Happy New Year!

This round, The Man took a bit longer to adjust to being home and I have not had much alone time with him. I know he left an intense work situation in Kabul and he's in the process of giving up his house there. From that to home, where he is completely cut off from the things that occupied his time, energy and thought.

But now that we've had Christmas (several times), he's gone to the gym, and we've been out with Outrageous and Red, he's settling in. He told a neighbour today it feels like he went to Kabul for the weekend and now he's back. Well, that's better. This is where his home is, not in Kabul.

This being New Year's Eve, I can't carry my crime into the New Year. So here's where I unload my secret. I arranged many appointments for The Man through his doctor. Regular check up stuff. His doctor had clued in that he's over 50 so suddenly sent him to all kinds of screening tests. The Man went to an 8 AM abdominal scan on December 24. But the clinic sent him home. They never received a requisition for the scan from his doctor. On December 30, he went back to his doctor. It was an appointment to review the results of his scan. But because he didn't have the scan done, the doctor didn't see him. The receptionist said, "I'm sure I faxed them the requisition but I guess I'll fax it again."

Meanwhile, cleaning out my things today, I came across the requisition his doctor's office sent for the scan. They had mailed it to me. I forgot about it. I thought the receptionist had phoned me to tell me about the appointment. So The Man went to two appointments for nothing because I forgot he had received the appointment in the mail.

Is this my way of telling The Man? Maybe. But he doesn't read my blog when he is home, so maybe not. But I'm not going into the new year alone with this burden.

May 2009 bring you peace, prosperity, and happiness. May we take better care of the earth so she can take better care of us. May we tap into our inner goodness so we can be good to each other. Peace out.

Music On Steroid

For our Christmas concert this year, we went to see the TSO on Boxing Day. No, not the Toronto Symphony Orchestra. The Trans-Siberian Orchestra.

The last few Christmases, radio stations have been playing one song in particular by this group - Carol of the Bells. It's a fast, metallic, exciting rendition of the carol. I downloaded other songs by the group and liked quite a few. I surmised this TSO specializes in Christmas songs but puts a rock, metallic spin to the tunes.

I expected to see incredible instrumental and percussion musicianship. I expected the musicians to do incredible things with traditional orchestral instruments to give a new sound to traditional music. They did a bit of that.

The Man had never heard of the group before. He expected cossacks and fur hats. They didn't do any of that.

The Boy had heard of the band and their music but he knew nothing about them. He didn't know what to expect. The band surprised all of us.

By surprise I mean while the occasional play of a metallic carol was fun, a whole bunch within a short time was hard on the ear. Plus, we didn't expect a light show. The Boy joked that he expected to see in the headlines in the morning, Seizures Abound With Trans-Siberians. Really, I am sure the light and metal triggered many epileptic fits in the audience.

Despite all the noise and lights, we were bored by half time. It wasn't so much a music concert as a light show of retro glam rock, lots of poses and hair, raising of the violin, and fire. The vocals were mostly country and western with metallic instrumentals. They used every kitschy tactic and cliche in rock performance. It was like someone told them long hair is cool, so all the band members had long hair. I like this review of the show from 2004:

The whole production seemed like a Christmas pageant organized in 1978 by two 14-year-old boys with money to burn. It's easy to imagine their thought process:

"Hey, why don't we get a metal band to do Christmas songs?"

"Cool, and let's add a storyline about an angel who saves the spirit of Christmas. That'd be wild."

"And get someone who sounds like Darth Vader to narrate it!"

"Yeah, and a sexy, red-headed singer -- in a short skirt!"

"Lasers?"

"Strobe lights!"

"Power ballads?"

"Wicked!"

We have never walked out of a concert before, nor do the three of us usually agree on the same thing. But at half time, when the lead singer introduced the band members and said we have lots more to play for you in the second half, I gasped. What? There is more? The Boy and I nudged each other. We wanted to leave. A few songs into the second half, I thought, This is not pleasure I am feeling. This is pain. My stomach churned. All three of us got up and left.

So here are some pictures of the band in concert.

Merry Christmas

A Merry Christmas to all!

Thanks for the note, Fryslan. Lots of snow and rain in Toronto. Hope you have beautiful weather for your festivities.

How many feasts can one consume before one implodes? I'll tell you after New Year, if I haven't imploded or exploded. Here we go to our first one.

The Magic Car

This Christmas season, I rearranged our furniture to accommodate the tree in the living room. I cleaned house in preparation for The Man's homecoming. Then within half an hour of entering the house, The Man looked around and said, "I was thinking of rearranging the furniture." I put a stop to that immediately. He is not allowed to come home and fiddle with my settings in the first 30 minutes.

But I let him drive our new car. We can't figure out how the lights work and how the car locks remotely. I think something is broken. I may be forced to read the car manual, unless he reads it and adjusts the car's settings...

Our new car is a magic car. Last night, we parked it on Bloor and went to dinner. We came back 8 minutes late, just as a traffic officer was standing behind the car and writing a ticket. The Man rushed up to the car. The officer said, "I usually give a 5 minute grace, but you are 8 minutes late so I am sorry. I've already written the ticket."

I said, "But geez, we rushed back fast as we could." I thought I heard The Man say, "Sylph, what time is it in Afghanistan?"

After a few more exchanges with the officer, he said, "Tell you what - forget about the ticket and Merry Christmas." He tore up the ticket. We thanked him. The Man and I looked at each other in disbelief. I am sure if it was the red Volvo, the officer would have given us the ticket, and on top of that, given us a second one for harassing him even though we weren't.

Creation And Destruction

Last night was Winter Solstice, the longest night of the year. The hags were scheduled to sing. It's their job each year to serenade the sun and beckon it's warm return. But we hags got beaten by old man winter and his snowy and windy ways. The Festival of Lights got cancelled last minute. There were disappointed hag vibes throughout the city.

Sis and Kid2 were going to be new hags this year. They never debuted. But I loved how they came over, brought dinner, shovelled my drive, decorated my Christmas tree, and made my potted juniper into a Seuss tree.

Here's my Christmas tree this year. Every branch tells a story. There are three rooms in that tree housing a bird in each - the queen, the prince, and the baby. There is a nursery, a teddy bear row, an apple forest, a gift shop, and a candy-cane store. At the top, an angel cradles a baby unicorn who lives in a walnut shell.



Here's my potted juniper that Sis bent into a Seussian Christmas tree.


Kid1 even decorated my jasmine plant.


After they left, The Boy's friends arrived and had an impromptu party. One girl picked The Boy up on her shoulders and twirled around the room. One boy sat in a wooden chair and broke it. They put on music and sang along out loud. That's when I texted The Boy from my room asking him to keep the volume down. He texted back to say thanks for being subtle and moved the party down to the basement. I could barely ear them after that.

Photo Booth

The self is such a great subject of amusement. I just discovered the different features of Photo Booth on my computer. It takes videos as well as a quick succession of four photographs. I took these this morning and they made me laugh and laugh. I showed them to The Boy. He didn't think it was funny that his mother spent the morning making faces and taking pictures of herself.

How Do They Do It?

We are snowed in and out there, it's -23C with the windchill. That means there is wind and it's cold. To go outside, I bundled up.

Out there, I saw women stylishly put together. They have matching hats and coats. Their scarves complement their gloves and boots. They skip gingerly across the icy patches in their high heels boots looking cozy, snug and smug.

I am not one of those women. How do these smug women do it? Do they have better balance than me? Even the older ones? Did they excel in the balance beam at school? Do they still have strong inner core control? Do they read more fashion magazines than I do and buy new matching winter gear each year?

I am the frumpled bag lady you see skidding and sliding on men's robotic Sorel boots. I am the barrage of winter gear waddling across the snowy parking lot. I can't see out from under my oversized floppy baret with the front peak. Maybe it's a little box hat I need with my faux fur instead. Maybe other women spend more than $69 on their faux fur. Maybe they don't wear Sorels with their faux fur.

I speculate because I caught my reflection in a store window on St. Clair and gave myself a fright.

But you know, at least I can paint a heron on a plate and be darn pleased about it.

The Plunge

Okay, I took the plunge and bought a car this week.

I was principled about not owning a car. I rationalized that I didn't drive enough to need to own one, I didn't want to contribute to the degradation of our environment, I didn't want the hassle of taking care of a car.

At the same time, I also said things like, I don't drive much so what's the difference whether I own a car or not - I don't contribute to pollution by owning a car, I would contribute to more pollution if I drove when I don't have to. Owning a car would sure make life a lot more convenient.

At other times, I didn't like having to plan to use a car and always having to return it on time, curbing my spontaneity and sometimes not being able to complete my errands.

Most of all, I had stopped going to pilates because sometimes it took me three hours if I missed the bus connections on Christie. That's one hour to walk there, one hour for the exercise, and one hour to walk home. Every time The Man came home, I rented a car for him to use, and when he left, I returned the car. It's during those times that I felt the greatest discontent: I lose The Man and suffer the inconvenience of being without a car at the same time.

So when I ran into my mechanic last week and he asked if I was still looking for a car, I said, Yes. The swiftness of my affirmative answer came as a bit of a surprise. Immediately, I said to myself, I want an inexpensive car that is reliable, that doesn't attract attention and parking tickets, that has excellent mileage, that I don't have to keep paying through the nose to repair and maintain. Toyota Matrix, I answered myself. So that's what I asked my mechanic for.

The next day, he went to a dealer show and bought me one. The day after that, the car was mine. I went to see the car yesterday. It's is beautiful. I petted it and stroked it and told it to behave well for us, to keep us safe on the road. Then I asked the mechanic to get me snow tires. Monday, I pick up the car.

Je Suis Etudiante

Where to begin? I love my French class. I sit beside a very nice woman with three adult children. She looks to be in her fifties. Funny how we older women seem to gravitate to each other even as we are friendly to everyone and let things deflect off us rather than reflect who we are.

We have three teachers, each rotating to take a morning or afternoon session with us. Amazingly, they are well-organized and know exactly where one teacher leaves off and what homework was assigned. They are also good natured, appreciating the errors we make and laughing with us. If they are laughing at us, then they are very good actors.

For example, in our reflective verbs, we use verbs to describe how we get ready in the morning, such as I wake, I get up, I wash, I brush my teeth, I comb my hair, etc. In one of the exercises, we had to fill in the blank. The phrase went like this:

You are big now, you can ______ and ______ by yourself.

Now, women immediately understand this is a mother talking to her child and fill in words like dress, wash, brush your teeth, get ready for bed, etc. But the young men in the class either misunderstood how the reflective is used or have no idea what it takes to parent a child. They fill in words like shave, order a beer, drive.

Another time, my neighbour and I came across the word demenager - to move to a new home. She confused it with manger dejeuner - to eat lunch. The teacher said, which will you choose, to move or to eat? We both said, To eat, always eat. It was funny. You had to be there.

There are ten of us in class. Some have taken the week off work to do the course. Some are not working so they are taking the course while looking for work. I avoid the question of what I do by saying I am a writer who works from home. Funny how no one asks what I write.

There is a Somalian man in class who speaks five languages, none of them well I think, including English. Maybe it's just difficult to understand him because I pick up a Portuguese accent in his French. The first time each of the teacher taught us, he or she immediately asked him what languages he speaks. I love this man. Every time his name is called, he shouts "Oui!" so loud you would wake up if you had been drifting off. One of the women decided he has the most beautiful, unusual grey eyes she's ever seen. So that made several of us gather around him to peer into his eyes, which made this black man blush and giggle with glee.

The administration office thinks I am a rebel rouser, but in a good way. Because they cancelled last week's class, I went to ask for a refund. The receptionist said, You are the fifth person to ask for a refund. I said, I don't have to have a refund, you can apply the money to my next course. She looked up the schedule and said I would need to attend class twice a week in January, one and a half hour each time. I said, No I prefer to do a one-week intensive. But the intensive course isn't offered again till Spring. So I said, What if I note my preference, and maybe if enough people show interest, they would offer it. She said, Okay, and gave me a piece of paper to write on.

So in class, I told everyone about the opportunity to do an intensive course for the next level in January. By now, seven of us have signed up. They only need five to hold the class. The administrator came in to talk to us today to say they will offer the course. Then she shook her finger at me as she left the room. The receptionist winked at me when I left the building today.

And I am actually learning. I had forgotten what all the verbs are that use etre in passe compose. I am surprised you have to make the ending of the past participle agree with the subject. To tell time? I was never good at telling time in French, because I could never figure out the numbers to say the minutes. I think I'm getting good at the numbers. At least enough to tell time with.

It's been great fun.

Culture Clash

At my last book club meeting, we decided we need to have a holiday dinner together with family members. After bouncing around a few ideas, we picked a date, decided we would have a potluck, and that it would be at my house.

Last week, I sent a reminder to my book club to confirm the arrangements. In my note, I said I would provide a main dish, a salad, and a dessert, and others could bring whatever they like rather than organizing who brings what.

Yesterday, I met some of the other women at another dinner party. They said - It's very nice of you to do all the cooking for us next week.

I said - It's a potluck. You'll be bringing food too.

- No we won't. You said you were providing a main, a salad, and a dessert.

- Yes, but that won't be enough for 12 people.

- What else can we bring then if you are doing the main, the salad, and the dessert?

- But how is it a potluck if I am doing the full dinner?

- We were confused about that - why you still called it a potluck when you were doing everything.

- Surely we'll need more than one main, one salad and one dessert for 12 people.

- You better send us another e-mail to clarify that. We thought we were getting off scot-free.

Is it just me and my excess food culture, or is it the waspiness of my book club friends and their small-eating ways? Had I, in my personal gluttony, assumed that 12 people would need more than one main, one salad, and one dessert? Is that why another friend wrote back to say she'll bring wine and I quietly thought, What about food?

So I sent out another e-mail to correct any misinterpretation of my previous e-mail.

At this point, one week of my French class has been cancelled and I have not lost 10 lbs. Next week, The Man comes home. I am still fat and I still can't speak French. I will have to return that French maid's outfit and forget about playing games with The Man.

Pieces Of Me

Life isn't perfect and neither am I. But my gosh, sometimes I like the imperfect me, because look at the imperfect but beautiful things I churned out.


Round serving plates.


Moose plate.


Large floral bowl.

End Of The Line

When I was younger and worked downtown, there were days when I came home from work exhausted. If I went shopping after work, I came home and collapsed right into bed without undressing.

It's been a while since I've spent time downtown. I went yesterday and roamed around the shops for an afternoon. By 4 PM, I was exhausted and desperate to get home. It wasn't crowded, but people were shopping for sure. Every shop had short line-ups of two or three people at the service counter.

I felt foul in the midst of all that consumerism. It must've made me invisible or hostile-looking. Several times, and this is in the same day, the service person simply skipped over me and offered to help the next person in line. Or shoppers walk past me and laid down their request for service even though I was in line ahead of them. Each time, I raised my hand and said, "Excuse me, I was here first." Each time, the offending party turned to look at me and were surprised to actually see me there.

I bought three things and decided to return two of them within half an hour of purchase. How bitchy was that? I don't think I can be downtown everyday or even for a few hours any more.

So I came home and did all my Christmas shopping online.

Here I Come

The temperature was above 0C yesterday. Warm compared to recent days. But it snowed and rained. I trekked through the snow, slush and wet for over an hour hoping I'd be hit with an inspiration as to how to make better use of my time in the next few months. None came while I was out. I had hoped for a Trudeau kind of walk in the snow.

Reading at home, I came across a reference to the Toronto School of Art. When it's the right time for a good idea, it's the right time. I have been looking at the Toronto School of Art for three years now. Last night, I just said, It's time.

Today, I phoned them up and registered for a course. I was so keen I forgot to ask about the age of the student population. I hate being an old lady in a room full of younglings. I am also scared. Of what I don't know. Maybe I dread being a stereotypical art student. They have a tendency to be dipsy. Oh but I am anything but stereotypical. So right now I am not going to give in to fear and anxiety. I start painting in January!

Freeze Frame

Only early December and it's -12C outside. -20C with the windchill. Over the next 14 days, the forecast calls for snow every time the temperature reaches above -5C.

I came home from Orlando to find the glass and screen on our back screen door broken but duct-taped together. My neighbour came in to feed my fish and take in the mail each day. While away, we missed a furious wind storm. The next day, Neighbour discovered our patio umbrella had fallen and crashed into the screen door, ripping the screen and breaking the glass. That's what I get for not putting away the umbrella. Neighbour duct-taped the window and got rid of the broken glass for us.

The first week of my full time French class has been cancelled due to insufficient enrollment. There is hope for the second week though.

I've had some really good meals since being home.

Sis, Kid2, and Waif agreed to be singing hags with me this year at the Winter Solstice. We are such pagans.

The pottery studio believes my artistic niche is painting on plates. The studio doesn't know that I draw and that I have a good sense of colour and composition.

At Christmas, The Man will be home for three weeks. Woohoo!

Dreams

Orlando bills itself as the city where dreams come true. I don't know if mom ever dreamed of swooshing down a water slide. But we made her go down a water raft with us. She kept her eyes shut. I told her it's less scary (it wasn't scary at all) if she had her eyes open. She slid down laughing all the way. How many 72-old-year women have swooshed down a water slide with her adult daughters? I hope she boasts to her friends about it.

I think she sometimes does dream of living with her children again. Not that she really wants to. She's complained that we have different habits, schedules, and preferences so we would not live harmoniously together. But our week in Orlando, we were in sync. We were there for the common purpose of having a good time, the accommodations were beautiful, mom had some of her grandchildren with her, she accepted that Sis and I would plan the excursions, and we knew Sis and I would take care of everything. Mom said she slept well all week. I think that's what vacations are about - you live out a dream for a while.

The Boy said he had a fantastic time. In retrospect, I am glad I took him with us. He shopped and I indulged him. He said he loves Kid1 and Kid2 but didn't want to share a room with them because they went to bed early and would wake him too early. I wouldn't have been able to keep them out of their own room to allow him more sleep so I let The Boy share my room and we slept in the same bed. He rolled up the bed spread and put it down the middle of the bed to separate us, and in case I had the cooties. It was like each of us having our own bed. He enjoyed all the outings because he was with Kid1 and Kid2. At times, he got frustrated with how slow it was to move everyone. At the end of the trip, he said he has a whole new appreciation for why Dad gets grouchy when there are too many people around.

Kid1 and Kid2...they were in heaven having The Boy all to themselves for a whole week. Kid1 improved his game at group Solitaire. He even won a round. Kid2 said her favourite part of the trip was seeing all the nature. Nature? In Orlando? Because there were birds, cranes, and raccoons roaming about at the resort, water animals at Sea World, land animals at Busch Garden, and really really bright lights all over. She thought some of the Christmas light arrangements looked beautiful, like they were part of nature. Kid2 is even more astute and fun to be with than I thought.

I don't know what Sis and her Fiance liked best about the trip. I think Sis liked having a break from work, that she didn't have to cook every night, and that her kids were having a great time.

I just liked being there in the warmish weather, spending time with everyone, seeing The Boy have a good time, and finally taking mom on a real vacation.

Okay, day-by-day highlights:

Day 1 - I ate cheese pizza and got sick. I guess being on vacation is not a good time to test if I am still lactose intolerant.

Day 2 - Sis discovered Kid2 had lice! They spent most of the day delousing. The rest of us sat around. The day was saved for The Boy when we went shopping in malls.

Day 3 - Kid1 had a melt down. He lost his DS Gameboy case containing all his games.

Day 4 - Sis' Fiance arrived.

Day 5 - Life got blurry from this point on...Sis and Fiance attended a timeshare presentation to save us 40% off our theme park tickets. I threw out the slab of vacuum sealed fresh salmon I smuggled across the border because we hadn't cooked it and mom already had a bout of runny tummy and Kid2 had lice. I didn't want to risk further health issues. We made Sis check The Boy and me for lice everyday even though we didn't have any.

Day 7 - Another shopping excursion for The Boy and me.

Day 8 - Homeward bound.

That was as fine a time away as I could hope for.

The Parks

Orlando was weird and wondrous. Weird in that high populous and excess affluence drove the creation of amusement theme parks that spawned the technology that created mind blowing multimedia sensory experiences to look at reality from an impossible perspective.

Weird in that these experiences are out of reach for many many people but were created for our amusement and someone is making a lot of money from it. I kept thinking of the solid gold toilet seat that belonged to the shah of Iran.

Weird in that we didn't mind it. We liked being in a safe, controlled, re-created world of simulated experiences even as I suspected we had put our brains on hold to take in a week of drone-like mindless existence. It was like we were drugged. I wanted to say, Yes master, yes master, but to who? That innocuous looking subterfuge with the ears?

Yet through it all, I couldn't help but admire the genius of the technology, the vision that went into building the parks, and the knowledge of what people need to unwind. I also felt the fish and animals were well taken care of, that their handlers and trainers cared about and were proud of their involvement with the animals.

So what did we get in exchange? A wonderful time with our family. We enjoyed being with each other. We appreciated the experiences simulated and real. There were no long line ups at any of the attractions. We had a good time.

First, we got on the plane and looked out the window when we flew above the clouds.


Here are The Boy, Kid1, and Kid2 perched in the window of the airport tram as it took us to the terminal to claim our luggage.


These crane-like birds and geckos milled about our resort at all times of the day.



Our motley crew under Mickey's hat at Disney's Hollywood Studios.


This is an all-stars boulevard, probably called the All-Star Boulevard. That tall building is the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror. The Boy and I rode it and loved it.


A block party with performers dancing in the street.


Did you ever imagine mom at Disney wearing Mickey ears?


We visited Sea World. After my many attempts at capturing dolphins in the ocean on camera, I found them waiting for me at the dolphin nursery at Sea World.


These animals are trained to perform with humans. This is the Shamu Show with Shamu the whale.




There was a show called Blue Horizon. People, birds and fish performed together.



Real birds flew on command.


Of course we visited the penguins.


Under water view of duck feet for Kid1.


Photo op with candy cane. We are all in this photograph. So who took the picture? The other candy cane. The pair of them greeted visitors as they entered Busch Garden. The Budweiser beer people forked out for this park. It was very strange to see Christmas decorations and hear carols in warm weather, knowing the place will not snow on Christmas Day.


We saw lots of animals and pink flamingoes too.


Crocodiles lurking in the dark.


Here they are at Universal Studio.


Epcot at night.


Pooped party at the airport heading home.

Clowns To The Left Of Me, Jokers To The Right

It's a little weird being friends with a couple. You are always stuck in the middle.

Last week, the wife half of a couple confided to me that her husband seems clued out about the chores that need to be done around the house, so she's often angry with him. A few days later, the husband and I had lunch. He told me his wife must be going through menopause, because she's always so cranky. I bit my lip and tried to not take sides. Sheesh. Good thing they are not having affairs and confiding to me about them.

Recently, the wife of another couple and I talked about going to New York together, just for fun. When the husband found out, he objected, on the grounds he and his wife don't spend much time alone so why would she want to go to New York with me but not with him. Good point. She planned a trip to New York with him instead. I didn't mind. But sheesh again. I was almost the other woman, for her!

Then there is my pottery teacher. She makes beautiful, delicate ceramic things. But her assistant, now she makes beautiful, whimsical things. This year, she's making sea creature Christmas tree ornaments. I was so taken by her work I ordered four tree ornaments. Yet I have not bought anything my teacher made. Not that I think my pottery teacher minds. It's just that I would feel awkward if asked whose work I preferred.

Always is such delicate balance in my life. So it gave me the great idea to paint a balancing acrobat in the house. I want to render a sketch of this on my bedroom door.

Stoopid Fish

I had two penguin tetras in my tank. One is aggressive. The other one was just kind of wimpy. As they grew, the aggressive one got bigger. The wimpy one got sick. It floated about looking gaunt and was slow to get at the flakes at feeding time.

I decided to fatten it up. So I hand fed it. I dropped food right in front of it so it could get to the food before the other fish swarm in. Even then, sometimes it missed the food, it was so slow. Then I had the brilliant idea of netting it in the water and feeding it so it could take its time. After a few days, the fish looked better. It swam faster and got frisky.

So frisky that when I fed the fish today, it charged up to the food and did a flip. I felt water splash on my hand. I looked in the tank to watch the fish feed. But I couldn't see the formerly-wimpy penguin tetra. Where did it go? Then I heard little flaps on the floor. I looked down to see the stupid fish flapping about on the floor.

I tried to pick it up off the floor but couldn't hold onto its slippery tail. So I got a piece of paper, scooped it up, and flipped it back in the water. The poor thing floundered about for a while. It was in shock I was sure. Then I turned the light off to let it recover in its own time.

Only it didn't. When I looked into the tank a few hours later, the stupid fish was dead. It was a long fall to the floor from the tank. And it was out of the water for at least one minute. I hand fed that fish to make him well only to have him get flippant on me and tumble to his death.

Simple

I am a simple woman. It doesn't take much to make me happy.

The Boy showed me the web site where he downloads all his favorite TV shows, movies, and music. He set me up so I could do that too. I went to the music section and downloaded all the CDs by Libera, formerly the St. Philips Boys Choir. But lo and behold, the songs all come in wma format when downloaded. That means I have to click on each song to play in my Windows Media Player. I went online and search for a solution to discover a freeware called Switch that allows me to convert wma files to mp3 files on a Mac. Now I am converting these songs and importing them into iTune to allow for sequential playing of songs. I feel like some kind of technowiz. So delicious.

I enrolled in two weeks of full time French classes starting December 8. Eeek. The woman at registration even gave me information that could see The Boy (or me!) do a homestay in Montpellier to study French in true immersion. Not in Paris, she said, Too many distractions and English speakers about. So thoghtful.

I've been cooking up a storm, preparing meals for my friend's teenage son, and for The Boy and me. I bought more barley and made my soup. I freeze our food in individual portions so The Boy can nuke them whenever he likes. Now there's homemade food in the house whenever we want. So smart.

I got The Boy a three-month membership to a gym he asked for. Surprisingly, he goes at least every second day. He meets his friend there, they work out, he comes home. Fitness was not on his list when he took the year off. This week, he's been paying attention in Biology class. He came home to tell me the best breakfasts include protein, some carbs, and no added sugar. Hallelujah, The Boy sees the light!

Where's My Barley?

Today is Prince Charles' 60th birthday. The Globe article says he's still fresh, that he was often said to have a butterfly mind flitting from one thing to another but now that mind has coalesced, and that he's a poster boomer, an exemplar of his generation where 60 is the new 40.

Good on him. Across the pond here, I hope my mind coalesces some day. Right now, I can't be said to be blooming like Charlie. I'm kind of wilting.

A few weeks ago, I bought a bag of pearl barley and made some soup. I want to make the soup again. I've looked everywhere and cleaned out all my kitchen cupboards, but I can't find my bag of barley.

I sit in a chair to do my neck stretch exercises and The Boy thinks I've fallen a sleep. There's a bed upstairs if you are tire, mom, he said.

My head feels tight all the time because I put my hair up. I forget when I perch my reading glasses there. So I was pulling cushions out and throwing books in the air when The Boy asked what I was looking for. My glasses, I fumed. They're on your head, he said, then he crept away carefully as if I were contagious.

My knees hurt so much I can no longer kneel on them. I hate that I can hear my joints snap crackle and pop with every movement. That glucosamine I'm taking better kick in soon.

I look at the 18-, 19-year-old young men who pleased me so much last summer and say, Those are unkempt boys in need of a cuff on the ear. Where are their mothers?

I huddle on St. Clair with the old men who spit on the ground and swear at stray dogs. No I don't, not yet. But I feel like doing that sometimes. I know I'm whining. This is a whiny kind of day. I know I'll feel better if I can only find my barley and make my soup. I bought the mushrooms and carrots for it and all.

How Many Heart Attacks Can One Have In A Week?

Last weekend, I had dinner with some friends. One of the men is the guidance counsellor at The Boy's new, interim, alternative school. I asked him when the last day for withdrawing from school is, without penalty. He said next Monday.

That sparked a conversation between The Boy and me at home. Since he barely attends class, and he's not doing well in his courses, and he has already been accepted at U of T, why not make a firm decision to either stay in and do well or withdraw. Right now, he's just wasting time. The Boy agreed that was a sensible thing to do. But before withdrawing, he wanted to confirm with U of T his status, i.e. that he will be receiving information in the Spring for re-enrollment.

Well, good thing he checked. U of T told The Boy they had not approved his deferral request. Reason? When they offered him acceptance, it was based on his first term Grade 12 marks last year. He had over 80 in every course. The condition for acceptance was that he successfully completed Grade 12. So if he had attended university in September, he would have been in regardless of how he did the remainder of the year.

As it turned out, he graded poorly in two courses the remainder of the year. They dropped to the 50's. So when he submitted a request for deferral, the university looked at his final grades and said based on these marks, we cannot accept you for next year. A letter was supposedly sent to advise The Boy of this. He cannot recall whether he received such a letter. The only thing for sure is, right now, he has not been accepted to any university for September 2009.

What to do now? The admissions officer had The Boy's file in front of him and advised that the university would not accept him at the downtown campus based on his current grades. However, if he raised the two 50's to 80's, there is a high likelihood he will be re-accepted, if he re-applied.

I had several conniptions on learning of this turn of events. What kind of a slacker is he?

I helped The Boy formulate a plan. He went to school the next day and talked to his teachers. If he applied himself in this second term of this semester and handed in extra assignments, can he still pull in grades in the 80's. The teachers said yes. If he shows up for class and handed in all the assignments, he's sure he would get over 80. If the quality of his work falls short, they can talk about extra assignments then. That was easy.

I had planned a trip to Orlando at the end of November with Mom and Sis. The Boy wants to come. But school must be the priority, I countered. He said during that week, his school is also on a field trip. He had not signed up for it. That means there will be two days of no school that week, so he might as well come with us to Orlando. But he will still miss three days of school. So I asked him to check with the teacher what would be covered that week and what assignments are due.

Back to school The Boy went and talked to the teacher. Oh I don't plan that far, said the teacher. No problem, you go to Orlando and we'll do whatever we need to do to make sure you get caught up and get the grades you need. What kind of a teacher is this?

Then The Boy whipped out his mid-term report card. It was abysmal:

Course.......Boy's Grade......Course Median
History..........45.............. 37
Philosophy.......55...............40
Biology..........11...............54

I think I am more appalled by the course median than The Boy's grades. What kind of a school is this?

Too bad I don't drink, otherwise, this is where I would turn to alcohol to numb my nerves.

Red Dragon No More

The Red Dragon is truly dead. We finally hauled it to our neighbour's trusted mechanic for a second opinion. It has the things wrong with it that our first mechanic identified. Plus, because it had been sitting there for so long unused, the brakes are completely rusted. It will likely cost $5,000 to $7,000 to fix.

The mechanic said if I put all the fixes in, I won't get my money back. There is no guarantee how long the fixes will last. I won't be able to sell it for more than the fixes I put in. No one will buy the car as is because the fixes are so expensive. I suppose the good thing is, he's saying pretty much the same thing as our regular mechanic.

I said no to any fixes. Except I have promised my neighbour the snow tires from the car. After that, the mechanic will have the Red Dragon towed to a car graveyard.

What does this tell you? I am probably one of those people who keep dead bodies in the attic for a long time before finally letting it go.

Good bye, good bye to my dragon that took me all over the place for so long. Good bye.

Flittering Thoughts

The Man has left me again. With news of a Canadian reporter being captured and released near Kabul, I am more concerned than ever for his safety. Life goes on here and there. Here's to The Man, his safety and health, over there.

Speaking of which, The Man and I have a new health pact. When he comes home for Christmas, we will each have lost 10 lbs. That's the goal. Lose 10 lbs in 6 weeks. Easy, right?

Not when I ingest 730 calories at 10 PM because I was touched that The Boy was thoughtful enough to bring home a cinnabon for me at that time. Not when I sit eating pistachios late into the night because I can't put my book down, then wonder if I should reward myself with a snack at 2:30 AM because I finished the book.

The book was hard to put down. It's about a Canadian woman who trekked the Camino de Santiago in northern Spain. I feel like I did the 800 km walk with her. Just to make sure I really do it, I sent a friend a simple note: "Camino de Santiago. 800 km backpacking through Medieval towns in Spain. 1 month pilgrimage. Let's go."

Her reply came simply as, "I'm in." Spanish is definitely on my to-do list now.

Another friend won't be in. She's heading to France in two days. I have agreed to prepare meals for her teenage son and check in on him every few days.

I am trying to schedule in some intensive daily French classes. Everyday for two weeks, five hours a day. It's like French Immersion. Wouldn't it be neat if I weigh 10 lbs less and could speak French to The Man when he comes back?

My instructor thinks I have the potential. He said I catch on quicker than others in the class. That's because everything is a review for me I reminded him. Then he gave that French shrug that said, I offered my opinion but it's your life, you do as you please.

I am quite pleased that The Boy now wants to major in English literature in university. He found a list of Time Magazine's top 100 books ever. He's on a quest to read all the books on the list. But we also found out he may not have deferred university because of a procedural glitch. That means he will have to re-apply, with lower marks than last year, because he's just pretending to go to school right now. But that's another story.

New AGO

This weekend, the Art Gallery of Ontario opened its doors for the first time in two years to showcase its renovations.

The outside looks like an upside down glass canoe.


Inside the "canoe" part:




Not as grand, but reminds me of the National Gallery in Ottawa.


Also kind of borrows from the Museum of Civilization in Ottawa.

A New Breed

Valedictorians are a different breed from what they used to be. I remember them as serious students with good grades, but well-rounded enough to take part in and do well in sports and music. On stage, they deliver a predictable speech reminiscing the years in school, thanking teachers, and telling students they have a better future for having attended their school. The tone is usually dull with attempts at a few clean jokes.

The Boy's high school graduation ceremony was last night. Before school ended, the students voted on who they want for valedictorian. The girl they chose was a stand-up comic. In her farewell speech, she did the above, delivering the traditional valedictorian message as required. But her energetic and rambunctious delivery had the parents smiling and laughing, and the students cheering, thumping, hooting and hollering.

For sure, the snippets down memory lane were selective. But it was the way she did it. For example, she took out a piece of paper in the middle of speaking and said, "I have some apologies to make." She went through the list apologizing to each teacher for real and I presume imagined past offences. She got to the last teacher, hesitated a bit, and said, "Hm, no, I'm not sorry."

I guess it speaks to the nature of this high school and this generation of graduates: they are full of life and potential, but more so when they choose to major in the arts. You have no doubt they will be very fine citizens and very good to each other.

Bubbles

Sometimes, little things happen that make me wonder if life is a series of meaningless coincidences that you learn to take advantage of, or if it is full of free-floating bubbles bursting little miracles.

A few days ago, I visited a friend who had been in a car accident. She's fine and recovering at her sister's home. I wanted to bring her a bottle of wine. Not being a drinker, I didn't know what kind to get. I went into the liquor store, looked around mindlessly, and randomly picked up a bottle of New Zealand white wine. I don't even remember the name of it right now, but I was in and out of the store within five minutes.

When I gave her the bottle, she said, "How did you know this is my favourite wine?"

"Get out, you know this wine?"

"Yes, because it's my favourite. I just went to the liquor store and got a bottle. That's what I'm drinking right now." So she took the opened bottle out of the fridge to show me. Indeed, it was the same wine that I brought.

I am one of those slovenly laptop users who eat and drink by their computer. I replaced the key board on my last laptop twice. I opted not to replace the keyboard a third time when some of the keys started to fall off and I was left with little nubs to press into when I typed. I could see and feel food crumbs between the keys.

But now I have a new laptop. I didn't want it to suffer the same ailments of dirty board and unhinged keys. Yet, I can't not eat at my laptop. What to do?

Then for no reason, The Man and I walked into a computer store. I walked straight to the counter where a model of my laptop was on display. Only, on this model, there was a plastic cover over the keys to protect the board. I decided immediately I wanted that same cover for my laptop. I said to the salesman, "What's that? I want that cover. Why is it on the key board?"

He said, "It's to protect food and drink from spilling into your keyboard. And it doesn't interfere with use of the keys." How is it that such a keyboard cover should make itself known to me just when I needed one?

Then we went to a birthday dinner for my nephew, Kid1. The Man chose a book called The Dangerous Book For Boys for his present. I thought some of the suggestions in the book were perfect experiments for him. My niece, Kid2, saw the book and said, "I gave him the exact same book." Sis said indeed she had given him a pocket version of the same book. How is it that this little 7-year-old girl and The Man both arrived at the same conclusion this was the perfect book for Kid1?

I found out over dinner Kid1 is reading Diary of a Wimpy Kid. That was the other book I had in mind for him. I started reading it in the store, loved it, and knew he would like it too. I even engaged in discussion of the book with him a little, like offering that Rodrick is the wimpy kid's brother. Now that he has confirmed he likes the book, I will get the second installation for him for Christmas. A third comes out January 2009. So even if he somehow gets to the second volume before Christmas, I can still pre-order the third.

What's going on?

Brotherhood Of Beef

I was driving home this week and caught a show on the radio. The story went something like this...

...Tucker and I eat dinner out often these days. It's usually steak one night, a couple of hot dogs the next, a few pizzas the day after that. After a while, I felt that my diet may not be all that healthy. I was noticing grease stains in the shape of my body on the couch when I got off it. I couldn't smell my bad breath in the morning because of the grease on my skin.

That night, Tucker phoned. "Hey, where do you want to eat?"

"Um, um, I don't want to eat out."

"What? What's wrong? You mad at me?"

"No. I just don't feel like going out."

"Want me to take you to the doctor?"

"No, no. Look, to be honest, I think the way we've been eating just isn't healthy and I want to take a break."

"No, man. You love steak. Let's go have one and you'll feel better."

"I don't feel steaky right now."

"How about ribs then. You love ribs."

"That's the problem. Steak, ribs, hot dogs, pizzas, all the time. It's not healthy."

"What, you suddenly gone healthy on me or something. I thought we were the brotherhood of beef."

"The brotherhood...? Tucker, have you seen yourself in the mirror lately? I looked in the mirror today. I didn't like what I saw. Did you know that I can lay in bed and use my stomach as a table for my laptop?"

"Cool."

"No, it's not cool. It's disgusting."

"Okay okay, why don't you come over and I'll cook for you. I'll even come pick you up."

"Tucker, you don't have food in the house."

"I'll stop by the supermarket and pick some up on the way over."

"Tucker, you don't know how to cook."

"I'll get fruit. All kinds of fruit stuff. I'll make you a fruit salad."

"You'd do that?"

"Yeah, yeah. And you know, we'll make it fun. I'll get some of those corn dogs with dough to use as chopsticks."

"Pogo sticks?"

"Yeah, we use them to eat the fruit salad and then we can eat the chopsticks after."

"Deep fried hot dogs with fruit salad? That defeats the purpose of having fruit salad."

"No, not defeat. It's a compromise."

I don't remember how the story ended. But it made me laugh and laugh in the car. My siblings and I have stopped noting our daily food intake; the job had not deterred us from overeating. We've given up on dieting. It was really funny to hear this story just when we've given up.

Foray Into Colour

Ha ha, my newest pottery collection! My current handiwork is only just a little wonky, not crazy wonky.


A shattered platter got pieced back together by nimble fingers. This is the recast using the old one as mould. New art work though.


Grape leaves on rectangular platter.


Smal salad bowl.