isn't that the craziest thing

after the snow falls

2012-02-10T08:20:00.000-05:00

My friend wrote a book. Sounds so brief and to the point, doesn't it? As if she got up a couple of weeks ago, and after a breakfast of Special K and coffee, picked up a pen and ... wrote a book. Then had lunch.

That's not how it goes, apparently. It's months, even a few years, of work. Hours of labour, not knowing if it will pay off. But this one did - she wrote a book - and it has been published. Pretty darn impressive, I must say.

"After the Snow Falls" is one of those wonderful books that one reads for pleasure, curled up in front of a fireplace (in Muskoka, for example, which is where I read it), or snuggled into bed with a hot chocolate. Located in Canada - which I found rather refreshing. One of those stories where family pain that was buried long ago surfaces in the middle of a present-day crisis (as long-ago pain so often does). And of course, pain is never about just one person.

Carey Jane Clark's style of writing is easy to read - simple, without being simplistic. Rather than fill pages with every single nuance of emotional possibilities, she allows the reader to journey with the story. We all know what pain is. We've been there. In those times, a description with fewer words carries deeper understanding.

I won't give away the ending, but the process of real, gut-wrenching forgiveness - not the superficial, bury-the-pain-again kind - is a theme that resonates with me. I've seen it. I've walked it out. Carey has written about it.

If you enjoy heartwarming, faith-based fiction, in the styles of Karen Kingsbury and even Janette Oke, check out "After the Snow Falls". And don't forget the hot chocolate.

small voice "hello"

2012-02-03T07:10:00.000-05:00

It's the guilt that gets me.

Not other people's guilt trips. Oh no. Not to belittle my own childhood (which was pretty darn fantastic) but it included a number of (mostly) positive and soul-shaping experiences at church camps, retreats and the like. Those experiences always include, for lack of a better way of expressing it, guilt. After all, one cannot grow into a better person without recognizing that one has some growing to do. The down side is, one becomes inured to guilt trips over time, and thus they lose their power.

inure: to habituate to something undesirable, especially by prolonged subjection; accustom

Once, someone attempted to motivate me to do something I actually wanted to do, but their motivator was, "If you don't, I will be angry." For that reason I didn't do it.

I know. Ornery.

Yesterday, one of you walked into the office and commented, "You quit blogging!" There was no guilt attached to it. He's not that kind of guy.

But my own guilt kicked in. Because not only have I been neglecting you ... I also promised to review a book for a friend of mine ... and that was before Christmas.

My friend has been nothing but gracious about it. I wish she'd guilt-trip me. I am inured to that.

So ... cue the regular speeches ... been busy ... nothing to say ... don't know if anyone's reading anyway ... plus the brief alien abduction set me back a little ...

Here's my goal. A book review, to be posted sometime Monday.

Unless you guilt me. Then all bets are off.

back to school

2012-01-05T07:06:00.000-05:00

Well - it's back to school for me today.

I haven't been since May or early June. I'm a little nervous when I think about it - I'm not in the routine anymore.

So I just don't think about it! After all, I survived the first couple of years. Logic suggests I'll survive this one too.

And thus begins the annual Busiest Time of My Year. I'm not entirely sure why. It's probably due in part to snowstorms which can take hours out of one's day, what with shovelling and getting one's car unstuck. (Hmmm, maybe I should have looked at that snowblower ...)

It's definitely due in part to our church's Annual Business Meeting in March. There's a lot of bureaucratic paperwork and procedures leading up to that. Bleah.

It's definitely due in part to Easter coming right after the ABM. I sent a memo to the Pope about a possible change in Easter dates, but he hasn't had a chance to respond yet. He's busy. I get that.

And it's probably also due in part to the fact that ... well ... I like to sit in front of my fireplace at this time of year, and that kind of ... well ... induces napping.

And napping is very, very good.

So I'm changing my language. It's not a Busy Time of Year. It's a Full and Exhilarating Time of Year, with a nap thrown in here and there for good measure.

20 years

2012-01-04T06:54:00.000-05:00

It's our 20th anniversary today.

When I was in Ukraine, I got to help Pastor Gregory with some pre-marital counseling. (That was an experience.) Somewhere in there I mentioned that Spike and I were coming up to 20 years, and jokingly said, "All of them happy." Pastor Gregory looked at me, a little surprised, and said, "Really? All of them?"

He had a point there. Anybody that tells you they've been happy every second of their marriage is lying. SOOOOO lying. (Unless they are my friends Vova and Juliya, who only got married a few days ago.) As I heard one person say, "If the two of you agree on everything all the time, one of you isn't necessary." Let's just say - both Spike and I are very, very necessary. ;)

But ... we keep talking ... neither of us is capable of the silent treatment, and I'm awfully glad about that.

We don't use the D word. Ever.

And two decades ago, when WE were in premarital counseling, Dr. Kydd asked us what we wanted for our marriage. We said we each wanted the other to go for their dreams.

And dude - the two of us are some crazy dreamers.

Happy Anniversary to the love of my life.

just one thing

2011-12-24T06:02:00.000-05:00

Merry Christmas to you!

May you have a tremendously beautiful moment, somewhere in the busy-ness, when you smile at the realization that Christ the Saviour was born.

And may your turkey be filled with cornbread-pecan-sausage stuffing. I know ours will be!

the boots

2011-12-20T10:27:00.000-05:00

See?

I told you they were fabulous!

And they are fully approved by Alina & Juliya, wearers of fabulous Ukrainian boots, finders of great deals on fabulous Ukrainian boots.

hello

2011-12-19T17:16:00.000-05:00

Hi.

Did you miss me?

It's not like I haven't had things to say. I even thought, "I should blog about that trivial little amusement." Several times. But I didn't.

So ... how have you been?

( ... feeling that awkwardness that comes when you haven't chatted with someone for awhile ... maybe i should just start jabbering again ... ok, here goes ... )

First - I may have mentioned my fabulous Ukrainian boots, somewhere along the line. Ukraine has many meaningful people and things that I adore. But also - Ukrainian women can wear kickin boots like nobody's business. They are fantastic. Last time, I waited until the last day in Kyiv to look for boots, and that's when I discovered that boots in Kyiv cost a small mortgage payment. (Not quite. But close.) So I gasped and walked away.

This time I knew better. One day, we had a couple of hours to get coffee, and the coffee was in a mall, and one thing led to another ... $25 later I had me some beautiful suede high-heeled boots.

I love them almost as much as I love Louie.

My favourite sister-in-law requested a picture, and I am quite happy to do that, but here's the problem. The boots are at work. The camera is at home. I need to remember to bring those two items together. I'll try to remember that tomorrow.

Second - in my ongoing feeble attempts to learn Russian, I learned today how to say, "Our cat has a kitten." Let me clarify here - my cat does not have a kitten. My cat is a boy. My cat is a non-functioning boy, if you know what I mean. And my cat is almost 20 years old. He does not have, nor will he ever have, a kitten.

Nevertheless, if someone ever says to me, "Our cat has a kitten" in Russian, I will be able to nod and say, "That is very interesting."

However - you need to know that on the journey towards the successful pronunciation of that sentence, I mistakenly said, "Our intestine has a kitten." I lost my teacher to howls of laughter for a few minutes when I said that.

I also called her a grey cup. But the intestine giving birth to a kitten was still funnier.

Third - and this is for those of you who rolled your eyes and thought "sheesh, is she EVER going to talk about anything except Ukraine?" - the third item I'd like to tell you is this. If you have not seen 2000 Candles, you really should. Admittedly - it's my brother-in-law's show. Nonetheless, it is excellent. We had almost a full house at Crossfire last night, and the laughter of 138 people are evidence that the show is worth seeing.

So I repeat ... did you miss me?

the snowblower sold

2011-11-28T07:36:00.000-05:00

Remember this?

Of course you do. It was only one post ago.

I checked again. The snowblower is sold. But dude is a blogger!

And his blog posts about sudden internet fame are rather entertaining.

I'm going to throw him into my blog list over there ... he's "The Blognostifier". Right there, with that name, you know he's going to be entertaining.

And maybe if I link to him, I'll experience random fame too. Because THAT, my friends, is the goal of my life. Random fame.

*sigh*

Of COURSE random fame is not my life's goal!!! Do you know me at all???!!! Sheesh, I was KIDDING.

---

i bet it would be fun though

snowblower for sale

2011-11-25T10:09:00.000-05:00

If you live in or near Moncton, New Brunswick, Canada, and you need a snowblower ... click here.

If you don't, you STILL deserve to read the most masterful Kijiji sales pitch ever written.

The fact is, in Canada, the further east you go, the funnier you get, and this guy might not be quite as far east as Newfoundland, but he definitely deserves to be on Just for Laughs. Personally, I think Rick Mercer should go and check out his snowblower.

Enjoy.

Do you like shoveling snow? Then stop reading this and go back to your pushups and granola because you are not someone that I want to talk to.

Let’s face it, we live in a place that attracts snow like Magnetic Hill attracts cars, only that ain’t an illusion out there. That’s 12 inches of snow piling up and, oh, what’s that sound? Why it’s the snow plow and it’s here to let you know that it hates you and all the time you spent to shovel your driveway. Did you want to get out of your house today? Were you expecting to get to work on time? Or even this week? You gave it your best shot. You tried to shovel by yourself and I respect you for that. I did it, my parents did it, some of my best friends did it. But deep down inside, we all wanted to murder that neighbor with the snowblower who was finished and on his second beer while you were still trying to throw snow over a snowbank taller than you are. So, here we are. You could murder your neighbour, which could ensure that you won’t need to shovel a driveway for 25 to life, but there are downsides to that too. What to do? Here’s the deal. I have a snow blower and I want you to own it. I can tell you’re serious about this. It’s like I can almost see you: sitting there, your legs are probably crossed and your left hand is on your chin. Am I right? How’d I do that? The same way that I know that YOU ARE GOING TO BUY THIS SNOWBLOWER. I want you to experience the rush that comes with smashing through a snowdrift and blowing that mother trucker out of the way. The elation of seeing the snow plow come back down your street and watching the look of despair as your OTHER neighbour gets his shovel out once more while you kick back with a hot cup of joe (you don’t have a drinking problem like that other guy). Here’s what you do. You go to the bank. You collect $900. You get your buddy with a truck and you drive over here. You give me some cold hard cash and I give you a machine that will mess up a snowbank sumthin’ fierce. I’ve even got the manual for it, on account of I bought it brand new and I don’t throw that kind of thing away. Don't want to pay me $900? Convince me. Send me an offer and I'll either laugh at you and you'll never hear back from me or I'll counter. You want a snow blower. You need a snow blower. This isn’t some entry level snow blower that is just gonna move the snow two feet away. This is an 11 HP Briggs and Stratton machine of snow doom that will cut a 29 inch path of pure ecstasy. And it’s only 4 years old. I dare you to find a harder working 4 year old. My niece is five and she gets tired and cranky after just a few minutes of shoveling. This guy just goes and goes and goes. You know what else? I greased it every year to help keep the water off it and the body in as good as shape as possible. It's greasier than me when I was 13, and that's saying something. You know how many speeds it has? Six forward and two in reverse. It goes from “leisurely” slow up to “light speed”. Seriously, I’ve never gone further than five because it terrifies me. I kid you not, you could probably commute to work with it dragging you. You know what else is crappy about clearing snow in the morning? That you have to do it in the dark. Well, not anymore! It has a halogen headlight that will light your way like some kind of moveable lighthouse (only better, because lighthouses won’t clear your driveway). Oh, and since it’s the 21st century, this snow blower comes with an electric starter. Just plug that sucker in, push the button, and get ready to punch snow in the throat. If you want to experience what life was like in olden days, it comes with a back-up cord you could pull to start it, but forget that. The reason you’re getting this fearsome warrior was for the convenience, so why make it harder on yourself? By this point, you’re probably wondering why I would sell my snowblower since the first snowpocalypse is upon us today. I’ll tell you why: because I heard it was time for you to man up and harness some mighty teeth and claws and chew your way to freedom, that’s why. This is my snow blower. Make it your snow blower.

UPDATE - I assure you that the snowblower is real, and it is still available. Do not despair if you have made an offer on this glorious tribute to man's triumph over nature and I have not responded yet, your time has yet to come.

getting warmer

2011-11-23T07:30:00.001-05:00

It's freezing rain outside.

Cold.

That damp cold that gets right in there under your toenails and in the roots of your hair.

Four words.

Pumpkin Lasagna

Electric Blanket

Warm.

the kids

2011-11-22T07:00:00.005-05:00

My favourite part of visiting Ukraine is the villages.

I said that before.

My favourite part of visiting Ukraine is also the cherry vyreniki (pierogies, stuffed with cherry pie filling, with sugar sprinkled on top). Also the fresh dill on just about everything. Heaven.

My OTHER favourite part of visiting Ukraine is the kids.

Kids in Sunshine orphanage.

They needed an electrical hook-up for a stove. We were able to help pay for that.

Doesn't that little guy just make you howl?

Kids in "family dorms".

In a family dorm, moms and tots have a single room, with shared kitchen and washroom facilities between them all. I use the terms "kitchen and washroom" loosely. The family dorm we visited needed their water pipes repaired. They had to go to the next building to haul water to their own. Our team was able to help pay to get the water pipes fixed.

Kids in the baby orphanage.

By the way, if you're ever wondering, "EEE-sho" means "again" in Russian.

As in, "Let's go down that slide AGAIN!"

then and now

2011-11-21T07:30:00.001-05:00

My parents first went to Ukraine in 1997 or 1998.

Ukraine wasn't a specific choice for them at that time.

They just wanted to go somewhere and rock babies that needed cuddling.

I went in 1999, but to a different area.

And then halfway through my trip, the plans changed.

I got to stay with the same family my parents had, and play with the same orphans in the same orphanage. One of the kids had been adopted by the family with whom I stayed, because my parents had stayed there while visiting the baby orphanage, and the hosts had gone along to see what on earth these Canadian people were doing at a Ukrainian orphanage, and ... well, they fell in love with baby Katya and adopted her.

When I went, I also visited an orphanage for kids with disabilities.

It was formerly known as "The Place that God Forgot".

My parents had seen it in that awful state. No longer, when I was there. I thought it was a place of joy. I found out later that a good friend was there in between my parents and me - before we knew her. She had designed a playground for the place, but never saw it built. I pulled out my photo album and showed her the finished product of her design.

How cool is that?

On this trip, I was in that same disabled-kids orphanage again, just for a few brief minutes.

This was Stasik in 1999, on the left. Also me, with much shorter and redder hair.

This is Stasik now. He still lives there. When I saw him, he was working on some crafts.

In that first picture, Gala is the little girl on the right.

I saw her this trip too, but I didn't put it together until after I had left. She lives in another place now, where the kids from the first one go to live when they turn 18. I didn't take her picture, since I didn't realize who she was.

I was busy taking pictures of her roommate, Natasha.

Natasha is an artist. She paints by holding the brush in her mouth. She has been on national television a few times, and when asked if she wanted to say anything to Ukraine, she said (if I remember the story correctly) ... "I think we all need to be more thankful for what we have."

I know I am.

a story of Ukraine: the villages

2011-11-16T19:10:00.000-05:00

The village churches impact me the most.

Playing with orphan children is fun. Speaking at the huge Church of Praise is really enjoyable too.

But the villages ...

We all pile into a van for an hour or two. If you're lucky, there are enough seats for everyone. If there are not enough, still, everyone insists that the Canadians get a seat. Xhenya pulls out his guitar, and we sing all the way there. Tanya leads us in group prayer.

The van stops and we all pile out. Usually a little group is already gathered, waiting for us to arrive. Babushkas wrapped in scarves ... little kids, watching shyly ... one or two teenagers who offer a well-practiced "hello," followed by an embarrassed grin. We're friends immediately though when I manage a "strasvoytye" in return.

Either before or after the service, the pastor shows us around, anxious for us to see what God has given them. "We got this building, and we are working on re-digging the foundation, and repairing the inside ..."

"I got a job since you were here last! A full-time job!" (No mean feat when his background includes three separate jail terms.) "And a wife!" She beams at me, and asks me to pray over the dreams for the future they've written down. They are moving their church out of their two-room home, and into a building someone gave them in just two weeks.

"We've finished renovating one room of this building. We're working on the rest, as we are able to."

At one place, it was colder inside than out ... so we stayed outside, where a man named Valera pulled out an ancient trumpet. When I commented later that he was a really good player, he grinned and said with a thick Russian accent - "Pheel Dreescoll". We laughed together.

After the service, a meal for the guests, prepared from village-grown produce. It doesn't matter that you ate before you came, and you'll eat when you get back. In Ukraine, food is an essential part of friendship.

Then we all pile back in the van. Xhenya pulls out his guitar and we sing and laugh all the way home.

I love those village churches. The pastors are my heroes, living in these places that are a world apart, with high levels of alcoholism, high levels of poverty. Many have moved out to these areas without indoor plumbing, without grocery stores. They serve those that come, whether by praying for them, or taking food to them, or providing personal care to senior citizens that have no one else.

They are amazed that Canadians care about them.

We are humbled to have met them.

the three criminals

2011-11-15T06:57:00.000-05:00

On the last Wednesday in Krivoy Rog, we were supposed to visit another village church.

But on Monday, Tanya informed us with a twinkle in her eye that the plans had changed.

"Please ... you must dress warmly," she said. "I will bring fur coats if you need them. Wear layers. We are going to be outside. With fire-y meat."

"You mean spicy?" I asked.

She shook her head. The translator tried again. "Meat on a fire."

"BBQ!"

"Yes!" Tanya nodded happily. "With the 3 criminals!"

Which of course, demands explanation.

The week before, on one of our treks to various villages, three men came along. Formerly violent, drug-dealing, gang-leading criminals. And by formerly, I mean a year ago for one, and 4 months ago for another. The other guy was somewhere in between the first and the second.

God had found them, which of course is a story all on its own, but it starts with a friend of theirs a couple of years ago, who broke into Pastor Gregory's home while he and his wife were there, and instead of screaming or running or fighting back, they prayed - right then and there - for God to bless the man that was attacking and robbing them. He describes the experience as somehow being hypnotized or made powerless by something he couldn't see, and it changed his life. He told others, whose lives also were profoundly impacted, and thus - Andrei, Max and Timor joined our team on a trek to a village church.

It was the first time they had ever done such a thing.

It was the first time they had ever met followers of Jesus from Canada.

At lunchtime, as they sat quietly at the table with village pastors and our team, I leaned forward and started talking with them, asking their story, drawing them into the conversation.

And by the end of the day, unbeknownst to us, Max was asking Tanya if it would be at all possible for the Canadian team to come to his home for a BBQ before we went home.

Apparently, he was nervous, this former criminal, at having us in his home. He kept calling Tanya to check his plans with her, making sure it would be OK, that we would enjoy ourselves.

That still makes me laugh, on a lot of levels.

At one point during the BBQ, I suggested that we take a picture with me "helping". That's me there, in the smoke. Andrei is on the left of the picture ... Timor and Max are on the right. Timor never ever stops laughing, and it is the most contagious laugh I have ever heard. Max just smiles shyly while telling me about his friends who come to this very home every week, so he can help them learn what it means to be a follower of Jesus.

We washed our hands over an old bathtub, and all crowded around a table in his living room. Remember Tanya's admonition to dress warmly? She was slightly mistaken there. I wore two shirts, two sweaters and two pairs of pants. And we wedged into a warm and cozy room, where each of sat slightly sideways, because there wasn't quite enough space for all of us around the table.

We ate. Oh, did we eat. We laughed. We talked. We laughed. We ate. Not just the BBQ'd meat and potatoes. But borscht, garlic-canned tomatoes, bread, cheese blinchikin, and fruit compote made with apples, cherries and two other fruits. All made and preserved by Max's mama, from Max's mama's garden.

After lunch, we each talked about our new friendships, and how meaningful they were to each of us. We prayed and sang together. Tanya and Jenya sang a song to our team.

Then we took the Lord's Supper - Communion - the Eucharist - depending on what you might know it as. A slice of bread, torn into pieces. A cup of compote passed around, for each to take a sip. They asked me to lead it, and I choked up, leading this Christian tradition that has been passed on for over 2000 years, around the world. Leading this symbol of our faith in a tiny living room with 3 criminals, some Ukrainian Christians and our group, in a country that I knew only as "part of the USSR" when I was a child.

I used to picture this black mass on the globe, where fearful, unknown things happened.

Now it is home to some of my dearest friends.

And at the end - in two shirts, two sweaters, and two pairs of pants - I learned a gypsy dance.

As we left, Max quietly passed a Bible into my hand, a gift to take home.

And I knew that there would never be words enough.

There never are.

Can-AH-dah!

2011-11-09T04:04:00.000-05:00

Yesterday afternoon, me and a 14-year-old boy played frisbee. He's in a rehab center for kids that run away from home, or that have done drugs, or whatever. It's an amazingly loving place, where they are educated, and treated with dignity and kindness. It changes their lives.

I rocked. You know, for an old chick who can't remember the last time she held a frisbee.

He cheerfully pushed aside other kids who wanted to join in, saying, "Pettyeh!" (Few can say my name here, but they all try.) "Pettyeh! Ahdyeen-ahdyeen!" ("one-on-one") Eventually I convinced him to let a couple others join the game.

He kept score, and thankfully I can count to 10 in Russian, so I knew what was happening, and could contribute. We both danced each time our score went up, and hollered, "Can-AH-da!" or "Oo-krayen!"

What a blast.

For the record, "Oo-krayen" won. But Can-AH-dah held its own. I didn't want to embarrass you.

quick update

2011-11-07T05:09:00.000-05:00

I only have a moment ... internet is iffy here in Krivoy Rog, Ukraine.

So many friends.

So many favourite moments.

So many pictures.

So many stories to tell you.

Hang in there - I'll be back!

ttyl!

2011-10-29T13:03:00.000-04:00

I'm off to Ukraine today. It's where my heart has a second home. I can't wait. I just can't wait to get there!!!

I'm rather proud of myself ... I had to add the 2nd suitcase that is allowed, but in addition to packing my own clothes for 2 weeks in possibly cold weather, I also have 250 Chinette paper plates, a netbook, approximately 20 or 30 pairs of reading glasses, and some craft supplies. And several books for the plane.

That's skillful packing, right there. Two suitcases and a carry-on.

No idea if I'll have online access while I'm there, and if I do ... I gotta be honest ... emailing Spike is my top priority. But if I can update this space, I will!

Otherwise ... I'm back home November 12 in the evening, jetlagged. Work all day November 13. Probably post November 14.

Lalalalalalala ... that's me, singing with happiness.

Talk to you later!

end of the veggies

2011-10-26T08:33:00.000-04:00

Well ... the season has ended. The urban veggies season, that is. Leafs season has just begun, but let's not jinx it, OK?

I got celeriac during the final couple of weeks. (Sounds like an illness, doesn't it? It's not.)

I had never heard of celeriac.

It's not pretty. But apparently it's proud of its lack of good looks. It's a very secure vegetable.

So today, I'm boiling and mashing it with some potatoes, as suggested by some Rocket Moms. I'm gonna freeze the mash in little baggies (because I'm the Queen of Baggies) and add the milk, butter, herbs, whatever later. I'll let you know how it tastes.

Meanwhile - this whole urban-farming locally-grown weekly-vegetable-share thing has been so very fun. Along with lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, green beans, onions, green onions, a variety of potatoes and zucchini - which I was familiar with - I also got a multitude of greens I knew nothing of, Jerusalem artichokes, leeks, purple beans, squash, eggplant and ... are you ready for this ... zucchini blossoms!!

Yes. I prepared and ate flowers.

They were yummy.

And radishes!!! Mmm, they were good too. I was completely unaware that radishes could taste good.

I'm fully stocked up on garlic for the winter. I pickled some hot peppers. I froze dill, pesto and parsley, along with a TON of soups. I dried and layered eggplant slices with fresh garlic and basil, packed in olive oil. You already know what I did with the beets. Oh, the beets. I substituted in some parsnips for carrots into my favourite beef stew, and no one knew the difference. I dumped some plum preserves into a squash during the last few minutes of baking it. And I didn't eat peas and corn once during the whole summer.

In my food enthusiasm I also canned. And I made jam. To be fair, the canning and jamming weren't all from the urban-farming produce. It just got me in the mood.

So I'm definitely signing up next year. Now that I know what I'm doing (sort of), I'll miss the fun of holding something in my hand and Googling images to figure out what in the heck it is. But ... permit me some quick sentimentality ... I really enjoyed picking up my food each week, wondering what would be there and what I would do with it, chatting with my urban farmer friend, his family, and his other customers.

It's WAY better than grocery shopping.

And I'm pretty sure my rural-farmer-Grandma would be quietly proud. She wouldn't have SAID so ... she was a little stoic ... but I'd know.

So ... if you're interested in the details of my summer with veggies, just hit that "food" label to the side. Or try "moments in my garden". (I co-opted posts about Russ's urban farming into that "my garden" label, which is quite a ridiculous stretch of the definition of "my".) Or you can search any word you like and see what pops up. I almost always linked to the recipes I used, if they were online.

Excuse me - I need to mash things now.

five days

2011-10-24T10:27:00.000-04:00

On the last day of my second trip, maybe in 2002 or so, the group of people that we had met smilingly handed me a heart. Someone had made it for me during that two weeks, because upon my arrival, I had said what I still say - "This place has stolen my heart."

Five 24-hour periods from now I'll either be calmly reviewing my mostly-packed luggage, clean house, and neatly typed instructions for the various people covering my Canadian life while I'm away, or ... I'll be stressed and kicking myself for not getting things DONE before now, while mentally deleting items off my To Do list. Not accomplishing those items, mind you. Deleting them. As in, "The world will not end if this item is not completed."

Odds are it'll be a little of both. But hopefully more of the former, since five 24-hour periods from now will also be smack in the middle of the precious few hours Spike and I have together between the time he comes home from a week's work and the time I leave on a jet plane.

It's Ukraine again, of course. This time there are five on the team, smaller than the last few teams I've led. This time I'm returning to the same place I was before. Other trips, there was always the tiniest possibility of running into someone you knew - a possibility fulfilled more often than you'd expect - but this time, it's a guarantee. This time, there will be fewer first-time introductions and more hugged greetings between friends.

I can't wait to go. And at the same time, I'm also already trying not to think about leaving that beautiful place that somehow felt like a second home the first time I went, and that to this day, still holds a piece of my heart.

jobs

2011-10-20T07:15:00.000-04:00

Our town's been through a rough patch. Of course, just about everyone's town has been through a rough patch in recent years.

But this week has been a better week for Hamilton.

A deal was finally struck between labour and management at US Steel, where the workers have been locked out for 11 months. US Steel used to be Stelco, and for a long time was one of the backbone industries of Hamilton. The lockout was long and difficult. Workers are not jumping for joy over the deal. But ... they're going back to work. And that's good news.

And today in the paper - 670 new jobs coming with Maple Leaf Foods' new plant being built here. I'm acknowledging right away that other, smaller plants in Ontario are closing, and that is rough news. But I'm thankful that we're on the good news end this time.

I also am a big fan of Maple Leaf Foods after the listeriosis problem a few years ago. I wrote about that here and here. And just the other day when our 3 favourites were coming over, I deliberately chose Maple Leaf bacon as part of our not-quite-nutritional breakfast.

So Maple Leaf is moving in next to Canada Bread. As one my friends already said - all we need now is some mustard!

meetings

2011-10-19T17:27:00.000-04:00

TWO significant meetings today.

I have a lot of meetings. Practices, appointments, coffees, introductions, staff meetings, board meetings, Ukraine trip meetings, and of course the Sunday-go-to-meeting meetings.

And I get invited to a lot of meetings. City meetings, community meetings, other church meetings, environmental meetings, launching-a-new-thing meetings. I don't go to most of them.

I don't do well in meetings, unless something is being accomplished. Meetings that involve a lot of reasons things can't be done - shudder. Meetings that are filled with formalities and honorifics - zzzzz. Meetings laced with guilt-trips - I'm outta there - "sorry, I have another meeting...".

But today! I was in TWO significant meetings TODAY.

ONE was with several businesses in our neighbourhood. We invited them to brunch. A seven-course gourmet brunch such as I have never before had, and likely never will again. There were 9 of us around the table, and we got to introduce some of them to others of them, and be part of some awesome networking. There are some great business people in our neighbourhood. People that are in it for more than just their own business - they want to contribute to the community.

I enjoyed that meeting.

The OTHER was with several female pastors, pulled together by one of our denominational higher-ups to get some insight into ... well ... what our challenges / joys / needs are as female pastors. There were 9 of us at that meeting too. The conversation got fairly intense and honest, but it had substance, and that was a very good thing. I said a lot of the stuff I wrote here, and to my delight, others said the same things. And more. We said more. Plus, there was coffee at the meeting. Also a good thing.

I greatly enjoyed that meeting.

And now I'm going home. Two meetings today. And I didn't nod off in either one.

favourites

2011-10-15T17:07:00.001-04:00

My 3 favourite people under 20 are here this weekend.

The one who I'm sure only a few months ago sat in my living room, beaming, bed head, and wearing a Leafs one-sie ... he went and picked up the power cable for my laptop which I had forgotten at work. And by "went" I mean "drove".

The one who just recently peeked shyly out at me from within a white bonnet with the biggest ruffle around her face that you ever did see while we went on our annual turkey walk ... she's chatting about youth conferences and volleyball practices. And trying on Spike's rocker hat that he bought at the fair.

And the one who used to fit on my lap, stretched full length, head covered in shiny bronze curls, and a hint of mischief in his little blue eyes ... he casually made the bacon and toast for breakfast today, while I did the blueberry pancakes. (We shared some coffee too, but that's a secret. Don't tell.)

Later, a new game was invented. We used Papa's crokinole board. Crokinole was popularized in our family by Grandpa P., Papa's dad. Grandpa could get a sinker every darn time. He'd chuckle silently while I furrowed my brow, bit my bottom lip, held my breath and flicked. Then he'd then wait patiently for me to retrieve that little round piece of wood from underneath the woodstove (or wherever it had landed). Then he'd get another sinker.

This generation created a new version today. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you ... Crokinole 2.0

Sometimes there are casualties.

But as long as you don't absent-mindedly chomp a round wooden disc instead of a Lays salt-&-vinegar chip, it's all good.

I think Grandpa would enjoy it.

anatomical correspondence

2011-10-13T17:33:00.000-04:00

I freely confess this is not my idea.

It originated here.

But it's a great idea. So I thought I'd give it a try.

The idea is ... "Write a letter from one part of your body to another".

Oh my.

Here's my first effort.

"Dear Stomach - Please switch to INNER monologue. We're in a meeting. Sincerely, Ear"

Or how about this?

"Hair. You're too long. We've lost depth perception. Blindly, Right Eye"

Hmmm. This is fun.

"Note to All Departments - Nothing shall be accomplished until adequate coffee has been consumed. Firmly, Brain & Stomach"

On a late study night ...

"EYES!!! DO NOT CLOSE!!! This chapter must be read before sleep! I REPEAT - DO NOT CLOSEZZZzzzzz .... grnfosle ... nighty night ... love, Brain"

Try it. You will smile. And if you try it in the comments section - I will smile too.

plums and neighbours

2011-10-10T09:14:00.000-04:00

My neighbour is a genius.

She and I exchange comments on Facebook from time to time. (Pause to consider the oddness of that, since our front porches almost face each other ... but we talk on Facebook. Go ahead ... mutter something along the lines of "what is this world coming to." There. Done? OK. At least we talk. Do you talk to your neighbour? Mmmhmmm.)

She redid her entire front lawn into an edible garden last year. I, on the other hand, put some real effort into tackling the weeds in my front lawn this year, and accidentally killed it. The whole thing. Also, I hired three different people to cut it, and they all got better jobs and abandoned me.

So this year ... yup, I'm "that" neighbour. With the horrible front lawn. It's embarrassing.

A month or two ago, she posted a question about beets. I passed along the recipe that had been passed along to me. It involved mint leaves. Which, coincidentally, is the only thing growing in abundance in my back yard this year. I happily told her to help herself, but please don't judge my sad, non-productive tomato plants. She generously brought me some tomatoes. Spike, in return, offered her some of my pickled beets.

He didn't realize we were out of pickled beets.

So he enthusiastically gave her a jar of plum preserves, which frightened me slightly. It was my first year making plum preserves. And I had discovered that unlike tomato butter, which never thickens as much as you think it will, plum preserves do. And they continue thickening after you've taken them off the stove. So my plum preserves are a fairly solid creation. Tasty, yes. But solid.

Anyway.

Do you know what my genius of a neighbour did?

Took a round of Brie. Sliced it in half. Spread plum preserves on the bottom half. Topped it with the top half. Baked until gooey. And served with a baguette.

Genius.

the crazy ones

2011-10-06T14:15:00.001-04:00

I saw this on Collide's blog and decided to re-share, in particular because of Steve Jobs' passing yesterday, and in general because I love this approach to life. I think I'll add it to the scraps of paper taped on the wall in front of my desk.

Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They’re not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them. About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do. — Apple Inc.

my friend Sarah

2011-10-04T14:54:00.000-04:00

This morning my friend Sarah passed away.

She was 23 years old.

No more pain. No more sickness.

I'm happy for her, in heaven, dancing on legs that wouldn't dance here.

Telling jokes with her mischievous grin.

But sad for all the rest of us, here, missing her.

Praying for God to give comfort and peace to her family - including her niece, the Princess - today.

And thanking Him for crossing my path with hers.

wild things

2011-09-28T07:00:00.002-04:00

I think it's a real shame that Blockbuster has gone out of business. I say that, knowing that they definitely couldn't have stayed in business based on me. I haven't been much of a movie-watcher. Especially rentals. I hate renting movies. Too much pressure to pick the right movie for just that moment. And then you have to return it on time.

Not my strength.

But recently, I discovered the joy of BUYING previously-rented movies. So I could buy several, really cheap, stick them on the shelf for just the right moment, and never have to return them. (Plus, I went downstairs awhile ago, and remembered we had this. Oh! This is why Spike likes it down here!)

See? I did not help Blockbuster stay in business. Sorry about that. But ... since they are going out of business ... they're selling off their stock ... soooo cheaply ... and ... um ... yeah. I went. I bought.

--

Every now and then I discover a movie that I love. It's never, ever a movie that anyone else loves. But I loved "Signs". I thought it was profound, with every single moment in the movie coming together when it matters most. And a deeply moving sub-story that no one else seemed to notice.

And I loved "Big Fish". Most people I talk to have never heard of it. But it's imaginative and unique and loving. It appeals to the storyteller in me.

And now I have a third. I bought it at Blockbuster the other day. Someone told me it didn't get good reviews. On Monday, I pulled it off the shelf and sat down in my jammies to watch it, all by myself.

Where the Wild Things Are.

Beautiful. Passionate. Random. Childlike. Heartfelt. And Real.

sports blog, pass it on

2011-09-26T11:47:00.000-04:00

Allow me to introduce you to ...

... the YOUNGEST blogger I know.

He's new. He's smart. And he's the product of a crazed Habs fan mom (who also happened to be my college rommate) and a rabid Leafs fan dad (with the same level of Leafs passion as my college boyfriend, AKA Spike). They've mellowed over the years, but I remember when they watched hockey games on separate levels of the house. Now they watch together, but with a pillow between them on the couch, and a no-heckling rule.

He - sportskid2000, that is - eats sports stats for breakfast. He lives, breathes and sleeps all things sports. His plan is to be "like those TSN guys," so he's getting ready now.

I want to comment on his blog. But I can't. I don't know sports. I'd make an idiot of myself. (Of course, that's never stopped me before....)

But you can comment! Or a sports fan you know can comment! I assure you - I've seen sportskid2000 in action - he can hold his own in any sports debate, even while playing a video game at the same time. Spike is always impressed.

So ... do me a favour ... drop in on "I Live Sports - a kid's eye view" from time to time. It's in my blog list, on the right, whenever you want to check it out.

And to sportskid2000 ... welcome to the blogosphere!

oh right ... there's an election ...

2011-09-23T07:20:00.000-04:00

I'm having a difficult time caring about the upcoming provincial election.

I will vote, of course. Voting matters to me. I've probably even made my decision, although to be honest - my vote is not going to make or break things in my riding. But still. Voting is important.

It's just ... this election really hasn't grabbed my attention. Am I the only one?

And then there's this.

http://www.thespec.com/news/elections/article/598928--party-leaders-all-fired-up-over-barbecue-challenge

As one single, solitary commenter said in response to this article ... "It's good that the important issues are being faced by the leaders and covered by the media."

new label

2011-09-21T16:20:00.000-04:00

I've been given a lot of labels over the years. Student. Musical Person. Pastor. Speaker. Canner. Gardener. Band wife. Reader. Blogger. Aunt-with-the-orange-hair. Nerd. Neighbour-that-hollers-at-squirrels-in-her-PJs.

But yesterday, Spike's GPS broke down. Again. In Kentucky.

Which is significantly inconvenient for a trucker on his way to Georgia.

So I went online to see what I could see. Scanned a few forums. Found a guy who claimed to be an expert on Rand McNally products, and had answered a lot of other people's questions. He seemed legit. But in order to ask him a question, I had to register on the actual site.

So I did. Was asked to choose a label for myself from a short list of possibilities. And now I have a new label, because on this website, no one cares about all my other labels. On this website, I'm known as ...

... wait for it ...

... "Patti. Trucker Wife."

I'm going to need new business cards.

consumer cat

2011-09-19T14:39:00.000-04:00

I'm really missing something.

We have a cat. You may be aware of that. If not, click that "crazy cat" label down there on the right. You will laugh, cry and possibly have nightmares.

We have a cat. He is almost 20. He mostly sleeps now, dreaming of murderous moments in years gone by. Recently, he snoozed himself right off the ledge on which he sleeps and woke up at the bottom of the stairs.

We have a cat. He believes he is starving to the point of death every day around 5 AM. Knowing that we would hate to wake up an hour later to his still-warm corpse, he loudly and thoughtfully wails to bring his near-demise to our attention. He does this while sitting in front of his full bowl of food.

So ... we have a cat.

We also have a litter box. A litter mat in front of the box. Two small bowls - one for water, and one for food. To be honest, the water bowl is a plastic frozen-blueberries container, because Millhouse kept dumping the smaller water bowl.

We also have a "fur fighter" that pulls the cat hair off the duvet.

And that's it.

So I have to tell you, I do not comprehend this.

It's called Ren's Pet Depot and I drive past it at ungodly hours when I'm taking Spike to work. Each time I drive by, I groggily wonder to myself WHAT ON EARTH any pet could need that requires a retail outlet of this magnitude. I don't want to alarm you, but I'm pretty sure I saw a back-to-school special on their website.

Obviously, I'm really missing something. All of my cat's earthly belongings could fit in a medium size tote. If you used his litter box AS the tote, you could fit everything in there with room to spare.

I'm concerned he's going to discover how neglected and under-serviced he is, and begin wailing at 4 AM. So don't tell him, OK?

Because I'll warn you now - if he wails at 4 AM - I'm phoning YOU.

proud pastor

2011-09-12T13:00:00.002-04:00

Every now and then, I just need to brag a tiny bit. Let's call it "Why I Love My Church". Others of you are proud of your kids. I'm proud of the group of people that identify with Crossfire. And here's why, in no particular order. It's random. Not exhaustive.

Yesterday, one of you tried something new in the service ... a little nervously ... and afterwards you told me, "Ask me again. I'll do it."
Often, several of you invisibly bring in, set up, distribute and clean up grocery items that really help others of you. And I know for a fact that some of you take some of those grocery items, so you can pass them on to someone else who needs them.
Last week, one of you tackled me, hugged me, smiled at me, and told me you loved me because "you're so priddy". (To clarify - it was a small child. Adults - please don't do this. It will be weird.)
One of you has facilitated food to the neighbouring school's breakfast program on a regular basis for months. And you're still doing it.
Most of you value people over programs, messy over efficiency.
None of you has ever objected to an idea with the phrase, "We've never done it that way before."

And ... you grin and cheer when we play this at top volume to open the service. And when someone blinks and comments, "My, that's loud," someone else cheerfully responds with, "And it's gonna get louder."

You're an authentic, laughing, gritty, courageous, generous gaggle of humans.

With a due-respect tip of the hat to other faith-based gaggles ... the fact is ... this one suits me just about perfectly.

29 ways

2011-09-06T04:00:00.000-04:00

You know - I like this.

You might too.

Perhaps you'd like to add some suggestions of your own!

29 WAYS TO STAY CREATIVE from TO-FU on Vimeo.

reading

2011-09-02T10:37:00.000-04:00

I've been reading. For pleasure.

Here are some random quotes from books I am currently - or have just finished - reading. Thoughts that grabbed my mind, if even just for a moment.

From Ta'n Teli-ktlamsitasit, which was a thank-you gift from my scary-turned-very-interesting prof last spring.

"Generally speaking, the Mi'kmaw people do not think of spirituality as an abstract entity.

Spirituality is not something that one has.

Rather, it is something that one does every day."

From Ordained Women in the Church of the Nazarene, which I must have put on my Amazon wish list at some point, because someone gave it to me for Christmas. I'm just getting to it now, specifically, at 11:45 last night.

"The denomination officially maintains a position that allows for the ordination of women,

yet there has been little denominational support for women in the ministry.

Many local congregations, perhaps most, do not consider calling a woman

to serve as pastor when vacancies arise.

Cultural prejudice, combined with prior experience with only male ministers,

causes many churches to seek out the best man for the job.

Without female role models and denominational support,

it is no wonder that few women succeed in being ordained and in finding placement

in a profession presently dominated by men."

I'll tell you why that grabbed me. I'm sure I have made that very same observation, out loud and in writing, many times. (Although for the record, and for my own denominational VIPs who might be planning my demise at this moment ... [Just kidding. The VIPs are my friends. I hope.] ... I have not made that very same observation recently - things are changing.) I would suggest that the author was spying on me and stole my stuff, but it was published in March 1993, and I didn't start pastoring until June 1993. Furthermore, I didn't start making speeches until later on. Correction: I didn't start making THAT speech until after later on. At this precise moment, I am realizing that I have been making speeches of all kinds for a good long while.

Anyway, the OTHER reason it grabbed me - is that I'm not IN the denomination of the Church of the Nazarene. No connection at all. And yet, I have had the same speech. Interesting.

From A Modest Proposal and Other Satirical Works, in particular the essay entitled, "Argument Against Abolishing Christianity in England". Note: It's satire. First published in 1708. Don't get your shorts in a knot.

"I hope no reader imagines me so weak to stand up in the defence of REAL Christianity,

such as used in primitive times to have an influence upon men's belief and actions:

to offer at the restoring of that would indeed be a wild project;

it would be to dig up foundations;

to destroy at one blow all the wit and half the learning of the kingdom;

to break the entire frame and constitution of things;

to ruin trade, extinguish arts and sciences, with the professors of them;

in short, to turn our courts, exchanges, and shops into deserts;

and would be full as absurd as the proposal of Horace,

where he advises the Romans all in a body to leave their city,

and seek a new seat in some remote part of the world,

by way of cure for the corruption of their manners.

....Every candid reader will easily understand my discourse

to be intended only in defence of NOMINAL Christianity;

the other having been for some time wholly laid aside by general consent,

as utterly inconsistent with our present schemes of wealth and power."

OH he did NOT just say that!!!! That is just ... just ... brilliant sarcasm at its most glorious. By an Anglican priest, no less. I'm going to go read it again. It makes me laugh.

I wanted to give you a quote from This Child Will Be Great, which was excellent. But I set it down somewhere. When I find it again, I'll give you a tidbit. I know. You can hardly wait.

So I end this post with The Barbarian Way.

"The speaker went on to explain that the innovator

is the guy who eats the poisonous mushroom and dies.

The early adopter is the guy right next to him, who doesn't have to eat it.

He can learn from the innovator's misfortune.

I am a mushroom eater ....

Without risking the poisonous mushroom, we never would have discovered the joys of portobellos ....

If we wait for someone else to take the risk,

we risk that no one will ever act

and that nothing will ever be accomplished.

John the Baptist was a mushroom eater, and it cost him his life.

Jesus, too, was a mushroom eater, and He found Himself nailed to a tree.

Neither man saw his thirty-fifth birthday."

is this a Monty Python scene?

2011-09-01T07:00:00.004-04:00

Last Saturday, Spike and I went for an impromptu picnic. We had been grocery shopping, realized we were starving, and none of the food we had just purchased was picnic-worthy.

So we dropped the groceries at home, grabbed a little cooler, went BACK to the grocery store, picked up some picnic-friendly foodie bits and headed off to "any green space, near some water, with a picnic table".

We wanted a picnic table
because when we grabbed the cooler at home,

we also grabbed a blanket.

And then we set it down.

And left it on the kitchen counter.

Found a green space. Near a creek. No picnic tables. Started down a deserted path anyway, found a clearing with fallen logs, plopped down on the logs, opened the cooler and feasted.

Note: the clearing literally was along the side of the path, but no one was there, so what does it matter?

We munched on fresh bread and old cheese and local strawberries. Waved hello to the one lady walking her dog. Slowly became immersed in deep conversation, just the two of us, regarding Important Life Events as we slurped watermelon in between chocolate-covered almonds.

Until Spike glanced up, paused mid-sentence, and said quietly, "There are people coming. With nametags. A lot of them."

Suddenly, without any explanation, a troupe of 30 to 40 adults, all wearing nametags, strode cheerfully and energetically through our little clearing. We nodded and smiled until we looked like bobble heads. A few stragglers brought up the rear. And then they were gone, the woods returned to peaceful silence, and we were left to ourselves again.

Seemed odd.

all together now ... "aaaawwwww!"

2011-08-31T07:00:00.000-04:00

Spike's on the road a lot.

But he remembers things.

Like birthdays.

Like MY birthday, yesterday.

One more reason to keep him.

vacation moments

2011-08-30T07:34:00.000-04:00

I've been on vacation.

As you are by now aware, we hung out with the Punk, J-Blu and the Bean for a weekend. Tremendous fun. Moment of Note: When the Bean - who ate less than any of us at the Mandarin - solemnly looked down at his full belly and declared, "I did NOT come in with this."

We went shopping. Cross-border shopping. I know, it's evil. And for the record - I've never done it before. But I'm probably going to do it again. I don't LIKE shopping, but somewhat cheaper prices, a wider selection and an overnight in another town with Spike - yeah, I'm definitely doing that again.

We went to dinner with friends, also a just-the-two-of-them family, like us. Moment of Note: When the waiter asked him (of the just-the-two) how he could afford his electronic gadgetry habit, she (of the just-the-two) instantly responded, "We don't have kids." The waiter's eyebrows shot up - "That's the best answer I've ever heard," he said. Then he wistfully explained that his Italian mama probably wouldn't go for that idea.

We went to Gravenhurst to visit Spike's sister and her man, and there ... we went to see their show (which was quite fun) ... and we read books (I'll have to update that list on the right now) ... and we slept ... and ate smoked trout and blueberry pancakes. Although not at the same time. That would be gross. Oh, and we ALSO were taken here to enjoy a dinner that certainly was created in heaven, using a beautiful little restaurant in Orillia as a front. (pause to drool at the memory of exquisitely-prepared Rosemary Lamb Shank ... mmmmm ... )

Spike had to go back to work a few days before me, so I dropped him there early Monday morning, and thought ... "Hmmm ... I think I'll do some canning."

Who does that on a whim??!! Apparently I do.

Two and a half days. No TV, radio, or internet in the background. No one called or texted. Just the sound of me canning tomatoes, tomato butter, peaches, plum preserves and hot peppers; I also froze blackberry jam from my very own bush in my very own garden. And at the end - rows of shiny jars, a task fully completed. That's better than therapy, baby!

Moment of Note: discovering that the the medicated ointment I bought at a cleaning party several years ago, really DOES work miracles when one splashes a litre or so of boiling water on one's upper half.

Another Moment of Note: discovering that an underpad, tablecloth and thick bath towel are not enough to stop full jars, just removed from a boiling water bath, from wrecking your table.

Yes.

I wrecked the table.

And then I went back to work.

it couldn't have been better!

2011-08-14T12:56:00.001-04:00

(A guest post by J-Blu)

Have you ever spent a day with Aunt Patti and Uncle Jeff? Even better-a whole weekend? It's fun, but you have to go prepared. And if they take you to Niagara Falls, seriously brace yourself. This is what's most likely to happen.

First, you'll drive around, trying to find a cheap spot to park. Take the bussy thingy provided to the Falls. You'll probably buy your tickets for the Journey Behind the Falls, realize you have time to do something while you're waiting, so then practically run a couple hundred kilometres to get to the Maid of the Mist. You'll buy your tickets, the lady will say you have time to go on it before your scheduled Journey Behind the Falls, UJ won't believe her, but he will take everybody's word for it anyway. (I know what you're all thinking-finally UJ comes in! But trust me, you'll be hearing a lot of him throughout this warning-I mean, wonderful mind tour.)

You're going to wait in line for half a dozen hours, then get pushed into a corner, have some dude go 3, 2, 1, he'll flash a blinding light in your eye, and then push you along. He'll have to give UJ and Punk a little more attention (especially UJ) because they're still in shock of what just happened, they're out in candy land of which no one in the real world knows exists.

After getting UJ and Punk back from-well, wherever-you're probably going to wait in line once again, go up in an elevator, have UJ freak the worker out, then get in another line. Just so you know, you're now waiting for a blue, plastic poncho thing so you don't get soaked.

You'll think the bottom of the boat is as good as the top so you'll decide to go to the back of the boat, on the bottom, while everybody is pushing to get to the top edges. Punk hides behind the Canadian flag and it's attached pole, probably because he doesn't want to get his special forty dollar Blue Jays hat wet. (I'm sorry if you and the Jays have a hate hate relationship, but Punk has an adoring relationship with them. What can you do? It comes from Daddy Punk.)

So anyway, UJ thinks it's boring because you can't see anything from the back until the boat turns around. So he'll walk around a little bit, then come running at all of you, telling you all to go upstairs. Once you get up there, you'll have to admit, it's pretty amazing! After you've turned around and past the Falls, wait for people to stop standing at the top of the stairs for no reason at all and move, then race downstairs so you're able to get out quickly when the boat stops. Don't go to the gate UJ thinks you'll come out of because you won't. You'll go out the opposite one. So you'll shove through the people who are smarter than you and run out almost individually-there's no staying as a group.

Let J-Blu rip her blue plastic poncho thing right in half, then as you walk by, you'll all throw them out in the recycling bins they have set up for you. On you're way out, spend half a million dollars to buy two copies (in frames!) of the picture you surprisingly had taken for you, even if you didn't want it. Look at them and laugh at UJ, Punk and Bean and keep going.

Now book it 300 km/h all the way back so you make it to the Journey Behind the Falls. While you're waiting in line, UJ will take Bean to the bathroom again because of the bottle of pop he drank, then wait in line for a few more hours. You'll realize that you have to get your picture taken again, confirm with everyone that you're all going to make crazy faces, then actually make it happen.

You'll wait in another HUGE line, get yellow, plastic poncho things, and wait in yet another GIGANTIC line. You might see a tiny, little baby that's adorable, but then notice that it has scary hair that sticks straight up, and should probably be checked out. Watch it scream at the camera flash, then calm right down again-it's quite funny. Keep waiting because there's nothing to be entertained by, then notice a very tall duck-like human walking down the line with stylish sunglasses. His dad or whoever the guy is will cover for him and tell everyone who's laughing at him something that you won't understand. Laugh because he laughed, and just keep walking. Finally, you get in the elevator and have UJ freak the worker out and embarrass you all in front of an elevator full of people, then quietly walk out as if you don't know him.

Go into the nearest portal thing that's gated in (you're now behind the falls!), watch white stuff (the mist) fall, be impressed and walk down to the next one. Same thing. Now you're disappointed because you think that's all it is, but then have Bean lead you around a corner, to a set of stairs. Walk down them and get soaked because you will be right beside the falls!! Once you're amazement bar runs out, wait for AP to read all the historical signs, and go back down the elevator.

When you walk out of it, you will freeze your skin off. Again, let J-Blu rip her plastic thinger-majiger in half, and give them to UJ to dispose of them. Spend a quarter of a million dollars this time to get another two copies (in frames!) of the crazy faces you made. Leave the cave thingy you're in.

Find that Punk, J-Blu, and Bean are wiped, so get on the bussy thingy to go back to the parking lot. UJ and AP will decide that they absolutely love and adore their niece and nephews so much that they'll take them to the MANDARIN!!!!!!!!!!!!! Everybody is flying high over the moon, until UJ's GPS shuts down, not having the right charger that UJ forgot in his truck. After a while of not knowing anything, everyone gets a little tense with each other. But it's OK! UJ will keep driving straight and finally find it when everyone is starving. The OPEN sign won't be lit up, so you will all get incredibly discouraged, thinking it was closed. Then, a Mandarin 'welcomer' comes to the rescue and opens the door for all of you and a little elderly lady. Punk and J-Blu run for the crab legs right away and get piled high plate fulls for themselves. They get a few plates like that, then go for desert. Meanwhile, Bean will be a disgrace to the Szusz name and won't even have one crab leg. No, instead he has eight pieces of watermelon, four ribs, and desert. (But we still love him!) AP will have all different kinds of food, including a devilled egg that J-Blu and Bean will not be impressed with, then she'll go for desert. UJ will have one crab leg, half a small lobster that has seasonings, cheese, etc. on it, which will be wrong in J-Blu's eyes and who knows what else he'll have. Then of course, he'll go for desert, maybe a couple times. After all, the servers will be amazing, and it'll be an awesome day! You'll all leave refreshed and very happy!

The rest of the night is history and so is the rest of the weekend.

Now J-Blu needs to sleep.

(And she is sorry that this was so long, you should go have a nap, too.)

pickling pastor

2011-08-10T07:42:00.000-04:00

The truth is ... if I was in school this semester, there would be a whole lot of vegetables going to waste each week. But I'm not in school. And Spike's away a lot. So I've been experimenting, and can I just tell you - although I'm definitely a GOOD cook, I've never been a particularly ENTHUSIASTIC cook - but this summer has been fun. Mostly because I'm a VERY enthusiastic eater, so ... all the vegetable experiments have left me (and on occasion, a few friends) quite satisfied.

Yesterday I even pickled some hot peppers.

That's right.

~ pastor patti proudly pickled piquant peppers ~

I also sold seashells by the seashore, but that's not as interesting.

So just for my own search purposes, later on, I'd like to note that on the weekend, even Spike enjoyed kohlrabi, zucchini (with tomatoes and garlic), potatoes with fresh dill, and of course (because Spike needs meat), a little bit of chicken sauteed in white wine with mushrooms.

And last night ... well last night my dinner was a beautiful thing.

That right there, my friends, is eggplant casserole - my first time cooking eggplant. I liked it, although I read other people's comments before I made it, and was glad I did. I added oregano and basil to make it a little tastier. In my opinion, some garlic wouldn't hurt either, but I tend to think garlic makes EVERYTHING better. Ooohhh, and you could sprinkle cheese on top at the end. More bread crumbs too. Still. I've eaten eggplant before, and didn't love it. THIS recipe ... worth making again.

On the bottom of the plate ... to the left ... is tabouli ... and on the right is cucumber raita. (How do you say raita? "RAY-ta"? "rah-YEE-ta"?) Both are recipes from the urban farmer, but I added tomatoes to the tabouli. Both so yummy.

And just to continue my crusty "not-a-food-blog" defiance, I'll also let you in on the fact that at the moment, I'm considering asking Spike for a Kindle for my upcoming birthday. I'm really waffling though. Between comments here and on Facebook, I've learned that some of you wonder how you ever lived without your Kindle. Others of you bought one, and went back to real books.

I'm wondering if it's going to be like an iPod. I had one of those. Didn't use it. Turns out I don't LIKE things in my ears, plus those little bud things don't STAY in my ears, so I'm that person on the bus swinging her arm around wildly to catch the thing that fell out of her ear and shove it back in, over and over again, all in an attempt to look hip and cool. Then it falls out of my ear again, wraps around a pole as I'm exiting the bus, and yanks my head backwards in an attempt to strangle me.

Besides, the iPod leaves me with the same sense as vacuuming, which I despise. I'm always sure I'm missing something while vacuuming. Something that is hidden by the roar of the vacuum. I know you all love your iPods. I don't.

After all that, the iPod broke. You can read about that here. (It's a far more entertaining post than this one, by the way.) Eventually my youngest nephew, the Bean, dug it out from under the dust bunnies and quietly fixed it, so I gave it to him.

I don't think he wants a Kindle though.

See? Not a food blog.

bees

2011-08-04T08:26:00.000-04:00

I was sitting outside early this morning with my coffee, my journal, and my phones, both cell and landline. (Phones were in case Spike called or texted. Which he did. And that was nice.)

Morning glory has grown rapidly up its tower, as it always does. Just two blooms though. I keep reminding myself that it's only early August. It will bloom in a few weeks. And yet I don't even see any blooms in process. Where are the flowers?

Then I think about my tomatoes which have been incredibly non-productive this year. They didn't grow more than a foot high, and I got a grand total of 6 marble-size tomatoes from 4 plants. Nothing else is happening. I think they were upset about the loss of the tree. They didn't WANT more sunshine, no matter what the experts say.

Then I think back to our days of living near High Park, in Toronto. Good days. Very good days. We loved living there. In fact, that was our all-time favourite place we had ever lived ... until this place where we live now. We lived on a 3rd-floor walk-up in an old, giant house. There wasn't a balcony, but there was a roof ledge outside a window, with a little decorative wall across it. Just big enough to hold a couple of tomato plants. They grew huge, but not a single tomato did they yield. I finally realized - I should have sent a memo out to the bees that there were tomatoes way up high among the trees, and those tomatoes needed some pollinating.

Which reminded me of that movie - Bees, was it? - where there weren't enough bees to pollinate plants, and everything was dying. And then I remembered my sister saying something about a world shortage of bees for the Punk's lizard to eat. (Oh wait, that's crickets, not bees. Never mind.)

Still. What if there is a tremendous bee blight going on, which is stopping my morning glory from blooming, and my tomatoes from yielding a harvest of any kind? What if we just can't grow food anymore, because the bees are all gone?

I thought about that for awhile, outside in my garden, sipping my coffee this morning.

And then a bee flew directly into my head and got tangled in my hair, while I frantically (but silently) flailed my arms around to get it out, GET IT OUT!

And thus ended my morning meditation.

gaming pastor

2011-08-03T07:00:00.002-04:00

Saturday, Spike and I had some free time. There was no shopping, cleaning or erranding that HAD to be done. We went to the theatre, but nothing looked interesting. So Spike looked at me with a little pleading smile, and said, "We could play video games..."

Have I ever mentioned what an awesome wife I am? Because I am. And so we gamed.

We played this. Not a zombie or vampire in sight. No speeding cars. No need to select from a plethora of guns. Therefore ... it should be an enjoyable game, by my reckoning.

Which brings my reckoning into question.

First - no plot. I kept waiting for the story to start, thinking we were going through tutorials. We were not. This was the game. And I was already failing.

Second - I stink. Not literally. In person, I almost always have a faint whiff of Strawberries and Champagne about me. But I could not maneouver the robot that was me. Left thumb to move it, right thumb to aim vision. Which means I can be moving left while looking right. This explains why I kept walking into walls when I thought I was obviously proceeding through an open doorway into the next room.

Third - the computerized voice that is the Master of the Game is rude. "I don't see how I can make this any easier," it says calmly after I fail yet again. ExCUSE me?!!?? Snide remarks about my odds of winning if only this were an eating contest really ticked me off. I wouldn't put up with this nonsense from a human. Why on earth am I letting a machine talk to me like this? This is not fun.

I actually had to get up at one point and take a coffee break. If one is getting irritated while having a fun afternoon with one's dearly-beloved, something is wrong. Dearly-beloved came upstairs and offered to do anything else. He explained that the computer has a virus and is acting weird - THAT'S the point of the game. So I need to stop taking offense, and stop waiting for a storyline. I did, however, need to learn the difference between turning and sidling.

So I tried. I got better. (Which is not at all to say that I became competent.) And I got less irritated. Coffee helped.

It usually does.

my own copy

2011-08-02T07:04:00.000-04:00

People recommend or offer to loan me books all the time, books that I "simply must read". (Also videos, newsletters and CDs.) I try to be honest in my response. I always have an ever-changing pile of books of my own, as yet unread. Plus school books. Books for work. Books on my Amazon wishlist. I rarely borrow a recommended book, because no matter my intentions, the odds of me actually reading it are not good. If it truly sounds like a must-read, I add it to my Amazon wishlist. If after a year or two, it's still sitting on the wishlist ... I delete it. If I haven't bought it by that time, I'm not gonna.

How's that for honesty? Also, since I'm being honest here, sometimes I eat chips for supper. Or popcorn.

Recently, someone highly recommended "The Pastor" by Eugene Peterson to me. It is his personal memoir. Eugene Peterson is, of course, the dude who translated The Message version of the Bible. Just from knowing that, I suspect this is a man with imagination and courage and passion. (I know some of you don't like The Message. That's OK.)

The way my friend described it caught my attention. He said he would leave it in the office for a week or two if either my co-pastor or I wanted to read it, no pressure. EXCEPT ... this is a person who highly values his books in that he doesn't fold pages, or highlight, or scribble notes, ever. He doesn't even write his own name in the book. He likes his books to stay in pristine condition. I, on the other hand, am a person who highly values my books in that I read them while eating (thus risking food splatter), while lying in bed (thus risking falling asleep on a bent page), and if it's a good book, I highlight the living daylights out of it. I like my books to evolve to well-loved condition, like the Velveteen Rabbit.

So there's a little bit of pressure. I'm rather terrified to touch his book at all.

I took it home on several different days. Didn't read it. Brought it back. Finally started it at work Thursday (while carefully eating soup), and continued reading a bit of it at home Friday (while carefully eating cereal).

I'm going to return it to him. It's too good. I'm only on page 40, and my brain is shrieking in frustration as one line after another demands highlighting and scribbling for later consideration and conversation. There is no way that I can return this book to him unmarked if I don't stop reading it RIGHT NOW.

Plus I want my own copy.

It's a rare book that bypasses all the others in line, and makes it to the top of my pile. This one has done it, unless it takes a dive at page 41 and continues downhill from there.

I will leave you with a quote, and then I'm closing it up, wrapping it in cheesecloth, and gently transporting it back to the office. The context of this quote is Peterson's assertion that he learned what a congregation should be from working in his dad's butcher shop, where everyone - the respectable, the odd and the downright unwelcome - everyone - was treated with respect.

"Congregation is composed of people, who, upon entering a church,

leave behind what people on the street name or call them.

A church can never be reduced to a place where goods and services are exchanged.

It must never be a place where a person is labeled.

It can never be a place where gossip is perpetuated.

Before anything else, it is a place where a person is named and greeted,

whether implicitly or explicitly, in Jesus's name.

A place where dignity is conferred."

radish surprise

2011-07-29T07:00:00.000-04:00

Still not a food blog.

But I've been eating radishes. Which is new. My Grandma P. liked radishes. I never did, really. They seemed intrusive, and frankly - a little pushy in a salad. Back here, I told you I'd let you know how my radish experiment turned out.

First - I tried roasting them. It was OK. But to be honest, I discovered part-way through the process that I didn't have green onions, but I did have mushrooms. I figured olive oil could substitute for peanut oil. And I didn't have any sesame seeds. So I can't really blame the recipe for a less-than-stellar result, can I? It was acceptable. Just not - WOW.

So I tried the recipe that the urban farmer provided (which apparently was an adapation from this cookbook). And ... wait for it ... Spike liked it! And so did I! And so did two of our friends, on two separate occasions! I've made it three times now, and it's a popular one. The most recent time, I went a little heavy on the chives, and had to add extra honey in self-defense. I think we prefer dill over basil, although both are nice. All in all - this is a tasty one.

Interested? No? Move along then, nothing more to see here.

Still here?

OK. Here's what to do with your Grandma's radishes.

SURPRISING RADISH SALAD
1 bunch of radishes, sliced or diced
1 bunch of green onions or chives, chopped
1 tbsp chopped fresh dill or basil
1/8 cup olive oil
a squeeze of lemon juice
a dollop of honey
1/4 tsp of dijon mustard
dash of sea salt & pepper

Combine all and refrigerate up to 2 hours to marinate.

But it's still not a food blog.

we have flies

2011-07-27T19:30:00.001-04:00

I remember my grandparents' farm. Making my way through a mob of chattering chickens to gather freshly-laid eggs. Picking raspberries. Gathering items of interest from the bush out back. Wheelbarrow rides around the farmhouse. (It never occurred to me that the wheelbarrow might have any other purpose.) Scooping up handfuls of perfectly smooth and spherical soy beans, and letting them pour back out through my fingers. Reading endless ancient copies of Readers Digest in the little space behind the kitchen woodstove.

And the flies.

I remember the flies.

I remember flies, because I killed a gazillion of them this morning. And last night. And yesterday morning.

My friends - I don't live on my grandparents' farm. Flies are acceptable on a farm, for some reason. But I'm an urban dweller.

Why the flies???!!

In a moment of desperation recently, Spike grabbed the handiest container near him and sprayed wildly. It was mildly helpful. For the record, Febreeze air freshener - specifically Lavendar Vanilla & Comfort - slows them down. If you spray them, they land and stagger around just long enough for you to squish them with whatever your squishing tool of choice is. (Mine is a paper towel. Spike's is a bare hand. Eewww.)

On the bright side, all the mosquitos appear to have perished in the recent heat wave. No West Nile virus for me. Just typhoid, cholera, tuberculosis, or any other of 100 pathogens that apparently the common house fly carries.

What a relief.

JFK was here

2011-07-26T07:50:00.000-04:00

Well, technically JFK was NOT here.

It was just Greg Kinnear, playing the part of JFK.

And actually, now that I think of it, that particular scene didn't actually have JFK aka Greg Kinnear in it.

So neither JFK nor GK may have been here at all.

Neither was Jacqueline Kennedy aka Katie Holmes.

(And just now I've noticed all the Ks at work here. There's JFK aka GK and JK aka KH. Coincidence? I think not.)

So ... really, no one of importance was here.

But last night, when I was watching The Kennedys, I noticed that this place where someone named Joe does a little underhanded business with someone named Sam, while a young Frank Sinatra looks on ... well, this place is just a few blocks from me.

And it really looks like that too.

small world

2011-07-25T10:11:00.000-04:00

4:00 AM Alarm goes off. Time to take Spike to work - 40 minutes each way.

4:33 AM In the car, Spike's short on water for this week, so we're keeping our eyes peeled for a store that might be open at this insane hour.

4:36 AM Receive "morning" text from fellow early riser who's on HIS way to work too. Not "good morning". Just "morning". That was our agreement.

4:53 AM Halfway to Spike's work, pull into a PetroCanada convenience store. Buy a case of water.

4:54 AM Chat to the lady behind the counter. She mentions the rain that happened everywhere on Saturday night. "Not at our house," we said. Not at her son's house either, she says.

Turns out her son lives 4 doors down from us.

heat humour

2011-07-23T20:36:00.000-04:00

We're in a heat wave here. I won't bore you with the details, and yes - I know it gets hotter in other places - and I live and work in air conditioning - so I'm OK. But the fact is, it's hotter here than it usually is. And my grass has all died. So there. We have a heat wave.

heatage

2011-07-20T17:29:00.000-04:00

Finish this sentence ... "It's SOOOO hot that ...."

Here's mine. "It's SOOOO hot that my face makes babies cry."

Actually, I don't know if it had anything to do with the heat.

Sunday, we had our whole church picnic out at Christie Conservation Area. I did NOT spontaneously combust, although once or twice I thought I might, so I hustled my pale little self into the shade. We did our annual water baptisms in a quiet, murky little corner of the lake. If you were watching me closely, you might have seen my eyebrows suddenly jump up as I rapidly moved a little to the right.

Because a rock solidly bumped my left leg.

And then I realized rocks don't float.

And then the rock bumped me again.

I'm very proud that the only reaction I had was a delicate twitch of the brows and an unobtrusive shift to the right. Because inside my head - well, inside my head there was some shrieking. And wouldn't THAT be awkward if I baptized someone "In the name of the Father, the Son, and .... AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!"

After the picnic I wanted ice cream, and I wanted it Right Now. That doesn't happen often, but when it does, Spike is happy to cooperate. After ice cream, he realized he wanted real food, so we went across the steaming hot parking lot for some Chinese food. (I know. Everything about that is wrong. Even at the time, I knew it.)

Which brings us to the baby.

I was sipping on wonton soup, since I was too full of ice cream to eat anything else, when a family came in and plopped their baby down at the next table. The baby stared at me. Stared and stared. So I smiled. He stared some more. I smiled and waved. He stared. I smiled, waved, and said, "Hello!" He screwed up his face and burst into tears.

Then he looked away and stopped crying. Looked back. I smiled. He wailed. This cycle was repeated a few times.

Finally his mother said apologetically - "He doesn't like it when people smile at him ... it's a new thing."

Well that's just funny. So I laughed. Which made him cry some more. And then he stared some more. I finally held up the leftover takeout boxes in front of my face so he wouldn't see me smiling.

And then he smiled.

So I left.

communication tech

2011-07-14T07:56:00.000-04:00

Oh no.

You're all signing up for Google+ aren't you? I've heard it in the news. I've seen it on Facebook. Once again, Google does an "invitation-only" rollout, and we all *must* have it. It's creating quite a buzz. Which, I'd like to point out, Google Buzz did not do.

Here's the thing. If you all become Google+ peeps, I have to as well. Because you will stop communicating via Facebook or text. Even now, many of you ignore my emails and phone calls all together, glancing askance at me when I mention it, as if I just suggested communicating through carrier pigeons.

So these days, if for example, the Worship Team needs to know that we're going to have a guest chimp on bongos on Sunday morning, I send a group email ... and an identical group Facebook message ... and then I text several people to say, "check your email" ... and one or two I have to personally collar with full eye contact in order to be assured the message has been received.

And then I am mocked for sending too many messages. "Sheesh Patti, we know about the chimp already."

And now you're all throwing Google+ into the mix.

Well that's just dandy.

PS I joined Gmail before anyone else I know, and I would like to inquire as to why I have not received an invitation to Google+. I can only assume it was lost in the mail during the recent Canada Post strike/lockout.
--
In other news, I just got notification that my Bell e-bill is ready, with a balance of ... are you ready for this ... $-16.32. That's right. A negative balance.

I definitely did NOT see that coming.

strong enough for a man ... but for a yard-working woman? maybe not.

2011-07-11T17:37:00.000-04:00

It's good that this space is a virtual connection. Because if you were with me right now in the non-virtual world, I suspect your eyebrows would be slightly raised, and you would be holding a delicately scented handkerchief to your nose.

Here's the thing. I got up super-early (and I do mean early) to take Spike to work. Came home as the sun came up and went straight to work, worked for hours, on a day that just kept getting hotter. I mulched. I hoed. I raked. I weeded. I mulched some more. I lopped. I trimmed trees that were beating on the roof of the garage. I bundled them all with twine and took them to the curb. I also successfully avoided the door-to-door literature-distributing pair that was slowly making their way down the street. When I sit on the far side of my back deck, I can't hear anyone knocking at the front door, and I can't be easily seen from the side gate.

I am now in serious need of a shower, what with the stunning combination of dirt and sweat that I have accumulated, but a shower requires movement, and I'm not sure I have the energy. It would be a real shame if I drowned in my shower at the end of such a high-accomplishment day, simply because I was too tired to breathe air. On the other hand, I still have to go pick up my weekly veggies. My urban farmer friend is fairly easy-going, but in my current state even his limits might well be tested. Plus I'm out of milk for coffee - which is an essential thing in my world - so once I get my butt out there to pick up my veggies, I'm heading to a grocery store too.

*sigh* I'm going to have to shower, aren't I?

Listen, maybe check in on me some time this week. If I don't respond, I've drowned, and my water bill is going to be a doozy.

spike, beets and a nap

2011-07-05T07:00:00.001-04:00

Spike came home last night! Hooray!

He's gone again, of course. But he got to share in my ongoing food experiment. Plus he barbequed sausages, which was a very lovely addition to my veggies.

For the record - spinach with olive oil and sauteed garlic - has potential, but I didn't love it. I wanted to. It smelled good. I think I cooked it too long. And had too much olive oil. It wasn't awful - just wasn't great.

But the beets!

You won't believe what I did with the beets. Well, one of you will, because you made the suggestion. Yes, the giver of this recipe can be found at his blog from time to time. We've never met in person. But I've been assured by a flesh-and-blood Spike and his sister that he is indeed a real boy.

And here's what he said to do with the beets:

Boil until soft. Peel. Slice very thin. Pour some olive oil and balsamic on a platter. Place beets on said platter. Top with more olive oil and lots of mint leaves and black pepper. Let sit for 20 minutes. Squeeze some lemon on it and have lunch.

So. Very. Yummy.

Even Spike said so.

P.S. Yesterday, after planting a tree, I wandered around the yard. I had woken up too early for a day off, in order to take Spike to work. I began to nod off in a patio chair, and finally pulled the cushion off the chair, onto the deck, in the shade of the big tree. Laid down. Woke up 2 1/2 hours later.

It was heavenly.

pink on my property

2011-07-04T08:04:00.000-04:00

It started as a typical Sunday.

5 AM - Alarm
8 AM (or just after) - Arrive at work
10:34 AM - Service begins
Noon - Service ends
1 PM - Lunch
3 PM - Home, sleepy, for a couple of hours before heading back. But before I crash ... gotta water my tomato plants.

Head to the back veggie garden, water the tomatoes. Slowly realize I am staring at a wall that I'm not usually staring at. It's on the other side of the street which runs in front of the house whose back yard backs onto our back yard. And I don't usually stare at it because there is usually a wall of foliage at the back of my back yard that blocks it.

????

Look around. Look up. Look down. Wasn't there something here? Did the neighbour behind me clear up foliage? Because I really thought there was something on my side of the old chain link fence. And when did this tree stump and fresh wood chips appear? Bewildered gestures, as I slowly realize - somebody cut down my tree!

No one is in the back yard into which I am now staring, a yard which I have never clearly seen before. Next door to them, a couple of adults are swimming in a new pool. Their back yard backs onto our garage, beside the vegetable garden. They don't notice me. Their foliage is mostly still intact.

I head inside, tell Spike, and we both stare in amazement from our kitchen through the hole to the other side. "What are ya gonna do?" he asked. "Well, I don't want to start a war," I said. "I guess I'll call the city tomorrow, and talk to by-law people and ask them how I should handle it."

I paused. "The people in the pool behind-and-beside might have seen something. Maybe I'll just ask them if they know anything."

Back outside, peer through their foliage and tentatively call towards the pool - "Hello? Hi. I know this is weird ... sorry ... it's just ... I had a tree here ... " another bewildered gesture ... "and I'm just wondering if you have any idea what happened?"

Lady shoots meaningful look to her husband, silently points at him, and he says, "Um ... I cut it down. I knocked, but no one was home."

"But ... it's ... why would you ... ??!!??" I ask in shock.

"It was just a weed," he says.

"I have a 7-inch tree stump here," I say.

"Well, yeah, but it was just one of those wild maples ... It just was sort of ... I knocked, but no one was home." He smiles shamefacedly. "Forgiveness? The good news is it'll grow back ... "

"Well ... sure, forgiveness ... I mean ... well, next time, maybe couldja get permission first??!!"

"Sure, yeah, sorry ... it just was kinda wild looking ... and I knocked, but no one was home ..."

"... OK, but it's just ... well, I value my privacy ...." I leave hanging the unspoken sentence that the reason we've never met is because of the wall of foliage. And the tree isn't even bordering his property at all. It's between me and his next-door neighbour. And it's MY WEED-TREE!!

So I head back inside, and Spike says, "Well, THAT'S not OK." "Well, it's done now," I say. And we go to sleep.

An hour later, a knock at the door. I ain't getting up for nobody but Spike answers, to a chorus of, "We're sorry! We're so sorry. We bought you a tree."

They introduce themselves, which brings the number of neighbours named Mike to 5. Spike sputters thanks and introduces himself, and they said, "Your wife was just so disturbed about her privacy. And she was just so nice about it, she didn't yell or anything. We're so sorry. We're sorry."

I went out and planted it at 6:30 AM today, chuckling to myself, because this is going to make a great post for my blog. I'll probably take over some pickled beets later today, as a gesture of forgiveness.

Guy directly behind us offered a rather startled "morning" as he came out his back door and saw me where a wall of foliage used to be. I suspect he's wondering what happened too. I'll let him find out on his own that his next-door neighbour had a moment of insanity and chopped down the foliage between us.

And here's the irony. It's a flowering almond. With, according to the tag, large bright pink double blooms. Pink.

I'm going to have to forgive him over and over again.

mostly for me

2011-06-23T07:24:00.000-04:00

I know I am not going to remember what to do with beet greens. Or radishes. Or any of the other veggies I get to pick up once a week.

Somewhere I have to preserve the memory. I could print out recipes - and I might. But for the moment, please pardon me while I jot down a few food thoughts. I know - you're groaning - "not another food blog". It's not. I'm not going there.

But I just don't want to forget that ...

... Adding 1/4 cup of sugar to 2 cups of chopped rhubarb, and cooking it slowly will make a perfect topping for toast that will remind me of Grandma's farm kitchen. And that I probably shouldn't eat ALL of it at once. I could freeze some.

... This Beet Greens, Green Garlic and Barley Gratin (which I made with rice, not barley) is very, VERY good. Even Dad liked it.

... The printed recipe that the urban farmer provided for Greens Soup is delicious, and does not need additional salt. It has bacon in it - what could go wrong? But beans could substitute for bacon quite nicely. He provided the recipe "in case we have a 'bunch' of greens we don't know what to do with" - which of course, I do, because of him. That was thoughtful.

... And that I can make freezer Strawberry Jam, with locally-grown strawberries, while watching "Mad Love" after Wednesday night practice. Instructions on the magic Club House brand envelope of powder. Note to self: You bought the strawberries from the grocery store. They weren't part of the urban farming deal. Don't be crusty with the urban farmer when he doesn't have strawberries next year, and you are sure he did this year, because your blog implied it.

That's all for now. I have radishes, and an idea for them. I'll let you know how it turns out.

But I repeat - not a food blog.

we need a crow

2011-06-21T08:18:00.000-04:00

I went to pick up my weekly share of veggies yesterday. Met a cute little guy who I'll call ... um ... the Tousled Tot. Because his hair was perfectly tousled. His eyes were wide and blue. And he was just lovely all around. When I said, "Hello, I'm Patti - it's nice to meet you," he answered, "Fine." Obviously, I was supposed to ask how he was - my bad.

Talked with a few of the grownups about what was growing in my yard. Herbs ... tomatoes ... strawberries ... rhubarb. The Tousled Tot took it all in, eyes wide and blue.

After a few minutes, I went over to the rows of milk crates and loaded up my bag with greens, radishes and rhubarb, and headed out. The Tousled Tot followed me. "Um ... Patti," he said in a clear voice, eyes wide and blue. I politely stopped and came down to his level. "Yes?" I said.

"I was thinking, that next time you come, on the next Share Day ... we could go strawberry picking." (Intelligent being that I am, I realized he meant in my yard.) "What a great idea!" I said. "I love strawberry picking." He nodded happily.

"But," I said, "you know what? The problem I have is that birds keep eating my strawberries before I pick them." He frowned in concern. "Weird, huh?" "Yes," he said. He thought about it.

And then he brightened. "Maybe you should get a crow. Other birds are scared of crows. Just one crow." "You think that would help?" I asked. "Yes," he said. "Try it." "Thanks for the tip," I said. He smiled, waved, and walked away.

I might be in love.

veggies for me

2011-06-20T13:37:00.000-04:00

If you're a relatively new reader, you may not know the background to this story. It's here. The urban farmer that I met from that ad could not use our yard for growing veggies. It's too shady. (Which explains my lack of success.)

BUT - he's been successful in other yards. And this year I bought a season's worth of locally-grown vegetables. I pick them up each week, from his own back yard, which is literally around the corner from where I work.

Last week was the first week. It was very exciting. I ventured into his back yard, where a chalkboard identified each item, and gave clear directions. To my left were two rows of milk crates, one row above the other. Each milk crate had a different item, all the produce divided into individual portions. It was simple enough - my "for one" share says I can have one from each milk crate.

Here's what I walked away with.

Arugula

Tatsoi

Spinach

Beet Greens

Green Garlic

Rhubarb

Cilantro

Lemon Balm

Ate a whopping couple of salads from that, with the addition of some locally-grown strawberries I bought, and some toasted almonds. I was so nutrified last week, I could hardly stand it.

I was going to make this ... but I didn't get around to it. Life happened.

But I did make some rhubarb crisp.

Used this recipe ... and to be honest ... not my favourite recipe. Too much crisp. And too much sugar. I like the tartness of rhubarb. It was still good though. I'm not saying I didn't eat it. Because I did.

Today I go for Week 2. I don't know if it will be more of the same - I kind of hope so - I'd like to try again with that recipe I didn't get around to. But if it's different, I'll Google some more recipes and let you know how it goes.

And for the record ... some of my very own homegrown rhubarb went into the rhubarb crisp too. So I can honestly put a "moments in my garden" label on this post.

while you wait

2011-06-13T07:00:00.003-04:00

I'm studying. I'll be back after that.

But Spike and I saw this clip on Saturday night, and we LAUGHED. We've seen it before. Each time we LAUGH.

So if you'd like to laugh too, I give you ... "Everything's Amazing and Nobody's Happy". It should tide you over until after my exam.

academic update

2011-06-11T10:37:00.000-04:00

Remember the crusty professor I mentioned earlier? You will remember that "crusty" was a compliment, by the way.

Final exam is next week, so the class is almost over. Spent a few minutes chatting with him after class this week, despite my intention to stay below the radar.

Great conversation. Academically - I'm into Sociology, and he's into Anthropology. Spiritually - I'm into Christianity, and he's into Animism. But - I think we agreed that people need to learn to think outside their own boxes - and that "making a difference" in whatever context you're in is a good thing. And for what it's worth - I honestly think he'd be the perfect next-door neighbour.

I've finally managed to figure out what courses I need and don't need, in order to graduate in a few years. Turns out I didn't need this one, but I'm glad I took it anyway. I don't need the one I had signed up for after this, so I dropped it. There are no courses in Term 2 this summer that will be helpful to me. And I'm off to Ukraine again for a few weeks mid-semester in the fall, so I'm not going to try to take a course around that.

So after next Wednesday, I'm academically relaxing until January. I probably wouldn't have chosen to. But I'll freely confess I'm glad for the break.

I'm tired.

And my garden is calling me. By the way, did I tell you I built a rock wall in my garden last week? I'm very proud. Pics to come, after the exam.

Bell: A Love Story

2011-06-09T08:24:00.000-04:00

I said I'd tell you the story. But it's long, which is why I've delayed. Here, for your pleasure, is the edited version of the documentation I kept from the whole process. I've entitled it - "Bell: A Love Story"

First week of May-ish

Spike has started a new job. Needs a phone. Right now. He's sleep-deprived, on a huge learning curve (he calls it a learning wall), and using someone else's car. He heads to a T-Booth in the local mall, where a kid bopping to the music in his ears signs him up for 250 minutes + 50 bonus minutes with Bell.

May 21 - Got the bill. No bonus 50 minutes. Called Bell, who first get Spike to authorize me on his account. They've never heard of 50 minutes. There are no bonus minutes. Ever. Why would boy at their T-Booth lie? They don't know. If only I had the contract in front of me, they say. But I don't. I will get the contract from Spike's truck and call back. But not until 24th, because Bell is closed on Sunday and holiday Monday.

May 24 - Contract in hand, Spike on the road, called Bell. No 50 minutes, they don't care about the contract, and I'm not authorized, so they won't speak to me. OK, I say. How about I just ask you hypothetically about upgrades that might be possible, so that when Spike comes home, I can give him this information? No. You won't just tell me about your plans? No. They ask if there's anything else they can help me with. A few circuits in my brain pop. I inform them that they haven't done anything to help me yet, and this is why I left Bell over 12 or 15 years ago. Leave a strong message for the invisible "this call will be monitored for quality control people".

Phoned Spike and asked him to phone Bell and authorize me. He did.

May 24 - I call again. Got a trucker's daughter, who was very helpful. She suggested Spike not use Bell plan in US, because - it's lousy. SIM card is better for US, if I buy a different phone, and then just switch SIM cards at the border. Easy as pie. (I should have suspected her there, because pie is not easy.) Sounded a little like Obama - YES I CAN change the plan! YES I CAN keep the same phone number in the US and Canada! And YES I CAN even ditch the new Bell phone number, and use Spike's original cell number. Really? YES.

She did repeat that there are no 50 bonus minutes. I said the guy under contract to Bell at the T-Booth lied then. She says that must be very frustrating. I ask, isn't there something they would like to do about that? Wouldn't Bell like to deal with this guy? Oh, she says. Sure. She takes down the information, very likely with an imaginary pen.

I leave another strong message for Big Brother listening for quality control. Brain circuits fray...

May 28 Spike spent the day with a friend, looking for the best phone for his purposes. Specifically an "unlocked" phone so that we can switch SIM cards, as recommended by Bell. Bought a shiny smart phone. Vendor took us to Wireless Wave booth which represents Bell - guy says Bell gave us a bad plan. Don't go with their recommendation. Starts speaking at high speed, using a highlighter to show us what we probably want, how simple the whole thing is, and don't call Customer Service, call Customer Loyalty. Both Spike and I start sweating. We have no idea what he's saying, except for the Customer Loyalty part.

May 29 Spike and another friend drive to Buffalo, NY to get a US SIM card. $15. Easy to hook up online or over the phone. Except when he gets home, it doesn't work. The number is invalid for porting. Bell, of course, is closed, because it's Sunday.

May 30 Bell says the number is not valid because the phone is not unlocked. It is, I say. It isn't, they say. It is, I say. It isn't, they say. Silence. It isn't, they say. It's impossible. No one sells unlocked phones. "They most certainly do," I say. "No they don't," they say. And furthermore, in order to unlock my phone, I have to pay them $75, and I can't do it until June 2. And no, I certainly cannot keep Spike's old phone number. They can't imagine why the last Bell person neglected to mention these last 3 points, as she was happily telling me to go out and buy another phone.

Many critically stressed brain circuits.

They suggest that I should call the vendor and ask why he lied to me about selling me an unlocked phone, when he couldn't have. Is there a Customer Loyalty department, I ask. Yes, they say. But they politely neglect to transfer me there. Pop.

May 30 Contacted vendor. Yes the phone IS unlocked, he did it himself, it IS ABSOLUTELY unlocked. But no, I can't keep the old phone number, nor can I have the same number in Canada and US. That's impossible.

May 30 Contacted friend who shopped for the phone with Spike. He graciously says vendor is right, phone IS unlocked, and no I can't have one number for two countries. Why, I ask, would Bell tell me that I can? He answers that question with a brief, impolite reference to their level of competence.

I quietly set all phone information on the table, and go outside to garden.

May 31 Called the US company and asked to sign up for new number. Certainly, they say, all cheery and friendly. They just need my ZIP code. But I'm in Canada. I don't have a ZIP code. I have a postal code. They try a number of things, never once losing their helpful demeanor. They are shocked to discover that their company will happily take my money and give me a plan, no matter where I live - but the ZIP code is indispensable to beginning the process. They are very sorry to tell me that I must return to Buffalo and get the dealer to help me. They wish me the happiest of days, despite it all. This call is the most pleasant part of the entire process thus far.

May 31 Called Bell for Round 2 of the "yes it is - no it isn't" unlocked phone debate. They assure me it is ABSOLUTELY IMPOSSIBLE that the phone is unlocked. But "just in case" - maybe switch the SIM card in it with a friend who has a Telus plan. If the phone works, than it IS unlocked. I feel a deadly calm settle over me, and quietly point out that they just said it's IMPOSSIBLE that the phone is unlocked, because NO ONE SELLS unlocked phones, so how is it POSSIBLE that maybe it is? They say they're ALMOST certain it's not unlocked. But maybe I should check. And yes - I will have to pay $75 to Bell, no matter what. Pop. Pop. Pop.

June 5 Back to Buffalo, after morning church service. Vendor has a "back in 30 minutes" sign on the door. We wait for 90 minutes. That's a whole story in itself, but the end is that just as I was pulling away from the curb, he returned. Set us up with his own ZIP code. All is well. Except the wait, combined with border lines, makes me completely late for the evening church service. In 17 years, I don't think that has ever happened before.

June 6 I call Bell, sweetly using the line you all told me to use. "I'm thinking of switching to another carrier. Would you like to pass me to Customer Loyalty now, or should I speak to you first?" She says I have to speak to her first. I tell her the whole story. Tell her what it seems to me that my plan should be. She says she can do better. A few moments later, she has reduced the plan to less than half the cost of the original contract, with services far-better suited to Spike's purposes. No extra fees. No extra costs. I make her go through our entire file to ensure that there will be NO EXTRA CHARGES of any kind added for this change. She assures me there are none. My next bill will be exactly what she has quoted me, plus tax. That's it. What about the $75, I ask. She says - get this - "Well, you had it unlocked by a third party, right?" "Yes," I say, calmly, quietly, dangerously. "Then," she responds, "Why on earth would you pay $75 to us to unlock a phone that is already unlocked? That's ridiculous."

That's when the last few circuits in my brain blew up.

She finished setting me up, and never had to send me to Customer Loyalty at all. Gave me her name and employee number for documenting purposes, and wished me a very nice day. I babbled incoherently and hung up.

What have I learned from this process?

Um ... honestly? OK.

I have learned that Canada's major cell phone carriers will not give a customer what they want unless that customer is willing to spend countless hours and emotional energy fighting them and learning magic phrases that somehow open possibilities that were previously impossible. In my world, that's abusive and deplorable.

But it's apparently the only option.

*small voice* "yay bell"

we're getting there

2011-06-06T09:24:00.000-04:00

US phone plan is in place on Spike's phone.

We got it from a little store on a nondescript corner in Niagara Falls, NY. They also sell clothing. And they speak gangsta.

Yesterday, when we made our second trip there (because we needed an all-important zip code, which Canadians do not have, to activate the plan online), a scribbled sign on the door said, "Back in 30 minutes." We waited on the sidewalk for 45 minutes, at which point someone walked by, laughed, and said, "That sign was on the door over an hour ago."

We looked at each other. "He's not coming back, is he?" Since Spike was leaving in 8 hours for the week again, and this was apparently the only location that was open on Sundays, it really was a problem. Got back in the car, and sent a few texts to a friend, asking him to look online for other locations ... maybe, just maybe, we could find another little store on a nondescript corner somewhere.

Worked on that for almost half an hour. Entered one possible location (they weren't answering their phone, so it was a long shot) into the GPS, and pulled away from the curb. Did a shoulder check - and saw the door on the store was open! "He's back!!!!"

U-turn.

Rushed in.

Got connected.

Aaahhhhh. American side of the border is solved. $60 for unlimited everything whenever Spike is in the US. (That's right - nationwide calling, unlimited incoming calls, continent-wide-texts and unlimited data - $60. Golly.)

Now back to Bell to solve the Canadian side, which will not be nearly so wonderful. (wincing with anticipatory pain) I plan to begin with the line all of you have recommended ... "I'm considering changing to another carrier ... perhaps you have a Customer Loyalty department you'd like to transfer me to?"

Wish me luck.

me and Pheebs

2011-06-04T11:23:00.000-04:00

You know what's wonderful?

Realizing every morning at 4:31 AM that Spike's no-longer-in-use cell phone is still set to wake him up at 4:30 AM. It has no SIM card, so I can't turn the phone on, to turn the alarm off.

Yes, I know - I could dig the SIM card out of my own phone, and pop it into his, and then maybe I could turn the alarm off. But I'm not gonna. And I could just take the battery out. But I keep forgetting.

One night, I got up and shoved it into an oven mitt. That helped.

And then I laughed.

Because I remembered this.

ya wanna buy a phone?

2011-05-28T21:17:00.000-04:00

Houston, we have a phone!

Three, actually, unless you count mine, and then we have four. For two of us. But one is broken.

I don't know why I'm telling Houston about it. Seems appropriate.

Spike came home at the end of this week and spent a few hours today with our maven friend who thinks it's fun to shop for cell phones. That was exceptionally helpful.

They went from one location to another. Finally, somebody who sounds suspiciously like the ya wanna buy an 8 guy on Sesame Street, looked furtively around, lowered his voice, and said, "Go to this booth. Talk to this guy. Tell him I sent you. He knows everything about cell phones."

And he did. And he spoke in everyday English, not tech-talk. Sold Spike a phone, and even switched the SIM card when we brought back the former phone. (Not the broken one, the other one.)

Spike and our Maven-friend went for ice cream to celebrate.

Spike's getting a SIM card tomorrow for the other side of the border.

And then apparently ... fingers crossed ... all will be well.

PS Several of you offered advice and tips, after hearing of our phone breakage. Thank you. We put that into the mix. And to vjc who offered sincere love in place of one of Spike's usual texts - i choked up a little. You're the best!

Oprah

2011-05-25T09:27:00.000-04:00

So ... Oprah's last show is today, apparently.

Gotta be honest, I've been thinking for awhile that this has been the longest departure from a job in all of history. Didn't she announce that she was leaving a decade or so ago?

I never got into Oprah. For one thing - it's daytime TV, and I work in the daytime. I know, I could have TiVo'd it or DVR'd it or whatever it is that people do. But I have never TiVo'd or DVR'd and wouldn't know how. Also ... don't you have to actually be already into a show to care enough to record it for later viewing? Which leads us back to the beginning of this paragraph ... I never got into Oprah.

I also never hated Oprah. Some people do. I got all the emails warning me of her evils. Maybe they're true, maybe they're not, but forwarded emails like that get dumped in the trash pretty quickly, and usually unread.

I've seen enough Oprah to know what she looks like and what she sounds like. But to be honest, I think it's because of the clips of her on news shows when she gave stuff away. "YOU'RE getting a car! and YOU'RE getting a car! and YOU'RE getting a car!" Ironically, those clips made her recognizable enough that I laughed at a spoof of that whole thing worked into a recent How I Met Your Mother episode.

Anyway.

See ya later Oprah. Ya done good.

tech, texts and trucks

2011-05-24T07:37:00.000-04:00

Spike's phone broke yesterday.

Here's the context.

Recently, Spike changed careers and moved into the world of trucking. It's a great world, I must say, and the company he's with is ... well ... rather amazing. However, even with the benefits of all of it, it's a big change, and big changes bring little changes, including how to communicate with one's spouse when one of you is frequently on the road, and even out of the country.

Up until now, we've had cute little texting phones, with a cute little plan that met all our needs. We rarely phoned - we texted. It was free, across North America. What can go wrong?

Except when you're a trucker, you can't TEXT your company, or your destination, or your trainer. You have to phone them. And once you realize that, there's no time to properly investigate all the possibilities. You run out and solve the problem between trips. So Spike reluctantly got a new phone - just for work calls - through Bell (rhymes with ... yep, you got it) that has limited minutes, across North America.

Even more limited, once the contract is signed and customer service says, "Oh no, that's interesting, I don't know why the sales person in the booth told you that, because the contract doesn't show it...."

This is why we left Bell so long ago and refused to even speak to them for well over a decade.

It is why we will leave again, at the first opportunity.

Yesterday, Spike pulled his cute little texting phone out of his jacket pocket, and discovered that the crystal on it was smashed. He can't text. Theoretically can make phone calls, but has no way of knowing if he's called the right number, until the phone is answered. Besides - that phone has a terrible phone plan. It's a texting phone. Can't see his contacts. Can't read my messages to him.

So, being a good spouse, I decided to track down what our next option should be. Got completely overwhelmed by techno-babble and geek-speak. It's not just finding the right device ... it's also figuring out the right plan, and let's face it, Canada's plans are LOUSY. Should we switch to wifi instead of cell service? Tablets instead of phones? SIM cards for either side of the border? Use an android with a data plan, that apparently has no connection at all to Star Trek TNG? Should we perhaps jab our own eyes out in frustration with the whole process? (Oh wait, that one's just for me.) And here's the kicker ... each time I thought of something, I instinctively picked up my cute little texting phone to mention it to Spike, only to remember ... yep.

Emailed one friend who was exceptionally helpful, in part because he's a maven who loves technology. I suspect he was also compassionately responding to my barely-disguised complete incompetence, aggravated by panic. That's a good friend, right there, who keeps answering panicky emails with unintelligent questions on a holiday Monday.

Another friend texted me a bunch of suggestions and explanations, without once suggesting that my entire lack of tech understanding made me a lesser human being. I appreciated that.

Spike phoned a few times from his Bell work phone. It's not ideal. But we sure-as-Bell are not going a week without communicating. We'd both go a little nuts.

I'll figure it out. Meanwhile, if I'm a little crusty this week, give me some grace, OK? I'm missing the 3,247 "i love you" texts per day that are the glue of this whole arrangement.

And I have an exam tomorrow.

Oy.

judgment day

2011-05-20T10:56:00.000-04:00

*sigh*

May 21 is not judgment day. Here's why. In the Bible - which is apparently the basis for this May 21 deadline - Jesus said no one will know when it's going to happen. So just by default, anyone who claims that they DO know, DOESN'T.

I suspect that even if May 21 had been the plan, God has now changed it, just because Sincerely-Off-Dude has announced it. (... "she said facetiously" ...)

So, I've been chuckling at the same jokes you have, and rolling my eyes at this whole thing. But here's what bothers me. There are a whole lot of people that believe this - wholeheartedly. They are going to be really messed up when it doesn't happen. They will struggle to find a place for their faith to land. It will deeply affect their sense of identity, their relationships, their purpose for living, their sense of God.

And that is tragic.

Of course, the next step will be to lump in ALL followers of Jesus with this little group, and then there will be all kinds of delightfully misinformed and vitriolic ranting about people like me who take advantage and mislead and mess up peoples' lives, all in the name of spiritual guidance.

Because apparently, that's what I, and others like me, are in it for. To mess up people's lives.

*sigh*

Oh well.

This concludes Patti's Pity Party.

See ya on the 22nd - it's gonna be a great day!

chips and a smile

2011-05-19T15:36:00.001-04:00

It stopped raining, just for a moment, several days ago.

I took the opportunity to walk down to the corner store to pick up chips and ice cream for dinner. And lest you, in an attempt to justify my behaviour, generously imagine that those were small treats on the side of an otherwise nutritious dinner, alas, I must inform you that you are mistaken. I ate chips and ice cream for dinner that night. Lays Salt & Vinegar chips, and Cookies & Cream ice cream, to be precise.

Our corner store is tightly packed, with just enough room for a medium sized person to duck into the aisle of choice and grab the item for which you have come. You may well have to maneuver around one of a number of children whose parents own the store, and run it with a distant civility. They are not particularly warm people, no matter how friendly I may attempt to be.

I don't go there much in the winter. In the summer, I can jam on flipflops, run down there and be back before the commercial break is over. Winter is more complicated. So I hadn't been there in awhile.

I smiled at the kids playing outside, and at their dad, watching them. They looked at me politely. I went inside, grabbed my dinner and put it on the counter. Smiled at the mom as I usually do, and went about the business of paying. And then ... she spoke up ... rather self-consciously, with a nervous laugh. "I haven't seen you in a long time," she said. "Where have you been all winter?"

I glanced ruefully at the bag of chips. "Trying not to eat chips for dinner," I said. She nodded. And that was the end of that.

Yet another friend in the neighbourhood that I happily call home.

the crusty professor

2011-05-17T08:26:00.001-04:00

I have a midterm exam next week for the course that I thought I just started. Boy, time flies.

And I haven't even told you about my prof.

He's crusty. Opinionated. Sometimes obnoxious. Impatient. Sarcastic. Doesn't "do" computers or anything to do with them, so if you miss a lecture, there's no online place to get notes.

And he's a storyteller, who knows his content backwards and forwards, rarely uses notes as he lectures, never goes off track, and drily cracks hilarious jokes that go over most people's heads.

I. Think. He's. Great.

But I can't tell him that. He's like a radio talk show host (one of the intelligent ones). Entertaining to listen to, but I would never call in, because they always win the conversation and then hang up on you. And then talk about you on the radio after they hung up on you. My prof would totally do that, I think.

So I am LOVING his class. LOVING his style. LOVING sitting in a cramped classroom with too many people two nights a week, listening to him talk.

But I will consider myself to have been successful if I manage to remain anonymous in that space. And I don't think that will be hard. He talks to students who make eye contact, but never, ever asks their name.

Which is fine with me.

outhouse vs plumbing

2011-05-14T08:54:00.000-04:00

Friday night activity-of-the-month - watching Shark Tank.

I'm not sure what the attraction is, since most reality TV annoys me. I think it's that this guy reminds me - a lot - of a good friend. Except he might be slightly nicer than my friend, I'm not sure. This guy, I could do without - he's the kind of character that makes most reality TV annoying, as mentioned before. Unnecessary nastiness. Of course, it probably IS necessary to make the show work, and now that I've just read his bio, I like him a little bit more.

Anyway - last night's episode introduced The CityKitty.

I'm sure it's a great product. It's fun. It makes you smile. It's reasonably-priced. But one of the Sharks asked - what happens when the cat drowns? Everyone scoffed. The Shark persisted - does the cat ever fall in? The CityKitty creator was confident - that does not happen. Ever. That would never happen.

I beg to differ.

Millhouse falls. Always has. When he was a kitten, he could run around upside down underneath the couch (holding onto the lining) with no problem at all. But when he made the leap to a low window sill that was at least 8" in width - he missed repeatedly. And when he did finally land on there - he'd calmly walk along it and randomly fall off. Then look around furtively, give himself a shake, and pretend nothing happened.

When he was an older kitten, he'd walk on the ledge around the stairs to the basement. It was nice and wide. I cannot tell you how many times we heard scrabbling claws, a quick screech, and then the thud of a soft body landing at the bottom of the stairs. Look around furtively, give himself a shake, and pretend nothing happened.

The best was when we had an oversized tub with a nice ledge all around it. Mill liked to take a run through the bathroom, hurl himself through the air and land on the ledge. Until he tried it one day, not realizing that the tub had just been filled for a human occupant. Which meant the ledge was wet. It all happened so fast, there wasn't even the sound of scrabbling claws before his entire body slid into a tub full of water, and just as quickly leapt from it, straight into the air and onto the ground where he looked around in amazed bewilderment, gave himself a shake, and pretended nothing had happened. Which was tricky, since he was completely soaked. Licked himself obsessively for the next 2 1/2 days.

This cat found that he could not jump onto the bed when we got a pillowtop mattress. He wakes us up several times a night so one of us can reach down, grab him by the scruff of the neck and fling him onto the bed. Don't indulge him, you say? Mmmhmmm, thank you for that thought. Here's the problem - he can't jump. But he can wail. Endlessly. And he will. It's not worth the fight.

So, much as I'm sure the CityKitty works for normal cats who leap happily from countertop to fridgetop to treetop, I think I'll take a pass. Mill has spent 19 years using his feline outhouse, and it will do just fine for his remaining days.

in a fog

2011-05-11T18:49:00.000-04:00

Long days ... short nights ... yep, that about sums up this particular week.

Not that I'm complaining. Life is good. Work is good. School is good. But I'm sitting in a classroom which is a bit on the warm side, and which will only get warmer as more students file in for our 3-hour class. And I'm sleepy.

Sooooooo sleepy.

My strategy?

Ate a tuna wrap on the way here - protein.

Working on a large coffee - caffeine.

Got a tiger brownie shoved in my bag for break - sugar.

And got here early enough to get a wall seat, meaning I am not entirely dependent on my own body strength to keep me upright.

Nothing can go wrong.

Right?

Zzzzzzzz ....

last Friday (two Fridays ago)

2011-05-09T08:18:00.000-04:00

Last Friday was a crazy day. (Two Fridays ago, now ... I'm behind.)

Crazy, I tell you.

Remember I mentioned how busy the last few months have been? The goal was to make it to yesterday. And I did. But last Friday (two Fridays ago), I wondered, briefly, if I was going to make it.

Here's what happened.

Remember this? Yep. Many of you were very supportive with your outrage, and I appreciate that. Personally, I didn't think it was all that evil, just desperately annoying, but the salesguy kept apologizing, so I went along with it.

Meanwhile, as I said, we were driving a vehicle that ... well, here's the thing. When I was a yoot, I dated this guy who always had a great car. (It's part of small town / rural culture. I don't remember that anyone gave a rip about Hockey Night in Canada. But all my guy-friends did singlehandedly keep ArmorAll in business.) So ... great car, as I said. Except once. He had put away the great car for the winter - and had a 1902 (I may have the year wrong) Pinto. Everything was broken, including the passenger seat which was attached to nothing at all. He called it his winter-beater.

Back to Spike and me. I've been OK with the aging, brown-bag, no-options, slowly-rusting Corolla we've been driving for 11 years. I was OK when the windshield cracked. I learned how to work the wonky left-turn signal. I shone my phone light on the dash when the dash lights died. But when the driver's seat suddenly broke one day - it hit me. We are driving a winter-beater. And it is not winter anymore. And I am not a yoot.

So ... on the Saturday of Easter weekend, Spike went out between rehearsals and visited four dealerships. I know, right? He's awesome. I love him. I didn't even know about it until all the rehearsals were over, and he quietly informed me that he had found another Perfect Vehicle for An Incredible Deal, and we needed to go test drive it. We did. We liked it. It almost sold - again! But Spike stabbed the other people with his spiky hair while I signed the papers, so it was all good.

Which brings me to last Friday (two Fridays ago). You were wondering if I'd ever get there, weren't you?

I had to go speak at a retreat in Another Town Far Away. We're a one-car family, whether it's new or old. So I had arranged to borrow a car from my Most Awesome Parents. That way, Spike (who was out of town, and would arrive home for the weekend after I left) would have a car.

But then it turned out that the car we bought would need to be picked up on Friday morning. Because I didn't have enough to do on Friday morning, prepping and packing.

THEN, my Most Awesome Parents called to tell me that their 2nd car had broken down, so they couldn't lend me their 1st car. That waffled over a day or two - is it fixed? is it not fixed? Oh wait, it's fixed! Oops - broke again.

So I texted Spike to say, "Sorry baby, I'm picking up the new car and taking it away for the weekend, and you are kinda stranded."

EXCEPT, the Simply Incredible Pastor for whom I was doing the retreat heard of my dilemma, and told me it was cheaper for her to rent a car for me than to pay mileage, so they would rent me a car.

I know. So nice, right?

So here's what I did last Friday (two Fridays ago).

Got up at 4:30 AM and did NOT watch the royal wedding. Went over notes, revamped things again, and packed. Dad picked me up at 7:30 AM, and dropped me at the rental place. Picked up the rental car, brought it home. Cleaned out the old Corolla, which I mentioned above. That took some time. Lotta picks and papers. Took the old Corolla at 9 AM to the dealership (stopping at work on the way to drop something off). Traded in the old Corolla for the new car. Went back to work briefly. Took the new car home, and parked it in the lot across the street. Put my luggage in the rental. Took it across the street. Got the new car, pulled it in the driveway, and popped Louie into the drivers seat to make Spike smile. Drove the rental back to work, where I met J-Blue at noon, and we left. Spoke briefly that night in Bancroft and then dropped into bed. All weekend long, Spike sent texts to me of his joy at driving the new car. He and a friend drove everywhere and hung out all weekend long. I was NOT jealous in any way.

So ... we have a new car. It's a 2009 Acura CSX. Dark blue. Tinted windows. Seats that are fully attached. And a completely reliable left-turn signal.

Yay :)

spike's commercial

2011-05-04T06:23:00.001-04:00

I know I said I'd be back on Monday. I know it's Wednesday. What can I tell you?

I knew January to April was gonna be crazy. And it was.

new course, with readings and assignments - check
Annual Business meeting - check
final exam - check
Easter - check
speaking at another church's weekend retreat - check
District Conference - check but I left early

Aaahhhh. Now I can relax.

Except I just started another new course, and Dude With Whom I Co-Pastor went on vacation. Good thing someone around here takes a little responsibility. Sheesh.

I'M KIDDING!!!

Anyway, at Easter, we did a thing at our church ... and if you were there (or watched it online) you know it was fun ... and you also know that Spike, the love of my life, starred in his very own commercial.

It's funny.

stick with me

2011-04-28T21:53:00.000-04:00

I will be back. I promise.

I have a Spike video that you must - YOU MUST - see. But I can't find my YouTube password, and it's complicated to upload, otherwise.

I am picking up ... something ... tomorrow morning. But then I leave it at home, for reasons far too long to explain at this moment, and head off to Other Lands to speak at a retreat. J-Blue's coming with me, oh yes she is!!!

pause to giggle with excitement

And then of course, there's the wind of today. That was interesting. My downspout went on an adventure of its own. Of course, my roof is intact, so I'm not complaining.

So it's not that I have nothing to say. It's just that I have no time to say it right now. Wait for me, OK? I'll be back Monday.

the Maritimer

2011-04-26T07:32:00.000-04:00

Sunday afternoon, Spike and I walked down to the bay near our house. We took our usual route, out around the very edge of the land, so that we can hear the water slapping against the pier. Rounded a corner, and saw a HUGE ship, right in front of us. It was big.

For those of you who live near an ocean ... you probably wouldn't have thought it was that big. But we're on one of the Great Lakes, and this thing was suddenly looming in front of us, about 30 feet away. Big ships don't normally come this far into the bay. I had to stop and back up - my head couldn't quite cope with the sudden size. We moved closer - it didn't even bob in the water. No swaying or pulling of the ropes, nothing to indicate that this massive creation was afloat in liquid. It looked like it was nailed to concrete. Boats that big don't bob, I guess.

We continued on to Williams to get a sandwich. The port authority board in there said that The Maritimer was in for maintenance and repairs. This morning, as I got up, I heard a horn sound in the harbour. My guess is it's on its way out.

Easter

2011-04-22T08:23:00.000-04:00

*ahem*

There's a whole variety of you guys here. Most of you lurk, a few of you comment on the side or on Facebook, and a few of you comment here. Some of you are local to me ... some are in France ... or Ukraine ... or Australia ... and a whole bunch in the US too. Some of you are churchies. And some aren't.

This is for the non-churchies. Because all you churchies will be doing your own thing in your own church on Easter Sunday, which is cool.

Feeling a little self-conscious here. But here's the thing. I can't tell you how frequently I get told, "I've never been at a church like this ... Never met a pastor like you guys ...." I think it's because we like to laugh, I'm not sure. I've been here at this church for over 11 years ... it feels normal to me. But I get told a lot that it's not. In a good way.

So ... if you're a non-churchie ... and you want to lurk behind the scenes in your jammies and never tell anyone you were here ... you can do that on Easter Sunday. You can do it on any Sunday, actually, but this Sunday morning, we're doing our fun, non-professional, bunch-of-media version of Anderson Caperneus 360. And guess who Anderson's co-anchor is?

Yep. You got it.

You can watch it live, starting at 10:34 AM. Or you can watch it later. Either way, click here and follow the clicks to our UStream channel. It says it starts at 11, but just ignore that - it starts at 10:34. The whole thing will be done before noon, but it will still be online, for later viewing.

Whether you're here, there, or somewhere else ... Happy Easter to you. In my world ... Christ has risen!

a million miles

2011-04-21T07:00:00.003-04:00

I love reading. Always have. I spent a significant portion of my childhood laying upside down in a big arm chair, feet up the back, head on the floor, book upside down on the floor in front of me.

I tried that again recently. Didn't go well.

I always have a pile of not-yet-read books in various places around the house. Some of them are listed over there, on the right. But not all of them. And you'll notice the list doesn't change that often. School takes up a lot of reading energy. Work takes some too. So I glance longingly at the pile on my nightstand, read a page and a half in bed, and fall asleep.

I just finished "A Million Miles in A Thousand Years" by Donald Miller. (He's the guy who wrote "Blue Like Jazz" if that rings any bells.) It started awfully slow for me. Rambling. Miller's a rambler anyway, which is fine. (Let's be honest, there's more than my fair share of rambling right here in this space, isn't there?) But I just couldn't figure out where he was going. And when I only get through a page and a half before drifting off ... well, it takes awhile to get into it.

But then ... well then there was this moment when I realized he hadn't been rambling at all, there was a plan all the way through, and it all tied together. I like those moments. I love communication that does that. Sometimes I try to do that when I speak, and it makes me smile when I feel like that happened.

Here's the idea that stuck with me. (spoiler alert) The book is about his decision to "live a story" instead of just allowing life to happen to or around him. It's surprisingly honest and vulnerable, once you realize what's happening. He talks about going on a long canoe trip with a group of friends.

"It's like this when you live a story: The first part happens fast. You throw yourself into the narrative, and you're finally out in the water; the shore is pushing off behind you and the trees are getting smaller. The distant shore doesn't seem so far, and you can feel the resolution coming, the feeling of getting out of your boat and walking the distant beach. You think the thing is going to happen fast, that you'll paddle for a bit and arrive on the other side by lunch. But the truth is, it isn't going to be over soon."

They stop to visit someone until midnight, and then leave again because they still have hours to go that night. Imagine ... canoeing in pitch dark ... you might as well be paddling in place. There's no sense of getting anywhere.

"I think this is when most people give up on their stories. They come out of college wanting to change the world, wanting to get married, wanting to have kids and change the way people buy office supplies. But they get into the middle and discover it was harder than they thought. They can't see the distant shore anymore, and they wonder if their paddling is moving them forward. None of the trees behind them are getting smaller and none of the trees ahead are getting bigger. They take it out on their spouses and they go looking for an easier story."

And then suddenly - the shoreline looms and you're instantly there.

"It's like this with every crossing, and with nearly every story too. You paddle until you no longer believe you can go any farther. And then suddenly, well after you thought it would happen, the other shore starts to grow, and it grows fast. The trees get taller and you can make out the crags in the cliffs, and then the shore reaches out to you, to welcome you home, almost pulling your boat onto the sand."

I liked that whole concept. It's been rolling around in my head for a few weeks now. I found it oddly encouraging.

A Million Miles in a Thousand Years - available to borrow, if you're interested.

WITH raisins

2011-04-20T07:00:00.020-04:00

If you know Spike at all, you know he's very enthusiastic about food.

Plus he's very lovable.

Ask anyone.

On Sunday, someone who loves him and knows how he feels about food

brought a little giftie to church for him.

Actually, I'd like to point out that the card inside had both of our names, but he said that since his name came first, it was really for him.

I said that since the giftie was a container of butter tarts, it was for me.

We disagreed. He handed one - ONE! - to me, took the rest and went home.

Monday morning, the alarm clock went off at a very dark, cold and ungodly hour. I dropped him off for his next road trip and came home. Went back to sleep. Got up, had some coffee. Studied. Ate breakfast. Studied. Realized I was hungry. Opened the fridge to see what might be there.

Oh my. Oh no. Oh yes. Oh dear.

Spike left his butter tarts!

I'd like, at this time, to tell you all about my incredible self-control

and self-sacrificing love for him at that moment.

I'd like to tell you about it.

But I can't.

... what??!!!

does this car make me look fat?

2011-04-18T08:32:00.000-04:00

We almost bought a car on the weekend.

It's been a long time coming. Our 2000 frill-free, brown-bag Toyota Corolla has had its engine and a good part of its body replaced over time, meaning it is more cyborg than original being. Our mechanic doesn't even speak to us anymore, just shakes his head and sighs. There are no lights left on the dashboard. The windshield is cracked. There are suspicious fumes from time to time. (Not THOSE kind of fumes, engine fumes. Sheesh.) A couple of weeks ago the driver's seat broke. (Spike impressively wedged it into a position that holds if you don't EVER attempt to adjust it.) And when the question of "whose car should we take" arises in group situations ... no one ever suggests ours.

I can't imagine why.

So we (and by "we" I mean Spike) have been checking out cars on-line, reading reviews, comparing prices. Spike thinks this is fun. I do not.

Most of the time I don't like shopping anyway, unless it's for killer shoes or a house, and only if there's an actual intent and budget to buy. I do NOT like shopping for jeans. And I DESPISE shopping for a swimsuit.

*pause to shudder*

Car-shopping is right up there with swimsuit shopping for me. I start off with confidence and high hopes - "surely I can do this". Bitter reality sets in - "cancel the vacation, I'm not going anywhere near a beach". And after giving in to Spike's desperate plea to PLEASE like SOMETHING, and choosing that sporty one in the back, I darkly suspect that a salesperson is quietly laughing as we drive it off the lot.

So we made a deal. Spike will look at cars and talk to salespeople, while I remain happily oblivious. I want a low price and good mileage; he wants ... I don't know ... something about an engine. We both prefer a stick, but can live with automatic. When Spike comes up with The Perfect Vehicle for An Incredible Deal, I get to test drive, co-sign, shake hands and leave.

(Too bad I can't do that with a swimsuit.)

So on Saturday, Spike did indeed find The Perfect Vehicle for An Incredible Deal. He brought it by the house, and we took it for a spin. Came back to the dealership, announced our intention to buy ... and found out that, much to the salesperson's chagrin, the car had been sold by another salesperson while we were test driving it.

So we almost bought a car on the weekend. But we didn't.

And I don't have a swimsuit either.

trucker Spike

2011-04-15T05:49:00.001-04:00

Spike got home last night from his first Trucker Road Trip.

He phoned at suppertime to say he was on his way, and Louie was pretty excited.

After all, Spike's been gone since Monday, and Louie can't text like I can.

So he grabbed a welcome-home gift and hustled out to wait on the step for his arrival.

(I don't want to be petty, but for the record - those are MY chocolates, straight from Ukraine. They aren't really Louie's to give. Still. He's been a lonely lamb this week.)

HSR drivers

2011-04-14T06:27:00.000-04:00

Most mornings, I go tearing out of the house, jogging with dignity to the end of my street, where I turn right towards the bus stop while glancing left to see if the bus is going to pass me on my way to the bus stop. Often, as I then glance right, I see the back end of the bus disappearing around the corner after my bus stop.

*sigh*

And then I either start walking, or wait for the next one, depending on the weather.

Just to be clear, it's not that I've slept in. Oh no. I've been up for hours. Frequently since 5 AM. But I try to pack too much into my mornings, because I know right well how little I accomplish in a rare at-home evening. And so I jog ... and glance ... and sigh.

But this post isn't about me. It's about the drivers of those buses. Are you ready for this?

They. Are. Amazing.

(Cue the outrage and horrific stories of "that time" and "that driver" ... there, are you done? OK. Back to our regular programming.)

As I said - amazing. They see me jogging. If they haven't already pulled away, they wait. They even re-open the door, so that I know they're waiting, so that I slow my pace a little, so that there is less danger (once I board) of me throwing up or wheezing like ... like ... crud, I got nothing. Help me out here. "Wheezing like...."

Once I get on that bus, wheezing or not, most of them ... are you ready for this? ... most of them make full eye contact with me, smile or nod, and either say, "thank you" or "morning". If I'm in a line, and 182 of us are getting on that very same bus ... each of us gets full eye contact, a smile or a nod, and a greeting.

Do the math. Multiply that by the number of bus stops, then by the number of times the route happens throughout the day, then by the number of workdays per year. That's a lot of eye contact, a lot of smiling and nodding, and exponentially more greetings than the person who welcomes you to Walmart.

The other day I had a different driver, who ALSO ... wait for it ... farewell-ed his riders AT EACH STOP as they got off the bus. "Have a nice day!" he called cheerfully toward the back door of the bus each and every time.

I could not do that. It's not that I don't like people. I do. I'm friendly. Ask anyone.

But those drivers? They've hit a different level of friendliness and customer service.

HSR drivers ROCK.

And I just felt it needed to be said.

random impressions of a debate

2011-04-12T21:28:00.000-04:00

I missed the first half hour of the debate. Watched the last hour and a half, although I'll admit I was texting Spike for the last half hour or so, and may not have been entirely listening.

So here are my random impressions. I'm sure you'll attribute bias, but you might be wrong in what my bias is. And before you opine that I'm voting based on silly impressions, keep in mind ... I've read (skimmed) all their platforms. So yes ... I wanted to see how they looked in a televised debate. Thus my impressions in that regard.

Layton - I had forgotten, and quickly remembered, how well he comes off in a debate. Combines passion with eloquence, shoots all sides down with aplomb, and speaks confidently right to Canadians. Even when I disagree with him ... I grudgingly admire some of his ideals. I think he's a hard worker, and a really good NDP leader.

Ignatieff - Gotta tell ya - he sounded whiny to me. I didn't like him. My impression was that he was all attack (which is to be expected, of course) and no "here's what the Liberals would do". I wanted to slap him a little, tell him to quit his bellyachin' and offer a solid solution or two of his own. I wanted to tell him to talk to the camera, talk to me, don't just natter at Harper. I wanted to agree or disagree with one of his ideas, but I didn't really hear any. That surprised me. I kind of expected him to own this debate, given yesterday's leaked-draft-document media frenzy. I expected I would be more impressed with him when I heard him unedited in a debate. I was not.

Harper - he surprised me too. I see other comments saying he's mechanical and scripted and creepy. For me ... well he seemed calm and unruffled and clear. Even when I disagreed with him (and I did, at times), I thought he held his own pretty well. It's always hardest on the one currently in power - everyone's attacking. I remember thinking the same thing when it was Paul Martin getting hammered by everyone. It's a tough spot. By the way, is it just me, or did Harper get new glasses? And don't you really want to know if his hair is just one solid entity?

Duceppe - I remember liking him in the last debate. Less so this time. Just didn't grab my attention in the same way, although my eyebrows went up when he asserted repeatedly that "multiculturalism doesn't fit for Quebec". Okely dokely then. Good to know. He seemed genuinely angry at Harper a few times, and I was OK with that. Genuine anger - fine. Nattery whining - bleah. I giggled at one point when he kept saying, "bill 101 bill 101 bill 101 bill 101 bill 101". I don't know what Bill 101 is. Probably don't care. But if you say it enough times, it starts to sound funny.

Oh, and by the way, I can't be certain, but I think - I THINK - they all claimed immigrant status in one way or another.

You know ... I wish Elizabeth May had been able to be there. Even if I don't agree with all her party's ideals, I remember her kicking some serious butt last time. Ah well - no seats, no speaks. I can live with that.

Did you watch the debate or am I the only nerd?

the contestants

2011-04-08T07:19:00.000-04:00

As mentioned - Canada votes on May 2. Except me. I'm at a conference. I vote before May 2. (I need to find out when that actually happens...hmmm....)

Anyway, for your information, I list for you each party's website and my first random impressions, based on a 10-second scan of that website. Listed in backwards alphabetical order. I am NOT reviewing the Bloc Quebecois. Because I'm not.

New Democrats
First thing I saw - Jack Layton is BIGGER. I think the point was that there's an NDP app for the ipad which of course is bigger than the iphone, and so there's a change in size. But it made me giggle. Also, I saw a headline about cheating Senators and immediately thought hockey. What has happened to me, that I think hockey before government when I see "Senators"? Wow. That was a personal surprise. This website has a lot of orange and a place to find your candidate.

Liberals
Red. Ignatieff is skinnier than I thought. Instantly saw the "read our platform" headline and it made me happy. I wanted to click, but 10 seconds isn't enough time. But I will definitely go back and click it. Lot of Harper-hating. Of course. Hmmm, what are the odds that I'll see Ignatieff-hating on the Conservatives' page?

Greens
Simple. Clean. Inviting. Wow, apparently I like the colour green, and I like the use of the phrase "turn over a new leaf". Get it? Greens are environmental - "leaf" - oh come on, you get it, right? I noticed a headline at the bottom that said something sinister like, "What the networks don't want Canadians to know." I kinda want to read that, only because it sounds like the beginning of a conspiracy-theory movie.

Conservatives
Blue, with a lot of Canadian red. Glossy. A picture at the bottom of Ignatieff, which certainly will not be friendly, but I didn't look closely. Something about lacing shoes for a skater. I see photo opps, lots of video and pics. And not just Ignatieff-hating. Layton and Duceppe are in there too.

So there you are, and here's a radical notion - maybe click on any of the above links and take a look yourself at the platforms and policies. I know, crazy right? Does anyone DO that?

*small voice* I do. Sometimes.

Also, and this is important, you can make money off our federal election. What would YOU do with $160? Oooohhhhh, the possibilities!!!!

See you on debate night. For a preview of my debate-reviewing-style (as well as a good laugh), click here. It is definitely more entertaining than any of the other click-ables in this post.

PS Feel free to express your political opinions in the comments, but if you get super ranty or obnoxious I might mock you a little bit. Or delete you. Because I can.

politics

2011-04-07T06:03:00.000-04:00

If you're in Canada, you know there's a federal election coming up. Well, maybe you do. It's certainly possible that you don't.

We don't do elections at quite the same level of intensity as our neighbours to the south. Lately, we vote in a minority government. We let them go for a time. Then someone gasps with indignation, and someone else calmly refuses to budge, and PRESTO - we have an election a month or two later. Then we start again.

One debate only. Unless Rick Mercer has his way. And I'm pretty sure Rick Mercer gets his way most of the time.

I was just scanning through Facebook friends and the various blogs I read. I'm kind of pleased at the wide variety of discussions which all say the same thing ... "Any self-respecting Canadian with a half a brain will vote for _______. After all, _______ is a complete idiot, and the entire country is doomed if _______ becomes Prime Minister."

The reason I'm pleased is that these blanks are filled with different names, depending on the friend. And that means ... I have quite the diverse group of friends! I have friends that are "obviously" voting for the "only real choice" which is ... well ... Layton, Harper or Ignatieff, depending on who the friend is. (Greens don't make statements like this. Greens stay below the radar. We dislike the ugliness.)

Did I just say "we" in reference to Greens?

Oops.

Anyway, the one official debate is April 12, which I will, of course, blog.

And if Rick Mercer hosts a one-on-one debate, I'm hoping to catch that too.

Meanwhile, let's all hope that Canada ends up with the only reasonable choice for Prime Minister. Not one of those other guys.

waiting for spring

2011-04-01T07:57:00.001-04:00

when does the warm come?

*sigh*

and then there were two

2011-03-31T16:45:00.000-04:00

It's official.

You've all heard about my Famous Author Cousin. She writes books. Gets paid. Wins awards. Makes me feel like a slug. (But not on purpose, so I love her still.)

Well. I am a slug no more. A few weeks ago, I got an interesting email from someone I didn't know. Checked it, with some suspicion. Asked around. It seemed surprisingly legit.

And today, ladies and gentlemen, I got paid in return for allowing someone to sponsor one of my posts in this very space.

That's right. I wrote. And someone paid.

We've got TWO authors in the family now.

not the devil

2011-03-28T07:15:00.000-04:00

Well ... I read it.

I read the whole thing today, cover to cover.

Stopped in the middle to wash the dishes that I didn't wash the other night.

I read it with more than the usual measure of criticism too.

Looked up the Scriptures he quoted to see if they said what he said they said.

Scribbled notes and questions in the margins. Highlighted things in yellow.

Here's what I thought. Every now and then I thought he pulled a little Scripture out of context. But not nearly as much as another popular author whose work I strongly dislike. And not in hugely important ways.

Chapter 4 - the most controversial one - I wish he had included some references or sources to back up his statements about Martin Luther, Origen, Clement of Alexandria and the rest of the boys. But because he didn't, and because my own really quick search online of the Luther stuff seemed to suggest that Bell was maybe stretching the meaning a bit, I got irritated. I wasn't as irritated at what he was saying. I was more irritated that he wasn't backing it up. I wanted to know why he was saying what he was saying. But really, that was only a couple of pages' worth. By the end of the chapter, I was mostly OK with him again.

Did I agree with every single thing he said? Of course not. I probably wouldn't agree with everything you say either. Some days I disagree with myself!

But by the end of the book, I was cheering inside. Because at the end, he was telling the story in the Bible commonly known as the Prodigal Son, and here's what he wrote:

Our badness can separate us from God's love, that's clear.

But our goodness can separate us from God's love as well.

Neither son understands that the father's love was never about any of that. The father's love cannot be earned, and it cannot be taken away.

It just is.

And if you know me at all ... you know that's the kind of statement I can get on board with.

Verdict: Rob Bell. Not the devil. Even with the hipster specs.

breakfast hardware, follow-up

2011-03-25T17:28:00.000-04:00

Remember this?

Of course you do. I know you've been anxiously awaiting a follow-up. It's all you've been thinking about. So many questions ... Did Patti really break a tooth? (no - literary license and all) Does the high-fiber claim on my oatmeal's nutritional chart include a screwnail? Does that also add to my iron intake? And was it a Philips or a Robertson?

It was a tiny Philips screw, for the record. And before you jump in and let me know that that is exactly the kind of screwnail you need for your current tiny renovation project ... I'm sorry, but you can't have it.

Here's why. Last week, I received a very friendly call from someone at Quaker Oats. They were perturbed at my discovery of hardware in my breakfast. They felt badly about that. They said they were sorry. They wondered if I would be so kind as to send them the offending item, so they could analyze it. She said they actually have metal detectors in the plant, so "this sort of thing" really shouldn't happen.

Metal detectors. Who knew?

So today I received a package in the mail.

Spike helped me open it. We were all a-tremble.

Inside was a massive, postage-paid, bubble-lined self-addressed envelope. I'm pretty sure my tiny screwnail is gonna get lost inside. I'll maybe put it in a little baggie.

No, Spike wasn't stoned. He blinked.

And also inside ...

... $20 for Quaker Oats products!

I can get ANY Quaker product (excluding individual bars, individual cookies and trial size cereals) ... ANY Gatorade Thirst Quencher Product ... ANY Aunt Jemima Pancake and Waffle Mix or Syrup (but not maple syrup pie) ... or ANY Rice-A-Roni Rice Product.

It's pretty exciting.

But I think I'm just gonna send them the screwnail for analysis (or more likely, give them the evidence so I can't sue them), buy a year's worth of oatmeal, and get on with my life.

Justice has been served.

schoolwork

2011-03-24T08:23:00.000-04:00

Louie asked me to let you know that he's proud to announce the completion of his major paper for this semester. It's a critical analysis of the film "Frozen River" using theoretical frameworks and scholarly research that you don't care about.

Suffice it to say, it's not a movie we would have chosen to watch for fun on a Friday night. But it was good.

And the essay is done.

Tonight we party. Or wash the dishes.

pie

2011-03-22T06:21:00.001-04:00

We've had a lot of pie here lately. I'm not sure why. It's a phase or something.

So the other evening we went for dinner - me, Spike & our friend Kelso. Stopped at the grocery store to get pie on the way home.

And saw ... this ...

I thought it sounded gross. They thought otherwise. In fact, don't tell them I said this, but they started drooling, right there in the grocery store. There was delighted speculation that maybe there'd even be a pancake in the middle of this pastry.

Eewww. Spike made me try a bite, sure that I would change my mind. Louie tried some too.

He took one sniff and refused to even open his mouth.

Maple. Syrup. Pie.

It's just wrong.

all joking aside

2011-03-19T13:34:00.000-04:00

Warning: Louie is not in this post.

I'm bummed this week.

Another book has been released in the world of Christianity. I haven't read it yet. I'm gonna. Apparently it's got some controversial ideas written in it.

I've read a few blog posts, a few reviews, watched an interview of the author. And once again I am so very disappointed in a couple of things.

First - People who voice immovable opinions without having read the book.

Some have suggested they had originally planned to read the book before forming an opinion, but then they saw an interview, and since they were certain the interviewer had pre-read the book, and since they were also certain that what the interviewer got from the book was what was intended, they no longer felt the need to read the book themselves in order to form an immovable opinion.

Others have started their comments with, "I have never read anything by this author, and don't know anything about him, but ...."

I'm not saying that one shouldn't watch interviews or read reviews, or whatever. I'm not saying that one should read every single book out there. (Good grief.) But for me ... if I'm going to have a really strong opinion about a specific book ... it just seems to me that I should probably read it for myself.

Second - People who attribute nasty motives or character defects to theological differences.

I don't know what I will think of this book. But I don't expect to come to the conclusion that the author is out to destroy people or undermine the worldwide Christian faith. I hope I don't make statements that accuse him of "never having read the Bible". I mean, come on - seriously?

If I'm honest, I will say that there are certainly a few (or more) authors / leaders / influential people in the Christian world with whom I really struggle. I've probably ranted a few times in private conversations. I wonder how on earth they can come to the conclusions they do. I think some of them need to deal with a few issues of their own before publishing books. I think that too often we refuse to allow people to do what followers of Jesus have been doing for centuries - asking questions, exploring possibilities, re-imagining traditions, genuinely attempting to understand and live by the essence of our faith.

I watched the author - who, incidentally, is exactly my age - in an interview that seemed to me to be set up against him from the beginning. I read comments by people taking personal, sometimes vindictive, satisfaction in "watching him squirm". And found myself mighty thankful that I wasn't in his seat. I like having a challenging conversation. I'm comfortable with talking about what I believe to be true. I'm passionate about my faith. But when someone tries to corral me into a 30-second "either-or" answer to a profoundly complex question, it ticks me off. I walk away.

Which probably doesn't work in televised interviews.

So I'm bummed.

Because I really do care about the ancient and mysterious and simple and everyday-world-engaging spirituality that finds its foundation in the story of Jesus, and in the sacred text of the Bible. It defines me (at least I hope it does). And I wish we were better at exploring, and talking, and even deeply, immovably disagreeing every now and then, while still treating each other with kindness.

I know it's idealistic.

But ... I guess ... so am I. And I kinda think the Church should be too.

isn't that the craziest thing.

louie & j-blue

2011-03-18T09:20:00.001-04:00

It's March Break. It's an important time for aunts and uncles. We get to hang out with people who are normally in school.

So does Louie. He was, of course, waiting happily for J-Blue to arrive. He had the couch made up with flannel sheets for her overnight comfort. He wanted to make a good first impression, you know, having never met her before.

She was busy hanging out with other people (she's in high demand) so she arrived last night a little later than expected.

But Louie didn't mind. Once she arrived, they made friends instantly.

No gaming. No killing of zombies, like with the Punk. Just some good old-fashioned squishy quality time.

Mill wasn't happy about being locked away. It's his own fault. If his life wasn't driven by the purpose of killing all other living beings, he would be allowed to hang out with us. But it is. So he can't.

So even when I let him out this morning, he just glared at me and kept to himself.

Apparently he did a little sheep-tipping before reconciling with Spike.

But it's all good. Louie doesn't mind being tipped from time to time. He knows he's loved.

it's my day

2011-03-17T07:12:00.000-04:00

Kiss me, I'm Irish!

Well, I'm only a little bit Irish. I've got a few Irish drops of blood rolling around inside. (I think.) And actually, unless you are Spike or a child, I'd probably rather you didn't kiss me, to be honest. Let's not have any awkward situations, OK?

It's St. Patrick's Day!

People often tell me that I must be Irish because my name is Patti and my hair is red. But my name was a random choice. And my hair colour is also a choice, but not a random one. So neither of those things is proof of my Irish-ocity.

However, as the family stories go (and I'm sure my F-A-C will be happy to contradict or corroborate these details), three brothers came on the boat from Ireland. On the way, they had a fight, got off at three different ports, and never saw each other again. One of them was my great-great-not sure how many greats-grandfather.

Also, apparently there was once a small newspaper article saying that someone with our family's last name had been hung for treason in Ireland. No one seemed surprised. Obviously, the guy was a hero that took a stand against the oppressive Brits. Oh, those nasty Brits....

Also, one of my top ten favourite movies is Waking Ned Devine. So there's another thing.

So today - kiss the Blarney Stone. Catch a leprechaun. Nab yourself a pot of gold. Wear your green undies. Anybody can be Irish today.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

gaming with Louie

2011-03-14T15:35:00.000-04:00

We have company today. The Punk is on March Break, so he and Spike are (they tell me) killing zombies to keep me safe while I work on a paper.

Louie was very excited, waiting for The Punk to arrive. He was waiting at the entrance to the media room. (Side Note: Spike came upstairs a few minutes ago to thank me ... once again ... for his media room. How nice is that???)

Louie makes friends quickly. He took my seat between the two boys on the couch, since I don't really have the appropriate level of rage (as you may have heard) to commit zombie-murder. You'll notice that Spike already had his zombie-killing face on. The Punk is much more frightening. He kills with an easy smile.

Louie had a controller too. What, you thought he was just going to watch? He's not that kind of sheep. He wants in on the action.

Come to think of it, we didn't give him any pizza though.

Louie's gonna be ticked.

breakfast hardware

2011-03-11T09:56:00.000-05:00

Thursday started uneventfully. I got up early to do some school reading before work, coffee in one hand, yellow highlighter in the other. I really thought I was making some progress too, until I realized that while my eyes were moving and my hand was highlighting, my brain was vegging under a tree somewhere. Everything I read was being translated as, “maah, maah, maah….” I sighed and started again.

An hour later, I put the kettle on to boil some water for my daily bowl of oatmeal. Added cinnamon. Added raisins. Looked for peaches – none left. Stirred my breakfast around and sat it on the desk in front of me to cool while I did some computer work.

I’m not sure when it happened. Perhaps while answering some emails, or putting a Crossfire event on Facebook. All I know is that as I absent-mindedly consumed my oatmeal, I suddenly became aware that there was something wrong with it. It may have been the tooth-shattering CRUNCH. Or the sudden pain on the inside of my cheek as something tore a strip into it. I jumped and spit out the offending mouthful, figuring that somehow an almond shell or petrified raisin had snuck in there.

It was a tiny little screwnail. In perfect condition. In my breakfast.

(Yes, that IS my messy office. And your point is ... ??)

Don’t worry. I saved it. I’m not sure what to do with it. (Maybe Quaker Oats will give me a skid full of oatmeal for it.)

Regardless … if there are any moments in the next few weeks where I seem a little off … cut me some slack, OK? Apparently I've got a few screws loose.

just a phone call

2011-03-07T11:18:00.000-05:00

Sometimes it's the littlest thing that makes it all feel right.

For several years, we held a Community Volunteer Income Tax Program at our church. It's a Canada Revenue thing, run by volunteers. Someone wanted to do it, and we said, "Sure," figuring it would be no big deal. Little did we know that there would be a huge demand, an endless stream of people, each with a story. I didn't realize that many of the CVITP clients would be people who had been hit hard by life, who just needed someone to give them a little help, or a "hey, you're not alone" moment. It was one of the best things we've ever done, I think.

We couldn't do the program this year, unfortunately. Things change and we didn't have the people-power. One guy came by on Wednesday. We had helped him several years ago, and I actually did remember him. He was stuck again, caught in the bureaucratic nightmare that so often characterizes government processes. I couldn't help. I asked our resident Canada Revenue expert, and he sighed. "I can't help either, Patti. It's outside of my power. I don't understand what the problem is, but it's in the computers somewhere. Tell him to call the 1-800 number. Or maybe his MP."

I called the guy back on Friday and told him this. He was discouraged, really frustrated. He had called the 1-800 number repeatedly, only to be passed around from voicemail to voicemail. I suggested his MP, and he politely, sadly, thanked me, but I knew he believed it wouldn't do any good. And maybe he was right.

I hung up, and thought for a moment. One of the things I've learned over the years about my job is that sometimes - sometimes - I can help because I know how to navigate systems. I don't like the systems either, and I've certainly experienced my share of frustration with bureaucracy, but I was raised with the skills - people skills, communication skills, social capital, whatever you want to call it - to generally get to a helpful conclusion of some kind. I know how to gently refuse to allow the powers-that-be to marginalize me.

So I called his MP's office. Explained who I was. Who he was. Asked if they could help. They were remarkably warm and understanding. "Send him over," they said. "Tell him we don't bite."

And this is where the littlest thing that makes everything feel all right comes in.

Yesterday - Sunday. I work from about 8 AM to 9:30 or 10 PM on Sundays, with a break for lunch. I came back from lunch, and there he was at the door, waiting for me. "Can I have just a moment of your time?" he asked. I hesitated. I had done all I could do. I had nothing more to offer him. "Sure, come in," I said.

He pulled two thank you cards out of his bag. Both for me. He wasn't happy with the first one, so he got a second, and then felt I should have both. They had helped him, at his MP's office. When he got there, they knew who he was, they remembered the phone call, and in no time, the processes had been started to untangle the mess. And he wanted to thank me for making that phone call. It had made a difference.

It's rarely that simple. But it made my day. Those cards - both of them - will be taped on my wall for awhile.

And so another week begins.

Louie

2011-03-05T20:09:00.000-05:00

I made a new friend while on vacation.

Normally, I don't make friends on holidays. Spike will tell you about our trip to Alaska, how it was just the two of us, but we kept crossing paths with the same people at different places. Once, in a giant hotel with giant fireplaces and giant views of the most gorgeous mountain scenery you've ever seen, we heard a loud, "Heeeeyyyyy, buddyyyyy!!!" We both instantly knew that Spike had yet again made a new friend. He went over to say hello, and when they asked where his pretty wife was, he looked around to point at ... nothing. I was gone. I don't make friends on holidays.

But I made an exception this time. We didn't actually travel anywhere on this vacation, but since going for breakfast is one of our Most Favourite Things To Do, we headed out for french toast and sausage, and then walked into our local grocery store. A big one.

And that's where I met Louie.

Louie is the biggest, fattest, softest, most expressionless sheep you ever did see. There was a row of big, fat, soft, expressionless sheep atop the freezers in the frozen food aisle, a whole row of them gazing soberly at the world around them. I took one look and burst out laughing. We turned around, and there they were at eye level. Spike watched me happily squeeze one of them, and promptly bought his all-grown-up, career-focused, academically-adventurous wife a plush toy.

I love him. The sheep, I mean. Of course, I love Spike too, but that isn't news.

On our way out, Spike asked me what I was going to name him. I hadn't decided yet. "Right turn, Clyde," he said absently, which is his usual way of saying, "Let us turn to the right together in order to exit this store." Except he turned left and walked away as he said it. I chased after him, and said, "What the heck? You turned left! Maybe you meant to say, 'Left turn, Louie???'"

He paused.

"You should name the sheep Louie," he said.

And he was right.

You'll likely be seeing more of Louie in the weeks to come. He makes me laugh. You're gonna love him.

screamers

2011-03-03T10:04:00.000-05:00

The rage makes me giggle.

Last night I was one of the drivers for a youth trip to London to see Haste the Day, A Plea for Purging, something-about-a-bride, magic-thingamabob, and the opening band. Screamer bands, all of them. My personal musical preferences include Ella Fitzgerald ... Chicago ... Smokey Norful ... Jamie Cullum ... and others. But of course Spike has introduced me to the darker, louder world of metal, and screamers aren't far behind. So I pulled on my red rocker tee that Spike bought me while touring once - it has black and shiny silver gothic-like designs on it, and it helps me fit in - and headed off to London with a car full of pizza-eating, screamer-loving teenagers.

Having done this sort of thing before, a few of us knew to head for a distant corner upon arrival, where the sound might be ever so slightly less assaulting. Even so, when the first band hit the stage, my jeans started moving. Literally. I was standing still, they were moving. That's a lot of sound, baby.

But it's the rage that makes me giggle. The angry, roaring, gutteral screaming with no discernible syllables of any kind ... never mind actual words ... never mind actual words in a language I speak. I think it's because I've been behind the scenes with Spike - I know how nice most of these guys are in general. In fact, one of them had to race through the door ahead of us - "Excuse me, pardon me, I'm sorry, but I'm in the opening band, so I need to cut in front of you." How does one transform from a polite "excuse me" to "GRRRAAAAAAWWWWWWRRRRRR" in a matter of minutes???!!!!

And so I giggle. And on the way home, with everyone asleep but me, I tune the radio to late-night e-z rock, knowing that my coolness factor will really take a beating, and deciding that I'm OK with that.

I'm too giggly for rage.

freezer fodder

2011-02-26T13:12:00.001-05:00

Spent a while this morning making herbed-tomato-and-bean soup to put in the freezer. And cleaning out my freezer.

That wasn't the plan. But I looked in my cupboard and saw way too many jars of tomatoes that have yet to be used, so I decided to make the soup. And the other day when I opened the freezer, I paused just long enough to be a little appalled at the chaos within.

So it's clean and mostly bare now. What used to be "Perfectly Good Food" had become "The Food Formerly Known As Perfectly Good".

Otherwise known as, "Lima Beans? Really?" Or, "Frost-First Fruit". Or, "312 Bags Each With A Single Piece of Bread". Or "Parsley From My Garden That Would Have Had It's First Birthday This Coming Tuesday."

You get the idea.

What's in your freezer? Care to confess?