The Timeless Wisdom of George Michael, or, My Offspring Will Need Therapy

While dancing unabashedly to great tunes from such disco-era legends as the Bee Gees and Prince on the "Maximum Party" channel today, baking apple/rum-filled banana bread, I came to a very important realization. That is that, had I children, perhaps this kind of behaviour would verge on child abuse. I'm pretty sure if GP and I had kids, they'd be pretty fucked up. Or hilarious. Or maybe both, depending on your definition of either term.

The ability to let loose, get crazy, and, more importantly, embrace my silly side is one of the things I like most about myself. Of course, I can be pretty uptight sometimes; it's impossible to feel completely comfortable in any situation, but I like to think I'm pretty easy-going in most scenarios. This part of my personality recently came in handy when someone made a pretty inappropriate comment about something I was wearing.

I can't give specifics in case that person finds this blog, but suffice to say they tried to knock down my confidence a notch or two with a comment about how ugly something I was wearing made me look. It was something very silly that I don't normally wear and I was trying it out, just for the heck of it. I knew I'd get some unusual reactions, and I did, but they were mostly smiles or laughter. Thus, I was caught completely off-guard when this person made such a rude and opinionated comment.

The reason it stayed with me is because I want to know the motivation behind it, or maybe I know the reason and I am mystified. Yes, the second one. The insulter (let's name her/him Franklin) has an obvious lack of confidence, so he has to make sure everyone he comes in contact with feels inferior to him. It's really quite sad.

I have a feeling that Franklin really wishes he could just let go and not worry about what other people think so much. I'm so glad that I have that trait and that either my friends do too, or it rubs off on them when they're with me. Let's hope it's genetic so that when I have kids they'll be crazy little underpants dancers like their mother. GP will just have to wait out the craziness elsewhere.

Necessary Essentials

Things I'd Need If I Were Moving to Montreal (more on this at a later date) And Were Getting There By Car And Could Only Take Ten Items (GP is not on this list; he'd be coming with me with his own list, which I suspect would consist mostly of video games and systems on which to play them):

1. The kitten and her accoutrements
2. Cuisinart food processor
3. VitaMix blender
4. Kitchenaid stand mixer
5. Cardigan knitted for me by my mum
6. My great yoga mat
7. Camera (and battery charger; that doesn't count as another thing)
8. Phone
9. My grandmothers' pearls (both sets count as one item)
10. The painting my mum did of an iris

Commentary and/or your list greatly encouraged on this post; I want to know if I've missed anything).

Haikus For You-kus

A few autumnal haikus for your (and my) enjoyment:

Drinking tea inside
Loud raindrops falling outside
I'd rather be here

Wool socks and slippers
Homemade gifts for winter time
Lost in arts of yore

The dogs are anxious
I dread a walk in the rain...
Blue skies spell relief!

And, of course, it wouldn't be a blog post without something kitten-related:

Kitten sleeps deeply
A perfect feline circle
Warm, soft, and purring

A Figment of Your Imagination

GP can't go grocery shopping with me without getting thoroughly frustrated and, oddly, sweaty. Actually, it might not really be odd that he gets sweaty. My grocery shopping style, much like my approach to life in general, is disorganized, indulgent and highly irrational. Some days I will want nothing but pea shoots and falafels. Other times my attention to good nutrition (ha! The kitten just pounced on my typing fingers from afar; what a little scamp!) goes out the window and I will eat an entire wheel of Gorgonzola and a loaf of olive bread for dinner. That's no joke. It has happened more times than I care to divulge.

It's not just my shopping mindset that is frustrating. The reason why GP gets sweaty, as I didn't really fully explain in the previous paragraph, is that I don't even physically approach the shop from a systematic perspective. My travel pattern around the store is an erratic zig-zag. I'll go to the individual sections of the shop many times before leaving, and even after that, I'll probably return because I usually remember what I've forgotten to get as I sit down in my car.

The point of all this rambling would be wholly irrelevant if it weren't for the fact that, in a recent haphazard voyage to the shop, I bought two wonderful looking figs on a whim. I love figs. I love the taste of them, I love the look of them, and I especially love the feel of them. They are much heavier than they seem, but their skin is so soft and fragile. I know what you're thinking, you pervert, and you're completely correct- they do look like that and my description doesn't help.

Here is what I did with my figs:
I cut them both in half, spooned some ricotta on top, spooned some unpasteurized local honey on top of that and then topped the whole thing with walnuts and stuck it under the broiler. This is what they looked like before:











And this is what they looked like after:

Pretty delish.




I actually didn't realize the fruit was in the same position in both photos until I uploaded the photos just now. I must've really been on the ball!

The Scatterbrain Bird Alights

Maybe my repose away from blogging wasn't very brief, but if you know anything about me, you know that I am not one to apologize for not writing on my own blog. So I hope, if you're reading this, you're not here because you thought you'd read some pathetic groveling prose making impossible promises about how I'll never leave you again, dear readers. It is very likely that I will leave you again. Just so you know.

Predictably, much has happened since my last, very sad, post. GP and I had to say goodbye to our dear Friskies. On Friday, July 24th, I took the afternoon off from work so we could hang out together. It was a lovely sunny warm day, so we went outside. She had been hiding under the bed for most of the week, but she knew that this was a special opportunity, so she came out and enjoyed the sun. We sat next to the roses on the edge of the lawn and watched bugs in the grass. Greg also left work early to spend some time with her. Then we took her in to the vet's, where they have a room for goodbyes, painted in soothing colours with a nice little table with soft padding. She was injected with painkillers and I petted her until she fell asleep.

I doubt I'll ever be able to talk or write about her death without crying, but I know it was the right decision. I will always miss her and she'll always have a special place in my heart. I know she'd be happy, too, that GP and I now have a new cat to keep us on our toes. Her name is Reese and she is both a delight and a little beast, at 15 weeks old tomorrow. As I type this, she's half sitting on my lap. The other half is slowly sliding off the sofa as her tiny oblivious body shudders from the depth of her purring. The only thing keeping her on the sofa is my arm. How adorable, she just yawned and stretched! After a few months, it really was time for us to get a new feline friend. Reese is short-haired, so GP has less of an excuse to complain about allergies, although I'm sure he won't let this stop him!

Work is going very well. In my time at the company I've already seen a new person in the same position as me be hired and fired, so I believe I'm doing quite well. Two weeks from today will mark the end of my three-month probation period, at which time you won't have to guess who's going to work in her pajamas. Yesterday the boss man asked me into his office to show me a new advertising tool we're going to be using for our clients. He gave me more instruction on it today and I thought it was going well until I stepped out of his office and realized I had enormous gaping holes in my knowledge and I don't really know how to go about putting together my client's campaign at all. I think he and I have an understanding, though, so I doubt asking for extra help will be an issue.

Another fantastic thing about work: they support my cat-loving ways. I'm not sure whether or not they're just humouring me, but everyone I've shown pictures to (90 percent of the people at work) has ooh'd and aah'd over Reese. The chances that they all call me a crazy cat lady behind my back are pretty good, but I came to terms with that part of myself a long time ago.

Other happenings: my birthday, GP's birthday. We went to Quadra Island to celebrate our aging and had a lovely time, despite our progression into senility (especially GP). My mum made me a cake, but I don't think she realizes my birthday isn't at Christmas, because, well, you can see from the icing. Not that I complained; it was delicious. My garden is still growing, even though I've been mostly neglecting it. When my broccoli raab was still edible, I was using it for killer dishes like the pasta salad to the right, upon which a delectable piece of baked halibut is perched, with pesto from my basil.

I don't want to make any promises, but I have a few awesome blog post topics up my sleeve. So expect more soon. Or not.

Good Grief

I've debated whether or not I should plague my readership (however small it may be) with what is undoubtedly the most difficult thing, emotionally, I've had to struggle with in my short life. I have decided that I definitely should. It is my blog, after all. And you don't have to read this post (although I think you should, because everything I write is gold, naturally).

Friskies has been my friend and confidante since I was 10 years old. Although I was the one who got to choose her rather unfortunate name, I never personally took it upon myself to claim her as my cat. She, however, took it upon herself to claim my bed as hers and so our relationship grew. She watched (actually, maybe napped is the better verb here) while I awkwardly made my way through middle school, high school, and puberty in general. When I came home from university she was always there, ready to provide cuddles and gentle indifference. She got kicked out of the room the first couple times I kissed a boy, and she dutifully stood guard at the door until she was welcomed back. Soon after a somewhat resentful chirp and some annoyingly slow stretching and chin-rubbing on the threshold of the door, she would reliably be right back in her middle-of-the-bed station, purring as though she were part 1969 Ford Mustang, muffler-free.
The only time I've had to deal with anything bad happening to her was when she was six or seven and she had to have a small operation to remedy a bladder issue. Now I have to deal with something of a more sinister nature. She has become increasingly rotund through the middle and bonier in the shoulders and hindquarters. Not long ago her appetite started dropping off, so I made an appointment with the vet. I took her in on Thursday and, after having x-rays done, I was told that there was a mass of some kind in her abdomen. It could be either a tumor on her spleen that has just become very large or a tumor that has formed around her intestines, making digesting food difficult. The former possibility is what we are hoping for, because spleens are superfluous organs for cats. The latter is, in most cases, inoperable. Either way, she is in pain. We won't know exactly what the problem is until an ultrasound is done. Hopefully that will be tomorrow.

So this situation is, understandably I think, the only thing I have been thinking about since Thursday. I've had a bit of time to mull it over and get used to the idea of her not being around anymore, although that is obviously the last thing I want. She has been my friend for so very long and I have been so lucky to have her in my life. In fact, we've been friends for most of my life. Normally not a particularly sentimental person, I am surprised by how many things trigger an emotional breakdown for me. On Friday at work before my shift, I was reaching into the cupboard for a mug. A co-worker came into the kitchen and said "Hi, how are you?" and I burst into tears. He was completely stunned and said, after a pause "Can't find a cup?". I then exploded the whole cat story onto him and he stood there, very kindly, listening to me, likely thinking "Wow, that new girl sure is a fruit loop". I doubt he'll ever ask me how I am again!

Friskies has an ultrasound tentatively scheduled for tomorrow, although I haven't a confirmation heard from the vet's office. She is barely eating anything and today I had to actually place her in her litterbox for a pee because her energy is so low that I was afraid she might not make it. She is definitely not herself. It's a very sad thing to witness, the slow decline of one of your best friends. I don't give a fuck if people think I'm crazy for calling her my best friend. They obviously, and unfortunately, have never had the incredible experience of becoming close with an animal. It sucks that I have to make these kinds of decisions now, and deal with this overwhelming sadness, but if this is the payment I have to make for the unconditional love I have received from her throughout her entire life, I think it's more than worth it.
Please, friends, keep positive thoughts for Friskies in your mind. If you're the praying type, I'm sure she'd appreciate that too.

On the Job

Better late than never to announce to blogdom that I have a job. Yup, I now have a real grown-up person job as a copywriter/search engine optimization expert at a local business that creates websites for real estate companies. I started on June 27th and I'm really enjoying it. There's a lot to learn, but there's always something new to be done, which I can totally appreciate. Plus, they call the "behind the scenes" stuff of websites the "back-end", and I find that absolutely hilarious. Today I brought in pictures of Friskies and GP and me in a little frame to make my desk more homey. I regretted it almost immediately; it's difficult to focus when there's a photo of the most adorable cat on earth staring up at you.

My coworkers are fun. We had Sports Day today (it's a weekly thing) and we played soccer. I suggested starting up a running group and they were completely into it. We'll see how long it is until I've instigated a composting program. It's a very different work environment compared to the last place; they seem to actually like their employees here. There are medical/dental benefits, a gym membership incentive, a new computer payment/loan program, a lunch program (the fridge is completely stocked and we just make lunch with whatever we like) and once a month there's a cake day, to celebrate the month's birthdays. What more could you ask for?! Oh, and there are potlucks every so often, with prizes for most tasty food and best presentation. Needless to say, I'm in it to win it. I think I'll be making lemon meringue cupcakes, with meringue roses to top them. I've already started testing the recipe and I think it's going to blow everyone else out of the water.
It's a crappy photo, but you can still see how pretty they are. I think the only thing prettier than meringue roses are real ones.

General life things have been going smoothly. Not much to report, other than an excellent (albeit drizzly) camping trip to Tofino on Canada Day long weekend. So good, in fact, that after three vigorous washings, my hair still smells like campfire smoke.

My garden is growing at warp speed. I harvested all the broccoli raab (aka rapini, brocoletti, and/or broccolini) yesterday and we had it with dinner today, just steamed. It has so much more flavour when you grow it yourself: broccoli, yes, but with a hint of mustardy spiciness. Man, was it ever delicious. I'm hoping the new shoots come quickly.
There's really no taste like a fresh strawberry straight from the garden, with that shiny tight skin. I can't wait for the similarly sweet taste of the cherry tomatoes I've got growing. They need to get their butts in gear and set fruit already. Same with the sugar snap peas. So much to look forward to!