Photos courtesy of Google. Extreme national pride courtesy of all the amazing Canadian athletes. Thank you.
Monday, March 01, 2010
So. Proud.
Photos courtesy of Google. Extreme national pride courtesy of all the amazing Canadian athletes. Thank you.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
I'm not sure, I think they might be cheering for Slovakia
I wrote this blog last week, long before anyone knew that Canada's men's hockey team would be playing Slovakia in the semifinals. I was just looking for a country whose national colours are sort of similar to Canada's. You know, for comic effect. No one at our house is going to be cheering for Slovakia tonight. Really.
We've been watching a lot of Olympics at chez Party of 3.
It's been amazing. While we are cheering for Canada, of course, we have been blown away by the awe-inspiring performances of the Americans, the Swiss, the Germans, the Norwegians, and the Koreans, to name but a few.
It has been a dream come true to watch the best athletes from all over the world compete and win gold here in Canada.
But fair warning: when it comes to hockey, the women's and the men's, let us make one thing perfectly clear -- it's our game.
GO, CANADA, GO!!!
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
A moment in time
The Hacienda Hotel, Old Town, San Diego. A warm November night. Two friends and colleagues, their hair still in wind-blown disarray from a shoreline geology field trip of San Diego Bay on a boat, full and happy from margaritas and a wonderful Mexican dinner, are heading to their respective rooms.
So, your talk is right after lunch tomorrow?
Yep. The start of the second technical session.
And you have a Powerpoint presentation?
Nope. Linda, I *know* this stuff. I can give this talk with just speaker's notes. I don't need a slideshow.
You need a slideshow. Come on, we can make one right now.
[sort of pouting] But I'm tired.
Come on, Alison....I'll bring the laptop out to the table in the courtyard in front of my room and we'll work on it outside. [wheedling] I have a bottle of wine....Let's see if these California reds are anything to write to you about.
'Write home about'.
Merci. 'Write home about'.
[sighing] OK.
Some night-blooming flowers are scenting the air. The fountain on the courtyard wall splashes softly in the background. A lot of laughing accompanies the work on the laptop. The wine is very, very good.
Thanks, Linda. The talk will be better with a slideshow.
No problem.
You know, I could get used to this.
Which, Alison? The working out of doors? Or the wine? [grins]
All of it. Seriously, this is the way to live. Very civilized. Could you imagine doing all our work outside, with a glass of wine? We'd either be super-productive, or very liver-damaged.
[laughing] We couldn't do this in Ottawa though. I don't know if you would get people to participate into meetings outside in November.
Probably not. Here. Fill me up. [giggles] Hey, let me take a photo of this: "Linda, working hard at her laptop."
You are too funny. Wait, let me hold the bottle up. For effect. [grins]
So, your talk is right after lunch tomorrow?
Yep. The start of the second technical session.
And you have a Powerpoint presentation?
Nope. Linda, I *know* this stuff. I can give this talk with just speaker's notes. I don't need a slideshow.
You need a slideshow. Come on, we can make one right now.
[sort of pouting] But I'm tired.
Come on, Alison....I'll bring the laptop out to the table in the courtyard in front of my room and we'll work on it outside. [wheedling] I have a bottle of wine....Let's see if these California reds are anything to write to you about.
'Write home about'.
Merci. 'Write home about'.
[sighing] OK.
Some night-blooming flowers are scenting the air. The fountain on the courtyard wall splashes softly in the background. A lot of laughing accompanies the work on the laptop. The wine is very, very good.
Thanks, Linda. The talk will be better with a slideshow.
No problem.
You know, I could get used to this.
Which, Alison? The working out of doors? Or the wine? [grins]
All of it. Seriously, this is the way to live. Very civilized. Could you imagine doing all our work outside, with a glass of wine? We'd either be super-productive, or very liver-damaged.
[laughing] We couldn't do this in Ottawa though. I don't know if you would get people to participate into meetings outside in November.
Probably not. Here. Fill me up. [giggles] Hey, let me take a photo of this: "Linda, working hard at her laptop."
You are too funny. Wait, let me hold the bottle up. For effect. [grins]
Linda Guay
1963-2010
Tu me manques, mon amie.
1963-2010
Tu me manques, mon amie.
Monday, February 15, 2010
This is what 10 looks like
This is what a pile of girlfriends looks like:
This is what tobogganing on a snowy afternoon looks like:
This is what a happy birthday girl looks like:
This is what excitement looks like:
This is what airborne looks like:
This is what an Olympic-inspired obstacle course looks like:
This is what damn near a whole can of aerosol whipped cream and lots of sprinkles on top of a carefully iced birthday cake looks like:
This is what blowing out the candles looks like:
This is what I love you, Leah looks like:
Happy 10th birthday, Big Girl.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Are you there chocolate? It's me, Alison.
Some days just defy description. On some days, you'd be just so much better off if you barricaded yourself in your bedroom with several bars of premium dark chocolate, a bottle of Bailey's, some trashy gossip mags and season one of Torchwood on DVD.
Some days find you realizing that Calgon just isn't going to cut it, and you start thinking, "Smirnoff, take me away!"
Some days find your daughter informing you that the next day is 100th Day at school and her project is due, a project that you vaguely remember reading about in the class newsletter several weeks previously, but didn't do anything about, like write "do a 100th Day project" on the kitchen calendar, leading to you finding yourself up at 4 a.m. hot gluing 100 googly eyes to a teeshirt, and 6 or 7 to your fingers.
Some days find you blearily noticing the blinking light on the electric toothbrush recharger in the predawn hours and thinking to yourself, "I'd better check my messages."
Some days find you filling the coffee maker with water, but forgetting the "put ground coffee in the filter" part of the process, resulting in a mug of hot, slightly brown-tinted water.
Some days find you talking on the phone early in the morning to a man with a sexy voice, but he's the CAA operator who's sending someone on a service call to your house because your car won't start.
Some days find you cursing at your inability to unlock your office door and then realizing that it's because you're using your house key.
Some days find you writing "Upwords, for Nat" on your hand in a vain attempt to remember to bring in a board game for the friend at work who always brings you home-baked muffins, and then washing it off and thus forgetting the game you *promised* to bring in, and then arriving at work and finding a note on your desk that says, "I brought you some home-made soup, it's in the fridge. N."
Some days find you sitting at your desk noticing that the two black socks you put on in the darkness of your bedroom are, in reality, a plain black sock, and a navy blue sock with a noticeable texture pattern.
I really wish all those some days wouldn't be all in the same week. Give a girl a break. And some more chocolate.
Thursday, February 04, 2010
I got nothing
Except a new camera! (Thanks, Dad!)
I opened it up and started playing with it while I was at home and the girls were at school, so, the only family member available for portrait work was Max.
I'm working on a post about the 2010 Paralympic Canadian Men's Sledge Hockey team, who we saw play in Carp this week, and one about skiing, but they aren't done yet.
I opened it up and started playing with it while I was at home and the girls were at school, so, the only family member available for portrait work was Max.
I'm working on a post about the 2010 Paralympic Canadian Men's Sledge Hockey team, who we saw play in Carp this week, and one about skiing, but they aren't done yet.
So you get cat pictures.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Ice ice baby, or, Me and Eric Lindros -- we're like this *crosses fingers for emphasis*
Living in Canada, Canadians quickly learn to embrace winter. Realistically, we don't have a choice. So we skate, and we ski, and we snowboard. We snowshoe and build snowforts. We play hockey and broomball and snowball wars. We go snowmobiling and ice fishing. We sometimes say 'screw it' and lie on the couch eating potato chips and playing Wii for entire weekends in February. And we toboggan (also known as sledding, for my non-Canadian readers). Oh boy do we toboggan. In fact, you'd be hard pressed to find any incline steeper than 15° that doesn't have snowsuited children hurtling down it at breakneck speed 24/7.
Yes, these were the thoughts that were going through my mind as I sat in the Emergency Room at Queensway-Carleton Hospital Sunday night, clutching a couple of paperbacks and waiting to see a doctor. Douglas Adams once wrote, "It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on Earth has ever produced the phrase, 'as pretty as an airport.' Airports are ugly. Some are very ugly. Some attain a degree of ugliness that can only be the result of a special effort." Much the same thing can be said of waiting rooms in hospitals, along the lines of "It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on Earth has ever produced the phrase, 'as restful as an ER waiting room.'" -- especially on a Sunday night. During a freezing rain storm. In winter. In Ottawa.
Not that it wasn't interesting -- oh no, interesting was definitely at a premium that night. I counted three people with splinted arms in slings (see freezing rain, above), and some poor guy had dropped an ice auger on his foot (imagine a wicked sharp corkscrew-shaped steel blade about 3 feet long, handily topped with a small but heavy gasoline engine. Now imagine what that would do when dropped on one's foot. Ouch.) There was a nauseous man who was so wan and pale that he approached actual transparency, who arrived with a girlfriend and his own bucket. The bucket sat at his feet. The girlfriend sat a healthy distance away. Parents were there with small unhappy children with various complaints. But I digress...
Why was I sitting in Emerg, you ask? Well let's return to the subject of my first paragraph. I took Rachel tobogganing. Leah was at a playdate, and I bribed Rachel with the promise of tobogganing in order to get her to come with me to run errands. Late afternoon found us on the toboggan hill practically behind our house along with Darian and Payton, the two girls from next door. Rae and I had our foam snow saucers:
and the other girls had their snow tube: 
which was about five times the size of the saucers and would seat two comfortably. We've been having some alternating warm and cold weather, and the hill is very icy. This makes for long, fast runs -- ideal really. Some enterprising kids have made a jump on one side of the hill by building the snow up into a bump. It's now a mogul of pure ice. There's no way I'd take the foam saucer down the jump run, I like my vertebrae right where they are thankyouverymuch, but Darian was sailing down the jump run and floating over the jump on the big inflatable snow tube.
It looked like fun. So I asked if I could take a turn (idiot). Rae wanted to ride with me, so she jumped on my lap -- thus putting all of our weight on one side of the tube. You see where this is going, don't you? What we had was an unbalanced centre of gravity:
Where R = centre of gravity, M = my stupidity, mj = the amount of air displaced in the tube due to mine and Rae's combined body mass, and rj = the slope of the ice jump.
We slid majestically down the run and hit the jump. Our combined weight on the back side of the tube meant that instead of going over the jump, the tube headed straight up and shot out from under us so that we fell backward onto the jump with the tube landing on top of us. The back of my head hit the ice followed instantaneously by the back of Rachel's head hitting my face.
You really do see stars, you know.
When Darian asked if we were OK, my first question was, "Is my nose the right shape?". I seriously thought my seven-year-old's skull had broken my nose. We were starting to lose the light, so off we went home. Rae and I collected Leah from her playdate and I cooked us all supper with a big headache. My dinner stayed down for all of 6 minutes before it came back up again. Hmmmm, vomiting after a head injury -- this sounds like a job for....The Internet!
Never look up symptoms on the Internet.
The rational part of my brain was saying, "You're fine. You just bumped your head. Go to bed early." The not-so-rational part of my brain just kept screaming, "Natasha Richardson! Natasha Richardson!!!" over and over again. So, I called Telehealth and talked to a nurse. She said that although I hadn't lost consciousness and could remember the incident, the vomiting meant that I should go to the ER. Damn. I was hoping she'd tell me to go to bed early. No such luck.
Connie next door took the girls for me (candidate for sainthood, seriously) and off I drove through the freezing rain to the hospital.
The wait in Emerg actually wasn't that bad. On the whole it was better than the strategic planning and branch integration meeting I sat through this week. Sure, there was more puke in the ER, but much less jargon. (I swear, if I hear 'stakeholders' or 'core competencies' one more time at work, I'll need a bucket of my own.) I had some books with me, and another patient found a channel showing back-to-back CSI episodes on the TV in one corner of the waiting room. So, after two CSI Miamis and a half a CSI New York, I was called in to an examining room, feeling somewhat of a fraud, since I was feeling very normal (although tired and headachy). Ten minutes later, a doctor examined me. She shone lights into my eyes, made me follow her finger with my eyes, felt my head, checked my reflexes, asked me a zillion questions, and then said she didn't think I needed an X-ray. She told me I had a mild concussion and I should rest for 24 hours, take Tylenol or Advil for the headache, and have someone wake me every six hours.
So I spent Monday at home sleeping and reading, which was nice. And now I'm back at work wondering if I should see how outspoken I can get at meetings this week and blame it all on the concussion. Could be fun, people.
Yes, these were the thoughts that were going through my mind as I sat in the Emergency Room at Queensway-Carleton Hospital Sunday night, clutching a couple of paperbacks and waiting to see a doctor. Douglas Adams once wrote, "It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on Earth has ever produced the phrase, 'as pretty as an airport.' Airports are ugly. Some are very ugly. Some attain a degree of ugliness that can only be the result of a special effort." Much the same thing can be said of waiting rooms in hospitals, along the lines of "It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on Earth has ever produced the phrase, 'as restful as an ER waiting room.'" -- especially on a Sunday night. During a freezing rain storm. In winter. In Ottawa.
Not that it wasn't interesting -- oh no, interesting was definitely at a premium that night. I counted three people with splinted arms in slings (see freezing rain, above), and some poor guy had dropped an ice auger on his foot (imagine a wicked sharp corkscrew-shaped steel blade about 3 feet long, handily topped with a small but heavy gasoline engine. Now imagine what that would do when dropped on one's foot. Ouch.) There was a nauseous man who was so wan and pale that he approached actual transparency, who arrived with a girlfriend and his own bucket. The bucket sat at his feet. The girlfriend sat a healthy distance away. Parents were there with small unhappy children with various complaints. But I digress...
Why was I sitting in Emerg, you ask? Well let's return to the subject of my first paragraph. I took Rachel tobogganing. Leah was at a playdate, and I bribed Rachel with the promise of tobogganing in order to get her to come with me to run errands. Late afternoon found us on the toboggan hill practically behind our house along with Darian and Payton, the two girls from next door. Rae and I had our foam snow saucers:
and the other girls had their snow tube: 
which was about five times the size of the saucers and would seat two comfortably. We've been having some alternating warm and cold weather, and the hill is very icy. This makes for long, fast runs -- ideal really. Some enterprising kids have made a jump on one side of the hill by building the snow up into a bump. It's now a mogul of pure ice. There's no way I'd take the foam saucer down the jump run, I like my vertebrae right where they are thankyouverymuch, but Darian was sailing down the jump run and floating over the jump on the big inflatable snow tube.It looked like fun. So I asked if I could take a turn (idiot). Rae wanted to ride with me, so she jumped on my lap -- thus putting all of our weight on one side of the tube. You see where this is going, don't you? What we had was an unbalanced centre of gravity:
Where R = centre of gravity, M = my stupidity, mj = the amount of air displaced in the tube due to mine and Rae's combined body mass, and rj = the slope of the ice jump.
We slid majestically down the run and hit the jump. Our combined weight on the back side of the tube meant that instead of going over the jump, the tube headed straight up and shot out from under us so that we fell backward onto the jump with the tube landing on top of us. The back of my head hit the ice followed instantaneously by the back of Rachel's head hitting my face.
You really do see stars, you know.
When Darian asked if we were OK, my first question was, "Is my nose the right shape?". I seriously thought my seven-year-old's skull had broken my nose. We were starting to lose the light, so off we went home. Rae and I collected Leah from her playdate and I cooked us all supper with a big headache. My dinner stayed down for all of 6 minutes before it came back up again. Hmmmm, vomiting after a head injury -- this sounds like a job for....The Internet!
Never look up symptoms on the Internet.
The rational part of my brain was saying, "You're fine. You just bumped your head. Go to bed early." The not-so-rational part of my brain just kept screaming, "Natasha Richardson! Natasha Richardson!!!" over and over again. So, I called Telehealth and talked to a nurse. She said that although I hadn't lost consciousness and could remember the incident, the vomiting meant that I should go to the ER. Damn. I was hoping she'd tell me to go to bed early. No such luck.
Connie next door took the girls for me (candidate for sainthood, seriously) and off I drove through the freezing rain to the hospital.
The wait in Emerg actually wasn't that bad. On the whole it was better than the strategic planning and branch integration meeting I sat through this week. Sure, there was more puke in the ER, but much less jargon. (I swear, if I hear 'stakeholders' or 'core competencies' one more time at work, I'll need a bucket of my own.) I had some books with me, and another patient found a channel showing back-to-back CSI episodes on the TV in one corner of the waiting room. So, after two CSI Miamis and a half a CSI New York, I was called in to an examining room, feeling somewhat of a fraud, since I was feeling very normal (although tired and headachy). Ten minutes later, a doctor examined me. She shone lights into my eyes, made me follow her finger with my eyes, felt my head, checked my reflexes, asked me a zillion questions, and then said she didn't think I needed an X-ray. She told me I had a mild concussion and I should rest for 24 hours, take Tylenol or Advil for the headache, and have someone wake me every six hours.
So I spent Monday at home sleeping and reading, which was nice. And now I'm back at work wondering if I should see how outspoken I can get at meetings this week and blame it all on the concussion. Could be fun, people.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Wii are amused
The girls got a Wii for Christmas, and after playing Wii Fit at my sister's place over New Year's, they elected to pool some of their Christmas money last week and buy it for home. I don't know if you are familiar with Wii, though you probably are, but for some games (on the Wii Fit and Wii Sports) you can create a character to represent you when you play. This is called a 'Mii'. Cute.
So Rae's Mii is brunette with green eyes, Leah's Mii has blond bangs and brown eyes, and my Mii has grey blonde hair. You get the picture. The other day I was cleaning the kitchen and I could hear the Wii music and piles of giggles coming up the stairs from the basement. I called down and asked which game they were playing. Leah answered that they weren't playing, but were creating new Miis to choose from. The giggles went on for quite some time.
So, last night, I finally got around to setting up the Wii Fit balance board for the girls to play with. Squinting at the directions, I synched the balance board with the Wii console, and we were in business. Rae wanted to go first. When the selection of Miis came up on the screen to choose from, in addition to the Rae, Leah and Alison Miis were the following:
- A dark-haired, vaguely Beatles-looking guy named Rick
- A scary scar- or wrinkle-faced person with brown skin and pale blonde little-girl ponytails named Oyusa
- A guy who looked a lot like Graham Greene, with long grey braids and granny glasses called Hagerlot
- And finally, a tanned, spiky-haired guy with bulgy eyes and a very intense look on his face called:
wait for it...... BigO.
(I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.)
I nearly killed myself laughing, and the worst part was that I couldn't explain to Leah why the name she'd made up was so funny.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Heart attack
Last night, after the girls were in bed, I was sitting in my big green chair in the living room reading The Last Samurai and drinking tea. The book is amazing, and I was very engrossed in it. I had just taken a mouthful of very hot tea and put the mug down on the table next to me when Rachel jumped up from where she had been hiding behind my chair and yelled “Boo!” in my ear.
I jumped about a foot in the air.
Me: Rachel!
Rae: Ha! Did I scare you Mummy? Did I? I was so quiet that you didn’t even hear me. Wasn’t that funny?
Me: No! It wasn’t funny. You really scared me. And I’m drinking very hot tea. That isn’t funny at all. You could have made me spill it and I could have been burned.
Rae: Oh no you wouldn’t. I made sure you put the tea down before I scared you. I’m very thoughtful.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Happy Delurking Day!
Delurking Day 2010
(Thursday, January 14, 2010)
You do know what day it is, right? That's right -- it's Delurking Day 2010!
Chris, over at Rude Cactus, reminded me. So I'm pinching his post. I don't think he'll mind.
So I invite everyone -- whether you comment regularly or lurk in the background quietly reading to yourself -- to leave a comment and let me know you're out there. And if you have a blog yourself, feel free to join in.
Happy Delurking Day, everyone!
(Thursday, January 14, 2010)
You do know what day it is, right? That's right -- it's Delurking Day 2010!
Chris, over at Rude Cactus, reminded me. So I'm pinching his post. I don't think he'll mind.
So I invite everyone -- whether you comment regularly or lurk in the background quietly reading to yourself -- to leave a comment and let me know you're out there. And if you have a blog yourself, feel free to join in.
Happy Delurking Day, everyone!
Monday, January 11, 2010
Correspondence, again
Dear CBC Radio One,
Please teach Bill Gillespie how to pronounce the letter I. I was listening to him on the news this morning reporting on a story about the sentencing of two Tamil Tigers who attempted to buy stinger missiles in 2006 to use in the war against Sri Lanka and were caught in a joint RCMP-FBI sting. Bill kept referring to them as "Tamil Taggers", which makes them sound more like a couple of kids spraying graffiti on garage doors rather than terrorists. It totally distracted me from the story.
Grumpily,
Alison
P.S. I'm glad he wasn't the one reporting on the Siberian tiger that mauled his owner to death near London.
**************************
Dear Man outside of IKEA,
Your kind offer to help me back to my car with my purchases when I had clearly bitten off more than I could chew in the 'piling heavy stuff on a shopping cart and hoping for the best' category was much appreciated.
Chivalry is indeed alive and well and you proved that not once, but twice, when I assured you that I was fine to get the big box into the trunk, watched you go off towards your car, and then promptly dropped my box (containing a 4-drawer bureau) on the ground. There I stood, holding Rae's frozen yogurt, wondering what to do now, and I heard a car stop behind me. You jumped out and deposited the box in the trunk for me before resuming your trip out of the parking lot.
Thanks again.
Gratefully yours,
Alison
**************************
Dear Shen Yun Performing Arts,
I attended your show at the National Arts Centre with my seven- and nine-year-old daughters yesterday afternoon. I didn't realize that Shen Yun Performing Arts was run by the Falun Dafa when I bought the tickets. Not that that would have stopped me from going -- I'm no fan of totalitarian governments, and anyone who watches the news knows that the Chinese government has harrassed and tortured people for practicing this religion. But when I bought tickets for what was billed as "classical Chinese dance and music in gloriously colorful and exhilarating shows", I was expecting just that. Bright coloured costumes, synchronized dancing, leaps and tumbles. I got that, yes, but it was served with a side of unwanted political commentary.
I did not expect the propaganda (and yes, it's propaganda even when the good guys do it) along with the show. The dance routine showing the stylized beating death of the Falun Dafa woman in front of her young daughter by Chinese soldiers upset my daughter, and even the fact that the mom was whizzed off to heaven on the animated digital backdrop by some animated blue-haired Buddah guys riding what appeared to be celestial segways did nothing to make her feel better. Thanks for taking the fun out of a nice family outing. We won't be back next year.
Non-partisanly yours,
Alison
**************************
Dear person who put the sign up on Carling Ave. that says "Wine is the reason I get up every afternoon.",
Thanks for the laugh. I see that every morning on my way to work and it never fails to make me giggle.
Fondly,
Alison
**************************
Dear Stephen Harper,
Get back to work. Oh, and we are *so* not going to forget about the Afghan detainee thing and the way you and your minions tried to smear Richard Colvin's character for just doing his job. Nope, we aren't. Sorry.
Alison
P.S. Is that really your hair, or is it some kind of graphite composite, like they make fishing rods out of?
Please teach Bill Gillespie how to pronounce the letter I. I was listening to him on the news this morning reporting on a story about the sentencing of two Tamil Tigers who attempted to buy stinger missiles in 2006 to use in the war against Sri Lanka and were caught in a joint RCMP-FBI sting. Bill kept referring to them as "Tamil Taggers", which makes them sound more like a couple of kids spraying graffiti on garage doors rather than terrorists. It totally distracted me from the story.
Grumpily,
Alison
P.S. I'm glad he wasn't the one reporting on the Siberian tiger that mauled his owner to death near London.
**************************
Dear Man outside of IKEA,
Your kind offer to help me back to my car with my purchases when I had clearly bitten off more than I could chew in the 'piling heavy stuff on a shopping cart and hoping for the best' category was much appreciated.
Chivalry is indeed alive and well and you proved that not once, but twice, when I assured you that I was fine to get the big box into the trunk, watched you go off towards your car, and then promptly dropped my box (containing a 4-drawer bureau) on the ground. There I stood, holding Rae's frozen yogurt, wondering what to do now, and I heard a car stop behind me. You jumped out and deposited the box in the trunk for me before resuming your trip out of the parking lot.
Thanks again.
Gratefully yours,
Alison
**************************
Dear Shen Yun Performing Arts,
I attended your show at the National Arts Centre with my seven- and nine-year-old daughters yesterday afternoon. I didn't realize that Shen Yun Performing Arts was run by the Falun Dafa when I bought the tickets. Not that that would have stopped me from going -- I'm no fan of totalitarian governments, and anyone who watches the news knows that the Chinese government has harrassed and tortured people for practicing this religion. But when I bought tickets for what was billed as "classical Chinese dance and music in gloriously colorful and exhilarating shows", I was expecting just that. Bright coloured costumes, synchronized dancing, leaps and tumbles. I got that, yes, but it was served with a side of unwanted political commentary.
I did not expect the propaganda (and yes, it's propaganda even when the good guys do it) along with the show. The dance routine showing the stylized beating death of the Falun Dafa woman in front of her young daughter by Chinese soldiers upset my daughter, and even the fact that the mom was whizzed off to heaven on the animated digital backdrop by some animated blue-haired Buddah guys riding what appeared to be celestial segways did nothing to make her feel better. Thanks for taking the fun out of a nice family outing. We won't be back next year.
Non-partisanly yours,
Alison
**************************
Dear person who put the sign up on Carling Ave. that says "Wine is the reason I get up every afternoon.",
Thanks for the laugh. I see that every morning on my way to work and it never fails to make me giggle.
Fondly,
Alison
**************************
Dear Stephen Harper,
Get back to work. Oh, and we are *so* not going to forget about the Afghan detainee thing and the way you and your minions tried to smear Richard Colvin's character for just doing his job. Nope, we aren't. Sorry.
Alison
P.S. Is that really your hair, or is it some kind of graphite composite, like they make fishing rods out of?
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
Who am I sleeping with again?
Last night Rachel showed up at my bedside in the wee hours and climbed in next to me. She'd had a bad dream.
6:15 this morning:
Me [smooching her cheek loudly]: It's time to get up, Rae.
Rae:[mutters unintelligibly and doesn't open eyes]
Me: It's after six and breakfast is almost ready. Come on, chop, chop.....Rae? Wake up, Rae .
Rae[without opening eyes]: Call me 'Big Luke'. [rolls over and pulls duvet over head]
6:15 this morning:
Me [smooching her cheek loudly]: It's time to get up, Rae.
Rae:[mutters unintelligibly and doesn't open eyes]
Me: It's after six and breakfast is almost ready. Come on, chop, chop.....Rae? Wake up, Rae .
Rae[without opening eyes]: Call me 'Big Luke'. [rolls over and pulls duvet over head]
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
In which I realize just how old I am
Last night, at the grocery store:
Me [looking at shopping list]: OK, now we need some frozen corn. [opens glass freezer door] Hmmm, they're out of the store brand. I guess we'll buy the Green Giant corn. [singing] Ho, ho, ho, Green Giant.
Leah: Why did you say "Green Giant" at the end there?
Me [puzzled]: Because that's how the commercial goes: "Ho, ho, ho, Green Giant ."
Me [looking at shopping list]: OK, now we need some frozen corn. [opens glass freezer door] Hmmm, they're out of the store brand. I guess we'll buy the Green Giant corn. [singing] Ho, ho, ho, Green Giant.
Leah: Why did you say "Green Giant" at the end there?
Me [puzzled]: Because that's how the commercial goes: "Ho, ho, ho, Green Giant ."
Leah: Oh, a commercial. I thought you were singing the 'ho, ho, ho' part of "All the Single Ladies".
Me: .... [then kills herself laughing]
And that right there is the generation gap: the Jolly Green Giant and Beyoncé.
Damn.
Sunday, January 03, 2010
January 3, 2010 in Carp so far
8:30 a.m. - Struggle into consciousness, aware of something hard lodged under my rib cage.
8:31 a.m. - Remove Rachel's elbow from my rib cage. Briefly regret the two glasses of sherry at bedtime. Notice that Rachel and Leah are both in bed with me. And the cat too.
8:32 a.m. - En route to kitchen, admire the cleanliness of living room, except for the tree, which the cat apparently decided to un-decorate while we were gone. Helpful of him. Not.
9 a.m. - Making breakfast for girls. French toast for Leah, toasted bagel with butter for Rae.
9:22 a.m. - Standing at window with coffee watching the snow blowing off the roof and new snow falling and blowing sideways.
9:47 a.m. - first snowmobile of the day zooms down the road in front of the house.
10 a.m to 1 p.m. - girls play with plethora of Kinder Egg toys they received from Santa and Josie. Also, Leah challenges me to Wii tennis. I win, but my arm feels like it's on fire. It's still snowing.
1: 15 p.m. - the girls offer to shovel the driveway for $5.oo.
1:26 p.m. - I peek out to see Leah building a snow fort and Rae digging out the driveway.
1:33 p.m. - En route to kitchen, I stop and survey the complete destruction of the living room: Kinder Egg toys and stuffed animals everywhere, and all the sofa afghans on the floor in some sort of pattern acting as Barbie houses.
2:03 p.m. - girls come back in. Driveway is shovelled completely -- they have done a good job. Girls decide to play with new Lego sets.
2:05 p.m. - girls are instructed to put away toys in living room. Somewhat grumpily, they comply.
2:15 p.m - snowplow shows up and fills end of driveway with snow.
2:16 p.m. - I say a great many unprintable words under my breath. Girls are upset because all their work was for nothing.
2:20 p.m. - I am out shovelling the plow ridge. I am not having a date with Murray because I need to buy gas, and also I need to work off my breakfast of an omelette, toast, dark chocolate candy-cane bark and shortbread cookies (Josie's fault).
2:24 p.m. - the neighbours are out too, shovelling. We compete to see who has the most colourful descriptions of the snow plow driver. I win.
2:45 p.m. - back in the house thawing out. The second and third snowmobiles of the day go past the house.
3:00 p.m. - watch in disbelief as snowplow returns. Fortunately for his continued good health, he doesn't turn down my street.
3:14 p.m. - open large can of Blackthorn cider and finish taking the decorations off the tree that the cat has so graciously started for me. Sigh, it's back to work and school tomorrow.
Happy New Year, everyone!
8:31 a.m. - Remove Rachel's elbow from my rib cage. Briefly regret the two glasses of sherry at bedtime. Notice that Rachel and Leah are both in bed with me. And the cat too.
8:32 a.m. - En route to kitchen, admire the cleanliness of living room, except for the tree, which the cat apparently decided to un-decorate while we were gone. Helpful of him. Not.
9 a.m. - Making breakfast for girls. French toast for Leah, toasted bagel with butter for Rae.
9:22 a.m. - Standing at window with coffee watching the snow blowing off the roof and new snow falling and blowing sideways.
9:47 a.m. - first snowmobile of the day zooms down the road in front of the house.
10 a.m to 1 p.m. - girls play with plethora of Kinder Egg toys they received from Santa and Josie. Also, Leah challenges me to Wii tennis. I win, but my arm feels like it's on fire. It's still snowing.
1: 15 p.m. - the girls offer to shovel the driveway for $5.oo.
1:26 p.m. - I peek out to see Leah building a snow fort and Rae digging out the driveway.
1:33 p.m. - En route to kitchen, I stop and survey the complete destruction of the living room: Kinder Egg toys and stuffed animals everywhere, and all the sofa afghans on the floor in some sort of pattern acting as Barbie houses.
2:03 p.m. - girls come back in. Driveway is shovelled completely -- they have done a good job. Girls decide to play with new Lego sets.
2:05 p.m. - girls are instructed to put away toys in living room. Somewhat grumpily, they comply.
2:15 p.m - snowplow shows up and fills end of driveway with snow.
2:16 p.m. - I say a great many unprintable words under my breath. Girls are upset because all their work was for nothing.
2:20 p.m. - I am out shovelling the plow ridge. I am not having a date with Murray because I need to buy gas, and also I need to work off my breakfast of an omelette, toast, dark chocolate candy-cane bark and shortbread cookies (Josie's fault).
2:24 p.m. - the neighbours are out too, shovelling. We compete to see who has the most colourful descriptions of the snow plow driver. I win.
2:45 p.m. - back in the house thawing out. The second and third snowmobiles of the day go past the house.
3:00 p.m. - watch in disbelief as snowplow returns. Fortunately for his continued good health, he doesn't turn down my street.
3:14 p.m. - open large can of Blackthorn cider and finish taking the decorations off the tree that the cat has so graciously started for me. Sigh, it's back to work and school tomorrow.
Happy New Year, everyone!
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Santa Claus is coming to town
The note that accompanies Santa's cookies on the coffee table tonight. A transcript/translation:
Dear Santa,
Just in case Daddy hasn't already told you, please hug me while I'm asleep.
Leah
P.S. I think Rachel would [like] one too.
Love from Leah and Rachel
P.P.S. from Leah and Rachel, Mommy is putting the milk out when we're in bed
**********************
God bless us, every one.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Dominatrix in training
Conversation at the dinner table between Rachel and me last Thursday:
Rachel: It's Pajama Day tomorrow.
Me: For the whole school, or just your class?
Rae: The whole school. Can I wear my leather pajamas?
Me [speechless for a minute]:....Your what?
Rae: My leather pajamas.
Me: You don't have leather pajamas.
Rae: Oh. You're right. It's a nightie. Can I wear my leather nightie?
Me: You don't *have* a leather nightie.
Rae: Yes I do.
Me: No, you don't.
Rae: Yes I do.
Me: What does it look like?
Rae: It's pink, and comes down to my knees, and has skinny straps and is smooth and shiny. With teddy bears.
Me [relieved and kind of amused]: That's not leather.
Rae: Well, what is it then?
Me: It's fake silk. Polyester, probably.
Rae [in a very "to-MAY-to, to-MAH-to" tone of voice]: Oh. Whatever. Can I wear the silk nightie?
Me: Nope. Green flannel PJs with Tinkerbell on them. No highway option.*
Rachel: *sighs*
*This is one step past "My way or the highway". It's just my way, no arguments.
Rachel: It's Pajama Day tomorrow.
Me: For the whole school, or just your class?
Rae: The whole school. Can I wear my leather pajamas?
Me [speechless for a minute]:....Your what?
Rae: My leather pajamas.
Me: You don't have leather pajamas.
Rae: Oh. You're right. It's a nightie. Can I wear my leather nightie?
Me: You don't *have* a leather nightie.
Rae: Yes I do.
Me: No, you don't.
Rae: Yes I do.
Me: What does it look like?
Rae: It's pink, and comes down to my knees, and has skinny straps and is smooth and shiny. With teddy bears.
Me [relieved and kind of amused]: That's not leather.
Rae: Well, what is it then?
Me: It's fake silk. Polyester, probably.
Rae [in a very "to-MAY-to, to-MAH-to" tone of voice]: Oh. Whatever. Can I wear the silk nightie?
Me: Nope. Green flannel PJs with Tinkerbell on them. No highway option.*
Rachel: *sighs*
*This is one step past "My way or the highway". It's just my way, no arguments.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Holiday Homes Tour 2009. Kinda.
Once again, Jen has organized the Holiday Homes Tour. And I was all signed up, honest. But then my camera, given to me as a Mother's Day gift in 2005, went kablooey (technical term) and I was unable to photograph the decor. Sooooo, since my house looks virtually the same this year, right down to the snowy yard, we'll just pretend that this post from last year is new, OK?
************************
When Jen first suggested that we throw a virtual open house to show off our Christmas decorating, I was a bit dubious, butthreats gentle persuasion worked, so, please, come on in and help yourself to some virtual eggnog and virtual Christmas cookies. They're very good.
First, here is the external decor:
I'd like to say I'm responsible for the lovely snowy look, but I have to give credit to my exterior decorators. Perhaps you've heard of them: Mother Nature and Old Man Winter? [The snow is deeper this year, so imagine more.]
Wait, I did do the elf on the door:
Come on in. Now we're in the front hall and looking at the bookcase, which is usually in the living room, but makes its annual pilgrimage to the hall to make way for the tree. These stuffed animal ornaments are usually hung on the tree, but it's a smaller tree this year, so they are sitting up here to greet guests. [It's a huge tree this year, but I liked how they looked on top of the bookcase, so they're there again.]
(Sorry for the darkness of the photos, I was taking them without the flash, as the flash was making everything look all washed out. Photography is not one of my many talents. Unlike, say, Microsoft Paint.)
Here is where the stockings hang: [Photo updated include the new red, star-shaped, antique-looking candle holders.]
Yeah, my colour palette in the living room is more suited to Halloween than Christmas, but what are you gonna do? Here are some close ups of things on the mantle.
The Nativity Scene. As is traditional around here, one of the shepherds needed his feet glued on again.
************************
When Jen first suggested that we throw a virtual open house to show off our Christmas decorating, I was a bit dubious, but
First, here is the external decor:
I'd like to say I'm responsible for the lovely snowy look, but I have to give credit to my exterior decorators. Perhaps you've heard of them: Mother Nature and Old Man Winter? [The snow is deeper this year, so imagine more.]
Wait, I did do the elf on the door:
Come on in. Now we're in the front hall and looking at the bookcase, which is usually in the living room, but makes its annual pilgrimage to the hall to make way for the tree. These stuffed animal ornaments are usually hung on the tree, but it's a smaller tree this year, so they are sitting up here to greet guests. [It's a huge tree this year, but I liked how they looked on top of the bookcase, so they're there again.]
(Sorry for the darkness of the photos, I was taking them without the flash, as the flash was making everything look all washed out. Photography is not one of my many talents. Unlike, say, Microsoft Paint.)Here is where the stockings hang: [Photo updated include the new red, star-shaped, antique-looking candle holders.]
Yeah, my colour palette in the living room is more suited to Halloween than Christmas, but what are you gonna do? Here are some close ups of things on the mantle.
The Nativity Scene. As is traditional around here, one of the shepherds needed his feet glued on again.
Here is my Mexican Nativity Scene, a Christmas gift from my friend Evelyn when we were in San Diego together. I love that it has a llama in it.
Here is the Christmas village my mum gave me this summer:
And finally, the tree: [This year's tree takes up roughly half the living room.]
So, thank you all for coming, it was lovely to have you over. Don't forget your gloves, it's cold out there. Bye!
.
.
.
Die, tiny ceramic humans! Feel the sting of my paw! I will bat you all over the edge of the abyss! I will crush the one you call Claus beneath the raw power of my glutes. Bring me tuna or face the annihilation of all you hold precious.
(Merry Christmas from the Evil Ninja Assassin Cat.)
*******************************
Head on over to Jen's for links to other blogs holding open houses today.
Saturday, December 05, 2009
Conversations that have me reaching for the wine bottle
Me: Let's get this living room cleaned up now before bedtime, because we have someone coming over tomorrow morning.
Rae (the seven-year-old): Who's coming over?
Me: Alicia. She's babysitting you while I go out for brunch with my friends. She'll be over at 10:30.
Rae: When is she coming over?
Me: 10:30.
Rae: No, when is she coming over.
Me: 10:30. In the morning.
Rae [in an exasperated tone]: You don't understand what I'm asking. When is Alicia coming over?
Leah [trying to help]: Alicia is coming over at 10:30 tomorrow morning.
Rae [beyond exasperated]: You still don't understand. When. Is. Alicia. Coming. Over? Noon? Evening? When?
Me [getting a little exasperated myself]: Alicia is coming over tomorrow morning at 10:30.
Rae: You're not giving me the right answer!
Me [starting to lose it]: Yes I am. I'm giving you the exact right answer. Alicia will be here tomorrow at exactly 10:30 a.m. That is the only right answer. That's when she'll be here. At 10:30. In the morning. Tomorrow.
Rae: You don't understand. When is Alicia coming over? Early morning? Late morning? Noon?
Me: Oh. 10:30 is late morning.
Rae: Well why didn't you iust say so then? That's all I wanted to know. Why do you always make everything so hard?
Me: ....
[Sound of wine cork being pulled violently from the bottle]
Rae (the seven-year-old): Who's coming over?
Me: Alicia. She's babysitting you while I go out for brunch with my friends. She'll be over at 10:30.
Rae: When is she coming over?
Me: 10:30.
Rae: No, when is she coming over.
Me: 10:30. In the morning.
Rae [in an exasperated tone]: You don't understand what I'm asking. When is Alicia coming over?
Leah [trying to help]: Alicia is coming over at 10:30 tomorrow morning.
Rae [beyond exasperated]: You still don't understand. When. Is. Alicia. Coming. Over? Noon? Evening? When?
Me [getting a little exasperated myself]: Alicia is coming over tomorrow morning at 10:30.
Rae: You're not giving me the right answer!
Me [starting to lose it]: Yes I am. I'm giving you the exact right answer. Alicia will be here tomorrow at exactly 10:30 a.m. That is the only right answer. That's when she'll be here. At 10:30. In the morning. Tomorrow.
Rae: You don't understand. When is Alicia coming over? Early morning? Late morning? Noon?
Me: Oh. 10:30 is late morning.
Rae: Well why didn't you iust say so then? That's all I wanted to know. Why do you always make everything so hard?
Me: ....
[Sound of wine cork being pulled violently from the bottle]
Friday, December 04, 2009
The one about how to make a Lego table
I know it looks like a cop-out to to post two of last year's posts in row, but I had a few requests to repost the instructions on how to make a Lego table, so here they are. This really is an easy project that will bring literally years of enjoyment. I made ours in 2005 right before Christmas, and my girls are still playing with it and have asked Santa to bring them more Lego this year.
Making a Lego table
My kids love Lego.
I love Lego too. Except when walking through the living room in the dark and 'finding' a piece with the bottom of my foot. That, I don't love so much. So a couple of years ago, I decided to get a Lego table for the girls for Christmas. That way they could play to their hearts' content and not have to put everything away at the end of the day, and yet the tender soles of my feet would remain unscathed.
Then I started pricing Lego tables. They were ridiculously expensive. Like $120 or more. I figured I could do better for less. And I did.
Take 1 Lack side table from IKEA ($14.99):
Add 4 Lego base plates from Playvalue ($7.99 each):
Align base plates carefully* and stick down on table surface with plastic-friendly adhesive ($2.99). Allow to dry.
Add 2 buckets of Lego pieces ($10.00 each on sale):
And you have a great Lego table and almost 1000 pieces of Lego, for around $70.
Not puncturing the bottom of your foot and saying words the kids don't need to hear: priceless.
*There is a trick that you need to know. First, don't butt the plates up against each other, or the spacing will be off. You need to attach the base plates to each other with a few pieces of Lego before sticking the base plates down, so that blocks will be able to be attached over the gaps between the plates. You can use a 4-bump brick at the centre, and a couple of bricks down each side in order to get the spacing of the gap between the plates just right.
It's a great gift, and one my kids are still playing withthree four Christmasses later:
I just checked the Ikea and Playvalue websites, and the table and base plate costs are still the same as last year. Of course you can buy a small table and Lego at other stores as well, and the costs probably won't be much different.
Good luck, and drop me a comment if you make one!
Making a Lego table
My kids love Lego.
I love Lego too. Except when walking through the living room in the dark and 'finding' a piece with the bottom of my foot. That, I don't love so much. So a couple of years ago, I decided to get a Lego table for the girls for Christmas. That way they could play to their hearts' content and not have to put everything away at the end of the day, and yet the tender soles of my feet would remain unscathed.
Then I started pricing Lego tables. They were ridiculously expensive. Like $120 or more. I figured I could do better for less. And I did.
Take 1 Lack side table from IKEA ($14.99):
Add 4 Lego base plates from Playvalue ($7.99 each):
Align base plates carefully* and stick down on table surface with plastic-friendly adhesive ($2.99). Allow to dry.
Add 2 buckets of Lego pieces ($10.00 each on sale):
And you have a great Lego table and almost 1000 pieces of Lego, for around $70.Not puncturing the bottom of your foot and saying words the kids don't need to hear: priceless.
*There is a trick that you need to know. First, don't butt the plates up against each other, or the spacing will be off. You need to attach the base plates to each other with a few pieces of Lego before sticking the base plates down, so that blocks will be able to be attached over the gaps between the plates. You can use a 4-bump brick at the centre, and a couple of bricks down each side in order to get the spacing of the gap between the plates just right.
It's a great gift, and one my kids are still playing with
I just checked the Ikea and Playvalue websites, and the table and base plate costs are still the same as last year. Of course you can buy a small table and Lego at other stores as well, and the costs probably won't be much different.
Good luck, and drop me a comment if you make one!
Thursday, December 03, 2009
It's all about the fruitcake
It's not very Christmassy out today. Far from it. It's raining out today. Raining! This is so not the status quo for Ottawa in December. In fact it's hard to get in the Christmas spirit when the day looks more like it belongs in a rather inclement October.
But Dani over at Postcards from the Mothership is hosting a Loblaws Christmas giveaway of some amazing President's Choice products just in time for holiday entertaining. Pop over and check it out. (After you read my blog, of course.)
She asks the question, "What's one treat you look forward to during the holiday season?"
For me, it's all about the fruitcake. I love fruitcake. Hey, I even blogged about it last year. And it seems apropos to post it again.
Enjoy!
In defense of fruitcake
There. I said it. My name is Alison, and I like fruitcake.
But Dani over at Postcards from the Mothership is hosting a Loblaws Christmas giveaway of some amazing President's Choice products just in time for holiday entertaining. Pop over and check it out. (After you read my blog, of course.)
She asks the question, "What's one treat you look forward to during the holiday season?"
For me, it's all about the fruitcake. I love fruitcake. Hey, I even blogged about it last year. And it seems apropos to post it again.
Enjoy!
In defense of fruitcake
Things are getting a little bit panicky around here as Christmas approaches. For example, here was my To Do list for Saturday:
- Put out canned goods in special bag on front porch for St. Nicholas Day food drive in the morning
Travel back in time and remember to buy extra canned goods at the grocery store for St. Nicholas day food drive on Saturday morning- Rummage through pantry to find canned goods to put out for St. Nicholas Day food drive in the morning
- Add canned goods to shopping list because we are now out of canned goods
- Go to grocery store, pick up canned goods
- Drop girls with their father for a couple of hours
- Go Christmas shopping for girls in blessed, blessed solitude (well, except for the eleventy squillion other shoppers)
- Hit LCBO for sherry
- And cheap French merlot
- Pick up some fruitcake
There. I said it. My name is Alison, and I like fruitcake.
I know I've just put myself into the tiny minority of the population that sees this dessert as something other than a bad joke. Maybe it's my British heritage, but one of the best things to look forward to at Christmas is a slice of rich moist fruitcake with sweet marzipan icing and a glass of sherry.
I've been blessed to know some fantastic fruitcake bakers in my time. When I lived in Toronto, there was Mike, at work, who baked a light and a dark fruitcake and would invite you to his office at Christmastime for a slice of cake and a small glass of sherry and a chat. Also during the Toronto years was David, whose cakes were soaked in enough rum and brandy that you could not legally drive after having a slice. It was the best dessert at the pot luck Christmas lunch every year if you were smart enough to like fruitcake. And a couple of years ago, Paula, the mum of one of Leah's friends, gave me a delicious fruitcake she'd baked in a mini loaf tin, just enough to last me a couple of days. It rocked.
In fact, since I've been on my own, my Christmas Eve ritual has been to put the girls to bed, and after they have fallen asleep and I've put the presents under the tree and stuffed the stockings and hung them from the mantle, I cut myself a slice or two of fruitcake, pour myself a glass of sherry, put another log on the fire, turn off all the lights except the twinkling multicoloured lights of the tree, and savour the delicious combination of flavours while I watch my favourite Christmas movie, Die Hard. (What? Not a Christmas movie, you say? It takes place on Christmas Eve, remember?)
Oh, who am I kidding. In theory that's my ritual. That's what I plan to do every year. But the cold hard truth of the matter is that once the girls are asleep, I can usually be found dragging all the presents up from the basement and I end up wrapping until 3 a.m. when I toss down a rum and eggnog and stagger off to bed for a couple of hours of sleep before the girls get up.
But on Christmas day, once the presents are open, and the girls are playing with their new toys, I'm eating fruitcake. And loving it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)