My heartbreaks, my regrets, my joy.

A day of plot twists, it was. First was the pie, the birthday pie I was asked to make for Stephen's mom's birthday. I had made the pastry on Saturday in my mom's kitchen, under the supervision of my baking mentor, mama. I've made pastry maybe a few times in my life. I've made maybe four pies on my own. Cake I can do in my sleep. Pies are still a new challenge, and boy did this one set out to test my mettle.

I am constructing the pie in Stephen's kitchen and hadn't packed flour in my toolbox for rolling out the pastry so it sticks to everything, the rolling pin, the mat, me...etc. I have corn starch with me so I cross my fingers and make it a substitute for the flour. Unfortunately I have to roll it out twice, once for the failed attempt where the pastry refused to let go of the mat and then a second and final time. You need to be careful when working with pastry that you don't overwork it or it will end up tough and may shrink when baked. Sure enough, it shrinks in the pie tin. Plot twist number one.

I then set to make the lemon curd filling. This requires five egg yolks; the whites would be saved for the meringue topping. It is very important that no yolk gets into the whites or the meringue won't work. I bust a yolk on egg number 4. Despite our best tries, neither Stephen nor I can collect all the yolk out of the whites. They would make a lovely omelet, but are useless for meringue. Plot twist, plot twist.

Finished with the curd on the stove, I pour it into the crust and then we leave for my house. We had our first real dumping of snow the night before so I needed to get home to do some shoveling. I had also forgotten to pack my hair dryer and needed it to make something out of my goldie locks.

While Stephen starts on my driveway I retrieve the carton of egg whites from my fridge, my hair dryer and my snow brush for my truck. I go to find mitts so I can join Mr. Plow outside. I keep my winter things in a bag in my closet and this is my first time accessing it since March. I pull everything out but only manage to find three different mitts, no matches. I consider wearing a mismatched pair, thinking at the very least it would make Stephen laugh, but I can't even do that since I'd only found left hands.

Stephen had found my scoop shovel for pushing the snow off the driveway.

"That thing hurts my knee," I say.

"It works great, you just need to learn how to use it properly." Stephen proceeds to demonstrate pushing the scoop across the snow and then dumping it with a slight tipping action after pushing it up the newly established bank. He then offers the scoop to me.

"You learn by doing," he says. Right. I'm dating a teacher. The thing is, my dad had given me the exact same speech and demonstration numerous times. It's eerie, really, to hear the same words coming out of Stephen's mouth. He is a movember-stashed, splash pants and blue toqued version of my father. He's also recently taken to affectionately calling me JB, which previously only my dad had ever addressed me with. This starts feeling weird.

Back in the boy's kitchen, I get to work on the meringue. It turns out lovely. It's my new favourite part of lemon pie now. I spoon it onto the filling and put it in the oven to toast. It gets a bit over-toasted but otherwise is good. When we eat the pie, I am happy with the meringue, mostly pleased with the lemon curd, but know the crust would not pass the Barrott standard of excellence. I still have practicing to do.

At the end of the night I gather my weekend luggage in the kitchen and get ready to leave for home. I'd brought so much stuff this time I feel like I'd traveled hours from home. I loathe this part of Sunday nights. They feel sad, heavy and arduous on my arms and my heart.

I don't get very far down the back lane before I realize I'd forgotten my cell phone and iPod. I pull up to the front of Stephen's house where he is shoveling his steps and sidewalk.

"Cell phone and iPod," I say. He is not fazed by these Alzheimer's moments of mine. I still beat myself up about them but am consciously trying to be more accepting and forgiving of it all. I just don't want to come to terms with the fact that I forget and lose things because I think that it means my brain is smaller than everyone else's. I shake my head at the terrible insults I hurl at myself when I make a mistake, but when someone I love err's, I know I am good at smiling and forgiving. Why can' I lend myself the same level of compassion?

I go around to the back of the house and into the kitchen to retrieve my electronic devices. When I come back outside, Stephen is there to meet me. I am set to hurry back to my truck, but he stops me, smiling.

"Hey, where's my bonus kiss?"

And right then and there in minus seven degrees I start to melt. He kisses me once, then again, and then again. The weekend that had zipped by is suddenly on pause as he and I become the couple of the moment to share a tender kiss with the snow softly falling around us. I think about that moment the whole drive home. I think about it so much that I miss my turn off and have to drive an extra six kilometres. Never mind twist, this is a plot detour.

If I hadn't forgotten my phone and iPod tonight, I wouldn't have had that sweet moment that I will replay in my head when I need a warm thought. I forgave myself tonight for my brain of fluff.

Book dumb?

I have a problem, it is called book-buyingitis. That is the inflammation of my book buying arm. It acts up whenever I see used books for sale.

Today I went to a sale put on by the Winnipeg Public Library. I rode my bike. Brilliance! Really, was this me trying to keep the book-buyingitis at bay? Because when you ride your bike 7km to a book sale with a small backpack on, just how many books do you think you'll be carting home with you?

It didn't work. I gathered an armload and a half of the old, the dog-eared, the hard cover and paperback. A kind woman offered to take the stack for me and put them in a box at the cash desk so I could continue shopping, which I did.

Upon coming to terms with the situation of too many books, too little carrying power, I texted my sister, who lives nearby the school where the sale was being held. She and I were supposed to be going to my aunt's house today for a visit so I asked her if she had left yet, thinking that if she had not, perhaps she could come by and take the books off my arms. She had not, but lucky me, her fiance was out and about and could come by to help me out.

My box of books came to a meager $16.50. Everything was on sale for half-price, since today was the last day of the sale. You can hardly buy ONE book for that price, so I felt pretty happy with the finds.

Earlier in the fall Chapters Indigo came out with this flyer that featured the covers of 50 Books That Will Change Your Life. Oh yeah? Let's see about that. Since many of the books on the list are classic and/or massively popular, I've been having a great deal of luck finding the titles at these used book sales. I haven't exactly been limiting myself to only the books on the list though...

My latest picks (from my last two sales)

I realized tonight when I was setting this photo up that I have twice purchased Moby Dick and it isn't even on the list (which of those mistakes is the bigger crime? You tell me.)

Right now I'm reading The Great Gatsby. It's been a bit of a slow start, maybe not the best book to read before shutting the brain down for the night. Last week I got to the top of page 29 and I stumbled.

The living-room was crowded to the doors with a set of tapes-
tried furniture entirely too large for it...

I sat there and wondered, what is tapes-tried furniture? Well actually, first I mistook the hyphen for an em-dash and pictured a crowded room with a set of tapes and "tried furniture" (I don't know, furniture that someone placed with an honest attempt to make sense in the room, but obviously missed the mark?)

 

Finally, my sleepy eyes did see the furniture for what it was: tapestried. (It still looks funny to me.) I laughed and wondered what my interior decorating instructor would think if I were to ask her next week what 1920s tapes-tried furniture looks like.

A Fat Free Food (before you add them to your fat-laden whatever)

Okay, so I like browsing used books, but I truly love collecting cookbooks. I cannot stop myself from purchasing them, new or old. I have a preference for the ones with pictures, second priority is for nutritional information. Today I wanted to make Rice Crispie cake with some mint chocolate marshmallows I picked up the last time I was in the USA. I vaguely remembered that the recipe called for 1/4 cup of margarine/butter, 6 cups of Rice Crispies and the bag of marshmallows, but I wanted to verify the amounts for the margarine and cereal. I pulled out my go-to cookbook for all things basic and important--no recipe for Crispie cake. I pulled out an issue of Cooking with Kraft, which seems to feature some seasonal variation of the marshmallowy stuff in every issue--not this time. Argh! I didn't have the recipe on the back of the cereal box either because I had purchased the No Name brand box. I gave in, turned on Mac and Googled. Recipe found in 1.21745 seconds. Whatever, I still love my cookbook collection.

Sooo, the recipe was also not featured on the back of the marshmallow package, as it often is. Instead they offered some other rather no-brainer suggestions like, adding to a mug of hot chocolate, or melting over a pan of brownies. Yawn.

Add some tasty delight with Chocolate Mint Marshmallows!

Turns out, they might've been on to something. Do you know what melted brown and green striped marshmallows look like when mixed with Rice Crispies?

I was going to take this stuff in to work tomorrow as a Halloween treat, but my "fancy pants" Rice Crispie cake (made with faux Rice Crispies) looks more like Caca Cake. I decided to sample it tonight. You can hardly taste chocolate, but can get a bit of the aroma of the cool mint, so mostly it's like eating regular crispie cake after you've brushed your teeth. Caca cake indeed.

Also, don't buy the No Name brand crispy rice cereal. It doesn't look or taste like regular Rice Crispies. Splurge the extra 75 cents and buy the name brand stuff that also comes with the recipe right on the box, and probably fun, seasonal modification options that don't involve minty-fresh marshmallows.

Go man, go!

Why did I buy two mangoes?

Last week I decided that I would cook my way through Peas and Thank You, my latest cookbook purchase that happens to feature all vegan recipes. I would dedicate 28 days in September to this challenge, trying on vegetarianism for a short spell. I don't expect it to be too hard, as already I eat a pretty meat-lite diet, simply because 1) meat is expensive and inconvenient for a single gal to purchase and cook in single serving quantities and 2) I am lazy and would rather pull a can of beans/package of tofu/jar of peanut butter off the shelf than plan ahead and remember to take out a piece of animal protein from the freezer the night before.

I sat down on Saturday morning and Post-It Note-d all the recipes that caught my vegetarian eye. Then I made a list of the ingredients I did not have and went out shopping to acquire them.

I ended up with a case load of chickpeas, some tofu, a jar of almond butter, something called nutritional yeast, some lettuce greens and a ton of fruit, including two mangoes.

On Sunday I decided I couldn't wait for September so I tested the Skinny Elvis Sandwich--an almond butter and strawberry sandwich grilled in the frying pan. Normally, almond butter on its own is rather blah, but the recipe tells you to douse the filling with cinnamon before closing the sandwich up and placing in the pan. With the first bite I discovered that cinnamon takes almond butter from gag me to gimme more. This sandwich is a new favourite I will be coming back to for breakfast, lunch or supper. I tried it today with just toast and it was equally yummy.

Because I have my third and final Dragon Boat practice on Thursday, Lisa and I had to reschedule our weekly dinner date to Tuesday. Had we been able to get together on Thursday (September 1) I would have served her something from the Peas and Thank You book. Instead I am letting my tongue have a final tango with meat: barbecued bison burgers. I'm still not sure what I had planned to do with the second mango (one was for a strawberry, mango, spinach and roasted chickpea salad) but I did have a recent bookmark on a mango caprese salad (change out the tomatoes for mango slices and garnish with fresh mint) so I will make that for the side.

Winter in Winnipeg: Time to Write

I sat down to write on Friday night--old school style with pen and paper, a tall mug of tea beside me. I started with a sketch of a character and then put her in a setting and state of conflict. I got a page written before I reviewed it and frowned.

I needed something I could share at the writer’s workshop I had signed up for on Saturday afternoon. I considered backing out. It didn’t cost me anything and I had been so busy during the week and the week before that I needed some hours at home to catch up on laundry, recycling, alphabetizing soup cans, etc. It was so cold out too, ugh, did I really want to go out in that cold? Without another word written, at 10:30 I called it a night and went to bed.

I woke up on Saturday morning thinking about Meg, this fourteen year old I had started writing about last year sometime. I love Meg. I’m not sure that I am keeping her name as Meg though, I seem to name all my girl characters Meg, Maggie, M-something or other. But anyway, I love this character, Meg because she is so smart, so wise and certain for fourteen. I looked at what I had written for Meg’s story (also done in pen in a notebook) and evaluated it for its readiness for sharing. I felt surprisingly good about it—surprisingly because it’s not often that a first draft like that feels ready for sharing with strangers. I typed it up, doing some edits along the way, and ended up with seven good pages.

I took the bus downtown to the workshop location. There were nine of us, which seemed like a smaller group than I remembered from last time, but is probably about the same. There was one white-haired guy amongst the group of women ranging from twenty-something to sixty (seventy?)-something.

Last time I had brought a blog post that I re-purposed for the workshop, mostly keeping the real story and “character” intact. I hadn’t let on then that it was a creative non-fiction piece. This time, all but two of us had brought pieces of memoirs. It was all good work. Many of the writers were struggling with how far they could stray from the truth. They wanted to tell an interesting story, but they also wanted to stick to the facts. Welcome to the challenge that is this blog.

I was pretty quiet during the discussions but I tried to make up with it by nodding in agreement or sometimes saying yes or an emphatic mm hmm. Often someone would say the same thing I was thinking. I find it hard to contribute feedback in a group setting like that. If I was working one-on-one with another writer I believe I’d ask more questions to first get a sense of what they wanted comment on. I would have felt more comfortable sharing some insight into what I do to make a true story more interesting to an audience.

I volunteered to read first after we came back from a break. I explained that I feel description is my weakest part of my writing and that I worry when I do make the effort to include it, the description sounds forced or cliché. I chose a few different sections of my seven pages to read out loud as I had more than enough material to read from in my fifteen minute time limit. After reading I looked up and waited for someone to say something.

Oh my gawd, no one is going to say anything. They don’t get it, they can’t relate, they think it’s totally not plausible. Crap.

I’m sure that’s what every writer thinks when they look up from their reading and wait for the feedback to come. It feels like forever before someone breaks the silence. In that long moment after my initial panic while the hum of the elevator out the door and around the corner was clearly audible, I reminded myself of being in the creative writing class I took at the university in 2009. Sometimes I’d find myself without anything to say simply because I didn’t think I had anything helpful I could offer; the piece was just plain good.

The feedback, when it came, was all very positive. The moderator asked me questions about where the story was going and then compared it to Catcher in the Rye. It was agreed that my dialogue was strong and believable and the story felt authentic. Eight people confirmed that I had a story to tell and I was off to a good start. I really should get over myself and just write already.

I regretted the decision to take the bus on the way home. Of course, the bus was late. I stood in the bus shack on Main Street shifting from one foot to the other trying to keep my toes from freezing while simultaneously being paranoid that someone was going to demand my purse and iPod, or worse, my down-filled parka . I’m sure I must have looked like I was doing the Potty Dance. I didn’t get to start my laundry until I got home last night, and I don’t know when I will ever get around to alphabetizing those soup cans, but I’m glad I got myself to the workshop.

Other highlights of the weekend…

 

• Bought a new Cooking Light cookbook—every recipe has a coloured photo and detailed nutritional information.  

• Bought a Timex heart rate monitor at Costco for $69.99. I went straight to the gym after purchasing it to test it out. Nothing makes working out more fun than a new gadget or a new outfit to try.

• Went with Lisa to see True Grit. Warning, if you are considering seeing this movie, be prepared for snakes and horses getting shot. I’m okay with people dying, but I hate to see an animal go down, except for snakes, which I’d rather not see at all.

Hot Lunch

Well, today I wish I had my plug n' play fireplace. The house temp was normal at 19 but after coming inside from a cool and windy walk I sure could've used some warming up. I dragged myself to the gym though, another good way to shake a chill. I hope that the purchase of the fireplace doesn't make it hard to leave my cozy home for a date with Gym.

Today at work I made one of my favourite easy meals--herbed chick pea and tomato pizza. It's just mashed up and seasoned chickpeas on a pita, topped with tomato, ricotta and Parmesan cheese, baked until crisp. The mini pizza caught the eye of some others in the lunch room. One woman said, "Jill always brings the best lunches". Another one said, "I know, I've been noticing her lunches for the past week, I'm a lunch stalker!" A few others then commented that they would bring better lunches if it were not for the fact that they had children to make lunches for too.

That Jill is a real head turner, especially at lunch time. Well, if it meant I didn't have to eat solo as much I'd happily bring another bite to share. Every once in a while I think about making this offer.

I'm not done yet

My day started off with waking up to sunshine and birds chirping at eight am. I felt rested and excited to get my day started. I showered, sun-screened and headed out to meet Amara at Starbucks for a walk with her and Baby B. After Amara finished feeding B a snack we headed toward the park.

Normally Baby B falls asleep soon after we get going but today he was wide awake and squirmy. He'd hold his hand up for me to give him a high five and get excited when an airplane would pass overhead. About half-way through our walk he got fussy. I think he wished he was out toddling around instead of being buckled into his little red stroller.

"See, it's not all rainbows and lollipops," Amara said to point out that her son was not the perfect child.

Amara and Christian taught B some baby sign language when he was months old. I knew the sign for "milk" but when he started waving both hands back and forth between sobs I asked Amara what Baby B was signing.

"I'm finished," she replied.

I laughed. Baby B is 15 months old and already he's ironic. Mark my words, that is a special and gifted kid.

After the walk I headed home to bake. Lisa is going to Africa in August to volunteer at a music camp for kids and is having a benefit concert on Sunday night. She asked if I would mind baking something they could serve during the break. Lisa recently started seeing a naturopathic doctor who has her on a strict diet of no eggs and limited dairy. When she first started the new regime Lisa was sad to have to give up baked goods because most of them contain egg so I found a chocolate cake recipe that contained no eggs or milk and baked it for her one night when I had her over for dinner. It turned out well so I decided I would make another one for her concert this weekend so that while surrounded by plates and plates of cookies and sweets that she couldn't eat, at least there would be one thing she knew she could.

The cake is super simple to make and only takes 30 minutes to bake. I decided to do it in a Bundt pan so that it would slice up nicely for a platter. When the cake was done I inverted it onto a plate. About 30 minutes later I lifted the pan up slightly to see if the cake had come away from it yet. Indeed it had, so I pulled the pan away completely and then promptly frowned. I had put the cake upside down too soon while it was still warm and so it broke when it fell from the inside of the pan to the plate. It was unsalvageable.

Abandoning the cake and realizing my spare afternoon time was running out I found a coconut shortbread recipe to make for a second attempt. The recipe had only four ingredients--butter, flour, icing sugar and coconut so it would still be safe for Lisa to eat.

Just as I was starting to get the ingredients out my mom came over. I showed her my cake disaster and told her of my plan B. I went to pull the flour out and held my tongue from swearing in front of my mother when the container tipped over and dumped about half a cup of its contents in my corner cupboard. Outside it was a hot sunny afternoon. Inside I was a hot cranky mess who would much rather be outside gettin' sweaty with it. I was ready to throw my hands up in the air and wave them like Baby B. I'm finished indeed.

"Come back to my house," my mom said after I vacuumed out my cupboard and replaced its contents. "I have a no-bake lemon squares recipe." Last year for mother's day I gave my mom a card that said, "To the woman who taught me that when life gives you lemons you make lemon drop martinis." My mom is very good with me and my lemons.

Lisa and I had made plans to do some people watching on the sidewalk of the Osborne Village Starbucks. It is one of our favourite summer things to do. We both ordered tall icy drinks and scored a free table with a view. I saw more hot girls pass by than guys though so the people-watching was a bust. Under the clear blue sky we talked of boys, dream jobs and babies and then we headed back to her place.

She had Tivo'd this week's season finale of The Vampire Diaries and asked if I wanted to watch it. I had watched it twice on Thursday night and again on Friday night. I had memorized lines and burned to my mind every smoldering, brooding and flirty look Ian Somerhalder/Damon displayed. Yes. Yes I did want to watch the episode again and no I am not going to justify my reasons for you here.

After VD Lisa flipped through the channels and found Sex and the City on Cosmo. It was an episode I hadn't seen in a very long time and hardly remembered. Carrie and Big get into couple mode and Miranda meets Steve and ends up kissing him in the rain.

"I should send you this wedding announcement I read in the New York Times this week," I said. This is another thing I've recently discovered I love--nytimes.com. Mostly I read the technology, science, health and nutrition pages, a bit of the business section too, and oh yeah, the Vows pages. The story I wanted to share was about a woman who wrote a book called Happily Ever After Divorce. She fell in love, got married, got divorced, fell in love with being single but then at 56 found love again.

"She was unattached when she attended a business networking meeting in February 2006 run by Mr. Cooper’s younger brother, Isaiah Cooper, a lawyer, who asked the participants what they hoped to get out of the meeting. Ms. Bram, who had just told someone she wanted romance back in her life, stood up and blurted: “Well, to be honest I’d like to start dating. So if anybody knows anyone... ”"

--Vows, Jessica Bram and Robert Cooper

(Does that not totally sound like something I would do? Wait a minute, I think I did once. Lemme get back to you on that.)

To try to keep myself grounded I try very hard not to believe in fairy tales--Hot, brooding boys who are actually full of heart and the dashing, hard to pin down but worth the wait Mr. Big are fantasy characters in TV shows not to be found in reality. But how many years has the NYT been publishing these lovely love stories? It's the New York freakin' Times--that's a credible news source! These sweet and wonderful things do really happen.

"This Happily Ever After began in the spring of 2005 at the rock club Sin-é, a now-shuttered spot on St. Marks Place, where Ms. Auster was tending bar. She was transfixed when Mr. Jaramillo took the stage alongside a custom-made contraption created from microphone tripods and multiple rows of guitar pedals. Since graduating with a drama degree from Juilliard, she had focused on music but had never seen such a device.

“Oh my God, he is a genius,” she remembered thinking. She noticed something else, too: “He had great guitar biceps.”"

 --Vows, Katarina Auster and Wilson Jaramillo

My sister ended up with a heart-breaker-turned Prince Charming like Big. Nigel will one day marry his junior high crush who he randomly bumped into on Portage Avenue three years ago and has been with ever since. And me? I don't know if my prince will be dark and brooding but I will get my New York Times-worthy romance. I mean, you know me, it's gonna be blog-worthy.

But until then, Prince C looks like this:

Hot potatoes and Valentine's Day 2010

Yesterday I was without hot water for a few hours, set off the smoke alarm repeatedly while roasting lemon potatoes, couldn't put together an outfit and lost my cell phone, twice, before having to venture to the far east side of the city to celebrate Valentine's day with three other single women. I was not exactly a bucket full of cheer.
Lisa invited me to join her for dinner with one of her running buddies on Sunday night. I hesitated about going, first because I wasn't sure if I was going to be working on my novel still that night, and secondly because I wanted to ignore V-day this year in favour of watching the Olympics, washing my hair, scrubbing the bathtub and alphabetizing my soup cans. I've done the single girls' support session thing and I've done the sweetheart thing. The only things I really love about Love Day in February are the pink and red hearts. I used to decorate my cubicle at work with them but I've heard this is forbidden in the place I'm at now, so grey padded walls, 365 it is. But some other force won out against my hesitation and I found myself assigned to bring roasted lemon potatoes for the Greek dinner.

My dad came over in the afternoon to flush out my hot water tank. It's been rather unreliable lately so we thought we'd try to get the crud out of it in hopes of improving its performance. Sunday really didn't seem like a good day for him to do this--Dad was watching the Daytona 500 and I needed to be showered and out the door at a specific time to make it to dinner. But he came anyway, showing up as I was reorganizing my linen closet. While he did his thing I worked on laundry and the pucker up potatoes.

I had asked my dad if I was going to have hot water by five, when I would need to be in the shower. Yes, he said. I had some concern when after the first flushing he ran the water and decided it needed more work. He went back to the basement while I folded clothes and watched speed skating.

Just before five I took the potatoes out. I had lined my glass baking dish with foil to make the clean up easier. I was foiled alright, the roasting juices bubbled over and got in-between the foil and the glass and burned black. The potatoes were fine, great actually, but the burning lemon juice and olive oil was what kept setting the smoke alarm off and resulted in a black mess in the pan. I transferred the potatoes to another dish for transport and quickly put the glass pan in the sink. I squeezed in some dish soap and cranked on the hot water to let the pan soak. The water felt barely warm.

"This is ridiculous!" I yelled. "I need to have a shower now and there is no hot water!" I knew it wasn't my dad's fault, I knew there was nothing he could really do. I was just mad. He left and I said I would be following close behind to shower and change at his place. I grabbed, and stuffed into a duffle bag, every pink or black top I had that, in combination with my new black skirt, might form an outfit that was pretty yet not overly formal. I figured that likely the other girls would be in their jeans but if I was going to be going out and celebrating this day, damn it, I was going to feel like a million bucks. I was running late and went to grab my cell phone to let Lisa know. I couldn't find it. I looked all over the house, tore apart my bed, searched through my purse, my gym bag and my work bag but couldn't find it. So I pulled out Mac and went online to send myself a text message.

I heard the phone vibrate and chime. It sounded to be coming from the kitchen so I went back there and sent another message to myself. It wasn't coming from my purse (though I checked it, again) and it didn't seem to be coming from the counter or the table. I went back to my bedroom, sent another message and listened. It still couldn't place it but then the bell went off in my head and I flung open the linen closet. There it was, on the shelf, with the towels. One of these days it will end up in the freezer. Remind me to make a donation to the Alzheimer's society, for me it would be an investment.

I went into the bathroom to wash my hands and noticed that the water felt a little warmer now. I decided to try the tap in the shower. Hot, steamy water droplets soon rained down and started to wash away the afternoon's frustration.

I happily accepted a glass of white wine when I arrived at the hostess's apartment. I apologized for being so late that she and Lisa were probably ready to eat the curtains, but they assured me all was good and we nibbled on appetizers while dinner heated up.

"Did you finish your novel?" Lisa asked me.

"Yeah, I finished on Friday night," I said.

"Congratulations!" She said and then told her friend, Joanne about my project, who also offered her congratulations. They were genuinely excited for me and this caught me off guard. I had finished the project two days ago and didn't have anyone around to celebrate it with me so I put the moment away and turned my thinking toward the next steps, namely how I was going to print off this 168-page manuscript to start editing it. Joanne asked me about the subject of the novel but I wasn't ready to talk about it yet, so maybe I'm not ready to celebrate it yet either. Is 50,000 words really such a big deal? I thought so once. Lisa and Joanne think so. My Valentine would think so.

I confessed at dinner that I'd had some reservations about accepting the dinner invitation and explained how I didn't want to celebrate V-day this year. Joanne, divorced with a 10-year-old son said she celebrates her old wedding anniversary every year with a steak dinner and wanted to do something similar for Valentine's. We drank pomegranate martinis with red heart ice cubes floating in the glasses--melting hearts, Lisa said. It made me think of my own cryogenically frozen muscle of affection and laugh.

The conversation turned to love and lack-there-of. Another one of Joanne's single friends joined us for dessert and more drinks. As I spoke and listened, I thought about how it felt like a moment you'd see on TV or in a movie. There was the woman who felt she had come to terms with her situation, the woman who had be hurt but still had hope, the one who had wisdom and faith but still some fear, and the one who felt all of those things and was perhaps one miracle or broken heart away from getting off the fence.

"Maybe it all happened so we could end up together, here tonight," Lisa said. There was something right feeling about it all. I don't know what my story will end up being, but this scene seemed to have its place.

Twilight: Full Moon

It's a full moon today, did you know that? I did, at three am when the sirens wailed by my house. With all the sensitivity of a toothpick I pulled the covers over my head and wondered why, if someone was going to have some kind of emergency, they couldn't wait until 5:30 at least.

I have a new recurring nightmare. It used to be the one where I was late for school and didn't have my gym clothes. I also occasionally had ones where I was shot. Haven't seen that in a while. No, lately it's been animal attacks, specifically grizzly bears. Both times now I've tried to hide in a public washroom but the bear somehow gets in anyway and grrr, attack ensues, I wake up. This is the interpretation the Internet gave me:

To see a bear in your dream, symbolizes independence, the cycle of life, death and renewal. It may signal of period of introspection and thinking. The dream may also be a pun on "bare". Perhaps you need to bare your soul and let everything out into the open.

To dream that you are being pursued or attacked by a bear, denotes aggression, overwhelming obstacles and competition. You may find yourself in a threatening situation.

Hm. Let me think on that for a bit and get back to you.

So yesterday was the cookie exchange party and tonight I managed to bake, ice and ganache a cake to take to work tomorrow, so yes, here I am, back at the blog spot. I'm also currently being distracted by Kurt Browning skating sans shirt. Wouldn't that be kind of cold?

I did not win the cookie exchange contest. Amara did though, so I'm happy enough with that. But next year man, next year I've gotta get it. Funny though, Amara won with a cookie recipe almost identical to one I was considering. Doh! Or, rather, Dough! On the weekend I baked two recipes and decided to enter a chocolate shortbread cookie drizzled in caramel and topped with pecans. The other option was a cherry shortbread dipped in white chocolate and sprinkles. Here is the winning cookie:

Here is the cookie I did not enter:


Amara did get a much more uniform shape. Next time I would roll the dough into a log too.

Here is the cookie I did enter in the contest:


I never want to see caramel in my kitchen again.

Here is the 2009 Collection:


I'm getting tired, I can tell. I forgot an ingredient in the cake I baked tonight. More full moon madness, I think. I don't think it will make much difference really but we'll see. Tomorrow I will bake what will be the fabulously stunning cake that will grace my table on Saturday evening for my birthday soiree. Let's hope I have all my marbles about me when I attempt that one. When you come into my house these days it smells like sugar. I'm starting to think I am the witch in Hansel and Gretel and my house is made of gingerbread and gumdrops. Here's a pic of the cake I am going to use to try to win the affections of my co-workers with:

Chocolate fudge cake with peppermint butter cream icing and white chocolate ganache, garnished with crushed candy canes. Because I let it drop that I was bringing in cake this week in honour of my birthday on Saturday, a birthday lunch was organized for me. Nice huh? I've also been regularly eating lunch with some girls my age. My Sea Monkeys are flourishing again, I almost feel ready to name them, and yesterday in the mall I saw an old high school crush and he gave me the ol' elevator eyes. Things are coming around, yup indeed.

Who wants a cookie? Anyone?

This post is encrypted: ***

Head Cheese

I tried out a new recipe yesterday for a focaccia bread with Concord grapes, walnuts and gorgonzola cheese. The link I've included goes to the recipe and a lovely photo of the end result. I was going to post my own photo but my camera just died.

This bread was an all day kind of project but I was excited to try a recipe with Concord grapes. Michael introduced them to me this year and now I completely understand Welch's Concord grape juice and jelly. I had no previous experience with gorgonzola and only limited tasting experience with blue cheese. Cheese, bread, fruit, nuts, how bad could it be?

You sprinkle the grapes and cheese over the bread near the end, just before it goes in the oven. No wait, the recipe says scatter the grapes, crumble the cheese. Has anyone ever tried to crumble gorgonzola? Feta crumbles, goronzola certainly does not. Gorgonzola is like brie but with veins of mold running through it. I know, why ruin a perfectly good wheel of brie? I had to laugh when I noticed that my cheese had a best before date on it. Like really, what else was going to happen to it? More mold? Perhaps the creamy part would go sour? I imagine this would only make it more of a delicacy. They would probably call it Gorgonzola Acida (that's Italian for sour, I think) and sell it for even more!

Oh, special note: I just Googled Gorgonzola and apparently it is supposed to be crumbly like Feta. Damn you Sobeys and your fancy pants cooler of cheeses! You know nothing but charged me over seven dollars for 140 grams of moldy brie!

Anywho, so I baked this flippin thing. I waited the suggested 10 minutes before cutting a piece to sample. I didn't really like it. The grapes were awesome but the gorgonzola was not.

I consulted OAF on the cheese:

me: What are your thoughts on blue cheese, specifically Gorgonzola, if you have experience with it.

5:48 PM OAF: Pure adoration.

A little bit goes a long way, and it can mix with other cheeses.

Delectable.

mmmmmmmm

What are your thoughts?

5:49 PM me: really? Hm. Too bad I can't fedex you my latest cooking experiment. I tried a recipe today for a focaccia bread topped with concord grapes and gorgonzola. I love the grapes but don't really like the gorgonzola.

OAF: You are wrong.

That is the best idea in the world.

5:50 PM me: well really, it is simply heartbreaking that I am here with an entire pan of bread that I only half enjoy and you are there without it.

OAF: (and very hungry)

Figures that the French-Canadian guy would be turned on by cheese. Or would that be cheesed on?

I took a container of the stuff to work today to share. It seemed to taste better today some how. The reviews were fairly positive. Nobody vomited or even made a displeased face.

EEEK! I just heard a helicopter fly over and it gave me scary flashbacks to my dream. Which reminds me, I must go do my regular hour of writing. Ugh. I don't like my writing. I mean, I like it here, but somehow my voice doesn't follow me into my work in creative fiction. It's clunky sounding and cheesy. Actually, if my fiction writing were cheese I think it would be Gorgonzola--crumbly, cheesy and stinky blue veins of characters running through it.

The summer that stole my innocence

Remember when the days were long
And rolled beneath a deep blue sky
Didn't have a care in the world
With mommy and daddy standing by
When happily ever after fails
And we've been poisoned by these fairy tales

Don Henley, The End of The Innocence

On the Friday of the long weekend I got an email from George that sounded like he could use some fun company. I had actually been thinking that I'd like to get together for drinks with him so I set things up with Judy and Cindy to meet us after work at Earl's. Service was kind of lousy and I really should learn that I just don't like their drinks.

Late Saturday afternoon Judy and I escaped the city and headed up to my family cottage. I hadn't been out there all summer even though we talked and talked and talked about going. Judy ended up following me out there and so while I waited for her to catch up to me I happened to park next to what I can only describe as Truck's twin sister--a 2006 sunburnt orange Chevy Corvette. I snapped a quick photo.

At one point I pulled out to pass 'Vette and Judy texted me that she wished she could have taken a photo of the two of us side by side. It was a special moment for Truck.

We arrived at the cottage around 5:30. As always, I had to fumble around in the swarm of mosquitoes with the janitor's collection of keys I have for the doors before we could gain entry. The side door that we normally use was sticking a fair bit. Likely the cottage has shifted and thrown things off. This was the first of many things I noticed that needed some handy help around the place. Sadly, the cottage appears to be on its dying days with the B@rr0tt family. Once affectionately called The B@rr0tt Hilton, during its glory days it would be buzzing full of guests every weekend. No one went out all summer this year. The family that my grandma was renting it to for a week every year for the last while didn't even make it out. I spent a lot of summers out there as a kid making friends and getting sunburns while building castles in the sand so it has a special place in my heart, but I know it's not going to be with us much longer. Each time I go out now it feels like it will likely be the last.

Judy had brought steaks for us to cook up that night. I went to light the barbecue and get things going, but the barbecue wouldn't light. I tried to clean the burner a bit of the old charcoal and dust but it wasn't helping. I tried and I tried and I tried. And then finally it did light, but more in a fireball kind of fashion. It scared me a bit and I backed away. Judy came outside and I could tell by the look on her face that something was terribly wrong.

"What? Oh my God, my hair?" I reached up to touch it, for some reason fearing that it was still on fire.

"It's just a bit singed is all," she said to me. I rushed inside to check things out. Yup, for the second time in my life I had singed my bangs and my eyelashes while trying to light a barbecue. I think it was worse this time than last. I could smell the burnt hair. Why? Why must I be that girl? I love me, but sweet Jebus, why am I the girl who does things like burn her hair while trying to light a barbecue? I think I am going to install a new counter on my blog: number of days since last stupid accident. Ah well. Stupid eyelashes were too long anyway. And hey, this was a cheaper way of getting my bangs cut, right? Oye, Jillian. If you make it to see the age of 40 it will be by some miracle.

I didn't notice it at first, but while I was in the bathroom assessing my new hairdo I started to feel a stinging, burning pain around the knuckles of my index and middle finger on my right hand. Then I remembered that just before lighting the barbecue I had sprayed myself with mosquito repellent. My word, I was practically a human torch. Miracles happen every day, trust me.

Even the slightest burn is some of the worst pain a human can endure, I think. Judy put some ice in a bag for me and sent me away from the barbecue while she finished preparing supper. Never mind the screaming pain I was feeling from the skin burn, my triceps were also screaming at me because I had put them through the Chiseled weights class that afternoon at the gym. For some reason the right arm was worse than the left. I could hardly bend it. I downed my Advil with wine. Between the burned hand that I had to keep in a bath of ice water and the shredded, protesting tricep, my right arm was pretty much useless to me. Drinking wasn't even much of an option since it hurt so freakin much to raise the glass to my mouth. Oh yeah, I'm going back to that class this week for sure. Gotta get those arms in shape some how.

We spent a good part of the weekend watching Sex and the City episodes and then capped that off with watching the movie as Judy had never seen it from start to finish. I also baked an apple pie that Judy marked with a J in honour of the two special J people who would be eating it later.

I knew that Judy was going through a rough time. That on-again-off-again guy of hers that I mentioned before? They are finally off for good. I didn't know how she was really handling it though until I was sitting on the beach with her on Monday morning. Judy is such a strong and together person that she can put on a very believable face. I had no idea she was struggling so much inside and I felt bad for not being more inviting to her to spew if she needed to. I never push for people to talk to me, I just do my best to listen when they do. I pride myself on being a good listener. But I know too what it feels like to want to talk but be ashamed of of admitting out loud and to another person what's really going on inside. I usually don't have much advice to offer. I always feel like I haven't lived enough yet to really offer much anyway. After telling me about what was bothering her she thanked me for organizing the drinks outing on Friday and for getting her away from the city this weekend. I had no idea that I had been so helpful to her when she needed it most. I'm so glad I was able to do that.

I'm back home now. Summer is pretty much over despite what the thermometer has been saying lately. I love fall. To me it has always meant a time of new beginnings and fresh chances. I'm ready for my next beginning.

Out on the road today I saw a deadhead sticker on a Cadillac
A little voice inside my head said, don't look back
You can never look back.
I thought I knew what love was,
What did I know?

Don Henley, Boys of Summer

Summer Vacay 09 Day 4

Today I made rhubarb pie and went to see a Fringe show about relationships. One of those things was sweet, the other was flaky.

I am so done with this vacation. Get me out of here.

Fate does an audit on Jillian and finds her owing

Last week it was Friday the 13th. I had a pretty good day that day. I think Fate took notice of that though and decided it was time for me to pay up. Starting yesterday around 5:30 PM I have not been having the best of luck.

• Pinched finger in my Truck Club. Ow. Purple!
• Found out that the Red Shoe House website I have been working on getting launched with a new look may be going back to the drawing board in 18 months so that all the Red Shoe House sites across Canada will look the same.
• Got charged 30 cents for taking an extra syrup for my waffles in the Good Wooden Leg cafeteria. I figure that works out to about a penny per millilitre.
• Found out that a "loose ends" project I had finally wrapped up this week for my old job needs to be redone (by yours truly) because of someone's typo (not mine!)

I woke up this morning and noticed the house seemed cold. I checked the thermostat and realized it thought it was Saturday and therefore did not need to kick the furnace on until 9 am. This has happened before so I decided maybe a battery change was in order. Took thermostat off the wall, replaced batteries, replaced thermostat, went to work.

Come home this afternoon to a cold house. Check the thermostat--11.8 degrees! Yikes! Realized that I did not properly replace the thermostat. Smack the little box to the wall. Pinched another finger. Gah. Fixed.

Go to the kitchen to start work on my super duper awesome birthday cake for my special man friend. Notice that the recipe (pulled from Cooks.com) looked a little weird. The instructions say "In a mixing bowl, beat together egg yolks, whole eggs, and sugar to produce a mixture that is pale yellow and thick." The recipe only calls for 4 eggs, what's this about egg yolks and whole eggs? Weird.

Finish mixing up cake. Notice that the batter is really really thick. Odd. Perhaps this means the cake will turn out really really good. Cannot pour batter into pans, instead must spatula it into the round reservoirs and attempt to spread it around so it reaches the edges. Throw it into the oven and hope for the best. Re-read recipe and laughed at the note: "This is my very favorite cake recipe and I do not give it out to anyone but family".

Pull cakes out early and laugh because I cannot cry. They look like chocolate Frisbees. Head downstairs and pull a Betty Crocker off the shelf. Back to the drawing board. Oye.

A Keeper

Tyler just left a few minutes ago. First thing I did was pull out Mac and turn on my music. When I tell Tyler this later he will probably laugh and tell me that when he got home he put on some screamo band music and contemplated again the idea of growing a beard.

We spent the whole long weekend together. I wasn't entirely sure how it would go. Would we get bored? Tired of each other? Cranky? I don't know why I always worry about these things.

From Valentine's

On Wednesday Tyler had pink roses sent to me at work. I had never been so pleasantly surprised. The card read:

Dear Jillian,

Just a little "early" Valentine treat for you. This should help decorate the new cube a little as well as make some of your co-workers jealous. Looking forward to our Valentine's this weekend.

On Friday I requested that he pick me up from work so that I could safely transport the flowers home. We split up and then reunited later to head to Rob's place.

Rob was celebrating his birthday that night at the King's Head pub, a fun little place in the Exchange District downtown. I picked Tyler up. I'm pretty sure I've mentioned before on here how stressed out I get about parking, especially parallel parking downtown. Tyler learned this fun little fact about me as we drove circles around the joint trying to find an easy spot for me to pull into. We ended up parking on a deserted street about three blocks away from the pub, which, in mid-February Winnipeg temps, is not exactly pleasant. Lucky for me, Tyler still finds these quirky (annoying) things about me endearing. I am realizing that it's probably best I reveal as much as possible about myself now, while we are in this "I love everything about you" stage.

On Saturday I busied myself with last minute V-day preparations. I was making Ty Imperial cookies--his favourite and had this vision in my head of decorating them with V-day themed words. As it often turns out, my vision and the actual product did not entirely match.

Here's a picture of the best of the bunch:

From Valentine's

Incidentally, Tyler made me cupcakes. He was so excited about them that he dropped one off on his way to work on Friday morning. This is how his creation turned out:

From Valentine's

Tyler and I planned to eat in on Saturday night but I still wanted to dress up in something fun and girly. I had found a steal of a deal pair of shoes at Le Chateau the weekend before and built the outfit around them.

From Valentine's

After dinner we exchanged gifts. I'll just say that I am a lucky, lucky girl. He thought of everything.

From Valentine's

On Sunday morning we went out for breakfast. I picked a warm, sunny booth to sit in. Not long after we sat down, a pair of middle-aged lovers sat at the booth beside us. I can't even tell you the story of these two nuts, but it was hilarious to be a part of their world for a morning. After a while I couldn't even keep my composure and I just cracked into a fit of laughter.

"Tell me something awful," I begged him. "Tell me something terrible about bunnies dying or something." I wanted him to distract me from the comedy routine that was going on beside us so I could finish my breakfast, but nothing would work. I couldn't even look at Tyler because I would just start laughing all over knowing he was cracking up (on the inside) too. I thank my lucky stars that I had someone else to share that memory with. It was something priceless.

For the rest of the weekend, we mostly just hung out. We did crossword puzzles (who knew they could be so much fun?) had Sunday dinner with my parents, went to a movie (Taken is definitely a renter, at best) and ate a lot.

I love him. He's a perfect fit, and I'm not sorry if that makes for boring blogging.

I am so MAD!

Not at you. (You weren't worried were you?)

I wanted to make peanut butter cookies today. So first I phoned my mom for our favourite recipe. Probably the first time I ever made cookies by myself I made this recipe. She could not find that recipe but she found another one that she assured me was from a reliable source. So I copied it down and went to town.

Bake at 375 for 10-12 minutes, it says. With about 2 minutes to spare I decided to peek at them. OH MY GOD! THEY ARE FLAT AS PAPER AND BROWN AS (um, thinking of a metaphor here, thinking...) BROWN AS BROWN PAPER! (That was not my best.) These are nothing like the cookies I or Mom used to make!

Mom phoned me back later with the old standby recipe, and it was exactly the same except doubled, so I don't know what went wrong, but I am mad. I sampled one cookie. I sampled another (this time with a glass of cold milk). Well okay, they are still tasty, but probably only if you eat them right out of the oven. If I come back here later complaining about a grande tummy ache, you know what I did.

Tag?

I'm super behind on my blog reading, never mind my blog writing. So I just got to Kasia's post about getting tagged, where she also tagged me. According to Kasia, this means:

Rules of the tag: List 5 Obsessions/Addictions that you have, and tag back to the person(s) that gave you the award. Post the rules and tag an additional 5 people.

Okay! I like lists! I like the number five! This should be fun. I am going to try to not list the obvious (shoes) here. And I'm not tagging five others. Mostly because I don't know five others.

1. I am obsessed with the radio. I changes stations like mad to find the right song to listen to while driving/getting dressed/dancing around the house, and every night before I go to bed I turn the radio on and will not turn it off until I have heard one good song. I also have a not-so-secret obsession with listening to the Delilah radio show.

2. I am obsessed with cookbooks and I am forever looking for new ones to add to my collection. They must have pictures. The next one I am eyeing is the Company's Coming Slow Cooker Recipes book. Did you know you can make cake in your slow cooker? Oh, I am also a fanatical reader of cooking blogs such as Baking Bites.

3. I am crazy for scents. Favourites include my now out of production lemon meringue lotion, coconut scented sunscreen, my Betsey Johnson perfume and the Abercrombie store (I have a sweater from there that I don't wear because I don't want to have to wash the scent away).

4. Blackberries--as in the actual fruit. I am especially fond of them with some good vanilla yogurt. Oh, and I'm obsessed with pizza. And cookies. And nachos with guacamole.

5. Driving Tyler crazy. I am super good at it too.

Garbage to Gold

It was a rough day at work yesterday. Things are pretty intense right now on my team and that doesn't bring out the best in Head One. She has this way of making you feel so small and incompetent. I just sat there mostly nodding and agreeing in a quiet voice with her as she piled on the ridiculous requests that only serve to quieten her fears about looking unprepared. For the second time this month I left her office trembling and wondering how I was going to get through the next few hours, never mind the next week and a half until she leaves for vacation. My transition to Amara's job is a little less concrete now. It will happen, but the exact date of it is now up in the air. February 6, Amara's last day, was the hook where I was hanging my last nerve and piece of sanity. Now I'm just hanging.

I've been pretty used to fixing myself during and after a bad day. I have lots of words of encouragement for myself. I have a good inner dialogue going. When all else fails there is Oreo ice cream in the freezer and good friends and family just a phone call away. I also have a big, wonderful and cozy bed with warm covers to pull over my head. Yup, I know all the coping methods.

But lately I've had this extra bit of help too. My Special Man Friend gets more special, more manly and more friendly everyday. When I came back from my meeting with Head One I had a cheery e-mail from MSMF. I wrote back and let him know that the plans we had made for getting together that night would have to be delayed since I'd be working late. I also let him know that the day was just not going so well. He offered to save me from a cold bus ride and pick me up whenever I was done. He took me to the grocery store so I could pick up the ingredients I needed to prepare Thursday night's dinner for Lisa. He took me home and helped me make a mess in the kitchen as I attempted to make homemade linguini. Best of all, he helped me find the light inside of me again so I could face another day.

I talked to my mom on the phone today and told her how my day went from zero to finding a hero in twelve hours.

"Isn't it nice to have a friend," she said to me in a way that sounded to me like she was really holding back her own excitement about this new thing, perhaps afraid of jinxing it herself.

"Yeah, it really is."

A Long December

On Friday night I got together with some of my Winnipeg pals--Lisa, Rob, Vince and Chris. We went to see the Cannes Lions commercials at the Winnipeg Art Gallery and then grabbed some food at Carlos and Murphy's. Since I started celebrating my birthday on December 2, this was my Grand Finale Celebration.

After eating we headed back to my place for cake and drinks. I had baked and decorated a cake for the occasion, which was apparently inconceivable to my friends. In fact, all week at work too people were shaking their heads at the concept. Well I ask you, just what was I supposed to do? I was celebrating my birthday. Birthdays call for cake and candles. I much prefer a homemade cake to a store bought one, so I baked one myself. I look after me. That's what I do.

I wasn't especially proud of the cake actually. I didn't really feel up to baking something from scratch so I used a box of Betty Crocker Rainbow Chip cake mix--my favourite. I also bought a can of icing, which I never ever do, but again, I wasn't feeling up to going through the whole production of making icing. I had to buy sprinkles so I went with the heart shaped ones. I had a vision of a very lovely cake but unfortunately, it turned out not nearly as pretty as it looked in my head. It worked.

Lisa told me I couldn't put the candles on myself so she did that. Then they were supposed to sing, but no one really wanted to start, so I think I started and then they joined in. I made my wish. It was a bad wish but it was the first thing that came to mind. And then I cut and served my cake.

Can I just comment here that I think I look especially happy here? And that is definitely a good hair day.

My friends were also reeling from my story about the piece of cake I took with me on my trip.

"I can't believe you brought your own cake, and a candle, with you to New York. Why didn't you bring matches too?" someone said.

"Well I wasn't really sure what the rules were for packing lighters and stuff so I just assumed that NYF would have something there or that I'd find something to use."

In the end, if you recall, it was a good thing I did have that piece of cake with me or I would not have had any cake, presents or cards on my actual birthday, and that would have been a little sad.

All said and done, it was good to be home with my pals again. Mostly the guys just teased me mercilessly about one thing or another (it's because they love you, Jillian). Thank goodness Lisa was there. In total, during my week of birthday celebrations I had six pieces of birthday cake and ate pizza five times (in a row!). I love my birthday, but I think I'm done with it for a while now. Thanks to everyone who was a part of it or who sent their best wishes. Please come back next year!

And its been a long December and there's reason to believe
Maybe this year will be better than the last
I can't remember all the times I tried to tell my myself
To hold on to these moments as they pass
--Counting Crows, A Long December

December is coming

Okay Gwen, this blog is for you.

Last night I was the first friend to arrive at Amara's place for the annual Christmas Cookie exchange. I was determined not to be late this year.

This year I made Christmas Ribbon cookies, which were a bit of a hybrid of recipes. When my sister and I were kids my mom used to make (on rare occasion) Rainbow cookies which were coloured sugar cookies in the shape of rainbows. They were tasty, but a fair bit of work. I started off wanting to make just rainbow cookies, but after further research and brainstorming, they took on a more Christmas-like theme. A special touch is the maraschino cherry bits added to the red and green layers, and the almond flavouring added to the white layer.

From Random Winter 2008-09

I didn't win the contest. Not only do half a dozen of us get together to exchange cookies, there is also a contest to determine the best tasting cookie. The winner is decided by the husbands of the cookie bakers. The girls have no idea what kind of scientific process the boys use to determine the winner so I am not sure if I am at any slight disadvantage for not having a confederate judge on the team.

From Random Winter 2008-09

There was talk of switching things up for next year so that the guys have to do the baking and the girls do the judging. If that is the case I will now be screening all future dates for their cooking skills. Don't know your Bundt pan from a spring form one? Next!

It's 6:15 as I type this. Next week at this time I will be somewhere in New York with my New York Friend. Hopefully eating, because I imagine that I will be very hungry at that point after traveling since 8 a.m. New York Friend asked me on Monday night if I was getting excited for my trip. I laughed. He doesn't read my blog.

NYF is a well-travelled guy. I am not-so-much, but I am certainly not afraid of a little adventure. However, I really feel most at ease when I have explicit, step-by-step directions to follow. I was much too proud to ask NYF for help--how could he possibly understand my neurotic need for directions? So I was determined to just figure things out for myself. You can imagine then how relieved and overjoyed I was when he took it upon himself to e-mail me two pages worth of directions to get from the airport to his office downtown via bus and subway. I will study them this weekend and try to figure out what I am going to wear.
On my birthday.
In New York.
(nope, still not tired of saying that.)

This is my brain on sugar and cheap white wine.

I had a weird dream last night. I was still 26-years-old but in public school. My best friend (from 20 years ago) had to go to the hospital to see her dad because he was getting a lung transplant. She needed me to direct her there. As dreams sometimes go, the setting changed and all of a sudden we were in a classroom. But the classroom was in a shopping mall (with a cinnamon bun place next door that smelled so delicious).

Here's where it gets weird: Stephen Harper was the principal. And he was holding my class in detention. And he was going on about respecting people and I wasn't really paying attention but then he singled me out and asked me to basically repeat what he had just said. I mumbled something. Somehow my friend and I got out of there.

At the beginning of the dream I just had to get her to the Victoria General Hospital, but then it ended up that we had to take a single engine plane to like, South America. And we talked to a weird travel agent who had a sample station of hand creams. I tried a green one called "Love".

And then I woke up.

I would guess that there is a mish-mash of possible interpretations here. I don't know why my old best friend and her dad came to mind, except that she did live next door and I was at my parents' place yesterday, where I was baking (not cinnamon buns, mind you).

The Stephen Harper cameo is really weird. Apparently I am very unhappy with him and his policies on healthcare and I generally find him irrelevant, yet I feel like I should be able to regurgitate what he says when called upon, and perhaps I am embarrassed by the fact that I don't pay much attention to political leaders. In fact, I'd rather be shopping.

The travel agent? I watched Amazing Race last night with my family. The green lotion? I'm not sure, but love is a pretty constant thought in my head. Usually I think of it right before bed, which is when I put hand cream on. In my room with one green wall.

Yes, I am one of those people who does remember her dreams. I find they are most vivid when I've had sugar before bed. I was eating cookies almost all day yesterday. And I had wine with dinner.

I told Nigel about my dream today and he sent me this picture:

I anticipate nightmares tonight.