stillpoint

Books Read in 2011

2012-01-01T12:27:00.004-05:00

Paper books, ebooks, and audiobooks enjoyed last year ... fifty-five in all. Happy 2012 everyone, and read on!

The Beekeeper’s Apprentice by Laurie R. King
Orchestrated Death by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles
The Cat Who Knew Shakespeare by Lilian Jackson Braun
A Monstrous Regiment of Women by Laurie R. King
A Letter of Mary by Laurie R. King
The Cat Who Played Post Office by Lilian Jackson Braun
A Lonely Death by Charles Todd
The Vesuvius Club by Mark Gatiss
Sherlock Holmes: The Rediscovered Railway Mysteries & other stories by John Taylor
The Mushroom Man by Stuart Pawson
Game Over by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles
The Cat Who Saw Stars by Lilian Jackson Braun
Doctor Who: Dead Air by James Goss
The Hound of the Baskervilles by Arthur Conan Doyle
The Adventure of the Dancing Men by Arthur Conan Doyle
True Grit by Charles Portis
The Moor by Laurie R. King
The Sherlockian by Graham Moore
The Last Detective by Peter Lovesey
The Return of Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle
The Shadowy Horses by Susanna Kearsley
O Jerusalem by Laurie R. King
Friend of the Devil by Peter Robinson
The Improbable Adventures of Sherlock Holmes anthology edited by John Joseph Adams
Death of a Chimney Sweep by M. C. Beaton
The Baker Street Letters by Michael Robertson
Past Reason Hated by Peter Robinson
Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman
Wycliffe and the Cycle of Death by W. J. Burley
Justice Hall by Laurie R. King
A Lesson in Secrets by Jacqueline Winspear
Dust and Shadow by Lyndsay Faye
Beekeeping for Beginners a novella by Laurie R. King
Almost Perfect by James Goss
The Game by Laurie R. King
Shadowfall - A novel of Sherlock Holmes by Tracy Revels
Sheer Folly - A Daisy Dalrymple Mystery by Carola Dunn
The Janus Stone by Elly Griffiths
The Brothers of Baker Street by Michael Robertson
Locked Rooms by Laurie R. King
The Language of Bees by Laurie R. King
Between the Thames and the Tiber by Ted Riccardi
The Cat Who Could Read Backwards by Lilian Jackson Braun
A Bitter Truth – A Bess Crawford Mystery by Charles Todd
Bury Your Dead by Louise Penny
A Cold Treachery – An Inspector Ian Rutledge Mystery by Charles Todd
A Trick of the Light by Louise Penny
Beside a Narrow Stream by Faith Martin
God of the Hive by Laurie R. King
A Cotswold Killing by Rebecca Tope
All the Colours of Darkness by Peter Robinson
The Memoires of Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle
The House of Silk by Anthony Horowitz
Rules of Prey by John Sandford
The Forgotten Garden by Kate Morton

101010: Help make dreams come true.

2010-10-09T09:57:00.006-04:00

Over the years, I've blogged about my son J and his wonderful friends at The Centre for Dreams, a day program serving adults who, like him, live with developmental disabilities. The Centre aims to help members achieve their goals and dreams by focusing on their abilities rather than their disabilities. A new and urgent challenge now faces J and his friends. Their home is being torn down for condominiums and they need YOUR help to relocate. Please watch this video, generously created by Westwind Pictures, and join in the 101010 campaign... you ask 10 friends, then they ask 10 friends... J and all his friends will thank you! (For the curious, J is the handsome young man in glasses and a blue shirt at the 35 second mark.)

For more information, please visit: www.centrefordreams.ca/101010.html

what'd ya bring me?

2008-11-15T01:50:00.005-05:00

Find more curious cats at the Friday Ark.

remember...

2008-11-08T11:33:00.003-05:00

Thanks, Dad.

Free Rice!

2008-05-16T21:58:00.003-04:00

Play the FreeRice vocabulary game. For each word you get right, 20 grains of rice is donated through the UN World Food Program to help end hunger.

Sam the Cat gets a job...

2008-01-21T22:14:00.000-05:00

I've been a bad blogger, finding nothing new or interesting to write about since way back in November. I'll skip the excuses and break the long silence with a better-late-than-never "Happy New Year!" and one of my favourite photos of handsome Sam.

Sam still scores his (mostly) weekly face time as 'The Bookshelf Cat', even when things are quiet here at stillpoint...which, when you think on it, is exactly how things should be at stillpoint.

Sam goes after a real-life Grinch...

2007-11-29T14:51:00.000-05:00

This week, Sam is giving the evil eye to a real-life Christmas Grinch. Please take a few minutes to read and find out why. Some very special people will thank you!

Readers of this blog may remember me writing about my son, J. We two have enjoyed some fun and blog-worthy times together over the years with many more to come, I'm sure. What I may not have shared, is that J. is a young man with special needs. He copes with remarkable grace and humour but I'm sure every parent reading this will understand when I say that his challenges can sometimes seem overwhelming, especially to those who love and support him. That's why we all feel truly blessed and grateful to be part of The Centre for Dreams in Markham — a day program providing education and vocational training to intellectually challenged adults, helping them lead independent, meaningful lives.

Last Sunday, November 25th, Dreams staff, clients, families, and friends got together to host a community event and fund-raiser, the Festival of Trees. It was a fun-filled day of fabulous Christmas trees, magical entertainment, culinary delights and, of course, Santa Claus. Money raised was intended to support the centre's operations and help grow the building fund — a dream that will someday give J. and other group members the chance to live independently in a safe and supportive environment.

The day was a wonderful success. Nearly $8,000 was raised for the Centre. Sadly, that hard-earned and desperately needed money was stolen by a thief or thieves — real-life Grinches — who broke a car window, grabbed the cash box, and ran. Much more than theft of money, this was literally a theft of dreams. Read the CityTV News account here.

So now you know the "why" of Sam's evil eye. He hopes you'll visit The Centre for Dreams web site, find out about the program, get to know the Dreamers, and if you're moved by the spirit of the season, click the "donate" button. Help keep the dream alive!

Join Sam and his Santa hat on board this week's Friday Ark — a guaranteed Grinch-free zone — and at Carnival of the Cats, hosted this week by This, That & The Other Thing

is that turkey I smell?

2007-11-23T09:34:00.001-05:00

Mmmmmmmmm...yum!

Join Sam for leftover turkey gibblets on the Friday Ark, and at his other gig as The Bookshelf Cat.

Kindle ...ing (a little shameless self-promotion)

2007-11-20T23:19:00.001-05:00

I was pleasantly suprised this morning to discover one of my books for sale in Amazon's new Kindle store. Available only in the US (for now), this nifty new e-book reader looks like it might be the one to please folks who don't like reading on-screen. Technology includes no-glare electronic paper and unlimited free wireless connection. Users won't even need to own a computer to enjoy a portable library that includes books, newspapers, and magazines. I want one!

For more about the book, visit Cheryl Cooke Harrington or go directly to the Kindle Store.

rethinking the whole basket idea...

2007-10-05T00:28:00.000-04:00

After three weeks of stubbornly avoiding it, Sam looks pretty relaxed and comfortable in his new basket, doesn't he?

He might climb out long enough to board the Friday Ark and pay a visit to his friends at Carnival of the Cats on Sunday.

on second thought...

2007-09-18T22:16:00.000-04:00

Over the years, friends have accused me of being a hopeless Pollyanna and, I admit, I do tend to look for the good in people and situations. Last week I tried looking on the bright side of the construction currently underway next door to my office. This week, I've changed my mind. Here's why...

The view from my office window, March 18, 2007

The view from my office window, September 18, 2007

'Nuff said.

Sigh.

end of a (fishy) era

2007-09-17T20:24:00.000-04:00

Norbert, the splendid Betta splendens, has been our office mascot at the day job for nearly five years. Content in his big bowl on the corner of my desk, he was always ready to interrupt his bubble nest building to play a game of mirror-mirror or charm visitors with a display of his magnificent blue fins and a flare of his gills.

Today, as always, feeding Norbert was my first task of the morning. But today, for the first time ever, he didn't come rushing out of his root hammock to greet me. Sadly, at some point over the weekend, Norbert the Betta swam off to fishy heaven. We're really going to miss the little guy.

you can lead a cat to basket...

2007-09-14T09:11:00.000-04:00

This is Sam.

This is Sam's brand new basket.
(Note the cushy-comfy blanket,
thoughtfully scented with catnip, even!)

And this is Sam investigating his lovely new digs.
Mmmm. Nip!

But this old cardboard boxtop is where Sam still prefers to nap.
(Note the abandonned nip-scented basket, sitting empty on the left.)

What is it with cats and cardboard boxes, anyway?!

Sam will be napping aboard the Friday Ark and at Carnival of the Cats, hosted this week by Hot(M)BC. You'll also find him wide awake and helping out at his other gig.

not quite serendipity

2007-09-12T09:54:00.000-04:00

Walking up the street yesterday afternoon, on my way to collect the office mail from the group mailbox, I was distracted from my blue-sky-and-fluffy-cloud-gazing by a sheaf of papers, fluttering in the gutter. Not your usual bit of junk mail litter, this was blue-lined homework paper, covered with neat, cursive script. I stopped to read from a brief, bulleted list:

Reasons why you might not hand in a completed assignment:
your computer crashed and you forgot to save what you had written

your brother fell off his bike and you had to take him to the walk-in

your mom was late picking you up from soccer practice

Sadly, the writer forgot to include the point that would prove, without a doubt, that good reasons do exist for failure to complete: "My notes are lying in the gutter on Anderson Ave!"

Still in the not quite serendipity department, we're enduring a major construction project on the lot next to our office building. I say 'enduring' because it sometimes feels as if the noise and disruption and dust will never end. The dust, especially, is driving us all to distraction. It coats the windows, creeps in through the tiniest cracks and leaves our desktops feeling gritty. Our cars, parked between our office and the construction site, look like rolling sandboxes. Ugh. The serendipity? They're building a carwash.

intrepid (sort of) ...

2007-09-07T00:12:00.000-04:00

Here's the intrepid Sam, perched on his favourite chair on the balcony. From this vantage point, when sitting tall, he can see through the glass panel at the top of the rail and watch the kids, dogs, and squirrels playing in the park. His expression here might be mistaken for fierce concentration but, in fact, he's watching a flock of these ... and preparing to dive for cover if they come any closer.

Moments later he's belly-flat on the floor, whiskers a-quiver as he peers through the gap at the base of the guard rail. No chance to snap another photo. One gull swoops ever-so-slightly in our direction and the mighty Sam becomes a mighty blur... through the door, down the hall, and under the bed.

Funny how nap-attacks can happen all of a sudden like that.

Find more intrepid cats aboard the Friday Ark.

bird-of-paradise

2007-09-05T00:47:00.000-04:00

Centennial Park, Etobicoke

nudge-nudge . . .

2007-08-30T19:36:00.000-04:00

I've been feeling The Nudge a lot lately. The Nudge to get back to blogging, that is. At first, I tried to ignore The Nudge. When that didn't work, I tried reasoning with it.

"Nudge," I said, "I'm trying to SIMPLIFY life, not add more stuff to my to-do list."

Then, to be absolutely sure my point was crystal clear, I hauled said to-do list out of the drawer and let it unroll. It unrolled across the livingroom floor. It kept right on unrolling out the balcony door. And over the rail. And across the park. On and on and on it unrolled, toward the distant horizon, revealing one to-do after another until any sane person (or even a demented Nudge) would have to admit the truth: there is no time left for blogging!

Funny thing about time, though. Sometimes, even when you think you have none to spare, you find a way to squeeze more stuff — especially fun-type stuff — into each day's waking hours.

I was pondering the odd and occasionally flexible nature of time when The Nudge snuck up on me again. It caught me all unawares-like and made me volunteer to start a brand new blog for my author clients over at Eclectics.com.

"Nudge," I said, "Wipe that smug grin off your face. You have not won. I haven't given up on the whole SIMPLIFY thing. But this is different. This is work."

Well, the new Books at Eclectics blog has been up and running for a whole week now and I'm not kidding myself any longer. It's not work. It's fun! And blogging there has made me realize how much I miss writing here at stillpoint.

So... time to chase the dust bunnies out of the corners, sweep down the cobwebs, and start posting again. Right now, I'm working on 101 Things About Mom (a companion piece for this). Mom passed away last month, exactly three weeks after her eighty-fifth birthday, so the writing of it is an emotional journey for me. I don't want to rush. Meanwhile, Sam the Cat is demanding some quality face time. (Guess he's tired of showing off his tail.) We'll try to get organized with a new portrait (and a new tale) for next week's Friday Ark.

You'll have to excuse me now, though. I have a gi-normous to-do list in need of re-rolling.

as the tail says...

2007-02-02T12:07:00.000-05:00

January was a challenging month here at stillpoint. We're all okay but Sam and I find ourselves needing a little time away from the ol' blog to re-group, re-fresh, and just plain get caught up (on sleep, if nothing else).

Thanks to everyone who's visited, commented, and shared with us. I hope we'll be back to blogging again before long. Meanwhile, as the tail says: "The End."

kitten cousins...

2007-01-25T20:46:00.000-05:00

Introducing: Hershey and Styx

These two handsome lads live with my niece and nephew. Er...what I mean is, these two handsome lads allow my niece and nephew to live with them and cater to their every whim. Yes, that's more like it.

Styx is the baby of the family and has thoroughly disrupted the (formerly) calm and quiet life of his elder sibling. But after a long day of chasing tails and pestering big bro, even a bouncy ginger kitten like Styx needs a bit of a nap...

Samcat will be back next week. He's hiding from kitten cousins on the Friday Ark, at Carnival of the Cats (hosted this Sunday by Mind of Mog), and under the table at Kate in the Kitchen for Weekend Catblogging #86.

take a deep breath...and bake

2007-01-24T08:06:00.000-05:00

To simply say the last couple of days at work have been busy would be a gross understatement. They've been the non-stop 'fun' that makes hours pass like minutes quitting time comes and you wonder where the day went blink and you'd miss it kinda days.

Don't get me wrong. I like being busy at work. (Sure beats the alternative.) But it doesn't make me an interesting blogger. Once I get home, I just want to turn the ol' brain off for a while, brew a good hot cuppa tea, coax the bird onto the shoulder, the cat onto the lap, and settle in for a quietly mindless evening of TV.

And then the munchies hit. One of my new years resolutions was a vow to not keep junk food and munchie-type things in the house. If I want something sweet or salty, I'm going to have to walk across the park to get it or make it myself ... a kind of work-off-the-calories-in-advance approach. It's been working pretty well, too. I'm indulging a lot less frequently. But when the gotta-have-its hit, this is a favourite quick and easy recipe of mine. The son, the cat, and the bird say they like it, too. Be warned: these butterscotch brownies are very sweet at first but mellow nicely for the second day. Can't report on day three...they never seem to last that long.

Mom's Butterscotch Brownies

1/4 cup butter
1 cup brown sugar (packed)
1 egg, lightly beaten
3/4 cup all purpose flour
1 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. vanilla

Melt butter, blend in sugar and let mixture cool. Stir in egg and vanilla.

Sift dry ingredients together and blend with sugar mixture. Result will be quite stiff.

Spread batter in well-oiled 8x8 pan and bake at 350 degrees for 25 minutes. Cut into squares while warm.

who's the boss?

2007-01-19T00:19:00.000-05:00

Here at chez stillpoint, I'm pretty sure 'the boss' is not me. Case in point: Sam the Cat has decided to make my favourite easy chair 'his spot'. Perfectly understandable. After all, it is an extremely comfortable chair with a great view of the room, and it's upholstered in ever-so-soft burgundy red fabric. He looks good on that chair. (And he knows it!)

So, for the last couple of months, Sam has been spending a good part of every day curled up in cozy catly comfort on the big red chair, shedding his white cat hair by the bucketful to mark his spot. Okay, maybe 'bucketful' is a bit of an exaggeration, but since I'm now known around the building as "furry pants" I think it must be pretty close to accurate.

I tried recommending another chair — one with a seductively catnip-scented mat on it — but that was only good for a quick roll-about and then it was back to Big Red.

I tried covering Big Red with a sheet. Turns out Sam is a tunnelling cat, so sheet and chair got hairy.

Then I had a brilliant idea. A foolproof plan that would make Big Red even more cat-comfy and solve my furry pants problem at the same time. You see, Sam likes to cuddle up with stuffed animals, fuzzy blankets, my neighbour's hat (but that's another story) ... so a warm sheepskin throw, strategically placed on his snuggling spot, should have him purring with delight, right? White cat hair would be invisible on it and Big Red would stay hair free and tidy underneath. I'd just lift it off onto the floor when it was my turn to relax and put my feet up.

Um ... I said "foolproof", didn't I?

But.

No.

Upon his discovery of The Big Furry White Thing in his comfy spot, Sam decided to claim the higher ground.

Perhaps I should just give up and sit on the sofa.

Sam will be lounging around on the Friday Ark, at Sunday's Carnival of the Cats (hosted this week by Enrevanche), and with the Weekend Catblogging crew at Cat Blogosphere.

collecting...

2007-01-17T00:05:00.001-05:00

Have you ever wondered why people collect things? I know I sometimes wonder about my own collections, especially when I start to run out of places to put them and my small apartment begins to feel even smaller. Every once in a while I consider packing them all away. But that means taking a good hard look at them, touching them, holding them, and then I understand. Collections are more than just "things". They're memories.

I've been collecting blue glass poison bottles for nearly 30 years now. I still remember finding the first one, hidden in the ruins of an old log cabin near Kaladar. What kind of poison was it? Who tucked the little bottle up into the rafters so long ago...and why? I was hooked. Even though most of my later "finds" were at flea markets and antique shows, the mysteries of cobalt glass still intrigue me and there's no denying its beauty.

I've always enjoyed having a special mug for my tea and coffee. Once upon a time, my taste leaned more toward the unique, handmade kinds of pottery vessels found at artist studios and craft shows but my brother-in-law had a different idea of the perfect mug.

Wayne was a talented performer who loved music in all its forms. One of his greatest joys was live theatre. If he wasn't on stage, he'd be in the audience and whenever he could find one, he'd buy a souvenir mug to remind him of the show.

Wayne was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in 1999 and for the next few months he battled with every ounce of his strength and incredible courage. His last performance was New Year's Eve 2000. It was a wonderful show. Two weeks later, Wayne passed away. His collection of mugs came to me. The memories they hold may be bittersweet but they are very, very special. And I think he'd be pleased to know I've been adding a couple of new show mugs to his collection every year since. "Here's to you, Wayne. Thanks for the music."

story sharing

2007-01-15T11:48:00.000-05:00

In Toronto, the big story today is the weather. I woke at 6:30 to CBC Radio's litany of collisions and cancellations. Seemed like a good excuse to pull the blankets over my head and declare a personal ice and snow day.

As I lay abed, comfortably pondering the merits of napping vs. coffee, I found myself listening to an interview with Ontario's lieutenant-governor, James Bartleman who is again asking the public to donate books for schools and libraries in Canada's remote north. Over a million books were donated in the first year of the program but the need is still great. This year the campaign focuses on books for children and adolescents. "Without books," said Bartleman in an earlier CBC interview, "the children will never learn to read, will never develop the self-esteem that comes from obtaining an education, and will never escape the despair that fuels the suicide epidemic among children and youth that has been raging out of sight and out of mind in the north of our province." New or gently used books can be dropped off at any police station in Toronto or at OPP offices anywhere in Ontario. Deadline is January 31st.

Have you ever walked past an old building or driven down an interesting street in your city and wondered about the history of the place? [murmur] is a program in Toronto (also in Vancouver, Montreal, and San Jose) that lets you listen, by phone, to the stories and reminiscences of people who know. You can try it out online, too, by clicking a red dot on the map. What a great idea, and yet another incentive to get out there walking.

When it comes to sharing stories, Suzanne Beacher of DearReader.com, should win a prize. She's personally responsible for at least 50% of my own to-be-read pile, which is pretty much out of control. (I've even got paperbacks stashed in my son's sock drawer...and when you consider that his bedroom is so small it was once used as a closet, you get some idea of just how dire the situation is!) I try to abide by a one-in/one-out rule, passing on the books I've read to friends, family, and charities. But just when I think I've got a handle on things, Suzanne sends along another intriguing story or two, I forget my rule, and the pile(s) grow again. This week, she's tempting me with excerpts from:

THE BOOK OF NAMES by Jill Gregory & Karen Tintori - "A fast-paced historical thriller that explores Jewish mysticism, ancient history, and the Kabbalah." ('Read it First' email book club)

47 RULES OF HIGHLY EFFECTIVE BANK ROBBERS by Troy Cook - "What if your father raised you to be a bank robber? Instead of Barbie & Ken, you played with Smith & Wesson? And now you're twenty-two and ready to flee the nest, but your homicidal pop won't let you go?" ('Mystery' email book club)

JOURNEY INTO THE HEART by David Monagan - "...compelling biography and a multifaceted tale of medical discovery and business intrigue. The twentieth-century journey to understand the human heart was an epic saga, on par with the race to the moon. This book tells the story as never before." ('Prepub' email book club)

Sadly, I won't be catching up on any reading this afternoon, though. Snow days just haven't been the same since the invention of telecommuting. Break's over. It's back to the ol' remote desktop for me.

aloha!

2007-01-12T11:13:00.000-05:00

Middle Son and his fiance, the lovely Miss T, have just returned from sunny Hawaii and they brought presents! For the humans, some fresh and juicy-ripe pineapples. Yum! And Sam got his very own Weasel Ball. What a thoughtful aunt and uncle.

What the heck is this crazy thing?

Yum! Now this is good!

Clearly, Sam was more impressed by the delicious pineapple than he was by the buzzing, squirming, dash-about weasel. But give him time. I predict many hours of stalking, attacking, and murderous plotting fun. Meanwhile, check the action on Sam's first videos: Mighty Hunter and Pineapple Cat.

Sam will be chasing the weasel aboard the Friday Ark, at Sunday's Carnival of the Cats (hosted this week at Pet's Garden Blog), and with the Weekend Catblogging crew at What Did You Eat?

the monkey didn't make it

2007-01-10T18:51:00.000-05:00

Several years ago a good friend and I decided that instead of exchanging birthday and Christmas gifts (and never knowing what on earth to give each other) we'd invest in a theatre ticket subscription for two. It has definitely paid off.

We're nearing the end of our third season now and we've had early and excellent seats at big-ticket shows like Lord of the Rings and Les Miserables, as well as many excellent plays we might not otherwise have discovered (Da Kink in My Hair, The Last Empress, and Wicked to name just a few).

Even better, our investment guarantees we'll have a regular excuse to get together for a night on the town, a chance to catch up on what's been happening in our busy lives. We're both workaholics, so these regularly scheduled 'escapes' are a Very Good Thing.

Tuesday night was this month's escape night. We met uptown after work for a pleasant wander through Teatro Verde —one of my favourite wishful-shopping spots. Next, we eased into dinner at Arthur's* with a couple of sour apple martinis. Chef Michael (formerly of Canoe) served up food that was nothing short of sublime and anything but ordinary (our meals came with cassava croquettes instead of the more traditional potato dish). Yum!

After dinner it was off to the Royal Alex for Tennessee Williams' Orpheus Descending. I'm sitting here now, fingers poised above the keys, still uncertain of what I want to say about the play, even though I've been pondering it for much of the day. Hmmm...

In almost every book or play there's one scene or snippet of dialogue that seems to stick in my mind. Last night it was a reminiscence by Lady Torrance (played by Seana McKenna). "The show is over," she said. "The monkey is dead." The show wasn't over and the monkey was just a childhood memory but that statement set the tone of the play. The action takes place in a small town in the American south, circa 1940. It's about choices, morality (or lack of it), regrets, fears, hope, retribution and, of course, sex. The characters are angry, unhappy, sometimes downright crazy ... but the result is engaging in a you-know-they're-going-to-crash-but-you-just-can't-look-away kind of way.

In his program notes, director Miles Potter quotes David Mamet (who's paraphrasing Stanislavsky), "And there are plays...that are perhaps upsetting or intricate or unusual that leave you unsure, but which you think about perhaps the next day, and perhaps for a week, and perhaps for the rest of your life. Because they aren't clean, they aren't neat, but there's something in them that comes from the heart and, so, goes to the heart."

I guess that just about covers it.

* Arthur's is at 501 College Street in Toronto (416-413-9998)

speaking of long drops...

2007-01-08T21:08:00.000-05:00

For the past few weeks, I've been avidly reading Pammie On The Go's account of her 2003 climb to the summit of Kilimanjaro. What an amazing adventure. For an armchair traveler like me, it was probably the closest I'll ever come to experiencing not only the sights and sounds but also the emotions, the physical and mental pain, and the ultimate joy of making such a challenging trip.

That said, one particular line from the saga stands out in my mind: "Terrible long drop toilets with many short drop accidents."

Believe me, I'd much rather have a line about the incredible journey or the awesome vistas or the even the altitude sickness stuck in my mind, but when I read those words in Episode 6, I flashed back to a long ago and mercifully forgotten (until now) moment. And then ... I blushed.

Let me explain...

A goodly number of years ago, back in the days when I still thought sleeping on the ground was fun, I embarked on a cross-country camping trip with my husband and our one-year-old son. We had a big old Chevy van that we'd outfitted with a homemade version of camper chic — flower-printed curtains, bench seats with built-in storage bins underneath, and a fold-out double bed for cozy nights in the wild. We had our trusty two-burner Coleman stove for cooking, a comfy travel cot for baby boy and, luxury of luxuries, a folding portable toilet.

Well...at the time, hubby was working as a parks planner. Our first overnight stop was to be at one of the campgrounds he'd designed in northern Ontario. But before we reached the park, hubby decided it would be fun to stop in and say hello to his co-workers at the MNR district office. We parked in a shady spot in the lot behind the building, I pulled out my book and a bottle of juice and put my feet up to enjoy a little quiet time while hubby visited and baby boy slept in his cot.

Minutes ticked by. Make that an hour or more. Baby boy was still fast asleep, I'd finished my book, and I probably shouldn't have finished the juice because... well, let's just say nature was calling my name. I knew there'd be a nice, civilized washroom inside the building but I didn't want to wake baby and wouldn't leave him alone in the van. Still no sign of hubby and my situation was fast becoming critical. The solution was obvious.

Moments later, I had the little folding toilet all set up, complete with a blue plastic 'baggie' to catch the, er...payload. I pulled the van's sliding door closed for privacy, dropped my shorts and sat. About two seconds later I knew I was in trouble. The seat seemed to be listing sideways. I tried to adjust but felt the whole thing start to collapse. It was dumping me off toward the door. I jumped up. A five-foot-three woman should never jump up in the four-foot-three interior of a van. My head hit the roof. Hard. I flung out a hand to steady myself and managed to grab the door latch.

You know how sometimes when things are happening too fast you almost feel as if you're moving in slow motion?

The van door rolled slooowwly open. The wretched little toilet tipped and rolled, sailing in a gentle arc out onto the gravel parking lot. It skidded to a stop a few feet away. And I was right behind it. One sandal strap gave way and my bare foot shot out into thin air. My grasping fingers couldn't keep hold of the doorframe. The ground rose up to meet me.

Dust billowed. Gravel scraped my hands and knees but I felt no pain, focussed as I was on the building where hubby was still visiting. It had two rows of windows overlooking the parking area and, I imagined, dozens of workers behind those windows, enjoying the afternoon show. "Hey, get a load of the woman with her shorts around her ankles!"

That's when the slow motion shifted to fast-forward. Next thing I knew, I was back inside the van with the door shut, peering out through a crack in the curtains, searching for faces in the windows and desperately hoping I hadn't been seen. Too embarrassed to retrieve the toilet, I sat sniffling in the dark until hubby returned and drove me — quickly — to the closest campground washroom.

And that, Pammie, is my great adventure with a toilet and an accidental "long drop". Not quite Kilimanjaro but thanks for the memories!

what's in a name?

2007-01-05T01:39:00.000-05:00

Before a Cat will condescend
To treat you as a trusted friend,
Some little token of esteem
Is needed, like a dish of cream;
And you might now and then supply
Some caviar, or Strassburg Pie,
Some potted grouse, or salmon paste —
He's sure to have his personal taste.

(I know a Cat, who makes a habit
Of eating nothing else but rabbit,
And when he's finished, licks his paws
So's not to waste the onion sauce.)
A Cat's entitled to expect
These evidences of respect.
And so in time you reach your aim,
And finally call him by his NAME.

So this is this, and that is that:
And there's how you AD-DRESS A CAT.
excerpt from The Ad-dressing of Cats by T. S. Eliot

I'm often asked about Sam's name ... people seem to think it's a very plain name for such a character as he. But I tell them in all honesty: it's not my doing. This cat named himself.

It was a warm September afternoon back in 2002. I was on my way home from work and stopped at the local PETsMart to pick up a jar of Jazz-the-bird's favourite oats 'n groats birdseed. While I was there, I couldn't resist checking out the humane society adoption centre. I'd visited with J the previous weekend when the little room was full of adorable kittens but now all the cages stood empty. All but one, that is. Peering out at me was a big white cat with lopsided tabby patches on his face and a dark, striped tail that might have been borrowed from a raccoon. A chunk of his right ear was missing.

I looked at him. He looked at me. In the next instant, he hurled himself at the glass door, hitting it hard with his shoulder and yowling piteously. "Get me out of here!" he seemed to say.

What could I do? This was not the cuddly kitten J had wished for. This was a two-year-old brawler with a questionable past that included a failed adoption. But when the blue-smocked attendant opened the door and the big cat launched himself into my arms there was no turning back. An hour later I was loading the trunk with supplies: litter box and gravel, food, dishes, treats, toys, a fluffy bed, and a bright red collar*. I strapped the cat carrier into the front passenger seat, got behind the wheel and turned the key.

"We're going home," I said to the cat.

"Sam," said he.

And he kept right on saying "Sam" all the way home. A forty minute trip.

I figure he must have been trying to tell me his name because (a) when I said "Sam" back it seemed to calm him momentarily, and (b) he hasn't said it since.

As for T.S. Eliot's theory about cats needing three different names, well, I guess we've got the "sensible everyday name" covered. What could be more sensible than Sam? But we've been together over four years now and I'm a little worried that we still haven't discovered his second "particular" name:

But I tell you, a cat needs a name that's particular,
A name that's peculiar, and more dignified,
Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular,
Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?
excerpt from The Naming of Cats by T. S. Eliot

It's possible, I suppose, that Sam doesn't want or need a "particular" name. (I sometimes think he's quite happy just to be called, Sir.) But I can't help wondering if he feels a bit envious of those cats with luxurious, mouth-filling, roll-off-the-tongue names like Pangur Ban or Ozymandias.

And what about his third name? I wonder if maybe he slipped up on that sunny, September day in 2002. Did stress loosen his catty tongue? Maybe "Sam" is that mysterious third name. The "deep and inscrutable singular Name" ... the one we humans aren't supposed to know.

Hmmm.

Sam will be name-dropping on the Friday Ark, at Sunday's Carnival of the Cats (hosted this week at Leslie's Omnibus), and at Weekend Catblogging.

* And birdseed. I didn't forget the birdseed!

the year in pixels

2007-01-01T14:01:00.000-05:00

For me, one of the best things about New Year's Day is taking some time to reflect on the past twelve months. We had a few interesting 'bumps' here at chez stillpoint in 2006 but all things considered it was a very good year. I was going to caption all the pictures but a jumble sounds like fun. You figure it out.

the boss wore a kilt
beach walks
a caboose meant for sleeping
tiny dancer in a pink princess gown
Hobbits on stage
it was all downhill...
want to sign the cast?
osprey
it's a long, cold wait for the man in red
Walt Whitman
home on the range
crushed by a bowling ball
a little bird told me
Shaw's festival

Happy New Year, everyone!

fun with books (a meme)

2006-12-31T18:41:00.000-05:00

This is a quick and easy meme but the results can be surprising. Seemed like an interesting way to wind up the year.

1. Take five books off your bookshelf.
2. Book #1 -- first sentence
3. Book #2 -- last sentence on page fifty
4. Book #3 -- second sentence on page one hundred
5. Book #4 -- next to the last sentence on page one hundred fifty
6. Book #5 -- final sentence of the book
7. Make the five sentences into a paragraph.

Here's the compilation from my five choices...

The pull of clay is a mystery, until you have its gritty substance in your hands, feel it move, feel the lure of the red earth, the danger. "So how bad is this going to be?" I asked, gesturing toward Vivian's back as she scrambled up the stairs, the clasp on her giant handbag already open. "She delivered the baby all by herself." What had made him think that? He was willing to concede that Koko was not seeing stars when he gazed at the sky; he was seeing fuzzy green blobs.

Weird how they all flow together. Almost makes sense ... in a fuzzy green kinda way.

My five books were:

The Allegra Series by Barbara Lambert
Killer Insight by Victoria Laurie
The Featherbed by John Miller
Pilgrim by Timothy Findley
The Cat Who Saw Stars by Lilian Jackson Braun

What's on your book shelf?

Thanks to Joshilyn Jackson for passing this one on from The Daily Meme.

what's this I see?

2006-12-29T00:17:00.000-05:00

What's this I see?

A mouse? For me?

Oh, joy!

Oh, bliss!

Best present ever!

Visit more happy cats at the Friday Ark, at Sunday's Carnival of the Cats (hosted this week by Watermark), and with the Weekend Cat Blogging Crew at Champaign Taste.

comfort food: salmon loaf

2006-12-27T17:19:00.000-05:00

This is an old recipe—passed down from Grandma, to Mom, to me—and is such an unforgettable part of my childhood that just thinking about it conjures up a vision of Grandma's kitchen, complete with the rich aroma of salmon and onions baking in the oven. Small wonder it tops my list of winter comfort foods. In fact, a few years ago when J and I were the only two members of our extended family not felled by a dreadful stomach flu on Christmas Day (and our turkey was far away, surrounded by sickies) we made this salmon loaf for dinner. Not exactly traditional fare but it was delicious. So, with the caveat that my kitchen talent runs more to the style of 'I Love Lucy' than 'Julia Child', let's cook!

Grandma's Salmon Loaf

Ingredients
1 tin (213 g) red salmon (use the juice, skin, bones and all)
1 egg, lightly beaten
milk (add enough to the beaten egg to make 1 cup of liquid, total)
1 small onion, finely minced (use more or less to taste)
soda crackers (about 20)
1/2 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. pepper
paprika

Method
• in a mixing bowl, mash the salmon with a fork to break up the bones
• stir in the egg and milk
• add onion, salt and pepper and mix well
• crush soda crackers and add the crumbs to the salmon mixture until it is thick but not too dry
• transfer mixture to a greased loaf pan and dust the top with paprika
• bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes or until the loaf 'bounces' back when touched lightly in the centre
This recipe can be doubled to make a thicker loaf (and feed more people)—just increase the cooking time to around 60 minutes or until the centre passes the bounce-back test.

Serve with a salad or green veggies and for an added special touch, scalloped potatoes. Yum!

What's your favourite comfort food?

wishes & fishes: a cat's Christmas

2006-12-22T09:26:00.000-05:00

Sam watched me wrap Christmas gifts last night, his concentration so intense he seemed almost in a trance. I'm pretty sure he was polishing his 'mind control' act because soon after snapping this picture I found myself granting his every wish. First I handed over a nearly-new roll of red ribbon, you know, just in case he might want to play or tear it to shreds or...something. Then I felt strangely compelled to go looking for catnip in the kitchen cupboard...

'Twas the nip that proved his downfall. A little too much and Sam was ...well... bagged, leaving me to get on with my gift wrapping.

Our holiday houseguest is another frequent recipient of Sam's mighty stare. Norbert the splendid blue Betta splendens is our office mascot at the Day Job. We're in charge of keeping him warm and well-fed next week while the rest of the staff are vacationing.

Sam is particularly fond of Bettas. When he first joined our little tribe, I had a red Betta keeping me company on my computer desk. Sam would press his nose against the aquarium glass and Redfish would display his neck ruff and attack with gusto. That fish was much missed by both of us after his passing. (Natural causes, not cat-related. Redfish was a white-bearded old man by the time he died.) Sam seems quite delighted to have a new fishy friend on the premises. I wonder what he'll think when it's time for Norbert to go back to work?

Sam will be decking the halls at the Friday Ark, at Sunday's Carnival of the Cats (hosted this week by IMAO), and with the Weekend Cat Blogging Crew at Tiggy The Tiny Tiger.

Merry Christmas everyone!

Christmas ... present?

2006-12-20T19:40:00.000-05:00

After yesterday's sentimental 'Christmas past...' post, I'm in the mood for something a little more "here and now". What could possibly be better than this?

If you're a coffee drinking Canadian, you'll understand my excitement at seeing this announcement, brand new today on the sign at the corner plaza. But there's more to my unbridled glee than just handy coffee. I look at that sign and see a bright and shiny New Year's Resolution. Come January, I'll be walking across the park and back instead of hopping in the car to get my morning coffee. That'll add at least six kilometers every week to my exercise program. Sounds like a pretty good Christmas present to me. Thank you, Tim Hortons! I feel fitter and slimmer already.

(Donuts? What donuts?)

Christmas past...

2006-12-19T21:52:00.000-05:00

Last week, while pondering my post about Dad, I spent some time looking through the cache of photos he and Mom collected over more than 50 years together. A few are displayed in albums, carefully captioned and dated, but many more were just tucked into folders, boxes, and envelopes and eventually forgotten. Smiling strangers, caught in the act of...?
If only they could talk!

Some of the unlabelled pictures called up vivid memories for me —laughing neighbours; newborn puppies; graduation day. Others, like this old Christmas tree, stirred something more indefinable.

Not exactly a memory but a feeling... a knowing.

This photo might have been taken the year I was born but I'm guessing it was a few years before. The tree stands in my Grandparents' house on Norway Avenue in Toronto. I don't remember ever having Christmas trees at Grandma and Grandpa's house but, oh, I remember that room: warm, sweet smells from the kitchen; dust motes dancing in sunbeams; squashy sofa cushions and my feet not touching the floor. The piney smell in my memory isn't a tree, though. It's the green felt tail on the 'Airwick' cat Grandma always kept on the windowsill.

Funny how a faded black-and-white image can hold so much life.

remembering Dad in 101 ways

2006-12-15T00:52:00.001-05:00

1.
Dad came into the world on January 24, 1920, in Toronto.

2.
He loved the city and lived here all his life.

3.
His parents emigrated from England in 1913.

4.
When Dad was a baby, his father disappeared.

5.
His mother died a short time later.

6.
Dad was raised by his older sister and their aunt
in a house on Maughan Crescent.
Philip Cooke, age 3

7.
I think he always believed his father would show up again, someday.

8.
Dad was intelligent, well-read and perceptive.

9.
He was self-taught.

10.
Dad's first job was "in advertising".

11.
The job involved wearing a sandwich-board sign while walking up and down Yonge Street in Toronto.

12.
He never would tell me what his sandwich board was advertising.

13.
He joined a church youth group to get to know my Mom, but she had her eye on his younger brother and told Dad he was "much too old" for her.

14.
Dad looked great in a kilt. He always claimed Mom changed her mind about him once she saw those knees.

15.
Dad was a member of the Canadian Irish Regiment.

16.
He always loved bagpipe music. (Mom didn't. It reminded her too much of watching her man march off to war.)

17.
During basic training at Camp Borden in the 40's, Dad volunteered to teach new recruits how to ski.

18.
Dad had absolutely no idea how to ski. (Wish I could have seen him teach that 'lesson'!)

19.
While overseas during WWII, he grew a luxurious handlebar mustache.

20.
The moustache was red (which must have looked a little odd, since his hair was blond).

21.
When he came home, Mom refused to kiss him until he'd shaved the handlebar off. (It was gone within the hour.)

22.
He made a record (vinyl, 78 rpm) in New York City in 1948. "Hello everybody, this is Phil Cooke talking to you from New York. My wife's here with me but she won't talk. [Mom's voice, faintly, in the background: "Oh, Phil!]

23.
He passed the Civil Service exam and went to work for Canada Post, first as a letter carrier and later as a mail sorter — this in the days when the mail was sorted by hand. Dad knew the name and postal station for every tiny town and hamlet in Ontario and could fire an envelope into its proper slot quicker than my eyes could focus on the address.

24.
Dad's co-workers called him "Cookie".

25.
Dad started working the night shift when I was in grade six. From then until he retired, we rarely saw each other except on weekends.

26.
Sunday nights, Dad and I would walk to the corner store to buy something sweet—usually a Coffee Crisp chocolate bar. Then we'd share it with Mom while the three of us watched the Ed Sullivan Show on our old black-and-white TV.

27.
Dad called me "Cookie".

28.
He was passionate about his cars. Washing and polishing were his idea of the perfect Saturday morning.

29.
Dad's first car was a '53 Chevy, two-tone blue.

30.
Next came a green Nash Rambler with reclining seats. And clear plastic seat covers that stuck to your legs in hot weather. (Ugh!)

31.
There's a lemon in every crowd. Dad's was a yellow Buick. Nothing about that car was right.

32.
The replacement: a white Buick Skylark convertible. Best car ever! (I was 16 that summer.)

33.
The muscle car: a Dodge Charger. I can still feel the rumble of that engine. I think it was his favourite.

34.
Another white Buick; a black Buick; a burgundy Buick.

35.
Dad's burgundy Buick is mine now.

36.
He would not be impressed by my (lack of) washing, polishing, and vacuuming abilities. Or by the scuff mark on the front bumper where I misjudged the wall in the parking garage. Sigh.

37.
He enjoyed driving fast. On the 401. (But only when Mom wasn't looking.)

38.
Dad was house proud.

39.
He enjoyed gardening.

40.
He grew spectacular peonies, roses, and gladiolas.

41.
He liked stylish clothes and "interesting" ties.

42.
He wore size 12 shoes.

43.
Sometimes with a matching belt.

44.
He polished his shoes almost as diligently as he polished his cars, and always used shoe trees.

45.
When I was a very little girl, Dad would buy MacDonald's tobacco in tins and roll his own cigarettes. He'd let me "help". I still have one of those old 'Export' tins. The smell of tobacco will always remind me of him.

46.
Walking on the beach was one of our favourite things to do together.
Dad on the beach in Florida (1996).

47.
Golf was Dad's sport of choice.

48.
He got a hole in one! Twice!!

49.
He tried valiantly to teach me how to play golf.

50.
If he was disappointed by all my divots and hook shots into the rough, he never let on. But after a while, he took me mini-golfing instead.

51.
He liked fishing because Mom liked fishing.

52.
The night before fishing trips, we'd wait until after dark, then take flashlights out onto the front lawn and collect worms. Dad put them in cardboard takeout food containers and stored them in our refrigerator. Beside the jam. Gross.

53.
Dad loved to travel. Especially if it was snowing in Toronto and the destination was warm!

54.
Dad was the proud Grandpa of three boys.

55.
He was with me when I brought baby J home from the hospital. From that day on, the two of them shared a special bond. J called his Grandpa "Poppy".
'Poppy' with 3-year old J and 'Bob' the Cabbage Patch Kid (1983).

56.
Dad was a kind and gentle man.

57.
He was a true gentleman.

58.
Laurel and Hardy and The Three Stooges could always make him laugh. N'yuk, n'yuk, n'yuk.

59.
He was slow to anger but explosive when his temper got the better of him.

60.
I don't remember ever hearing him swear. (Although I'm very sure he knew how!)

61.
In his 70's, Dad learned to paint with watercolours.

62.
He liked taking photos and almost always had his camera with him.

63.
Most of his photo subjects were missing the tops of their heads.

64.
He liked shopping.

65.
He liked his roast beef well done and his potatoes mashed, with gravy.

66.
He liked his coffee with cream and sugar.

67.
His favourite dessert was Mom's apple pie with a slice of old cheddar on top.

68.
Dad baked the yummiest, lightest, fluffiest tea biscuits I've ever tasted. Sometimes with cheese in them. Mmmm.

69.
He sang in a choir. Tenor.

70.
I never saw him drink beer but he enjoyed a good rum and Coke.

71.
He lost most of his hair at an early age but was very proud of his remaining snow-white fringes.

72.
I'm pretty sure he polished his pate.

73.
He had freckles. A lot of freckles!

74.
And a thumb-print birthmark on his right calf.

75.
Dad quit smoking, cold turkey, after nearly 50 years.

76.
He survived two serious heart attacks.

77.
He took care of an elderly neighbour for years because she had nobody else to rely on.

78.
He held hands with my Mom every day.

79.
He volunteered at Meals on Wheels.

80.
He called butterflies, "flutterbys".

81.
He loved dogs.

82.
Dad had great patience...until it wore out.

83.
He had a keen sense of humour.

84.
He understood that little boys don't really appreciate being teased.

85.
He teased them anyway.

86.
He loved Christmas.

87.
After he retired, Dad volunteered as one of Santa's Postal Helpers, answering some of the thousands of letters mailed each year to "Santa, North Pole, Canada, H0H 0H0".

88.
He made a lot of children smile.

89.
Dad thoroughly enjoyed being retired.

90.
He looked forward to being a Great-Grandpa.

91.
He would have been a great Great-Grandpa.

92.
His first great-grandchild was born nine and-a-half months after Dad died.

93.
Dad loved his family above all else.

94.
Dad was greatly loved in return.

95.
In January 2000, Dad thought he had a stubborn head cold that wouldn't go away.

96.
Over the course of the summer, he consulted medical specialists, endured multiple tests and medications, but nothing helped.

97.
Dad was hospitalized in November 2000, by that time so weakened he was unable to walk.

98.
Finally, a diagnosis: Wegener's granulomatosis. The knowledge came too late.

99.
In early December, his kidneys failed. For the next two weeks, he spent most of every day hooked up to a dialysis machine. Another machine helped him breathe.

100.
Dad passed away six years ago today on December 15, 2000.

101.
We sure do miss you, Poppy.

xox

Love you, Daddy. G'night.

a cat and his bird

2006-12-15T00:07:00.000-05:00

Sam isn't the only animal companion here at stillpoint but he certainly has been hogging the spotlight lately. Today he's spending some 'quality time' watching his best buddy, Jazz the Lineolated Parakeet.

Jazz celebrated his 6th birthday this week. We marked the occasion by installing a new cuttlebone in his cage and serving up a juicy salad of apples, grapes, and cantaloupe. Sam enjoyed a slice of cantaloupe, too.

When the birthday feast was over, Jazz looked at Sam and said, "Hello baby. Up! Up!"

Sam obliged.

This feline-avian odd couple spends a lot of time socializing and entertaining each other— but only with bars to keep them safely separated. (In this photo, that white fuzzball beyond the bars is Sam, perched on the back of my favourite easy chair.) Jazz likes to bite Sam's Softpaws® and I think Mr. Macho Cat fears for his safety. Whenever the bird comes out to sit on my shoulder, Sam has a sudden attack of the sleepies and disappears under the bed.

Sam will be meowing 'happy birthday' at the Friday Ark, at Sunday's Carnival of the Cats (hosted this week by House of Chaos), and with the Weekend Cat Blogging Crew at Kitchen Mage.

and feet, too!

2006-12-12T13:29:00.000-05:00

These happy Christmas feet go with this post.

I'm coming to you live from The Day Job today, where we're all feeling the Christmas spirit, thanks to an assortment of delicious homemade cookies baked and shared by my festive-sock-wearing co-worker.

No fancy socks for me. Instead, I've got silver snowflakes dangling from my ears. :-) And, breaking news on bah, humbug?— we'll be going here for our office Christmas celebration. Fancy-schmancy! :-)

And now, back to work!

it's hungry out there

2006-12-08T08:13:00.000-05:00

His Royal Sam-ness contemplates the shivery mysteries of winter.

We woke again this morning to find a world of frosty white beyond the windows - an icing sugar dusting of snow on asphalt, trees, and grass. So pretty, but so cold. Between trips to his always well-stocked kibble dish, Sam has been spending his days asleep on the heat vent. What could possibly be better than a warm bed and a full tummy?

Daily Bread Food Bank - please give!

Sam and his full tummy will be snoozing on hearth rugs at the Friday Ark, at Sunday's Carnival of the Cats (hosted this week by Hot(M)BC), and with the Weekend Cat Blogging Crew at Belly Timber.

Answer: halls, trees, & ears

2006-12-03T23:03:00.000-05:00

And the questions is: What are three things I'll be decking this jolly season.

J and I took care of decking the halls and one tree yesterday. Somehow we got ourselves volunteered to be the official tree-putter-uppers for the 4th floor. It's a festive tradition here at the condo — every floor has a tree, and every one is different. Makes for a few slow elevator days as people cruise from floor to floor to check out the competition. Here on 4, we have a spiffy new tree this year. Its predecessor was forced to retire after developing a truly disgusting aroma, reminiscent of extremely sour gym socks. Not exactly a holiday bouquet! The new tree is a six-foot faux spruce. It's all decked out in red and gold and sits flush against a big mirror that serves to double our sparkle-factor. So much sparkle, in fact, that I haven't been able to snap a decent photo of it. You'll just have to imagine it looking all shiny and lovely.

Our personal tree is much, much smaller. Sort of a pocket-tree if you will. At 18 inches, it's just big enough to hold my collection of hand-made decorations, gathered over a five-year period when we did an annual decoration exchange at the day job — everything from painted eggshells to origami to tiny scenes nestled in nutshells. It sits up high in one of Samcat's no-go zones. (At least, I hope it's still a no-go zone this year!)

Speaking of Sam, I just caught him trying to steal one of my Christmas earrings. Seems he's partial to green and red jingle-bells. I caught him mid-leap as he made his getaway with the ribbon clasped daintily in his teeth. I should have known better than to leave shiny pretties unguarded on the table.

I've been collecting Christmas earrings for quite a few years now and always start 'decking my ears' on December 1st. This year I won't have to start repeating until the 14th...which gives me 10 more days to find another pair or two!

One of my co-workers has a collection of Christmas socks (not related to the aforementioned stinky Christmas tree). She wears a different pair every day, too. Some of them are even musical! Makes for entertaining moments around the coffee maker every morning as we do the daily show and tell.

What's your craziest Christmas or Hanukkah or Solstice or other winter tradition?

World AIDS Day

2006-12-01T10:03:00.000-05:00

The Stephen Lewis Foundation (videos)

RED

Quizzes

what'd ya bring me?

2006-12-01T00:16:00.000-05:00

Yesterday afternoon, I slipped away from work early and met up with a friend and her daughter to do the annual One of a Kind Christmas Show in Toronto. Much later (and much wearier) I trudged home with an armload of good giftie stuff — none of it for Sam. At least, none that I planned on letting him see. His handmade catnip Christmas mouse was carefully double bagged and stashed away at the bottom of my purse. Until ...

Hmmm...what's that I smell?

Can't ... quite ... reach ...

Caught in the act! And he wasn't even apologetic!

Sam's Christmas mouse is now safely hidden in the freezer. (He'll be surprised all over again on Christmas morning.) I tried giving him a treat to take his mind off the confiscated treasure, but now he's fixated on my purse. That mouse must be stuffed with some good 'nip, eh? I might have to have the purse drycleaned!

Sam will be seeking hidden presents at the Friday Ark, at Sunday's Carnival of the Cats (hosted this week by Catymology), and with the Weekend Cat Blogging Crew at The Hidden Paw.

on Dasher, on Dancer!

2006-11-26T01:12:00.000-05:00

Santa Claus ~~is coming!~~ is here!

I spent yesterday morning with my two favourite little people, welcoming the jolly old elf to town at the annual Santa Claus Parade in Markham. And we had FUN!

From the exotic ...

Mr. Camel took the morning off from his usual gig at the Toronto Zoo to march in the parade. That's not a banana in his mouth, it's his big, sloppy tongue, flapping in the breeze.

To the traditional ...

A Christmas hayride. That's my son J on the float (seated, in the orange jacket and Santa hat).

To the just plain freaky ...

Little Miss M and I agreed this nasty green guy was the scariest Grinch ever. Brrrrrr.

To the toe-tappin' ...

The North Toronto Collegiate Marching Band got us all warmed up and ready for the Big Guy's arrival with an enthusiastic rendition of Santa Claus is Coming to Town.

To the real reason we all rolled out of bed so early...

Santa shows off his arm pit. You were expecting maybe a white beard and rosy cheeks? Unfortunately, my camera has a pesky delay between finger-click and shuttter-flick. In that split second, ol' Saint Nick decided it was time to wave to the kids on the other side of the street. Nice arm pit, though, don't you think?

More parade photos here.

mmmmmm... tapenade!

2006-11-26T00:55:00.000-05:00

Try it, you'll like it!
Thanks for the olive primer and recipes, burékaboy!
My first batch was a delicious success.

must be a guy-cat thing

2006-11-24T00:20:00.000-05:00

"Don't even think about touching my remote!"The Mighty Sam waits patiently for someone to cue up his favourite video. Could be a long wait. I have the awful, sinking feeling it might have been accidentally sold along with the old VCR. [I am going to be in so much trouble when he finds out!]

Sam will be channel surfing at the Friday Ark, at Sunday's Carnival of the Cats (hosted by Scribblings) and with the Weekend Cat Blogging Crew over at House of the (mostly) Black Cats.

show and tell

2006-11-22T22:01:00.000-05:00

One of my co-workers asked me this morning if I'd be willing to answer some questions for her daughter, who's taking a high school creative writing class and using one of my books, One for Sorrow, Two for Joy, for her report on writing romance. I'm a project! How cool is that?

Thanks, Courtney, for letting me share a few of your questions (and my answers) here.

Q: When you first went to get published, what process did you have to go through, and how long did it take?

A: I've been writing stories and journals ever since I learned to hold a pen, but I'd never thought about actually writing A Book until the characters in one of the stories I was doodling around with suddenly took on lives of their own — or that's how it felt, anyway. They would wake me up at night, doing stuff and having conversations right there in my head ... and they kept right on doing stuff and chattering away until I got up and wrote them down. I finally started keeping a notebook by the bed and carrying a mini tape recorder with me in the car so I wouldn't forget the good bits that always seemed to happen when I wasn't near my computer. It took me just over a year to finish that first book. Then I had to figure out what to do with it.

Writer's Market to the rescue! I researched publishers, figured out who wanted what and learned how to write a query and synopsis. (If you think writing a 70,000 word novel is hard, try re-telling it in a one-page synopsis!) It was early in 1996 when I finally sent those first chapters out into the world of the slush pile.

And then I waited.

The months trudged by.

Waiting is hard.

Rejection letters are harder.

"Dear Writer, Thank you for the opportunity to consider your work. Regretfully, I do not feel that this project is suited to our list. I apologize for the form letter, but with the number of submissions we receive, it is not possible to give a personal response in every case."

"I'm sorry to say this does not sound like something suitable for our list but thank you for thinking of us."

"Thank you for writing me about your novel. I'm sorry to say that it's not fresh enough for our list."

Not fresh enough? Ouch!

But then, in October: "Your query has piqued our interest and we would like to see more. Could you please send in the complete manuscript?"

There followed a hair-pulling weekend of polishing and tweaking and gnashing of teeth — was it as good as it could be? Monday morning I crossed my fingers and mailed it away.

And waited.

Five months later, the big envelope came back. "Unfortunately, after careful consideration we have decided it is not right for our list in the current competitive market."

And I thought to myself ... thank goodness!

Truth is I was relieved. Why? Because by that time I had realized how much I still had to learn about writing. Some bits of that first book, bits that had sounded perfectly wonderful only a year before, now sounded so incredibly dismal I was embarrassed to the point of tears. I put that book away in a box in a dark closet (where it remains to this day) and moved on.

While waiting for all those rejections, I kept busy by taking creative writing classes and workshops on writing for the romance market. I also read a lot of romance novels to try to figure out what made them special. I joined RWA and read their monthly magazine cover-to-cover, learning everything the already-published members were willing to share. (I still learn something new in those pages every month - thank you all!)

Eventually, I got together with a writer friend and the two of us began working on a novel together. We wound up completing two stories in two years and we submitted them to all the big names in romance publishing. At that time, it took anywhere from 3 to 8 months to hear back on a submission. (It takes a lot longer now.)

Both books were eventually turned down by the first round of publishers, but the rejection letters this time were "good" ones. The editors took the time to write personal notes to tell us they liked our writing and explain why they were passing on the stories. We paid attention to every bit of advice, polished the stories up, and submitted again. Avalon Books liked us. (They really liked us!) Rock Solid was released in 1997. Our second novel, Fast Focus, followed later that same year.

My next two books, written solo, each took about a year to complete and were accepted within three months of submission. One for Sorrow, Two for Joy was released first in 1999 and again in 2002 as a large print book. Sparks Fly, a Canadian, north-country, firefighting romance was definitely the most fun to research — I learned to fly a plane!

Q: What made you want to write romance novels as opposed to any other genre?

A: Romance novels are a great way to explore relationships. There's room for lots of emotion as well as humour; and because it's a very broad genre, romances can contain elements of mystery, suspense, fantasy, horror, even science fiction. In other words, it's never boring. And who doesn't love a happy ending?

Q: What is the experience of writing a novel like? Do you have characters and plots in mind ahead of time or do you let things develop as you go along?

A: It's exhausting, exhilarating, frustrating, humbling and always entertaining. I've been known to lose track of time...sit down at the computer after breakfast and look up after what seems like minutes — an hour at most — to discover I've missed both lunch and dinner, the sun has set and I'm still in my pajamas.

When I worked with a co-author, we had to plot out the scenes and chapters to keep ourselves on track. But when I'm writing on my own, I usually start with the characters and a general idea of 'story', then start writing and see what happens. I'm constantly surprised by what comes out of my characters' mouths — that's what makes writing so much fun.

Julia Cameron, author of The Artist's Way, says it best: "I believe that what we want to write wants to be written. I believe that as I have an impulse to create, the something I want to create has an impulse to want to be born. My job, then, is to show up on the page and let that something move through me. In a sense, what wants to be written is none of my business."

rain, rain, go away ...

2006-11-17T00:22:00.000-05:00

It's been a gray and rainy week here in Toronto and Sam is dreaming of sunshine and warmer, dryer climes. Here he is, all settled and comfy in his travellin' box. Now, how many stamps to mail a sixteen pound furball to Phoenix?

Rain, rain go away;
come again another day.
On second thought,
rain, please don't go.
You're better, oh, by far than snow!

Sam will be chasing sunbeams at the Friday Ark, at Sunday's Carnival of the Cats, hosted this week by Mind of Mog, and at CatSynth with the Weekend Cat Blogging crew.

remember

2006-11-11T00:24:00.000-05:00

HRH Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother
with my Dad, Pvt. Philip John Cooke, Irish Regiment of Canada

One of Dad's (and my) most cherished photos is this one, taken at Sandringham, where he was stationed before being sent to active duty in Italy during World War II. [Edit: Dad always said he was so nervous about speaking with the Queen Mum that his knees were knocking under the kilt!]

On this Remembrance Day, I think especially of Dad, but also of the many brave men and women, past and present, who serve to keep our Canada strong and free. Thank you all!

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

by Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae

burekaboy includes a copy of McCrae's original handwritten manuscript (and other interesting stuff) in his Remembrance Day post at Is that my buréka?

[Edit: Canada Remembered ~ Honouring the Canadian Soldier Powerful musical tribute by Shawn Hlookoff. Watch, download, or see it at MySpace.]

lights, camera...action!

2006-11-10T08:16:00.000-05:00

Here's Samcat, stretched out on my desk (he covers the entire desk), while "helping" me write last night. His job during NaNoWriMo* is to distract my pesky internal editor. So far, he's not having much success with that assignment. He is, however, keeping the desktop nicely dust and clutter free. Now, if only he'd learn to do the same for the rest of the apartment ...

"Good grief. Here she comes with that pesky camera again. Hey! That litttle dangly bit there on the side looks like fun. I'll just pretend I don't see it, and then when she's all unsuspecting... faster than the speed of light... Ha! The mighty paw strikes again!"

"Gotcha!"

Note to self: Remember to hide the camera's wrist strap before Sam's next photo session.

Sam and his dangly bits can be found at Friday Ark and Sunday's Carnival of the Cats. He'll be visiting Skeezix's Scratching Post for Weekend Cat Blogging, too.

* NaNoWriMo is National Novel Writing Month.

hey, Mickey!

2006-11-07T22:19:00.000-05:00

I'm sick. Sick-sick-sick-sick-sick! And grumpy. Ugh. I'll skip the gruesome details but fever is up and breathing is noisy. 'Nuff said.

I should be at the Royal Alexandra theatre in Toronto right now, watching a performance of Pippin staring Mickey Dolenz. If you promise not to do the math, I'll confess to being a silly fangirl when Mickey was a Monkee (the first time), way back when. So my grumpy is heartfelt. I am miserable. Oh!heavysigh!

And as if that's not reason enough to be grumpy, I've been feeling too shivery and ill to write. My fevered, sleeping brain runs wild and free with characters and plot and then ... I wake up blank-minded.

Check the NaNoWriMo widgit in the sidebar and you'll see that my word count has crept up to just over the 3000 mark since November 1st. An astounding average of 439 words! every! single! day! At this rate, I should be able to complete my first draft by the end of February, a scant three months after deadline.

I keep telling myself there's still time to catch up, all I have to do is get better. Samcat's idea of "helping" me recover is to meow like a banshee and paw-slap my poor sorry face every time his sleep is interrupted by wheezing, coughing, or other sickly sounds. Not that I blame him. It's disgusting. Really. Sniff.

Enough! I can no longer see the screen through my watery eyes. It's time for another dose of the cure. Got a 'feel better' strategy that works fast? Please share. I'm desperate!

NaNoCatMo?

2006-11-03T00:28:00.000-05:00

NaNoWriMo, Day 2. Soon after I settled down in my comfy chair last night, Samcat moseyed over for a snuggle. He was none too impressed when he discovered the AlphaSmart taking up his space on my lap. He was even less impressed when I moved it aside to let him get settled, then tried to use his fine, furry back as a keyboard tray. I got the old stiff-leggedy, straight-tail treatment as he stalked out of the room, so I guess I should have known better than to leave the Alpha on his chair a few minutes later when I jumped up to answer the phone.

After checking out the stylus, he plopped himself down on the keyboard and added a few of lines of catly chatter to my story. Tomorrow I'm going to teach him to use the spacebar. Hey, if he's going to help with NaNo, every word counts!

Sam's composition:

"itwasadarkakndstormyoooooooo
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
oooooooooooo"

Sam and friends can be found at Friday Ark and Sunday's Carnival of the Cats (hosted this week by Crazy Meezer). He'll take a break from typing to visit Lali et Cie and friends on the beautiful French Riviera for Weekend Cat Blogging.

NaNoWriMo is National Novel Writing Month.

NaNoWriMo

2006-10-31T23:17:00.000-05:00

Less than an hour remains until NaNoWriMo 2006 gets underway. The goal ... write an entire novel, from scratch, in just 30 days. My plot began to sprout a couple of weeks ago, then characters started hanging around, whispering, cajolling, nagging ... write me! No, me first! The old AlphaSmart is charged up and ready to go and, once midnight rolls around, I'll be typing The First Sentence. Just 50,000 words to go ... let's get writing!

...ribbitt-ribbitt...

2006-10-27T07:45:00.000-04:00

" It's not easy being green..."

"I'll get you for this, woman. Be afraid."

Happy Halloween! Sam is trick-or-treating at Friday Ark, at Sunday's Carnival of the Cats (hosted this week by Watermark), and at KAYAKSOUP, for the Halloween edition of Weekend Cat Blogging.

bah, humbug?

2006-10-25T18:19:00.000-04:00

Only two months 'til Christmas! At Ye Olde Day Jobbe, that means it's time to start planning our annual staff get-together. Being a very small company you might think it would be easy to organize a once-a-year festive event, but consider that the eight of us, perpetually beset by deadlines, work in three different locations, 100 to 200 kilometres apart. The logistics begin to get a bit dicey. Oh, and let's not forget the likelihood of snow to make the driving dicey, too. (This is Canada, after all.) But driving and distance pale in comparison to our real dilemma this year: great expectations.

You see, somewhere along the line we moved beyond the simple 'lunch at a good restaurant'. Last year, for instance, we met at Langdon Hall in Cambridge, where the women in our group indulged in a decadent morning at the spa. (I had the Indian Head Massage and it was soooooooo relaxing and wonderful ... I still get all fuzzy and mellow, just thinking about it.) Afterwards, we met up with the men for a delicious lunch in Chef Gushue's award-winning dining room. Hard to beat!

Sure, we could do it all over again but for some reason the men among us don't wish to partake of the spa — no amount of coaxing will convince them — and it doesn't seem fair for the three of them to be left out again. As a result, we've spent entirely too much time this week researching possibilities. We came up with a few interesting (and elegant) potential destinations for lunch but, apparently, once the fun bar has been raised "just lunch" is ... well, just boring.

And then we discovered TryThat{!}: The Experience Company Need an adventure? This might be the place to start. For instance, "Zipline Extreme - Spend a unique and exciting day at the Elora Gorge. Get ready to propel yourself from the edge of an 80 foot cliff. Zipline and then rappel from mid-air down to the riverbed. No experience necessary."

Um.

I don't think so!

On the other hand, the 'Flight Simulator' and 'Mission Impossible' sound pretty darned cool.

On yet another hand, concensus among the eight of us might prove elusive with so much fun on the menu — everything from wine tasting, to Formula 2000 racing, to ... pole dancing{!}?

Y'know, maybe "just lunch" isn't such a bad idea after all.

a jug of wine, a loafing cat...

2006-10-20T00:24:00.000-04:00

They say you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, a wine by its label or a cat by...well, really, when it comes to cats it's more a case of 'judge not, lest ye be judged'. But I digress.

It's confession time. This week, I chose a bottle of wine solely because of its label. In my defense, though, how could any cat lover resist a cute fat cat (chat), perched atop a giant egg (oeuf), on a wine called Chat-en-Oeuf? Say it quickly and...hmmmm. Sounds a lot like that famous French wine, Chateauneuf.

From the bottle:

"This luscious red is made from selected parcels of old vine Grenache and Syrah (aka Shiraz), two grape varieties usually found in Chat-en-Oeuf's more esteemed (and more expensive) cousins from the Rhône. A truly mouth-filling red packed with rich, juicy and ripe berry fruit flavours, a touch of soft tannin and a subtle twist of spice. Chat-en-Oeuf is a wine of real quality and character and an all rounder when it comes to food matching. Try it with a platter of meats or cheeses or simply lap it up all on its lonesome ... Purrfect!"

And purrrfect it was! We enjoyed a couple of glasses last night with plates of fettuccini in a mushroom and ripe olive sauce and it was very fine, indeed. (Sam thinks the cork is definitely play-worthy, too.) In every way, this one's "an amusing little wine." ;-)

Sam is a friend of Friday Ark and Sunday's Carnival of the Cats, hosted this week at Catcall.

Persons Day

2006-10-18T00:13:00.000-04:00

"Never retreat, never explain, never apologize — get the thing done and let them howl."
~ Nellie McClung

That quote, along with Nellie McClung's portrait, hangs on my bathroom wall as a daily reminder that if I think something needs to be changed, I'd better get busy and work on changing it.

Who was Nellie McClung? An author, educator, suffragist, and one of a group of courageous women remembered today as the "Famous Five". Thanks to their determination, Canadian women won the right to be recognized as "persons" under the law (October 18, 1929).

With the Harper government's ongoing cuts to women's programs this year, it seems more important than ever to remember how things once were and to thank those who work for change, then and now.

How will you remember Persons Day? Find out more.

"Whenever I don't know whether to fight or not, I fight."
~ Emily Murphy

shredder

2006-10-13T09:43:00.000-04:00

Cats are nature's way of telling us
our furniture is too nice.

Today's Photo Friday challenge is "destruction"—a perfect fit for my usual Friday cat blog. This old chair in the bedroom has been 'Sam's chair' for napping and window-gazing since the day he came to stay. Despite his love for the comfy perch, however, he won't be convinced to stop shredding the upholstery, wreaking feline destruction at every opportunity.

Our vet recommended SoftPaws* and Sam wears them (mostly) uncomplaining, so the rest of my furniture is relatively unscathed. Strangely enough, he seems able to destroy this poor old chair even while wearing his spiffy red claw covers.

"I am Cat. Watch me shred."

Sam is a friend of Friday Ark and Sunday's Carnival of the Cats, hosted this week at House of the (Mostly) Black Cats.

*SoftPaws are a humane alternative to declawing.

Happy Thanksgiving!

2006-10-09T12:06:00.000-04:00

A vivid splash of red as fall colour begins at the lakeshore.

Family, friends, turkey, and glorious sunshine. I truly have much to be thankful for. Here are a few photos, taken yesterday as middle son J and I strolled along the lakeshore in Toronto. Enjoy! And whether you celebrate now or in November, Happy Thanksgiving and may you find peace, joy, and gratefulness. Please click the Hunger Site button now (and every day) to help feed a hungry person.

A flock of 5 pairs of swans make their home at Col. Sam Smith Park. They were all enjoying the sunshine yesterday morning.

Sparkling water at the yacht club.

Autumn beauty by the lakeshore.

oops...my bad

2006-10-08T17:48:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, Sam-the-Cat, also known as He Who Rules, was unjustly accused of camera theft and hidery. I looked everywhere, moving furniture, crawling around the floor, peering into only-a-cat-will-fit spots. Argh!

In the end, I found my camera was just where I'd left it over a week ago...in the bottom of a bag of cleaning supplies I'd lugged home from the store but hadn't gotten around to using. I guess my hands were full, so I dropped the camera into the bag for safekeeping. (And we all know what happens when I put things away for for "safekeeping".)

To soothe his wounded pride, Sam has been lovingly brushed and fed on the best bits from our Thanksgiving Turkey. That's him looking smug and oh, so satisfied. Oh, I've also promised that even though I've got my camera back, I won't try to make him pose like this. (Not this week, anyway.)

tickles

2006-10-06T00:31:00.000-04:00

I can't find my camera anywhere. Sam claims he hasn't seen it but I'm not so sure. Lately, he's been giving me the evil eye every time I point it at him. Take this recent picture, for instance. On first glance, you might think his smiling expression is one of catly bliss. But note the left-side squint and curling, twitchy lip. Could he be worried about where all this photography might lead?

Sam: What if warm-lap-woman grows bored with candid shots and expects me to pose like this?

Hmmmm. If I were a cat, where would I hide a digital camera?

Sam is a friend of Friday Ark and Sunday's Carnival of the Cats, hosted this week at Curiouser and Curiouser.

Late addition: The first Friday in October is Catmas! Sam says Merry Catmas to all...but he's still not telling where my camera is. Technorati Tags: catmas, BlogACatMas

seasonally affected

2006-10-04T21:32:00.000-04:00

The days are short,
The sun a spark
Hung thin between
The dark and dark.
~John Updike

anger

2006-09-29T16:51:00.000-04:00

What do you see, people? What do you see?
What are you thinking when you look at me?

An angry old woman, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes?

Who dribbles her food and makes no reply
When you say in a loud voice, "I do wish you'd try!"

Who seems not to notice the things that you do,
And forever is losing a stocking or shoe.

Who, resisting or not, lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill?

Is that what you're thinking?
Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes!
You're not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am, as I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, as I eat at your will.

I'm a small child of ten with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters, who love one another.

A young girl of sixteen, with wings on her feet
Dreaming that soon now a lover she'll meet.

A bride at twenty, my heart gives a leap,
Remembering vows that I promised to keep

At twenty-five, I have young of my own,
Who need me to guide and provide a safe home.

A woman of thirty, my young now grown fast,
Bound to each other with ties that should last.

At forty, my young sons have grown and are gone,
But my man's beside me to see I don't mourn.

At fifty once more, babies play round my knee,
Again we know children, my loved one and me.

For my young are all rearing young of their own,
And I think of the years and the love that I've known.

Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead,
I look at the future, I shudder with dread.

I'm now an old woman and nature is cruel;
'Tis jest to make old age look like a fool.

The body, it crumbles, grace and vigor depart,
There is now a stone where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells,
And now and again, my battered heart swells.

I remember the joys, I remember the pain,
And I'm loving and living life over again.

I think of the years, too few, gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.

So open your eyes, people,
Open and see,
Not an angry old woman;
Look closer... see me!

~author unknown

Today's PhotoFriday challenge: "anger".

cool cat

2006-09-29T08:10:00.000-04:00

It's been shiveringly cold in Toronto for the last few days and since the heat's not on in our building yet, Sam has been finding creative ways to stay cozy. A four paw tuck-under combined with this fresh-from-the-dryer red towel defined this morning's purr-worthy moment.

Of course, now that the towel is covered with white cat hair, I'm going to have to wash and dry it all over again. It'll be all warmed up for another cozy cuddle in about forty minutes. Repeat as needed. Which leaves me wondering ... who's the boss around here, anyway?

Sam is a friend of Friday Ark and Sunday's Carnival of the Cats, hosted this week at Pet's Garden Blog.

spooky

2006-09-24T17:52:00.000-04:00

When you live in a 30+ year-old highrise with sunny balconies, big windows, and an expanse of parkland on two sides, there aren't likely to be many day-to-day encounters with 'the dark side'. In fact, the closest I've come to a genuinely creepy moment was visiting the windowless basement storage lockers at midnight with nobody else around.

Until this morning.

I was on my way down to the first floor, arms full of recyclables, feeling pleased that the 'good elevator'—the one with a back door that opens directly into the recycling room—had responded to my call. I pushed the button for 1R and waited.

The descent was swift and gentle. I turned to face the back door as it glided slowly open...and found myself staring not at a brightly-lit room with a row of big blue bins, but at a solid wall of concrete. There was no escape.

[cue Twilight Zone music]

Too bad I don't write in the horror genre. I could spin a spooky tale of being trapped in the Elevator of Doom...eternally damned to visit floor after floor, finding nothing but impenetrable bunkers at every stop. Parched and starving, I'd search in vain through the items in my blue box... surely there'd be one bottle with a few drops of water, a tin with a scrap of salmon—or even a morsel of cat food—still clinging to the lid...

[fade to black with my own screams echoing in the pit]

Okay. So maybe that explains why I don't write horror.

(Edit: In the real world, I stared at the blank wall of concrete for a couple of heartbeats, then turned, pushed 1F, and waited while the elevator rose to the main floor and let me off in the lobby. Why it originally dropped to the basement, and why the back door mechanism activated there, remains a mystery.)

Moving from the (sorta) spooky to the just plain strange: Irish Drinking Songs for Cat Lovers

That's all for now. Move along. Nothing more to see here.

Sam the Cat Ponders OneWebDay

2006-09-22T00:39:00.000-04:00

How has the Internet changed your life? For Sam, it means a nice warm spot on the computer desk, good for napping, cursor-swatting, mouse-chasing...and conveniently located for head-scratches on demand. His devoted personal head-scratcher lists 10 changes brought by the 'net.

Technorati Tag: onewebday
Sam is a fan of Friday Ark and Sunday's Carnival of the Cats.

OneWebDay - has the 'net changed you?

2006-09-22T00:08:00.000-04:00

Top 10 Ways the Internet Has Changed My Life

10.
Once upon a time, a good old fashioned Toronto snowstorm meant a couple of bonus days off from the job or school every winter. Now, thanks to the Internet, I can work via remote desktop no matter how stormy the weather. (This is not necessarily a good change...I could easily become a hermit or, more likely, a crazy cat lady.)

9.
Save trees! Nowadays, I read the news online, thus avoiding pesky piles of newsprint, overflowing recycling bins, and smudges of printer's ink on a snow-white cat.

8.
No more standing in line at the bank to pay bills.

7.
The whole world is open for business whenever and wherever the urge to shop might strike. That perfect gift could be around the corner or half a world away.

6.
When I need to know how something works, or find the perfect word, or demystify onomatopoeia, my answers are on the Internet. Researching people, places, and things for a new story has never been easier.

5.
As a writer, I especially value the connection with other writers. It's good to be able to type-talk with people who understand the (demented) writerly mind. My most insightful and fabulous critique partner ever lives 3500 kilometers away in Fort Saskatchewan, Alberta. (Hi, Sheila!)

4.
'Letting go' of characters and stories can be a difficult and painful thing for an author —a fictional empty nest moment. When readers visit my web site or blog and take time to send a note to tell me they've fallen in love with a character or story... best feeling in the world!

3.
Online classes make learning new things easy and fun. I've studied everything from Photoshop basics to private investigation techniques ... all without leaving my living room (sometimes without leaving my pajamas).

2.
Fifteen years ago I might have said a successful business run by three women who've never met face-to-face was an impossible idea. These days, I think it's one of the best jobs I've ever had. All virtual, all the time! (My two partners and I design and maintain web sites for the wonderful group of authors at Eclectics.com.)

... and the number one way the Internet has changed my life:

1.
Friendships forged ...some sweet but fleeting, others built to last. All unforgettable.

How has the Internet changed your life?

Visit OneWebDay.org and OneWebDay.ca

Technorati Tag: onewebday

small treasures

2006-09-18T23:00:00.000-04:00

Last Saturday, Kate, over at at thru my lens...lightly, blogged about spending a day practicing with her camera and tripod. Her practice resulted in a lovely series of photo vignettes of small treasures — those special things gathered over the years that bring her comfort and pleasure. She wound up her post by asking, "what are the things in your life, around your home, that you treasure...and why?"

Here are a few of mine...

This magically surreal painting by artist G. Hammell hangs on the wall above my computer, reminding me that with imagination everything is possible.

In the bedroom window, antique poison bottles catch the sun and fill the room with a soft blue glow. Collected over the last twenty years, each bottle holds memories of the hunt through antique fairs, flea markets, garage sales, and abandoned barns. In the background are two orchid plants — one blooms with chocolate-scented flowers!

I've posted many pictures of my balcony garden, but never the garden wall. These two stone ladies seem so serene and peaceful.

Many more little treasures occupy my home and perhaps, someday, I'll post a few more photos. First, though, I think I need a lot more practice with my camera. And maybe a tripod. And sunshine! Definitely sunshine.

So ... what are the things in your life, around your home, that you treasure ... and why?

it's a cat's life

2006-09-15T09:57:00.000-04:00

Fridays are work-from-home days for me and, unless my client deadlines are looming large, I like to sleep in a while longer than my usual weekday 6 a.m. This idea does not make sense to Sam. He's up at the crack of dawn every day to watch (and heckle) the neighbourhood dogs as they walk their sleepy people in the park behind our building. I wouldn't mind, but his window is only about three feet from my bed and this morning's catty commentary, "ick-ick-ick-ick", started extra early. Half-asleep, I grabbed my camera and snapped this 5 o'clock scene:

Even the flash didn't break his concentration. He kept right on heckling. Asking him politely to be quiet didn't work. Neither did offers of snuggles and tummy rubs if he'd come back to bed. Finally, I pulled a pillow over my head and tried to recapture sleep. No use.

Of course, once I was awake, caffeinated, and working, Sam decided to have the last laugh by going back to bed. I went looking for him a few minutes ago and discovered him snuggling with his teddy bear, sound asleep. Camera noise woke him...or maybe it was me. I might have said something like, "ick-ick-ick-ick" ... ahh, revenge is sweet.

Sam is a fan of Friday Ark and Sunday's Carnival of the Cats.

red canoe

2006-09-15T09:13:00.000-04:00

This week's Photo Friday challenge: "bright"

back to reality (sort of)

2006-09-12T21:54:00.000-04:00

My most excellent ten day vacation officially met its lazy end on Sunday. And it was Good. And I am mellow. And relaxed. Totally. At first, I wasn't sure an at-home holiday would work for me, given the frightening length of my household to-do list. But then I put the list in a special place — you know, the "mustn't lose this, so I'll put it here for safekeeping" place. Problem solved.

Most days began with a bit of a sleep-in (no alarm clocks allowed on vacation, either), and eased into action mode with a pot of Kona coffee followed by a leisurely swim or a walk along the lakeshore. Afternoons, I shopped a bit and rambled a lot, getting better acquainted with my new west Toronto neighbourhood. And after dark... time for movies! Mrs. Henderson Presents, Prime, Water, and RV — which (in order) made me laugh, made me smile, made me think, made me ... uh ... groan.

When it rained, I curled up with a Kate Collins mystery, Slay It With Flowers. This book made my gotta-have-it list back in May when my son gifted me with the first in the Flower Shop series (Mum's the Word) for my birthday. Now I'm hooked! Collins writes a satisfying mystery with plenty of humour and a great cast of characters. I've really enjoyed getting to know ~~Marco~~ all of them. Need more of a recommendation? I stopped off to buy books three and four, Dearly Depotted and Snipped in the Bud, on my way home from work yesterday. But I'd better pace myself because book five, Acts of Violets, won't be released until March of next year.

Midweek was time for my final Stratford Festival getaway of the season and, thanks to my convertible-driving friend, the trip was made in style. A tad chilly and oft rained upon...but definitely in style. Our play of the day was The Liar, by Pierre Corneille. We weren't at all sure what to expect from a comedy written in the 17th century by "the founder of French tragedy." What we got was a brilliant piece of modern theatre — lively, smart, and very, very funny. It runs until September 23rd at The Studio Theatre. See it if you can!

So, all told, it was a lovely, relaxing vacation. In fact, I'm still working on getting body and soul back into the waken-early-long-commute-work-a-day-commute-again groove. I'm also working on a new to-do list, 'cause I haven't a clue where I put the original "for safekeeping"....

butterfly bijoux

2006-09-09T12:51:00.000-04:00

While hiking at the beach this morning, J. and I tried keeping a monarch butterfly tally. We soon lost count.

Under foot, in the air, hanging from trees, even—for one breathless moment—fluttering softly on my shirtsleeve.

Butterflies everywhere!

I know what you're thinking. 'All that magic in the air and this is the best picture she has to show?'

Sad, isn't it? I could blame the gloomy, overcast day or even the failing batteries in my camera but... truth is, for some strange reason, the focus was wrong to the point of blurry in every single shot.

Some might say operator error. I'd rather believe magic is not so easily captured.

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if it's Friday, this must be cat

2006-09-08T11:30:00.000-04:00

In the 'Cat Who' mystery series by Lilian Jackson Braun, protagonist James Qwilleran often complains that smart cat Koko projects his thoughts and enforces his will via unyielding, intense stares.

Sam subscribes to the Koko school of mind control.

Focus on moving fingers. Stare until keyboard tapping slows... and...

That's all for today. Suddenly I'm in the mood to sit on the balcony with Samcat... perhaps I'll brush him while he watches birds in the park.....

Sam also tells me he wants to join the Friday Ark and Sunday's Carnival of the Cats, hosted this week by Begin Each Day... I hear and obey.

OneWebDay Challenge

2006-09-07T11:40:00.000-04:00

September 22, 2006 marks the first annual "OneWebDay" and my first annual OneWebDay Challenge. This year I'll be blogging about the top 10 ways the Web has changed my life. Whether you're a regular visitor here or a new drop-in, I hope you'll pick up on my challenge and blog about your own 'top 10' on the 22nd. Leave a comment here and I'll link to your blog on OneWebDay. If you don't have a blog, get involved by email, instant message, or however you keep in touch with friends. How has the Web changed you?

For more information, listen to a podcast by founder Susan Crawford, then visit OneWebDay.org to get involved. Check out the ongoing Canadian celebrations at OneWebDay.ca ... and be sure to mark your calendar!

Technorati Tag: onewebday

just like Mom

2006-09-04T09:36:00.000-04:00

The last few days have felt more like late October than early September here in Toronto—cold, rainy, and dull. But I'm in vacation mode and looking for a little tropical warmth! I found it yesterday on an afternoon ramble through the greenhouses at Centennial Park Conservatory. (Photos on Flickr.) This Bird-of-Paradise rates as the most spectacular sight in the greenhouse, but most memorable, for me, has to be the venerable old jade plant.

I first encountered the big jade on a visit to the Conservatory with my mother. It was May 20, 2001. The date is important, although we didn't know it at the time. You see, it was one day before a massive stroke nearly took Mom's life, and it would be our last chance for a stroll in the park together. I remember we were both awed by the giant jade, its main trunk as big around as my leg, its branches heavy with masses of glossy green. I pocketed a single fallen leaf, placed it on a fresh bed of potting soil when I got home, and watched it root and grow over the long months Mom spent in hospital. In a way, it became a symbol of hope, its growth/her recovery. Well, Mom's still hanging on, we still spend pleasant afternoons together. She doesn't remember our walk in the Conservatory, but she enjoys the third generation jade plant on her window sill at the nursing home. And my single leaf is now a healthy specimen, nearly 18 inches tall.

Unfortunately, the original venerable jade hasn't fared so well. If I had to guess, I'd say some thoughtless visitor vandalized it. (I base this on the number of names brutally carved into the leaves of a nearby yucca.) But whether it was pushed over, or whether it toppled under the weight of its own branches, the old plant no longer stands proud. Its trunk, split open when it fell, is now a barren mass of scars. Its remaining limbs rest on the ground. But new growth, like hope, springs toward the light. Venerable jade. Stubborn and determined...just like Mom.

water, flowers, and good hair

2006-09-02T18:58:00.000-04:00

Earlier this week I complained to a friend that work-related stress beforehand (get it all done before you leave), combined with work-related stress afterward (desk-burying mass of accumulated stuff), makes it hardly worth taking time off. What was I thinking?! Only two days into my ten day vacation, I'm already feeling blissfully relaxed and mellow, the get-it-done-ed-ness a dim memory and the buried desk a remote and inconsequential non-issue.

Yesterday began with a leisurely swim in the condo pool and wound up with a thoroughly enjoyable rental movie starring one of my favourites, Judy Dench. Between the two, I went for a long overdue ramble around my not-so-new neighbourhood. I've lived in west Toronto for five years now, and it's starting to feel like home; but there are still lots of undiscovered gems out there — like the little fruit market with masses of flowers for sale, all at deep discount prices. How could I resist?

Right next door to the flower seller I encountered another irresistible: Salon Noé. (Pronounced, I kid you not, "noway"!) I don't know about you, but finding a new hairdresser rates right at the top of my "don't wanna do it" list. I mean, this is my hair we're talking about. Just the thought of letting a complete stranger have-at it with a sharp pair of scissors ... [cringe]. As a result, I've avoided the issue, inflicting more than a month of really bad hair days on all and sundry. But I liked the look of "noway". More important, I liked the look of the hair on the freshly-coiffed customers. So...I made an appointment, went back this afternoon, and am now the happy and much lighter-headed owner of a fresh new haircut, thanks to soon-to-be-married stylist, Adrienne. I like it so much, I've booked another appointment for next month. The fact that it's on Friday the 13th can only be an omen of more good things to come!

is that a rose I smell?

2006-09-01T11:26:00.000-04:00

va·ca·tion
n.
1. a respite or a time of respite from something
2. a scheduled period during which activity is suspended
3. a period of exemption from work
4. a period spent away from home or business in travel or recreation

Synonyms: breathing space, fiesta, furlough, gone fishing, holiday, intermission, layoff, leave, liberty, long weekend, recess, recreation, respite, rest, sabbatical, spell, time off.

Antonyms: work

Usage: Yippee! I'm on vacation!

Master Plan for the next ten days: swim, read, relax, wander, stop to smell the roses, write, relax, garden, wine, dine, did I mention relax? (And blog about it, of course.)

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haiku for Mom

2006-08-29T22:22:00.000-04:00

tuesday: a twilight moment
silence
held my hand

along came a spider...

2006-08-28T21:51:00.000-04:00

While surfing through the Canadians roll at BlogHer tonight, I came across a meme called Checklist—a collection of 150 possible life experiences with the instruction, "just bold the things you have accomplished in your life." Seemed like an interesting way to put off washing the dishes, so I began reading, mentally building my life list.

1. Bought everyone in the bar a drink (no)
2. Swam with wild dolphins (no)
3. Climbed a mountain (not even a small one)
4. Took a Ferrari for a test drive (no)
5. Went inside the Great Pyramid (no)

The dishes were starting to look a whole lot more appealing!

And then, along came ... 6. Held a tarantula.

Now, strictly speaking, my actual hand didn't actually touch the actual tarantula, but I think (and all you arachnophobes out there will agree, I'm sure) that standing next to a tarantula in my own living room should definitely count. Why, only a couple of inches of air and a dangerously thin and brittle-looking piece of glass separated me from the great, hairy, eight-leggedy beastie.

I vaguely remember my son (the culprit) saying something like, "Isn't he great?" and "I told Gilbert we could keep him here."

And I remember feeling suddenly cold. Probably because every drop of blood in my extremities had gone whooshing away into hiding. The rest of me desperately wanted to follow, and would have, but for the need to be sure the thing didn't escape its glass prison.

Minutes passed.

I stared, unblinking.

The thing lifted one hairy leg and stared back, eyepods all a-quiver!

"Wanna touch it, Mom?"

I honestly don't remember many details beyond that point. Needless to say, I did not want to touch it. Both son and tarantula were ushered quickly out of the house.

Son returned.

Tarantula did not. (As far as I know...)

Do Not Click Here!

worth a thousand words?

2006-08-26T23:30:00.000-04:00

Instead of writing tonight, I played around with setting up a flickr account. But each picture is worth a thousand words...right? See them here.

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it's a jungle out there

2006-08-25T19:28:00.000-04:00

Witness: abundant growth! My balcony garden is thriving this summer. Ivy wraps Kwan Yin in an emerald embrace; Baby Tears form a lush green blanket at her feet and tumble into the fountain. True, a bit of careful pruning might improve the vignette but everything is so joyfully rampant, I haven't had the heart to cut it back.

Many of my neighbours make do with a few pots of geraniums or no plants at all, fearful that our north-facing balconies don't get enough sun for a "real garden". That's true if we're talking about roses and sunflowers, but there are plenty of wonderful shade-tolerant plants that will happily grow in containers. My favourites, in no particular order, are: Tuberous Begonia, Impatiens, English Ivy; Spider Plant, Dracaena, Potato Vine, Boston Fern, Bamboo, Caladium, Sweet Woodruff, Licorice Vine, Bird's Nest Fern, Vinca, and Black Mondo Grass. Fuchsia, with its 'tiny dancer' flowers, likes the shade, too, but I'm fairly certain they were responsible for the Great Aphid Infestations of '04 and '05, so they're flora non grata on my balcony now.

Somehow, I forgot to plant Sweet Woodruff this year and have missed the lovely scent of it in my garden. (While perennial, it won't survive the harsh Toronto winter in a container.) The whorls of glossy foliage form luscious green mounds with pretty clusters of sweet-scented white flowers all summer long. This one will definitely be back next year.

So...how does your garden grow?

it's never too late

2006-08-22T22:43:00.000-04:00

A friend of mine is on her way to Egypt tonight, a journey of over 9,000 kilometres from her home in Toronto. For the next two years, she'll live and work as a kindergarten teacher in Cairo. That in itself is a pretty big adventure, but consider the fact that my friend celebrated her 70th birthday last March. I am full of awe! Bon voyage, Adventuring Angel!

Update on my novel word count...

write interupted

2006-08-20T19:19:00.000-04:00

I've been blogging for two months now and it's time to 'fess up about my real motive: I want to write again. Not so long ago (although sometimes it feels like a lifetime), writing was my passion, my comfort, my pleasure. I wasn't prolific on a Nora Roberts scale, but I did complete five novels over the course of five years and, joy of joys, saw four of them published. And then...life interrupted. On a somewhat cataclysmic scale. In the aftermath, imagination fled. Inspiration went into hiding. Motivation moved out and left no forwarding address.

But that was then. Life is different now, and I'm content. I've tried, several times, to pick up the threads of the story I was working on before Stuff Happened, but my characters seem wary and standoffish. Can't really blame them, I guess. I mean, I did leave them alone on a rock in the fog for three years with nothing but two mugs of tea, some cookie crumbs, a deaf orange cat, and their looming Conflict.

Enter stillpoint: The Blog. It's been both apology and promise to my fog-bound characters. I figured if I could write something on a regular basis, it would prove to them and to myself that I've still got what it takes to finish the book. Lately, I've been pretty sure I've heard my muse a-knocking. Imagination and inspiration are definitely back, and I've put motivation on notice: there will be time to write every day.

Now to get those two off that rock . . .

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across a crowded mall

2006-08-18T20:18:00.000-04:00

True confession: I am a one purse woman. Shocking. But true. You see, way back in November of 1998, I found 'The Perfect Purse' at the CACY Arts and Crafts Show. Hand made from soft, black leather, with two roomy compartments and a couple of zippered hideaways, it was — and is — just right.

The trouble with owning 'The Perfect Purse' is that nothing else will do. Oh, sure, I understand the theory of changing with the season and matching purse to shoes. It all sounds good. But perfection is not so easily duplicated and I'm not one who's willing to settle. So, versatile as a little black dress, 'The Perfect Purse' has been on my arm almost daily ever since.

Of course, nobody would wear a little black dress every single day for eight years. That's ridiculous. In fact, it's a little disturbing...

Oh, good grief! I've been lugging around the same purse every day for eight years! How weird is that? Eeeuw.

On the other hand, old purse still looks darned good. The maker obviously took great pride in her craft because, despite the constant use, not a single stitch has given way.

Unfortunately, my snake and dragon rings have taken their toll on the soft cloth lining, so it is a little shredded where the sun don't shine. And I dare not leave it open when Sam is around. Its cat-allure is irresistible, as you can see. (Let's not ponder the reasons for that ... I fear another "eeeuw" moment.)

Still, I've been happy with old purse, lo these many years, and so was all innocent and unsuspecting this afternoon on my hike through Vaughan Mills. I wasn't there to shop for myself. I was there for Johnny Depp. Well, for an authentic Jack Sparrow costume, actually — a birthday gift for my grandson. He'll be five at the end of the month and really-really-really needs to be Cap'n Jack. Said costumes are selling like proverbial hotcakes in Toronto, so finding his size at The Disney Store put me in a very good mood indeed. Mission accomplished!

And then...it happened.

I was on my way to the exit, doing a little window shopping on the way. It caught my eye from across the crowded mall and, I swear, it called my name. Resistance was futile. (There's something about the air in a Danier Leather store. Breathe deeply and you will buy.) Meet The Potentially Perfect Purse.

Only time will tell if this beauty will woo me permanently away from The Old Perfect Purse. So far, things are looking good. I'll report back in...oh, eight years or so.

ain't what she used to be

2006-08-16T20:24:00.000-04:00

No, not the old gray mare. I'm talking about my old gray self. Of course, age is really a matter of perspective. I don't feel old —well, not most days, anyway. On the other hand, I am a Grandma. Twice. And I've been known to catch a glimpse of myself in a store mirror and wonder who the heck that grumpy-looking old broad is. Yup. Perspective.

Last weekend, J. and I treated ourselves to a pancake breakfast at our local Golden Griddle. While browsing the menu, I discovered their 'senior discount' applies to anyone over 55. Yippee! I just qualify, and gleefully informed our waiter that I'd have mine with a 10% discount, thank you very much. Hey, what's not to like about a discount?

Funny thing, though. I remember thinking, not so very long ago, that I'd never admit to being a 'senior'. At the time, it sounded so ... well ... elderly. And not in a good way. Discounts or not, I dreaded the prospect. But this week I've been checking the age requirement whenever I see a senior discount advertised, and grumbling when it's set waaay up there at 65. Hey, I qualify for discount pancakes, why not discount movies and travel, too? Ah, yes. Perspective.

The other day, after grumbling about how long it was taking our laser printer to crank out fifty perfect copies, I found myself telling my younger co-workers about office life in "the olden days". Wide-eyed with wonder, they were, as I regaled them with tales of the mighty, ink-spewing Gestetner machine. Now that was slow. And messy. And does anyone else remember "editing" lengthy documents with a pair of scissors and a whole lot of glue? Ah, the (not so) good old days. Now that I think about it, perhaps my co-workers' wide-eyed expressions weren't wonder, after all. More like horror and disbelief. (She can't be that old, can she? What the heck is a mimeo? Wasn't he an actor back in the 50s?)

Okay, to heck with perspective. I'm ancient and that's all there is to it. But y'know what? Despite my trepidation a few years back, I'm okay with the whole getting older thing. My once-blonde hair is gray by choice. It's the real me and I like it. I wear comfortable shoes because, darn it, comfort is good. I'd like to think I've learned a few things along the way, too. Like how to worry (a bit) less and how truly wonderful those roses smell when you finally slow down enough to enjoy them.

blame it on Stephanie Plum

2006-08-11T21:23:00.000-04:00

"You need to be adaptable." So began my Thursday morning horoscope. Since J. and I were about to embark on our annual overnight Mom'n son adventure — pre-planned in precise detail — those words seemed full of ominous portent. Undaunted, I read on. "Things that are wrong in one moment can be perfectly right in another."

Well. Alrighty then. And so, embark we did. A couple of unsuspecting travelers on our way to see the Stratford Festival Theatre's production of Oliver!

My first inkling that something might be amiss came when I noticed a highway sign promising coffee, gas, and lodging at the next exit. In Blenheim. Now, I may not always know exactly where I am on the map, but I do know when I've overshot my target highway exit by ... well ... a lot.

Oops.

Sigh.

[Brief pause inserted to allow those who know me and my navigational "skills" some time to recover from fits of groaning, eye-rolling, and possible spraying of monitors with assorted beverages.]

Okay, I tell myself. You're not going to panic over a silly missed exit. Remember, "You need to be adaptable." No problem. I can adapt. Just turn around. Get off the highway and...

Hmm.

Unfortunately, there are NO EXITS between 268 Cambridge and 250 Blandford-Blenheim, just miles and miles of road. So my simple "just turn around" adds another fifty minutes or so to our travel time. Obviously concerned, J. is grumbling something about being hungry. I assure him that the turkey vultures we've spotted circling over the highway aren't following us, waiting to pick our starved-to-death bones as we lie at the side of the road. No. We've still got plenty of time to check in at our B&B, have a nice, semi-leisurely lunch, and get to the theatre before the curtain goes up.

"Things that are wrong in one moment..."

Leaving the vultures far behind, we managed to find our B&B (a converted Canadian National Railway caboose) with nary another wrong turn.

We wasted a few minutes admiring the shiny red impressiveness of it, then jumped back into the car for the short run to Stratford.

As we neared the outskirts of town, J. peered over at the dashboard. "Uh-oh," he said, in his I-know-all-about-cars-and-this-is-bad-very-bad tone of voice.

It was one of those moments. Time slowed. Maybe if I didn't look it would just. go. away.

I glanced down. There, in pulsing Red Letters of Doom, was the dire proclamation: Coolant Low!

Argh!

Mine isn't a 'just add water' kind of car. We were going to need A Professional.

Think fast. There's a service station up ahead. And just beyond that an A & W, which happens to be J.'s favourite fast food joint. This could work. We'll pick up a burger at the drive-through and then pull into a service bay. Not exactly the quintessential "fine dining before theatre" experience. But at this point, I'm all about adaptability. And J. just wants to eat. Now.

As we pass the service station, we notice all the bays are full and there are several cars already lined up.

Hmm.

Think fast again. If we wait until after theatre, all the service stations in town are likely to be closed. Maybe we could leave the car to be serviced later and take a taxi to the theatre...

Still pondering, I pulled into the A & W drive-through lane and there, looming behind the restaurant like a miracle, heaven-sent, was Midas.

"We'll have a look while you go for lunch," said Mr. Midas Angel-on-duty.

And they did. And we did. And when we went back, Mr. Angel wouldn't even let me pay for the coolant top-up. How nice was that?!

So, thanks, Midas, for the super service and for bringing the morning's prediction full-circle... "Things that are wrong in one moment can be perfectly right in another."

But wait, you say. Why blame it on Stephanie Plum?

Simple. We wouldn't have missed our exit if we hadn't been so utterly and completely immersed in the audio version of Twelve Sharp by Janet Evanovich. I think it's her best Plum book yet. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll gasp, you'll miss your exit! How does Stephanie really feel about Joe? What do Grandma Mazur and Mick Jagger have in common? Who is the mysterious woman who's stalking Stephanie and gunning for Ranger?

Sorry, no more hints. You're going to have to read it for yourself. And the sooner, the better!

But not while trying to navigate.

Consider yourself warned.

elephants, peoples, and whales...oh my!

2006-08-08T22:30:00.000-04:00

I've been working on a friend's blog tonight, getting it up and running and (hopefully) bug-free in time for her impending Big Adventure. More on that in an upcoming post.

Meanwhile, I want to share an invitation I received in today's email—a sort of virtual opening night for a unique online gallery, celebrating the release of a new body of work by Canadian artist Gregory Colbert. It's exquisite. Lyrical. A feast for the soul. Trust me. You don't want to miss this: Codex Ashes and Snow.

Colbert's real-world exhibition—The Nomadic Museum—has visited Venice, New York, and now Santa Monica. Here's hoping the tour will find its way to Toronto. I'll be first in line! Kudos to Gregory Colbert and to the Rolex Institute for a spectacular presentation.

family ghosts

2006-08-06T21:24:00.000-04:00

I'm feeling haunted tonight, but the spirits haunting me are kind. They're ancestors and they've been keeping me company this weekend, thanks to the contents of this box — one of the treasures unearthed last month in the Great Closet Excavation.

A hand written card glued inside the lid reads:

M. S. Gainfort
from I. Sawyer
Christmas
1867

I'll probably never know who "I. Sawyer" was, but "M. S. Gainfort" was Margaret Susan, my maternal great-grandmother. Her lovely Christmas treasure chest was crafted of dark, burled wood with delicate mother-of-pearl inlay on the lid and around the key hole. She must have thought it a fine gift! But the real treasures now are the bits and pieces of history that Margaret, her children, and her grandchildren left inside for me.

Five sheets of brittle, yellowing paper trace my roots back to Ireland, c.1600, with the birth of Daniel Dickinson: "born in the Parish of Lample, and County of Cumberland, 1674, and came into Ireland in 1694, and took to Wife Elizabeth, the daughter of Thomas and Mary Scott." Daniel and Elizabeth settled in Edenderry where they raised their family. Sadly, three of their six children died in infancy. Life was harsh in 1700.

The handwriting changes on page 3 of the history and I recognize my grandmother's neat, precise script. At the bottom of page 4, in 1965, my Mom recorded Grandma's passing and continued the history herself until 1980, when my youngest son was born. It seems the pen has now passed to me.

Deeper in the box is a faded letter from the Town of Norwich, Ontario, to Margaret's husband Noble Dickinson (my great grandfather) marking his retirement as town Postmaster in 1884. Noble and Margaret's daughter, Edna Irene Dickinson, married Harry Arnold May of Port Dalhousie in September, 1908. Harry was my grandfather. Here he is with his brothers, Louis, Arthur, and Charles. Harry is on the right.

And there's more. So much more! A rock chip with a shiny vein of gold — is it real? A tiny, leather-bound New Testament, published in 1886. An ivory hair comb. Hand-written record books listing purchases and incomes dating back to 1826.

My Dad got involved in the treasure box, too, contributing a history of his family. One note reads, "Great Grandfather - sea captain. Great Grandmother - from Sweden - she owned a 'Pub', 'The Foxes', in Wolston - near Coventry."

My missing writer's muse is stirring! Thanks, ancestors, for a box full of inspiration!

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some soups are born great...

2006-08-04T22:00:00.000-04:00

Maybe it was the bubbles in the Freixenet that made me bold—I don't usually beg for recipes when dining out—but today's featured cold soup at Down the Street in Stratford had me sinking to my knees in supplication.

Fresh cucumber with lemon and dill; an exquisite balance of tart, sharp, and sweet; the very definition of summer!

When I asked our waitperson if chef would consider sharing the recipe, she threw me a pitying glance. "Not a chance in hell! He'll take the secret to his grave."

O!

Despair!

(Blame that on an afternoon of Shakespeare—we much enjoyed Twelfth Night.)

So, I am now on a quest. It seems there are many pretenders to the 'Quintessential Cold Cucumber Soup' title but after more than an hour of browsing online recipe archives, none seem quite right. Perhaps a little hands-on research is required. I'll start tomorrow, visit the local farmers' market for the best and freshest ingredients, and then ...

(to be continued)

high five meme

2006-08-03T18:11:00.000-04:00

I like reading other peoples' memes. Granted, sometimes the questions can be a whole lot less than pithy, but the character snapshots they offer are often very interesting—one might even say enlightening.

I found this one at Delicious Life, then tweaked it a bit, just because.

Five Items on my Desk:

1) A favourite spiral notebook, full of personal and business reminders. It has a stalking tiger on the front and William Blake's poem on the back: Tiger! Tiger! burning bright. It'll need replacing soon—almost full.

2) A coaster with a peaceful sunset scene and the meaning of my name: "loved one". T'was a Christmas gift last year, from my niece. Thanks, niece!

3) A wood-handled paring knife, not sharp enough for paring but it makes a great letter opener.

4) An antique glass bottle impressed with the words: Campana's Italian Balm. There was always a bottle of Italian Balm in my grandmother's kitchen. I remember how she'd share it with me, holding my little girl hands between hers and gently smoothing in the lotion. It had a sweetly pungent aroma and Grandma called it "bam". She'd rub the "bam" into the "pams" of our hands. Makes me smile. :-)

5) Sam the cat. (Doing his best to knock over the bam bottle with his raccoon-striped, perpetual motion tail.)

Five Items in My Closet:

1) The 1996 Rand McNally Road Atlas of North America. At 11 x 15 inches, it just too darned big for the bookshelf.

2) Red leather sandals.

3) Red suede running shoes. (Red shoes rule!)

4) My oft-lamented laptop. Deemed "unfixable" by the techies at IBM, it's been hidden away for nearly five years. When I cleaned out the closet, I gave it One Last Chance to boot up...and it did! I'm not sure I want to go back to Windows 95 with Word Perfect 5.0 (DOS), but there are many fine memories in that old black box.

5) The last bottle of Raspberry Merlot 2002—my own label and mmmmm, smooth, thanks to a little help from The Brew Kettle.

Five Items in My Car:

1) A cardboard 'Mickey Mouse' sun screen. I never use it because it's old, stained, and truly ugly. But I keep it because it was my Dad's.

2) A warm (but scratchy) blue plaid blanket.

3) A little badger plush toy, gift from a friend who knows I'm badger-obsessed.

4) A cardboard box full of books on tape to keep me entertained on the daily commute to and from work, 45 minutes each way.

5) My mailbox key on a purple wrist coil, hanging from the steering column.

Five Items in my Purse:

1) A vintage cell phone. It's been wishing me "happy day!" every time I've flipped it open for the last nine years. (Thanks, Mary. Now how do I change that greeting?)

2) A yellow Bick® lighter. I don't smoke, but one never knows when the urge to light a candle will strike. ;-)

3) Badger® 'Tangerine Breeze' lip balm. Mmmmm. And a cute badger logo, too.

4) My iPod®, currently loaded with Death of the Party, a mystery by Carolyn Hart.

5) A buy one/get one half price coupon for picture frames from Kitchen Stuff Plus.

Five Items in My Refrigerator:

1) The remains of a bottle of honey pear vinaigrette, once yummy but now past its 'best before' date. (Yes, it's still there.)

2) Leftover halves of three sweet peppers—red, orange, and green. Fresh, plump, and delicious-looking, they're on the menu for dinner tonight. I'm thinking Spanish omelet, using a couple of...

3) Nine brown organic eggs.

4) A nearly-full bottle of Bombay Sapphire Gin. I don't drink gin. In fact, I dislike it with a vengeance. But it was the favourite drink of a friend's formerly favourite beau, so... Anybody want a nearly-full bottle of Bombay Sapphire Gin?

5) A 'cold therapy' pack—cool blue gel stuff sealed in plastic. Woman's best friend when neck pain strikes. Ahh.

And a bonus round...

(First) Five Items in my Start Menu:

1) iTunes and Audible Manager
2) Remote Desktop Connection
3) MS Word 2003
4) PhotoShop
5) Solitaire (No idea how that got there. No, really.)

Your turn! Be sure to let me know if you add this to your blog.

quote of the day . . .

2006-08-02T23:46:00.000-04:00

I have been reading your Descartes.
Very interesting.
I think therefore I am.
He forgot to mention the other part. I’m sure he knew, he just forgot.
I don’t think, therefore I am not."
- Dainin Katagiri

20/20 and other hindsights

2006-08-02T12:48:00.000-04:00

I'm in the market for a sixty second delay device. You know ... the kind radio stations use to keep potty-mouthed callers off the air during phone-in shows. Of course, on radio it's only a five second delay. Those producers are really on the ball. My brain on the other hand ... not so much.

Here's the thing. Last night —a record-breakingly HOT night at 108 degrees— I met up with a friend at a local coffee bar for some cool refreshment and catch-up chat. We laughed. We smiled. We relaxed. And then...

I blurted.

[head:hand]

Luckily, my friend has known me long enough to understand I only blurt the ones I love. But I'm left wondering... is a sixty second delay long enough? Brain needs to (1) engage, (2) register horror over impending foot-in-mouth, (3) execute diversionary tactics —"Ooh! Look! Shiny thing!"

Hmm. Better set it for ninety.

Sorry, friend. [hug] Y'know...I probably should have titled this post, I blurt, therefore I am. ;-)

quote of the day . . .

2006-07-29T12:02:00.000-04:00

A bit beyond perception’s reach
I sometimes believe I see
That life is two locked boxes
Each containing the other’s key.
- Piet Hein

2
4
7

a surfeit of men in tights

2006-07-28T20:04:00.000-04:00

Since there's no such thing as too much Monty Python:

Camelot for Trekkies

:-)

Discovered on Cherie Priest's blog.

fetchez la vache!

2006-07-26T20:20:00.000-04:00

If you're a Monty Python groupie like me, you've already clued in to the fact that both "fetchez la vache!" and my tossed-cow animation are nods to the infamous Taunting scene in Monty Python and the Holy Grail — nothing like a few catapulted cattle to get rid of those pesky knights at the gate. "Run away, run away!"*

But why am I tossing a cow on my blog? Because last night I went to see Monty Python's Spamalot™ at the Canon Theatre in Toronto and I've been smiling ever since. Not to mention a few instances of giggling for no apparent reason and some inappropriately loud singing/whistling in the mail room. "Always look on the bright side of life!" (My neighbours have long suspected I was a bit odd. Now they're sure.)

In case you haven't already figured it out, I liked the show. A lot. From first glance at the program ("Patrons are asked not to smoke or speak Swedish in the theatre. Please use cell phones whenever possible."), to the audience sing-along finale (complete with confetti bombs), it was a thoroughly happy — if frequently tasteless — night. You should go!

Meanwhile, visit the official cow tossing game and have yourself some fun!

* No cows were harmed in the making of this entry.

jazz'n in the shower

2006-07-24T19:44:00.000-04:00

Yes, it's true. I really do shower with a bird. As you can tell, he thoroughly enjoys it, spreading his little wings to catch every drop and nagging shrilly when I put down his personal spray bottle to to focus on my own shower and shampoo.

Jazz is a lineolated parakeet, one of the smallest of the parrot family, native to Central and South America. He's very intelligent and curious, likes climbing, exploring, bossing Sam the Cat, and snuggling under my chin — something he's eager to do whenever he gets the chance. His real claim to fame, is a dedication in author Barbara Colley's novel, Death Tidies Up, a Charlotte LaRue Mystery. Find out why here.

You said Jazz's bathtime was something you wish you could see, Barbara, so this post's for you! (Click photo for larger view.)

swans and cat's teeth

2006-07-23T20:21:00.000-04:00

My quest for more and better exercise got me up early this morning to walk the west Toronto Waterfront Trail. This finely feathered flock paddled along beside me for a while, probably hoping I'd brought bread crumbs to share. Tough luck, guys.

Temptation was great to abandon the walk, park myself on a bench, and just enjoy the glorious morning, but that's precisely the lazy-ass attitude that brought me to the point of really, really needing the exercise. So...walk-on was the order of the day.

My goal is to walk the trail (or another) at least twice a week for the rest of the summer. And now that I've written it down the goal is official...there will be no excuses!

On the topic of goals, it's time to implement the vet's recommendation for keeping Sam healthy: ~~daily~~ regular brushing of the (remaining*) catly teeth. Not surprisingly, Sam has been uncooperative. Today we tried a demonstration of the human tooth brushing ritual. "Come, Sam. Watch me brush my teeth. Mmmm. Feels good."

Things were going relatively well — at least he seemed to be paying attention — until ... well, apparently cats are hard-wired to run and hide upon spying a creature who's foaming at the mouth. I can appreciate that.

A few hours later, having redeemed myself with treats and chin-scratchies, we tried breaking in his new toothbrush. It's blue, with soft, rubbery bristles that make a squeaky sound when rubbed against his teeth. He actually seemed to like it for the first twenty seconds or so. Then he made a beeline for his under-bed hiding place. We'll try again tomorrow. Maybe a little catnip on the bristles...

*Sam underwent dental surgery last month to have two severely decayed teeth extracted. It was pretty rough going for a while, not to mention hard on the budget, so if brushing will keep his teeth healthy, it's definitely worth the effort.

sky ... or clouds?

2006-07-22T23:14:00.000-04:00

"The nature of the mind is like the vast sky, like a huge, blue endless sky, very clear, very, very deep and stretching in all directions. It's vast and infinite and clear and empty and transparent and luminous. That is the nature of the mind.

"Our thoughts and feelings and memories are the clouds appearing in the sky. Sometimes the clouds are white and fluffy and we're happy. Sometimes they're big and black and there's thunder and lightning and we're utterly distraught. But either way, they don’t affect the nature of the sky. However black they are, the sky is not solid. However light and pretty they are, the sky is not any more beautified. You cannot make the sky any purer or dirtier. The sky is just something that is, and it's transparent and luminous and clear.

"So why not identify with the sky rather than with the transitory clouds?" ~ Ani Tenzin Palmo

In August 2001, I was invited to participate in a khata ceremony to welcome Venerable Tenzin Palmo to Toronto... and yet it was I who felt welcomed by this kind and inspiring teacher. Her biography, Cave in the Snow by Vicki McKenzie, and her own book, Three Teachings, were among the long-lost items unearthed last weekend in The Great Closet Cleanout.

Interesting how things turn up when we need them most, isn't it?

2 4 8

what's on the bookshelf

2006-07-21T18:46:00.000-04:00

I've been doing a lot of reading this year but it wasn't until I started pulling this list together that I realized just how many books I've finished in the last six months. The photo shows a few. Others have already been loaned out and many are audio versions — which explains how my iPod made it into the picture.

Now, if you're a cat, books are ever-so-good for sitting upon (best if your human is trying to read the book when you sit) and also for chin scratching (another guaranteed attention-grabber). So, of course, Sir Sam had to ~~get in the way~~ get in on the fun. Once assured that he would indeed be featured in the photo, he quickly laid claim to the iPod. Mmmm. String.

No, that red you see on his paw isn't blood. Click photo for a larger image. He's wearing his Soft Paws® Nail Caps. They're vet-approved, Sir Sam doesn't complain at all about wearing them, and they've brought a new and awesome peace to our home — no more shredded upholstery!

But I digress. Here's my booklist. What's on your yours?

Books I've Read, January to July '06

Donna Andrews:
We'll Always Have Parrots
Crouching Buzzard, Leaping Loon

Nevada Barr:
Blind Descent

Cynthia Baxter:
Lead a Horse to Murder: A Reigning Cats & Dogs Mystery
Hare Today Dead Tomorrow: A Reigning Cats & Dogs Mystery

Barbara Colley: (an Eclectics.com client :-)
Wiped Out, A Charlotte LaRue Mystery

Lilian Jackson Braun:
The Cat Who Could Read Backwards
The Cat Who Ate Danish Modern
The Cat Who Knew Shakespeare
The Cat Who Played Brahms
The Cat Who Played Post Office
The Cat Who Talked to Ghosts
The Cat Who Turned On and Off
The Cat Who Smelled a Rat
The Cat Who Went Underground
The Cat Who Came to Breakfast

Dan Brown:
Digital Fortress

Kate Collins:
Mum's the Word

Carolyn Hart:
Death of the Party
April Fool Dead

Laura Joh Rowland: (an Eclectics.com client :-)
Shinju
Bundori
The Way of the Traitor
The Concubine's Tattoo

ahhh, feels so good...

2006-07-20T22:45:00.000-04:00

You've heard of Puss 'n Boots, now meet Puss 'n Slippers. Acupressure slippers to be exact. For some strange reason, Sam thinks these knobbly, foot massaging sandals are the cat's meow. [Did I say that out loud?]

friends

2006-07-19T23:04:00.000-04:00

Sometimes

the stillpoint

is too far away.

My thoughts tonight are with my Mom, and with two good friends in need ... one seeking a solid path for her future, the other seeking strength to battle breast cancer.

Light a candle.

on writing

2006-07-18T23:55:00.000-04:00

take a deep breath
and reach out for the one line.
from emptiness bring it
down to the paper
without hesitation.
concentrate your whole being
on writing.
draw the line
and let it go back
to the empty space.
on the white paper
the one line conceals
emptiness.
the way this happens
cannot be put in words.
it can only be seen
with the heart.
- Nadja Van Ghelue