(Wordless Wednesday) Chicken Slushies

 

(Wordless Wednesday) Turtle’s Container Container

Impulse Purchase, with Prologue and Afterword, in Diary Genre, Prefaced by a Victorian-Era-Style Overly Long Title — Complete with Two Types of Parenthetical Punctuational Enclosures — Made in a Slapdash Effort to Create some Humour by Providing a Visual Device to Preface the Writing Portion, Being as I Don’t Have a Ready-Made Photo to Insert Here and Didn’t Have Time to Compose One (Although I Did Briefly Consider Entitling this Entry, “Photoless Phursday,” in Reference to “Wordless Wednesday”, the First Attempt at which I Essayed Yesterday); OR, A Study in Concealing Mediocre Writing under Clever Design

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Wednesday, 2 pm.

I have a headache. Despite a nice visit with Jack’s mum this morning, followed by an hour and-a-half of walkies, I feel crummy. And Cai is limping again after playing with some of the other doggies in the off-leash area, which makes me feel doubly crummy. And tomorrow I have to work for a living, and Friday I have to work from 6 am to 7 pm, so like how am I sposta keep up with this daily writing habit when my head hurts and I’m feeling guilty for letting Cai offleash and all I can think of writing about is fridge magnets? I feel triply crummy.

3 pm.

I start sifting through my partner’s photos. I find one that I would like to entitle, “The Unbearable Lightness of Cheesies”, but can’t organize my thoughts to write any commentary. That would make it another Wordless Wednesday entry. Lemme see, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Su– I’m not that organized.

4 pm.

The cheesie photo has made me think of movies. I stuff the little cloth WWF bag, the one that Seamus the Sea Turtle came with, into my coat pocket and head over to the neighbourhood video store. They don’t rent videos anymore, of course, but my partner has claimed that even DVDs will soon be anachronisms. Never mind; no one has dialed a phone in years, either, though we still say we do. I’ll survive the next technological change with grace, if not gusto.

4 10 pm.

I’ve come to rent a movie. Some film with a bit of brain behind it. Maybe “The Unbearable Lightness of Being”, or “The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind”, neither of which I’ve seen. Something that doesn’t have its protagonist staring at a computer screen wondering how to expound on fridge magnets. As I edge past the sale bin, a decade-old film that I’ve already watched waves to me. Should I buy instead of renting? These previously-viewed DVDs are are a good price; there’s a buy-two-get-one-free deal on this table; and two of the other six dozen movies look like we’d watch them at least twice. Good enough for me.

5 30 pm.

My better half arrives home. She has a great idea of how to cook the trout I pulled from the fridge this morning, so I graciously allow her to make supper.

6 40 pm.

We settle into the sofa with big, steaming bowls of soba noodles and trout with orange sauce to watch the Japanese film, “After Life.” Like the few other Japanese films I’ve seen, it is very quiet and slow paced — but hey, this one’s about eternity.

8 40 pm.

Such sweet characters! Such gentle pathos! Such  dirty dishes! Time to wash up, put Cai’s kibble on to soak, and go to bed. The movie was a good idea. By doing something completely different, away from my keyboard, my subconscious was able to move beyond cheesies and fridge magnets to Friday’s topic, which I’ll work on tomorrow when I’m fresh. Tomorrow, I will write about my coffee cup.

In Broad Daylight

Crime victim, in happier days

On Saturday night, after we got back from Owen Sound, the neighbouring English Foxhound and her daddies came for supper. Roast leg of lamb, mashed potatoes and gravy, peas with mint, rosemary focaccia, apple pie with vanilla ice cream. Mmmmmmm.  

Since Murdoch and Niall will be keeping our Cardi while we’re on vacation, we all wanted our furchildren to get better acquainted. My partner and I have been to our neighbours’ apartment, sans Cardi, a couple of times, but it was the first time that our neighbours had been to our place.

At one point, Murdoch stepped out onto the balcony for a smoke. Would he notice? Would he say anything? Possessing Celtic blood myself, I feared our neighbour might have as little natural English diplomacy as I do. My fears were not unfounded. Re-entering the apartment, Murdoch addressed the elephant in the room: “Hey, when are you guys gonna get rid of your Christmas tree?”

Lucas the street kitty fled in horror. The dogs cowered. Even the elephant hung its trunk in shame.

In this city, for a few days in January, garbage collection includes pick-up of Christmas trees which are then shredded in a wood chipper and used as mulch in public parks. The workers may simply drive the chipper truck along the route; I don’t remember. Trouble is, we had missed those days, but were loath to have the tree carted off to the dump. 

Fortunately, Murdoch’s wit matched his wag. His solution was to drag the Christmas carcass around to the parkette in front of our building. Several large maple limbs, broken off during the winter storms, were already waiting there for the public workers to collect them and chip them, so why not an innocent little balsam fir as well?

I knew it was cheating. I knew it was against the rules. I thought it was brilliant. Now to wait for a rainy night to sneak the tree away.

Three days later, while making stew with the leftover lamb, I remembered the tree. I also remembered a news story that I’d heard in grade school. It seems two guys stole a canoe from a department store, during open hours, in broad daylight. They simply donned white lab coats and combed their hair nicely. Then they entered the sporting goods section, picked up the canoe, and walked it out to a waiting truck.

So. Once the stew was simmering, I donned my coat and tuque, attached the pupster’s leash to his collar, dragged the tree off the balcony and through the apartment and down two flights of stairs and along the side of the building to the parkette to the fence to the pile of waiting limbs, and tossed it. Then poggles and I went for a nice hour’s walk. When we returned at 3 pm, we found half a dozen sparrows sheltered under the fir, using the maple brush as a clubhouse.

Marshmallow Roast of the Vanities

Long before I finally figured out that the man of my life would be a woman, a good friend of mine asked what she thought was a rhetorical question: “What could be better than sex?”

I answered without hesitation: “Marshmallows.”

Before camping trips, a bag of marshmallows is packed in the foodstuffs basket. After camping trips, I snack on the pale, puffy leftovers, smiling at memories of smoke smells and kindling crackles. During camping trips, my first marshmallow is always allowed to catch fire, a ceremonial torch of tentdom.

When my partner, who’s been basking in her Flickr friendships for years now, first suggested I start a blog, I shook my head. “That’s just vanity press,” I harrumphed, “with the advantage of being free of charge.”

Of course. And the bag of firewood will be damp, and our hatchet will be too dull, and it’ll be raining, and we won’t get one single delicious warm creamy sweet roasted marshmallow, and I’ll hunker down in a cold sleeping bag with a snivel on my face and a mosquito in the tent. Why even try?

Fine. I’ll try it. At least my partner will read my entries. Hmm… you know, this isn’t so bad… might even become addictive, ha ha… Lemme just lean a little closer, warm my hands on this kind comment someone wrote… Ahhh.

Food, Glorious Fasts (not about dogs this time)

Picture above from

 http://www.io.com/~beckerdo/minis/mini28/MedievalTavern

I’m interested in many things, not just dogs. For example, I was a vegan for about five years once, although of course at that time I didn’t own a dog.

There are many types of vegetarianism, and many reasons for it. People may be vegetarian for religious, nonreligious-but-ethical, health, or economic reasons. Dogs may be vegetarian because they love their humans and want to please them. Vegetarians might abstain from red meat, fish, eggs, milk, honey, spices, alcoholic beverages, or even certain vegetables. The Buddhist monks I once knew, for instance, abstain from garlic and onions, but use shiploads of leeks.

Below is a menu and recipes for a nice medieval Lenten supper. Don’t, don’t, don’t feed any leftovers to the dog, except maybe a small crust of the bread. Alcohol, onions, and raisins — so I’m guessing maybe currants too — are all poisonous to poochie.

A. The menu.

- Crusty whole-grain bread (preferably containing some barley flour)

- Cabbage chowder

- Ale (not lager, which is a summer drink)

- Wheatberry-sesame dessert

B. The recipes.

1. Bread. Pick up your favourite loaf on the way home from work. You won’t be buttering it (milk products were forbidden during Lent), you’ll be dunking it in your soup, so you want something hearty.

2. Cabbage Chowder. Wash and finely chop 1 large onion, 1 leek, 1 lb or so of cabbage.  Place in a big enough pot with 3 or 4 cups water, 1/2 tsp salt, 1/4 tsp each coriander, cinnamon, & sugar, 1/8 tsp saffron. Cover and simmer about 20 or 30 minutes, until you like the degree of tenderness. Freeze the leftovers.

3. Ale. Ale is the proper brew for winter/late spring, but if you’re more the lager-lovin’ type you might try an India pale ale. Water’s fine, too — but it didn’t use to be, which is why it was usually served up in bactericidal, alcoholic form.

4. Wheatberry-sesame dessert. This one is delicious — and copious. Share the leftovers with your friends and neighbours. Cook and drain 2 cups wheatberries. Toast 1 cup sesame seeds. Grind up 3/4 cup nuts — I think mine was a mix of walnuts and slivered almonds. Dismantle 1 pomegranate for its seeds. Stir all these things together, along with 2 Tbsp currants, 1/2 cup sugar,  and anywhere from 1 to 3 tsp cinnamon.

The cabbage soup recipe is taken from Maggie Black’s The Medieval Cookbook (1992). The dessert recipe is from Ingeborg Ralph and Penny Stanway’s Christmas: A Cook’s Tour (1991). I’ve chosen a Christmas dessert for this menu because its ingredients are medieval and acceptable to Lenten observers and vegans. Also because, if you’ve just put up with cabbage and unbuttered bread, you deserve something colourful and tasty. Also because, except for the two hours or so needed to cook the wheat kernels, it’s really quick and easy to make, and of course you don’t want to take time away from playing outdoors with your dog.

But this post isn’t about dogs.