You can take the title either way, as verb then noun, or adjective then noun. Both work. I'm only sixty pages in, and already wondering about some of my grocery store choices. Maybe Paul McCartney's not crazy to be singing of "meat-free Mondays".(check it out on Youtube- you'll laugh your beef off!)
I grew up on a farm, a really small one. We had names for most of the cows, grew the grain we fed to the them, milked whatever cow we thought wouldn't kick us too much, drank the milk raw, sold rabbits to a group of Italian men who came to hunt our land summer weekends, and even raised a few sheep (stupid, stupid creatures!).
And once it a while, we would take a young heifer or steer or pig over to Jerry in Stayner, who ran the abbatoir. A week later, we'd bring all the laundry baskets and milk crates in the house to pick up the roasts and hamburger and sausages and tongue and heart and soup bones, labelled and wrapped up in brown paper.
I never questioned it.
We knew where our animals came from, we knew what they were for, but we also had a relationship with them. We cared for them, we knew which way they would run if they got out of the pasture, and whether waving our hands and shouting would be enough to send them back to the barn. If they were sick or hurt, we looked after them.
If I knew the meat I was getting was raised the way my childhood food was raised, I would not think twice about continuing to eat meat with every meal.
But eating animals is changing my mind. Those chickens at the big Club store, at 18 bucks for three, they were only 42 days old when they were dragged through a conveyor belt of death. Before that, they were scared and crowded and sick and genetically engineered, and I'm no longer sure I can eat them.
Things fall apart. The centre cannot hold. Farmers aren't farmers, and and some food isn't food.
In some cases, what we're sold as food seems to be a byproduct of the vertical integration of a huge chemical company. If I finish this book, I might just have to get off the gravy train, or at least get some of my farm friends to sell me their beasties, after I get to know them, of course.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
January 31 - Brown
So, I went to my 'hair girl' this week on a mission. Since I'm trying new things with my clothes, why not take it one step further and do something new with my hair?
I try to live by the belief that the difference between a good haircut and a bad one is about two weeks, so as not to give too much importance to something so ephemeral and unimportant as hair. As a result, I've been ash blonde, golden blonde, white blonde, red, auburn and I'm-not-sure-what-that-was, not to mention my mother's description of my natural haircolour: groundhog. (my therapist says I'll be fine. eventually.) My hair's also been spiky and flowy and bobbed and pageboyed and flippy not to mention the cuts named after other people: the Jennifer Anniston, Princess Diana and Dorthy Hammill.
Today, goodbye blonde, hello, chocolate. I asked my girl to give me hair the colour of my roots, which can't rightfully be called roots any more since I haven't touched them with colour for such a long time. Just hair, a different colour than the rest. But surely 'groundhog' of olde has not morphed into this dark brown? She spent a lot of time trying to match it, so it must have done. Wow, what a big change.
I've received lots of compliments on it, and my sweetheart, of course, has made a joke about 'sleeping with a new woman', as he does every time I make a dramatic change.
This time though, he was just happy I wasn't Susan Powter.
I try to live by the belief that the difference between a good haircut and a bad one is about two weeks, so as not to give too much importance to something so ephemeral and unimportant as hair. As a result, I've been ash blonde, golden blonde, white blonde, red, auburn and I'm-not-sure-what-that-was, not to mention my mother's description of my natural haircolour: groundhog. (my therapist says I'll be fine. eventually.) My hair's also been spiky and flowy and bobbed and pageboyed and flippy not to mention the cuts named after other people: the Jennifer Anniston, Princess Diana and Dorthy Hammill.
Today, goodbye blonde, hello, chocolate. I asked my girl to give me hair the colour of my roots, which can't rightfully be called roots any more since I haven't touched them with colour for such a long time. Just hair, a different colour than the rest. But surely 'groundhog' of olde has not morphed into this dark brown? She spent a lot of time trying to match it, so it must have done. Wow, what a big change.
I've received lots of compliments on it, and my sweetheart, of course, has made a joke about 'sleeping with a new woman', as he does every time I make a dramatic change.
This time though, he was just happy I wasn't Susan Powter.
January 30- Days Off
If you have a kid in a public or Catholic high school, you’ve likely had them home for a couple of days at the end of their exams, and you will have them home for two more days this week as they gather themselves for the start of the new semester.
Wouldn’t it be simply awesome if we had the same thing as grownups? If, after a particularly stressful presentation or series of discussions, you were automatically given a few days off to re-group and focus?
Sounds a bit like a prorogue, but without the political intrigue and backbiting.
Ah, yes, it would be wonderful.
Wouldn’t it be simply awesome if we had the same thing as grownups? If, after a particularly stressful presentation or series of discussions, you were automatically given a few days off to re-group and focus?
Sounds a bit like a prorogue, but without the political intrigue and backbiting.
Ah, yes, it would be wonderful.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
January 27, 2010-Unfriendly
There was a time I felt like Facebook was the be-all and end-all of keeping in touch. I loved being able to see my friends’ vacation photos without the pesky boredom of having to sit beside them and hear all about the trip. I loved being able to know what they’re doing, finding out when I had the time to do it. I loved being able to let them know what I’m up to. It’s also great if you need to stick your fingers into the network for help. I have to say it was pretty cool to be able to hook up one of my buddies with a side of beef they’d been thinking about buying when I accidentally bought two. (don’t ask…) But I’m starting to think that maybe there should be a new word for friend.
I know, there are security settings on facebook, and I can choose to limit certain people’s access, but it’s a bit cumbersome and tedious, and it seems to me it would be so much better if there were categories in addition to friend. You could start with:
Acquaintance: person you just met at a party or on vacation, and you like them, but you don’t want to hear about every dinner they’ve ever made or have contemplated making. Depending on how friendly you were, they might get more access than, say,
Work friend: person you see every day, but don’t want seeing your bikini pictures from your vacation, because you’re not that close. You want to show them the sunshine azure sea, but not your tan lines, or lack thereof. Work friends, however would have different access than your
Boss: Flattering shots only, and high profile when people say you look great, are nice and fabulous. Also would not keep track of times when you’re on the time-sucking facebook, either. Bosses would be a bit like a
Former friend: Only show the stuff that makes me look fabulous, and accomplished and happier than you, which is less access than a
Friend from a long time ago: Above, but with special emphasis on fabulous, in case they are in touch with the lout who broke your heart in third year, and who, I’m told is now bald! Ha ha! There should of course, be special access for
Child and stepchild and children of friends: For safety, parents should have access to all messages, until the kid is a certain age. It would be damn inconvenient for the little darlings to gather for a rave if their mommies show up to save them, now, wouldn’t it? Children should perhaps not know their parents have such access or there would be no facebook. After the kids, there’s the
Semi-friendly extended family: Pretty much same as co-worker, I’m thinking. And then the
Best friend: You know, I do want to know that you’re contemplating a gin and tonic before dinner. I genuinely care about this, and might even join you. Further, since you were likely with me on the vacation, go ahead and look at the bikini shots, and make all the silly comments you want. As a matter of fact, come on over and I’ll show you in person! The gin’s in the freezer- help yourself.
I know, there are security settings on facebook, and I can choose to limit certain people’s access, but it’s a bit cumbersome and tedious, and it seems to me it would be so much better if there were categories in addition to friend. You could start with:
Acquaintance: person you just met at a party or on vacation, and you like them, but you don’t want to hear about every dinner they’ve ever made or have contemplated making. Depending on how friendly you were, they might get more access than, say,
Work friend: person you see every day, but don’t want seeing your bikini pictures from your vacation, because you’re not that close. You want to show them the sunshine azure sea, but not your tan lines, or lack thereof. Work friends, however would have different access than your
Boss: Flattering shots only, and high profile when people say you look great, are nice and fabulous. Also would not keep track of times when you’re on the time-sucking facebook, either. Bosses would be a bit like a
Former friend: Only show the stuff that makes me look fabulous, and accomplished and happier than you, which is less access than a
Friend from a long time ago: Above, but with special emphasis on fabulous, in case they are in touch with the lout who broke your heart in third year, and who, I’m told is now bald! Ha ha! There should of course, be special access for
Child and stepchild and children of friends: For safety, parents should have access to all messages, until the kid is a certain age. It would be damn inconvenient for the little darlings to gather for a rave if their mommies show up to save them, now, wouldn’t it? Children should perhaps not know their parents have such access or there would be no facebook. After the kids, there’s the
Semi-friendly extended family: Pretty much same as co-worker, I’m thinking. And then the
Best friend: You know, I do want to know that you’re contemplating a gin and tonic before dinner. I genuinely care about this, and might even join you. Further, since you were likely with me on the vacation, go ahead and look at the bikini shots, and make all the silly comments you want. As a matter of fact, come on over and I’ll show you in person! The gin’s in the freezer- help yourself.
Monday, January 25, 2010
January 25, 2010- Sartorial Stuckness
I’m trying to break out of some bad habits this January. Oh, I am still having popcorn and a beer for lunch, and watching Y&R, but I’m trying a new look. Well, I’m trying to try a new look.
I’m going to wear….wait for it....colour! And not a turtleneck!
I went shopping with my girlfriends this weekend, and as I left, my sweetheart sighed, ‘You’re not going to come home with another black turtleneck, are you?” The plaintive tone got me thinking about the uniform I've worn for more than a dozen years.
Yes, I have a uniform, and you do, too, if you think about it. Somewhere along the line, we all find an outfit or a style we think is flattering to us, and we sort of just… stay in it. (it's how your dad still wore those plaid pants until 1993 when your mom burned them....) A girlfriend of mine is almost never seen without a vest. Green and red and black and navy, sporty and casual, and somehow, even her fancy dressup clothes manage to be some version of a vest. I’m sure she doesn’t think about the possibility those vests could actually be armour, protection from a scary world, and holding in a body she’s afraid might get away from her.
For me, I think it’s a high school thing. (Can’t we blame every neurosis on the ravages of high school?) My family couldn’t afford the clothes the cool kids had (Vuarnet and Polo and lacoste, replaced now by Lululemon, Aeropostale and the iphone), but a plain turtleneck lent a certain poetry-writing gravitas to my Zellers wardrobe. And since high school, I’ve come to recognise the black turtleneck as a great leveller; the difference in looks between the 200 dollar cashmere and the 20 dollar cotton is negligible to most people. I have the cashmere, and I also have the cotton and hell, if they’re good enough for Nora Ephron, they’re good enough for me.
But back to the sigh from my sweetheart. "Perhaps a dozen turtlnecks and five twinsets is enough black for one closet," I thought as I drove to meet my lovely girlfriends. And so, today, with their help and advice, there are five colour new tops in my closet, chosen to show off 'the girls' in some cases and hide them nicely in others.
So far, the closet is where the shirts are staying, but I might, just might find a way to wear them out of the house. Tomorrow. Or maybe the next day.
I’m going to wear….wait for it....colour! And not a turtleneck!
I went shopping with my girlfriends this weekend, and as I left, my sweetheart sighed, ‘You’re not going to come home with another black turtleneck, are you?” The plaintive tone got me thinking about the uniform I've worn for more than a dozen years.
Yes, I have a uniform, and you do, too, if you think about it. Somewhere along the line, we all find an outfit or a style we think is flattering to us, and we sort of just… stay in it. (it's how your dad still wore those plaid pants until 1993 when your mom burned them....) A girlfriend of mine is almost never seen without a vest. Green and red and black and navy, sporty and casual, and somehow, even her fancy dressup clothes manage to be some version of a vest. I’m sure she doesn’t think about the possibility those vests could actually be armour, protection from a scary world, and holding in a body she’s afraid might get away from her.
For me, I think it’s a high school thing. (Can’t we blame every neurosis on the ravages of high school?) My family couldn’t afford the clothes the cool kids had (Vuarnet and Polo and lacoste, replaced now by Lululemon, Aeropostale and the iphone), but a plain turtleneck lent a certain poetry-writing gravitas to my Zellers wardrobe. And since high school, I’ve come to recognise the black turtleneck as a great leveller; the difference in looks between the 200 dollar cashmere and the 20 dollar cotton is negligible to most people. I have the cashmere, and I also have the cotton and hell, if they’re good enough for Nora Ephron, they’re good enough for me.
But back to the sigh from my sweetheart. "Perhaps a dozen turtlnecks and five twinsets is enough black for one closet," I thought as I drove to meet my lovely girlfriends. And so, today, with their help and advice, there are five colour new tops in my closet, chosen to show off 'the girls' in some cases and hide them nicely in others.
So far, the closet is where the shirts are staying, but I might, just might find a way to wear them out of the house. Tomorrow. Or maybe the next day.
Monday, January 18, 2010
January 18, 2010- Most Depressing of the Year?
Happy Blue Monday!Yup, today, the third monday of January is calculated by a British psychologist to be the most depressing day of the year. It's the credit card bills rolling in, the realization all those problems you hoped a Hallmark Christmas would solve, weren't, and the dawning that there's fully another three months until spring arrives.
And here in Canada, that's enough to make a wooden statue cry.
So, to lift you from your blues, I offer a short list of stuff you have to feel good about. Concentrate on it for a few minutes before you dissolve into tears of frustration and depression:
1)regarding the credit card bills, you likely ran them up entertaining your friends and trying to buy the love of your family over the holidays. At least you have some friends! And you'll know better for next year on the buying of love thing.
2)also re: debt: interest rates are just about as low as they get right now. With some creative accounting and a friend at the bank, you can perhaps flip that high interest balance onto a renewed mortgage, so the interest you pay for the love you tried to buy won't be quite so devastating.
3) on the winter thing: we're going to celebrate winter in a few weeks at the olympics, where we'll either get to cheer our hockey teams to gold, or at least laugh at those smug Vancouverites who think they're so lucky when they don't have any snow.
And finally, remember this: even here in Canada, there has never yet been a winter that didn't end.
Right around April.
And here in Canada, that's enough to make a wooden statue cry.
So, to lift you from your blues, I offer a short list of stuff you have to feel good about. Concentrate on it for a few minutes before you dissolve into tears of frustration and depression:
1)regarding the credit card bills, you likely ran them up entertaining your friends and trying to buy the love of your family over the holidays. At least you have some friends! And you'll know better for next year on the buying of love thing.
2)also re: debt: interest rates are just about as low as they get right now. With some creative accounting and a friend at the bank, you can perhaps flip that high interest balance onto a renewed mortgage, so the interest you pay for the love you tried to buy won't be quite so devastating.
3) on the winter thing: we're going to celebrate winter in a few weeks at the olympics, where we'll either get to cheer our hockey teams to gold, or at least laugh at those smug Vancouverites who think they're so lucky when they don't have any snow.
And finally, remember this: even here in Canada, there has never yet been a winter that didn't end.
Right around April.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
January 13, 2010- The King Rules
No, Elvis fans, not that one. Stephen King. Holy Cow. I haven’t read Stephen King’s books, not because I think his writing is bad- it’s the scary and spooky plots. The first nine pages of The Stand scared me so much, I didn’t sleep for a week.
I was told on good authority (Grammar Girl, no less) that King’s On Writing is one of the best books …well… on writing... there is. So I put in on my wish list, and it arrived under the Christmas tree. It’s paperback, so I took it with me on vacation, leaving behind my hardcover treasures to avoid the sand. I opened it as I lay beside the pool and didn’t put it down until I was done. Man, can that man write!
It’s awesome to get advice from someone who actually has a following. What’s that old saying? Those who can, do; those who can’t, teach; those who can’t teach, consult. The millions and millions of people who devour King’s work can’t be wrong. I’m not planning on becoming a novelist, but it was fascinating to see how the mind of a great one works, and it was heartening to know even popular novelists have a plan about their books, a plan that has more to do with storytelling than it has to do with money.
You can expect a marked improvement in my writing in the months to come as I employ Stephen King’s suggestions here.
I was told on good authority (Grammar Girl, no less) that King’s On Writing is one of the best books …well… on writing... there is. So I put in on my wish list, and it arrived under the Christmas tree. It’s paperback, so I took it with me on vacation, leaving behind my hardcover treasures to avoid the sand. I opened it as I lay beside the pool and didn’t put it down until I was done. Man, can that man write!
It’s awesome to get advice from someone who actually has a following. What’s that old saying? Those who can, do; those who can’t, teach; those who can’t teach, consult. The millions and millions of people who devour King’s work can’t be wrong. I’m not planning on becoming a novelist, but it was fascinating to see how the mind of a great one works, and it was heartening to know even popular novelists have a plan about their books, a plan that has more to do with storytelling than it has to do with money.
You can expect a marked improvement in my writing in the months to come as I employ Stephen King’s suggestions here.
Monday, January 11, 2010
January 11, 2010 - Homecoming Gift
My favourite part of coming home from a holiday abroad (ok, abroad's a bit pretentious there; it was a package quickie cheapy week in Cuba, but still...) is the stuff I discover about home when I get here. For example, after I spent some time in the southern US one spring, I suddenly noticed how many mobile homes there are around here. Before that trip, I would have told you there were none. But there are lots and lots of them, if you pay attention. This has me a little worried about hurricane season, frankly.
This time, when I got home, I was amazed at a stunning lack of neighbourliness on my street. After a week of being brought a drink whenever I needed one and food whenever I wanted it, I guess I somehow thought everyone, everywhere would be solicitous. Not so much. As my sweetie was leaving gifts for the chambermaids, our neighbours were leaving us a gift, too: seven feet of snow in front of our house, much of it in our driveway which makes it impossible to know if there’s are cars coming as we try to pull out onto the street. I’m not sure which neighbour to thank. Both have driveways; one a single, one a double. Both also have boulevards of their own, but only one of them has decided their boulevard should be a parking spot, and mine should be a snow heap.
Now, I’ve watched the pickup hired by the guy to the west shove snow from that boulevard onto ours for a couple of years now, so he definitely gets some of the blame. Since the driveway’s a single, it’s a way of creating a second parking spot. No one wants to go out on a snowy night to move their car just to let their spouse go to choir practice- I get it. But how to you get from wishing for that oh-so-convenient second parking spot to creating one by putting your neighbour's life at risk?
I wonder what those same neighbours would have to say if they arrived home one day to discover the boulevard in front of their house covered by seven feet of snow, and our second car in a lovely snow-clear spot in front of ours.
You never know, one day, I might find out.
This time, when I got home, I was amazed at a stunning lack of neighbourliness on my street. After a week of being brought a drink whenever I needed one and food whenever I wanted it, I guess I somehow thought everyone, everywhere would be solicitous. Not so much. As my sweetie was leaving gifts for the chambermaids, our neighbours were leaving us a gift, too: seven feet of snow in front of our house, much of it in our driveway which makes it impossible to know if there’s are cars coming as we try to pull out onto the street. I’m not sure which neighbour to thank. Both have driveways; one a single, one a double. Both also have boulevards of their own, but only one of them has decided their boulevard should be a parking spot, and mine should be a snow heap.
Now, I’ve watched the pickup hired by the guy to the west shove snow from that boulevard onto ours for a couple of years now, so he definitely gets some of the blame. Since the driveway’s a single, it’s a way of creating a second parking spot. No one wants to go out on a snowy night to move their car just to let their spouse go to choir practice- I get it. But how to you get from wishing for that oh-so-convenient second parking spot to creating one by putting your neighbour's life at risk?
I wonder what those same neighbours would have to say if they arrived home one day to discover the boulevard in front of their house covered by seven feet of snow, and our second car in a lovely snow-clear spot in front of ours.
You never know, one day, I might find out.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
December 30, 2009- Tough Choices
It’s been a rough few days, as I do battle with the plethora of choices facing me for my leisure time. Will it be the latest in the Outlander series, the vegetarian screed, the children’s book or the Stephen King?
My Christmas wish list included basically nothing but books this year, and the people who knew the list (read: my sweetheart and his mother), were very generous. I have to be careful with the Diana Gabaldon; it’s so heavy, I think I’m going to break a wrist as I heave it into bed each night. I also have to be careful with ‘Eating Animals’, apparently, it’s pretty convincing, and I don’t really want to become a vegetarian. I do want to hear the argument, though. As for the children’s book, it’s one I loved as a kid, but I couldn’t remember its title until earlier this year, when listening to a podcast from NPR, and an author who had put together a compendium of the best kids’ books, and it was on the list! The Devil’s Storybook is so fun, and just exactly what its name would suggest. My favourite is about the guy whose ashes get mixed up with a pig’s, and he spends hundreds of years with a pig is glued to his side down there in hell. So funny and silly, I highly recommend it. As for the King, I’ll have to be careful I don’t become too interested in his work. This book is ‘On Writing' and is either a guide for would-be writers or a series of insights into the minds of the writer. It comes highly recommended, but I’m afraid of being too interested, since I’m scared of King’s work. I read two of his short stories once and didn’t sleep for a week.
So, the next few weeks could well be spent timetravelling,becoming a vegetarian, in my childhood and afraid. Whew!
December 29, 2009- Not really burning for the torch.
I do hate to be a contrarian, but I just can't get excited about the RBC/CocaCola torch coming through the area today.
The way it's being done is just a little... offputting for me. It seems as though we've dropped right into the rabbit hole, everyone knows and we're all going along with it for some reason I can't quite fathom.
For me, there's something wrong with having the flame driven from town to town for a wee jog down the main street by two or three people from some other town, people who, to qualify for their spot, handed over more information to marketers than they have to their spouses, people who then have the chance to buy their metre-long lighter for something like 200 bucks, or so I've heard.
If you're headed to Elmvale, the flame will be trotted out at the main corner of town for five minutes at 11:40.
Dec 29, 2009 - No time
No time to write, sorry; I must play with my new toys, including the new Diana Gabaldon novel in the Outlander series (hard to read in bed, it weighs, like, 12 pounds!), several other books of which I've started the first five pages, and of course the Wii (yes, we're the last people on earth to get one...) Must. Shoot. Things.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)