Les bon temps rouleez!

Happy Mardi Gras! Today is the last day I can feast on sugar, flour, bread, cheese, dairy, and tropical fruit. Yeah, that last one is a bit weird, but that's what the detox says.

Incidentally, it's all a coincidence that my detox starts tomorrow and today is Fat Tuesday, but it does give me unexpected glee to have a ham & cheese croissant and a chocolate milk for lunch.

whoopee!

Changing the Oil

I'm about to embark (quite seriously, mind you) on a herbal detox. In all possibility, I have been on a one way road to the city of Toxicity most of my life. I have endless childhood memories of McDonald's Shamrock Shakes, angel food birthday cakes, and a glorious stream of cheeseburger deluxes with rootbeer floats at the Co-op cafe counter whenever I was sent to visit my grandmother in Olds, Alberta. Then there were the rounds of grilled cheese sandwiches with Campbell's Tomato Soup and a tall glass of milk masquerading as a nutricious and well balanced lunch of my youth. While seriously enjoyable in all their glory as an adolecent, these dietary staples probably have instigated my descent into nutrition hell.

Oh, I exaggerate, don't I?

But seriously, my high school years were spent feeding my brain with slushies and chips from the 7-11 at lunch, peanut butter and jam sandwiches for dinner and not much for breakfast. Water has been disguised variously as juice, coffee and pop. Later on there were bouts of steamed broccoli and other vegetables, brown rice, salads, and real water, but these were sandwiched between eggs, fried potatoes, sausages and espresso.

So, tonight I carefully bagged up $20 worth of almonds, washed carrots and cut up celery. Stocked the cupboards with brown rice, quinoa, lentils and herbal tea. Bought fish, apples and broccoli. I hid the jam, mayonaise, chutney, honey, pickles and other condiments. I wrote out what I wasn't allowed to have, what I could and put the toaster up in the cupboard and brought down the juicer.

I'm ready. I'm set. I'll be using you, dear annoymous reader, to blog my turning off the well travelled highway of accumulation and onto the rainy side road of elimination.

Wish me luck..

Happy Birthday Catherine

You're smart, creative and beautiful in so many ways that I wish I was. You're loving, caring and hardworking with endless supplies of patience. Your talents and individuality shine through everything you do. The courage you display to try new things and preservere at things you want to conquer inspires and motivates me. And if it weren't for you, I'd probably be an only child and not have all the fantatsic childhood memories of the endless torture I inflicted on you. Mu-nama-na.

Love, Jill

La patte de chat.

walk the line

I don't like to walk. I sytematically try and overcome it but sometimes, I don't know why, I just dread it. When I take the bus home from work, as my neck of the woods nears, I contemplate getting off the bus early to walk around the lovely lake near my home. Sometimes I can. Otherdays I don't and I cringe at the thought of the 3 block walk from the other bus stop to my apt. I wish I could enjoy it but its nearly produces an attack of ARE WE THERE YET voices. I count my steps, try shortcuts, dodge down alleys and attempt to notice the 'little things'.

Sometimes with luck. Like the day I wandered off my usual trek to the morning bus and found the teapot tree. That was the day I was in a rare walking mood and was subsequently late for work.

Today I may have found temporary relief. A site (Mom: I know yer going to lurve this!!) that calculates your distance in miles and km. The example is even in my hometown! For the moment, this will keep me amused in knowing how long my anguish will last for.

Now, could someone compute that into minutes, please.

Thanks to Youngna's site for the link.)

for whom the bell tolls

I want to get a bell for Ruby's neck so she'll be forced to stop the carnage. So far, I have endured the "gifts" of 7 mice and 3 birds, with 1 bird saved to flap another day. Michael says I might as well stick a sign on her that says Racoon Food. Apparently if she has a bell, the racoons can track her movements easier, thus making her a likely candidate for something else's wrath while she saves others from her own.
Tough call, but I'm hoping I see her bring down a crow one day. Then she'll really be a killah.

Too Lips for Valentine's Day

The boyfriend knows I love tulips and gave me a lovely bunch for Valentine's Day. They're just starting to bow and bend and do all the lovely things that Two Lips do.

Click on the title to see the whole set.

carnage

On the bus, looking out the window, watching the flock of birds coast on an unseen wind current. Sleak bodies with beating hearts tilt and glint in the setting sun. Splashes of gold shimmer slice the darkening sky momentarily. Walking home across the near by park, dogs frollic; chasing tossed objects to fetch. Crows, alive and squaking splatter across the sky above me.



Ruby, curled up and small, sleeps peacefully on the red woolen blanket laid on on the window sill by the door. Content, she doesn't hear me walk up. I tap on the the glass with my key and she startles from her slumber. Yellow-green eyes look at me drowsily. I open the door and notice a small tuft of grey on the white linoleum.

Odd. I wonder what she's gotten into. I turn to go to the bathroom and notice more small tufts. I scan my mind to think of what she could have destroyed in my absence. Black scarf? Nope. It's still around my neck. Black sweater. No, it's drying on the rack. A moment later and the clear distinction of many small greyish black feathers and my mind clicks. Immediately, I can imagine the struggle that ensued. I can hear the flapping, frantic and scared. The sounds of small claws scratching and hitting the smooth painted yellow walls, trying to find something to land on.

Ruby, primal instincts soothed. Urges satisfied, slumbered in the warmth of the afternoon sun while her temporary and unwilling playmate expired on a pair of underwear I absent-mindedly left on the floor this morning. Ironically, the bird is curled in the same fetal position as the cat.



Striken with this sight of carnage and destruction, when moments earlier bursted with living breathing life, I know in her little cat way, Ruby meant well.

Happy Valentine's Day to you too, Ruby. I just wish you could clean up after yourself.

Happy Valentine's Day from Ruby

Wonderlander

I was, at one point, planning a leave of absence to spend the entire month of February in New York City. Now given the fact that Gotham is 10 feet under snow, I'm rather glad that little opportunity reversed itself and I'm sitting in sunny and warm Vancouver where the snow that makes it to the ground, doesn't stand a chance of surviving more than an hour tops.

According to the NY Times, the snow is ‘blowing, drifting and thigh high.” As well, the snow has, as they grimly put it, “crippled transportation and commerce, and disrupted life” But wait! In a more adventurous spin, it has “brought out skiers, sledders, and other wonderlanders.” Mmm, curious term, wonderlander. Perhaps some kind of gleeful nutter who rejoices in the prospect of trudging through waist high cold wet snow??

Personally, from the looks of it, NYC is grinding to a halt and this guy does not consider himself a wonderlander enthusiast.

However, my old stomping grounds of Alberta, could probably use some of the white stuff as there is so little of it, it's rather alarming. I have a relative Wonderlander, who will remain anonymous. They have flung themselves into winter sporting activities this year as though their participation can be considered an offering to the god's. Apparently, the lack if snow is so bad, they are moving snow from one part to another so they have something to practice their snowshoeing activities on. I can only imagine how much fun snowshoeing on muddy grass can be.

About as much fun as cross-country skiing on gravel?

In more related snow activities, Michael and I rented a sporty little import and drove to Whistler (future home of The 2010 Wonderlander Games) where we could observe the wonderlander activities from a safe distance. While we both seem to be mildly curious about downhill skiing and snowboarding, we are both in agreement of the hideousness and cost of the various choices of attire required to protect thee from the harsh elements. Not to mention the funds required just to get to the top of a mountain, to strap wood to your feet and to warm your frozen carcass after careening at top speeds down a wedge of hard packed snow and ice.

Had we been more prepared for our journey, we may have parted with the 50 smackers to merely ride the lifts for ‘sightseeing only’.

Clearly, Michael and I are not Wonderlanders.

Yes. Beautiful, Aren't I.

This photoblogger guy..Joesph Holmes.. is just too amazing to not mention here. Click on the title to go to his site.

and one more thing

I forgot to mention that sometimes Michael does these little things, like buys me a filter for my lense, out of the blue. Just because he cares, or he's thinking of me, or for no reason at all and that's when I feel more special to Michael than any 'gosh, you look pretty today' could ever hope to make me feel.

(I still really would like Michael to tell me that one day though.)

If only he would shack up with me. But then again, like I told him the other day, I would spend most of my time explaining kitchen utensils and picking up after him.

Home from the Duff

Micheal aka 'the boyfriend' is home.

Michael, who is one of the most handsome creatures I have ever laid eyes on, has been the man on my arm for almost 2 years. This is rather remarkable since I have a track record of about 10 months before I find a reason to self destruct. I must have changed along the way. Either that or it's because things are so damn easy with Michael.

We have almost never had a fight. He makes me laugh at something nearly everyday. He's charming and witty and clever most of the time. He's a pretty understanding guy. When I went off looking for things I was lacking from him, he understood and let me do it. He's affectionate, generous, smart, and a bunch of other things I shouldn't really tell everyone. He's got lovely eyes and a British accent that's wins me over every time. But..thanks to that British accent, it also means he never tells me anything nice about me. Isn't that the British way, a stiff upper lip. Or is that just a human being thing, or a guy thing? He never reveals his feelings, and the worst bit which has nothing to do with being British is he'll never really commit to an us, as in we'll never move in together and if I have any aspirations of procreation, it's definitly not with him.

So, it's a tough spot. Sometimes those things seem important to me. I'm seriously undecided if I ever want to birth another life, but I actually would like to cocreate a home. Cohabitate. Share the bills, the groceries and the bed. Cook dinner with and for someone. Have a home with someone instead of hanging out. Michael, I know, is not even remotely interested in having that with me. So, whereas, he's so many things, he's also not some things. And sometimes, that makes the whole situation a heartbreaker. Otherwise, I pretty much luv him even if he maybe doesn't quite luv me the same way.

Mr. Tomorrow is looking for a bike and I found this.