There was a woman who blogged about making her family dinner every night in the crock pot. 365 nights of crock pot meals. PB could kill me for that, but more likely something bad would mysteriously happen to my crock pot. He's not a big fan of stewed or really tender falling off the bone kind of meat.
I got a crock pot a.k.a slow cooker for my birthday this year from my BFF. The crock pot is back in vogue as more families are dual income and don't have the time to prepare dinner at the end of the day. In fact, even big companies are jumping on the crock pot wagon and creating ready to cook, prepackaged crock pot meals to just throw in and turn on the crock pot. It couldn't be any easier.
So here I am, a new mother, finding herself with less time to create the lavish meals I used to prepare (alright, perhaps lavish is a bit exaggerated, but certainly I had more time to cook and enjoy cooking). Now, I have a toddler, pulling at my pant legs, screaming to be picked up one minute and then squirming to get down the next. Not exactly conducive to prepping and cooking over a hot stove. I thought that I'd venture into this unknown territory of crock pot cooking and see what the excitement was all about.
My BFF, knowing that I was contemplating the slow cooker, and who constantly tells me I'm a difficult person to buy gifts for, jumped on this opportunity and presented me with a modern, high end, Kitchen Aid, 7 QT slow cooker. In terms of slow cookers, I had the Mercedes of cookers (although I'm sure it has a better reliability rating "wink"). I went and got some cookbooks from the library and started eagerly planning for my first crockpot meal.
Now here is where the enigma began. I soon realized that most recipes called for a fair amount of prep work before putting it in the pot. Lots of chopping - although this was to be expected, but also browning, sauteing, pre-cooking of other sorts and then to finish it in the slow cooker. This did not seem like a good savings of time. In fact, I started to question why anyone would use a slow cooker because most of the things could be done on the stove or in the oven on low heat. So what was the point? Granted, if I worked outside of the home I most likely would not want my stove on or my oven unattended so from that angle, I can see the importance of the crock pot to the slow cooker enthusiasts.
The other issue I had with the slow cooker was the amount of pre-processed items that would be required. Mostly flavour enhancers, but things I really don't regularly use. Adding cans of condensed mushroom soup, whole bottles of barbecue sauce, flavouring packets and dried soup mixes all seemed rather unappealing.
Back in April, I tried making my first crock pot item - a corn and red pepper soup. Only fresh, whole ingredients and looked tasty from the picture - (I'm very visual when it comes to food). It also required no pre-cooking, just preparation of ingredients and then put into the crockpot. I have to say, that after 8 hours of simmering and some nice heady aromas filling up my kitchen, I was sorely disappointed with the soup. Lack of flavour and body - perhaps a can of cream of mushroom soup could have livened it up. It was completely one dimensional. Disappointed, I decided not to give up on my shiny new gift.
Now that the weather has turned colder and after I have spent the summer doing some research into recipes, I am now embarking on my own culinary adventure to demystify my crockpot. My goals are:
1. To find recipes that require no pre-cooking and thus making it a time saving recipe.
2. To find recipes where the end result is a mixture and balance of complexity, body and flavour.
I have attempted making ribs earlier in the summer, which were no comparison to my slowly smoked ribs on the barbecue but were ok - better than the soup. It also did not require a whole bottle of barbecue sauce. I have also found a beef stew recipe, that does not require browning of the beef and with a little help from our friends Lea and Perrins and their worcestershire sauce, it was surprisingly full of flavour, and tasted as if the beef had been browned. I am convinced that I have also found the perfect cut of beef for stew - blade steak as opposed to the precut mystery stewing beef. The beef was tender, falling apart and full of beefy goodness.
I attempted a chicken noodle soup this evening and shockingly, it was also quite good, albeit on the salty side. I've also got some books on hold from the library that are supposed to contain new and exciting slow cooker recipes. I'm eager to leaf through them and give them a try.
There's hope for my crockpot yet!
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Been a while...
October was rather crazy busy around here and although the blog was on my mind on a regular basis (and there was some guilt over not writing as often) I never found the time to sit down and actually compose anything. I'm hoping that November will be different but with the holidays around the corner and some projects I'd like to work looming upon me, let's just play it by ear and not make any promises. :-)
I had a friend in high school who told me about a friend of hers (that she met in a rather seedy establishment and was significantly older than us) that went panhandling and made X amount of dollars doing so. This "friend" did have a regular job so I asked naively why he was panhandling. Apparently because it was a pretty good way to make some cash was the answer. Jaw drops.... That pretty much altered my view of homeless and panhandlers on the street. How was I supposed to determine which ones were legitimate and needed help and which ones were like this "friend"? It's amazing that it's always one bad apple in the bunch that can make you judge the whole barrel, and this isn't even my typical way of thinking. I usually approach things on a individual basis, but this really rubbed me the wrong way.
So, I am not one to give spare change to anyone anymore. It's not like I was doling it out prior to this incident, but it has definitely skewed my sense of charity. However, there is one charitable thing that I do either biennially or triennially. This happened to be one of those years.
I chop off at least 12" every 2-3 years and donate it to Angel Hair for Kids or Pantene's Beautiful Lengths program so that they can make wigs for cancer patients and anyone else who has lost their hair from medical conditions or treatments. I have a lot of hair and it grows quickly so it's something that I feel can benefit others that's very easy for me to give. This will be the 5th "lock" I've given and I'll continue to do so as long as my graying hair will let me.
The hairstylist I went to this year was quite surprised at my blase attitude about chopping off so much hair. She buys extensions to put in hers as she can't get length or volume naturally. PB is never ecstatic about me chopping it off, as he's very partial to long hair, but understands that it is mine and mine to give away if I so desire.
What does irk me about this year's donation is that I specifically requested, as I always do, to have enough lenth remaining to throw up in a ponytail as I am not very fussy about "doing" my hair on a daily basis. The layering and thinning of my hair did not permit me to do so very easily with this new haircut and as a new mother, it's driving me up the wall!!! The one time I don't have the time or the patience to be fiddling with my hair and I can't put it up without wispies falling down is aggravating. My only consolation is that my hair does grow quickly... although this time, it couldn't be fast enough! :-)
I had a friend in high school who told me about a friend of hers (that she met in a rather seedy establishment and was significantly older than us) that went panhandling and made X amount of dollars doing so. This "friend" did have a regular job so I asked naively why he was panhandling. Apparently because it was a pretty good way to make some cash was the answer. Jaw drops.... That pretty much altered my view of homeless and panhandlers on the street. How was I supposed to determine which ones were legitimate and needed help and which ones were like this "friend"? It's amazing that it's always one bad apple in the bunch that can make you judge the whole barrel, and this isn't even my typical way of thinking. I usually approach things on a individual basis, but this really rubbed me the wrong way.
So, I am not one to give spare change to anyone anymore. It's not like I was doling it out prior to this incident, but it has definitely skewed my sense of charity. However, there is one charitable thing that I do either biennially or triennially. This happened to be one of those years.
I chop off at least 12" every 2-3 years and donate it to Angel Hair for Kids or Pantene's Beautiful Lengths program so that they can make wigs for cancer patients and anyone else who has lost their hair from medical conditions or treatments. I have a lot of hair and it grows quickly so it's something that I feel can benefit others that's very easy for me to give. This will be the 5th "lock" I've given and I'll continue to do so as long as my graying hair will let me.The hairstylist I went to this year was quite surprised at my blase attitude about chopping off so much hair. She buys extensions to put in hers as she can't get length or volume naturally. PB is never ecstatic about me chopping it off, as he's very partial to long hair, but understands that it is mine and mine to give away if I so desire.
What does irk me about this year's donation is that I specifically requested, as I always do, to have enough lenth remaining to throw up in a ponytail as I am not very fussy about "doing" my hair on a daily basis. The layering and thinning of my hair did not permit me to do so very easily with this new haircut and as a new mother, it's driving me up the wall!!! The one time I don't have the time or the patience to be fiddling with my hair and I can't put it up without wispies falling down is aggravating. My only consolation is that my hair does grow quickly... although this time, it couldn't be fast enough! :-)
Friday, October 16, 2009
Halloween
As the air turns colder, the leaves start changing colours and plant life starts to wilt and shrivel away, I know that Halloween is just around the corner.
When I was pregnant and found out that my due date was the first week of November I kept wishing that I would have a Halloween baby. A perfect excuse to go all out every single year. It didn't look promising considering that first babies have a tendency to go overdue. Then, when my blood pressure was acting up and more difficult to control, my OB decided that an induction would be prudent. She gave me the option of November 2nd or October 30th. Both were relatively interesting dates as the November one is the day before my mother's birthday and October 30th was close to Halloween. I decided that close to Halloween was better than after Halloween and opted for the 30th.
I was pleasantly surprised when my induction did not work and I ended up with a c-section and delivered Corwin at 7:05am on Halloween! Wowee! I got my Halloween baby!
As a kid, who wouldn't love Halloween! Dress up like anything you want and then go knocking on doors begging for candy. I still remember the first time I ever went trick or treating. I was in the first grade - my cousin/brother Jack came over to take me out trick or treating. My mother dressed me in one of her dresses, complete with a hat, jewels and I vaguely remember gloves and high heels. Having never done it before I felt a little lost and overwhelmed at what I was supposed to do. The idea is a bit strange - go to strangers' homes and knock on the door and wait for candy. My mother had bought me a little plastic pumpkin to hold my loot and clutched in hand, we were on our way.
I went to a few houses and knocked on the door. I didn't say much, a bit on the shy side and not really knowing what to do. They just said the proverbial "Hello! What do we have here?" and "Oh aren't you sweet?" gave me my candy and sent me on my way. Then there was one house that made me want to turn back home and cry. I knocked on the door and a man answered.
"Hi," I said.
"Hello. What are you supposed to be?"
"A little lady."
"I see. Do you want some candy?"
"Yes please?"
"What do you say?"
I was dumb founded. Didn't I just say please? Maybe he didn't hear me. I said please again.
"Nope, that's not it."
"Happy Halloween?"
"Nope."
"How are you?"
"Nope." The man was looking both amused and disturbed. I was beginning to think I should run away.
"Thank you?" I was really grasping at straws.
"Nope."
"Pretty please?"
"Nope."
This was getting annoying... how long was he going to play this stupid game with me? Finally he must have given up with my ignorance and said, "You're supposed to say TRICK OR TREAT!" Gave me my candy and shut the door.
I was mortified! Of course! I'd seen that on TV before. I didn't know I was really supposed to say it though. What if they said, trick? What would I have done then? I was also the product of immigrant parents who never even bothered to lie to me about Santa Claus (whole other story!) so how would I know what the custom of trick or treating was? I took Jack's hand and said, "I'm ready to go home now."
Thankfully, that man did not squash my halloween spirit. I went trick or treating with some friends the next year and I screamed TRICK OR TREAT! as loud as the other kids did and all was well again. I soon graduated from my little plastic pumpkin to a plastic bag and then to the mother of all halloween bags - the pillow case. I loved coming home and emptying my loot out on my bedroom floor and then sorting and examining my spoils into neat little piles.
Now that I'm an adult, I look forward to carving pumpkins, making my halloween treat bags, decorating the house (although I wish I had more storage space to get even more decorations) and if I could get away with it, I'd still go out with my pillow case and go trick or treating. Now that I have a Halloween baby, I'll be able to have even more fun and he'll have costume parties every year! Hooray! I can't wait until Corwin is old enough to go trick or treating. Can't beat a birthday where you get lots of free candy!
When I was pregnant and found out that my due date was the first week of November I kept wishing that I would have a Halloween baby. A perfect excuse to go all out every single year. It didn't look promising considering that first babies have a tendency to go overdue. Then, when my blood pressure was acting up and more difficult to control, my OB decided that an induction would be prudent. She gave me the option of November 2nd or October 30th. Both were relatively interesting dates as the November one is the day before my mother's birthday and October 30th was close to Halloween. I decided that close to Halloween was better than after Halloween and opted for the 30th.
I was pleasantly surprised when my induction did not work and I ended up with a c-section and delivered Corwin at 7:05am on Halloween! Wowee! I got my Halloween baby!
As a kid, who wouldn't love Halloween! Dress up like anything you want and then go knocking on doors begging for candy. I still remember the first time I ever went trick or treating. I was in the first grade - my cousin/brother Jack came over to take me out trick or treating. My mother dressed me in one of her dresses, complete with a hat, jewels and I vaguely remember gloves and high heels. Having never done it before I felt a little lost and overwhelmed at what I was supposed to do. The idea is a bit strange - go to strangers' homes and knock on the door and wait for candy. My mother had bought me a little plastic pumpkin to hold my loot and clutched in hand, we were on our way.
I went to a few houses and knocked on the door. I didn't say much, a bit on the shy side and not really knowing what to do. They just said the proverbial "Hello! What do we have here?" and "Oh aren't you sweet?" gave me my candy and sent me on my way. Then there was one house that made me want to turn back home and cry. I knocked on the door and a man answered.
"Hi," I said.
"Hello. What are you supposed to be?"
"A little lady."
"I see. Do you want some candy?"
"Yes please?"
"What do you say?"
I was dumb founded. Didn't I just say please? Maybe he didn't hear me. I said please again.
"Nope, that's not it."
"Happy Halloween?"
"Nope."
"How are you?"
"Nope." The man was looking both amused and disturbed. I was beginning to think I should run away.
"Thank you?" I was really grasping at straws.
"Nope."
"Pretty please?"
"Nope."
This was getting annoying... how long was he going to play this stupid game with me? Finally he must have given up with my ignorance and said, "You're supposed to say TRICK OR TREAT!" Gave me my candy and shut the door.
I was mortified! Of course! I'd seen that on TV before. I didn't know I was really supposed to say it though. What if they said, trick? What would I have done then? I was also the product of immigrant parents who never even bothered to lie to me about Santa Claus (whole other story!) so how would I know what the custom of trick or treating was? I took Jack's hand and said, "I'm ready to go home now."
Thankfully, that man did not squash my halloween spirit. I went trick or treating with some friends the next year and I screamed TRICK OR TREAT! as loud as the other kids did and all was well again. I soon graduated from my little plastic pumpkin to a plastic bag and then to the mother of all halloween bags - the pillow case. I loved coming home and emptying my loot out on my bedroom floor and then sorting and examining my spoils into neat little piles.
Now that I'm an adult, I look forward to carving pumpkins, making my halloween treat bags, decorating the house (although I wish I had more storage space to get even more decorations) and if I could get away with it, I'd still go out with my pillow case and go trick or treating. Now that I have a Halloween baby, I'll be able to have even more fun and he'll have costume parties every year! Hooray! I can't wait until Corwin is old enough to go trick or treating. Can't beat a birthday where you get lots of free candy!
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Things that go beep in the night
After an uneventful Thanksgiving, I trudged upstairs to try and get to bed earlier than usual. It was close to 11pm by the time I had finished brushing my teeth and getting ready for bed. I snuggled into our bed with my novel, laying down quietly next to Corwin who was fast asleep nested in between some pillows. Being a relatively cold night, Pirx (our siberian husky) had also decided to join us on our bed and was already in a twitchy paw sleep. I had only started to read my book when Corwin started stirring and then started crying. Ahh, midnight feed.... I sat up and held him close and started nursing. Not 5 minutes into nursing there was suddenly a "beep!" from the hall outside our bedroom. Smoke detector battery.
Pirx's ears perked up and he lay on the bed with his head up looking alarmed. Corwin had pulled off my breast and was also alert to this new and unfamiliar noise. I encouraged Corwin to continue nursing and tried to settle Pirx down again.
"Beep!"
Pirx was up and out of bed quickly and Corwin had pulled off again, confused at the noise. Pirx was already displaying his panicky tendency when we have power outages and he hears a similar beeping sound (I believe from the batteries hooked up to our desktop computers). He skulked to our bathroom and finding no place "safe" he looked at me as I tried to get Corwin to nurse.
"Beep!"
And with that last beep Corwin clamped down with all six of his teeth on my breast. "OWWWWW!" I yelled as I yanked my mangled nipple out of his mouth. Corwin looked at me absolutely freaked out and horrified and opened his mouth wide and started wailing, big tears forming and rolling out of his eyes. Damnit!! By this time, Pirx had run into our main bath and I heard some strange and unfamiliar noises coming from there. I tried to soothe Corwin, but then
"Beep!"
"Bloody hell," I said and plunked a screaming and crying Corwin into his crib. I peeked into the main bath as I headed down the stairs to find a replacement battery. Pirx had managed to get himself into the tub (an absolute first since he was a pup and had a bath in there) and was cowering behind the shower curtain. I chuckled to myself at my brave dog as I went to the basement to find a 9V battery.
Through continuous wailing from Corwin, I was grateful to find a new battery in the basement and got prepared to eliminate the beeping. Pirx had run out of the bathroom at some point and as I got back to the top of the stairs, he was standing in our bedroom doorway trembling in absolute terror.
"Pirx, everything is fine," is apparently translated into dog speak as "Go hide - the world is exploding" as he quickly ran back into the bathroom and I observed what the odd sounds were before, as he awkwardly climbed into the bathtub again.
Corwin of course was still screaming like someone was trying to rip off his limbs. I called out to him but since he couldn't see me he kept shrieking. As I tried to reattach the smoke detector, stupid flecks of sprayed on builder's popcorn ceiling rained down into my eye. I must have been quite a sight, dressed in only my nursing bra and pajama bottoms, standing on a stool in the middle of the hall cursing and trying to soothe a screaming child and convince my dog that it's not the end of the world.
Finally it was attached and the screaming had not let up. Pirx was still hiding and but thankfully it was no longer beeping. I decided that the moment needed some documentation so I grabbed my camera and produced the following photos from my late evening.
I returned to Corwin after the photo session and picked him up and tried to go back to soothing and nursing. After he'd take a few sucks, he'd pull off and cry at me again, reiterating his disgruntled position and the horrible treatment he had to endure. It was close to midnight by the time he quieted down and I decided that reading was not in the cards and turned out the light.
Pirx's ears perked up and he lay on the bed with his head up looking alarmed. Corwin had pulled off my breast and was also alert to this new and unfamiliar noise. I encouraged Corwin to continue nursing and tried to settle Pirx down again.
"Beep!"
Pirx was up and out of bed quickly and Corwin had pulled off again, confused at the noise. Pirx was already displaying his panicky tendency when we have power outages and he hears a similar beeping sound (I believe from the batteries hooked up to our desktop computers). He skulked to our bathroom and finding no place "safe" he looked at me as I tried to get Corwin to nurse.
"Beep!"
And with that last beep Corwin clamped down with all six of his teeth on my breast. "OWWWWW!" I yelled as I yanked my mangled nipple out of his mouth. Corwin looked at me absolutely freaked out and horrified and opened his mouth wide and started wailing, big tears forming and rolling out of his eyes. Damnit!! By this time, Pirx had run into our main bath and I heard some strange and unfamiliar noises coming from there. I tried to soothe Corwin, but then
"Beep!"
"Bloody hell," I said and plunked a screaming and crying Corwin into his crib. I peeked into the main bath as I headed down the stairs to find a replacement battery. Pirx had managed to get himself into the tub (an absolute first since he was a pup and had a bath in there) and was cowering behind the shower curtain. I chuckled to myself at my brave dog as I went to the basement to find a 9V battery.
Through continuous wailing from Corwin, I was grateful to find a new battery in the basement and got prepared to eliminate the beeping. Pirx had run out of the bathroom at some point and as I got back to the top of the stairs, he was standing in our bedroom doorway trembling in absolute terror.
"Pirx, everything is fine," is apparently translated into dog speak as "Go hide - the world is exploding" as he quickly ran back into the bathroom and I observed what the odd sounds were before, as he awkwardly climbed into the bathtub again.
Corwin of course was still screaming like someone was trying to rip off his limbs. I called out to him but since he couldn't see me he kept shrieking. As I tried to reattach the smoke detector, stupid flecks of sprayed on builder's popcorn ceiling rained down into my eye. I must have been quite a sight, dressed in only my nursing bra and pajama bottoms, standing on a stool in the middle of the hall cursing and trying to soothe a screaming child and convince my dog that it's not the end of the world.
Finally it was attached and the screaming had not let up. Pirx was still hiding and but thankfully it was no longer beeping. I decided that the moment needed some documentation so I grabbed my camera and produced the following photos from my late evening.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Meryl!!!
It all started with a friendship from being college roommates. Meryl Streep and Marianne McKenna (architect for the Royal Conservatory of Music, close to the ROM) both went to Yale for their Masters and were roommates. Long time friends, Meryl was planning on coming to support Marianne and see her latest work. One thing led to another and a very special event was planned.
Around 6pm last night, my BFF and I arrived at the ROM and stood in line waiting to be let in to see Meryl Streep interviewed by Johanna Schneller, a columnist from the Globe and Mail. We chatted about various things outside, among them what our favourite Meryl movie was. During that conversation I commented about her outstanding and heart wrenching performance in Sophie's Choice and that I would not care to see that movie again, especially now being a mother.
At 6:30 they finally started to let us in. We found some seats and waited anxiously for Meryl. I noticed one of the special event managers that I knew from planning weddings. I went over and spoke to him briefly to catch up. He told me that Meryl had been very specific about the details of this event. She wanted it to be intimate and very special so she requested it be at the ROM and the room that she wanted could only hold 700 people.
The director of the ROM came out with a few words and also congratulated us all for being able to get tickets to this event. Apparently it sold out very quickly without any actual advertising. Then he introduced some guy from Infiniti, one of the night's sponsors and he spoke for a while. Then the President and CEO of the Bay and Hudson's Bay Company (another sponsor) spoke for a while and then the director for the Institute for Contemporary Culture at the ROM spoke for a while. I sat twiddling my thumbs and tweaking my camera, not paying attention to any of it. Where was Meryl?
Finally, the director of the ROM reappeared and made his introductions to Johanna and Meryl. The crowd rose and clapped and cheered. As Meryl sat down she chuckled and said that she felt like she was on a blind date with 700 people watching her. Love her... sigh... Johanna began.... and wouldn't shut up. I commented that perhaps she'd allow Meryl to get some words in since she was who we paid to see. Johanna was by far one of the worst interviewers I've ever seen. Her voice was grating, there was no flow and instead of drawing out more information and engaging Meryl in conversation she'd say, "Let's look at a clip." She also had an annoying laugh and could not edit herself. She spoke far too much. Ugh.... The way they had set up the stage also made it difficult for Meryl to see the clip, so she had to turn and strain to see what Johanna was showing the rest of us.
Meryl however was great. She doesn't take herself too seriously and she loves what she does. She's got a great sense of humour and is very sarcastic. If you've ever seen her acceptance speeches at awards, that is the same person that we saw last night. She just seems like a real person - not some high and mighty celebrity. She talked about being younger and insecure about how she looks. How she contemplated getting her nose done so it would be slightly smaller and a little bit higher. She said she slept on her face, pushing her nose up for a year, hoping that it would stay that way. She thought she was too fat. She had all the same insecurities that most women have but she also acknowledged that it was because she wasn't labeled as a beauty that she received some of the opportunities that she did. She also said she's attracted to women who are in one way or another "ugly" and wants to portray them.
Johanna asked her about her costars and whether she knew when they were intimidated working with her. Meryl hung her head down, and said "Oh yes... I know." Then she said that at the first rehearsal she will inevitably forget her lines or flub something "Please pass me that grass" instead of glass and the stars that put her up on the pedestal then realize that she too makes mistakes and suddenly everyone is back on the same playing field again.
At this point, Johanna said the reason why other stars put her up on the pedestal is because of performances like this - cue the clip. Sophie's Choice.... the "scene". There I was, absolutely horrified that they were actually showing this clip. I couldn't watch it - I felt ill, nauseous, like I needed to get some air. Thankfully that clip is in German, and as I glanced up from time to time to see where it was and how much longer I'd have to endure, the tears started flowing and I buried my head down. I didn't understand the language, and yet I understood every word that Meryl was saying just by how she said it and my heart ached. I was sobbing and shaking. I was having an ugly cry at Meryl's interview. The sound of her daughter screaming for her as she's taken away by the Nazi was agonizing and unbearable. My BFF reached her arm around me and started rubbing my back trying to make me feel better. I needed the clip to be over. As I had predicted in the line as we were waiting, the scene was much more heart wrenching now that I was mother. I felt devastated for her. I hated Johanna more.
Meryl turns from the screen, obviously moved by the scene herself and she speaks with a quiver in her voice. Johanna asks, "How did you prepare for a scene like this?" Meryl said she read the script once the first time she was given it, and then she didn't read it again until the scene was being shot. This particular one, she read 20 minutes before shooting and it was done in one take. When Meryl was on Oprah, they played this same clip and she seemed noticeably uncomfortable as she did last night. She admitted to Oprah that she had not watched that scene back until that very moment (I read this on IMDB). Way to make your interviewee uncomfortable there Johanna! I had also read somewhere that Meryl was a relatively new mother having had her first born child only a few years earlier so that scene was particularly difficult for her.
She was also asked about the numerous male leads she had the opportunity of playing against. Which one was her best kisser? Sam Neill (her costar from Cry in the Dark) she said quickly..."Because he's here tonight!!" she laughed. I also loved that she said in the Australian accent "It's the dingo ate your baby movie for those of you who haven't seen it." And apparently, there are fans who still say this to her.
Another thing I learned about Meryl is that her ah ha! moment came when she was 15 and in high school. They had done the Music Man and during the curtain call, the audience gave her a standing ovation and she really liked it.
As an aside.... and I find this particularly endearing and funny - in doing some additional research about her filmography and her biography I learned that her husband's name is Don......... GUMMER!!! Ha!!! I feel closer to her already! Thanks Meryl for a wonderful night! And thanks to my mom and my little Gummer who were able to figure bedtime out with me there and allowed me to have a night out!
Around 6pm last night, my BFF and I arrived at the ROM and stood in line waiting to be let in to see Meryl Streep interviewed by Johanna Schneller, a columnist from the Globe and Mail. We chatted about various things outside, among them what our favourite Meryl movie was. During that conversation I commented about her outstanding and heart wrenching performance in Sophie's Choice and that I would not care to see that movie again, especially now being a mother.
At 6:30 they finally started to let us in. We found some seats and waited anxiously for Meryl. I noticed one of the special event managers that I knew from planning weddings. I went over and spoke to him briefly to catch up. He told me that Meryl had been very specific about the details of this event. She wanted it to be intimate and very special so she requested it be at the ROM and the room that she wanted could only hold 700 people.
The director of the ROM came out with a few words and also congratulated us all for being able to get tickets to this event. Apparently it sold out very quickly without any actual advertising. Then he introduced some guy from Infiniti, one of the night's sponsors and he spoke for a while. Then the President and CEO of the Bay and Hudson's Bay Company (another sponsor) spoke for a while and then the director for the Institute for Contemporary Culture at the ROM spoke for a while. I sat twiddling my thumbs and tweaking my camera, not paying attention to any of it. Where was Meryl?
Finally, the director of the ROM reappeared and made his introductions to Johanna and Meryl. The crowd rose and clapped and cheered. As Meryl sat down she chuckled and said that she felt like she was on a blind date with 700 people watching her. Love her... sigh... Johanna began.... and wouldn't shut up. I commented that perhaps she'd allow Meryl to get some words in since she was who we paid to see. Johanna was by far one of the worst interviewers I've ever seen. Her voice was grating, there was no flow and instead of drawing out more information and engaging Meryl in conversation she'd say, "Let's look at a clip." She also had an annoying laugh and could not edit herself. She spoke far too much. Ugh.... The way they had set up the stage also made it difficult for Meryl to see the clip, so she had to turn and strain to see what Johanna was showing the rest of us.
Meryl however was great. She doesn't take herself too seriously and she loves what she does. She's got a great sense of humour and is very sarcastic. If you've ever seen her acceptance speeches at awards, that is the same person that we saw last night. She just seems like a real person - not some high and mighty celebrity. She talked about being younger and insecure about how she looks. How she contemplated getting her nose done so it would be slightly smaller and a little bit higher. She said she slept on her face, pushing her nose up for a year, hoping that it would stay that way. She thought she was too fat. She had all the same insecurities that most women have but she also acknowledged that it was because she wasn't labeled as a beauty that she received some of the opportunities that she did. She also said she's attracted to women who are in one way or another "ugly" and wants to portray them.
Johanna asked her about her costars and whether she knew when they were intimidated working with her. Meryl hung her head down, and said "Oh yes... I know." Then she said that at the first rehearsal she will inevitably forget her lines or flub something "Please pass me that grass" instead of glass and the stars that put her up on the pedestal then realize that she too makes mistakes and suddenly everyone is back on the same playing field again.
At this point, Johanna said the reason why other stars put her up on the pedestal is because of performances like this - cue the clip. Sophie's Choice.... the "scene". There I was, absolutely horrified that they were actually showing this clip. I couldn't watch it - I felt ill, nauseous, like I needed to get some air. Thankfully that clip is in German, and as I glanced up from time to time to see where it was and how much longer I'd have to endure, the tears started flowing and I buried my head down. I didn't understand the language, and yet I understood every word that Meryl was saying just by how she said it and my heart ached. I was sobbing and shaking. I was having an ugly cry at Meryl's interview. The sound of her daughter screaming for her as she's taken away by the Nazi was agonizing and unbearable. My BFF reached her arm around me and started rubbing my back trying to make me feel better. I needed the clip to be over. As I had predicted in the line as we were waiting, the scene was much more heart wrenching now that I was mother. I felt devastated for her. I hated Johanna more.
Meryl turns from the screen, obviously moved by the scene herself and she speaks with a quiver in her voice. Johanna asks, "How did you prepare for a scene like this?" Meryl said she read the script once the first time she was given it, and then she didn't read it again until the scene was being shot. This particular one, she read 20 minutes before shooting and it was done in one take. When Meryl was on Oprah, they played this same clip and she seemed noticeably uncomfortable as she did last night. She admitted to Oprah that she had not watched that scene back until that very moment (I read this on IMDB). Way to make your interviewee uncomfortable there Johanna! I had also read somewhere that Meryl was a relatively new mother having had her first born child only a few years earlier so that scene was particularly difficult for her.
She was also asked about the numerous male leads she had the opportunity of playing against. Which one was her best kisser? Sam Neill (her costar from Cry in the Dark) she said quickly..."Because he's here tonight!!" she laughed. I also loved that she said in the Australian accent "It's the dingo ate your baby movie for those of you who haven't seen it." And apparently, there are fans who still say this to her.
Another thing I learned about Meryl is that her ah ha! moment came when she was 15 and in high school. They had done the Music Man and during the curtain call, the audience gave her a standing ovation and she really liked it.
As an aside.... and I find this particularly endearing and funny - in doing some additional research about her filmography and her biography I learned that her husband's name is Don......... GUMMER!!! Ha!!! I feel closer to her already! Thanks Meryl for a wonderful night! And thanks to my mom and my little Gummer who were able to figure bedtime out with me there and allowed me to have a night out!
Monday, October 5, 2009
Halloween a Whoring?
PB and I had a conversation last year? Or maybe two years ago now after I showed him some photos that a contemporary put on Facebook from Halloween. Female, attractive and single and with what I'm assuming is her group of single friends. All of them were wearing tarty outfits - sexy maid, sexy kitten, sexy mouse, sexy devil... you get the picture. In Poland, Halloween is the day of the dead. It's the day that families goes to the cemeteries, cleans up the graves of their deceased loved ones, and leave candles and some flowers. It's not about dressing up in costumes and trick or treating. So we started talking about Halloween and in particular the costumes that women choose to wear.
Now, in my trampier days, I also gravitated towards the "sexier" costumes. In fact, my last year in high school, I wore a scandalous black cat costume - skin tight black velvet body suit with long tail attached, cut high in the thighs, black pantyhose, black high heels and a head band with cat ears. I was the talk of many people as I paraded through the halls of my school. I knew they were talking about me, but having grown up as one of the geekiest kids in school and then becoming relatively attractive, I knew it would garner attention and I liked it. Total tart.
Halloween has become a day where young women can wear a totally trashy outfit, look completely sleazy and it's considered normal. Wear it on a different day, and she's just asking for labels and trouble. Are women in such desperate need of attention from the opposite sex that we feel the need to portray ourselves as sex objects one day out of the year?
This phenomenon was even found in the movie Mean Girls. The main character, in voice over, as the movie pans over a high school Halloween party says, "In Girl World, Halloween is the one night a year when girls can dress like a total slut and no other girls can say anything about it." The main character dresses as a zombie bride and one of the "slut girls" asks her why she's wearing something so scary. Simple, because it's Halloween.
So, when did this change happen? Was it just part of evolution? When I was going to high school, midway through, they changed my school to an Academy which meant uniforms. There were expectations as to how short the skirts could be - mine was far above what was considered acceptable, but because teachers adored me, I got away with it. Short skirt? Check. High heels? Check. Double standards from the teachers? Check. Bad reputation (undeservedly I might add)? Check. My "skirt" was even graffitied about in the girls' washroom - labeled as a belt. Very nice. Then after I left, every time I'd drive by the school, I'd notice the skirts were getting shorter and shorter and even I was aghast! In retrospect, I know why I had such a short skirt. I got attention and I liked it. Good or bad, it was better than not being noticed as I had been for so long before. So, is it poor self esteem that drives girls to wear slutty outfits for Halloween?
So, our hypothesis is: women who are dressed in non slutty costumes are much more confident and have higher self esteem than those who are wearing slutty outfits. Hrm.... makes you wonder doesn't it? Over compensation at it's very best.
Now, in my trampier days, I also gravitated towards the "sexier" costumes. In fact, my last year in high school, I wore a scandalous black cat costume - skin tight black velvet body suit with long tail attached, cut high in the thighs, black pantyhose, black high heels and a head band with cat ears. I was the talk of many people as I paraded through the halls of my school. I knew they were talking about me, but having grown up as one of the geekiest kids in school and then becoming relatively attractive, I knew it would garner attention and I liked it. Total tart.
Halloween has become a day where young women can wear a totally trashy outfit, look completely sleazy and it's considered normal. Wear it on a different day, and she's just asking for labels and trouble. Are women in such desperate need of attention from the opposite sex that we feel the need to portray ourselves as sex objects one day out of the year?
This phenomenon was even found in the movie Mean Girls. The main character, in voice over, as the movie pans over a high school Halloween party says, "In Girl World, Halloween is the one night a year when girls can dress like a total slut and no other girls can say anything about it." The main character dresses as a zombie bride and one of the "slut girls" asks her why she's wearing something so scary. Simple, because it's Halloween.
So, when did this change happen? Was it just part of evolution? When I was going to high school, midway through, they changed my school to an Academy which meant uniforms. There were expectations as to how short the skirts could be - mine was far above what was considered acceptable, but because teachers adored me, I got away with it. Short skirt? Check. High heels? Check. Double standards from the teachers? Check. Bad reputation (undeservedly I might add)? Check. My "skirt" was even graffitied about in the girls' washroom - labeled as a belt. Very nice. Then after I left, every time I'd drive by the school, I'd notice the skirts were getting shorter and shorter and even I was aghast! In retrospect, I know why I had such a short skirt. I got attention and I liked it. Good or bad, it was better than not being noticed as I had been for so long before. So, is it poor self esteem that drives girls to wear slutty outfits for Halloween?
So, our hypothesis is: women who are dressed in non slutty costumes are much more confident and have higher self esteem than those who are wearing slutty outfits. Hrm.... makes you wonder doesn't it? Over compensation at it's very best.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Two heads better than one
I love that despite PB being almost half way across the world we still have very interesting and meaningful conversations.
On my web board, there was a discussion about extending the time infants and toddlers should be in a car seat rear facing. Right now, the law (at least in Ontario) is the child must be at least 20lbs. and 1 year old to be forward facing. Corwin has already reached the weight limit and by the end of the month he'll be a year old and we'll be turning the seat around, or at least this is what I thought before I read my board thread.
The danger about forward facing at a young age is that a child's head is still quite large and heavy compared to the body and with a frontal impact, the only restraint the child has is for his/her body by the straps. The head can snap forward and can sever the spinal cord and cause what is known as an internal decapitation. However, by keeping the child in a rear facing car seat, in a frontal collision, the head is supported by the back of the seat therefore cradling it and protecting it from snapping forward or back. Sounds like keeping them rear facing for much longer would be better right?
That's where PB steps in and says, but wouldn't the opposite hold true? Meaning, if the child was rear facing, but we were rear ended, his/her head would now snap forward as in the case of a forward facing frontal collision. Huh... I never would have thought of it that way.
I do however believe that frontal collisions probably occur at a much higher speed than rear ending.... at least this is what I think safety boards and Pediatric associations would like us to believe since they all think that rear facing for longer is safer. So, if that's the case then for safety purposes maybe we won't be changing the seat to forward facing at the end of the month, although Corwin's legs are getting more and more uncomfortable.
This conversation was interesting in other aspects though because it really illustrates the difference in how we (PB and I) think and analyze different situations. With his engineering background and a much more thorough knowledge of physics, his analysis about the rear facing vs. front facing was very automatic for him whereas for me, I was very much in the "wow... I never thought about it that way" frame of mind.
The thread also mentioned someone who had seen a documentary about building airplanes and how rear facing was actually safer. I mentioned this to PB who said, "Well obviously. Planes don't travel like cars and there is nothing significant to cause a rear end collision. It's virtually almost always a frontal impact of some sort." (Or at least something to that extent). Again, another "wow... I never thought...." from me.
So there I was now feeling kind of dumb, for not thinking of these seemingly simplistic analyses. PB then mentioned that I shouldn't feel dumb, it's just because we think about things very differently based on the knowledge we have. He went on to say that there are many things he doesn't look at from any other angle because it simply doesn't occur to him - like colour coordination of things or anything related to social interaction.
So, I'll never be Einstein and he'll never be Van Gogh but together we do complement each other quite well. PB is very SMRT.... :-)
Oh, and as an aside, coprolites were called bezoars but they were incorrectly identified. A bezoar is a mass found trapped in the gastrointestinal system, usually the stomach. So, Harry didn't shove a fossilized piece of dung down Ron's throat afterall.... but still, a mass that is trapped in a gastrointestinal system? That's still pretty nasty.
On my web board, there was a discussion about extending the time infants and toddlers should be in a car seat rear facing. Right now, the law (at least in Ontario) is the child must be at least 20lbs. and 1 year old to be forward facing. Corwin has already reached the weight limit and by the end of the month he'll be a year old and we'll be turning the seat around, or at least this is what I thought before I read my board thread.
The danger about forward facing at a young age is that a child's head is still quite large and heavy compared to the body and with a frontal impact, the only restraint the child has is for his/her body by the straps. The head can snap forward and can sever the spinal cord and cause what is known as an internal decapitation. However, by keeping the child in a rear facing car seat, in a frontal collision, the head is supported by the back of the seat therefore cradling it and protecting it from snapping forward or back. Sounds like keeping them rear facing for much longer would be better right?
That's where PB steps in and says, but wouldn't the opposite hold true? Meaning, if the child was rear facing, but we were rear ended, his/her head would now snap forward as in the case of a forward facing frontal collision. Huh... I never would have thought of it that way.
I do however believe that frontal collisions probably occur at a much higher speed than rear ending.... at least this is what I think safety boards and Pediatric associations would like us to believe since they all think that rear facing for longer is safer. So, if that's the case then for safety purposes maybe we won't be changing the seat to forward facing at the end of the month, although Corwin's legs are getting more and more uncomfortable.
This conversation was interesting in other aspects though because it really illustrates the difference in how we (PB and I) think and analyze different situations. With his engineering background and a much more thorough knowledge of physics, his analysis about the rear facing vs. front facing was very automatic for him whereas for me, I was very much in the "wow... I never thought about it that way" frame of mind.
The thread also mentioned someone who had seen a documentary about building airplanes and how rear facing was actually safer. I mentioned this to PB who said, "Well obviously. Planes don't travel like cars and there is nothing significant to cause a rear end collision. It's virtually almost always a frontal impact of some sort." (Or at least something to that extent). Again, another "wow... I never thought...." from me.
So there I was now feeling kind of dumb, for not thinking of these seemingly simplistic analyses. PB then mentioned that I shouldn't feel dumb, it's just because we think about things very differently based on the knowledge we have. He went on to say that there are many things he doesn't look at from any other angle because it simply doesn't occur to him - like colour coordination of things or anything related to social interaction.
So, I'll never be Einstein and he'll never be Van Gogh but together we do complement each other quite well. PB is very SMRT.... :-)
Oh, and as an aside, coprolites were called bezoars but they were incorrectly identified. A bezoar is a mass found trapped in the gastrointestinal system, usually the stomach. So, Harry didn't shove a fossilized piece of dung down Ron's throat afterall.... but still, a mass that is trapped in a gastrointestinal system? That's still pretty nasty.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Learn something new everyday
I have never been of scientific mind. I only took science up until Grade 10 and PB is constantly agonizing over my lack of knowledge in basic physics and chemistry and has threatened some home schooling for me. Ack!! Ask me anything to do with art history, cooking or other creative activities and I'd be able to go on and on but science and math? Forget about it!
From time to time though, I do ask PB some sort of science question and he is always eager to share his knowledge or make something up based on his working knowledge that is plausible that I'll believe anyway. Sometimes as he launches into a lesson, I find myself quickly bored, but since there is inevitably some sort of test at the end to confirm I've learned something, I do try and pay attention.
The other night, before PB left for work again, we were watching an episode of Futurama. During the episode, there was a moment when some of the characters were walking through a museum and on display were a series of coprolites. I had never heard of a coprolite so I inquired PB about them. The DVD was immediately paused and PB stared at me. "You've never heard of a coprolite before?"
"No," I replied. He then went on to tell me that coprolites are fossilized piles of shit. Lovely!! He continued on to say that they are very important to the scientific world because they reveal a great deal about animals in prehistoric times and even humans and their diets. Uh huh.... trying to imagine being a paleontologist and being excited over some fossilized shit made me giggle. Yup... that's how mature I am.
I did some more research about coprolites. Apparently, they are also called bezoar stones. Hrm... I recall coming across that word recently, and yes, now I remember where. It was in one of the Harry Potter stories - where a bezoar is used as an antidote for poison. I have to wonder now, are they one of the same thing? Does that mean that Harry rammed a piece of fossilized shit into Ron's mouth to save him from a horrible poison? Blech!!!
Further investigation will be required, although not tonight. It's been a long day and I think Corwin may be teething again as he's been sleeping worse than usual, even for him. I'm off to bed soon!
From time to time though, I do ask PB some sort of science question and he is always eager to share his knowledge or make something up based on his working knowledge that is plausible that I'll believe anyway. Sometimes as he launches into a lesson, I find myself quickly bored, but since there is inevitably some sort of test at the end to confirm I've learned something, I do try and pay attention.
The other night, before PB left for work again, we were watching an episode of Futurama. During the episode, there was a moment when some of the characters were walking through a museum and on display were a series of coprolites. I had never heard of a coprolite so I inquired PB about them. The DVD was immediately paused and PB stared at me. "You've never heard of a coprolite before?"
"No," I replied. He then went on to tell me that coprolites are fossilized piles of shit. Lovely!! He continued on to say that they are very important to the scientific world because they reveal a great deal about animals in prehistoric times and even humans and their diets. Uh huh.... trying to imagine being a paleontologist and being excited over some fossilized shit made me giggle. Yup... that's how mature I am.
I did some more research about coprolites. Apparently, they are also called bezoar stones. Hrm... I recall coming across that word recently, and yes, now I remember where. It was in one of the Harry Potter stories - where a bezoar is used as an antidote for poison. I have to wonder now, are they one of the same thing? Does that mean that Harry rammed a piece of fossilized shit into Ron's mouth to save him from a horrible poison? Blech!!!
Further investigation will be required, although not tonight. It's been a long day and I think Corwin may be teething again as he's been sleeping worse than usual, even for him. I'm off to bed soon!
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Labour intensive desserts
I love cooking and baking and if a lot of effort is required to make a certain item but the payoff is good, then I'll make it again. Only once have I made something that required so much effort and the end result was a mere meh, that I have not made it again. It was an apple gateau (cake) made of only apples, yes just apples, well a few other things for flavouring, but no flour, eggs, butter nothing traditional for cake baking. In retrospect I'm not sure why I thought it would be absolutely spectacular, 
but it seemed quite unique and I had more time on my hands back then. I had to peel and core 6 1/2 pounds, yes that's correct not 6 1/2 apples, but POUNDS of apples and then slice them thinly (1/8 inch thick) with my mandoline. Thank goodness I didn't have to do it by hand, the slicing that is, as I did have to peel them by hand as I didn't have one of those handy apple peelers and corers.
After slicing them, I rubbed 6 large sugar cubes over 2 oranges, unpeeled, to essentially create orange flavoured sugar and then crush them with a rolling pin. In a tall souffle dish, with a high parchment paper collar, I then started the process of layering the apples, in a floral pattern and interlocking them and sprinkling the sugar after a few layers. I repeated until all 6 1/2 pounds of apples were layered. Then, I placed a circle of parchment to fit the top over the layered apples and placed a few plates on top to weigh it all down. This was then placed in an oven set at 175F and baked for 12 to 14 hours. I'll just let you have a moment and let that sink in.... 12- 14 freaking hours!!! The entire time I'm making this cake, I'm thinking it better be damn tasty! When I was done, and the cake came out of the dish, I have to admit it looked rather pretty and impressive. I took a bite and it tasted like.... cooked apples, layered thinly with a bit of orange flavoured sugar. Huh... who would have thought? DUH!! Granted I probably should have made the caramel salt butter sauce that is suggested to be served with it, but quite frankly, after spending all this time making the gateau I didn't feel like doing anything more. I expected it to somehow melt miraculously in my mouth and taste
absolutely heavenly, afterall it had been in the oven for over 12 hours! Now you're probably wondering who inspired me to make this crazy cake... Anne Willan, a French chef, and this cake is featured on the front of her cookbook. I'm such a sucker for photos!
So, why am I mentioning this baking tale? Because I have now encountered my second item that I will likely never attempt again. Yes, the one you've all been waiting for, the concord grape pie.
I used my trusted and favourite flaky pie crust recipe, which never fails me. Easy enough. The filling however required 3 pounds of concord grapes, which as I mentioned previously, I decided to use coronation grapes as a substitution. Concord grapes are usually seeded, luckily for me, the coronation grapes I bought were seedless. The recipe calls for the grapes to be seeded if they are concords, so that would usually mean one less step. But no, as I needed to heat the pulp mixture to melt the butter and sugar into it, so I sat there squeezing out 3 pounds of coronation grapes and separating the pulp from the skins, reserving both. A very sticky and squirty job but after 30-45 minutes later it was done. Then I heated the pulp and thankfully did not have to strain the mixture to get the seeds out. I added a significantly less amount of sugar than required as I do with all my baking. The recipe called for 1 1/2 to 2 cups of sugar and I put in 1/2 cup in total. Then added the lemon juice and butter and mixed it all up. Then, I added the skins back into the pulp mixture and the requisite tapioca powder for gelling. Cooled it and then put it in the pie crust, topped it, cut the vent holes, glazed it, sugared and into the oven it went. Significantly less work than the apple gateau, but still a lot more work than making a standard apple, strawberry rhubarb or even lemon meringue pie. 55 minutes in the oven at 425F (which by the way is way too hot or I should have covered it at one point
because the top of the pie started to burn, especially since it said to sprinkle sugar on the top (as shown in the picture here). We had to wait until the next morning to try the pie as it looked fairly soupy still. I cut into the pie the next morning and it looked good. Very purple and grapey and smelled like grapes. Tastewise, it was very much like having a glass of Welch's grape juice with a bit more pulp and skins. It had a cloying kind of sweetness to me, especially in the finish but it was also tart. It was really a rather odd sort of sensation and taste in my mouth. PB seemed to like it, but then again, he's not very discerning when it comes to my baking (although he thought the apple crisp I made last week was far too sweet) and will pretty much eat anything, especially in pie form. He agreed though that I was crazy for all the work I put into it. I think he'd much rather have is favourite lemon meringue over the concord or pseudo concord grape pie. Sadly now, PB had to go to work, and I have to figure out how to freeze the other half of this pie do he can eat it when he gets back.
but it seemed quite unique and I had more time on my hands back then. I had to peel and core 6 1/2 pounds, yes that's correct not 6 1/2 apples, but POUNDS of apples and then slice them thinly (1/8 inch thick) with my mandoline. Thank goodness I didn't have to do it by hand, the slicing that is, as I did have to peel them by hand as I didn't have one of those handy apple peelers and corers.After slicing them, I rubbed 6 large sugar cubes over 2 oranges, unpeeled, to essentially create orange flavoured sugar and then crush them with a rolling pin. In a tall souffle dish, with a high parchment paper collar, I then started the process of layering the apples, in a floral pattern and interlocking them and sprinkling the sugar after a few layers. I repeated until all 6 1/2 pounds of apples were layered. Then, I placed a circle of parchment to fit the top over the layered apples and placed a few plates on top to weigh it all down. This was then placed in an oven set at 175F and baked for 12 to 14 hours. I'll just let you have a moment and let that sink in.... 12- 14 freaking hours!!! The entire time I'm making this cake, I'm thinking it better be damn tasty! When I was done, and the cake came out of the dish, I have to admit it looked rather pretty and impressive. I took a bite and it tasted like.... cooked apples, layered thinly with a bit of orange flavoured sugar. Huh... who would have thought? DUH!! Granted I probably should have made the caramel salt butter sauce that is suggested to be served with it, but quite frankly, after spending all this time making the gateau I didn't feel like doing anything more. I expected it to somehow melt miraculously in my mouth and taste
absolutely heavenly, afterall it had been in the oven for over 12 hours! Now you're probably wondering who inspired me to make this crazy cake... Anne Willan, a French chef, and this cake is featured on the front of her cookbook. I'm such a sucker for photos!So, why am I mentioning this baking tale? Because I have now encountered my second item that I will likely never attempt again. Yes, the one you've all been waiting for, the concord grape pie.
I used my trusted and favourite flaky pie crust recipe, which never fails me. Easy enough. The filling however required 3 pounds of concord grapes, which as I mentioned previously, I decided to use coronation grapes as a substitution. Concord grapes are usually seeded, luckily for me, the coronation grapes I bought were seedless. The recipe calls for the grapes to be seeded if they are concords, so that would usually mean one less step. But no, as I needed to heat the pulp mixture to melt the butter and sugar into it, so I sat there squeezing out 3 pounds of coronation grapes and separating the pulp from the skins, reserving both. A very sticky and squirty job but after 30-45 minutes later it was done. Then I heated the pulp and thankfully did not have to strain the mixture to get the seeds out. I added a significantly less amount of sugar than required as I do with all my baking. The recipe called for 1 1/2 to 2 cups of sugar and I put in 1/2 cup in total. Then added the lemon juice and butter and mixed it all up. Then, I added the skins back into the pulp mixture and the requisite tapioca powder for gelling. Cooled it and then put it in the pie crust, topped it, cut the vent holes, glazed it, sugared and into the oven it went. Significantly less work than the apple gateau, but still a lot more work than making a standard apple, strawberry rhubarb or even lemon meringue pie. 55 minutes in the oven at 425F (which by the way is way too hot or I should have covered it at one point
because the top of the pie started to burn, especially since it said to sprinkle sugar on the top (as shown in the picture here). We had to wait until the next morning to try the pie as it looked fairly soupy still. I cut into the pie the next morning and it looked good. Very purple and grapey and smelled like grapes. Tastewise, it was very much like having a glass of Welch's grape juice with a bit more pulp and skins. It had a cloying kind of sweetness to me, especially in the finish but it was also tart. It was really a rather odd sort of sensation and taste in my mouth. PB seemed to like it, but then again, he's not very discerning when it comes to my baking (although he thought the apple crisp I made last week was far too sweet) and will pretty much eat anything, especially in pie form. He agreed though that I was crazy for all the work I put into it. I think he'd much rather have is favourite lemon meringue over the concord or pseudo concord grape pie. Sadly now, PB had to go to work, and I have to figure out how to freeze the other half of this pie do he can eat it when he gets back.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Leaving you all in suspense
Although I'm sure you're all on tenterhooks wondering what happened with the concord grape pie, it'll have to wait until tomorrow. PB got word that he's got to leave for work tomorrow morning, so I'm spending the night with him.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Slacker
24 days of writing faithfully, even if it's only a small note and then WHAM! I did not write a thing yesterday because I'm a slacker. No, that's not entirely true, I didn't write intentionally as I rediscovered something about myself yesterday.
I am not a routine type person. So what do I do? I go out and become a mother, which is riddled and structured with what? Yes, ROUTINE! Children thrive on it and I will go crazy! I had this epiphany yesterday afternoon and started getting more and more grumpy, much to the dismay of my poor PB. When I get depressed, I start shutting down. I become apathetic and I don't want to do anything. I just want to sit on the couch and play pity party. So that's what I did last night to also take a different turn from my regularly scheduled activities.
I felt guilty this morning, just a little bit, that I did not write anything yesterday, so here I am again back at my laptop, tapping away. I have come to the realization though that writing everyday may just not be in the cards for me right now, unless I can find time to do it throughout the day, rather than at the same scheduled time every night. The monotony and routine is just far too boring for me. I like being spontaneous and perhaps that's where this blog is now headed. To write when something really strikes me as opposed to sitting down and trying to come up with something new to write. I feel like a quitter though, that I should I be persevering and writing something just to maintain the discipline. So, now I'm sitting on the fence and wondering what tomorrow will bring.
Pie.... yes tomorrow will bring pie as I baked one today (to break up my routine). I ventured to make a pseudo concord grape pie. Pseudo because I did not use concord grapes, but a very similar coronation grape. It's cooling now and will be ready for tasting tomorrow. Rather a peculiar pie but after seeing the recipe and knowing how much PB loves pie and concord grapes, seemed like a good idea. I'll share the adventure tomorrow.....
I am not a routine type person. So what do I do? I go out and become a mother, which is riddled and structured with what? Yes, ROUTINE! Children thrive on it and I will go crazy! I had this epiphany yesterday afternoon and started getting more and more grumpy, much to the dismay of my poor PB. When I get depressed, I start shutting down. I become apathetic and I don't want to do anything. I just want to sit on the couch and play pity party. So that's what I did last night to also take a different turn from my regularly scheduled activities.
I felt guilty this morning, just a little bit, that I did not write anything yesterday, so here I am again back at my laptop, tapping away. I have come to the realization though that writing everyday may just not be in the cards for me right now, unless I can find time to do it throughout the day, rather than at the same scheduled time every night. The monotony and routine is just far too boring for me. I like being spontaneous and perhaps that's where this blog is now headed. To write when something really strikes me as opposed to sitting down and trying to come up with something new to write. I feel like a quitter though, that I should I be persevering and writing something just to maintain the discipline. So, now I'm sitting on the fence and wondering what tomorrow will bring.
Pie.... yes tomorrow will bring pie as I baked one today (to break up my routine). I ventured to make a pseudo concord grape pie. Pseudo because I did not use concord grapes, but a very similar coronation grape. It's cooling now and will be ready for tasting tomorrow. Rather a peculiar pie but after seeing the recipe and knowing how much PB loves pie and concord grapes, seemed like a good idea. I'll share the adventure tomorrow.....
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Dim Sum
There's a delightful Chinese restaurant in the asian part of Scarborough that we frequent on a regular basis. In fact, when Corwin was only a week old, it was the first public place we took him to aside from being in the hospital. It is our favourite dim sum restaurant.
I introduced PB to dim sum during our first visit back here in Toronto when we were dating. Dim sum is Chinese for snack. Snacking is hardly what we do though. From 10am until 3pm, the restaurant serves delightful small plates of various steamed, fried and braised items. As with traditional dim sum places, women push carts around laden with their fare, calling out what's on their cart to those who may be interested. Foreigners who don't speak Cantonese, simply ask them to show what's under the covered bamboo steamers and point to what they'd like. I don't speak any Cantonese except for picking up all of the names of the dishes that we like.
Steamed dumplings are a favourite amongst many - har gau (shrimp enveloped in translucent rice flour wrappers) and siu mai (pork and shrimp dumplings with a bit of flying fish roe on top) are the primary staples although there are other variations. Hau ba yip (beef tripe steamed with ginger) is a big favourite of PB's and he usually orders two plates along with his ma si ko bau (Mexican bun - filled with a sweet taro paste). My favourite lately is the ou chai quot (steamed beef short ribs in a black pepper sauce and garlic.
There is something very homey and comforting about the environment, although it is a cacophony of chatter and mayhem - perfect for bringing young children if they may become fussy and start crying. We've been going there on a regular basis for 10 years now and most of the staff know us well. The dim sum ladies have watched Corwin grow older and he is very flirty and friendly with them, unlike most strangers he encounters when we go out.
This particular restaurant also has a very distinct hierarchy of employees and knowing who's who helps in getting what we want. Ask the wrong person and the glass of ice water may never arrive. On the lowest level, dressed in a brick coloured jacket and black pants are the busboys that take all the plates and garbage that is cleared from the tables from the set up stations to the kitchen and they do not speak to patrons. Above them would be the dim sum ladies that push the carts - white blouse, red vest, black skirt. Next in line are the wait staff - dressed in an Asian style cream coloured jacket with black pants. They are responsible for clearing finished steamers and plates, refilling the tea pot, bringing an ordered beverage (soda, wine, beer, water) and setting up new tables and clearing off the used ones. Above them are the hostesses, dressed in an Asian style cheong sam dress, sometimes in blue and sometimes in a fuschia pink. Getting in good with these two ladies means priority seating. There is an unspoken "VIP Regulars" line at the back. Patrons crowded together at the front of the restaurant, watch as regulars such as us, bypass their line and go to the back of the restaurant and wait in an alternate grouping which gets seated faster. We used to be the ones waiting at the front and wistfully wondering what made the people in the back so special. Above the hostesses are the "suits" wearing black, either male or female. These are the major players - authorizing changes in orders, signing off for complimentary tea (otherwise there is a charge), taking special orders for the kitchen, handling bill transactions and can also get you bumped from the front line to the VIP line. They occasionally serve specialty items from the kitchen from a tray or cart - especially during a busy weekend where the chef is testing out a new potential menu item.
There is a cost to being a VIP client at this restaurant and receiving all of the privileges that it entails. Every year for Chinese New Year, I am busy handing out little red envelopes of lucky money to all of them - of varying amounts depending on where they are in the hierarchy. On Chinese New Year, they are like vultures scouring tables with familiar patrons, practically holding their hands out in expectation, their pockets already bursting with flashes of red. Dim sum ladies will remember and in the year to come will search for the best plate before presenting it to our table and some will even come directly to our table knowing that we will like what they have, bypassing other tables completely. Wait staff remember what kind of tea we like and how many glasses of water I need. They will also clear our dirty plates and refresh them with new clean ones midway through our meal. Thanks to our payment to the 'suits' we have never paid for tea and when we ask for menu items that have not come out on carts, they are quickly procured for us. Hostesses keep us in the VIP line and get us seated as quickly as possible, apologizing when there is an unusually lengthy wait.
Along with knowing the hierarchy, etiquette for dim sum is also important. Belching without saying excuse me is the norm. Be aware that hoarking loudly is also considered to be acceptable. Talking loudly is expected as it is the only way tablemates will be able to keep up with the conversation. Eating sweets one minute and going back to savoury is always part of the norm, as is eating strange things like steamed chicken feet. Pointing at another table and asking "what's that?" is also completely acceptable, whether you'll get an answer in English is a different story.
And lastly, the most important of all, if you need a refill for the teapot, simply lift the lid slightly askew and set it to the edge of the table. Within moments, a waiter or "suit" will collect your pot and return it with more hot water or will bring a pitcher of hot water to top up.
I introduced PB to dim sum during our first visit back here in Toronto when we were dating. Dim sum is Chinese for snack. Snacking is hardly what we do though. From 10am until 3pm, the restaurant serves delightful small plates of various steamed, fried and braised items. As with traditional dim sum places, women push carts around laden with their fare, calling out what's on their cart to those who may be interested. Foreigners who don't speak Cantonese, simply ask them to show what's under the covered bamboo steamers and point to what they'd like. I don't speak any Cantonese except for picking up all of the names of the dishes that we like.
Steamed dumplings are a favourite amongst many - har gau (shrimp enveloped in translucent rice flour wrappers) and siu mai (pork and shrimp dumplings with a bit of flying fish roe on top) are the primary staples although there are other variations. Hau ba yip (beef tripe steamed with ginger) is a big favourite of PB's and he usually orders two plates along with his ma si ko bau (Mexican bun - filled with a sweet taro paste). My favourite lately is the ou chai quot (steamed beef short ribs in a black pepper sauce and garlic.
There is something very homey and comforting about the environment, although it is a cacophony of chatter and mayhem - perfect for bringing young children if they may become fussy and start crying. We've been going there on a regular basis for 10 years now and most of the staff know us well. The dim sum ladies have watched Corwin grow older and he is very flirty and friendly with them, unlike most strangers he encounters when we go out.
This particular restaurant also has a very distinct hierarchy of employees and knowing who's who helps in getting what we want. Ask the wrong person and the glass of ice water may never arrive. On the lowest level, dressed in a brick coloured jacket and black pants are the busboys that take all the plates and garbage that is cleared from the tables from the set up stations to the kitchen and they do not speak to patrons. Above them would be the dim sum ladies that push the carts - white blouse, red vest, black skirt. Next in line are the wait staff - dressed in an Asian style cream coloured jacket with black pants. They are responsible for clearing finished steamers and plates, refilling the tea pot, bringing an ordered beverage (soda, wine, beer, water) and setting up new tables and clearing off the used ones. Above them are the hostesses, dressed in an Asian style cheong sam dress, sometimes in blue and sometimes in a fuschia pink. Getting in good with these two ladies means priority seating. There is an unspoken "VIP Regulars" line at the back. Patrons crowded together at the front of the restaurant, watch as regulars such as us, bypass their line and go to the back of the restaurant and wait in an alternate grouping which gets seated faster. We used to be the ones waiting at the front and wistfully wondering what made the people in the back so special. Above the hostesses are the "suits" wearing black, either male or female. These are the major players - authorizing changes in orders, signing off for complimentary tea (otherwise there is a charge), taking special orders for the kitchen, handling bill transactions and can also get you bumped from the front line to the VIP line. They occasionally serve specialty items from the kitchen from a tray or cart - especially during a busy weekend where the chef is testing out a new potential menu item.
There is a cost to being a VIP client at this restaurant and receiving all of the privileges that it entails. Every year for Chinese New Year, I am busy handing out little red envelopes of lucky money to all of them - of varying amounts depending on where they are in the hierarchy. On Chinese New Year, they are like vultures scouring tables with familiar patrons, practically holding their hands out in expectation, their pockets already bursting with flashes of red. Dim sum ladies will remember and in the year to come will search for the best plate before presenting it to our table and some will even come directly to our table knowing that we will like what they have, bypassing other tables completely. Wait staff remember what kind of tea we like and how many glasses of water I need. They will also clear our dirty plates and refresh them with new clean ones midway through our meal. Thanks to our payment to the 'suits' we have never paid for tea and when we ask for menu items that have not come out on carts, they are quickly procured for us. Hostesses keep us in the VIP line and get us seated as quickly as possible, apologizing when there is an unusually lengthy wait.
Along with knowing the hierarchy, etiquette for dim sum is also important. Belching without saying excuse me is the norm. Be aware that hoarking loudly is also considered to be acceptable. Talking loudly is expected as it is the only way tablemates will be able to keep up with the conversation. Eating sweets one minute and going back to savoury is always part of the norm, as is eating strange things like steamed chicken feet. Pointing at another table and asking "what's that?" is also completely acceptable, whether you'll get an answer in English is a different story.
And lastly, the most important of all, if you need a refill for the teapot, simply lift the lid slightly askew and set it to the edge of the table. Within moments, a waiter or "suit" will collect your pot and return it with more hot water or will bring a pitcher of hot water to top up.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Another thing about being a pilot's wife
Another thing about being a pilot's wife is that I really want to spend as much time as I can with PB but with our crazy schedules and having a 10 (almost 11!) month old baby it's tough trying to find the time. By the time I get Corwin to bed and the kitchen cleaned up and dishes done, I try to find some time to write my blog, get caught up on my "board" and other emailing and take care of any wake ups that Corwin has. In that time I also have to find some time to spend with PB doing some "us" stuff - watching a movie, reading together, having a snack and just talking. It's getting harder, but it's really important to us.
Maximizing on the amount of time we could spend together is one of the reasons why I started a business at home and stopped working a 9-5 job. Since PB is away more than half of the month, if I also had to work, that's 40 hours a week (not counting any travel time) that we wouldn't have together. We'd barely see each other throughout the year and we've always been very committed to not letting our relationship slide from being a top priority.
While we were dating, PB told me that pilots have one of the highest divorce rates. It is tough to be apart but we work hard at staying connected. We speak daily, at least once or twice, when he's away - whether it's through Skype on video cam or on the phone. We are also very open with each other - nothing is taboo in our relationship. We speak about things that most couples have probably never spoken to each other about in fear of reaction from the other partner. Utmost honesty and openness works extremely well for us and makes things so much simpler.
So, with that said, I'm off to spend some 'quality' time with PB. We may just squeeze in a few episodes of Futurama together before we head off to bed.
Maximizing on the amount of time we could spend together is one of the reasons why I started a business at home and stopped working a 9-5 job. Since PB is away more than half of the month, if I also had to work, that's 40 hours a week (not counting any travel time) that we wouldn't have together. We'd barely see each other throughout the year and we've always been very committed to not letting our relationship slide from being a top priority.
While we were dating, PB told me that pilots have one of the highest divorce rates. It is tough to be apart but we work hard at staying connected. We speak daily, at least once or twice, when he's away - whether it's through Skype on video cam or on the phone. We are also very open with each other - nothing is taboo in our relationship. We speak about things that most couples have probably never spoken to each other about in fear of reaction from the other partner. Utmost honesty and openness works extremely well for us and makes things so much simpler.
So, with that said, I'm off to spend some 'quality' time with PB. We may just squeeze in a few episodes of Futurama together before we head off to bed.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Waaay too much information
Men and women faint of heart and who don't want to hear about my monthly cycle, please stop reading now.
****************************************************************************
For those of you still with me, and I can't imagine why? I have been completely obsessed by my monthly "visitor" today because I decided to start using the "Diva Cup." For those of you unfamiliar with it, it's a "revolutionary alternative to tampons and pads" that is essentially a flexible funnel shaped cup with the tip capped off. It's reusable, so therefore environmental. It's safer as it does not carry the risk of toxic shock syndrome. It's cheaper in the long run because you don't have to purchase a whole line of products varying in absorbency for your cycle. When used properly, there is no risk of leakage. It's more convenient, as it can be worn up to 12 hours.
Well.... maybe for most women it can be.
I've always had a peculiar cycle - super short, lasting only 2-3 days with the first 1-2 days being very heavy. Very heavy? Hrmmm, perhaps I should say extremely heavy. I have severe cramps that are quite debilitating and usually my first day is a write off in terms of getting anything done unless I'm doped up on Advil. My body clearly feels the need to rid itself of this blood immediately and works hard churning all of my muscles to do so. I had no idea of how heavy it was until I started using the cup this morning, which is why I've been obsessed over it all day.
The cup holds one full ounce and according to the directions and their website, the average woman's cycle flows 3-4 ozs. (90-120 ml.) in it's entirety. Keep in mind again, that the directions say most women can wear the cup for 12 hours without changing it and that it's usually only about half full after those 12 hours. I've had to empty my cup - EVERY 2-3 FREAKING HOURS!!!!!!!! The first time, after having it in for 3 hours, it was only half full, but I wanted to check and see out of curiousity. The next time, again 3 hours later, I started getting a bit of leakage so I knew it must be full. Following time, also started getting some leaks and that was only after 2 hours. In total, since putting in the cup at 8:30am, I have already expelled 85 ml.! ARGHHH!! This explains the cramping and why even the super duper ultra absorbent tampons only lasted me an hour!
I do have to say though, I enjoy not having to use tampons. There is a bit of a learning curve in using the cup and getting it in right, but after it's in, it's quite comfortable and does contain everything really well.
Well, looks like my time is running out and I'll have to go empty the cup again before I go to bed.
****************************************************************************
For those of you still with me, and I can't imagine why? I have been completely obsessed by my monthly "visitor" today because I decided to start using the "Diva Cup." For those of you unfamiliar with it, it's a "revolutionary alternative to tampons and pads" that is essentially a flexible funnel shaped cup with the tip capped off. It's reusable, so therefore environmental. It's safer as it does not carry the risk of toxic shock syndrome. It's cheaper in the long run because you don't have to purchase a whole line of products varying in absorbency for your cycle. When used properly, there is no risk of leakage. It's more convenient, as it can be worn up to 12 hours.
Well.... maybe for most women it can be.
I've always had a peculiar cycle - super short, lasting only 2-3 days with the first 1-2 days being very heavy. Very heavy? Hrmmm, perhaps I should say extremely heavy. I have severe cramps that are quite debilitating and usually my first day is a write off in terms of getting anything done unless I'm doped up on Advil. My body clearly feels the need to rid itself of this blood immediately and works hard churning all of my muscles to do so. I had no idea of how heavy it was until I started using the cup this morning, which is why I've been obsessed over it all day.
The cup holds one full ounce and according to the directions and their website, the average woman's cycle flows 3-4 ozs. (90-120 ml.) in it's entirety. Keep in mind again, that the directions say most women can wear the cup for 12 hours without changing it and that it's usually only about half full after those 12 hours. I've had to empty my cup - EVERY 2-3 FREAKING HOURS!!!!!!!! The first time, after having it in for 3 hours, it was only half full, but I wanted to check and see out of curiousity. The next time, again 3 hours later, I started getting a bit of leakage so I knew it must be full. Following time, also started getting some leaks and that was only after 2 hours. In total, since putting in the cup at 8:30am, I have already expelled 85 ml.! ARGHHH!! This explains the cramping and why even the super duper ultra absorbent tampons only lasted me an hour!
I do have to say though, I enjoy not having to use tampons. There is a bit of a learning curve in using the cup and getting it in right, but after it's in, it's quite comfortable and does contain everything really well.
Well, looks like my time is running out and I'll have to go empty the cup again before I go to bed.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Follow up on the water heater
Just a quick follow up note for today as it's late, we had friends over for dinner and I'm exhausted and would like to go to bed.
PB has been tinkering with the water heater and it seems that the issue is electrical (so the plumbing hat was not needed!). It would seem that one set of wires that connects our remote for the upstairs bathrooms is not reading properly and is causing the shut down. Problem is rewiring now. We had used some existing wires that were poking out of the wall before, but it's buried behind drywall and other structural elements so it's not feasible to run a new wire in the same location. I'm trying to convince PB that we need to move the remote to a new location that has a shaft that runs directly down into the basement. The problem with that, is the holes that we will need to poke through the drywall in order to run the wires down and possibly even drill a larger hole to send the wire through as there is some particle board flooring that is still in the way. His issue, the repairs of the drywall. He's not a drywaller - however, it happens to be one of the skills I have learned and has been very handy to have, being a pilot's wife and all. He doesn't want to create any unnecessary work for me considering how much work I have to do now, on top of taking care of Corwin.
Tomorrow he may tackle the electrical (which thankfully I don't have to tinker with because I'm not crazy about an electricians "hat") and that may mean the knocking of some holes in our drywall. I may be cursing later about the patching, sanding, patching and sanding again and then painting to repair the damage but if I have hot water consistently afterwards, it'll be all worth it.
PB has been tinkering with the water heater and it seems that the issue is electrical (so the plumbing hat was not needed!). It would seem that one set of wires that connects our remote for the upstairs bathrooms is not reading properly and is causing the shut down. Problem is rewiring now. We had used some existing wires that were poking out of the wall before, but it's buried behind drywall and other structural elements so it's not feasible to run a new wire in the same location. I'm trying to convince PB that we need to move the remote to a new location that has a shaft that runs directly down into the basement. The problem with that, is the holes that we will need to poke through the drywall in order to run the wires down and possibly even drill a larger hole to send the wire through as there is some particle board flooring that is still in the way. His issue, the repairs of the drywall. He's not a drywaller - however, it happens to be one of the skills I have learned and has been very handy to have, being a pilot's wife and all. He doesn't want to create any unnecessary work for me considering how much work I have to do now, on top of taking care of Corwin.
Tomorrow he may tackle the electrical (which thankfully I don't have to tinker with because I'm not crazy about an electricians "hat") and that may mean the knocking of some holes in our drywall. I may be cursing later about the patching, sanding, patching and sanding again and then painting to repair the damage but if I have hot water consistently afterwards, it'll be all worth it.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Some things I'll just never understand
When I was in the eighth grade I was assigned to write an essay based on the quote, "those who can not learn about history are doomed to repeat it". While doing my research for the essay, I was introduced to the atrocities of the Holocaust and from then on found myself always intrigued by the subject.
While I was backpacking through Europe as a university student, I visited a friend who lived in Germany. She was Taiwanese like me but raised in Germany. She asked what I'd like to see and among my list was seeing the concentration camp in Dachau.
There was a strange calm and eerieness at Dachau, with only the sound of the gravel crunching under our feet, as we walked through the camp where the barracks used to be. I had a strange lump in my throat the entire time as I walked through the memorial site. It was hard to fathom that I was actually standing on the same ground that the Holocaust victims stood, worked, hoped, starved, tortured and executed. All the images I had seen in the books and everything I had read did not really prepare me for the emotions I felt - both nauseous and also a sense of duty to pay my respects and honour those who had suffered and died at the hands of the Nazis.
Later that evening, I asked my friend if they studied the war in school and how it was interpreted. She simply told me that her generation of Germans had a hard time being proud of their country and being German. Such irony, considering it was the pride of Hitler and being the greatest nation and race in the world that now caused them to feel such great shame.
A few years ago, I went to Poland to visit my mother in law with PB. While we were there, I asked PB if we could go to Auschwitz. He knew my interest in the Holocaust and while he couldn't really understand why I was so fascinated by it, indulged me and we took a day trip. Auschwitz was a whole different experience because there were so many more remains of the camp. A room full of human hair that the Germans collected from women to sell and then make fabric; another room piled up to the top filled with shoes, and yet another with suitcases - all testament of the people who passed through the gates and most likely never left the grounds. There was also a 5'x5'x5' cube of left over cans of Zyclone B, the gas which they used to exterminate the victims. It was here that I also learned more about Dr. Mengele and other "doctors" and their shocking medical experimentation on inmates. It also amazed me to see the mass amounts of paper documentation that the Nazis kept. It has long been ridiculed at how good the Germans were at documenting everything, and here they had all the evidence in writing that would convict them of the most atrocious crimes.
We also went to Birkenau, also known as Auschwitz II, that was really the epicentre of mass death. The gates to Birkenau didn't even have the traditional ruse of "Arbeit Macht Frei" (Work makes (one) free) as it was used exclusively as an extermination camp. The Nazis tried to destroy the camp and successfully did so with much of it, but enough remains to tell a very grim and horrific story. It was a somber day but it left me grateful for all the things I do have in life.
My mother in law also shared a story about her older brother during the war. He was 13 or so and friends of the family had managed to get him a job at a factory making something for Germans (she couldn't remember what) rather than being sent to a work camp. He became part of the Polish Resistance. One day while he was walking to work with a group of fellow workers he was also smuggling some ammunition in his pocket. They were stopped en route by Nazis for a random inspection. They were all ordered to show their papers and all their possessions. While the other men hid him from the Nazis, he slipped the bullets into his thermos of coffee. The Nazis made their way to him and asked him what was in his thermos. He replied that it was coffee for his breakfast. They demanded that he show them what was in the thermos, so he carefully poured some coffee out. Luckily, the shells didn't pour out nor did they make enough sound to cause any further questioning and he was released to go with the rest of the men to work.
Before going to bed last night I took a quick peak at Reuter's list of top stories and came across this headline : "Iran President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad proud of Holocaust denial." I know there are some who deny that the Holocaust ever existed, but I just can't seem to wrap my head around it. With all the proof that is in existence, documentation, real accounts from survivors and those who liberated the camps, and the physical evidence alone, it is mind boggling that there are ignorant idiots who spiel such garbage. I actually researched some sites and message boards that are dedicated to those who don't believe in the Holocaust or the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I was absolutely shocked at how they interpret what is proof of these events. I was surprised that there wasn't a site that negates the African slave trading, although I'm sure there is somewhere and I just couldn't find it.
As a believer that those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it, it truly scares me as to what Ahmadinejad and other crazy militant leaders could attempt in terms of annihilating a country or race. I am just grateful that civilized and educated nations are much more aware and proactive and hopefully will never let anything like the Holocaust happen again, although, Rwanda, Bosnia and Darfur seem to refute that.
While I was backpacking through Europe as a university student, I visited a friend who lived in Germany. She was Taiwanese like me but raised in Germany. She asked what I'd like to see and among my list was seeing the concentration camp in Dachau.
There was a strange calm and eerieness at Dachau, with only the sound of the gravel crunching under our feet, as we walked through the camp where the barracks used to be. I had a strange lump in my throat the entire time as I walked through the memorial site. It was hard to fathom that I was actually standing on the same ground that the Holocaust victims stood, worked, hoped, starved, tortured and executed. All the images I had seen in the books and everything I had read did not really prepare me for the emotions I felt - both nauseous and also a sense of duty to pay my respects and honour those who had suffered and died at the hands of the Nazis.
Later that evening, I asked my friend if they studied the war in school and how it was interpreted. She simply told me that her generation of Germans had a hard time being proud of their country and being German. Such irony, considering it was the pride of Hitler and being the greatest nation and race in the world that now caused them to feel such great shame.
A few years ago, I went to Poland to visit my mother in law with PB. While we were there, I asked PB if we could go to Auschwitz. He knew my interest in the Holocaust and while he couldn't really understand why I was so fascinated by it, indulged me and we took a day trip. Auschwitz was a whole different experience because there were so many more remains of the camp. A room full of human hair that the Germans collected from women to sell and then make fabric; another room piled up to the top filled with shoes, and yet another with suitcases - all testament of the people who passed through the gates and most likely never left the grounds. There was also a 5'x5'x5' cube of left over cans of Zyclone B, the gas which they used to exterminate the victims. It was here that I also learned more about Dr. Mengele and other "doctors" and their shocking medical experimentation on inmates. It also amazed me to see the mass amounts of paper documentation that the Nazis kept. It has long been ridiculed at how good the Germans were at documenting everything, and here they had all the evidence in writing that would convict them of the most atrocious crimes.
We also went to Birkenau, also known as Auschwitz II, that was really the epicentre of mass death. The gates to Birkenau didn't even have the traditional ruse of "Arbeit Macht Frei" (Work makes (one) free) as it was used exclusively as an extermination camp. The Nazis tried to destroy the camp and successfully did so with much of it, but enough remains to tell a very grim and horrific story. It was a somber day but it left me grateful for all the things I do have in life.
My mother in law also shared a story about her older brother during the war. He was 13 or so and friends of the family had managed to get him a job at a factory making something for Germans (she couldn't remember what) rather than being sent to a work camp. He became part of the Polish Resistance. One day while he was walking to work with a group of fellow workers he was also smuggling some ammunition in his pocket. They were stopped en route by Nazis for a random inspection. They were all ordered to show their papers and all their possessions. While the other men hid him from the Nazis, he slipped the bullets into his thermos of coffee. The Nazis made their way to him and asked him what was in his thermos. He replied that it was coffee for his breakfast. They demanded that he show them what was in the thermos, so he carefully poured some coffee out. Luckily, the shells didn't pour out nor did they make enough sound to cause any further questioning and he was released to go with the rest of the men to work.
Before going to bed last night I took a quick peak at Reuter's list of top stories and came across this headline : "Iran President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad proud of Holocaust denial." I know there are some who deny that the Holocaust ever existed, but I just can't seem to wrap my head around it. With all the proof that is in existence, documentation, real accounts from survivors and those who liberated the camps, and the physical evidence alone, it is mind boggling that there are ignorant idiots who spiel such garbage. I actually researched some sites and message boards that are dedicated to those who don't believe in the Holocaust or the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I was absolutely shocked at how they interpret what is proof of these events. I was surprised that there wasn't a site that negates the African slave trading, although I'm sure there is somewhere and I just couldn't find it.
As a believer that those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it, it truly scares me as to what Ahmadinejad and other crazy militant leaders could attempt in terms of annihilating a country or race. I am just grateful that civilized and educated nations are much more aware and proactive and hopefully will never let anything like the Holocaust happen again, although, Rwanda, Bosnia and Darfur seem to refute that.
Monday, September 21, 2009
A small note
Just a small note for this evening - just to make sure that I do write something every day. I had an evening out sans child with some friends from my 'web board'. We were out for all you can eat sushi and had a fabulous time.
Corwin was screaming when I left, aghast that his mother would leave him right before his bedtime, but his dad seemed to manage and both were asleep when I got in. Corwin woke up almost immediately though and wanted mom right away. Just got him back down asleep and it's 11:40pm and I'm exhausted and need to go to bed.
Corwin was screaming when I left, aghast that his mother would leave him right before his bedtime, but his dad seemed to manage and both were asleep when I got in. Corwin woke up almost immediately though and wanted mom right away. Just got him back down asleep and it's 11:40pm and I'm exhausted and need to go to bed.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
The ride.
I have a thing for men in uniform and motorcycles and lucky for me, PB has both! He had a BMW bike when he was living in NY and one time he even rode 3 hours to Rhode Island to see me when we were dating. Once we moved back to Toronto, he decided to sell his bike rather than bring it here. A few years later, I told him how much I liked having the bike. He seemed rather surprised. Most women don't approve of their husbands on motorcycles unless they are into bikes too. I don't have any desire to ride my own bike, I just want to ride with him. He finds this notion rather bizarre too, as most women who enjoy riding, also would prefer to have the control of the bike themselves, but not me. I'm an old fashioned girl who likes to hang on to her man from the back of a bike.
PB found an old BMW, vintage in fact (1973) available from a woman in Sudbury. We decided to buy it. It was in fairly good condition as it had only 2 previous owners and most of it was still original. We had it for a few years and then PB decided that it was time he started to work on it and restore it a bit. So he's been taking different portions of it apart and putting it back together again slowly. I think it's still something he seems to enjoy, despite some of the frustrations along the way. There are definitely some quirky things about the bike. I recall him trying to put a tire back on the rims and in his manual, it seemed really easy, just a matter of snapping it back in place. Meanwhile, a sweat drenched t-shirt later and 4 hours of cursing, PB came inside to ask if I might assist him. With the two of us, it seemed virtually impossible and the manual definitely inferred that only one person was required to do it, even on the side of the road if necessary. PB eventually got it on himself but not without a great deal of difficulty and some minor injuries.
This year, PB has been quite busy with helping me with the baby, then going to training for a 400 series of the 747 for a month or two and then going back through training to be a captain again and trying to stay on top of all the household chores he's responsible for. The bike had been taken apart as he was getting the cylinders restored and it sat in my mother's garage for the better part of the summer, unrideable.
PB has finally gotten some time to work on it and finally put it all together. Today was the first day, in at least a year and a half (maybe more), that I got to ride with him. We left Corwin with Grandma and off we went driving through the countryside. It was the perfect day - beautiful and sunny, but not too warm so wearing leather and a helmet wouldn't be unbearable. I clung onto him as we took winding roads, passed corn fields, plenty of wild flowers, ponds, creeks and plenty of other bikers also enjoying the perfect day for a ride.
I was also reminded of a very fond memory. PB and I took his bike in NY when we went shopping for our wedding bands. We had to go to Manhattan and New Jersey so he thought taking the bike would make more sense than using public transit. It was the first time I had been on the bike in NY and I loved weaving in and out of traffic with him. It really was a bit of a childish thrill as I held onto him tightly. We've come such a long way since then, married now for 9 years and even have a baby. However, being on the bike today, and clinging onto him reminded me of how much things haven't changed - that I still love being with him as much as I did the day we went to look for our wedding bands.
PB found an old BMW, vintage in fact (1973) available from a woman in Sudbury. We decided to buy it. It was in fairly good condition as it had only 2 previous owners and most of it was still original. We had it for a few years and then PB decided that it was time he started to work on it and restore it a bit. So he's been taking different portions of it apart and putting it back together again slowly. I think it's still something he seems to enjoy, despite some of the frustrations along the way. There are definitely some quirky things about the bike. I recall him trying to put a tire back on the rims and in his manual, it seemed really easy, just a matter of snapping it back in place. Meanwhile, a sweat drenched t-shirt later and 4 hours of cursing, PB came inside to ask if I might assist him. With the two of us, it seemed virtually impossible and the manual definitely inferred that only one person was required to do it, even on the side of the road if necessary. PB eventually got it on himself but not without a great deal of difficulty and some minor injuries.
This year, PB has been quite busy with helping me with the baby, then going to training for a 400 series of the 747 for a month or two and then going back through training to be a captain again and trying to stay on top of all the household chores he's responsible for. The bike had been taken apart as he was getting the cylinders restored and it sat in my mother's garage for the better part of the summer, unrideable.
PB has finally gotten some time to work on it and finally put it all together. Today was the first day, in at least a year and a half (maybe more), that I got to ride with him. We left Corwin with Grandma and off we went driving through the countryside. It was the perfect day - beautiful and sunny, but not too warm so wearing leather and a helmet wouldn't be unbearable. I clung onto him as we took winding roads, passed corn fields, plenty of wild flowers, ponds, creeks and plenty of other bikers also enjoying the perfect day for a ride.
I was also reminded of a very fond memory. PB and I took his bike in NY when we went shopping for our wedding bands. We had to go to Manhattan and New Jersey so he thought taking the bike would make more sense than using public transit. It was the first time I had been on the bike in NY and I loved weaving in and out of traffic with him. It really was a bit of a childish thrill as I held onto him tightly. We've come such a long way since then, married now for 9 years and even have a baby. However, being on the bike today, and clinging onto him reminded me of how much things haven't changed - that I still love being with him as much as I did the day we went to look for our wedding bands.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Vaccinations
I belong to a web board or online forum. It's predominantly women, save for I believe 2 men. I joined last year through a friend of mine from high school, shortly after I got pregnant. She had been on it for a while and raved about the practical parenting advice available. Since it was my first pregnancy I thought it would be a good idea.
The board itself has many topic areas, not just parenting. Everything, from mindless chatter about current events or silly random things, to house and home topics, cookery, relationships, pets, media and entertainment, crafting etc.... is covered. There is also a debates section which usually results in some sort of drama. One of the latest topics was over the H1N1 vaccination and whether or not members were planning on getting it.
PB and I strongly believe in vaccinations. Although there are some studies that show vaccinations may cause autism, it hasn't been proven conclusively and therefore, PB and I will make sure Corwin gets all of his vaccinations.
Part of the arguments on the board were from the pregnant women who were concerned about the potential side effects that the H1N1 vaccine could cause to their unborn child. If I was pregnant I'd be getting the vaccination as pregnant women are considered in one of the highest risk categories. When asked why, I merely explained that the possible consequence of not having the shot was not only miscarrying my unborn child but also dying myself. This would be unacceptable as I have no intention of widowing PB or leaving Corwin without a mother, especially if it is preventable. Others argued that vaccines aren't 100% effective.
I know this better than most people realize. Back in 2005, PB came home from work and within a day or two was complaining of a fever. He thought that he had developed an infection from a cut in his mouth so we went to our family doctor and got some antibiotics for him. Within a day or two, the fever was monumentally worse and PB was in bed all day - something he very rarely willingly does when he's sick. He had no other symptoms except for the fever. Everyone we spoke to said it was most likely something viral. We waited a few more days and he broke into a rash all over his upper body and on his thighs. Back to the doctor we went. "It's got to be something viral," he said and sent us home. His fever never went below 40C unless he was on Tylenol or Advil and he was shivering violently right before he was due for his next dosage. I kept telling him that something else was horribly wrong. We did extensive research on the internet and came up with all sorts of things but nothing seemed logical or definitive.
Finally I convinced him that I should take him to see Dr. Keystone, the tropical disease specialist at Toronto General who also ran the Travel clinic. We had seen Dr. Keystone before to get PB completely vaccinated for everything possible that he could come across while he was away at work. Traveling around the world, many times in third world countries, we wanted to make sure PB was prepared for anything. Dr. Keystone had said that if PB ever came down with anything odd to give him a call. This was certainly time for that.
Dr. Keystone saw us immediately and within minutes of taking some history diagnosed PB with typhoid. Strangely enough, PB was vaccinated for typhoid, but we learned that it was only 70% effective. They took some blood samples and within a few days confirmed that PB did in fact have typhoid. PB started taking a stronger antibiotic and within a few days his fever finally waned and although he was weakened he was better. Shortly after, PB developed a pulmonary embolism as a result of his being in bed from the fever for so long. PB was out of work for approximately 5 months in total in trying to treat everything and then get his medical to prove to the FAA that he was indeed safe to fly again. I totally understand that vaccinations are not 100% effective.
However, as a member of society I also feel that if it's in my power to stop spreading preventable diseases by vaccinations I will certainly do so. I can't say I'll do it without asking questions for new vaccinations, but certainly for vaccines that have been around for quite some time, I'll take my chances on the lack of 100% effectiveness and protect my family.
The board itself has many topic areas, not just parenting. Everything, from mindless chatter about current events or silly random things, to house and home topics, cookery, relationships, pets, media and entertainment, crafting etc.... is covered. There is also a debates section which usually results in some sort of drama. One of the latest topics was over the H1N1 vaccination and whether or not members were planning on getting it.
PB and I strongly believe in vaccinations. Although there are some studies that show vaccinations may cause autism, it hasn't been proven conclusively and therefore, PB and I will make sure Corwin gets all of his vaccinations.
Part of the arguments on the board were from the pregnant women who were concerned about the potential side effects that the H1N1 vaccine could cause to their unborn child. If I was pregnant I'd be getting the vaccination as pregnant women are considered in one of the highest risk categories. When asked why, I merely explained that the possible consequence of not having the shot was not only miscarrying my unborn child but also dying myself. This would be unacceptable as I have no intention of widowing PB or leaving Corwin without a mother, especially if it is preventable. Others argued that vaccines aren't 100% effective.
I know this better than most people realize. Back in 2005, PB came home from work and within a day or two was complaining of a fever. He thought that he had developed an infection from a cut in his mouth so we went to our family doctor and got some antibiotics for him. Within a day or two, the fever was monumentally worse and PB was in bed all day - something he very rarely willingly does when he's sick. He had no other symptoms except for the fever. Everyone we spoke to said it was most likely something viral. We waited a few more days and he broke into a rash all over his upper body and on his thighs. Back to the doctor we went. "It's got to be something viral," he said and sent us home. His fever never went below 40C unless he was on Tylenol or Advil and he was shivering violently right before he was due for his next dosage. I kept telling him that something else was horribly wrong. We did extensive research on the internet and came up with all sorts of things but nothing seemed logical or definitive.
Finally I convinced him that I should take him to see Dr. Keystone, the tropical disease specialist at Toronto General who also ran the Travel clinic. We had seen Dr. Keystone before to get PB completely vaccinated for everything possible that he could come across while he was away at work. Traveling around the world, many times in third world countries, we wanted to make sure PB was prepared for anything. Dr. Keystone had said that if PB ever came down with anything odd to give him a call. This was certainly time for that.
Dr. Keystone saw us immediately and within minutes of taking some history diagnosed PB with typhoid. Strangely enough, PB was vaccinated for typhoid, but we learned that it was only 70% effective. They took some blood samples and within a few days confirmed that PB did in fact have typhoid. PB started taking a stronger antibiotic and within a few days his fever finally waned and although he was weakened he was better. Shortly after, PB developed a pulmonary embolism as a result of his being in bed from the fever for so long. PB was out of work for approximately 5 months in total in trying to treat everything and then get his medical to prove to the FAA that he was indeed safe to fly again. I totally understand that vaccinations are not 100% effective.
However, as a member of society I also feel that if it's in my power to stop spreading preventable diseases by vaccinations I will certainly do so. I can't say I'll do it without asking questions for new vaccinations, but certainly for vaccines that have been around for quite some time, I'll take my chances on the lack of 100% effectiveness and protect my family.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Farmer's Markets
There is something very pleasurable about going to an open farmer's market, even if it is in the parking lot of the Oshawa Centre. I started going a few years ago on a quest to find heirloom tomatoes. My first tasting of heirloom tomatoes was in California back in 1999 and since then, I've always looked for them.
After trying out several farmer's markets, I found one lady, Maria, who had them. She had a stall at three different farmer's markets - one on Wednesday, Friday and then Sunday. The first year, I would follow her around to the market and pick up heirloom tomatoes. I was quickly recognized and known as her fanatical heirloom tomato customer. The following year, I started going to the farmer's market in Oshawa every Friday to pick up my heirloom tomatoes and other assorted produce.
I really enjoy walking around, looking at all the fruits and vegetables that our local farmers have grown. It's so much nicer than wheeling a shopping cart around a supermarket. I love talking to them, exchanging recipes and tidbits about various foods. I love that our fruit purveyor tells me all about the different varietals of the peaches, pears and plums that they have and what makes them unique. In a supermarket, the varietal is never known - it just says "Ontario Peach". I am particular that I only like freestones and that is never even listed at the supermarket.
I also like that everything is so fresh. Strawberries picked at sunrise that morning - bursting with flavour, aromatic as a strawberry should be and as shiny as in a magazine photo; tomatoes, with a heavy scent of the vines they are grown from; corn, crisp and firm with just a hint of dew from the morning when they were harvested; zucchini - more than a foot long and thicker than my fist. I also savour the items that I can't normally get from the supermarket, fava beans in the shell, fresh peas - still in their pods, fresh dill weed, bunches of basil as big as a flower bouquet, yellow and orange beets and garlic not from China. The apple selection during the fall is impressive with Royal Galas, Cortlands, Crispin, Jonagold, Honeycrisp, Paula Red, Northern Spy, Macintosh and many more.
Last year I was pregnant when I was going to the market. In fact, I didn't make it to the last week they were open because I was in the hospital giving birth. There is a nice personable feeling of getting to know these purveyors and them being interested in us. Many of them were guessing the sex of the baby and this year we got to introduce Corwin to our favourite farmers. It's a lot easier to shop this year, especially having Corwin in his stroller. We no longer have to lug around our heavy bags, laden with fresh fruits and vegetables. Everything just gets put into his undercarriage basket. Although he doesn't really understand what I'm saying yet, I enjoy pointing out different items and telling him what they are. When PB comes home, the trip to the farmer's market is a mandatory family affair. PB likes going, as the smells remind him of his childhood in Poland at his aunt and uncle's farm. He also likes being able to pick and choose what I'll be making him for lunch, after we get home from the market. His favourite is a heirloom tomato salad with basil, plenty of red onions, fleur de sel (that I picked in France a few years ago) and a drizzling of good olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Something so simple yet is the ultimate summer salad.
Corwin has also had his fair share of market goodies this year. Fresh musk melon, peaches, blueberries, zucchini, eggplant, summer squash, roasted red peppers and parsnips. He's got a basket of pears from todays excursion waiting for him, as well as some Gala apples. Sadly he'll have to wait until next year to sample the mouthwatering strawberries, but there is a basket and two bunches of fresh rhubarb waiting to be made into a pie for PB.
After trying out several farmer's markets, I found one lady, Maria, who had them. She had a stall at three different farmer's markets - one on Wednesday, Friday and then Sunday. The first year, I would follow her around to the market and pick up heirloom tomatoes. I was quickly recognized and known as her fanatical heirloom tomato customer. The following year, I started going to the farmer's market in Oshawa every Friday to pick up my heirloom tomatoes and other assorted produce.
I really enjoy walking around, looking at all the fruits and vegetables that our local farmers have grown. It's so much nicer than wheeling a shopping cart around a supermarket. I love talking to them, exchanging recipes and tidbits about various foods. I love that our fruit purveyor tells me all about the different varietals of the peaches, pears and plums that they have and what makes them unique. In a supermarket, the varietal is never known - it just says "Ontario Peach". I am particular that I only like freestones and that is never even listed at the supermarket.
I also like that everything is so fresh. Strawberries picked at sunrise that morning - bursting with flavour, aromatic as a strawberry should be and as shiny as in a magazine photo; tomatoes, with a heavy scent of the vines they are grown from; corn, crisp and firm with just a hint of dew from the morning when they were harvested; zucchini - more than a foot long and thicker than my fist. I also savour the items that I can't normally get from the supermarket, fava beans in the shell, fresh peas - still in their pods, fresh dill weed, bunches of basil as big as a flower bouquet, yellow and orange beets and garlic not from China. The apple selection during the fall is impressive with Royal Galas, Cortlands, Crispin, Jonagold, Honeycrisp, Paula Red, Northern Spy, Macintosh and many more.
Last year I was pregnant when I was going to the market. In fact, I didn't make it to the last week they were open because I was in the hospital giving birth. There is a nice personable feeling of getting to know these purveyors and them being interested in us. Many of them were guessing the sex of the baby and this year we got to introduce Corwin to our favourite farmers. It's a lot easier to shop this year, especially having Corwin in his stroller. We no longer have to lug around our heavy bags, laden with fresh fruits and vegetables. Everything just gets put into his undercarriage basket. Although he doesn't really understand what I'm saying yet, I enjoy pointing out different items and telling him what they are. When PB comes home, the trip to the farmer's market is a mandatory family affair. PB likes going, as the smells remind him of his childhood in Poland at his aunt and uncle's farm. He also likes being able to pick and choose what I'll be making him for lunch, after we get home from the market. His favourite is a heirloom tomato salad with basil, plenty of red onions, fleur de sel (that I picked in France a few years ago) and a drizzling of good olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Something so simple yet is the ultimate summer salad.
Corwin has also had his fair share of market goodies this year. Fresh musk melon, peaches, blueberries, zucchini, eggplant, summer squash, roasted red peppers and parsnips. He's got a basket of pears from todays excursion waiting for him, as well as some Gala apples. Sadly he'll have to wait until next year to sample the mouthwatering strawberries, but there is a basket and two bunches of fresh rhubarb waiting to be made into a pie for PB.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Is this sleep hell?
What I wouldn't give right now for a baby that could talk and just tell us what the problem is and why he can't fall asleep. I am just so grateful that PB is home and that there is someone else that can deal with the incessant crying, screaming, burbling etc...
We've been toying around with the idea of sleep training, but the cry it out option, at least the Ferber method which suggests going in and soothing in increments that increase would unlikely work with Corwin. He seems to be the type of child that would get himself more worked up, to the point of vomiting (I've heard in some) rather than exhaust himself, give up and go to sleep. The Sears method suggests co-sleeping, which we are, but I'd rather not go to bed every night at 8pm when he does. Does this mean that I'm doomed to rocking and soothing him until he's old enough to talk and tell us what the problem is? That day could not come sooner.
If it's teething, I can imagine it is quite uncomfortable but it's odd that it only gets really bad at night. He's not too hot or too cold. He's not gassy. He's not crying because he's got a wet diaper. So what is it? It's frustrating to see him obviously unhappy about something but has no way of communicating it except through crying. What's even more exasperating, when we finally get him to fall asleep, he doesn't sleep for longer than an hour and then we have to start all over again. Again, very grateful that PB is home right now, because this is all getting old really quickly. He's now been crying for the past 45 min. with PB by his side trying to soothe and get him to fall asleep.
Sleep issues are one of the most common problems for parents. I suppose I should count myself very lucky as Corwin is such a good natured baby for the whole day and not colicky like some other babies are. This sleep hell just makes for a really long day and I'm really sympathetic to why parents always look so tired now. I'm looking forward to the day when we can say "Remember when...."
We've been toying around with the idea of sleep training, but the cry it out option, at least the Ferber method which suggests going in and soothing in increments that increase would unlikely work with Corwin. He seems to be the type of child that would get himself more worked up, to the point of vomiting (I've heard in some) rather than exhaust himself, give up and go to sleep. The Sears method suggests co-sleeping, which we are, but I'd rather not go to bed every night at 8pm when he does. Does this mean that I'm doomed to rocking and soothing him until he's old enough to talk and tell us what the problem is? That day could not come sooner.
If it's teething, I can imagine it is quite uncomfortable but it's odd that it only gets really bad at night. He's not too hot or too cold. He's not gassy. He's not crying because he's got a wet diaper. So what is it? It's frustrating to see him obviously unhappy about something but has no way of communicating it except through crying. What's even more exasperating, when we finally get him to fall asleep, he doesn't sleep for longer than an hour and then we have to start all over again. Again, very grateful that PB is home right now, because this is all getting old really quickly. He's now been crying for the past 45 min. with PB by his side trying to soothe and get him to fall asleep.
Sleep issues are one of the most common problems for parents. I suppose I should count myself very lucky as Corwin is such a good natured baby for the whole day and not colicky like some other babies are. This sleep hell just makes for a really long day and I'm really sympathetic to why parents always look so tired now. I'm looking forward to the day when we can say "Remember when...."
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Excuses, excuses...
I don't have too much time to write tonight. We had some friends over for dinner and Corwin has been an absolute bugger tonight and not wanting to go to sleep. I don't know if he's cutting some new teeth or something but it's been particularly bad and PB and I have been tag teaming all night with our guests.
I didn't want to not write anything though as I've been soooo good about writing every day. So, that's it for tonight. Something new for tomorrow night for sure!
I didn't want to not write anything though as I've been soooo good about writing every day. So, that's it for tonight. Something new for tomorrow night for sure!
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Alternatives killed the video store.
It's sad to admit, but my favourite job, and probably the one that I had the longest, was working as a clerk at a video store. It was a franchise operation located 5 mins. from my house. I loved it there. I got free movies all the time, the staff was fun (I became friends with my BFF there), clients were great and friendly and it was super convenient located so close to home.
Back then, when a new release movie came out on VHS, it retailed for $80-100 depending on the title. It would take numerous rentals of $5 a pop to even start breaking even on a single copy. Before I started working there, I had no idea that movies could be so costly.
Shortly after I started there, Blockbusters started popping up in the GTA and started to take away some business. They were trying to monopolize video rentals and the smaller chains, franchises and mom and pops began to fade away.
I just read in the news today that Blockbuster is losing money and they are being forced to close hundreds of their stores. With all of the alternate options today of renting a movie or obtaining a movie, it was bound to happen. Even the concept of a "video store" is archaic, as they don't even rent videos anymore and no one calls them "DVD stores". New releases of DVDs are also much cheaper than the original VHS movies. For $30 or less most of the new releases can be bought by the consumer directly.
I was a Blockbuster customer up until recently. Their marketing scheme of 'no late charges' was great because I no longer had the pressure of getting the movie back within a day or two. If I had a chance to watch it I did, but if I didn't and let it slide a few days I wouldn't be penalized. From a consumer's perspective this was genius, but from a business perspective, suicidal. Shortly after they came out with this idea, they launched a new campaign that rewarded customers for bringing back their movies earlier than the due date. Then most recently, as I'm sure their rentals were dwindling rapidly as they didn't have stock on the shelves, they rescinded these offers. They changed all their pricing to reflect multi-day rentals, but the catch was, the customer had to commit to the number days upon rental. For someone with a newborn and having no idea as to when I'd really get a chance to watch a whole movie, this option was not appealing and so I stopped renting. I'm sure other customers also were unhappy having been given a freedom and then having it snatched away. As a business owner, I get it; the point of operating a profitable business is making money, but I certainly hope the brainiac that approved the no late charges idea is working at a non-profit organization now.
I'm sure in the not so distant future, 'video stores' will completely disappear and the monopoly that Blockbuster once longed for will be meaningless. I however, will always have my very fond memories of my years as a video store clerk.
Back then, when a new release movie came out on VHS, it retailed for $80-100 depending on the title. It would take numerous rentals of $5 a pop to even start breaking even on a single copy. Before I started working there, I had no idea that movies could be so costly.
Shortly after I started there, Blockbusters started popping up in the GTA and started to take away some business. They were trying to monopolize video rentals and the smaller chains, franchises and mom and pops began to fade away.
I just read in the news today that Blockbuster is losing money and they are being forced to close hundreds of their stores. With all of the alternate options today of renting a movie or obtaining a movie, it was bound to happen. Even the concept of a "video store" is archaic, as they don't even rent videos anymore and no one calls them "DVD stores". New releases of DVDs are also much cheaper than the original VHS movies. For $30 or less most of the new releases can be bought by the consumer directly.
I was a Blockbuster customer up until recently. Their marketing scheme of 'no late charges' was great because I no longer had the pressure of getting the movie back within a day or two. If I had a chance to watch it I did, but if I didn't and let it slide a few days I wouldn't be penalized. From a consumer's perspective this was genius, but from a business perspective, suicidal. Shortly after they came out with this idea, they launched a new campaign that rewarded customers for bringing back their movies earlier than the due date. Then most recently, as I'm sure their rentals were dwindling rapidly as they didn't have stock on the shelves, they rescinded these offers. They changed all their pricing to reflect multi-day rentals, but the catch was, the customer had to commit to the number days upon rental. For someone with a newborn and having no idea as to when I'd really get a chance to watch a whole movie, this option was not appealing and so I stopped renting. I'm sure other customers also were unhappy having been given a freedom and then having it snatched away. As a business owner, I get it; the point of operating a profitable business is making money, but I certainly hope the brainiac that approved the no late charges idea is working at a non-profit organization now.
I'm sure in the not so distant future, 'video stores' will completely disappear and the monopoly that Blockbuster once longed for will be meaningless. I however, will always have my very fond memories of my years as a video store clerk.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Musings of a foodie
A friend of mine recently posted on Facebook that she tried Balut for the first time. Balut? What's balut you may ask, as I wondered? According to my friend Wikipedia, balut is sold as a street food in the Phillipines, that is essentially a fertilized duck egg that has a nearly developed embryo. Whaaaaaa?
We have a Korean friend who was telling us tales of a famous black pig in Jeju, located on an island on the southern tip of South Korea. The indigenous black pig is raised on human fecal matter. Lovely! It is nicknamed by the Koreans as Shit Pig. It is supposed to be the most delectable pork ever tasted - so succulent and flavourful, and yet it's something else that I think I'd pass on.
One of the strangest things I've tried was a live clam. I should note that the clam was still moving in the half shell. I was in Spain, and my uncle had taken us to a wonderful restaurant and had ordered up this appetizer. There I was, staring at this small clam, no bigger than a silver dollar, white, glistening and quivering on it's own volition. Everyone else at the table had already had theirs and yet I debated on how I would go about eating this poor little clam. I argued with myself between chewing it and putting it out of it's misery quickly, or to swallow it whole and let the stomach juices have their way with it. Which would be more humane? I imagined the little screams that would emanate from my mouth as my molars chomped down on the little creature. Imagination can sometimes be a very bad thing. I am not normally one to shirk my responsibilities, but that time, I let my stomach be the bad guy and swallowed him whole.
While I was backpacking through Europe, I came across a butcher in Paris that displayed a large selection of meats in their front window. One particular item caught my eye as it looked very much like a skinned squirrel. There was no sign on this item, as there were on the others and I racked my brain trying to think of what the word for squirrel was in French. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that they were indeed selling squirrel meat in Paris. I hadn't seen any squirrels around and surely such a common rodent was prevalent in Europe as well as North America. It was Paris after all, and surely they could find a way to cook up squirrel with a nice reduction sauce. It turns out, as I found out several days later, that the item was a rodent, but it was an uninteresting rabbit.
Speaking of which, I had a pet rabbit when I was younger. Thumper was his name. My brother and cousin used to tease me about eating hassenpfeffer. I had no clue what they were talking about, but I surmised that it was some sort of rabbit dish. I professed that I would never ever eat rabbit.... and yet I found myself in France several years ago, working in a kitchen in Cannes, and for lunch they often served rabbit to the staff. Quite tasty... similar to chicken... kind of like frog legs.
So what do my musings all mean? Other than the fact that I love food but I have limits as to what I'll venture into my mouth, the only logical explanation as to why some things are considered inedible by some cultures and delightful in another is a matter of upbringing. I never thought I'd eat snails and yet escargots are one of my favourite dishes, and I'm sure having a fancy french name makes them even better. PB on the other hand, used to play with snails and has said he will never eat any of his playmates. This is also the case for frog legs.
But it's not just a matter of strange delicacies that people have differing opinions on. There are basic things that we eat every day that some people will like and others won't. Whether it be a matter of texture, taste, smell or appearance everyone is guided by what they were brought up with, peer pressure and the cultural values about what is acceptable.
My mother in law, originating from Poland had very limited exposure to seafood. She refuses to eat shrimp (although I've seen her now sample a few around the holidays from a shrimp ring) because they remind her of little bugs, cockroaches to be exact. I remember having mounds of steamed shrimp brought to our restaurant table in Taiwan and learning how to rip off their little heads first and then peel the shell off from the legs before devouring them. I did not mention to her that I'm sure somewhere in the world people probably eat cockroaches as they do beetles, silk worms, spiders etc...
I don't like raw onions. If I eat onions, they have to be cooked and can't even be partially raw and even then I prefer to not know that I'm really eating them. PB loves onions - of all kinds. In fact, one of his favourite sandwiches is slices of a good crusty bread, slathered with butter and then topped with a heaping pile of raw sliced green onions and salted. Blech....
However, it occurred to me as I have been making all of Corwin's food (I am proud to say that he has never been served any jarred baby food nor anything manufactured that needs to be reconstituted) that it would be a great injustice for me to deprive him of anything that I don't personally like. I hear all the time about parents raising picky eaters. I am fortunate that Corwin has not disliked anything, with the exception of barley (which is ok since neither of his parents likes barley very much either), that I've offered to him. I'm sure that over time this may change, but it's very important to me that I give him things to try so that he can decide whether he likes something or not. Like all other aspects in life, I want him to be open minded and willing to try things. Does this mean that he'll try balut? Perhaps when he's older he may (I shouldn't have to be responsible for providing him every opportunity to eat strange things!) but, for now he'll have to settle for raw onions, cilantro, licorice and anything with dried orange peel.
We have a Korean friend who was telling us tales of a famous black pig in Jeju, located on an island on the southern tip of South Korea. The indigenous black pig is raised on human fecal matter. Lovely! It is nicknamed by the Koreans as Shit Pig. It is supposed to be the most delectable pork ever tasted - so succulent and flavourful, and yet it's something else that I think I'd pass on.
One of the strangest things I've tried was a live clam. I should note that the clam was still moving in the half shell. I was in Spain, and my uncle had taken us to a wonderful restaurant and had ordered up this appetizer. There I was, staring at this small clam, no bigger than a silver dollar, white, glistening and quivering on it's own volition. Everyone else at the table had already had theirs and yet I debated on how I would go about eating this poor little clam. I argued with myself between chewing it and putting it out of it's misery quickly, or to swallow it whole and let the stomach juices have their way with it. Which would be more humane? I imagined the little screams that would emanate from my mouth as my molars chomped down on the little creature. Imagination can sometimes be a very bad thing. I am not normally one to shirk my responsibilities, but that time, I let my stomach be the bad guy and swallowed him whole.
While I was backpacking through Europe, I came across a butcher in Paris that displayed a large selection of meats in their front window. One particular item caught my eye as it looked very much like a skinned squirrel. There was no sign on this item, as there were on the others and I racked my brain trying to think of what the word for squirrel was in French. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that they were indeed selling squirrel meat in Paris. I hadn't seen any squirrels around and surely such a common rodent was prevalent in Europe as well as North America. It was Paris after all, and surely they could find a way to cook up squirrel with a nice reduction sauce. It turns out, as I found out several days later, that the item was a rodent, but it was an uninteresting rabbit.
Speaking of which, I had a pet rabbit when I was younger. Thumper was his name. My brother and cousin used to tease me about eating hassenpfeffer. I had no clue what they were talking about, but I surmised that it was some sort of rabbit dish. I professed that I would never ever eat rabbit.... and yet I found myself in France several years ago, working in a kitchen in Cannes, and for lunch they often served rabbit to the staff. Quite tasty... similar to chicken... kind of like frog legs.
So what do my musings all mean? Other than the fact that I love food but I have limits as to what I'll venture into my mouth, the only logical explanation as to why some things are considered inedible by some cultures and delightful in another is a matter of upbringing. I never thought I'd eat snails and yet escargots are one of my favourite dishes, and I'm sure having a fancy french name makes them even better. PB on the other hand, used to play with snails and has said he will never eat any of his playmates. This is also the case for frog legs.
But it's not just a matter of strange delicacies that people have differing opinions on. There are basic things that we eat every day that some people will like and others won't. Whether it be a matter of texture, taste, smell or appearance everyone is guided by what they were brought up with, peer pressure and the cultural values about what is acceptable.
My mother in law, originating from Poland had very limited exposure to seafood. She refuses to eat shrimp (although I've seen her now sample a few around the holidays from a shrimp ring) because they remind her of little bugs, cockroaches to be exact. I remember having mounds of steamed shrimp brought to our restaurant table in Taiwan and learning how to rip off their little heads first and then peel the shell off from the legs before devouring them. I did not mention to her that I'm sure somewhere in the world people probably eat cockroaches as they do beetles, silk worms, spiders etc...
I don't like raw onions. If I eat onions, they have to be cooked and can't even be partially raw and even then I prefer to not know that I'm really eating them. PB loves onions - of all kinds. In fact, one of his favourite sandwiches is slices of a good crusty bread, slathered with butter and then topped with a heaping pile of raw sliced green onions and salted. Blech....
However, it occurred to me as I have been making all of Corwin's food (I am proud to say that he has never been served any jarred baby food nor anything manufactured that needs to be reconstituted) that it would be a great injustice for me to deprive him of anything that I don't personally like. I hear all the time about parents raising picky eaters. I am fortunate that Corwin has not disliked anything, with the exception of barley (which is ok since neither of his parents likes barley very much either), that I've offered to him. I'm sure that over time this may change, but it's very important to me that I give him things to try so that he can decide whether he likes something or not. Like all other aspects in life, I want him to be open minded and willing to try things. Does this mean that he'll try balut? Perhaps when he's older he may (I shouldn't have to be responsible for providing him every opportunity to eat strange things!) but, for now he'll have to settle for raw onions, cilantro, licorice and anything with dried orange peel.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
There's heavy wetting and then there's Corwin
If someone had told me 10 years ago that I would have a child I would have told them they were delusional. If that same person also told me that I'd also be using cloth diapers with that child, I would have told them not only were they delusional but also in need of psychological help.
It turns out they were right. We didn't start off using cloth diapers, as friends who do told us in the beginning not to bother. We'd have enough on our hands adapting to a newborn without the gazillions loads of laundry that would accompany cloth diapers. We were happily using disposables, and especially since Corwin was born in the late fall, we were regularly throwing out the diapers into a garbage bin outside so the smell wasn't so noticeable.
Then summer came... well at least some warm weather. The trip to the garbage pail outside was getting more intolerable. The waft of urine and feces escaping out of the bin, combined with the copious amounts of flies, congregating at the garbage, was enough to make me start considering the idea of cloth diapers.
PB and I had discussed them while I was still pregnant and in fact, we may have even had a discussion about them while we were still debating on whether or not to have children. It is supposed to be better for babies - less chemical exposure (there has been some studies linking the use of disposable diapers and infertility and testicular cancer), less diaper rashes, better comfort (soft fleece lining vs. whatever it is that they use in disposables) and easier to potty train (I'm all for this!). This was on top of the environmental factors and PB and I are fairly green so this was also important to us.
The cloth diapers that they have available today have come a long way from the cloth ones that PB wore. There are so many different options now - prefolds, fitted cloth and pocket diapers. We opted for the pocket diapers as they are the easiest to use and are closest to the convenience of a disposable diaper. Among the pocket diapers there are also many manufacturers, but I decided to go with a Canadian made diaper that also has the widest "pocket" for the liner (so man hands can tuck in the liner) and the liner also does not need to be pulled out manually, it tumbles out during the wash. Sounds easy right?
Then there are the liners themselves. Made out of a combination of hemp and cotton or bamboo and cotton, they are either two liners sewn together or three. These get folded into thirds and then tucked into the diaper cover making the absorbing layers now 6 or 9. There are also booster layers that can be tucked into the front or the middle (depending on if it's a boy or girl and where they wet the most) that provide an extra bit of absorbency.
I knew that Corwin was a fairly heavy wetter in disposables. His diaper would be very full in the mornings after being in it for 12 hours, but it amazed us that he never leaked through. The first night we tried the cloth, he needed changing after the first 4-5 hours, soaking through 9 layers. I added an additional liner folded in half to make it less bulky than it would be in thirds, so now he had 13 layers. He leaked by the morning. I folded the liner in thirds making it now 15 layers and still he was soaking it through and leaking. I bought a booster and put that in adding an additional 2 layers, now being at 17 and still we were getting some leakage. I folded the booster in half and put it in the front, giving his front section 19 layers of absorbency. His diaper is so full of fabric that the poor kid can't put his legs together and yet he doesn't complain and lets mommy fiddle around and figure out some combination that will result in dry pajamas and bedsheets in the morning. Finally at 19 layers we were having some success. The smell however was not pleasant. Stale urine packed in a diaper is like rubbing your face into a public toilet or urinal that has never been cleaned, or at least that's what I can imagine. It's a lovely way to wake up. All this for the sake of the environment, I can potty train him sooner, so he won't get testicular cancer and that he'll have good swimmers.
I discovered this evening that he did actually leak out of his diaper last night, as his pajamas now smelled like the public toilet. I'm at a loss and beginning to think that our only other option is to go with a disposable at night, which means that I'll have to load him up on foods rich in antioxidants, put him in boxer shorts as soon as he's potty trained, be resigned that he won't be potty trained until he's 4 and screw the environment.
It turns out they were right. We didn't start off using cloth diapers, as friends who do told us in the beginning not to bother. We'd have enough on our hands adapting to a newborn without the gazillions loads of laundry that would accompany cloth diapers. We were happily using disposables, and especially since Corwin was born in the late fall, we were regularly throwing out the diapers into a garbage bin outside so the smell wasn't so noticeable.
Then summer came... well at least some warm weather. The trip to the garbage pail outside was getting more intolerable. The waft of urine and feces escaping out of the bin, combined with the copious amounts of flies, congregating at the garbage, was enough to make me start considering the idea of cloth diapers.
PB and I had discussed them while I was still pregnant and in fact, we may have even had a discussion about them while we were still debating on whether or not to have children. It is supposed to be better for babies - less chemical exposure (there has been some studies linking the use of disposable diapers and infertility and testicular cancer), less diaper rashes, better comfort (soft fleece lining vs. whatever it is that they use in disposables) and easier to potty train (I'm all for this!). This was on top of the environmental factors and PB and I are fairly green so this was also important to us.
The cloth diapers that they have available today have come a long way from the cloth ones that PB wore. There are so many different options now - prefolds, fitted cloth and pocket diapers. We opted for the pocket diapers as they are the easiest to use and are closest to the convenience of a disposable diaper. Among the pocket diapers there are also many manufacturers, but I decided to go with a Canadian made diaper that also has the widest "pocket" for the liner (so man hands can tuck in the liner) and the liner also does not need to be pulled out manually, it tumbles out during the wash. Sounds easy right?
Then there are the liners themselves. Made out of a combination of hemp and cotton or bamboo and cotton, they are either two liners sewn together or three. These get folded into thirds and then tucked into the diaper cover making the absorbing layers now 6 or 9. There are also booster layers that can be tucked into the front or the middle (depending on if it's a boy or girl and where they wet the most) that provide an extra bit of absorbency.
I knew that Corwin was a fairly heavy wetter in disposables. His diaper would be very full in the mornings after being in it for 12 hours, but it amazed us that he never leaked through. The first night we tried the cloth, he needed changing after the first 4-5 hours, soaking through 9 layers. I added an additional liner folded in half to make it less bulky than it would be in thirds, so now he had 13 layers. He leaked by the morning. I folded the liner in thirds making it now 15 layers and still he was soaking it through and leaking. I bought a booster and put that in adding an additional 2 layers, now being at 17 and still we were getting some leakage. I folded the booster in half and put it in the front, giving his front section 19 layers of absorbency. His diaper is so full of fabric that the poor kid can't put his legs together and yet he doesn't complain and lets mommy fiddle around and figure out some combination that will result in dry pajamas and bedsheets in the morning. Finally at 19 layers we were having some success. The smell however was not pleasant. Stale urine packed in a diaper is like rubbing your face into a public toilet or urinal that has never been cleaned, or at least that's what I can imagine. It's a lovely way to wake up. All this for the sake of the environment, I can potty train him sooner, so he won't get testicular cancer and that he'll have good swimmers.
I discovered this evening that he did actually leak out of his diaper last night, as his pajamas now smelled like the public toilet. I'm at a loss and beginning to think that our only other option is to go with a disposable at night, which means that I'll have to load him up on foods rich in antioxidants, put him in boxer shorts as soon as he's potty trained, be resigned that he won't be potty trained until he's 4 and screw the environment.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Concord Grapes
PB loves concord grapes. Unfortunately, they are a varietal that is only seasonal and rarely in abundance when they are. We decided to plant two vines of concord grapes in our backyard.
Our house backs onto the Rouge Valley Conservation area. It's a lovely location, as we have a mature woodland behind our house and plenty of paths to go walking. We also have many different creatures living in the Rouge - deer, raccoons, skunks, chipmunks, squirrels, rabbits, coyotes, foxes, beavers and various birds.
While we very much enjoy sitings of wildlife thoughout the year, some of them are far more adventurous and daring as they impose themselves in our yard.
We've now had the grape vines for eight years and for the past five or so, we've had fruit, well, let's say that they have bore fruit. We have probably eaten a handful of grapes in the past five years, although we get several good clusters. We've tried everything to keep animals from eating the grapes. It's predominantly the raccoons who are feasting on them, but squirrels have been known to sample them as well.
We've tried putting mothballs around the vines, as this is supposed to deter raccoons. That year, we got maybe 2 grapes. We've also tried putting netting around the whole trellis and that year we got 1 grape. I also put tiny bags around each cluster and then secured it tightly with a twist tie, that year provided us with 5 grapes and many torn bags strewn across our lawn. One year, PB rigged an electrical wire and connected it to the trellis, complete with electrical current. I was concerned that we'd end up with fried raccoons in the morning (and how would we explain this to our neighbours?) but we didn't and that year we managed to salvage 2-3 small clusters, our greatest harvest to date! PB insists that if we were to enlist my brother to build some small gibbets and hang dead raccoons from them (with signs hanging around their necks saying "Grape Eater") that this would deter others from coming. My thoughts, A. I don't really want dead animals on our property. B. Again, explaining to the neighbours would be tricky and C. I don't think raccoons can read.
So, we're left with the electrical fencing again. We have decided on a more advanced method and have purchased some real electrical fencing, from a farming supply store. Since PB has been gone, the grape clusters are slowly ripening and changing colour. We'll need to act quickly if we are to salvage this years crop. I'm hoping that they'll ripen enough for PB to harvest before he has to leave for work again. If the fencing doesn't work this time, I'm really concerned that he'll turn to the gibbet idea again.
And as a complete aside and unrelated note... on October 7th, my best friend and I will be trekking downtown to the ROM and being two of 600 enjoying an Evening with Meryl Streep! I'm so excited! WHEEEE!!
Our house backs onto the Rouge Valley Conservation area. It's a lovely location, as we have a mature woodland behind our house and plenty of paths to go walking. We also have many different creatures living in the Rouge - deer, raccoons, skunks, chipmunks, squirrels, rabbits, coyotes, foxes, beavers and various birds.
While we very much enjoy sitings of wildlife thoughout the year, some of them are far more adventurous and daring as they impose themselves in our yard.
We've now had the grape vines for eight years and for the past five or so, we've had fruit, well, let's say that they have bore fruit. We have probably eaten a handful of grapes in the past five years, although we get several good clusters. We've tried everything to keep animals from eating the grapes. It's predominantly the raccoons who are feasting on them, but squirrels have been known to sample them as well.
We've tried putting mothballs around the vines, as this is supposed to deter raccoons. That year, we got maybe 2 grapes. We've also tried putting netting around the whole trellis and that year we got 1 grape. I also put tiny bags around each cluster and then secured it tightly with a twist tie, that year provided us with 5 grapes and many torn bags strewn across our lawn. One year, PB rigged an electrical wire and connected it to the trellis, complete with electrical current. I was concerned that we'd end up with fried raccoons in the morning (and how would we explain this to our neighbours?) but we didn't and that year we managed to salvage 2-3 small clusters, our greatest harvest to date! PB insists that if we were to enlist my brother to build some small gibbets and hang dead raccoons from them (with signs hanging around their necks saying "Grape Eater") that this would deter others from coming. My thoughts, A. I don't really want dead animals on our property. B. Again, explaining to the neighbours would be tricky and C. I don't think raccoons can read.
So, we're left with the electrical fencing again. We have decided on a more advanced method and have purchased some real electrical fencing, from a farming supply store. Since PB has been gone, the grape clusters are slowly ripening and changing colour. We'll need to act quickly if we are to salvage this years crop. I'm hoping that they'll ripen enough for PB to harvest before he has to leave for work again. If the fencing doesn't work this time, I'm really concerned that he'll turn to the gibbet idea again.
And as a complete aside and unrelated note... on October 7th, my best friend and I will be trekking downtown to the ROM and being two of 600 enjoying an Evening with Meryl Streep! I'm so excited! WHEEEE!!
Friday, September 11, 2009
8 years ago today PB was scheduled to go to work later that afternoon. Only a few months earlier, TWA had finally been bought by American Airlines (AA). While we were still snoozing in bed, we had received an odd phone call from his mother from Poland. She was talking about something she had seen on TV about a plane crashing into a skyscraper in New York City. We attributed it to some crazy show she had been watching and hung up and tried to go back to sleep but we were already awake. We lounged in bed, cuddling, talking and enjoying each other's company. Then we got another phone call. I can't recall who it was this time as we got several phone calls that morning asking where PB was, but that was when we were first alerted to what was really going on in New York City that morning.
PB has lived in New York since he immigrated from Poland when he was 17. He got his pilot license in Long Island and was based out of New York when he worked for TWA and for AA. He flew by the Manhattan skyline on a regular basis.
After that phone call, we quickly got dressed and went downstairs and turned on the TV only to see CNN's news footage of the crash in the first tower. Within minutes of us watching, we saw the second plane hit the second tower. My heart stopped and I felt weak and needed to sit down. We watched in disbelief and realized that the first tower was not an accident. We continued to get phone calls from friends and family all asking whether PB was at work or if he was with me. I felt very fortunate that he was home and safe and that I wasn't going crazy trying to locate him and at the same time absolutely ill that it could have been him.
For days, every time I turned on the TV, tears came pouring down my face and I had a constant lump in my throat. There was a part of me, the ostrich with the head in the sand, that wished I had been in some remote village in Africa or an island in Polynesia that didn't have access to any media, so that I wouldn't have to face such a devastating reality.
It's been 8 years since that traumatic day and I still get a queasy stomach, the lump in my throat and tears welling up when I see any footage or images, read stories about the families that were left behind or anything to do with that day. Ironically, PB now works for the cargo company that was the only civilian aircraft flying after everything else was grounded on 9/11. With the war on terror, PB is now regularly flying in the Middle East, flying in supplies for all the troops. It's a constant reminder of that day and how different the world is now.
Many people ask me what it's like to be married to a pilot and if I fear for his life when he goes to work. It's not like he's a police officer or a fireman as flying is very safe. I do think about it and dread the possibility that I could get a call one day that his plane has gone down, but it's not to the point of crippling me. It doesn't help that he is now flying predominantly in the Middle East but I am a positive person and I believe in always moving forward. Being a pilot's wife is my reality and whether I would rather stick my head in the sand or not, I now have even more responsibility now that I'm also a mother to a pilot's son.
PB has lived in New York since he immigrated from Poland when he was 17. He got his pilot license in Long Island and was based out of New York when he worked for TWA and for AA. He flew by the Manhattan skyline on a regular basis.
After that phone call, we quickly got dressed and went downstairs and turned on the TV only to see CNN's news footage of the crash in the first tower. Within minutes of us watching, we saw the second plane hit the second tower. My heart stopped and I felt weak and needed to sit down. We watched in disbelief and realized that the first tower was not an accident. We continued to get phone calls from friends and family all asking whether PB was at work or if he was with me. I felt very fortunate that he was home and safe and that I wasn't going crazy trying to locate him and at the same time absolutely ill that it could have been him.
For days, every time I turned on the TV, tears came pouring down my face and I had a constant lump in my throat. There was a part of me, the ostrich with the head in the sand, that wished I had been in some remote village in Africa or an island in Polynesia that didn't have access to any media, so that I wouldn't have to face such a devastating reality.
It's been 8 years since that traumatic day and I still get a queasy stomach, the lump in my throat and tears welling up when I see any footage or images, read stories about the families that were left behind or anything to do with that day. Ironically, PB now works for the cargo company that was the only civilian aircraft flying after everything else was grounded on 9/11. With the war on terror, PB is now regularly flying in the Middle East, flying in supplies for all the troops. It's a constant reminder of that day and how different the world is now.
Many people ask me what it's like to be married to a pilot and if I fear for his life when he goes to work. It's not like he's a police officer or a fireman as flying is very safe. I do think about it and dread the possibility that I could get a call one day that his plane has gone down, but it's not to the point of crippling me. It doesn't help that he is now flying predominantly in the Middle East but I am a positive person and I believe in always moving forward. Being a pilot's wife is my reality and whether I would rather stick my head in the sand or not, I now have even more responsibility now that I'm also a mother to a pilot's son.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
An Evening with Meryl
I have an American Express card and part of the perks is occasionally getting advance tickets for various events prior to the public release date. I get an email notification when they have new events that are part of the "Front of the Line" option.
Last night, I got an email about "An Evening with Meryl Streep at the ROM". Sounded very intriguing as I am a huge, HUGE Meryl fan - not stalking type, but love her, a lot! It appears that she is going to be in town for a sit down interview with a columnist, from the Globe and Mail, to talk about her body of work, her difficulties and responsibilities with fame and the nature of celebrity today and a "lively" Q&A session. It's an evening event and seeing as how Corwin only wants me after he goes to bed at night, I didn't think that it was going to be feasible to go. However, I checked with Grandma next door, and she's willing to take him and try putting him to sleep at her house so I can go out. PB is going to be away at work. I told her that if Corwin doesn't end up sleeping and just wants to play that I'll deal with it when I get home. Meryl is worth the potential grief.
With that settled, I logged into the AMEX site to purchase tickets only to see "SOLD OUT". Whaaaaaaaat? It was only released to the Front of the Line this morning and both the VIP and general admission have been sold out. Wahhhhh!! NOOOOO!! This can't be true!
Then suddenly, it dawned on me that I have a good contact at the ROM, who is in charge of special events. I emailed him and we're now hoping that he'll be able to assist in us in getting out to see Meryl.... Networking hopefully paying off!
I'll keep you posted!
Last night, I got an email about "An Evening with Meryl Streep at the ROM". Sounded very intriguing as I am a huge, HUGE Meryl fan - not stalking type, but love her, a lot! It appears that she is going to be in town for a sit down interview with a columnist, from the Globe and Mail, to talk about her body of work, her difficulties and responsibilities with fame and the nature of celebrity today and a "lively" Q&A session. It's an evening event and seeing as how Corwin only wants me after he goes to bed at night, I didn't think that it was going to be feasible to go. However, I checked with Grandma next door, and she's willing to take him and try putting him to sleep at her house so I can go out. PB is going to be away at work. I told her that if Corwin doesn't end up sleeping and just wants to play that I'll deal with it when I get home. Meryl is worth the potential grief.
With that settled, I logged into the AMEX site to purchase tickets only to see "SOLD OUT". Whaaaaaaaat? It was only released to the Front of the Line this morning and both the VIP and general admission have been sold out. Wahhhhh!! NOOOOO!! This can't be true!
Then suddenly, it dawned on me that I have a good contact at the ROM, who is in charge of special events. I emailed him and we're now hoping that he'll be able to assist in us in getting out to see Meryl.... Networking hopefully paying off!
I'll keep you posted!
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