My domestic life should be enough to fill my time, if only I had the desire to hone my skills in the domestic arts. I mean, I do sometimes; just not this week.
Last night I spent some time putting handwritten recipes into plastic sleeves in a binder, to keep them safe from the drips that always find their way onto my recipes while I'm cooking something. It's a fairly significant binder. This doesn't include all the recipes I've bookmarked to look at another day. There are literally hundreds of those that may never make their way onto paper or into my belly. Wishful bookmarking. I did find a nice sounding espresso gingerbread cake that doesn't require a trip to the store unless I want to make this specific icing. Recipes requiring a springform pan are enchanting.
On Monday my Christmas china setting finally came in, four full months after ordering it. Apparently rim bowls throw the whole thing off. I'm up to six place settings, but really would like to concentrate on getting a few more for those fancy dinner parties I'll enjoy at some point in the future. I guess it's strange for a single person with an itchy moving finger to want the stability of china; it's oddly comforting to know I have something that will be with me until death.
With the few extra hours worked at the public library, I've been requesting more books and DVDs that I come across. Some of them I already know I'll want, so I just ordered a few online, including: Ratio, The complete book of small-batch preserving and Miniature Rooms. It makes me a little crazy because sometimes I only collect the books for a rainy day, but on rainy days I tend to revisit books I always look at.
Books in my bookshelf suggest I've had grand ideas without the follow through. Keeping up with Japanese books take up 1/12th of my collection. Learning more about targeted architecture and art history take up slightly more. Most glaring right now are the books on making miniatures, something I've been thinking of semi-regularly for four or five years, and more than once per year before that.
I was obsessed with the dollhouse my sister and I got for Christmas one year, a put-it-together three-storey with 10 rooms. My mother and I decorated it, albeit somewhat tackily since I was around 10 or 11 and had no concept of time periods. Despite the few rooms that were done terribly by me, I still love to look at it when I visit my parents. At some point, my mom bought a few books on making miniature furniture and rooms, inspired by my interest in the dollhouse I suppose. After the Thorne Rooms at the Art Institute, I'm somewhat inspired again, though to a lesser degree than Mrs. James Ward Thorne, who hired craftsmen to build her rooms. I'm thinking a little more DIY.
Really, I'd just be content to follow through on one of these ideas that run through my head constantly. Hopefully the book on the Thorne Rooms will be incentive enough to get me working on the miniature rooms idea. That and a Dremel tool. Who doesn't want a mini room? Except those that don't want another room to clean...
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
take another piece of my heart
After leaving Dearborn & LaSalle, the only thing I could think of doing was going to a 7-11 and cleaning out the liquor cooler and passing out in the alley behind the hotel, but opted for something slightly less detrimental to my overall wellbeing.I decided to try to catch some of the Cubs/Reds game I didn't think I'd be able to go to. I headed to State to catch the Red Line to Addison, popped to the ticket window, and got the cheapest seat I could ($24). The seat was pretty decent, considering, but I was wholly unprepared to be sitting outside in 4 degree Celcius weather for 5 innings. (I got there in the bottom of the third.) The Reds had just scored a run before I got into the stadium and nothing much happened until they scored another 2 runs in the 5th or 6th. It was a bit of a blur, faster than baseball generally seems on TV. For the 7th inning stretch, everyone got up and sang, swaying with friends, and I decided I should probably get the hell out of there before the end of the game. I imagine the train is hard to navigate with 38,784 people trying to ride it. At the end of the 8th when nothing happened I headed to the train and back to Harrison. There was a young robust femmey black man who started singing around Grand; he had a lovely voice and his friend kept egging him on, telling him to bring it if he was going to bring it. It made me smile even more when he sang a song for me. I think it might have been popular from American Idol. Whatever, I'll take it.
In the morning I got up stupidly early and took the #6 to Jackson Park. The walk around the Museum of Science & Industry was quite nice, but the farther away from the building I went, the more wooded the Wooded Island got. I can't imagine Olmsted had this in mind when he designed the park; it's much more unkempt than any landscape architect would allow. Still, excepting the rambunctious Canada geese that tried to dive bomb me, it was a pleasant walk. The Osaka Garden was serene, though I found it odd there weren't any cherry trees. (Actually, I saw just one cherry tree the entire time, which seems so strange since I've seen them yearly for the last decade. All cities don't have cherry blossoms? So sad.) I finally found the replica of the Statue of The Republic, an enormous golden overseer at the end of the grounds. I headed back to the bus, passing the old Midway, amazed that all that remains is the roadways, though I'm not sure what I expected more than 100 years after the fact.After grabbing breakfast, I checked out and wandered around getting last glimpses of some of my favourite buildings for a while before dragging my suitcase over to Millennium Park for the requisite Cloud Gate photos. It's so hard not to take a bunch of pictures of that thing; it's so pretty! There were a few new public art pieces getting secured in the park, possibly in relation to the Modern Wing of the Art Institute that will be opening in a few weeks. I lined up for the AIC just before opening and wandered around the regular exhibits while waiting for my time in the Edvard Munch exhibit. I was more enamoured with the Yousuf Karsh exhibit, full of amazing photographs of the most notable faces in the 20th century. The Mrs. James Ward Thorne mini rooms are AMAZING, but I was starting to fade from waking at sunrise. A quick walk up Michigan to take a picture of public art, one last purchase of Cherry Coke, and I headed to the Blue Line to take me to O'Hare.
I hate leaving Chicago. When the plane touches down wherever I'm living at the time, it feels a little bit more like dread each time. This time my heart actually sank when I walked through the terminal. Maybe it's time to think about moving.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
go home
Meeting him, as with every time, I hold my breath and check my watch until he arrives. The fear is barely still relevant. Years have passed since the moment I started the worrying; he is well now and there's no reason to doubt him.
We always fall easily into conversation, our patterns realigning and syncing up each time. It's easy to be around each other; we understand each other without having to talk. It's always been this way.
This was the second hardest visit. (The first I don't easily talk about unless I've been drinking and have tissues close at hand.) We haven't talked much since my grandmother passed away, when I left a message that I'd be away a couple of days if he tried to get ahold of me. The last month I had a slight worry that something may have happened to his father, a Vietnam vet and cancer survivor who had been having more serious health issues since last September. But then I convinced myself he was probably just busy with work and life; we go through cycles, the both of us.
We met at America's Dog for a Chicago hot dog and chat. Things were fine, we talked about buildings and looked at the CD/45 Motown sets he borrowed from the library and discussed what I did before meeting him. I mentioned Graceland, which he knew I was going to, and said I liked seeing how people honoured their families and friends. He suddenly blurted that his father passed away on March 19th, days before my Omi. I choked back the tears, knowing in that moment things would never be the same again. I asked why he didn't tell me sooner; he wanted to tell me in person, he needed to tell me in person.
It's been years since I saw his father, but I remember seeing their relationship firsthand and realise how great the loss is. I let him talk, trying not to ask too many questions, yet feeling terrible that my silence was making him fill in the quietness. All I could think of was the baseball shirt I sent his dad and about his mom. His parents met when they were 17, married a couple of years later, had him a few years after that. His father was just 58.
The tears in his eyes when he recounted his final visit with his father... His dad was acting "crazy" and was agitated and restless. Usually their visits consisted of watching TV together because, toward the end, his father couldn't speak and became too weak to write messages. On that night, though, his father was in and out of sleep, each time he woke he told him to go home. He fought it for a while, saying he was just watching TV and wanted to stay. Eventually, though, he started getting annoyed and decided he'd leave and give him space to be a grump if that's what he wanted. The next morning while he rode the train to work he got the call.
He had a date with his mom after our meeting, so we walked toward his train and talked about anything other than his dad. I always cry when we say goodbye, never sure if it will be the last time, but this time was more difficult. It was the first time I couldn't look back.
We always fall easily into conversation, our patterns realigning and syncing up each time. It's easy to be around each other; we understand each other without having to talk. It's always been this way.
This was the second hardest visit. (The first I don't easily talk about unless I've been drinking and have tissues close at hand.) We haven't talked much since my grandmother passed away, when I left a message that I'd be away a couple of days if he tried to get ahold of me. The last month I had a slight worry that something may have happened to his father, a Vietnam vet and cancer survivor who had been having more serious health issues since last September. But then I convinced myself he was probably just busy with work and life; we go through cycles, the both of us.
We met at America's Dog for a Chicago hot dog and chat. Things were fine, we talked about buildings and looked at the CD/45 Motown sets he borrowed from the library and discussed what I did before meeting him. I mentioned Graceland, which he knew I was going to, and said I liked seeing how people honoured their families and friends. He suddenly blurted that his father passed away on March 19th, days before my Omi. I choked back the tears, knowing in that moment things would never be the same again. I asked why he didn't tell me sooner; he wanted to tell me in person, he needed to tell me in person.
It's been years since I saw his father, but I remember seeing their relationship firsthand and realise how great the loss is. I let him talk, trying not to ask too many questions, yet feeling terrible that my silence was making him fill in the quietness. All I could think of was the baseball shirt I sent his dad and about his mom. His parents met when they were 17, married a couple of years later, had him a few years after that. His father was just 58.
The tears in his eyes when he recounted his final visit with his father... His dad was acting "crazy" and was agitated and restless. Usually their visits consisted of watching TV together because, toward the end, his father couldn't speak and became too weak to write messages. On that night, though, his father was in and out of sleep, each time he woke he told him to go home. He fought it for a while, saying he was just watching TV and wanted to stay. Eventually, though, he started getting annoyed and decided he'd leave and give him space to be a grump if that's what he wanted. The next morning while he rode the train to work he got the call.
He had a date with his mom after our meeting, so we walked toward his train and talked about anything other than his dad. I always cry when we say goodbye, never sure if it will be the last time, but this time was more difficult. It was the first time I couldn't look back.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
on state street, that great street
I feel weird updating about my trip while I'm still here, but I'm in a holding pattern for another 15 minutes while I wait for my flight to allow check-in online (am hoping to avoid the last-minute seat switch for the flight back).
The weather is much better today than yesterday. The downpour combined with the wind was crazy, but manageable. Today it's all blue skies and sunshine.
Yesterday I woke up at 5am, unsure if it was out of excitement or because my room was so hot. Still, I felt rested and decided to hunt down food. I walked to a place up Wabash that claimed to be a fun old-school diner, but my waitress was dreadful, mixing up sausage for bacon and asking me how everything tasted before I had even cut into my breakfast. Terrible coffee that makes me never want to try to learn how to drink it. So things could only improve.
The library is a lifesaver here. It's the easiest way to get ahold of my friend, and the cheapest. I've lost $1 to the payphone on the main floor of the library, painful when payphones cost $0.50 for the first 10 minutes. It also helps me orientate myself when I get an idea into my head for the day. I took the bus to the Chicago History Museum for the Chic Chicago exhibit, which was so fantastic. Dior, Worth, Hanae Mori, Charles James, a stunning Poiret ensemble that I cannot believe they even own... Just lovely. I headed back to the Loop and the Museum of Contemporary Art because it's free on Tuesdays. Buckminster Fuller is on display and it was astonishing how interesting he was. After WWII he thought weapons factories should produce mass-produced, energy-efficient, inexpensive and quickly assembled housing for low-income people. The small Calder exhibit was pretty good, too. I wandered around in the rain for a while and headed down State to meet Jason for a movie. Knowing nothing more than that it had been compared to Michael Snow's work (among others) and that it was feminist and avant garde (and that Jason no longer has anyone to go to films with because when he takes friends to these films they fall asleep or get angry that they've lost hours of their lives), when we settled into our seats I asked how long it was and he said it was three-and-a-half hours. Jeanne Dielman, 23 Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles was completely fascinating and I barely noticed the time fly by. So excellent. He walked me back to the hotel and we made plans to meet tonight after work.
Today I walked forever looking for a breakfast joint that I'd read about somewhere. Heading eastward down Jackson, people stared at me as I passed them, hoards of them leaving Union Station and walking into downtown. As I entered Lou Mitchell's the hostess, a kindly older woman, offered me a donut hole from a basket and slipped a small box of Milk Duds into my hand. What a way to start the day! I headed back towards the Red Line and took it to Sheridan. I didn't know what to expect with Graceland, but it was awesome. It's amazing to see how people treat their dead; the opposite side of the street holds a more recent cemetary that was much more rundown and unkempt than Graceland. All the men that literally built Chicago are buried there: Sullivan, Mies van der Rohe, Jenney, Nagy, Burnham... It's 100 years since Burnham's plan for Chicago and the city is crazy about him, with banners flying and commemorative books coming out constantly. Seeing pictures of him these last couple of days brought two thoughts to mind which, in conjunction with each other, are disturbing: 1) I am finding myself obssessed with Daniel Burnham and his vision for Chicago (and more generally about his partner, John Root) and 2) Daniel Burnham looks like my brother. I walked for a few hours until my stomach started grumbling and I decided to head towards Wrigleyville. Knowing I wouldn't be able to catch the game tonight, I figured seeing the place would be good enough, and it was. I picked up the most awesome T-shirt ever (which will need to be posted later), took a picture of Harry Carey, bought some more Cherry Coke (I've had a lot of Cherry Coke since I've been here. A LOT), and headed back into the city. Decided on lunch at Heaven on Seven, a Cajun restaurant on the 7th floor of the Garland Building with hundreds of bottles of hot sauce everywhere. My fried catfish po'boy sure wasn't Dadeo's version, but it was still good. I wandered through the Cultural Center, Marshall Field's, around State and Wabash, and then headed back to the hotel for a wee rest and drink of Cherry Coke before being kicked out by the chambermaid.
And now I can check-in for my flight.
The weather is much better today than yesterday. The downpour combined with the wind was crazy, but manageable. Today it's all blue skies and sunshine.
Yesterday I woke up at 5am, unsure if it was out of excitement or because my room was so hot. Still, I felt rested and decided to hunt down food. I walked to a place up Wabash that claimed to be a fun old-school diner, but my waitress was dreadful, mixing up sausage for bacon and asking me how everything tasted before I had even cut into my breakfast. Terrible coffee that makes me never want to try to learn how to drink it. So things could only improve.
The library is a lifesaver here. It's the easiest way to get ahold of my friend, and the cheapest. I've lost $1 to the payphone on the main floor of the library, painful when payphones cost $0.50 for the first 10 minutes. It also helps me orientate myself when I get an idea into my head for the day. I took the bus to the Chicago History Museum for the Chic Chicago exhibit, which was so fantastic. Dior, Worth, Hanae Mori, Charles James, a stunning Poiret ensemble that I cannot believe they even own... Just lovely. I headed back to the Loop and the Museum of Contemporary Art because it's free on Tuesdays. Buckminster Fuller is on display and it was astonishing how interesting he was. After WWII he thought weapons factories should produce mass-produced, energy-efficient, inexpensive and quickly assembled housing for low-income people. The small Calder exhibit was pretty good, too. I wandered around in the rain for a while and headed down State to meet Jason for a movie. Knowing nothing more than that it had been compared to Michael Snow's work (among others) and that it was feminist and avant garde (and that Jason no longer has anyone to go to films with because when he takes friends to these films they fall asleep or get angry that they've lost hours of their lives), when we settled into our seats I asked how long it was and he said it was three-and-a-half hours. Jeanne Dielman, 23 Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles was completely fascinating and I barely noticed the time fly by. So excellent. He walked me back to the hotel and we made plans to meet tonight after work.
Today I walked forever looking for a breakfast joint that I'd read about somewhere. Heading eastward down Jackson, people stared at me as I passed them, hoards of them leaving Union Station and walking into downtown. As I entered Lou Mitchell's the hostess, a kindly older woman, offered me a donut hole from a basket and slipped a small box of Milk Duds into my hand. What a way to start the day! I headed back towards the Red Line and took it to Sheridan. I didn't know what to expect with Graceland, but it was awesome. It's amazing to see how people treat their dead; the opposite side of the street holds a more recent cemetary that was much more rundown and unkempt than Graceland. All the men that literally built Chicago are buried there: Sullivan, Mies van der Rohe, Jenney, Nagy, Burnham... It's 100 years since Burnham's plan for Chicago and the city is crazy about him, with banners flying and commemorative books coming out constantly. Seeing pictures of him these last couple of days brought two thoughts to mind which, in conjunction with each other, are disturbing: 1) I am finding myself obssessed with Daniel Burnham and his vision for Chicago (and more generally about his partner, John Root) and 2) Daniel Burnham looks like my brother. I walked for a few hours until my stomach started grumbling and I decided to head towards Wrigleyville. Knowing I wouldn't be able to catch the game tonight, I figured seeing the place would be good enough, and it was. I picked up the most awesome T-shirt ever (which will need to be posted later), took a picture of Harry Carey, bought some more Cherry Coke (I've had a lot of Cherry Coke since I've been here. A LOT), and headed back into the city. Decided on lunch at Heaven on Seven, a Cajun restaurant on the 7th floor of the Garland Building with hundreds of bottles of hot sauce everywhere. My fried catfish po'boy sure wasn't Dadeo's version, but it was still good. I wandered through the Cultural Center, Marshall Field's, around State and Wabash, and then headed back to the hotel for a wee rest and drink of Cherry Coke before being kicked out by the chambermaid.
And now I can check-in for my flight.
Monday, April 20, 2009
in progress
When I called for a taxi this morning, I was mostly ready to go, but was pulling stuff together and thinking it would be 10 minutes before it arrived. Three minutes after I called the taxi arrived, leaving me scrambling.
I didn't have breakfast before I left, deciding instead to take a bento of oatmeal and strawberries and grapes to eat on the plane. Apparently this is not allowed. I went through customs in Vancouver and wound up having to dump my breakfast as soon as I got to customs. I wasn't allowed to go back and eat it; I wasn't allowed to go onward with it. They sent me to the secondary screening area where they pointed me towards a large garbage can with hazard tape around it and told me it had to go in. No sneaking pieces. Crap.
My stomach was grumbling by the time I got to the gate (security took 30 minutes, and that was with me being prepared and sorted and with everything out. The line was HUGE) and opted for a sandwich to prevent any weird stomach stuff on the plane. I got smushed into a middle seat, so checked at the gate if I could switch seats if a window or aisle came up; the attendant thought it would be a full flight so it looked like I'd be stuck. As they were boarding I was called up to the front and given a new boarding pass: a window seat. Good news, indeed.
I noted the person I would have sat beside was the attractive man I noticed in the waiting area. What if that was fate, that he was someone I was supposed to sit beside on the plane and have awkward conversation with while trying not to encroach on his armrest? I will never know. Suppose the fates gave me the window seat for a better reason.
The flight was uneventful, other than being 40 minutes late taking off: computer problems. My favourite part of all flights is flying through the clouds. I love the bumpiness of it, the white blindness that suddenly clears and the ground comes into view. I love flying into Chicago because of the grid-iness of it; literally, it looks like a patchwork quilt. Flying in over Lake Michigan, the Loop on the left, is something burned in my mind.
My hotel is pretty neat. When I turned on the light to my room I was a bit concerned because it looked small and dark. I knew it wasn't on the lakeside, which was disappointing, but I was interested to see my view despite this. Opening the windows I saw the El, the Washington Library (where I am now), 311 Wacker, the Sears Tower (though recently renamed something involving Willis; it had been suggested on a Chicago photography blog I view that they could, perhaps, nickname it "Big Willy")... I'm pleased.
Tonight my plans are thwarted: "Valentino: the last emperor" is no longer showing at the Landmark (only in Highland Park, and while I'd like to go there I think it might not be worth the hour there and hour back just for a 90 minute movie) and I'm not sure what to do. Will consult my list and perhaps walk around in the rain. Even with wet feet, I love it here.
I didn't have breakfast before I left, deciding instead to take a bento of oatmeal and strawberries and grapes to eat on the plane. Apparently this is not allowed. I went through customs in Vancouver and wound up having to dump my breakfast as soon as I got to customs. I wasn't allowed to go back and eat it; I wasn't allowed to go onward with it. They sent me to the secondary screening area where they pointed me towards a large garbage can with hazard tape around it and told me it had to go in. No sneaking pieces. Crap.
My stomach was grumbling by the time I got to the gate (security took 30 minutes, and that was with me being prepared and sorted and with everything out. The line was HUGE) and opted for a sandwich to prevent any weird stomach stuff on the plane. I got smushed into a middle seat, so checked at the gate if I could switch seats if a window or aisle came up; the attendant thought it would be a full flight so it looked like I'd be stuck. As they were boarding I was called up to the front and given a new boarding pass: a window seat. Good news, indeed.
I noted the person I would have sat beside was the attractive man I noticed in the waiting area. What if that was fate, that he was someone I was supposed to sit beside on the plane and have awkward conversation with while trying not to encroach on his armrest? I will never know. Suppose the fates gave me the window seat for a better reason.
The flight was uneventful, other than being 40 minutes late taking off: computer problems. My favourite part of all flights is flying through the clouds. I love the bumpiness of it, the white blindness that suddenly clears and the ground comes into view. I love flying into Chicago because of the grid-iness of it; literally, it looks like a patchwork quilt. Flying in over Lake Michigan, the Loop on the left, is something burned in my mind.
My hotel is pretty neat. When I turned on the light to my room I was a bit concerned because it looked small and dark. I knew it wasn't on the lakeside, which was disappointing, but I was interested to see my view despite this. Opening the windows I saw the El, the Washington Library (where I am now), 311 Wacker, the Sears Tower (though recently renamed something involving Willis; it had been suggested on a Chicago photography blog I view that they could, perhaps, nickname it "Big Willy")... I'm pleased.
Tonight my plans are thwarted: "Valentino: the last emperor" is no longer showing at the Landmark (only in Highland Park, and while I'd like to go there I think it might not be worth the hour there and hour back just for a 90 minute movie) and I'm not sure what to do. Will consult my list and perhaps walk around in the rain. Even with wet feet, I love it here.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
the anticipation
My head really isn't in the game right now. A lovely few days, really, and the anticipation of more to come is distracting me from basic things.
Friday evening I went to Lihn & Stewart's house for a small dinner gathering with Jill & Mark. Lihn has some dope cooking skills and we had a Vietnamese crepe-type thing that I can't remember the name of, but that was so good. Stewart showed his hilarious newest video involving a cow and we howled over a rambunctious game of Cranium (Jill & I won). My side hurt from laughing so hard.
(My natural laugh has been coming out more often, and easier, than in the past. Over the years I suppressed my natural laugh because my sister would get angry and was mean about my laugh, a derivative of my mother's wonderful cackling laugh. The drunker I get the more likely it is the original will come out, but lately it's been sneaking out randomly. Guess the people I know are just really hilarious.)
Yesterday after work I met up with my visiting friend David (it's taking everything in me not to say his entire name because I almost never call him just David; it's always his full name. Most of our friends address him by full name). We wandered around, had some burgers, regrouped briefly, and met up with his friend for a bit. By the time we got home it was past my bedtime (anticipating an early morning today), so I fell asleep almost instantly.
This morning we met up with Jill & Mark, Lihn & Stewart and their visiting friend Graham for dim sum. We tried a place on Broadway that Jill often drives past that had good reviews and waited out the lineup. Good thing because it was excellent and super affordable. We got something crazy like 17 plates (maybe less because we cancelled the BBQ pork buns when they weren't there toward the end and we were stuffed full) and it was something stupid like $11 + tip per person. And we had leftovers! We actually thought it was a joke, but it's just really affordable. Really, really good beef brisket, and I (finally!) got turnip cake. Jill and I drove David to the ferry and had a good chat on the way back into town. Lovely.
Chicago has been on my mind for weeks, months, and now that it's hours away it's like I have no idea what I'm doing. The weather is supposed to be kind of crappy this week, so I'm not sure what to pack and does that mean the Cubs/Reds game is out of the question and what if the hotel is dreadful and geez the movie at the historic theatre I wanted to go to isn't playing anymore and is Chicago an umbrella city?! I CAN'T REMEMBER! I'm excited. Really, so long as I get to do even half of the things on my to-do list I'll be happy; the cemetery is high on my list.
Friday evening I went to Lihn & Stewart's house for a small dinner gathering with Jill & Mark. Lihn has some dope cooking skills and we had a Vietnamese crepe-type thing that I can't remember the name of, but that was so good. Stewart showed his hilarious newest video involving a cow and we howled over a rambunctious game of Cranium (Jill & I won). My side hurt from laughing so hard.
(My natural laugh has been coming out more often, and easier, than in the past. Over the years I suppressed my natural laugh because my sister would get angry and was mean about my laugh, a derivative of my mother's wonderful cackling laugh. The drunker I get the more likely it is the original will come out, but lately it's been sneaking out randomly. Guess the people I know are just really hilarious.)
Yesterday after work I met up with my visiting friend David (it's taking everything in me not to say his entire name because I almost never call him just David; it's always his full name. Most of our friends address him by full name). We wandered around, had some burgers, regrouped briefly, and met up with his friend for a bit. By the time we got home it was past my bedtime (anticipating an early morning today), so I fell asleep almost instantly.
This morning we met up with Jill & Mark, Lihn & Stewart and their visiting friend Graham for dim sum. We tried a place on Broadway that Jill often drives past that had good reviews and waited out the lineup. Good thing because it was excellent and super affordable. We got something crazy like 17 plates (maybe less because we cancelled the BBQ pork buns when they weren't there toward the end and we were stuffed full) and it was something stupid like $11 + tip per person. And we had leftovers! We actually thought it was a joke, but it's just really affordable. Really, really good beef brisket, and I (finally!) got turnip cake. Jill and I drove David to the ferry and had a good chat on the way back into town. Lovely.
Chicago has been on my mind for weeks, months, and now that it's hours away it's like I have no idea what I'm doing. The weather is supposed to be kind of crappy this week, so I'm not sure what to pack and does that mean the Cubs/Reds game is out of the question and what if the hotel is dreadful and geez the movie at the historic theatre I wanted to go to isn't playing anymore and is Chicago an umbrella city?! I CAN'T REMEMBER! I'm excited. Really, so long as I get to do even half of the things on my to-do list I'll be happy; the cemetery is high on my list.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
(non)hump day
Idleness makes me crazy. Like, clinically. With four days off this week, I'm trying to figure out what to do all day that will get me away from my house but that won't cost me money.
Yesterday I met Eileen for coffee (actual coffee!) and letter writing to our friend living overseas. We headed to Dressew to look at fabric for potential future projects and then over to look at purchasable books for a bit. (Working in libraries makes it hard for me to admit going to bookstores, let alone that I may buy books. It doesn't happen very often, but I feel oddly dirty when I do buy books.) I picked up a magazine and a quilting book, and spent large portions of the evening dreaming about sewing a quilt. It's a dangerous game to play because quilting always requires more fabric and I have a problem with collecting fabric in huge quantities. If I won the lottery I would blow it all on fabric and trips to places that have good fabric or clothing museums.
This morning I made my way to UBC, stopping off at Heather to pick up some maki sushi, to meet up again with Eileen. (Now that she's done school it's easy to convince her to wander around at the drop of a hat.) We decided to go to Nitobe to look at the cherry blossoms, but on the way there we popped into the Asian Library to see our friend Shirin. She came with us to the garden and had a nice visit while eating lunch and gazing at the one cherry blossom tree that was fully in bloom. The trees in Nitobe are way behind with their blossoms; other spots at UBC are fully blooming, so it's really odd. I liked seeing koi poking around the edge of the pond. It was quite nice. On the way to UBC I lost a button on my coat and couldn't remember if I had a spare one at home. This meant another visit to Dressew to look for buttons; I picked up two. They were boring, so I went to the button place in Gastown and picked up two really pretty etched buttons to hoard for the next time I lose a button from this coat. I headed homeward, got ready for work, and spent most of my last shift at Langara looking at journalism research guides from universities across Canada. I am sad that I don't have a schedule at Langara now, but am hopeful shifts will come up occasionally this summer. Fingers crossed.
(A rant: I hate that I have to reinforce buttons on new articles of clothing because clothing manufacturers put so little effort into sewing buttons on. I have a coat from my mother from the mid-1960s and it has never needed button reinforcement. The coat I wore today I've had for two weeks and already I have to reinforce them. Crap!)
Tonight I talked with my old flatmate about girls and boys and why both are so stupid. He and I got on pretty OK for the year we lived together, but our conversations were rarely very personal. Now, though, we've both grown up and have lots of baggage and try to make the other one understand what people of the respective opposite gender is all about. He's got a questioning ex-girlfriend; I've got loads of boys with no interest in dating me. A cheery conversation ensued. He's also given my condition a name and definition: "Karentitis, the fun one who nobody winds up dating." It is painfully fitting. It's also somewhat reassuring that an actual male doesn't understand why I have such crappy luck with dating males. (Today I am fantastically bitter about the boys that didn't like me back, especially the most recent one who is actually nice in non-dating life but a nonsensical jackass in dating mode. I applied to a job in Dubai last night in the hopes I'd be able to disappear in another country and perhaps be stoned to death instead of having to be told I'm not dateable one more time. I've also looked seriously into joining a convent, but am still on the fence with that because of the religious part of it.)
Tomorrow I need to finish my errands for Chicago. Also, WTF is Drew Barrymore wearing on Letterman?!
Yesterday I met Eileen for coffee (actual coffee!) and letter writing to our friend living overseas. We headed to Dressew to look at fabric for potential future projects and then over to look at purchasable books for a bit. (Working in libraries makes it hard for me to admit going to bookstores, let alone that I may buy books. It doesn't happen very often, but I feel oddly dirty when I do buy books.) I picked up a magazine and a quilting book, and spent large portions of the evening dreaming about sewing a quilt. It's a dangerous game to play because quilting always requires more fabric and I have a problem with collecting fabric in huge quantities. If I won the lottery I would blow it all on fabric and trips to places that have good fabric or clothing museums.
This morning I made my way to UBC, stopping off at Heather to pick up some maki sushi, to meet up again with Eileen. (Now that she's done school it's easy to convince her to wander around at the drop of a hat.) We decided to go to Nitobe to look at the cherry blossoms, but on the way there we popped into the Asian Library to see our friend Shirin. She came with us to the garden and had a nice visit while eating lunch and gazing at the one cherry blossom tree that was fully in bloom. The trees in Nitobe are way behind with their blossoms; other spots at UBC are fully blooming, so it's really odd. I liked seeing koi poking around the edge of the pond. It was quite nice. On the way to UBC I lost a button on my coat and couldn't remember if I had a spare one at home. This meant another visit to Dressew to look for buttons; I picked up two. They were boring, so I went to the button place in Gastown and picked up two really pretty etched buttons to hoard for the next time I lose a button from this coat. I headed homeward, got ready for work, and spent most of my last shift at Langara looking at journalism research guides from universities across Canada. I am sad that I don't have a schedule at Langara now, but am hopeful shifts will come up occasionally this summer. Fingers crossed.
(A rant: I hate that I have to reinforce buttons on new articles of clothing because clothing manufacturers put so little effort into sewing buttons on. I have a coat from my mother from the mid-1960s and it has never needed button reinforcement. The coat I wore today I've had for two weeks and already I have to reinforce them. Crap!)
Tonight I talked with my old flatmate about girls and boys and why both are so stupid. He and I got on pretty OK for the year we lived together, but our conversations were rarely very personal. Now, though, we've both grown up and have lots of baggage and try to make the other one understand what people of the respective opposite gender is all about. He's got a questioning ex-girlfriend; I've got loads of boys with no interest in dating me. A cheery conversation ensued. He's also given my condition a name and definition: "Karentitis, the fun one who nobody winds up dating." It is painfully fitting. It's also somewhat reassuring that an actual male doesn't understand why I have such crappy luck with dating males. (Today I am fantastically bitter about the boys that didn't like me back, especially the most recent one who is actually nice in non-dating life but a nonsensical jackass in dating mode. I applied to a job in Dubai last night in the hopes I'd be able to disappear in another country and perhaps be stoned to death instead of having to be told I'm not dateable one more time. I've also looked seriously into joining a convent, but am still on the fence with that because of the religious part of it.)
Tomorrow I need to finish my errands for Chicago. Also, WTF is Drew Barrymore wearing on Letterman?!
Sunday, April 12, 2009
one track minded
Just a wee bit of domestication tonight. Still can't get the laundry done and don't feel like cleaning, but the oven/stove has been busy. (WARNING: this is a pretty boring post. A non-post, really.)
I had some organic stewing beef from Windsor that I had to use up quick and a soup recipe that required said beef. (For some reason I've stopped writing the name of the blogs I get recipes from. It would make it easier to send links to stuff when people ask about recipes. Note to self: start doing that again.) The beef barley soup turned out quite nice, though I almost wish I had cut down the beef even smaller. There's enough for an army. Is it possible to freeze beef barley soup with chunks of beef? I put extra vegetables in and added 5 bay leaves instead of 2. I realise that tomato paste in soups is really, really good. It takes soup to a whole new level.
Soup. I'm excited about soup.
I also decided to bake brownies, largely because they're easy, but also because I desperately wanted something chocolatey. Rachel was supposed to come over, but felt a sore throat coming on and I'm such a baby about my health until I leave for Chicago that we decided to cancel. I wanted to drown my sorrows at missing a meeting with my friend with a pan of brownies. It's a new recipe, but how different can any brownie recipe really be?
Sometime in the coming days I wanted to make a creamy tomato Italian sausage sauce for pasta that I've been looking at for a few weeks. Thursday night I met up with friends at the Old Admiral and had the 1/2 price pasta; my friend highly endorsed the Meat Lover's that had a creamy tomato sauce. I want to see if this recipe comes close to that one because it was really tasty. I've copped out and have one kind of sausage instead of two, but it's an Italian sausage with fennel and basil. I'm intrigued by it.
I also have a tuna casserole recipe I want to make. I have a different, awesome tuna casserole recipe from my friend Alana that is chocked full of garlic, but this one is a southwestern casserole and I thought it sounded interesting to try. Can never have too many tuna casserole recipes. Sometimes casseroles are a necessity for mental health.
Wow, this is really dull. Well, whatever.
OK, I'm going to let you in on a little idea I've been working through in my head. I've been thinking about starting an adult version of Girl Guides/Boy Scouts. When I was in Girl Guides I learnt how to darn a sock, did the cooking badge, went to a church of another denomination, weeded flower beds, made crafts... I think it's time to revisit some of these skills as an adult. I wanted to make badges for the different tasks (time consuming!), but also thought it would just be fun to get together with friends to relearn how to darn socks or teach sewing or do something useful with hands. If I get it together I'll let you know.
I had some organic stewing beef from Windsor that I had to use up quick and a soup recipe that required said beef. (For some reason I've stopped writing the name of the blogs I get recipes from. It would make it easier to send links to stuff when people ask about recipes. Note to self: start doing that again.) The beef barley soup turned out quite nice, though I almost wish I had cut down the beef even smaller. There's enough for an army. Is it possible to freeze beef barley soup with chunks of beef? I put extra vegetables in and added 5 bay leaves instead of 2. I realise that tomato paste in soups is really, really good. It takes soup to a whole new level.
Soup. I'm excited about soup.
I also decided to bake brownies, largely because they're easy, but also because I desperately wanted something chocolatey. Rachel was supposed to come over, but felt a sore throat coming on and I'm such a baby about my health until I leave for Chicago that we decided to cancel. I wanted to drown my sorrows at missing a meeting with my friend with a pan of brownies. It's a new recipe, but how different can any brownie recipe really be?
Sometime in the coming days I wanted to make a creamy tomato Italian sausage sauce for pasta that I've been looking at for a few weeks. Thursday night I met up with friends at the Old Admiral and had the 1/2 price pasta; my friend highly endorsed the Meat Lover's that had a creamy tomato sauce. I want to see if this recipe comes close to that one because it was really tasty. I've copped out and have one kind of sausage instead of two, but it's an Italian sausage with fennel and basil. I'm intrigued by it.
I also have a tuna casserole recipe I want to make. I have a different, awesome tuna casserole recipe from my friend Alana that is chocked full of garlic, but this one is a southwestern casserole and I thought it sounded interesting to try. Can never have too many tuna casserole recipes. Sometimes casseroles are a necessity for mental health.
Wow, this is really dull. Well, whatever.
OK, I'm going to let you in on a little idea I've been working through in my head. I've been thinking about starting an adult version of Girl Guides/Boy Scouts. When I was in Girl Guides I learnt how to darn a sock, did the cooking badge, went to a church of another denomination, weeded flower beds, made crafts... I think it's time to revisit some of these skills as an adult. I wanted to make badges for the different tasks (time consuming!), but also thought it would just be fun to get together with friends to relearn how to darn socks or teach sewing or do something useful with hands. If I get it together I'll let you know.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
sakura
I really haven't felt like blogging lately. On the days it's nice out, all I can think of is going outside and getting some vitamin D and taking pictures of sun-related shadows. On the crappier days, all I want to do is curl up into a little ball and watch crappy TV and eat beef. (Honestly, I've had burgers the last few rainy days and bought beef as soon as I heard the weather was going to turn, in anticipation of the craving. It's weird. I won't even go into the beef jerky problem I have on a monthly basis, resulting in having about 4 recipes for the stuff, awaiting the effort to go to Windsor and buy beef for it.) There is rarely an in between.
Today the weather sucks. Rain, rain, more rain... I know April showers are supposed to bring May flowers, but I'm happy with the flowers we have now. I dislike what all the moisture in the air does to my hair; it's starting the annual poof fest rather early in the season.
Yesterday during the brief niceness outside, I headed to False Creek North to meet up with a couple of friends for patio drinks. It was overcast but quite nice, with glimmers of sun breaking through the whiteness, though a little cool for my friends. There are a surprising number of cherry blossom trees around Beach, all in full bloom and ready to release their petals on anyone who gets caught under them with a bit of a breeze. This is my favourite time of the year; every outing seems like a real treasure hunt, the bounty of beauty awaiting my eyes. We had more than a few drinks, laughed our heads off, and headed off (one for dinner at his house, the other two of us for burgers and Beard Papa cream puffs and a chat by the ocean) hours later than we thought we would. Such a nice day.
This time of the year also reminds me of After Life, one of my favourite movies ever. The one scene with the cherry blossoms... These outings during sakura season always bring that scene to mind and vice versa. And both bring surprising comfort, the simple beauty of both reminding me to be alive and take in as much of these days as I can, even the crappy days. There's so much out there waiting to be enjoyed, rainy days and all.
Today the weather sucks. Rain, rain, more rain... I know April showers are supposed to bring May flowers, but I'm happy with the flowers we have now. I dislike what all the moisture in the air does to my hair; it's starting the annual poof fest rather early in the season.
Yesterday during the brief niceness outside, I headed to False Creek North to meet up with a couple of friends for patio drinks. It was overcast but quite nice, with glimmers of sun breaking through the whiteness, though a little cool for my friends. There are a surprising number of cherry blossom trees around Beach, all in full bloom and ready to release their petals on anyone who gets caught under them with a bit of a breeze. This is my favourite time of the year; every outing seems like a real treasure hunt, the bounty of beauty awaiting my eyes. We had more than a few drinks, laughed our heads off, and headed off (one for dinner at his house, the other two of us for burgers and Beard Papa cream puffs and a chat by the ocean) hours later than we thought we would. Such a nice day.
This time of the year also reminds me of After Life, one of my favourite movies ever. The one scene with the cherry blossoms... These outings during sakura season always bring that scene to mind and vice versa. And both bring surprising comfort, the simple beauty of both reminding me to be alive and take in as much of these days as I can, even the crappy days. There's so much out there waiting to be enjoyed, rainy days and all.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
sunshiney day(s)
The weather has been lovely the last couple of days. It's been really easy to force myself out of the house this weekend.
Friday night I headed to Jill & Mark's for a dinner party. Mark's cracked pork roast was awesome, and I pulled my copy of "Cook with Jamie" off the shelf to look at the red cabbage he made that was so tasty. I haven't laughed so hard for a long time; my side hurt so bad that I had to clutch it and beg them to stop playing Stewart's YouTube videos because I couldn't breathe. So fun to hang out with an interesting bunch of people and listen to Canadian music circa Video Hits.
Yesterday I decided to try to get to the Superstore in Richmond to look at the spring collection from Joe Fresh. Despite it taking forever to cross Cambie and all the crazy construction on #3 Road, I got there in about an hour. There are insane sales on that stuff, but the regular price is equally crazy. Only $19 for a pair of jeans? Just $39 for a spring coat? I bought a couple of things and spent way less than seems rational. It took a while to get out of Richmond, but by the time I did I connected the hell out of those other two buses I had to catch. Last night I headed to Rich & Christy's and watched the Oilers/Canucks game and ate barbeque and drank beer. It's funny to watch the Oilers and have another person in the room cheering for them who I didn't go to school with. It just so happens that he talks about the Gretzky-era Oilers with the same adoration as I do. It was a fun time.
Today I met up with Terry for a JapaDog and mini walk to Burrard Station to check out the cherry blossoms. (They're not quite ready for o-hanami.) I fricking love JapaDog; the terimayo one is so good (though I get it without nori because I don't like how it sticks to my mouth). We noticed a big inflated thing near the water, but because the meter was going to expire he headed off and I wandered toward it to see what was up. Surprisingly I stumbled upon the convention centre open house. The red velvet ropes were up and everything. The public space outside is massive, though sterile: very little foliage, nothing much other than concrete stones and a lot of railings. The inside of the convention centre will likely be pretty impressive for delegates. Lots of windows looking out toward the mountains. There's a wooden block wall lining the largest conference room, the interior furnishings are fantastic-looking. It's sustainable, but I didn't see that it was LEED certified or anything, though they do have sod on the roof. Too many people for me to absorb much more than that.
I walked around downtown for about 3 hours taking pictures of buildings and flowers. I also stopped into Mink for chocolate (vodka grapefruit in dark chocolate ganache, raspberry in dark chocolate ganache, fresh mint and Kentucky bourbon in dark chocolate ganache, and amaretto and dried cherries in dark chocolate ganache) and Rocky Mountain for fudge (Irish Cream). In retrospect, it was probably crazy to buy $20 worth of chocolate, but whatever. It's all good. By the time I walked to catch the bus all I could think about was a slurpee, which I picked up on my way home. Mmmm, slurpee!
In short, a good weekend.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
the loss
On March 24th, my grandmother passed away in her sleep at 94 years of age. This wasn't unexpected; it was a matter of time. And while this upset me, I was handling it OK. I took two days off work and made plans to fly to Edmonton for the funeral on Monday, and went about my life with a sadness at my loss.
My parents and I went to visit my grandfather when I arrived, spending a short time with him as he mourned the loss of his wife, four days after the two days of constant crying after they told him she was gone. It broke my heart to hear him talk about her, how even though it was better that he didn't go first he still wished she'd waited for him. I don't regret going to Edmonton for the funeral, but it has taken an emotional toll on me. Prayers in the evening, the open casket holding my Omi, the saying goodbye and the service, destroyed me.
Hearing my 99-year-old grandfather cry at prayers, watching him lower his head and talk to my grandmother in the casket... I could barely see as my eyes filled to the brim with tears. I kissed him goodnight before he went back to the care home, concerned that he may die of a broken heart before the morning.
My grandparents were married for 72 years. They lived through a world war, lost their home and country, lived as refugees, moved to a new country with nothing, and lived. Their lives were intertwined, so committed to each other that we didn't think either would be able to live without the other. They were still in love at the time of my grandmother's passing, my grandfather taking care of my grandmother's needs and wants, especially over the last few years of her decline.
The funeral was slightly less overwhelming than prayers, but still exceptionally emotional. I doled out my stash of tissues to my cousin and later my aunt, neither of whom are criers at the worst of times. Though I was teary-eyed, I managed to hold it together until I watched my uncles and cousins lift her into the hearse, at which point I fell apart as much as one can on a sunny, chilly day surrounded by loved ones who are all in the same boat. Family friends, including my old neighbours from my first year at university, were great comforts and lessened the immediacy of the grief.
One thing I realised was that my concept of commitment is based on my grandparents' marriage. I have a deep fear of commitment because I can't imagine another person feeling about me, caring for me like my grandparents felt about each other. With those kind of role models it's hard to see marriage as a realistic option because that benchmark is so high.
When I was in high school, I liked going to youth retreats for church, mostly to check out boys. At one retreat the priest (a somewhat progressive one as the session was on premarital sex and he wasn't saying it was the worst thing to do) said that the only thing that matters when your time is up is how many people you loved and how many people loved you. That is much more reassuring right now than anything else, both for my Omi and for me.
My parents and I went to visit my grandfather when I arrived, spending a short time with him as he mourned the loss of his wife, four days after the two days of constant crying after they told him she was gone. It broke my heart to hear him talk about her, how even though it was better that he didn't go first he still wished she'd waited for him. I don't regret going to Edmonton for the funeral, but it has taken an emotional toll on me. Prayers in the evening, the open casket holding my Omi, the saying goodbye and the service, destroyed me.
Hearing my 99-year-old grandfather cry at prayers, watching him lower his head and talk to my grandmother in the casket... I could barely see as my eyes filled to the brim with tears. I kissed him goodnight before he went back to the care home, concerned that he may die of a broken heart before the morning.
My grandparents were married for 72 years. They lived through a world war, lost their home and country, lived as refugees, moved to a new country with nothing, and lived. Their lives were intertwined, so committed to each other that we didn't think either would be able to live without the other. They were still in love at the time of my grandmother's passing, my grandfather taking care of my grandmother's needs and wants, especially over the last few years of her decline.
The funeral was slightly less overwhelming than prayers, but still exceptionally emotional. I doled out my stash of tissues to my cousin and later my aunt, neither of whom are criers at the worst of times. Though I was teary-eyed, I managed to hold it together until I watched my uncles and cousins lift her into the hearse, at which point I fell apart as much as one can on a sunny, chilly day surrounded by loved ones who are all in the same boat. Family friends, including my old neighbours from my first year at university, were great comforts and lessened the immediacy of the grief.
One thing I realised was that my concept of commitment is based on my grandparents' marriage. I have a deep fear of commitment because I can't imagine another person feeling about me, caring for me like my grandparents felt about each other. With those kind of role models it's hard to see marriage as a realistic option because that benchmark is so high.
When I was in high school, I liked going to youth retreats for church, mostly to check out boys. At one retreat the priest (a somewhat progressive one as the session was on premarital sex and he wasn't saying it was the worst thing to do) said that the only thing that matters when your time is up is how many people you loved and how many people loved you. That is much more reassuring right now than anything else, both for my Omi and for me.
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