I'm not entirely proud of what I'm reading these days, but it helps that I'm not alone loving the futuristic dystopias currently dominating the shelves for Young Adult readers, even though I'm far, far older than the readers they're aimed at.
It started with the Harry Potter stuff, written for kids but devoured by adults, too. Twilight followed and created a phenomenon with girls of all ages, including those of us far too long in the tooth to be immersed in a high school romance, even if it includes hot young vampires. The Hunger Games are about to be made into movies, don't forget Divergent and its sequels still to come, and as of this week, I'm deep into Matched and Crossed and will wait with bated breath for the third in the series.
I'm not sure what makes novels that should be limited to kids so hot for adults right now, but it might be that a similar theme runs through these stories: girls fighting to make their own choices in a world not of their making.
While I would not take the Hunger Games or Twilight books in my purse to read at the coffee shop, there's another set of books I'm much, much less proud of reading. I certainly will never finish the "Pretty Little Liars" series. I tried, I really did, but none of the characters is likable in the tales of an affluent and overindulged group of girls tormented by the secrets they keep. A ten year old of my acquaintance loaned me the first and second in the "liars" series, and even my dog disapproves. She gnawed the books, forcing me to buy new copies for my young friend. I'm not willing to take a chance on having to spend another ten bucks on yet another replacement for a story I squirmed in embarrassment to read, even in the privacy of my home; it was hard enough trying to explain to Penny's helper at Crow's Nest why I was buying that dreck the first time. Not only is the writing less than stellar, the never ending references to luxury goods make me itchy. 'Liars' characters don't pick up their purse, they pick up their Vuitton purse; they don't get in the car, they get into the Mercedes. The series has been made into a very popular TV show, and that's where it can stay, as far as I'm concerned.
Yes, I think I'll stick with the freedom fighters, and stay away from the snobs.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Behold the Lamb
I took a chance about four months ago when I bought half a lamb from Metheral Meats in Dunedin.
Not only had I never cooked lamb, I wasn't completely convinced I would like it. Usually, lamb is a once-a-year meal for me, at the Royal Winter Fair on a big fat kaiser bun with lashes of mint sauce, so not exactly a representative sample.
There were sheep on the farm I grew up on, cute but horrible creatures who somehow must all crowd through the same tiny hole in a fence at the exact same time. My brother called them 'ranch maggots'. We sold our sheep to the hunters who walked our property during deer season. My dad had a bad experience with sweatery-tasting mutton as a child and simply wouldn't have it on the table.
But as of Sunday night, my sweetie and finished off our first half lamb, each and every bite absolutely fabulous, from the chops to the leg to the shoulder.
The last item in the freezer was the shanks, and I had no idea what to do with them until Friday afternoon at the liquor store when on the front cover of the booze and recipe magazine, I spied a gorgeous looking meal I longed to make. Happily, my braised shanks with cinnamon and honey on a bed of smashed potatoes turned out just as beautiful as the picture.
I really think the critter we've just finished consuming with such relish was extra delicious because it didn't come from a far away country, flash-frozen and packed onto a plane. Our sheep lived less than ten miles from here, roaming some of the same hills I loved as a child. It was butchered by people who love the land and are fighting to stay on it.
I'm putting in another order today and while I'm proud to support one of our local farmers, it's really more about the taste of the chops I will grill about three weeks from now.
Metheral Meats sells reasonably priced, pasture raised, hormone-free delicious lamb. No animal by-products are fed to the animals. 705-466-3135
Not only had I never cooked lamb, I wasn't completely convinced I would like it. Usually, lamb is a once-a-year meal for me, at the Royal Winter Fair on a big fat kaiser bun with lashes of mint sauce, so not exactly a representative sample.
There were sheep on the farm I grew up on, cute but horrible creatures who somehow must all crowd through the same tiny hole in a fence at the exact same time. My brother called them 'ranch maggots'. We sold our sheep to the hunters who walked our property during deer season. My dad had a bad experience with sweatery-tasting mutton as a child and simply wouldn't have it on the table.
But as of Sunday night, my sweetie and finished off our first half lamb, each and every bite absolutely fabulous, from the chops to the leg to the shoulder.
The last item in the freezer was the shanks, and I had no idea what to do with them until Friday afternoon at the liquor store when on the front cover of the booze and recipe magazine, I spied a gorgeous looking meal I longed to make. Happily, my braised shanks with cinnamon and honey on a bed of smashed potatoes turned out just as beautiful as the picture.
I really think the critter we've just finished consuming with such relish was extra delicious because it didn't come from a far away country, flash-frozen and packed onto a plane. Our sheep lived less than ten miles from here, roaming some of the same hills I loved as a child. It was butchered by people who love the land and are fighting to stay on it.
I'm putting in another order today and while I'm proud to support one of our local farmers, it's really more about the taste of the chops I will grill about three weeks from now.
Metheral Meats sells reasonably priced, pasture raised, hormone-free delicious lamb. No animal by-products are fed to the animals. 705-466-3135
Friday, January 20, 2012
Crushed. Not.
A little dream I've been nurturing for a few years died this week. My 'second husband' is no longer in the running for my tear-stained hand.
He's not that upset about it, I'd wager, since I sincerely hope he never knew he was on my crazy list. But still, it's disappointing, and it all came down to one unconscious little move.
I have been crushing on this guy since I talked to him for about ten minutes one morning some six years ago. He is bright, engaged with the world, sweet and handsome and athletic and just... lovely. I told my husband I was harbouring the crush, saying that if by some confluence of tragedy I was widowed and if my crush's wife and children were somehow lost at sea, I was going to 'go for it'. Long suffering Sweetie sighed and vowed to haunt me, but in the end, acquiesced with a mumbled, "Whatever".
Since then, I've added another awesome guy to my 'replacement husband' list. Number Three's wife is on my curling team and she has graciously allowed that if she's gone and all their children are gone, and my husband is also dead, I'm more than welcome to make a move on her man. It's very accommodating of her, don't you think?
And it might become a distant possibility, as Number Two is suddenly no longer of any interest to me. Oh, he's still super smart and handsome and seems really caring, engaged and nice, but on Wednesday as I drove along Hume street, I saw him walking his dog and he blew his nose onto the sidewalk. No tissue; just a good old Canadian one-finger sideways honk.
And just like that, the crush was over. I'm out.
He's not that upset about it, I'd wager, since I sincerely hope he never knew he was on my crazy list. But still, it's disappointing, and it all came down to one unconscious little move.
I have been crushing on this guy since I talked to him for about ten minutes one morning some six years ago. He is bright, engaged with the world, sweet and handsome and athletic and just... lovely. I told my husband I was harbouring the crush, saying that if by some confluence of tragedy I was widowed and if my crush's wife and children were somehow lost at sea, I was going to 'go for it'. Long suffering Sweetie sighed and vowed to haunt me, but in the end, acquiesced with a mumbled, "Whatever".
Since then, I've added another awesome guy to my 'replacement husband' list. Number Three's wife is on my curling team and she has graciously allowed that if she's gone and all their children are gone, and my husband is also dead, I'm more than welcome to make a move on her man. It's very accommodating of her, don't you think?
And it might become a distant possibility, as Number Two is suddenly no longer of any interest to me. Oh, he's still super smart and handsome and seems really caring, engaged and nice, but on Wednesday as I drove along Hume street, I saw him walking his dog and he blew his nose onto the sidewalk. No tissue; just a good old Canadian one-finger sideways honk.
And just like that, the crush was over. I'm out.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Farewell, Martha
How relieved I am to have heard the news that Martha Stewart appears to be officially 'over'.
The Duchess of Domesticity's TV show, relegated from prime time, to mid-day to cable and finally to the upper, upper channels, and finally to Hallmark Channel is being killed.
Hallmark Channel says the ratings were too low.
I'll repeat that. Hallmark Channel. Says Martha Stewart's ratings were too low.
Now, before you cry a restrained river for the one-time goddess of cookies and all things nicely (over)done, remember the 70 year old is worth about $650 million.
While the TV show is cancelled along with her line of paints, she still has her magazines,and lines of crafting stuff and dishes and kitchen gadgets, all of which appear to be selling well. Granted, $650 million is down a bit from the billion she was worth when her company went public and before all that Jail business, but still, 650 mill is nothing to sneeze at. Especially if you're using a hand-embroidered and glitter-adorned hankie.
I was an early Martha adopter and remain a fan. Yes, she sometimes appeared cold and regimented, I'm not sure about her obsession with Hallowe'en, and some people thought she seemed more judgemental Mother In Law than friendly 4-H leader, but I like that her recipes generally work, even if they do sometimes seem to have some extra steps.
In honour of Martha's departure as domestic doyenne, I used my good dishes this weekend, organised the basement, used a label maker and baked seven batches of perfect cookies.
You know, I'm glad that's over!
The Duchess of Domesticity's TV show, relegated from prime time, to mid-day to cable and finally to the upper, upper channels, and finally to Hallmark Channel is being killed.
Hallmark Channel says the ratings were too low.
I'll repeat that. Hallmark Channel. Says Martha Stewart's ratings were too low.
Now, before you cry a restrained river for the one-time goddess of cookies and all things nicely (over)done, remember the 70 year old is worth about $650 million.
While the TV show is cancelled along with her line of paints, she still has her magazines,and lines of crafting stuff and dishes and kitchen gadgets, all of which appear to be selling well. Granted, $650 million is down a bit from the billion she was worth when her company went public and before all that Jail business, but still, 650 mill is nothing to sneeze at. Especially if you're using a hand-embroidered and glitter-adorned hankie.
I was an early Martha adopter and remain a fan. Yes, she sometimes appeared cold and regimented, I'm not sure about her obsession with Hallowe'en, and some people thought she seemed more judgemental Mother In Law than friendly 4-H leader, but I like that her recipes generally work, even if they do sometimes seem to have some extra steps.
In honour of Martha's departure as domestic doyenne, I used my good dishes this weekend, organised the basement, used a label maker and baked seven batches of perfect cookies.
You know, I'm glad that's over!
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Two Reviews, two thumbs up
The Outlander series and its offshoot, the Lord John chronicles couldn't be much further from the Mission: Impossible series, but both have given me a satisfying start to the new year.
I took in Ghost Protocol, the latest in the Mission Impossible franchise, on New Year's Eve, walking with two dear friends to and from the cinemas in Collingwood and a little disappointed in my friend who has quit smoking. Who will I go to now at her parties for the cigarettes I sneak once the bar has been open for a perfect amount of time? Tom Cruise did not disappoint. I can't remember his character's name and I don't really care, since the stunts were spectacular, the story almost plausible, the gadgets amazing and the story fast-paced and fun. It was exactly what you'd hope for in the ongoing series. And it was completely forgettable. It's not like one ponders the deeper meaning behind these films. They're candy. Very good candy.
Just hours before hanging out with Ethan Hawke (remembered his name!), I finished the latest in the Lord John spinoff to the Outlander series. In case you have somehow missed it, Outlander is a huge bestselling saga, now at eight books telling the tale of woman on vacation in Scotland at the end of the second world war who becomes an accidental time traveller. She meets and is forced to marry a Scottish Laird and outlaw. Much love and mayhem ensues, including pitched battles, heartbreak, travel to the New World and some back and forthing with the future. Or the past, depending on how you look at it.
If you can get past the rape scenes toward the end of the first book, the series is magnificent.
While the tales in each of these series are vastly different (spy ring involved in international high tech battles with crazed adversaries versus Jacobite attempted revolution by men in kilts), the aim in these latest editions of the two series is very much the same: another helping of the same, an update on characters readers and viewers have come to care about.
In each case, it was done with skill and panache, and I can honestly say I'm well pleased with my entertainment so far this year.
I'm a bit ashamed to tell you about what else I've been reading, but I'll get to that another day. Even the dog doesn't approve, apparently.
I took in Ghost Protocol, the latest in the Mission Impossible franchise, on New Year's Eve, walking with two dear friends to and from the cinemas in Collingwood and a little disappointed in my friend who has quit smoking. Who will I go to now at her parties for the cigarettes I sneak once the bar has been open for a perfect amount of time? Tom Cruise did not disappoint. I can't remember his character's name and I don't really care, since the stunts were spectacular, the story almost plausible, the gadgets amazing and the story fast-paced and fun. It was exactly what you'd hope for in the ongoing series. And it was completely forgettable. It's not like one ponders the deeper meaning behind these films. They're candy. Very good candy.
Just hours before hanging out with Ethan Hawke (remembered his name!), I finished the latest in the Lord John spinoff to the Outlander series. In case you have somehow missed it, Outlander is a huge bestselling saga, now at eight books telling the tale of woman on vacation in Scotland at the end of the second world war who becomes an accidental time traveller. She meets and is forced to marry a Scottish Laird and outlaw. Much love and mayhem ensues, including pitched battles, heartbreak, travel to the New World and some back and forthing with the future. Or the past, depending on how you look at it.
If you can get past the rape scenes toward the end of the first book, the series is magnificent.
While the tales in each of these series are vastly different (spy ring involved in international high tech battles with crazed adversaries versus Jacobite attempted revolution by men in kilts), the aim in these latest editions of the two series is very much the same: another helping of the same, an update on characters readers and viewers have come to care about.
In each case, it was done with skill and panache, and I can honestly say I'm well pleased with my entertainment so far this year.
I'm a bit ashamed to tell you about what else I've been reading, but I'll get to that another day. Even the dog doesn't approve, apparently.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Review: Your Driving, Not Mine
I'm certain I'm not the only driver in Collingwood who could use a yearly refresher on the rules of the road, although I am frequently reminded by my safety-conscious sweetie that there are a few habits I might want to develop and a few others I might want to ditch, pardon the pun.
The thing is, I'm a pretty good driver. I bet you think you are, too. Regardless of who has the perfect record, there are a few things I've learned over the years that aren't covered in the Driving School lesson plans. I offer them now as a public service, free of charge:
1)Your 4-ways do not make you invisible. While I can understand why you might think the emergency lights could actually be a cloaking device, let me assure you, they're not, and having them on will not get you out of a ticket in a tow-away zone. It also makes you no friends outside Loblaws.
2)Ski racks or a storage rack on the top of your car does not make it more aerodynamic. While you may think the items up top give you the ability to drive any speed you like, they really don't. People laugh extra hard if they see you in the ditch or getting a ticket while sporting your sports goods on your roof.
3)And about the turn. Go ahead and make one if it's safe. After checking out the new Shoppers Drug Mart location on First Street yesterday, I had the joy of waiting in a six-car line to get out of the parking lot. Oh, it wasn't actually busy enough to justify the lineup. A lovely lady whose blue-rinse perm barely cleared the steering wheel of her Chevette waited and waited and waited to turn right into the five-lane highway while the rest of us, waited for her. The lane she wanted to pull into was clear, but not the second westbound lane. She seemed to need both lanes empty before she ventured onto the road.
"Honest, Mabel, you can do it!" I wanted to shout. "Fear Not, pull out, stay to the right and drive on!"
Remind me never to go to the new store on Seniors' Day.
The thing is, I'm a pretty good driver. I bet you think you are, too. Regardless of who has the perfect record, there are a few things I've learned over the years that aren't covered in the Driving School lesson plans. I offer them now as a public service, free of charge:
1)Your 4-ways do not make you invisible. While I can understand why you might think the emergency lights could actually be a cloaking device, let me assure you, they're not, and having them on will not get you out of a ticket in a tow-away zone. It also makes you no friends outside Loblaws.
2)Ski racks or a storage rack on the top of your car does not make it more aerodynamic. While you may think the items up top give you the ability to drive any speed you like, they really don't. People laugh extra hard if they see you in the ditch or getting a ticket while sporting your sports goods on your roof.
3)And about the turn. Go ahead and make one if it's safe. After checking out the new Shoppers Drug Mart location on First Street yesterday, I had the joy of waiting in a six-car line to get out of the parking lot. Oh, it wasn't actually busy enough to justify the lineup. A lovely lady whose blue-rinse perm barely cleared the steering wheel of her Chevette waited and waited and waited to turn right into the five-lane highway while the rest of us, waited for her. The lane she wanted to pull into was clear, but not the second westbound lane. She seemed to need both lanes empty before she ventured onto the road.
"Honest, Mabel, you can do it!" I wanted to shout. "Fear Not, pull out, stay to the right and drive on!"
Remind me never to go to the new store on Seniors' Day.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Anticipation
I wonder sometimes if the accelerated culture Douglas Coupland talked about wasn't necessarily in reference to technology but instead about how we have stopped savouring in favour of anticipation.
We seem to be so quick to get on with things, are we actually missing them while they're happening? I was still working on the last of the Hallowe'en candy as I sorted through the Christmas decorations this fall. I missed the Boxing Day sales because I was celebrating Christmas with my family and at the stores I was at yesterday, it's already Valentine's!
I was saddened but dutifully got on board. My less-festive tree is now hauled to the curb and I have carefully put away the glass ornaments I had so looked forward to putting up just a few short weeks ago.
I've burned the last of the red candles and have rounded up the bows and wee things I put on windowsills and hang from the doorknobs. They're going into the red box in the basement that holds them just as soon as I get home.
This afternoon, I'm very much looking forward to sipping water in my suddenly larger, cleaner, Christmas-free house. I anticipate baking nothing.
We seem to be so quick to get on with things, are we actually missing them while they're happening? I was still working on the last of the Hallowe'en candy as I sorted through the Christmas decorations this fall. I missed the Boxing Day sales because I was celebrating Christmas with my family and at the stores I was at yesterday, it's already Valentine's!
I was saddened but dutifully got on board. My less-festive tree is now hauled to the curb and I have carefully put away the glass ornaments I had so looked forward to putting up just a few short weeks ago.
I've burned the last of the red candles and have rounded up the bows and wee things I put on windowsills and hang from the doorknobs. They're going into the red box in the basement that holds them just as soon as I get home.
This afternoon, I'm very much looking forward to sipping water in my suddenly larger, cleaner, Christmas-free house. I anticipate baking nothing.
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