Snow/sand

Making Marley proud: setting my piggies free! (thanks for the pedi, MDM!)

I recently had the extraordinary luck and joy of travelling to Bermuda (found a too-good-to-pass-up seat sale) to visit our good friends S&P V who have been living down there doing an artist-in-residence program. She: painter extraordinaire, he: ingenious carver/sculptor. Quite the talented duo!

To understate it, Bermuda is a small island. This was made abundantly clear as the plane made it's steady descent toward a massive expanse of... water. No land. No runway. I have never flown into a place without seeing land from quite a distance away. Umm, ok, land anytime would be good. Seriously people, where's the land? Of course I had complete and utter faith in the pilot, but I'll admit I was relieved when land appeared (seemingly just moments) before touching down, and yes, I'm exaggerating, but only a little. It just seemed too easy to overshoot. It's at those moments when you stop taking something for granted that you realize how ludicrous/absurd/amazing something like flight is, and I wonder how we got there at all. And in just 3 hours from Toronto. Amazing.

It was so great to see our friends again after many months, and have so much fun exploring and feasting (two of my favourite things)! I had a phenomenal time, and it was so good to get away, have some fun and let the spring warmth seep into my bones.

I tried to make a sponge of myself: taking in all the new sights and sounds, and the colour, the glorious colour! Water in impossible and infinite hues of turquoise, hibiscus (flowers in bloom!) in peach, scarlet and gold, new and unknown flora in verdant shades of green. And the sounds: waves crashing and birds chirping! And the silent, but somehow melodic, flit of butterflies dancing. And the smells: slightly-fishy, salty, ocean air, tiny white flowers with an intoxicating scent like jasmine, and that distinct freshness that you smell when the greenery is blooming and growing! Life! Oh, how I've been sealed up in the house/workplace for too long, steeled against the deep and mute freeze outside.

Let's be honest, the light helps.

I have been mulling over the shape and direction of this post for a few months. Since the deep, dark, depths of winter, when I thought it would be a nice divergence from the gloom to revisit photos from sunnier times, to now, on the brink of the return of light. Either way, I would like to write about light, to honour it's return, and revel in the multitudinous qualities it can take, and how, when it's fleeting qualities are captured it can add a physical dimension to a photo.

Space to create. Creative space.

I have been looking forward to having this space to craft, sew, draw, paint and design for many months, especially since Mark's desk moved upstairs after we finished the office renovation.

The recently-finished, over-sized bulletin board is the final addition, making the space complete. Mark constructed the frame for me from 1x2's; meticulously and skillfully routering and mitering the corners, and I painted it, then distressed it, and adhered the cork. I found an old, but unused roll of cork (8 feet x 2 feet, 1/8 inch thick) on kijiji for just 5 bucks! Total steal. I had planned to re-purpose some old bulletin boards and wine corks, but this was an easier solution.

All 15.6 km of it.

Mark and I went out for a skate yesterday, and it was one of those rare days when three main conditions are met, creating the perfect day for skating: 1: not too cold, 2: not too busy, 3: nice, smooth ice. The fact that it was sunny was just a bonus!

And judging by the mild forecast for Monday, and the speed at which the trucks on the ice were removing signs, kiosks, and benches—leaving behind people's boots, and undoubtedly causing confusion and frustration when those boot owners return and have no bench to sit on!—this is likely to be the last skate of the season.

We were having such a good time, and since there may not be a chance to skate on the canal for another 10 months, we ended up skating the entire length of the canal, all 15.6 km of it. Including two passes of the Dow's Lake loop, the Patterson Creek loop (where we started), and the bit down to the locks. We generally avoid the downtown section, because the ice from the top to the Somerset bridge is generally in terrible condition, as it is the favoured place for Winterlude tourists to experience the canal, and rightly so, owing to it's proximity to Confederation Park (where the ice sculptures are) the Byward Market, and the picturesque spires of Parliament and the Château, and the lovely spans of the Laurier and Mackenzie King bridges arching over the canal. But the ice was surprisingly decent, and we only had to "walk" the last few meters around the 0.0 km marker in the soft, choppy ice.

I'm a bit stiff today, but it was definitely worth it. And yes, we couldn't skate past all the BeaverTail kiosks, smelling those heavenly wafts of fried cinnamon and not have one!

Tree story No. 1: Sir Robert Cromwell Blythe the 4th

I pass this tree on my walk home from work everyday. The tree's striking, rod-straight posture is distinctly eye-catching. That and the fact that it towers over the surrounding trees and houses, which themselves are not small.

Perspective: chip or bird?

There is a chip in one of the tiles in my bathroom. Many helpful and well-meaning people have suggested ways to fix it; fill it in, but I think I'll leave it.

You see, I kind of like it. If you look at it from the bathtub side of the room, it looks quite a bit like a bird. Some sort of hummingbird-duck hybrid.

I like those little surprises when you realize that you can find inspiration anywhere. I mean, what fun is it to see a chip in the floor as a chip in the floor?

Monday Night Dinner: Tea Biscuits (and Stew)

I was going through the cupboards on the weekend and unearthed some long-forgotten foodstuffs, among them, a seasoning packet for slow-cooker stew. I've been looking to recruit the slow-cooker to aid me in making quick meals, but hadn't found any recipes that can be prepared quickly in the morning and left for 8 hours while I'm at work. This packet recipe was just the ticket in that respect, but the packet itself was suspect. Aside from the obvious gamble of using something that's been in our cupboards for... years... it's also full of things that I try and avoid. It basically an over-salted, hydrogenated, mass-produced mixture of spices which I have the fresher versions of in my fridge and spice drawer. So why bother? Well, I really, really hate wasting things.

So I decided to use it, rather than throw it out. Couldn't have been simpler to make: cut meat. Put in pot. Cut veggies. Put in pot. Mix packet with water. Put in pot. Turn on for 8 hours. And voila! And I'm sad to say that the packet did not exceed the already low expectations I had for it. The stew was very salty, and had that distinctly un-homemade taste. It tasted like it came from a can. Bummer.

Furthermore, as great as the slow-cooker is, I kind of prefer making things that require attentive stove-top love. When I talk about wanting to take back the kitchen, this is not the way I want to conquer. I want to be more hands-on. But anyway, enough about that. Let's move on to the thing that made the meal delicious, despite the lack-lustre stew: the tea biscuits.

This tea biscuit recipe is imprinted on the tree rings of my youth. I have very fond memories of these tea biscuits of which my dad was the primary baker. He made them all the time to accompany my mom's stews and soups, and would whip up a batch if I had a stomach-ache and we would have them plain, or with honey or jam. Pure comfort food. Oh, and the tea biscuit paraphanelia: to keep the biscuits warm on the table, they were put in a basket that was covered with a folksy, fabric rooster, and you had to lift it's wing to take one out. These tea biscuits also made excellent missiles for table-top battles between my brother and I, to the dismay of our dining guests.

Once, in University, I called my dad for the recipe and was shocked when he said he'd need to consult his recipe book. Recipe book?! What recipe book? I thought it was your recipe! I thought you knew it like a homing pigeon knows where to fly! To be melodramatic, I'd say that a core idea in my belief system was shattered that day. But, at least the book in question was the venerable Beard on Bread. Ok, I suppose I can live with that. But in my recipe notebook where I scribbled it, I call it "Dad's Tea Biscuits." But in case the James Beard Foundation is reading this (yeah, right), here's the recipe posted on their site.