Monthly Archives: March 2017

Tale As Old As Time

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Oooh, the new Beauty and the Beast movie is out! I can’t wait to see it! I say this in theory, in reality it will probably be months before I actually see it. Revised statement: I can’t wait for it to be on Netflix so I can watch it in the comfort of my own home with a glass of wine!

I really loved the original movie, although I was sixteen when it came out. I loved the bookworm, BRUNETTE heroine, I loved the music, I loved the whole story. Although, when you think about it, it is an incredibly bizarre story. Woman saves her father by agreeing to be a prisoner for life in a giant castle filled with kitchenware and various inanimate objects that are somehow alive, woman develops Stockholm Syndrome and falls in love with her captor, who appears to be some kind of buffalo, and her love is enough to transform him from buffalo to heartthrob. Oh, and he’s royalty. Buffalo royalty!

Not to mention there’s a fading rose that is basically the beastly-buffalo version of a female biological clock.

But despite the weirdness of the story – like most fairy tales, I guess, there isn’t really a fairy tale that is not crazy-town-bananapants – I love it. I find it frankly hilarious that there is some kind of uproar about poor, gay LaFou, and his unrequited crush on Gaston. THAT is the controversy, here? I mean, a woman falling in love with an English-speaking buffalo probably counts as bestiality.

All of which reminds me of the winner of the 1976 Governor General’s Literary Award, Bear, by Marian Engel. Known as the most controversial Canadian novel ever, it is a story about a librarian in Northern Ontario who is lonely and ends up in a sexual relationship…with a bear. An actual bear, not a big, hairy man.

“Shocking, erotic.” “The unthinkable.” Well.

On a completely different note, I have had two odd things break lately. The first was my trusty pair of tweezers. I guess that’s not a totally different note; without my tweezers I would be somewhat bear-like in appearance. Certainly in a furry sort of way, anyway. Did you know that tweezers can just stop working? Well, they can. I suppose this is what happens when you cannot even remember how old said tweezers were. I do not even remember purchasing the tweezers; perhaps they just materialized one day, I don’t know. All I know is that I do not remember purchasing tweezers EVER, in my lifetime. Suffice it to say that my tweezers have been with me for a long time, keeping control over my Martin Scorsese eyebrows for decades.

Well, a few weeks ago I went to tweeze my eyebrows and lo, I couldn’t. I kept wondering what was wrong with me. Did I suddenly lose what little hand-eye coordination one needs to tweeze one’s eyebrows? Was I actually drunk at 6:45 in the morning? I didn’t THINK so. Then it occurred to me to try to grab a hair from my head, and I couldn’t. That’s when I knew. RIP tweezers. You lived a long, productive, busy life.

Strangely enough, shortly prior to this I had discovered via Mimi Smartypants that a new technology exists and is for sale in your local drugstore: tweezers equipped with a small UV light for illuminating what you may have thought were invisible hairs. What an age we live in.

I was perusing the tweezer section at Shoppers’ and lo, there was the exact item. Revlon has a UV-light-equipped set of tweezers, and although it was more expensive than I thought a pair of tweezers should be, I purchased it. After all, my old tweezers lasted decades, so I’m guessing that this pair will last a while. I hope, at least.

The problem is that when you shine a UV light on your face to illuminate hairs, it is very disconcerting, to say the least. You will discover all sorts of hirsute horrors. I mentioned this to a friend of mine (HI TARYN) and she wisely suggested that no one in society is walking around shining a UV light on other people’s faces, so we are all probably safe. However, you cannot un-know a thing, such as having a beard’s worth of chin hairs.

The other thing that broke was my ice cream scoop. Again, I have no idea how old my ice cream scoop is, but I likely bought it somewhere around the time I moved out of my parents’ house. Again, this is some time ago. However, I wasn’t even scooping ice cream that was particularly hard; it was a (homemade, god, I love my ice cream maker) vanilla with (homemade) caramel swirl. It was pretty soft, really, and when the scoop ended up in two pieces Jake and I looked at each other with shock. I mean. How does that happen?

I guess I liken it to those stories you hear about people injuring their backs or shoulders or knees doing absolutely normal, non-strenuous activities. I bent over to pick up a shoe and my back went out, or I was walking down the street and suddenly I collapsed in pain. Maybe my poor ice cream scoop had been having issues for years and finally snapped.

If only my life were a Beauty and the Beast kind of situation, with animated kitchen ware. Oh, the stories my appliances and utensils could tell.

Penne for Pi Day

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Happy Pi Day everyone! This year the grade sevens were really learning a lot about pi, and calculating circle area, and discussing how pi is actually calculated and how for every circle – every one! – pi is equal to the circumference divided by the diameter, every time, and isn’t that amazing? It is amazing. My grade seven student was pretty into it so I must say the apple did not fall far from the tree in this case. I don’t mean to brag, but I was known in certain circles as the Conics Goddess when I was in Grade Twelve, because of my conics calculating skills, I casually mentioned to my husband, who responded by saying that was the nerdiest thing he had ever heard in his life. But it’s true! I swear!

Anyway, I’m not making a pie for Pi Day because it’s Tuesday, and who has the time? Also, we are having penne, which is a cylinder of sorts, so that’s how I’m going to celebrate. Penne for Pi Day! It could be a new trend.

I am in a fabulous mood today; the hideous weather finally broke and everything is gloriously melty. Even wiping up Barkley’s constant muddy paw prints cannot bring me down from this cloud. I went to move the garbage bin back to its usual spot today – my life is extremely glamourous – and I noticed tiny green shoots where the yarrow grows wild. Tiny green shoots! What could be more heart-warming than that?

I also got a good, heart-warming laugh out of these pants that my friend Julie (HI JULIE) had posted on Facebook this morning. Although I must add that THIS IS NOT A JOKE, PEOPLE. These pants are available at Nordstrom and are called, hilariously, “Topshop Clear Knee Mom Jeans.” Since when are we using Mom Jeans as advertising? Also, not one mom I know actually wears Mom Jeans, so I’m wondering if this is a new trend with the youth of today, although I can hardly imagine that it is. Guys, let’s wear the least flattering pants ever! Oh, know what would be better than cropped, high-waisted, stone-washed jeans? Cropped, high-waisted, stone-washed jeans with plastic panels in the knees. It’s like ripped jeans, but waterproof if we kneel down in a puddle somewhere.

What do I know, though? Maybe it is a trend with Young People These Days; I am certainly not one of them so I can’t say. I certainly had my own share of unflattering pants back in the day, when everything was high-waisted, belted, and tucked-in. Hugely baggy jeans that were tightly rolled or pinned at the ankles was the big trend when I was in junior high. In fact, everything about junior high was terribly unflattering. It’s almost like someone said Let’s make a style that will cause everyone to look back on it and cringe. Okay, those jeans, giant tucked-in t-shirts, and while we are at it, let’s get all the girls to spiral perm their hair and tease the bangs into free-standing walls. Yes, that should do it. No wait, wait. Let’s add a crimping iron to the mix.

I mean…

You guys, I just realized that those Clear Knee Mom Jeans are $133! That is USD, my friends. That is nearly one hundred and eighty dollars in Canadian funds. Plus shipping! Who is exactly the market, here?

Well, there’s no accounting for taste, as they say. Judge not, says she who had a giant sweatshirt with Garfield’s Zodiac on the front, and wore it often. Judge not.

The hardest part is getting started

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It’s frigidly cold right now; cold enough for me to drive to pick the boys up from school, when they normally walk home. While I was waiting at the junior high, two girls walked by in the snow, purple and shivering, dressed in ripped skinny jeans, light jackets, and running shoes with no socks. Girls! It’s minus 24! Put on some socks. I had to restrain myself from grabbing the unknown girls and wrapping them in my car emergency blanket.

Last night was the junior high school play and I had promised to go. I was supremely grumpy at the thought: not only was I exhausted, but the thought of going out in the cold and snow AGAIN was too aggravating to even contemplate, not to mention that neither of my kids were actually involved in the play. However, their friends were, and they really wanted to go, so I put on my best Adult Attitude and my favourite lipstick, and drove over to the school. I am happy to report that The Little Mermaid was actually very delightful, and I was impressed with the quality of the singing and set. The boys’ bestie was in one of the biggest roles, and he rocked it. Best of all, I was home by 8:30, so I consider that a massive win.

The whole evening reminded me that, as for everything – exercising, attending something you don’t want to, cleaning up the kitchen after a massive cooking-fest – the Hardest Part Is Getting Started. I’m almost always happy to have Done Something, even when I Desperately Do Not Want To Do Something.

Speaking of things that I’m happy to have done but desperately did not want to do, yesterday I went bathing suit shopping. I know! I wasn’t supposed to buy myself any clothes until my birthday but a) I have been very good about this and b) needs must, sometimes. I needed a bathing suit and for various, uninteresting reasons, I found myself in a bathing suit deficit situation. So I took a deep breath and off I went.

Now, I have no issues with my body. I like my body. I am in the best shape of my life, including those years in university when I went to five step and boxing circuit classes a week, followed by weights and a quick turn on the Stair Master. And still, bathing suit shopping is agonizing.

I think part of it is the lighting. Why is the lighting so poor? Is it like a cult, or prison, where they just want to break your spirit so that you just desperately grasp at anything that fits moderately well, just so you can leave? Another thing is the selection. I went to La Vie En Rose Aqua, and in general I like that store very much. Their online store has a ton of selection but – as I am finding is often the case – instore is a different story. And much as I’d like to just buy something online, with bathing suits it can be tricky, if not impossible. The salesgirl, who was young enough to be my daughter, and not in a “teenage mother” kind of way, either, kept offering to call other stores to see if they had certain items in my size, as if it isn’t actually 2017.

Anyway. I did end up with something I’m very happy with – a black bikini with polka dots and a bandeau-style top – so all is well that ends well. I went into the store thinking I would step way, way out of my comfort zone and buy a NAVY bikini with white polka dots, based solely on the fact that my friend Liv (HI LIV) thinks I should wear more navy, or “black light,” as she calls it. Hilariously enough, her opinion on that stems from this photo of me in my swanky navy mammogram gown. Discovering your colours vis a vis mammogram gowns! But I do agree that it IS a good colour on me, but as soon as I tried on the navy bikini I knew I couldn’t do it. What can I say, colour and I have a shaky relationship. But you knew that already.

Another thing about bikini shopping specifically is that there are two types of tops: those for the busty, and those for the less-gifted. One semi-unpleasant realization, as a Less Gifted Girl, bikini tops geared towards Our Kind seem to be all padded. Sure, you can remove the padding, but who is going to do that in the change room? It is startling, to say the least, to become some kind of Mrs. Robinson-type while trying on bathing suits. I mean, suddenly I had a rack to rival a Victoria Secrets model, in stark contrast to my Sophia Petrillo face. It’s kind of tempting to keep the massive padding in but my bikini goals are now to be comfortable and relatively attractive, but not in a way that will embarrass tween boys. Thus, the bandeau-style top.

And while we are on Unpleasant Topics, it is time change this weekend. So, gear up for a week of crabbiness and general ennui. There is an MLA who has put forth a motion to abolish time change in this province, and I will say that I never thought I would be so positive about our current provincial government. I can’t even go with the semi-sarcastic saying about a blind squirrel getting a nut, because I am so thrilled with the mere possibility. YOU GUYS THIS COULD REALLY HAPPEN! My angst about time change for all these years may be coming to an end! I can’t believe it either! The sham that is time change MAY BE OVER.

Fifteen minutes of fame or writing or something.

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Last week was pretty hectic, so I was looking forward to a fairly open week in which I could get a lot of writing done and, in general, relax a bit. Unfortunately, I did not actually look at my calendar in that burst of optimistic feeling, and I am having an OMG it’s Wednesday already and OMG it’s March 8 already and OMG my life is flying by.

For one thing, I forgot that I had signed up to volunteer for a field trip to the Spaceport yesterday. The field trip itself was just fine; not the best field trip ever – that title still goes to the one to the Police Interpretive Centre – but certainly not the worst either. There were lots of fun and interesting activities for the kids and my Nerd might have been showing as I got pretty into the air compression station, when it was my turn to man the equipment.

There was also a very cool inflatable dome that the kids got to lie down in to look at the various stars and constellations, and it is pretty clear that the entire class is much more knowledgeable in this area than I am.

My favourite part by far was footage with Commander Hadfield and crew, snacking on bananas and M&M’s in space. You had me at Commander Hadfield.

One of the presentations included a very detailed demonstration – using a dummy with the creepiest face you’ve ever seen, seriously, this is nightmare stuff – about how astronauts use the toilet. Clearly the people who design the program have their fingers on the pulse of what interests students in this age group.

This morning, despite minus 15 degree temperatures and fresh snow, I decided that I needed to go to Costco. There was literally no other time this week that I could do it; as we all know, Costco is a time-suck of epic proportions. There is the driving, and the loading and unloading of the giant groceries, and the putting away of said groceries. However, I must note that luck was on my side today as I not only got an excellent parking spot, meaning that pushing the heavy cart through snow was only a moderate workout, rather than a “I may die here today” one. Also – and this has never happened before, so it is noteworthy – as I was in line, a NEW CHECKOUT OPENED UP AND THEY CHOSE ME TO BE THE FIRST IN LINE. I felt like a celebrity, getting into the hottest new club in town with nary an issue.

As I mentioned, I started watching Jane the Virgin a few weeks ago, but have not watched any since that time. Instead, I have been reading. I know that makes me sound like one of those douchey people who think television is much too pedestrian for their tastes, but here’s the thing: I put a ton of books on hold at the library, and they all seem to be coming in at once. I can’t keep up. I take back a book only to pick up three more, and now I feel like I’m in some kind of one-step-forward-two-steps-back world. Since I was in the queue for a lot of those books, I can’t renew them either, so I’m in a strange spot of frantically reading. It reminds me of my pre-social-media youth, which is a very good thing.

To Kill A Mockingbird has been one of my favourite books since the moment I read it at age 23. I’ve read it so many times I’ve lost count, and some of my very favourite lines ever written are in that book.

So imagine my surprise when I found out that the character of Dill was based on Harper Lee’s childhood friend, Truman Capote. I know what you’re thinking, and that is that everyone knows that. Everyone but me! This was completely new information for me, and although I’ve read a lot of his writing, I never connected the dots. It makes so much sense! Dill sounds exactly like what Capote would have been like as a child! I can’t get over it.

The only reason I even know this is because it was in one of the books I read, The Swans of Fifth Avenue, which is a dishy, delicious read. I highly recommend it and as you read it, be sure to google photos of the real people in the book. It is well worthwhile.

I also, after having it on hold since last June, and having it come up when I was on vacation in November, and then having to put it on hold again, finally read The Life Changing Magic of Not Giving a Fuck. I will say this – after all that, I did not really enjoy the book. I mean, I liked the premise. I like not giving a fuck about things that aren’t worth giving a fuck about. But I did not like the book itself. Maybe it was the way it was written, I just don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it but I am DEFINITELY in the minority here.

Well, I just challenged myself to write a post in the 15 minute window I had, and on that note, I must close and finish all the other (more pressing, but what can I say, I like blogging) things on my to-do list today. Have a great day, everyone, and I hope you are well. xo

The End of the Book Fair Lady

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That sounds a little ominous, doesn’t it? It’s not the end of my time on this planet – I hope! – but it is the end of my Reign as Book Fair Lady. Eighteen book fairs, people. I have done eighteen book fairs, although to be honest, the New Book Fair Lady (HI HAYDEE) has really done the lion’s share of the work for the past two as she prepares to fly solo, for her own Reign as Book Fair Lady. Still! Eighteen book fairs is a lot of book fairs.

I remember my eager young self, when I had children in kindergarten and pre-kindergarten, happy to take on this monumental task. The Outgoing Book Fair Lady was asked at a school council meeting if she was sad to be leaving, and she said no, because she was leaving things in MY capable hands. This is exactly how I feel; Haydee is incredibly capable and smart, and I know that the book fair will keep on keeping on, without me.

That’s not to say I didn’t feel a little wistful, knowing it was my last one. I saw all sorts of hulking sixth graders, in all different stages of growth and hygiene, who I knew as kindergarteners – and in some cases, pre-kindergarteners. I saw those kids pick up books on inclusion and bullying and ghost stories, when they once were thrilled with Hot Wheels and Barbie early readers. At recess, one of the teachers asked me to quickly come to the staff room and my first instinct was that something terrible had happened to Jake on the playground; fortunately – and heart-warmingly – I was asked there to receive a beautiful bouquet of flowers from the staff, along with some very kind words about my years as volunteer. I did get pretty teary-eyed, knowing that I only have three months left of being an elementary school parent.

I know there are many people who think ill of Scholastic book fairs, due to marketing and branded leveled readers, and the plethora of cheaply-made boutique items, sold at a huge margin. However, if I had to do it all again I would. During my eighteen fairs, we raised over $62,000 for the school. This money went to the library, classrooms, the English as a Learned Language program, and the home reading program. Some books were even Brailled for the vision students. I feel very good about that. I tried to be sensitive to different financial situations, and for a few years had implemented a program for teachers to discreetly “draw” certain names that would “win” a book. Even when I was tired and exhausted, the sheer excitement of the kids would buoy me up.

Onward and upward! For all the feel-good moments, there are a lot of things I won’t miss. For example, I saw a child touch everything – absolutely everything – on the eraser and bookmark display, right after he had his finger up his nose. I also won’t miss being handed disturbingly warm and damp coins and bills. I won’t miss tears from small children who desperately WANT to re-order a book, but cannot remember a single word in the title, rendering their efforts completely useless. “It has a puppy on the cover,” they might say, vaguely, or “I think there was a car. Or maybe a train.”

But there is – strangely – one thing I will miss: the incessant questions about how much the posters cost. I do not know how many times I was asked that question, since 2009, but I feel that it must be in the millions. And yet, this last fair, I smiled every single time. Five dollars. Yes, that one too! The puppy poster is also five dollars. The half-man half-pig all-zombie poster? Also five dollars. This poster, that I had cleverly hung on the door of the fair, because I have my finger on the elementary-school-humour-pulse?

Five dollars.

Maybe I’ll just get someone to semi-annually ask me how much the posters cost, for twelve straight hours.

And as god – and Haydee – is my witness, the very last question I was asked as I slipped my coat on to head out after my shift, the very last one, was “Do you have a lot of those Lamborghini posters left? And how much do the posters cost?”

It was a fitting end to my Book Fair Days.