This is the fat free low sugar bran muffin recipe I developed and made famous during my Weight Watchers days. I've been continually tweaking it over the years, and I think it's absolutely perfect right now. I make a batch about once a week and throw them in the freezer. Paul and I each eat one every day. They are just about the most branny muffins you'll ever find, so if your system isn't used to a lot of fibre, you'll need to work up to eating one every day.
Katie's Bran Muffins
1 cup apple sauce, pumpkin puree, or grated zucchini
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/3 cup molasses
2 eggs
2 cups skim milk (I use 2 cups water and 2 Tbsp skim milk powder)
3 cups wheat bran
2 cups whole wheat flour
1 Tbsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 cup raisins or chopped dates (dates make the most moist muffin)
Take the raisins or chopped dates and put them in a small bowl. Pour hot water over them, and let them sit for a few min while you are mixing the rest of the stuff up. This will add mega moisture to the muffins.
Preheat your oven to 400. Mix the wet stuff, add the dry stuff, then drain the water out of the dates or raisins, and add them in too. Take your non-stick muffin cups and give them a teeny little spray of canola out of your enviro friendly refillable kitchen pumper spraying thingy. Spoon mix evenly into 12 muffin cups. Bake for 20 min. Enjoy!
I'm no longer sure of the points value of one of these suckers, and I no longer have the tools to find out. Maybe one of you in the know can figure it out for me.
Monday, January 07, 2008
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
don't try this at home
Phase one December madness (bargaining, exams, teaching) is over. Phase two December madness (holiday parties, shopping, baking, crafting, family time) is upon us.
Saturday night saw us heading down to Paul's running club's annual holiday dinner, which this year was held at the Rowing Club near Stanley Park. Paul's parents live about a 5 min stroll away, so we figured we'd stop in there for a drink on the way to dinner. We took the bus town town and figured if we went up for one quick drink we'd arrive at our function fashionably about half an hour late.
The out-law's live on the 17th floor of a high rise building, so in to the elevator and up we go. A little more than half way up, Paul, who recently watched the movie Elf on tv, turns to me and says, "hey, you know what we should do?" and jumps.
The elevator stops.
And stays stopped.
We look at each other for a few moments, try pressing a few buttons, and then realize this is really happening. There is an emergency phone at the bottom of the elevator which connects us to an operator who tells us she will page an elevator technician to come and get us out, but in the meantime just relax, but if it starts getting stuffy or we start getting panicky, call back and they'll send the fire department to get us out right away. We hang up, sit there for about five seconds, and then Paul calls them back and requests the fire department. The poor guy doesn't do well in confined situations like small airplanes and elevators at the best of times, and this definitely wasn't the best of times.
After a few minutes went by we had Paul's parents and the building concierge trying to be helpful in the hallway, telling us to try to pry the door open, etc. Nothing worked. The fire department showed up after we'd been in there for about 30 min and they were able to get the exterior doors open and again suggested we try to pry open the interior door, but we couldn't do it. They were able to pry both doors open on the other elevator, but ours was stuck between floors so a safety mechanism was in place which only the elevator tech could release. I guess they probably don't want people prying doors open and accidentally falling out or something. I couldn't believe the bucket heads couldn't even get us out. So, we sit on the floor and wait. The fire men and Paul's dad were having a good laugh in the hallways, and telling us jokes through the door. I was finding the situation totally hilarious, and was trying my best not to laugh since I knew Paul wasn't finding things funny at all. Rather, he was lying on the floor with his eyes closed concentrating on deep breathing. His face was red and flushed, and his hands were cold and sweaty. Poor guy! After we'd been stuck in there nearly an hour, the elevator guy finally arrived. At first we heard a lot of banging and prying on the door, but nothing happened. Eventually he headed up a floor and was able to get to us from above, working his magic and releasing the inside doors. We were told to stay at the back, pass our stuff out to the fire men, who then quickly lifted us out. They told us that sometimes the elevators drop, so they've got to get people out as quickly as possible.
So, after being trapped in there for an hour, we were out safely, and rather than heading up to the folks place for a drink, we were on our way back down and racing towards our dinner. We arrived fashionably late, just as dinner was being served.
Saturday night saw us heading down to Paul's running club's annual holiday dinner, which this year was held at the Rowing Club near Stanley Park. Paul's parents live about a 5 min stroll away, so we figured we'd stop in there for a drink on the way to dinner. We took the bus town town and figured if we went up for one quick drink we'd arrive at our function fashionably about half an hour late.
The out-law's live on the 17th floor of a high rise building, so in to the elevator and up we go. A little more than half way up, Paul, who recently watched the movie Elf on tv, turns to me and says, "hey, you know what we should do?" and jumps.
The elevator stops.
And stays stopped.
We look at each other for a few moments, try pressing a few buttons, and then realize this is really happening. There is an emergency phone at the bottom of the elevator which connects us to an operator who tells us she will page an elevator technician to come and get us out, but in the meantime just relax, but if it starts getting stuffy or we start getting panicky, call back and they'll send the fire department to get us out right away. We hang up, sit there for about five seconds, and then Paul calls them back and requests the fire department. The poor guy doesn't do well in confined situations like small airplanes and elevators at the best of times, and this definitely wasn't the best of times.
After a few minutes went by we had Paul's parents and the building concierge trying to be helpful in the hallway, telling us to try to pry the door open, etc. Nothing worked. The fire department showed up after we'd been in there for about 30 min and they were able to get the exterior doors open and again suggested we try to pry open the interior door, but we couldn't do it. They were able to pry both doors open on the other elevator, but ours was stuck between floors so a safety mechanism was in place which only the elevator tech could release. I guess they probably don't want people prying doors open and accidentally falling out or something. I couldn't believe the bucket heads couldn't even get us out. So, we sit on the floor and wait. The fire men and Paul's dad were having a good laugh in the hallways, and telling us jokes through the door. I was finding the situation totally hilarious, and was trying my best not to laugh since I knew Paul wasn't finding things funny at all. Rather, he was lying on the floor with his eyes closed concentrating on deep breathing. His face was red and flushed, and his hands were cold and sweaty. Poor guy! After we'd been stuck in there nearly an hour, the elevator guy finally arrived. At first we heard a lot of banging and prying on the door, but nothing happened. Eventually he headed up a floor and was able to get to us from above, working his magic and releasing the inside doors. We were told to stay at the back, pass our stuff out to the fire men, who then quickly lifted us out. They told us that sometimes the elevators drop, so they've got to get people out as quickly as possible.
So, after being trapped in there for an hour, we were out safely, and rather than heading up to the folks place for a drink, we were on our way back down and racing towards our dinner. We arrived fashionably late, just as dinner was being served.
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Waz going on?
In brief . . .
My arm is on the mend - thanks for asking. It's still pretty painful now and then, but I'm back at work, and doing practically everything except for lifting some heavy things. I have minions for that.
Classes are done, exams are looming. The big scary Chem final is exactly one week away. I have a lot of studying to cram into the next six days.
Our collective agreement at work expires Dec 31st. We had planned on starting bargaining in early January, but just last week we were informed by the employer that there is a PSEC mandate for us to finish bargaining before the current CE expires. Not only that, but the parties must reach an agreement by Dec 10th, and then ratify prior to Dec 31st. I'm the chair of the bargaining committee, so this means that over the next six days, four will be spent at the table, and we may go around the clock for the last two.
Did I mention I need to study?
Also there is my regular job, and the end of semester/beginning of semester shiz that goes on. Busy times.
Plus, because I'm completely insane, I agreed to teach a Lifesaving Instructor crash course which starts two days after my finals are done. This means I will also have to recertify my IT status prior to then.
So December 18th I'll be ready to start my holiday baking, crafting, and shopping. If my head hasn't imploded by then.
My arm is on the mend - thanks for asking. It's still pretty painful now and then, but I'm back at work, and doing practically everything except for lifting some heavy things. I have minions for that.
Classes are done, exams are looming. The big scary Chem final is exactly one week away. I have a lot of studying to cram into the next six days.
Our collective agreement at work expires Dec 31st. We had planned on starting bargaining in early January, but just last week we were informed by the employer that there is a PSEC mandate for us to finish bargaining before the current CE expires. Not only that, but the parties must reach an agreement by Dec 10th, and then ratify prior to Dec 31st. I'm the chair of the bargaining committee, so this means that over the next six days, four will be spent at the table, and we may go around the clock for the last two.
Did I mention I need to study?
Also there is my regular job, and the end of semester/beginning of semester shiz that goes on. Busy times.
Plus, because I'm completely insane, I agreed to teach a Lifesaving Instructor crash course which starts two days after my finals are done. This means I will also have to recertify my IT status prior to then.
So December 18th I'll be ready to start my holiday baking, crafting, and shopping. If my head hasn't imploded by then.
Monday, November 12, 2007
ouch!
Apologies for the lack of posts lately, and the lack of posts to continue for a little while.
I fell down the stairs at work during a power outage - I was running down them to get to the filter room and isolate the system, and I hit a patch of shampoo or soap or something that someone had spilled, and went flying. I landed right arm out, and have mangled the tendons in my hand and arm, jarred my shoulder and neck, and bruised my ribs. It hurts.
So no repetitive motion, including typing (I'm using one hand here . . . slow progress), no lifting, no fun. I'll be back posting like crazy as soon as I can. Maybe in the meantime I'll post pictures - I seem to be able to drive the mouse with relative ease.
I fell down the stairs at work during a power outage - I was running down them to get to the filter room and isolate the system, and I hit a patch of shampoo or soap or something that someone had spilled, and went flying. I landed right arm out, and have mangled the tendons in my hand and arm, jarred my shoulder and neck, and bruised my ribs. It hurts.
So no repetitive motion, including typing (I'm using one hand here . . . slow progress), no lifting, no fun. I'll be back posting like crazy as soon as I can. Maybe in the meantime I'll post pictures - I seem to be able to drive the mouse with relative ease.
Friday, October 19, 2007
the pumpkins
Over the summer when I actually had time for such things, I read the 100 Mile Diet by Alisa Smith and James MacKinnon. For those of you who haven't read it yet, do. It's a lovely read, beautiful writing, and it's not at all preachy, rather, it presents as an experiment, and the inspirational and at times heartbreaking or hilarious results. The 100 Mile Diet isn't for me - I'm not willing to give up my vegetarian ways, and until rogue farmers in the lower mainland start growing soy or garbanzo beans, I'll have to out-source my protein. While the strict 100 mile radius isn't for me, the concept is: eat locally grown and produced food to reduce carbon emissions, boost local economy, save farmland from development, and ensure the family farms aren't taken over by big evil factory farms. Food starts to loose nutrients as soon as it is harvested, so a tomato you buy from a farmers market which was picked that very morning at optimum ripeness is not only going to taste infinitely better than a tomato which sat on a refrigerator truck all the way from California, but it's better for you too.
I was lucky enough to read the book while I was on my summer holidays, where we grow quite a lot of food on our property. All I had to do most days was trundle down the terraced garden and poke around to see if I could find any potatoes in the potato patch, if any of the yellow zucchini was big enough for picking, if any beets were crowning through the soil announcing their readiness for harvest. I could pick peppery arugula, lettuce, and nasturtium blossoms for a salad. Beans, peas, plums, apples, and blackberries also grow on the property. Many things we didn't grow ourselves could be found from the little (9 acre) organic farm a short trek into town, where the stunning produce (I've been banned from further discussion on the adorableness of his eggplants) is simply bunched and priced and laid out in a roadside booth with a drop box for cash or cheques. Organic free range eggs could be found in a variety of driveways where families simply have chickens hanging out in their back yards and sell whatever they don't consume themselves. While I'm not much of an egg person normally, I ate these eggs nearly every day (the local protein source) and they tasted like no egg I've ever had out of a supermarket box. I was on the five mile diet(give or take), and loving every moment of it.
Coming back to the city was depressing, but I've tried my best to keep up with the local food. One rainy weekend Paul and I headed back to Gibsons for some R&R, and much to my delight I discovered we still had zucchini and beans growing. I harvested everything, knowing that whatever I left behind would soon succumb to autumns soggy rot, and processed most of the zucchini to be frozen and later used in baking. While Paul was out for his Sunday long-run, I headed into town to see if my favourite organic farmer had any produce out. He did! Mostly peppers, but the variety! Green bell peppers, jalapeno, red hot cherry bomb, and something they had thought was going to be an Italian pickling pepper but ended up being bright multicoloured streaked peppers, some mild, some hot. I grabbed a bag of green peppers and a bag of the jalapenos, and then started heading back. It was then that I noticed another little farm on the side of the road with a hand painted sign advertising u-pick pumpkins. I pulled into their driveway and saw the pumpkin patch on my right, and a little covered stand with a drop box and a sign that said, "all pumpkins $5" on my left. I looked into my wallet and realized I only had a $20 bill, or a cheque. After a moment of contemplating how they might feel about me leaving a cheque for a couple of pumpkins, I just up and decided I'd get four. So I slogged into the soggy pumpkin patch, and spent about five minutes wandering around in the rain trying to decide on the four most perfect pumpkins, and then called my mom and told her not to buy any canned pumpkin for the Thanksgiving pies.
Two of the pumpkins have been chunked up, peeled, steamed, pureed, strained, and turned into pies. The other two are waiting to be processed - they will be roasted and then the flesh scraped out of the skins and pureed - I realized after the fact that this would be much less time consuming - and the pumpkin puree will be portioned and added to the collection of grated zucchini, roasted, skinned, and seeded jalapeno puree, and blackberries we've got in our freezer.
I love knowing exactly where my food came from. Remembering the rainy day I picked the pumpkins, chatting with the farmer who grew the adorable baby eggplants (I'll post pictures, you'll see) and the awesome jalapenos. I know I could have spent $20 on canned pumpkin from the supermarket and it would probably have been more pumpkin and definitely less work, but I supported a local family farm, I got to see and choose my pumpkins, I know how nutrient rich they are, and I reduced carbon emissions and packaging while I was at it.
Last week I volunteered at the UBC farm helping out with the fall harvest. We harvested over 500lbs of butternut squash (some had been harvested the day before, so their crop must have been over 1000lbs) and then scrubbed them clean and dunked them in a 10% bleach solution to eliminate any fungus or mold spores so they could be stored in the greenhouse and wouldn't contaminate any other produce. It was a sunny day October day and I got to hang out in the fields and then by the farm hut and chat with an agroecology student who actually lives on the farm, and a hkin student who wandered around in bare feet and wore a straw hat with flowers stuck in it. It was an awesome day, and I left with hands raw from the bleach, a sore back from lugging crates of produce around, and a backpack full of butternut squash which had been gnawed on by rodents so was unsaleable at market, but still perfectly fine for eating. It made awesome soup. I think I'll definitely go back and volunteer some more at the farm - it's such an oasis, I didn't even feel like I was in the city, and I think it will fulfill that getting my hands dirty and being connected with food part of me that has been missing in the city.
Eat local!
I was lucky enough to read the book while I was on my summer holidays, where we grow quite a lot of food on our property. All I had to do most days was trundle down the terraced garden and poke around to see if I could find any potatoes in the potato patch, if any of the yellow zucchini was big enough for picking, if any beets were crowning through the soil announcing their readiness for harvest. I could pick peppery arugula, lettuce, and nasturtium blossoms for a salad. Beans, peas, plums, apples, and blackberries also grow on the property. Many things we didn't grow ourselves could be found from the little (9 acre) organic farm a short trek into town, where the stunning produce (I've been banned from further discussion on the adorableness of his eggplants) is simply bunched and priced and laid out in a roadside booth with a drop box for cash or cheques. Organic free range eggs could be found in a variety of driveways where families simply have chickens hanging out in their back yards and sell whatever they don't consume themselves. While I'm not much of an egg person normally, I ate these eggs nearly every day (the local protein source) and they tasted like no egg I've ever had out of a supermarket box. I was on the five mile diet(give or take), and loving every moment of it.
Coming back to the city was depressing, but I've tried my best to keep up with the local food. One rainy weekend Paul and I headed back to Gibsons for some R&R, and much to my delight I discovered we still had zucchini and beans growing. I harvested everything, knowing that whatever I left behind would soon succumb to autumns soggy rot, and processed most of the zucchini to be frozen and later used in baking. While Paul was out for his Sunday long-run, I headed into town to see if my favourite organic farmer had any produce out. He did! Mostly peppers, but the variety! Green bell peppers, jalapeno, red hot cherry bomb, and something they had thought was going to be an Italian pickling pepper but ended up being bright multicoloured streaked peppers, some mild, some hot. I grabbed a bag of green peppers and a bag of the jalapenos, and then started heading back. It was then that I noticed another little farm on the side of the road with a hand painted sign advertising u-pick pumpkins. I pulled into their driveway and saw the pumpkin patch on my right, and a little covered stand with a drop box and a sign that said, "all pumpkins $5" on my left. I looked into my wallet and realized I only had a $20 bill, or a cheque. After a moment of contemplating how they might feel about me leaving a cheque for a couple of pumpkins, I just up and decided I'd get four. So I slogged into the soggy pumpkin patch, and spent about five minutes wandering around in the rain trying to decide on the four most perfect pumpkins, and then called my mom and told her not to buy any canned pumpkin for the Thanksgiving pies.
Two of the pumpkins have been chunked up, peeled, steamed, pureed, strained, and turned into pies. The other two are waiting to be processed - they will be roasted and then the flesh scraped out of the skins and pureed - I realized after the fact that this would be much less time consuming - and the pumpkin puree will be portioned and added to the collection of grated zucchini, roasted, skinned, and seeded jalapeno puree, and blackberries we've got in our freezer.
I love knowing exactly where my food came from. Remembering the rainy day I picked the pumpkins, chatting with the farmer who grew the adorable baby eggplants (I'll post pictures, you'll see) and the awesome jalapenos. I know I could have spent $20 on canned pumpkin from the supermarket and it would probably have been more pumpkin and definitely less work, but I supported a local family farm, I got to see and choose my pumpkins, I know how nutrient rich they are, and I reduced carbon emissions and packaging while I was at it.
Last week I volunteered at the UBC farm helping out with the fall harvest. We harvested over 500lbs of butternut squash (some had been harvested the day before, so their crop must have been over 1000lbs) and then scrubbed them clean and dunked them in a 10% bleach solution to eliminate any fungus or mold spores so they could be stored in the greenhouse and wouldn't contaminate any other produce. It was a sunny day October day and I got to hang out in the fields and then by the farm hut and chat with an agroecology student who actually lives on the farm, and a hkin student who wandered around in bare feet and wore a straw hat with flowers stuck in it. It was an awesome day, and I left with hands raw from the bleach, a sore back from lugging crates of produce around, and a backpack full of butternut squash which had been gnawed on by rodents so was unsaleable at market, but still perfectly fine for eating. It made awesome soup. I think I'll definitely go back and volunteer some more at the farm - it's such an oasis, I didn't even feel like I was in the city, and I think it will fulfill that getting my hands dirty and being connected with food part of me that has been missing in the city.
Eat local!
Thursday, October 04, 2007
staying out of the red
September has come and gone faster than I ever thought possible. And that 'summer' we supposedly had? Feels like a million miles away.
I was worried about September and the financial burden I knew it would be, but I'm happy to report that I managed to get through and pay my rent, car payment, car insurance, tuition, textbooks, misc bills, and actually live a little all without going into the red. This is thanks mostly to the awesome under the table business I've got going on the side, and the rate at which it continues to grow while seeing a steady stream of return business. With out the biz I wouldn't be able to afford any of the little extras. Huge props go to my littlest sis (who is considerably taller than me), Pamela, who helped get it all started and is my biggest source of free advertising.
So to celebrate making it through the month, and also cause I've got a few peeps who need a visit, I've been on the lookout for cheap flights to Calgary. I was checking flights every day for a couple of weeks, watching the price go up and down and up and down and up and down and down and down and OMFG I'VE NEVER SEEN PRICES THIS LOW!!! BOOK!! BOOK!! BOOK!! And since I booked I've been watching the prices every day go up and stay up, and am satisfied that the deal I got is the best deal of all time. Good things come to those who wait.
Now I have to go deal with my pumpkins . . .
I was worried about September and the financial burden I knew it would be, but I'm happy to report that I managed to get through and pay my rent, car payment, car insurance, tuition, textbooks, misc bills, and actually live a little all without going into the red. This is thanks mostly to the awesome under the table business I've got going on the side, and the rate at which it continues to grow while seeing a steady stream of return business. With out the biz I wouldn't be able to afford any of the little extras. Huge props go to my littlest sis (who is considerably taller than me), Pamela, who helped get it all started and is my biggest source of free advertising.
So to celebrate making it through the month, and also cause I've got a few peeps who need a visit, I've been on the lookout for cheap flights to Calgary. I was checking flights every day for a couple of weeks, watching the price go up and down and up and down and up and down and down and down and OMFG I'VE NEVER SEEN PRICES THIS LOW!!! BOOK!! BOOK!! BOOK!! And since I booked I've been watching the prices every day go up and stay up, and am satisfied that the deal I got is the best deal of all time. Good things come to those who wait.
Now I have to go deal with my pumpkins . . .
Saturday, September 29, 2007
love, life, and the institute of marriage
I spoke last night with an old friend, whose phone calls I have, unfortunately, been terrible at returning. Finally connecting, he told me, among other things, he is splitting with his wife. This means the first three friends of mine to marry are now also the first three friends of mine to divorce. This is an unsettling trend.
Paul and I have been together over four years now, and while we have no plans to marry, neither do we have plans to not be together forever. We know several couples who have been together for a shorter (sometimes significantly) period of time than we, who are married - are those relationships more valid than ours? It depends on who you ask. I've certainly felt the 'unmarried shun' from some people, like the invitations addressed to 'Paul and Guest' (what, you think he's going to bring someone other than his common-law partner?), or the uncle of mine who didn't bother to include a picture of Paul on the family tree wall at a family reunion (not that Paul minded - I quite frankly would have liked to escape the wall myself).
Then there was my mother, who, when we made a comment about how the uber catholic grandparents would have been happy only if we had slept in seperate tents while camping, said, "even now that you're married?", and when I reminded her that we weren't, said, "oh yeah. I just feel like you are.".
I know being married is no more a guarantee of longevity in a relationship than not being married isn't, my first three friends to wed a perfect example. I know I don't need other people to validate the bond between Paul and I, and I know a piece of jewellery or a certificate isn't going to increase the strength of that bond. We don't need to stand in front of a crowd of people and profess our love in order for it to be real, but incase our lack of matrimonial status is confusing for any of you, here it is, pure and simple; I love Paul. And Billywilly. And the Bogowogo Man.
Paul and I have been together over four years now, and while we have no plans to marry, neither do we have plans to not be together forever. We know several couples who have been together for a shorter (sometimes significantly) period of time than we, who are married - are those relationships more valid than ours? It depends on who you ask. I've certainly felt the 'unmarried shun' from some people, like the invitations addressed to 'Paul and Guest' (what, you think he's going to bring someone other than his common-law partner?), or the uncle of mine who didn't bother to include a picture of Paul on the family tree wall at a family reunion (not that Paul minded - I quite frankly would have liked to escape the wall myself).
Then there was my mother, who, when we made a comment about how the uber catholic grandparents would have been happy only if we had slept in seperate tents while camping, said, "even now that you're married?", and when I reminded her that we weren't, said, "oh yeah. I just feel like you are.".
I know being married is no more a guarantee of longevity in a relationship than not being married isn't, my first three friends to wed a perfect example. I know I don't need other people to validate the bond between Paul and I, and I know a piece of jewellery or a certificate isn't going to increase the strength of that bond. We don't need to stand in front of a crowd of people and profess our love in order for it to be real, but incase our lack of matrimonial status is confusing for any of you, here it is, pure and simple; I love Paul. And Billywilly. And the Bogowogo Man.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
you'll have to excuse me, I'm not at my best . . .
I keep thinking about doing a blog update, but couldn't seem to find the time, until now. I'm recovering from my first cold in over a year which has really flattened me more than I thought it would. The last two nights I went to bed at 7:30 and 9pm respectively, and I think one more night of solid sleep may get me back on my feet.
So, what's been going on? Well . . .
I've started classes at UBC. It's such a different experience than the last three years I've been taking classes at Langara. I feel generally much more relaxed. It's very serene to finish work and then leisurely stroll to classes in buildings I can literally see from work - much different than the mad dash across town, eating while driving, parking then running to class and maybe getting there on time. I don't think I realized how hard that was on me until I stopped doing it. I have, however, developed a bad habit of just working right up until 5 min before my class starts, which means I'm putting in close to an hour of overtime each day. I need to stop doing that. I also need to stop walking back to my office after class, where I inevitably get stopped and asked questions and end up working for another 1/2 hour or so.
The department I'm in is small, only about 1,200 including undergrad and graduate students. It is close knit, and a lot of work is put in to fostering a sense of community - weekly dinners where you hang out with fellow students and professors being just one example. I feel awesome about being in this department, it feels like the right fit, like coming home.
Sitting in lecture halls with 200 - 350 other students, rather than in small classrooms with 40 students max still feels bizarre to me. And I'm paying twice as much for this? Mmmmkay.
So what else?
I got a haircut which I hate. I think there were two problems; my hairdresser and I had our wires crossed when we were discussing the cut, and she was in a rush to get out of there. I was her last appointment of the day, and the person who went before me changed her mind about what she wanted half way through her cut, meaning I was sitting with dripping wet hair waiting for my turn for nearly an hour. Also meaning that my hairdresser, who just returned from mat leave, ended up working much later than she was supposed to and wanted to get the hell out of there and get home to her baby. Anyways, the result is hideous to me. A week has gone by and I still hate it. To me it looks like I had short hair which grew out badly. Anyways, it'll grow and I'll get over it. Pictures will NOT be posted.
And also?
Paul and I celebrated our fourth anniversary together! We did it up proper and went out for a fancy dinner, which thanks to a generous gift certificate from my old calculus tutor, Muna, didn't really break the bank at all. Afterwards we went out dancing and had an awesome time. Good times had by all.
That's pretty much it. Back to studying I go. Chemistry.
So, what's been going on? Well . . .
I've started classes at UBC. It's such a different experience than the last three years I've been taking classes at Langara. I feel generally much more relaxed. It's very serene to finish work and then leisurely stroll to classes in buildings I can literally see from work - much different than the mad dash across town, eating while driving, parking then running to class and maybe getting there on time. I don't think I realized how hard that was on me until I stopped doing it. I have, however, developed a bad habit of just working right up until 5 min before my class starts, which means I'm putting in close to an hour of overtime each day. I need to stop doing that. I also need to stop walking back to my office after class, where I inevitably get stopped and asked questions and end up working for another 1/2 hour or so.
The department I'm in is small, only about 1,200 including undergrad and graduate students. It is close knit, and a lot of work is put in to fostering a sense of community - weekly dinners where you hang out with fellow students and professors being just one example. I feel awesome about being in this department, it feels like the right fit, like coming home.
Sitting in lecture halls with 200 - 350 other students, rather than in small classrooms with 40 students max still feels bizarre to me. And I'm paying twice as much for this? Mmmmkay.
So what else?
I got a haircut which I hate. I think there were two problems; my hairdresser and I had our wires crossed when we were discussing the cut, and she was in a rush to get out of there. I was her last appointment of the day, and the person who went before me changed her mind about what she wanted half way through her cut, meaning I was sitting with dripping wet hair waiting for my turn for nearly an hour. Also meaning that my hairdresser, who just returned from mat leave, ended up working much later than she was supposed to and wanted to get the hell out of there and get home to her baby. Anyways, the result is hideous to me. A week has gone by and I still hate it. To me it looks like I had short hair which grew out badly. Anyways, it'll grow and I'll get over it. Pictures will NOT be posted.
And also?
Paul and I celebrated our fourth anniversary together! We did it up proper and went out for a fancy dinner, which thanks to a generous gift certificate from my old calculus tutor, Muna, didn't really break the bank at all. Afterwards we went out dancing and had an awesome time. Good times had by all.
That's pretty much it. Back to studying I go. Chemistry.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
glorious summer holidays
Aaaaaahhhh, the long awaited blog update . . .
The calculus exam over, Playland conquered, and rest and relaxation on the menu, we packed up and headed to the blissfully tranquil Sunshine Coast. The majority of our time was spent chilling at our property on Soames Point, just a few km away from Gibsons, BC. My family has an acre of waterfront property (which my Grandfather had the foresight to buy a long, long time ago, athough he did not, unfortunately, buy the property next door due to it's hefty pricetag of $500.00) which has awesome views of the mountains, harbour seals slapping away out front, easy beach access, good training grounds for Paul, great vegetable gardens, fruit trees, blackberries . . . needless to say, I wish I was still there. I didn't accomplish much, other than reading three books; the final installment of the Harry Potter series, the 100 Mile Diet (which should be required reading for every human being), and Charlotte's Web. We also picked more blackberries than will fit in our freezer (most are still in the deepfreeze at the cabin), drank copious amounts of beer, and ate more doughnuts than I'd care to admit. I woke up every morning and made a cup of tea, then wandered down the terraced garden to check on which vegetables had ripened overnight; peas, beans, beets, zucchini, a variety of lettuces, potatoes, lots of fresh herbs. What didn't come from the garden came from a neighbour's garden, or from the organic farm just past town.
We took a two day respite from the cabin to travel further up the coast than we'd been before. We headed off to Earl's Cove (I drove, and Paul rode his bike the 84km of non-stop hills) where we hopped on another ferry and glided into some really unspoiled paradise. After just less than an hour on the ferry we arrived in Saltery Bay, where we camped for two nights. It was so fantastically awesome, so relaxing, so beautiful, I felt overwhelmed with joy on a number of occassions. We pimped up our camping gear with a new delux queen-sized air mattress, so the sleeps were perhaps more comfy than in our bed at home.
This vacation, along with some choice reading material, has really made me desperately want to live somewhere I can grow things. Paul and I had some pretty serious talks about the possibility of living on the coast in the future, and either making work happen from there or commuting to town. We can figure out the logistics later.
Some pictures of the glorious holiday:
The view from the house.
On the ferry to Saltery Bay.
A feat of extreme engineering - our campsite.
Some wine and cheese on the water at Saltery Bay.
Soooo gorgeous!
Blackberries!
Pie!
And the cutest dog in the entire universe.
The calculus exam over, Playland conquered, and rest and relaxation on the menu, we packed up and headed to the blissfully tranquil Sunshine Coast. The majority of our time was spent chilling at our property on Soames Point, just a few km away from Gibsons, BC. My family has an acre of waterfront property (which my Grandfather had the foresight to buy a long, long time ago, athough he did not, unfortunately, buy the property next door due to it's hefty pricetag of $500.00) which has awesome views of the mountains, harbour seals slapping away out front, easy beach access, good training grounds for Paul, great vegetable gardens, fruit trees, blackberries . . . needless to say, I wish I was still there. I didn't accomplish much, other than reading three books; the final installment of the Harry Potter series, the 100 Mile Diet (which should be required reading for every human being), and Charlotte's Web. We also picked more blackberries than will fit in our freezer (most are still in the deepfreeze at the cabin), drank copious amounts of beer, and ate more doughnuts than I'd care to admit. I woke up every morning and made a cup of tea, then wandered down the terraced garden to check on which vegetables had ripened overnight; peas, beans, beets, zucchini, a variety of lettuces, potatoes, lots of fresh herbs. What didn't come from the garden came from a neighbour's garden, or from the organic farm just past town.
We took a two day respite from the cabin to travel further up the coast than we'd been before. We headed off to Earl's Cove (I drove, and Paul rode his bike the 84km of non-stop hills) where we hopped on another ferry and glided into some really unspoiled paradise. After just less than an hour on the ferry we arrived in Saltery Bay, where we camped for two nights. It was so fantastically awesome, so relaxing, so beautiful, I felt overwhelmed with joy on a number of occassions. We pimped up our camping gear with a new delux queen-sized air mattress, so the sleeps were perhaps more comfy than in our bed at home.
This vacation, along with some choice reading material, has really made me desperately want to live somewhere I can grow things. Paul and I had some pretty serious talks about the possibility of living on the coast in the future, and either making work happen from there or commuting to town. We can figure out the logistics later.
Some pictures of the glorious holiday:
The view from the house.
On the ferry to Saltery Bay.
A feat of extreme engineering - our campsite.
Some wine and cheese on the water at Saltery Bay.
Soooo gorgeous!
Blackberries!
Pie!
And the cutest dog in the entire universe.
Friday, August 17, 2007
girl vs math - it's a draw
I remember practicing my multiplication tables with my dad when I was little. He made up flash cards with problems on each side, we'd sit in the living room and practice them each night. Before too long, I realized that the answers were written on the opposite side of the card; printed oh so faintly in pencil, there they were. Once I figured the system out, it was easy enough to convince him I knew what I was doing, so I didn't have to practice so much any more. I somehow fumbled through most of highschool math without ever really getting a firm grasp on the basics. I flunked math 12 in glorious style, really failing it good and solid - none of this 49% bullshit. It didn't matter anyways, I was going into fine arts, I didn't need math, so I systematically dismantled my calculator outside on the field behind the school at the end of grade 12, never looking back.
Not, that is, until over a decade later when I made the foolish decision to go back to school and pursue a science degree. A science degree? What the heck was I thinking? Face to face with my old nemesis, I had two choices: write a math proficiency test and get placed somewhere in the math program, or start at the beginning. I chose the latter. Starting at the beginning meant I had the opportunity to relearn the basics, and I do mean basics. My first classes were about adding and subtracting and multiplication and long division. No calculators allowed. I took a total of seven math courses spanning from roughly grade four all the way to calc II. I remember a point near the beginning where I was thinking to myself what complicated math I was up to, and my tutor asked if she could buy my textbook when the course was done. She thought it had good exercises she'd like to use for her grade 9 students. Grade 9. There were several points where we learned something so bizarre I thought surely this wasn't in the highschool curriculum when I went through it, but I was informed otherwise by people in the know. Apparently I have some serious mental blocks when it comes to highschool.
The last 12 months I ventured further into math than ever before. Past all the upgrading, past highschool, for the first time with a firm grasp on the basics I faced the dreaded calculus. Calculus to me is like puzzles - sudoku that mean people make you do. I actually quite enjoyed differential calculus, having a fantastic teacher who actually cared about her students and spent time practicing and when she looked out into the class and saw puzzled faces stopped what she was doing and went over it time and time again until people got it. Who got upset when her students didn't do well on tests and quizzes, and asked questions like, 'Is it me? How can I help you do well on this?' and had this fantastically dry eastern-European sense of humour and made each and every class a pleasure to attend. That is high praise for a math teacher coming from a math-hater like me. I enjoyed each and every class. Integral calculus was a whole nother can of worms. Couple the much more difficult and fast paced nature of integral calculus with a young arrogant instructor and chuck that mix into a class that goes all the summer long. Not enjoyable at all. I'm not going to dwell on this jackass or all of the ridiculous things he would say and do, or how he whipped through the material so fast he actually stopped teaching (if you can call what he was doing that at all) three weeks before classes ended, ceremoniously smashed all of the chalk in the room and considered his job done. No, I'm not going to dwell on it, but rest assured the head of the math department will be getting some constructive feedback from me pretty soon.
What I will say is that I made it. I look back on all this math like I had a starring role in some sort of epic war movie. I fought a lot of battles, and sure, I got my ass kicked along the way. I'm coming out of it with broken bones, tired spirit, and bruises-a-many, but I made it. I would like to thank three individuals without whom I surely would have perished:
First off, my mom, who when she saw me struggling and my stress level elevating, offered to pay for a tutor. I never would have been able to pay for a tutor myself, and I wouldn't have made it without the tutor. My mother is a giving and generous soul, and I thank her from the bottom of my heart.
Secondly, Muna, my tutor. Muna first came into my life when I was in grade 9 and she was a student teacher in our math class. We (not me specifically) were so mean to her, she finished her education program but decided not to become a teacher. She told me the experience was so horrible that had her visa allowed it, she would have dropped out of the program. She has three engineering degrees and an education degree, and tutors people in all levels of highschool and university math, chemistry, and physics. She is not only brilliant at those three things, but has a gift for figuring out sources of confusion and teaching the truly confused. She is a wonderful teacher in a one-on-one setting. Muna told me last year she planned on working only until the end of this school year, and then packing up and moving to Nelson with her husband, seeking cleaner air and tranquility. I had this one last calculus class to get through, and she said she brought me this far, she didn't feel right about leaving me with just one class to go, so she stayed in the city a couple of months later than she had originally intended just for me. She is truly one of the most wonderful people I have ever had the privilege of getting to know - I would have wanted to spend an hour and a half with her each week math or no math. I won't miss the math, but I will miss Muna.
Last, but certainly not least, comes Paul. This sweet man of mine is a math genius, and without him at home, my frustration level would have been exponentially higher. He was endlessly patient with me, checking my work, pointing out problems, explaining the laws of ln for the gazillionth time. He put up with multiple math-related temper tantrums, tears, throwing of textbooks and other irrational behaviour. He took the pencil out of my hand and replaced it with glass of wine when he knew I'd had enough, and he stayed out of my way when he knew that was best. In the last weeks he did all of the cooking and cleaning, and didn't take it personally when I was spazzing out. And he stayed true to himself, harassing me and playing practical jokes intermittently at inappropriate times. I truly couldn't have done it without him.
Not, that is, until over a decade later when I made the foolish decision to go back to school and pursue a science degree. A science degree? What the heck was I thinking? Face to face with my old nemesis, I had two choices: write a math proficiency test and get placed somewhere in the math program, or start at the beginning. I chose the latter. Starting at the beginning meant I had the opportunity to relearn the basics, and I do mean basics. My first classes were about adding and subtracting and multiplication and long division. No calculators allowed. I took a total of seven math courses spanning from roughly grade four all the way to calc II. I remember a point near the beginning where I was thinking to myself what complicated math I was up to, and my tutor asked if she could buy my textbook when the course was done. She thought it had good exercises she'd like to use for her grade 9 students. Grade 9. There were several points where we learned something so bizarre I thought surely this wasn't in the highschool curriculum when I went through it, but I was informed otherwise by people in the know. Apparently I have some serious mental blocks when it comes to highschool.
The last 12 months I ventured further into math than ever before. Past all the upgrading, past highschool, for the first time with a firm grasp on the basics I faced the dreaded calculus. Calculus to me is like puzzles - sudoku that mean people make you do. I actually quite enjoyed differential calculus, having a fantastic teacher who actually cared about her students and spent time practicing and when she looked out into the class and saw puzzled faces stopped what she was doing and went over it time and time again until people got it. Who got upset when her students didn't do well on tests and quizzes, and asked questions like, 'Is it me? How can I help you do well on this?' and had this fantastically dry eastern-European sense of humour and made each and every class a pleasure to attend. That is high praise for a math teacher coming from a math-hater like me. I enjoyed each and every class. Integral calculus was a whole nother can of worms. Couple the much more difficult and fast paced nature of integral calculus with a young arrogant instructor and chuck that mix into a class that goes all the summer long. Not enjoyable at all. I'm not going to dwell on this jackass or all of the ridiculous things he would say and do, or how he whipped through the material so fast he actually stopped teaching (if you can call what he was doing that at all) three weeks before classes ended, ceremoniously smashed all of the chalk in the room and considered his job done. No, I'm not going to dwell on it, but rest assured the head of the math department will be getting some constructive feedback from me pretty soon.
What I will say is that I made it. I look back on all this math like I had a starring role in some sort of epic war movie. I fought a lot of battles, and sure, I got my ass kicked along the way. I'm coming out of it with broken bones, tired spirit, and bruises-a-many, but I made it. I would like to thank three individuals without whom I surely would have perished:
First off, my mom, who when she saw me struggling and my stress level elevating, offered to pay for a tutor. I never would have been able to pay for a tutor myself, and I wouldn't have made it without the tutor. My mother is a giving and generous soul, and I thank her from the bottom of my heart.
Secondly, Muna, my tutor. Muna first came into my life when I was in grade 9 and she was a student teacher in our math class. We (not me specifically) were so mean to her, she finished her education program but decided not to become a teacher. She told me the experience was so horrible that had her visa allowed it, she would have dropped out of the program. She has three engineering degrees and an education degree, and tutors people in all levels of highschool and university math, chemistry, and physics. She is not only brilliant at those three things, but has a gift for figuring out sources of confusion and teaching the truly confused. She is a wonderful teacher in a one-on-one setting. Muna told me last year she planned on working only until the end of this school year, and then packing up and moving to Nelson with her husband, seeking cleaner air and tranquility. I had this one last calculus class to get through, and she said she brought me this far, she didn't feel right about leaving me with just one class to go, so she stayed in the city a couple of months later than she had originally intended just for me. She is truly one of the most wonderful people I have ever had the privilege of getting to know - I would have wanted to spend an hour and a half with her each week math or no math. I won't miss the math, but I will miss Muna.
Last, but certainly not least, comes Paul. This sweet man of mine is a math genius, and without him at home, my frustration level would have been exponentially higher. He was endlessly patient with me, checking my work, pointing out problems, explaining the laws of ln for the gazillionth time. He put up with multiple math-related temper tantrums, tears, throwing of textbooks and other irrational behaviour. He took the pencil out of my hand and replaced it with glass of wine when he knew I'd had enough, and he stayed out of my way when he knew that was best. In the last weeks he did all of the cooking and cleaning, and didn't take it personally when I was spazzing out. And he stayed true to himself, harassing me and playing practical jokes intermittently at inappropriate times. I truly couldn't have done it without him.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
postsecret movie
Every morning I sit with a cup of tea and do my usual email and blog check, and every Sunday I look forward to the release of new secrets on postsecret.com. This week Frank has released a postsecret movie, and it is amazing. The secrets are, as usual, beautiful and haunting and sad and touching, and the movie is set to one my favourite pieces of music. Enjoy.
Monday, August 06, 2007
long weekend not long enough
After recovering from a nasty stomach virus that knocked me off my feet for about 48hrs, I headed up to the glorious Sunshine Coast for the long weekend. I've only got one more week of work before my wonderful holiday from work and (once the calculus final is over with) school. The long weekend was like a delicious appetizer which left me hungry for more! Highlights included:
- hanging out with my ENTIRE immediate family, which only happens a handful of times each year
- crashing the after-party of a neighbour and childhood friend's wedding and hitting the open bar hardcore
- lying on the beach
- having a loooong talk with my mom, which we don't often get the chance to do
- floating on an over sized inner tube and holding onto Paul's feet as he swam around doing his "pull" workout
- water skiing behind our BRAND NEW boat
- eating food from the garden
- drinking lots of beer
All weekends should be long weekends. Five more days of work, and nine more days of serious studying to go. Holidays here I come!
Friday, July 27, 2007
Shiz!
Have you looked at the ticker lately? Holy shit man, that final is a-stormin' towards me. The good news is that my most recent midterm went really well, which hopefully bodes well for the final. The trick? Crunching numbers for close to eight hours a day, every day. I've let my poor old brain relax for a couple of days, and I'm about to hit it hardcore for the final. Don't be offended if you don't hear from me at all over the next 20 days, I'm not dead, I don't hate you (ok, well that depends on who you are actually . . .), I'm just integrating the shit out of those motherfuckers. My final ends at 3:30pm on Aug 15th. I plan on being inebriated by 3:35. Would it be wrong to drink hooch from my coffee mug during the final?
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Warning!
I have pre-ordered my copy of the last Harry Potter book, and hopefully it will arrive early next week. I have promised myself I will not read a single word of this or any other book until after my calculus final on August 15th, so will be lending my copy out to keep it safe (from myself) until then. If I read even one word of it I will surely become hopelessly addicted (history has taught me) and stay awake for 36 hours straight reading and fail my final. If ANYBODY tells me ANYTHING about the book, I will tear you limb from limb before feeding your parts to he-whose-name-shall-not-be-spoken. Mmmkay?
Thursday, July 19, 2007
verdict
Facebook is out. I'm not caving. I have the willpower. This decision is inspired partly by stubbornness, and party by a conversation I had today about the meaning of being blocked/deleted by someone on Facebook. I just don't think I need it. Maybe I'll start an anti-facebook for recluses like myself and Cam. We'll call it Assbook.
Also, an introduction; although he denies it, I believe my sweet sugar pie is posting comments on this blog under the alias billywilly. Blog friends, meet Paul. I mean billywilly. I mean Paul. It's all just so confusing.
Also, an introduction; although he denies it, I believe my sweet sugar pie is posting comments on this blog under the alias billywilly. Blog friends, meet Paul. I mean billywilly. I mean Paul. It's all just so confusing.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Here's the deal-ey-oh
Basically, I'm completely sick of all the music on my ipod, but I'm too busy/lazy/inept to deal with finding new music to shove on. If any of y'alls are so inclined, send me a mixed cd and I'll dump it on there. I guarantee that I'll a) listen to it all, probably over and over again, and b) send you a thank-you prezzie in the mail.
Also, I've been more and more tempted lately into signing up for facebook. I've been resisting, but it's seeming increasingly futile. Can anyone give me five uber good reasons to join?
Back I go to my life of integration and alcohol.
Also, I've been more and more tempted lately into signing up for facebook. I've been resisting, but it's seeming increasingly futile. Can anyone give me five uber good reasons to join?
Back I go to my life of integration and alcohol.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
uh . . .
So, if you took a graph of a curve, say, y=2-xsquared, and a graph of a line, say, y=x, and you took those two graphs and rotated them about an axis, like x=2 for example, such that the graphs then formed a three dimensional shape, then you took a slice from the middle of that 3-D shape, or say, a thin strip of the crust that would form around the outside, what would the volume of that strip or slice be?
Um, who fucking cares?
Please send smart math vibes my way tomorrow between 3:30 and 5:30pm. Or liquor. Lots and lots of liquor.
Um, who fucking cares?
Please send smart math vibes my way tomorrow between 3:30 and 5:30pm. Or liquor. Lots and lots of liquor.
Monday, June 18, 2007
The Ecoholic
I've been reading this book called the Ecoholic - a guide to the most environmentally friendly information, products and services in Canada, by Adria Vasil. It's amazing. It's freaking blowing my mind. You should all RUN, not walk, to your nearest bookstore and pick yourself up a copy - I have so far purchased 6 copies, and I think more are to come. EVERYONE should read this book. The book its self is printed on 100% post consumer recycled paper, totally chlorine free, and produced in a mill which uses biogas for fuel, and vegetable based inks were used in printing.
I'll share some of my favourite tips in the weeks to come, but for now a story. Last night Paul and I rented a DVD, and went to Dairy Queen for a blizzard, as we sometimes (okay, often) do on Sunday evenings. I always take my own to-go mug with me if I'm going out for a coffee, and have started taking my own take-out containers with me if I go out to a restaurant, so I figured why not take my own container to DQ for my blizzard? I announced this to Paul, and he told me I was being a freak and he would not go in with me if I did this. This only fueled my fire, so I selected a large cup from our kitchen which had it's volume clearly printed on the bottom. As we arrived at DQ Paul sprinted off ahead of me so it wouldn't look like we were together. He had already ordered and paid by the time we got in there, and as he was leaving he slipped me some money (it was his turn to pay) all sleuth like, as though he was slipping me drugs at a night club (uh, at least I think that's what it would be like . . .). I made it up to the front and asked the girl if she could make my blizzard in my own cup. I showed her the volume measurement on the bottom so she would know what kind of blizzard size to charge me for. She gave me a strange look (as I'm sure did most of the other people waiting in line, but I didn't bother turning around to check), and then checked to make sure the shields they put around the cups for blending would fit. They did. They had to stack two shields in there to make my cup tall enough for the machine to work, but it worked. I marched out triumphantly with my blizzard in my reusable cup and found Paul, who was hiding half a block away. He was pretty jealous of my blizzard, and ate about half of it. I'll definitely take my own cup next time, and I figure if I do it enough times it won't be so weird any more, and if I do it enough times maybe other people will see me doing it and decide to do it for themselves.
I'll share some of my favourite tips in the weeks to come, but for now a story. Last night Paul and I rented a DVD, and went to Dairy Queen for a blizzard, as we sometimes (okay, often) do on Sunday evenings. I always take my own to-go mug with me if I'm going out for a coffee, and have started taking my own take-out containers with me if I go out to a restaurant, so I figured why not take my own container to DQ for my blizzard? I announced this to Paul, and he told me I was being a freak and he would not go in with me if I did this. This only fueled my fire, so I selected a large cup from our kitchen which had it's volume clearly printed on the bottom. As we arrived at DQ Paul sprinted off ahead of me so it wouldn't look like we were together. He had already ordered and paid by the time we got in there, and as he was leaving he slipped me some money (it was his turn to pay) all sleuth like, as though he was slipping me drugs at a night club (uh, at least I think that's what it would be like . . .). I made it up to the front and asked the girl if she could make my blizzard in my own cup. I showed her the volume measurement on the bottom so she would know what kind of blizzard size to charge me for. She gave me a strange look (as I'm sure did most of the other people waiting in line, but I didn't bother turning around to check), and then checked to make sure the shields they put around the cups for blending would fit. They did. They had to stack two shields in there to make my cup tall enough for the machine to work, but it worked. I marched out triumphantly with my blizzard in my reusable cup and found Paul, who was hiding half a block away. He was pretty jealous of my blizzard, and ate about half of it. I'll definitely take my own cup next time, and I figure if I do it enough times it won't be so weird any more, and if I do it enough times maybe other people will see me doing it and decide to do it for themselves.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
When I'm Old I Shall Wear Purple
When I'm old I shall wear purple.
I shall sit on the sidewalk and spit!
I shall pick flowers from other people's gardens.
When I'm old I shall wear purple.
That isn't the full or correct version of the poem, but it's the way my grandmother would recite it endlessly. Last June when I visited her in Halifax, her memory was getting so bad she would hardly have finished it when she would turn to me and ask, "do you know the poem . . ." and I would blow her away by reciting her version of it seamlessly. "How do you know that poem?" she would ask. She almost always wore purple, and though I never saw her spit, she could let out one heck of a belch for an elderly British lady. She could also trick people into bringing her more glasses of sherry than her medication would allow like nobodies business.
Today she passed away.
For Valerie Morrison, 1917-2007:
When I'm old I shall wear purple.
I shall sit on the sidewalk and spit!
I shall pick flowers from other people's gardens.
When I'm old I shall wear purple.
I shall sit on the sidewalk and spit!
I shall pick flowers from other people's gardens.
When I'm old I shall wear purple.
That isn't the full or correct version of the poem, but it's the way my grandmother would recite it endlessly. Last June when I visited her in Halifax, her memory was getting so bad she would hardly have finished it when she would turn to me and ask, "do you know the poem . . ." and I would blow her away by reciting her version of it seamlessly. "How do you know that poem?" she would ask. She almost always wore purple, and though I never saw her spit, she could let out one heck of a belch for an elderly British lady. She could also trick people into bringing her more glasses of sherry than her medication would allow like nobodies business.
Today she passed away.
For Valerie Morrison, 1917-2007:
When I'm old I shall wear purple.
I shall sit on the sidewalk and spit!
I shall pick flowers from other people's gardens.
When I'm old I shall wear purple.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
okay, okay, I'm okay.
Thanks to those of you who emailed or called gently prodding for updates on my health situation. Long story short, I'm fine. There was a small clot, then it was gone. The venogram showed nice clear veins with good blood flow and no residual clotting. I visited with my vascular surgeon today, and he says I get to stop treating my belly like a pin-cushion with all those sub-cutaneous anti-coagulant injections, and just wait and see if anything happens. The doc is a laid back kinda fellow who does triathlons and understands the active lifestyle, so I feel reasonably confident in his diagnosis, and somewhat relieved that he neither wants to yank out my extra rib or put me on long term blood thinners at this point. Although I do recall a story where someone does something interesting with a rib . . . crafternoon anyone?
It's 3:50pm, which seems like a reasonable time for a cocktail. I'm off!
It's 3:50pm, which seems like a reasonable time for a cocktail. I'm off!
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