Due to modern medicines ability to increase overall human lifespan and the amazing effects of the western diet, the number of diabetics on my holiday baking list has gone from one to 9 in the past decade. This year I made only one batch of regular, heavily sugared oatmeal cookies and attempted to make shortbread for the first time. Shortbread is apparently flour held together with butter and enough sugar to make it easy to choke down. Giddy with success in this, I attempted to make a low-cholesterol, diabetic friendly version of shortbread using Becel and stevia. No, I wasn’t drunk, I actually thought this would work. Perhaps a lower Becel content and some stevia that wasn’t past date would have been successful, but as it was I put it in the bucket of Epic Fail.
Onward to the orthopedic cookies. Diabetes sucks enough all on it’s own, there’s no reason to my mind why cookies should be forbidden outright. I can no longer find the recipe I started with some years back, not even by consulting the oracle of Google using ingredients recalled as essential at one time. Previous attempts to re-create said recipe have resulted in pucks vaguely tasting like orange flavored mostly dry carpenters glue. Tonight was successful though, so I’ve (for the first time ever) written down what I think I just did.
The thing that makes these diabetic cookies is that they have very little direct sugar, almost no indirect sugar and no animal fat. I suppose they’re vegan too, but I don’t want to hold you back from putting honey in it.
About 2 cups flour
Handful brown sugar
Tspn baking soda
Dollop sugar free vanilla yogurt
Tspn powdered ginger
Few shakes cinnamon
¼ cup melted Becel
6 packets Now brand stevia
2-3 heaping tbsp marmalade
Likely another cook - a real cook, for instance - would put things in a certain order or something, but I really can’t remember that. You should put the stevia packets in the Becel after heating though, it mixes best in hot fluids. Mix all this stuff up together in a bowl and then place spoonfuls of it on either parchment paper or silicon baking sheets – another way to reduce fat content and allow you to have another cookie. Bake it for about 5-12 min (I wasn’t paying that close attention here) at 350 degrees. Keep an eye on them – when they start to brown around the edges, even slightly, they are totally done. Take them out before they burn. If they taste like glue, you’ve done something horribly wrong.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Nov 11 - In Flanders Fields
Poppies grow best in churned earth, and so were an enthusiastic resident of cemeteries in the First World War. Not all of the impromptu cemeteries were for entire persons – some were for arms and legs amputated with all the haste that 1915’s medical technology insisted on. LOTS of graves, large and small. Poppies flourish in the fresh wounds of the earth.
Major McCrae was a surgeon in the First World War. Near the end of 17 days of surgery in the Ypres salient, a feat that he later likened to Hades and said he would not have thought possible if told from the outset what would be expected of him, one death in particular affected him. His friend and former student Lieut. Alexis Helmer was killed in a shell burst. In the absence of chaplain McCrae performed the funeral service himself.
The next day he took a short break with his notebook, leaned on the back of an ambulance. He looked at the cemetery, the poppies blown by a breeze from the east. A witness, 22yr old sergeant major Cyril Allinson was delivering mail and walked over to McCrae, who looked up but continued writing. In twenty precious minutes he composed “In Flanders Fields” in the form of a French rondeau. Allinson reported that the surgeon looked calm but very tired, and kept glancing toward Helmers grave. He also confirmed that what is depicted in the poem is an exact representation of what the scene looked like.
McCrae was dissatisfied with the poem and tossed it aside, but a fellow officer retrieved it and sent it to newspapers in England. One of them, Punch, published it on December 8th 1915. In the years since it has become a fixture of Remembrance Day, recited with (and sometimes without) feeling at memorials and school celebrations. For the most part it is praised as one of the most memorable poems of it’s time. Some literary critics have decried it for its recruiting poster feel in the last stanza. I say, if one has not spend 17 days up to their elbows in the entrails their comrades, one is wise not to question the motivations of the author’s mind – and just be grateful to have never been in the circumstance, and grateful to the person who was.
So it’s remembrance day, when we remember fallen soldiers with gratitude and respect. And those still serving. And those who’ve been broken or damaged by battles. And, for my part, anyone who’s job it is to run toward something I’d like to run away from – in 2001, I remembered fire fighters and police who’d fallen in duty, and have each year since. (These days, I also take a moment to shake my fist in the direction of Westborough Baptist Church for protesting soldiers funerals and being dinks in general.) And each year I give a minute to McCrae, for the corner of his beaten and brutalized mind that distilled a moment in time into the poem we know today. I remember the soldier, the surgeon, the writer.
Major McCrae was a surgeon in the First World War. Near the end of 17 days of surgery in the Ypres salient, a feat that he later likened to Hades and said he would not have thought possible if told from the outset what would be expected of him, one death in particular affected him. His friend and former student Lieut. Alexis Helmer was killed in a shell burst. In the absence of chaplain McCrae performed the funeral service himself.
The next day he took a short break with his notebook, leaned on the back of an ambulance. He looked at the cemetery, the poppies blown by a breeze from the east. A witness, 22yr old sergeant major Cyril Allinson was delivering mail and walked over to McCrae, who looked up but continued writing. In twenty precious minutes he composed “In Flanders Fields” in the form of a French rondeau. Allinson reported that the surgeon looked calm but very tired, and kept glancing toward Helmers grave. He also confirmed that what is depicted in the poem is an exact representation of what the scene looked like.
McCrae was dissatisfied with the poem and tossed it aside, but a fellow officer retrieved it and sent it to newspapers in England. One of them, Punch, published it on December 8th 1915. In the years since it has become a fixture of Remembrance Day, recited with (and sometimes without) feeling at memorials and school celebrations. For the most part it is praised as one of the most memorable poems of it’s time. Some literary critics have decried it for its recruiting poster feel in the last stanza. I say, if one has not spend 17 days up to their elbows in the entrails their comrades, one is wise not to question the motivations of the author’s mind – and just be grateful to have never been in the circumstance, and grateful to the person who was.
So it’s remembrance day, when we remember fallen soldiers with gratitude and respect. And those still serving. And those who’ve been broken or damaged by battles. And, for my part, anyone who’s job it is to run toward something I’d like to run away from – in 2001, I remembered fire fighters and police who’d fallen in duty, and have each year since. (These days, I also take a moment to shake my fist in the direction of Westborough Baptist Church for protesting soldiers funerals and being dinks in general.) And each year I give a minute to McCrae, for the corner of his beaten and brutalized mind that distilled a moment in time into the poem we know today. I remember the soldier, the surgeon, the writer.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Tonights Thanksgiving Dinner
Was a hit. Very simple food, I'm not a chef or anything, but here's what we had:
Turkey, 14lbs. Time of death very recent, cause was listed as suspected tastiness. This years bird was ordered from Rowe Farms to avoid the insanity of St. Lawrence market and the creepiness of trying to find an antibiotic-free/grain fed frozen carcass among the "pre-basted" versions in the supermarkets. Pre-basted? With what? How? Get the fuck out of my kitchen, Corporation X.
The carnivores at the table attested to the tastiness of the unfortunate turkey and said gravy. And all veg was consumed with glee. Realized half way through that I hadn't made a salad or supplied rolls, feeling a pang of host guilt before refilling my glass. Guests brought pumpkin pie and something called "nuttie butties" which turn out to be pre-packaged ice cream drumsticks. So not all good and glorious real food but up to that point we were a local version of healthy. With more butter than would be usually recommended, likely. Anywho, that's a handful of barely understandable Thanksgiving recipes for y'all.
Turkey, 14lbs. Time of death very recent, cause was listed as suspected tastiness. This years bird was ordered from Rowe Farms to avoid the insanity of St. Lawrence market and the creepiness of trying to find an antibiotic-free/grain fed frozen carcass among the "pre-basted" versions in the supermarkets. Pre-basted? With what? How? Get the fuck out of my kitchen, Corporation X.
- Bird was rinsed and innards removed. Innards were a perky display of unrecognizable organs which have been put aside for further study. Stuffing was 2 celery stalks, one onion and 6 pieces of diced rye bread with salt and pepper, jammed into said unfortunate bird. Bird placed chest down in the roasting pan. I do this because then you don't (so long as you keep the lid on) have to bast it. No, you don't get the golden brown skin or the picture perfect display - but who cares. Tasty, zero stress and saves time. Actually gives more time for socializing or reading or FB'ing or getting drunk. Moving on.
- Acorn squash, roasted with butter to a light brown and then mashed with more butter and a (small) sprinkle of brown sugar.
- Carrots, sliced and steamed.
- This bit of the family likes tinned jellied cranberries, which is just horrible. I managed to get it out of the tin with the ridges intact and served it garnished with a celery sprig. And a side of shame. We will not speak of the potatoes.
- Gravy made using turkey drippings scooped with a micro ladle from the roasting pan, 2.5 cups worth. (I know turkey basters exist but they just seem unhygienic.) Heated drippings in a pan and added a splash of wooster sauce and some salt/pepper. Mixed a few fistfuls of organic white(ish) flour with some cold water, then mixed this into the pan as well. Stirred maniacally for about 3 min and voila - gravy.
The carnivores at the table attested to the tastiness of the unfortunate turkey and said gravy. And all veg was consumed with glee. Realized half way through that I hadn't made a salad or supplied rolls, feeling a pang of host guilt before refilling my glass. Guests brought pumpkin pie and something called "nuttie butties" which turn out to be pre-packaged ice cream drumsticks. So not all good and glorious real food but up to that point we were a local version of healthy. With more butter than would be usually recommended, likely. Anywho, that's a handful of barely understandable Thanksgiving recipes for y'all.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
From a FB meme
36 things I've come to realize
Rules: Blah blah blah near chainletter bs blah.
1. I've come to realize that my...skin gets blotchy in the sun now. Yay aging! Thanks for that, very nice.
2. I've come to realize that my job...is what I always wanted to do, just in a different way.
3. I've come to realize that when I'm driving ...I’m dreaming. No license yet in the waking hours. And normally, when I’m dreaming, it’s a train or some kind of space craft.
4. I've come to realize that I need ...to move about more, to speak less, to listen more attentively, and to learn to walk in heels.
5. I've come to realize that I have lost ...my denim hat, the one that sunk in the rapids when I fell of a cliff that second time. It’s pretty much gone.
6. I've come to realize that I hate it when ...I'm late for anything.
7. I've come to realize that if I'm drunk ...I’m much, much, much better looking and so are you.
8. I've come to realize that money ...cannot buy happiness, but sometimes is an effective salve in alleviating pain.
9. I've come to realize that certain people ...will remain beyond my comprehension. Just gotta accept them the way they are.
10. I've come to realize that I'll always ...crave more sugar than I should have.
11. I've come to realize that my sibling(s) ...are a pretty freaking diverse group of people who I’m fortunate to know.
12. I've come to realize that my mom ...taught me more than I appreciated earlier on.
13. I've come to realize that my cell phone ...should really go to a recycling bin. Hasn’t been on in 11 years. Why do I still have it? And why did I put so many frog stickers on it?
14. I've come to realize that when I woke up this morning...I was glad to have written a to-do list in sharpie on my arm the night before, but would have remembered the stuff anyway. And later I realized that a kitchen scruby gets off sharpie marker pretty good.
15. I've come to realize that last night before I went to sleep...my cat’s breath smells like cat food.
16. I've come to realize that right now I am thinking...I should be working.
17. I've come to realize that my dad...is a bloody funny person.
18. I've come to realize that when I get on Facebook...no one really looks like their profile photo.
19. I've come to realize that today...going back to the same yard sale latter will get you free stuff. Tin box. Top that, eh?
20. I've come to realize that tonight...I shouldn't pick movies based on scant knowledge of the books I think they might have been based on.
21. I've come to realize that tomorrow...has nothing booked yet and may be the day to go from three to one desks in my office. God how I wish that were code.
22. I've come to realize that I really want to...get published again.
23. I've come to realize that the person who is most likely to repost this is...is that something you can realize? I don’t think so. Nope.
24. I've come to realize that life...is precious and complex with notes of chocolate, blueberry and smoke, and gets better as it ages.
25. I've come to realize that this weekend...was the first time I’d introduced a young boy to pet worms. Yay bug fun!
26. I've realized the best music to listen to when I am upset...has a consistent and calming pulse and flow, and that I try to use it to reset my brain.
27. I've come to realize that my friends...are perhaps the most patient people on the planet. Totally unintentional alliteration there.
28. I've come to realize that this year...is the last of the years to have two zero’s in the middle of it. Starting next year we’ll have a zero at the end and a one in the middle. Freaky. Was still dealing with it being not the 90’s, and the aughts will have gone.
29. I've come to realize that my ex...might be dead.
30. I've come to realize that maybe I should...write every day.
31. I've come to realize that I love...excellent wine.
32. I've come to realize that I don't understand...technical manuals. Which is unfortunate considering my career path.
33. I've come to realize my past...has so many black holes in it due to bad wine.
34. I've come to realize that parties...are things I should stay sober for.
35. I've come to realize that I'm totally terrified...of stuff I’m not telling you. Why would anyone put that online? It’s like tempting the fates.
36. I've come to realize that my life...is not perfect, but it’s pretty blessed and it might be perfect for me.
Rules: Blah blah blah near chainletter bs blah.
1. I've come to realize that my...skin gets blotchy in the sun now. Yay aging! Thanks for that, very nice.
2. I've come to realize that my job...is what I always wanted to do, just in a different way.
3. I've come to realize that when I'm driving ...I’m dreaming. No license yet in the waking hours. And normally, when I’m dreaming, it’s a train or some kind of space craft.
4. I've come to realize that I need ...to move about more, to speak less, to listen more attentively, and to learn to walk in heels.
5. I've come to realize that I have lost ...my denim hat, the one that sunk in the rapids when I fell of a cliff that second time. It’s pretty much gone.
6. I've come to realize that I hate it when ...I'm late for anything.
7. I've come to realize that if I'm drunk ...I’m much, much, much better looking and so are you.
8. I've come to realize that money ...cannot buy happiness, but sometimes is an effective salve in alleviating pain.
9. I've come to realize that certain people ...will remain beyond my comprehension. Just gotta accept them the way they are.
10. I've come to realize that I'll always ...crave more sugar than I should have.
11. I've come to realize that my sibling(s) ...are a pretty freaking diverse group of people who I’m fortunate to know.
12. I've come to realize that my mom ...taught me more than I appreciated earlier on.
13. I've come to realize that my cell phone ...should really go to a recycling bin. Hasn’t been on in 11 years. Why do I still have it? And why did I put so many frog stickers on it?
14. I've come to realize that when I woke up this morning...I was glad to have written a to-do list in sharpie on my arm the night before, but would have remembered the stuff anyway. And later I realized that a kitchen scruby gets off sharpie marker pretty good.
15. I've come to realize that last night before I went to sleep...my cat’s breath smells like cat food.
16. I've come to realize that right now I am thinking...I should be working.
17. I've come to realize that my dad...is a bloody funny person.
18. I've come to realize that when I get on Facebook...no one really looks like their profile photo.
19. I've come to realize that today...going back to the same yard sale latter will get you free stuff. Tin box. Top that, eh?
20. I've come to realize that tonight...I shouldn't pick movies based on scant knowledge of the books I think they might have been based on.
21. I've come to realize that tomorrow...has nothing booked yet and may be the day to go from three to one desks in my office. God how I wish that were code.
22. I've come to realize that I really want to...get published again.
23. I've come to realize that the person who is most likely to repost this is...is that something you can realize? I don’t think so. Nope.
24. I've come to realize that life...is precious and complex with notes of chocolate, blueberry and smoke, and gets better as it ages.
25. I've come to realize that this weekend...was the first time I’d introduced a young boy to pet worms. Yay bug fun!
26. I've realized the best music to listen to when I am upset...has a consistent and calming pulse and flow, and that I try to use it to reset my brain.
27. I've come to realize that my friends...are perhaps the most patient people on the planet. Totally unintentional alliteration there.
28. I've come to realize that this year...is the last of the years to have two zero’s in the middle of it. Starting next year we’ll have a zero at the end and a one in the middle. Freaky. Was still dealing with it being not the 90’s, and the aughts will have gone.
29. I've come to realize that my ex...might be dead.
30. I've come to realize that maybe I should...write every day.
31. I've come to realize that I love...excellent wine.
32. I've come to realize that I don't understand...technical manuals. Which is unfortunate considering my career path.
33. I've come to realize my past...has so many black holes in it due to bad wine.
34. I've come to realize that parties...are things I should stay sober for.
35. I've come to realize that I'm totally terrified...of stuff I’m not telling you. Why would anyone put that online? It’s like tempting the fates.
36. I've come to realize that my life...is not perfect, but it’s pretty blessed and it might be perfect for me.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Venue Review: Enterprise 2000
A few years back I started to do weddings out on the lake, in an effort to get over my fear of water and also because the couples are irresistible. There's something so celebratory and fun about a cruise wedding, the couples who choose it are My Kind Of People.
This morning I was out on the Enterprise 2000. Awesomely named for a Trek party, it's aways away from the other boats dotting Queens Quay in Toronto. You have down Cherry St past some much larger, more purposeful ships and derelict looking buildings before you get to it. 100 people had plenty of room in this very nice boat. The original lay out of the ceremony site was on the prow but moved inside to the dance floor due to inclement weather. The dance floor is on the main level surrounded by a bar rails and booths. There are two bars, one on each level, and the second level is open above he dance floor so you can look down, the whole party connected. Above is an arched semi-clear ceiling which lets in light but not weather, which seems to be a very good thing for today. The DJ liked the space because he had room to spread out, the couple liked it because the venue had made it easy to plan a wedding from out of province and I liked it because they let the bride hang out in the wheelhouse, which overlooks the prow and has plenty of room. Also, the dealt with problems very well.
It didn't just rain this morning. It came down in a solid wall of water that made me wish I had gills. The end of the pier vanished into treacherous looking fog. Dangerous storm warnings, lightening, the works. Unable to go out on the lake due to safety concerns, the ceremony space was set up inside while the boat was tied to the dock. The clouds lifted a bit as the wedding went on and by the end, it had cleared enough that the boat was allowed out for its cruise following the receiving line. It takes a pro team to turn an unfortunate circumstance into a positive event, and the crew still stayed on top of the moment and provided great service to the couple. No idea how the rest of the cruise went, I skipped off home but the sun was shining right now and the couple in good hands.
Colours: orange and blue.
Personal touches: Jeweled initials hanging off all the bridesmaids bouquets, numbered ceramic lighthouse centerpieces.
Bride: Strapless sculpted white, long train, no veil/tiara, splash of stones on her belly. Intricate hair style, back from her face and up in the back just a bit, strands woven in together. Lush orange themed bouquet. Looked like beauty personified.
Groom: Sane. Finally, someone who ditches the suit in summer - groomsmen all in bright blue dress shirts, groom in white, ties all around but overall much more comfortable and better smelling than if they'd gone for suit jackets in this weather. Smart, handsome boys.
Rings: Hers was pretty and thin, row of claw set stones across, perfect for her slender hand. His I'd never seen the like of before, titanium comfort fit (good move) with an exterior that looked like a nut. You could have put a wrench beside this ring and got right confused about what to build. Gorgeous.
This morning I was out on the Enterprise 2000. Awesomely named for a Trek party, it's aways away from the other boats dotting Queens Quay in Toronto. You have down Cherry St past some much larger, more purposeful ships and derelict looking buildings before you get to it. 100 people had plenty of room in this very nice boat. The original lay out of the ceremony site was on the prow but moved inside to the dance floor due to inclement weather. The dance floor is on the main level surrounded by a bar rails and booths. There are two bars, one on each level, and the second level is open above he dance floor so you can look down, the whole party connected. Above is an arched semi-clear ceiling which lets in light but not weather, which seems to be a very good thing for today. The DJ liked the space because he had room to spread out, the couple liked it because the venue had made it easy to plan a wedding from out of province and I liked it because they let the bride hang out in the wheelhouse, which overlooks the prow and has plenty of room. Also, the dealt with problems very well.
It didn't just rain this morning. It came down in a solid wall of water that made me wish I had gills. The end of the pier vanished into treacherous looking fog. Dangerous storm warnings, lightening, the works. Unable to go out on the lake due to safety concerns, the ceremony space was set up inside while the boat was tied to the dock. The clouds lifted a bit as the wedding went on and by the end, it had cleared enough that the boat was allowed out for its cruise following the receiving line. It takes a pro team to turn an unfortunate circumstance into a positive event, and the crew still stayed on top of the moment and provided great service to the couple. No idea how the rest of the cruise went, I skipped off home but the sun was shining right now and the couple in good hands.
Colours: orange and blue.
Personal touches: Jeweled initials hanging off all the bridesmaids bouquets, numbered ceramic lighthouse centerpieces.
Bride: Strapless sculpted white, long train, no veil/tiara, splash of stones on her belly. Intricate hair style, back from her face and up in the back just a bit, strands woven in together. Lush orange themed bouquet. Looked like beauty personified.
Groom: Sane. Finally, someone who ditches the suit in summer - groomsmen all in bright blue dress shirts, groom in white, ties all around but overall much more comfortable and better smelling than if they'd gone for suit jackets in this weather. Smart, handsome boys.
Rings: Hers was pretty and thin, row of claw set stones across, perfect for her slender hand. His I'd never seen the like of before, titanium comfort fit (good move) with an exterior that looked like a nut. You could have put a wrench beside this ring and got right confused about what to build. Gorgeous.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
New Favorite Wedding Venue
This past weekend I had a wedding at Kew Gardens in the gazebo. After sweeping up the cigarette butts it's my new favorite wedding venue. Steps from the Queen Streetcar to the north and a short walk to the lake at the south, with a densely wooded path for the bride or whomever to walk out from to the west and lush greenery to the east, the gazebo itself stands on it's own. I have no idea when it was built, but the ornate iron work suggest the first bit of the last century. Windows along it's top let in indirect light but not rain, and a single iron and wood park bench adorns the hardwood floor. The paint is peeling everywhere, giving the romantic structure a sense of aging sort of beauty. If a big band were to appear out of nowhere, they'd be at home here. If an ancient carousel rose from the ground a hundred yards or so away, it wouldn't be out of place.
The Beach (or Beaches for pluralist) is the one part of Toronto that truly has a west coast feel to it, whether it's because of the level of the land or proximity to the lake or the rise of the streets heading north, I don't know. The vibe is brilliant and Kew Gardens seems to be it's beating heart.
The Beach (or Beaches for pluralist) is the one part of Toronto that truly has a west coast feel to it, whether it's because of the level of the land or proximity to the lake or the rise of the streets heading north, I don't know. The vibe is brilliant and Kew Gardens seems to be it's beating heart.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Flash Fiction Friday
So I read the instructions wrong, kinda misunderstood the assignment. I had 1,000 words to play with but only thought I had 100. So here's my error:
===================================
Winter sleeps under skin, under the last contrived epidermal layer. All the other statues stand jealous in their heat for no one reaches out a curious hand to stroke calf or hand or hem.
“What does it feel like?” he asks, but her steel lips don’t answer. Only the hum of a generator and the coolant rushing through an approximation of veins fills the silence between them.
He reaches a tentative hand to hers, the temperature foreign. “How People Felt When There Was Snow” does not flinch away, but stares into the tomorrow when she will contain more life he.
===================================
Winter sleeps under skin, under the last contrived epidermal layer. All the other statues stand jealous in their heat for no one reaches out a curious hand to stroke calf or hand or hem.
“What does it feel like?” he asks, but her steel lips don’t answer. Only the hum of a generator and the coolant rushing through an approximation of veins fills the silence between them.
He reaches a tentative hand to hers, the temperature foreign. “How People Felt When There Was Snow” does not flinch away, but stares into the tomorrow when she will contain more life he.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Environmental Product Review #1: Our first LED lightbulb
The spiral glow of a CFL may be an icon in the green energy movement but I just don't like them. They consume less energy and make a good environmental choice on that level, but they suck in that they contain mercury, requiring special precautions when they break or are disposed and also that they can burn out spectacularly & pose fire hazards Incandescent bulbs are being phased out in Ontario by 2012, though, so we needed an option.
For the past year I've been emailing green stores in Toronto saying "are we there yet", looking for a reasonably priced residential LED bulb. Given that an LED bulb can last 10K hours or more and draws about 6 watts, reasonably priced is still pretty freaking high which seems to have kept them out of reach for local retailers. Finally, at the green living show I found the wise and very friendly people at Green & Clean Energy Co. Ltd and their glorious $40 bulb.
Not a typo. Forty freaking dollars. Fortunately the wine garden was close at hand.
Took a deep breath and brought one home. My first impression was that I disagreed with the claim that they're balanced to sunlight. Sunlight on my planet doesn't look like this. This is a very bad photo, the light it cast is brighter than this, enough to see and read comfortably by. Still, you can see how it might give one the willies.
The plastic dome (cool to the touch) covers three tiny pin lights. (don't look directly at them, really really) Tinted domes are available to give a more incandescent glow but we went for the honest light. After about two days we agreed that it's better described as moonlight, perhaps a little poetic but just how it looks to us. Everything it illuminates looks clearer and more real than items in other rooms. As we've got used to the LED, the incandescent and CFL (don't like them, still have them, won a gift pack and don't like wasting resources) lights now look strange by comparison. And as we're able to we'll be replacing all bulbs with LEDs. We crunched the numbers on it and although the replacements will mean that the bulbs in each fixture will often cost more than the fixtures themselves, the energy savings alone pays for each bulb within the first one to two years. The bulbs may then last up to 20 years of nearly free light, which makes them initially expensive but excellent value.
Because we're nerds, we've even had friends and neighbours over to stare at our bulb. The general first impression is a) it's really nifty, b) it's too expensive and c) we're insane for having bought it. After explaining the value of it most people let up on point c and a little on point b, but it will likely take a price break to get these bulbs into the minds and then hands of the masses.
For the past year I've been emailing green stores in Toronto saying "are we there yet", looking for a reasonably priced residential LED bulb. Given that an LED bulb can last 10K hours or more and draws about 6 watts, reasonably priced is still pretty freaking high which seems to have kept them out of reach for local retailers. Finally, at the green living show I found the wise and very friendly people at Green & Clean Energy Co. Ltd and their glorious $40 bulb.
Not a typo. Forty freaking dollars. Fortunately the wine garden was close at hand.
Took a deep breath and brought one home. My first impression was that I disagreed with the claim that they're balanced to sunlight. Sunlight on my planet doesn't look like this. This is a very bad photo, the light it cast is brighter than this, enough to see and read comfortably by. Still, you can see how it might give one the willies.
The plastic dome (cool to the touch) covers three tiny pin lights. (don't look directly at them, really really) Tinted domes are available to give a more incandescent glow but we went for the honest light. After about two days we agreed that it's better described as moonlight, perhaps a little poetic but just how it looks to us. Everything it illuminates looks clearer and more real than items in other rooms. As we've got used to the LED, the incandescent and CFL (don't like them, still have them, won a gift pack and don't like wasting resources) lights now look strange by comparison. And as we're able to we'll be replacing all bulbs with LEDs. We crunched the numbers on it and although the replacements will mean that the bulbs in each fixture will often cost more than the fixtures themselves, the energy savings alone pays for each bulb within the first one to two years. The bulbs may then last up to 20 years of nearly free light, which makes them initially expensive but excellent value.
Because we're nerds, we've even had friends and neighbours over to stare at our bulb. The general first impression is a) it's really nifty, b) it's too expensive and c) we're insane for having bought it. After explaining the value of it most people let up on point c and a little on point b, but it will likely take a price break to get these bulbs into the minds and then hands of the masses.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
3 Day
Last year was the first year I finished the 3 Day Novel contest. In January when I got a notice saying I'd received an honourable mention there was a lot of Muppet dancing going on. Scared the cat. Scared myself.
At the end of the contest I drank out of my NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) mug that read "Novelist Fuel" and had a rather intense moment. This 26K word, 110 page, flawed bit of Cthullu chic lit that ended with a chain saw meet elder god scene - that was the first book I wrote. Whole thing. Beginning, middle, end. My arms burned under the ice water wraps I'd kept on to keep writing. The rest of me buzzed with a new and volatile joy. So the "Honorable Mention" certificate, copy of Geist and free pizza coupon? Send me beyond time and space. And under the sofa, haven't really written since - but before the results came in I'd finished NaNo, so that's two manuscripts of dubious origin that I'm sitting on.
Yesterday I got an email from the gods of the 3 Day Novel contest. I think she's also known as Melissa. Anyway, it contained the epic sagas, distilled to 25 words each of three writers who'd polished off their 07 submissions and been since published. I think of how simply awful my entry was and is; finished and monumental in that respect but a readable story? Hrmph. Then I look at the still unused pizza coupon and think, "well, someone liked reading it". What part I don't know, but the only way to find out is to have another look. I'll revisit it.
The summer stretches ahead but being older now and this being Canada I know it will land squarely on the labour day weekend soon enough, a weekend in which I've foolishly booked two weddings. And I still want to enter. The transformation of time, stress and sweat into stories is an iridescent alchemy that I can't remember why I've resisted for so long. It's fun. I think it might be like surfing or lion taming or something. With coffee.
At the end of the contest I drank out of my NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) mug that read "Novelist Fuel" and had a rather intense moment. This 26K word, 110 page, flawed bit of Cthullu chic lit that ended with a chain saw meet elder god scene - that was the first book I wrote. Whole thing. Beginning, middle, end. My arms burned under the ice water wraps I'd kept on to keep writing. The rest of me buzzed with a new and volatile joy. So the "Honorable Mention" certificate, copy of Geist and free pizza coupon? Send me beyond time and space. And under the sofa, haven't really written since - but before the results came in I'd finished NaNo, so that's two manuscripts of dubious origin that I'm sitting on.
Yesterday I got an email from the gods of the 3 Day Novel contest. I think she's also known as Melissa. Anyway, it contained the epic sagas, distilled to 25 words each of three writers who'd polished off their 07 submissions and been since published. I think of how simply awful my entry was and is; finished and monumental in that respect but a readable story? Hrmph. Then I look at the still unused pizza coupon and think, "well, someone liked reading it". What part I don't know, but the only way to find out is to have another look. I'll revisit it.
The summer stretches ahead but being older now and this being Canada I know it will land squarely on the labour day weekend soon enough, a weekend in which I've foolishly booked two weddings. And I still want to enter. The transformation of time, stress and sweat into stories is an iridescent alchemy that I can't remember why I've resisted for so long. It's fun. I think it might be like surfing or lion taming or something. With coffee.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Lessons on leaving the house
Went to the local convenience store for eggs this morning, making up a breakfast for me and the boy. Paid no heed to any sort of grooming, other than attempting to wet down the strange animal which has curled up on my head and called itself hair. My comfy jacket (with it's frayed sleeves) over a comfy sweater (with ketchup on the zipper). Sunny day, only 100 yards or so away from the house. Passing by two people on their way to work.
"Hey, that lady married me!" says the gent, waving and smiling at me. A groom, I remember the wedding well, he and his bride were beautiful, I was considerably better dressed. I grin back and wave, frayed sleeve held aloft, likely crumbs on my face from a piece of pre-breakfast toast I'd been excited about. Possibly a blob of marmalade between my teeth.
Walking away I thought, really shouldn't leave the house looking so disheveled. I've officiated ceremonies for enough people that running into them here and there is becoming more common. I mean, I will leave the house looking pre-rumpled, possibly in a house coat now and again, but I really, really shouldn't.
"Hey, that lady married me!" says the gent, waving and smiling at me. A groom, I remember the wedding well, he and his bride were beautiful, I was considerably better dressed. I grin back and wave, frayed sleeve held aloft, likely crumbs on my face from a piece of pre-breakfast toast I'd been excited about. Possibly a blob of marmalade between my teeth.
Walking away I thought, really shouldn't leave the house looking so disheveled. I've officiated ceremonies for enough people that running into them here and there is becoming more common. I mean, I will leave the house looking pre-rumpled, possibly in a house coat now and again, but I really, really shouldn't.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Writing on the go
I have four half written short stories and two manuscripts to flesh out. I've had them for a while now. While they are outside my head stories and so almost real, they need work and my work habits need a bit of a make over.
For years I've wanted a laptop. I do have one, an elderly beast which must remain hooked up to life support to maintain signs of it's slow and plodding life. I call her Ethel, and am unsure of the integrity of the data she keeps. She's also an unwieldy girl who doesn't travel well. I've wanted a lighter, faster and portable laptop. Something to write in coffee shops in, or in parks. I used a Palm lifedrive for awhile, but it's had a stroke recently and prognosis is not good for a useful recovery. I'd nearly had myself convinced that a netbook would be an economical option before a friend (who knows me well and is fortunately unburdened with tact) told me on no uncertain terms that I was being an idiot. Laptops are expensive and out of range for my current income, but settling on tech isn't something I'm going to have long term patience with.
I think the reason I write better in coffee shops is a lack of discipline on my part. The chaos of the environment is external to me, none of my business. This forces me to focus on the page and story before me. At home all the chaos is my business, very distracting, this and that to do. Not a lot of writing gets done. Becoming a more disciplined person is harder than spending money on a solution, but of more long term benefit. I'm going to have to make a greater effort toward that at the home office.
And for the coffee shop writing which I seem to need? I have a lot of paper, and nicked a well made pen.
For years I've wanted a laptop. I do have one, an elderly beast which must remain hooked up to life support to maintain signs of it's slow and plodding life. I call her Ethel, and am unsure of the integrity of the data she keeps. She's also an unwieldy girl who doesn't travel well. I've wanted a lighter, faster and portable laptop. Something to write in coffee shops in, or in parks. I used a Palm lifedrive for awhile, but it's had a stroke recently and prognosis is not good for a useful recovery. I'd nearly had myself convinced that a netbook would be an economical option before a friend (who knows me well and is fortunately unburdened with tact) told me on no uncertain terms that I was being an idiot. Laptops are expensive and out of range for my current income, but settling on tech isn't something I'm going to have long term patience with.
I think the reason I write better in coffee shops is a lack of discipline on my part. The chaos of the environment is external to me, none of my business. This forces me to focus on the page and story before me. At home all the chaos is my business, very distracting, this and that to do. Not a lot of writing gets done. Becoming a more disciplined person is harder than spending money on a solution, but of more long term benefit. I'm going to have to make a greater effort toward that at the home office.
And for the coffee shop writing which I seem to need? I have a lot of paper, and nicked a well made pen.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Celebrating Internatoinal Museum Day
Apparently it's International Museum Day and it's also Victoria Day. Which means a lot of museums are closed. Here's some ideas of how to celebrate anyway:
1) Go to your nearest museum. If it's open, go in. If it's not, stare at the outside for a while and take a picture. If it's the ROM, marvel at the crystal entity that's crashed to earth and is slowly devouring the building.
2) Walk around your house and observe your own possessions from the stand point of a museum goer. Keep you hands behind your back and don't touch the objects. Mutter their histories aloud, marvel at their shapes and purposes. Appreciate their beauty.
3) For extra self curator fun, select a few items of particular interest, arrange them esthetically to catch the light and write place cards describing their real or imagined history. For example:
"EXHIBIT A: This Cuisinart coffee maker is a replica of a model which dated back to 2004, when it was purchased from the Hudsons Bay Company by persons traveling from a same sex wedding at the King Edward Hotel in downtown Toronto. The original coffee maker was lost in the great grounds backlog of 2007, and this replica was purchased using primarily empty beer bottles, the traditional form of Canadian currency. The Hudson's Bay Company is the department store which founded Canada. Same Sex weddings have been legal in Canada since 2003. The couple in question that day later went on to purchase Puma shoes. Not the chain, just two sets of sneakers. One of the party of travelers urinated in the correct receptacle of the King Edward Hotel following the ceremony."
Invite friends over to stare at the artifacts with you. Encourage them to take pictures.
4) If you find nothing about your house that's interesting, visit a friend. Or a neighbour you don't know very well. Point at their possessions and ask them "Tell me about this piece", nod and say "that's very interesting" in response to whatever they say. If they are able to guess that you're celebrating International Museum Day, give them a cookie.
1) Go to your nearest museum. If it's open, go in. If it's not, stare at the outside for a while and take a picture. If it's the ROM, marvel at the crystal entity that's crashed to earth and is slowly devouring the building.
2) Walk around your house and observe your own possessions from the stand point of a museum goer. Keep you hands behind your back and don't touch the objects. Mutter their histories aloud, marvel at their shapes and purposes. Appreciate their beauty.
3) For extra self curator fun, select a few items of particular interest, arrange them esthetically to catch the light and write place cards describing their real or imagined history. For example:
"EXHIBIT A: This Cuisinart coffee maker is a replica of a model which dated back to 2004, when it was purchased from the Hudsons Bay Company by persons traveling from a same sex wedding at the King Edward Hotel in downtown Toronto. The original coffee maker was lost in the great grounds backlog of 2007, and this replica was purchased using primarily empty beer bottles, the traditional form of Canadian currency. The Hudson's Bay Company is the department store which founded Canada. Same Sex weddings have been legal in Canada since 2003. The couple in question that day later went on to purchase Puma shoes. Not the chain, just two sets of sneakers. One of the party of travelers urinated in the correct receptacle of the King Edward Hotel following the ceremony."
Invite friends over to stare at the artifacts with you. Encourage them to take pictures.
4) If you find nothing about your house that's interesting, visit a friend. Or a neighbour you don't know very well. Point at their possessions and ask them "Tell me about this piece", nod and say "that's very interesting" in response to whatever they say. If they are able to guess that you're celebrating International Museum Day, give them a cookie.
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