RC race weekend

So I'm really, really slow in posting photos of the F1 Grand Prix in Montreal in June because I ran into a hitch:  I found out that a free Flickr account holds a limit of 200 photos.  See, I was going to upload photos to Flickr and then include a link to it here; I thought it would be faster than trying to load them one by one to this blog.  Since I already had uploaded 85 Bonn-related photos, I was reaching my limit fast.  Consequently, I need to rethink my strategy.

Meanwhile, here are some pictures of the Tamiya Off-Road Championships held this past weekend.  I'll add captions and narrative when I have a chance, so readers will have to check back.

Sutton Aviation, Rockcliffe Airport
(James is seated on the left)

Racers' tables: where they tinker and polish their vehicles

James's two off-road RC cars

Brush to brush away larger dirt particles, Cyberclean to collect the fine particles of dirt from the wheels,
especially, a screwdriver, and an assortment of tiny screws, washers, clips.

The off-road racetrack, covered by a tent. 
The stands give racers extra height so they can follow their cars on track.

James's car is the red one with the blue wing, fifth from the top on this photo.

Blink and you might miss it go by.

Update 2012-08-03:  OK, captions added.  Not sure a narrative is unnecessary, since the photos capture the event's essence:  testosterone, RC cars (RC = remote controlled or radio controlled), and the occasional Significant Other present for moral support.  I'll note, however, that since the Friday and Saturday practice sessions went long (7 or 8am to 10 or 11pm), I was glad that Sunday qualifiers and James's actual races lasted from about 7:45am (official start time was delayed by 15 minutes) to 1:00pm.  Gave us time for a Meddachschlop, something practically unheard of at our house.

Wordless Wednesday: F1 footage

Grand Prix du Canada, Montreal, QC

June 10, 2012 

Blogger ran into difficulties uploading the more exciting three-minute video of the final laps, 

but this clip gives a sense of the way Formula One car engines sound.

(Thanks and credit go to James for the video capture.)

threebie or post anni thoughts

In keeping with the theme of our anniversary last week, which was at the forefront of my thoughts, I came up with a list of things that have proven especially influential in our relationship:

1.  separate blankets
2.  GPS
3.  un-surprise gifts

Separate blankets are non-negotiable.  James prefers blankets with some heft to them, and three or four pillows.  Within the last year, I've conceded to a second pillow (because my initial one has become irrevocably flattened), but I prefer a lightweight blanket.  And since I'm married to a cocooner, if we share a blanket, at some point during the night I awake to find myself clutching a small triangular swatch of comforter.  If we stay in a hotel, I'll be left with only a sheet, even under a king-sized duvet.  Forget about trying to wrestle back a fair portion--in the early months of our marriage, I tried that.  Nothing doing.  We're not alone, according to this entry and the comments below it.  

There's just no two ways about it:  GPS is a technological godsend.  Especially on long-distance road trips.  Especially when one spouse's mom disliked navigating, and the other spouse's mom enjoyed "telling everyone where to go."  See, we each expected the other to adopt the roles and responsibilities modelled by our respective parents, which led to a lot of frustration when neither of us conformed to those patterns.  (Thank goodness they warned us about this in premarital counselling!  Thank goodness we recalled it--but not before we'd experienced our share of dissatisfactory driving.)

Un-surprise gifts are gifts that either you shop for together with your spouse, or you buy for yourself with the understanding that it's from your spouse.  So, technically speaking, it is a surprise--but to the giver rather than the recipient.  This approach to gift-giving reduces the anxiety of shopping for a spouse who is virtually impossible to shop for because he (or she) has specialized or eccentric tastes.  It eliminates the need for returns and exchanges, and it easily extends to other family members.  The practice has been extremely popular in my family for years, and while James was initially skeptical, I think he's now convinced of its merits.  Of course, the obvious downside to it is if one half of the couple begins to receive more than his/her fair share of un-surprise gifts.  (A new computer monitor?  A new RC plane?  How is it that I'm suddenly so generous?)  So establishing boundaries and communicating with your significant other are critical.  Un-surprise gifts may work best for special occasions, like Christmases, birthdays, and anniversaries.

Those are the top three things that we've found helpful.  They haven't stopped us from arguing about money, sex, communication, or division of housework--which I understand from this site and this one are the top triggers for spats--but they've helped cut down on frustration.  Now if I could just learn to keep my big mouth shut when I'm in the car, i.e., is that my likeness beside "backseat driver" in the dictionary?

As a footnote, this site details common causes of couples' arguments.  Some of them seem kinda petty put on display like that.

lucky 13

July 17, 1999.  Thirteen years ago today, James and I married.  I remember waking up tired, because I'd been up late (talking to Jacquie and Renée? or just going over preparations?), but excited.  I drove to St. Vital Unisex for 8:00 a.m. so Maria could style my hair and work in the floral wreath.  She absolutely refused to open the shop any earlier for me.  My flower girls, Allison and Breanne, arrived around 9:00 a.m., I think.  Allison's hair cooperated, Breanne's not so much.  I hurried back to the apartment to do my makeup, put on my dress, and get to CanadInns as fast as I could to pick up my groom for pictures at the Manitoba Legislature.  James, by all accounts, began to panic that I wouldn't show.  I was maybe--maybe, I say--running a few minutes late, but I thought I'd explained that I was at the mercy of my hair stylist, and my ETA would depend on that appointment.

We and our attendants and our families somehow transported ourselves downtown and Michele, from Photography by Michele, took photos inside and out on the grounds of the Leg (short for "Legislature" and pronounced "ledge," for those unfamiliar with it).  That was kind of a blur, to be honest.  Having seen many more wedding photos in the years since then, I regret that I didn't put more thought into poses we might have tried.  But hey, it was our first time being two halves of a bridal couple.  And we do have many great photos.  There's one James is particularly fond of:  we're standing in front of a lamp post, gazing each into the other's eyes, with water fountains in the distance.  Tarzan made it into that one.  Yes, that's right: the original captured a deeply bronzed shirtless man in satiny blue shorts sunbathing on the park benches behind the Leg.  When James first noticed an addition to our wedding party, he was oh-so-very-not-impressed.  (I found it amusing.)  Fortunately, Michele was able to paint him out of the 5"x7" reprint.  (Yes, paint.  I saw her use a little brush and bottle of something that looked like white-out.  I believe she switched to digital shortly after.  Probably for the ease of removing Tarzan and other wedding photo crashers of his ilk.)

We sent everyone else back to the hotel, and then we headed to the St. Boniface Cathedral for Michele to take photos of just the two of us around the old walls of the basilica.  We chose St. Boniface because of its beautiful architecture.  I originally had considered the St. Norbert Monastery Ruins as a potential backdrop.  Shakespeare in the Ruins used to perform there, and with the wreath of baby's breath and ivy in my hair, I felt transformed into the sort of woodland nymph who might inhabit the ruins.  Practicality, however, suggested that St. Boniface would cut down on transportation time.  And I've never regretted that.  It's even more appropriate in hindsight, given James's Métis ancestry and the fact of St. Boniface's connection with Louis Riel and the Métis. 

We returned to CanadInns for the ceremony at 1:00 p.m.  Our guests were seated at the round luncheon tables in the Ambassador F Ballroom.  We had an extremely small wedding party:  just one attendant each and two flower girls.  As my dad escorted me down the aisle to James, I remember feeling very calm and absolutely certain that I was making the right decision.  My uncle officiated, and by way of our request, kept the ceremony shorter and sweeter than could possibly be imagined.  The pastor of my church at the time, St. Vital EMC, said a blessing, and the meal was served.

Afterwards there was a very short series of speeches and then my groom and I served cake.  It was a means of greeting everyone, but avoiding a formal reception line with all the handshakes and hugs.  My aunt and a friend were kind enough to have picked up the cakes and delivered them to the hotel.  I hadn't seen the point in a traditional tiered wedding cake, so we just had two large slabs of marble cake from Foodland in St. Norbert.  A friend's sister worked there at the time, and I'd asked her to ice them in a peach and pale blue.  We said our goodbyes, suggested if anyone wanted to party they could head on over upstairs to Alley Cats Piano Bar or Celebrations Dinner Theatre, and hightailed it out of there.

For years I said I wouldn't have done anything differently.  From my perspective now, of course, I'd make a few alterations, but maybe not as many as you'd expect.  (For example, I look at the photos of the ballroom where we held both ceremony and reception, and wince at the dusky rose-colored chairs._  If it sounds, through all of this, as though I didn't permit my groom much input, rest assured that I did my best to involve him, but he didn't voice many strong preferences, and he wasn't so much interested in the details as in the big picture.  (Not long after we got engaged, we had dinner with James's sister and her husband, and casually chatted about wedding plans.  Michelle asked a few questions, and was surprised I had the answers.  According to her, James had sounded quite bewildered about next steps.  In low German, I'd say he was majorly febleft.)   And that is one of the reasons we're good for each other: our strengths complement each other.

We're compatible and companionable.  We're not lucky; rather, we're fortunate.  (See Peter Dinklage's distinction here, last paragraph.)

weekend wrap-up: cake & cats

Overall, my weekend unfolded...quietly and unassumingly.  Just going through the usual motions of cleaning, doing laundry, grocery shopping, and managing to put together some food that passes for meals.

The strawberries at Shouldice are done for the season, but the roadside stand had a few quart baskets of raspberries left on the stand when I pulled up Saturday afternoon.  After much deliberation, I decided to leave experimental baking with brown rice flour for another day.  (If anyone knows of any tips, send'em my way.)  Instead, I used this recipe to bake a vanilla cake.  I had planned to ice it with the "Vanilla Frosting" from The Compassionate Cook, but that concoction was way too sweet, and the taste of the Earth Balance margarine I'd used was just too strong.  So I opted for--wait for it--good ol' Cool Whip. 

This glass cake plate lends appeal to whatever rests on it.

The raspberries were the best raspberries ever:  smallish they may be, but they can boast a sweet zestiness. 

The last couple of weeks I've been preoccupied with scheduling my colleagues and me to work for the Fall course requests to date, so Darth and Curlicue have felt the sting of neglect.  Fortunately, they're easily pacified.  'Cause nothing says "I love you" like a vacuum and a box.

She likes it retro-'80s, i.e., feathered back.

Thinking outside the box?  Overrated.

telephone

Much like the old children's party game, I'm not convinced that I'll relate any message with its veracity intact--in fact, if I'm to get all postmodern about it, I know I won't, because I can't possibly.  I'll dispense with the philosophizing, since I've never studied philosophy and don't come by it naturally.  It all seems too theoretical and abstract, not concrete and practical.  Still, phone calls about events back home this week have certainly got me thinking. 

One of my uncles suffered a heart attack.  One of my aunts was beginning a trip to see her daughter and newborn granddaughter when she suffered what they think was a stroke, and so wound up taking a trip to the hospital instead.  The wife of a man who grew up in my hometown was killed in a highway motorcycle accident; the word is it was the first time she was riding that particular bike--a present from her parents for her 30th birthday.  Also, the six-month-old grandson of my uncle's second wife passed away.

I must remember that it's not just negative news.  There are positives:  A cousin is taking a well-deserved and long-awaited European vacation with her family.  Another cousin is getting married in an intimate backyard ceremony.  An uncle's granddaughter in B.C. graduated from high school looking like a princess bride (so I was told).  An uncle and aunt and their daughter and son-in-law enjoyed their road trip to the USA.  My parents' neighbors returned safe and sound from a visit to Mexico.

Since I live out here and not there, what I hear seems kinda surreal--in an almost alternate or parallel universe sort of way.  After five years in a suburb of 84,000, where at most a dozen people--excluding the Starbucks baristas--recognize me by sight (and maybe only half that by name), it's very strange to remember the interconnectedness of a rural community.  I feel estranged, distanced, removed.  It's akin to experiencing the remoteness of a drive along northern Ontario's Hwy #11, where at times even telephone poles are absent from the horizon.

And that's the kind of week it's been.

birthdays

A big shout-out to my parents:  My dear Dad turned another year older and wiser last Friday, and my dear Mom follows suit today!  I didn't get to pass along wishes to my dad directly over the phone, because he had to work from early morning to late at night; let's see if I have better luck catching my mom.

Supposedly the Rockport Boat Cruise to Boldt Castle back on May 13 was our present to them for not only their 45th wedding anniversary (June), but also their birthdays.  That works well on my part, because I didn't send cards.  

On the boat ride to the castle.  Matching hoodies purchased
that cool, breezy morning at the Rockport General Store.

If only I lived closer, I could bake a cake and take it over.  Maybe sending virtual flowers will do: here's a photo of what's growing at my front stoop.

pansies, begonias, violas, hosta, coleus

post-Canada Day post

It was a mighty fine long weekend.

On Friday I'd arranged to accompany James to work so I could use the car.  I didn't actually drive it far, but I checked off the two most important things on my list for that day: buying strawberries from Shouldice Farms' stand along Woodroffe, and dropping off a box of donations at the Moodie Drive Thrift Store.  I told someone just recently that I prefer to leave stuff at that location, because the staff seem so appreciative, calling out a cheery "Thank you!" after donators.  Strangely, nobody was staffing the drop-off area this time.  Maybe because it was a special discount-with-Web-coupon day and every available person was required in the store.  Or maybe Salvation Army is still recovering from the strike earlier this year.  Other items of note:  I received and made phone calls to family members, and I sprayed leather protector on the coral-colored shoes I bought in May.  I'd used the special cleaner on them Thursday, to remove any remaining grit from our excursion to downtown Montreal during F1 Grand Prix weekend.  (More about that some other time.)

Saturday morning James and I had a breakfast date at IKEA around 9:00 a.m.  He hadn't seen the new and improved IKEA yet, so after our cheap very reasonably priced meal, we wandered through at a leisurely pace, moving off to the side of the arrowed path whenever serious shoppers approached from the rear.  When we got back home, he packed up to go to RC race practice.  I harnessed up the cats for a "time out" outdoors, vacuumed, cleaned bathrooms, did laundry--those domestic diva-type things.  Just managed to squeeze in a self-made mani & pedi before bedtime.  I used OPI's Cajun Shrimp, a coral red, on my toes for the first time.  I adore how smoothly brand new polish glides on.  The previous time I bothered with toes, I'd eked out the last of my L'Oreal B. Powerful, also a coral, but more towards the pink end of the sliding scale, which must have been at over 5 years old; I recall purchasing it at London Drugs in St. Vital.

Sunday morning came all too soon and all too early.  I didn't sleep well--lots of bizarre dreams, no details of which I could remember except for a punchline that involved tube socks.  (Your guess is as good as mine.)  I woke James up by laughing in my sleep, and his "What's happening?!" of course woke me up in turn.  He left home for the RC race, and I raced around the house so I'd be ready when a friend gave me a lift to church just before 10:00 a.m.  After the service we walked across the road along with other Sequoia congregants to volunteer at the Barrhaven Canada Day, held at Clarke Fields.  My friend and I had signed up for a 3-hour shift with the garbage and recycling team, which meant we circulated around the park, exchanging fresh, empty bags for full ones, and hauling the latter to the respective large bins bordering the access road.  I've been tanning (fake'n'bake) since February, but thanks to sun and sandals on Sunday, I finally sport tan lines on my feet.

There are times when I think it would be great to rent a kid for a day.  Canada Day was one of those times.  There were a lot of cool activities:  inflatable spheres (giant hamster balls for humans), face painting, etc.  Little Ray's Reptile Zoo had a tent set up, too, and I tried something I'd never done before: stroked a snake.  The Little Ray's rep said it was like touching a leather wallet, and I'd have to agree with her that that's the closest analogy I can think of.  I also touched a turtle. 

After a lemonade break at my new friend's place, she brought me home around 6:00 p.m.--shortly after James had pulled in, because he was still unloading his gear.  We barbecued a quick supper, and crashed on the basement couch.  He put on Senna, a documentary tracing the (arguably too-short) life of Ayrton Senna, three-time Formula One World Champion and uncle of Bruno Senna, current F1 driver.  I enjoyed watching it--I'm fascinated by the lives of other people in general, not just celebrities--but it left me in a melancholy mood.  The FIA has improved safety standards as a direct result, though, if one's looking to find the positive in his demise.

We'd already agreed beforehand that we would not head downtown for the Parliament Hill fireworks.  The time (or is it times?) that we went, getting there has been fine, but coming back on public transit (free after 10:00 p.m.) has not been pleasant.  Packed in like sardines, with lots of raunchy teens and twenty-somethings talking about partying and puking.  And OC Transpo is the recommended way--and pretty much only rational way--to cope with all the road closures and on-street parking bans.  However, there are quite a few alternatives to downtown when it comes to fireworks displays:  Barrhaven, Kanata, Andrew Hayden Park, etc.  At 8:30 p.m. I was all too happy to stay curled up on the couch in our dimly lit basement.  By 9:55 p.m., having heard a few crackles and pops around the neighborhood (quite a few somebodies have their own backyard shows), I changed my mind.  I begged James to drive us to the Strandherd Park & Ride/Parc-o-bus (which is where I watched them in 2011) to watch the tail end of the Barrhaven fireworks.  He chose the Home Depot parking lot instead.  I was satisfied, although it seemed to me that the federal government might have rerouted some of the budget to the (controversial) War of 1812 commemorative events.  I was certain that they'd lasted for 30 minutes last year; this year it was over at 10:17 p.m.  Only one thing detracted from the delightful pyrotechnics (the streamers are my fave):  the person listening to the mournful ballad in the neighboring vehicle with the windows down.  (!)  So it goes.

Monday morning also dawned bright and early, relatively speaking.  Ellen & Dale K. & family had arrived in Ottawa for Canada Day and had just enough time to fit in a brunch with us at Zak's Diner in the ByWard Market before their next appointment.  The food, ordered off the "Canada Day" menu, was good, if overpriced.  (We figure Zak's hid their regular menus purely for profit--nothing like declaring "open season" on tourists.)  We had a great visit.  I've never seen such well-behaved kids!

The rest of the day was anticlimactic.  If I'd have been in Winnipeg, I would have done my best to persuade Jacquie to spend a day at the beach.  Instead, I dredged deep and found just enough will power to put together some strawberry shortcake for a deferred dessert.  Duane & Celina telephoned from their dock to catch us up on all the latest in their lives, so we concluded our day similarly to how we'd commenced it: with an enjoyable visit with friends.

It was a mighty fine long weekend, mighty fine indeed.