{ summer eats }

I meant to publish this a few nights ago after we ate it, but I got distracted. I came up with a very simple, tasty (not to mention healthy) meal amidst the extreme heat we were suffering through. Gathering inspirations from Derek's cousins (Lemon Chicken) and Nigella Lawson (Red Chilli Pepper Pasta), we thoroughly enjoyed this for dinner:

Lemon Chicken

4 boneless, skinless chicken breast halves
juice of 1 lemon
2 tsp olive oil
1 clove garlic, minced
½ tsp dried oregano
pinch cayenne pepper
squeeze honey

Combine all the ingredients in a glass dish or ziploc bag. Marinate at room temperature for 20 minutes or in fridge for up to 6 hours.

Preheat BBQ on high. Place chicken on grill, reduce heat to medium and cook for 12 minutes, turning once halfway through cooking.

Red Chilli Pepper Pasta

4 servings dry whole wheat pasta (linguini, spaghetti, or capellini)
salt, for water
3-4 tbsp good olive oil
2 small, thinly sliced cloves of garlic
fat pinch dried red chilli pepper flakes
one small head broccoli
fresh ground pepper

Bring water for pasta to a boil. Salt water. Boil pasta. Meanwhile, chop broccoli into smaller florets. In a large, deep skillet saute oil, garlic and broccoli over medium heat. Once broccoli is crisp and vibrant green, add pinch of chilli flakes and fresh ground pepper to taste. Saute. Drain cooked pasta, and add to broccoli skillet along with two tbsp of pasta water. Mix thoroughly and enjoy!


** Lemon Chicken recipe from Jordan and Joelle. Red Chilli Pepper Pasta recipe inspired by Nigella Lawson's "Spaghetti Aglio Olio Peperoncino" (see her cookbook Forever Summer).

{ back in business }

Well, sorry for my extended and unexplained absense. Karel's host server lost the files for all its users and had a major system crash. They spent the good part of one week dealing with the crash and then the good part of another attempting to do some file recovery. Unfortunately, none of my files were recovered. Fortunately, it didn't matter, because I have them backed up multiple times.

Hopefully I have not lost all my readers! Come back, come back, my pretties! I will write more for you ...

Until then, I did jot down two more entries during my little sabbatical. Check them out below, from July 24 and 26.

{ the perfect getaway }

So originally Derek and I had planned for this week to be our summer holidays; in fact, it would be our very first summer holidays (read: vacation) together alone since our honeymoon. I was pumped! Originally we were going to go to BC and visit his family, maybe cross the border down into Washington, explore Seattle, find some tidepools and catch the surf. However, we are going through our most financially difficult month since we were real newlyweds, so we decided to downsize our trip to just visiting his family. We would forget the alone part and settle for the getting away part. However, then we realized that we could not even afford the gas money to get to British Columbia. Thus, we decided to let his parents know we would be coming some other time instead, and we began revamping our trip. Since we had so enjoyed our time in the Wilderness at the end of June, we decided that maybe we should head back to the Rockies and spend some low-budget camping time in Jasper. However, we soon (sadly) realized that even two days of "roughing it" would prove to be above and beyond what our finances would allow this month. Sigh. We thought we would finally settle on a day at the World Waterpark here in town (it really is first class). We thought we remembered that it was about $15 per person, and we had a two for one coupon. Surely we would be able to enjoy a day on the spray-painted "beach", playing in the wave pool, pretending we were back in Mexico. However, Sunday night I pulled out the coupon book. 'Lo and behold, the coupon had expired. So, I called the Waterpark information line (it was 1:00am at the time). Surprise, surprise, they had raised the price to $30 per person. Plus it was $5 to rent an inner tube. And you have to pay at least $2 to lock up your change of clothes, because theft is such a problem. Plus we were planning to get lunch at the "beachside" snack bar, which would have been at least another ten dollars. All of a sudden we were looking at a $100 day at the waterpark. Thus, our last hope for a trip was cancelled. I went into the bath, steamed up the mirror really good, and cried. We had tried seemingly everything, and nothing had worked out. It was the let down of the summer.

Luckily, Super Husband that he is, Derek had an ultimately secret backup plan in mind. He had just never let me in on it. But late that night, with me all stuffed up with my pathetically sniffly nose, he told me all about this Plan B. He knows that I've always dreamt of going to a farm where I could pick my own fruit. For some of you that probably seems more like torture than a holiday, but, city girl that I am, I have never ever experienced something like this. I've read about it in quaint magazines, seen others do it in movies, and been on the receiving end of juicy peaches and succulant berries given by others who have gone away on exciting holidays to warm places. Derek had spent the past week investigating prime places to go fruit and vegetable picking, and he had finally settled on the place. It is not more than 40 minutes away, and we pass through another small town (which I love) on the way there. And so, suddenly, a new and exciting vision for a summertime getaway was birthed in my mind. We woke up early (but not too early) the next morning and I excitedly packed my new birthday tote bag with everything and anything I thought we might need--change for some snack food grabbed from the gas station, sunscreen, Derek's nerdy safari-style hat that I use to block the sun from my neck, our bathing suits and a towel, a map of Alberta, a change of clothes (and shoes) and, of course, my new digital camera. If anyone was ever set for a day of picking fruit, it was us.

And so, we headed out. On our way, we drove the miles and miles of gorgeous Albertan prairie that I love so much.



We even passed an entire herd of napping cows. Naturally, I had to get out to moo at them.



We finally got to the farm, where a cute young lady in a cowboy hat and overalls greeted us and informed us of the system. We would get a four litre pail and we could pick what we wanted. Strawberries would run us $11 a bucket; raspberries, $9; and saskatoon berries, $9 as well. We, being the difficult customers that we always are, asked if we could pick half raspberries, half strawberries and just pay $11 for the whole shabang. She agreed, with a smile, and showed us to the strawberry patch:



We crouched down on the hay and started picking away. Derek made pleasant conversation with an older man who was picking just one row over. My grin was so wide (nearly ear to ear) that not even the safari hat and pasted on sunscreen could hide it. "I'm having so much fun!" I announced over and over while Derek grinned, pleased with himself for having planned this day. I tasted my first ever "real" strawberry, right off the stem. It was still warm from the sun, and tasted nothing like the ones from the grocery store. To be honest, I usually detest strawberries. But, now that I've had the real thing, I've been won over. And I don't think I could ever go back to those mouldy little plastic crates from Sobey's. We picked and bucketed most berries, sneaking the odd one or two straight into our smiling and laughing mouths. We talked as we picked, and honestly, the strawberry section went by too fast! We decided to move slower once we got to the raspberry patch, to take our time and to savor every minute.













We went back to the front gate and asked the farm girl if she could keep our half bucket of strawberries in the shade for us. She kindly obliged, and offered to take us on a miniature tour of the rest of the farm. She led us over to the saskatoon berry patch and showed us around up and down the rows a little. "These are the best bushes. Those ones over there are too young. They'll be ready by next year, though." She then pointed us to the back of the property, up near the farmhouse, for the ripest and biggest raspberries. "Just take your time, walk around, and go for a walk through the vegetable gardens, too, if you want. They'll be ready for harvest in the fall, if you want to come back. Anyways, I'll be up front when you're done." We thanked her and took our time moseying through the saskatoon berry bushes. Derek has always loved saskatoon berries, especially in pie. I'd never even tasted one till that day. They are like tiny blueberries, with a little more grit and a bit of a different flavor. We ate a few off the bushes as we went, nearly competing with the birds for a little while!

We finally made our way through the saskatoon berries all the way to the back near the farmhouse. We passed by the vegetable garden and said a polite hello to the older couple tending to them. They saw us eagerly eyeing the corn and told us to come back in late August for it. We told them we surely would! Then we turned to face our favorite berries: raspberries! We picked and picked and talked and laughed and ate raspberries until our bellies turned a little sour. We found two tiny frogs, seemingly far from home, among the berry bushes, but they scooted off before I could scoop them up. Another forty minutes later, we had a generous half a pail of raspberries to take home to enjoy for ages.

We paid our well-spent $11 and headed off into phase two of our planned day. We decided to find the nearest lake on the map and go for a little dip. Sandy Beach was the closest one (though neither of us had ever heard of it), so off we went, nibbling berries as we went. The weather was gorgeous until we hit the tiny lakeside town of Sandy Beach. Then everything went downhill. The clouds rolled in, the wind picked up, thunder and lightning boomed and flashed. We attempted to sightsee, our windshield wipers flapping wildly, but finally we had seen all there was to see (all two streets of it). We pulled away a little disappointedly, having not even dipped a toe into the rough waters. We decided to head home.

Naturally, on the way home, things began clearing again. Although it was too late to make another attempt at a lake excursion, it wasn't too late for Derek to pull over and let me snap a couple photos of the amazingly natural color contrast:










We finished up the evening with dinner at one of our favorite Italian restaurants (and it was cheap night--even better!) followed by a victorious night of softball.

I told Derek a million times yesterday, and I am still telling him today, that our humble daytrip was perhaps the best holiday I've ever taken.

"Good thing I'm a simpleton at heart," I'm always reminding him.

And today? I'm freezing loads and loads of strawberries and raspberries for a rainy day.

{ puppy love }

Several evenings ago I hopped in the car with my mom and our little dog, Josie, for a night out at "Puppy Playtime", hosted by the local Petsmart store. Despite the fact that Josie is now two and a half years old, she is quite socially mal-adjusted. In fact, we suspect that she thinks she is a human. After all, she eats human food, sleeps in bed with my parents (with her head on a pillow), and detests going for walks (she prefers the car). She is curious about people but leery about other dogs, and as such, she will never interact with her own species. My mom decided she had to take action, so she enrolled her in 3 one-hour playtime sessions for $15. For that price, Josie will be able to run free for three hours with 10-20 other small and mal-adjusted puppies.

Once at Petsmart, Josie quickly went from curious to petrified as other dogs began arriving inside the gated off area. She attempted to climb as close to my mother's face as possible as her extreme separation anxiety resurfaced. However, I don't entirely blame her. Some of the other dogs were not shy and anxious as the flyer's description had advertised; in fact, they were outright bullies. "Buddy" (the ever-ironic name) was an aggressive butt-sniffer and toy-stealer. The other dog owners began mumbling about him the minute his owner showed up with him: "Oh, there's that Buddy. All he wants is to take toys from other dogs, even though he refuses to actually play with them himself." It was true. The minute a dog picked up a squeaky toy or a rope pull, he would be over there, growling at them until they submitted to him.

The entire scenerio was so much like a kindergarten class that it had my mother and I in stiches the entire time. There were the couple anxious kids who didn't want to leave mommy's leg (Josie was of this variety). There was the class bully, Buddy, who would do anything to ruin the other kids' fun. There was the hyper dog who tried to be friendly but just ended up scaring the others. There was the class watchdog, so to speak, who wandered around like some kind of playground supervisor, sniffing out trouble. There was the one beagle who always tried to get involved, but everyone would inch away from him and ignore him, not letting him play with them. Then there was the one bulldog who was totally obsessed with toys--in fact, he seemed to be a full-time "player". He had memorized all the toys from the last session and clearly had his favorites. He would rifle through the toychest, hind legs completely up in the air, to find his favorites. He would play volleyball with his face, rebounding a ball to any human who would throw it for him. The group had such a hilarious dynamic, with each dog displaying his or her own personality (and often reflecting the personalities of their owners, as well).

We felt Josie made a little bit of progress, though not as much as we had hoped. At any rate, she has two more sessions left, and hopefully she will come out of her shell and "make some friends." Derek, who must think my family is a little bit loony, told his coworker/cousin the scenerio. Nolan only guffawed and incredulously stated that he could not believe people would do such ridiculous things for mere dogs. Obviously he has never had a dog of his own. Because of that, he could never fully understand. Even Derek doesn't understand. He has never had a dog of his own, and despite his obvious "like" for dogs, he has never had one as part of the family. He has never grown up knowing a dog for 18 years (our first poodle, Tiffany, who was with us 18 years, was my other sister, and my parents' first child). People who don't have dogs (and even some who do) just don't know how much you can love them as any companion or sibling.

So people can ridicule our family all they want. The only thing that they can never accuse us of is lacking in love for any member of the family, even a "silly dog".

And here, I would also like to honor the life of Toby and pay tribute to his legacy of loyal friendship and devotion.

{ leap forward to adulthood, sneak back into childhood }

Today has been filled with a dichotomy of adultness and childishness. I am proud to announce that I am now fully certified to teach in Alberta--I AM NOW A REAL TEACHER! I didn't quite feel it until now, but today I carried myself a little straighter and a little taller, despite my baby pink sweater and flip flops. I now have in my possession my professional teaching certificate, which is nothing more than a wallet-sized slip of paper that ran another $200 up on our Visa bill this month. It ain't cheap becoming a professional, I tell ya!

Shortly after I became a teacher, we went to Blockbuster because I had a rare childish hankering to rent a video game for myself. Usually Derek is the one attempting to get me interested in the numerous games he plays; I haven't touched the things for years. But, since he's been studying his Psychology textbook so much these days, I find myself a little lonely in the evenings. I felt twelve years old again as I walked up and down the aisles of games, picking up the interesting looking ones to scan the scenes on the back. I finally settled on Harvest Moon, in which you become a young boy who is trying to raise up a successful farm and ranch (and woo a young woman who will become your bride!). That's my kind of game. No blood and gore, no advanced and complex storylines with various maps and worlds to memorize. Just quaint daily activities such as feeding the chickens, watering the cabbage, and stocking the silo. It's fun for me, at any rate. I will crack the rental case open and give it a whirl tonight. And I tell ya, it better be worth the $7.48!!!! (Isn't that ridiculous?)

After my kiddish Blockbuster excursion, I became an adult wife again as I prepared dinner and watched Oprah and the news. When my migraine struck just shortly after six o'clock, I became a blubbering baby who wanted comfort and rescuing. Luckily, Derek gave me a hug and a backrub (which did little for my physical distress but greatly helped my emotional troubles!). When he headed off for baseball, I asked my family if I could go out for a coffee and a drive with them (it's always been an evening ritual). They swung by to pick me up, and Amy and I, transformed into young sisters once again sat in the back giggling, singing, swapping sips of coffee, and talking my parents' ears off while sharing stories about ourselves.

Back at home now, I wait for my man to return from baseball. Who am I at this point in time, my adult or my child self? A bit of both? None of either? I still can't figure myself out. Is it normal to still long so much to be a child once again? Or am I just stuck in a period of immature fantasy?

In some ways I just can't wait until we have kids of our own so that I can play games with them, read magical books, build forts, bake gooey cookies, run through the sprinkler. Sometimes I wonder if that's why my parents had us--so that they themselves could goof around and have fun once again. That's how we always were as a family; despite the bills that had to be paid, my parents were never to busy to build a miniature golf course in the backyard or to transform the dinner table into a Chinese restaurant. Maybe this adult-kid phase will let me get the best out of both worlds, as my parents have managed to do.

How about you, readers? Are you more adult, or more kid? Do you attempt to choose between the two, or can they be reconciled? I'd love to hear from you.

{ yesterday and today and now }

Yesterday. Derek and I did keep our date with Willy Wonka after all. I absolutely loved it--I laughed through pretty much the entire movie and even felt guilty that I might be ruining someone else's viewing pleasure with my persistant giggles. It was the movie of the summer--just what I was hoping for.

Today. Ate peanut butter toast (extra peanut butter). Went to church. Wore vibrant aqua and orange to match the sunny day. Felt chipper, alive, full of spunk. Drank bubble tea (green apple slush with pineapply jelly). Came home. Watched Grey's Anatomy, shed some tears. Made it up to page 25 of 146 in C.S. Lewis's The Great Divorce. Started my reading journal, wrote on Kafka's The Metamorphosis. Toyed with bloglines.

Now. Waiting to receive the perogies Derek is boiling with loving care. Preparing for another week of work, softball, reading, writing, loving. Anticipating the following week's holiday haven.

{ a pile of books, a bag of apples }

Today there's nothing but puddly grounds and rainy skies. It is a nice downtime for all of us workaholics. I was planning to go down to the arts district today for the annual "Artwalk" where local artists each get so many feet of sidewalk to display and sell their own art. The show boasts hundreds of artists and goes on for blocks and blocks. That was the plan for Derek and I and for hundreds of our fellow citizens. However, the rain has barred the artists from hauling out their precious canvases and cards, and likely they will hide away until the drizzle passes. Maybe tomorrow after church the sun will poke out; I will take in the show then.

For today, however, I suddenly have a pile of books I can begin to tackle. And, conveniently for me, this is exactly (finally!) the time of year when I have begun to read again. I had quite a dry spell there, where I never read anything but textbooks. Two days ago I read Kafka's "Metamorphosis" in two short sittings, and it whet my whistle for books once again. I can delve back into the world of reading, and why not start on a gloomy day like today? I have a C.S. Lewis book on the top of the stack, followed by the third and fourth Harry Potter books (even I decided to jump on that bandwagon), followed by a Sophie Kinsella book I received for my birthday yesterday. Below that I have the ever-present but never read Iliad (one day I'll work myself up to that kind of undertaking!) and the remainder of Mitch Albom's [dull] The Five People You Meet in Heaven. Keep in mind that right now I'm keeing that one beneath the Iliad!

The only other suitable thing for a rainy day like today is possibly to make some kind of cobbler. And, wouldn't you know it, my monthly issue of Martha Stewart Living arrived in the mailbox yesterday sporting a cover page declaring: "Cobblers, Crumbles, and Crisps"! And, as if that weren't perfect enough for today, this also happens to be the one and only day when we have a bag of 15 ripening apples in the trunk of our car. What timing, Martha! How do you do it?

At any rate, some warm cobbler, some steaming tea, my fuzziest blanket, and a fresh book sound like the perfect things for me today.

Oh, and there's always my tentative date with Willy Wonka in the evening ...

{ me, as a writer }

I was nominated for a Creative Writing scholarship last week and the deadline is tomorrow. So, as can be expected, I spent every last minute today working to perfect my portfolio that has to be handed in with the application. I had the opportunity to select any three pieces of writing that I have done and to then accompany them with a reflection that deals with "Who I am as a writer and a teacher of writing." For those of you who are interested in my reflective response, here it is:

- - - - - -

I have been a keen writer since I was about eight years old. I remember sitting at my youngster-sized desk as a kid, writing the beginnings (but never the endings, unfortunately) to endless novels that I dreamt up in my spare time. While my peers were enjoying crafting acrostic poems during elementary school Language Arts periods, I would be crafting characters and worlds that existed only in my grand imagination. Getting a book published was always (and still is) one of my greatest goals in life. In fact, when I was a kid, I was so eager to get one of my books published that I would always keep an up-to-date “About the Author” page about myself just in case I needed it quickly.

As I began to move through junior high and high school, my writing underwent a gradual shift and began moving away from the fantastic to the realistic; rather than imagining pretend scenerios and artificial characters, I began to incorporate aspects of my real life into the pieces that I wrote. When this happened, I began moving away from the massive novels that I never finished, and I instead began to write shorter and more complete pieces. I became a great fan of short stories and especially free-verse poetry.

Throughout University, my writing became even more focused on my real life experiences. I would so often remember the old adage: “Write what you know” and would turn to it when I was experiencing writer’s block. I attempted to use this technique in both my personal and academic writing. For English papers required by my professors, I challenged myself to be more real and authentic in the things that I wrote. When I made this conscious stylistic change, I saw my marks drastically improve. I was writing what I knew, and people still liked what I wrote. In fact, they liked it more.

Writing so many academic papers throughout my post-secondary education left me frustrated with trying to write pieces of substantial length while I was at home and trying to relax. Thus, poetry became my new favorite genre to dabble in. As I moved throughout my life, I found that I could quickly come up with poems describing all the facets of my day-to-day living: taking the bus, reading the works of others, falling in love, even cooking dinner. My eyes were opened to metaphors once again. I saw analogies in everything I did. I found a new beauty in life that I was eager to capture in words and record for myself to reflect on later.

In my final year of University I took a Comparative Literature course that had autobiographical writing as its focus. We studied the genres of autobiography and memoir across culture and time. Suddenly, I felt as if I had found a genre that I could truly fall in love with. I gobbled up countless stark, truth-filled books in my spare time as a reader, and I began experimenting with writing in this same genre. Rather than merely writing poems about the things that I experienced on a daily basis, I turned my churning thoughts into prose passages that attempted to capture a moment, a feeling, a memory. I had never personally enjoyed writing so much. In fact, I began writing every day, even starting a journal just to record these portraits of my life. I felt as if these detailed moments were too precious to forget, and I was saddened how many people could pass these intricacies by day after day. I was overcome by a desperate need to keep these detailed experiences from slipping away to a realm of forgetfulness and ignorance.

When I was introduced to Natalie Goldberg’s writing by several of my professors, I was shocked. In her book, Writing Down the Bones, she had recorded the exact thoughts that I, too, had been thinking. She writes:

Our lives are at once ordinary and mythical.
We live and die, age beautifully or full of wrinkles.
We wake in the morning, buy yellow cheese, and hope
we have enough money to pay for it. At the same
instant we have these magnificent hearts that pump
through all sorrow and all winters we are alive on
the earth. We are important and our lives are
important, magnificent really, and their details are
worthy to be recorded. This is how writers must
think, this is how we must sit down with pen in hand.
We were here; we are human beings; this is how we
lived. Let it be known, the earth passed before us.
Our details are important. Otherwise, if they are
not, we can drop a bomb and it doesn’t matter.

(Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down the Bones, p 43)

My philosophy of writing changed once I had read her words and realized how closely in line they were with my own beliefs. Everybody has the power to write because everybody also has lives full of detail. Some people have lives full of beauty, others violence; some have lives full of joy and happiness, others of sorrow and despair. However, all of us, young or old, have something to write about--not necessarily something to say or some idea to promote, but, in the very least, we all have the power to record the details of our lives.

Moving into my student teaching career with this realization gave me a renewed sense of hope for encouraging my own students to write. When I worked with my junior high Language Arts students and tried to encourage them to write, I did not make any sort of form or style mandatory. All I required of them was that they write, about anything, for fifteen minutes straight. For those students who were short on ideas or inspiration, I provided a series of prompts. However, all the prompts had to do with their personal lives: their own memories, their experiences, their dreams, the things they love and hate most. All of the students were able to write nonstop for a series of days without running out of ideas. And all of the students I spoke to personally told me that their ideas about writing had changed. They realized that they could write, after all. They realized that they did have good ideas, they did have valid experiences to share. When we voluntarily took turns reading our daily writing out loud, we all listened with rapt interest as we heard gems of truth being shared from one another’s mouths. I moved on from my nine week practicum encouraged when, on the last day, many of my young writers gave me hugs and thanked me for giving them a chance to see their natural writing ability. Some of them told me that they would keep a journal from now on, and that they would go home and continue writing for at least fifteen minutes each day. I thought my heart would burst with joy!

As I wait for my next, upcoming opportunity to teach, I am eagerly dreaming about new ways that I can encourage my students to discover their natural ability to write. I am keeping up the practice of writing about my own life, and I am constantly surprising myself with the way I have captured fragments of myself and have tied them all together in my tiny, purple notebook. I frequently flip back through it, marveling at experiences that I otherwise would have passed by. And through all my casual experiences with writing, I can also notice an improvement in the way I write. Slowly I am falling more into myself, gaining back a voice that institution attempted to standardize. Daringly, I write what is on my heart, instead of what others want to hear. Experimentally, I begin sentences with “and” and “but” when I feel it is necessary. When I read some of my recent journal entries out loud, I can finally hear myself speaking through the written words. It is an amazing feeling to learn more about myself and my world every day because of my writing.

Although I am also a keen reader, I think that writing has been recently pushed aside in favor of reading in schools. However, while reading may allow students to learn by “standing on the shoulders of giants,” so to speak, it is writing that will allow them to explore life through their own eyes. Through writing they can ask and answer their own questions, they can allow their own, unhindered thoughts to flow out of them, and they can learn more about their own personalities and abilities. As eager as I am to promote reading and literacy, I am more excited, as a teacher, to promote writing.

The three pieces that I chose to include in this writing portfolio detail who I am, most recently, as a writer. All of the written words contained within these short snapshots of life were inspired by the details that surrounded me: I walked through the mud, I went to the lake, I remembered my autumn-time childhood. Poems sprouted up when I boiled macaroni for lunch and when I sipped a cup of coffee, pen in hand, on a rainy day. Anybody with keen eyes and a ready pen can find similar things to write about from their own life experiences—this is what I have learned about writing, and this is what I hope, most of all, to teach my students about writing.

{ after the storm }

        

Last night we had the strangest weather we've had in a while. Although it wasn't brutally violent like the electrical storm we had the other night, it was almost more eery because of how abnormally unique it was. The sun was shining all day at a constant level of "near heat stroke". It continued beaming down in the evening as the clouds rolled in. The clouds themselves were black as black could be, but when they attempted to cover the sun, it shone right through them. They thundered and lightning-ed and poured rain, but all the while the glorious sun just kept on shining through. Later on, even a rainbow peeked out as the sun was beginning to set.

{ tomato assistance? }

So, does anybody have any ideas about what I can do with a whole crate of quickly ripening tomatoes (12 tomatoes in all)? I regularly make recipes that use tomatoes, but I am mostly used to using tomatoes that are canned. I've never made anything tomato-ey from scratch. My mom suggested making some homemade salsa ... anybody out there have a recipe for something like that?

I'm open to all kinds of suggestions and recipes. I think I'll have to use them up by tomorrow or Thursday at the latest before they are completely overripe. Drop me a comment if you have any ideas!

{ a walk through my mother's garden }

As I have mentioned in various previous posts, my Mom has acquired quite the greenthumb in her middle age. I remember when she and I were younger, she would always complain that nobody but Baba could make tiny plants and beautiful flowers grow so successfully; now, however, I would have to argue that she has moved into the same "guru" gardener status that Baba once retained. Yesterday I spent some time with my family while Derek played softball, and the minute I saw my Mom's gardens in such full and gorgeous bloom, I knew I couldn't pass up the photo op. So here you go ... I hope you enjoy the walk through my Mom's gardens as much as I did yesterday evening.


These cactus flowers are in full bloom for the first time ever.
Apparently it is a very rare occurance.



This flower absolutely took my breath away. It looks like a beautiful
young ballerina all ready to show off, don't you think?



And these flowers' middles look juicy as strawberries and definitely
good enough to eat!



My current favorites, out of all the gardens. I've never seen
anything like them.



A classic batch of lilies hidden amongst all the other flowers
at the back of the yard.



Every garden needs a refreshing splash of pink ...



... and purple!



A moss-covered log, home to some colorful impatiens.



Even her hanging baskets look this gorgeous!



And this ornamental cabbage looks good enough to eat!



Last but not least, the crown jewel of the backyard, my mother's
pond. The fish are to be added today.


I can't wait to see how these gardens grow and evolve throughout the summer. Inevitably, some of these photo-captured flowers will wilt and die, but the new ones of each miniature season have been planned to pop up in their place. And, who can forget the vegetable harvest that fall will welcome in? Alas, my tiny patio container garden looks humble in comparison to these vibrant and ferociously growing gardens. But, everyone has to start somewhere, right? My mom started with humble beginnings, too.

{ regarding a day at the lake and a cool evening with nigella lawson }

Yesterday we did end up going to the lake!! We headed out there to meet up with Derek's cousins, our old gang of friends, and Derek's mentor (and his family). We anticipated a long afternoon and evening of boating, water skiing, and wakeboarding. However, we were cursed by blasts of wind that turned the water into nothing but choppy waves that were practically unmaneuverable. After several short runs of the boys wakeboarding, we decided to pack 'er in. Luckily, we were able to have access to the cabin belonging to someone's family member. We sat upstairs in the quaint living room by the massive window overlooking the lakefront. We talked about the old days at the church where we all met. We talked about the future of the church in North America, and how something vital must--and, as we think, WILL--dramatically change within the next ten years. Graydon and Sue, Derek's spiritual mentor and his wife, told us about their recent experiences in South Africa and Zambia, where they have been living and working as missionaries for the past few years. Since Derek has been there and I have seen countless pictures and hours of video, I was able to easily jump on board to understand and visualize the stories that they were telling. I could imagine how big baby Sechaba must be now; I could picture the progress of the orphanage that our church helped fund; I could practically hear the waves in Jeffrey's bay where Derek was teaching everyone to surf at this time last year. It's always intriguing (and amazing) to hear stories from the other side of the world and to still feel so connected to one another. It is a concept that even a few decades ago was nearly unheard of!

After catching up on old (and new) times, the boys made a run to the little lake town grocery store to pick up some weiners and potato salad. It was a nice switch when they came back and prepared all the dinner for us wives who were enjoying ourselves with a nice game of "Speed Scrabble" (a very fun boardless variation on the original game). Even Graydon's three young kids (all elementary school aged) got in on the fun and outdid some of us with their clever spellings! How very educational, we all mused.

Overall, it was a nearly perfect lake day, save the fact that we weren't able to spend much time on the water, which is my favorite. And I lubed up with all that sunscreen and wore that gigantic, oversized safari hat for nothing!! Anyways, I am still looking forward to another day of boating. In fact, I would like to start to investigate how much a tiny motorboat costs ... not necessarily one strong enough or fast enough for wakeboarding, mind you; I only need one hefty enough to get me out in the middle of the lake for a nice day of floating, picnicing, and writing. What a dream. Maybe within the next twenty years we will be able to make it happen.

As for tonight, Derek and I are both in a sad, groggy state from the foolish naps we took after church. We slept from 4:30-7:00 pm, which left me waking up and thinking it was early morning! Dinner was thrown out of whack and into a lame do-it-yourself-with-whatever's-in-the-fridge-or-cupboards kind of state. Derek ate leftover pasta and I'm still debating pulling out some flatbread and making myself a tasty garlic-thyme pita. It might be a nice snack for the balcony night I have planned for myself.

Just outside the window I can see our diagonal-downstairs neighbors. They are a sweet looking young couple, too. They are sitting outside on their ground-level patio sipping tea, wrapped up in blankets to combat the shade, playing a nice game of cribbage and listening to a Coldplay CD. I have been jealously spying on them for nearly 45 minutes as I've been typing my emails, and I have firmly decided that I will spend the rest of my dusky evening in a similar fashion. For my birthday, Evelyn, a dear friend of mine (along with her brother and boyfriend) decided to give me a gorgeous Nigella Lawson cookbook. I have heard of her numerous times, but have never checked out her recipes or cooking style. I can't wait to curl up outside on the wicker setee tonight to leaf through the book and mark some pages of recipes to hopefully try out this month. The cookbook is called "Forever Summer" which is perfect for this time of year! I'll keep you posted on any successful recipe attempts that emerge from this whole experience!

Well, I am off to find my fleecy blanket, and steep some tea and make my flatbread. Why don't you join me?

GARLIC THYME FLATBREAD Take some Greek pita/flatbread. In a bowl combine some olive oil with fresh crushed garlic (or garlic powder). Brush over flatbread. Sprinkle with dried thyme, fresh cracked black pepper and coarse sea salt. Bake in oven just enough to heat it through.

{ who knows what the day may hold? }

Well, a whole wide-open Saturday is looking me straight in the face and as for what to do with it, I have all the possibilities in the world. I could take in the Street Performers festival downtown, although that would involve coming up with a lot of loose change to give away. I could go to the library and get some more summer reading to bring home to my flowery patio. I could call up some old friends and organize a weiner roast down at the riverside park. I could finish cleaning my house (but...nah). I could dust off my bike, fill out the tires, and go for a cruise until my backside is so sore I won't be able to walk tomorrow.

The number one possibility I am waiting on today is a lucky phone call that will invite us along to the lake! A bunch of us from the "old gang" was talking late last night as we checked out our friends' new home renovations, and we started talking about the possibility of heading out to the lake today. However, that would involve our one friend bringing out his boat (he is the only one with a boat). Luckily, he is also Derek's first cousin. As such, Derek of course was able to take the liberty to bluntly call him up at 11:00pm last night to ask him if he wanted to bring the boat to the lake tomorrow so that we can all go hang out together. He had to think on it for various reasons, but said he'd get back to us tomorrow (now today).

So Derek is at his church meeting and I am sitting here, waiting on a phone call. A lake day would be the perfect thing to relax and to get away today, especially under this gorgeous, cloudlessly sunny sky! While I continue to wait for the call, why not read a little ditty that I wrote in the Summer of 2003 after spending a similar day at the lake with our friends.

* * * * * *

It was my first time in a lake so natural. I had never imagined that there were lakes without beaches that people could--or even would--still go to. I've never been a boater, so maybe that's why my imaginative lake notions were somewhat limited to sunbathing and sandcastle building and floating around on old rubber dingys.

We loaded up the boat with towels, sunscreen, and a flat of no-name colas and launched off of the seaweed-crowded shoreline. Once we were out a few feet, the weeds disappeared and there was nothing but clean, glassy stillness before us and a beautifully crafted wake behind us. The shore drifted further and further towards the horizon as our motorboat streamed us down and down the long, narrow lake. All around us was nothing but valley; rolling farmlands dotted with cliff-grazing cattle and untouched forests with towering coniferous trees shut us in to be alone with nature. We killed the motor at one point and just let the soft, wind-formed waves rock us back and forth, back and forth; momentum built, momentum faded. The perfect rhythms of nature subdued our busy city spirits and calmed us until we realized our true position of tinyness in the world we know as ours. Our arrogance and egoism ebbed away, dissolving into the strength of creation that surrounded us. Our noble thoughts flew from praising ourselves and others like us, and for a few moments we could radiate only wordless praise for the broad, strong shoulderblade hills encasing and protecting us where we rested peacefully, in the heart of nature's jewel: a hidden lake in the safety of a hidden valley in the middle of the Albertan prairies.

{ a photolog of my day }

Today I had a few hours to kill while I waited for Derek to get off work. So, seeing as I was already nearby the local "artsy" district, I decided to hang out there in the sun and in my clamdiggers and wander around to give you all a tour of one of my favorite summer hangouts.








I've been coming down to this hoppin' area of the city since I was a kid. I remember whenever we were on Spring Break from school, I would come down here with my sister, my mom and my grandma, and we would have a good old-fashioned day of girl shopping! We could pick ice cream from one of the many gourmet shops and browse the stores for cute handmade paper and all sorts of weird and wonderful novelty items (I remember once, when I was about 9, my Mom bought me and Amy real, authentic "Mexican Jumping Beans"--they really did jump!!)


Anyways, here are some of the lovely views down the quaint shop-lined streets of this district. As you can see, when the sun comes out, so do the portable sidewalk cafes! Today there weren't many people out lunching, but come Saturday, there will be not a seat left to snatch up! The other neat thing about this district is that all the buildings are original to this area of the city, meaning that they are mostly 70-100 years old. Get a load of this old fashioned movie theatre that still plays the popular Independent films when they come to town!








And, as always, everybody has something to say down here. There's always people busking, asking for money, peddling their wares, passing out pamphlets, and, of course, posting their propaganda. Believe it or not, the diameter of this pole is actually only a few inches across. The city actually emptied it once, and nobody could believe their eyes! That's all pure, paper padding there, folks!














My main reason for going to take pictures today was to show off how the city decided to redo all of the area's electrical boxes; last summer, they commisioned local artists to paint all of the boxes in whatever way they wanted! So here are some of my personal faves, for various reasons:



I'm guessing this is representing the revitalizing transition from old to new
that this area has been going through over the past few years.



Some painted-in "photographs" and a historical letter commemorating the
history of the street.



One of my absolute favorites ... no, it's not a schoolhouse, although
that's what I thought at first too, until I looked down the block to
the old firehall, next to the Farmer's Market:




Speaking of the Farmer's Market, here is the box right outside its doors:


How appropriate!



Not exactly keeping with the themes of the area, but a nice scene,
nevertheless. I only dream of painting that well one day!


And last but not least, here is my absolute favorite one. In fact, when my family and I go for drives in the area, we double around the block so we can look at this one twice as we sip our coffees:


Isn't it gorgeous?

Well, I had a lot of fun today playing around with my new camera and reminding myself why I love this artistic and unique area of my city. I sipped my Caramel Macchiato, got some exercise in the form of brisk walking, and did an awful lot of both people-watching and window-shopping. If ever any of you are in town, look me up, and I'll give you the authentic tour, first-hand!

{ on love ... and life-blogging }

Along with that, this also has to be said today:

"If, as you live your life, you find yourself mentally composing blog entries about it, post this exact same sentence in your weblog." (via Frogs and Ravens)

{ do you see what i see? }

Some pictures of our wilderness camping excursion here, care of Stephen.


The view we had from camp.


The view we had from the top of the mountain we climbed. Can you see why
my fear of heights kicked in?


Another view we had from the top of the mountain.

When that last one was sent to me over MSN, I double clicked to open it, and actually said "Wow" out loud. Pretty incredible, huh?

Thanks, Stephen!

{ strawberry parfait, anyone? }

Yesterday I received my University Graduation gift from my grandparents--a digital camera!!! I am ecstatically excited! There have been so many moments recently where I wished I could have the ability to attempt to capture tiny, precious moments with total abandon! I read the manual straight through last night and this morning I went out to water my plants and I had to snap a few pretty pictures of some of my favorite flowers.

My mom had to initially twist my arm to buy these delicious Dianthus so appropriately called Strawberry Parfait. I have mixed them with their sister flower, Raspberry Parfait, beneath my tiny Lilac, alongside my Impatiens. I have hardly ever seen something as gorgeous as that one pot of flowers on the corner of my balcony--they are all out in full bloom right now and I just want to spend all my evenings on the wicker setee sitting next to them!

It's going to be a hot one today--28 degrees (Celcius) with not a cloud in the sky. I'll have to be sure and keep myself as hydrated as I've been keeping my flowers! And who knows, maybe a real strawberry parfait will be just the thing to hit the spot this evening when Derek gets home!

{ back from the wild frontier }

Well, our 10-vehicle convoy got back from the middle of the wilderness last night around 9:00. The 63 of us had spent the last 4 days tenting in the middle of the mountains at a "campground" where we got a few acres of forested space to make our own. There were few other campers even around, and we went into the experience expecting to see several bears (as a matter of fact, however, we saw none, likely because we emitted such massive amounts of NOISE).

It was my first time sleeping in a tent. I don't know if I could have predicted how cold the air in the Rocky Mountains gets at night--I ended up wearing most of my daytime clothes as I attempted to sleep in the frigid night air. However, my air mattress kept me off the ground, and by the end of the trip I had perfected the art of pulling my hood up over my toque and wrapping myself in a fleecy blanket before I slid into my mummy-style sleeping bag. Last night when I nestled into my much-missed bed at home, I actually missed the mountain air. I slept instead on the couch in the living room with all the windows wide open--I slept like a baby once again.

I think that this trip did a lot to show me what I was capable of. On Friday I climbed an 1800 foot mountain through steep forest, rocks, and shale. It was a bad time to remember that I am quite scared of heights. One panic-attack later, I had calmed my mind, gritted my teeth, and continued up the second half of the precarious climb. I stood at the top of the mountain looking far down below at the fast-flowing river where we had started. From the pinnacle, it looked like nothing but a squiggly line drawn in on a map. I took one picture of the view, but I'm sure it will look nothing like the snapshot stored away in my memory. Derek snuggled up to me several times during the climb, whispering "I'm so proud of you." Perhaps I didn't quite let on, but I was proud of myself, too. I turned out to be quite the climber when I set my mind to it. "You climb like Spiderman," said Randy, whom I hiked alongside while Derek led the pack. I had to turn my face away while I absolutely beamed. See, girls can do things too. Girls can do anything they want to, if they put their mind to it. My mom and grandma have always told me it's nothing but mind over matter. That is the mind of a woman. We are stronger than we look, folks, and it is because of sheer determination. Maybe I am some kind of femminist after all.

I was looking forward to trying out some white water rafting on Saturday, but our excursion was cancelled because Group One encountered a mishap on Friday--two young people fell into the river and had to be rescued by someone else in our group while the guide was caught somewhat unawares. They were taken to the hospital two hours away to be checked out for hypothermia, but they turned out to be fine. Considering the age and amateur skill level of the two that fell in, it was nothing less than a miracle that all turned out well, the water level and speed being what it was. Matt, who jumped in after them, was the hero he always seems to be, and after the shake-up we were all quick to hug the three chilled swimmers when they returned to us the next morning. Because of all the shake-up, Derek cancelled Day Two of rafting and my group of 30 went on a shorter day hike instead (despite our aching calves and quads from the mountain climb the day before). Our three hour hike brought us over a suspension bridge (which I loved) into the heart of beautifully forested cliffs which were home to the largest waterfall in Alberta. I snapped off a dozen photos of the powerful falls, the majestic cliffs, and the river the beautiful color of my new birthday gift overnight bag. Hopefully I can finish the roll so I can post the pictures sometime this week. I can only cross my figures that they captured a fragment of the breathtaking beauty that I was caught up in.

Aside from being one of the campers, I also had the [sometimes exhasperating] opportunity to be one of the organizers. Thursday morning we spent nearly 3 hours at Costco buying the needed items off my 8 page grocery list. Five full carts and $1800 later, we were cramming everything into three tiny sedans. It just fit (although our car was so heavy we scraped nearly every bump we went over). We then went back, moved all the food out of the three cars into our one huge trailer along with all the kids' gear. Once at camp, we reversed it all as we unpacked, setting items in some sort of logical order. The first thing we did was take out our 3 propane barbeques and 3 tables, set them up in a kitchen formation, and tie a tarp ceiling overtop. We did it all in the dusky sunset and by the time we had set up the basics, we were only able to see by the flame of one tiny lantern. I was leery at the wilderness that lurked all around me, but I had to comment on the relief that our tiny makeshift kitchen brought to my mind.

"It's funny how the human mind works," I commented to Derek's cousin, Jordan, camper extraordinaire. "We are still in the middle of the wilderness, but somehow, with this tarp over my head and these tables around me, I feel so much safer, so much more at home."

"It's all mental," he said as he huffed and puffed from up in a tree where he tied the last tarp corner. "That's why they say if you're ever lost in the woods, the first thing you should do is make a fire and a shelter. Your chances of surviving vastly improve."

It makes sense.

In the past, I always joked to my family that if I was lost in the woods, I would be the type to just "lie down and die". They always laughed because I'm sure there seemed to be a huge glimmer of truth in it. Now, however, I can't say for sure that I would just give up that easily. I found a new part of myself out there in the wild--a part that could pee in the bush after all, that could help direct full-grown men as they put up a tent, that could climb a mountain despite all the fears that plagued me. I can do it.

If I'm ever lost in the woods, I'll build myself a leafy little abode, have a go at making some fire, collect my mind, quiet my fears, breathe in, and rediscover the strength that I know I really do have at my core.