You know what really really pisses me off? (maybe not as much as losing my Trooper blog, but still a lot) Those retarded serving sizes on the back of food packets. I came home from yoga, opened a cider, and decided that the packet of "Crispy Tortillaz" I had in my cupboard were not getting any riper, and cracked 'em. Swig of cider, crispy tortilla, swig of cider, crispy tortilla..... You can sense a pattern here, I am sure. It was going very well, indeed, the cool sweet bubbles of pear cider nicely complimenting the savory, MSG deliciousness of the Santa Fe Ranch crispy tortillaz. I could not help but then notice that I had consumed much of the packet. Did not intend to...just kind of happened. I further could not help but notice that the serving size on the back was *get ready* 8 chips. 8. Yes, you read that correctly. 8.
Fuck. Well, there goes about 500 calories. And these weren't even the real thing, for God's sake. They were the Quaker kind that cruelly misleads one into thinking that they are not half bad to eat. Why don't they blazon the serving size on the front, in realistic terms. For example, "Serving Size: the whole damned bag. Calories: unspeakable." I'd really rather know the whole story, right off the top. I mean, what is the idea of giving a serving size that small? I'd guess to keep the calorie count under 3 digits. But who ever eats only 2 digits worth of Crispy Tortillaz? So give us the dirty, people. Then, if by some miracle of the modern world, we manage NOT to down the whole bag o' crispy tortillaz, we feel pretty good that we have not ingested a person's caloric intake for the entire day. Can you not just let us feel good, snack manufacturers? Can you not?
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Monday, July 14, 2008
Sadness that gross snacks cannot help.
I have looked at my blog, and I have discovered that my masterpiece, the entry about the Trooper concert, is somehow incomplete. I am crushed. My very heart and soul went into that one, and now some evil blog-eating something or other has sucked it into the cyberspace void. I was truly inspired in my description of the satin jacket wearing, caftan sporting, Phantom of the Opera channeling Trooper keyboard player. Even my husband was impressed. I feel as though I have lost a little part of myself that can never quite be replaced. Even pretzels dipped in Cheese Whiz have not taken the edge off my sorrow. Just think of it....pretzels & cheese whiz, washed down with bubbly wine, in which floated lovely fresh raspberries. And nada.... the pain still skewers my heart. SCREW YOU, DUMBASS BLOG!!!
I am also procrastinating badly. We spent a delightful weekend at the cabin, and returned home last night with the expected mountain of laundry, crap, and personal filth that can only come from a weekend with no mod cons, plus an excursion in bare feet/rubber sandals across the Little Red Deer River. Have I dealt with this? NO no no. Shit. It looms, inducing ever-increasing loads of guilt. But I had an excuse. Last night, I somehow caused my right eye to manifest the world's worst allergic reaction, which resulted in the entire right side of my face swelling and twisting and contorting, so that I resembled the Elephant Man's more unfortunate sister. God, it was unspeakably revolting. Lucky I have a strong stomach. I was kind of ill all morning, and then had to go around in the afternoon with a dishcloth of ice lashed to my face in order to actually leave the house for yoga this evening.
It still feels all jelly-like and creepy. The wine has done no good, nor have the pretzels. And the mess has failed to take care of itself. Tomorrow is going to suck.
I am also procrastinating badly. We spent a delightful weekend at the cabin, and returned home last night with the expected mountain of laundry, crap, and personal filth that can only come from a weekend with no mod cons, plus an excursion in bare feet/rubber sandals across the Little Red Deer River. Have I dealt with this? NO no no. Shit. It looms, inducing ever-increasing loads of guilt. But I had an excuse. Last night, I somehow caused my right eye to manifest the world's worst allergic reaction, which resulted in the entire right side of my face swelling and twisting and contorting, so that I resembled the Elephant Man's more unfortunate sister. God, it was unspeakably revolting. Lucky I have a strong stomach. I was kind of ill all morning, and then had to go around in the afternoon with a dishcloth of ice lashed to my face in order to actually leave the house for yoga this evening.
It still feels all jelly-like and creepy. The wine has done no good, nor have the pretzels. And the mess has failed to take care of itself. Tomorrow is going to suck.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
One for the Money, Two for the Show...
There was definitely money, and there sure was a show. And there was me, having my little mind expanded and amused. Last night, I stayed out waaaaay past my bedtime, I went to a casino and I saw those grizzled gods of 70s Canadian classic rock, Trooper. Yes, Trooper. They are still alive, quite well, it would seem, and playing to frantically devoted crowds in places such as the Deerfoot Casino. And I was there to feel the magic.....
Trooper is one of Dad's faves, so my sis, bro-in-law, and myself all accompanied Dad on his outing to see his band. This led to my being in the aforementioned casino. Boy, what a surprise for little old me. I do not frequent casinos. I would have hardly be able to tell you what goes on in one, save for last night. Now I know. I beheld bank after bank of blinking, chirping, whirling game machines, food stalls, a cashier place behind strands of giant barbed wire, free coffee table (!!), real live game tables, where real live people were playing card games with real live dealers, just like you see in the movies (and didn't my clever brother-in-law, Wally, just go and win $50 at one such table), little people with wagons of snackies, going up and down the aisles of machines, offering much-needed MSG to peckish players, gamblers galore, both serious and fun-seeking, and last, but surely not least, two poor girls on little platforms, wearing skin-tight pants from the Suzy Shier $20 and under rack, doing some kind of gyrating dance moves which were falling on a distincly disinterested audience. I kind of needed to have a little lie-down about 5 minutes after we arrived.
Dad took us to the lounge/pub thing, where he treated us to a great supper of appys, which we all shared. I downed 2 whiskey sours fairly quickly, to fortify myself against the excitement to come. It was really fun. Then, we braved the battlefield of the casino afterward, to fill in the time till Trooper began. Dad gave me $15 to play the machines, and Wyn had to show me the ropes. I went right to a machine which featured monkeys. I knew in my heart that they were lucky monkeys. In went my $5, and out came fuck-all. Stupid stupid lucky monkeys. Wyn played poker on a card machine, and there was yet another shock for me. Who knew that that old Kenny Rogers song was about my sister? Gambler, indeed. She knew all about flushes and pairs and straight-somethings... I could only sit in amazement. Sadly, though, she musn't have known quite when to walk away, or when to run, 'cause she, too, lost her dosh. We ran into a newly flush Wally, riding high on his success at the blackjack table, and on into the show we went.
Got drinks and found our seats in short order. The crowd needs a touch of explanation. Everyone was 50, if they were a day, and there appeared to be some kind of female weight minimum in effect. You must tip in at at least 250 to be a bona fide Trooper fan. (I later suggested that we send Wyn over to the merch table, where the band was signing stuff, purely to show that there was at least one audience member under 40, and under 250. It would have done their little hearts good, I'm sure.) They were seriously stoked for the show. There was some mild rocking out to the canned music before the show even began. And then, poof, Trooper took to the stage, and we all time-travelled back to the good old days of rock and roll. Ra McGuire's voice really is something else. He can hold a note longer than anyone I've ever heard, save from the ranks of opera singers. He held the front of the stage with his astounding vocal prowess, melodramatic hand gestures, bobbing bald head, and artful microphone flinging. Bass player was pretty rock-solid, and young enough to be the oldies' son. Guitar hero Brian Smith
Trooper is one of Dad's faves, so my sis, bro-in-law, and myself all accompanied Dad on his outing to see his band. This led to my being in the aforementioned casino. Boy, what a surprise for little old me. I do not frequent casinos. I would have hardly be able to tell you what goes on in one, save for last night. Now I know. I beheld bank after bank of blinking, chirping, whirling game machines, food stalls, a cashier place behind strands of giant barbed wire, free coffee table (!!), real live game tables, where real live people were playing card games with real live dealers, just like you see in the movies (and didn't my clever brother-in-law, Wally, just go and win $50 at one such table), little people with wagons of snackies, going up and down the aisles of machines, offering much-needed MSG to peckish players, gamblers galore, both serious and fun-seeking, and last, but surely not least, two poor girls on little platforms, wearing skin-tight pants from the Suzy Shier $20 and under rack, doing some kind of gyrating dance moves which were falling on a distincly disinterested audience. I kind of needed to have a little lie-down about 5 minutes after we arrived.
Dad took us to the lounge/pub thing, where he treated us to a great supper of appys, which we all shared. I downed 2 whiskey sours fairly quickly, to fortify myself against the excitement to come. It was really fun. Then, we braved the battlefield of the casino afterward, to fill in the time till Trooper began. Dad gave me $15 to play the machines, and Wyn had to show me the ropes. I went right to a machine which featured monkeys. I knew in my heart that they were lucky monkeys. In went my $5, and out came fuck-all. Stupid stupid lucky monkeys. Wyn played poker on a card machine, and there was yet another shock for me. Who knew that that old Kenny Rogers song was about my sister? Gambler, indeed. She knew all about flushes and pairs and straight-somethings... I could only sit in amazement. Sadly, though, she musn't have known quite when to walk away, or when to run, 'cause she, too, lost her dosh. We ran into a newly flush Wally, riding high on his success at the blackjack table, and on into the show we went.
Got drinks and found our seats in short order. The crowd needs a touch of explanation. Everyone was 50, if they were a day, and there appeared to be some kind of female weight minimum in effect. You must tip in at at least 250 to be a bona fide Trooper fan. (I later suggested that we send Wyn over to the merch table, where the band was signing stuff, purely to show that there was at least one audience member under 40, and under 250. It would have done their little hearts good, I'm sure.) They were seriously stoked for the show. There was some mild rocking out to the canned music before the show even began. And then, poof, Trooper took to the stage, and we all time-travelled back to the good old days of rock and roll. Ra McGuire's voice really is something else. He can hold a note longer than anyone I've ever heard, save from the ranks of opera singers. He held the front of the stage with his astounding vocal prowess, melodramatic hand gestures, bobbing bald head, and artful microphone flinging. Bass player was pretty rock-solid, and young enough to be the oldies' son. Guitar hero Brian Smith
Monday, July 7, 2008
Salsa
I cannot seem to stop making (and eating) fresh salsa. Every time I turn around, I catch myself heading kitchen-ward, and reaching for tomatoes, cucumbers etc, and busting out the chopping board. I think I'm obsessed. I make these MASSIVE batches of salsa, and Lee and I fall on it like ravenous wild beasts, and don't stop shoving it in our faces till it's all gone. Every time. It just seems to taste of summer...all fresh and crunchy and flavourful. I'm spending a fortune on veggies and lovely organic corn chips to feed out addiction. Sigh. The crystal meth of summer foods...
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Then. And Now.
There I was, nosing about in my largely ignored Myspace page, when I came upon a bunch of my old blogs from last summer, the summer o' the Great Kitchen Project. Boy oh boy, was I not a happy camper. So, just for fun, I'm re-posting a couple, as a little trip down memory lane, and to remind myself just how good I have it.
World War II....kind of.... Current mood: crazy
Oh. My.God. You know how Dresden, Germany looked after the Allied boys from RAF Bomber Command, in their Avro Lancasters & De Havilland Mosquitos finished with it in 1945? Okay..well, that's kind of how my kitchen looks right now. Holy shitting fuck. Seriously, it's something else..... It's actually my 40th birthday pressie coming true. Lee said he'd reno the kitchen (a long-awaited dream of mine...I used to go into IKEA and moon about in the kitchen section for hours at a time.) for my big 4-0, and now it's happening. I'm kind of traumatised, to be honest. I'm really stupid that way. I was actually shedding a couple of sentimental tears over my old oven being wrenched out of the wall, when Lee (gently) pretty much shoved me bodily out of the house.
The girls & I are staying at my sister's, who is currently sailing on a cruise ship to Alaska with her family. Her little, just-grown-up cat Kota spent much of last night making bread on my flesh, lying across my head and chewing on my face. That, combined with the sheets which refused to stay neatly attached to the bed, plus my usual insomniac tendencies made last night an evil nightmare. AAAARRRRGGGHHHH! Not sure which is worse, home here in the war zone, or at Wyn's palatial house with the love-starved cat!
I'm really excited for the final kitchen outcome, but it's more than a little freaky in here. I've had to stop home tonight and give the girls to Lee, 'cause I have teacher-training yoga tonight. I'd normally just be reaching for the bottle o' vino right about now, but rolling up pissed to one's teacher-training yoga class would be more than a little frowned upon. I've lost my yogic calm somewhere with the old cabinets & counter-top.....Somebody help me! Lee's all about the kitchen & I'm all about a minor flip-out.Gonna try to get out of the house without actually looking into the kitchen. Just the dining room full of the contents of the kitchen. Fuckity fuck. Ok. Bye.
A riff on snacks, cats & no kitchen Current mood: resigned
Ok. So just to bring everyone up to speed on the kitchen reno/housesitting sitch--
-Kitchen still Dresden-like. (Just to even things up on the WWII analogy front, it is also east end of London -like...I can kind of hear a Winston Churchill inspirational radio broadcast when I look at it.) The doorway in is suddenly much wider & my cute husband is thrilling to his carpentry/framing skills. I miss my husband. And my animals & my bedroom a/c.
-I have eaten the following from my sister's pantry: oreos, approx. 5 or 6, a packet of some sort of flavoured rice mix, some antediluvian iceberg lettuce, pringles & frozen pizza. I can feel all the additives coursing through my system, urging me to replenish their levels with yet more pringles & oreos. I shall put it on my "to do" list for tomorrow. I plan to get that out of the way well before yoga.
-Baby cat Kota continues to be a nocturnal menace, but man, I have rarely seen a more exquisite cat. SHe resembles nothing so much as a little blue-eyed lynx. Older cats are grouchy, but sweet.
-I failed to figure out the shower in my sister & Wally's bathroom, and thus resorted to Kelsey's. I now smell of 'Mary-Kate & Ashley" body wash.
-Girls are in Fruit Loop cereal-cable TV-junk food heaven. They never want to leave.
That's all for now. I have run out of wine.
We've maxed out WWII, and thusly turn to literature... Current mood: crazy
We are pretty much through with the "kitchen= WWII" references. I'm off in a new direction. Luckily, this is slap bang in the middle of my field, 17th century literature. Goodbye Dresden, hello Pilgrim's Progress. Lee must then be the unfortunate pilgrim, Christian, and he has mired himself in the Slough of Despond. Yep. On the way to the Wicket Gate, Lee/Christian sinks further under the weight of his burden. I can hear his power tools whining as I type. Poor Lee, poor kitchen, poor me. Pilgrim's Progress for a new generation. Come & see it for yourselves. Actually, don't. I really wouldn't recommend it. You can nearly smell the putrefaction of that Slough. I guess I'm kinda the pilgrim, too, as I attempt to feed & water 3 children (I have a classmate of Raine's every day this week. Great timing.) and myself in the rubble and constructional wasteland that is the kitchen. (There you go--I'm onto another one. Stand up, T.S. Eliot!) I am trying to view this all as an exercise in acceptance and patience. My yogic yamas & niyamas ask that I do indeed embrace acceptance, etc. I'm tryin' over here, I'm tryin'. Lee is so steadfast in his commitment to this project. I do have full faith in him. I don't, however, have all that much faith in myself that I can endure this chaos & confusion for most of the rest of the summer. My kitchen contents sits in teetering piles in the dining room, the living room & the basement. My sink is arse-up on the back patio. I have nary a work surface, and I am stacking boxes of blueberries, bags of mini-bagels, assorted produce, etc in the open tops of drawers, alongside some rather alarming looking tools & whatnots.Lee is swearing a whole bunch, but he soldiers on. I wanted to drown Raine, Cleo & Claire in the paddling pool this afternoon, what with the "Mummy can we have..." "Mummy, I really need...". "Fiona, where is...." AAAARRRRRRGGHHHHH!!! I don't the fuck know where anything is, NO, you can't have --- because for all I know, it's buried under a bag of icing sugar, three wine goblets and a bottle of Murphy's Oil Soap, and if you really do need-----tough shit, 'cause it could be anywhere, my little friends, anywhere... The heat is giving me a dreadful headache, and now i have to go and change the girls' bedlinens, put them both through the shower, wash some dishes (and a bag of cherries) in the bathtub, and then go and shove sharp things into my eyes. Listen. kiddies, to Auntie Fee's parting message. "Careful what you wish for"....(Apparently, I brought this on myself, what with foolish 40th birthday requests.)P.S. It's still going to be a great kitchen when pilgrim yanks himself out of the quicksand!
So how about all of that, huh? This summer is a veritable oasis of calm! But I still need the wine.
World War II....kind of.... Current mood: crazy
Oh. My.God. You know how Dresden, Germany looked after the Allied boys from RAF Bomber Command, in their Avro Lancasters & De Havilland Mosquitos finished with it in 1945? Okay..well, that's kind of how my kitchen looks right now. Holy shitting fuck. Seriously, it's something else..... It's actually my 40th birthday pressie coming true. Lee said he'd reno the kitchen (a long-awaited dream of mine...I used to go into IKEA and moon about in the kitchen section for hours at a time.) for my big 4-0, and now it's happening. I'm kind of traumatised, to be honest. I'm really stupid that way. I was actually shedding a couple of sentimental tears over my old oven being wrenched out of the wall, when Lee (gently) pretty much shoved me bodily out of the house.
The girls & I are staying at my sister's, who is currently sailing on a cruise ship to Alaska with her family. Her little, just-grown-up cat Kota spent much of last night making bread on my flesh, lying across my head and chewing on my face. That, combined with the sheets which refused to stay neatly attached to the bed, plus my usual insomniac tendencies made last night an evil nightmare. AAAARRRRGGGHHHH! Not sure which is worse, home here in the war zone, or at Wyn's palatial house with the love-starved cat!
I'm really excited for the final kitchen outcome, but it's more than a little freaky in here. I've had to stop home tonight and give the girls to Lee, 'cause I have teacher-training yoga tonight. I'd normally just be reaching for the bottle o' vino right about now, but rolling up pissed to one's teacher-training yoga class would be more than a little frowned upon. I've lost my yogic calm somewhere with the old cabinets & counter-top.....Somebody help me! Lee's all about the kitchen & I'm all about a minor flip-out.Gonna try to get out of the house without actually looking into the kitchen. Just the dining room full of the contents of the kitchen. Fuckity fuck. Ok. Bye.
A riff on snacks, cats & no kitchen Current mood: resigned
Ok. So just to bring everyone up to speed on the kitchen reno/housesitting sitch--
-Kitchen still Dresden-like. (Just to even things up on the WWII analogy front, it is also east end of London -like...I can kind of hear a Winston Churchill inspirational radio broadcast when I look at it.) The doorway in is suddenly much wider & my cute husband is thrilling to his carpentry/framing skills. I miss my husband. And my animals & my bedroom a/c.
-I have eaten the following from my sister's pantry: oreos, approx. 5 or 6, a packet of some sort of flavoured rice mix, some antediluvian iceberg lettuce, pringles & frozen pizza. I can feel all the additives coursing through my system, urging me to replenish their levels with yet more pringles & oreos. I shall put it on my "to do" list for tomorrow. I plan to get that out of the way well before yoga.
-Baby cat Kota continues to be a nocturnal menace, but man, I have rarely seen a more exquisite cat. SHe resembles nothing so much as a little blue-eyed lynx. Older cats are grouchy, but sweet.
-I failed to figure out the shower in my sister & Wally's bathroom, and thus resorted to Kelsey's. I now smell of 'Mary-Kate & Ashley" body wash.
-Girls are in Fruit Loop cereal-cable TV-junk food heaven. They never want to leave.
That's all for now. I have run out of wine.
We've maxed out WWII, and thusly turn to literature... Current mood: crazy
We are pretty much through with the "kitchen= WWII" references. I'm off in a new direction. Luckily, this is slap bang in the middle of my field, 17th century literature. Goodbye Dresden, hello Pilgrim's Progress. Lee must then be the unfortunate pilgrim, Christian, and he has mired himself in the Slough of Despond. Yep. On the way to the Wicket Gate, Lee/Christian sinks further under the weight of his burden. I can hear his power tools whining as I type. Poor Lee, poor kitchen, poor me. Pilgrim's Progress for a new generation. Come & see it for yourselves. Actually, don't. I really wouldn't recommend it. You can nearly smell the putrefaction of that Slough. I guess I'm kinda the pilgrim, too, as I attempt to feed & water 3 children (I have a classmate of Raine's every day this week. Great timing.) and myself in the rubble and constructional wasteland that is the kitchen. (There you go--I'm onto another one. Stand up, T.S. Eliot!) I am trying to view this all as an exercise in acceptance and patience. My yogic yamas & niyamas ask that I do indeed embrace acceptance, etc. I'm tryin' over here, I'm tryin'. Lee is so steadfast in his commitment to this project. I do have full faith in him. I don't, however, have all that much faith in myself that I can endure this chaos & confusion for most of the rest of the summer. My kitchen contents sits in teetering piles in the dining room, the living room & the basement. My sink is arse-up on the back patio. I have nary a work surface, and I am stacking boxes of blueberries, bags of mini-bagels, assorted produce, etc in the open tops of drawers, alongside some rather alarming looking tools & whatnots.Lee is swearing a whole bunch, but he soldiers on. I wanted to drown Raine, Cleo & Claire in the paddling pool this afternoon, what with the "Mummy can we have..." "Mummy, I really need...". "Fiona, where is...." AAAARRRRRRGGHHHHH!!! I don't the fuck know where anything is, NO, you can't have --- because for all I know, it's buried under a bag of icing sugar, three wine goblets and a bottle of Murphy's Oil Soap, and if you really do need-----tough shit, 'cause it could be anywhere, my little friends, anywhere... The heat is giving me a dreadful headache, and now i have to go and change the girls' bedlinens, put them both through the shower, wash some dishes (and a bag of cherries) in the bathtub, and then go and shove sharp things into my eyes. Listen. kiddies, to Auntie Fee's parting message. "Careful what you wish for"....(Apparently, I brought this on myself, what with foolish 40th birthday requests.)P.S. It's still going to be a great kitchen when pilgrim yanks himself out of the quicksand!
So how about all of that, huh? This summer is a veritable oasis of calm! But I still need the wine.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Summer starts...
It sure has. Summer has come in like a lion. I've been at a couple of fantastic back-yard summer parties (one of which I'd really rather not care to relive very much--party was great, but the drunken behaviour of myself and my husband doesn't bear much scrutiny), been sitting on the sand at a lake with friends, been up till midnight at the cabin, drinking bubbly and listening to the river, I've flung myself into summer food prep, and made loads of fresh salsas, dips and yummy salads, and I've been chewed on by mozzies on my own, flower-filled patio. Not bad, hey? Okay indeed.
In other news, I've aquired an axolotl. If you don't know what one is, google it and you're in for a treat. Mine is called Gilligan. He's leucistic (which basically means white, with black eyes) and just a baby. I rescued him from an insalubrious home, and I think I've finally got him on the right track. He's just lovely, and currently residing in the basement on account of heat-sensitivty. If they get too hot, one has to pop them in the fridge to have a little spell of health-giving cooling! How sweet is the visual of the fridge-axie!?
I'm digging the following at the moment:
1.) Book called "the Go-Between", by Leslie Hartley. It's a beautifully written little novel, deft and eloquent in its re-creation of the charmed Edwardian pre-war existense, and the coming of age of its hero. I can't believe that hardly anyone has heard of it, let alone read it. It's a beauty.
2.) TV series called "Bramwell". A great British series from awhile ago, centred around a passionate and principled woman doctor in Victorian London. There were a few women physicians in that time, and boy, did they have an uphill battle. This one is so well done, and the character of Eleanor Bramwell is played fabulously by Jemma Redgrave. I got mine at the library. Definitley worth a watch.
3.) My awesome, embroidered Mexican-hippie-handbag. It's kind of burlap-y, with all sorts of coloured patterns embroidered on it. Got it at good old Valoo Villaj for cheap-cheap. It's totally a Fiona bag. I win!!
4.) Fresh salsas. Simply cannot get enough of 'em. My homemade one is stellar, the best, really, but Planet Organic does a lovely one for my off days.
Lee has fixed my bike, and now with my new helmet, I'll be the biking babe of Haysboro. Gas is just too stinkin' expensive to be popping out to the liquor store any more. It'll be me and my backpack full o' booze.
So life is pretty good. I had a whole lot of busy, but things are slowing down now, so I'll feel the pull of the old blog more than I have of late.
Just looked at my watch.....10:17 pm. Is it too late to go and make some salsa??
In other news, I've aquired an axolotl. If you don't know what one is, google it and you're in for a treat. Mine is called Gilligan. He's leucistic (which basically means white, with black eyes) and just a baby. I rescued him from an insalubrious home, and I think I've finally got him on the right track. He's just lovely, and currently residing in the basement on account of heat-sensitivty. If they get too hot, one has to pop them in the fridge to have a little spell of health-giving cooling! How sweet is the visual of the fridge-axie!?
I'm digging the following at the moment:
1.) Book called "the Go-Between", by Leslie Hartley. It's a beautifully written little novel, deft and eloquent in its re-creation of the charmed Edwardian pre-war existense, and the coming of age of its hero. I can't believe that hardly anyone has heard of it, let alone read it. It's a beauty.
2.) TV series called "Bramwell". A great British series from awhile ago, centred around a passionate and principled woman doctor in Victorian London. There were a few women physicians in that time, and boy, did they have an uphill battle. This one is so well done, and the character of Eleanor Bramwell is played fabulously by Jemma Redgrave. I got mine at the library. Definitley worth a watch.
3.) My awesome, embroidered Mexican-hippie-handbag. It's kind of burlap-y, with all sorts of coloured patterns embroidered on it. Got it at good old Valoo Villaj for cheap-cheap. It's totally a Fiona bag. I win!!
4.) Fresh salsas. Simply cannot get enough of 'em. My homemade one is stellar, the best, really, but Planet Organic does a lovely one for my off days.
Lee has fixed my bike, and now with my new helmet, I'll be the biking babe of Haysboro. Gas is just too stinkin' expensive to be popping out to the liquor store any more. It'll be me and my backpack full o' booze.
So life is pretty good. I had a whole lot of busy, but things are slowing down now, so I'll feel the pull of the old blog more than I have of late.
Just looked at my watch.....10:17 pm. Is it too late to go and make some salsa??
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