The Blasphemous Fiendess

What's Up With Girls?

2010-03-30T12:57:00.000-07:00

Girls are sometimes the meanest creatures I know of. I have experienced my own share of queen bees and manipulative females, and some who are incredibly clever in their methods of abuse. I am watching these creative cruelties going on in two different arenas currently, one of them requires my intervention whenever possible. That one is going on in my classroom where the grade five girls have been divided into two camps with the arrival of a queen bee a couple of months ago. The other one is a grown woman trying to manipulate and take revenge on a co-worker in the office where my husband works. Her tactics are pathetically junior high school style, yet she is not a work place anomaly.

In the workplace women who feel competitive with others are sometimes willing to sacrifice any pleasant relations for undermining their rival or chosen target. The woman my husband works with is not able to deal with having made a mistake and owing another woman an apology. Her denial and anger are leading her towards increasingly immature behaviour and it can only damage her credibility in the employer's eyes. Somehow she believes that she is a victim. I have worked with women who cannot stand to have a female supervisor and the criticisms and petty complaints they make are ridiculous. One woman I know thinks her boss is unacceptable for not being an extrovert and greeting her enthusiastically each morning.

In schools everywhere there are girls making the lives of other girls miserable by ostracizing them, spreading rumours and sending cruel messages through e-mail and text. As young as eight, some girls discover that they can have have a great deal of power and influence just by announcing that a certain girl is no longer her best friend. If you have daughters, two books you should read are Queen Bees and Wannabees, by Rosalind Wiseman and Odd Girl Out, by Rachael Simmons. Simmons proposes that one of the problems contributing to the sly behaviour and passive aggression girls are prone to using on each other is that our culture does not allow girls to get angry or display anger. Little girls should be sugar and spice and all things nice. Anger goes underground and it's power grows.

This is what I like best about boys. When they are mad at each other they fight with their fists. It is often possible for them to friends again a short time later. I'm not suggesting that problems should be solved this way, but I find it interesting to ponder this idea that girls are not taught how to deal with anger and aggression, the are expected to suppress it and this has caused the field for women ant work and girls at school to be fraught with land mines.

I'm Back and I'm shopping!

2010-03-08T09:21:00.000-08:00

I'm in Portland for spring break, staying with my good friend. She is the amazing mother of two delightful and precocious five year old twin boys. They talk non-stop, quarrel and make up, have difficult and different eating habits and are being raised with love, patience and plenty of structure by two loving parents. My girlfriend, like myself, is an elementary school teacher and since she teaches grade one, she is inundated with little ones who are needy and diverse in their needs. She has twenty-five or so at school and then comes home every day to her own beloved two. This is a woman giving constantly. I want to buy her a lovely gift but I'm not sure what it will be yet.

She has a beautiful home in reproduction Brownstone with a modern take on arts and crafts style. Although I am confident I get her decorating style, her home needs nothing and I always think it is risky buying someone something decorative for their home. She recently complained that all of her bath towels were really old. I am confident about the right colour for bath towels in her house, so I'm planning to get her some luxurious new towels and some spa like bath products. I should get some for her husband too. Must find out if he shaves with blade or electric.

CRASH

2010-02-10T14:46:00.000-08:00

(Flickr)

I apologize to my bloggy friends whom I normally visit regulary and to that one person who reads my blog :)

I am struggling right now with my chronic fatigue syndrome and not up to posting or even reading much. This is my difficult season-but before you suggest a sun lamp let me tell you that summer is also my difficult season. So I send you all thought valentines and hope to be more lively again soon.

What is Your Go To Outfit?

2010-02-08T17:43:00.000-08:00

I usually have somewhat of an idea about what is in fashion and what tends have passed. I've reached the age where I've seen enough trends come and go so I'm not really interested in being on trend all of the time. Not everything is going to work for me; the shrunken blazer is a good example. I'm a cardigan girl because I hate the feeling of a stiff jacket that limits my arm movement. I wave my arms around when I talk; this is a serious issue for me. I like raglan sleeves. When you reach that point where you no longer try out every new look because you know what works on your body, what you like, what makes you feel comfortable, and you've seen something on the DON"T list only to see it on the DO list, proving that rules are meant to be broken and some women will look good in pleated pants and some won't regardless of what the current trend is, then you are likely confident enough to create your own style.

Supply can be a challenge. For the first few years when the waist line on pants dropped I really struggled to find pants that fit me well. I'm tall, but I don't have long super model legs, I'm a bit longer in the rise than average as my extra height isn't just in my legs. I have a longer inseam, longer leg length and longer torso than average. Some women, especially those strutting down the runway just have miles long legs, no extra height anywhere else. Sorry to be boring you with these details, but the result was that for a few years there were no pants available that covered my bottom. Pants have always been a challenge for me so I have worn skirts most often for the past twenty five years. I love denim skirts and while a denim mini has just about always been fashionable for a hot young twenty something, it has been quite awhile since I was near to that and even then minis were never in my comfort zone.

My favourite is an above the knee pencil skirt. I could live in this skirt, a pair of tights and my favourite shoes.

Something like these but with a lower heel.

Add another inch to the length of this skirt and here it is, a perfect outfit for me.

(Okay, I lied a little, I look terrible in turtle necks)

I have two denim skirts in my wardrobe right now. One similar to the first picture and another that is long, ending just below my calves. If I could have one for every day of the week, I would. And I don't care anymore if they are trendy or not. Some years hey are ripped and bleached, some years they are full with kicky little pleats. There are granny versions with elastic waistbands, high waisted and low waisted, flared and tapered, embroidered with pink and blue flowers, covered in zippers, frayed at the ends and even acid wash. They aren't all the right one for me, but I comb the thrift shops looking to increase my collection. A straight cut denim skirt is part of my personal style now. I don't care if the It Girls are wearing them or not. What is your favourite thing to wear whether it is in style or not? Do you long for the return of stirrup pants or high waisted jeans? Have you stubbornly clung to your shoulder pads? Is there something from this season that you love so much you think you will keep it even when it is no longer au current?

I'm seeing socks with dressy and even strappy shoes in the fashion pictures for spring. Maybe my beloved Velma will more fashionable than Daphne this year.

Writer's Block

2010-02-06T16:38:00.000-08:00

I'm going to do what I tell my students to do; I'm going to write through my block. Yup. that means I'm taking on the stream of my conscience, babbling visually, finding my way to having something to say. It wasn't as hard as I thought it might be since I'm thinking about parmesan cheese and, well, that is a writing topic, is it not?

People as me if I miss meat. Nobody ever asks me if I miss yogurt or cheesecake, foods I loved much more than I ever loved meat. I suppose the answer is yes and no. When I first became vegetarian it was a gradual process and the salty-fat taste of meat in my diet was impossible to give up, even though I was no longer interested in great hunks of flesh. I made stews and soups with meat broth initially and then went through the phase many vegetarians go through where I overcompensated with cheese. As a vegetarian both yogurt and cheesecake are still on the menu, but at some point which I find difficult to recall, I became vegan.

There are many faux foods on the market and beverages labeled milk which are non-dairy are varied and readily available. Faux meat and faux cheese have never really excited me much but I've dabbled in the use of them. Cheesecake can easily be replicated with tofu but I've never found soy yogurt to be worth eating. Its unappealing greyish colour doesn't help. Faux cheese either doesn't live up to its promise or is not actually vegan due to the use of casein or rennet. Although I once lived cheese, I have gone beyond missing it. I can make a cheesy tasting sauce that fulfills my desire for mac n cheese or grilled sandwiches.

But today, as I whipped up a pasta primavera I recalled how a little fresh parmesan really does add that je ne sais quoi. (I am now wondering what the Italian version of that is) I have tried faux parmesan-nope not the same. I might be good in its own right as a flavourful sprinkle, but there is just no duplicating that ultimate fat-salt taste of parmesan cheese.

Often I tell people that it is easy to be vegan. In a short time your taste preferences change and you no longer crave the animal taste. That is mostly true. Cheese and butter have an animal grease taste and smell that really puts me off now, my body reacts as though it is wrong to eat them. I have no doubt this is purely psychological and I am fine with that. But I miss the parmesan. Just once in awhile. I guess I'll get over it with a nice carton of Purely Decadent Peanut Butter Zig Zag non-dairy dessert.

Blind Woman's Bluff

2010-01-30T14:17:00.000-08:00

(getty images)

Mr Magoo bumbles along not realizing the errors of his ways and always surviving disaster.

Velma is always losing her glasses, which inevitably results in finding the scary monster.

I flit through my life in a blind whirlwind. Some people might think I'm clumsy. No, it isn't that.

My vision just can't keep up with my intentions.

Lighthearted and Without Depth, I Assure You

2010-01-29T13:54:00.000-08:00

A part of growing into who you are includes examining role models. Some are people in our everyday lives, some are heros we have chosen from history and some come from popular culture. The influence of the latter has more to do with what we project onto them since we do not really know these people. Here are some of the people who attracted me over the years. The reasons will obviously vary, but I will leave you to guess them. So, although I would say my mother and maternal grandmother were the most influential women in my life, this collage is for fun. Here they are in no particular order.

I'm sure I've forgotten somebody. But it was fun thinking up this selection and hunting for photos.

Are you a Real Hippie or do you just Dress Like One? (Warning, Nudity)

2010-01-28T22:17:00.000-08:00

In order to be a hippie, "don't worry; be happy"...but remember to protest injustice

(nobody is worrying about cellulite)

Hippies made or embellished their own clothes or purchased items from the thrift shop, deliberately rejecting the standard uniform. Sometimes outfits were deliberately outlandish. But at other times they were jeans and t-shirt basic, meant to reflect a rejection of class discrimination. The hippies still had to choose their clothing from what was available and what suited their lifestyle. A party going, LSD tripping acid rock loving hippie might look like this.

(I feel dizzy just looking at a still photo of this dance)

But your clothing might be simpler if you were trying to get back to the land or spent most of your time attending protests. In either case long hair and unkempt facial hair for men was another way of rejecting the status quo.

The hippie movement did not achieve all of it's goals, but if you believe, as I do, that the choices you make and your motivations for making them speak powerfully about who you are, then you probably agree with me that new hippies are born every day. Time has passed and lessons have been learned, so no modern day hippie would be thoughtlessly mimicking the past. Incorporating hippie clothing into your wardrobe does not make you a hippie although the legacy of the hippies includes the vast choice in clothing options and the increasing tolerance for individual preferences being expressed in the workplace. Modern hippies are as likely to create their own eclectic style from thrift shops as they are to purchase historical hippie favourites from retail chains or trendy new designs in organically grown and sustainable fabric. They are likely to have embraced tattoos and body piercing although that too has lost it's edge. A modern hippie might sport dreadlocks or wear Birkenstock sandals with socks, but these too have become somewhat of a stereotype. The hippie creed is that it shouldn't matter what you wear; you should wear what you like. Hopefully you will be an informed consumer.

Other Criteria for Proudly calling yourself a Hippie

* liberal politics and strong views in support of human rights

* concern for and activism regarding the environment

* vegetarianism/veganism for health, environmental and animal rights reasons

*a belief that outer beauty is superficial and little time/money is spent on this

*beliefs and actions support the philosophy that love and compassion are the antidote to violence and war/hatred and racism/ prejudice and intolerance

*attempts to find a balance in a consumer driven economy and the perils of excess

*a desire for peace love and harmony to rule

Purple Passion

2010-01-27T14:01:00.000-08:00

While I strive to avoid purple prose, this colour, which is now hailed as one of the trends for 2010, has always been one of my favourites. There are many tones and shades, so of course I have some preferences. As a little girl I wanted my bedroom decorated with grape soda purple and fuschia pink. I even found a shag rug that combined those very colours. My mother convinced me to go with lavender and blue instead, certain that I would soon outgrow my taste for vivid colour. The lavender was too pale and so was the blue. After a few years my room was redone in a crisper blue and white. I still prefer much more vivid colours than does my mother.

Jump ahead a few decades and I have rediscovered purple. I began to put purple flowers in my garden, enjoying the different colour combinations I could create. Purple with red, purple with gold, purple with orange, purple with chartreuse, I happily splashed purple all over my garden. The blue-purple works well in spring with the softer light and a more violet purple with red undertones works in the harsher light of mid-summer.

I like to wear purple too,

bohomarket.blogspot.com

but probably never like this.

Purple makes it's way into my home; my two favourite shades are a greyed purple such as the mardi grape featured on Maria Killiam's blog, Colour Me Happy and a more red toned purple. I like them light and I like them deep and dark.

Farrow and Ball colour palette featuring 2010 colour trends, by Patricia Gray Interior Design

Nature always does just the right thing with purple.

(Flickr)

Okay, nature did not make the car, but I would love to have that in my driveway!

And the most amazing thing about purple is that it can make me love turquoise.

Images from Flickr unless otherwise attributed. Blogs mentioned in this post are listed below.

colourmehappyblog.blogspot.com home of the fabulous Maria Killiam

bohomarket.blogspot.com one of my new favourite places for inspiration

patriciagrayinc.blogspot.com a talented Vancouver designer

Fugly Boxes

2010-01-26T17:56:00.000-08:00

Designers of fashion, both couture and ready to wear can't really come up with anything new. They remix what has been done before but essentially we see that so and so is inspired by the shoulders of the forties or the dresses of the fifties, pant silhouettes of the seventies or whatever. The catwalks may be a circus of clever and creative although totally unwearable ideas but basically it's the same old stuff.

Architects are in the same position as clothing designers, wanting to flaunt their creativity and be different from the others, but hampered by that irritating criteria of actually being useful and useable. If boxy is your preferred shape but it just doesn't do anything for your figure, try living in it. Don't rush out and buy any old box in any old neighbourhood, please be conscious of the status that can be obtained by purchasing a couture home. Your neighbours will hate you, but don't worry it is only because you are beautiful.

This was inspired by the aftermath of tornadoes and what happens when all of the neighbouring barns are piled up in a nearby field. It brings a great sense of community to rural regions, allowing families to live closer, in an urban density sort of way. Accent with red for a classic look.

Break the rules and forget what you've heard about matching the size of your accessories to your body proportions. Try covering the front of your dress with randomly applied brooches. This works best if you are flat chested. If you are busty, you can emulate this look with your home, as shown in the image above.

If your figure is wide, go ahead and dress in light colours and horizontal stripes. Your audacity will leave any critics speechless. Make sure your footwear is humble and minimalist. This will create a statement of juxtaposition that is on trend right now. Hemp flip flops are perfect.

Take your classic LBD and throw a poncho made of old rugs over top to keep out that winter chill. Add flip flops as an unexpected footwear statement.

Difficulties getting along but not ready for a divorce? Watching television in separate rooms only to discover you are watching the same show? Show off your personalities with pride using this husband and wife matching set. Dwelling and roof sold separately as part of a mix and match separates collection.

Don't make the mistake of being like everyone else. This is the season to mix and match; your shoes shouldn't match your bag. Make a statement. Be bold.

Sometimes you have to go your own way and bring back a trend. Retro is always cool. Remember the asymmetrical hairstyles of the eighties? Be the first to bring back the trend.

Isn't it amazing what you can do with a box?

Who is to Blame? A feminist Question

2010-01-24T16:46:00.000-08:00

Many of us are experiencing a sort of survivor's guilt after the devastating earthquake in Haiti. Survivor's guilt leads bloggers to post links for making donations and to feel guilty about posting frivolous things. I make the assumption that people will and or have made donations in support of Haitian rescue and rebuilding efforts. For anybody able to, it becomes something that must be done. We don't help anybody by getting ourselves depressed about it. Love of live and love for fellow creatures keeps me going and I nurture that with joy, humour and compassion in my every day life. Sometimes we must stop viewing the horrific images of suffering and allow ourselves to live, love and laugh. In the spirit of laughing at ourselves, examining the peculiarities of culture and the trivialities that can preoccupy us I offer you my take on the ridiculous ideas we have about female body hair.
**************************************
Humans throughout history have decorated and altered their bodies for various reasons and what is considered beautiful or necessary varies with the dominant culture of the times. Cave drawings indicate that males may have removed facial hair with sharpened shells or animal teeth, assorted tweezers have been crafted from available materials and depilatories have been around much longer than you would imagine. Warriors and soldiers found that removal of head and facial hair made it significantly harder for their enemies to decapitate them. But abundant hair is also useful for hiding bad skin and this was apparently a strategy employed by Hadrian.

The ancient Greeks had specific ideas about hygiene and preferred hair removal or significant shortening as they believed it to be cleaner. The Romans and Egyptians had a similar attitude and pursued the hairless ideal so as not to be repulsive. The Greek poet Ovid, who was scandalously too sex obsessed for his peers, wrote advise to lovers that included careful hair removal for both sexes. For females in the times of the Roman Empire, hair removal devices included simple pumice stones, razors, tweezers and homemade depilatories. I wonder if they were as smelly as the modern ones.

The decline of the Roman Empire brought with it a return to hairiness as Barbarian was the new fashion look. Apparently Conan the Barbarian, as portrayed by the smooth skinned Arnold Swartzenneger, wasn't too accurate. As we time travel forward to the Middle Ages, most European women have no concept of removing any body hair, although facial hair was dealt with. Some very upper class elites are believed to have experimented somewhat and the soldiers who went off to the crusades were exposed to the hygiene practices of the heathens (turkish baths and hair removal) but Catherine de Medici, the Italian born Queen of France was having nothing to do with such behaviour. By the time we get to the idiotic and the power hungry who used belief in witches to suppress women, female hairiness was becoming suspect and associated with demonic practices. In 1600 France, suspected witches were shaved upon capture because their hairiness was evidence that they consorted unnaturally with beasts and the devil. I think this must be what led women to prefer sex with the lights out. That would have been the perfect opportunity for a less than loving husband, or a really stupid one, to observe any naturally occurring body hair an declare his wife a witch.

Obsession with hair has led to bizarre trends such as removing all trace of eyebrows
(popular in the 1700s but sometimes seen in modern times too although now they are drawn on) and even the shaving of heads in order to accommodate enormous powdered wigs. Victorians loved hair, especially pubic hair, and exchanging bits of it with a lover was common practice. Depicting body hair in art was too racy however, so nude females were goddesses or nymphs depicted without body hair.

Although we are all familiar with the stereotype of the unshaven European women in the 20th century, the practice seems to have varied depending on the country and the current fashion. An internet search led me to mostly American information and two theses in particular, with differing feminist views on the subject of female body hair. Both agree that it is natural and should not be seen as disgusting. But where one writer wanted to claim that women have had choice all along and are not fashion victims, the other claims that it is a cultural ideal dictated to us and to flout it is to risk great social pressure and perhaps rejection as an attractive female.

I am often irritated by the popular cultures pretense that women don't actually have body hair. Any television show or movie depicting a woman cut off from civilization for anywhere from a week to years never shows her sprouting leg, bikini line and armpit hair. She also never menstruates grows bushy eyebrows or gets calloused hands and broken nails. She does however, acquire strategically ripped clothing and sexily tousled hair. I'm in danger of digressing, but who the hell cares, no professor is marking this thesis.

Hop in that time machine again and travel with me to North America at the turn of the last century. Women of the upper classes, he social elite, had excesses of both time and money, so fashion was an interest they had the means to pursue. The middle class white women were less endowed with the time or the means to follow fashion, but both these groups of women were keen readers of the magazines that evolved to appeal to them. Harpers Bazaar and the Ladies' Home Journal are still around today, and were two of the six publications for women that become available to most women sometime around the first world war. Harpers was published with the elite in mind and catered to their desire to be fashionable. LHJ was aimed at the white middle class. Advertising was a significant source of revenue for publishers and a perfect opportunity for manufacturers to reach their desired market. Women's magazines carried ads for products meant to improve one's life and this included health and beauty. Small ads for hair removal in Harpers were evidence that the women with time and money were already familiar with hair removal. As fashion began to reveal more of the body, such as sleeveless dresses, and sheer fabrics did after the war and rising hemlines in the 20's, an opportunity arose for makers of beauty products to offer help in beautifying those newly exposed areas. The armpits were the first target.

For women of the elite, fashion and beauty secrets allowed them to be distinguished from "the great unwashed" and this was part of the allure, but eventually what the rich and famous are doing becomes coveted by the lesser human beings, and fashion and beauty were ways for the regular middle class white American woman to increase her status. Advertising for hair removal methods in magazines like LHJ were meant to inform the consumer of the existence of the product and how to use it. The products were made desirable by convincing women that they were undesirable themselves and must be altered. Female body hair was declared unsightly. Other words such as objectionable, unwanted, embarrassing and unwelcome helped to promote this idea. On the other hand, hair free women were attractive, womanly, sanitary, exquisite, modest, dainty, perfectly groomed, charming and exuding feminine loveliness.

Gillette had successfully taken the lead in North American and European sales of its safety razor. The problem was that only 50 percent of a potential market had been captured. Men needed to shave, well it was time that women knew they needed to shave too. In ads placed in magazines they told women that the stylish and the elite were shaving their armpits. They completely made it up, that's what advertisers do. Depilatory creams had been made in the kitchen by women for centuries as the European views on body hair changed and changed again, but for those North American women who knew nothing about that possibility, there were manufacturers of the product eager to provide them with a product and detailed information on how to use it. It was all there in the magazines. Eventually, advertisers of other products began to feature smooth skinned women (this was the euphemism for hairless) as the models. Of course many women would want to emulate the cultural feminine ideal, and if they didn't they had to worry that they were unclean, disgusting and unattractive, even manly because they did not remove body hair.

As fashion became increasingly revealing so the need to depilate increased. some would like to argue that women had a choice. Women, although in very small numbers, were even sometimes involved in the writing and selling of the magazines that spread fashion and we know that there were cosmetic company pioneers like Helena Rubenstein. I can't imagine any woman arguing that women shouldn't have the choice to alter and adorn themselves, but neither am I comfortable with the image that popular culture has imposed, an image that was created for the sole purpose of making money, an image that tells women that their natural state is hideous, uncouth, unacceptable and unfeminine. The very fact that throughout history women have been chastised and called wanton for both having body hair and for choosing to remove it, tells me that what is an acceptable female appearance is at the dictate of people who want power over women and to use them for whatever purpose may suit the time. The mixed messages sent to women are also proof of this. What is desirable in a female, a pre-pubescent look or a womanly appearance? No matter what the trend, those who profit from selling women methods of removing body hair will tell us that hairlessness represents either one. AND we believe it!

Here's irony: Girls begin shaving their legs as right of passage into womanhood and yet the shaved look is meant to resemble the pre-pubescent. We are told that men prefer us hairless but I would seriously like to take a poll. I know that my husband really doesn't care and I've heard other women report the same of their husbands. College women surveyed said that they did it for themselves, that they just felt more comfortable that way and they liked the feel of smooth skin. I would never want to deny them the right to choose, but I still question these statements. Given that all methods of hair removal are hell, is the smooth skin really worth it or are they not comfortable being different? Some of them said having hair was prickly. Well two days after shaving it might be but when it all grows in it is generally soft. Some didn't like the way the hairs stuck out of their stockings, they said it was ugly. They have been told it is ugly. Just as the reaction to this was shock and near outrage:

Is it just me or is it interesting that they are both wearing red? Here are the identity photos in case you have never seen them.

Scandalous.
Tyra Banks has been criticized for hairy armpits too. What a bitch she must be!
We have been given a framework of what female looks like and are expected to make choices within in. Women choosing to ignore it are called anything from witches to lesbians to radical feminists to hippies and often by our own sisters! One study found that 55 per cent of lesbians remove body hair. I guess those are the wives. Sheesh! Apparently 72 per cent of feminists remove body hair.

Here are some things that are disgusting.

rotting organisms
excrement
female body hair

Despite public understanding that female hairiness is unacceptable, we must still pretend that we don't have any hair and we don't remove that hair we don't have. Huh?
I remember an article in Mademoiselle magazine about twenty years ago. It listed the grooming details women should let their man see because it was sexy and the ones he should never see. He can see you shave your lower legs but you must never let him see you shave your thighs. Nobody should know if you shave your thighs.

Some people still believe that hairless bodies are more hygienic. The ancient Greeks believed this and they did know a lot of stuff, but they also believed that women were nature's failed attempts at making men. I might find that more offensive than the Judaeo Christian creation myth. It is not more hygienic and there are risks to all forms of hair removal mostly involving potential infection. No, I can't accept that personal choice supports the trend of hair removal, I think social ridicule is the more powerful motivator. Hairlessness in females has become the cultural norm and disgust at male body hair is on the rise. It is our fear of being judged as disgusting by others, and our own willingness to judge gives credence to this, that keeps us shaving, waxing, plucking, lasering and applying assorted bad smelling chemicals in the quest for smooth hair free skin. It is easy to laugh at the silly people of the past who removed all of their eyebrow hair and then pasted on stylish mouse fur eyebrows. We should not laugh. I am not laughing.

So you may be dying to know my personal habits, or you may be saying, NO Fiendess, don't go there! I am just as confused as any woman. I deplore having to do it, and resent the cultural norm that insists that I should. I am as brave as Julia Roberts but not as brave as my new hero Mo'Nique. Well, to qualify that I'm not that brave in the summer. In the winter when I wear pants or tights, sure. As I said, my husband doesn't care. At least that's what he says. I haven't tested that by accompanying him out in public with hairy legs on show. I envy women who have light coloured and textured leg hair.

These are the legs of my fellow Canadian, Celine Dion. She is featured on the website called Naomi's Hair Removal Blog. This, is considered a shocking lack of grooming on a woman who is fortunate enough to have leg hair that only shows up in a spotlight. It looks to me as if her lower legs are shaved and she dares to have lightly fuzzy thighs. I can only dream of being slightly fuzzy, of shocking the world in such a way. I am weak; I don't have the courage and I'm angry that popular culture has made me feel that way. I have artificial choices such as which product to use, but the choice to flaunt hairy legs in public takes a braver woman than I.

Be warned, I haven't yet dealt with the craze for pubic hair removal.

Sources:

quikshave.com/timeline.htm
www.focusanthro.org/archive/2008-2009/yakas_0809pdf
www.barnard.edu/history/kirstenhansen

Tacky dermy

2010-01-21T22:02:00.000-08:00

When people are telling me I'm funny, I know it is time to get serious again. There are people in my life who think I"m very intense and that is the only side of me they see. Here is something I've got quite intense feelings about.

This photo is from Apartment Therapy. It is a nice looking room except for the moosehead over the fireplace.

These photos are from a1furtraders.com

And these are from the New York Times Home and Garden section, which I found by googling decorating with taxidermy. It is sickening to me and absolutely heartbreaking that people hunt animals for sport and then display them as trophy/decor in their homes. Only sick people would advertise that they are murderers.

These chic New Yorkers probably didn't do any killing themselves, but I can't understand why they think this is tasteful decorating. Animals do not belong to us; they are not ours to use as we like. We share a home with them and we are responsible for looking after them or at least leaving them alone. The fact that we bred some of them to be stupid and docile so that we could more easily kill them for food and other products is completely reprehensible.

I am disgusted by the current craze for animal skin rugs in home decor. The popular zebra skin rug is likely to be a zebra print on cowhide, since real zebra is very expensive. The photos below are from the blog of Vancouver designer Patricia Gray, whom is a talented designer and I'm sure a very nice person.

I don't understand how people can put an animal skin, still in the shape of a body with legs splayed out, on the floor and not give a second thought to the animal that did not want to die. I read on one decor site that people who are squeamish about animal skins could always use faux. I don't know if there are any faux skins that are not made using cowhide, but even if it were made of polyester I would find it disturbing. What kind of person wants to pretend to have a dead animal on the floor?

From a sense of compassion I do not want to contribute to or benefit from harm caused to any lilving being. I don't wear or decorate with animal hides and don't see the point of dressing in faux leopard tights or faux mink coats. Animal skins look good on the animals they were meant for.

I am absolutely serious, but just to support my point I'll leave you with a few images from feakingnews.com

Two posts in one day-Queen of Procrastination

2010-01-19T22:26:00.000-08:00

This is a lament about my neck. I'm a little obsessed about it but I'm trying to get over it.

I will never have a scrawny chicken neck problem. I've always had a short and rather thick neck. As I age the skin is slackening and it only takes a slight downward glance to give me a bulgy neck/double chin sort of look.

I searched the net looking for neck information. There are many sites on plastic surgery and almost as many on useless neck exercises. YOU CAN'T EXERCISE SKIN, PEOPLE!

I found some hairstyles recommended for short necks.

Not bad-I might achieve this in a year.

And a hairstyle recommended to distract from your neck and jawline. This one isn't me.

I found a website called freakingnews.com with photoshopped celebrities.

And after wasting more time reading bad plastic surgery websites and looking at celebrity deformities that are self-inflicted, I decided that my neck isn't too bad. I'm not a teenager, I'm not even a hot young twenty -something, my thirties have come and gone, but I might not actually care. I think I don't. As long as I don't look in a mirror. I'm working on it.

A day in the Life of a Fiendess

2010-01-19T13:18:00.000-08:00

6:30 am

The clock radio comes on and Mr Fiendess gets out of bed. The Fiendess herself is awake mentally but the old body won't respond. She notices that it has been turned to lead overnight. Although she is not sleepy it seems that it would take the will power of Valerie Bertinelli on the Jenny Craig diet whereas she is operating more at a Kirstie Alley level. Two or three failed attempts to rouse herself out of bed finally get results. (Is there hope for poor Kirstie?)

7:10am

The Fiendess hauls her ass out of bed and stumbles to the bathroom. For some reason her feet always have difficulty flattening out in the morning. It hurts. The routines are easy enough, no thought is required but passing the mirror while naked always induces invasive thoughts of the nasty kind. She tries to push the thoughts of her appearance out of her head by soaking it under the stream of hot water.
wash hair
wash body
shave legs? nah it's tights season
dry
dress-supervision duty today and it's raining-resist urge to wear the outfit most closely resembling pajamas
dry hair-grow damn it grow!
makeup?-tinted moisturizer, couldn't be bothered to do anything else

7:30am

Downstairs now, she is running a little behind schedule. Mr Fiendess has left for work on his bicycle, Fiend Jr. is sitting in a chair sulking. It is nearly semester turn around and exam time. School sucks. He is ready to go so she says that she just has to scarf down some cereal an brush her teeth. Five minutes, she says. It takes ten.

7:55am

The Fiendess drops her son off at a friend's house on her way to work. She has half an hour before the kids arrive and it is used up quickly. Check e-mail, get supplies and photo-copying ready, fill a mug with water, get a few math tests marked.

8:30am

The school doors open and 29 kids, 10 and 11 years old, begin to fill up the classroom. They have questions and stories to tell. Fifteen minutes later the bell rings to start the day and she steps on stage. It is a performance. She doesn't know how to do it any other way. Not that it isn't real, not a performance in that sense, just that she has a show to put on. She has to keep their interest and attention while they learn about fractions. It occurs to her to talk like a game show host so she does. The kids like it and play along. They do the fraction game show. Then she leads them in a quick movement activity- change places with someone who has eyes the same colour as yours, everyone with freckles trade places with someone who doesn't have freckles, and on like that for a few minutes. Then she shows them some writing samples written by students from another school in another year. They are anonymous. Here is one that isn't a pass. Here is one that is average. This one is quite good, it is just right for the grade level. This one is mind-blowingly amazing. They notice together what the qualities of the really good writing is and then the missing qualities of the really poor writing. Then the students write. One writes mind-blowingly, five write quite well, fifteen are adequate and eight are poorly done, no effort or interest is apparent. How can she inspire them? She doesn't know. She keeps trying.

10:15 am

Recess and although as usual she has promised some students she will help them with some work, she suddenly remembers she has supervision duty. So sorry, but she can help at the lunch break. Outside it is wet. What else is new? She watches the children play. When the bell rings there are some children who have gotten themselves stuck in some bushes behind a deep puddle. She wades in, reaches, grasps hands and pulls. The children pop out. She herds stragglers back into the building. Her own 29 are in the classroom making noise. There is more work to do, more demonstrating, acting out, prompting, coaxing, reminding, remonstrating, supervising. Finally it is her favourite time. She settles the students into some quiet drawing and gets out the chapter book she is reading out loud to them. It is peaceful and quiet. some students draw quietly while they listen, others are enraptured, staring at her, mouths hanging open as they are drawn into the adventure. She loves to read out loud, making different voices for different characters, noticing ahead if it says that a character shouted or whispered and doing this as she reads the words.

11:45am

The bell rings for lunch break. At this school students play first and eat second. She keeps a few students in the classroom because they want help or extra time to finish their work. She answers questions, gives examples, encourages and reassures. When it is time for the students to eat, she gathers up her things and goes home.

12:15pm

She is starving and it will take much willpower to make a proper lunch and not just eat the first things in sight. She sympathizes with Kirstie Alley. Damn Valerie Bertinelli and her perky little self. She makes coffee. This is the time of day she needs it. She has brought school work home with her, marking, Scholastic book orders to organize and send, papers to sort through. She turns on her computer, planning to read blogs while she eats. She really wants to have a nap. A nap for the Fiendess is a minimum of two hours. There isn't time today because she has to return to school for a staff meeting. She decided to kill time writing her blog and reading other bloggers.

2:15pm

The Fiendess grabs her coat and bag and heads to the car. She goes to the coffee place down the street and gets a soy latte for herself and a chai for her teaching partner and reaches the school just in time for the traffic jam that is parents picking up their kids from school. There is nowhere to park. Parents park in the staff parking, line the roadside and idle in the drop off lanes. Why are schools always so under supplied with parking? She idles as she waits for a space, feeling guilty about the whole idling thing. She rationalizes, excuses, gets defensive and finally parks. It is a meeting, of course it is boring.

3:40pm

The staff meeting will likely go until 4 o'clock but since she has a workshop that begins at 4pm she has an excuse to leave early. The workshop is on Autism and is quite fascinating. She feels like a zombie. She wishes she could sleep all day tomorrow.

7:15pm

Arriving home, the Fiendess has no fight left in her at all. She drops her coat and bag on the floor by the door. She warms up a bowl of soup for dinner. Mr. Fiendess and Fiend Jr are at the soccer practice. There are dirty dishes in the kitchen, the bathroom needs cleaning, the floor needs sweeping. The Fiendess makes her way upstairs. In the bathroom she washes her face, brushes her teeth (she's a fairly regular flosser but there are times when she skips it) gets into on old oversized t-shirt and crawls into bed. Her body aches. Her brain buzzes. She can't get to sleep, but sleep is all she wants. She feels guilt. About everything from not flossing to not sweeping; from not doing any marking to not being awake to say goodnight to her son when he finally gets home. She is feeling drowsy now, but great ideas to write about start flooding her head. She composes whole sentences, whole paragraphs and they are brilliant. Where is a pen? Where is her notebook? Soon she is asleep. Soon the clock radio will come on again.

Blue

2010-01-18T20:38:00.000-08:00

I am crazy for colour and probably a nightmare for a designer to work with. Palette? Are you kidding? Let's just make a note of the colours that we won't be putting in my house like pink or lemon yellow. But then there will be exceptions. You see it matters what the object is when I decide if I like the colour or not. Take blue, for instance. Apparently I am on the cusp of a trend by painting my bedroom blue. I don't know about THAT. My bedroom is cream and blue, at least the walls and ceiling, the colour palette is expanding otherwise. The above colour palette begins to describe my house. It is missing the deep mustard and the soft chamois colours I have on some of my walls and I need more of that lovely purple. Anyhow, back to blue.....

Generally I like blue to have a grey undertone, I like it as it gets close to purple and as it approaches teal.

(teapot photo taken in my bedroom-the actual paint colour is a little brighter)

I have a big problem with turquoise. Such as this.

But not if it is glass.

That is completely different. And if it is combined with other colours I can go for that too.

And I would never accuse Mother Nature of creating something ugly.

But most of the time, I hate turqoise.

Photos: homelife.com, Flickr

Midnight Blue Louise Tucker Charlie Skarbek

2010-01-18T19:56:00.003-08:00

On My Wish List

2010-01-17T14:38:00.000-08:00

I have always loved textiles and wallpaper. Sometimes I fall for things that just wouldn't suit my house. It makes me very sad.

Kathryn M Ireland, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

Looks like it's at least ten ways and when the wallpaper is added to your website there will be more ways to love you.

Girl Bullies: Part Two

2010-01-14T22:39:00.000-08:00

This is an experiment. I'm writing myself into this, hoping it works out but not making any plans or promises that it will be a stellar piece of writing. (And I don't mean to suggest that there is any stellar writing on this blog-everything here is pretty much first draft and I have a totally non blog related career that takes up tons of my time-and I digress as usual...) Anyhow, I will attempt to organize the story of how I got taken in by a psycho woman.

She courted me, although I didn't see that at the time. which of course means that what she did was seduce me. It may come as a surprise to you but I'm a bit of a loner. I mean, I like people and I do have friends, but I tend to keep to myself, lie low, just read a book or something like that when I have spare time. I do love good conversation though. I can sit and yak with someone for hours if we have lots to talk about with each other. This would generally mean an interest in talking about the ways of the world, the things people say and do and what does it all mean, sorting out the meaning of life, solving all the world's problems and stuf like that. My ideal yakking buddy would not be religious-pretty much athiest but open to and interested in all the spiritual possibilities of the meaning of the universe. She would enjoy discussing recipes, home decor, raising children, the social/political aspects of ones work life, the family stories and histories of both of us would be gone over with a fine tooth comb, as the saying goes (I like that one and it is quite archaic now so that makes it even more appealing to me) and we would accompany all this yakking with coffee which might turn to wine if we were at it long enough.

So I first met psycho woman when she moved into my neighbourhood and our sons began to play together. Her son was a nightmare and before I met her I was not that crazy about him. My son liked him however, and I began to suspect that this kid had some Aspbergers tendencies and so approached it from that whole village raising a child thing. My husband couldn't stand the kid because he was always getting up to some mischief and then lying about it. I convinced him that the kid had social deficits and we should be helping him. I think a whole year or more went by during which the kids parents might come and knock on the door to get him when it was time for him to go home, and we always had a nice friendly chat at the door but that was it. I began to sense that they wanted to be friendlier. I have to admit I was somewhat intimidated by them. They were obviously wealthier than we were and had a significantly nicer house. Our plans for renovation were in the works but still a few years away at that point. Psycho woman was obviously older than myself but quite pretty and well dressed. She seemed very confident and I felt quite inferior. I'm pretty sure that it was flattering to realize that she was looking for a friend. I should have wondered why someone so apparently put together needed a friend.

She invited me over for coffee one day and it wasn't long before the courtship became a honeymoon. Of course she did have some friends after all, but the other women she knew weren't in quite the same stage of life as she and I were (I mean with kids the same age) and psycho woman was a stay at home mum, while I was working part time. Our kids were together all of the time, either at her house or mine so it came to be that she and I were together every day too. I learned about her dysfunctional family background and she described to me how it had damaged her sisters and that she was the only sibling who had it together. (I now know that is not true.) She was like a second mother to my son and so I convinced myself that I cared about hers too. We began to drag our husbands into the socializing and summer evening wine drinking, sitting around outside long after dark, became a very enjoyable pattern. We included them in our extended family gatherings such as Thanksgiving and Christmas. We began to talk of taking a trip together.

I'm trying to edit the lengthy details yet still give you the picture of what this friendship looked like. Psycho woman and I were beginning to be inseparable. I didn't see that I was getting somewhat lost in it. As I got to know her better I became aware of her little peccadillos, the quirks that I attributed to her difficult background. I thought I was a good friend. I accepted the quirks-nobody is perfect- and focused on her strengths. It was difficult for me that she spent money on my child. Mostly in little ways but ways that added up quit a bit. Psycho junior was a bit spoiled and every trip to the store seemed to result in a toy or treat of some kind. It wasn't long before the same toy or treat was purchased for my son as well regardless of whether he was with them or not. My son loved this. I felt uncomfortable because I couldn't reciprocate. I wanted to say something about it but I already knew that it was a touchy subject. She didn't like people to view her as wealthy, or feel uncomfortable about it. She didn't like to make a big deal out of gifts and even expressed that she didn't like to be given gifts (except by her husband of course) I couldn't figure out what to do and soon she began getting things for me too. Not really expensive but quite often if she bought something for her house, a fancy candle or a picture frame, she would get me one too.

Sometimes I detected a hint of pride in her tone when she talked to someone else about me-as though I were an adorable little sister. I remember hearing her telling someone that I ate oatmeal and blueberries for breakfast. I hugged her once after one of the summer evening wine events and felt her stiffen. I think she mentioned that she was uncomfortable with touch, but not long after that she took to hugging me and kissing me on the cheek after two glasses of wine. I think you get the picture. We had developed a best friend/sisters sort of relationship. I thought I had found the perfect friendship. I thought she was someone who understood me and I her. We talked about everything, bared our souls and started a book club.

There was a member of the book club whom she didn't like. I made excuses for her but I shouldn't have. He was one of two members who joined the club through me. The other was a dear friend who not only has forgiven me for abandoning her to psycho woman for a couple of years but who did not stay with the book club because she was too uncomfortable. The member PW did not like was our token male. Most members of the club were really interested in exploring spirituality and philosophy. As one woman put it, they wanted to read life changing books and so we were open to non-fiction as well. Our token male was a catholic (converted in adulthood because of his wife) who just wanted to read great fantasy/adventure novels. PW was quite critical of and condescending towards him. While I would agree that he wasn't a good fit because of the religion issue, she tended to give him the cold shoulder and spoke unkindly of him when he was not around. He quit the club.

She had an adult child from an early relationship which she rarely spoke of. He had a wife and two children. Yes, she was a grandmother. There was one photo of her grandchildren on the fridge. In the four years that I knew her she never traveled across the country to visit her son and grandchildren. They visited her once. I was told many stories about how the daughter in law was selfish, immature and lazy and how her mother was even worse. The son, who was her current husband's step son and had been since he was about ten years old, had not made a great success of himself and sometimes asked for money. Without completely becoming estranged they PW and her husband had cut themselves off from this part of their family, essentially taking the attitude that they didn't owe them anything and the in-laws were so awful they just couldn't stand to visit.

Oh my fuckin Gawd (how often do you see me swear?) I don't know why this didn't make me walk away from the woman. What excuses did I make for her? Her grandchildren didn't get love, attention or awesome gifts because she was punishing her son for marrying a fat, lazy, ugly girl. Her second son, with hubby number two who was making god money, was spoiled and pampered. It wasn't fair to ask this successful hubby to give up his hard earned money for the children of ugly fat lazy girl. IF I HAD GRANDCHILDREN I WOULD BE SO IN THEIR LIVES-SO BUYING THEM STUFF, TALKING TO THEM ON THE PHONE VISITING THEM AS OFTEN AS I COULD GET THERE and I don't know how I had any respect for this woman! Blinded totally by her admiration of me!

Well, eventually I made some missteps and saw the true psycho emerge. They had taken our son with them on a week long summer trip and as usual, it was explained that their child was so much happier when mine was around that their lives were actually easier when my son was around. I must mention that while psycho junior was monopolizing my son's time as much as his mother was mine, my son did have other friends and we made sure those friends weren't forgotten. These boys had been with him for a few years before psycho junior and are his best buddies to this day. We took one of them on a camping trip for a few days and it quickly became apparent that PW thought we should have taken her son. Well, I thought, there will be plenty of trips, all the boys can have turns being taken with us, she'll see we haven't forgotten him and she has to realize that these other friends are just as deserving. I thought wrong.

Christmas came and there was the usual issue of needing to arrange a gift for my son to give psycho junior because PJ would be giving him a gift. I want to point out that the boys were around 10 or 11 years old, which in my experience isn't a time that boys are usually thinking about giving gifts to their friends so I have always been suspicious that there was a significant amount of parental involvement here. Christmas was a few days away and PJ was too excited to wait so he gave my son his gift. It was a mug with a sea otter on it and it was filled with candy. Yes, my son has always loved sea otters and of course he loves candy, but he doesn't even drink hot chocolate so a mug was not the most amazing gift to give an 11 year old. I'm not looking the ol gift horse in the mouth here, I'm trying to set up the ridiculousness of PW objecting so intensely to our gift that it ended the friendship.

It was a boxing day tradition (still is actually) to attend a Christmas Pantomime performed each year by a local amateur theatre company. My mother buys the tickets in early December and often has to decide whether or not to buy a ticket for a relative from out of town who may or not be visiting us that year. I suggested she go ahead and get the ticket and if that relative couldn't make it I would buy the ticket from her and we would give it to psycho junior for Christmas. If not, I'd have to figure out something else. There wasn't much this kid didn't already have. I thought it was a good gift because it was including him in a family experience. I really wasn't expecting this relative(my husband's sister) to come so I was feeling pretty certain about the ticket and sure enough I was right.

Because an 11 year old boy doesn't always understand the delicacies of social intercourse, he quite cheerfully explained that since auntie couldn't come we were giving the ticket to psycho junior. That made it sound much more like a second hand gift and offense was greatly taken. Ticket was returned and the door closed in my face.

I guess I am a simple person. I tend to assume that people are easy going, willing to give others the benefit of the doubt, look on the bright side of things and be hones about their feelings, talk about what's bothering them, forgive, forget, generally build a bridge and get over it. Of course I should have know better in the case of PW and hindsight being what it is I can shake my head about it now, but before I even got to a state of shock over her reaction I didn't even notice the reaction. Okay, I did begin to find her behaviour odd. For the month of January she stopped initiating contact with me and when I called her up she brushed me off but it was actually politely done. I knew she was busy with some new projects so I let it go. Eventually it got through my thick head and a few experiences with icy shoulders and did I hear that correctly sort of brief exchanges of unfriendly words lead me decide to check in and find out what was wrong.

I went over and knocked on the door. "Hi. Can I come in? I think we need to talk. Something seems to be wrong."

Psycho woman: "Yes, you're right but now isn't a good time. We'll talk later." Door closed.

A few hours go by and I can't stand it so I phone. "I really can't do it this way. I've got to talk to you."

Psycho Woman: "Well I think that our friendship is over. We can say hi as we pass on the street but that is what it has got to be now."

Me: "What?!!! What do you mean? What happened? I don't understand? Surely we can work this out."

PW: "No"

Me: "I don't get it."

PW: "PJ was really hurt by your thoughtless Christmas gift. You have a lot of problems you have to work out and I just can't deal with it any more. Your husband is anti-social and we are always hosting the get together. You drink all of our wine. That night when I had the Saint Nicholas Day party and your husband didn't come. You said he had the flu but I don't believe him because I saw him outside putting up Christmas lights."

Me (thinking) But he did have the flu. He was getting sicker by the minute as he put up those lights but he put them up because you always said how you liked it when they were up in time for your party. Then he crawled into bed and crashed.
"But he was sick; he was looking forward to the party. He's more into Christmas than I am and he loves singing carols, just like you do."

PW: "You have a lot of problems. You need to look inside yourself and figure it out.

Me(thinking) AArrgh...but the whole issue of you guys having more money is just as much your problem. We can't afford all of the wine you drink but you keep coming over to our place, bottles in tow.

PW: "Junior was so hurt by that thoughtless Christmas gift. I had to spend ages comforting him. He didn't understand how you could be so mean."

Me (thinking) He's 10 years old. I doubt that.
"I think you misunderstood and my son also misunderstood about how we got the ticket. Why would you just go with an 11 year old's explanation?"

PW: "Don't send your son over to play anymore. And I won't be sending Junior over to your house. I don't trust you. You aren't a good influence. You aren't safe."

Me (thinking) What the fuck?

I had some odd encounters with her after that during which I attempted to return something of theirs lest she accuse me of having stolen it. I approached as she returned home from grocery shopping and she stood in the garage rather dramatically closing the door like a stage curtain going down on the final scene. I guess I was poking the tiger with a stick but I just couldn't believe it was all happening. I kept thinking that any day I would wake up and find it was all a bad dream. There were a few more angry exchanges as we returned a few borrowed items to each other. She returned a book to me after telling me on the phone that she would put it in my mail box and I should not DARE to open the door and speak to her.

As with the friendship gone awry which I wrote about previously, there were mutual friends and acquaintances involved who insisted they were remaining neutral but in my opinion were shockingly failing to realize what this crazy bitch was doing. She bad mouthed me quite frequently to one woman whom I am fairly certain thought poor fragile PW had been misused by callous if not calculatedly so, me. I found out two years later that she eventually put this woman through a similar and devastating experience as she did me, accusing, criticizing and rejecting her.

I don't want to suggest that I am completely innocent and blameless. I'm human, I'm sure I made mistakes and misjudgments in my interactions with Psycho Woman. I know I did. True friendship has room for that because it is understood that nobody intends to cause any pain. What I have to offer my friends is loyalty, a desire to be honest, a depth of caring that allows them to be human. I might not be great at getting gifts but I do try. I will admit, dear bloggy friends, that I cried over that friendship failure. Cried over the hurtful things she said. Then I became angry. Finally I found it funny. She would stand in her front yard watering her plants, while I was not more than 10 feet away in my own yard and she would completely ignore me. Wow, I thought. She's giving me too much power. I'm so evil she must muster up all of her strength to pretend I am not there.

I reflected on her treatment of the miniature dachsunds she had purchased in the last few months of our friendship. She alternately spoiled them by feeding them cheese and hit them angrily, yelling ridiculously verbose instructions when they misbehaved. It seemed to say quite a bit about her. I stopped mourning the friendship.

Mid Century Modern is Fraught with Nasty Associations

2010-01-13T18:21:00.000-08:00

Find Out What Vanna White and Danish Modern Furniture Have in Common

I'm so tired and my brain is so slow. Unfortunately my typing fingers are fast so who knows what they might say on this post.

This furniture is from the website scandinavianmodern.com I am as capable of not liking something that I agree is beautiful as I am of loving something that is not beautiful.

I'm wondering if I'm the only one in this design obsessed blogosphere who isn't into mid century modern? To me it just looks like my great aunt's furniture. Guess I had a hip aunt. My mother in-law was mid century modern until in the late nineties she decided to redecorate and she managed to get herself into the eighties. She still has her much prized danish teak dining suite. Teak furniture abounds in my family as the elderlies have died off and left us with their "estates". I have to confess I'm not interested in it. Neither am I following the whole Mad Men craze. It reminds me too much of my paternal grandparents.

Altough their furniture style was more like tasteless reproduction colonial, and the era they loved was prior to the Mad Men era, it is that whole 1930s-1950s Hollywood glamour that puts me off. I had the most hideous paternal grandparents. My grandmother idolized Joan Crawford and her ilk, and named my father after Gary Cooper.

There was a selfishness to my grandmother and a weakness to my grandfather that characterized much of what they did and who they were. My grandmother was the eldest of four sisters who were all influenced by her and admired her style. She was the beauty who threw parties and wore pretty dresses. With her dark hair and eyes, petite size and good taste in clothing she revelled in being the centre of attention. Her favourite story, one I remember she told repeatedly when I was a child, was about her courtship by my grandfather. How he had seen her walk past his family's shop and said, "That's the girl I'm going to marry." How when he took her home to his family his father raved about her beauty and the red dress that she wore. I have seen photos and heard her stories; she was certainly good looking. My grandfather had greased back hair. I don't know what product he used or if it changed throughout his life, but when I was a little girl he told me it was bug juice. When I was a child I loved my grandfather, but not ever did I love my grandmother. I eventually began to wonder why but with the clear sight that children have, I knew all along was that she did not love me. She did not love any of us; she loved herself.

Later in life my mother shared with me the stories about their abuse of my father in his childhood, the hatred my grandmother had for my mother and their refusal to attend my parent's wedding. My mother was not glamorous. She was and still is better than that; she has a classic elegance, she is what we used to call a lady. She is warm and kind, not at all arrogant or uppity, but she comes from an upper middle class British background that pays more attention to gentility and manners than money. Her grandfather had been very wealthy and her mother had grown up with servants, but my mother's parents had lived a hard life, at one point attempting to make a go of farming. My maternal grandmother married for love, not money and left her wealthy lifestyle behind for the rest of her days. She was an amazing woman and I could easily get carried away writing about her. So, my mother found herself with a mother-in-law who referred to her as a broad assed bitch from the farm.

This response to his wife led my father to become temporarily estranged from his parents. How could a person respond otherwise to a rejection of his wife, no acknowledgement of twins who died shortly after childbirth and a few years later the successful birth of a daughter, me. We live in a culture that says to us, "this is your mother. Forgive and move on." Worse than that, my father's relatives encouraged my parents to apologize and make it up with Dad's parents. I can't imagine what they apologized for. "I'm sorry you're such a bitch but we still want to have a relationship with you?" My grandfather, the man I have described as weak, originally had been supportive and congratulatory towards my parents' engagement. That was until he found out what opinion his wife wanted him to have.

I won't list the unkind words, selfish expectations or criticisms and put downs that escalated over the decades as my grandmother tried to undermine my parents' relationship or malign them both. I have almost forgotten to mention that she rejected her own parents and sisters too. She continuously told of being a Cinderella, mistreated and made to do all of the work, a perspective that her three other sisters just never understood. She threatened my parents with another rift if they associated with her family. They ignored the threat and my father always visited his grandparents and aunts when possible. Over the years my grandmother's behaviour got increasingly demanding and selfish and my grandfather continued to support her. She had tantrums and was moody. Whenever we visited there would be a point when she would go to her room and we would be told that we had upset her somehow.

Many people have such relatives and can often only heal from the damage of parents like this when they give themselves permission to move on. There is no reason to believe that you have to make up to someone because she is your mother. My grandmother wanted a devoted son, almost a momma's boy, who was dashing and debonair, married to a glamorous woman (she admired Vanna White) who was empty headed enough to worship her. The irony is that both my parents are kind loving people who would have been quite devoted to her if she had actually been a nice person. Even then, I am amazed at what they did do for her in her later years. It was never appreciated, always criticized and nothing was ever given back. Most significantly, no love, support, appreciation or kindness was or had ever been given. This was not about an elderly person getting a little difficult with encroaching senility.

I could list pages of cruel things that were said and done, both during my father's childhood and throughout my own time with these grandparents in my life. Eventually, not long after the death of my grandfather, my grandmother decided to be rid of us once and for all. She dealt with that legally, but the rather pathetic part was the way she would walk right past me on the sidewalk and turn her head the other way. What was the reason, the expectation, the demand we could not fulfil? She told my father that he was a great disappointment to her, not manly enough to get his women in line. The women referred to were my mother and my twentysomething self. Her actual words were something to the effect of us not paying her enough attention. She should be the grande dame of the family. She continued her pretense of not knowing us even after my son was born. I might walk through the local grocery store with my son in the seat of the cart, turn the corner to the next aisle and find her there. She would immediately turn around and walk away.

The mental picture I have of this grandmother is of a well dressed woman holding a long slender More cigarette and a glass of rye and seven up. When her glass was empty she would rattle the ice cubes as a signal for my Dad to get up and refill her glass. She talked only of experiences and people where she had been flattered and fawned over in some way. Although she had long abandoned her mother and sisters, she was happy to receive attention from her two brothers in law. After my grandfather died, his younger brothers felt a duty to come and visit the widow. They would travel from Vancouver to visit and take her shopping. I happened upon my great uncle, frail and looking ready to collapse, escorting the grand dame around the shops on his arm. She looked as healthy and hearty as she always did right up until a couple of years before her death, the point when she finally gave up heels and switched to sensible shoes.

Even without these associations, mid century modern decor and retro glamour don't appeal to me, although I appreciate the beauty of the teak wood furniture and the craftsmanship, I didn't find it appealing in it's original go around. Glamour hasn't been my style since the days when I aspired to be a princess and insisted that my bedroom be decorated in fuschia and purple. But putting good taste aside and any concerns for what complements my decor, I will one day own and love the pale yellow painted stool which belonged to my beloved maternal grandmother. The wicker chair from her bedroom in which I sat to eat breakfast outside on sunny mornings is a memory that brings an actual feeling of warmth to my heart and although the original one has long since been destroyed, I know I will purchase the first one I see that resembles it. And I will delight in how there is no glamour in wicker.

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

The pictures of Gary Cooper and Joan Crawford are from a website called
silentladies.com

The larger picture of Miss Crawford shows a resemblance between my grandmother and her screen idol. I have seen a photo of my grandmother looking quite a bit like that and striking the same pose.

I have no reason to dislike Vanna and do not wish to malign her. I just don't think first of Vanna when pondering the qualities of an ideal woman. Nor do I hold her 1980's self to be the peak of style.

My Second Choice

2010-01-10T18:38:00.000-08:00

I am most definitely living the life that is my first choice, and fantasy is called such because it lives in the imagination, where the elements can be controlled and the outcomes are always the desired ones. So here it is, my fantasy life.

I would live in a city, diverse and multi-cultural like Montreal or New York. It would have old world charm like Prague. Or, I think I could be quite happy in San Francisco; close proximity to the ocean is required. Sunshine and ocean breezes would pour in the large floor to ceiling windows of my rustic loft or third floor victorian apartment. I waffle between rustic beams and exposed brick or creamy painted wood trim in my victorian, but either one would be filled with rich colours in textiles and art crafted by myself and my artistic friends. Expressionist paintings, sculpture and pottery, tall tropical plants and a cat or two, furniture created from re-claimed wood, antique and second hand pieces that all have a story behind them would fill my space. Bookshelves would be filled with books and there would probably be stacks of books on the floor. There would always be soy candles burning in the evening. My writing table, where I write clever, socially significant novels, and painting easel where I paint colourful expressionist landscapes and portraits, are in the north facing part of the room, separated from the main living spaces by a wall created from french doors and moulding. The living area would have a wood burning fire place and french doors leading to a balcony large enough for three people to sit and many potted plants.

The neighbourhood, although close to the ocean, would also be in walking distance of thrift shops, coffee shops, book stores, antique shops and a market where organic local food is sold. Friends come over for delicious vegan meals and great conversation. They bring organic vegan wine and soy candles as gifts. We would sit on cushions and eat at a low table made of reclaimed wood. My man would not live with me; he will have his own place. I'll dress to please myself and won't have to follow any office conventions. Layers of loose and flowy fabrics will look great on me because I will be about fifty pounds thinner in my fantasy life. Sometimes my man and I will travel. We will also attend the theatre for both amateur and professional performances and independent film festivals. Somewhere in there will be time for bicycling around the city.

Or, maybe in my next life I will come back as a house cat. Mine has a very good life.

Ken Robinson says schools kill creativity | Video on TED.com

2010-01-09T20:06:00.000-08:00

Ken Robinson says schools kill creativity | Video on TED.com

Girl Bullies and Their Lasting Impact

2010-01-09T15:50:00.001-08:00

I'm not the first nor the only female to have been the victim of a girl-bully when I was in school. Recently, the topic has become more open, has been written about and probably been the subject of countless talk shows that I don't watch. I'm sure that it is a problem as old as humanity, what is new is that it is now okay to talk about it and to openly discuss the ramifications. What amazes me is that for as long as there have been human beings there have been bullies, and they come in male and female as well as both child and adult forms, yet we have not managed to eliminate bullying at all. We can't agree on either a cause or a solution.

While the horrors of males bullying other males are legends of private schools and public schools alike, the largely physical bullying technique is practically considered a right of passage. The ultimate male characteristic is deemed to be brute strength, therefore it is almost a favour that the bully grants, forcing little boys to become men. This is a terrible fallacy only beginning to unravel as we realize that males have feelings too.

Female bullying is of a completely different sort most of the time, and wounds are deep. Female power is rarely physical, although it can be. What most female bullies do is isolate their victims socially, prey on their sense of self worth and shame them as much as possible. amazingly this works. Queen Bees and Wannabees, By Rosalind Wiseman, takes on this topic and explains the psychological theories behind the behaviour of Queen Bees and their followers. The main motivation of the followers is to not be victims themselves. What is startling is how easy it would seemingly be for everyone to simply reject the queen. As in a beehive, it seems the queen is destined to exist and it is only a matter of how benevolent, or not, she deigns to be. The victim is usually a member of the queen's hive, not an outsider, but each member maintains a rank and therefore someone is always at the bottom.

As I write this I'm thinking about my own experiences, more on that later, but the movie Grease has just popped into my head. Sandy makes friends with Frenchy on the first day of school and is introduced to the Pink Ladies. Rizzo, the Queen Bee is their leader, Jan holds her place as the funny one, and Marty and Frenchy are the two followers. Jan, the funny one is a threat to nobody so she is safe. Marty has a certain detachment which serves her well and Frenchy is kind, sweet and ditzy but seems to have no mind of her own. She has recruited Sandy unconsciously to add a member with lower status than her own. Every member of the group must work to keep her place and nobody wants to be on the bottom. Sandy proves to be a fun target, although since Rizzo has enough problems of her own with being pregnant, she isn't nearly as cruel to Sandy or anyone else as are many of the Queen Bees I have heard or read about or encountered myself.

The nastiest of the QB's are intent upon making you cry alone in your pillow at night. They inflict pain greater than any sucker punch. Females are raised to be kind and nurturing, to believe in both girl power and sisterhood. The Queen Bee messes with those beliefs. Quite often she has you believing your are one of if not the closest of her friends. This lasts for awhile ( a year or two even) and is pleasant. Having been raised to be kind, forgiving and being instinctively loyal, her victim is devastated when that friendship is not only suddenly and inexplicably take away, but finds that cruel rumours are being spread and nobody she though was a friend is standing up for her. All terrified that they could be next, the other girls sit on the fence singing their legs with false bravado and glance nervously over at QB. Oh it's something yo two have to work out between you. They say repeatedly. It isn't really our business.

The current anti-bullying strategies being taught in elementary schools encourages children to stand up to bullies and defuse the situation by showing support for the victim and no fear of the bully. The strategy is to invite the victim to come away and be with you, leaving the bully rejected and alone. It probably works in the obvious situations, but children aren't equipped with the psychoanalytical skills to detect a female bully disguised as a Queen Bee. As a teacher, I see it begin in grade three, when girls discover the power of saying, "You're not my friend anymore."

My first experience came in grade nine, an emotionally precarious time as it is. The daughter of a good friend experienced almost identical abuse in grade six. Living in a culture that likes to sexualize little girls and encourages the so called "tweens" to act like teens, (What happened to just being kids-now they are tweens?) I'm not really surprised at this. My tormentor had been my best friend for two years, since her first day as a new student in my grade seven class. She chose me, being the more outgoing of the two of us. I don't ever want to imply that I was a naive innocent, but in general I did not participate in being unkind to students of lower status than myself. My worst crime was to have ignored them, in part for fear of my own status sinking lower and in all honesty simply not being attracted to them as potential kindred spirits. The were likely to come from poor and possibly dysfunctional homes, something with which I did not relate. As usual, I am inclined to digress.

My new friend had many qualities I admired or enjoyed but it is curious to me that there was much about her I didn't like yet I wouldn't admit it to myself. For one thing, it was a small town and a small elementary school so the pool of selection was shallow. For another, I was a believer in making the best of whatever friendship you had and in believing the best of people. In time it became clear to me that I longed for a friendship with her older sister, to whom she was often quite cruel. A two year age difference at that time was somewhat of an obstacle to friendship, specially since I was in Junior High and she was in Senior High. I clung to my friendship with Heather (yes, that is her real name) and the two of us began to make other friends in the slightly larger pool of Junior HIgh. We were somewhat inseparable and many people knew us as Heather and Shawna but did not even know which of us was which. I'm sure that was a little irritating to both of us.

In grade nine things changed. By October she was beginning to snub me. She was becoming popular and could easily draw a crowd. I could be mid sentence in a conversation with people from our group and if she walked in the room all focus just turned to her. It's funny to look back and realize that I had suppressed feelings of dislike for her and I'm sure some jealous of the attention she got because I didn't think she deserved it. I was slowly forming the opinion that she was not a very nice person. I had nowhere else to go unless I had the courage to strike out on my own. This was my group of friends and if they were smitten with her I would just have to ride along. Soon she was barely speaking to me and someone else informed that me that she was now best friends with Linda. It may seem so trite now, but at that age it was my whole world.

By Christmas she was telling people that I was a slut. Based on what, I don't know. While nobody actually believed it, they also did not take her to task for saying it and continued to admire her. The rumours weren't being spread about them, after all. At one point I confronted her, not as a strong and confident person, but as a weak and groveling one.

"I don't understand", I said. "You know I wouldn't deliberately do anything to hurt you so there must be some kind of misunderstanding. Can't we talk about it?" She looked at me coldly, I still remember the look.

"You disgust me." She said. "There is nothing to talk about."

After that I tried to go my own way, eventually found another friend to spend time with and I thought I was over it, although certainly still bitter. My parents later told (years later) that I was so affected by this that they were planning to send me to a different High School the following year instead of the one my Junior High naturally fed into. It turned out to be unnecessary since Heather moved away. Not so far away, however, that she couldn't maintain her friendships with my peers somewhat. She occasionally returned to town for a visit.

By the time I was in grade twelve, Heather was keeping up a friendship with a very nice, very shy girl named Melanie. Melanie herself told me that she didn't like what Heather had done to me and was pushing her to apologize. Somewhere in the Spring, while Heather was visiting and had come to school with Melanie, she approached me and said, "I want to apoligize for everything I did to you."

I replied, "That's nice but I don't accept your apology." I even managed to say it nonchalantly and while walking away from her. I didn't want her apology; by then it meant nothing to me and I didn't believe in its sincerity. I might have believed in my nonchalance at the time, but I was not free of her because my memory would not let go. For years I replayed the whole thing in my mind. I had fantasies of getting the opportunity to tell her family how evil she really was. I continued to be hurt because of the easy way mutual friends dismissed it all as kids being stupid. Maybe you were stupid, I thought. Maybe you can be called stupid for not seeing her for what she really was and for practically abetting if not actually aiding it. I harboured a hatred for her I'm not sure that I'm completely rid of, although I have gotten past the fantasies of telling her family. I tend to believe that people don't change much, which leaves me believing her to be a cruel person by nature. It disturbs me that she is, to the best of my knowledge, a pediatric nurse.

In my Buddhist practice she is a significant source of challenge. How to forgive her, feel compassion for whatever pain she suffers(ed) in life that drives her cruelty. I haven't forgiven her yet, nearly thirty years later. I have moved on in the sense that I believe all experiences to methods of learning. I've moved on in that I don't think about it more that a couple of times a year. I am not able to forgive, only to pity. But perhaps I should ask you, dear reader, to pity me. I fell for this cruel type of person more than once in my life. Yes, only a few years ago I was entangled with the adult version. That is a much longer story, but actually has left no scars. It is even funny now, although it wasn't at the time. Perhaps that story is ready to be told too, but it is so convoluted it would take me some time to sort it out.

In the meantime, I want to remind you of the title I mentioned at the beginning of this post. Queen Bees and Wannabees. There are other books which also deal with this subject, but if you have a daughter and you want to arm her against this sort of experience, read this book and share it with her by the time she is eight. Please.

2010-01-08T00:20:00.000-08:00

I'm struggling a little with my energy level. I started a painting but haven't touched it in a week. I haven't written in a week, but I have been reading. Tom Robbins, one of my favourite authors, has been writing for a couple of decades at least, but I only discovered him a couple of years ago. Oh how I love his irreverence, his hyperbolic use of simile and metaphor all mixed and mashed and wonderful. His philosophy on life, his surrealistic stories. Currently I'm reading Skinny Legs and All, which is my favourite of his so far. If you are not easily offended, please read it. In my less mentally alert moments I flip through magazines. Decor magazines full of white and robins' egg blue are a great disappointment, I don't want icy looking interiors. Odd though that the book I have just mentioned is a robin's egg blue colour....yes that was the connection in my head that seemed so logical to me but was probably a little bumpy for any poor reader.

I am addicted to reading material and magazines are no exception. I am always swearing off them, or at least promising my husband that I will spend less money on them, but like all addicts, I lie. Not a deliberate lie, no it is worse than that. I am simply weak, unable to keep my promise, forgetting in the moment of desire and abandoning all caution. It isn't only decor magazines either. I read Shambala Sun, Fine Gardening, The Skeptic, Psychology Today, Psychologies (UK) Elle Canada, Vogue, Canadian House and Home, Yoga Journal and Veg News. I might be tempted to stray from my regulars by a tantalizing cover. I am never tempted by celebrity gossip magazines or the standard womens' magazines. My husband subscribes to Maclean's magazine, a newsmagazine with somewhat conservative leanings. I find that a bit strange since he is certainly a socialist. He says he needs to understand the perspective of the other side. I have just subscribed to Boho magazine, which I have never seen on any shelf where I live, but was tempted on line.

Magazine articles give me topics to think about. I'm starved for conversation that deeply explores a topic. Nobody I know wants to have those conversations with me. Oh, I guess that isn't completely true. I have a brother in-law who can sometimes be engaged in that way. Recently, around Christmas, my brother-in-law was visiting from the other side of the country. We did get into one topic on which I have not yet formed strong opinions, although I sometimes pretended to just to provoke him. Yes, I'm a little bit evil. I was given some cash at Christmas and declared my delight at the prospect of buying some books. I love to be able to walk into a book store and buy whatever I want-far more than clothes, jewelry or home decor items, I love to buy books. (Shoes might be next, but that is another post.)

I announced that I was going to go to Chapters (For you non-Canadians it is a giant bookstore located in most major cities and with a Starbucks on site. It also has an online store sort of like Amazon.com) Chapters has discounts, a rewards card, fantastic January sales and of course a large in-store selection that allows for hours of browsing. Online books can also be purchased

in second hand copies. If I know of a specific book that I want, I walk into my neighbourhood independent book store and look for it or ask them to order it. What I love about Chapters is the experience of browsing for hours. Of the enormous selection which allows me to accumulate an armload of books to purchase. My brother-in-law was horrified, dare I say sickened at my patronizing Chapters.

I am a hypocrite, he tells me, because I won't shop at Wal Mart but I am willing to take money, even food from the hands of starving artists who won't make as much money from their literary efforts when stores like chapters buy in bulk from publishers in order to get discounts they can pass on to their customers. I won't shop at Wal Mart because the company takes advantage of both sweat shop labour and takes drastic measures to prevent employees from unionizing. Apparently, I should be applying this same criticism to a large bookstore. Hmm...this got me thinking about fair market value and how underprivileged people who deserve a fair wage compared to artists who could get a real job to pay the bills.

Don't mistake me, I do value art. The problem I keep coming back to is that it is much more difficult to place a value on art. Does demand alone determine the value or is there something else, something intangible like talent that should be involved here? Who decides what is talent and what is not? I can't be the only person who has noticed that bad novels do get published. At the same time, many talented writers will never be published at all. Even Jane Austen had to self publish in order to get started. Should artists expect to earn a living from their work? Maybe if they didn't it would weed out the bad ones. Only the truly dedicated (okay also the independently wealthy) would pursue it in addition to their other jobs. Is this the same as fair trade arrangements for cacao bean or coffee bean farmers?

I have to clarify that the main attraction a store like Chapters hold for me is it's selection. Big store equals many titles and many available copies. I would be attracted to it even if there weren't January sales and a discount card. While staying in Richmond, the city where I usually visit Chapters, I also found an independent bookstore in a nearby mall. They were having a sale and many books were half the cover price. There was even a room at the back of the store with titles for two dollars. Many independent book stores give discounts to teachers, and I'm glad of that because I frequently buy books for my classroom using my own funds. At the checkout, I received a 15% discount on the already bargain books. I bought five books for my classroom and five for myself at prices much lower than I've ever found at Chapters. Of course I also went to Chapters and bought even more books. Oh happy day!

I still haven't figured out my political opinion on large bookstores like Chapters. I am also just as happy to spend hours and dollars in second hand bookstores. And what about libraries? Surely these too must threaten the livelihood of the literary artist. I am not feeling much guilt-actually no guilt if I'm honest, but I am puzzled by my brother-in-law's intense feelings on the subject

2009-12-31T14:44:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year, Friends!

I don't make New Year's resolutions; it's too discouraging when I don't keep them. Besides, if I need to make a change or accomplish something really important I should be able to do it any time of the year, not wait until January. I rarely do as I'm told, so following the crowd and making resolutions because of a date on the calender isn't something I can do. Having said that, there are many things I regularly wish I had the time and energy to do. I live with a frustrating and limiting although not at all life threatening disability. I have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. Over the years this has been variously misunderstood by many people, including the medical profession, but it is now recognized as real, not in any way psychosomatic, and of unknown origin and cure. Yeah.

While current research suggests that it is a gene mutation resulting from a virus that leaves the body believing it still has a virus after the illness has gone, the symptoms may vary slightly from person to person, but long term, unexplained fatigue is the common symptom. For me, when I have pushed myself too hard, I have a viral-like physical reaction that includes swollen lymph glands, a sore throat, headache, vague body aches and extreme exhaustion. On a daily basis I am physically tired and have a lower output level than most healthy people. The greatest challenge is that you wouldn't know this to look at me.

I have lived with this for at least ten years, which is slightly less than half the length of my marriage and two thirds of my son's life. I no longer go hiking or play squash. A day gardening can send me to bed for two days; a weekend away requires a day of recovery. I work part time and it takes so much of my energy that I have difficulty keeping up with housework, a social life and favourite activities. Mostly, I read, write and watch movies. Sometimes I draw and paint. Gardening has become more my husband's labour and my artistic direction. I like to go for walks and practice yoga. I like to cook, but stamina for that comes in fits and starts. You might wonder why I am explaining all of this.

I think that this syndrome is one of the greatest gifts I've had in this life. It makes me slow down, it forces me to prioritize and has helped me to care less about what others' think. I have had to learn to say, no. No, I'm sorry, I won't be able to participate in that. No, sorry, I can't help you with that this time. It has even helped me to do less explaining. I used to worry. I thought I should do everything. I thought I should be brilliant and fabulous and have it all and do it all. Those are the women we admire, or at least the ones held up for us to admire. Magazines offer us fantasies, fantasy people living fantasy lives and I have always been a magazine addict. Over the past decade I have learned to love myself and my life. It doesn't mean I am completely free of material wants or that I don't sometimes feel sorry for myself. I'm human, I sure do fall into those traps. I can climb out quickly though. I've learned that I make my own happiness and for that matter, my own misery.

I'm damn freakin' lucky to live where I live and have what I have, I'm amongst the wealthiest people in the world. I have shelter, safety, food and so much choice that when it comes to material things the excess of choice can be absolutely ridiculous. Yes, some of those material things contribute to my happiness. I want them and I have them. I have the opportunity to chose to be vegan, a political liberal, outspoken and often controversial in my opinions. I can chose what I want to read, what music I want to listen to and what movies I want to watch. Music and movies and books exist and are attainable in my world! I don't have to worry that because I'm female I must be covered up and repressed and punished for the sexual thoughts of the males I might cross paths with.

But happiness comes from within, not from the presence or absence of any of these things. If I am too attached to what I have, I might suffer great emotional pain if I were to lose it. If I become too attached to what I think I am and what I think I can do, I might lose it and suffer pain both physically and mentally. Illness and disability can certainly lead a person along that path. I have been through the anger and depression and sometimes still struggle with guilt. What I cannot do affects my family as well as myself. But what I can do also affects us and what I can do is so much more. the most significant thing that I can do is to be happy. To love, smile at and laugh with and be with people care about is the best part of my life. If that were taken away from me I would want to cry and moan and wail that I had lost everything, but I wouldn't have. I would have my memories, my experiences of what I gave and what I received through love.

Somehow on the journey of my life so far I figured this out. I can choose to be happy. What is there to worry about? All I have to deal with is right now. Yesterday is done with and tomorrow never comes. Right now, I have what I have and what I can't control is not worth crying over. I might not have learned that if I didn't have to deal with a debilitated body. I might still be striving to be perfect. Everything to everybody. I don't have to be perfect. I just have to be me and be happy about it. It's so simple.

2009-12-29T16:05:00.000-08:00

Yummy Polenta Lasagne: borrowed and altered

One of my very favourite websites is The Fat-Free Vegan. I am constantly bookmarking recipes from there although I am a compulsive recipe collector with not enough time to actually cook or bake all of my yummy looking finds. Somewhere in my genetic code is the tendency to try a new recipe whenever I am having company to dinner, and the recipe I am about to share is a success from just such a situation. I wanted something simple and elegant; I had to impress some new friends reported to be gourmands and also come up with something vegan that my husband would eat without too much grimacing. I went to my favourite website and her featured recipe that day was Polenta Lasagne with Kale and Portobello Mushrooms. I decided to make it and purchased the kale, kalamata olives and mushrooms required. I forgot to get the silken tofu needed and I chose to buy a tube of polenta instead of making my own, in order to save time.

I am making the recipe for the second time today, as it was absolutely delicious, and since I discovered that it tastes even better the next day, I'm making it for a family dinner tomorrow night, at which there will be no vegan food unless I provide some. This time I'm making my own polenta since I did find the little circles of polenta less than perfect for slicing and serving squares of this dish.

I also quite like the sauce I came up with in the absence of silken tofu, although it must be noted that it my sauce IS NOT FAT FREE. Please visit the website for the original recipe and other yummy things to make. Here is my version of it.

Ingredients:

polenta

1 lb mushrooms-crimini are just baby portobellos and since you will be chopping them it is a cheaper way to go

1 onion, chopped

1 bunch kale, rinsed, de-stemmed and chopped

1 jar pitted kalamat olives

1 jar marinara sauce or 2 cups homemade marinara sauce

1 head garlic

1/2 cup nutritional yeast

1 cup soy milk

2 cups raw cashews

Bragg's liquid or Tamari to taste

onion powder (optional)

faux parmesan or homemade crumb topping

Spread cooked polenta on the bottom of a 9x13 oiled pan-after it sets it can be tipped out and sliced in half to use as a top and bottom layer in a smaller pan or make two sets of this polenta layer for a 9x13 casserole. I only have one 9x13 dish but I'm patiently making two batches of polenta.

Have prepared polenta on hand and make the filling.

Filling:

Saute chopped onion in a large saucepan or crockpot, until onion is translucent and soft. Add chopped mushrooms and cook a few minutes longer. Stir in the chopped kale and cover with a tight fitting lid. Over minimum heat, let the kale steam until softened. Set aside the pot of vegetables and make the cashew cream sauce

Sauce:

Using the food processor in which I minced the onion, I find I have enough onion bits and juice left behind to eliminate the need for the onion powder. Add the cashews, garlic according to your preference (probably 3 or 4 cloves), nutritional yeast, Tamari and soy milk. Process until very smooth. Stir this cream sauce into the onion/kale mix.

Crumb Topping:

enough bread to make about 1 cup crumbs

1 cup nutritional yeast

1/2 cup sesame seeds

1 tbsp salt

Process these ingredients together until mixed and crumbly. Add a little melted Earth Balance or olive oil to make the crumbs stick together.

Put one layer of polenta on the bottom of a lightly oiled 9x13 pan. Spread about 1 cup of marinara sauce over the polenta and then top with the cream sauce and vegetable mixture. Cover with a generous layer of kalamata olives and top with the second layer of polenta. I let my polenta cool and then turned it out onto a cutting board in one solid rectangle. To put it on the top of the casserole I cut it into squares that I could lift with a metal spatula and place on top of the olive/vegetable layer. Spread more marinara sauce on the top layer of polenta and then cover with faux parmesan or crumb topping.

Bake in 375 degree oven for about thirty minutes. In my opinion this is nicest reheated the second day.

(photo source-me-which is why it is such a bad picture. There was no time for staging or fancy lighting)

2009-12-28T11:51:00.000-08:00

Chocolate: What is the True Cost?

In North America and Europe chocolate is consumed in enormous quantities by decent people who are unaware of the child abuse to which they may be contributing. Most cocoa farms are small, family run operations and the profits are limited although demand is high. In order to keep up with demand farmers need labourers in addition to their family members and children seeking work to support a better life are vulnerable to slave trafficking and unpaid, abusive working conditions on farms desperate to keep up with the demand for cocoa in the western world. The Ivory Coast, the region with the most cocoa farms, is also the region most unregulated and most likely to have children working on these farms in abusive conditions. Children sold to farmers by slave traffickers are not free to leave and are punished if caught trying to escape.

Although trafficking in children is illegal, it continues in West Africa to feed the demand for labour on the cocoa farms. Cocoa production is labour intensive but results in low earnings for the families who are usually depending on it as their sole income source. Even with most or all family members working on the farm, additional labourers are needed and many children can be found working on these farms. Often these children are denied the opportunity to attend school, with up to one third of them never having attended school at all. With the low earnings for cocoa farmers, these children are not being paid and are often living in squalid conditions. They are poorly fed, often subsisting on a little corn paste. They may be beaten for poor performance or attempts to escape. They work using no protective equipment to prevent injury or illness from machetes pesticides and insecticides. Michel Larouche, the West African regional director of Save The Children Canada, says,

"In Canada, Europe and America, what we have on our shelves is cheap, such as coffee, chocolate bars...if we put a stop to child trafficking the price of certain things---cotton shirts, coffee, candy bars---will rise. The reality is if your products are this cheap, it's because of this situation."

An Iowa senator, Thomas Harkin, led an investigation into slave labour practices in West Africa. He introduced legislation for a "slave free" label on chocolate but the bill was not enacted due to pressure from the large chocolate companies who claimed it unfairly penalized them for something they could not control. They argued that if they stopped purchasing cocoa from these impoverished African farmers even more people would suffer. Nestle, the largest chocolate products company in the world, signed an agreement along with the ILO (International Labour Organization) to certify chocolate as not having been acquired through slave labour. This certification practice was to be put in place by July of 2005 but it never happened. Bernard Callebaut, large producer of chocolate, claims it is unaware of any slave labour involved in the cocoa it purchases from West Africa, and that none would be tolerated. The company also admits that they could never guarantee the absence of slave labour since the cocoa/chocolate market is so full of middlemen.

Although it is a complicated problem, solutions are not unavailable. The Fair Trade Organization has succeeded in making slave free chocolate available to consumers who care. Certified Fair Trade and Certified Organic labels are a reliable guide to ethical chocolate. The farms that supply cocoa for these products are involved in fair labour practices and small farm cooperatives that help to improve their communities' schools, hospitals and infrastructure. The purchaser of the cocoa pays an above market price, understanding that current market prices are low and support only poverty level incomes for the farming families. The increased payment makes the lives of families and their communities better. Of course, the higher purchase price is passed on to the consumer, to you and me, but I have no trouble considering it a donation of support for these African farmers.

When I consider the taste difference between the cheap chocolate candy so readily available in every supermarket and bargain priced retail outlet (yes Wal Mart I'm talking about YOU), and a good piece of Fair Trade chocolate like those sold by Cocoa Camino or Green and Black, and realize that those Hershey hugs and kisses with their insipid chocolate flavour are supporting the continuation of child slave labour, I have no difficulty paying more for chocolate that is really worth it. I wish I had known all of this sooner in my career as a mother, and insisted on only ethical chocolate for Christmas, Valentine's, Easter and Hallowee'n. Even some of the purveyors of quality chocolate are not untainted by the slavery practices now known to abound in West Africa. We are all free to make choices, live in comfort and consume too much chocolate, please let us do it with good conscience.

Recommended Read: http://www.du.edu/korbel/hrhw/digest/slavery/africa.pdf

Sources:

http://vision.ucsd.edu/~kbranson/stopchcolateslavery/mainhtml

http://www.organicconsumers.org/fair_trade/slavechocolate

http://www.transfairusa.org/pdfs/fastfacts_cocoa.pdf

http://www.veganwolf.com/news/chocolate_abusehtm

http://www.globalexchange.org/campaigns/fairtrade/cocoa/knigtRidder

2009-12-27T11:19:00.000-08:00

Cartoon Furniture
In my random web wanderings I came across this photo. I love the architecture of this room. I am not a fan of stripes but I can accept this wall paper and I love it's echo in the plant, but I can't sort out my feelings for this furniture. I think it is the pop of colour that I like. I wonder if the furniture salesman was Roger Rabbit. Does this cartoon set of table and chairs work in this room?

If I Had $1,000,000 - Barenaked Ladies [BEST ONE]

2009-12-21T16:05:00.001-08:00

Dreaming at the websites of Anthropologie, Urban Outfitters and Spring Shoes

2009-12-20T20:54:00.000-08:00

I made soup tonight and even my husband liked it.

I've recorded what I did so that I can repeat it it, which is often difficult with a throw together soup. The entree was apparently one he could take or leave ( I liked it) but desert was also a hit.

Three Sisters Soup

2 cups veg broth

1 cup water or more to reach desired consistency

3 cloves garlic

1/2 onion, chopped

1 small turnip, peeled and sliced

3 carrots, peeled and chopped

1 cup cooked squash

2 tbsp Bragg's Soy liquid

1/3 cup nutritional yeast

In a large pot, simmer these ingredients until the vegetables are tender. Puree. Remove a little of the broth to a small bowl and stir in a little potato flour ( approx 1/4 cup)

Add cumin, salt, chipotle chili powder to taste.

Add

2 cups frozen corn

1 cup cut green beans

1-2 cups cooked black beans

Simmer until vegetables are tender and flavours blended.

This makes a fairly big batch, probably about ten or twelve servings

Fancy Chocolate Pudding

2 blocks Mori Nu extra firm silken tofu

2 tbsp maple syrup

1 1/2-2 cups chocolate chips, melted ( tonight I used chocolate chips and an espresso/dark chocolate bar)

Blend the tofu and syrup in a food processor until creamy. Add the melted chocolate and blend well, stirring and scraping the sides a few times. while it can be eaten right away, it is nicest refrigerated a couple of hours, in which time the flavours really blend well and the tofu is completely indistinguishable. My non vegan husband attested to this and my tofu phobic son ate a bowlful without even knowing about the tofu.

2009-12-18T21:45:00.000-08:00

Today was the last day of school before the winter break. I have to admit that I am exhausted. In the spirit of having a good nap, a spirit I will be in for the next couple of days, here are some adorable pets from Flickr. Have a great weekend everybody.

2009-12-15T22:17:00.000-08:00

Come on over for a cup of coffee. Here are some things you'll see at my house.

The plants I try to resuscitate.

Driftwood from the beach nearby. Vogue magazine because I like to know the rules that I break.

My art and the large collection of heart shaped rocks that my husband finds for me.

Yes, even more struggling plants and my 25 year old engagement photo. Beach treasures from near and far and a beautiful tea set that I love to look at but never use because it drips.

If you would prefer tea instead of coffee, I have other teapots in your choice of colour.

2009-12-14T20:34:00.000-08:00

A Little Silliness

I am a word nerd. I come from word nerd parents and we all love nothing more than to dive into dictionaries, thesauruses and other etymological resources. I once spent an afternoon consulting various dictionaries in a search to distinguish between the colours lavender, lilac and mauve. I also love nonsense words, probably due to growing up with Dr Seuss (Please don't pronounce it Zeus, the way I keep hearing people do these days.) some of the blogs I visit require a word verification response in order to post a comment. I often fall for these nonsense words; some of them are absolutely lovely. I am particularly drawn to words that contain an s and a y.

Here are some words I enjoyed today.

brinju

blerse

tasogesi

2009-12-14T20:10:00.000-08:00

Not too Girly, Please.

This is for Sarah at La Maison Boheme. I think this crib is gorgeous, although personally I would have the rest of the furniture in the room match the wood tone not the white. If I'm going to fall for white it is when it is distressed and combined with antique pine.

I found the images below at the website for Canadian House and Home magazine. It's a pretty good magazine but a bit too inclined to favour the glamour look. I'm still trying to find a decor magazine that features artsy, bohemian and more often than not colourful interiors.

Here's some stuff I really dislike. Hope you enjoy it. Okay, I actually like the beads on that nasty little flocked tree.

I'm really not enamored of some of the current design trends and I'm waiting for them to go away. I know, I know, I'm not a very girly girl I guess. I don't really like glamour and glitz in home decor. Too much white sends me screaming-I get a serious case of snow blindness. Lucite? Chrome? Pale blue, white and silver colour schemes? It's all ice and snow snow to me! So I thought I would give away some of this hideous stuff. Hope you enjoyed it.

2009-12-13T19:56:00.000-08:00

I REALLY hate photos of myself but I thought it was time to reveal myself, especially since I am about to confess that I am the shit disturber of my family. Yes I am the rebel, the extreme one. Can you believe it when you look at my picture?

By now you know that I am a vegan. Yes, very extreme and freakish of me. I cause no end of trouble at family dinners. It may also have come to your attention that I am not a theist. I believe that there is no god. That isn't so shocking to my family members since everyone in my immediate family is also an atheist, with the exception of one sister-in-law. Although I love her it is difficult for me not to challenge her beliefs at times. Especially when she expresses that her god does not condone homosexuality. She thinks it is a sin. She thinks it is something people choose. However, that is not the subject of my extreme and radical focus today. I am thinking about Christmas.

I find it kind of hypocritical that Christmas is celebrated in my family. Not that there is any sort of Christianity evident in our activities. I think it is all part of a demonstration of respect for my long dead grandparents who were very private but very devout believers. My parents are deeply atheist but definitely not boat rockers. My mother always said her defection from Christianity really hurt her mother and she felt badly about it. So Christmas was acknowledged, although in a very secular way, and I never though anything of it. My family continues to reason that Christmas is just part of our cultural tradition and so we celebrate our love for family and friends and we just happen to decorate a tree and eat a turkey dinner and look forward to a visit from Santa Claus.

I would like to radically alter our festivities but I don't have any supporters for my plan. Of course I no longer cook a turkey myself, but one is always served, even at my house since my husband will cook it. Insisting on the dinner being at my house and then not providing a turkey would be going to far. By having dinner at my house I have the opportunity to present my family with a variety of delicious vegan dishes to try. I would like to re-name the celebration, although I haven't quite decided on a name. It should have something to do with Loving Kindness. I could continue with the tree but would like to focus on nature inspired decorations. I have to admit to a love of old style European Santa Claus or St Nicholas and I have a lovely carved wooden one. To me this figure represents the idea of giving and I can certainly incorporate that into a Loving Kindness celebration.

Christmas day is an amalgam of Christian and pagan traditions and is celebrated on December 25 not because there is any evidence that a Christ was born on that actual date, but because the pagans were already celebrating winter solstice then and could be convinced to add a little Christian worship to their roster of activities. I would like to make the Loving Kindness celebration a more frequent event, so I think both a winter solstice and summer solstice celebration would be perfect.

Now I need some jargon for my celebration. Suggestions are welcome. I know it doesn't hurt me to say, "Merry Christmas" to people, it's just that it is limited in meaning for me. I want to say to people, "May your heart be filled with love." "Peace be with you" "My you spread joy and loving kindness everywhere you go." "Go in peace brothers and sisters" Those are the things I want to say. That is what I mean when I parrot the expected phrase, Merry Christmas.

2009-12-13T17:10:00.000-08:00

What is a Natural Home?

I often like to look at the pictures in Natural Home magazine and fantasize about owning a home with a truly green construction. A rammed earth home with earth plaster walls, reclaimed wood and stone sourced from the field out in the middle of nowhere that is part of my acreage. Oh. Wait a minute, there's something wrong with that.

For most people these "ideal" homes are out of reach financially as these wonderfully green materials are usually more costly. They are not always available in all areas either, which can mean that they are no longer so green if they have to be shipped from a distance. But my more pressing concern is that the homes featured tend to be built in rural areas on acreages. I am astonished to find myself arguing for higher density, since I live in a community that was once a quiet little village and has been growing into a large town in the last couple of decades. The growth has not always been managed well and my town, and even more so in the neighbouring community, sprawl is the result. I miss the village atmosphere and for a good decade I resented the growth. If it becomes a small city in my lifetime it won't have any of the charm of older, established cities. If I'm not careful this will become a rant about Big Box Stores.

So it is these "green" homes built on rural acreages, which are simply not an ideal green situation at all, that are my currant irritant. It is not possible for all of us to surround ourselves with that much land. I'm not suggesting that those few who do should be deprived of it, but that it should not be held up as an ideal because it isn't one. It reminds me of the back to the land movement in the sixties. It isn't an idea to espouse because it isn't a possibility for everyone. There is no perfect "green", and I suppose that articles featuring these unusual houses might inspire other home owners to incorporate one or two feature in their own homes, but I would like to see the magazine focus a little more on the "greening" of average homes.

There is one small section that is called Can This Home be Greened? which does take a look at renovating or improving an older home but it is too small a feature. There is a big gap between the style-less homes featured in these articles and the less attainable homes more prominently featured in the rest of the magazine. Most shelter magazines only make good ecological and ethical design features an occasional focus. I'm going to be really radical here and say that it should be the only focus. It is time that those of us who love style, whether it be on our bodies or in our homes, demand only ethical and ecologically sound goods and materials. Consumers have the power and the magazines we read are one place to start making those demands.

2009-12-12T17:02:00.000-08:00

One party down, one to go. Hosted at our house that is. A thought occurred to me: I don't really like parties. We had thirty people in our house, so it was a little crowded. I had intended to take photos but I couldn't get to my camera on my desk. People enjoyed themselves though, and that is what is most important to me. As a host I just want to give my guests a good time but don't really expect to have a good time myself. I love conversation but I'm not good at small talk. Small talk terrifies me and leaves me over-examining my missteps. People ask about me and my family or my job, those typical small talk conversations starters and I answer but always forget to respond, "and you?" There is a pause and the poor person stuck talking with me then launches into her own stories anyway as I mentally kick myself for not actually asking. I'm more interested in peoples' opinions on weighty subjects than I am in how their mother in the nursing home is doing or their dog with a flea allergy is coping. It isn't that I don't care about people and their concerns. If I'm one on one I will remember to ask these things before moving on to some intense philosophical discussion. But having to discus these same things repeatedly with thirty different people, not to mention repeating my own snippets of life is just too exhausting for me.

My solution to this is to get busy with various hostly tasks. I think this is why I like to have the party at my house. At someone else's house it becomes apparent that I don't mingle. I'm likely to get easily overburdened by the small talk and find myself someplace to sit and just watch the goings on. In my own home there is food to put out, put away, put on a plate for somebody. There are drinks to pour, ice to provide and coffee and tea to make. I can wash up a pan or cheerfully mop up somebody's spill. For the first half hour there is answering the door and hanging up coats. At the end of the evening there are the goodbyes, the finding of coats, arranging a bed for the guest who needs to stay overnight. And the best part of all is the next day. With the detritus cleaned up and leftover food in the fridge to graze on all day, it is like the day after Christmas, another of my preferences, a time to curl up on the couch with my book and my cat, drink coffee all day until it is time to open up one of those left over bottles of wine and review with my husband the behaviour of various guests and how things did or did not resemble last years' Christmas party.

It is just after five p.m. now. I hear the fire place crackling and since I've just finished my last coffee it must be time to let that bottle of red wine breathe.

(photos from Flickr are representative of the Greek food that we had at our party)

2009-12-06T12:25:00.000-08:00

My Messy Life:Part One of a Never Ending Series

Our garden is still in the upheaval of renovation.

The bird bath needs to be cleared and filled-poor birdies.

The sun is out and it is really bright so some of these photos are certainly reflecting that (a kind to myself way of saying they are overexposed)

Don't do much cleanup in the fall, leave the garden debris for the birds and bugs.

The best garden boots ever-neoprene and soft and warm. These are quite selective photos meant to make the garden look better than it really does. The sun is so beautiful I just had to go outside. And besides, all that sun pouring in the windows shows u all of the dust in the house. Too disheartening. Why oh why and I someone who loves clean and tidy but hates housework. If it were spring I would be outside justifying not doing the housework by all the garden jobs there are to do. I don't have that excuse today, so off I go to clean the house. Bye.

2009-12-05T10:06:00.000-08:00

Self Portraits

These are meant to express the different ways one sees oneself at different times.

2009-12-03T21:46:00.001-08:00

I have never actually been to Pottery Barn, although there is one about an hour and a half away. I have been browsing the online catalogue and dreaming. Love love love the chair and ottoman and am really into orange these days.

Crazy about green glazed pottery. The console above would be great for my dining room and our bar/island doesn't have any stools yet. Those embroidered bed linens are too busy looking all together but I would love a pillow from that set. I love the fireplace screen and would really like to replace our copper one and our brass tool set. And velvet drapes......

Aahh the dreams of a young girl...okay not so young.

2009-12-02T20:20:00.000-08:00

Here She is, the Malibu Barbie of my Childhood

I stopped believing in Santa Claus when I was seven, and although I don't remember, my belief in the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy must have taken a strong hit then too. I vaguely remember that I had more difficulty believing in a magical bunny that I did in magical human-like beings. Unfortunately I believed in Barbie for a much longer period. I should clarify that I believed I would grow up to look like Barbie. This is quite a ridiculous idea really, since I knew that Barbie was not my mother. Still, in those days (back when the dinosaurs still roamed) nobody was thinking about Barbie's unrealistic proportions, and Barbie was all about looking gorgeous. My Barbies flaunted the long, straight, bangless hairstyle of the times, had bell bottom pants and halter tops.

I viewed Barbie's figure as an ideal, but not impossible, adult female figure and saw no reason why I wouldn't grow to look like that too. It never occurred to me to look at my mother for a more realistic view of what my future physical self would more likely resemble. I am astonished to recall that in later years, when I had outgrown playing with Barbies, I was still confidant and arrogant about my expectations. From about the age of thirteen I projected all of my hopes and dreams forward to the age of twenty one. This was the age at which I would achieve perfection. I lacked the ability to see myself beyond that point, but my delusions of beauty remained for several more years before they were shattered.

I had a close relationship with my mum and still do. I spent much time just hanging around her and discussing life, usually in the kitchen but sometimes in her bedroom while she dressed. Although my family did not appear before each other naked, underwear clad parents were a common sight for me. With shame I clearly recall appraising my mother's body and believing that she hadn't done enough to keep her figure. Surely my breasts would never hang, my stomach never pucker, I would know better and remain thin when I was older. If I could go back in time and smack that little me-brat I would. Although I never voiced any of these thoughts. It must be stated with no more delay that my mother has always looked fantastic. I was too stupid to know it then and my critical teenaged brain, simmering in its hormonal stew, didn't have the life experiences to put things into perspective.

While I'm not identical to my mother, and I'm older now that she was in those days I viewed her so critically, I certainly have a body that shows the signs of bearing a child and living a life of forty two years. I weigh more than I should, but at least I am tall enough to carry it off somewhat. I am still critical but aim my judgements at myself now, something I have to work constantly to avoid. I have more than made up for any unkind thoughts I had about my mother, with all of the unkind thoughts I've had about myself. What, if anything, does playing with Barbies contribute to distorted body images and unreal expectations? I don't know. If I'd had a daughter would I have accepted her desire for a Barbie, or worse, those deformed Bratz things? I can only say that I would be inclined to discuss body image with my daughter from an early age, I would introduce her to yoga and being at home in her body whatever it looks like. And I would never, ever let her in my bedroom while I was changing.

2009-12-02T16:19:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I got like this cute little dress and I'm at this party and for some reason people kept asking me to refill their drinks. And Omigod my neck still really hurts.

2009-12-01T13:19:00.000-08:00

So, I was at this like rockin' party and oh my god the music was so good I just couldn't stop dancing. My best friend was all like," oh my god, what are you gonna wear?" and I'm like, "My LBD of course. Duh" So anyways, I was at this party and I just couldn't stop dancing and I really liked the way my skirt twirled around but I think I did something to my neck. Yah, like it really hurts now. So I don't know if I can dance at the next party. I'm gonna have to be like all sophisticated 'n stuff, cause I'l be all stiff from like dancin so much.

2009-11-30T18:56:00.000-08:00

The right kind of clutter: a collection of houseplants in a mixture of terra cotta and colour glazed pottery, stacks of books, cushions, warm colours on soft furnishings and walls-not too matchy, favourite items both decorative and useful on display, mismatched hard furnishings (new mixed with antiques and antique/family pieces), bowls of fruit in the kitchen and glass storage jars showing off the colours of staple dry goods such as red lentils, green split peas, black turtle beans and tan chick peas.

For a few months after we moved back into our renovated home I contemplated living in a pared down de-cluttered sort of decor. Everything we owned had been boxed up and stored for nearly two years. I reasoned that if I didn't miss it or had forgotten it existed then I didn't need it. In the end that proved to be somewhat true and I did make very selective choices about what went back into the house, but I need to be surrounded by things I love. I prefer a home to reflect the personality and the life of it's occupants. A the very least I cannot live without books plants and candles. We live on the coast of British Columbia, rocks, seashells and bits of driftwood also make their way in. I don't do tablescapes-I know they look lovely but my husband and son think the coffee table is for spreading papers all over. I have to live realistically.

Most things in our home have a story of some sort and have been personally chosen by my husband and myself. Some of those are inherited things and these all have stories too. One of the best is the occasional table we know as the "Bob is a bum" table. It is a table from my husband's grandmother, it was in the house where his father and uncle grew up and was probably in the hall or foyer. We don't know as my husbands grandmother, uncle and father all passed away over a decade ago. It has a little drawer that is to small to be very useful and it isn't more than two and a half feet tall. A child sitting underneath this table would look up at the little drawer's sides, and a child, probably Uncle Don, once wrote about his older brother. Bob in some sort of fit of pique. In blue ink it says, "Bob is a bum. Don is right when he says Bob is a bum."

In our solid oak dinning table, once belonging to my great grandmother, a marble has been inserted inside some of the support pieces under the table top. It is a round top which can be removed from the pedestal for transport and storage. My great grandmother had four boys who enjoyed playing tricks on her. The story my grandfather told me was that the boys installed the marble so that it was in a hollow space where it could roll freely across the width of the table whenever the table top was removed and turned on its side. The goal was to make their long suffering mother think something was broken. We would never dream of having that marble removed.

The Bob is a bum table is, you guessed it, covered in plants and books. And yes there is a candle there too. The oak dinning table is in my lovely red conservatory like dinning room, surrounded by many potted plants and when not supporting family dinners it is covered in the work of grade five and six students, waiting for me to sort it all out and mark it. Although I want my home to be beautiful, I wouldn't want to live in a show room. Good architecture is important to me, and my home should be invitingly real. The clutter of my life. It's stuff I can live with.

2009-11-29T17:07:00.000-08:00

It is almost December and the party season is looming. Two staff parties will be at my house this year, but fortunately I don't have to cook for either one. My husband's staff usually chooses a caterer and my staff likes to do pot luck. Our home is very suitable for large gatherings and I like to stay so home so much I'm quite happy to have the party come to me. I don't like to fuss and am able to relax and enjoy myself so long as I know my house is clean. Here are my must haves for hosting a pot luck or catered Christmas party.

Simple decorations: greenery, branches, the Christmas tree if the even takes place after December tenth.

Clean bathrooms and plenty of extra hand towels. I find that people don't feel comfortable with the smaller guest towels. I put two clean hand towels out and check part way through the evening to see if I need to refresh them. A very simple, large and stable candle with a book of matches so people can get rid of embarrassing smells.

*Soy candles in as many places as I can accommodate them.

* A fire in the fireplace.

*Christmas music and other background music mixed-we all have our own favourites-my husband and I lean towards blues and he is crazy about Cuban music. I'm sure that will get played at some point.

*lots of coasters available for drinks that get put down

*a coffee and tea station

* a nearly empty and clean fridge because these are bring your own booze parties

One year I made tiny, delicate paper snowflakes like the ones in the top picture. With careful packing they lasted a few seasons. I hung them from my son's bedroom ceiling when he was little.

...and speaking of snowflakes, I have to confess I don't understand the trend of decorating in all white and icy blue. If it is cold outside, don't you want your indoor Christmas decor to feel warm and cozy? Some of the photos in the current House and Home magazine features some very icy looking decor. That sure isn't for me.

(photos from Flickr, Canadian House and Home magazine, current issue)

2009-11-28T17:18:00.000-08:00

Some more Blaspheming: you know you like it.

These images are from flickr but my son makes a gingerbread house every year that looks similar to this. Then, when it has sat out for a month and is covered in dust, he and my husband eat it.

I don't really like Christmas all that much. I know, I know, it horrifies most people when I say that. It might be the decorating that I dislike most. I used to like it and as a child I loved to decorate the tree, I'm not really sure what changed. Christmas decorations just get in the way and seem messy to me. I like the stuff I have around me, it's there because I like it it, so I don't want to put it away just so I can have Christmas themed things on my mantle and shelves instead. If I don't put things away it is just too cluttered and confusing. I dislike fake greenery but the real stuff gets dried out, the berries turn black and fall off and it all just looks sad after a week. Putting up a tree requires rearranging the furniture in a less desirable configuration than usual and again, after a week or two, when ornaments fall off and are put back on repeatedly, the tree gets a tired and messy look. Lights outside, well those are okay. I kind of like those.

Christmas presents are tricky. I don't think we need to buy gifts for everyone to show our love. I'm not completely against consumerism, it has a place in developing an economy that helps communities to thrive, but Christmas encourages extensive consumption, both in the gifts and the wrappings and packaging. Homemade gifts can be nice, but the key word there is can be. Yes it is the thought that counts but I neither need nor want a pencil holder made from coloured popsicle sticks glued to an empty tomato tin. Crafters sometimes confuse what they like making with what people want or need to receive. Am I shocking you? My point is that even homemade gifts can contribute to waste or unnecessary consumption. Don't purchase those popsicle sticks on my behalf. If I need it, I can afford it. If I want it, I can save up for it. I have started asking family members to donate to charities as a Christmas gift to me.

The family gathered around a festive meal is pleasant, I do admit that. In my situation we are a small family and most of us live in the same town. We have family gatherings all the time, regularly celebrating each others' birthdays with dinners together. My brother's family and my brother-in-law are the only family members who don't live near us. They are on the other side of this vast country and traveling across it is so expensive they cannot afford to join us every year. Christmas, although primarily for me it is a celebration of family, is a gathering of our usual small group, not a time for being with loved ones we hardly ever see. I love them all, but don't need Christmas as an occasion to see them or demonstrate my love.

If you know anything about me, you know by now that I am not participating in a Christian Christmas. There is no celebrating the birth of Jesus, or talk about the true meaning of Christmas in my family. I tell myself, and anyone who asks, that for me Christmas is the celebration of friends and family, of love and support and togetherness. That isn't a lie, but the reason that I am not emotionally attached to Christmas is that I don't need Christmas to celebrate that. I celebrate it every day. So I don't need a gift, the evergreens can stay outdoors where they belong and I really don't want to move my furniture around, please don't make me. I like the New Year much better as something to celebrate, although I haven't been to a New Year's party in, well, years. I don't even stay up to midnight anymore. You're quit fed up with me, I know. But in a world where the Christmas merchandise is in stores right after Remembrance day, if not sooner, the whole theme drags on far too long for me. I'm just sayin....

Here's what I'll be using to decorate with this season.

dried citrus slices, cinnamon sticks, ribbons and evergreen branches in vases with red twigs

I'm on the look out for high quality/realistic faux berry sprays-I'm very picky about these

dark red poinsettias, nuts in the shells, pomegranates and creamy soy candles

I like to decorate around December tenth and everything goes on New Year's day. My husband, who loves Christmas, has accepted this compromise.

2009-11-25T14:01:00.000-08:00

No Regrets, but Thanks For Your Concern

Around the time I was a few months pregnant I came to realize that I wasn't averse to only having one child. I don't recall my husband and I ever really discussing how many we would have, I think it was a one at a time sort of plan. He is one of four siblings and I am one of two. I'm sure we expected that we would have two children. I don't know what it was exactly that got me thinking about only one; I remember having a cup of tea at my parents' house one day ( they live in the same town as I do) and discussing the subject with my Dad, who is himself an only child. Something in me must have know, must have sensed what my future would hold.

I am a person with limited energy ( and currently have lived ten years with a diagnosis of chronic fatigue syndrome) and high expectations of myself. My list of I should as well as the list of I want to is long. My son is fifteen, I had no such diagnosis back then but I knew that I couldn't be the kind of mother I wanted to be, in all honesty the kind of mother I think every mother should be, to more than one. My husband worried about financially supporting children in the lifestyle we wanted in addition to saving for post secondary education. This was a personal decision, based on what kind of parents, what kind of family we wanted to be and what we wanted give to our child, physically, emotionally, materially and what we wanted left over for ourselves.

If we happened to mention o people that we would probably only have one, they smiled indulgently, said I would forget all about the discomforts of pregnancy and soon be ready for another. We didn't mention it much. It has to be said that my pregnancy was not difficult but I would not say that I loved it. The childbirth part did not go well, but I only know that with hindsight really. At the time I had no idea that most women don't push for six hours before the child is pulled from their body with forceps. I'd had no sleep in over forty hours, but the moment I saw my son the adrenaline rushed in and I thought I would never sleep again. Who could sleep when the most beautiful creature you have ever seen is right there beside you, and he smells so good and his fuzzy little head feels so warm and soft under your lips.

The next few weeks were bliss and torture combined. There are war stories to tell that is for certain, but I would do it all again to have this wonderful human being in my life. The memories of the last fifteen years can bring me tears of joy. I miss my baby, my little boy, but the young man now living in our house is a wonderful person of whom I am so proud. He is kind and gentle and funny and smart. He is handsome and athletic. Some day he will make a very loving husband and father if that is in his future. He hopes that it is. He has such a nurturing instinct that he is now wishing he had a little sister. Why a sister? He has two good friends who have little sisters and he has always been intrigued by their relationships. He wants a very little one, no older than eight. He knows this is not really going to happen and that a sister is not like a pet. He and I have talked about it often. He wishes we could adopt and he's willing to share his grandparents, his belongings, his parents, his bathroom and even the guest room, which he has taken over in addition to having his own bedroom. What a thing to long for! Not a playmate, he has those. Not a dog, he isn't that comfortable with dogs. He wants a little sister to look after.

While I was still pregnant I read a book I found in the library that reassured me it was fine to have only one child. Only children have often been stigmatized, much more so than youngest, middle or first-born children. I don't recall the title or the author but she had credentials enough to give me reassurance and she quoted studies that showed only children were no more likely to long for siblings ( and yes they will sometimes long for siblings) than children with siblings were likely to wish they didn't have them. I read about spoiling. A child is spoiled if you give in to demands in order to stop temper tantrums. A child is spoiled if they are in control and you, the parent aren't. There is a difference between spoiling and indulging. Indulging might not do the child any favours in the end, but spoiling results from ineffective parenting and creates an unpleasant child. I knew we were not going to be ineffective parents.

So we raised a child who was loved and adored by a small group of adult relatives. He had not siblings or cousins, and spent most of his time in the company of adults. He knew love and security and has a great relationship with aunts, uncles and grandparents. He is mature and responsible because he talks about life with adults. He was always shy as a young child but made some friends and has three close friends he has known since their days together in pre-school. He is like his mother and grandmother and can be a loner, easily spending time by himself. He loves to do things with his family such as family movie night or family game night. He hangs out in the living room with his parents while listening to his favourite music, rarely shutting himself away in his room as many teens do. I have no regrets, I am proud of the mother I have been and continue to be. It hasn't always been an uneventful ride, and if I know anything about being a parent from watching friends and family I know that I am forever a parent.

Early in my son's life people felt it was their duty to tell me that it was time to have that second child. Never our closest friends and family, they are far to intelligent and much too good to ever be so rude. Still I am amazed at what acquaintances and neighbours believed it was appropriate to say. Perhaps it is unfair to suggest they thought it was appropriate. I might assume that they never thought at all before they spoke. For how were they to know that it wasn't impossible for me to have another child and that I wasn't daily shattered by this reality, barely finding the strength to go on? Regardless, I regularly fielded comments like, "It's time you gave that boy a little brother or sister." Well, Shawna, isn't it time for the next one? Come on." Shocking really, and if I were able to cry at will I would love to have burst into tears and told that that I had suffered bloody miscarriage after miscarriage and that I was so internally damaged I would never have another child. I felt they deserved that, but although I am actually a pretty good actress, I'm not a good liar.

The most astounding lecture came from an acquaintance who is both a teacher like myself and married to a co-worker of my husband. I have forgiven her because she had consumed a few drinks by then, but while she elaborated on her own style of mothering, which quite frankly I did not agree with, she also told me that I would probably be psychologically damaging my child. In her professional opinion she had seen many only children at school, she said, and they were always odd. She went on to explain how they expected adult conversation and wouldn't just go away and play with the other children. And usually the parents are a little odd too, tending to be indulgent and fussy. Believe it or not I just listened and stated only that I disagreed. If I had wanted to criticize her mothering I certainly could have. Sometimes I am surprised at how nice I am.

I am quite confidant that I have proven her theory wrong and that my son is not psychologically damaged. She probably has her own opinions still. People amaze me sometimes, especially with what they say while smiling at you and pretending to be your friend. Actually I'm sure this woman does believe she is my friend. All I can do is shake my head. The neighbours finally figured out that no second child is coming. And I am grateful to have true friends and family surrounding me who never judge or criticize. I am thankful everyday to those dear people who provide love me unconditionally. I may be struggling with my energy level, I certainly don't meet most of my own goals for getting things done in a day, but I always have a heart bursting with love for these people who make my life so wonderful. I have one child at home and nearly thirty when I go to work each day. I love them too, with all the love they deserve and all that I have to give. Criticize my choices if you must, but don't think for a minute that I regret them.

2009-11-25T12:40:00.001-08:00

I promised a recipe

Happy Thanksgiving to all of my American friends. It is good to be grateful every day not just on this day of celebrating the bountiful harvest. In my daily practice I find that meditating on some of the many things I have to be grateful for is an appropriate ending to my day.

I am very grateful to Vesanto Melina and Brenda Davis for their book, BEcoming Vegetarian and the following recipe they include in it.

African Stew

1 onion, chopped

4 cups veg stock or water

2 cups peeled, diced yams or sweet potatoes

1 cup cooked chick peas

1 cup brown rice

1/4 tsp salt

1/4 cup peanut butter

2 cups chopped collards or kale

2 tbsp lemon juice

1/2 tsp pepper

1 tbsp tamari or Bragg soy liquid

or chili sauce to taste

In a large pot, sautee onions in 2 tbsp stock for about five minutes. Add remaining stock, vegetables and rice. Add salt and simmer 45 minutes. In a small bowl put peanut butter and a small amount of liquid from the stew. Stir into a smooth paste. Add the peanut butter mixture along with the greens and stir. Cook for five minutes. Stir in lemon juice and remaining seasonings. Makes about 4 servings.

This is one of my very favourites.

2009-11-25T11:49:00.000-08:00

A little lightheartedness

and a recipe to follow

2009-11-24T09:12:00.000-08:00

California here I come (and Oregon too)

Just when you thought I would blaspheme no longer, I'm about to say it, I can't help myself, I hate Disneyland.

Wait-I need drugs-please excuse me while I go to find something that might alleviate the aches in by body and my throbbing head.

I'm back-pardon the digression but that is a scary kitchen downstairs. It's good to retreat to the safety of my bed. A teenaged boy and his pathetic-with-cold mother wander randomly in and out of said kitchen fending for themselves. Wonderful husband, who is so skilled at picking up the pieces, and who has learned after 25 years that men who do dishes get more sex, wonderful husband is out of town doing his union president, socialist thing in a community where great upheaval has just happened due to closing of offices and the usual top-down do as we say management decisions have taken place. He cares so much about people and fairness, that hubby of mine. I'm so proud of him.

Okay, that was a big digression, wasn't it. A little peek into the crazy rambling brain of mine.

Disneyland. Yes, that's right, I can't stand it. I've been twice, which was once too many as far as I'm concerned. The first time was as a child and I probably did kind of enjoy it, although not so much that I thought to myself, I must go back there repeatedly. I've been accused of having no inner child, no joie de vivre, people are truly shocked that someone could not like Disneyland. It's quite simple, really. I don't even have to work at it. I have never liked rides all that much. Some are okay once I get on them, but I wouldn't go out of my way to do that. As a child I found it thrilling to go to Vancouver (the big city nearest my small town) and ride an escalator or two. That got it all out of my system. I don't care much for escalators now because they are to slow. I have places to go people!

Disney is so plastic. And you haven't yet been treated to my feelings about plastic-I loathe plastic. The food is bad, expensive and did I mention that it is bad? Good food is very important to me. And then there are the princesses. I can't stand princesses. What are Disney princesses mostly about? How beautiful am I and where is my prince? Okay, Mulan might be an exception but I didn't see her anywhere the last time I was at Disney. It's not that I object to pretty dresses so much as what these Disney princesses represent about females. Did Snow White have a brain? Did sleeping Beauty have any merits other than looking pretty while she slept? Okay, Whatsername-from Beauty and the Beast, I guess she liked animals, maybe she was okay. Oh and then there is the horrible stereotyping of the south at the Old Time Jamboree or whatever that is called. Nothing at Disney relates to my life experiences or any that I would want to have. It doesn't even come close to my fantasy world.

A couple of years ago my husband and son decided another trip to Disney was needed. Yes, they like Disney and can't figure me out at all. Since it was a road trip I made sure all of the other plans would suit me and I targeted Santa Cruz, California as my main reason for the trip. We spent two days in San Francisco. I loved it there; I could live there I'm sure. It was expensive though, especially since we were paying with the Canadian dollar, and it wasn't our main destination, so the budget was tight. I loved the architecture and the picturesque beauty of the Presidio. I hope to return sometime and see more. I didn't get to try out any vegetarian restaurants but was successful with a Japanese restaurant. I want to go to second hand shops and thrift shops and flea markets. I think I should start a campaign for a direct flight to San Francisco from my local airport.

After San Francisco we drove along the coast to Santa Cruz. It is such a beautiful drive and I am so passionate about the ocean, the rugged coastline, the wild flowers.....I hope to return soon. And don't I just love Santa Cruz! I had originally hoped to stay at a bed and breakfast that advertised vegan home cooking, a relax and hang around our gardens all day attitude and an acceptance of medical marijuana use. Unfortunately they were no longer in business. We stayed at a regular motel which was nice and clean, had a great pool and was in waking distance to everything we wanted. We had three days there whih would be followed by four days in Anaheim where my husband and son would "do Disneyland" and I would not.

Santa Cruz has a beachside amusement park, which was not completely open for the tourist season (this was May) until the following weekend. Still there was enough there to keep my guys occupied while I happily cruised downtown. Oh I was in heaven. There were coffee shops and book stores and dozens of shops selling various funky imported items like colourful scarves, carvings and jewelry. There was a whole foods store (not the chain Whole Foods) where I stocked up on items for my kitchenette in the Anaheim hotel. There was organic cotton and hemp clothing, and best of all, there was a gorgeous little restaurant which served raw foods, vegan/vegetarian foods and delicious juices and smoothies. I wish I could remember the name of it, but I know I could find it if I return to Santa Cruz. I signed up for an e-mail newsletter including recipes but I've never received it. I hope they still exist. I ate every lunch and dinner there for my entire stay. I haven't ventured into any raw food preparation on my own because it seems so fussy, although I did buy a cookbook (uncookbook) there. The raw food I ate at this restaurant was delicious. Oh if I could afford my own raw vegan chef.......

So eventually we arrived in Anaheim. I had convinced my husband that we should stay at the Marriot Suits, a lovely little collection of cottagey four-plexes with sidewalks and gardens connecting it all. I had, after all to spend four days there, not going to Disneyland. Anaheim offers little to do if you are in the Disney neighbourhood and trying to get around on foot. Eventually I ventured into the city proper with my car and located a health food store. Finding organic vegetables was next to impossible, and as I have been lectured by a border guard about how Canadians don't spray nearly enough pesticides on their produce, I was not inclined to buy anything non-organically grown. I was missing Santa Cruz. How different this place, only six hours' drive south, was from where I had just been. The girl in the supermarket had not even heard of Santa Cruz. The mexicans planting palm trees on the boulevards seemed horrified that I spoke to them. I had to drive blocks to find a coffee shop that offered soy milk and all of that effort was because I couldn't find soy milk in the supermarket.

This spring my husband and son are going to return to Disney. A good friend of mine lives in Portland, Oregon and I am going to stay with her. From there, my boys will continue on without me, only the big surprise my husband has for our son is a flight to Disney World in Florida instead of Disney Land. I, on the other hand will scout out thrift and antique shops, Portland's famous vegan mall and have a wonderful time baking vegan muffins for my dear friend and her adorable twin boys. It will be the first time our little family of three has split up like that. It will be the first time my two travel on an airplane for such a distance without me and of course I'm nervous. Planes are safer than cars right? I'm looking forward to my own trip, but will I be able to relax?

All reassurances welcome. Thank you, dear friends.

( I could provide some beautiful photos of our trip but my husband is the real photographer in our family and the photos are all on his computer. I will have to get his photos in my iphoto application pronto)

2009-11-23T17:15:00.000-08:00

Happy Monday. A short post today because I'm afflicted with a cold. I write now, sitting up in bed but will soon be lying down again I'm sure. I've slept for a bit so am somewhat bored now.

Do you like movies that are a little different? I'm rather famous in my family for picking odd ones, or perhaps I should say infamous. I love to check out the international section where odd ones with subtitles abound. Recently I watched Luna Papa, a surreal and I must say wackily charming movie set in Tajikistan. A dreamy young girl who wants to be an actress and loves all things to do with acting sets off, with the help of her father and demented older brother, to the city to see a performance of Shakespeare. She arrives too late and wanders alone through the night. In a peculiar scene that has to do with falling down a cliff, (this is where it is most surreal) she has a sexual encounter with an unknown man and becomes pregnant. The story is told by the child that results from this encounter, although we never meet the child. The search for this man, the father of the child is zany one, hilarity mixed with the realities of living in this superstition and tradition, where soldiers and dry dusty landscape mix with poverty and small town lack of privacy. The ending was nearly a happy one, but the chance occurrence of a bull falling from an airplane put an end to that. The conclusion was once again from the land of surreal.

What I enjoyed most about this movie were the colours. In this land so unfamiliar and I confess so uninviting to me, I saw sand and sky in soft creams and beiges, tinged with gold and pink. The nearby water, a lake I think but I'll have to check y atlas, was pale aqua. The people, living in a land of pastel, wore brilliant colours and patterns mixed together that no fashion exert could ever condone and yet to me it was so much more appealing than anything on the runway. Sometimes I want to cry when I walk into clothing store after clothing store offering only neutral colours. I walk out again so fast. If I wore to work what the people of this community ( as represented in this movie) wore I would be considered colour blind perhaps, or at the best very boho. We are so affluent that we think it matters if your clothes are colour coordinated and you tastefully restrict your use of prints. So affluent that clothes can be a hobby. Designers create things that we call art and are elevated to must have but only few can afford status. We go shopping to find the perfect something to go with something else. We own more than one coat and one pair of shoes. I'm not saying this is bad; I love clothes an shoes and bags. It certainly is decadent. Art is decadent. But, I was so struck by the art of the artless. Just as nature throws together colours and textures and patterns and it all belongs, we should learn from this and remember that we are like flowers in the garden of the universe. Colour my friends, colour. Toss it around you, toss it on you, mix it DONT match it. Try it just once.

2009-11-22T15:26:00.000-08:00

I'm tired and aching today, I hope it doesn't mean anything viral. It's another grey november day and I still haven't dug up my dahlia tubers. Next weekend it must be done.

The garden is a little soggy but calendula are still blooming. They are such a hardy plant, usually blooming right through winter here. Their cheerful orange and yellow colours against the jade and emerald greens are so pretty. I haven't got a photo of them. Next weekend it is supposed to be sunny. Or at least not rainy. It might be a good day for taking some photos

Okay, so now you are wondering why I have a photo of an unknown female in tight jeans. The look reminded me so much about what the cool girls looked like in junior high school. I remember them dressed like this at school dances, with their hair carefully curled by their curling iron, mauve eyeshadow and black mascara. They danced carefully, I suspect either out of fear they might sweat or they might look silly. Just a tiny little step to the right and another tiny little step to the left, a careful toss of the head, matching their timing to the slowest possible fractional equivalent of the music's tempo. Some were blondes, some brunettes. Some were gorgeous and some could fake it. Every boy wanted to dance with one of them during Stairway to Heaven. Sometimes the boys wanted to dance with me too. I was so tall that many of them were still only chest height.

2009-11-21T20:13:00.000-08:00

Time For a Recipe

Potluck Casserole

1 cup cooked black eyed peas

1 cup cooked pearl barley

1 cup mushrooms, sliced

1 cup celery, diced

1/2 onion, minced

2 tbsp Earth Balance margarine

2 tbsp olive oil

1/3 cup nutritional yeast flakes

salt, pepper and poultry seasoning to taste

I want to re-name poultry seasoning and I suppose I could list the herbs separately, but poultry seasoning is convenient.

Using the margarine and olive oil, saute the onions over medium heat. When onions are translucent add celery and mushrooms and cook a few minutes more.

Black eyed peas don't need to be soaked. Rinse and cook them the day before or use canned ones for convenience. Cook about 30 minutes so they are tender but not mushy.

Cooking barley is similar to cooking rice. Use a 2:1 ratio water to barley and cook until water is absorbed which is usually abut 30 minutes.

Combine the barley, peas, sauteed veggies and the seasonings in a casserole dish. Cover and bake about 30 minutes at 350 degrees.

This makes a good dish for Thanksgiving meals and it goes well with sauteed greens and sweet potatoes. It is mildly flavoured so spice it up if that is your preference.

2009-11-21T08:54:00.000-08:00

Compassion Is Always Beautiful

MOST BEAUTIFUL VEGAN COUPLE

VEGAN BEAUTIES

Compassion

Living with compassion is the meaning of life. Ask why we are here and there is no answer. Ask what we should do while we are here and it all becomes clear. We should live with compassion.

But what does that mean? Begin with compassion for yourself. You are a human being of many feelings and emotions, susceptible to pain and receptive to joy. Which do you prefer? All human beings are like you in that way. All experience pain and joy. You must love yourself in order to love others, but it isn't always easy to love ourselves. Begin with loving yourself.

Most of us are familiar with the golden rule, do unto others as you would have done unto you. How amazingly simple and yet so profound. Sometimes we think that means treat others the way you would like to be treated and I have sometimes heard it explained that way. It reaches a little more deeply than that, although that is a great explanation for small children. Twenty five years ago, when my husband and I were first together, we had to learn for ourselves how to move from a literal understanding to a more compassionate understanding. This happened quite specifically when either one of us was sick.

My husband and I react quite differently to being ill both physically and in our requirements for care. He rarely gets ill, but when he does it hits him hard and he goes right to bed. Once in bed he sleeps solidly for a day and wants no interruptions. The next day is spent on the couch and some tea or juice is required. Then he is well again. When I am sick it creeps up on me and I start to drag. When I finally do go to bed for some rest the chances are high that I will get hungry and thirsty but not be able to move myself. So what is it that I do when my beloved is sick? I continually wake him up trying to give him food and drink. When I am sick he tucks me in and leaves me there, never checking to see if I need anything. All of this is done with the greatest of love and the best of intentions. We are treating our loved one exactly as we ourselves would like to be treated.

Compassion requires a little more insight. We are doing well up to the point where we recognize that, like ourselves, the other person has needs, is vulnerable to suffering and desirous of joy. The challenge is providing the exact sort of care. Relationships, especially intimate ones are a journey towards this understanding. The simple part, the very essence of our humanity, is that we can look upon other living creatures and see a being, just like ourselves, vulnerable and fragile sometimes, fighting strong at other times. Just like ourselves. What do we want? We want to be loved, accepted, treated kindly, to experience joy and not to suffer. This is what all creatures want. How to deliver it to them may be the more challenging task, but feeling compassion for them starts with this understanding.

This won't work for everyone, but in my daily practice of compassion I take the powerful love I feel for my son and I look at everyone thinking, this is someone's baby. Everyone.

If you are vegan, this compassion extends to all living beings, according them the same rights to joy and freedom from suffering that you would wish to have.

In the spirit of compassion I attempt to be an informed consumer and use health and beauty products that neither test on animals nor use animal ingredients. Here are some of my favourites skin care companies. They are not exorbitantly priced and are becoming increasingly available in mainstream drugstores and grocery stores. If you like to spend more money, products abound.

Jason

Kiss My Face

Beauty Without Cruelty - BWC

Alba

Peta is always a source of information and their website has information on beauty products. If you are not interested in being bombarded with images of animals suffering in factory farms (something we should not be closing our eyes to) I recommend this website.

http://www.mymakeupmirror.com/MakeupWithoutCruelty.html

(I have this site bookmarked and I've checked, it is still there. This link isn't working although I've double checked in case I've made an error) Let me know if you spot an error. It's a good site.

Compassion is true beauty.

2009-11-20T21:41:00.000-08:00

Youth is wasted on the young

-George Bernard Shaw

When I was a child I fell down a lot. I was always running, always in a hurry to get where I was going. Consequently I was usually decorated with bandages, especially on my knees and elbows and lost my toenail more than once due to a stubbed toe acquired while running up concrete steps in flip flops. (A quick aside here: in those days we called them thongs, but I might give you the wrong impression if I say that as a five year old I liked to run around in thongs.) In addition to the running and falling, I managed to fall off a swing while soaring to great heights and knocked my front teeth so loose they were removed by the dentist an hour later. Since I was five at the time and my adult teeth were nowhere near ready to come in, I spent several years with a charming toothless grin. In case you get the impression that I was a daredevil I will confess that a couple of years prior to these incidents I was too terrified to go into my own back yard due to the presence of a large and menacing beach ball.

Why am I telling these character damaging tales of my youth? Well, it seems that all of that early childhood dashing about was quite symbolic of a tendency towards haste that dominated my childhood right through to the infancy of my adulthood. I remember that as far back as eight years old, and perhaps earlier, all I wanted was to be a grown up. Blissfully ignorant of death and taxes I couldn't wait to move forward and shed youth. I pictured myself a strong and independent woman. The fantasies acted out in play provided me with my own funky apartment, a motorcycle and a fantastic career as a writer or veterinarian or singer and occasionally allowed a grateful man to be part of my life.

As much as it is tempting to smile indulgently at this little girl I once was, I am somewhat sad for her. She was so serious. In particular, she took herself too seriously. With a maturity often commented on by adults the poor little thing lived to please them and be accepted by them. All she wanted was to be one of them. The older she got the more trouble she had relating to her peers. The frivolity and immaturity of most teens was embarrassing to be associated with. While the other kids at school dressed in jeans, the girl who scorned childhood dressed like she had a job at an office. "You are quite the rebel." A teacher once said to her.

"oh no I'm not. Rebels dress in jeans. The other kids are the rebels" Rebels are kids, her twisted thinking told her. You are too mature to be a rebel.

Time sped by in the way that time does. Ms Not a Rebel entered her twenties and was dismayed to find out she was an infant in the adult world. Just a kid with no experience in work or in life. For a short time she lived in a small northern community where girls married their high school sweethearts and were matronly wife-mother creatures at the age of twenty five, with three kids, 50 extra pounds they would never lose and a Zellers credit card. To these women our poor Ms Not a Rebel was also Ms Not a Woman. Where did she belong? She was lost and confused.

Somehow she made it to her thirties, that wonderful decade of career building, marriage building and motherhood that kept her so busy there was no time to notice whether or not she was finally an adult. Then she died.

Please understand, dear friend, that is the best thing that could have happened to her. She died but it was not the end; no she was reborn. She had fun and she laughed and sometimes she was really immature, just for fun, just to be silly, and she shared her love and her laughter and all that she knew and all that she didn't know and it was okay. It was good. I'm so glad I met her. She is a great friend and companion. She keeps me from taking myself too seriously. She looks back at her past somewhat wistfully-oh to do it over! But there is time. There is so much time, because she has now. She always has now.

2009-11-20T14:26:00.000-08:00

Bedrooms

I have always loved this picture and have always loved my bedroom. It was an ineffective punishment for my parents to send me there because I loved it. It was my sanctuary. On the other hand, the real punishment for me was just the fact that they were angry with me.

I have posted photos of different bedrooms, the images from the Canadian House and Home website. Since my own bedroom is still a work in progress, I like to notice what attracts me to these rooms and how I can apply it in my own. Enjoy.
I took this from Sarah's blog, La Maison Boheme. I would love this in my bedroom.

This might be a headboard option for my room. I'm assuming it is bamboo or rattan. (I'm not an expert on how to tell the the difference) I might even convince my husband that it should be painted. (photo by Michael Graydon)
Wow! a concrete wall looks great with russet and brown. This is quite masculine but I love it. (photo by Michael Graydon)
Always attracted to a rustic look. I find the window too bare. It needs some kind of treatment. (photo by Michael Graydon)
Doors as headboard. I've seen a door used horizontally. This would be too tall for my room. (photo by Angus Fergusson)
This looks like Hotel chic to me. This phot caught my eye because I have a dormer nook just like it. My bed faces the dormer and I have an upholstered arm chair for reading in the nook. (photo by Angus McRitchie)
The room I'm most likely to have in a creamy/dreamy palette like this is the bedroom. There was a comment about this photo that it isn't good to have exposed beams in a bedroom because they feel like they are pressing down on you. I never thought of that before but I can see how that could be . (Source: Southern Living)
A rustic look always attracts me. I've always wanted an exposed brick wall. (photographer unknown)
I am really put off by the white accessories but I love the grey blue colour on the wall. ( photo by Angus Fergusson)
A monochrome neutral palette always looks so relaxing but a little bland at the same time. I am thinking about a similar project for a headboard but Painted wood is a sin in my house so I would match the medium pine of my bed and bedside tables. (photo by Stacey Branford)
How surprised I am to discover I like this black and white room. I might not be able to live with it though. Admiring it in a photo is one thing, living with it-well, I 'm sure I wouldn't be able to keep colour from creeping in. (photo by Kim Christie)

You may have noticed by now that I love colour. Not that I don't have my preferences. I have my own likes and dislikes about certain colours and combinations, and sometimes I fall for a neutral colour scheme, but I quite consistently don't care for much white. Sure, I'll contradict myself on that, but even in a pale scheme I prefer cream to stark white or a white and cream mix. My bedroom is a combination of deep rich blue and a creamy colour that is somewhat like pale chamois. It is in the eaves of the house and so the ceiling gives way to sloping walls. The ceiling and the walls are the cream colour and the short walls plus two regular height walls in a nook created by a dormer are blue. My bedding is white and cream mixed. My drapes are very plain, cream/linen coloured cotton. The furniture is medium to dark pine. The floor is natural fir. The window and all of the trim is also natural fir. Slowly I am adding the personal touches and decorating the room. I want to embellish the curtains and add a headboard. I have some of my own art work to hang, featuring bold colours and I have potted geraniums that are currently not in bloom. From the magazine Canadian House and Home, the photos above inspire me.

2009-11-19T13:54:00.000-08:00

I'll get by with a little help from my friends.

A friend has suggested that my blogger name is offensive. Hmm...maybe I wanted to be a bit provocative. When I originally started posting I expected that my only readers would be people I already know and who know me. Those people know me as a warm, gentle, loving. kind, caring, nurturing person. I truly am that; I was raised to be polite and tactful even when someone is insulting me to my face. I'm quite laid back and actually an introverted person, although I like people very much.

I am also known amongst my friends for having strong opinions and no fears about voicing them. While in my younger days I enjoyed a good debate, I usually don't bother with that sort of thing now unless I meet someone else who truly loves the debate also. What I've found is that most people just want to win the debate. They want to convince you they are right and that isn't terribly conducive to friendship. I have fallen into that trap myself and it isn't where I want to be. As my blog name suggests, one topic on which I have strong opinions is in the area of religion.

It may be quite clear to you that I am not religious, and in fact I am not a believer at all. My assumption is that most of you would respond to that with "so what. Who cares" As I said, I originally thought my only readers would be people who already know me. I didn't imagine anyone else would find or be interested in my blog. So, I used a name that refers to the aspect of my personality that is rarely visible but is actually rather significant in defining who I am. I don't believe in god. I am not religious. (In case I have to spell it out for anyone) In some of my experiences that has led people to abandon our friendship; my non-belief was blasphemous and I was spawn of the devil. I'm not kidding-this happened. I thought it was an extreme and thus funny reaction. It became a bit of a joke in my family. Look out for her, she's the devil incarnate.

Of course, I don't believe in the devil either. So, yes I am offensive to some people. It seems to me that the solution is simple. If you don't like who I am don't read my blog or associate with me. I couldn't think of anything else to call myself or any catchy name for my blog, since it is so random. I'm considering collecting suggestions but I don't think I have that many readers anyway. My intention was not to offend but to refer, tongue in cheek, to what some people I know would call my dark side. Which I still think is funny. So, fire suggestions at me or reassure me that you don't care what I call myself. In reference to an earlier post of mine, I'm thinking about calling myself Sweetheart. Let me know what you think.

2009-11-18T12:32:00.000-08:00

And Now the Stuffing

American Thanksgiving is approaching. In Canada we celebrate in October, so the feast has come and gone, turkey leftovers long since used up. In my family I am the only vegan. My mother-in-law and sister-in-law will eat anything, my own mother might try a dish I've made, depending on how unusual it looks and the guys, my son, husband and father never eat anything that I bring to the meal if it is identified as vegan.

Thanksgiving dinner and Christmas dinner are almost identical in our traditional selections with perhaps more selections available at Christmas. Years ago I stopped eating the turkey, now I only eat what I bring myself or perhaps the vegetables. My mother tends to put butter on them, but recently at a family dinner she used margarine instead, just for me. I couldn't tell her that most margarines are not even vegan because they contain whey. My mother thinks I am quite extreme. I am 42 years old and only just becoming immune to any maternal disapproval. I was raised to value politeness over just about anything else. At all costs one must be polite, so it horrifies my mother to see me refuse food other people have offered. "Don't be silly. It's perfectly good and there are people in the world who envy your privileged life, where you can pick and choose what you will eat and turn away good nutritious food.

She misses my point. I am privileged. I have choice and abundance. Because of that I can say no to food sources that are immoral. With access to a variety of foods that provide all of the nutrition we need, we don't need to eat tortured and murdered animals to survive. I'm not advocating that the whole world become vegan because I have yet to see proof that it would be a manageable and sustainable system. Still we aren't feeding everyone a nutritiously balanced and calorically adequate omnivorous diet either. We who are wealthy and privileged compared with most of the world's population have no excuse for eating and using other creatures against their will.

2009-11-17T18:40:00.000-08:00

Green and Brown-two colours I love. After a quick troll through flickr commons I found Beautiful photos showcasing green are abundant. My husband, garden labourer extraordinaire, is also a good photographer and he has many beautiful photos that are green. Brown is harder to find. Now I have a mission.

This isn't the best photo-the colours are a little faded.

We've reached the rainy season here on Vancouver Island, British Columbia. My poor garden, which was all torn up for our home renovation two years ago is still somewhat of a mud field, especially at the front. My husband worked really hard to put in our underground sprinkler system and we decided that the upheaval was an opportunity for some re-landscaping. He successfully moved a thirty year old Japanese maple tree and reshaped the mixed borders. I wanted our sloping front garden to have a terraced island bed so he created that too. My lovely husband does the hard labour and I spend the money on plants and decide where they go.

I am constantly battling deer in the garden since we are not fenced. We have two driveways and would have to put gates on them. The main drive is sloped and not suited to swinging gates. There are too many large plants in the way to install sliding ones. Deer have been known to jump an eight foot fence quite easily so it still isn't a guarantee. Oh what to do! The deer are so safe from natural predators here in my hometown that they are multiplying into a large and healthy population. They have even learned how to cross the street at cross walks. I won't be at all surprised the day I see them pushing the button to get a green light. While working on this front garden project, my husband was sometimes kept company by a healthy young buck who would show up for a nap and a snack. While it napped, my husband left it alone but when it began to snack on my plants he tried to shoo it away. It blissfully ignored him so my husband then began to tap it on the backside with his spade. The deer moved slowly, requiring much backside tapping and shooing to get it out of the garden. It returned the next day, of course.

So, here we are in the rainy season and I gaze out the window at the plants and the mud, looking forward to the grass that will go in next spring. There won't be much of it because the garden is designed as grass paths winding around the mixed borders. I like the way green grass compliments the plantings, giving a cooler feel in the heat of summer and a lush abundance to our wet winters. With grey skies for at least five months of the year, I am grateful for the rich greens that surround me. Grass, conifers and broadleaved evergreen shrubs, as well as the few flowers that continue to bloom, all give me the colour I crave. It's a good thing I like the colour brown, because this year I have an abundance of it.

2009-11-16T18:25:00.000-08:00

Vincent is my absolute favourite. J'adore.

2009-11-16T13:17:00.000-08:00

Terms of Endearment

I always thought that there had to be at least a thirty year age gap before you could address someone other than a spouse or partner as Darling or Sweetheart. My grandmother called me Poppet, my mother called me Old Bean and my father called me Sweet Pickle. None of them are lovely, are they? For a short time I envied the girl down the street whose father called her Princess. Other childhood observations brought to light that old women were sometimes called Dear by service or health care workers. Even as a child I knew it was patronizing. If any young perky thing calls me Dear when I'm hospitalized with old agedness I shall swiftly make a connection between the impudent young thing's head and the bed pan. I intend to be a cantankerous old thing. Don't Dearie me.

Of course I'm telling whoppers. I'll do no such thing and I probably will be a sweet old dear, doddery and confused. I call my students Sweetheart or My Love quite often, and I truly do mean it. By November I have fallen in love with them. Terms of endearment should be used honestly. Do you really feel affection for this person you are addressing? Is the affection likely to be returned? Do you know each other well or have you had such a longstanding aquaintanceship that there is a history involved? I had a very stiff and formal grandfather who didn't really know how to interact with children other than that they should be seen and not heard. When I was around eighteen he began to call me Darling. It is also what he called my grandmother and my mother. It seemed natural that at that point I belonged with the adult females whom he loved and I had graduated to my new title, Darling.

On the other hand, unlike my grandfather, you may be a natural ebullient and flamboyant person, and terms of endearment may be part of your style. I remember as a little girl watching Zsa Zsa Gabor on television calling everyone Darling and I thought it was quite funny. My friend and I imitated her when we played.

"Daaahling, did you know I've just married another husband?"

"Yes, Daaahling he is number 27. I am such a lucky vooman."

"And Daahling vould you just look at my diamond!"

A new and much appreciated acquaintance has put these thoughts into my head and I am grateful for the opportunity to reminisce a little. So, Dearest, when you read this and suspect that you have provoked it, please do be flattered. Know that I appreciate you and look forward to either developing a lengthy history of acquaintanceship or perhaps, who knows, we may break through the artificiality of the internet and call ourselves friends. Call me whatever you like. I'm happy that you call.

2009-11-15T18:30:00.000-08:00

Santa Baby......I don't want fur, diamonds or a cadillac.

2009-11-15T18:06:00.000-08:00

In My Dreams

I came across these photos of the Paris apartment belonging to Loulou de la Falaise. The article and photos are from The Daily Mail, March 2008. I 'm sure I could live in this apartment. I usually don't care for white walls but these look creamy and warm, and there is plenty of warm wood and other colours. I also am not usually a fan of chandeliers, but I might be changing my mind. My taste runs a little more to Arts and Crafts but....I could get very carried away with textiles.

And here is my oh so clever segue-Loulou designs jewelry-the bracelets above are gorgeous-and I love jewelry too.

Quel surprise!

Diamonds might be a girl's best friend but they are too colourless for my liking.

2009-11-14T12:17:00.000-08:00

Musings on Being Canadian

I don't know why I woke up today thinking about patriotism. In the middle of November we are about as far as we can get from celebrating Canada day. Not that I celebrate it. It began with the truly boring lyrics of our national anthem running through my mind. I've worked in schools where we sang the anthem every day and others where it was sung only at assemblies. Currently, the school where I teach aims to sing it every Monday morning. Students don't want to sing it; I must regularly remind some to stand respectfully and not lean on their desks, and most eleven year old bottoms are in the chairs again by the time the last vibrations of music are still fading away. I last sang O' Canada on Wednesday, at the Remembrance day ceremony. It was followed by God Save The Queen, which has such little relevance these days. Personally I believe in neither God or the Queen, although the Queen seems like a nice person and God does not.

I decided to troll through Flickr commons and look for images of Canada. These are typical tourist photos, so it is possible that they show me Canada through the eyes of visitors. Most are nature photos. We do have cities in Canada, although we have a lot of nature too. It is beautiful, yes, and familiar so it does reach my stony little heart but there are beautiful places all over the world so I don't think that the beauty of Canada's nature is any reason to feel patriotic.

We're known for being friendly, apologetic and non-violent. In a country so physically vast there are such regional differences amongst people I just don't understand how these stereotypes can fit all people. When I visit the United States, I find people extremely friendly and in a great big rush to tell me how much they love Canadians ad Canada. In Canada we like to make fun of Americans for knowing so little about us. We also look scornfully on the American predilection for self promotion. If we aren't going to promote ourselves, then how can we expect our neighbours to really know anything about us.

I am grateful to live in a country where I am free. I am proud of our liberal attitudes where even our so called Conservatives are more liberal than the American Democrats. Yes, I would fight for those things. I would fight to remain more liberal than our friendly American neighbours. But I use the term fight broadly. Canada has a history with more meetings and paper work than battles. It isn't exciting to read about, but it is consistent with my values. I don't know that I would choose battle to defend what I believe in. It would sure depend on how much I had to loose.

Is that patriotism? It's about all you're going to get from me. No flag waving. No ideals about Canadian values rescuing the world. I'm more interested in my relationship with all people from all over the world, with our vast differences and our even more vast similarities. Our human frailties and our human strengths. I want a world anthem to sing. One about peace and love and helping each other. It may not be realistic but it could be filled with hope. I guess that's why my son calls me a hippie.

(above photos from flickr)

2009-11-13T14:06:00.000-08:00

I was in the mood for blue images today. It's too bad that feeling blue means feeling sad because I would like it to mean desirous of a calm environment. That's a typical feeling for me on a Friday.

It looks like it might be a sunny weekend which means I'll try to get outside and dig up the dahlia tubers. We haven't replaced the grass in the front garden since digging everything up for irrigation. Mud mud mud but I have my beloved neoprene boots. I think they would look great with purple velvet pants and a mustard or burnt orange jacket but such items are not in my closet. Sigh.....

So on a typical Friday night I drink a glass of wine in my cozy living room, often with a fire in the fireplace, and indulge in a magazine. I read a large variety of magazines, everything from Skeptic to Vogue. On Friday I like a glossy where all I have to do is look at pictures. Sometimes I take the wine and the glossy to my deep soaker tub, add some fruity scented bubbles, a little candlelight and........aaahhhhh.

But........

I am going to the theatre tonight. Doesn't that sound glamourous? Should I get out my diamonds? In my community, the theatre is amateur but that suits me just fine. Some people will dress up in their best clothes, some will choose their most arty ensemble and others will look like they just came from a day hiking in the local mountains. I just hope no idiot sits there with his ball cap on through the whole show.

I'm trying to be modern; I am a hat lover, but I just can't stand guys wearing ball caps indoors. I glared at a parent who wore his through the whole Remembrance Day assembly at school on Tuesday, but he was too busy taking pictures of his cute kid putting a poppy on the wreath to notice me. -Okay rant done. I put it at the end so you could skip it as soon as you saw it was a rant.

blue door

2009-11-13T14:03:00.001-08:00

blue door
Originally uploaded by alexanderhamdy

I love a door with bright colour.

2009-11-12T14:39:00.001-08:00

This is how I feel at report card time.

2009-11-11T14:42:00.000-08:00

Oh how I love embroidery with strong colour and bold shape. I love fabrics and wall papers and I often think I should just take swatches that I love of both paper and fabric and frame them for display in my house. I don't have enough walls!

Seriously Good Pumpkin Muffins (sorry, I haven't started food photography yet)

5 cups all purpose flour

2 cups brown sugar

2 1/2 tsp cream of tartar

2 1/2 tsp baking soda

1 tbsp cinnamon

1/4 tsp cardamom

1/2 tsp salt

1 cup canola oil

1 cup pumpkin puree

2 cups water

2 cups mini chocolate chips

Combine the dry ingredients and the wet ingredients separately. Add the liquid to the dry and mix just until combined and no flour remains dry.

Scoop into 24 muffin tins. I like to use silicone muffin liners.

Bake for 25-30 minutes at 350 degrees.

This recipe makes great muffins but leaves left over pumpkin if you use a 14 oz can. I haven't tried to double recipe yet but I think it would work as long as you have a large enough bowl.