This is the afghan that never ends...

...yes it goes on and on my friends!

Knitting blankets is hell. And I'm only knitting a damn throw, not a bed-sized cover!

Yeah, it's an easy pattern and yeah I have "turbo" needles (no, really) but it's taking for. ever.

I still have a Latifa to finish for myself and Paul has given up hope of ever getting his alien illusion while the snow still flies.

And then I want to make this, this and this.

Must. Keep. Knitting.

Twas the night before...

...and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, because all the damn cookies were made. I don't think I've ever made as many cookies as I did this year. Eventually, when it became obvious last night that the "fivetuple" (whatever's after quadruple) batch of shortbread I made was indeed not going to be enough, I grinchily decided that two people on my list simple weren't getting cookies this year. Sorry Grandma.

In addition to the hearts, I also made little white men, little brown men, stars and circles.

All batches included, I made, count em' SEVENTEEN BATCHES OF COOKIES and it STILL WASN'T enough. I'm getting smaller tins next year.















After all that, I collapsed on the couch, brewed a cup of tea and watched the 1951 version of everyone's favourite holiday Dickens tale.

Gah! I underestimated the number of cookies I'd need to make to fill the 14 medium-size cookie tins that we're giving away this year.

I asked Paul to fill up the Pod with some new Podcasts so that I'll have something to listen to this afternoon while I make. more. damn. cookies.

It's gonna be a long day

Ugh. So. Tired. This is what I get for going to see a three-hour movie on a Monday night. My body simply isn’t designed to do strenuous things like stay awake until 11 in a darkened movie theatre, go home, collapse into bed and then, like, get up in six hours.

...

Anyway, King Kong was fantastic and I would have cried in the movie theatre if I hadn’t been sitting with five guys. It’s got everything – love, tragedy, comedy, irony, a big ape, huge bugs, a T-Rex and some awesome depictions of Depression-era New York. And I’m not ashamed to say that Adrian Brody made this woman’s… uh, heart…yeah, heart, go pitter pat. Hrrmm.

...

I wish I looked that good running around the jungle in a slip.

It pays to read the recipe

Last night at 7 p.m., after a lazy afternoon of lolling around on the couch watching the Food Network holiday specials following a huge buffet brunch with some friends, I was jerked out of my near comatose state with the sudden guilty thought that I had promised to bring in a plate of gooey brownies to work the next morning as part of a United Way commitment. Gah!

I hoisted down my copy of Regan Daly’s “In the Sweet Kitchen,” which in itself tips the scales at 10 pounds, and blearily looked up the recipe for Really Really Fudgey Brownies. I didn’t have enough chocolate in the house for a double recipe. Double Gah!

I pulled on some boots, threw a coat on and stumbled out the door with Paul’s “don’t drive too fast, for cripes sake!” ringing in my ears. I got to Sobeys’ 24 Hour and picked up six boxes of bittersweet and unsweetened chocolate, congratulating myself for thinking ahead and buying more than necessary. You know, just in case.

I got home and got to work melting the 20 ounces of chopped chocolate with an entire pound of butter in a double boiler. I got out the vanilla and noted that I would need eight eggs, 4 ½ cups of sugar and 2 ½ cups of flour. Yeah, I only had four eggs in the house, maybe a cup of sugar and a dwindling amount of flour. For the love of pete!

I took the giant bowl of melted chocolate and butter off the stove, put my boots and coat back and drove to Sobey’s. I picked up everything, made sure I didn’t get the same cashier, silently cursed the father and son in front of me in the line who were buying four litre tubs of both Oreo and After Eight ice cream, which they obviously planned to consume that night, no doubt in front of the TV, where I belonged, and arrived home loudly declaring that if I’d forgotten anything else, I. Didn’t. Care.

All’s well that ends well though, because the brownies turned out fantastic. They are decadent. They are dense. They weigh a tonne. They are the best damn brownies ever. Let me know if you want the recipe. Just make sure you read it first before you start.

Scared and excited

My mother is going to have surgery in January to have the Cochler implant, well, implanted into her inner ear.

What is a Cochler implant? Here’s a link but essentially the implant allows a hearing impaired person to hear sound in a way that hearing aids can’t provide. As they explain on the site “Hearing aids are designed to amplify sound. To a person with severe to profound hearing loss, amplification won't provide much hearing because sound is still being delivered through a damaged part of the ear. A cochlear implant doesn’t make sounds louder – it bypasses the damaged part of the ear and sends sound directly to the auditory (hearing) nerve to provide a clearer understanding of sound and speech.”

Sounds cool eh? It is and I’m excited for my mother who is also really excited. As someone with only very slight hearing loss, I can try to imagine how I might feel knowing that the possibility of somewhat normal hearing might be available to me. As my mother could tell you, hearing loss is a very isolating disability. Not only are you isolated from joining in people’s conversations and experiencing the world in the way that others do, but you also isolate yourself. You avoid people and situations where your hearing loss will be a disadvantage to you. You worry about not hearing something and being made a fool of or ignored. It happens all the time and it’s often perpetuated by people who should know better.

So yeah, the possibility of improving that situation for my mother is damn exciting. But I’m also scared. I’m scared something will happen to her during the operation. I remember being pretty much anxious through her entire last two pregnancies thinking that something would go wrong. I’m also scared the implant won’t work in the way she expects and maybe she’ll be disappointed.

So, scared and excited. If that’s how I feel, I can’t imagine how she feels.

- 6

Yeah, that's about what it feels like...in my office. At home, we keep the thermostat at a respectable 23 degrees when we're home. It's a bit cool for my taste, so I put on a sweater.

I wish that were all I would have to do here at the office. Currently, I have my scarf wrapped around my neck, my coat tucked over my lap, my heater going full blast to the point where it's making the arm of my plastic chair a bit gooey, and a heated bag of oats at my feet.

I kid you not.

It hurts to type with cold fingers.

You Must Try This

Try this in Google. Type in your name followed by the word “needs” and see what you get. Hilarious. Here are mine.

Melanie needs

...to become more tolerant, especially of emotions.
...to become somewhat flexible and leave some of the pig headedness behind.
...a DIVORCE.
...a man's body. A dead man's body.
...to be part of a novelty act to get attention.

Bwa ha ha! Try it yourself and let me know the best ones.

shopping goodies

Thanks to my sister-in-law, I managed to buy a pair of Seven jeans for a good price. I've been hearing about these jeans for a while now and I have to say, I have bought into the idea that designer jeans really are worth the extra dough you shell out, just for the quality. Anything that can make my bum look better is worth it to me. Not that it looks as good as the one in the picture above, but better than my squishy average. Hah!

10 Years Young

My baby brother turns 10 tomorrow. Ten! We celebrated and I made this cake for him (he's into cars). Amateurish? Yes. A suitable birthday cake for a kid? Sure. Man, it was sweet though. A few went into sugar shock.

Wee baby knitting

No, not for me. I've knitted two of these wee baby hats so far for friends of ours and they're so damn cute! It's an umbilical cord hat because of the knot at the top. Hee!

Blech

I’ve just experienced a truly heinous muffin. I woke up hungry from my nap on the train this morning (I do not miss driving into work) and decided to pick up a Tim Horton’s Low-Fat Cranberry muffin along with my super-size steeped tea.

What a waste of 290 precious calories. Oily cotton candy is not my muffin flavour of choice.

The tea was drinkable though. And I enjoy the camaraderie of standing in line with other sleepy patrons as we shuffle forward to order the shot of caffeine that makes the morning easier to get through.

How to Please Me

Scallops & Marinated Lobster with Niagara Verjus and Passion Fruit Dressing
Truffle Ravioli with Globe Chokes, Rocket & Porcini Foam
Fireweed Honey Butter Tart with Mulled Dried-Fruit Compote & Ginger Ice Cream

And a glass of Biff’s Big Juicy Red

This was my dinner at Canoe on Friday for my birthday and It. Was. Fabulous.

The designated eater had:

Hearts of Romaine with Creamed Horseradish Dressing Tomato Preserves & Focaccia Crisp
Cumbrae Farms Angus Ribeye (Naturally Raised) with Northern Woods Mushrooms, Yukon Confit & Sherried Truffle

(we shared the honey butter tart).

I'm back!

Phew! There are always gaps in my postings, but this was getting ridiculous! As my friend Dave said, “you’re back from Europe, the CBC is on the air and it’s time to start blogging again.”

Our trip to Greece and London was great and I’ve got a bit of a travelling bug…I hope it’s catching. Next on the list is another jaunt to Europe. Prague and Vienna are compelling as are the twin cities of Buda and Pest (I think that's Buda on the left and Pest on the right but I'm not sure).

There’s also a cruise ship that travels through Northern Europe making stops in Berlin, Stockholm, Oslo, Helsinki, Cohenhagen, St. Petersburg and a city in Estonia I’ve never heard of! If we can manage to get a group of friends to go with us, it’ll almost be too good to be true.

In the more near future though, the other half and I are trekking out to unknown parts of Etobicoke tomorrow evening to attend a lecture entitled “Tavern in the Town: A Look Back at Drinking in Toronto.” As a history buff, and a quaffer of beer, this seems an appropriate educational event to attend…especially given that the admission price includes a sampling of 19th century “bar snacks.” One can assume that “Chex Mix” won’t be offered, thank god.

Speaking of beer, a friend and I met for lunch this afternoon at an upscale joint where purportedly “80% of the menu features beer as an ingredient.” Yum! I had a Unibroue beer called “Blanche de Chambly,” a white beer that was really refreshing. I paired it with a beer-marinated mushroom and blue cheese pizza that was quite tasty.

I’ll report back on those bar snacks for you.

Toronto radio bites

I want my CBC back!

If you're interested in the lock-out and hearing directly from CBC employees, check out www.cbcunplugged.com

vacation planning

This is a picture my friend Jenn in Australia sent me of the scenary near where she lives on the Gold Coast. Yeah, I think I should go visit her too.

The Canadian In Me

As we approach another celebration of our country’s birthday, I thought it appropriate to share a story about something that happened to me today. As it happens, I had another encounter with “Creepy Guy” on the train again this morning. Readers of this blog (God bless them) might remember my unfortunate tumble on the train some time ago. It was then that I first noticed the stares of Creepy Guy. I figured at the time that he couldn’t get the image of me tripping and falling on a train car full of commuters out of his head and couldn’t help himself from staring, open-mouthed, at me the whole way into Toronto.

Ever since then, if I come across him on the train car, I can’t help but notice him because, well, you notice when people are staring at you. Creep.

So this morning I unfortunately had a space free next to me and low and behold, Creepy Guy decided to take advantage. Now, if you don’t take the train, you might not know that people of average height and build can sit next to each other without touching. The taller and broader among us will likely take up a bit more room and on these occasions I would find myself companionably touching upper arms with a stranger during the ride in. I never usually mind this when it happens and I tend to reflect that it’s actually kind of nice that we’re all sleepily taking the same journey together and what does it matter if you lean on your seatmate a bit?

This tolerance ends with Creepy Guy who took every advantage to continuing leaning in on me, DESPITE the fact that there was more than enough room for both of us.

During the whole 40-minute ride, I would scrunch myself a bit smaller only to find that he would casually shift his laptop case and allow his arms to once again resettle INTO MY PERSONAL SPACE. Finally, after yet another “re-shift” I finally looked up from my book and stared ahead purposefully. Body language is a powerful thing and he got the message. I remained unmolested for the rest of the ride. As soon as the train approached Union Station, I got up waited by the doors.

Why, you might be asking yourself, didn’t I just move? Well, I asked myself the same question and I think it comes down to social conditioning. I just couldn’t bring myself do to something so rude as to move and make it obvious that I didn’t want to sit next to him. Then I thought I might hurt his feelings. Jeez. Must be the Canadian in me.

What I know for sure….

... that losing my temper always ends up hurting me just as much as the person whom I made the target of my wrath and fury. Which I suppose is rather fitting in a way and a good example of karma.

In the past two weeks, I’ve blown up at both a relative and a good friend. In retrospect, both temper tantrums were avoidable and completely unnecessary. I’ve apologized to both, but really, I don’t feel much better. I doubt they do either.

As my mother would likely say “I’ve resolved to change my thinking on this...I’ll put together some affirmations" (love The Mom). From what I’ve gleaned from that wonderful all-knowing source (the Internet, natch), I’ve put together the following affirmations which I resolve to repeat in my head whenever I feel The Rage:

1. Call a time out with myself whenever I feel my temper building.

2. Try deep breathing - breathe in through my nose for eight seconds, and out through my mouth for sixteen seconds. Repeat several times. Resolve not to care when people start looking at me funny.

3. Change my thoughts. "I'll show him!" becomes "What will best help me right now?" "He always does this to me," becomes "I'm the only one who can make a fool out of me." You got that right sister.

4. Try to think about how hurt someone could be by my words. Nothing’s worth causing unnecessary hurt to someone else – especially someone you care about.

Sorry Uncle George.

Sorry Joe.

a brief history

I stole this from a blogger who stole it from a blogger, who stole...well, you get the idea:

10 years ago:

I was 19.
I had just graduated high school.
I had been accepted into George Brown’s chef program but decided not to go for lack of funds.
I then started a job with a company that I would stay with for eight years.

5 years ago:

I was 24.
I was in a relationship with the man I would eventually marry, whee!
I had started taking courses towards a certificate program at Ryerson University.
I had lost about 50 pounds.

3 years ago:

I was 26.
I had been married for less than a year.
I was living in a house I bought with my husband.
I was still working at the same company and getting more and more stressed about it.

1 year ago:

I was 28.
I had learned that this marriage thing was pretty cool.
I had travelled to Costa Rica with my husband and decided that hot, humid climates weren’t my vacation destination of choice.
I started taking courses towards a degree program at York University.

Today:

I am 29.
I finally left my first employer and am pretty happy in a new position.
I am planning a trip to Europe with my husband for the fall. Whee hee!
I’ve learned that family is so important , that compassion is necessary and that love is the answer to almost every question.

How to Annoy My Husband

“La Toyota est une voiture japonaise!”

“La Chevrolet est une voiture américain!”

“La Peugeot est une voiture français!”

Repeat the above French sentences about foreign cars, with authority (!), over and over again while he’s trying to fold laundry, unload the dishwasher, and carry heavy objects.

We came across an old set of tapes during one of our spring cleaning escapes a few weeks ago. The tapes, with handily come with a compact French English dictionary, are supposed to teach you elementary French from the comfort of your home, office or vehicle...ahem, make that “voiture.”

Feeling the need to brush up on my Grade 13 French, I’ve now got tape number one in my car’s cassette player and I’ve already learned how to count to 12, how to add simple combinations of numbers, and how to say window, door, telephone, bells, violin, piano, and car, all during one trip to Sobey’s for some cauiflower! All in French!

Paris here I come!

Chocolate Caramel Enchantment

The name says it all eh? I’ve been seeing these ads for Celestial Seasonings newest chai tea of this name and like the good granola girl that I am, I picked it up from the health food store yesterday.

I’m having my first cup now and I have to say, it’s pretty good! The aroma of chocolate and caramel is definitely there, but it’s fairly subtle in the actual chai. I added a teaspoon of sugar to my very large cup and some one per cent milk. I always leave the tea bag in so that the yummy goodness is allowed to develop.

There’s lots of cinnamony spicy goodness, but that’s not the reason I’m recommending it. No, the real reason to buy this stuff is because it has a dual purpose! I tucked a sachet behind my computer at work and a lovely cinnamony, caramelly scent with notes of apple and chicory has now enveloped my office. It’s heavenly! Enchanting in fact.

anyone else freaking out about the predicted flu pandemic?

I've been hearing news reports and reading some articles for a while now about the predictions that the avian flu could morph into a strain that could lead to human to human contact. In fact, it's already happened.

Now, experts are predicting, it's only a matter of time before the flu spreads. I always want to believe that this time of reporting IS scare-mongering, but I'm starting to think maybe it isn't.

I did hear that for some people, it'll just be a matter of being confined to bed for the better part of two weeks (a concern I suppose for the corporate world), but I get scared for those with compromised immune systems... and the kidlets. And the old folks.

Here's an article that appeared in the National Post this morning:

Parallels with the 1918 Spanish flu outbreak

Mark Kennedy
CanWest News Service

March 9, 2005

GENEVA - There are frightening similarities between the bird flu virus raging in Southeast Asia that threatens to spark a global human influenza pandemic and the devastating Spanish flu outbreak that killed tens of millions of people in 1918.

That warning comes from the World Health Organization and top virologists and epidemiologists around the globe who are nervously watching the situation unfold in Thailand and Vietnam, where this week the first possible human-to-human transmission between unrelated people emerged, raising the spectre the virus is changing to become more easily spread among humans.

No one wants to predict that the flu virus -- known as H5N1 -- currently causing so much concern will mutate into a strain as virulent as the one that swept through the world 87 years ago.

Indeed, public health experts at the WHO stress they still don't know how dangerous the next pandemic will be. But they add ominously that while it could be a mild virus that kills as few as two million people, the scenario could be much worse, with fatalities of more than 50 million worldwide.

And in North America, top experts are urging people not to become indifferent to their warnings that a flu pandemic will some day sweep through the world.

"We're not scare-mongering here," said Frank Plummer, scientific director of the Winnipeg-based national microbiology lab, part of the Public Health Agency of Canada. "We're not crying wolf. There is a wolf. We just don't know when it's coming."

In the meantime, experts are gripped by the eerie parallels with the most devastating public health disaster in history.

"Similarities between the H5N1 and 1918 viruses have been suggested in the gradual adaptation of an avian to a human-like virus, the severity of disease, its concentration in young and healthy people, and the occurrence of primary viral pneumonia in addition to secondary bacterial pneumonia," the WHO writes in a report that includes a section on the "assessment of the threat."

One of the top flu pandemic experts in the United States calls the parallels between today's H5N1 virus and the strain in 1918 "frightening."

"It is killing an otherwise healthy group of people in the prime of their life. And it is doing it with an illness that is so reminiscent of 1918: respiratory distress syndrome," Michael Osterholm, director of the Center for Infectious Disease Research and Policy at the University of Minnesota, said in an interview.

It is generally believed that what killed most of the 1918 flu's young victims -- often within 48 hours, as their lungs filled with blood -- was a massive immune system overreaction to the virus.

If it happens again, writes Mr. Osterholm, "modern medicine has little in its arsenal to fight it."

He suggests people consider the devastation of the recent tsunamis in South Asia: "Duplicate it in every major urban centre and rural community around the planet simultaneously, add in the paralyzing fear and panic of contagion, and we begin to get some sense of the potential of pandemic influenza."

The little things

Sometimes it's the little things that make the day a good one. Today it was the extra kiss goodbye I recieved this morning and the sun streaming through the windows of the train as it rumbled and rocked me to sleep (the sun!). Gotta love the mini-nap.

I'm writing this from my desk at work with an extra large cup of Tim Horton's steeped tea in front of me (I couldn't resist and it's rrrrrooooll up the rrrimmm time) and the window beside me looks out to the blue, blue sky and an even bluer lake beyond.

As Ms. Stewart would say...it's a good thing.

Cooking Comfort

It’s been a rough week. So I settled into Sunday morning with a long list of consumables to prepare for the week ahead. In my world, comfort sometimes comes from not only eating the fruits of my labour, but also in the stirring, chopping, and cleaning that results in a fridge well-stocked, and a tired couple well fed.

Sunday’s list included a silky vegetable and coconut Thai-style soup, a batch of nutty brown rice, a big pot of (freezable) curry sauce perfect for dousing the squeaky cauliflower I picked up on Saturday, a low-fat, if crumbly, banana bread and a summery quinoa salad with tomato, cucumber, raisins and large handfuls of Italian parsley. Mixed with other fresh vegetables, the soft pita breads, feta cheese, and the long Italian style rolls I also bought, we’ve got mid-day and after-work meals prepared.

Comfort also comes in sharing meals with comforting people. After the banana bread came out of the oven, we headed over to Paul’s mom and dads. Homemade wine (which only I and my parents-in-law seem to appreciate – the others having more sophisticated tastes), fresh baked ricotta and spinach cannelloni, Paul’s-Mom’s-Salad(TM), and a dessert of cupcakes and coffee...I know I felt better.

Happy Birthday to The Boy

Happy Birthday Paul!

If today is your birthday (according to the Globe and Mail astrologist)..."there are two possible, and opposing, routes you can take this year. You can stick with what you know and trust, both in your personal life and at work, or you can risk everything on something new. Which route you take is up to you entirely but make sure it is one or the other. The worst possible decision is to make no decision at all."

Ooo -- that sounds rather foreboding.

Candy sushi and other food fun

I want to make these.

And these

Twinkie sushi! Revolting? Perhaps. Fun? Most definitely.

Chew, chew, chew, chew, chewboogie

I wonder if it's possible to be addicted to gum. Perhaps as part of some kind of psychotic oral fixation.

This morning, I bought two 12-piece packs of Trident's new "Very Berry" sugar-free gum. It's now six hours later and all but one piece has been chewed until it's devoid of flavour and then spit into my sticky garbage can. That's 23 pieces of gum. That's a piece every 15.7 minutes.

And this is a regular occurance too. Paul is not impressed.

My jaw hurts. Really, it aches.

But. I. Can't. Stop. Chewing.

Dammit, I just noticed that it's full of aspartame.

Problem solved. Apparently aspartame can be addictive. At least according to this guy. Now, he's likely just some Internet quack, but the following does make me pause:

ASPARTAME CAN UPSET BRAIN CHEMISTRY

Once you understand a bit about the chemistry of aspartame, you'll see why it can cause so many problems.

Aspartame is comprised of two amino acids, aspartic acid and phenylalanine. Aspartic acid acts as an "excitatory" neurotransmitter, or chemical messenger, in the brain, stimulating neurons to fire. Problems can arise when aspartic acid is out of balance with "inhibitory" amino acids that calm things down. Phenylalanine also easily enters the brain, where it is transformed into neurotransmitters that can further interfere with normal brain function.

This is a likely reason why aspartame lowers the threshold for seizures, mood disorders, and other nervous system problems. This altered brain chemistry may also be responsible for the addictive nature of aspartame. Some patients report that getting off diet soda takes more willpower than giving up cigarettes!

See!?! I have a PROBLEM!

We all know where the rainbow goes...

Why am I ashamed of dipping into the box of Pot of Gold chocolates?

Paul and I had my uncle, my cousin, his fiancée and her mother over for dinner last night. Being the ever-gracious host, I buried my vegetarian leanings and roasted a whole chicken for them. I paired it with the natural accompaniment of roasted mini potatoes, and served corn mixed with cherry tomatoes and edamame beans and cucumber salad on the side (my uncle has a fear of veggies, but consented to the corn).

Anyway -- they brought wine and a box of Pot of Gold to share. There's something so heart-warmingly cheesy about this quintessentially Canadian confection. I often say (loudly and irritatingly I'm sure) that I can't stand chocolate mixed with any other flavour (although I tolerate mint). I'm not a fan of the orange/chocolate combination, or the popular nut/chocolate or caramel/chocolate combinations. I prefer my chocolate unadulterated with a high ratio of cocoa solids, not to sweet, but not too dark either.

But I draw the line on my chocolate snobbishness with the chocolate-covered maraschino cherries in the Pot of Gold box. Tooth-achingly sweet, red-dye injected, and irresistible! Shhhhhh. There are only two to a box, so I made sure I was the first to dive in last night. And I breached chocolate box etiquette by rooting around in the second layer to find my treat's twin. Hee.

Oh the shame.

Quantum Leap

I don't know how long this story from the Montreal Gazette will be available, but if you have the chance to read it, here's the link:

I saw this at work because of the link to counterfeiting, but I kept reading it because it's just so damn cool. Even if you have no real understanding of quantum physics (I sure don't), this story is good because it restores your faith in some people's utter brilliance.

I was fretting recently about some inane story about how there are these smart people out there who are set on destroying society as we know it for their own personal gain or beliefs or whatever, and my good friend Dave, with his usual calming insight, noted that for every smart revolutionary guy out there, there's an equally brilliant good guy working against them. Now that's a comforting thought, and it's very likely true.

This story about two scientists, one Canadian and the other American, who together came up with a way to prevent code breakers from cracking into computers with extremtly sensitive information by using quantum theory, illustrates this beautifully.

Sidenote: Wouldn't you love to be smart enough to sit in a cafe after a swim and talk about quantum mechanics with an equally smart dude and actually be enjoying yourself??

Anyway, very cool story. Very cool dudes.

Beans, beans, good for your heart...

A couple of nights ago I had just started to drift off when I realized that I had no idea, really, where beans – things like chickpeas, kidney beans, black-eyed peas – came from. Have you ever seen a lentil plant? It’s strange what you think about before going to sleep. I mentioned it to The Boy and he told me just to Google it in the morning.

Why does it matter? Because we, generally, as a society, are becoming further and further removed from the foods we eat, i.e. where it comes from, how it’s produced, how it gets to us.

It’s pretty startling when you realize that you have no clue how those cans and cans of legumes (at least at my house) came to be on the shelf. Scary actually.

So I set out to learn more. As I suspected, beans DO come from plants. I’ve just never seen any. The beans we eat are the dried seeds of those plants. I learned from this site that legumes (including peanuts) are able to take large amounts of nitrogen from the air and convert it to protein in the seeds. They also return large amounts of nitrogen to the ground and because of this the green plants are sometimes ploughed under; as an organic fertilizer.

This site from an organic farm project in Muenster, Saskatchewan has some photos of lentil plants.

So now you know. And I can sleep.

My morning constitutional

It’s too cold to walk outside when I get off the train in the morning. I’m cold-adverse.

I walk underground to get to my building and I can map out where I am on this 10-minute walk through my sense of smell. Union station is a mish-mash of the hot, oily odour of McDonalds french fries and the overpowering aroma of cinnamon and sugar from the nearby Cinnibon. Somehow it works.

There are wafts of burnt coffee as I pass the Second Cup and then a burst of cold air as I emerge outside for the 10 second jump into the BCE underground. Once inside I pass a bagel place that seems to be everyone’s favourite breakfast spot. The smell of eggs, ketchup and toast seems so homemade. Then I pass the Marche where they always seem to be frying cheese-covered chicken wings in a vat of oil. At least that’s what it smells like.

No wonder I’m hungry once I get to my desk.

Down for the count

So I fell on the train today. Not in my own driveway, not outside in the slippery snow-covered parking lot, no. Instead I fell inside the reasonable full train. And not just a stumble either -- a full out flat on your face, nose within inches of the floor, wipeout.

And I've got the skinned palm, scratched hand, bruised knuckles and dust-and-salt-covered clothes to prove it. I think my hip is out of joint. I actually heard people go “ooooo” as I careened forward.

And I have a full day of meetings to get through today! Hurrah!

George Coleman -- where the hell are you?

I'm really getting stressed out about the essay I'm writing for my history class. I'm researching a baker/confectionery business from the latter quarter of 19th century Toronto (Proprietor: Mr. George Coleman), but every time I think I'm coming to the end of the actual research, I run into another damn question.

Maybe that's the reality of history -- you never run out of questions.

Last night, I was in the stacks on the fourth floor of the York University Library after 10 p.m., crossing my legs together because I REFUSED to find a washroom until I determined when his business actually shut down. I worked by way through the 1880s, and all the through the 1890's versions of "Might's Toronto Directories" until I hit a wall at 1899. He was STILL in business and the next directory was 1913, at which point he'd likely be dead. Goddamit! I'm going to have to get to the Toronto Reference Library to see if they have the missing years.

What I know so far:

George Coleman's confectionary and bakery business was established in 1859 at 69 King Street West, south side, between Bay and York Streets in Toronto. The business moved to 99 King St., 111 King St., and eventually to 113 King Street in 1890. Mr. Coleman emigrated from England, was of Baptist faith and probably lived on Simcoe Street. He may have been a Mason! Fascinating eh?

This is all interesting stuff, but I'm under deadline here. Last night I hardly got any sleep and what sleep I did get was spent dreaming about slowly turning pages in the 1860s directory of Toronto businesses...ALL NIGHT. This does NOT a good night's sleep make.

Attention Nerdlings

I was writing in my journal last Friday and thought I would record my current "hobbies" for all posterity. Here's the list:

-- knitting
-- scrapbooking (just started this one)
-- reading
-- cooking
-- gardening (in summer)

Good lord! It sounds like the afternoon activities list at the local senior citizen's home, for Christ's sake!

I'm consoling myself through reminders that I'm going shopping for yarn made out of recycled sari silk on Queen West (that's got to count for something), that the scrapbooking project is a gift for someone, that the books I'm reading aren't Agatha Christie or whatever, and the cooking is kick ass, but is it really all for naught? Could I have become an old, boring domestic without my knowing it?

I have a knitting pattern for condom covers. Maybe that'll up the cool factor.

Toronto -- the Bush Forest

I'm taking a course at York University to learn about the historical methods used to learn about history; in this case the history of 19th century Toronto (i.e. the 1800s). The required text for this course is Eric Arthur's "No Mean City" and I'm two chapters into it.

The descriptions of the Toronto shoreline during the 1780s to the turn of the century are really mindboggling. There's an entry by Governor Simcoe's wife describing her first look at the shoreline of Toronto from their boat on Lake Ontario. She describes seeing the dense bush forest, with some hardwood and poplar trees along with some evergreens. She noticed the beaver meadows! I couldn't believe it when I read her description of looking out her window from the summer house they eventually built (called Castle Frank) to see the native's spearing salmon by firelight in the DON RIVER. Freaky.

Anyway, Toronto (or York as it was known at this time) was fairly isolated from other communities (Kingston, Niagara) and one of the notable accomplishments of the then administrator Peter Russell was the contracting with Asa Danforth on a road that would lead was far as the Bay of Quinte. Check out this link for an artist's depiction of "the Danforth Road" as it may have looked during the early part of the 1800s.

Toast and Tea is served!

So I've finally joined the masses and I've got my own blog. The boy helped me set it up and I plan to write a bit of this and a bit of that, freshly toasted.