Category Archives: Playtime

Photo of my rack

Posted on by

Well, okay, since you ALL want to see my amazing rack:

063

It’s beautiful!

064

Look at the well-designed cutlery section. GAZE AT THE BEAUTY OF PRACTICALITY.

*********************************

There are lots of benefits to living in a senior-heavy community: my children are doted on by my neighbours because they are novel on our street, someone is always peeking out their window and willing to report suspicious behaviour and/ or unsafe parking, and lawns and gardens on our street are generally very well maintained. One of the main drawbacks: parking lots. Parking lots in my community are terrifying: there’s always some old man in a giant boat of a vehicle who can barely see or walk backing aggressively out of his handicapped parking stall at the Co-Op, and if you’re not constantly on high alert your chances of getting run over are close to one. I am loath to patronize certain shops that share a parking lot with the nearest Safeway/ London Drugs/ chiropractor, because driving through that lot feels like I am taking my life into my hands. The combination of elderly drivers and impatient university students feels deadly. But when the parking lots are snow-covered, well, that’s when shit gets real.

Today I went to the nearest lab services to get some routine blood work done. As I drove around looking for a spot, I realized something strange. Instead of rows of vehicles two deep, there were vehicles everywhere. Some rows were one car deep, some were two, and all of them slanted off in strange directions. There was really no rhyme or reason to it. Some cars were parked in the middle of what should have been two front-to-back parking spots. It was the least efficient parking I have seen in my life.

parking

This photo does not do it justice. Can you see how tight it is for the car to drive through, and then how the line sort of shifts over to prevent people from parking? It was weirdly chaotic. Now add a bunch of elderly drivers in the mix and you get terror in the parking lot.

The parking lot was small potatoes compared with the actual lab. It was full of irate old people and three very ill-looking young women. I actually considered taking one of the medical masks offered at the desk for people with cough and fever. There is a dad at school pick-up who has lately been showing up wearing one such mask, and I’m curious to know if he’s ill or just trying not to get ill.

Anyway, the way the lab works is that it takes appointments, which can be made online or over the phone, and if there is time they will take walk-ins. I am fairly risk-averse, and so I always make appointments, and cannot for the life of me understand why anyone would try to walk into a lab with such a policy. And yet! One should never underestimate the anger of the old man who is forced to wait for his blood work. One such fellow was shouting at the receptionist because he phoned at 10:30 and they said they had space for him at 11:00. It was 1:30, and the receptionist was trying to explain that they did have a cancellation 2 1/2 hours ago, but now there was a wait. Another old man kept loudly muttering that his daughter had made an appointment for him at 1:20, and now it was 1:30, and why the hell did anyone even make an appointment if they had such a casual disregard for his valuable time. At that point, he did get called in, and I could hear him complaining about the ten-minute wait all the way down the hall.

****************************************

Did you watch the Super Bowl on the weekend? I sure did, and I deserve the Good Wife Award because I wore this:

069

 

And then the Patriots won. Coincidence? More importantly, there has been a ruling from the CRTC that bans Canadian broadcasters from simulcasting during the big Super Bowl commercials starting in 2017. Those of you in the US are probably puzzled right now – you mean you can’t see the multi-million dollar commercials that are an integral part of the Super Bowl experience? That’s right. Instead we see commercials for the local plumber who is famous for his tiny dog, Dino the Toilet Dog, or “live on location at a furniture warehouse” commercials, or commercials for syndicated television programs running on that channel. And while that might not seem like an issue in the grand scheme of the world, it is an annoyance nonetheless. My Super Bowl prediction for 2017: at least 50% less yelling at the television by my husband and others like him. There will still be yelling, but it will be game-related.

 

The joys of tween boys.

Posted on by

Tweens, am I right? Parenting tweens is – I’m discovering – a funny business. There’s the newly found need for space, the sudden interest in girls, the need for me to tell the kids to GET OUT OF THE SHOWER, IT’S BEEN TWENTY MINUTES. There’s some emotional outbursts, although from what I can glean from my friends with daughters, the emotional outbursts that occur in my house are like a peaceful ocean wave compared with the Lieutenant Dan Fighting With God During Hurricane Carmen of Girl Emotions. Or, say, my Ladies’ Holiday Emotions. So, essentially what I’m saying is that if there is an emotional outburst, it’s more likely to come from me than anyone else, but I am finding that the tween years are slightly more emotional than the robot-level of emotion displayed by the boys in years past.

I will tell you the greatest thing ever about parenting tweens, at least in my house: they like to talk about what they are doing in school, and this translates into some very interesting and entertaining conversations. For example, today we were chatting about myths, and I told them the story of King Midas. They were fascinated; at first by the level of greed, and secondly about all the ways you could destroy the world with such a power.

Speaking of destruction, Mark has been learning chemistry at school, which makes me happy because I loved stoichiometry back in the day. Jake is a bit jealous about the chemistry unit, and has mentioned a few times that he cannot wait until he can take chemistry, so he can make experiments that blow up. Godspeed and wear your protective goggles, please. Anyway, Mark has been enjoying everything about chemistry: the periodic table, litmus papers, and the like. The other day, we were chatting about various fruits, and Jake reiterated his dislike for the following: fresh pineapple, oranges, and lemons.

Me: Jake, you really don’t like acidic fruits!

Mark: Jake’s just a basic kind of guy.

THAT’S MY BOY.

Mark had brought home his creative writing journal, and in it was an assignment in which the students use creative words to describe a person.

me

Orange hair is mentioned TWICE. Well, I cannot very well deny that it is true, given that any time I’m photographed in front of our burnt-orange walls, my hair fades into the background.

184copy

I like that my son sees me as friendly, and I like his description of my clothing and jewelry, but is it strange to take exception at “wears pink lipstick”? I associate pink lipstick with either the frosted pink of the 1960s or the neon colours of 1987. Either way, it’s not a look I want to embrace. Nevertheless, I can hardly think that he will take well to my lessoning him on the different shades of lipstick in my purse – tween boys do have their limits, and I’m guessing he won’t be amenable to learning the difference between “pink” and “shell”.

Boots and songbooks: where have you been all my life?

Posted on by

It’s cold here, but not unusually so, by which I mean today was -22 without windchill and that is the coldest it has been all week. The rest of the week sat around -15 without windchill, which is certainly par for the course for January in Calgary.

My usual morning routine is to drop the kids at school and then meet friends at the off-leash with our dogs. (Who’s a good doggie? Who’s a GOOD DOGGIE? Barkley’s a good doggie!). After our dog walk, I couldn’t feel my feet, which is something that’s been occurring more and more often lately. Lest you think I was underdressed for the weather, this was my outfit: turtleneck sweater underneath a thick wool sweater, jeans, thick woollen legwarmers, two pairs of socks, ankle length parka with hood, earmuffs, gloves underneath thick mittens, and my Joan of Arctic Sorel boots.

Remember when I bought those Sorel boots, years ago, and how it was a revelation to me? They no longer are the godsend they once were. I don’t know if it’s a factor of lots of wear or if my Reynaud’s and circulation issues are just getting worse, but in any case, I’ve been really suffering lately. After spending most of the day in foot agony post-walk, I decided that it was high time for new boots. And I went to MARK’S WORK WEARHOUSE.

End times are nigh.

I went into the store and spoke to the very young male associate. I informed him that I wanted the warmest pair of boots available. These are pretty warm, he said, to which I responded, No. I want your WARMEST pair. Whatever your warmest pair is, I will take them.

I came home with marginally ugly but OMG MAGICAL boots.

snowqueen

They are called Snow Queens, which makes me feel regal.

I feel like my life has changed, with one trip to Mark’s Work Wearhouse. Previously my trips there have been only to purchase Christmas gifts for my father-in-law.

In other where have you been all my life news, I had ordered a piano song book and yesterday it arrived. It may be the single greatest song book of all time.

songs

Look at that lineup! And it doesn’t even tell the whole story.

I’ve been playing the piano for almost thirty years – I was quite serious about it for many years, but now I just play for fun.

Digression: how many of us were into something like a sport or an instrument in a very serious way, but now as adults we say “now I just do it for fun”? I have friends who were competitive figure skaters, gymnasts, divers, hockey players, and swimmers, as well as those of us who spent hours daily at an instrument. Question for another day: was it worth it? Are the intangible lessons from that kind of discipline enough to outweigh the time, money, and energy spent? I like to think so, but honestly I am not sure. Thoughts? In any case, I was very happy to be able to spend hours a day at the piano, back in the day, and I’m very happy now to be able to play. I wish my kids had some interest in playing, but they can barely summon up the wherewithal to play their recorders.

Anyway, for the past few years I’ve been feeling a little stale at the piano. Other than Christmas music, my general repertoire was Fur Elise, followed by New York State of Mind or Piano Man, ending with Solfeggio in C Minor. Occasionally I’d plunk away at something new but would be mostly bored.

I tell you this: my new songbook has revitalized every feeling I’ve ever had about piano. Because look!

islandsinthestream

OMG

I had initially ordered the songbook for Don’t Stop Believing, but THIS was the first song I chose. I played it for my husband last night, who was nonplussed.

Mr: I don’t even know what you’re playing.

Me: It’s Islands in the Stream!

Mr: *goes back to reading about the NFL*

So that was disappointing. However, as I flipped through I saw the music for Stairway to Heaven and started to play.

Mr: Now THAT’S a good song.

Other gems: Wish You Were Here, Open Arms, Love Lift Us Up Where We Belong, and EYE OF THE TIGER. I’m not sure how that will translate to piano, but ever since I heard that guy play Sweet Child of Mine on the accordion, I’ve been inspired to think outside the music box. Heh. Music box.

Late to the party!

Posted on by

It seems like most of the world was busy ferrying their children back to school yesterday, but mine spent most of the day in their pajamas; it was, strangely enough, a PD day. I was glad it was a PD day though, because I was a little busy yesterday morning – I was on the local news!

That was a pretty fun and interesting start to the week; after that I came home to my life of glamour and made breakfast for the kids, washed the floors, and did the laundry. Today they are back at school and so we are mostly back to routine; I say mostly because the poor dog is desperate for a good walk but the snow and cold seems prohibitive to me. Tomorrow, Barkley, is only a day away.

It’s funny, because I was not at all nervous to go on live television in front of I don’t know how many viewers. A lot? We are a city of 1.1 million, and I’m assuming a decent percentage of them watch the morning news. Anyway, I wasn’t nervous at all about that but I was extremely nervous about driving to the studio.

A week or so ago, I received details about my segment and the address of the studio, which is located in an area of the city of which I am totally unfamiliar. My husband, being familiar with my driving anxiety, looked up the address and casually mapped out a few different routes, telling me which route he preferred and why. And this – this is one of the reasons I adore him, for his innate ability to zone in on the best possible route to anywhere. He factors in the approximate number of lights. He factors in the time of day of driving and possible traffic issues. He factors in my propensity to freeze up and panic in unfamiliar driving situations.

So, armed with detailed written directions, including how to get back home, which no, is not an obvious thing for me, I set out for a practice drive last Friday afternoon. My husband suggested that, if all else failed, I could pull over and type the address into the GPS, which is an insane suggestion. I will never, ever be fooled again into thinking that the GPS will actually get me to where I want to be, not after last year’s fiasco where I tried to drive to my brother’s house and ended up on a gravel road outside the city.

Here’s the thing I really hate about the GPS: if I somewhat know what route I want to take, and it’s not the route that the GPS thinks I should take, then I have to listen to the robotic voice suggesting that I make a U-turn somewhere in order to get onto the route the GPS is suggesting. Then, when U-turning on the highway is deemed impossible, it spends a significant amount of time saying “Recalculating. Recalculating. Recalculating.” until I feel like I’m going to have a nervous breakdown. The GPS is an evil, evil device.

When I woke up yesterday morning, it had snowed, and it was blowing snow, and the road reports were all talking about the delays that commuters would face and how poor the conditions were. Slightly panicked, I hauled my giant box of food to the car and left early. The conditions were bad; I had to resort to listening to talk radio, which I find soothing in bad driving conditions for some reason. The lanes on the road were not visible, so there was that thing where people make up their own lanes to drive in and it feels very willy-nilly, like at any moment someone is going to sideswipe your car. I remained calm, listening to the “Report on Business”, and ended up at the studio a full forty minutes early. Better early than late!

Speaking of television, about a month ago my husband started watching Game of Thrones. After viewing about thirty seconds of it, during which there was a beheading and two impalements, I decided this was not the show for me. Generally he would watch it after the boys and I went to bed, but during the holidays he watched a few episodes during the day, when the boys were busy with other things and I was reading or cooking. I ended up seeing a few minutes here and there and became a bit interested, to my husband’s chagrin since he had to pause the show every time I asked a question, which was often. Who’s that guy? Where did she get dragons from? Oooh that guy is creepy. He’s the king? Ugh, he’s creepy. Ew, she had sex with her brother? Wait, the king is a product of incest? Why isn’t his father the king? Ew. Why isn’t his grandfather the king, then? This doesn’t make sense. Who’s that guy? Wait, who’s she? Oh hey, it’s the guy from Downton Abbey.

Eventually I got semi-caught up on the major plot points, although I couldn’t remember any names and had to keep referring to characters by a ridiculously long description such as “the red haired woman who is married to the Peter Dinklage character” or “the guy who was Sir Richard on Downton Abbey but he’s way better looking in this show”. I found it so intriguing, actually, that I’m considering reading the books. Has anyone read them and would you recommend them? Given that I just finished the delightful “Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me?”, I feel like I could tackle something a bit heavier.

Professional Internet Commenter, or “PIC” for short

Posted on by

Happy New Year! And thank you to everyone who offered your kind words. I promise to keep on keeping on, because what if the mannequin came back? If a mannequin shows up in Nicole’s alley, and Nicole doesn’t write about it, does it really exist? We may never know.

I hope you had a lovely start to the New Year. We all – yes, even me – stayed up to midnight. This is the first time that the kids stayed up to ring in the New Year – and to be honest, I kind of dozed on the couch until the clock struck twelve. But we all saw 2015 come in, disappointing the children because I was unable to say “see you next year” like I normally do at bedtime on December 31.

When you were young, what did you picture your life to be like? I wonder about people who are what I like to call “professional internet commenters”. You know what I’m talking about; people who – apparently – search the internet for terms that are important to them, and then comment – generally in a negative fashion – on what they find. I used to think that these people had a lot of spare time, but now I’ve come to the realization that this is what these people DO. This is their career choice, albeit a poorly-paid career choice, and so they take it seriously.

My first encounter with Professional Internet Commenters was many years ago. My friend Veronica had written a blog post, casually and in passing saying that Esperanto was a silly, made-up language. Oh! So many internet comments about that. I had never even heard of Esperanto but it was a topic that drew many passionate supporters, who were incensed at the usage of the words silly and made-up.

I once had a Professional Internet Commenter say that he hoped someone locked me up for child abuse, and that someone should call the UN. Oh, Professional Internet Commenter. I know you meant to shame me but really, it amuses me no end. Someone should call the UN. THE UN! Yes, someone SHOULD call the United Nations about my views on health, wellness, and necessary medical procedures. The UN!

Recently a friend pointed out a recipe for muffins on the Yummy Mummy Club site that had a massive divisive comment section on the amount of sugar in the muffins. There was name-calling and much agitation about the muffin recipe. Muffins: today’s hot-button topic. You can almost see Tucker Carlson and James Carville taking sides. Resolved: muffins are an appropriate breakfast food. Today at 11.

Lately I’ve been getting Professional Internet Commenters getting upset with my usage of the words “cleanse and detox” when it comes to juice and smoothie recipes, which perversely makes me want to use “cleanse and detox” in every single conversation from now until the internet blows up. I had one such person tell me that no one could take me seriously when I use the words “cleanse and detox” because “cleansing and detoxing” is a bogus concept with no scientific backing; I happened on a “cleanse and detox” article in Canadian Living and the exact same person left the exact same comment. It made me feel kind of famous, to be honest. I mean, I’m getting the same Professional Internet Commenters as Canadian Living! Looks like we made it!

Speaking of CLEANSING AND DETOXING, are you making any New Year’s resolutions? I have one, and that is to learn how to decorate cakes, cupcakes, and cookies, and not just like this:

028

Technically that is not my work of art, but it’s about at my current decorating level.

So I’m pretty excited about that. I have a few friends who I’m going to call on for advice, and then watch out, world! It’s going to be a cupcake-palooza around here. And after that? A CLEANSE AND DETOX.

I’ll be over here waiting for the internet to blow up. But do share – what are your resolutions, if any?

Riding the Roller Coaster of Emotion

Posted on by

So there I was, just going about my day like any other; I was driving back home from dropping the kids off at school, and guess what I found in my back alley:

manny4

manny3

Manny! What have they done to you?

For those of you who haven’t been following the Mannequin Saga of 2014, when we first saw Manny I thought he was a dead body hidden amongst the tree branches in the green space across the alley, directly behind my house.

deadguy

 

Soon after that, Manny was raised, Lazarus-like, from the dead.

creepymannequin creepymannequin2

And now, Manny is in pieces, with only an errant shoe and an empty Corona case to show for his travels.

manny1

Here’s the thing, though. Prior to this week, all of Manny’s activities have taken place directly behind my house. When I found our poor desecrated Manny, he was half a block down the alley. SOMEONE must have taken him, walked him down the alley, and then fed him Corona until he was numb before sawing him in two, like some magician’s assistant in a magic trick gone wrong. My suspicions lie with the people who live in the house behind which I found him.

It is worth noting that Manny has a few extra wounds to his torso than when we first found him.

manny2

But he is still one-armed. One arm is better than no arms, am I right?

Now here’s the thing: I cheerfully drove down the alley yesterday, on my way to pick up the boys and also to catch a glimpse of my favourite mannequin. I had the idea that maybe, just maybe, I would put a toque on him, in the spirit of the person who decorated the trees at the dog park. Just my little contribution to happiness in the neighbourhood.

But Manny was gone.

At first I thought maybe he’d been picked up with the garbage, but then I remembered that garbage day was Tuesday, so that couldn’t be it. It was terribly windy yesterday morning but I didn’t see him anywhere, and anyway he was pretty packed down in the snow and ice.

Baby, come back. You can blame it all on me. I was wrong, and I just can’t live without you.

 

Here’s Looking At You, Kid

Posted on by

Well, hello there, December! It’s absurd to say that a date snuck up on me, what with the availability of calendars and all, but the date snuck up on me. This morning the boys cracked open their Advent calendars, and here we are. December. I have so much to chat about!

First: Sexiest Man Not Alive. It turns out there is an entire tumblr account dedicated to this exact thing, called “My Daguerreotype Boyfriend” and I do not recommend visiting it unless you want to be sucked down the rabbit hole of captivating men of yesteryear. There are some very attractive not-alive men on that account but this fellow is my favourite:

notalive

That is one sexy criminal. A bad boy in need of reform and possibly temperance? He went to jail for “stealing a fur necklet”. What does that mean. I do not know. Anyway, go look at http://mydaguerreotypeboyfriend.tumblr.com for more fun.

 

The only problem with looking at sexy dead guys is that I know with 100% certainty they would have smelled bad, and although I’m happily married and just looking at men that died a century or two ago, it still affects my feelings for them. I mean really, how often would these guys bathe? And their dental hygiene would be abhorrent.

Speaking of sexy dead guys, I’ve been re-reading an autobiography of Lauren Bacall. I read it years ago and I’m finding it different now, from my almost-forty vantage point. For one thing, they started their affair when she was 19 and he was 44, which requires no further comment, I think. But the big issue I’ve had from reading this book is that I’ve had Key Largo stuck in my head for a week now. I had mentioned this book to my friend, who said “Wasn’t there a song about Bogie and Bacall?” ONE WEEK LATER I’m still randomly singing lyrics: I was your hero. You were my LEADING LAAYYY-DEEEE. I’ve tried to replace the song with all sorts of music from Uptown Funk to Mele Kalikimaka, and it only works for a while. Moments later: We had it all, just like Bogie and Bacall. Starring in our own late late show. Sail away to Key Largo. And repeat.

The other day Might As Well Go For A Soda came on the radio, so I quickly switched the station, denouncing the song along with the much-loathed Patio Lanterns. My older son took umbrage at my labelling of those two songs as the “worst ever”, saying that the B52’s Rock Lobster was “way worse”. We got into quite an involved discussion about it; the upshot was that once Mark had that song stuck in his head for two days. MY BOY. “I couldn’t even concentrate on SCHOOL,” he said, “Because I just kept thinking of that song.” Well, I can certainly empathize. I once had “Getting Jiggy With It” stuck in my head while writing my microeconomics final in grad school, so I know pain. Who’s the kid in the back? Who else – Will Smith! Living that life some consider a myth.

And speaking of getting jiggy with it, this past Friday was our school’s Costume Carnival, and I was in charge of the bake sale.

carnival2

Pre-Festivities

bakesale

So much baking.

People had brought the most interesting and creative baked goods, and it made me think I need to up my cupcake game a little – perhaps I need to FINALLY buy a pastry bag and some of those decorating tips, or at least add some gummy candies to my frosting because DAMN those candy-covered cupcakes are hot items at a bake sale.

I was a little worried that I would end up with this entire table of baked goods, because Friday was minus 30 with blizzard conditions. I drove through white-out conditions to set up at 3:00, and I only live a few minutes away from the school. I was a bit nervous that we would host this carnival and the only people there would be me and the other two organizers, but happily we did have a reasonable turnout, mostly from people in the neighbourhood. A good time was had by all, and the DJ even played a few songs at the end to get the parents up and dancing: I Like To Move It (Move It), Cotton Eye Joe, and, of course, the YMCA. You could almost see his thought process: If I play songs from the parents’ clubbing years, they will get up and dance. Hilariously, the DJ was the same DJ that played at my husband’s office Christmas party the very next night. I wondered if it was kind of weird for him to go from playing Shake It Off and Let It Go to playing music appropriate for a largely middle-aged crowd, i.e., Billie Jean. We left before Cotton Eye Joe could make it’s appearance.