#18: chicken soup with rice

More accurately, it was chicken noodle soup. A bout of the sniffles has descended upon our household, so we're combatting them as best we know how. I wanted to make a batch of homemade chicken noodle soup--after all, I went to all that trouble to mail myself the requisite Rede-Made Noodles ("Just like Grandma's old-fashioned egg noodles") at Christmastime--but I have yet to call Mom for her list of seasonings. So I had to make do with his & hers: Campbell and Lipton. (The texture of chicken meat in soup has never appealed to me, and I'm leaning more toward a meatless diet these days, anyway.)

Thanks to Maurice Sendak's long-standing children's book, it's rare for me to hear "chicken soup" and not mentally tack on "with rice." Its full title is Chicken Soup with Rice: A Book of Months (Harper & Row, 1962). It must have been republished, because certain sites I stumbled upon gave the date as 1987 and 1991. Thanks, UM Libraries' Bison catalogue, for identifying the earlier publication date, because I was quite certain I'd first heard it read aloud in grade one or on Friendly Giant. Its rhythm and rhymes made a lasting impression. I searched around a bit and found the following animation, directed by Sendak with music composed by Carole King. Cool! That oughta' get me through the next couple of days--that and the following stockpile. We defy you, germs!



Oh, yes, and today marked leap year. I had the good fortune to make a purchase at the UO Bookstore (definitely not on par with UM Bookstore) and find that everything was 25% off.

#17: lunch on SITE

Poutine – perfected in French Canada;
choice of log drivers, coureurs de bois, and voyageurs for half a century

Thursdays are generally long days for me. I work only 3 classes, but I have two 3-hour breaks between them. I tend to gravitate towards either the Morisset Library, or the 2nd floor of SITE (School of Information Technology and Engineering), which you catch a glimpse of above. SITE reminds me of the RRC Princess St. Campus, except that the SITE is all brand-new, whereas RRC incorporated existing buildings. The colors are similar, though: bright reds, mustards, and metallic grays and blues. Lots of glass windows and a few open staircases in both places, and lots of places to recharge laptops.

My favorite spot is just under the stairway to the third floor; it's more private, and acts as a visor of sorts on sunny days like today. These shots are darker than I'd like, but I took them with my built-in PhotoBooth app and my limited photographic skills. And I didn't really want to drag it out; I think the students further down the counter were already eyeing me suspiciously, wondering if I had an eating disorder, or why else might I be posing my food and lovingly taking snapshots of it before I tucked into it?

These photos seem to be mirror images; just reverse everything in your minds (or not, if that requires too much effort). As I was looking out the wall of glass, the SITE sign was to my left. The building faces traffic: the lane closest to the building is a two-direction transitway; the farther lanes are the #417 leading into and out of downtown. Oh, and there's also a sidewalk before the transitway: don't worry, that person is not walking in the bus lanes.

Info on poutine
More info on poutine (even the pronunciation, which I've found varies from person to person; cautionary note: the rest of the site might be a little racy)
Still more info on poutine
And even something on midnightpoutine (not about food, but the site sounds intriguing)

#16: the road (not) taken

Lincoln Fields Station

Here's a shot of a section of transitway. It's not as entertaining as Sesame Street's Subway!, but it has its moments. I wanted to include a photo of an articulated bus, but I missed snapping one that slowed down, and it was cold--OK, not Manitoba-cold, but cold enough: -18˚C with the wind NW28-30--so I didn't relish the idea of sticking around on the Lincoln Fields bridge until another sped by. I don't usually board at this stop, but I needed the truck to run errands with a friend this afternoon, so we switched it up today.

The expression goes "you learn something new every day." I've learned the same lesson twice this week. Today reinforced, once again, that I should never, never take buses with which I'm not familiar, even though their labels might sound promising. I've done this I don't know how many times in my life--at least a handful. I should stick to routes I take every day or have looked up on the Web in advance. From downtown, I boarded the #86 Lincoln Fields, which you'd think would go straight to Lincoln Fields, right? Wrong. A leisurely, scenic drive down Wellington, across Parkdale, down Fisher, up Woodroffe, to Baseline, then finally, finally, destination Lincoln Fields. I figured I made up some of my lost time by: a.) purchasing my March pass at Lincoln Fields, where I was the line, rather than Rideau Centre, where the line extends way down the mall's hallway; and b.) pushing my trusty Pathfinder to its limit. How's that for a Pollyanna spin?!

Other good news: OC Transpo recently relocated some stops in our neighborhood, so now it takes me an estimated 5 minutes as opposed to 7 to walk to the closest stop. Realistically, I tried to leave myself a few extra minutes (which translates into "I ran every step of the way") to cross two-way, single-lane traffic on Woodroffe. I no longer have to risk life and limb to arrive at the express stop. Hurray!

#15: the cupboard under the stairs

Curli (short for Curlicue, because she has a tail that ends in a flourish downward) is our tubby acrobatic cat. She used to tightrope-walk the railing on our 3rd floor apartment balcony; now she settles for the top of the door to the laundry room, which she accesses from the adjoining "crawlspace" (larger than its name suggests).

#14: schoolgirl shamus

To pick up on a thread from #12...my collection of Trixies.

I've got #1-28 and #30. Every once in a blue moon I go on eBay to sleuth around for the oval softcover paperbacks #29 or #31-34. Apparently the series went up to #39 in the square soft- & hardcovers. I also wouldn't mind acquiring an oval replacement for my #11 "ugly" (or thin hardcover) with an oval softcover. It would result in a much more aesthetically pleasing sight line.

These babies are found on the bottom shelf of one of my IKEA bookcases, the one designated as the children's lit section. Note that they made the move with me, while my Nancys have been relegated to the far corner of my parents' basement. That's a tight spot I may have to rescue Nancy from the next time I'm out west. I was always a sucker for her titian hair.

For those of you who read Nancy Drew mysteries, you may want to look up a copy of Chelsea Cain's Confessions of a Teen Sleuth: A Parody. It pokes a bit of fun at all girls' series fiction.

I have my own confession to make. I started re-reading my Trixies in fall and they still hold the same charm for me as they did when I first got them. (I have paused at after #10 to squeeze in a few other finds. I'll be back.) But Jeepers! some of the events seem so dated: a life before cellphones, e-mail, Google, and blogs.

#13: she sells seashells by the seashore

I've never lived near the ocean, so when we visited Tofino in 2003, I'll admit I found some of the sea creatures downright creepy, in a fascinated I-can't-take-my-eyes-off-them sort of way (especially those things that snake along under the sand--shivers). Such a reaction is in stark contrast to my cousin's family, who makes a concerted effort to study all manner of aquatic life in great detail. Still, I like the look of seashells (minus the animals inside). We found this object not on any beach, but in a shop catering to tourists in Apsley, a town a short distance away from our friends' cottage, last summer. Apparently it's a Sputnik Urceus shells decorative ball. (We didn't buy it for its name, obviously.) James took a fancy to it, which surprised and delighted me: I'm thrilled when our tastes align. It rests on our mantle, a lovely reminder of places we dream we might someday explore.

#12: d is for Diefenbunker

A friend and I had talked about visiting the Diefenbunker since at least October. We finally set a "play date" for four for today. Mr & Mrs C invited us over for a delicious lunch (homemade lasagna, garlic bread, Caesar salad, and butterscotch pie--Shirley, you had me at lasagna!) before we headed over to Canada's Cold War Museum.

Outside the guardhouse/ticket office with the other Mr & Mrs C
Photo ©James Chychota, 2008

Missiles (deactivated) at entrance to bunker
Photo ©James Chychota, 2008

Jeep at entrance
Photo ©James Chychota, 2008

Replica of a B-36B bomb lost in BC, Feb 13, 1950
(for details, see "Lost nuclear bomb in British Columbia" heading here and
Clearwater's "broken arrow" expedition diary notes here)
Photo ©James Chychota, 2008

Standing in the doorway to the vault
Photo ©James Chychota, 2008

The cafeteria in foreground, kitchen in background

It's a really neat place to tour; I can see us taking future houseguests there. Our tour guide was a young fellow, still in high school, but very well-informed, with a great sense of humor. This will sound quirky, but I think my favorite part (I didn't get a picture of it) was finally seeing a real working dumb waiter. I've read about them--Nancy Drew used to hide from crooks in dumb waiters all the time and eavesdrop on their devious machinations--and imagined them often, but today I saw one with my own eyes. It was a lot smaller than I expected. No doubt slim Nancy would have fit just fine; I suspect Trixie Belden couldn't have squeezed herself into that little box. If it comes down to a contest between Nancy and Trixie, I'm with Trixie every time.

#11: twenty-minute trip

I made a quick trip to the Carlingwood Mall. For 5pm on a Friday, it wasn't very busy. Of course, I usually park in the Sears' lot instead of the central parking area. Sears didn't have what I wanted, so I bought some Hershey Hugs at PharmaPlus. I'd considered visiting the Smith Falls Hershey factory during my week off, but I talked myself out of it: do I really need to buy, and by corollary eat, lots of chocolate? I think not. Better to buy a small bag of hugs and save myself the drive out to Smith Falls.

Carlingwood Mall
Sears far left, Loblaws far right, apartments behind, OC Transpo stop & buses in front

On my way back home.
The drive between Barrhaven and Carlingwood takes me through greenbelt farmland.

The last intersection before home.
More new Minto townhomes going up on the left, Strandherd Crossing on right.

Earlier today, light fluffy flakes were falling from the gray sky yet again, which prompted the following feelings:

Ottawa is a haughty hottie teen queen who capriciously breaks up and gets back together with Winter every few days. In-between, sometimes, she flirts with Spring. She postulates it's just a fling and sees no harm in it. January and February, united in resolve, do their best to discourage Spring's interest: "Don't come around here no more, boy!" I watch the melodrama play out. I can't wait until Ottawa breaks Old Winter's heart, like she does every year, year after year, as sure as Spring will win her back. For who can resist the lure and the promise of Spring?

#10: the lava life

Before anyone gets the wrong ideas and pulls an eastwood, I should explain. Tonight we went to "Worshipping the Volcano Goddess: Fierce Love Stories from Ancient Polynesia," an Ottawa Storytellers event at the National Arts Centre/Centre national des Arts (NAC/CNA). It featured two tellers, one of whom I had the great misfortune to spill coffee on during intermission at the Ottawa Storytelling Festival's Saturday night "High Stakes" concert on Nov. 3. We agreed to share the blame for that episode, although I still suspect I was at fault for not watching where I was going. She was so gracious about it--she suggested we could tell spin stories out of our mishap--we ended up having a pleasant exchange, and that's when I learned that she was telling on Feb. 21. I much preferred her stories over the other teller's.

Still, the evening didn't quite live up to my expectations. Perhaps I've been spoiled: I've witnessed performances by the likes of Chirine El-Ansary, Elizabeth Ellis, Jeff Stockton, Laura Simms, and Liz Weir. I'm beset by the same disappointment I feel when I've chosen a movie and it just doesn't gel. I will say this, however: the NAC's Fourth Stage is the perfect venue for exactly such an intimate event. It seats 150, it's cozily dark, and according to that link above, it's got "valour" drapes. (I myself thought they looked more like velour. Maybe something got lost in translation? Then again, the NAC is only a short trek down the street from, practically facing, DND.) There are pot lights all the way around the periphery of the room. We sat at round tables, 4 chairs to a table (yay, we didn't have to share), and the centrepieces were candles in glass pear-shaped lamps evocative of volcanos--the kind of candlelight that was popular in restaurants in the '70s and '80s. I can't explain: you'll just have to wait until I can post the photo (it's trapped in a cellphone) to see what I mean. Suspense...

Friday morning:
OK, here's the cellphone photo. I'm pushing my luck again. I don't have Photoshop; I've got something called iPhoto, with which I'm not super familiar. However, in order to make this image viewable, I had to click on "Enhance" and then "Effects-Boost Color" or you would have been looking at a lot of extra noise (as you will be if you click to enlarge it).

Photo © James Chychota, 2008

I forgot to mention above that the program we received was also very cool, with its map of the Hawaiian islands and notes on character and place names. See what I mean about the candle?

#9: hairspray

My apologies if you were expecting a "tiny moment" involving an illegally downloaded frame of the 2007 John Travolta movie by the same name. Confidentially, I haven't even watched it, not that I haven't tried. Hairspray was one of the movies offered on the last flight I took, but it wasn't my first choice--I ask you, why list movies when they are not available? whose perverse idea of customer service is that?--and by the time I selected it as my second or third choice, too much time had passed for me to see it through before we landed. That's OK: I pegged it as a quirky spoof of musicals, and I've checked the imdb.com synopsis (the one with spoilers), so I feel as though I watched the whole thing. It'll probably be on TV in a year anyway.

So if not about the aforesaid movie, what will this post be about? Well, if you surmised from my recent postings that I haven't left the house all week, you'd be close to the truth. Today's moment comes to you courtesy of a visit to Caroline at the aptly named Vanity Hair.


It bears a resemblance to prison stripes, I know, but the top's mod design is the inspiration behind the hair. Can't wear a groovy top without funky hair. ("It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing.") I obligingly tilted my head for this shot so you could see the zigzag part (my request) and moderately chunky highlights.

Appointments with my stylist are always big deals for me; therefore, in honor of the occasion, I decided to search out a handful of relevant and intellectually stimulating quotations.

Except for the seven hours part, I could identify with the following:

Your hair may be brushed, but your mind’s untidy,
You’ve had about seven hours’ sleep since Friday,
No wonder you feel that lost sensation;
You’re sunk from a riot of relaxation.

Ogden Nash (1902–1971), U.S. poet. We’ll All Feel Better By Wednesday, Versus (1949).
from Bartleby text text

Nash is the guy who wrote "Old Dog lay in the summer sun, / much too lazy to rise and run." Some of us memorized that poem in grade 4. By "some of us" I mean at least two of Miss Bazak's former students. I clearly recall Don K. reciting it in front of the class. And there are times when I can recite a few of the subsequent lines; now is not one of them. I'd include a link to the poem if I could, but Nash died in 1971, so his work is presently under copyright protection in the U.S. until 2042 and in Canada until 2022. (That info. brought to you courtesy of knowledge gained in my former position clearing copyright requests.)

Next:

Some of the worst mistakes of my life have been haircuts.
Jim Morrison, No One Here Gets Out Alive
The Quotations Page

(some, but surely not all, Jim)


This one I find sobering (puts me in mind of Siobhan's "Passion" post):

An error the breadth of a single hair can lead one a thousand miles astray.
Chinese proverb.
Bartleby

Here's one with which I think my mom will concur:

Hair style is the final tip-off whether or not a woman really knows herself.
Hubert de Givenchy, Vogue Jul 85
Bartleby

And, finally, whether you've had a bad haircut or just a bad hair day, here's one to put it all into perspective:

Interest in hair today has grown to the proportions of a fetish. Think of the many loving ways in which advertisements refer to scalp hair—satiny, glowing, shimmering, breathing, living. Living indeed! It is as dead as rope.
Dr William Montagna, dermatological researcher, Brown University
NY Herald Tribune 11 Apr 63
Bartleby

What more could I say?

#8: "life in plastic, it's fantastic"

Disclaimer: I am not a Tupperware consultant, have never been one, and will never be one. I have not hosted Tupperware parties, nor do I wish to host them. I do, however, own and use Tupperware products. Yet I am not trying to sell you on anything, unless it's an idea.

I went to a friend-of-a-friend's on Saturday evening for a Tupperware presentation. Each one in attendance received a thank-you gift from the consultant. This is a picture of my loot, minus the purple orange-peeler.


To receive an invitation to a Tupperware party is a coming-of-age, a rite of passage for a female, an initiation ceremony delineating adulthood from late adolescence. It signifies that one is ready to assume responsibility for one's own "womanly realm," i.e., the kitchen and pantry. So it's always seemed to me. Perhaps because my first close encounter with Tupperware was a cousin's bridal shower.

I'm of two minds about Tupperware: on the one hand, I'm drawn to the ever-changing colors, shapes, and textures, which come together in practical designs. I like to attend the occasional event to see what's new. I admire what I imagine to be its subversive beginnings as a legitimate excuse for housewives of the past to escape from their predictably dreary existences for a few hours to enjoy the company of other women, i.e., to gossip and eat dessert. And it still facilitates socializing if one is new to a community, like yours truly. On the other hand, I can't help but feel that it's just another example of rampant consumerism, some company convincing me that its products are indispensable, molding me for its own profitable ends. There are moments when I can't help but thinking like Stacey MacAindra, the protagonist of Margaret Laurence's The Fire-Dwellers, as she sits through a Polyglam Superware presentation at her neighbor's:

--If I get out of here for less than ten bucks it will be a bloody miracle. Two weeks ago it was copper-bottomed stoveware at Bertha's, and I bought a Dutch oven, which I need slightly less than I need a Dutch uncle. I'm weak-minded, that's my trouble. Anything to look agreeable. (Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1969, p. 82)

Because the long and the short of it is that no matter how much anyone reassures me that there's no obligation to buy, I know that the hostess gift is calculated on a percentage of the total sales of that party.

#7: a Louis Riel birthday in which the cat came back

For the first time ever, James's birthday fell on Louis Riel Day--Manitoba's newest provincial statutory holiday, which corresponds to Alberta's, Saskatchewan's, and Ontario's Family Day. I was surprised that it's taken other provinces so long to climb on board: after all, Alberta has celebrated Family Day since 1990 (probably in imitation of the U.S.'s Presidents' Day, also known as Washington's Birthday). When a new stat was first proposed in Manitoba, the Winnipeg Free Press reported that some employers feared it would be costly to implement. I say it's about time that employers start giving back; it seems to me that it's been a decade and a half since the average employee was expected to do the work of only one person instead of two or three. And I would think the rate of absenteeism, and its converse, presenteeism, would be highest in February, one of the bleakest months of the year; a stat might counteract that nicely. Actually, I didn't realize until 2001, when I compiled a list of holidays for an hr/payroll project involving many unions across the country, that provinces may observe different stats. I think we should standardize across the country, because everyone deserves the equivalent of NL's Regatta Day (more on that here and here). Essentially, if the weather's right the first Wednesday in August, you head down to the lake. Kind of like "snow day" or "storm day" in reverse, but for adults.

Thanks to family & friends who called to wish James a happy birthday; and if you didn't, no worries, 'cause he was becoming a little overwhelmed with all the extra attention. He enjoyed a mellow day at home: slept in, went to the gym, worked on his computer, enjoyed another slice of that PC Mississippi Mud Pie cheesecake, napped, retrieved Darth from the vet, picked up supper at the local Shawarma place. He claimed it was the best birthday ever, so who am I to argue.

James checking his hockey pool scores, Darth taking in the Phoenix vs. LA match
on the big screen (not visible in photo), remotes close at paw.

Yes, our little Darthy is home again. For those who missed it, we first noticed Darth was ill on Thursday. All of Friday he stayed put in one spot in the basement. I thought he had improved by Saturday, since he was moving around the house, albeit more slowly than usual. However, by Sunday afternoon he had thrown up at least two more times, and he was evidently dehydrated and spaced out, so I took him to Ottawa Veterinary Hospital (OVH). The vet took x-rays, which showed there was something blocking his intestine, and put him on IV to rehydrate him. I had to leave him overnight, but I saw him before I left, hooked up to tubes taped to his right front paw. The IV seemed to have an instantaneous effect, since he was curiously examining his environment and paid no attention to me. OVH called at 6:15 a.m. and again at 11:00 a.m.; each time Darth's status had improved. The vet advised to check back at 3 or 4 p.m., by which time he was deemed good to go. So we picked him up, and he seems as good as new. Fortunately, he did not require surgery (which we were told could have run $1200-$1600!!). Even so, the amount we paid to nurse him back to health could have sponsored an underprivileged child for a whole year and then some.

#6: spice girl

Dave & Ci & Nicole came over for coffee & cheesecake tonight, in honor of James's birthday tomorrow. I was able to use my Victorian Epicture mulling spices for the first time.

before & after: mulling spices & spiced apple juice

After our guests departed, I enjoyed our fireplace while sipping cider and reading a short story by Wodehouse. (I use throws because the cats' favorite perches include the backs of furniture, and I can think of better things to do with my time than vacuum for hours on end.)

#5: the things we do for love

...like posing in a front yard of snow when there's nowhere to go...

This month of photographic moments is supposed to be spontaneous and unstaged--but really, you know me better than that (or if you didn't, now you do). If that causes you any distress, console yourself with the fact that these photos were spontaneous in the sense that I said, "James, I want to take pictures of our snowbank right now" and out we went. The whole point is to convince you that, yes, we really have received a lot of snow, and by extension, to evoke sympathy for me, because I can no longer manage to toss shovelfuls of snow to the top of the heap. When the city plow cleared the street on Friday, leaving behind a ridge blocking the driveway, I tried. I called on my inner rural southern Manitoba genetic heritage with all my might, to no avail. So I decided I'd just shovel that ridge back where it came from: I dumped it bit by bit onto the street-side of the pile beside the sidewalk. I'm not certain there's not a by-law against doing that, but I figured if anyone was to challenge me, I'd inform them that I know somebody who fights city hall and wins, and I'd threaten to employ her to defend me.

nuffin' but a muffin: moment 4

I resisted the urge to take a photo of the snow pile outside our front door, which has once again reached mountainous proportions. Instead, here is one of the dozen muffins I baked yesterday. I only had one banana (it was a "giraffe banana"--Robyn's term), and the recipe called for two or three, so I added some frozen raspberries to the batter; the raspberries "bled" juice, hence the bluish tinge. I'm the only one eating them: curse that Men's Health plan! I'll have to exercise more self-control (or just plain exercise--I'm sure shovelling counts) so I don't fall victim to muffin top.

straight from the heart: 3rd moment

Happy Valentine's Day!

Addendum
Warning: not for the easily offended

So unlike some of my other bloggin' buddies, I didn't celebrate Valentine's Day in high style. No special dinners, no flowers, no chocolates (unless you count the small pack of Godiva chocolate-covered strawberries I indulgently bought for myself). Nope. Instead, James & I spent time together at the vet's with Darth. Our dear Darthy has had more than his fair share of hairballs to begin with, but when he threw up biley liquid, had excess teary goop, and seemed lethargic, I booked an appointment. ("Poor little bunny.") The vet, a pleasant young women with a t-shirt that drew attention to her cleavage, gave our Darthy Boy the once-over. She took his temperature, determined he wasn't running a fever, and offered that she could keep him overnight at the hospital for observation, and order bloodwork or X-rays; however, she said he might just be struggling with a really big hairball. Given the uncertainty in conjunction with the likely exorbitant fees, we decided to take the Darthmeister home with us and keep an eye on him. (James claimed that for $60, he, too, could have shoved a thermometer up Darth's back end and come to the same conclusion. I reminded him that we don't own a thermometer.)

In other Valentine's Day-related news, I somehow stumbled upon a Women's Health quiz the other day which asks its participants to distinguish between commonplace household objects and, um, shall we say "adult" toys. For answering 10 out of 12 questions correctly, I garnered the dubious distinction of being a "certified sexpert." I mentioned the quiz to James, who has quite the competitive streak. He had to take the quiz a second time to beat my score (she writes with a hint of smugness).

all thumbs, none green: moment the 2nd

This is a kalanchoe. I purchased it on impulse in summer. See, I had received a kalanchoe as a parting gift from a Mauro Centre exchange student and his fiancée. It came in the gorgeous Prairie sunset-hued woven flower pot/basket that you see above, and it had delicate little flowers of purple, pink, and orange. The basket survived; the plant did not. One of Darth's favorite pastimes is to chew on anything remotely resembling vegetation--even the synthetic moss at the bottom of our artificial ficuses--except for cat grass. Consequently, my first kalanchoe met an untimely end. The specimen you see above was to be its replacement. However, I seriously overestimated my abilities, and it has been on the brink of annihilation for quite some time now. I can't help but admire its refusal to give up the ghost, though, so I've decided to try to revive it, maybe even coax it to flower again, even though this Herculean task means I have to closely monitor the hours it spends in light and darkness. Wish me luck. The only plant ever to flourish under my care was a spider plant, and that was seven years ago. It certainly doesn't stoke my pride any to see that Wikipedia alleges that spider plants are "popular with beginners" for they are "very tolerant of neglect."
(For more about kalanchoes, see here and here).

room with a view: first moment

I've really been thinking for some time that I should post a picture of this phenomenon, so L's ("Worth It") challenge and the response of her readers exacerbated the impulse. Here's the view out of my second-storey home office window. They don't seem to build new houses with eavestroughs in Ottawa (probably saves the builders scads of cash), and with all the freezing, melting, freezing rain, snow, more melting, more snow, more melting, more freezing...let's just say I think this may very well be the youngest stalactite known to humankind. I'm thinking about backlighting it like they do for Niagara Falls at night.