Why?
Why do I want presents for christmas? I don't really even celebrate it much any more! I still believe it is better to give than to receive...but part of me remains a five-year-old inside and wants MORE!!!!!
One year, back when I was seeing a therapist on a regular basis - let's call him J - I was moaning about only having one hundred dollars in total for christmas presents for my Daughter, who was still quite small at the time. He asked me if the quantity of gifts was more important than the quality - and I replied Of Course!
I'm a child of divorced parents, and my mom was prevented from seeing me much of my life, through absolutely no fault of her own. She used to send me boxes and boxes of gifts for Christmas, and it was definitely magical!
In fact, that probably accounted for most of my contact with her through my younger life.
I think I felt, when I saw the heaps of gifts for me under the tree, that yes, she did love me, after all.
"They" say that one's personality is set by age five, and I guess that did it for me. To me, MORE gifts is definitely BETTER, and mean more LOVE.
My brain knows this isn't true. That presents don't equate with love.
(Except at Christmas, of course!)
I've been wrestling with this for some time now. Because I look around this house and see no room. No room at the inn! No room for any more THINGS. We are chockablock! And there is absolutely nothing we need - for which all three of us are quite thankful!
Why then, do I drop hints about "bling?" Since The Guys split the cost of my birthday presents, I somehow worked it out in my brain that that meant they could give my something HUGE for christmas! Very, very large, and very, very shiny!
But I don't NEED anything!
And when I'm giving, I don't want to give people things they NEED! I want to give luxury items, fun things. Well beyond what I can afford, as well.
Because that means more love.
And yet I'm the first one to complain about giving stupid gifts to people I barely know. About keeping the list of givvees to a minimum. I don't exchange gifts with half the people I love.
But for the ones I do exchange with, it's got to have a "wow!" factor.
Thursday, November 29, 2018
Monday, August 27, 2018
Solving the Mystery of Parchment Paper
No, not the kind related to papyrus. The kind we line our baking pans with, or roll dough on.
What mystery, you ask?
Well, I don't know about your baking sheets/pans...but mine are not the same size as the roll of parchment paper. The stuff is slippery, resists folding into any shape, tape won't hold it...
Once I even resorted to stapling the corners in a vain attempt to get the paper to lie flat on my baking sheet!
I end up working ten minutes per sheet of parchment paper trying to get it to lie flat so I can put cookies on it, or berries for freezing, or whatever. It's always been a battle.
Till today. I worked out the secret, the technique that's been hiding in plain site, in front of my nose, for years!
I sew. I quilt. For both these practices, it is occasionally necessary to clip curves. In sewing terms, that means when you've sewn two pieces of fabric together and the seam is a tad bulky, you clip (snip!) into the seam to release the tension of the bulges of fabric.
Today, while trimming the edges of my parchment paper, I had the bright idea to clip the corners. Just a single snip going diagonally toward the center of the pan.
The clipped edges fall neatly toward each other. When all four edges have been clipped, the parchment sits neatly aligned in the pan, no longer slipping out.
You're welcome!
What mystery, you ask?
Well, I don't know about your baking sheets/pans...but mine are not the same size as the roll of parchment paper. The stuff is slippery, resists folding into any shape, tape won't hold it...
Once I even resorted to stapling the corners in a vain attempt to get the paper to lie flat on my baking sheet!
I end up working ten minutes per sheet of parchment paper trying to get it to lie flat so I can put cookies on it, or berries for freezing, or whatever. It's always been a battle.
Till today. I worked out the secret, the technique that's been hiding in plain site, in front of my nose, for years!
I sew. I quilt. For both these practices, it is occasionally necessary to clip curves. In sewing terms, that means when you've sewn two pieces of fabric together and the seam is a tad bulky, you clip (snip!) into the seam to release the tension of the bulges of fabric.
Today, while trimming the edges of my parchment paper, I had the bright idea to clip the corners. Just a single snip going diagonally toward the center of the pan.
You're welcome!
Friday, May 25, 2018
Lack of Information
Ok, so I'm grumpy. I was working on a website, the one I do for WORK, fixing broken links. Fixing broken links is the job from hell that we all have to do from time to time.
And I was making every effort to track down items that had been moved due to website URL name changes (the bane of my existence!) even to the point of writing to the individuals who were named in articles where the link no longer worked.
Tracking down, finding, cleaning up. Keeping everything neat and tidy and running smoothly.
One of the people I reached out to runs another website within the same institution, and they very kindly answered me with the correct link, and then...
And then said:
What is so difficult about maintaining your website? So that people don't have to "google it." I fundamentally disagree that the simplest solution is to leave the site a mess and hope to goodness good ole' google can find it.
That's like leaving all your clothes in a pile on the floor and hoping your RFID tags will tell you where your favourite pair of undies is.
By far the SIMPLEST solution is to CLEAN IT THE FUCK UP.
grrrrrrr...
And I was making every effort to track down items that had been moved due to website URL name changes (the bane of my existence!) even to the point of writing to the individuals who were named in articles where the link no longer worked.
Tracking down, finding, cleaning up. Keeping everything neat and tidy and running smoothly.
One of the people I reached out to runs another website within the same institution, and they very kindly answered me with the correct link, and then...
And then said:
"I find that when the search function on the website isn't working a good solution can be to search it on google instead!"Very kind. Except this kind of stuff makes my head explode!
What is so difficult about maintaining your website? So that people don't have to "google it." I fundamentally disagree that the simplest solution is to leave the site a mess and hope to goodness good ole' google can find it.
That's like leaving all your clothes in a pile on the floor and hoping your RFID tags will tell you where your favourite pair of undies is.
By far the SIMPLEST solution is to CLEAN IT THE FUCK UP.
grrrrrrr...
Monday, April 30, 2018
Washing windows in the rain
So, I slept through my alarm this morning, which resulted in a great "woof-woof-woofing" on the part of the Dog when the Window Washing Gentlemen arrived.
And I couldn't find my glasses, and the Dog had become the Hound of the Baskervilles, but we were finally able to converse peaceably, when the Gentleman came in, and the Dog wagged her tail and sniffed at him like there was no tomorrow.
And as he made his way to the truck to get his partner, of course I (stupidly) put the dog on her leash.
Dogs on leashes become very protective. She raced and nipped at his ankles before he could get away. That's the moment when I remembered the stupid Dog nips at people's ankles when she's on her leash.
Fortunately the Gentleman wasn't scratched and he bravely soldiered on, and I put the Hound of the Baskervilles in the basement, where she can do no more harm. Where she lies happily on the futon, missing only a fire in the fireplace to be totally comfortable.
I had intended, had I woken to my alarm, to get up and move stuff out of the way so the windows could get washed. So I had to run from room to room doing just that while the Gentlemen got to work.
My god, I can see out of the windows like they were new! Like there's no glass in them!
Between Hubby's fear of ladders, Boyfriend's hectic schedule, and my disintegrating neck...I'm glad I had this done, even if the poor Gentlemen end up stepping in dog-do.
I didn't warn them of this, I hope they're bright enough to figure it out for themselves. They're young, they have good eyesight...
Worth every penny. About twenty-five years ago I went for a bike ride around where we live, and found myself wondering if EVERYONE in our community had changed their windows, they were all so clean a new-looking!
And then it hit me - other people WASHED their windows.
Well, now ours are clean too.
And I couldn't find my glasses, and the Dog had become the Hound of the Baskervilles, but we were finally able to converse peaceably, when the Gentleman came in, and the Dog wagged her tail and sniffed at him like there was no tomorrow.
And as he made his way to the truck to get his partner, of course I (stupidly) put the dog on her leash.
Dogs on leashes become very protective. She raced and nipped at his ankles before he could get away. That's the moment when I remembered the stupid Dog nips at people's ankles when she's on her leash.
Fortunately the Gentleman wasn't scratched and he bravely soldiered on, and I put the Hound of the Baskervilles in the basement, where she can do no more harm. Where she lies happily on the futon, missing only a fire in the fireplace to be totally comfortable.
I had intended, had I woken to my alarm, to get up and move stuff out of the way so the windows could get washed. So I had to run from room to room doing just that while the Gentlemen got to work.
My god, I can see out of the windows like they were new! Like there's no glass in them!
Between Hubby's fear of ladders, Boyfriend's hectic schedule, and my disintegrating neck...I'm glad I had this done, even if the poor Gentlemen end up stepping in dog-do.
I didn't warn them of this, I hope they're bright enough to figure it out for themselves. They're young, they have good eyesight...
Worth every penny. About twenty-five years ago I went for a bike ride around where we live, and found myself wondering if EVERYONE in our community had changed their windows, they were all so clean a new-looking!
And then it hit me - other people WASHED their windows.
Well, now ours are clean too.
Wednesday, April 25, 2018
How many cats do you see?
There are Stepson's cats, which Hubby is housing and feeding till (hopefully) July, when Stepson and his Girlfriend will take them away from here...
And there are my cats, which previously had the run of our home and ruled the roost unchallenged.
Stepson's cats are bullies. I checked with a Feline Behavioural Veterinarian. The "top cat," the most gorgeous little thing I've ever seen, has fur that looks like gold wrapped in a black stocking. She's the bully. She runs down the hall on three legs, with the other front paw raised and cocked for swatting! She wants all the attention, all the treats, all the toys, and access to all the rooms. Her sidekick gets everything in her wake.
We carved out one single room, our bedroom, to be a sanctuary for our two much-beleaugered pussies, and try valiantly to keep the main bully and her sidekick from attacking our fur babies on sight.
We often fail. We have literally picked up chunks of fur off our bedroom floor after a spat. Our cat's black fur. No sign of gold. The little beggar.
Well, this lovely morning I was having my cereal and Gold Kitty jumped up to nuzzle me. She wants me, too. My adoration and obedience, possibly a bit of my cereal. I duly offered the finger to be dunted and skritched her behind the royal ears. Then I said to her, "Why do you beat up on my kitties like that? You're not alone here any more, you know."
And then I said the (almost) famous line to her (you won't get this unless you've watched Star Trek):
THERE–ARE–FOUR–CATS!
Write to me if you want an explanation.
And there are my cats, which previously had the run of our home and ruled the roost unchallenged.
Stepson's cats are bullies. I checked with a Feline Behavioural Veterinarian. The "top cat," the most gorgeous little thing I've ever seen, has fur that looks like gold wrapped in a black stocking. She's the bully. She runs down the hall on three legs, with the other front paw raised and cocked for swatting! She wants all the attention, all the treats, all the toys, and access to all the rooms. Her sidekick gets everything in her wake.
We carved out one single room, our bedroom, to be a sanctuary for our two much-beleaugered pussies, and try valiantly to keep the main bully and her sidekick from attacking our fur babies on sight.
We often fail. We have literally picked up chunks of fur off our bedroom floor after a spat. Our cat's black fur. No sign of gold. The little beggar.
Well, this lovely morning I was having my cereal and Gold Kitty jumped up to nuzzle me. She wants me, too. My adoration and obedience, possibly a bit of my cereal. I duly offered the finger to be dunted and skritched her behind the royal ears. Then I said to her, "Why do you beat up on my kitties like that? You're not alone here any more, you know."
And then I said the (almost) famous line to her (you won't get this unless you've watched Star Trek):
THERE–ARE–FOUR–CATS!
Write to me if you want an explanation.
Sunday, March 4, 2018
Must be spring or something...
Fist I chopped the ice off the sidewalk. And I got my hair permed. And I found myself actually considering wearing makeup - which I haven't done for twenty years!
Yep, that means it's spring, at least in my head.
My latest adventure is cooking up a storm. I have an e-book: The Indian Family Kitchen. (Oh, and I don't recommend trying to follow recipies on e-books, by the way! Invariably the list of ingredients is two pages back from the instructions!)
But it appears I've become jaded with my normal staples. Spaghetti. Lasagna (which is just a different kind of spaghetti, in my current frame of mind.) Caesar salad, chicken caesar salad. Salad. Potatoes. Ground beef in any form. Pork chops. Pork roast. Roast beef. Chicken.
My tastebuds are going "bleah."
So I opened up my Indian Family Kitchen, and I've been knocking myself out in the kitchen this past week and weekend.
The goal was to get some leftovers I could bring to work, but that's not what happened - yet. The first batch of Dhal, not from that cookbook but off the internet, went down very well and I did get one lunch out of it.
Yesterday's recipe of Tadja Dhal received a less-than-enthusiastic reception from the two Men. Hubby dipped his nan bread in it, and when the bread was gone he handed over the bowl to me. Boyfriend nobly had a second bowl, but I think it was more from hunger than from enjoyment.
However, I thought it was the most delicious thing I'd ever tasted! So there's none left, and I had to start over today if I hoped for leftovers.
For the first time in my life I'm actually tasting the different spices within Indian cooking - mostly because the dishes are NOT super-spicy. Once my tongue is burning, I can't taste anything! But these dishes are amazing!
Today's adventure were two dishes, called "One-pot Chicken with Smoked Spices" and "Chai Chickpeas." Chai chickpeas is cooked in TEA for gosh sakes! It's almost suppertime now and I can't wait to dig in!
Did you know that cardamom comes in a) pods, b) seeds, and c) ground? Did you know it comes in two different colors? And the different colors taste different!
The other day I made some potato pancakes, I think they were called "Tikki Aloo," but don't quote me! When you boil potatoes for mashing, try adding a tablespoon of ground turmeric and the rinds of a lemon! They turn wonderfully golden and you can taste the lemon!
Well, I don't know what the reaction from the Men will be tonight - hopefully slightly more enthusiastic than last night, so just in case, I made fudge.
That'll put a smile on their (diabetic) faces!
Yep, that means it's spring, at least in my head.
My latest adventure is cooking up a storm. I have an e-book: The Indian Family Kitchen. (Oh, and I don't recommend trying to follow recipies on e-books, by the way! Invariably the list of ingredients is two pages back from the instructions!)
But it appears I've become jaded with my normal staples. Spaghetti. Lasagna (which is just a different kind of spaghetti, in my current frame of mind.) Caesar salad, chicken caesar salad. Salad. Potatoes. Ground beef in any form. Pork chops. Pork roast. Roast beef. Chicken.
My tastebuds are going "bleah."
So I opened up my Indian Family Kitchen, and I've been knocking myself out in the kitchen this past week and weekend.
The goal was to get some leftovers I could bring to work, but that's not what happened - yet. The first batch of Dhal, not from that cookbook but off the internet, went down very well and I did get one lunch out of it.
Yesterday's recipe of Tadja Dhal received a less-than-enthusiastic reception from the two Men. Hubby dipped his nan bread in it, and when the bread was gone he handed over the bowl to me. Boyfriend nobly had a second bowl, but I think it was more from hunger than from enjoyment.
However, I thought it was the most delicious thing I'd ever tasted! So there's none left, and I had to start over today if I hoped for leftovers.
For the first time in my life I'm actually tasting the different spices within Indian cooking - mostly because the dishes are NOT super-spicy. Once my tongue is burning, I can't taste anything! But these dishes are amazing!
Today's adventure were two dishes, called "One-pot Chicken with Smoked Spices" and "Chai Chickpeas." Chai chickpeas is cooked in TEA for gosh sakes! It's almost suppertime now and I can't wait to dig in!
Did you know that cardamom comes in a) pods, b) seeds, and c) ground? Did you know it comes in two different colors? And the different colors taste different!
The other day I made some potato pancakes, I think they were called "Tikki Aloo," but don't quote me! When you boil potatoes for mashing, try adding a tablespoon of ground turmeric and the rinds of a lemon! They turn wonderfully golden and you can taste the lemon!
Well, I don't know what the reaction from the Men will be tonight - hopefully slightly more enthusiastic than last night, so just in case, I made fudge.
That'll put a smile on their (diabetic) faces!
Saturday, February 24, 2018
The Ice Dam
Today was a very productive day! Hubby was off looking at motorcycles, and Boyfriend and I cleaned. Quite satisfactorily, if I do say so myself! Apparently we missed vacuuming last week...and thereby hangs a tale...
I often gag at cleaning product commercials on television. "Who would ever let their house get so dirty!" I snort in derision.
Well, with four cats and a dog, it takes a week.
One week for the hair to become so pervasive, that a single pass with the vacuum leaves a definite trail. The "black" carpet is grey, except for that one pass.
Sigh.
Just prior to beginning the vacuum process, I emptied the dishwasher and began a recipe of oatmeal bread. I haven't made bread in ages, and I get so tired of commercial breads...
The vacuum did its thing while the bread rose in the dishwasher - a great place to proof bread! Except for the fact that your dirty dishes have to stay somewhere else for at least three hours!
The the bread went in, and I went outside to hack at the four-inch thick glacier that is our front walk, surrounded by eight-foot high snowbanks on either side.
I'm sure my poor Daughter can hear me talking to myself..."In my day, my Grandpa would NEVER have let this ice build up! He'd go out while it was snowing, he'd go out while the freezing rain was falling, and keep sweeping and shovelling everything off in order to keep that path cleared down to the cement! We never had slippery steps! Grandpa would turn over in his grave to see this mess! Those men in there oughta be ashamed of themselves..."
Etc etc etc.
I used an iron rod with a chisel tip on one end, the rod weighs about thirty pounds. I used a tool on a very short handle that looked like it would help break up ice, and it did so nicely. And I found Grandpa's very own aluminum shovel, no longer straight across the bottom from all the times he and I have used it to break up ice...
And I DID it!
The walkway is clear all the way to the street, with four-inch sides. I'm not sure how much damage I did to my crumbling neck or my aching wrists, but I don't have to fear for my life any more while walking to the car!
Then I came in, died a bit on the couch, a got up for a lovely slice of still-warm oatmeal bread.
*sigh of contentment
I often gag at cleaning product commercials on television. "Who would ever let their house get so dirty!" I snort in derision.
Well, with four cats and a dog, it takes a week.
One week for the hair to become so pervasive, that a single pass with the vacuum leaves a definite trail. The "black" carpet is grey, except for that one pass.
Sigh.
Just prior to beginning the vacuum process, I emptied the dishwasher and began a recipe of oatmeal bread. I haven't made bread in ages, and I get so tired of commercial breads...
The vacuum did its thing while the bread rose in the dishwasher - a great place to proof bread! Except for the fact that your dirty dishes have to stay somewhere else for at least three hours!
The the bread went in, and I went outside to hack at the four-inch thick glacier that is our front walk, surrounded by eight-foot high snowbanks on either side.
I'm sure my poor Daughter can hear me talking to myself..."In my day, my Grandpa would NEVER have let this ice build up! He'd go out while it was snowing, he'd go out while the freezing rain was falling, and keep sweeping and shovelling everything off in order to keep that path cleared down to the cement! We never had slippery steps! Grandpa would turn over in his grave to see this mess! Those men in there oughta be ashamed of themselves..."
Etc etc etc.
I used an iron rod with a chisel tip on one end, the rod weighs about thirty pounds. I used a tool on a very short handle that looked like it would help break up ice, and it did so nicely. And I found Grandpa's very own aluminum shovel, no longer straight across the bottom from all the times he and I have used it to break up ice...
And I DID it!
The walkway is clear all the way to the street, with four-inch sides. I'm not sure how much damage I did to my crumbling neck or my aching wrists, but I don't have to fear for my life any more while walking to the car!
Then I came in, died a bit on the couch, a got up for a lovely slice of still-warm oatmeal bread.
*sigh of contentment
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