Nom nom nom.*

This evening, a friend of mine posted on her Facebook page about these awesome sweet-yet-spicy cupcakes she had just made. And it turns out that, while I thought I was feeling relaxed, sleepy (having just gone swimming at the local pool), and ready to turn in for the night, I was actually feeling highly suggestible.



Seriously. What am I going to do with 24 cupcakes?**

The recipe is an all-vegan one, and it just happened I had all the ingredients to make both the cupcakes and the icing.

Or so I thought.

Recipes aren't actually meant to be followed, are they? I thought my actual "challenge" would be the fact that I had no cocoa powder, just unsweetened chocolate squares. Not such a challenge, actually: Unsweetened Chocolate Squares, meet Food Processor! Well, to be more specific, meet Food Processor Whom I Have Owned For At Least 18 Months But Have Never Used. Which meant I had to go (dig out of an as-yet unpacked box and) introduce myself to the manual for said Food Processor.***

Once I got the food processor up and running, I realized I also had no icing sugar for the frosting, just regular sugar, the icing sugar having met its fate a couple of weeks previously in some Christmas and New Year's desserts. So thus began the long evening of Googling various baking substitutes.

To wit:

• Icing sugar can be made by blending regular sugar.
  
• When you stupidly use all your regular sugar to make icing sugar, you can then substitute brown sugar for regular sugar.
  
• Baking powder instead of baking soda, but only if you use 3-4 times the amount called for, and never the other way around.
  
• Butter instead of margarine is always recommended, but when you run out of butter halfway through your substitution, you're screwed. Or, like I did, you can use some canola/vegetable oil to top up.
  
• When you run out of canola oil, you can top up using margarine (don't ask).
  
• No vanilla extract? Yeah, too bad.

The above list is the sort of reason why I think I make a better librarian than baker.

However. The cupcakes turned out fantastic! Sooooo tasty. The cayenne pepper dances lightly on your tongue, yet they are sweet. Lovely.

But the icing! Alas. When I made the icing sugar, I hadn't had quite enough regular organic sugar, so I mixed it with raw turbinado. Apparently I haven't learned my lesson from Christmas when I managed to muff up the Best Brownies In The World recipe, which I have been making for 25+ years, by using turbinado instead of regular sugar. Those members of my family who tried to eat the resulting brownie might find the following picture of the icing familiar.



While it looked pretty, it tasted like someone put sucre à crème directly on top. Granular and crunchy, not in a good way.

Tomorrow I have to go to the grocery store - having managed to exhaust my supply of 2 different kinds of sugar, vanilla extract, flour, vegetable oil and butter, all in one night**** - and I have decided that what these cupcakes really, truly need is cream cheese icing. Probably from Betty Crocker; my kitchen is enough of a mess now, thank you.





* Alternately titled, The Benefit Of Living Alone Is That No One Knows You Baked And Ate Cupcakes After Spending The Evening Swimming At The Pool.

** Well, 23 cupcakes now. But who's counting?

*** I first tried to figure it out sans manual. But it turns out my parents were right when they told my grade-9 Industrial Technology teacher that "Julie just has no head for machines".

**** Plus I need chili powder and beans for my next foray into strange and unusual cooking.

Dear Santa

All I want for Christmas is a wok with a proper lid.[1]




When I was a kid, my mom decided that my older brother and I had to learn how to cook, and so she instituted a twice-a-week plan where one of us had to cook dinner for the family, and then the other. A few months later, after one Kraft dinner too many, she admitted defeat.[2]

Around the same time, we had a conversation in which she asked me how on earth I was going to take care of myself when I moved out of the house if I didn't even know how to cook. In my 10-year-old wisdom, I replied, "Easy. I'm going to marry a chef."

She pointed out that someone who cooked all day long in a restaurant probably wouldn't want to come home and cook some more. "You're better off marrying a lawyer who likes to cook as a hobby."

So, some dozen-or-so years later, I decided to do one better, and went to law school myself. No, not to find myself a husband! In fact, I had a non-law boyfriend most of the time I was there. Who - purely coincidentally, I swear - loved to cook. His idea of "relaxing" was reading Thackeray's Vanity Fair whilst occasionally stirring a pot of something delicious-smelling.

Post-law school, I picked up some tips from one of my best friends who was my roommate in Toronto. That is also when I developed the 7 different forms of pan-fried chicken for which I am famous.

Then I hooked up with a lawyer who cooks. And the rest, as they say, is history.

However. In an obvious sign of the impending Apocalypse, I have cooked dinner 3 times in the last 3 days. Yay me. Sunday night, we decided to "scrounge" and make our own separate dinners. I was about to reach for the Mr. Noodles package when I suddenly decided to try something different. I made shake-n-bake chicken drumsticks with tandoori masala mixed into the crumbs, an instant curry rice package (yes, cheating), and edamame. It was delicious. And tonight[3], I'd been going through the dozen or so cookbooks that we own, and decided I should find something simple to make for dinner. From a book on casseroles, I picked "Orange Ginger Chicken & Rice", since I figured I had most of the ingredients already in the house.

Well, not quite. Since it is a casserole book called Favorite Name Brand Recipes, everything recipe includes one or more name brand ingredients.[4] Including, in my case, Rice-A-Roni. I've never had Rice-A-Roni, and to be honest, the concept seems slightly suspect to me, but I figured what the heck? I quickly Googled a recipe for a Rice-A-Roni substitute. But then I didn't have everything it needed, nor did I want to make as much as the recipe said. So I decided to just kinda...wing it. I wasn't supposed to use instant rice, but that's all I had. I was supposed to use vermicelli, but all I had was rice vermicelli - same thing, right?[5] I had no onion powder, so went without, and used minced garlic instead of garlic powder.[6] I also only made about half of what the recipe called for.




Fake Rice-A-Roni. Don't put the full 2 1/4 cups called for, as I did here - too watery! Also, forgetting to add the thyme until the last minute does not negatively affect the taste. However, I put in 6 packets of chicken bouillon, which measured out to about 3 tablespoons, and it was TOO SALTY. I will try just 4 or 5 next time.




I chopped up some carrots. Yup, when I go all out, I really go all out.




I had some frozen chicken thighs, so I defrosted them, sliced them into bite-sized strips, and fried them up with some 5-Alive (was supposed to be OJ, but beggars can't be choosers)[7], minced garlic, ground ginger, and dried red pepper flakes.

Then I remembered the poor carrots, still sitting, lonely, on the cutting board!




So in they went.

Anyway, it all took about an hour (I'm slow at prep, and that also includes looking on the Internet for substitutions, etc.), and it was delicious! There may be hope for me yet.




What it was supposed to look like, and what it actually looked like. (Though they cheated and used the more colourful broccoli instead of carrots. I would have too, but we seem to have a paucity of green veggies in the house at the moment.) Now that I've (obviously) mastered cooking, I just have to work on my food presentation skills.



[1] Actually, if you don't mind, Santa, I'd like it a bit earlier, since Christmas is almost 10 months away and I'll probably (hopefully) cook again before then. Maybe you could work out some kind of exchange-deal with the Easter Bunny? (I'm not Irish, so I guess that leprechaun dude won't be interested in helping me out.)

[2] In our defence, I was only maybe 10, and my brother, 12. Kraft dinner truly is an enjoyable meal meant to be oft-repeated at that age.

[3] What's that? I neglected to mention what I made last night (the 2nd night)? Umm, there is no photographic evidence, but they really were deluxe tuna melts. With pickles chopped up into the mix, and real cheese rather than the usual Kraft slices. Yes, I'm proud.

[4] We got it at Costco, and it was cheap.

[5] In retrospect, rice vermicelli is nothing like vermicelli. It also makes a frickin' mess all over your countertop when you try to measure a half-cup of rice vermicelli broken into small pieces. Just trust me on that one.

[6] Those of you who are related to me or who are otherwise familiar with my mom's style of cooking may find these substitutions amusing. My mom is known for making meals like "orange ginger chicken with rice, but I didn't have any oranges so I used apples instead, and I was out of ginger so I put some raisins in, and I had no chicken but pork is a white meat too so what's the difference, and I didn't have enough rice so I made mashed potatoes instead."

[7] See note 6.

What I didn't do yesterday...

I forgot to call my dad to wish him a Happy Birthday! I'm such a bad daughter.




It's not like it was an important birthday or anything...he only turned 65.


My hard drive is out of commission at the moment (nothing serious; I just need to relocate the power bar it used to be plugged into), so I didn't have access to old pictures of my dad. However, I think I may have done one better by locating and pulling out this (plus, of course, now having digitally preserved it*):



This is my dad's lasting contribution to my autograph book, signed about 25 years ago in 1986. I got an autograph book in 1986 shortly before heading off to Choir Camp in Berwick, N.S.,** and got my family members to sign it. I may post more of these in the future -- some are pretty funny.

So my dad is now 65. He will be retiring at the end of the summer, and my parents have decided to move to Ottawa. They are looking at buying a condo in the same building as my aunt, right near U of O. This is a bit crazy for me to get my head around. It will be fun having my parents back in the same city as me; however, it will be strange not having my parents in Toronto, which is where I am used to them being. Toronto has been "home" for me for many years, and that is going to change. Robert and Judy will be staying in Toronto (despite mine and Jerome's numerous entreaties to move to Ottawa), and I still have many friends who live in Toronto, but without a bedroom to call my own when I get there, it's just not going to be the same.


* This is also my submission for the Shutterbug Challenge for today.

** My brother's ex-wife also attended that same Choir Camp in 1986. I can't remember how we actually discovered this, but sure enough, there she is in a corner of the group photo we took. She wasn't in my cabin, but it's entirely possible I spoke to her at some point (there was maybe only 100 kids there). Crazy!

New Year, New Blog Post

Happy New Year, everyone!

I hope you all rang the new year in in style. We decided to take it easy and stay home (my brother had invited us over, but we'll go next weekend instead). We ordered Indian take-away, which I went to pick up around 6:45. The excitement of the evening was that when I arrived at the restaurant, I realized I had a purse but no wallet. Gah. So I drove home (luckily not too far) and then back out again. The second excitement of the evening was that, while I was inside the restaurant picking up the food, someone parked and blocked the exit to the parking lot where I was. Double gah. Luckily it was a larger lot and I could exit from another spot. But it was annoying!

And you see - THIS is why I don't blog on a daily basis. But I'm going to try to be better. (No, that is not a New Year's Resolution. If it is, it's DOOMED to be broken.)

Anyway, so we ate Indian take-away - very dee-lish and lots of leftovers await us. We started watching a new (to us) TV show, called Avatar: The Last Air Bender. It's a Nickelodeon cartoon that ran a few years ago for 3 seasons, and they recently made a live-action movie which is apparently terrible. But the cartoon was great! I highly recommend it.

Then it was 9:30, so we decided to watch The Matrix. I hadn't seen it in a year or two, and it's aged quite well. What a great film. We are debating whether to watch the other two Matrix movies this weekend as well...they're not as good...

At 11:58, we managed to get a live Internet feed of the ball dropping in Times Square on the TV via my computer. (Almost didn't make it!) Somewhat anti-climactic, I found. I seem to remember in the past that the ball dropped much farther, for much longer. This was a short drop (yes, still spread over 10 seconds), with a bunch of distracting advertising. Blech. I think I am just turning into a cranky grump.

I called my mom, and then we watched more cartoons. First, another episode of Air Bender. Then, one of the craziest, most twisted things I have ever seen, Happy Tree Friends. I still shudder slightly thinking about it. It stars a bunch of cute, cuddly, happy cartoon animals...and I'm just starting to wonder if this is a show for kids or not...when all of a sudden one of the bears gets pinned on a giant stick and his heart is torn right out. Uh, yeah. Not for kids. Got it. LOL.

After that, we needed something to cheer us up again. We put on a show called Invader Zim, which was bizarre and amusing. But one of the characters sounded just like Kevin McDonald, from Kids in the Hall, another show we started re-watching recently, and it was driving us CRAZY! Turns out, yup, it's Kevin McDonald. Cool.

Anyhow, that was New Year's.

So...I haven't been blogging but I really should have been. I've been busy as a beaver for the last month or so putting up old pictures on Flickr. This was spurred by two things: (1) I felt guilty, and (2) I was worried following a hard drive crash that Randal suffered sometime in November. He has lost most of his photos from Japan onward! I figured if I get them up on Flickr, at least I will always have a copy available in some form.

So what do I have?



- a TON of photos from Paris and Strasbourg, where we went in June 2009. That collection is almost complete, two days left to go! I might blog about some of it separately, at some point. (Don't hold your breath.)



      

- camping at Charleston Lake, camping at Bon Echo, camping at Voyageur. We also went camping at Murphy's Point, but, alas, the photos from that trip were on Randal's hard drive.





- my family proves they are able to do more together than play Rockband, and we all go hiking in Gatineau Park on the Thanksgiving weekend.




- I've also done a TON of knitting, if you're into that kind of thing.



I plan on blogging again later today about my New Year's Resolutions...not that I have any...not that I'm not perfect already...plus what we did at Christmas.

pixxiefish in the sea presents... More Mayhem and Gore, Horror and Chaos

We interrupt this two-month-long blogging hiatus to bring you yet another instalment of Rion's Encounters With Wildlife, Or, Hey Ma, What's For Dinner Tonight?

I was stomping around with Rion in some leaves in the park this evening, as it was coming on to dusk, when he ran around a tree and came face-to-face with a groundhog. Or, rather, to be more exact (if things that occur in a fraction of a few sections can ever be described with a modicum of exactness), he came face-to-tail with a groundhog.

Next thing I knew, Rion was tugging on his leash (thankfully, he was already at the end of the extendable leash) and this little groundhog was pu-uuu-uulling away from him. Then it seemed to break away. I had the dog half jerked back by this point (but his leash was also half wrapped around the tree in question, so it was a tricky manoeuvre), so he didn't get back at the groundhog. The animal took a few more desperate, scurrying steps, then lay quivering in the grass. I roped Rion back in and, after taking a few minutes to try to calm him down[1], we continued on a shorter, highly-abbreviated version of our walk.

On the way back home, I passed near the Groundhog Tree. It was getting rather dark at this point, so it was hard to tell, but I was sure I could see a dark patch in the grass where the groundhog had last lain down. This was about 10 minutes after our encounter, and I felt sick to the stomach to think that the groundhog could still be there. I took the dog home then returned with a flashlight. Sweeping the area, I breathed a sigh of relief that the groundhog now seemed to be gone...until the light suddenly hit a brown bank of fur. The groundhog was still there. I couldn't quite tell if it was breathing or not, as I was too scared to get too close, but I was pretty sure it was. But I felt horrible. My innocent little baby, my little adorable dog, so soon graduated from chipmunk-scourging ...

Now, I am a city girl and so I did what any self-respecting city girl would do in these circumstances: I fled home, half-hysterical, freaked out for a while about the fact that Randal wasn't home and wouldn't be for at least another hour[2], conducted some ineffective searches on Google and the City of Ottawa webpage for ideas of what I could possibly do[3], and then I called my mother.

Now I love my mother and she is a very kind woman, but I suspect her love for groundhogs is very slim.[4] I think this may date back to when we lived in Québec City, and two little groundhogs lived under our neighbour's shed and fed themselves from the offerings in my mother's garden. We eventually trapped those groundhogs and released them in the wild very far away.[5] Anyway, after explaining the horrible events of the evening, I was quickly reassured that the groundhog was probably all right and had maybe just fainted from the shock or was busy playing possum. That made me feel better. We then went on to discuss the possibility that if the groundhog was, in fact, dead, then (a) it probably wasn't Rion's fault - maybe it was sick or injured anyway (Rion had barely caught a hold of it, if at all), and (b) sometimes it is just better to let nature take its course. That made me feel somewhat worse. But by the time we finished our phone conversation - which ran the gauntlet from the mysterious howling pipes[6] to the cute little fir tree that I was given as a present at work today[7] to the reasons why Judy's blog will always be funnier than mine[8] - I felt better.

Randal came home shortly thereafter, and I told him the story of destruction and woe. We put our jackets on and donned flashlights, and went out to explore.[9] We very soon came upon a groundhog foraging around in the leaves by a tree trunk. Now, I am not a naturalist (I know, you're all shocked), and to me, one groundhog pretty much looks like every other groundhog. This groundhog was startled by the light, and wouldn't let Randal get very close, but Randal said he thought it looked like this groundhog might have an injured leg. But he was up and about and moving, so, after watching him scurry around for a while, we decided to close the chapter on the imagined dead groundhog and just let him be. Hopefully he would get the food he was searching for, and then be able to return to his burrow and recuperate.

Sigh. And I thought moving to the 'burbs would be dull.[10]


[1] I use the verb "calm down" very loosely. I mean, have you ever tried to calm down a Jack Russell terrier after it narrowly misses catching its mobile dessert???

[2] Being from the sleepy rural landscape known as Winnipeg, he has wildlife smarts.

[3] Even in times of crisis, I am such a librarian.

[4] Hi Mom! :)

[5] To be 100% certain that those groundhogs would never return, in fact, we released them in a park on the other side of the St. Laurence River, on the south shore, outside the town of Charny. I also feel obliged to note that it was possibly my mother's affection for our beagle, Tyler, and her desire to avoid any accidental death on his part that ensured the groundhogs were humanely trapped and relocated rather than otherwise summarily dispatched.

[6] The mystery of the week. More on that later (we have almost tracked down the culprit but need one more night to be sure).

[7] Every staff member at the university got one as a present from our new university president, Allan Rock. (Yes, that Allan Rock.)

[8] But I'm not bitter. Really.

[9] This is the point in the blogging where I recall my mother having forbidden me to go back out to the park to search for the groundhog in the dark. Oops. Well, at least I can rest assured that she will never know about this part of the events, since she certainly does not read my blog...

[10] This level of excitement never occurred when we lived downtown. Well, other than the earthquake, of course, which you just can't beat. Or when Rion took up remodelling the bathroom. But here in Orléans, we haven't had any bats come to visit. I haven't been told lately that my sour cream sniffing habits are disgusting, nor has Rion howled at any ghosts, shown signs of dementia, or (unsuccessfully) tipped us off to the presence of mice in our cupboards.

A pleasant, uneventful evening stroll, until . . .

Rion killed a chipmunk this evening. It was horrifying. It was on our evening walk, and we don't even know how he got a hold of the little guy, but the next thing we knew, he was freaking out, shaking his head wildly with something hanging from his mouth. We shouted, and the thing went flying, in (yuck!) two pieces. I was glad it was already dark out so I couldn't really make out any details of the gore. Poor Randal had to clean it up.

Pretty disgusted and turned off by the whole thing, I then remembered the story about the time my parents' old beagle, Tyler, caught a rabbit. My parents have rabbits that get into their backyard every year (they're still a'coming, and even more so now that there is no longer a dog keeping watch), and one year, Tyler caught one of the baby rabbits. I wasn't there at the time, but heard about it afterward. The rabbit squealed - apparently they can let out very high-pitched yowls when necessary - and Tyler, looking a bit stunned about his catch, let go, and the rabbit ran off.

Then I found out a few years ago that the last part was not quite what one might consider truthful; ergo, the rabbit did not make it away entirely intact or, for that matter, entirely (or even somewhat) alive.

I'm now going to go curl up in a ball in a dark corner of the house somewhere and fervently hope that I can clear all the ensuing mental imagery out of my mind. Probably I will make it out of this without years of therapy, but it's still too early to tell. Yuck, ugh, and blech.

Introducing the newest member of my family

This is Fred.



Fred is the newest member of the family, and we expect him to arrive sometime next week or early the following week (you can never be sure about these things). We looked everywhere for someone like Fred, and he's finally agreed to come to us all the way from Cornerbrook, NFLD.

I'm so excited I can barely wait. In anticipation of Fred's arrival, I bought a really cool carry-case, so I can take him around with me wherever I might choose. It isn't as interesting as Fred will be, nor does is it capable of doing as many things as Fred will be, but it has lots of zippers and pockets, and I can wear it as a handbag, over my shoulder, or like a backpack. Multi-purpose, and stylish to boot!

V for Volleyball

When I was in high school (long, long ago), we played the same four sports every year in gym class - soccer, basketball, volleyball, and softball - with a bit of badminton and (urk!) dodgeball thrown in for variety. Not being the most athletically-inclined duck out there, I tended to loathe gym class. But volleyball in particular holds a special place in my heart - I hated it so much, I was actually thrilled to see spring roll around, when we were sent outside in the damp spring chill to play softball. At least with softball, you can stand in the outfield and know that you're fairly safe from the wrath of most balls (at least, you are if I'm at bat).* With each volleyball class, on the other hand, it was a down-and-dirty competition between my best friend and I to see whose arms more closely resembled a lobster post-game; aka, who was worse.

So, a few weeks ago, when I was asked whether I wanted to join the teachers' volleyball team, I breached Japanese protocol and laughed. Long and heartily. Then, having regained my composure, in a mix of Japanese and English (it was a non-English teacher who asked me), I made it perfectly clear : "Juri - baréboru - damé, damé - watashi wa ... very, very bad." (I'll be bilingual in no time, I'm sure.)

Whew. Having dodged that bullet, I went back to my less-than-spectacular life. Then last week, chatting with one of the English teachers after teaching a class with her, I speculated that perhaps her students - who were normally quiet but that day had been somewhat rowdy - were looking forward to the sports day that we were having the next day. Yes, she replies, and then says something about volleyball.

Uh. Yes, I heard right. Sports day is actually going to be volleyball. All day. Oh, crap.

We had a sports day back in early September, and it was so much fun. My memories of "sports day" from my high school days (we called it "field day") is a mish-mash of track-and-field events (relay races, javelin-throwing, and a game of basketball or two), a day in which most students sloughed around trying to figure out how to avoid the high jump or ring toss. Not so these kids, and not so this past sports day. They had been split into 4 teams (of about 250 kids each, mind you; almost as big as my entire high school!) and had spent the better part of the previous week under the tutelage of the student cheerleader teams, learning chants and cheers for the pep rallies that would form part of the sports day (practicing one to two hours a day). They played capture-the-flag, giant games of tug of war, "windsurfing", and much more, with just a bit of relay racing in the late afternoon. And lots of cheerleading, of course.


The always-popular "Piggyback Fights".

But volleyball all day? Ugh. In addition to my general dislike of volleyball, Randal had had to endure a sports day last fall that was entirely volleyball, and he was not pleased to report back that it was B-O-R-I-N-G. I wasn't therefore looking forward to it; however, I figured I was willing to watch. Really, I mean, it's not like I had any choice.

***

Well. Who knew volleyball could be so much fun?



I forgot that when my school does something like this, they tend to go all out. Here, second- and third-year students had decked out their gym uniforms with various themes. It was hilarious just to walk around all day and see what I could find.









As for the volleyball itself, there were something like 40 games going on at any one time (until the elimination rounds started in the afternoon), so there was always something to watch.



See the entire set here.


*Honestly, it's a miracle I ever passed gym class and was allowed to graduate.

What is it about me and modes of transportation?

I forgot the part on Sunday in Montreal where, after finding out I wouldn't be able to have dinner with Mark and telling my grandmother that I'd be back home in about half an hour, I waited a full hour for the Papineau bus. Having taken the métro (subway) from downtown over to Papineau station, I decided instead of walking the 20-minute walk home to my grandmother's that I'd take the bus up Papineau. I was exhausted from all the shopping. It was 6:55 and I'd just missed the 6:54 bus. The 7:11 bus never came, nor did the 7:29 bus. The 7:48 bus was late. It was a fitting end to the weekend. ;)

Now after a day and a half at home, I am in Toronto until Friday night. Took the overnight bus last night, which was late. Whatever it is with my luck these days, I must leave Canada soon in an attempt to leave it behind!!! The bus leaves first from Montreal (coincidence? perhaps not!), then comes to Ottawa and on to Toronto. There was apparently a delay on the Montreal end. We were supposed to leave at 12:30...and actually left only at 2:00 a.m.!

Couldn't get a window seat unfortunately (it turns out there are other crazy people besides myself who take overnight busses), but I was lucky enough to sit in the area reserved for wheelchairs (none on our bus) and so was blessed with a HUGE amount of leg room. Kinda made up for the four-seater on Monday's train, I guess. Slept maybe 3 hours in total on the ride down. Got in to T.O. at 6:40 (supposed to be 5:55, so we'd made up some time somewhere along the way). My brother picked me up at the subway station, and then I fell asleep on my parents' bed (my dad was already up but my mom was trying to sleep, and I'd gone in to talk to her) for the rest of the morning till about noon.

No plans today - I'd wanted to go visit my aunt but we were short a car. Around 2:30 we had a tremendous thunder and lightning and hail storm - I couldn't even see to the back of our backyard. Mom, it turns out, was on the road in the midst of all this (she'd gone out earlier to do errands), but was smart and pulled into a parking lot rather than try to continue driving.

The Toronto Agenda:

Tonight, no plans.

Tomorrow, I go to Hamilton to visit Jen and Allison so that Jen and I may test the ability of a 6-month-old in enduring a lunch-and-shopping outing.

Tomorrow evening, no plans.

Friday afternoon, my dad's cousin Marion arrives for the long weekend, and I plan on going shopping downtown (MEC and Eaton Centre).

Friday evening, no plans.

Friday at midnight, take the bus back to Ottawa (hopefully on time).

The weekend that almost was...

What a weird weekend. A good time was had by all (OK, by me) in Montreal, but it was a string of almosts and not-quites.

Saturday morning I took the train up to Montreal. Directly behind me was seated an insufferable bore. And he was British, to boot. It was like being in a bad movie. I wanted to spend my train trip staring out the window listening to the moody atmospheric tones of Sigur Ros, but quickly found out that the only thing that would drown out the droning voice behind me was a mix CD (I need a new mp3 player) with the likes of David Bowie, Blink 182 and Pink. At a very loud volume. Seriously, the guy behind me stopped talking for about 20 minutes of the 2-hour train ride.

Once arrived chez ma grandmaman, I met up with my parents, who were in town for the day, and my uncle. The five of us headed out to the Jardin Botanique, where my grandmother, who is a Friend of the Garden, wanted to see the photography exhibition currently showing onsite, "Family Memories at the Botanical Garden" at the Tree House ("Maison de l'arbre"). This is the 75th anniversary of the Garden. My grandmother worked there for a number of years in the 1940s, and was (I believe) the first directrice of the children's gardens.

When we got to the Garden, we were just in time to climb aboard the little train that takes you on a tour of the complete Garden. We were advised that since it was the last train of the day (at 3:30! - obviously this should have tipped us off), we would have to take it down to the south end then switch to a different train to make it back up to the Maison de l'arbre. No problem. We rode the train halfway down through the grounds, then were advised everyone had to get off since the trains weren't continuing all the way to the other end because of construction. You can't really feel jipped when a FREE train offers less than expected, but we were slightly disappointed. So while my family waited in line for the northbound train, I ran off in search of the nearby Japanese gardens (because lord knows I won't be getting enough of those in 32 days from now), but had barely glimpsed the outer pond of the gardens when I heard the train coming back.

We took the train back up north, grumbling about the aborted trip around the Garden, and got off at the Maison de l'arbre at 4:10, only to find that while normally it closes at 6:00 (which was the sign I had checked before jumping on the train the first time around), it had closed at 4:00 that day because it was St-Jean Baptiste Day! Feeling slightly dejected by this point, we took some goofy family photos (which I might post if my mother ever sends them to me*), then my dad and I took a quick tour of the pond behind the Maison de l'arbre.

We were just debating how to spend a bit more time at the Garden (we had dinner reservations at 5:30 but it was barely 4:30 at this point), when a security guard came up to us and said the Garden was closing early, rather than at sunset like usual, because of - you guessed it, St-Jean Baptiste!

So we left, went to my uncle's house to discuss the trees in his backyard (he wanted to cut one or two down and wanted my mother's opinion), then went to dinner. And dinner was, I am pleased to announce, GREAT! As good as I had been hoping. We went to Le Flambard, a little French bistro on Rachel Street just past the Parc Lafontaine. Sooooo good. I had the rarest, bestest filet mignon steak I have ever had, plus a cream of broccoli soup, a salad with lyonnais sausage, and pear and mango sorbet to top it all off. Expensive, but worth every penny.

Sunday morning, I met my friend Anne-Marie for dim sum in Chinatown. She was late getting to our arranged meeting point, and I had just enough time to start worrying that it was going to turn into another "almost" moment, when she got off a bus at the corner. Turns out she'd had her own share of "almost" moments - she'd barely missed her first bus, started to walk in the direction, and managed to be caught between two bus stops and therefore missed the second bus when it went by, etc. But it was great to see her - the dim sum (which I haven't had in at least ten years) was quite tasty, and we hung out in Chinatown for a while. There was a festival of some sort going on and I took some pictures - however, since I don't (yet) have a digital camera, you're going to have to wait another year for me to finish the roll of film before I can post my pics online. (LOL)

Shopping in Montreal. Aahhhhh, but I do love shopping there. I almost didn't have enough time at Simons, but I managed to spend almost $150 just there alone anyway, so it's probably a good thing I didn't have time to try as much on as I would have liked.** I finished the day with a black suit (my second purchased black suit in as many weeks - now I have to decide which one to keep!), a funky white blouse, brown semi-dressy pants, a grey zip-up sweater, a green T-shirt, and three V-neck sleeveless sweater vests - one grey, one black, one burgundy. All in all, successful shopping.

Then it was time for my other main reason to come to Montreal (other than seeing my grandmaman and Anne-Marie): I called my good friend Mark, as planned from the day before, at about 6:30 since we were going to go out for dinner. I of course am leaving for Japan in a month; Mark, however, is beating me out of the country as he and his wife Amynah are moving to France, where Amynah has a post-doctorate fellowship in something relating to pharmaceutical sciences, on Wednesday! Mark and I have known each other for almost 10 years (we even dated for a torrential 9 or 10 months of those...let's just say we make much better friends!), so this was going to be our last hurrah together. Unfortunately, there had been a death in Mark's family and he was leaving that evening with his parents (who had driven in from Halifax) to drive to Guelph to be with the rest of his family. So while I was, understandably, sorry to hear about his family's misfortune, I was (and am) also sorry we wouldn't be getting to see each other. In fact, in true Julie-and-Mark fashion (we often seem to have trouble coordinating our schedules), he is taking the bus back to Montreal from Toronto on Tuesday afternoon, while I am taking the bus TO Toronto on Tuesday night (overnight, actually). So I guess all I can say more on that point is, Bon voyage, Mark & Amynah, and I hope you guys settle in well in Strasbourg!

Well, I think that's enough excitement for one weekend. I passed a nice impromptu evening with my grandmaman last night - she made pain cuit dans le sirop for dessert (literally, bread cooked in maple syrup) and it reminds me that I really ought to see my dentist before leaving for Japan. (Japan is a first-world country but apparently their dentists are something else.)

Train back this morning was fine. Such a short ride. Though I seem to constantly have the bad luck of being stuck in the 4-seater section (where you face your fellow travellers, so everyone's knees are in your way; well, at least for those of us who have any height at all).

Nap this afternoon was nice. Then a walk up to the Japanese embassy, where Randal and I dropped off our visa applications (today was the deadline and our coordinator actually called at 2:00 to make sure we hadn't forgotten! teehee). Early dinner (it was 4:00) at Marché at Rideau Centre, then some laptop (for R) / mp3 (for me) / digital camera (for me) shopping. No purchases (I'm broke now!).

Tomorrow's goals:
DMV to get international driver's license.
Pack for Toronto.
Japanese class 6:30-9:30.
Overnight bus to Toronto - whee!

* Hint hint.
** The grand total for the day was much more than $150 - I love shopping in Montreal, but never said it was cheap.

Of shoes and ... ladies' undergarments

Everyone is afraid of turning into their parents, right? I already divulged how I am slowly becoming my father. But I am afraid to say that every once in a while, my mother does something that I understand ALL TOO WELL, and it freaks me out to think that I might be slowly turning into my mother.*

Case in point: I spared you all last week's emotional and torrid story of the Bad, Bad Shoe Store. Suffice it to say, I bought a pair of shoes and was assured I could return them no problem if necessary. Unable to do so myself in Toronto, I arranged for my mother to return them, giving her my card number. The store*** would not refund the money to my card, since it was not present (I know that is generally the rule for purchases, but I've never heard of it being applied so inflexibly to returns - like I'm going to dispute the validity of an extra $90 being returned to my Mastercard). They allegedly needed the card in order to prevent fraud. Not the end of the story. After speaking to me numerous times and telling me she could make an exception to this policy, the manager then finally decided (without speaking to me) that this exception could not in fact be made, but that she saw no problem refunding the money to my mother directly, on her credit card (never mind the argument that this second card was never involved in the original transaction and belonged to a completely different cardholder - fraud-prevention my a%$). I'm not a finance genius, but even I see the problem inherent in this "solution". There is an idiot born every minute.

Anyway, long story short (too late?), today I received a cheque from my mom for the refund.

All of this a rambling story to share what I thought was a funny, funny card (likely just a product of my warped sense of humour):


My dear Julie,

      Here it is, the One and Only Shoe Refund! May it bring you more joy and happiness than the pair of shoes did. It will also bring Balance into your accounting system.

      Love,
         Mom

ps: on my way out of the Promenade thru Sears, I saw some PINK underwear (panties) and bought 3. At the cash register, I found out they were 30% off! So your shoe refund brought me LUCK! :)


I'm still laughing.


* Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course.**

**Hi, Mom! Love you! :)

*** Not to name any names, but beware the Feet First store at the Promenade Mall in Thornhill.

Weekend Round-Up #2

We went to Toronto this past weekend. Nice drive up Thursday during the day for all but poor Rion who gets car-sick. He was sick a bunch of times between here and Kingston, and then settled down until somewhere on Brock Street in Pickering. Poor pooch. Thursday evening we went (sans le pooch) to the opening for Apertura, a roaming art gallery started by four Bay St. female lawyers (we used to work with two of them). It was a great show! And packed! It was also kinda fun to run into a bunch of people we used to work with - hi Heather! hi Lindsay! hi Francis! hi Sarah! hi Patti!

After the show, much excitement as first Randal & I took the Queen streetcar to Bathurst and then the Bathurst streetcar to Bloor (Randal had never taken the Toronto streetcars before). We were headed, of course, for Insomnia, our fave martini bar. We originally had planned to head out for sushi (of course!) but decided to do Insomnia instead. Well. Were we in for a treat. I ordered my usual - chicken and brie and avocado sandwich with french fries and aioli, and Randal went for a salad and steak. Mmmmm, good. A martini each. Then as we are sipping our second martinis of the night, we suddenly notice a guy setting up what seems to be a sushi boat at the table next to us. Sushi at Insomnia??? Not able to contain our curiosity any longer, we ask the guy what he's doing. Apparently they are having a Sapporo beer sampler night and he has been hired from his restaurant to serve sushi to the Insomnia patrons. At this point, two svelte (and not very Japanese) women offer us some Sapporo to taste. I am known for not being able to keep my mouth shut when appropriate, so I advise that we drink Sapporo at home all the time (we do!), but sure, I'd love to try a glass. Randal has to drive later, alas. Then the sushi guy (David) gives us a lovely plate of spicy salmon maki. Later he gave us a second plate of tuna maki. It was soooo good. We chatted with him a bit - told him we were going to Japan, etc. He gave us the card to his restaurant, Akasaka, which is in Richmond Hill. Satisfied, sushified, we headed home for the night around midnight.

Friday, we played it easy, sleeping in and then just doing some shopping in the neighbourhood. My mom wanted to go to Toys 'R' Us, so we did, and then Randal & I went to Indigo (to pick up a birthday present for my mom*) and then to the Promenade Mall to check out the Japanese dish store and the Asian grocery store, which we hadn't had much time to visit the last time we'd been home. Bought some different varieties of noodles, some fruit juices, and some mochi, Japanese red bean cakes.

We got home around 6:45, just in time to get changed and go out to eat for my mom's birthday at Akasaka! It was less than a 15-minute drive from my parents' place. My brother Robert and his girlfriend Judy joined us too. And we ate and ate. Robert & Judy and my parents both split dinners for two - salad and miso soup followed by some sushi and maki, then a large salmon appetizer, then a plateful of any two of: beef teriyaki, chicken teriyaki, or shrimp and veggie tempura, with cold udon noodles, and the whole topped off by dessert (ice cream or mango mousse or green tea crème brulée). Randal & I had a TRUCKLOAD of sushi. We had a Rainbow Roll (which included butterfish which is not usual), some kind of crunchy Dynamite Roll which was so good we ordered a second set, mixed selection of sashimi, mixed selection of nigiri, and California Rolls (the only mediocre part of the meal). Plus dessert! If you are ever in the Richmond Hill area, I highly recommend it. They also do teppanyaki there (where everyone sits in a square facing the chef who cooks right in front of you).

Oh yes, chocolate birthday cake Friday night once we found a tiny bit of space in our poor overloaded stomaches. :)

Saturday got off to a bang - Randal and I got up early for once and went downtown for about 11:00 (that's early for us!). We spent the entire day downtown. We shopped our way across Bloor from University and then all the way down Yonge to Queen. I can't remember everything we bought but it was a lot. Mostly things for traveling (no point in buying anything else): two mini address books, extra toothbrushes (2 for $1 at the Dollarama at Bay & Charles - woo-ee!), mini flashlight for me, some CDs for Randal, LOTS of chocolate ostensibly for the road trip back to Ottawa but really just to get us through the dark packing days ahead in our future, etc. Oh, and Randal bought a pair of sandals, and I bought 3 pairs of shoes! (Dressy sandals, walking sandals, and a cute little pair of men's brown sneakers - let's just say I was sitting in Payless too long while Randal debated over his shoe purchases: he almost bought 4 pairs in Payless alone!) Dinner downtown and then we hit a secondhand bookstore where I purchased two more books - Lost Japan by Alex Kerr and Lonely Planet's guide to Kyoto. (Wishful thinking on my part I'm sure - but it was cheap and I figured I'd use it even if *gasp* I never make it back to Kyoto ever again.) Then we dragged ourselves home again.

Sunday we planned on leaving first thing in the morning for Ottawa so as to have time to shop (with a car!) Sunday afternoon, but after watching a movie Saturday night (Monsters, Inc., which I had seen but Randal had not) and only getting a so-so night's sleep, we decided to take our time Sunday and only ended up leaving Thornhill at about 12:30. Nice drive back - Rion was only sick 3 times between Thornhill and Oshawa (about an hour's drive) and then he slept most of the rest of the way.

And that was my weekend. Nothing interesting has happened since, and probably nothing much interesting will happen ever again. But if anything does, I'll be sure to let you all know!

* Digital Photography for Dummies. I can post the title since she of course opened her presents Friday night (forgot to mention that at the same time as the chocolate cake). She has recently gotten herself a digital camera (which she can use underwater too, oooooh, and I had just found out on Thursday that my dad was planning to give her Adobe Photoshop for her b-day (there's a chapter on the program in the book), so it was perfect! My mom is also the weird kind of person who will read a book like that from cover to cover. Really, she should have been a librarian.

All Dogs Go To Heaven

After 14 years, Tyler has gone to chase rabbits in green, green fields, where beagles are free to roam large and long.

The dog loosely named for "Tylenol" after the "what-shall-we-name-the-new-puppy" game gave us all a headache, Tyler lived a very full dog's life. Often scolded for not being the smartest dog in town, Tyler knew more than he let on: for instance, he knew that Dad was the best person to sit next to at the dinner table and he knew that countertops were only to be investigated when Mom was in the other room. Both very astute things for a dog to know. He also knew that ceramic tiles were the coolest things to sleep on during hot summers, that the insides of shoes were lovely to smell and lick but that chewing on them would land you in hot water, and that a man and his popcorn were soon (and often!) parted.

Desperately and loyally faithful, he loved nothing more than being close to his family and those he loved (loosely interpreted as anyone who might happen to be in the room, whether they ended up giving him treats or not). Until his very last days, he fiercely resented being shut up in another room away from the action, which unfortunately happened more often than not, as he never really learned that, no matter how much they might love dogs, most people do not enjoy being jumped upon in ecstatic joy at their arrival into the room. But he knew his place - dogs were not allowed on the couch (well, when no one was looking) and even the sacred dog bed was to be ceded to the cat (the recently-, and all-too-soon, departed Xena) should she happen to be sleeping there first. Often the bane of Mom's existence, he worshipped the ground she walked on (much to her chagrin, as his constant licking of the floor sometimes drove her batty) and would sit sadly outside the bathroom door should she dare to go to the bathroom without his accompaniment.

Tyler watched us all grow up, from high school through university and college, and he watched us come home to visit, and he never held it against us that we had been gone so long. Whether we had gone eight months or eight minutes, he welcomed us with such postulations and excitement that we were always reminded that we were all #1 in his heart.



The last year was not an easy one for Tyler, as old age caught up with him; in addition to old creaky bones, he had lost a lot of his hearing, and would look at us while finally obeying a command on its 8th repetition with a look of stunned innocence which seemed to say, "Oh, OK, I will come to sit ... Why didn't you just say so?" He did still enjoy, however, the occasional slow-motion game of fetch with his Kong (though he never did learn that "fetch" meant you were supposed to give up the Kong after retrieving it, so that it could be thrown again), as well as rousing renditions of "Throw-Howl-Stalk-Howl-Destroy (Repeat 57 Times)" with his rawhide chewies. Till the end, still a puppy at heart.

We'll miss you, Tyler. And perhaps when you catch a rabbit in Dog Heaven, you will know what to do with it this time ...*


*I actually missed what was perhaps Tyler's finest moment as a non-hunting hunting breed dog. For a number of springs now, my parents' backyard has had visiting rabbits - they don't live on our property but probably come from the woods across the street. Well, one day a few years ago, Tyler was outside when the rabbits came to visit, and he actually managed to catch one small bunny. He held it between his paws, not knowing what to do with it now, but looking oh-so-happy. The bunny, less than content, began to squeal (who knew rabbits squealed?), and Tyler, in his confusion, let it go and it ran off.

I did catch, a year or two ago, the hilarious "Tyler and the Squirrel" episode, where Tyler chased a squirrel across the yard at high speed. Totally freaked out, the squirrel climbed up our fence but was afraid to jump down to the neighbour's yard, not knowing, I guess, whether Tyler could follow him or not. The squirrel sat on the fence, shaking and shivering. Tyler ran around below, barking like a fool. We finally got Tyler in the house, but then he ran around from window to window, madly trying to get out. The squirrel remained shaking and shivering on the fence. Dad decided the best way to get the squirrel off the fence was to spray it with the hose, but no go - the squirrel remained shaking and shivering and now dripping wet on the fence for hours. It took forever to get Tyler calmed down. "Squirrel!" was always the buzzword in our house to get him freaked out and dashing from window to window (it started the first or second year we had him, when we were in Ottawa visiting my grandparents and he saw a squirrel outside from the window), but this was the first (and last) time he'd ever had a chance to actually chase one so freely.

High-brow / Low-brow

My parents are in town for the next few days, so Randal & I met them (plus my aunt and uncle) today at the Chateau Laurier for High Tea. (Click on that link - it's a great review from the Xpress here in Ottawa.) We were a little skeptical before showing up - High Tea's not really our sort of thing. We like food, and fancy food is nice too, but there was something a little pretentious about the whole concept of "High Tea". Well, I guess there still is, but it was lovely nevertheless. We had little smoked salmon sandwiches and roast beef sandwiches, more cheese than you could shake a stick at, scones which were oh-so-deelish with Devonshire cream and jam, and some dainty desserts. Plus, of course, the tea. There is over a dozen to choose from - the waitress came by with a large trolley full of tea. She puts some in a bowl and you can smell it to see if that is really the one you want. I tried Margaret's Hope Darjeeling - it was nice and a little strong (which I like), but didn't wow me over. My dad's (Maple Maple) smelled lovely, though I didn't taste it. Mom took the Jasmine Butterfly #1 (the existence and/or nature of #2 remains a mystery). My aunt and uncle both had Berry Berry - it smells similar to Lipton's Mountain Berry. Randal had what I personally thought was the best one - the Lapsang Chu Chong, a Chinese tea. It was very strong and smokey smelling, like burning embers on a fire or an incense stick slowly smoldering. It was very nice.

We were home by about 8:00 or so and I had started to do dishes when Randal came into the kitchen and said we wouldn't be able to see The Aristocrats because it was only playing till Wednesday and I am busy every evening this week. But it was playing in 15 minutes. So I left the dirty dishes in the sink, threw on my jacket, and we ran out to grab a cab to the Bytowne Cinema, arriving about 5 minutes late but thank goodness for previews - we hadn't missed much.

Now, this is not normally my sort of humour, but after one or two renditions of the joke, I was totally into it.* The movie is well done - I had understood it more to be various comedians' version of the joke one after the other, but it is more a fusing and intertwining of tellings and reflections on the joke. No one can really tell you where the joke originated, and there are many theories as to why it keeps getting told. Bottom line: every comedian knows it, every comedian has done it at some point. Some were successful, some were glorious disasters. In the film, a couple of the tellings push the joke way too far, and a few others only provide lame observeations that don't add much; for the most part, however, the comedians seem to really have thought about why people react to the joke in the ways they do and why it has become a rite of passage of sorts for comedians.


If you haven't heard about it, here is a slightly scathing review (but it gets the premise right) and here is a slightly better one, plus here is a reviewer (the first member review on that page) who seems to have really "got it". (No, that is not a biased opinion in any way whatsoever...)

Blast from the past...

Today I went on a "field trip" at work - went to visit the Health Sciences Library with a few other librarians. It is on a different campus from the rest of the U of O.

The best part of the whole trip, however, was walking through the Health Sciences Building on our way to the library: the walls were lined with photos of graduating classes. We stopped to look at some old ones, then I said, almost joking, "Hey, I should see if my parents are up here!" They met at U of O Medical School and both graduated in 1972 (they married in 1971, though I note that despite my mother's declaration that she graduated under her married name, her maiden name is actually hyphenated to the married one).

And we found them, on the wall on the way to the library (it's like they knew where their daughter would end up someday):



It was pretty cool. I was told that my dad looks like a total hipster (he probably was at the time, and he still is, though in different, unexpected ways) - especially with his way-cool long sideburns - and that my mom also looked cool with her glasses and long, long hair. Plus, what I already knew and shall likely never escape: that I look like my mom - hi Mom! love you! ;) - though I pointed out that I have my dad's nose (at least, a more delicate, girly version thereof).

I don't know if this was the same building they would have actually attended Med School at; I think it is a "newer" building (though not in the true sense of the term "new", judging from the bright orange carpeting throughout the library).

In Memoriam...

Xena, Warrior Kitty Princess

A good cat who put up with us for over seven years. You were taught your keen hunting skills by practicing on my kitten-sized teddy bear. Later, once accustomed to the thought that you did not have to hunt in order to survive but merely had to meow plaintively and constantly from the dining room (where your food was placed on a buffet carefully out of the dog's reach) until someone fed you again, you enjoyed your food with such relish that a new metal food dish with heavy bottom was procured for your use so that you could no longer bat the bowl to the floor when the food it contained was not fresh enough for your liking.

Never really a fan of dogs, you were reluctant companion and tolerant housemate to the beagle Tyler. He will miss having to sleep on the ceramic floor in the hallway next to his comfy dog bed because you have chosen to nap there in his stead, and danger befall the dog who might try to join you there! Luckily, Tyler was never so rash, the memory of your first meeting and the "friendly" swat across the nose which he received from you still standing out fresh in his mind.


You once bit the vet, and you hated car rides (with a passion). But you liked snuggling up next to Mom when she was reading late at night in the family room (and, apparently, sleeping on her head). You would sit outside the bathroom when she'd be so mean as to leave you on the other side of the door. For many years, there was a basket in the middle of the dining room table in which you liked to nap, and it will be a while before we stop putting magazines on the dining room chairs in a (failed) attempt to prevent you from sitting on them.

While you often pretended to be a grown-up, mature cat, you were like a little kid on Christmas Day when you were allowed to frolic in-between the presents under the tree, batting the tree ornaments (all the non-breakable ones put at the bottom, of course) and darting through the crinkly tissue paper. There were also some stellar kitty presents through the years: the most popular involving some kind of furry rodent on a long string or catnip-filled knit mice from Nova Scotia.


Content to be a housecat, though curious about the outdoors, in Kitty Heaven, Xena, may you finally be able to catch those birds you were always keenly watching through the kitchen window...

Cabane à sucre : special report

The cabane à sucre this weekend was great. I’ve never had the chance to do this before, despite my otherwise solid Canadian upbringing in the eastern half of this country (Nova Scotia, Québec, Ontario) – even Randal had been to some such parties as a kid, as apparently every year during Festival des voyageurs in Winnipeg, a sugar shack would be set up.

So, yes it is possible to overdose on maple syrup. But I was good and stopped short of a fifth tire. Here’s how it works (the non-scientific explanation) :

Once you have collected a lot of sap from maple trees (by tapping them with a little pipe, of sorts, and placing a bucket to catch the sap), you have to heat it up for many many hours. Guy, my dad’s cousin’s husband, told us that the sap must thicken 40 times before it is ready to eat. He was heating it up in a large pot on an outdoor wood stove. You have to keep about two inches of sap in the pot at all times. When the syrup is just about right, he’d transfer it to a pot on the hot-plate in the cabane, where Louise (my dad’s cousin) would then stir it a bit longer, then take spoonfuls of syrup and drizzle it in small amounts into a bowl full of snow. From then, you roll up the syrup quickly (a second or two after it hits the snow) onto a popsicle stick, then cool the rolled-up syrup a few second more on a cookie-sheet covered in snow. Don’t wait too long or it will get too hard! It’s sticky, sweet, and utterly dee-lish.

In Little House in the Big Woods, Laura Ingalls, at the age of 3, goes to visit her grandma on the other side of the Big Woods in Wisconsin, and they eat maple syrup cooled on the snow (minus the popsicle sticks). That was how I felt today, except we didn’t have a big fiddle dance afterwards. :)

And, oh, did the dog ever have a good time!!! Well, not at first. He was sick in the car on the way down, losing his breakfast all over his towel and Randal’s jacket. Once there, he was a little flustered at first by all the people and Poupée, Louise and Guy’s big black standard poodle. But it was finally not too cold for him to play outside (mon pauvre petit chien frileux), and we took him off his leash once everyone assured us he would not run away. Oh my! He had a grand time cavorting and snuffling through the snow, launching himself into massive drifts, running around, sliding on the icy driveway, and playing “who-will-be-the-last-to-scent-this-snowdrift” with Poupée. (We never did figure out which one won that game in the end.) Rémy, Louise and Guy’s son, took us down into the snow-covered woods down to a (frozen and snowed-over) creek and the dog came joyfully bounding down. Only once he began sinking down too deep in the snow did Randal carry him. I fell in the snow up to almost my waist many times, and once through the ice over the creek (the water is apparently quite low as I didn’t even get my boots wet - but it made a fun crunch noise as I fell through).

Saturday night, how well did we sleep!?!? Rion passed out on the couch around 8:30 - unheard of for him! I followed suit snuggled alongside around 10:30, and we didn’t wake up until after 4:00 a.m. the next morning.

Uh, welcome to my life ...

So I’m sitting in my room looking at a small pile of boxes that I never bothered to unpack (I only moved in last September; practically last week!). Decide to open one for kicks. It’s filled with books that I had in my old office in Toronto. Some law textbooks, a text on cyber-forensics, a few binders of materials collected from seminars and conferences, and so on. Plus, uh, a cheque from my (former) insurance company for just over $300 for some prescriptions I had filled shortly before leaving for Southeast Asia. Dated June 17, 2004. D’oh. I vaguely remember being somewhere in Japan or Thailand in July wondering whether I had actually remembered to tie up all the loose ends financially before leaving. This includes a vague memory of a $300 cheque. But I figured it must be okay, and the thought was promptly gone. This is a sign, I think, that it is high time I get more organized around here (story of my life). Can’t remember what the timeline on depositing cheques is : a year or six months? So Tuesday I will have to go to my bank (Monday I’m in Montreal for work) and see what can be done about this.

I have normally been very good about this sort of thing. Recently there has been a spate of gaffes, however. Last month it was discovered by the good financial-forces-that-be at my workplace that I had not submitted for my relocation allowance. Oops. My supervisor straightened that out, and I received it (a substantial chunk of change, I might add, that has now in turn been diverted toward my student loans). More recently, a rent cheque that went astray (I still maintain that wasn’t my fault). I discovered a number of unused travelers’ cheques (from aforementioned Southeast Asia trip) sitting in a desk drawer - that was a nice discovery as they are now part of my next “travel fund” (likely destination : Amsterdam and/or Paris). Oh, and on the non-financial side of things, I have been carrying around for four days now a package that needs to go to the post office in order to be mailed to my sister-in-law. Her birthday present, over a month late. (Sorry, Agnes!) I’m sure there’s more that I have conveniently forgotten about.

In other late-breaking news, tomorrow we are going to a cabane à sucre party. One of my dad’s cousins who lives in Ottawa has invited us. It is at her cabane in Cantley, in the Gatineaus, which are mountains (OK, not according to BC standards, but give Central/Eastern Canada a break here!) about 25 minutes north of the city. Should be fun. I have never been to a cabane à sucre party (sorry - I’m obviously not a French Canadian with a proper upbringing). Will post back to advise how it is and whether it is indeed possible to overdose on maple syrup. I think we’re bringing the dog, which will be wild...

(On a side note, my language icon in my task bar seems to have disappeared completely. The Gremlins really are on a rampage against me these days! ...I also keep trying to use my mouse, but it’s currently unplugged, so that’s at least a perfectly rational explanation.)