Gah!

I am on a diet and I have no food in the house.


This is not as strange as it sounds.

Which?

From Jenn's blog:

Pick ONE word from each pair that you think describes me the best & leave it in the comments.

Then copy this and post it in your own blog to see how your friends view you.

* dominant or submissive
* logical or intuitive
* social or loner
* kinky or vanilla
* cute or sophisticated
* kitten or puppy
* warm flannel sheets or sleek satin
* leader or follower
* quiet or talkative
* spontaneous or planned
* teddy bear or porcelain doll
* hiking or window shopping
* tequila or vodka
* top or bottom
* bare foot or shoes
* jeans or dress pants
* tender or rough
* aware or dreamy
* nerd or jock

I tried, anyway

Reprinted from my post in the WD:


I just got a phone call. The automated voice started to speak and I nearly hung up the phone when I heard the words "survey about same sex marriage". I hung on.

After an introduction that explained to me that Paul Martin's current legislation in favour of SSM has many legal and religious experts concerned that it doesn't protect religious freedom (which it does) and will destroy our values, the poll began.


Are you in favour of legislation defining marriage as between a man and a woman?

I said no.

How did you vote in the last election; Liberal, Conservative, NDP, other, or I choose not to answer?

I chose not to answer. I can't actually vote yet, but I campaigned Liberal. By this time, I am guessing that my responses may be twisted or ignored, so I am unwilling to give them ammunition. Yeah, like the first answer wasn't enough.


Will the legislation on SSM influence your decision in any upcoming election?

Well, yeah. I will continue to support the Liberals, even if they are money-stealing bastards. I would like to support the NDP, to the horror of my husband and even if Jack Layton looks like a complacent chipmunk, but not if it means the Conservatives get power. *shudders* Once SSM is the law of the land, I may reconsider.

The poll was conducted by the Defence of Marriage Coalition or somesuch group. I fear my opinion will not be heard, but I also felt it was important that I try.

I don't believe in diets...or do I?

For years, I have stated that I don't believe in diets. And really, I don't. I know that dieting usually leads to losing weight and then gaining it back twofold. Therefore, I have always resisted dieting. Unfortunately, some bad eating (and drinking) habits recently led to a less than desirable weight gain over the summer for both Grant and myself.

I was not unduly concerned. I didn't feel like I was all that heavy; mainly I was annoyed because my clothes didn't fit quite as well. But Grant was edging toward what looked to be an unhealthy weight. He convinced me that he needed to go on a strict eating plan, but one he could manage during all the lunches provided during his meetings at work. After some searching and some recommendations, I decided the South Beach diet was the one most likely to succeed for him. In order to help him stay focused, I decided to join him in the diet.

Two and half months later, I can report, this is the best eating plan I have ever been on. Both Grant and I have lost weight. More importantly, we like the way we are eating and are convinced that we can stick to the ideas behind this plan long after the weight issue is past. This diet doesn't feel gimmicky; it just focuses on foods that are better choices. It allows things like red wine and dark chocolate, while emphasizing lean meats, vegetables and whole grains (things I already love!)

One thing I really like about the South Beach diet (aside from the weight I have lost, and how great I look) is the recipes. I've bought diet books before and many of them have recipes, never used. For some reason, the South Beach recipes are different. They use ingredients that I have in my kitchen, ingredients that I like. I often modify them slightly, while still keeping to the rules. That's not unusual; I modify recipes all the time, mainly because I don't have quite the ingredients on hand that the recipe is calling for or because I think I can make it even tastier. I have gotten very good at using cookbooks as a guide rather than an absolute. Would that some people would use the bible in the same way...

This diet has got me cooking more, too. Because of our busy schedule, I had gotten into the habit of just boiling some pasta and making a quick salad. Many of my various kitchen utensils and pans had been gathering dust. Since South Beach, I have re-discovered my food processor, my lemon reamer and my garlic press, along with many other toys I have accumulated over the years. I realize, to my horror, that I had become a lazy cook.

Now I have to plan my meals. I am creative. I am using better ingredients. I get to drink red wine. I eat well and I look fabulous! What's not to love here?

Beauty

All night the cicadas and the tree frogs of my childhood pulsed their electric curtain of sound and the night light made her skin look like beeswax, her bone hands flailing in supplication, clutching at the glass of water I held to her crusted lips. Now it is dawn. Mama's window looks out over the east. I sit in the white chair, by the window, facing the bed, but not looking, not looking at Mama so effaced in her big bed, not looking at the pill bottles and the spoons and the glasses and the IV pole with the bag hanging obese with fluid and the blinking red LED display and the bed pan and the little kidney-shaped receptacle for vomit and the box of latex gloves and the trash can with the BIOHAZARD warning label full of bloody syringes. I am looking out the window, toward the east. A few birds are singing. I can hear the doves that live in the wisteria waking up. The world is gray. Slowly color leaks into it, not rosy-fingered but like a slowly spreading stain of blood orange, one moment lingering at the horizon and then flooding the garden and then golden light, and then a blue sky, and then all the colors vibrant in their assigned places, the trumpet vines, the roses, the white salvia, the marigolds, all shimmering in the new morning dew like glass. The silver birches at the edges of the woods dangle
like white strings suspended from the sky. A crow flies across the grass. Its shadow flies under it, and meets it as it lands under the window and caws, once. Light finds the window and creates my hands, my body heavy in Mama's white chair. The sun is up.

-The Time Travellers Wife, Audrey Neffenegger

Sigh. Sometimes writing makes me happy and sad at the same time. Happy to revel in the beauty of language, to marvel at the magic that allows one individual to combine words into something beyond the literal meaning and to create a space and time that resonates deep inside me. Sad, because I would so like to step beyond that literal meaning myself and I seem entirely unable to go there.

FYI

The merry widow finally arrived. I look very hot in it.

It is a shame my husband isn't home.

Why I need $25,000

• A new kitchen
• Hardwood floor
• Mission-style leather recliner
• 40" Plasma TV
• Tents on the beach during the renovation

The phobia that has no name

I have always been very paranoid about preparing chicken. I obsessively wash my hands while making anything with chicken because I am terrified that I will poison myself and my family. Considering we eat chicken 4-5 times a week, my paranoia takes up a large portion of my evening. Let's just say, my hands are very, very clean.

I recently started preparing raw food for my kitty to help her stave off kidney disease. My friend Deborah is studying to be a homeopath and gave me a book on homeopathic medicine for animals. Included in the book is a recipe for kitties with kidney problems. So I decided to go ahead and try it, as we were having serious problems with Katy not eating. The main ingredient in the food? You guessed it: chicken.

So, every couple of weeks, I grind up raw chicken in my food processor for my cat. The same food processor that I use for my own food. I find myself pondering whether buying a food processor just for the kitty food is over-reacting.

It's not paranoia if the chicken really is out to get you.

Holding a grudge

I am mad at Victorias Secret.

Grant gave me a lovely merry widow at Christmas. It was too big, so I sent it back for a smaller one. Now, three months later, I still do not have my merry widow. VS has sent it twice to the wrong address. We spent Christmas in Arizona, as many of you know, so Grant had the original purchase sent there. Apparently, the first exchange went there and went missing. Grant discovered this when he called wondering where the exchange was. When he confirmed the address, the rep mentioned that it wasn't the address they had on file. He explained the situation and told them to send it to Ontario, not Arizona. (As I had done on the original exchange receipt.)

But they didn't.

Instead, my parents called about two weeks ago from the Bay Area, saying they had a package forwarded from AZ. Their neighbour had sent it on. The shipping date was after Grant's conversation with VS, the one confirming the shipping address. So, my elderly parents....you know, the one with the broken hip and the other one with the driving problems... have to schelp their way to the post office to forward a package to Canada.

Grant emails VS to express his displeasure in an entirely Canadian way (translation: politely). No response. I email to express my displeasure in a still polite, but slightly more emphatic manner. Still no response.

I would just write another email telling VS that they have lost a valued customer, but they have this and this and I really, really want them.

I want to hold this grudge, really I do. But I haven't been able to hold a real grudge for much more than a day or two in my entire life.

And that bra is so pretty. Damn.

Saying goodbye

Today I was at the vets with Katy Catgirl. She is doing fine, just seems to have a bit of a cold and it was time for her vaccinations. When I came out with her, there were three people in the waiting room. A woman was cradling a black cat in her arms, tears in her eyes. The other woman was crying openly, while the man just looked terribly sad.

I wanted so badly to tell them that I understood how they felt. My own Rocky was put to sleep nearly 4 years ago, and yet, in so many ways, it feels like it happened recently. I know the pain of making that decision; the one we hope will spare so much pain and suffering for the animal we love, but will hurt us so very much.

Life is surrounded by death. My own life has suffered two losses recently; a good and treasured friend died unexpectly and a wonderful student at my school was struck by a van and killed. It is so hard to understand how to accept these losses, but we soldier on, hopefully remembering the joy of the lives we have shared.

Now I watch the news, with the media attention on the deaths of a woman in Florida and a man in Rome. And I remind myself that under all the news and drama, there are real people who mourn these losses.

May we all rest. In peace.

Chocolate linked to memory problems?

As a special treat for Easter, I bought Grant and me a Cadbury Wunderbar Egg. We have been so good on this diet and I thought we deserved some chocolate. On Easter morning I presented Grant with his egg. He immediately devoured it. I, on the other hand, have become fond of delayed pleasure, so I decided to wait until later.

Shortly after dinner, I decided to take a bath and after a lovely soak, I knew it was time to savor my chocolate. But when I went down to the kitchen, my egg was MISSING!

I instantly suspected my younger step-son, but he denied it, as did Grant. The older boy isn't eating chocolate at all, so unless he decided to swipe it to give to a friend, it was unlikely that he had taken it. There was no wrapper to be found on the floor, so that ruled out the dog. And yes, for those of you with dogs, I did make a cursory examination the following morning when I walked her. As for the cat, I have a hard enough time getting her to eat anything, so I doubt she's added chocolate eggs to her diet. The day ends without my special treat and I am sad.

Today, I'm at the store and noticed a display of the same Cadbury eggs. Yippee! a chance to make up for my loss on Easter day. I grabbed one and went to the checkout stand. I held on to it while the clerk checked through my groceries. When she checked the egg through, she commented how good they were, so I shared my tragic story with her. We chuckle about it together.

I finish paying and start to push my cart away, when I decide that I want my egg right now! So I look in the bag that I think the clerk put it in. No egg. I look in another bag. Still no egg. At this point, the clerk notices and I ask her which bag she put it in. She indicates one of the bags that I have already checked, so I check it again. Again...NO EGG.

The girl stops checking through the next customer, who undoubtably thinks we are mad, and starts looking through the grocery bags. No damn egg anywhere! Both she and I are getting really frustrated and I make a comment about the universe not wanting me to have a damn Cadbury egg and WHAT IT UP WITH THAT????

I am nattering on when I suddenly find myself saying "Wait, did I take it from you?" and I reach into my jacket pocket and find the chocolate egg.

I am a complete dork.