It's alive!

It’s a new month which must mean a new place to live. A new place to live means a new Internet connection. Now, let’s see if I still have any of you, faithful readers, are still reading.

Yes, I’ve moved again, the fourth time this year. I’ve now tied the home address carousel of Calgary ’05. And, as then, the main cause has been roommates. But that’s another post (or two).

My blog went silent because the last place (September’s move) didn’t have an Internet connection. I could have an Internet connection if I paid for it. But even from the beginning, there were things going on there that made me wary of attaching myself too much with that place. As I said, that’s another post (or two).

The good thing about living out of boxes is it doesn’t take long to pack. It does, however, make you wonder what is in each of those boxes. At least I did when I looked at the 28 boxes, 3 suitcases, 2 backpacks, 1 queen-size mattress, 1 basket and a couple odds and ends. I thought it was just too much. Some of it, I know is sloppy packing. There’s wasted space in those boxes which a little creative repacking will condense. But some of it is accreted goods which are no longer good for me.

So, with an eye to reduce:

1. 10 boxes of kitchen stuff. This is everything from knives to whisks, cutting boards to draining boards, and all sorts of knick knacks in between. The only things not in these boxes are plates and dishes. Otherwise it is everything you’d ever need in a kitchen and then some. Not likely I’ll loose anything here.
2. 3 suitcases, 2 backpacks and 2 boxes of clothes. The two boxes are my shoes and my sweaters. One backpack I haven’t opened in a year, so obviously don’t need the clothes in there. The other backpack was a temporary abode for my work clothes, just so I knew where they were while everything else was packed away.
3. 5 boxes of books. Yes, I am lugging around my own library. But there are some really, really good books in there, like the Complete Works of Shakespeare and the Malazan Books of the Dead series, the Wheel of Time series, and several other series I really enjoyed reading and will definitely read again. While I need to go through and catalog everything, I know there might be six or seven books I won’t want to keep. But not eight. Let’s not get crazy now.
4. 4 boxes and 1 basket miscellaneous. These things are definitely miscellaneous, containing things like a stapler, my published articles, computer paper, some art prints, etc. I can probably loose some stuff there. The basket is only cleaning supplies. I keep them separate in case something spills when I move.
5. 3 boxes of entertainment. CDs and DVDs. Yeah, some of those have got to go. They’re not all classics.
6. 2 boxes and 1 computer bag of electronics. My laptop, some peripherals, some photography equipment, etc. I can go through these and make sure all the wires actually belong to something. I think I can loose other things here too.
7. 1 box each sheets and towels. I don’t think this is unreasonable so they will remain intact. Since I have four sets of each, I do not need to add to them.
8. 1 queen-size mattress. Self-evident, though I’ll probably sell it when I move back west within the next two years.
9. Odds and ends: a sleeping bag and a pair of ice skates. Both useful items at the right time and place. And if I sell the mattress I’ll need to sleep on something….

I think I’ll aim for 20 boxes, three suitcases, and my laptop case. Give or take a box or two.

Internetus Interruptus

*** indefinitus ***

A tale of two pictures

Squidge, my older sister, sent me a series of links to her online photo albums while we were talking on her birthday earlier this month, giving me a peek at her doings over the summer: a road trip with the nieces, the dog, various family pictures, etc. Hidden amongst these was a link to a slightly different set of family pictures—ours.

At first, scanning the thumbnails, my mind only registered some baby pics of Big’un (now thirteen!) I hadn’t seen before. It took until the third full-size picture for me to realize it wasn’t Big’un in the pictures but Squidge herself! These were her baby pictures!

Squidge has spent some time while visiting my parents taking pictures of pictures. Pictures of my parents before they had us, where Dad had hair and was thin like he always told us he was (without those albums we wouldn’t have believed him) and Mum was young and looked like a movie star. Pictures of vacations by the sea where Squidge was a baby and both the grandparents were alive. Pictures of Mum’s mother, Grandma Knitting, when she was a child. And hidden amongst all these, two including me.

The first is of us together. I believe I am two at most, making Squidge five. I suspect we’re a little younger. We’re standing on a trail in a field with dry grass as tall as we are, and there is white fluff like thick clumps of dandelion seeds everywhere. The field ends in the copse of trees behind and the blue sky above us.

Squidge’s hair is the platinum blonde I remember from my extreme youth. It literally glowed white in sunlight. She is looking a little to the side of the camera (probably at Mum) and smiling. She’s wearing a light blue t-shirt with one blue hand and one red hand on the front. We are holding hands, fingers entwined.

I’m smiling with my eyes closed, head turned a little into her shoulder. My hair is a honey-brown mess of thick curls and, with my chubby cheeks and dimples upon dimples, I’m extremely cute. I’m wearing denim overalls and an orange, red and pink striped shirt. I’m a 70s child, I long ago accepted the absurd colors I was clothed in.

Squidge said the second picture is a favourite of hers. I’m in the front yard of our home on the far outskirts of western Toronto; so far out it was true countryside back then. Now I’m told it’s practically a T.O. suburb.

There is a forest of pine trees behind me, and I am standing with my left hand in my jeans pocket and the right hand on the ruff of Brutus’ neck. Brutus was our beautiful purebred German Shepherd. Brutus is mostly tan fur, with a glimpse of his black saddle (the darker fur on his back and sides) in the space between us. I am mostly jean-clad legs. Seriously, I look like I am two-thirds leg, with a green and white striped t-shirt (again with the stripes!) covering a stubby torso and narrow shoulders with another mess of curls on top, this time my usual dark brown. I am barely two inches away from being a living stick figure. I am smiling slightly in this picture, but overall my expression is… serious.

I’d forgotten I ever had the light hair of the first picture. All my school pictures show a dark brown curly riot and my baby pictures all show me with dark brown hair and very large violet eyes, though the curls come and go. The first picture feels… idyllic. Peaceful, loving and innocent. Did I mention I was extremely cute at two years old? Almost lethally so, I think.

I find it funny to see the shadows of my adult self in a picture of my seven year-old self. I still look serious, when I’m not looking outright angry or so I’m told, and I habitually walk with my left hand in my pocket. I have changed over and over again since that picture was taken, and yet…. Bizarre.

Next time I’m home, I think I need to spend some time taking pictures of pictures too.

P.S. Since sister dearest's recent birthday was her over-the-hill 40^th, I think we (the family) need to change her nickname from the present tense of ‘Squidge’ to the past tense—‘Squodge’.

It is pronounced 'zed'

That about says it.

Happy Canada Day!

Our daily food or the cost of eating

When I recently watched Jaime’s Ministry of Food, a four-part series documenting chef Jamie Oliver’s attempt to combat British obesity by teaching Rotherham, a northern English mining town, to cook and share recipes I could understand how some people were turned off by cooking.

For the last two months, I haven’t cooked. My temporary abode has a microwave and a toaster as a kitchen component, with no counter space, kitchen sink, etc. so I haven’t been able to get my groove on in the kitchen as I usually would.

Instead I’ve been subsisting on microwave dinners. Now, I do notice a range of options available. I also notice this stuff all tastes bland and too salty. There’s nothing that pops your taste buds. And, yes, I have gained weight over the last two months, not entirely due to these prefabricated meals… but they certainly aren’t helping.

B-mum bought me a steamer, so now I make rice and fresh veg in my room while buying my protein from the kitchen counter at work. It is both healthier and more cost-effective than the frozen approach.

Given that their daily food in the show was either take-out or frozen entrees or just pure junk food they thought all food was bland, boring and boxy. Seriously, a steady diet of these ready-made meals is nothing to get excited about.

But people make so much fuss over cooking these days. ‘There’s no time,’ ‘Food is too expensive,’ ‘I’m too tired.’ Actually, you can make time, making food from scratch is cheaper, and if you eat properly, you’ll gain energy.

I’ve found I only need to cook once a week to eat from Monday to Friday. It takes four or five hours in one evening from checking I have all my ingredients to finishing cleaning up. I cook up two or three entrées—one being my dinner that night—some vegetables, and maybe a risotto or mashed potatoes.

When I come home from work, I choose which entrée I want, maybe put on some fresh vegetables or do a baked potato in the mike and I’m eating within twenty minutes of entering the house. I can have the dishes done within an hour of coming home and I’ve got the whole evening to do as I choose. So cooking at home gives you more time, not less.

A stew or a chilli done in a crock-pot should feed one person for three to four days. You spend up to fifteen minutes slicing and dicing some ingredients and it can cook while you’re at work the next day. Added bonus, there’s only the insert to clean up when it’s done. Again, time and money saved.

As for cost, well, why are you buying fillet mignon, steak and chicken breast? There are cheaper cuts of meat to buy that are usually more versatile in the kitchen too.

Let’s examine a lasagne. Between the ground beef (approximately $5), the mozzarella (another $5), the pasta (call it $3), and the other ingredients (estimate another $8 all told) a lasagne costs $21 and a half hour of your time. A burger combo or six-inch sub combo costs $7-8. So the combo is cheaper right? Wrong! The lasagne will give you roughly six portions, so divide $21 by six to get $3.33 per portion, or call it $4.50 a serving if you add a cup of frozen peas to your plate and a glass of milk or juice. Alternatively, a combo a night for six nights is $42-48. So, $48 for six nights, or $27?

I am drawing from my own experience as a single guy, and many of you, faithful readers, are couples or even families. But I’m sure you see how this can work for you too. Maybe you’d need to cook twice a week having more mouths to feed. And if you’re bored of what you have on hand and have half an hour, a pork chop with a dry spice rub, along with the mash potatoes in the fridge (prepared on your last cooking night) and some veggies breaks it up nicely. Or barbeque some chicken thighs and corn on the cob.

Or, even, eat out. It doesn’t hurt to have that burger combo once in a while.

Five minutes of contentment

Some of the sturm and drang is over now. With everything that happened this year I have been wading through a depressive spiral. Other than my poor sleeping habits, I think I’m done with this round. Other than being turned down for a raise at work, May hasn’t added to the chaos.

The upturn in my outlook is partially due to the better weather. Ottawa doesn’t have a Spring as such; it is more like a ‘Sprung.’ One day I’m walking to work and the branches are bare. The next day the leaves are out—boom! No branch nubs budding, no slow blossoming, no leaves unfurling, just Boom! It’s here.

On the Victoria Day long weekend, I walked over to Hog’s Back Park and had a picnic. It was an hour’s walk just getting there and a long meander through the park after. At first I continued walking just because it was green and leafy, and then because I was looking for a secluded spot to eat.

The picnic was just two peanut butter and jam sandwiches, some cookies, and a Pepsi but the food wasn’t the point (for once). I sat on a big rock in the middle of a grassy field enjoying the solitude and the heat of the sun and the blue sky above me. That was good.

My father’s medical tests results came back with positive news. It is a big relief to the family knowing the exact situation. Now we’re just waiting—and waiting and waiting—for the medical board to convene and determine a course of treatment. The specialist has given us a good idea of the probable course, but the board has to meet before anything can go ahead.

With that settled—as much as it can be at this point—it is time to pay attention to the disaster I call the rest of my life.

My life is falling apart

I called it back in January. I said there was more coming at me. Frankly, it hasn't stopped coming at me. Every month something else has gone wrong.

In January I lost a job. In February my roommate, who owned the house I was living in, asked me to move. In March my computer died. In April, we discovered my father has a serious health problem. I won't divulge the details, as it isn't my health or information, but suffice to say the potential consequences are as serious as they come. And these are just the highlights.

Currently I am falling apart. I'm working, but I make $400/month less than before. Originally my roommate said he asked me to leave because he and the new wife (my other roommate) wanted to be alone. Later he let it slip someone else was moving in behind me. I'm living in a smelly basement room where I can't even stand up straight in half of it. My harddrive was completely trashed, cost me money I didn't have to start with to get it working again, and I lost all my files.

It isn't just the big things mentioned above, but the little things going wrong too. I've missed work because I brilliantly locked myself out of the house Friday night. Both of the people I am currently living with had left for Easter. I spent the night on my little sister's couch, but I missed work on Saturday because my work clothes were in my room. To add insult to injury, I missed an hour's work today because I misread the schedule. My regular Monday night shift ahd been moved up an hour and I missed it. My boss wasn't best pleased with me today.

I can't stop thinking about my Dad's health problem. I'm frustrated because I'm not there to offer what support I can, if only to let Mum vent her worries over coffee. I'm not there to talk with Dad, not that he'd say anything, with his British stiff upper lip. I can't afford to fly to see them, and even if I could, I can't afford time away from work, or else my bills or rent won't get paid. 'Frustrated' is understating it by a mile.

My 2009 is circling the toilet bowl. Every month this year something has fallen apart. I don't want May to come because I don't know what else has gone wrong. I don't know how much more I can take.