Voyager, the third instalment in the Outlander series, has Claire discover that Jamie may not have died in battle at Culloden. Confirmation forces her to face the most difficult of decisions: should she leave her grown daughter in the hopes of seeing Jamie again? The decision is made at the 11th hour at Brianna’s behest – Go or I do! So Claire does. She travels through the stones and across Scotland to seek out Jamie. She finds him right where she expects to and one of the most adorable scenes every committed to paper unfolds. When they finally determine they are both real and not a figment of the others imagination, they get on with familiarizing themselves with each other again and not just in ‘that’ way! And of course the adventure begins. I know it wouldn’t make for very interesting reading otherwise, but these two sure do seem to find their share of trouble. There’s a brothel, a fire, bigamy, a kidnapping, long lost jewels, slaves and voodoo! They cover Scotland, France, the West Indies and more!
Again, Diana Gabaldon does not disappoint. I am so in love with these two characters I may follow them even if they led a normal quiet life. I usually encounter some form of disappointment in the portrayal of a beloved character this deep into a series. So far, I’ve no cause to complain, Diana Gabaldon has done a fantastic job of not deviating from what we’ve come to expect of the people in her story. And while the sheer volume of excitement is a wee bit unbelievable, her use of historical detail is always accurate.
I have only two complaints, one being her verbosity. I hold to my belief that she could have used a braver editor. The second, and this is no fault of the authors, only my apparently unreasonable expectations, I wanted Brianna to go back in time too!
There, now I’ve written this review as I promised myself I would before I began the fourth book, Drums of Autumn. My procrastination has had a palpable effect and I am dying to begin the next one (although Spot has made me just the teeniest weary).
Monday, January 11, 2010
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Cannonball Read II - Book #4: Coraline by Neil Gaiman
Ah ha! I didn't think I could count Coraline toward Cannonball Read because it weighs in at a very feathery 162 pages, but I checked the Facebook page and Woo hoo! Nicole has graciously allowed a length of "150 pages or so"!
I had seen the movie Coraline having not known it was based on a book. It was visually stunning and incredibly creepy. I enjoyed it thoroughly. You understand then, how happy I was when I came across the novel at a local used book store. I read it one afternoon while my husband drove us to and from an away hockey game.
Coraline's family has just moved into a new apartment in a house that has been divided into apartments. Coraline is an explorer and having met the other eccentric inhabitants of the house, one of whom warns her to steer clear of the dangerous well, she "set off to explore for it, so that she knew where it was, to keep away from it properly". When the weather prevents her from exploring outdoors her father encourages her to explore indoors, "Count all the windows and doors. List everything blue. Mount an expedition to discover the hot water tank. And leave me alone to work." She discovers 153 blue things, 21 windows and 14 doors, one of which will not open. It is behind this door that adventure lies. Behind this door is the other mother and near perfect copies, creepy copies with button eyes, of all of the tenants in Coraline's divided house. The other mother has promised Coraline happiness, heavenly food and the attention her emotionally absent parents fail to give her, but at a cost.
Coraline is the adventurer just about every kid wants to be. She exhibits the courage every kid wishes they had in but she still experiences the fear they know they would feel. When she realizes her parents are gone, the police won't help and her neighbors are useless, that she is utterly alone, despite being terrified, she fights back.
Neil Gaiman paints the picture perfectly. He does a fabulous job appealing to children and parents alike. He had begun writing Coraline for one child and ended it 10 years later for another. The eldest read it when it was completed and when Neil said he hoped she wasn't too old for it, she responded by saying "I don't think you can be too old for Coraline." I'd have to say I agree.
I had seen the movie Coraline having not known it was based on a book. It was visually stunning and incredibly creepy. I enjoyed it thoroughly. You understand then, how happy I was when I came across the novel at a local used book store. I read it one afternoon while my husband drove us to and from an away hockey game.
Coraline's family has just moved into a new apartment in a house that has been divided into apartments. Coraline is an explorer and having met the other eccentric inhabitants of the house, one of whom warns her to steer clear of the dangerous well, she "set off to explore for it, so that she knew where it was, to keep away from it properly". When the weather prevents her from exploring outdoors her father encourages her to explore indoors, "Count all the windows and doors. List everything blue. Mount an expedition to discover the hot water tank. And leave me alone to work." She discovers 153 blue things, 21 windows and 14 doors, one of which will not open. It is behind this door that adventure lies. Behind this door is the other mother and near perfect copies, creepy copies with button eyes, of all of the tenants in Coraline's divided house. The other mother has promised Coraline happiness, heavenly food and the attention her emotionally absent parents fail to give her, but at a cost.
Coraline is the adventurer just about every kid wants to be. She exhibits the courage every kid wishes they had in but she still experiences the fear they know they would feel. When she realizes her parents are gone, the police won't help and her neighbors are useless, that she is utterly alone, despite being terrified, she fights back.
Neil Gaiman paints the picture perfectly. He does a fabulous job appealing to children and parents alike. He had begun writing Coraline for one child and ended it 10 years later for another. The eldest read it when it was completed and when Neil said he hoped she wasn't too old for it, she responded by saying "I don't think you can be too old for Coraline." I'd have to say I agree.
Cannonball Read II - Book #3: Dragonfly in Amber by Diana Gabaldon
It happened. I was afraid it might and it did. I forgot. Not what the book was about but the specifics of this particular entry in the Outlander series that would make a review relevant and coherent. I wiki'd and read other reviews, I asked Dani all to little avail. The story has become a whole, it would seem I may be unable to view its parts going forward. Which begs the question - I understand I may have used that phrase in the wrong context but to be quite honest, I don't understand how the other context works and old habits die hard and can a phrase not evolve/adapt? Commence freaking out- Where was I? Oh yeah, begging the question; how will I treat the remainder of the series? We shall see.
Outlander concluded with Claire in Jamie's arms and the very strong hint of pregnancy on her lips, everyone firmly in the 18th century. So you can imagine my surprise when Dragonfly in Amber opens to find Claire in the 20th century. She has just returned to Scotland and has her 20 year old daughter Brianna, in tow. Claire has returned intent upon revealing that the man Brianna thought her father, Frank Randall, was not and her biological father was in fact an 18th century Highlander. In her attempt to convince Brianna of the truth Claire has recruited the help of an historian and family friend.
Clarie's return to the 20th century is explained by way of a lengthy flashback. We learn that Jamie and Claire attempt to change the course of history and save the lives of many highlanders by doing every thing they can to prevent the Jacobite rebellion. When they fail, they return to Jamie's home, Lallybroch, in hopes of avoiding the battle and weathering the subsequent hardship endured by the Scots. Jamie is forced however, to support the attempt on the throne. Knowing what Claire has shared with him of recorded history and the results of the battle, Jamie begs Claire to return to her own time because he knows she is pregnant and wants to ensure the safety of her and the child.
Suffice it to say, the writing is fantastic albeit a bit lengthy. I don't mind the more than 750 pages, but I don't think an editor with a slightly heavier hand would have hurt the tale any. I continue to love/hate the many characters both old and new and when I finished Dragonfly in Amber, wild horses could not have kept me from Voyager, the next installment in the Outlander series.
Outlander concluded with Claire in Jamie's arms and the very strong hint of pregnancy on her lips, everyone firmly in the 18th century. So you can imagine my surprise when Dragonfly in Amber opens to find Claire in the 20th century. She has just returned to Scotland and has her 20 year old daughter Brianna, in tow. Claire has returned intent upon revealing that the man Brianna thought her father, Frank Randall, was not and her biological father was in fact an 18th century Highlander. In her attempt to convince Brianna of the truth Claire has recruited the help of an historian and family friend.
Clarie's return to the 20th century is explained by way of a lengthy flashback. We learn that Jamie and Claire attempt to change the course of history and save the lives of many highlanders by doing every thing they can to prevent the Jacobite rebellion. When they fail, they return to Jamie's home, Lallybroch, in hopes of avoiding the battle and weathering the subsequent hardship endured by the Scots. Jamie is forced however, to support the attempt on the throne. Knowing what Claire has shared with him of recorded history and the results of the battle, Jamie begs Claire to return to her own time because he knows she is pregnant and wants to ensure the safety of her and the child.
Suffice it to say, the writing is fantastic albeit a bit lengthy. I don't mind the more than 750 pages, but I don't think an editor with a slightly heavier hand would have hurt the tale any. I continue to love/hate the many characters both old and new and when I finished Dragonfly in Amber, wild horses could not have kept me from Voyager, the next installment in the Outlander series.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Is There Anybody Out There?
Hi there! I thought I’d drop a quick note to let you know I am still alive. Cause y’all are beside yourselves with worry over my whereabouts, right? RIGHT?!?!
I hate teenage girls. Except my own. The rest of them are hateful little drama queen’s intent on absorbing all of the attention in a kilometre radius like a black fucking hole. Casualties be damned.
My head is apparently attempting to mutiny. I would happily oblige by decapitating myself to end the pain but I’m afraid that may be detrimental to the health of my body and mind. They seem to be terribly co-dependent. Who am I to separate them? Though my head is threatening what seems an infinite migraine.
I am nearly done my Christmas shopping but for the boy. It’s the same thing every year. I have the wickedest time buying for him. Is it because he’s easy to please or because he already has so much? A little of both really. Other than that? Stocking stuffers; which are a cake walk. Buy 10 lbs of chocolate and divide it between 4 stockings and by December 31st we have all gained 10 lbs. Do not question the math, you know it to be accurate, you have witnessed this phenomenon personally. The question of stuffers becomes a smidgen more difficult if I am required to put anymore thought into them.
I read Coraline this weekend between bouts of debilitating pain. It’s a book! Whodda thunk it? Review to follow.
I watched Inglorious Basterds on the weekend. Brace yourself because I am about to make a very bold statement I know many of you will not agree with. Are you ready? Quentin Tarantino is a genius. I adore him. Yes, it was that good. A tad gory for my tastes (not constant, but definitely copious when it was), but the dialogue was fantastic. I would have watched The Hangover as well but (and this will come as no surprise to many of you), I fell asleep. Oh yes! A party animal am I. I find myself hard pressed to stay awake past Midnight these days.
I hate teenage girls. Except my own. The rest of them are hateful little drama queen’s intent on absorbing all of the attention in a kilometre radius like a black fucking hole. Casualties be damned.
My head is apparently attempting to mutiny. I would happily oblige by decapitating myself to end the pain but I’m afraid that may be detrimental to the health of my body and mind. They seem to be terribly co-dependent. Who am I to separate them? Though my head is threatening what seems an infinite migraine.
I am nearly done my Christmas shopping but for the boy. It’s the same thing every year. I have the wickedest time buying for him. Is it because he’s easy to please or because he already has so much? A little of both really. Other than that? Stocking stuffers; which are a cake walk. Buy 10 lbs of chocolate and divide it between 4 stockings and by December 31st we have all gained 10 lbs. Do not question the math, you know it to be accurate, you have witnessed this phenomenon personally. The question of stuffers becomes a smidgen more difficult if I am required to put anymore thought into them.
I read Coraline this weekend between bouts of debilitating pain. It’s a book! Whodda thunk it? Review to follow.
I watched Inglorious Basterds on the weekend. Brace yourself because I am about to make a very bold statement I know many of you will not agree with. Are you ready? Quentin Tarantino is a genius. I adore him. Yes, it was that good. A tad gory for my tastes (not constant, but definitely copious when it was), but the dialogue was fantastic. I would have watched The Hangover as well but (and this will come as no surprise to many of you), I fell asleep. Oh yes! A party animal am I. I find myself hard pressed to stay awake past Midnight these days.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Table for One? Not On Your Life!
The following post will be written by several of my personalities. Most of whom I manage to keep in check most of the time. This week, however? This week has been a Shit storm from the onset (for the purpose of this blog post a week is a rolling 7 day period as opposed to the more traditional Sunday to Saturday definition). But maybe not as bad as all that. - See? Conflicting buggers! - So it will be both a pity party and gut churningly - Microsoft doesn’t believe ‘churningly’ is a word. You know what I got to say to Microsoft? Fuck off! It is now! – Where was I? Oh, yeah! Gut churningly cheery and optimistic. Also, it’s about to get way personal up in here!
First, the Cannonball. Yes I am still reading, albeit at a snail’s pace. Yes, snails read and yes they read slow. Poor, speed challenged molluscs (Canadian spelling, my Ameri-friends). Anyhoo, maybe if I had picked something a little smaller, I may have finished it. But I didn’t. I’m on the third book in the Outlander series and the thing is enormous. 900 + pages and while the story is fantabulous (oh! Fantabulous is a word but you underline ‘churningly’? I repeat; Fuck off, Microsoft!) I’m feeling a little overwhelmed at present. Evidence to follow. Also, because it’s a series and I’ve started the next book, I’m having trouble remembering where one ends and another begins and Dani has my book, and I am too lazy to go looking up the info I require on the World Wide Webs. A review is forthcoming. Promise.
For those of you that have the benefit of being my friend on Crackbook/Facespace, speak to me on the phone or know me in person, you already know I had my hair done for my work Christmas party on Saturday. Not an up do. I’m not an up do kinda girl, but I had it cut, coloured and highlighted. All for one low price of $75. Because my stylist is an angel and she decided about a year ago she no longer wanted to be a slave to the man, so she opened up shop in her in-laws house (read: she had a baby and the in-laws are what you call ‘built-in babysitters’). No longer having to pay astronomical chair fees equates to charging her clients less. Yay for me! Which is exactly what I was thinking when I backed my car into a tree in her driveway!
Fuckin’, fuckity, fucker, fuck. My car is new. I got it in February. I have the worst luck with vehicles. Seriously, if you suspect mechanical trouble with your mode of personal transportation; please, allow me to take it for a spin around the block and I assure it will have fallen apart by the time I return. Also, I am easily distracted and my attention span is very tiny. And I’m unobservant. I pray the Ministry of Transportation never finds my blog because they will insist I hand over my license to operate a motor vehicle.
I won’t drone on too much about the work party because Dani did a wonderful job summing up the festivities and you have probably already read that. What? You haven’t?!? Whas amatta wit’ ya? –haha, I think spell check just died! - Go on, read it now! K, now that that’s fixed; The party was a big plate of Meh. I drank 7 (7!) Ceasar’s with jalapeño infused vodka (those are Bloody Marys for my Ameri-friends (damn y’all are high maintenance)). Those were yummy, mmm mmm good. I was breathing fire before the night was out but well worth it, I gotta tell ya. And one dirty gin Martini. I am a cheap drunk. Which is the reason I can say, without fear of being wrong, that shit was watered down. I walked out of there stone-cold sober. 8 alcoholic beverages and I should have been telling everyone how much I loved them, I should have been dancing like nobody was watching, I should not have had a care in the world. Not the case.
Note to the people who run the establishment that disappointed me last Saturday evening: do not water down your alcohol. Some of us depend on a little jalapeño infused lubrication when attending functions of the sort I was obligated to attend that night and are sorely let down when the expected release of tension is not forthcoming. Your only saving grace in the matter, Sirs, is that I did not pay one shiny penny for the waste of time. Thank you.
Now, a little back story; my husband is the light of my life. There are few men on the earth as wonderful as he. He is not without fault, but his strengths far outweigh his shortcomings. As a rule, I am single minded in my devotion, there isn’t anyone who will sing his praises as loudly or as zealously. As a rule. But there are exceptions to every goddamned rule, are there not?
As much as I adore my man and as much as I believe we are made for one another, ours has not been an easy road. And right now, that road is rocky. You see, the move to Nova Scotia was not enjoyable for me. I have nothing against the province itself (it is a lovely place), but moving here effected me in one negative way after another. Mostly in the employment department, but not exclusively. I had a job I loved that made good money. I worked for the same company when we moved but my hours were cut considerably. Consequently, so was my pay cheque. Stress, no? Let’s also make a few bad decisions (such as my current place of employment, where I still do not make the money I made in Ontario and my boss is well, Narci). Add to that the absence of all of the family and friends I was used to having at fingers reach. Stir in the utter lack of ability to deal with the mounting stress. Sadly, life did not stop to allow Eyvi time to recoup. Even sadder still, is that Eyvi (yes, I enjoy referring to myself in the third person) allowed this to effect not just her married life but her family life. I’ve allowed the anger, sadness and disappointment at my current lot in life to weave its way into the one place I shouldn’t have; home. In short, I felt sorry for myself and didn’t take other’s feelings into account. So it should come as no surprise to anyone (but myself of course, because I’m self-absorbed dammit) when my family started getting sick of my pity party. My kids being adorable little angels haven’t said anything, of course, because that would be insolent and I would have to beat them – I am kidding, put down the phone! There is no need to call the CAS – but my husband and I had a talk on Sunday about the unhappy. The anger. The D-word was mentioned. No, I have no qualms repeatedly typing fuck, but I will not type out that word, because if I don’t type it, it doesn’t exist. So, what’s a quick cure for a case of the” I feel sorry for me’s?” Point out the effect of that particular infliction on your loved ones. It’s been pointed out before, by the way, but apparently I need to have it beaten into my skull because subtleties are lost on me. In fact, I’m such an obtuse ass I thought “fine, maybe it’s true; maybe we’ve come to an impasse”. I took a little time to think about it though and I have to admit; I’ma have to shoulder the brunt of the blame here.
I know there are a number of you who are chomping at the bit right now and you want to point out that it takes two to tango and yadda yadda. But I accounted for that, remember? I told you how fantastic he is. Up there (I’d provide an arrow pointing up, but I don’t know how). I also mentioned that he has his faults, too. And a few of them are doozie’s. See? Totally got ya covered. But trust me when I say this – and yes, you may check if hell has frozen over or if pigs are flying – this is almost all my fault. Any differences we might have that make our road require the use of a 4X4 occasionally, are one thing. One of us moping around feeling bad for themselves for the better part of two years and taking said feelings out on those around them is another thing entirely.
So, fun new skill for me; reining in the selfish bitch before she’s pointed out to me.
Oh! I told y’all I joined Weight Watchers, right? Well I lost 4lbs last week! Yippee! Fun fact: 7 Ceasar’s = 21.5 points (60 was the entire night! Sorry, Dani, I misremembered). Oops, hehe.
Finally, (cause that really is enough for one fuckin’ day, isn’t it) Christmas is right around the corner. Right there, see it? I know! I’m excited too! I love Christmas. I love everything about Christmas; the giving, the receiving (I really like receiving), the cooking, the baking, the eating (again, really like), the pretty lights, the pretty paper (starting to sound like a Willie Nelson song). You get the idea. The hubby and the kids have a couple of weeks off, I have at least 5 consecutive days off (on the right days too, imagine the luck!). Here’s an early Christmas wish to you and yours, I hope it is everything you want it to be!
Told ya it was gonna be a roller coster ride.
First, the Cannonball. Yes I am still reading, albeit at a snail’s pace. Yes, snails read and yes they read slow. Poor, speed challenged molluscs (Canadian spelling, my Ameri-friends). Anyhoo, maybe if I had picked something a little smaller, I may have finished it. But I didn’t. I’m on the third book in the Outlander series and the thing is enormous. 900 + pages and while the story is fantabulous (oh! Fantabulous is a word but you underline ‘churningly’? I repeat; Fuck off, Microsoft!) I’m feeling a little overwhelmed at present. Evidence to follow. Also, because it’s a series and I’ve started the next book, I’m having trouble remembering where one ends and another begins and Dani has my book, and I am too lazy to go looking up the info I require on the World Wide Webs. A review is forthcoming. Promise.
For those of you that have the benefit of being my friend on Crackbook/Facespace, speak to me on the phone or know me in person, you already know I had my hair done for my work Christmas party on Saturday. Not an up do. I’m not an up do kinda girl, but I had it cut, coloured and highlighted. All for one low price of $75. Because my stylist is an angel and she decided about a year ago she no longer wanted to be a slave to the man, so she opened up shop in her in-laws house (read: she had a baby and the in-laws are what you call ‘built-in babysitters’). No longer having to pay astronomical chair fees equates to charging her clients less. Yay for me! Which is exactly what I was thinking when I backed my car into a tree in her driveway!
Fuckin’, fuckity, fucker, fuck. My car is new. I got it in February. I have the worst luck with vehicles. Seriously, if you suspect mechanical trouble with your mode of personal transportation; please, allow me to take it for a spin around the block and I assure it will have fallen apart by the time I return. Also, I am easily distracted and my attention span is very tiny. And I’m unobservant. I pray the Ministry of Transportation never finds my blog because they will insist I hand over my license to operate a motor vehicle.
I won’t drone on too much about the work party because Dani did a wonderful job summing up the festivities and you have probably already read that. What? You haven’t?!? Whas amatta wit’ ya? –haha, I think spell check just died! - Go on, read it now! K, now that that’s fixed; The party was a big plate of Meh. I drank 7 (7!) Ceasar’s with jalapeño infused vodka (those are Bloody Marys for my Ameri-friends (damn y’all are high maintenance)). Those were yummy, mmm mmm good. I was breathing fire before the night was out but well worth it, I gotta tell ya. And one dirty gin Martini. I am a cheap drunk. Which is the reason I can say, without fear of being wrong, that shit was watered down. I walked out of there stone-cold sober. 8 alcoholic beverages and I should have been telling everyone how much I loved them, I should have been dancing like nobody was watching, I should not have had a care in the world. Not the case.
Note to the people who run the establishment that disappointed me last Saturday evening: do not water down your alcohol. Some of us depend on a little jalapeño infused lubrication when attending functions of the sort I was obligated to attend that night and are sorely let down when the expected release of tension is not forthcoming. Your only saving grace in the matter, Sirs, is that I did not pay one shiny penny for the waste of time. Thank you.
Now, a little back story; my husband is the light of my life. There are few men on the earth as wonderful as he. He is not without fault, but his strengths far outweigh his shortcomings. As a rule, I am single minded in my devotion, there isn’t anyone who will sing his praises as loudly or as zealously. As a rule. But there are exceptions to every goddamned rule, are there not?
As much as I adore my man and as much as I believe we are made for one another, ours has not been an easy road. And right now, that road is rocky. You see, the move to Nova Scotia was not enjoyable for me. I have nothing against the province itself (it is a lovely place), but moving here effected me in one negative way after another. Mostly in the employment department, but not exclusively. I had a job I loved that made good money. I worked for the same company when we moved but my hours were cut considerably. Consequently, so was my pay cheque. Stress, no? Let’s also make a few bad decisions (such as my current place of employment, where I still do not make the money I made in Ontario and my boss is well, Narci). Add to that the absence of all of the family and friends I was used to having at fingers reach. Stir in the utter lack of ability to deal with the mounting stress. Sadly, life did not stop to allow Eyvi time to recoup. Even sadder still, is that Eyvi (yes, I enjoy referring to myself in the third person) allowed this to effect not just her married life but her family life. I’ve allowed the anger, sadness and disappointment at my current lot in life to weave its way into the one place I shouldn’t have; home. In short, I felt sorry for myself and didn’t take other’s feelings into account. So it should come as no surprise to anyone (but myself of course, because I’m self-absorbed dammit) when my family started getting sick of my pity party. My kids being adorable little angels haven’t said anything, of course, because that would be insolent and I would have to beat them – I am kidding, put down the phone! There is no need to call the CAS – but my husband and I had a talk on Sunday about the unhappy. The anger. The D-word was mentioned. No, I have no qualms repeatedly typing fuck, but I will not type out that word, because if I don’t type it, it doesn’t exist. So, what’s a quick cure for a case of the” I feel sorry for me’s?” Point out the effect of that particular infliction on your loved ones. It’s been pointed out before, by the way, but apparently I need to have it beaten into my skull because subtleties are lost on me. In fact, I’m such an obtuse ass I thought “fine, maybe it’s true; maybe we’ve come to an impasse”. I took a little time to think about it though and I have to admit; I’ma have to shoulder the brunt of the blame here.
I know there are a number of you who are chomping at the bit right now and you want to point out that it takes two to tango and yadda yadda. But I accounted for that, remember? I told you how fantastic he is. Up there (I’d provide an arrow pointing up, but I don’t know how). I also mentioned that he has his faults, too. And a few of them are doozie’s. See? Totally got ya covered. But trust me when I say this – and yes, you may check if hell has frozen over or if pigs are flying – this is almost all my fault. Any differences we might have that make our road require the use of a 4X4 occasionally, are one thing. One of us moping around feeling bad for themselves for the better part of two years and taking said feelings out on those around them is another thing entirely.
So, fun new skill for me; reining in the selfish bitch before she’s pointed out to me.
Oh! I told y’all I joined Weight Watchers, right? Well I lost 4lbs last week! Yippee! Fun fact: 7 Ceasar’s = 21.5 points (60 was the entire night! Sorry, Dani, I misremembered). Oops, hehe.
Finally, (cause that really is enough for one fuckin’ day, isn’t it) Christmas is right around the corner. Right there, see it? I know! I’m excited too! I love Christmas. I love everything about Christmas; the giving, the receiving (I really like receiving), the cooking, the baking, the eating (again, really like), the pretty lights, the pretty paper (starting to sound like a Willie Nelson song). You get the idea. The hubby and the kids have a couple of weeks off, I have at least 5 consecutive days off (on the right days too, imagine the luck!). Here’s an early Christmas wish to you and yours, I hope it is everything you want it to be!
Told ya it was gonna be a roller coster ride.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
It's Famous, I Tell Ya!
Tomorrow, my husband will attend a pot-luck lunch at work. Being a man of minimal cooking ability he will unfailingly offer up my services to make a dish when asked for his contribution. His go-to dish used to be beet salad. Yes, you read that right.
The majority of my family is from the great province of Newfoundland. Home of a vast array of edible ocean creatures, vision impairing moonshine, the yummy bake apple and beet salad. Beet salad is a simple concoction: mashed potatoes, mayo, sugar and pickled beets.
Early in our relationship I presented this dish (among others; never mention the flying Honey N' Garlic chicken wing, I'm afraid the trauma is still too fresh) as evidence of my superior culinary skills to my (not quite) husband. I was, as I am sure you can understand, apprehensive. I worried he, being of Finnish and Australian heritage, would look upon my humble offering with distaste. It is an unusual dish. My worries were unfounded. He did not turn up his nose. In fact, he embraced my quirky pink potato salad with delight. It quickly advanced to the top of his favourites list. So much so, that he began to volunteer my salad for every potluck, every backyard party, for every event where it might be acceptable to bring food.
I glowed with pride, in the beginning. I soon tired of explaining the significance of the salad, assuring the non-believers that it is a traditional Newfie salad, encouraging the more courageous. Eventually, I began suggesting other dishes. I understood the usual reaction, the salad is PINK, for the love of Pete! Had I never encountered it before, I would question it as well. As it is, I've been eating since I was this big. But he never wavered. Until this week.
I do enjoy a good beet salad. The potato salad I prefer to present to polite company however, is much less controversial. Not any less traditional, though. Auntie taught my Mother how to make potato salad and Mom taught me. I've tweaked it a little over time, so it has my stamp, but it is essentially Auntie's salad. This salad I have never had to explain, there was never a need to encourage anyone to try it. It does have a little surprise, though. It's a regular ol' potato salad with egg and mayo, whatever spices you might like to add for a little more flavour, a little onion perhaps. Auntie put apples in hers, and so did Mom, and so do I. Simple enough, but nummy just the same. A crowd pleaser as well, my potato salad was always invited back.
It has probably been about 14 years since I introduced my husband to beet salad. I brought it to every event he asked me to for approximately 10 of those years. This week he asked me to make potato salad. Not My potato salad mind you. I don't think he likes apple-y potato salad half as much as he likes the beets and so, it makes no sense to him that I should prefer to make the apple one. I do, though and I did.
I find I may just miss making the beet salad for the unsuspecting party-goers. Fickle, aren't I?
The majority of my family is from the great province of Newfoundland. Home of a vast array of edible ocean creatures, vision impairing moonshine, the yummy bake apple and beet salad. Beet salad is a simple concoction: mashed potatoes, mayo, sugar and pickled beets.
Early in our relationship I presented this dish (among others; never mention the flying Honey N' Garlic chicken wing, I'm afraid the trauma is still too fresh) as evidence of my superior culinary skills to my (not quite) husband. I was, as I am sure you can understand, apprehensive. I worried he, being of Finnish and Australian heritage, would look upon my humble offering with distaste. It is an unusual dish. My worries were unfounded. He did not turn up his nose. In fact, he embraced my quirky pink potato salad with delight. It quickly advanced to the top of his favourites list. So much so, that he began to volunteer my salad for every potluck, every backyard party, for every event where it might be acceptable to bring food.
I glowed with pride, in the beginning. I soon tired of explaining the significance of the salad, assuring the non-believers that it is a traditional Newfie salad, encouraging the more courageous. Eventually, I began suggesting other dishes. I understood the usual reaction, the salad is PINK, for the love of Pete! Had I never encountered it before, I would question it as well. As it is, I've been eating since I was this big. But he never wavered. Until this week.
I do enjoy a good beet salad. The potato salad I prefer to present to polite company however, is much less controversial. Not any less traditional, though. Auntie taught my Mother how to make potato salad and Mom taught me. I've tweaked it a little over time, so it has my stamp, but it is essentially Auntie's salad. This salad I have never had to explain, there was never a need to encourage anyone to try it. It does have a little surprise, though. It's a regular ol' potato salad with egg and mayo, whatever spices you might like to add for a little more flavour, a little onion perhaps. Auntie put apples in hers, and so did Mom, and so do I. Simple enough, but nummy just the same. A crowd pleaser as well, my potato salad was always invited back.
It has probably been about 14 years since I introduced my husband to beet salad. I brought it to every event he asked me to for approximately 10 of those years. This week he asked me to make potato salad. Not My potato salad mind you. I don't think he likes apple-y potato salad half as much as he likes the beets and so, it makes no sense to him that I should prefer to make the apple one. I do, though and I did.
I find I may just miss making the beet salad for the unsuspecting party-goers. Fickle, aren't I?
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
No Whining Wednesday, I Would Never Forget You!
I know I've been lax in my posting duties here lately and for that I apologize. Not that anyone has complained about my silence. I know you've missed my regular wit-filled wonders though, didn't you? Didn't you!?!
Guess what made my NWW just the bestest? I bought a plane ticket. To where, you ask? Well, let me tell you; I'm going home! I'm going home! -Home is Toronto, for those of you that haven't been paying attention. Now, smarten up! There will be a test!- Only for 6 days, but it is going to be 6 glorious days spent in the awesome company of my sister and my cousin. Both of whom I miss so much it causes me physical pain. Cause I'm needy like that. Oh, did I mention that it's for my birthday? And my sister's birthday is 8 days after mine, so it wouldn't be unacceptable if we celebrated both, simultaneously. Not to worry, we plan to warn the local authorities. I'm going to see my Mom, too and hopefully, Auntie and Mad Max. Everyone combined? The pressure has reached dangerous levels. I feel like I may explode. Also? The ticket was wicked cheap. I couldn't have justified the expense, otherwise. I have to admit though; I'm a wee bit apprehensive about flying in February. Please do not regale me with your extensive knowledge of anything air traffic related. In my case; ignorance is bliss.
Wanna know what else I got to be happy 'bout? Do ya? Do ya? Huh? I have managed to walk for at least 45 minutes a night regularly, for a month. If you know the potential for lazy I possess, then you understand this is a fantastic feat. AND for 4 days in a row I got out of bed at an ungodly hour and used the elliptical that has spent an alarming amount of time posing as a dust catcher. Amazing, right? Inspired by my seemingly endless will power, I also re-joined Weight Watchers. I kinda feel invincible right now.
That's just a little something to keep y'all hanging on. Cause I know you hang off my every word! I cannot be held solely responsible for my absence though (cause, I'm all about passing the buck). I have discovered so many wonderful blogs that by the time I catch up on all the writing you're doing, I haven't time to write anything myself. So really, who is to blame here?
Ta-ta for now!
Guess what made my NWW just the bestest? I bought a plane ticket. To where, you ask? Well, let me tell you; I'm going home! I'm going home! -Home is Toronto, for those of you that haven't been paying attention. Now, smarten up! There will be a test!- Only for 6 days, but it is going to be 6 glorious days spent in the awesome company of my sister and my cousin. Both of whom I miss so much it causes me physical pain. Cause I'm needy like that. Oh, did I mention that it's for my birthday? And my sister's birthday is 8 days after mine, so it wouldn't be unacceptable if we celebrated both, simultaneously. Not to worry, we plan to warn the local authorities. I'm going to see my Mom, too and hopefully, Auntie and Mad Max. Everyone combined? The pressure has reached dangerous levels. I feel like I may explode. Also? The ticket was wicked cheap. I couldn't have justified the expense, otherwise. I have to admit though; I'm a wee bit apprehensive about flying in February. Please do not regale me with your extensive knowledge of anything air traffic related. In my case; ignorance is bliss.
Wanna know what else I got to be happy 'bout? Do ya? Do ya? Huh? I have managed to walk for at least 45 minutes a night regularly, for a month. If you know the potential for lazy I possess, then you understand this is a fantastic feat. AND for 4 days in a row I got out of bed at an ungodly hour and used the elliptical that has spent an alarming amount of time posing as a dust catcher. Amazing, right? Inspired by my seemingly endless will power, I also re-joined Weight Watchers. I kinda feel invincible right now.
That's just a little something to keep y'all hanging on. Cause I know you hang off my every word! I cannot be held solely responsible for my absence though (cause, I'm all about passing the buck). I have discovered so many wonderful blogs that by the time I catch up on all the writing you're doing, I haven't time to write anything myself. So really, who is to blame here?
Ta-ta for now!
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