Saskatchewan was that it was a stretch SUV. With Rider flags on the windows AND the antenna. And it was being pushed by toque sporting members of a small town hockey team. Who were also wearing jackets, and fleece pajama pants. I seriously have to start carrying a camera around with me.
The Committee takes six days
I've talked before - I think on my previous blog - about the committee in your head. But for those of you who didn't read it or don't remember here's the story:
You have a committee in your head. Yes, yes you do. Everyone does. The committee is not exactly the same for everyone, but it's close. The committee is made up of voices from your past. The first person to stand you up. The teacher who said you didn't do anything right. The kid that didn't invite you to a birthday party even though you thought you were friends. That person who cheated on you, that co-worker who lied...you get the picture.
The committee gets active when you're feeling a little bit uncertain. Job interview, new business venture, first date jitters, starting on a new hobby or skill. They all start talking. Telling you you're crazy to think whatever you're doing or have done is a good plan. Don't tell me you don't hear those voices, I don't believe you.
What I discovered this week is that my committee has a definite schedule. Six days. Six days after I've done something or started thinking about trying something new, they decide to chip in. And let me tell you, they're mean:
"Pink cashmere and faux fur? What are you, six?"
"New brochure? Why bother? People just want cookies for Christmas. They could come from the grocery store for all that it matters"
"Date? How about pity date? That sounds about right"
"You should try wearing make up. Seriously you're, like, ancient. But learn how to do it right, you looked like a clown that Saturday out"
"Yeah, you've lost weight. But is there really a difference between pudgy and plain and less pudgy but just as plain?"
"A Novel? Are you KIDDING me? You couldn't write your way out of a wet paper bag"
I am going to search for the anti-committee voices. Because they must be in there somewhere. And no, I'm not searching for reassurance. I told the committee to back off. I just hate that they're there in the first place.
You have a committee in your head. Yes, yes you do. Everyone does. The committee is not exactly the same for everyone, but it's close. The committee is made up of voices from your past. The first person to stand you up. The teacher who said you didn't do anything right. The kid that didn't invite you to a birthday party even though you thought you were friends. That person who cheated on you, that co-worker who lied...you get the picture.
The committee gets active when you're feeling a little bit uncertain. Job interview, new business venture, first date jitters, starting on a new hobby or skill. They all start talking. Telling you you're crazy to think whatever you're doing or have done is a good plan. Don't tell me you don't hear those voices, I don't believe you.
What I discovered this week is that my committee has a definite schedule. Six days. Six days after I've done something or started thinking about trying something new, they decide to chip in. And let me tell you, they're mean:
"Pink cashmere and faux fur? What are you, six?"
"New brochure? Why bother? People just want cookies for Christmas. They could come from the grocery store for all that it matters"
"Date? How about pity date? That sounds about right"
"You should try wearing make up. Seriously you're, like, ancient. But learn how to do it right, you looked like a clown that Saturday out"
"Yeah, you've lost weight. But is there really a difference between pudgy and plain and less pudgy but just as plain?"
"A Novel? Are you KIDDING me? You couldn't write your way out of a wet paper bag"
I am going to search for the anti-committee voices. Because they must be in there somewhere. And no, I'm not searching for reassurance. I told the committee to back off. I just hate that they're there in the first place.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Invisible Service
The first thing you need to know is that I've been without a house phone for weeks. On Monday, arrangements were made for a service person go come to the house today. Perfect - I was off Thursday and had already asked for today as vacation leave. So I'd be here. I was told to be home between one and three. Perfect.
One...no one here. Two, nothing. At two ten, the phone rings. The house phone. It is Sasktel. Just checking that the work that is being done even as we speak is going well. Well enough, I say, since she's calling on that phone. At which point this conversation goes down:
"He shouldn't be there much longer"
"There is no one here"
"Yes there is"
"uh...no there isn't, unless he's outside"
"he's there, right now, fixing your phone. The line still has static, but we'll get that straightened out too"
"but I don't even see a truck"
"he's in your house, right now"
"Right. Well thanks for calling"
I put on boots and walked all the way around the house. No guy, no truck no footprints in the snow. But hey, my phone works. So I don't care whose house the guy was in. Unless he is here, and invisible. I really can't afford to have invisible people wandering around my house. It'll entirely change my preferred lounge wear. Not to mention things like singing out loud and talking to the puppies like they're people.
The phone is fine, but there is a message on it. A welcome to Sask-tel message, asking me to follow certain steps to set up the new account. None of this is making sense to me, but at least we're connected to the world again, with something other than magnets.
One...no one here. Two, nothing. At two ten, the phone rings. The house phone. It is Sasktel. Just checking that the work that is being done even as we speak is going well. Well enough, I say, since she's calling on that phone. At which point this conversation goes down:
"He shouldn't be there much longer"
"There is no one here"
"Yes there is"
"uh...no there isn't, unless he's outside"
"he's there, right now, fixing your phone. The line still has static, but we'll get that straightened out too"
"but I don't even see a truck"
"he's in your house, right now"
"Right. Well thanks for calling"
I put on boots and walked all the way around the house. No guy, no truck no footprints in the snow. But hey, my phone works. So I don't care whose house the guy was in. Unless he is here, and invisible. I really can't afford to have invisible people wandering around my house. It'll entirely change my preferred lounge wear. Not to mention things like singing out loud and talking to the puppies like they're people.
The phone is fine, but there is a message on it. A welcome to Sask-tel message, asking me to follow certain steps to set up the new account. None of this is making sense to me, but at least we're connected to the world again, with something other than magnets.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Slip sliding away
With The Boy in university, I hardly ever see him. Suppers, movies and the odd event out. And that’s ok – he’s 18, that’s how it is supposed to be. The Girl has a busy social life, so you’d think I’d be on my own quite a bit, but that isn’t the case.
There is a lot of driving to do with the girl, and I have lots of things on my plate, so when she’s out I seem to have lots to get done, and by the time I’m done and ready for a few minutes to myself she’s back. Not complaining – as evidenced by many entries in the blog, I’ve been blessed with pretty good kids. But still, it’s nice when a night comes along where it’s just me.
Like last night, for instance. The Girl was in Saskatoon at a concert, and when it was done she went to her dad’s (he was the chauffeur) so as not to wake me up. So I had an evening all to myself. Woot!
There are SO many things you can do when it’s just you. You can:
Have a drink in the bath before you make any decision about whether or not you can be bothered to make anything for supper. Maybe the drink is enough?
Practice for dance class for your workout, and wear your coin belt the whole time. Dancing when you know no one else is around is an exercise in abandonment. Delicious.
Sing out loud when you’re doing the dishes.
Skip the dishes, and just sing.
Spend the evening wearing an oversized sweater, undies and over-the-knee pirate boots.
Work on a jig-saw puzzle watching a BBC show no one else likes.
Sit at the computer and play games and send email because no one else needs the computer.
What you CAN’T do is race outside in previously mentioned outfit to grab a book from the car. Ok, yes, you can. You just shouldn’t. Not when it’s dark, and snowing and icy. And your next door neighbour is a co-worker. And the boots have no grip (which is crazy; surely you’d need treads for slippery decks?), but lots of heel (for climbing the rigging?) and you’re not the most heel-savvy person. You really shouldn’t.
Which reminds me, I have a question for you married folks: if something were to happen where you ended up scraping the back of your thigh at the top, given that going to the doctor is out of the question (because you KNOW the only two doctors at the walk-in clinic will be older lecturing doctor or young handsome laughing doctor that sorted things out when a plate broke your nose), do you get your spouse to make sure all the splinters and grit are gone, or do you just shower it off and hope for the best?
There is a lot of driving to do with the girl, and I have lots of things on my plate, so when she’s out I seem to have lots to get done, and by the time I’m done and ready for a few minutes to myself she’s back. Not complaining – as evidenced by many entries in the blog, I’ve been blessed with pretty good kids. But still, it’s nice when a night comes along where it’s just me.
Like last night, for instance. The Girl was in Saskatoon at a concert, and when it was done she went to her dad’s (he was the chauffeur) so as not to wake me up. So I had an evening all to myself. Woot!
There are SO many things you can do when it’s just you. You can:
Have a drink in the bath before you make any decision about whether or not you can be bothered to make anything for supper. Maybe the drink is enough?
Practice for dance class for your workout, and wear your coin belt the whole time. Dancing when you know no one else is around is an exercise in abandonment. Delicious.
Sing out loud when you’re doing the dishes.
Skip the dishes, and just sing.
Spend the evening wearing an oversized sweater, undies and over-the-knee pirate boots.
Work on a jig-saw puzzle watching a BBC show no one else likes.
Sit at the computer and play games and send email because no one else needs the computer.
What you CAN’T do is race outside in previously mentioned outfit to grab a book from the car. Ok, yes, you can. You just shouldn’t. Not when it’s dark, and snowing and icy. And your next door neighbour is a co-worker. And the boots have no grip (which is crazy; surely you’d need treads for slippery decks?), but lots of heel (for climbing the rigging?) and you’re not the most heel-savvy person. You really shouldn’t.
Which reminds me, I have a question for you married folks: if something were to happen where you ended up scraping the back of your thigh at the top, given that going to the doctor is out of the question (because you KNOW the only two doctors at the walk-in clinic will be older lecturing doctor or young handsome laughing doctor that sorted things out when a plate broke your nose), do you get your spouse to make sure all the splinters and grit are gone, or do you just shower it off and hope for the best?
One single sentence.
There are times when one single sentence can change everything. Even short sentences. I'm sorry. I love you. You're getting a refund. Glibby glub gloopy. Yes, I'm serious about that last one.
I had one of those sentences yesterday. It won't thrill most of you, but to my friends from home, who don't quite believe the lack of access to basic necessities out here, it will be an AWESOME sentence.
The Girl - who was in Saskatoon but is home safe and sound through the snow storm - sent me this text last night:
"Mom, they have top-cut hot dog buns here, I can bring you some if you want".
So not only do I have a local source for nitrite free hot dogs, but I have an almost-local source for the only kind of buns you should ever use to eat them with. And a girl who even in the excitement of going to an out-of-town concert on a school night, thought to text me and let me know what she'd discovered a possible solution to the lack of proper bunnery.
I had one of those sentences yesterday. It won't thrill most of you, but to my friends from home, who don't quite believe the lack of access to basic necessities out here, it will be an AWESOME sentence.
The Girl - who was in Saskatoon but is home safe and sound through the snow storm - sent me this text last night:
"Mom, they have top-cut hot dog buns here, I can bring you some if you want".
So not only do I have a local source for nitrite free hot dogs, but I have an almost-local source for the only kind of buns you should ever use to eat them with. And a girl who even in the excitement of going to an out-of-town concert on a school night, thought to text me and let me know what she'd discovered a possible solution to the lack of proper bunnery.
Insert Thai-tle pun here
Thai one on? Thaime for supper? I was going to put something clever in the title, but I'm too cold. And a little too tired. Anyway:
There are going to be a few entries today. Yes, my life is that exciting! No, wait, it isn’t. I’ve just been that busy.
YesterdayI worked most of the day without a break to get a project done, so the cooking entry didn’t happen. I’m sure I would have blogged something brilliant, but whatever it was has gone.
I can tell you, though, from Monday night’s supper with The Boy - balsamic marinated mushrooms (store bought), lemon and pistachio rice and sweet chili glazed salmon- that what I’d heard was true; sweet Thai chili sauce adds heat, but balanced with enough sweetness that it’s about the flavour, not the boasting of how hot something you ate was.
The recipe was quite easy, too. You cook the salmon, and then add the glaze after, turning the salmon a couple of times to coat. The glaze was fish sauce, sweet chili sauce, cornstarch and…I don’t remember. But then I don’t remember the portions anyway, so it’s not like I’ve messed up a recipe for you. If you like salmon and want to try the recipe, send a message via comments and I’ll forward it to you.
There are going to be a few entries today. Yes, my life is that exciting! No, wait, it isn’t. I’ve just been that busy.
YesterdayI worked most of the day without a break to get a project done, so the cooking entry didn’t happen. I’m sure I would have blogged something brilliant, but whatever it was has gone.
I can tell you, though, from Monday night’s supper with The Boy - balsamic marinated mushrooms (store bought), lemon and pistachio rice and sweet chili glazed salmon- that what I’d heard was true; sweet Thai chili sauce adds heat, but balanced with enough sweetness that it’s about the flavour, not the boasting of how hot something you ate was.
The recipe was quite easy, too. You cook the salmon, and then add the glaze after, turning the salmon a couple of times to coat. The glaze was fish sauce, sweet chili sauce, cornstarch and…I don’t remember. But then I don’t remember the portions anyway, so it’s not like I’ve messed up a recipe for you. If you like salmon and want to try the recipe, send a message via comments and I’ll forward it to you.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Choose, but choose well.
I'm sure you've all done something that was totally out of character. Something that people who know you wouldn't believe, that you yourself have a hard time believing.
When this happens you have, I believe, two choices. Regret or acceptance. Regret doesn't seem to serve any purpose. Unless, I suppose, what you've done that is out of character is something like robbing a bank, or driving your car off a bridge. Regret in those circumstances might save you from a repeat performance with more permanent consequences. But when it's something essentially harmless, why spend all that emotional energy wishing it had never happened? Why not just accept that it was not the usual you and go with "no harm no foul".
If, for instance, you bought a dress (which I did) that was more expensive than just about any other dress you've ever bought (which it was), and there was no need for it (there isn't) but it looks awesome (it does) then...enjoy it. An event will come along sometime that you can wear it to. And with Christmas and New Years around the corner the chances of having somewhere to wear it increase.
So that's my advice for the day; so you did something you wouldn't normally do. It isn't bad to just enjoy yourself you know. The police aren't going to appear at your door just because you stepped out of your comfort zone. So I hope y'all had as good a weekend as I did. No regrets. Not even for the equally unnecessary shoes that I got at the same time. What can I say? Regina has a Betty Page store. See if you can go and not want to leave with something.
When this happens you have, I believe, two choices. Regret or acceptance. Regret doesn't seem to serve any purpose. Unless, I suppose, what you've done that is out of character is something like robbing a bank, or driving your car off a bridge. Regret in those circumstances might save you from a repeat performance with more permanent consequences. But when it's something essentially harmless, why spend all that emotional energy wishing it had never happened? Why not just accept that it was not the usual you and go with "no harm no foul".
If, for instance, you bought a dress (which I did) that was more expensive than just about any other dress you've ever bought (which it was), and there was no need for it (there isn't) but it looks awesome (it does) then...enjoy it. An event will come along sometime that you can wear it to. And with Christmas and New Years around the corner the chances of having somewhere to wear it increase.
So that's my advice for the day; so you did something you wouldn't normally do. It isn't bad to just enjoy yourself you know. The police aren't going to appear at your door just because you stepped out of your comfort zone. So I hope y'all had as good a weekend as I did. No regrets. Not even for the equally unnecessary shoes that I got at the same time. What can I say? Regina has a Betty Page store. See if you can go and not want to leave with something.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Christmas is here
Actually, if you ask either Lyn or myself, there are 12 months in the year when it is ok to listen to Christmas music. But that's just us. For the rest of you, well, I'm guessing not until December which makes this a wee bit early but TOO BAD. The song is so lovely, and we have already had some snow so give it a listen. Me, I already have it on my ipod. With a bunch of other Christmas songs. Yes, I'm crazy about Christmas.
So, give this a listen/watch:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RKscYJAksPs
So, give this a listen/watch:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RKscYJAksPs
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
The side was no joke
Goodness Tuesday seems to roll around quickly. Unless, of course, you're wanting time to pass quickly in which case....really? Tuesday? We're only on Tuesday? Drat. Wait a sec, this was a cooking entry and now I'm distrac look a squirrel!
So, cooking. Tried two new things yesterday. Supper was porc tenderloin with port and cherries, potato thingys and creamed corn. No, the corn wasn't new. The corn was because I seem to be unable to eat porc without corn. This isn't a Quebec thing, it's a family thing, I think. I should totally put that on a list of things the next time I have to write some sort of "about me" list: "Loves reading, dancing, bakes a little too often, too many drawers of drawers, more teapots than one person could ever use and must have corn with porc". Where was I again? Stupid squirrel. Oh yeah:
The entree was bland , which was a disappointment, if not a surprise. The meat was seasoned lightly, then seared and cooked in what was essentially stock and port with cherries and a sprig of rosemary. The sauce cooked down nicely but the meat was just cooked meat sitting in sauce.
The potatoes, now, there's a recipe and a half! They need some sort of name, I think the recipe just called them crisp Parmesan potatoes. Very simple and tasty enough that we're having them again tonight. Why not? The Girl and I are trying out a recipe for flank steak with carrots and parsnips. The potatoes will be a perfect side.
Yes, I'm going to tell you how to make them. Take some baby red potatoes. I just counted out how many I wanted, I think the original recipe called for a pound. Pierce them with a fork, toss them with two tablespoons oil (recipe called for vegetable oil, I used Olive because I was out of the former), salt, pepper and two cloves of diced garlic. I cheated and used a spoonful of prepared garlic from a jar. Something you occasionally do making supper on a work day, when even chopping things seems tiring after a day's work. ANYWAY
Microwave the potatoes, six to eight minutes in total. Stir them around half way through. Preheat your oven to 500. Yes that high. Put a cookie tray in the oven to preheat with it. I put parchment on my sheet just to be sure of getting the potato cakes off without breaking. It did get awfully dark but nothing burned.
Take those precooked potatoes and put them on the preheated tray. Smash them down with the bottom of a glass, just until they burst open. Kinda flat, but not pressed all the way down. I made sure the leftover oil and garlic got onto them at this point. When they're squished, grate some Parmesan cheese over each little cake. Bake them until they're golden and crisp. Keep an eye on them so they don't burn. Happens quickly at 500.
If they turn out the way they did for us last night they'll be flavourful, crispy on the outside and creamy on the inside. Between these and last week's discovery that ricing potatoes is worth the effort, I think I may be the potato queen again. Not that there's a point to being potato queen without Ky in town, but still....these are some good 'taters!
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