There are three black baby mollys in my tank! Where have they been hiding all this time? I wonder if more will appear.
Uh oh. I just read that mollys give birth every 30 to 40 days. They birth about 15 to 30 each time. Wow. So a lot of babies got eaten then. But what does one do with all that fish if they all survived? Most of them would live if you separate them I suppose. Maybe the natural order of fish life is that some fry get eaten and it would be unnatural to separate them in order to ensure their survival.
This baby fish thing is getting worrisome.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Another Saturday Night
I bought a new housecleaning spray a few weeks ago. It's the Method brand from Shoppers Drug Mart. I read in a magazine that they smell nice and are environmentally friendly. Then I read in Home Comforts, a book on how and why to clean house, the recommended frequency for cleaning bathrooms. Apparently, a wipe down of the sink and toilet should be done everyday, just like they do at the campgrounds. Then once a week, you clean everything else in the bathroom.
So my new housekeeping routine is that every morning, I spray and wipe the sink and toilet in both bathrooms. I confess, it has made a tremendous difference in how clean and comfortable we feel. The routine takes about 10 minutes with my new spray.
Under this new standard of comfort, I hadn't wiped down the last two days as I had been out early each morning. On the third day, I felt a little distressed at the soap film that started to show in the sink.
It's a curious thing, this discomfort. I know I've gone as long as a whole month without cleaning, yet I never felt distress. Nor cared. Maybe I didn't even notice a whole month had gone by.
So here we are on a Saturday night. I go from watching my two black baby mollys (I am just fascinated by their existence - life that seemed to spring out of nowhere. I want to make sure they don't get eaten even though they are too big for that now and that's why they are swimming around so freely), to watching Hank the betta (he swims happily in his own tank upstairs and spits out the new food I got him), to cleaning the bathrooms, one upstairs, one in the basement.
Hmm. I get excited about cleaning the house, I watch fish and clean the bathroom on a Saturday night. What's with that? Something is wrong with this picture. I need a life.
So my new housekeeping routine is that every morning, I spray and wipe the sink and toilet in both bathrooms. I confess, it has made a tremendous difference in how clean and comfortable we feel. The routine takes about 10 minutes with my new spray.
Under this new standard of comfort, I hadn't wiped down the last two days as I had been out early each morning. On the third day, I felt a little distressed at the soap film that started to show in the sink.
It's a curious thing, this discomfort. I know I've gone as long as a whole month without cleaning, yet I never felt distress. Nor cared. Maybe I didn't even notice a whole month had gone by.
So here we are on a Saturday night. I go from watching my two black baby mollys (I am just fascinated by their existence - life that seemed to spring out of nowhere. I want to make sure they don't get eaten even though they are too big for that now and that's why they are swimming around so freely), to watching Hank the betta (he swims happily in his own tank upstairs and spits out the new food I got him), to cleaning the bathrooms, one upstairs, one in the basement.
Hmm. I get excited about cleaning the house, I watch fish and clean the bathroom on a Saturday night. What's with that? Something is wrong with this picture. I need a life.
Saturday, October 21, 2006
I Saw Them
I saw them together. I suspected I may have two black baby mollys in my tank. Then yesterday, I saw both of them, at the same time. This is like, I'm a grandmother of twins!
There may even be three baby mollys. But I am not sure if the third is a flicker of a shadow or a real fish. It's amazing how completely formed the baby fish are despite their small size. It's even more amazing how strong their instinct for survival and self-preservation is. They slip so easily into crevices between rocks and have escaped being dinner for their parents and friends.
So at least two more fish, each less than half an inch long from tip of head to tip of tail. They look like a sliver in the water, not much different from a string of fish poo, except they're black. Already, they have me thinking a bigger tank. At some point, the red platys will give birth. I will need to accommodate them all. If more fish are born between now and December, guess what everyone is getting for Christmas?
It really is neat. It's finding life where you don't expect any, it's watching life come into being, it's witnessing nature fulfill its potential. Just two little slivers of fish, yet they represent so much.
There may even be three baby mollys. But I am not sure if the third is a flicker of a shadow or a real fish. It's amazing how completely formed the baby fish are despite their small size. It's even more amazing how strong their instinct for survival and self-preservation is. They slip so easily into crevices between rocks and have escaped being dinner for their parents and friends.
So at least two more fish, each less than half an inch long from tip of head to tip of tail. They look like a sliver in the water, not much different from a string of fish poo, except they're black. Already, they have me thinking a bigger tank. At some point, the red platys will give birth. I will need to accommodate them all. If more fish are born between now and December, guess what everyone is getting for Christmas?
It really is neat. It's finding life where you don't expect any, it's watching life come into being, it's witnessing nature fulfill its potential. Just two little slivers of fish, yet they represent so much.
Friday, October 20, 2006
Sign, Sign, Everywhere A Sign
Yesterday was the first day candidates for city council were allowed to display campaign signs off-premise. That means there was a sign-installing blitz on residential front lawns by all candidates. I offered my services as driver and sign installer.
On some of the streets I went to, the competitors had already been there. Which was good. It meant I could put up bigger signs than theirs.
The houses that support Candidate, that is, the houses that were first to have asked for Candidate's sign, have a distinct look and feel. The homes are better kept, they have front gardens, they recycle, they are people-friendly. Even the sparse, austere homes look intelligent, some feel artistic, all look like they made an informed, conscious choice to support Candidate.
The houses that support the competitors? I am biased in my assessment, but these houses look like the owners are friends of the competitors and they conduct life in a slam-bam, me-first way, or they just want a sign to cover up the garbage on their front porch, or the sign is another piece of garbage growing on their front lawns.
Later, every street will be revisited as more people agree to or ask to have signs put up. But most of this first batch of sign-takers initiated the communication for signs. To me, the condition of a house is a sign of the quality of the candidate the house supports.
On some of the streets I went to, the competitors had already been there. Which was good. It meant I could put up bigger signs than theirs.
The houses that support Candidate, that is, the houses that were first to have asked for Candidate's sign, have a distinct look and feel. The homes are better kept, they have front gardens, they recycle, they are people-friendly. Even the sparse, austere homes look intelligent, some feel artistic, all look like they made an informed, conscious choice to support Candidate.
The houses that support the competitors? I am biased in my assessment, but these houses look like the owners are friends of the competitors and they conduct life in a slam-bam, me-first way, or they just want a sign to cover up the garbage on their front porch, or the sign is another piece of garbage growing on their front lawns.
Later, every street will be revisited as more people agree to or ask to have signs put up. But most of this first batch of sign-takers initiated the communication for signs. To me, the condition of a house is a sign of the quality of the candidate the house supports.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
I'm Granma Molly
One of my black mollys has had a big belly for a while. I thought it was pregnant. But then one morning last week, I looked at it. Its belly was flat. Mollys are live bearers and I saw no baby fish in the tank. I read up on pregnant mollys and noted that sometimes, they just abort their pregnancy for reasons unknown.
Yesterday morning, when I was exchanging some water in the tank, I noticed a piece of black in the water. It disappeared as I was pumping the water out. I thought one of the mollys had lost a piece of fin though neither looked damaged.
In the afternoon, when I was staring at the fish, I saw a tiny black fish swimming about. I took a second look and followed it as it swam close to rocks and crevices. It really was a little black molly, a fraction the size of the adult mollys.
So the fish had given birth after all! But surely it doesn't give birth to only one fish. The others must've got eaten, and this smart fish was able to hide and survive. It is now big enough that it is not afraid to show itself. It is very neat to suddenly find a baby in the tank.
As I examined the rest of the fish, I see that one of the red platys has a very big belly, like the black molly had. I bet it is pregnant. So I dropped a shell and a piece of flat rock in the water to create more nooks and crevices to give any newborns a higher chance of survival.
The Man set up a video camera in front of the tank, ready to capture the birthing miracle. But how do we know when it will give birth? Maybe it is just fat from overeating, or it is sick. It pooped three long strands of poo yesterday, one of which the male molly ate. Maybe the red platy just has a sore stomach. We'll see if any tiny fish makes an appearance in the tank in the next few days.
I wish I could take a picture of the baby molly and an adult molly together. But the baby tucks itself away every time an adult fish swims near. Smart fish.
Yesterday morning, when I was exchanging some water in the tank, I noticed a piece of black in the water. It disappeared as I was pumping the water out. I thought one of the mollys had lost a piece of fin though neither looked damaged.
In the afternoon, when I was staring at the fish, I saw a tiny black fish swimming about. I took a second look and followed it as it swam close to rocks and crevices. It really was a little black molly, a fraction the size of the adult mollys.
So the fish had given birth after all! But surely it doesn't give birth to only one fish. The others must've got eaten, and this smart fish was able to hide and survive. It is now big enough that it is not afraid to show itself. It is very neat to suddenly find a baby in the tank.
As I examined the rest of the fish, I see that one of the red platys has a very big belly, like the black molly had. I bet it is pregnant. So I dropped a shell and a piece of flat rock in the water to create more nooks and crevices to give any newborns a higher chance of survival.
The Man set up a video camera in front of the tank, ready to capture the birthing miracle. But how do we know when it will give birth? Maybe it is just fat from overeating, or it is sick. It pooped three long strands of poo yesterday, one of which the male molly ate. Maybe the red platy just has a sore stomach. We'll see if any tiny fish makes an appearance in the tank in the next few days.
I wish I could take a picture of the baby molly and an adult molly together. But the baby tucks itself away every time an adult fish swims near. Smart fish.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Weaving Threads
The book that we talked about over the weekend was Dropped Threads, Marjorie Anderson and Carol Shields' book on what women aren't told.
The book was a good enough read, though there were no true insights for me. My own lack of enthusiasm for the book had to do with the stories all being told from the perspective of white, middle-class, middle-aged to older women. While what they said about what they wished they had known as young women was interesting, most of the voices were the same, and in 2006, we've heard those voices before.
But the book did spark conversation for the four of us gathered at the cottage as we each revealed what we wished we were told as we grew into young women. Over the weekend, the four of us weaved our own threads by sharing a bit more of ourselves.
The most revealing of all to me was not what each of us said, but how each of us felt about the absence of a friend. This is our book club member who did not come with us this weekend. Her husband passed away suddenly five months ago. We wondered if she would leave her teenage children for the weekend and be alone with four women. Not surprisingly, she bowed out.
At various points over the weekend, each of us acknowledged we would have opted out too if we had been her and wondered aloud how our friend was doing this weekend. One of the women came up with the idea of making a wreath with Fall foliage. But when huge wet flakes of snow started to fall from the sky, we realized everything outside was wet and we would be giving our friend a bunch of wet, soggy leaves and twigs. And besides, we conceded, a wreath is too reminescent of death. So we moved on to the idea of making a door swag, like a bow, and decorating it with tiny figures of mermaids, a motif from our friend's favourite book.
We went into town to buy the supplies. When we got back to the cottage, we were exhausted from the town excursion and our hike. No one felt like doing a craft. We ate and drank instead. The next morning, we realized we had to make the swag, clean up, fit in another walk, go shopping at the specialty stores, then drive three hours home. We abandoned the swag altogether.
On the way home, we went to a country store that sold special jams and sauces. We bought a selection of condiments for our friend to share with her children. We put them in a basket, stood back and nodded. This was a much more appropriate gift to let our friend know we were thinking of her. It was not contrived - we happened to be in the store so picked up a few things for her too. It was something she could share with her family. It was the kind of treat we know she would like. The basket of goodies looked prettier than anything we could have made ourselves.
And so the weekend was not only a discussion of the individual experiences that women have, it was also a shared experience in expressing concern for our friend in a subtle and natural way that would not embarrass her. Despite our initial impractical grand scheme, we ended up doing the right thing.
The book was a good enough read, though there were no true insights for me. My own lack of enthusiasm for the book had to do with the stories all being told from the perspective of white, middle-class, middle-aged to older women. While what they said about what they wished they had known as young women was interesting, most of the voices were the same, and in 2006, we've heard those voices before.
But the book did spark conversation for the four of us gathered at the cottage as we each revealed what we wished we were told as we grew into young women. Over the weekend, the four of us weaved our own threads by sharing a bit more of ourselves.
The most revealing of all to me was not what each of us said, but how each of us felt about the absence of a friend. This is our book club member who did not come with us this weekend. Her husband passed away suddenly five months ago. We wondered if she would leave her teenage children for the weekend and be alone with four women. Not surprisingly, she bowed out.
At various points over the weekend, each of us acknowledged we would have opted out too if we had been her and wondered aloud how our friend was doing this weekend. One of the women came up with the idea of making a wreath with Fall foliage. But when huge wet flakes of snow started to fall from the sky, we realized everything outside was wet and we would be giving our friend a bunch of wet, soggy leaves and twigs. And besides, we conceded, a wreath is too reminescent of death. So we moved on to the idea of making a door swag, like a bow, and decorating it with tiny figures of mermaids, a motif from our friend's favourite book.
We went into town to buy the supplies. When we got back to the cottage, we were exhausted from the town excursion and our hike. No one felt like doing a craft. We ate and drank instead. The next morning, we realized we had to make the swag, clean up, fit in another walk, go shopping at the specialty stores, then drive three hours home. We abandoned the swag altogether.
On the way home, we went to a country store that sold special jams and sauces. We bought a selection of condiments for our friend to share with her children. We put them in a basket, stood back and nodded. This was a much more appropriate gift to let our friend know we were thinking of her. It was not contrived - we happened to be in the store so picked up a few things for her too. It was something she could share with her family. It was the kind of treat we know she would like. The basket of goodies looked prettier than anything we could have made ourselves.
And so the weekend was not only a discussion of the individual experiences that women have, it was also a shared experience in expressing concern for our friend in a subtle and natural way that would not embarrass her. Despite our initial impractical grand scheme, we ended up doing the right thing.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Women Away
In the crisp Fall air of Haliburton and away from my home routine, I slept most of the weekend. I guess I was suffering from Luxor withdrawal and because I was exhausted from days and days of no sleep.
The women of my bookclub are well-read, independent women, grounded in their families and community. And they can be so girly girl the way they do everything together. They make me laugh, long for that feeling of camaraderie, belongingness and self-acceptance, and grateful that I have friends who accept me as I am in all my crankiness.
Saturday morning, the women were up by 8 am. I heard them talking and laughing. I thought, What the heck are they up so early at the cottage for? They made coffee, cleaned up, moved things around. At 9:30, I stumbled out of my bedroom and sat on the sofa, still half comatose. They offered:
-Coffee, Sylph?
-How about some tea?
-Want some juice instead?
They were all washed and dressed. There was a flurry of activity as they took things out to make breakfast.
I said -Can you all just stop moving for a sec?
They laughed me off and said -You'll feel more energetic after some coffee.
I said -No. There is too much activity too early in the morning.
They made breakfast and set the table as I sat there trying to wake up with my coffee. We gathered at the table to breakfast. The First woman said -Is there jam or something to put on the toast?
The Second one said -Oh I'll get up. She got up to go to the fridge.
The Third said -And I brought some marmalade. She got up to get it from her box.
First said -Don't get up, let me get them. She got up to receive the jams and marmalade from the other two.
I said -Is everything a group activity with you guys?
They laughed and said -Oh stop being so cranky.
Later, we got dressed for a hike. A true group activity this time. The First woman said -Hey where are my hat and gloves. I left them on this chair yesterday.
The Second said -I put them on your bed last night.
First said -Where?
The Third said -You must've left them on my bed. I found gloves and a hat on my bed when I went to bed last night.
Second -What did you do with them?
First -Was it a knit hat with black leather gloves?
Third -I put them on that chair. She pointed at the chair beside First's chair.
Second -I've got lots of hats and gloves if anyone wants to wear them.
Third -Here they are. Are these yours?
Second -Do you have gloves? Do you want a hat?
I said -My god, does it matter? Can you stop prattling? We are just going out for 10 minutes.
They said -Well, someone is in a bad mood this morning.
The next morning, when I got up, the women were again showered and dressed. The First said -Gee, I don't know if I want to go for a walk before or after breakfast.
Second -I really need to go for a walk.
First -Where should we walk?
Third -We shouldn't go too far because we are all going for a long walk before we leave today.
First -Do you want to go now or after breakfast.
Second -I want to go now.
Third -I don't care. I'll go whenever you go.
First -Let's go now.
Second -Where do you want to walk?
I said -Can you just go and not keep talking about going?
First -Actually, I don't want to go yet. My hair is still wet. I don't want to catch a cold.
Second -True. Let's go after breakfast.
Third -Let's make breakfast. What do you want to make?
I said -Okay, I am going back to bed now.
And so the whole weekend was like that. Every activity was discussed over and over and the details rehashed before anyone did anything. The only thing I wanted to do was sleep or read.
Once, I complained that it was too cold in the cabin. Then I got up and went to the washroom. When I came back, one woman had fluffed up several pillows and stacked them in my corner of the couch. She held a blanket, ready for my return. She said -Sit down, I'll make you warm.
I said -No no, I don't want to sit there with a blanket over me like a little old lady.
She threw the blanket over me and pretended to throttle me.
I had to laugh. I said -Look how you are being so thoughtful and generous even when I am so rude and ungrateful.
I love these women. I like how their lives merge without reservation. I like how they include me in their activities and still let me be. In fact, I think most of my friends are like that. Maybe that's why they are my friends. Somehow, they feed my soul.
The women of my bookclub are well-read, independent women, grounded in their families and community. And they can be so girly girl the way they do everything together. They make me laugh, long for that feeling of camaraderie, belongingness and self-acceptance, and grateful that I have friends who accept me as I am in all my crankiness.
Saturday morning, the women were up by 8 am. I heard them talking and laughing. I thought, What the heck are they up so early at the cottage for? They made coffee, cleaned up, moved things around. At 9:30, I stumbled out of my bedroom and sat on the sofa, still half comatose. They offered:
-Coffee, Sylph?
-How about some tea?
-Want some juice instead?
They were all washed and dressed. There was a flurry of activity as they took things out to make breakfast.
I said -Can you all just stop moving for a sec?
They laughed me off and said -You'll feel more energetic after some coffee.
I said -No. There is too much activity too early in the morning.
They made breakfast and set the table as I sat there trying to wake up with my coffee. We gathered at the table to breakfast. The First woman said -Is there jam or something to put on the toast?
The Second one said -Oh I'll get up. She got up to go to the fridge.
The Third said -And I brought some marmalade. She got up to get it from her box.
First said -Don't get up, let me get them. She got up to receive the jams and marmalade from the other two.
I said -Is everything a group activity with you guys?
They laughed and said -Oh stop being so cranky.
Later, we got dressed for a hike. A true group activity this time. The First woman said -Hey where are my hat and gloves. I left them on this chair yesterday.
The Second said -I put them on your bed last night.
First said -Where?
The Third said -You must've left them on my bed. I found gloves and a hat on my bed when I went to bed last night.
Second -What did you do with them?
First -Was it a knit hat with black leather gloves?
Third -I put them on that chair. She pointed at the chair beside First's chair.
Second -I've got lots of hats and gloves if anyone wants to wear them.
Third -Here they are. Are these yours?
Second -Do you have gloves? Do you want a hat?
I said -My god, does it matter? Can you stop prattling? We are just going out for 10 minutes.
They said -Well, someone is in a bad mood this morning.
The next morning, when I got up, the women were again showered and dressed. The First said -Gee, I don't know if I want to go for a walk before or after breakfast.
Second -I really need to go for a walk.
First -Where should we walk?
Third -We shouldn't go too far because we are all going for a long walk before we leave today.
First -Do you want to go now or after breakfast.
Second -I want to go now.
Third -I don't care. I'll go whenever you go.
First -Let's go now.
Second -Where do you want to walk?
I said -Can you just go and not keep talking about going?
First -Actually, I don't want to go yet. My hair is still wet. I don't want to catch a cold.
Second -True. Let's go after breakfast.
Third -Let's make breakfast. What do you want to make?
I said -Okay, I am going back to bed now.
And so the whole weekend was like that. Every activity was discussed over and over and the details rehashed before anyone did anything. The only thing I wanted to do was sleep or read.
Once, I complained that it was too cold in the cabin. Then I got up and went to the washroom. When I came back, one woman had fluffed up several pillows and stacked them in my corner of the couch. She held a blanket, ready for my return. She said -Sit down, I'll make you warm.
I said -No no, I don't want to sit there with a blanket over me like a little old lady.
She threw the blanket over me and pretended to throttle me.
I had to laugh. I said -Look how you are being so thoughtful and generous even when I am so rude and ungrateful.
I love these women. I like how their lives merge without reservation. I like how they include me in their activities and still let me be. In fact, I think most of my friends are like that. Maybe that's why they are my friends. Somehow, they feed my soul.
Friday, October 13, 2006
My Secret Life
I now know what it feels like to have an addiction. It controls my day and disrupts my night, yet on the surface, I can seem so normal.
For the last few weeks, this is what I've been doing. I make everyone get ready for bed about 10:30 pm. We are usually late nighters. The Man and The Boy think I'm introducing a healthier regime by getting everyone to bed earlier. By midnight, all lights are out and the boys are asleep. That's when I come to life.
I get up around 12:30 am and I play Luxor. I play till about 2:30 am, sometimes till as late as 4:00 am. Last night, I beat the game. Once you beat the game, you get a bonus stage. I am at the last level of the bonus stage.
I can't wait till I beat the bonus stage and return to normal life.
What this sneaking up in the middle of the night has done is make me very tired all day. I need a snooze mid-morning and late afternoon. That means, at night, I am wide awake. I need to reset my body clock. But god, it's hard. On the one hand, I want to resume life before Luxor, on the other hand, I am looking for a new addiction.
This morning, I got up early and helped The Man practise his interviewing techniques. Then I helped haul two tables to Candidate's office. Now I need to do some shopping as I will be in Haliburton with my book club for the weekend. I have not read my book because I've been too busy with Luxor. Guilt and exhaustion for momentary pleasure. Knowing that The Boy had beaten the game twice effortlessly won't let me admit defeat. The frustration I feel when I lose just strengthens my tenacity. I bet that's the gambling gene at work.
That's what an addiction is.
For the last few weeks, this is what I've been doing. I make everyone get ready for bed about 10:30 pm. We are usually late nighters. The Man and The Boy think I'm introducing a healthier regime by getting everyone to bed earlier. By midnight, all lights are out and the boys are asleep. That's when I come to life.
I get up around 12:30 am and I play Luxor. I play till about 2:30 am, sometimes till as late as 4:00 am. Last night, I beat the game. Once you beat the game, you get a bonus stage. I am at the last level of the bonus stage.
I can't wait till I beat the bonus stage and return to normal life.
What this sneaking up in the middle of the night has done is make me very tired all day. I need a snooze mid-morning and late afternoon. That means, at night, I am wide awake. I need to reset my body clock. But god, it's hard. On the one hand, I want to resume life before Luxor, on the other hand, I am looking for a new addiction.
This morning, I got up early and helped The Man practise his interviewing techniques. Then I helped haul two tables to Candidate's office. Now I need to do some shopping as I will be in Haliburton with my book club for the weekend. I have not read my book because I've been too busy with Luxor. Guilt and exhaustion for momentary pleasure. Knowing that The Boy had beaten the game twice effortlessly won't let me admit defeat. The frustration I feel when I lose just strengthens my tenacity. I bet that's the gambling gene at work.
That's what an addiction is.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Thugged
I go through bouts of being so anti-social and downright hostile. Or maybe I'm just not having a good day with the city.
Today, two men knocked on our door. They were burly looking. I say they were thugs. They wore city uniforms but drove an unmarked car. They simply double-parked, knocked on our door and demanded that I pay them $239. That's for not paying for our front-pad parking for the last two years.
They said, "You owe this amount. Now what are you going to do about it?"
I said, "Nothing. Since when does the city send people out to collect at the door? Why are we the only borough paying for parking on our own front lawn when the rest of the City of Toronto doesn't?"
I was about to demand to see their ID and phone the city to see if they really send out officers to collect for parking permits. Then The Man stepped in with his own complaint about the neighbours across the street who keep parking anywhere they want using a handicapped sticker. This is the same family that parks a tow truck in front of our drive so we can't get out and gets away with it because they stick the handicapped sticker on the tow truck. How many handicapped people operate a tow truck?
The Man aired his complaint. The thugs said, "We can't do nothin' about that." The Man gave them a cheque. The thugs got back into their car. I called out to The Man and the thugs, "Did you at least check their ID?" But the thugs drove away.
On principle, I have refused to pay to park on our own front pad. At least the cheque was made payable to Treasurer, City of Toronto.
Then I went to Candidate's office to help out. A friend and I mounted a sign to identify her office. It was good to be doing something useful and I felt less hostile to the world after.
Today, two men knocked on our door. They were burly looking. I say they were thugs. They wore city uniforms but drove an unmarked car. They simply double-parked, knocked on our door and demanded that I pay them $239. That's for not paying for our front-pad parking for the last two years.
They said, "You owe this amount. Now what are you going to do about it?"
I said, "Nothing. Since when does the city send people out to collect at the door? Why are we the only borough paying for parking on our own front lawn when the rest of the City of Toronto doesn't?"
I was about to demand to see their ID and phone the city to see if they really send out officers to collect for parking permits. Then The Man stepped in with his own complaint about the neighbours across the street who keep parking anywhere they want using a handicapped sticker. This is the same family that parks a tow truck in front of our drive so we can't get out and gets away with it because they stick the handicapped sticker on the tow truck. How many handicapped people operate a tow truck?
The Man aired his complaint. The thugs said, "We can't do nothin' about that." The Man gave them a cheque. The thugs got back into their car. I called out to The Man and the thugs, "Did you at least check their ID?" But the thugs drove away.
On principle, I have refused to pay to park on our own front pad. At least the cheque was made payable to Treasurer, City of Toronto.
Then I went to Candidate's office to help out. A friend and I mounted a sign to identify her office. It was good to be doing something useful and I felt less hostile to the world after.
Arrogant City
The garbage trucks came and went. The city's tree cutting trucks rolled in onto the street. They did not stop at our house. The tree in front of our house has dangling branches touching the car. There are dead branches in the tree that have been falling down.
The city's tree cutters told me I had to phone the city to call them in. Just because they're already on the street, doesn't mean they automatically go around to all the houses and trim their trees. So I phoned the city's forestry department. Who knew the city had a forestry department? The woman told me an inspector will come by and assess the tree to determine if it needs pruning. It'll take 12 weeks before he shows up. Then, any trimming needed will take place after that.
This is mid-October. That means the inspector won't even look at the tree till mid-January. Any trimming will likely take place in the Spring. That means over the winter, when the dead branches are laden with snow, they could fall on innocent passersby or smash on top of our car.
If I go and trim the tree myself, I could be fined for damaging city property. This is such a no-win situation. I note that today, October 12, I phoned the city about our tree, just in case I need to sue the city later.
The city's tree cutters told me I had to phone the city to call them in. Just because they're already on the street, doesn't mean they automatically go around to all the houses and trim their trees. So I phoned the city's forestry department. Who knew the city had a forestry department? The woman told me an inspector will come by and assess the tree to determine if it needs pruning. It'll take 12 weeks before he shows up. Then, any trimming needed will take place after that.
This is mid-October. That means the inspector won't even look at the tree till mid-January. Any trimming will likely take place in the Spring. That means over the winter, when the dead branches are laden with snow, they could fall on innocent passersby or smash on top of our car.
If I go and trim the tree myself, I could be fined for damaging city property. This is such a no-win situation. I note that today, October 12, I phoned the city about our tree, just in case I need to sue the city later.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
The Mid-Autumn Festival Story
It's not that I meant to lie. It's more that I got my myths mixed up. That's what happens when you rely on the memory of an 8-year-old, even if that 8-year-old was me.
Like most Chinese myths, many variations of the Mid-Autumn story exist. My version is about how the foolish search for immortality was foiled by a woman, turned Chinese Thanksgiving in celebration of the harvest moon. Or, can't live forever? Then work by moonlight to reap the harvest and make living comfortable. There, that's more like it -- the Mid-Autumn Festival is a celebration of the Fall harvest.
Careful though, this story too is mostly culled from my 8-year-old memory.
Yup. That's the crazy story. I mean, where did the jade rabbit come from? What was it doing on the moon?
And the story of the lovers that I told? Not a lie at all. I assigned the story to the wrong ocassion. That's the Chinese Valentine story. The day is celebrated on the 7th day of the seventh month on the lunar calendar. Double Seven in mid-summer, usually early or mid-August on the Western calendar. And is mid-August not a romantic time of year?
Like most Chinese myths, many variations of the Mid-Autumn story exist. My version is about how the foolish search for immortality was foiled by a woman, turned Chinese Thanksgiving in celebration of the harvest moon. Or, can't live forever? Then work by moonlight to reap the harvest and make living comfortable. There, that's more like it -- the Mid-Autumn Festival is a celebration of the Fall harvest.
Careful though, this story too is mostly culled from my 8-year-old memory.
A long time ago lived the Archer. He was so artful with the bow and arrow that he had no rival, neither on earth nor in heaven. He was married to the most beautiful woman the world has ever seen. But he was also a vain and boastful man. He was so proud of his skill and renown that he wanted to live forever so he would always and forever be the best archer the world knows.
One year, ten suns appeared mysteriously around the earth, circling it nonstop. The land became hot and scorched, and people had a difficult time growing food. Earth and heaven dried up and people were dying. Finally, the gods asked the Archer to shoot down the suns. The Archer said, "I will shoot down the suns if you can make me an immortal."
The king of heaven agreed.
The Archer took his bow and nine specially-prepared arrows that will withstand the heat of the sun and stood in the middle of a field. One by one, he shot down nine suns. Everyone was relieved and overjoyed.
The king of heaven gave the Archer a small bottle containing the elixir of life. But the king said, "You must wait one year before taking the potion. You must spend this time cleansing your soul and preparing yourself spiritually for immortality. If you are not clean when you drink the potion, you will not ascend all the way to heaven to become an immortal."
The Archer took the potion home and hid it from his wife. Then he went about purifying his spirit.
The wife, who knew about the potion, wanted it for herself. She wanted to stay young and beautiful forever. So she looked for the potion everywhere in the house every chance she had.
One day, the wife found the potion. She opened the bottle and drank the potion. Just at that moment, the Archer came home and saw his wife finishing her drink. Immediately, she started to float up to the sky. By the time the Archer found his bow and arrow, she had already flown up to the moon.
There was only one moon in the sky so the Archer did not want to shoot it down, otherwise there would be nothing to balance the sun, and he could not disrupt the harmony of nature.
The wife stayed on the moon and was joined by a jade rabbit.
So while in the West, people look at the moon and think the man in the moon, in the East, people look at the moon and think the lady on the moon, and her jade rabbit.
Yup. That's the crazy story. I mean, where did the jade rabbit come from? What was it doing on the moon?
And the story of the lovers that I told? Not a lie at all. I assigned the story to the wrong ocassion. That's the Chinese Valentine story. The day is celebrated on the 7th day of the seventh month on the lunar calendar. Double Seven in mid-summer, usually early or mid-August on the Western calendar. And is mid-August not a romantic time of year?
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Mythologizing
On Friday night, we had the first of our Thanksgiving dinners at the house. The day coincided with the Chinese Mid-Autumn Festival - the 15th day of the eighth month on the lunar calendar.
Mid-Autumn is a major festival for the Chinese, almost as celebrated as New Year. Families and friends worship the moon, they visit each other and exchange moon cakes, kids walk around with lanterns to replicate the lumination of the moon. But in our family, this is not a festival we have observed. I am not sure why. But I can almost hear my mother say, It's too much bother.
Someone at the table asked, What is the Mid-Autumn Festival in celebration of? No one really seemed to know. But recalling the movies I've seen and stories I've read as a child, I have an association of lanterns, the moon, the milky way, and reunited lovers. This is drawn from my memory as an 8-year-old. I verified a few details with mom, then I told this story to my family, gathered at my table.
That's the story I told. And evidently, I am a true storyteller. Because that story is a complete lie. Even as I was telling it, something about it didn't seem right. It was too neatly wrapped, too romantic. The Chinese are a practical people with a clumsy oral tradition. Mid-Autumn is almost as big an event as New Year. A public dedication to love and romance? An impractical cultural mindset possible only in a weird screwiness of convenience.
I researched the Mid-Autumn Festival this morning and found a totally different story. A whole new set of memories came flooding back. I confess, the new story I discovered is probably more about the Mid-Autumn Festival than the story I told, because it's about the sun. The moon only featured as an afterthought. Go figure. Only the Chinese would make a big festival of the moon when the story is about the sun.
So what's the real story of the Chinese Mid-Autumn Festival? And what's with the story I told in its stead. That'll be tomorrow's post.
Mid-Autumn is a major festival for the Chinese, almost as celebrated as New Year. Families and friends worship the moon, they visit each other and exchange moon cakes, kids walk around with lanterns to replicate the lumination of the moon. But in our family, this is not a festival we have observed. I am not sure why. But I can almost hear my mother say, It's too much bother.
Someone at the table asked, What is the Mid-Autumn Festival in celebration of? No one really seemed to know. But recalling the movies I've seen and stories I've read as a child, I have an association of lanterns, the moon, the milky way, and reunited lovers. This is drawn from my memory as an 8-year-old. I verified a few details with mom, then I told this story to my family, gathered at my table.
Once, there was a cowherd who was taking his cow home at night. He passed by a lake and happened to spy a group of fairy goddesses bathing in the lake. He was in a playful mood, so he stole a set of clothes hanging on the tree nearest him.
When the goddesses finished bathing, they got dressed and flew back up to the sky. Except for one. She couldn't find her clothes. The cowherd came out and returned her clothes. They chatted and fell in love. She decided to stay on earth with the cowherd.
A few years go by, she bore a son. Meanwhile, the Sky King noticed that his daughter was missing. He sent his staff to find her. They report that she's living on earth with a cowherd and had become a mother.
The Sky King was furious. He wanted his daughter back. And besides, goddeses and mortals don't mix. So he went to the cowherd's house and made the goddess go home with him. The goddess and cowherd wept at the parting.
Out of compassion for his daughter and her family, the Sky King allowed them to meet once a year, on the 15th day of the eighth month, when the moon is at its brightest. The harvest moon would guide the lovers to each other. He then cast stars into the sky and built the Milky Way, a bridge that connects earth and heaven. The lovers meet on this bridge once a year.
So the Chinese celebrate the Mid-Autumn Festival to mark the finding and reunion of lovers. Girls walk around with a lantern on that night so her true love can find her.
That's the story I told. And evidently, I am a true storyteller. Because that story is a complete lie. Even as I was telling it, something about it didn't seem right. It was too neatly wrapped, too romantic. The Chinese are a practical people with a clumsy oral tradition. Mid-Autumn is almost as big an event as New Year. A public dedication to love and romance? An impractical cultural mindset possible only in a weird screwiness of convenience.
I researched the Mid-Autumn Festival this morning and found a totally different story. A whole new set of memories came flooding back. I confess, the new story I discovered is probably more about the Mid-Autumn Festival than the story I told, because it's about the sun. The moon only featured as an afterthought. Go figure. Only the Chinese would make a big festival of the moon when the story is about the sun.
So what's the real story of the Chinese Mid-Autumn Festival? And what's with the story I told in its stead. That'll be tomorrow's post.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Prerequisite: Experienced Shopper
The Boy's been home sick for two days and was feeling better today. I took him grocery shopping with me for a change of scenery.
Even sick, he's impatient with the shopping process. "I'll get some of the items on your list," he told me and proceeded to get the items he's familiar with. Some were easy - eggs, juice, broccoli.
Then he said, "What's this? M-A-R..."
"Marjoram."
"Does it have to be French?"
"Fresh. Fresh marjoram. You okay with the other items?"
"Mmm... yeah, yeah."
Later, he came back with some items, as well as things for his own consumption not on my list, like chips, sunflower seeds, and boxed drinks.
"What do you plan to do with this?" I asked, pointing to the can of red kidney beans.
"That's yours. It's on your list."
"Where?"
"White beans."
"These aren't white beans."
"They're red. They didn't have white so I got red. It's just a different colour."
"But red kidney beans are a different kind of beans from white beans. White beans are actually a kind of bean."
"Oh."
"When did you start eating margarine?"
"You wanted that."
"Marjoram."
"Yes, so that's margarine."
"Marjoram. Marjoram is a herb."
"Humn."
"Are these chocolate bars for you?"
"No, they're yours. See, chocolate."
"Right. I should have told you they are in the baking section. I wanted semi-sweet Bakers Chocolate."
But good on The Boy for getting me items close to what I wanted.
Even sick, he's impatient with the shopping process. "I'll get some of the items on your list," he told me and proceeded to get the items he's familiar with. Some were easy - eggs, juice, broccoli.
Then he said, "What's this? M-A-R..."
"Marjoram."
"Does it have to be French?"
"Fresh. Fresh marjoram. You okay with the other items?"
"Mmm... yeah, yeah."
Later, he came back with some items, as well as things for his own consumption not on my list, like chips, sunflower seeds, and boxed drinks.
"What do you plan to do with this?" I asked, pointing to the can of red kidney beans.
"That's yours. It's on your list."
"Where?"
"White beans."
"These aren't white beans."
"They're red. They didn't have white so I got red. It's just a different colour."
"But red kidney beans are a different kind of beans from white beans. White beans are actually a kind of bean."
"Oh."
"When did you start eating margarine?"
"You wanted that."
"Marjoram."
"Yes, so that's margarine."
"Marjoram. Marjoram is a herb."
"Humn."
"Are these chocolate bars for you?"
"No, they're yours. See, chocolate."
"Right. I should have told you they are in the baking section. I wanted semi-sweet Bakers Chocolate."
But good on The Boy for getting me items close to what I wanted.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Small World, Big Family
My real estate friend sent a note to say the house next door had been sold. A few days later, we saw two women walking around the house. We exchanged hello's. One thing led to another, The Man invited them in to see our house.
Only one of the women was the new owner of the house. The other one was her sister. We showed them around our house. They told us what needs to be done to their house before they can move in. I invited them to the coffee party I was having for Candidate though they didn't come. They seemed like nice people.
Today, we received a phone call from our massage therapist. I hadn't talked to him for almost five years, since our medical benefits ended. Massage Therapist said - Guess what? I'm your new neighbour.
I said - What? How?
- The New Neighbour that you met the other day? That's my wife.
- That's great news. How did you figure out it was us?
- Wife said she met a Sylph and a Man. I wondered, Could it be them? I know you live around there. So I looked your file up, and there is your address, next to the house we bought.
Is that incredible or what? Massage Therapist is one of my favourite people.
Later in the evening, some friends came over. We were heading to a townhall meeting together. Friend said to The Boy - Hey you go to the same school as my neice. Do you know Sister's Daughter?
The Boy said - Yes, we're good friends. She is also a good friend of my buddy, Butterfly Boy.
- Yes, Butterfly Boy has been up to our cottage several times.
Wow. I really like it when The Boy's friends have parents who know each other.
After the townhall meeting, we went for coffee with Friends. Friend said - My daughter lives around here, I wonder if she comes here.
Half way through our meal, who should walk in with her roommate but Daughter! They joined us, we had a nice chat, then we came home.
It was a terrific evening of close encounters of the six degrees kind. You'd think we lived in a small town and not the largest city in Canada.
Only one of the women was the new owner of the house. The other one was her sister. We showed them around our house. They told us what needs to be done to their house before they can move in. I invited them to the coffee party I was having for Candidate though they didn't come. They seemed like nice people.
Today, we received a phone call from our massage therapist. I hadn't talked to him for almost five years, since our medical benefits ended. Massage Therapist said - Guess what? I'm your new neighbour.
I said - What? How?
- The New Neighbour that you met the other day? That's my wife.
- That's great news. How did you figure out it was us?
- Wife said she met a Sylph and a Man. I wondered, Could it be them? I know you live around there. So I looked your file up, and there is your address, next to the house we bought.
Is that incredible or what? Massage Therapist is one of my favourite people.
Later in the evening, some friends came over. We were heading to a townhall meeting together. Friend said to The Boy - Hey you go to the same school as my neice. Do you know Sister's Daughter?
The Boy said - Yes, we're good friends. She is also a good friend of my buddy, Butterfly Boy.
- Yes, Butterfly Boy has been up to our cottage several times.
Wow. I really like it when The Boy's friends have parents who know each other.
After the townhall meeting, we went for coffee with Friends. Friend said - My daughter lives around here, I wonder if she comes here.
Half way through our meal, who should walk in with her roommate but Daughter! They joined us, we had a nice chat, then we came home.
It was a terrific evening of close encounters of the six degrees kind. You'd think we lived in a small town and not the largest city in Canada.
Monday, October 02, 2006
To Turducken Or Not To Turducken
Thanksgiving is this weekend. I'm hosting two gatherings. One with my own extended family, the other with SIL's family and my mother-in-law.
For my family's dinner, I had planned roast beef. For the dinner with in-laws, I've ordered an organic turkey.
But somewhere in there, I am wondering whether a turducken should appear.
My own family are adventurous eaters. We delight in gluttony even as we complain about it. I received an e-mail from Sis. She's thinking turducken too! But Bro is already bringing lamb and chicken wings and I had to cancel my roast beef. Should a turducken make an appearance instead? There is gluttony and there is excess to the point where we're throwing food away while people starve in Africa.
I think SIL won't mind turducken. She had dinner with us on Boxing Day and we ate leftover turducken, though I think she may have only eaten the turkey part. I remember telling my mother-in-law about my turducken last Christmas. I seem to recall her incredulity at the combination of birds was expressed in disgust. Or was that someone else? Quite a few people showed open disgust at the idea even as I tell them Loblaws now sells the tucked birds in their frozen meat section.
The Man says he doesn't care. He claims he's up for the adventure. But he's a kill-the-food-twice-skinless-
boneless-chicken-breast-cooked-till-it's-cardboard guy. Oh he denies it. Will anyone lose their appetite and pick around the birds with trepidation if a turducken made an appearance at the dinner with in-laws?
Too much excess at my family's dinner and too many reservations with the in-law's dinner. Okay. I will reserve the turducken as a Christmas special with my family only. I hate people puking at the dinner table either from gluttony or fear.
For my family's dinner, I had planned roast beef. For the dinner with in-laws, I've ordered an organic turkey.
But somewhere in there, I am wondering whether a turducken should appear.
My own family are adventurous eaters. We delight in gluttony even as we complain about it. I received an e-mail from Sis. She's thinking turducken too! But Bro is already bringing lamb and chicken wings and I had to cancel my roast beef. Should a turducken make an appearance instead? There is gluttony and there is excess to the point where we're throwing food away while people starve in Africa.
I think SIL won't mind turducken. She had dinner with us on Boxing Day and we ate leftover turducken, though I think she may have only eaten the turkey part. I remember telling my mother-in-law about my turducken last Christmas. I seem to recall her incredulity at the combination of birds was expressed in disgust. Or was that someone else? Quite a few people showed open disgust at the idea even as I tell them Loblaws now sells the tucked birds in their frozen meat section.
The Man says he doesn't care. He claims he's up for the adventure. But he's a kill-the-food-twice-skinless-
boneless-chicken-breast-cooked-till-it's-cardboard guy. Oh he denies it. Will anyone lose their appetite and pick around the birds with trepidation if a turducken made an appearance at the dinner with in-laws?
Too much excess at my family's dinner and too many reservations with the in-law's dinner. Okay. I will reserve the turducken as a Christmas special with my family only. I hate people puking at the dinner table either from gluttony or fear.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Taking Sides
There was a ruckus in the backyard this morning. Not our backyard, but the backyard next door. There were about six people gathered, arguing, loudly. Curious. Because the house next door has been vacant for a couple of months now. No one lives in that house and the new owners have not moved in yet.
We opened the window, because we're nosy like that, and opened the back door so we could see better who was arguing and hear better what the argument was about.
But we could only see one person, who happened to live in the house behind us. Somehow, they had come down the retaining wall next to us, stomped into the neighbour's backyard and fought with the neighbours two doors over.
That's Suspicious Opportunist. The wife stood on her side of the wall and watched her husband do battle. I don't even know what the shouting was about, but I blame Suspicious Opportunist. They are narrow-minded, selfish, ignorant, and opportunitistic. How's that for being impartial?
We opened the window, because we're nosy like that, and opened the back door so we could see better who was arguing and hear better what the argument was about.
But we could only see one person, who happened to live in the house behind us. Somehow, they had come down the retaining wall next to us, stomped into the neighbour's backyard and fought with the neighbours two doors over.
That's Suspicious Opportunist. The wife stood on her side of the wall and watched her husband do battle. I don't even know what the shouting was about, but I blame Suspicious Opportunist. They are narrow-minded, selfish, ignorant, and opportunitistic. How's that for being impartial?
Friday, September 29, 2006
The Oldest Story
It's been a long time since I've come across a book I want to burrow into and refuse to come out. I tend to like family epics that verge on the fantastical as the story unfolds to reveal the human condition. Like One Hundred Years Of Solitude, Midnight's Children, A Suitable Boy, and A Fine Balance.
Because Naguib Mahfouz died recently, I decided to read him. He's the only Arab writer who's ever won the Nobel Prize for literature. I picked up his book, Children Of The Alley and already, I am hooked on the first page. That's very powerful writing to hook me in so early.
The story parallels the bible - the casting out of Adham and his wife from the mansion, the fight between Adham's sons resulting in the death of one of them, the adoption of an orphan by a wealthy house and later the young man's return to his people to fight oppression by his adopted family's people. Mahfouz must subscribe to the theory that Christianity has its roots in Egyptian mythology.
As much as I know what happens next in the storyline, I can't put the book down. His writing is that compelling. Which proves that it's not so much the story, but the storyteller and the telling of it that draws us in. Maybe the same way gossip columnist make us flock to celebrity gossip. They are just repetitions of the same story with different spins on love, honour, betrayal, punishment and forgiveness.
So here's my own story of love and betrayal. Until Mahfouz died, I had never heard of him. The Man saw me reading Children Of The Alley and asked how I was enjoying the book. Then he told me he gave me a set of Mahfouz's books one Christmas because he knew I had an interest in Egyptian stories. Evidently, not only did I never open those books, I have no recollection of receiving them and certainly don't know where they are now.
But on reflection, I do recall a set of books that bore a name that could have been Mahfouz. I was so interested in that set of books, and believing them to belong to The Man, I packed them up in a box and sent them off to storage.
Because Naguib Mahfouz died recently, I decided to read him. He's the only Arab writer who's ever won the Nobel Prize for literature. I picked up his book, Children Of The Alley and already, I am hooked on the first page. That's very powerful writing to hook me in so early.
The story parallels the bible - the casting out of Adham and his wife from the mansion, the fight between Adham's sons resulting in the death of one of them, the adoption of an orphan by a wealthy house and later the young man's return to his people to fight oppression by his adopted family's people. Mahfouz must subscribe to the theory that Christianity has its roots in Egyptian mythology.
As much as I know what happens next in the storyline, I can't put the book down. His writing is that compelling. Which proves that it's not so much the story, but the storyteller and the telling of it that draws us in. Maybe the same way gossip columnist make us flock to celebrity gossip. They are just repetitions of the same story with different spins on love, honour, betrayal, punishment and forgiveness.
So here's my own story of love and betrayal. Until Mahfouz died, I had never heard of him. The Man saw me reading Children Of The Alley and asked how I was enjoying the book. Then he told me he gave me a set of Mahfouz's books one Christmas because he knew I had an interest in Egyptian stories. Evidently, not only did I never open those books, I have no recollection of receiving them and certainly don't know where they are now.
But on reflection, I do recall a set of books that bore a name that could have been Mahfouz. I was so interested in that set of books, and believing them to belong to The Man, I packed them up in a box and sent them off to storage.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
What We Need
Mark Kingwell is my boyfriend.
That is, he is one of my favourite writers because he's so human and humane. He's young (under 50), he's local (teaches at U of T), he's had a makeover (he transformed from a geek with thick glasses to style icon with shaven head with the success of his book, In Pursuit of Happiness: Better Living From Plato to Prozac, though now he may be sporting a ponytail), he's full of himself (adopts that false humility so favoured by philosphers who ramble on).
But most of all, he expresses my views much more thoughtfully and eloquently than I could ever pen. You know that feeling of accord and being understood you get when you read someone and say, Yes, that's exactly how I feel too but he says it so much better. That's Kingwell for me. Him and Rick Mercer. Are you reading Rick Mercer's blog yet? His recent posts are about the Liberal leadership race - recruiting dead Canadians and the race between Iggy and Rae. I like that Rick stabs everyone. But I digress.
Kingwell specializes in theories on politics and culture. I met him one day at an author's reading and I wanted to be his groupie. I followed him around the room, but I guess I make a bad groupie because he never knew I was following him. Maybe following with the eyes doesn't count as groupie behaviour.
But it is the upcoming November municipal election that had me going back to Kingwell, to read his The World We Want: Virtue, Vice, and the Good Citizen. Not that Kingwell has all the answers. He's an idealist afterall. The question is, how do we build the world we want? By engaging in our civic responsibility to establish belongingness and ensure social justice. Easier said than done when we're so busy tending to day to day living.
Still, we need a guiding goal that at least put us in the right direction. And it's in reseaching this direction that I land on Philia, a site dedicated to the development of good citizenship. On their book list, I see four books that I have read in whole or in part (sometimes, one just can't get into this kind of reading). I guess I have an interest in discovering how to build the world we want.
So all groupieness aside, I count Kingwell among one of my inspirations.
That is, he is one of my favourite writers because he's so human and humane. He's young (under 50), he's local (teaches at U of T), he's had a makeover (he transformed from a geek with thick glasses to style icon with shaven head with the success of his book, In Pursuit of Happiness: Better Living From Plato to Prozac, though now he may be sporting a ponytail), he's full of himself (adopts that false humility so favoured by philosphers who ramble on).
But most of all, he expresses my views much more thoughtfully and eloquently than I could ever pen. You know that feeling of accord and being understood you get when you read someone and say, Yes, that's exactly how I feel too but he says it so much better. That's Kingwell for me. Him and Rick Mercer. Are you reading Rick Mercer's blog yet? His recent posts are about the Liberal leadership race - recruiting dead Canadians and the race between Iggy and Rae. I like that Rick stabs everyone. But I digress.
Kingwell specializes in theories on politics and culture. I met him one day at an author's reading and I wanted to be his groupie. I followed him around the room, but I guess I make a bad groupie because he never knew I was following him. Maybe following with the eyes doesn't count as groupie behaviour.
But it is the upcoming November municipal election that had me going back to Kingwell, to read his The World We Want: Virtue, Vice, and the Good Citizen. Not that Kingwell has all the answers. He's an idealist afterall. The question is, how do we build the world we want? By engaging in our civic responsibility to establish belongingness and ensure social justice. Easier said than done when we're so busy tending to day to day living.
Still, we need a guiding goal that at least put us in the right direction. And it's in reseaching this direction that I land on Philia, a site dedicated to the development of good citizenship. On their book list, I see four books that I have read in whole or in part (sometimes, one just can't get into this kind of reading). I guess I have an interest in discovering how to build the world we want.
So all groupieness aside, I count Kingwell among one of my inspirations.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Is Too Much Enough?
We had a very nice dinner last weekend. It was a triple-birthday bash. Bro Bro, The Boy and Kid2 all had their birthdays within days of each other.
Bro hosted the event. I always like it when our extended family gets together. I like seeing the kids play together, and I like how Bro's house is so big, the adults could all be doing things and tend to their own addictions in different rooms.
But the thing I can't get over still is the quantity of food we had. I have not cooked since that dinner because I am still eating the leftovers from it. It's not like we haven't talked about the need to avoid food excess at past dinners, it's not like we're rake thin and need to put on weight, it's not like there were 100 of us at the dinner.
There were 17 of us. 5 were children. So that's really 12 adults, plus little kids being picky about their food. Bro ordered 40 pieces of breaded sole, 40 pieces of whole grilled calamari, 3 chickens cut up, plus potatoes and rice. Apparently, he figured that each person would have 2 pieces of fish, 2 whole calamaris and a piece of chicken, with a few pieces extra in case someone is really hungry, plus partake of the large platters of sushi that Bro Bro brought, the giant salad that Sis brought, and the vegetables I brought. And the three desserts.
I was going to say Bro Bro is the new mom. But even mom felt there was too much food and discouraged him from grilling the lamb and chicken wings, and me from cooking the third vegetable I brought.
In the end, only a tiny chunk was taken from each platter. There were lots of care packages to take home.
I don't mean to complain. It's really nice having so much good food that lasts a week. But I can't help marvel at much Bro over-estimated. Really, there was enough food to feed a hundred.
Bro hosted the event. I always like it when our extended family gets together. I like seeing the kids play together, and I like how Bro's house is so big, the adults could all be doing things and tend to their own addictions in different rooms.
But the thing I can't get over still is the quantity of food we had. I have not cooked since that dinner because I am still eating the leftovers from it. It's not like we haven't talked about the need to avoid food excess at past dinners, it's not like we're rake thin and need to put on weight, it's not like there were 100 of us at the dinner.
There were 17 of us. 5 were children. So that's really 12 adults, plus little kids being picky about their food. Bro ordered 40 pieces of breaded sole, 40 pieces of whole grilled calamari, 3 chickens cut up, plus potatoes and rice. Apparently, he figured that each person would have 2 pieces of fish, 2 whole calamaris and a piece of chicken, with a few pieces extra in case someone is really hungry, plus partake of the large platters of sushi that Bro Bro brought, the giant salad that Sis brought, and the vegetables I brought. And the three desserts.
I was going to say Bro Bro is the new mom. But even mom felt there was too much food and discouraged him from grilling the lamb and chicken wings, and me from cooking the third vegetable I brought.
In the end, only a tiny chunk was taken from each platter. There were lots of care packages to take home.
I don't mean to complain. It's really nice having so much good food that lasts a week. But I can't help marvel at much Bro over-estimated. Really, there was enough food to feed a hundred.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Forever Young
The Boy has eclectic taste in music. But I am an old fogey. I enjoy sitting side by side with him as we each work on our own computer, mainly because I get to listen to his music, and once in a while, he tells me a funny story. I don't know who all the artists are that he listens to, but I like all of the sounds, rhythms, melodies and lyrics I've heard so far, including the Arctic Monkeys and Panic! At The Disco.
So today, being The Boy's 16th birthday, I dedicate this song to him, written by Bob Dylan, but as sung by Joan Baez, in her clear, strong voice, not his off key mumbling.
And also Rod Stewart's more upbeat, punky, raspy rendition, probably more to The Boy's liking.
So today, being The Boy's 16th birthday, I dedicate this song to him, written by Bob Dylan, but as sung by Joan Baez, in her clear, strong voice, not his off key mumbling.
May God bless and keep you always,
May your wishes all come true,
May you always do for others
And let others do for you.
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung,
May you stay forever young.
May you grow up to be righteous,
May you grow up to be true,
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you.
May you always be courageous,
Stand upright and be strong,
May you stay forever young.
May your hands always be busy,
May your feet always be swift,
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift.
May your heart always be joyful,
May your song always be sung,
May you stay forever young.
And also Rod Stewart's more upbeat, punky, raspy rendition, probably more to The Boy's liking.
May the good lord be with you
Down every road you roam
And may sunshine and happiness
Surround you when you're far from home
And may you grow to be proud
Dignified and true
And do unto others
As you'd have done to you
Be courageous and be brave
And in my heart you'll always stay
Forever young.
May good fortune be with you
May your guiding light be strong
Build a stairway to heaven
With a prince or a vagabond
And may you never love in vain
And in my heart you will remain
Forever young.
And when you finally fly away
I'll be hoping that I served you well
For all the wisdom of a lifetime
No one can ever tell
But whatever road you choose
I'm right behind you, win or lose
Forever young.
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