Night BBQ

The other day I wandered into the kitchen at 6:40 am, still rubbing sleep from my eyes. I had washed up all the dishes before I went to bed. Now there was a plate with BBQ sauce on it, and an empty Styrofoam meat tray in the trash.

Looks like Ken had himself a little midnight snack.

Later in the day I mentioned it to him. He told me that he got hungry at 11:30 pm, and took a walk to the 24-hour supermarket to buy himself a steak.

When he got home he suddenly began to worry that perhaps our condo complex might have a rule about BBQ use. We do have quite a few rules, like no roller blading on the property, parking restrictions, etc. But I've never heard one about BBQ's.

Anyway, he didn't want to cook the steak on the stove, because that would heat up the house, and plus, it would be so much less delicious. So he used our BBQ, which is on the front patio, but anytime he heard a car coming down the driveway he ducked down and hid.

I could just imagine him crouching down stealthily, tongs in one hand, saucy brush in the other, waiting for each car to pass. That's my man: Master of Ninja Stealth Cooking!

He succeeded. No authorities came by to give him a $200 ticket for Outdoor Cookery at an Improper Hour. And I'm told that the steak was very yummy.

A Mommy in Babyland

I brought my mom with me to Babyland on Sunday. It was her first time there.

(For my newer readers: Babyland is the nursery at my church. I volunteer there once per month taking care of the 0-4 years set.)

I thought it would be fun for her. She LOOOOOOVES babies. If life circumstances hadn't intervened, she would have liked to have had five kids. (I'm her only child.) To say that she was disappointed when she found out that I'm not planning to have any babies would be the understatement of the century. I figured that if I could hook her up with some baby snuggles it would be a good thing.

Usually what happens in Babyland is: Between 10:15 and 11:00 am parents come and drop off their kidoodles. We sign them in and give the parents a pager. Then any mobile children are allowed to run madly around the room, playing with the zillion toys available. The volunteers supervise but we don't offer any structured activities. Any babies that aren't walking yet are informally assigned to whoever checks them in. There usually aren't more than two babies under 12 months on any given day.

So basically it's controlled chaos. I usually wander the room with a baby on one hip, using my free hand to break up fights between two-year-olds who don't want to share with each other, and encouraging children who have climbed on top of the Play-Dough table to get back down to floor level. At 11:30 am we hand out Arrowroot cookies and watered-down apple-juice in sippy cups. At around noon the parents show up to collect their wee ones, and after we put the toys away, our work is done.

This Sunday when my mom showed up there were already a few kids there. There was my friend Matthew, and a choice selection of extremely cute, unbelievably good-natured toddlers. I thought that Mom would be in her element. She wouldn't have to contend with the sermon; she could just enjoy the children.

But what should happen as soon as she walked in? One of the little girls, who must be almost four, grabbed her and demanded to be read to. What did she want my mom to read? Stories about Jesus. Well, it's a church nursery. I suppose it makes sense that all the kids' books are Christian.

My poor mom. She is getting to like the congregation of my church more and more, as people, but she still can't bring herself to swallow the theology of Christianity. Bible stories really rub her fur the wrong way. By the time I caught up with her she was half-way through the second picture-book. She looked at me, her eyes pleading "Halp!" But what could I do? It was up to her to tell the little girl if she didn't want to read any more stories.

My mom spent a full hour reading Christian storybooks. I guess it was God's will?

Anyway, the little girl was finally lured away at snacktime, by the cookies and juice. At that point I gave Matthew to my mom, so she could get in her infant cuddles.

She told me that overall she had a good time. And she might even go back. But I think she'll be hiding from that little girl.

I gots glasses

Finally, after carrying the prescription around in my wallet for two months, I got myself a new pair of glasses. They look like this.

It's a big deal, getting new glasses. Not as big as it was when I wore them every waking moment, but still very important. My eyes aren't complete without them, so I think of my glasses as being almost part of my body.

If you ever ask to try my glasses on, you'd better be careful. Don't get fingerprints on the lenses. That's as rude as sticking your thumb in my eye. I'm not kidding.

It's been 8 years since I last bought a pair of glasses. My prescription has changed. Styles have changed. I spent a full hour browsing the optical store, growing increasingly frustrated. The current style of rectangular frames doesn't suit my face. My other challenge is having a big head. Yup, it's true. I wear men's hats because women's hats won't fit. A lot of frames made for women are too tiny. By comparison they make my face look like the side of a ham. Seriously.

Anyway, I finally found my perfect pair. They're nice and wide. The slight upward tilt of the frames towards the outer corners is the key to why this style, of all the rectangular frames on offer, suit me. I also love that they're purple. Or rather, "Black/Berry". But I say: purple!

Last time I bought glasses, it took a month for the lab to prepare them and ship them to the optical store. Then when I went to pick them up I found they'd used the wrong frames, and it took another month to fix the problem. This place has a lab in the back room. Those sweet babies were done and on my nose within 15 minutes. It was awesome! They still smelled like burning from the glass-grinding machine.

I always go for the best that I can afford. I'm blind without them, so it's a good investment. I got the highest index lenses on the market - they just came out this year - to minimize the Pointdexter bottle-bottom look. The other options were scratch resistance, glare reduction, and UV protection. These specs are fully loaded.

I'm enjoying them right now. Woot! I can see!

Canada Day - Ah the memories...

Wednesday was Canada Day. Personally I would have preferred to move the statutory holiday to Friday, so we all could've enjoyed a long weekend, but I'll take any free day off that I can get.

I hadn't had a chance to settle down with a book for a long time. Sure, I read on the subway train sometimes, or at a restaurant if I'm eating alone, but those are public places and always filled with distractions. Yesterday morning I found time to curl up on the sofa under a cozy blanket, and read the first few chapters of The Shack. I approached it with fairly low expectations, because there has been so much hype surrounding this book, but so far it's delivering a pretty solid narrative.

In the afternoon Ken and I headed downtown for a walk. There's a city strike on at the moment, which limited our options. For starters, ferry service to Toronto Island has been suspended, so we couldn't go there. Normally that would have been my first choice. All the usual Canada Day festivities were cancelled. Boooooo! And the absence of garbage collection has turned many parks into impromptu garbage dumps.

When in doubt, go for ice cream. We rode the subway down to Yorkville and got cones at Summer's. Neither of us can eat proper ice cream, being various shades of non-dairy, but Summer's has other options. Ken got a lactose-free soft serve. For the life of me I can't recall the name of it. It was something silly like Moo Whip. (But not Moo Whip.)

I got watermelon sorbet. It's pink and contains "watermelon seeds" made of dark chocolate. Mmm... Summer's also rocks because they'll give you a freshly baked waffle cone at no extra charge. I've seen them baking them there myself. That's good stuff.

After ice cream we went for a walk down Yonge St. We figured all the retail stores would be closed, but it was not so. We window-shopped and browsed the spring fashions. We people-watched and dodged crazy homeless folks. What is it about holidays that brings all the nuts out into the streets? There are never that many when we're downtown on a Saturday.

We finished the day with dinner at Milestone's, courtesy of a gift card that was given to us as a wedding gift. Milestone's is an upscale bar/steakhouse with locations across Canada. They grill consistently good steak, and considering that my iron is still low I feel that red meat is justified.

For fun we decided to order some bizarre mixed drinks. I got an "Emerald Martini", which included rum, blue curacao, peach juice, and pineapple juice - I can't remember what else. It was very green, and very sweet. Too sweet for me. But definitely fun.

And there you have it! That was Canada Day. We walked home; I practiced my violin; then I fell into bed and slept like a log after all the walking, sun, fresh air, ice cream, steak, and rum. Now, that's a good day.

Beauty Tips and Tricks

I've been a bit obsessed with my appearance lately. As I get older I become more conscious of the fact that I won't look young forever, and I want to enjoy my good features while they're still relatively fresh. Once was, I couldn't be bothered with contact lenses, tooth whitening, hair colour, and makeup. Now I indulge in all of the above.

I finally bit the bullet around a month ago. I had been using the same moisturizer, $12 a bottle from the health food store, for over ten years. Nothing wrong with it, but my skin needed more help. I have a mild form of rosacea, and oily skin. By the end of each day I looked red and shiny, which is great if you're an apple. I'm no apple.

I shopped around at those fancy little kiosks that sell high-end lotions and potions: Clinique, Lancome, etc. I finally settled on Shiseido, and let the girl behind the counter sell me The Works. I even bought the silly sounding things, like the Balancing Softener (which looks like a bottle of water) and the special cotton puffs that cost $8 per bag. I thought I may as well go all the way. I dropped almost $400 at that little stall.

I fully expected it to be a complete waste. Then I could go back to my $12 moisturizer without any doubts in my mind.

Amazingly, the stuff actually works. Not all of it. I find that the expensive blotting papers are no better than using paper towels, and the special cotton puffs are iffy. But the rest is having a very visible effect on my complexion. I'm not nearly as red-cheeked as I was, and my skin is smoother. The SPF50 sun lotion doubles as an oil control measure (I believe the technical term is "mattifying"), so I don't shine by the end of the day. I'm a convert.

Here's my other good trick. I've been accumulating spider veins since the 9th grade, so at this point I'm not willing to show my bare legs in public. For a long time I only wore pants, because even a modest skirt showed off those ugly veins. I tried going for injection treatments at a cosmetic clinic, but my needle phobia got the better of me and I found it too stressful to continue. However, I have found a solution. There is a dancer's supply store near my home. They stock the completely opaque tights worn by dancers and figure skaters. I bought a few pairs in the generic "tan" colour. Now I can wear short skirts without grossing out the general public. Yahoo!

I'll try not to take it too far. I don't want to be one of those women who apply makeup with a trowel. But for now I'm having fun looking my best.

Family Gossip

Generally speaking I don't like to use my blog as a soapbox to gossip about people who aren't present to defend themselves. Except for sometimes, when I'm really, really peeved. Like now.

I figure that venting my spleen anonymously is better than blowing up at family members or having a nervous breakdown.

There is always tension in the air when my mom's side of my family gets together. We are a sensitive lot, and moody. At any given time there's usually at least one person feeling upset about something or other. That's why it's hard to know where it all began, exactly. But let's begin with my wedding.

Ken and I only invited siblings and parents to our wedding. That's all Ken has for family anyway. On my side, it meant that quite a lot of people were excluded. My maternal grandparents very graciously gave me a card and a gift cheque, with their best wishes. My younger aunt didn't give me any Things, but did call the night before the ceremony to wish us well. My older aunt and her husband didn't call or give a gift, which was what I expected, and felt to be perfectly reasonable.

My mother, who has had lifelong conflicts with my older aunt and her husband, felt this was selfish of them. She thought that they should have at least given me a card. She communicated this sentiment to my step-dad (yes, the very one she's currently divorcing). He works with my uncle in a family business, so he did us the big favour of passing this tidbit along to my uncle. Unfortunately, a broken telephone effect occurred, and my uncle ended up with the impression that I was that one who had taken offense. Which he, of course, found offensive.

When this all came back to me, again courtesy of my well-meaning but meddling step-dad, I thought I'd better set things to rights, so I called my aunt and uncle's home straightaway. I spoke to my uncle. We worked out that they weren't offended by either my conversion to Christianity or the lack of wedding invitations, so that was all good. But he did still have a bone to pick with me.

I moved into my current condo three years ago. It's not big enough to hold my entire family for a sit-down meal at one time, so once I was settled in, I invited them over in two batches. The first group to get invited was my mom, my grandparents, and my mom's single younger sister. That made six of us around the table.

It was a very busy time for me, not incidentally because I was working a lot of stressful overtime for my uncle's business that year. I was very devoted to that job because of my strong value for family connections. In any case, it took me a few weeks after the first dinner to find another clear date in my planner, at which time I invited my aunt, uncle, and my cousins for dinner.

My aunt and uncle claimed to be too busy to commit to a dinner date. I told them to let me know when they were free to come over, as they were welcome anytime that I was available. They never called me back to set a date. I was mildly put off by this apparent lack of interest in my hospitality, but I frankly find hosting dinners, especially family dinners, to be a source of anxiety, so I didn't chase after them.

Last night I found out from my uncle that he and my aunt have been holding a grudge against me for three years because of those events. Here is my crime in their eyes: I didn't call them when I invited my mom, grandparents and other aunt to dinner, to explain to them why they weren't invited at the same time. I "went behind their backs" (my uncle's words) to invite the other family members first, which made them feel that they were "on the B list" and this was highly offensive. So offensive that they deliberately refused to come over for dinner.

I tried to explain that I meant no offense. But that wasn't good enough. My uncle accused me of being insensitive. Later I received an e-mail from my aunt echoing his sentiments. Neither of them were interested in accepting my apologies for unintentionally hurting their feelings. They would rather hold a grudge. Not only that, but each of them also managed to get in a few choice judgements on how I live my life and how they feel I've been a failure to my family.

In fact, my uncle was so enthused about telling me all my wrong-doings that he repeatedly interrupted me during our phone conversation, only allowing me to finish around half of my sentences. Eventually I just gave up.

I have some judgements about their lives that I could have thrown back in their faces. But once I started down that road it would be like lighting the fuse on a bomb that would blow up the whole family for months to come. These things always affect my mother much more than they affect me, so out of respect for her feelings and out of a desire to protect her from unnecessary pain, I zipped up my lips and said only positive, soothing things.

Of course I was hurt, and furious.

Since then I've been wrestling with the pressure of things left unsaid seething around inside my psyche. But time does pass, and this is only a tempest in a teapot that will seem sillier with each passing day. I hope. I did write an e-mail back to my aunt that was an attempt at being conciliatory. I said that I hoped we could just try to focus on each other's good points, and enjoy each other's company, so that we could have friendly family gatherings in the future. Knowing my aunt, she may find something to take offense at in my message. She's an expert in taking offense.

Finally, I should add that both my aunt and uncle did say that they love me, and that no matter what we'll always be family. I got the feeling their version of love consists of them feeling that they need to work to tolerate my difficult and ignorant behaviour, but they are such good people that they will try to be brave and put up with me. I didn't say it, but the feeling is mutual.

June, the Fastest Month

Where is time going lately? This weekend flew past.

On Saturday morning I had an early practice with the church band, and on Sunday we performed. The music was far from perfect, but we were about 100,000 times better than last time. We now have a drummer, so that pretty much resolves the problem of everyone playing at their own tempo.

I am officially part of "The Rhythm Section". When we're playing a fast piece with a complex drum rhythm, we need a little extra help sticking to the beat. I get to be the metronome, with the help of a pair of claves. Dude, did you know how cool I am? I'm like, in a BAND now, and I play lead clave*!

(That's pronounced CLA-vay, by the way. It's a Latin thing.)

On Sunday afternoon I attended a memorial celebration for Zaidy. It was a good one: well-attended, and rich with meaningful moments. For me the biggest treat was getting to see my relatives who live on the West coast: an uncle, and aunt, and two cousins. My older cousin is in his early 20's. He's also in a BAND, dude, but his is actually legit. He gave me a copy of his latest CD. He's one of the nicest young guys you could hope to meet, and handsome to boot. I'm sure he has to be the girls off with a stick.

My younger cousin is only 8. She's a little sweetie-pie, and cute as a button. After the official memorial was over and the obligation to remain subdued had passed, she put on her tap shoes and performed a fantastic tap-dance routine to the Beach Boys' "Surfing USA". Bravo! Encore!

Overall the weekend was pretty great. Summer is here. The weather is superb. It's all good.