irritation – it’s what’s for dinner

Now that the kids are getting older and are having friends over more frequently, they’re also inviting those friends to stay for supper occasionally. This is both good and bad – good because it reminds me how much I like my children in comparison to all other children and bad because in order to make that comparison, I have to endure the presence of other children. Nah, I’m just being nasty. Mostly. The majority of the kids’ friends are nice and sweet and polite, if perhaps a little too honest by times. As in, “Wow! That’s a lot of dirty dishes!” Etc.

Charlotte had a dinner guest one night this past week who, when confronted with homemade bread – the bread seen above, BREAD, I might add, MADE WITH MY VERY OWN HANDS – asked, “How do you guys eat this stuff?” Uh, thanks, kid. Don’t call us, we’ll call you.

The very next night, Anna had a guest – a lovely young lady we like very much – who asked me to please make the pasta with sausage dish I’d made the week before since she’d sampled it from Anna’s thermos at school the next day and thought it was delicious. Flattered, I re-created the recipe and happily served it, at which time our guest said, “Oh, I’m a vegetarian.” Um, you know what sausage is, right?

I’m thinking that our next dinner guest will receive any food of his or her choosing – from the backyard. Anything you can find, dearest, it’s all yours.

all hallows’ eve

So last night was Hallowe’en, which is not my favourite occasion, partly because I don’t enjoy stumbling around the neighbourhood in the dark, but mostly because I object to giving away mini chocolate bars once they are in my possession. My kids, however, insist on being kids and indulging in inconveniences such as having friends, requiring clean clothes, and trick-or-treating. Sigh.

So they dress up like gypsies:

Like Anna, seen here at the far left. She wasn’t impressed by my insistence she wear tights under her skirt, but tough. It was cold here last night. I won’t identify Anna’s friends in case their mothers don’t approve, but fortunately their faces all seem to be either disguised or obscured anyway.

Here’s Foster and Charlotte:

Foster is dressed as Hiccup from How to Train Your Dragon – a last-minute costume pulled together when I realized at about 3 pm that the rain wasn’t going to stop and the costume he and The Boy Wonder were carefully creating out of cardboard (Captain Rex from Star Wars) would certainly be ruined. Cardboard + rain = an unhappy boy with a soggy cardboard helmet.  Charlotte is Velma from Scooby-Doo, in an outfit she put together entirely by herself. Pretty good, huh? I LOVE projects that don’t require my assistance.

Despite the rain and cold weather, we had more than twice as many kids as usual. Go figure.

How was your Hallowe’en? Did you play any tricks?

notes from the racetrack

My life is a mad dash these days as I hurtle from obligation to obligation, putting off everything I enjoy until later. Later. Later. It sucks. One of those things I enjoy is writing, whether it be blogging, journalling or novel-tinkering, and my writing time is almost zero these days. Same with reading. My reading time has shrunk to the last few minutes before bed when I am not exactly at my sharpest. This is all my way of justifying the lameness of the “reviews” to follow – I don’t have enough time now to write with any intelligence (seriously, I’m on a tiny stopover between library shifts and I have no idea what I’m going to make for supper) and even if I did have the time to write something of value, I was so zonked out when I read the following two books it’s a wonder I remember reading them at all.

First up:

Jane Austen by Carol Shields.  It was good. The end.

Okay, I’ll try a little harder.

I’ve never been a reader of biographies or autobiographies because I expect them to be dull. There. I said it. I expect them to be big, boring chronicles of every single teensy weensy detail about some supposedly fascinating person’s life and, frankly, there are very few people who interest me enough to want to know their last names, let alone what they named their first pet.

But I saw this at the library and thought, hey, Jane Austen. I like Jane Austen. And Carol Shields. I like Carol Shields. And, hey, even better, it’s 185 pages. I like 185 page books.

And it’s good. Very enjoyable. Not dull at all. Jane Austen led a very interesting life, despite what some asshole critics might say, and Carol Shields recounts Jane’s story in her own typically well-spoken (well-written?) and insightful way. Think the opposite of this review: that’s what it’s like. Highly recommended.

Next up:

No Impact Man by Colin Beavan.

I don’t have the book in front of me to quote a blurb so I’ll try to summarize: Colin Beavan, a writer in New York City, kind of freaks out (understandably) at the state of the environment and decides to try spending a year making no impact on the earth – no garbage, no electricity use, no unnecessary shopping, no transportation other than self-powered. It’s a huge, complicated undertaking, as you can imagine, and he drags his somewhat reluctant wife and young daughter along for the experiment.

My favourite parts of the book were the logistics – how they got around the city, how they kept food from spoiling without a refrigerator, how they washed their clothes in the tub, and so on – but interestingly, it seems to be the sharing of the logistics that Beavan didn’t enjoy. He is very light on the details regarding many of the things they tried and says this is because he isn’t recommending anyone actually try to live this way – it was just a means for gaining awareness of our society’s tendency toward over-consumption and reliance upon convenience at the expense of everything else. He repeatedly gets all bent out of shape when radio, tv and magazine interviewers ask what his family uses as a substitute for toilet paper, claiming they’re belittling the project by focusing on such a silly issue, but I think it’s a perfectly sensible question. People are curious. You can’t demand people be curious in the ways you dictate. And I think people are curious about the t.p. issue because they honestly don’t know – what is an environmentally neutral alternative to toilet paper?

So while it was an interesting premise and the book had a lot of interesting passages, I didn’t find Beavan particularly engaging personally, mainly because he focused so heavily on statistics instead of personal experience.

And what are you reading?

settling in

So I'm still trying to settle into the new site - hanging my pictures on the walls, figuring out where exactly the furniture should go, and so on - but the boxes of all my old stuff still haven't arrived. And by boxes, I mean files on a hard drive. My archives...

So I’m still trying to settle into the new site – hanging my pictures on the walls, figuring out where exactly the furniture should go, and so on – but the boxes of all my old stuff still haven’t arrived. And by boxes, I mean files on a hard drive. My archives, to use a term that gives my collection of pet photos, lame status updates and rants about the weather a fancy name.

Since he had a problem with my totally inefficient plan of cutting and pasting HTML, post by post, The Boy Wonder is valiantly trying to figure out how to transfer all my old posts to the new site in one shot. And one shot (to the back of the head) is probably what I’m going to get if I nag him about it one more time.

In the meantime, please feel free to leave comments about what works and doesn’t work for you, both literally and figuratively. For example, on my desktop computer, the site’s colour scheme is a range of vibrant greens with a nice, sand-coloured sidebar. A sandbar, if you will. But when I looked at it on my laptop this morning, I was disappointed to discover the greens are flat and washed out and the warm sand colour a pale grey. Bleh. It makes me wonder what others see. Is it my laptop screen that’s off or is my desktop monitor overly bright?  Should I quit worrying about it and go do some dishes? No. Should I go to bed? Yes.