the right to bare arms (& legs)

~ or why I'd never make it as a fashion critic ~

Who wears short shorts? Apparently, not Michelle Obama.

I check Webmail every morning; more often than not, before I get to the correspondence, I am lured into reading the Yahoo "news" articles with their luridly promising titles. Consider them my surrogate for the tabloids I don't read at the grocery store. Well, what should be a hot topic today but the First Lady's right to bare legs. (The article was dated August 19, but I didn't see it there at midnight, so maybe the author did what I confess I sometimes do: begin something on one day, finish it on the next, post it with the original date, and voila! And no, sadly, I can't take credit for this post's title.)

The article was a huge disappointment, very tame. The conclusion? Mrs. Obama is fit, she's firm, and she's not being cheeky. So leave her be.

The article made further reference to a "furor" in February "that erupted after she went sleeveless in her official portrait." Take it from me, that link's a bum steer. It led me to expect to read about outrage or controversy over sleevelessness. Ah, you say, the author's using the other meaning of "furor," that of a fashionable craze. Anyway, you can barely tell that her outfit is sleeveless because there is an enormous red bow front and centre.

You'll recall that a few weeks ago, the media was all a-hype over Barack Obama's jeans. They're pants, people! As long as he keep'em up & on--unlike some past presidents--who cares?

I am so not a fashion maven.

So you can imagine how much I appreciated yesterday's piece by the Fashion Police, complete with photo gallery. The caption for the photo of Maria Sharapova read, "We're loving the shoes and dress, but we are questioning the choice of gold belt and bag." Seriously now. They're loving the dress??? Is it possible to say that with a straight face? It looks like an over-sized velveteen baseball t-shirt! Keep the belt and bag, I say; ditch the dress. "This is how you wear white," they rave over Rachel McAdams. I can't decide if it's a reference to her dress or her skin. Furthermore, I don't see a problem with females wearing pink over the age of 5. Especially if one of them is Jane Seymour. Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman, you had to "man up" enough as Dr. Mike; you deserve to luxuriate in girly girl colors if you so desire. Have to admit, though, they got me with Denise Richards's "tanorexia syndrome" (chuckle, snort).

There, I've exhausted my fashion commentary. Now if you'll excuse me, it's off to reconstruct the friggin' PowerPoint file that I was developing yesterday, and which for some inexplicable reason did not save the last 45 minutes of my changes. I can assure you I am a diligent "saver"--I'm frequently Apple+S'ing (Ctrl+S for PC users) every few minutes as I go along. In fact, I'm pretty obsessive-compulsive about it. I cannot locate the AutoRecovery ".tmp" file either; believe me, I've looked (grumble, grumble, expletive, grumble). Back to the drawing board.

it takes a thief to catch a thief

Somehow, I don't think this was what they had in mind when they coined that phrase: "Man charged with stealing 130M credit card numbers in record identity theft."

In other Yahoo news (for those who don't get their Webmail there), I just want to take this opportunity to inform you that there is only one "u" in Iqaluit. Extremely important if you don't want to offend Nunavutians residing in the city formerly known as Frobisher Bay. In defence of writers, editors, and proofreaders everywhere, I want to point out that with the ever-expanding number of automated features in Microsoft Word, how does anyone know that it wasn't merely an overly eager autocorrect responsible for this fiasco? Yes, someone should have caught it. But seriously, have you dealt with anybody in federal government offices lately? (Other than my two or three exceedingly competent friends, I mean.)

garden of weedin'

And now it's time once again for the amateur gardener report...

I thought I'd tour you around the backyard to show you how things are progressing now that monsoon season's waning.

I took a few pictures last Tuesday (August 4). The soil in this corner of the backyard is so sandy beneath the thin layer of (crappy Ontario) topsoil that hardly any weeds grow there.

Tomatoes

Dahlias, marigolds, geraniums

My flowers are not pushing up the daisies yet. Confession: earlier this summer, I contemplated transplanting some of the wild daisies I saw by the side of the road along Strandherd. The 20-min. walk back home, in plain view of the traffic, with a fistful of flowers, dissuaded me. Not to mention the creepy-crawlies hiding in all that roadside growth. Only mention the word "grub" and I recoil. I don't do well with "slug" either.

A while ago, Ontario banned the use of pesticide. We find ourselves in a position similar to that of the last individual interviewed in the article. We like our yard (relatively) neat and tidy. James keeps the lawn nicely trimmed, and my job is weeding. I'm not obsessed with it, but I've been out there a couple of times with my amazing weed-picker. Yet for some inexplicable reason, the rest of our neighborhood would rather wallow in clover, thistles, and other pesky growing things I haven't yet positively identified.

Here's the view when we look down our back lane. It's easier to see where our lawn ends and carpet of chaos begins if you follow the line of the fence that separates us.

What's the market for clover like at the moment? Maybe our neighbors are growing it for cash crops. And who's to say that they aren't growing another kind of weed amongst the thistles under their decks? A little bit of extra income.

Except for the woman with the corner lot, everyone's letting their yards go au naturel. She hired landscapers this spring to put in trees and shrubs and an arbor. Their trucks were parked out front for days on end. She's a serious gardener; she told me she chose the black chain-link fence to let as much light in as possible. I like the look of the black, wrought-iron fences I've seen, but I think the men in our row units have decided to go with a wooden fence. Just as well, probably. It'll keep out the weeds.

Occasionally, the grass is not greener on the other side.

friends

Lots to celebrate concerning my friends these days.

Sandra, an Ottawa friend proud of her Prairie roots, won the bpNichol chapbook poetry award in June. Here she is in an interview being very articulate about Lift, her winning chapbook.

Congratulations to Shirley & Dave on the birth of their daughter Makayla. I had to find out the hard way...by snooping around Shirley's "Wall" in Facebook. As far as I can determine, the blessed event happened in late July. That's OK, I'm sure she would have told me sooner or later. I'll let the dust settle a bit before I contact her to see if she feels up to having company. Between her paid employment as a programmer and her second (unpaid) job as a farm wife and all that entails, Shirley has created a third position for herself: quilter extraordinaire. I guess she's just added "mother" and all the variations of that title to her résumé.

Congratulations to Tawny & Terry & big brother Logan (formerly known as Team T-Lo) who welcomed daughter & baby sister Lane to their family. (Does this mean they'll be known henceforth as Team T-LoLa? or T-squared L-squared?) I think Lane was born only a day or two ago. Tawny loves to sew, and many of her creative projects can be viewed at TawnyBee on Etsy.

Then there's Renée, who together with her husband Jerry decided to pack up their family for a missions spree. (Is that an oxymoron?) They're going to live among the limes, coconuts, frogs, and geckos for a year in their BelizeQuest. (A link to their blog now appears on the list below-left.) It'll be like Survivor, except without the flimsy shelters or voting people out. (I hope.) They won't have to concern themselves about scurvy, since it sounds like there's fresh fruit aplenty. Renée will have a chance to live her dream: being a kindergarten teacher. I've heard say that in her misspent youth, Renée once held a cousin of hers captive behind a makeshift desk in a poorly ventilated, top-floor room in the middle of a prairie-summer heatwave while she taught writing and arithmetic.

Paula, a friend ever since "The Lyric" honors seminar brought us together in our final undergrad year at UofM, has been out in the Ottawa area visiting her parents with her husband and two children. You may have heard me mention a friend who lost her sense of smell as a result of a childhood biking accident, and then regained it as an adult through craniosacral massage therapy. CTV Winnipeg broadcast a story on her recovery in 2003 or 2004 or thereabouts. Paula and I last saw each other about 12 years ago. I drove out to Arnprior to meet her, and we made a lovely afternoon of it: lunch with her family, then window-shopping at the local bookstore and gift shops (all the while dodging her aforementioned family), topped off by girly drinks (she and her white wine, me and my daiquiri) outdoors at Danny Mac's. Between running a daycare out of her home and taking counselling courses, Paula writes. A few weeks ago when we were planning how to meet up, she forwarded a handful of the most hilarious anecdotes. (I'm hoping she either starts a blog or that she'll allow me to post a few of her darling non-fiction moments.) So glad she found the time to see me.

"Make new friends and keep the old, one is silver and the other one's gold..." something Sally allegedly said and Christopher Cross recorded.

Anyway, here's to friends!

pie-eyed

I did something yesterday that I've never done before in my life: I made a pie. A peach pie. I took a photo just to prove it. Those of you who have been baking from the time you started kindergarten are shaking your heads at this moment and thinking this is so lame--that I am so lame. I agree. I don't know why I previously missed out on this rite of initiation. I don't know why it's taken me so long to get around to it. I know for certain I've baked blueberry tarts many times--with frozen tart shells purchased at Safeway, mind you. To tell you the truth, I guess I just never saw the point of making a pie of my very own. When I lived at home, my mom's culinary skills were superb; many of the roommates I had were also experts in the kitchen; when I met James, he was content with store-bought pies, and so the tradition continued for the last 10 years. I would rather spend my time on other things, so it's not as though I've been highly motivated to learn.

Thanks to Epp Peaches, all that changed. At least for a day.

It was a typical situation: I'm supposed to incorporate more fruit into my daily diet, and I found baskets of peaches on sale at Metro (the former Loeb). Two years ago, I had a brief but torrid affair with Epp nectarines. The peaches started turning on me a lot sooner.

I searched through my cookbooks: The Mennonite Treasury of Recipes, Country Kitchen Classics (REMC), Our Very Best (PVC, RFC, REMC), and Our Favorite Recipes (St. Vital EMC). I found recipes for blueberry pie, rhubarb pie, lemon meringue pie, banana cream pie, pumpkin pie, raisin pie, strawberry pie, even egg pie--but no peach pie. I was beginning to think that maybe Mennonites didn't eat peach pie, maybe I hadn't received an important bulletin that was supposed to have circulated. Until I found the "Peach of a Pie" recipe in Christian Fellowship Chapel's All Time Favorites. The problem was, it called for peach jello, and, well, you know...the whole "gelatin rhymes with skeleton" thing and all that.

If you were paying attention above, you already know this story has a happy ending. Fortunately, calling on my best friend Google yielded a flaky crust, a fruity filling, and even a fizzin' solution (actually quite a few solutions, but I used baking soda and dish detergent) to clean burnt sugar overspill off my baking pan.

I'm not going to admit how long it took me to put together the pie crusts and scald & skin the peaches. And I didn't even flute the crust edges. I'll just say that now I know why people usually bake multiple pies at a time. Mind you, I only have the one pie plate. Ultimately, I'm just happy that it didn't go up in flames. Unlike that torte I once made...

So I challenge you to do one thing this week (or month, if you need a bit more time to gear up to it) that you've never done before. Then share it with me.

I wanna know if it's as easy as pie.

love stories

How accommodating can the news be? There are three anniversaries in the Chychota family within the span of a week towards the end of July, and without knowing that, Yahoo has posted two unusual love stories in its "Odd News" category in the last two days. You know me: I hafta share.

1. A match made in...Facebook: Kelly (Katrina) Hildebrandt & Kelly (Carl) Hildebrandt are engaged to be married.

2. He should have phoned: the love letter that took 16 years to reach its recipient.

Doncha just love happy endings?

10 years ago today

Happy Anniversary to us!

July 17, 1999
Photo credit: Photography by Michele

need a good stiff drink?

Congratulations to Tim Horton's on its invasion of New York City! Let's raise a vile double-double in a toast. ("First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin...")

Congratulations, as well, to Winnipeg, the Slurpee Capital of the World!

content to the core

~ or the trip that has no end, ends ~

Before I finish off this lengthy travelogue, "Happy Birthday, Mom!"

***
Yahoo featured this previously published article today: "The Places you must visit before you die." The list was not numbered, but New York City was mentioned first.

***
re: July 5

It's nearly impossible to top fireworks as a last hurrah. But I think we did. On Friday as the bus drove down the street away from the hotel and into a whirlwind tour, Linda, the local guide, had pointed out Times Square Church (TSC), mentioning its founding pastor, David Wilkerson. Well, that caught my attention. Wilkerson, of course, is the "preach" in the biographical account The Cross and the Switchblade. (The film adaptation starred the pre-CHiPs Erik Estrada as Nicky Cruz.)

I didn't read the book until adulthood, but I knew the story well as a result of the comic book version--published by Spire Christian Comics, sold by Riverside Co-op. (I was surprised to find a site that has it and other Spire comics in PDF. I had quite a few of the Archies.) Anyone who grew up in southern Manitoba Mennonite communities in the '70s knows that we didn't have contemporary Christian heroes per se, because that could have been equated with idolatry. Occasionally we raised individuals up on pedestals: Billy Graham, for sure, and maybe Elisabeth Elliot. But we'd never have admitted it. Secretly, however, as a result of that comic book, David Wilkerson became one of my heroes. Consequently, it was amazing to see him and hear him deliver the pre-communion address at TSC. (He's advancing in age--he's 78 now--so another senior pastor delivered the message.)

Almost equally as amazing is the church building, the Mark Hellinger Theatre. Its rather unremarkable exterior masks the lavish interior.

According to the TSC Website, "More than 8,000 people representing over 100 nationalities...gather to worship here every week." It's like a touch of heaven on earth.

We had just enough time to enjoy lunch at the Olive Garden before returning to the hotel to pick up the last of our stuff. Our tour bus pulled away at 1pm.

parting shots

With a one-hour stop for turkey dinner buffet at Plainville Farms Restaurant, and a 15-minute stop at the Duty Free before the border, we were back at our starting point around 10:30pm.

Definitely a memorable pre-10th anniversary celebration.

And that, my friends, is how a small-town girl became infatuated with a big city.

4th of July fireworks

~ July 4, Independence Day ~

Last Saturday morning, we tried Ellen's Stardust Diner for breakfast. That place is not about the food; rather, it's about the aspiring talent doing hard time as servers. All the servers sing for their customers' supper--and breakfast, and lunch, and anything in-between. They take turns.

It just so happened that we were seated in a section where the server had gone AWOL. When he showed up, we convinced him we were in a rush, and things flowed smoothly enough so that we go back to the hotel in time for the 9am excursion to Canal Street.

Mauri the Travac tour guide had offered as early as Thursday that she would escort anyone who wanted to accompany her down to Canal Street, where there are purses to be had (designer knockoffs), but only by special invitation. Imagine a group of 35 individuals, mostly female with a handful of husbands in tow, rushing down to the nearest subway station, exiting at Canal Street, and ducking into a nondescript storefront. We were ushered into a secret chamber where the real imitation goods were kept. I'm not especially girly when it comes to things like handbags and shoes, but I was looking to replace my purse, so I bought two for the price of what one would have cost me at Sears or The Bay. A couple of the women bought five apiece. (James recounted our NY shopping this morning to his new hairstylist, and she responded that she owns 70 purses. Seventy purses!!! What does 1 person need with 70 purses? Good thing she wasn't along with us last weekend or she would have cleaned out the store.)

After the shopping spree, we chummed around with Ron & Toni, whom we'd gotten to know a bit the day before. We sightsaw (MW says it's a word, no matter how weird it sounds) Madison Square Gardens, Macy's, the New York Public Library and its lions, and St. Patrick's Cathedral.

Mark Messier at MSG - sans Lay's chips


right: Inside Macy's - they have a wooden escalator! and a Starbucks!
left: Bell Ringers Monument - Minerva and Stuff and Guff

NYPL - it was closed July 4 & 5

St. Patrick's Cathedral

We also got to see, up close and personal, police officers (James asked permission to photograph them), a Bronze Cowboy (the first of 3 living statues I saw in NYC), a very patriotic citizen, and one of the ubiquitous yellow taxi cabs after a run-in with a bus.

We revisited Central Park, which was a hub of Independence Day activity. Where else would you be able to come across a collection of people that included: model sailboaters at the Conservatory Water, dancing rollerbladers/skaters (some actually were shod with 4 wheels), breakdancers and a Michael Jackson lookalike in front of the Naumburg Bandshell, more living statues (but the one in a tutu was bending over, so it didn't seem like the most opportune moment to snap), and musicians, not to mention sunbathers, picnickers, bicyclists, and those who, like Ferdinand the bull (cool! the video has been YouTubed), would rather "sit just quietly and smell the flowers" (or read or people-watch) by The Mall.

Conservatory Water

performers, Naumburg Bandshell

If Peter Pan & Tinkerbell had a daughter...


Minstrel and The Mall

Leaving Central Park and the great outdoors behind, temporarily anyhow, we popped into The Plaza Hotel, which we'd glimpsed from the outside the previous day. Fan-cy! (It warrants a distinct two syllables.)

Exiting the hotel just behind us were three caped crusaders: Batman, Robin, and Superman. They were in a hurry; Spidey must've called for backup. They didn't stop for photo ops, and we weren't fast enough on the draw. Maybe there was a comic book characters' convention? Or do New Yorkers often dress that way?

We had dinner at Rino Trattoria or Trattoria Rino (take your pick: the name appeared both ways), an Italian restaurant on 8th Ave., between 52nd and 53rd St., before making our way to 11th Ave., which is as close as we got to the Hudson River, on which floated the six barges that held the "33rd annual pyrotechnic extravaganza." At first, the street we stood on had two lanes of traffic in both directions. That rapidly narrowed down to one lane in each direction, and finally no lanes at all. Plenty of NYPD were on hand for crowd control. I wonder how early spectators began gathering on 12th Ave. in order to obtain front-row spots.

We positioned ourselves between two buildings, and although we might have missed some of the lower flares, we got to see a respectable amount of the show. James downloaded the televised version, so we have the option of watching the whole thing one of these evenings when we feel the need for sparks and sparkle.

And that was the third day.

more than you can chew

~ Friday, July 3 events continued ~

Upon disembarking the tour bus at Battery Park, we walked over to the Staten Island Ferry terminal. Taking the ferry is cost-effective (it's free) way to take in, albeit from a distance, three attractions: Ellis Island, the Statue of Liberty, and Governors Island. We paused for a moment to watch young breakdancers before going inside the terminal.

Before I did my research, I had thought it would be fantastic to be able to look out the Statue of Liberty's crown, which was re-opened to the public on July 4, after being closed since the 9/11/2001 attacks. However, there arose many reasons for me not to pursue that option, all detailed in the "Most Frequently Asked Questions": the absence of restrooms, the 354-step climb, the close quarters, a temperature potentially 20 degrees higher than that of the outdoors. Last I checked, I had both claustrophobia and acrophobia, so it's best I kept my distance. To show there's no hard feelings on my part, here are some SOL fun facts. If the climb to the crown is as gruelling as it sounds, I wonder what the climb up to the arm was like prior to its 1916 closure.

Even though we wanted a round-trip back to Manhattan, we still had to exit the ferry on the St. George, Staten Island side and reboard; those are the rules. Still, the process was quick and only took approx. 50 minutes from start to finish. Back on the Manhattan side, we followed the lead of another couple from our tour group and purchased a MetroCard for the subway. The four of us then made our way through the financial district, past Trump Tower and the New York Stock Exchange (NYSE) to the Brooklyn Bridge.

NYSE

The Brooklyn Bridge is a very long bridge, but I'm pleased to say we walked from one end to the other and back without accident or incident. It's not as easy as it sounds: a painted line divides the bridge in two, and any pedestrians who wander across the half-way mark are guaranteed to incur the wrath of bicyclists or rollerbladers.

Since the other couple had ditched us mid-bridge to seek out theatre tickets, we made our way to the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) via City Hall and one extremely relaxed squirrel.

The usual $20 per adult admission fee to MoMA is waived from 4pm to 8pm on Fridays. The biggest problem is that these Target Free Friday nights draw large crowds, which pretty much rules out a leisurely, contemplative stroll through the exhibits. One recommendation, if I may be so bold: If visiting on a free night, thoroughly research the collections in advance, so you can get right to the Warhols, Lichtensteins, Pollocks, Picassos, et al., instead of wasting time looking at framed graph paper marked with lowercase m's. Unless that's your thing. And if visiting MoMA up to September 14, do participate in the performative "Measuring the Universe." I regret that we did not, since we didn't care to be caught in a line-up.

We decided to explore other NY attractions, and ended up at Rockefeller Center, first for Starbucks--where I had the best mocha in my entire life to date--then for the Top of the Rock Observation Deck. The Website offers a $2 discount for online ticket purchases, but we received the same deal by accepting a handout from a Rock employee on the street corner. He gave us one coupon which applied to both tickets.

Rockefeller Center
(Atlas, Prometheus, Top of the Rock ticket booth,
NBC Studios, Radio City Music Hall)

The ceiling of the elevator to the roof plays a video promoting NBC Studios (no surprise), but through it blue lights that line the shaft are visible (surprise). The view at top the was spectacular: we could see the Hudson River, Central Park, the Chrysler Building (hiding behind MetLife), and the Empire State Building in tricolor glory, prepped for Independence Day celebrations.

We chose to eat at Planet Hollywood (Times Square) that night. James coaxed the camera to balance on the plasticized drink & dessert list holder. After dinner, James still felt a little punchy, so I encouraged him to go a round with Rocky.

Over dinner, I had remarked that we hadn't yet seen any celebrities. Don't you know it, as we were heading back to the hotel, a mob converged outside one of the theatres in front of which a limo parked. Any guesses?

If you said, "Jack Nicholson," you're right! Not that you can tell from our photos. But if you look into the other cameras' viewfinders, you might catch a glimpse.

And the morning, afternoon, and evening were the second day.