Things we made at our house yesterday

Home-made French bread:

Lemon meringue pies (which had a bit of a sliding accident in the oven):

Zombie babies:

I think you can probably figure out who made what.

The best way to serve haggis

This is especially for you, Jen. Oh, and for Lynda too, who will be dining tonight on haggis nachos. Which, as we all know, is the second-best way to serve haggis. :)

Happy Robbie Burns day!!!

All right, Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my close-up

My friend Jen put up an interesting post a couple of weeks ago about self-image and photographs. Here is some of it:

"A couple weeks ago, I posted some photos of myself and talked about how hard it is for me to do something like that. Your comments were interesting and I really enjoyed reading your thoughts about having your photos taken or not having your photos taken.

I have to admit, however, that your comments made me sad because, for the most part, we women (no men commented) do not like how we look in photos. Like, we really don’t like photos of ourselves. Many of you even shared your tricks yourselves look thinner or taller or just disappear altogether (e.g. hiding behind children) in photos.

I blame Hollywood and the glossy magazine industry for giving us unrealistic expectations of what we should look like. There are no perfect bodies or perfectly beautiful faces. We are all beautiful in our own way and I’m sad that, while we can easily see other women’s beauty, we don’t look in the mirror and see our own.

As we approach the holiday season, I’d like to encourage you all to make sure that you get some photos of yourself, either alone or with your family. Don’t hide behind your children or a big dog or your Christmas tree. Just stand tall and proud and revel in your beauty. Enjoy the moment and laugh. Remember that you’re capturing memories that your family will enjoy for a long time.....

If there’s interest among you, I’d love to do a post in January of your photos and share with the world (okay, a very small slice of the world) just how lovely we all are."

My comment to this was:

"...Some pictures that have been taken of me are better than others, but we are always our own worst critics and cringe from photos that others find fine or even flattering. So, unless I’ve been caught with my mouth open, or my eyes shut, or a really stupid look on my face, I’m fine with posting them. It’s what I look like, after all."

We really are our own worst enemies. Mostly, I like the way I look. Without makeup or with, this is me. (Or sometimes a stick figure representation.) So, as challenged by Jen, here are some pix of me. Flattering or not, they are me and I'm OK with that:



This is me with my sister, Lise, taken during a winery tour in early December.  We are gorgeous broads!



Here I am with my family, flour on my pants and stickers (courtesy of Rachel) on my shirt.  I am not a tiny woman, lol.  Also, no makeup.  I am a shiny-faced woman.



Here I am, again with my sis, on the balcony of the condo we rented in Nice, France last summer, makeup free and jetlagged after 16 hours of travel.  I don't know where my eyes were in this picture. I might have left them on the plane.



And going from no eyes to really big, scary ones, here I am back in 2007, taking pictures to amuse my chicken-pox-ridden kids.



And finally (admit it, you're relieved I'm stopping now and therefore I'm not totally self-involved and exhibitionistic), here is my favourite picture of me.  Ever.  Or at least since I was three.

Tuesday in cubicle land

Someone in the office is making laser gun noises.

Pew! Pew, pew, pew!

I can't see who it is.

I am not going to roll out of my chair, grab my (imaginary) Jedi light sabre and use the Force to levitate me over the cubicle wall and join the battle.

I am all restrained and decorous like that.

Also, I may need to drink less coffee.

A haiku composed on the occasion of not having my Christmas decorations put away yet

It’s Ukrainian

Christmas today. My story.

Sticking to it. Yeah.

Really, Sun News? Really? You're going there?

This is a screen capture I took of an ad at the bottom of the page on the Ottawa Sun newspaper website containing a story about new smoke-free public housing being built in Ottawa:

A close-up:

Ah, Sun News Network  -- "Canada's new home for Hard News and Straight Talk" -- the official news website of grumpy old men (who may or may not live in Alberta).

Way to pitch to your demographic, guys.

Don't go in the basement

It was 6:40 in the morning. I was drinking coffee in the kitchen, trying to drag myself to full consciousness on the first work day of the new year. I pulled the belt of my terry robe tighter around my waist as I peered out the window at the tail-lights of the early commuters heading into Ottawa.  The house was quiet, only the subdued whoosh of the furnace kept me company as I sipped.

All at once there was a commotion in the basement, and both cats came tearing up the stairs as if all the devils in hell were on their tails. They rushed past me and disappeared down the hall.  I could now hear the noise that scared them.  An eerie, robotic noise -- a staccato barking -- was drifting up the stairs from the basement.

The basement.

I have a very nice basement, actually, since the reno after the flood.  But, if horror movies have taught me anything, they've taught me DON'T GO IN THE BASEMENT TO CHECK OUT THE MYSTERIOUS NOISE.  Granted, it wasn't midnight during power outage in a thunderstorm, and the house isn't built near an Indian burial ground/abandoned murder-plagued summer camp/sinister mental hospital -- but nonetheless, 'Don't go in the basement' is probably Horror Movie Rule #1 (or #2 right after 'Don't have sex in an abandoned, murder-plagued summer camp').

But someone had to check it out.  It could be a crazed axe murderer the furnace malfunctioning and spewing deadly carbon monoxide into the air.  I decided to send the cats down to check.  They declined by the simple expedient of disappearing under my bed.  It was going to have to be me.

Grabbing the nearest approximation to a weapon at hand, a hefty three-hole punch, and scattering little punched-out paper circles in my wake, I descended the stairs.  The otherworldly barking continued, emanating from the shadowy recesses of the basement.  I inched past the door to the furnace room, three-hole punch at the ready. The sound wasn't coming from the furnace room.

It was coming from the television.  The old television that we have down there that the Wii is connected to.  It was the old television that was emitting the strange noises, EVEN THOUGH THE POWER BAR THAT IT WAS PLUGGED INTO WAS TURNED OFF.  A chill went up my spine and goosebumps erupted along my arms.  The eerie, eerie barking noise was issuing from an electronic device with NO POWER.  Aliens?  Could aliens be transmitting some signal through an unpowered television set?  Poltergeists?  Demons?  Souls from beyond the veil?

I crept closer.  The noise got louder.  "Bark bark" pause "Bark bark".  I reached out a trembling hand and turned on the overhead light.  It slowly flickered to life.  An iPod touch, its screen black and almost invisible, lay on the tv.  I picked it up, and the screen opened, showing a cartoon barking dog, and the message, "Alice, you should be up for school by now".

Not aliens.  Not escaped homicidal maniacs.  Not demons.

Just a weekday morning alarm on an iPod Touch left behind after Alice, my daughter's New Year's Eve sleepover guest, left on New Year's Day.

Whew.

I grabbed the device and hurried up the stairs as fast as I could, because everybody knows that Horror Movie Rule #3 is: 'When everything appears to be OK, and the scary noise turns out to be just a cat or an iPod, and the heroine is smiling in relief, that's when the monster/homicidal maniac/vampire springs out of the furnace room and attacks'.

I'm not stupid, you know.

Why the world needs editors: "I'm sure that's not what they really meant" edition

A haiku composed on the occasion of driving Old Carp Road at dusk

Deer are not lonely

They cross the road with their friends

Your brakes must be good

Why the world needs translation editors: beefs on the loose edition

I am totally reblogging something I saw today on Dave Reevely's blog in the Ottawa Citizen, as it fits in so well with my "Why the world needs translation editors" series.  This is an actual press release sent out this afternoon by the Service de police de la ville de Gatineau. (Gatineau is the city in Quebec right across the river from Ottawa.)

"Appeals in connection with two animals.


On October 27, 2011 to 12h22 P.M.


The SPVG received a call in relation to an animal or a beef, who was walking in public at large and was threatening to the population. The call stated that there could be two beef in liberty.


The call was received October 27, 2011 to 12:22. The beef was walking freely on the 148 or the Montreal Road West, near George Street in Gatineau (Masson-Angers). Throughout the duration of the intervention, the police found that the animal was aggressive and threatening to the population. The police even had to ask staff to primary school St-Jean de Brebeuf to bring the children inside the school for safety. Several times the animal has dark on patrol cars and police officers.


Around 1:27 p.m., the animal was at the height of the shore road and path of the Quai. It was impossible to contain the animal because of its high aggressiveness. With the consent of the owner, the police had no choice but to kill the animal. The animal has since been taken over by its owner.


Meanwhile, a police officer spotted the second animal in the George Street exit of Highway 50 eastbound. The police managed to contain the animal for some time, but again, the animal was aggressive and difficult to contain. With the consent of its owner the police had to shoot the second animal (2:08 p.m.).


It is important to know that prior to slaughter animals, including the police tried a few times to get the beef into the trailer of their owners using different tactics (in collaboration). The animals showed a lot of aggression and loaded with police officers, patrol cars and the trailer’s owner several times, the decision to kill the animals was necessary to protect citizens (the animals were threatening the population). All measures have been taken to ensure that no person has been put in danger when the shots were fired police officers."

Ah Google Translate, how I love you.


Poor beefs :(

10 signs that I might be watching too much C.S.I.

OK, I'll admit it. I have a slightly disturbing obsession with the C.S.I. franchises. And maybe I've been watching too much. The signs? I mean besides making up my own hometown version: C.S.I. Carp?

1. I'm seriously considering wearing latex gloves to do the housework around here.

Like the laundry.


And cleaning the kitchen.


2. I've also thought that figuring out who left the half-full glass of milk on the kitchen counter that was knocked over by Max would be so easy if I only had a fingerprint kit. Because both girls deny it was them.



3. I've been looking around online for those special flashlights. Not because I need one, but because I want one.



4. I've been considering incorporating vests and lab coats into my wardrobe.

I think I could totally rock a vest.





5. I find myself wondering what the Windex budget for the C.S.I. Miami and C.S.I. New York labs is, seeing as they are composed almost entirely of glass.










6. I was using a pumice stone the other day on very dry, scaly feet and caught myself thinking, "Ooooo! Epithelials!"

(There's no picture for this one.)

(You're welcome.)


7. I've taken to standing with my hands on my hips a lot.



And taking my sunglasses off very, very dramatically.


8. I sometimes wish I had tweezers and an evidence envelope when cleaning underneath the dining room table.




9. I really like C.S.I. humour.


Really like.

Really, really like.

10. The clincher, when I realized that perhaps really do watch too much C.S.I., was a couple of days after I let Leah stay up and watch an episode of C.S.I. with me on DVD. I went down in the basement and saw a Barbie crime scene laid out on the floor.

Crap. What have I done?

Just Don't 3

Yet another public service announcement for my loyal readers.

If you buy Just Dance 3 for the Wii for your daughter for her birthday, your entire family will spend more time dancing, which is wonderful exercise. Win.

If you are wearing a pair of pajama bottoms with a loose drawstring, and grab a Wii remote and dance like crazy to The Pointer Sisters' "I'm So Excited", you might *actually* dance your pants off. Fail.

However, this will send your children into fits of hysterical laughter, which is also pretty good cardio excercise. Win. I think.

Things I learned on the weekend

1. If you host a sleepover for your daughters and their friends and decide to jazz up their dinner of home-made pizza, baby carrots, celery sticks, and milk by lighting the candles on the table to give them some ambiance before grabbing your pizza and heading to the living room for some peace and quiet so as not to intrude, DON'T. Because later, when you go to throw out some leftovers, you might find almost all of the vegetables (which you thought the girls ate since the serving plate was empty) in the compost bin, scorched at one or both ends.

2. Your dishwasher will not remove "Hi, I'm Rebecca ♥ ♥ ♥" written on a dinner plate in soot from a scorched carrot or celery stick. You will have to wash those plates by hand.

According to Rachel: inability to distinguish between cultural stereotypes edition

Getting breakfast ready on a weekday morning:

Rae: It's a Freaky Friday for our class this week. It was Sara's birthday so she got to pick what kind of day it was going to be, and she picked "Pajama Day".

Me: OK, sounds good. Which PJs are you going to wear?

Rae: My monkey ones. Guess what? If it was my choice, I'd pick Korean Day. [assumes a passable Jamaican accent] -- 'Yah mon'.

Me....

Me [recovering]: Um, what does 'yah mon' have to do with Korea?

Rae: [slightly exasperated at my obvious lack of knowledge]: You know: 'Yah mon'?? That thing that Korean people say all the time?

Me: Oh.... Right.

Angus update, and how not to take two cats to the vet's

Well it's been a year since we welcomed Angus inside and out of his life as a wild kitten living by his wits. That tiny, scared, kitten has morphed into a large, skittish cat who loves having his belly rubbed, but only by family. He has learned to trust us. He loves me, tolerates the girls, and disappears if anyone else comes into the house (with the exception of Arlene, whom he lavishes with offers of his belly to rub, and my mum, whom he'll sit on.)


And about that 'large' part -- when you pick him up, he feels like a fur-covered bowling ball. While he was a small kitty a year ago (see below in comparison with Max):


He is now rather more, um, portly:



All in all, he's settled in well, though the Evil Ninja Assassin Cat has had to change his fighting tactics due to Angus's superior weight. The ENAC will now execute several pouncing maneuvers on Angus instead of engaging in a prolonged wrestling bout that he will lose. It's funny to watch. Definitely a case of old age and treachery being better than youth and skill...0r youth and portliness.

A couple of weeks ago the two cats had to go to the vet's for a check up and their vaccinations. I now have two cats. I only have one cat carrier. "No problem," said the receptionist at the vet's office*, "swing by before your appointment and we'll lend you one." And so I did. As I was leaving, the receptionist gave me this piece of advice: "Put the more difficult one in a carrier first."

She was wrong (or maybe not -- I assumed, wrongly, that Angus would be the difficult one). The advice should have been: "Put the smarter cat in a carrier first."

I came home with the vet's carrier and put it down on the floor of the living room. Then I went down in the basement to get my cat carrier. What I didn't do was to close all the bedroom doors. Angus, attracted by the enticing scents of all the other cats who had ridden in the carrier, followed his nose right inside the carrier. Bingo! I closed the carrier.

Max was sitting on the couch, not far away. He looked at Angus in the carrier. He looked at the empty carrier. Then he looked at me. I could see the comprehension blooming in his eyes.

Instantly, he took off at top speed into my bedroom, under my bed and lay down in the exact centre, where he was out of reach. I had to use a broom to get him to come out from under the bed, and then it was pure craziness as I tried to catch him. All that was missing was the Benny Hill theme music. It took me nearly 15 minutes, and a couple of scratches, before I had him safely in the cat carrier.

So here are your public service announcements for putting multiple cats into multiple carriers:

1. Close off all avenues of escape.

2. Put the smart cat in the carrier first.

3. A little vodka wouldn't go amiss. (For you, not the cats.)


Both cats are healthy, and have been vaccinated.

And Angus? Although he's gotten bigger:


He hasn't really changed all that much.

:)

*I can't say enough nice things about the West Carleton Animal Hospital in Carp. The staff and vets are kind and caring, and the cost of veterinary care is more than reasonable. If you're local, please consider going there.