Messy

I have to submit stool samples to my doctor for testing. We want to eliminate (I hope) blood loss in stools as a cause for my chronic anemia. I have to collect samples from three different days, but all within seven days. That assumes a lot. And even though it's my own samples I'm working with, it is not a pleasant job.

First, you have to prepare yourself so your samples yield useable results. In my case, despite my need to take iron pills, I have to stay off the iron for at least one week before I can start collecting. They don't want the result discoloured by iron. And I can't overdo on vitamin C, eat red meat or take medication for three days prior to and during sample collection.

Secondly, the collection process assumes you are productive enough to yield three samples a week. They advise you to eat lots of vegetables and whole grains before and during the collection period.

Most disturbing of all, they don't want you to drop your sample in the water but they don't provide collection containers. So where are you supposed to collect the stuff? Not to mention you have to discard the sample after without splashing all over the place.

They give you three sticks. Each day, you use one to smear the sample from two different areas onto a section of a card, close the card, then put the card in a plastic envelope. The next time, I use the same card, but a different section. Where should I keep this card between samples? I can't leave it lying around, I don't want to put it in my drawer.

The sample kit includes an envelope, so you can mail in your collection! Am I the only one having trouble with that idea? Oh sure, it would serve a mail thief right. But at the post office, it would get stacked right next to love letters sprayed with perfume, it would go right between birth announcements and wedding invitations. It just doesn't seem right.

This is a highly user-unfriendly procedure that has got me all flummoxed and spatzy. More so because in my gut, I know I'm not losing blood that way. And I can't get anyone else to do this for me. I'm getting a headache and my shoulder is hunching up just thinking I have to do this again.

I Wished It

I've had a rough few days that left me feeling scattered and fractured. I felt unwhole coming home to a messy house, remembering The Man is half a world away, and The Boy couldn't wait to get over to his friend's for a sleepover, which I drove him to because it was 10:00 p.m.

Coming home for the second time tonight, I remember hearing earlier about a freak landslide today in al-Dhafir, 20 km south west of Sana'a. But The Man should be far away from Sana'a by now. He's taken a few days out to visit a bit of ahem, rural Yemen. No, he should be out of landslide's way and into the heart of kidnap country instead. I wished I could talk to The Man, just to hear his voice, know he is alright, tell him how I was feeling.

No sooner did I walk into the house when the phone rang. It was The Man! Why was he phoning? It's 6:00 a.m. there. He was calling from Mukulla, the first stop of his trip. He got up early to catch a ride to the next destination, Shabim. While he was up and waiting, he thought he'd phone.

He's okay. He sounded happy. We talked. No, I ranted and vented and told him every minutiae of my last few days. I used up all the time he had on his phone card, which he just loaded to the max available. And I feel better now.

Sexism or Being Practical?

On the train to Port Hope today, I noticed the whole car was mostly full of white haired people. I sat behind two elderly women, probably in their 70's, each travelling alone. They were showing each other photographs of their grandchildren. As the train started, an attendant showed the passenger sitting beside the emergency escape window how to open the window. The passenger was a middle-aged man.

One elderly woman said to the other, "It's nice they are showing a man how to do that. If we get in trouble, he'll push out the window for sure."

I strained a bit to see if she was being sarcastic. But I don't think so. Both women were nodding their heads as if they felt more secure now that a man would be in charge of the escape window.

I reflected on what the woman said. Was she expressing aged sexism - that life is better when a man is in charge, or was she expressing the practical wisdom of experience - that it's easier for a muscular man to kick open a window? I think I could have kicked open that window. But I would not have wanted to deal with the fear and panic that the seniors on the train may have showed. If they feel safer with a man, who am I to make them uncomfortable? I don't ever want a train emergency to occur just to prove I can so kick down a window.

Maybe it's an issue of division of labour. We each do what we're best at. If someone close to the escape window had kicked it down, I probably would have stood at the window to make sure people filed out in an organized way. Someone else may have tried to calm the panicky ones.

And an issue of what approach works best. A muscular man might have kicked down a window with sheer force. I might have been more strategic - kick down the window where it's meant to be kicked down.

Everyday Is A Holiday

Christmas and the big meals are over, yet the holiday season continues.

Hanukkah is in full swing, Kwanzaa just started, New Years is coming up, followed by Orthodox Christmas on January 7, and Chinese New Year on January 29. These are only holidays I am aware of.

If you look at the Earth Calendar, just about everyday is a special day somewhere in the world. Even January 8, when the USA marks the King's birthday. That's King Elvis.

But what the heck is Trivia Day and National Clean Off Your Desk Day, and Maintenance Day, and Rubber Eraser Day? These are all American special days.

Only in Canada and the US do we mark Groundhog Day. I guess it's because we have the kind of winter that makes us eager for spring. I mean, you don't find Finland and Norway celebrating Groundhog Day and they get plenty of snow too.

Sweden does celebrate Fat Tuesday. Somehow, I don't think of northern climes celebrating Mardi Gras. Australia does Clean Up while it Prays on the same day.

But did you know that on March 20, the whole world is celebrating World Frog Day?

May 1 is Labour Day in just about every country in the world except Canada and the US. I wonder why we've chosen to celebrate labour in September instead of with the rest of the world.

I guess the special occasions a country chooses to celebrate is an expression of that country's history, culture, climate and personality.

My favourite days? I like the Hero Days that many countries celebrate. And I like March 24 and September 25, The Man and The Boy's birthdays respectively. But I have to stick with the tried and true holidays. Despite the frenzy and the commericialism, I like Christmas. I like that everyone is off work and school at the same time, that we make a point of seeing friends and family and spending time together.

Boxing Day with Turducken

See also:
December 4 - In Pursuit of Turducken
December 22 - Pride of Turducken
December 24 - Adventure with Turducken
December 25 - Fun with Turducken
December 26 - Christmas Eve with Turkducken
December 27 - Boxing Day with Turkducken
January 31 - Turducken at Large


I had leftover Alaskan king crab legs and fruit for breakfast today. Nothing much after that. This is to make sure I kept my appetite for the turducken tonight.

My sister-in-law and her family arrived in the afternoon. Our neighbours with young children were also home, so I invited them as well. We were six adults and five children at dinner. I made a cauliflower soup and a salad to accompany the leftover pickled beets, chambord carrots, and mushroom strudel. And of course the half turducken.

The turducken birds at purchase weighed:

turkey - 17.5 lbs
duck - 5 lbs
chicken 3 lbs

That's 25.5 lbs of birds before deboning. Let's say after deboning, we had 20 lbs of meat. Half of that is 10 lbs. That's the amount of meat we had tonight from the half turducken, plus stuffing. We managed to eat about half of that. That means I still have a quarter turducken in the fridge!

So how does the turducken taste? Meh.

It's not that it was bad. It was good. But not great. I think what makes a roast bird enjoyable are the stuffing and gravy. Mine were okay. The meat was tender but it lacked inherent flavour. I guess nothing quite compares to the free-range turkey I made a few years ago.

Would I do a turducken again? Yes. It was relatively easy. Not much more work than a turkey. But I would want to be more selective about the birds. Go free-range or go home. As our friend said tonight, a turducken is great food for a large group. I think it is more a conversational dish that holds the promise of sumptiousness.

But the evening itself was a blast. Generally good food and great company. I love my neighbours and brother-in-law (BIL) because they are so not shy about new food combinations. And so not shy about showing off their talents. BIL brought his new guitar and amplifier. Neighbour went home to get his guitar and amp. The Boy set up his drums. They jammed. I recognized The Wait and I think Brown Eye Girl. This was an unexpected gift, to hear them play.

The Boy loves board games. He's beaten me at every game so far. Tonight, he had his fill of gaming with so many willing partners. At one point, we even played Boggle when The Boy wasn't looking. He was quick to catch us and joined in.

Everyone has gone home now. Turducken and I have gone through a lot together. What will be my next culinary challenge?

Christmas Eve with Turducken

See also:
December 4 - In Pursuit of Turducken
December 22 - Pride of Turducken
December 24 - Adventure with Turducken
December 25 - Fun with Turducken
December 26 - Christmas Eve with Turkducken
December 27 - Boxing Day with Turkducken
January 31 - Turducken at Large


What did the turducken taste like? I don't know. My kin treats family gatherings as mass feeds. There was so much food on Christmas Eve, we could have fed the whole street with variety, quality, and quantity. But mostly quantity.

During the day, for munching while playing mah jongg, there were pastries and buns with meat filling, crunchy shrimp crackers, tasty dried cuttlefish, spicy beef jerky and fruit. A neighbour came by. I was grateful he agreed to take some meat-filled buns with him.

For dinner, we had a buffet of sinful indulgences, a red district of inviting oral pleasures vying for attention, a contrasting array of edible colours and food debauchery only as Stanley Kubrick and Fellini could have imagined. You know you'll be taken to excess if you touched, yet you couldn't help yourself.

There were giant platters of crispy deep fried spring rolls and samosas, sweet and luscious Alaskan king crab legs, plump shrimp cocktail, homemade spinokopita in phyllo pastry, delectable sushi... are we at the main course yet? No. There was a beautiful fresh salad brimming over, pickled beets, chambord carrots, mushroom strudel in puff pastry, and piled high mashed potatoes. Of course the sumptious turducken with stuffing.

For dessert, we had two fruit pies, assorted fruit with rich chocolate fondue, and lots and lots of chocolates. We served sparkling wine, regular wine, pop, water and coffee.

Thing is, came dinner time, I wasn't all that hungry, having munch away at different things during the day. All the food kind of blended together for me and I could no longer distinguish one taste or texture from another. Dinner guests complimented on the moist, tender and flavourfulness of the turducken, but I wouldn't know. My mother said, We must make our turkeys this way from now on.

I guess it makes sense that the duck and chicken would be tender. But the turkey apparently was also moist despite being exposed in the oven for over eight hours. I guess it's the low temperature the whole thing was cooked in. Because there was so much food, we only ate half the turducken, leaving an entire half untouched.

The butcher said when serving the turducken, you cut the bird in half, then slice across the half bird as if you were carving a roast to get all three birds and the stuffing in the same slice. It didn't quite work out that way. The turkey breast was quite large. The first few slices were of turkey only. But you could easily share the duck and chicken from later slices.

Here's a picture of the half bird, consisting of these layers:

- turkey (white meat at top)
- sausage stuffing
- duck (the dark meat in middle)
- corn meal stuffing
- chicken (bottom)
- sausage stuffing



The good thing is, my sister-in-law had planned to spend Boxing Day with us. We were going to have dinner out. But now we've decided to stay in. Tonight, I will get to taste the turducken without the scrumptious taste and distraction of competing offerings.

Fish Non-Recovery

Today, Legolas lost his battle. He died tonight after valiant efforts to stay upright. He was a beautiful betta and brought happiness to us in different ways. He will be missed.

Fun with Turducken

See also:
December 4 - In Pursuit of Turducken
December 22 - Pride of Turducken
December 24 - Adventure with Turducken
December 25 - Fun with Turducken
December 26 - Christmas Eve with Turkducken
December 27 - Boxing Day with Turkducken
January 31 - Turducken at Large


It's Christmas morning here. The Boy and I have exchanged presents. He did all his shopping by himself this year, and he was an incredible help before and throughout dinner last night. I was amazed. And in awe, watching The Boy turn into Young Man. He even presented me with a bouquet of fresh flowers just before dinner.

The turducken cooked at 225F from 7:35 a.m. to 4:15 p.m. Half way through, I put a lid on the roasting pan to prevent it from burning. When I took the bird out of the oven to rest before serving, I noticed the bottom of the bird was sitting in pan juice. I had read instructions to drain the dripping midway through cooking but forgot to do it. So Sis-in-law (SIL) and I drained the pan. We put a saucepan in the sink and poured the juice into it. SIL had to hold on to the bird so it wouldn't fall. When the tilt of the pour angle became too awkward, Bro took over holding back the turducken. The roasting pan must've collect eight cups of dripping.

I wanted to make gravy in the roasting pan so I could scrape up the burnt fat and charred crud that give gravy such a nice flavour. I wanted to transfer the bird to another roasting pan so it can finish draining. SIL found it difficult to lifted the bird on its own, so she lifted the bird with the wire rack under it.

By 6:00, everyone had arrived. There were 18 of us, though five were kids under 10. We were now ready to transfer the turducken onto a serving platter. That meant moving the turducken off its wire rack and onto the platter. The bird felt wobbly, it had no backbone. SIL grasped the bird on its sides, I held it in tact at the bottom, and Sis pushed down the rack so it wouldn't come off the pan with the bird. It took three of us to transfer the spineless bird to a serving platter.

When garnished, the turkey looked almost normal. You would never know it's pregnant with duck and chicken. And stuffing.

Fish Recovery: Day 4

The Boy and I went out to dinner with neighbours last night. When we got back, the top half of Legolas' tail had fallen off at where the tail starts. I hope he was not in too much pain. That must've been why he was listing against the side of the pail, almost flopped on his side for most of yesterday. Each time I looked at him last night, he was in a different spot in the pail. Though inactive, he's moving about a bit. He sits upright in the water now. I think a small piece of fin is about to fall off as well.

This morning, his fin looks more ragged and frayed. I debated if I really should wait seven days before changing his water. There are too many rotted fin bits in there right now. Tonight, I changed his water.

I realize I've been peering into his hospital pail with trepidation every time, for fear of finding him dead in there. I administered the usual amount of medicine in the clean water (conditioned and salted, then medicated). I fear the worst for Legolas.

Adventure With Turducken

See also:
December 4 - In Pursuit of Turducken
December 22 - Pride of Turducken
December 24 - Adventure with Turducken
December 25 - Fun with Turducken
December 26 - Christmas Eve with Turkducken
December 27 - Boxing Day with Turkducken
January 31 - Turducken at Large


Our family is having our Christmas meal today, Christmas Eve.

I checked Chef Paul Prudhomme's site. He's attributed with having come up with the first turducken. He gives 8 hours as cooking time for a turducken at 225F, for birds the size of the ones I bought. That's better. The trick however, is to check the bird's internal temperature with a thermometer. But I find those readings often unreliable. There is always hacking a hole in the bird to see if it's still pink inside.

I aimed to put the turducken in the oven by 7:00 a.m., pull it out by 3:00 p.m., let it sit for an hour, and serve by 4:00.

I stayed up till 2:00 a.m. making the two stuffings I plan to use. Prudhomme suggests using three stuffings, a different one on top of each bird. But I will use two.

Already, the morning started late. I jumped out of bed at 7:00 and got the turducken in the oven by 7:35. Only half an hour late. I will still be able to serve dinner by 5:00.

As I spread the birds and check what's in the bone bag, I see that the leg meats are on the birds. Only the bones have been removed and put in the bag. The chicken however, kept its wings. I guess it's too small to debone.

I am using my new digital camera. It's my Christmas present from The Man, who had it shipped to me this week. Gotta love that internet shopping, and The Man. New camera, new food, new time to be so active in the morning... I lost the first few photographs learning how to use the camera. Nevertheless, I managed the important ones.

1. Spread turkey with sausage stuffing spread across.


2. Spread duck with corn meal stuffing on top of the turkey.


3. Spread chicken with sausage stuffing on top of the duck.


4. The turducken trussed up.


5. The turducken flipped over breast side up in the roasting pan.


We shall see how it all tastes in about nine hours.

Fish Recovery: Day 3

No noticeable improvement. Legolas, my elfin prince, slumps at the bottom of the pail, against the side. When I come near to stir the water, he lifts his head, as if saying to me, I'm sick. Sometimes, he is upright, then he goes back to the side of pail and crashes. There are more shreds of fin and tail in the pail than yesterday. I've dropped two pellets of food in the water. He is still not eating.

Open Faucet

This is how I found out that my friend is incontinent. A few years ago, we went to a fundraiser dinner. It was a hot summer night so after dinner, I took my shoes off to do the two step with her. After a while, my friend said,

"I'm going to the washroom. I need to clean up."

"I'll come with you. Someone just spilled pop or water on the floor. I'm stepping all over it."

In the washroom, she used the cubicle and I rinsed my feet in the sink. She said,

"That wasn't pop on the floor."

"It was weird. I was dancing on a dry floor and the next thing I know, it's wet."

"That was me."

"I didn't even notice you holding water the whole time we were dancing."

"I wasn't. I've had a problem with bladder control for a few years now. I peed the floor."

"You mean I was dancing in your pee?"

This week, I have a cough and fever. When I cough, I wet myself. I was telling The Man this. He laughed and said,

"You're spoiling my fantasy of the idealized you."

I can't live on fantasy right now. I need to be grounded in reality to deal with my problem. So I talked to my incontinent friend. She said she now wears a pad full time. She's younger than me.

My mother is also incontinent but she's in denial. She can't hold it. When she has to go, she has to go. She says she won't drink water before she goes out, and wherever she goes, she'll be near a washroom, so no problem. Except a couple of weeks ago when she went out and on the way home she had to go, so it came whether she was ready or not, and she had to crouch in a neighbour's hedge to finish her stream, then went swish swish swish home to clean up.

I am only at the stage where I spill when I cough and sneeze. But I hate being old enough to acknowledge incontinence is not just the subject of Depends jokes any more. I wonder if there is a dignified perspective on this problem.

Pride of Turducken

See:
December 4 - In Pursuit of Turducken
December 22 - Pride of Turducken
December 24 - Adventure with Turducken
December 25 - Fun with Turducken
December 26 - Christmas Eve with Turkducken
December 27 - Boxing Day with Turkducken
January 31 - Turducken at Large


I got my turducken this afternoon.

At the poultry shop this morning, after talking with several assistants, they pointed me to the butcher who does the deboning. The fresh ducks hadn't arrived yet. They were waiting for the birds to come in at noon. So I chose my chicken, a small 3 lb bird, and the turkey, a 17.5 lb bird. The butcher deboned them while I did the rest of my shopping in the market.

When I came back at 12:10, I asked a man carting boxes around if the ducks had come in. He pointed to the glass case. The ducks looked huge, not the 5 lb bird the butcher said they would be. I asked him to find me a duck. He said, "Already did it."

A woman pulled out a duck from somewhere and weighed it. It was just under 5 lbs. The butcher deboned that and set the whole thing on his table. He called to his fellow butchers and said, "See this? It's a turkey, with a duck inside, with a chicken inside, all debone. It all in one now." The other cutters and choppers all nodded and muttered their appreciation of the butcher's work.

The turducken had no legs. The butcher said, "It's all meat here. When you serve this, you cut across to get all three kinds of meat. The legs will be in the way if I don't take them out. Takes less time to cook." He then wrapped up the turducken in a bag, and in a separate much larger bag, he put in the bones for soup.

As he carried the two bags to the cash, he stopped at every staff and customer to point out he had prepared a turducken. At least four other customers followed us to the cash. He explained what he had done, "This is a turkey with a duck inside, with a chicken inside. They're all one now. All deboned."

The customers oohed and aahed. To my surprise, two of the women piped up and said, "You're doing one of those? Did you hear the program on CBC? Did you see it on Breakfast television? How exciting." The butcher beamed with pride. We had quite a ruckus talking about how to prepare and cook the birds.

"It'll take 12 hours to cook," said one of the women.

12 hours? I read it takes nine. I guess it depends on the size of the birds. But to be safe, let's say 10 hours. I want to serve the turducken at 4:00 pm. So it has to come out of the oven at 3:30 to sit for 30 minutes. That means I have to put the bird in the oven at 5:30 a.m.

Oh my god.

Fish Recovery: Day 2

Put the required medication in the water. He's still not eating and seems more lethargic. He just sit at the bottom of the pail, body tilted a bit. When I stir the water to see if he's dead, he swims up for air. I went out in the afternoon and thought he could drown if left unattended for an extended time. He could fall asleep and forget to come up for air. We'll see what happens overnight. I am relieved to read on several sites that sick bettas could live for two weeks without food.

Sick Fish

My Fish has stopped eating. Yes, it's my Fish now. I have grown fond of him. It's turned whitish and sits at the bottom of the tank, fins clumped up. When it comes up for air, its fins are scraggly and frayed. I see little shreds of fin floating in the tank. The Fish looks very sad. I researched his condition on the internet. I think he's got fin rot, which can make him pale, inactive, and not eat while his fins rot away.

Fin rot comes from dirty water and overfeeding. And I thought I was so careful to change his water every few days. But it's true I've been very lax about cleaning his water since I put a new filter in. Can't trust a stupid motor to do my job. But then the pet shop boy I talked today said bettas get sick in the winter for some reason. He gets no questions about bettas in the summer, but come winter, everyone is coming in looking for treatment.

One pet shop boy told me I need to condition The Fish's water to get rid of the chlorine. Chlorine in tap water could be burning him and causing stress. I have never conditioned The Fish's water. Someone had told me I only need to let water sit overnight and the chlorine will evaporate. I read yesterday that I need to add aquarium salt each time i change water. The salt calms The Fish and protects The Fish's skin and scales. I have never used aquarium salt either.

So I went and bought water conditioner, aquarium salt, and something called BettaFix Remedy, which kills bateria and fungus that cause fin and tail rot, among other things, and promises to promote healing. I moved The Fish to a hospital bowl. It's a one-gallon bucket, which will require less water conditioner and remedy drops.

Already, I have OD'd on the conditioner and medicine because I miscalculated the conversion of imperial measurement instructions to metric volume. But that's okay, because I'm told you can't really OD on the water conditioner. You just waste the conditioner. And the medication? I just OD'd a little bit because I was cautious to under-medicate with the first treatment. Thank goodness I got the salt right, but only because I used a teaspoon for measuring instead of a tablespoon, the way the instructions asked you to.

So now I wait. It's a 7-day treatment. I need to medicate each day. And on the seventh day, I change the water. I read on someone's web site where she chronicled her betta's recovery, it took five days before she saw signs of improvement. I hope The Fish will be speedier.

I will also chronicle The Fish's recovery. Day 1: No change so far.

A Different Way of Life

Our friend Kat just got back from Yemen. Her job was to gather information so she can write a report on the effectiveness of some educational programs in different regions of the country. She has collected some fascinating stories.

For example, here is a photograph of some female teachers outside their school.



They keep the veil on while teaching primary school kids. In the West, we know that communication is 90% facial expression and body language. How do these children learn when 90% of the signals they receive are hidden? But most communities and many teachers are not comfortable being in public without the veil.

In the markets of old Sana'a, many vendors stock backless, spaghetti strap dresses with low cuts. Who buys these? Apparently, the veiled women. Under their veils, they are scantily dressed, fully made up and manicured. You see this when women retreat to the women's quarters, away from the men. There, they take off their black veils and gowns to reveal glamour rivalling any Hollywood starlet.

---

Here are some older girls who want to go to school, but they can't. Schools generally don't accommodate older girls in the classroom. The Man tells me one reason is there aren't enough female teachers so when girls get to a certain age, their parents pull them out of school.



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There are regional differences in the veil. In more remote villages, only women's faces are hidden.



But look how colourful they are.

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Here is a camel waiting outside a shop while its owner, still holding on to the camel's rope, goes inside the shop for tobacco.



---

In hot climates, men do the practical thing. They wear scarves for relief. Men in skirts. Not an issue.

Gym Warriors

Yesterday, lying prone on the stomach crunch bench resting between sit ups, I chanced a glance at a young man doing vertical pushups in mid air. I don't even know what the apparatus is called. The man, in his twenties, was suspended in mid air with only his hands supporting his full weight off the ground.

He did a set of push ups, bending at the elbows.

Then he grasped a large free weight between his legs and repeated the push ups.

I was so astounded by this feat that when he stopped, I went up to check the weight. It was 45 lbs. I cannot lift a 45 lb weight with such swiftness in any manner even standing on firm ground.

When he walked, this man had a squat look to him. I am sure if you picked him up and shook him, no part of him would jiggle.

Then I spied an older, top-heavy man in his 60's. His face was quite wrinkled, his short hair all white. He had a large chest and massive biceps and triceps. Grotesquely so.

He also had a paunch, but it was packaged age rather than slothful blubber. Surprisingly, his thin bird legs supported everything on top. I think he would not topple over if you pushed him. Every time I looked at him, I thought of the letter Y, bubbles around the V.

Then I thought of Curly, the music director at a local church, who talked to me about plumbing when I ran into him on his way to the gym one day. He takes the public transit to the gym everyday! Curly wears baggy clothes and always strikes me as disorganized. It's probably his flouncing white hair. But when I learned he's a secret gym warrior, I noticed he indeed was very fit. That day, he inspired my recent foray back into the gym.

And then there's my friend's husband, Red, who wakes up at 4:00 to go to the gym. That is dedication. Red is slim, lithe, and fit, with a flat abdomen. I bet he has a smaller waist than I do. He wouldn't jiggle either if you shook him. He's my role model. I want to not jiggle like him.

I guess I better go to the gym now, it's way past 4:00 a.m.

My Romantic Hero

You think Ashlee Simpson can't sing? That's because she sounds like she took singing lessons from Neil Young. There's a guy who can't sing if his life depended on it. Yet, how did he become so respected an artist? Not for his singing.

It's for his song writing. I saw Neil Young perform on Saturday Night Live! last night. Despite my stomach tightening up as he sang, I recognized the song he did as beautiful, even though I don't know the song. And in its own weird way, the song was beautiful because it required a thin, vulnerable voice, only as Neil Young can sing it. His is not particularly a pleasant voice - it's nasally and grating even, and he has limited range. But the fact he can hold a note without quivering suggests strength, in an underdog Canadian kind of way.

One of my favourite songs is Young's Harvest Moon. I downloaded different versions of that song. I can't stand them. Yet, I love Young's original. Not because I'm used to it, but because he evokes a tenderness in the autumn air with that whiny voice, and despite the vulnerability of passing feelings in the changing season, he grounds us with hope (the offering of unencumbered love) and clarity (the harpsicord-like notes in the song). It's the feeling of renewed bounty and hope as only can be found under a harvest moon.

I think Neil Young is my romantic hero. One of them anyway.

Granpa Simpson Rant

I marvel at how the days fly by, and I can't account for what I've done.

Today for example. I've slept badly the whole week, so I was glad it was Saturday, which means I can sleep in. But you can do that everyday, you say, it's not like you have a job to go to. True. But I don't sleep in everyday. I get up at 7:30 to get The Boy breakfasted and out the door to school. Then I tidy up the house a bit. Then I fuss and fret. That takes a long time, and it's exhausting, the fussing and fretting.

And I ruminate about why my whole body hurts. My muscles must be really under-used and dumb. Yesterday, all my stomach muscles started hurting. I had trouble bending over. And if I coughed, well I have to hold on to the phone with 911 dialed and my finger on the Send key. It's because I went to the gym three days ago and did stomach crunches for the first time. My muscles don't hurt the next day. They hurt three days later. It takes that long for them to realize they've been strained.

And I go to the bathroom a lot. When I was young, I only went once a day if that. Now I go every hour. Where does all that water come from? Maybe I should stop drinking so much tea.

Jeez, It's 10:30. I forgot I had a birthday party to go to tonight. Wonder if it's too late to show up. It's my friend's 50th. Ah, forget it, she can turn 50 again next year if she wants.

But I did re-arrange the furniture today to make room for the Christmas tree, which I forgot to get tonight. I mean, why did I move the furniture if I wasn't going to getting the tree?

I'm doing a good take on a Granpa Simpson rant or what?

The Bane of Social Niceties

There are friends whose company I enjoy very much. Sometimes, we don't say or do much together, but I know when we are together, there is an equal exchange of some kind. We share common interests and the ability to pursue these interests. We only get together once in a while but I wish I could see them more often. I am genuinely interested in their welfare.

Then there are people I don't want to spend any time with at all. But when I see these people, I am super friendly to them, as if I am compensating for the fact I don't like them. We even joke and banter, to the point I create the illusion I enjoy their company, so they invite me to their house or to do things together. I cringe at these invitations. I make excuses to not go, but at some point, you say yes if you don't want to continuously offend or be seen as the snob you really are.

So this afternoon, I accepted one of those "I-don't-want-to-go" invitations. The woman is open and warm, upright and decent. We got friendly when our sons were better friends. But I've always known we have nothing in common, not intellectually, not in terms of interests and ability, not in terms of worldview and political outlook.

My take on our acquaintance is this: She seeks me out when she needs something from me. Because of what I can do for her, and that I am mostly inoffensive, she wants to befriend me. I find her trite and helpless, not very smart, but oh so smug. And if I were her son, I would find life oppressive.

As she prattled on during our visit, I found myself thinking - I am so bored, I don't care about what she's saying, I have no interest in her life, oh god can she just get a life - just to keep my mind from going numb. So I forced myself to be civil by saying out loud, Mhmm, Oh really? Is that right? Then what happened? Once I heard myself say, Yes, that's wonderful! to an unknown topic.

Why do I do this? Is it really so important to not offend? Am I being done in by my own social nicety? Maybe I do this because I suspect that deep down, I am really a snobby, cold bitch, but to disprove that, I feign interest in petty dullards. Maybe I just want to keep an eye on what lower life forms are like, lest I unwittingly become one. God, too late. I've become one of them. How petty and self-absorbed is this line of thinking. Virginia, where are you? Take me to a different consciousness.