Seasonal Hiatus

It appears that every Spring I would rather be in my garden than at my desk so this year I'm giving official notice, in writing, that I will see you all back here again when the green leaves turn a little more golden and I've got a lot more dirt under my nails.

Unearthing Local History

Last week I got in my first gardening days of the year. I spent hours weeding dandelions, pruning the hydrangea, planting poppies, bachelor buttons, violas, and scarlet runner beans, training the clematis, turning over the garden and getting the greens in. During this process I found countless rusty nails, a handful of porcelain chips, a couple unbelievably large rusted bolts (how could I not have come across these before?), and a four inch shard of glass. (And that's nothing compared to the bent spoon and hockey puck I found last year!)

All this takes me back to my last house where I found similar items in a similar veggie patch every spring, despite turning over the soil and double digging that dirt and sifting out the roots and rocks for five years. And then there's my parents' garden where my mom found (and likely continues to find) random flotsam from bygone eras and previous tenants since we moved in two and a half decades ago.

I enjoy thinking about this stuff. The people who lived and breathed and cried and laughed right where I am sitting now and their way of life and their trail of breadcrumbs that leads me back to them. I like thinking about what it would have been like in my neighborhood when you could still find creeks with fish in them, alleyways with outhouses, and streets with streetcars.

It's my sincere case of nostalgia that causes me to find this as fascinating as I do and so I got a kick out of it when there was a knock at my door one afternoon last week. Assuming it was a mom friend and her girls come for our play date I invited the knocker in verbally from down the hall. To my surprise a middle-aged man opened my door. Apparently he was friends with the boys who grew up in my house in the 70s. He was able to enlighten me as to the stains on my hardwood floors (black Scottie dogs), the pink 1961 license plate nailed to the ceiling of the garage (three boys lived here and worked on dirt bikes and hot rods) and that hockey puck I found beneath a dead rhododendron in my garden (alley hockey and errant pucks).

In this vein, here is a poem I wrote a few year's back after visiting a dear friend's father who found some nifty odds and ends while renovating his house in small-town Ontario.

Erinsville

Lynn’s old house hid countless relics.

During renovations he found newspapers

and a dozen shoes in the walls.
Four coins in the crossbeams for luck. 

Outside, after the thaw, there were daffodil bulbs

in the grass, a marsh, and a rowboat in the field.

Bridget O’Neil had been buried for a hundred and thirty years

when her scribbler turned up behind the stairs,

one guilt-ridden Victorian phrase per page

copied meticulously in her nine year old cursive.

The O’Neils had seven children

and a summer kitchen.

They bought the land from the Burns,

the Protestants, not the Catholic Byrnes.

Those veins of vanity ran deep enough 

to provoke a bar fight ending with a nose bite; 

bank embezzlement settled the score.

Touted tales told by cattle farmers

at the barley houses on the ridge.

This has always been a one-horse town,

though back then it had a one-room schoolhouse

and the hardware store sold two sizes of men’s pants,

34 and 42; muddy farmyards never minded suspenders.

Driveways have always meandered into the mist

and the creek in the ditch is nothing new. 

The same dandelions work at uprooting the house.

“Barnacle Bill” on the victrola, a nail for a needle,

and yes, black cherry pie on the sill.

A night in Erinsville yields more

than five toads crossing the road.

My Thomas the Tank Engine Dilemma

By guest blogger Daniella Fast 

It was not an all-star mom moment: holding my nine month old while dragging my screaming two-and-a-half year old out of a friend's house.  A month later my friend's little boy still remembers when "Thaniel" didn’t want to go home.  Nathaniel had been having way too much fun with the Thomas the Tank Engine train set table; it even had Cranky the crane. Maybe my timing for making an exit was off, maybe he was extremely exhausted, or maybe my little boy was experiencing the first stages of toy obsession.

Before having children, my husband and I spent a year abroad experiencing the world. One of our stops was in Northern Kenya in a small village called Gatab. My husband made a trip with a German doctor to Nolpilipili, a neighbouring village a day's hike away. Their task was to complete a water line that would eliminate the village mamas' burden of walking an entire day to fetch water. Knowing that there was a schoolhouse in the village, my husband and the doctor decided to bring a new soccer ball for the children. Immediately after the ball was handed over a full blown soccer match ensued. That one ball brought a day of laughter and enjoyment to those children.

After Kenya we flew to Ethiopia, landing in the capital, Addis Ababa. As if this wasn't far enough from home already, we proceeded to travel north for two weeks to the village of Debark. From here we took a day’s drive to a tiny village near the Simien Mountains and trekked 10 hours into the mountains on foot to find ourselves right in the middle of nowhere. Here, our group was greeted by children playing a simple game of "Bao". Their game board was two parallel lines of holes dug into the ground and their game pieces were rocks. I won’t get into how the game was played, the point is that it kept the children entertained for hours: a simple game played with a handful of rocks.

Getting back to my screaming little boy…. He didn't want to leave that day because he was excited by the toys that his friend’s house had to offer. Making matters worse in my mind, he often requests to go to his friends' houses because he loves their array of trucks, ride-on toys, and train sets. It saddens me that he isn’t content with what he has, especially after seeing how little other children have. I realize that we live where we live and I also, as a teacher, understand that toys develop physical, cognitive, and emotional processes. However, one still needs to stop and think about where the line is between materialism and encouraging developmental skills via toys. On one hand, I want my child to learn and develop; on the other hand, I don’t want to foster selfishness and discontent with what he has. 

I hope that over time I can help my little guy leave someone’s house content with the time he had playing with their toys. I want him to know that it’s not the toys that he takes with him that will give him joy. I want him to know that he has a creative mind capable of entertaining himself wherever he is, with whatever he has. The photo on the right shows three African boys I met on the coast of Zanzibar – it has a prominent place on my family room wall. I found these boys using scraps of garbage they gathered on the beach to build an amazing, fully functioning sailboat. They are daily reminders to me to teach contentment and simple creativity to my children.

"Dinnertime!"

Tonight's dinner brought to you by my baby, my BFF, and my pantry. I try to keep my cupboards stocked with the requisite handy items and sometimes I like to challenge myself to cook without buying anything new to complete the meal. Tonight I was inspired by my 6 month old (I wanted him to try yams - of course, I mean orange sweet potatoes - for the first time), my best friend (who recently told me about the deliciousness of the unlikely pairing of yams and avocado), and my pantry (which had been home to a lone can of crab for way too long). Dinner turned out to be twice baked potatoes with crab and avocado and a side of asparagus.

Cheesy Crab Stuffed Yams

Roast 4-6 yams, 45min in 400 oven.

Meanwhile saute:
1/2 onion, diced
1 stalk celery, diced
1 tsp thyme
3 cloves garlic, crushed

When fragrant remove from heat and add:
1 can of crab meat
1/4 tsp grated or powdered ginger
s+p

Remove yams from oven, slice in half and scoop innards into a second bowl. Reserve skins on baking sheet.

Mash or whip potatoes with a few dollops or butter, sour cream, yogurt, milk or some cobination of the above until desired "mashed potato" consistency is reached.

Fold in the crab mixture and scoop back into yam skins.

Sprinkle with grated cheese and paprika. Bake until heated through and broil to brown cheese. Add a few slices of avocado for garnish and voila - dinner.

"Dinnertime!"

I have a few soups up my sleeve; this sounds messier than it is. You see, despite my husband's grumbles and recurring statement upon seeing soup for supper, "What's the main course?", I make and eat and love soup.

What follows used to be a plain broccoli spinach soup recipe that is now kitchen sink soup that's more appetizing than that makes it sound. This is the soup I make when I feel like we didn't eat enough veggies the day before or when I just want a tasty, quick dinner I know my 2 year old will gobble up.

Eat Your Greens Soup

Saute in olive oil:
1 onion, diced
2 carrots, diced
2 stalks celery or 2 leeks, sliced
6 cloves garlic, minced

Add:
8 cups of a combination of chicken or veg stock, potato cooking water, pureed squash, leftover mashed sweet potatoes, et cetra (this is the kitchen sink part)
2 heads of broccoli, cut into florets
2 fresh tomatoes, diced or equivalent canned tomatoes
1/4 cup parsley, chopped

Simmer as long as it takes you to wash the one bunch of spinach and remove stems (15-30 minutes depending on child interference).

Add:
1 bunch spinach leaves
1/4 tsp nutmeg
1/4 tsp cardamom
S+P

Remove from heat and puree as much or little as you like.

Optional additions (it's good with all of the following or just one):
1/4 cup lemon juice
1 tsp smoked paprika
1 can cannellini beans
1 tsp basil pesto
Romano cheese, grated for garnish

All Scrabbled Up

I am fond of the dictionary. I really like Balderdash. I like words and puns and palindromes and double meanings and double negatives and onomatopoeia. Learning the spelling of someone's name helps me remember it. I grew up playing Boggle. All this, and Scrabble is just not my game.

Which brings me, somewhat tangentially, to a confession: back in my university days I consorted with pseudo-hipsters. You know the type: not truly hip - they didn't do enough drugs or call themselves poets - but kind of hip because they owned a trumpet, wore mis-matched socks, and every one of their seven jackets came from a thrift store. These folks often answered "I try to write" when asked what they did as if claiming they actually did write was too committal but telling the truth ("I'm an unemployed English major") was just too lame to admit.

To return to my opening statement, let me take you back to one fateful night ten years ago when I found myself in a Montreal pub surrounded by my pseudo-hip acquaintances. (To be sure, I was never one of them I just liked to marvel at their aloof indifference from a nearby perch or perhaps I was the pseudo-ist of them all.)

I had just ended what seemed like a serious relationship and was looking for distraction, and so when half the crowd went home to bed I stayed on for one last pitcher of beer with the stragglers. As the last of too many drinks entered my system someone brought up Scrabble and the next thing I knew we were on the Metro zipping towards an unfamiliar third story walk-up on the eastern Plateau for a friendly bout of late-night word games.

I grew up looking the other way when my mother and older sister would play Scrabble, being drawn more to the simple racket of Boggle (likely because, being the younger sister, I could not compete on their level). In retrospect, I think I must blame my mother for the biting embarrassment of what was about to unfold in that Montreal apartment for she allowed me to play Boggle past the age when I should have graduated to Scrabble.

So there I was, quickly drawing nearer to one of my most mortifying moments in my young, pseudo-hip life, a game of Scrabble that awaited me at the home of that trumpet-toting boy who tried to write. In that moment on public transit I was thinking, "I am competitive. I am a wordsmith. I am a word nerd. I can spell. I was voted 'future Shakespeare' in my high school year book". Perhaps it was the heady medley of beer, youth, and a partial post-secondary education that allowed me to think I could hold my own among true Scrabblers - oh my transparently pretentious young mind.

By the time we settled around the table and chose our sweet, little featherweight letter tiles I knew I was in over my head. It took me ages to come up with words out of a toddler's board book to play alongside their "jukebox" and "quartz".

On my lonely walk home in my vintage coat and mis-matched mittens I thought maybe I might pick up the banjo.

It's a Cell World After All

Compliments of Stephen Garman

Now I've done it; I've gone and joined the cellular revolution. Having been an early bloomer in other areas of my life, I'm content with having been a late cell phone adapter. And I'm only, what, a decade behind the times? I skipped the dim-witted phone era and went straight to a smartphone just in time for the health scare era.

I know I'm supposed to keep my phone on me in order to hear its dulcet ringtones and feel its telltale text message tremble, but with health organizations around the world advising limited use and arms length distancing from wireless devices, I'm not quite ready to cozy up to my new friend.

Getting a cell phone did feel inevitable. Like joining Facebook or having a second child, I knew sooner or later it would happen to me.

When I worked full-time (outside the home I should add) I loved that I couldn't be reached on my days off; I never had to make up an excuse why I couldn't cover for someone; I simply couldn't be reached if I wasn't home. With a cell phone I'm going to have to be much less passive in declining social engagements or delaying my response to messages. Already I find myself feeling the need to return a text message instantly, if only my thumbs could keep up.

It's not you, it's me.

I've already experienced some of the painful side effects of adopting cell phone use. First, I've rendered my beloved wristwatch useless. Second, I've had a thumb cramp. And last, I missed a neat thing my son did as I was trying to figure out an app. And so, as someone who's been learned most of what I know about cell phone culture from the outside, I vow to prioritize present company ahead of textual company, to attend to my kids before my apps, and to wear my watch as much as I ever did.

Though this gadget is new to me, my kids will not remember a time when Mom didn't have a cell phone; it may well become family lore that I didn't get a cell until 2012 and they will brag to their friends about what a hippie I was (or be ashamed of what a Luddite I was). Either way, I can finally utter (or type) two little words I've been dying to say: text me.

Tried and True or Tired Food?

I don't know about you, but I tend to cook in phases. Every few weeks I get re-inspired by a cookbook, a new season in the air, or new ingredients at the market or in my garden, or a meal at a friend's house.

I still remember the lunch a dear friend made out of leftovers years ago using quinoa, ground pork, and a variety of fresh veggies and herbs. Ever since, I feel that quinoa and ground pork are naturally complimentary, like cheese and apple, bread and butter, eggs and arugula, chocolate and orange, bacon and Brussels sprouts...

Unfortunately, whenever I am on the far side, the down slope, of a cooking whirlwind I know the doldrums aren't far away.

"Sorry dear, it's soup again."

And so every other few weeks I get into a cooking rut. I seem to buy the same old vegetables and fruit when I shop and I lean heavily on my standbys (which means we eat more Mexican, more perogies, and more soup). As it is, I typically make soup or stew once a week even though it's not hubby's favorite. It's easy, nutritious, and I often freeze the leftovers for a rainy day and I like it. Perogies are the one frozen convenience food that I nearly always have on hand, and Mexican is anything with tortillas, beans, and salsa - again, requisite staples in my pantry.

During these stale, humdrum times I assume that I'll slide out of the rut as effortlessly as I slid into it, and this is usually the case. Other occasions, the rut is deeper and longer than I can stand and I have to propel myself out of it. It's these latter times that get me thumbing through my old copies of food magazines with Post-it notes or perusing sites like Foodgawker and Pinterest in search of an irresistible image or culinary combination that piques my interest enough to inspire me to saute, steam, boil, broil, poach, roast, simmer, and braise all over again.

My latest favorite food blogs are 101 Cookbooks, Serious Eats, and Lip Smacking. How about you? I want to know where you get your edible enthusiasm, your cooking creativity, your grilling genius. Do tell.

"Dinnertime!"

I grew up eating shepherd's pie. My husband grew up eating cottage pie. Despite much debate early on in our relationship, I now understand that I actually grew up eating cottage pie as well. Shepherds raise sheep and so shepherd's pie is likewise made with ground lamb, not ground beef as I am accustomed. Of course, cows don't live in cottages, but Wikipedia tells me "the term cottage pie is known to have been in use in 1791, when the potato was being introduced as an edible crop [for the] poor (cf. 'cottage' meaning a modest dwelling for rural workers)".

This is a meal that any shepherd, rural worker, or stay-at-home mom blogger living in a 1940's bungalow can make at 5 o'clock and eat with her family 45 minutes later.

Bungalow Pie

Peel, chop, and boil:

4 med potatoes or yams

When fork tender, drain, mash, and add:

1 T butter

1/2 cup milk (more if needed)

s+p to taste

Set aside mashed potatoes. Saute in olive oil:

1 onion, diced

1 lb lean ground beef

Add as you go:

1 carrot, diced

1 large handful of green beans, chopped (may substitute 1/2 cup frozen peas)

1 sprig rosemary, chopped

3 dashes Worcestershire sauce
s+p 

When meat is browned, add:

2 cloves garlic, diced

1/2 cup frozen corn

1/2 bunch kale, chopped

1 cup beef, veg, or chicken stock

When kale is bright green, remove from heat. Pour meat and veg mixture into an 8x8 pan and spread mashed potatoes on top. Sprinkle top with grated cheese or paprika, or both. Bake at 400 for 20 minutes or until bubbling. Broil briefly to brown top.

This Week's Books

While I like the text of these two books, I love the illustrations. Therefore, I have more to show than say about them.

Paper snowflakes taped to the window
and mittens drying on the radiator.

Mama, Is It Summer Yet? by Nikki McClure

As with most books I adore, this one captures both an air of simplicity and little details that I appreciate. The format is large and square and the illustrations alternate between full-page spreads and right -page illustrations with text on appropriately muted color pages on the left.

The illustrations are clear, quiet, and have an effortlessness about them though the author's note tells us that they were created with great care and diligence. "First, I draw the image on black paper, and then I cut it out with an X-Acto knife. I try to keep everything connected with a path of black paper... There is no erasing, so if I make a mistake, I just have to keep cutting and find a solution."

Flowers in Mama's pocket
and polka dot boots.

McClure has a talent for choosing just the right details to portray a boy and his mother working and plaing in their garden during the long wait for summer. Many of us can identify with this wait during these dreary February days;it feels like forever until the grass will be dry enough to sit on. But, as this book tells us, if you focus on what is going on in the moment (or the season, as the case may be), then the grass will be dry before you know it.

Picking berries with a colander and bare feet.

Boats Speeding! Sailing! Cruising! by Patricia Hubbell, illustrated by Megan Halsey and Sean Addy

I was instantly attracted to the dated color pallette and retro mixed-media illustrations of this series which, along with boats, includes books on cars, trucks, trains, and airplanes.

Hubbel's text echoes the lively feel of the exclamation point-heavy titles with various approaches to talking about it's topic. Various type of boats are named along with their parts and purposes and sounds.

There's nothing like onomatopoeic language to get a preschooler excited. "Yachts with flags both fore and aft. Dory. Dinghy, Shell. Raft... Rumble! Whistle! Roar! Toot! Chug! Hum! Sputter! Hoot! Rev the engines! Speed ahead! Deck. Cabin. Galley. Head."

The book is teeming with little cultural touchstones from old advertisements and the labelled pictures reminiscent of my childhood Richard Scarry books to classic tales of pirates and whales. The result is a book that adults may peruse more attentively than their children.

"Toy boats sail in ponds and streams,
in your tub, and in your dreams."

Ante-Digital Dust Bunnies III

Shades of green. Envy, that is. Friends are escaping the dreariness of the wet coast in winter; they've flown or are soon to fly the coop to Costa Rica, Mexico, Cuba, India, Belize, and yes, Hawaii. So I thought I'd pull out of the ante-digital vault proof, real film proof, of my previous life living on the Big Island of Hawai'i while providing a needed infusion of lively greens, a sight for sore winter eyes. 

Papaya and lilikoi

Spiky fern

Waipi'o moss and illi illi stones

Papakolea Beach, green with olivine

Rainbow eucalyptus

The many greens of Ohe'o

Bamboo

"Dinnertime!"

A new somewhat-weekly effort to record what we're eating titled after my son's joyful mealtime exclamation. No matter which meal of the day it is, it's always "dinnertime!"

I've been intending to post more recipes and I finally figured out why I've avoided it; I really dislike writing out the ingredients list. So I am writing up my recipes in the method that works for me (instructions and ingredients listed together, chronologically); I hope it works for you.

The only thing I ever craved while pregnant I craved during both pregnancies: real tequila, non-virgin lime margaritas. In lieu of the fact that I've been on the wagon  for nearly three years (as a side effect of my mothering condition), I've been making a lot more Mexican food in this time. My current favorites are chicken tostadas, baked eggs with tomato sauce and corn tortillas, and tortilla soup which I made last night.

Tortilla Soup for a Sodden Vancouver Evening

Poach:
6 boneless, skinless chicken thighs
4 cups homemade chicken stock or good buillon
Handful of fresh herb stems

Remove chicken and cool. Using two forks or your hands, shred the chicken into bite-size strips and set aside.


In separate pan saute until softened:
1 onion
1 carrot
1 pepper
3 garlic cloves
1 zucchini

Add:
1/2 tsp chili flakes
2 tsp cumin
1 tsp ground coriander
1/4 tsp cloves

Remove herbs from stock and add the sauteed veg and spices, then add:
1 28 oz can of tomatoes
Most of a 19 oz can of black beans
1 cup of fresh or frozen corn
s+p to taste
1/2 cup chopped cilantro leaves

Heat through. Serve with avocado, grated cheese or a dollop of sour cream or yogurt and a handful of tortilla chips.

Mother of Men

I just realized that one day my boys will be men. I know, I know; I should have deduced this when my husband called out, "It's a boy" that first time nearly two years ago.

I did assume the day would come when they would learn to eat, crawl, walk, and talk but I hadn't really thought much beyond that point. My sister, a mother of two teens, warned me that their cute little toes wouldn't always be so kissable but I guess I thought that puberty thing only happens to other people's children. I've also recently concluded that way too soon they won't want to bathe with me anymore and before I know it, I won't even be allowed to mention that we ever bathed together. And then, not long after that, they will both be taller than me.

Alas, my sweet and soft-fleshed little bundles of joy are growing and will continue to grow up. The older one (nearly two) held his own at a four year old's birthday party yesterday and the younger one (five months old) is getting hair - finally! It just makes me a little dizzy to think that one day he'll be a balding middle-aged man! I've pictured them at 3 and 4, 8 and 9, and even maybe 11 and 12, but 45 and 46?

Admittedly, some days I can't wait for my boys to grow, to get to the next developmental phase, you know, the one where they stop whining. As I said to a non-parent contemporary the other evening (I had made it out to two hours of a dinner party before the frantic phone call to come home to a crying baby), "The days go slowly, but the months are flying by."

Tomorrow morning I will be woken before I am ready by a little voice calling to me down the dark hallway and soon I'll be in the swing of another day of diapers and nursery rhymes, cuddles and "snackies". For now, at least, I have my boys.

This Week's Books

I Know a Lot of Things by Ann and Paul Rand
A quirky read with surrealistic illustrations by "one of the most influential and groundbreaking American graphic designers of the twentieth century" as the book jacket reads. I find some of the phrasing hard to wrap my tongue around simply because it's written not as I would say it, but this is part of the reason we read books, to have our thoughts put into others' words often more eloquently than we ourselves could put them. Overall the book is terribly enjoyable. The text speaks with a childlike imprecision that both adults and children find amusing: "I know I can dig a hole this big", "A book needs pages and a cake takes ages to bake", and "the moon is a light for the night". Though originally published in 1956, the bold, graphic illustrations feel quite contemporary despite, or perhaps due to, their capital "m" Modern aesthetic.

Only You by Robin Cruise Illustrated by Margaret Chodos-Irvine
Obviously written by a parent, this story follows three different child/parent pairs at different times of day. It is all about the priceless, tender moments that occur throughout the day when you live with a toddler. The narrator acknowledges how one can love actions ("I love each hop, each spin, each shout... I love your voice, the words you say - the songs you sing throughout the day" ) as well as the more predictable features of a child ("I love your knees, your toes, your feet. I love your skin - so soft, so sweet"). I enjoy how the words could be my words as I read them to my son as the examples are specific and the sentiments  universal.
The illustrations mimic the narrative perspective, zooming in from the view of another watching the pair walk down through the park or cuddle at bedtime to the parent's macro view of the child as they interact over the course of a day. Chodos-Irvine skillfully combines striking shapes, loud colors, subtle patterns, and over-sized images, (the full-page illustrations spill right off the page; see right-hand image). This is a book that I could read at every bedtime.

Date Night

Jessica Bromley Bartram's budgie

I feel like my sister's childhood pet budgie, Bert, who used to escape his cage every now and then and go for joy-flights around the house until he was cajoled into returning to his perch and accepting his lot in life. I just got home from my first movie theatre date with my husband in two years.

If you haven't been reading my blog, then the choice of film (The Adventures of Tintin) will seem particularly confusing, but I assure you, it was thoroughly enjoyable for both of us. As mentioned before on this blog, my husband won me over by reading Tintin aloud to me on picnics in the park back when we were first living together. Back when that post was written I lamented the lack of a Tintin movie, and now I am happy to report that I loved Spielberg and Jackson's rendition; in my opinion they can lay claim to possibly the best opening credits ever.

Sure, the popcorn and the hand holding were nice, being downtown (and at night to boot) was exciting, and the movie itself was a humourous, tumultuous roller coaster ride, (at one point I remarked that I didn't care if both kids were awake and crying and being complete pains for Grandma - it was worth it), but honestly, it was the reassurance that I can indeed go out and everything will be (more or less) fine. I didn't miss the boys much, Grandma only had to put up with 15 minutes of baby tears, and I got a moonlit kiss (and what a moon it was tonight)!

Thursday's moon. Photo credit: Perry 

The most uncomfortable part of the whole ordeal? Stepping into an elevator with two other couples after the movie and being the only one who couldn't/didn't/wouldn't whip out my iphone within two seconds of the doors closing. I know they were  just checking their messages, the score of the Canucks' game, texting their babysitter, checking the weather, reviewing the movie on their blog, looking up the fastest route home - whatever, I don't care. But boy, did I feel a decade behind the times.

Fortunately, coming home to a crying baby put it all back in perspective. My night out ended slightly better than poor budgie Bert's last flight which ended when he flew into a wall. I was glad to be back home, in my cage, despite the baby tears; I know what matters and it isn't your newest app.

The Joy of Books

A team of bookish types in Toronto decided to shelve and reshelve books all night long and this is the result. Custom music by Grayson Matthews.

Smitten with "Sunshine"

Sunshine by Jan Ormerod

This book was written the year I was born and maybe that is why I find these illustrations so charming; they remind me of other narratives and images from my childhood. And, while the story is rather timeless, the unavoidable Eighties-ness of it is pure nostalgia for me even though I've only just discovered it.

Rise and shine

It's likely the spot-on quiet humour that endears this book to me.

Dad burning toast

Or perhaps it's the decided lack of sunshine in these wintry Vancouver days that makes this title and the warmth of it's plot so appealing.

A fine balance

Or maybe it's the apt portrayal of my current cozy reality that hits the mark.

Been there

It must be the precisely sweet embodiment of a child's routine motions and expressions that captivate me.

Page one of a two-page sequence

Indeed, this wordless story is poetic. The particular moments Ormerod has chosen to depict couldn't be more pertinent. There are no words and yet nothing is missing. There are dozens of images in her sequential segments and yet nothing is superfluous. I've said it before and I'll say it again, good editing makes any endeavor a work of art.

Whatever it is, I am smitten with "Sunshine" and currently looking for the companion book "Moonlight".

Beware the Beige

Lovin' the linen

It all started with the natural linen duvet cover. I was young and impressionable and in search of a calming element in our eclectic, eccentric east side abode. It cost too much but we were DINKs (double income, no kids) flying by the seat of our pants, flitting here and there: New York City one month, Galiano Island the next, and Okanagan wine country after that. All it took was a Long Beach sunset and the aforementioned duvet cover and the next thing I knew we were married and three months later, pregnant.

But it doesn't stop there. Oh no. Due to our expanding family and sense of adult achievement we went and moved into our current house: the clean slate we'd been searching for. The kitchen and bathroom floors are neutral ceramic tile, tub and sink and toilet are in a matching shade of cool eggshell, the walls are painted a uniform cafe au lait, the french doors are a breezy white, the silk living room drapes are champagne, and I have my first modern kitchen complete with stainless steel appliances and a travertine back splash.

Benjamin Moore electric blue

I now find myself somewhat surprisingly entrenched in a beige phase. I've been averse to wearing all black for as long as I can remember and I've always been a fan of bold graphics (the first blog I ever followed was the eye-popping print and pattern). In my single days I painted a bedroom with hearty "red desire" and within a year met my now-husband. In our common law days, I painted a room (and I've only ever admitted this to a select few) "Sex and the City" blue. Yes, I researched the exact color and brand that they used on the set of the movie, painted our living room and hung artwork in a similar format.

Indian block prints: color full.

Since moving into this beige house I haven't seen hide nor hair of my color-loving self; our two previous duvet covers (Indian block printed no less) have been retired and even my one-time favorite artwork (a Balinese dot painting) hangs in a dimly lit nook while a sepia toned black and white print takes centre stage on the dining room wall. 


I've made an effort to infuse color into my bland decor. I went looking for bold patterned curtains and came home with a print (!) on a beige background. We bought a sectional couch to fill up our big living room and the one that fit our layout was - beige. We got dining room chairs and those that were the right size and style for our table had beige upholstered seats. 

Fortunately we still have most of our old mismatched furniture and we do have kids (and their clutter) to liven the place up. The older one, nearly two, is, as Picasso once found himself, in his blue period. My only hope is that his blue period doesn't get all over my beige phase.

I'm beginning to think that beige may be the exact color I need in my hectic, messy life. It is a darn good backdrop for splashes of color (intentional and otherwise and two year old temper tantrums often result in the latter). Have you seen my blog layout?

Not all bad comes from being understated. Under this beige roof we've had our second child and will continue to raise our loud little family. So I will beware the complacency of a staid and comfortable (read: beige) existence while trying try to enjoy the simplicity of my staid and comfortable existence.

The Quaint Things in Life

Photo credit: Keith Bloomfield

To my mind this very well may be the quaintest my life has ever been. Quaint, in the oddly picturesque or old-fashioned charm sort of way. I am indeed living small. I've had my days living large (and hope to one day do so again), but for now small is all I need (if not all I want). On these rainy days a single trip to the grocery store, the library, or just the front yard seems the highlight, an event to get dressed for each morning. My day is notched by meals and snacks, diaper changes and naps, hallway hockey and sofa bed snuggles. And it feels alright for this is how I remember my early childhood to be; predictable in all the right places. This allowed me, and in turn, allows my kids, to focus on the little things in their little lives, making mere chestnuts mighty in their minds.

This is a poem about my quaint beginnings based on memories and family lore.

Boulder Creek

rocking chair

record player

woodstove

typewriter

garden hose

swing set

sandbox

playhouse

black bears

apple orchard

waterfall

birch trees

ice skates

snowmobile

woodshed

toboggan hill

homemade

make believe

go fish

popcorn

pigtails

onion soup

bunk beds

gumboots

sundeck

clothesline

broken leg

nap time

tricycle

birthday

Radio Flyer

driveway

gooseberries

greenhouse

paper dolls

pencil crayons

barn house

plywood

staircase

childhood

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas: a Retrospective How-To

There is the "kick-start the holidays" Christmas party, the Hanukkah party, the solstice party, the apres-ski  party, the gift exchange with friends, the work Christmas party, the school or church pageant, the neighborhood party, the gift exchange with extended family, the Christmas Eve dinner, the Christmas day brunch and the ensuing feast, the Boxing Day dinner, the leftovers meal, the holiday card night with friends, and the New Year's Party - Did I forget any?

Oh yes, the online Skype party with distant loved ones! Nuts. That one was hard to remember as I didn't turn on my computer much over the big weekend this year. Hopefully an interim weeknight call will make up for it!

From someone who successfully attended or hosted many of these events, my advice would be do them all (unless you're under the weather then by all means stay home with your germs and a good book)! To keep the stress levels low and the multiple gatherings enjoyable don't make, wear, or bring something different to each one. In November and early December bake a few batches of cookies and store them in your freezer. Around this time make a list of all the people you'd like to give a little something to over the holidays - my preference is to give everyone a little something rather than half the people a big something. Make a few homemade gifts (see below) and bring these along as needed. Budget for a couple extra bottles of something at the liquor store this month to keep you in the spirit of things and stock your pantry with bulk nuts (salted and candied or in the shell), oranges and pomegranates and cranberries and decent chocolate. These items can be prettied up for a last minute gifties or placed in nice bowls and set out for unexpected guests. Collect a few pinecones and cedar boughs and light some candles; now you're set for the season.

As for shopping, I love the idea of picking up items throughout the year when you see just the right thing for someone you love, but I never actually do this. While I hope to one day shop with that much foresight, I tend to purchase most of my gifts at the same store. One year it's a bookstore, the next an outdoors store, the year after that a specialty foods store and so forth or try getting everything online from Etsy or give yourself one day at a local craft fair; there are some really fantastic shopping events out there these days. Shows like the Shiny Fuzzy Muddy show here in Vancouver or The One of a Kind Show in Vancouver, Toronto, and Chicago.

Here are a few of my favorite gift-worthy recipes from Christmas 2011:

Candied Orange Peel

 I dipped mine in chocolate and filled mini take out boxes lined with pretty scrap paper to garner oohs and ahhs.

8 oranges, 10 lemons, 6 grapefruits or any combination

3 cups sugar plus more for rolling

3 cups water

3 cups semi sweet dark chocolate chips

1. Cut the ends off the fruit and standing on one end, follow the curve of the fruit and cut away only the outermost peel leaving most of the white pith on the fruit. Slice lengthwise into 1/4 inch strips. 
2. In a medium pot of boiling water, 10-20 minutes (longer for lemons and grapefruits). With a slotted spoon transfer peel to dry surface and pat dry with paper towel.
3. In a medium saucepan, bring sugar and water to a boil, stirring to dissolve sugar. Add peel and simmer until it turns translucent and syrup thickens, 10 minutes. With slotted spoon transfer peel to wire rack set in a baking sheet to catch the drips, separating the pieces as needed.
4. Let peel dry 1 hour. Toss with cup sugar to coat.
5. Return to wire rack to dry. Place in a warm (not hot) oven to dry if you find the strips do not dry as quickly as you would like.
6. Working in batches, melt chocolate in a double boiler and dip ends of strips in the chocolate and lay on rack or brown paper to harden.
7. Package in boxes with wax paper, decorative paper, and ribbon or enjoy at home with loved ones!

Snickerdoodles

These freeze really well. Be sure not to over bake them! 

2 3/4 cup flour
1/2 tsp salt
2 tsp baking powder

1 cup butter

1 1/2 cups white sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla

1. Preheat oven to 400 f.
2. In a medium bowl mix together the flour, salt, and baking powder. 
3. In a large bowl cream together the remaining ingredients. 
4. Add the flour mixture to the butter mixture and beat until dough is smooth. If soft, refrigerate until firm, about 2 hours. 
5. In a large shallow bowl mix together 1/3 cup white sugar and 2 tsp cinnamon  
6. Shape dough into 1 inch balls and roll in sugar/cinnamon mixture. Place on cookie sheets and press down each ball using the bottom of a glass to flatten to about 1/2 inch thick.  
7. Bake 8 minutes or until firm around the edges.

And finally, make the pumpkin butter recipe I posted about back in November. 

Now, on to the new year!