Sir Edmund Hillary has died.
July 20, 1919 - January 11, 2008
July 20, 1919 - January 11, 2008The world is a poorer place without this great old gentleman.
Thursday, 10 January 2008
Wednesday, 9 January 2008
more innocuous plastic crap
Hi! I'm a pretty pony.
A pretty, pretty, pretty pony. See my curly hair? My big eyes? Aren't I cute?
Don't you want to play with me?
This is my little bed. Isn't it pretty?
I fit so nicely in my nice little bed, like a good little pretty pony.
I'm such a pretty little pony, until you turn the light out.....
and my butt glows fire red and I become the PONY HARBINGER OF DOOOOOMMMMMMM.
(snort. Happy Meal, my ass. No wonder she can't fall asleep tonight.)
A pretty, pretty, pretty pony. See my curly hair? My big eyes? Aren't I cute?
Don't you want to play with me?
This is my little bed. Isn't it pretty?
I fit so nicely in my nice little bed, like a good little pretty pony.
I'm such a pretty little pony, until you turn the light out.....
and my butt glows fire red and I become the PONY HARBINGER OF DOOOOOMMMMMMM.
(snort. Happy Meal, my ass. No wonder she can't fall asleep tonight.)
parkin
(a very basic and not-too-sweet cake)
for TX Poppet, who asked
Preheat oven to 350.
Melt 1/2 cup butter, mix with 2/3 cup molasses in bottom of large bowl.
Add:
1 cup rolled oats*
1 cup flour
1 tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
and 1/2 teaspoons of:
ginger
cinnamon
salt
baking soda
pinch of cloves
Stir with 2/3 cup milk. It will make a lumpy, odd batter.
Greased square pan about 30 minutes or so. Done when cake begins to pull away from the edges of the pan.
Also really good with a handful of chopped pecans, topped with any icing or glaze. Or eaten straight out of the pan. Your call.
*Using rolled oats gives it a definitively bumpy texture. I've been known to run the oats through my food processor for a minute or so to break them up a bit, too. This makes a smoother cake.
This makes the house smell fantastic and is an easy thing to whip up before the kids get home.
Enjoy!
for TX Poppet, who asked
Preheat oven to 350.
Melt 1/2 cup butter, mix with 2/3 cup molasses in bottom of large bowl.
Add:
1 cup rolled oats*
1 cup flour
1 tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
and 1/2 teaspoons of:
ginger
cinnamon
salt
baking soda
pinch of cloves
Stir with 2/3 cup milk. It will make a lumpy, odd batter.
Greased square pan about 30 minutes or so. Done when cake begins to pull away from the edges of the pan.
Also really good with a handful of chopped pecans, topped with any icing or glaze. Or eaten straight out of the pan. Your call.
*Using rolled oats gives it a definitively bumpy texture. I've been known to run the oats through my food processor for a minute or so to break them up a bit, too. This makes a smoother cake.
This makes the house smell fantastic and is an easy thing to whip up before the kids get home.
Enjoy!
Tuesday, 8 January 2008
bouncing back
I picked C up from school early today. Wee man dove into the action, ended up taking a soccer ball to the tum, thoroughly lost his wind, and decided after a bit he wanted to come home.
He was quiet during the afternoon but by the time R was home he felt well enough to go out and play with his truck and mug a bit for me and the camera.
He'll be fine.
He was gracious about posing, at least. The blur of blue there is Rosey, who didn't want to stand still long enough for me to click the shutter. Too much to do!
He was quiet during the afternoon but by the time R was home he felt well enough to go out and play with his truck and mug a bit for me and the camera.
He'll be fine.
He was gracious about posing, at least. The blur of blue there is Rosey, who didn't want to stand still long enough for me to click the shutter. Too much to do!
Monday, 7 January 2008
noone named crocker lives here
I've been going through a spate of cooking lately.
I blame the weather. Nothing like a blast of Arctic wind straight off the tundra to stir up the juices and make you want something hot and filling like beef barley soup, or shepherds pie. Split-pea and ham! A big rosemary and garlic cracked-pepper roast.
Oh, and cookies. Oatmeal, spice drop, caramel. Sometimes I'm so domestic I slay myself. Last night I even made a Parkin cake, topped off with a lemon glaze. (Thin-ish oat-cake with lots of ginger and nutmeg - not too sweet.)
So today B bounced downstairs after his shower, sniffed appreciatively, and said "Are you making lasagna? It's been ages since you made that! Can you cut me a piece to take to work tonight?"
I put the milk back in the fridge. "Not lasagna. I can make that next week, though."
B sniffed again. 'Spaghetti? Well, that'll be good. Did you make those little meatballs?"
"Not spaghetti, either."
"Well, what good thing are we having tonight?"
...a pause....
"Why, it's frozen pizza tonight, hon! 'Cause I love you."
I blame the weather. Nothing like a blast of Arctic wind straight off the tundra to stir up the juices and make you want something hot and filling like beef barley soup, or shepherds pie. Split-pea and ham! A big rosemary and garlic cracked-pepper roast.
Oh, and cookies. Oatmeal, spice drop, caramel. Sometimes I'm so domestic I slay myself. Last night I even made a Parkin cake, topped off with a lemon glaze. (Thin-ish oat-cake with lots of ginger and nutmeg - not too sweet.)
So today B bounced downstairs after his shower, sniffed appreciatively, and said "Are you making lasagna? It's been ages since you made that! Can you cut me a piece to take to work tonight?"
I put the milk back in the fridge. "Not lasagna. I can make that next week, though."
B sniffed again. 'Spaghetti? Well, that'll be good. Did you make those little meatballs?"
"Not spaghetti, either."
"Well, what good thing are we having tonight?"
...a pause....
"Why, it's frozen pizza tonight, hon! 'Cause I love you."
Sunday, 6 January 2008
chips and cheese redux
Thank you all for your comments about Cass and skating. I wanted to bring you up to speed:
His next skating outing is a week from Friday, not Friday. I was talking to one of the moms from his school and she set me straight. So I have a bit more time. (mu-ha-ha-ha!)
I don't skate, so I'm not a heck of a lot of help. I can, though, watch hockey reasonably well and not mix up whose goal is where, so he and I will be watching some games this week.
And we saw a commercial for Hockey Tonight and many players fell down and he noticed.
So there's hope yet.
I need to talk to a few local people (ahem, Crystell?) about where in hell people go around here to learn hockey skating. This cannot be just something fathers pass down to sons. (Because B doesn't skate either, so in that case C is screwed.) The lessons he took were just general ice skating.
(This is another post, but now I've had several people tell me that Rosey will be falling behind her peers if I don't get her ice skating by next winter. Visions of tulle, sequins and long, dozy car trips are filling my head. Argh.)
And B and I talked about it - Cass loves soccer and has also expressed interest in doing some sort of jujitsu/karate training, so if he really hates skating, we'll follow those avenues. (And he can be the kid that snowboards while everyone else is playing ice hockey.)
But yeah. Canadian child who doesn't like skating. I'll bet it's that Yank mother of his and her corrupting influence.
His next skating outing is a week from Friday, not Friday. I was talking to one of the moms from his school and she set me straight. So I have a bit more time. (mu-ha-ha-ha!)
I don't skate, so I'm not a heck of a lot of help. I can, though, watch hockey reasonably well and not mix up whose goal is where, so he and I will be watching some games this week.
And we saw a commercial for Hockey Tonight and many players fell down and he noticed.
So there's hope yet.
I need to talk to a few local people (ahem, Crystell?) about where in hell people go around here to learn hockey skating. This cannot be just something fathers pass down to sons. (Because B doesn't skate either, so in that case C is screwed.) The lessons he took were just general ice skating.
(This is another post, but now I've had several people tell me that Rosey will be falling behind her peers if I don't get her ice skating by next winter. Visions of tulle, sequins and long, dozy car trips are filling my head. Argh.)
And B and I talked about it - Cass loves soccer and has also expressed interest in doing some sort of jujitsu/karate training, so if he really hates skating, we'll follow those avenues. (And he can be the kid that snowboards while everyone else is playing ice hockey.)
But yeah. Canadian child who doesn't like skating. I'll bet it's that Yank mother of his and her corrupting influence.
Saturday, 5 January 2008
25 things that shit me to tears
I love all-consuming. Kim has a great wit. And because today was a bloody-nose, Mom-he-kicked-me (Did NOT!) sort of day, I give you this list of things I hate:
1. Dying house plants.
2. People who careen down the expressway in those new-fangled cars that come without turn signals.
3. Lunching with people who feel it is their duty to give a tip even whenignored the entire lunch not given adequate service. I don't need you to fawn over me, but a glass of water when I've asked three times would be nice. Oh, and a fork without spots.
4. Rough feet, my own or someone else's. Pumice yer hooves, would you?
5. Most flavoured teas. Tea is tea. Tea is not supposed to make your tastebuds think you're swallowing strangely liquefied apples and cinnamon, or worse yet - almonds. Blackberry tea is dreck.*
6. People assuming that since I'm from America I probably know their cousin Leroy in outer WallaWalla.
7. The last two inches of coke-colored water in the bottom of a big frosty glass.
8. Half-finished cups of milk left on the edge of the sink. (Although Jasper, our beginning-to-be-portly and constantly milk-mustached Lab? Thinks it's awesome.)
9. The smell of the bathroom garbage. (R drops her nighttime pull-ups in there)
10. Recycling. Yah, yah, important, and good for the earth, but jesus wept boring. And you can report me if you like, but I don't wash out my soup cans before I tuck them in their proper bag. I'll be damned if I'm going to wash my garbage.
11. The way the dishes never seem to be done. Even when I run a load and put them away, there are always more.
12. People who drive too slowly for safety, even in bad weather conditions.
13. No-fat salad dressings.
14. Women who say airily "Oh, I never eat chocolate." These are not humans and should be avoided at all costs.
15.Casual tattooing.**
16. Automated telephone menus. I just keep hitting '0'.
17. The way U.S. politicians recoil in horror over the idea of socialized medicine. I'm not going to lie: I pay a large boatload of taxes. But any time my children are ill, I can take them to the doctor. And I don't have to worry about a co-pay. Anything's better than this.
18. How finding most of the shows I think are funny has become a huge search-and-find mission - is my sense of humour so out of step?
19. Canned soup.
20. School-board bickering.
21. Trying to find lost mittens. Every morning.
22. Makeup that smears. Or wears off. Or fades unevenly. Or sparkles.
23. Cookies that taste of baking-soda. Expensive bakery cookies. There's a special level of hell for those who don't get the cookies right.
24. The way I've had to explain to my six-year old what terrorists are. He's not stupid. He sees CNN. And the three days of nightmares afterwards.
25. Old women who bathe in strong perfume.
I could go on.....hey, if tomorrow is a good day, maybe I'll do blackbird's 25 things I never get tired of list!
*While we're on teas? Green tea is shit. If I wanted to drink rubbery-tasting hot grass I'm sure I could find it in the yard.
**Tattoos are fine. But there seems to be a growing feeling that six or seven is a good number, all over your body.
1. Dying house plants.
2. People who careen down the expressway in those new-fangled cars that come without turn signals.
3. Lunching with people who feel it is their duty to give a tip even when
4. Rough feet, my own or someone else's. Pumice yer hooves, would you?
5. Most flavoured teas. Tea is tea. Tea is not supposed to make your tastebuds think you're swallowing strangely liquefied apples and cinnamon, or worse yet - almonds. Blackberry tea is dreck.*
6. People assuming that since I'm from America I probably know their cousin Leroy in outer WallaWalla.
7. The last two inches of coke-colored water in the bottom of a big frosty glass.
8. Half-finished cups of milk left on the edge of the sink. (Although Jasper, our beginning-to-be-portly and constantly milk-mustached Lab? Thinks it's awesome.)
9. The smell of the bathroom garbage. (R drops her nighttime pull-ups in there)
10. Recycling. Yah, yah, important, and good for the earth, but jesus wept boring. And you can report me if you like, but I don't wash out my soup cans before I tuck them in their proper bag. I'll be damned if I'm going to wash my garbage.
11. The way the dishes never seem to be done. Even when I run a load and put them away, there are always more.
12. People who drive too slowly for safety, even in bad weather conditions.
13. No-fat salad dressings.
14. Women who say airily "Oh, I never eat chocolate." These are not humans and should be avoided at all costs.
15.Casual tattooing.**
16. Automated telephone menus. I just keep hitting '0'.
17. The way U.S. politicians recoil in horror over the idea of socialized medicine. I'm not going to lie: I pay a large boatload of taxes. But any time my children are ill, I can take them to the doctor. And I don't have to worry about a co-pay. Anything's better than this.
18. How finding most of the shows I think are funny has become a huge search-and-find mission - is my sense of humour so out of step?
19. Canned soup.
20. School-board bickering.
21. Trying to find lost mittens. Every morning.
22. Makeup that smears. Or wears off. Or fades unevenly. Or sparkles.
23. Cookies that taste of baking-soda. Expensive bakery cookies. There's a special level of hell for those who don't get the cookies right.
24. The way I've had to explain to my six-year old what terrorists are. He's not stupid. He sees CNN. And the three days of nightmares afterwards.
25. Old women who bathe in strong perfume.
I could go on.....hey, if tomorrow is a good day, maybe I'll do blackbird's 25 things I never get tired of list!
*While we're on teas? Green tea is shit. If I wanted to drink rubbery-tasting hot grass I'm sure I could find it in the yard.
**Tattoos are fine. But there seems to be a growing feeling that six or seven is a good number, all over your body.
Friday, 4 January 2008
chips and cheese
The boy wants to stop skating.
'I fell down, Mommy.' he says, rubbing his bum. 'A lot. And some kids laughed at me.'
Crap.
He's had a few lessons, but nothing really structured. ( And those were awhile ago.) I don't know how to convince him that this might be something that he might want to stick with, that ice-skating is cousins with roller-blading and skate-boarding, that young boys+winter=ice hockey around here.
If he stopped now, he could miss out on a lot of fun. On the other hand, I never wanted to be one of those moms who stuck their kids in everything. I feel like I'm walking a hard line, somewhere in between Glee Club Cheerleader Mom (go, go! Siss Boom Bah!) and that Slacker who never makes her kids finish anything.
So! Any advice?
(His next school skating-trip is Friday.)
'I fell down, Mommy.' he says, rubbing his bum. 'A lot. And some kids laughed at me.'
Crap.
He's had a few lessons, but nothing really structured. ( And those were awhile ago.) I don't know how to convince him that this might be something that he might want to stick with, that ice-skating is cousins with roller-blading and skate-boarding, that young boys+winter=ice hockey around here.
If he stopped now, he could miss out on a lot of fun. On the other hand, I never wanted to be one of those moms who stuck their kids in everything. I feel like I'm walking a hard line, somewhere in between Glee Club Cheerleader Mom (go, go! Siss Boom Bah!) and that Slacker who never makes her kids finish anything.
So! Any advice?
(His next school skating-trip is Friday.)
Thursday, 3 January 2008
this couch doesn't speak to me
I'm trying to convince B that we should start going to auctions.
He pooh-poohs the idea, pointing out that there are hordes of antique buyers here*, and that it would be like me to lose my heart over something that would skip merrily through our price range.
He's probably right. But I love that sort of thing, poking through boxes and forgotten corners, finding something that I never knew existed and envisioning the perfect place for it.
I grew up, you see, in a house filled with treasures my parents found. Re-finishing, painting, modifying. One of my favorite pieces of furniture (and one of the few I brought with me) is a cabinet that my parents found in an alleyway when they lived in Chicago, listing drunkenly against a dumpster, needing some new molding and glass and someone gentle to remove the nine coats of paint that were marring its nice lines.
B wants new things. Things that haven't been owned, that he can look at and think 'There is noone who has sat at that desk until I did'
while I fondle old cane-bottom chairs and Mission-style rockers and think 'I wish I knew your history.'
And plot for the day when I'll have beautiful, aged wood and clear colors in my house.
*And there are. Antique dealers come up from the New England states in droves with big old trucks.
He pooh-poohs the idea, pointing out that there are hordes of antique buyers here*, and that it would be like me to lose my heart over something that would skip merrily through our price range.
He's probably right. But I love that sort of thing, poking through boxes and forgotten corners, finding something that I never knew existed and envisioning the perfect place for it.
I grew up, you see, in a house filled with treasures my parents found. Re-finishing, painting, modifying. One of my favorite pieces of furniture (and one of the few I brought with me) is a cabinet that my parents found in an alleyway when they lived in Chicago, listing drunkenly against a dumpster, needing some new molding and glass and someone gentle to remove the nine coats of paint that were marring its nice lines.
B wants new things. Things that haven't been owned, that he can look at and think 'There is noone who has sat at that desk until I did'
while I fondle old cane-bottom chairs and Mission-style rockers and think 'I wish I knew your history.'
And plot for the day when I'll have beautiful, aged wood and clear colors in my house.
*And there are. Antique dealers come up from the New England states in droves with big old trucks.
Wednesday, 2 January 2008
meandering through my head
Upstairs, the kids are falling into sleep. Here, the woodstove crackles and the dog sighs and shifts position in the kitchen. The tv is set low; I'm scrolling cooking shows.
The cat is licking his paws and looking pleased with himself.
Really? Fresh dill in seafood chowder?
Tomorrow the two go back to school. I'm getting smarter - I made both of them find mittens and hats earlier so I don't have to go through that tomorrow, and C has his monthly milk money tucked away in his pack.
I should really make more gingerbread....
The cat is licking his paws and looking pleased with himself.
Really? Fresh dill in seafood chowder?
Tomorrow the two go back to school. I'm getting smarter - I made both of them find mittens and hats earlier so I don't have to go through that tomorrow, and C has his monthly milk money tucked away in his pack.
I should really make more gingerbread....
Tuesday, 1 January 2008
on the first day of the new year
We went for a walk.
It was all brilliant blue and sun-glare off ice here, crunchy and slippery underfoot and full of the noise the tree limbs make when they rub together.
A squirrel scolded and blue jays (and an errant gull) flitted through the sky.
And we talked of many things - of how the big cherry-picker down the next bridge works, why the stop signs don't have 'excitement marks' on them, and how on earth the air can be so crisp and clean and full of possibilities.
Tonight it will rain and snow again, and we'll take down the Christmas tree, letting the living room breathe and seem huge and echoingly empty until we get used to the space again.
It was all brilliant blue and sun-glare off ice here, crunchy and slippery underfoot and full of the noise the tree limbs make when they rub together.
A squirrel scolded and blue jays (and an errant gull) flitted through the sky.
And we talked of many things - of how the big cherry-picker down the next bridge works, why the stop signs don't have 'excitement marks' on them, and how on earth the air can be so crisp and clean and full of possibilities.
Tonight it will rain and snow again, and we'll take down the Christmas tree, letting the living room breathe and seem huge and echoingly empty until we get used to the space again.
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