Canadian Eh?

Once in a while someone does a beautiful job of describing a Canadian, this time it was an Australian dentist.


An Australian Definition of a Canadian
In case anyone asks you who a Canadian is . . .

You probably missed it in the local news, but there was a report that someone in Pakistan had advertised in a newspaper an offer of a reward to anyone who killed a Canadian - any Canadian..

An Australian dentist wrote the following editorial to help define what a Canadian is, so they would know one when they found one.

A Canadian can be English, or French, or Italian, Irish, German, Spanish, Polish, Russian or Greek. A Canadian can be Mexican, African, Indian, Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Australian, Iranian, Asian, Arab, Pakistani or Afghan.

A Canadian may also be a Cree, Métis, Mohawk, Blackfoot, Sioux, or one of the many other tribes known as native Canadians. A Canadian's religious beliefs range from Christian, Jewish, Buddhist, Muslim, Hindu or none. In fact, there are more Muslims in Canada than in Afghanistan. The key difference is that in Canada they are free to worship as each of them chooses. Whether they have a religion or no religion, each Canadian ultimately answers only to God, not to the government, or to armed thugs claiming to speak for the government and for God.

A Canadian lives in one of the most prosperous lands in the history of the world. The root of that prosperity can be found in the Charter of Rights and Freedoms which recognize the right of each person to the pursuit of happiness.

A Canadian is generous and Canadians have helped out just about every other nation in the world in their time of need, never asking a thing in return. Canadians welcome the best of everything, the best products, the best books, the best music, the best food, the best services and the best minds.

But they also welcome the least - the oppressed, the outcast and the rejected.

These are the people who built Canada. You can try to kill a Canadian if you must as other blood-thirsty tyrants in the world have tried but in doing so you could just be killing a relative or a neighbour. This is because Canadians are not a particular people from a particular place. They are the embodiment of the human spirit of freedom. Everyone who holds to that spirit, everywhere, can be a Canadian.

Please keep this going! Pass this around the World. Then pass it around again.

It says it all, for all of us.

Perhaps the World Ends Here

Wonderful Jennifer from At The Table In My Sunroom said that  she thought of me when reading the following poem and that it perfectly compliments my blog. Thank you so much Jennifer -- it gave me shivers -- it's beautiful.

Perhaps the World Ends Here

by Joy Harjo 

The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what,
we must eat to live.
The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the
table so it has been since creation, and it will go on.
We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe
at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.
It is here that children are given instructions on what
it means to be human. We make men at it,
we make women.
At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts
of lovers.
Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms
around our children. They laugh with us at our poor
falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back
together once again at the table.
This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella
in the sun.
Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place
to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate
the terrible victory.
We have given birth on this table, and have prepared
our parents for burial here.
At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow.
We pray of suffering and remorse.
We give thanks.
Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table,
while we are laughing and crying,
eating of the last sweet bite.

"Perhaps the World Ends Here" by Joy Harjo, from Reinventing the Enemy's Language. © W.W. Norton and Co., 1998. 

Serenity Now

I came across this gem that "lorocker" from Canada has created on youtube. It's a re-arrangement of Seinfeld scenes into an action-thriller movie trailer. The song playing throughout is "Vicious Traditions" by the Veils. The second song is "Scorponok" from the Transformers soundtrack. Even if you're not a Seinfeld fan you have to appreciate the genius.

Just One of Those Days

So I got up this morning, hopped in and out of the shower, dried off, got dressed, put on some makeup, dried my hair and took the dog out. Came back in, gave Cass her treat (She has come to expect a treat for going outside and coming back in. It's a great trick -- you should see it.), opened the cupboard, got down a glass for milk, went to the fridge, got out egg whites and feta cheese (The Boyfriend and I have decided to try the Caveman Diet -- or at least our own modified version of it.  Ours includes wine as we believe cavemen would have eaten rotten grapes, got a little buzz and figured out the whole fermenting thing), found the omelet pan, turned the burner on, poured the egg whites in and crumbled on the cheese.

I then turned to grab my glass and SMASHED my friggin' forehead into the corner of the friggin' open cupboard door. I could feel the bump erupting instantly. I went to the bathroom mirror and sure enough -- not only was there a huge bump on my forehead, but there was a big dent in the middle of it. Very becoming.

I made it to work with just a few minor annoyances (overflowing bus, bad drivers -- the normal things). I stopped for my morning coffee, showed my bump to the baristas and laughed at my folly. Got to the office and chatted with a few colleagues.

I just came back from the washroom and here's what I saw. My bump has a big splotch of dried blood on it, my left eye is noticeably twitching (it has been for four days now) and I forgot to apply mascara!!!  OMG!  I left the house without mascara?  I can live with a bleeding gash on my forehead, even the eye twitch, (both of which make me look a bit insane) but no mascara?  That's just scary.

I have three options.  Option 1 is donning sunglasses and rushing over to the drugstore to buy a new mascara (though I just opened a new one on the weekend).  Option 2 is donning sunglasses, closing my office door and hoping no one knocks.  I'm leaning towards option 3 which is blaming it on the Caveman Diet, as side effects may include being bonked on the head, twitchy eyes and a general lack of personal grooming. (Seriously -- notice the twitch in her right eye!)

We've Come a Long Way Baby????

I know it might be a little early in the day on a Sunday (depending where you're reading from) to be thinking about work tomorrow, but take a moment to consider how fortunate you are (if you're a woman) to have the job you have.  Thanks to someone who was obviously a visionary, the article below opened the many doors we women have walked through and landed us in the jobs of our dreams -- and the needed rest breaks to restore our confidence.  Grab your lipstick girls -- feel good about yourselves.  Yes, even you husky girls.

I've Got a Favour to Ask You

A colleague came into my office this morning and asked if I'd take the emergency calls tonight.  He's taking a motorcycle training course and tonight is the night they do their first road ride.  I laughed and said ok, but that he'd owe me.  He said he'd do it for me but I reminded him that when I took my motorcycle training two years ago, I was on-call and he didn't do it for me.  He said that he would have if I'd asked.

Seems so logical, but here's the thing.  I'd never ask.

If it's my job to do something I just do it. It would never dawn on me to ask someone else to do something I was supposed to be doing.  I would plan my social life to accommodate my work schedule, if need be.

This started me thinking about asking others for help (which I have a really hard time doing this).

I'm not interested in playing the martyr and don't moan about how much I have to do, or how burdened I am. I don't avoid asking for help so that people will say "OMG, look how dedicated/committed/capable Lianne is." I don't think others can't do the things I do, as well as I do them (ok, ok...but not all the time).

So why can't I ask for help?

I do know that I don't want to appear to be needy or weak, or incapable of juggling the many balls life throws at me. I do know that others have enough to do without having to do things for me too. I do know that if I've invited you over to my home, you are a treasured guest and I want you to sit back, relax and enjoy yourself. And I do know that if I really, really need help (like the time I was stuck up to my knees in a sink hole of muck), you will definitely know I need help.

I'm curious if this is a gender thing.  Or if it's an only child thing.  Or if it's not a thing at all and that's just the way it is.

What do you think?

You Know You're Getting Older When...

About a month ago a new barista showed up at my regular Starbucks. He was very cute (black spikey hair, dark brown eyes, cute smile) and very young (20 -- if). He poured me a tall Pike Place and asked if I'd like my receipt. I said no but he handed me one anyway and said "It's the survey". The survey receipt entitles you to a free beverage of your choice, after you've completed it. I took the receipt and completed the survey that afternoon. The next morning I handed my receipt for my free tall Pike Place to the same new barista and wouldn't you know it, up popped another survey. And another free beverage.

From then on,  the barista and I had a special relationship. He'd look for me, we'd make eye contact and smile at each other. I said I only wanted him to pour me coffee as he always gave me free ones. He asked how my weekend was and we commented on banal things like the weather. And he remembered my order. (You might not think this is anything special, but I have been going to this Starbucks for over a year and know the other baristas by name -- and they can never remember I want a tall Pike Place. They can remember the tall non-fat two extra shot mocha with no whipped cream at 200 degrees, but they can't remember "coffee").

Last week, after several weeks of pleasant exchanges, I was in line behind an older man. My cute barista looked right past the man to me and said "What can I get you". The older man huffed "I'm next" to which my barista said "Yes, I was asking you". The older man turned to me and said "Well it looks like he only has eyes for you." We all laughed.

And I thought --

"Aw, he likes me?  Must be because I remind him of his mother."

And Baby Makes Three

My darling hairstylist Amy is preggers with her first baby. She is due in September but has promised me that she will only take three months maternity leave.  It's going to be a very difficult time; sleepless nights, constant crying, excessive whining --  but I'll try not to annoy The Boyfriend too much with my complaining and carrying on.  I have no other option than to await Amy's return.

Despite the fact that she's leaving me and my grey hairs to fend for themselves I'm happy for her and want to give her a few things to make her journey into motherhood a beautiful thing. 

In 2001 I discovered Anne Lamott and her wonderful book Bird By Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life.  As I always do, when I find a writer I adore, I bought everything she'd written.  One of her little gems (they were all great) was Operating Instructions: A Journal of my Son's First Year.  A single mom with a bit of a drinking problem (and not joining AA anytime soon) she discovered parenthood wasn't all she'd been led to believe.  She'd been lied to -- and she wanted to set the record straight. It wasn't all sweet smelling baby heads and tender bonding moments.  It was actually alot of crap (literally), it could be totally discouraging and sometimes you really did feel like throwing the baby out with the bath water.  Not having kids of my own, this book only confirmed my decision.  But I felt her pain and I wanted to warn all of my baby-inclined friends. Every time a friend said she was pregnant, or that a friend of hers was pregnant, I rushed out, bought a copy, thrust it in their trembling hands and said "Read this!  Read this before you no longer have time to read, or brush your teeth, or shower."  And they all read it and laughed and wept.  And had more babies. 

So Amy gets a copy.

I'm a knitter and over the years have knit stuffed animals for all my pregnant friends.  I asked for their favorite animal so have ended up knitting a cow for Michelle, a penquin for Corin, a pig for Karen, a sheep for Brigitte, a cat for Gerda, a bear for Melanie, and an elephant for Parm (Parm wasn't pregnant and had/has no intention of getting pregnant but I didn't want her to feel left out). 

Amy's favorite animal is an owl, so an owl is what she gets.  It's adorable.

I also make these things called scübees.  I make them for babies, kids and adults.  They are these little scarf-tubey things that slip over the head and cuddle the neck.  They are great for babies and kids because there are no dangerous tails and they cozy right up the back of their little necks and under their wee chins.  I made one for Amy and she loved it. 

So baby gets one too.

And it's all wrapped in the cutest bag I have ever seen. 

I'm seeing Amy in about fifeteen minutes. I can't wait. I just hope this isn't the last time -- I'm not ready to be on my own yet.

"We Stand on Guard for Thee..."

 Your BC government at work...

For those of you who have never traveled much in “cattle” country, cattle guards are horizontal steel rails placed at fence openings, in dug-out places in the roads adjacent to highways (sometimes across highways), to prevent cattle from crossing over that area. For some reason the cattle will not step on the "guards," probably because they fear getting their feet caught between the rails.

A few months ago, British Columbia Premier Gordon Campbell received and was reading a report that there were over 100,000 cattle guards in BC. BC ranchers had protested his proposed changes in grazing policies, so he ordered the Agriculture Minister to fire half of the "cattle" guards immediately!!

Before the Minister could respond and presumably try to straighten him out, Leader of the Opposition Carol James, intervened with a request that.. before any "cattle" guards were fired, they must be given six months of retraining.

And these people are running our Province???

(Ok, so this is actually an urban myth but I love it.  The reason it keeps getting passed around is because it's just so damned believable.)

The Big 30

I just wanted to extend a big happy hi to Marlene, my 30th follower. You can see what Marlene has going on at her blog Another Day Another Story. Glad you could join me at my kitchen table Marlene. I'll keep a place set for you.

Working Nine to Five

Cass was all ready this morning. She even got up early. She bathed, combed her hair, had a good breakfast, did her morning constitution (both) and packed her lunch bag.

And then we got the news -- no dogs allowed in the building.

I left her at the computer this morning, working on her letter of resignation.

Who Let the Dogs Out?

Tomorrow is Take Your Dog to Work Day. Seriously -- I'm not making this up. I've just emailed the Facility Manager for the building I work in to see if they will let Cass come in for the day. Fingers crossed. She's already had enough bad news this week (what with not getting the dog food commercial gig and all), I'd hate to have to tell her she's "a dog" and not allowed on the premises.

She even has her suit ready.

Chatty Cassie

Cass was waiting for an important call from her agent.



















It wasn't good news.

Lucky Thirteen

It was the boyfriend and my 13th anniversary on Sunday. The week before we decided we would celebrate by going out to dinner at Aqua Riva. We had a $50 gift certificate (that we had won at a Christmas party -- we don't get out much) and thought it would be nice to finally use it. We figured the total for dinner for two with wine would come in around $150 - $200 so $50 would take a bit of the bite out of the cost.

Saturday morning, while in the shower, I decided that I didn't really feel up to the hassle of finding my "going out" lipstick, driving 10 minutes to get downtown, using the free parking the boyfriend has, having someone pull out my chair for me, cooking and serving me dinner, then walking around the beautiful Vancouver waterfront, hand-in-hand with the boyfriend. Just too much effort. So I said to the boyfriend:

Me: How would you feel about not going out to dinner tonight?
BF: How do you feel about not going out to dinner tonight?

(This is why the boyfriend and I have been together for 13 years.)

I cancelled the reservations.

It was a beautiful day. We grabbed the dog and headed down to the wharf at Granville Island. The shrimp boat was in.

It is Spot Prawn season in British Columbia at the moment. We got 10 live beauties (very much in the eye of the beholder) for $8. We then headed into the Market and bought a pound of fresh halibut, some yellow and orange peppers, Yukon Gold potatoes and a bottle of Sandhill Pinot Gris.

Grand total: $56

Home we went to warm up the barbie and prepare our feast.

I only squealed once when I opened the bag of prawns and they all tried to jump out (really, not kidding -- friggin freaky).


If you read my earlier post about cooking lobster, you'll know that I am a seasoned killing machine. I tossed the lot of them in a big pot of boiling water for 30 seconds, drained them and put them on the table. That simple.


The halibut went on the barbeque with a fantastic marinade of dijon mustard, tarragon, lemon zest, and olive oil.


And the table was set.


It was amazing. The halibut was absolute perfection and the Spot Prawns? Unbelievable. They were a bit messy to de-shell, but worth the effort. They tasted of the ocean, of sun, of West Coast breezes. We didn't put anything on them either -- no garlic butter, no cocktail sauce (OMG that would be like putting ketchup on -- well anything).

Finishing with drinks on the balcony, gazing at our beautiful city, we raised our glasses.


Here's to 13 years of love and laughter. Here's to the ocean, sun and West Coast breezes. Here's to finding joy and perfection in the little things (even if they jump out of a bag and freak you out).

Hugs and kisses.

Wasabi & Ginger

And of course, Ginger needs dinner.

Breakfast with Ginger

I seem to have gone to the dogs this week. A great video brought to you by Sawith65 on youtube. Enjoy!

The Definition of Pure Joy

The same friend that sent me the adorable article about Charlie the Porcupine sent me this video. If there is such a thing as reincarnation, I want to come back as one of these dogs.

Cutie of the Day

A friend just sent me this story and I had to share.



RCMP officer saves baby porcupine from rural Alberta highway
Mountie rescued infant animal from mother's carcass
By Richard Cuthbertson, Calgary Herald June 16, 2010



Charlie the baby porcupine.
Photograph by: Courtesy, Myrna Pearman

CALGARY - He was born in less than auspicious circumstances -- his life saved by an RCMP officer who, in the middle of the night, cut him loose from his umbilical cord after his mother was killed on a rural highway. One-month-old Charlie the porcupine has recovered well from his miraculous birth and is now melting hearts at the Medicine River Wildlife Centre, where he lives.

He almost didn't make it. His survival comes thanks to RCMP Const. Charles Lambright, who struck and killed the little porcupine's mother after he was faced with a set of oncoming headlights toward the end of his shift near Rimbey a month ago. As Lambright dragged the porcupine carcass off the road, he noticed something moving. That's when he discovered little Charlie, still alive, but connected to his mother by the umbilical cord.

"I just wanted him to live," Lambright said in an interview Tuesday.

Cutting the little guy loose, the officer wrapped him in a towel and placed the porcupine on the floor of his cruiser while he finished his shift. For 24 hours, Lambright and his wife cared for Charlie at their home as they searched for an organization to take him. That's when they found the wildlife centre.

"After a while doing a job like this, you pull for whatever you can do," Lambright said, explaining why he saved and cared for the porcupine.

Lambright called the little critter Highway 20 after the route he was born on. But staff at the wildlife centre named him after the Mountie who saved him, hence Charlie.

These days, Charlie is being weaned off formula and is eating carrots, squash and apples. He has taken quite a liking to a stuffed teddy bear, spending much of his day snuggling with the toy.

"He is just a show-stopper," said Carol Kelly, the executive director of the centre, in Spruce View, west of Innisfail.

But even at his tender age, planning has begun for Charlie's career as an animal educator. The schedule for the celebrity porcupine is already getting busy, including a fundraising appearance this weekend (along with Otis the owl) at a Sylvan Lake bar.

After he was brought to the centre, the porcupine was placed in an incubator and is now doing well, according to Kelly.

The Medicine River Wildlife Centre houses roughly 150 animals, with about 50 of those in intensive care. The facility is a hospital for injured and orphaned wild animals, treating and returning them to their natural environment.

But the centre also educates people about wildlife. And that's where Charlie will come in. Given the porcupine never saw his mother, he has bonded with humans, making him an ideal candidate to appear at schools to teach children about wildlife, Kelly said.

rcuthbertson@theherald.canwest.com
© Copyright (c) The Calgary Herald

Facebook? Twitter? Fritter's For Me!

I quit facebook recently. It was getting too invasive and annoying. Facebook was randomly sending emails to people in my address book, asking them to be my friends. I don't know about you, but if people are in my address book, chances are they are already my friends and I don't want an anonymous email harassing them into being better friends. That's my job.


So what replaced facebook? Twitter of course. Now I am consumed by the random tweets of people I don't even know. Twitter is the National Enquirer of the social media world except instead of paparazzi slyly snapping photos of that famous person eating a hamburger they probably shouldn't be eating, the famous person tell us in their own 140 characters that they are eating a hamburger they probably shouldn't be eating (and they can now include their very own photo). Excellent you think -- right from the horses mouth. The problem with this though is that I've managed to pick up quite a few Twits and following them takes up a fair amount of time. Not to mention The Boyfriend is anti-social media and I'm driving him nuts with "OMG this is too funny -- CraigyFerg just tweeted "Emptied Dyson Ball vacuum for the first time. Found Jimmy Hoffa." The Boyfriend keeps reminding me that I don't actually know Craig Ferguson and he's not actually sending me a personal message. True, but...

This has lead me to think I need to start a new social media of my own.



If the world can waste 4.82 million hours playing Google Pac-Man then I think the world is ready for Fritter. Imagine your iPhone or Blackberry incessantly beeping (think vuvuzela -- which BTW has its own twitter account), alerting you to mindless, repetitive things that you can do to "fritter" away those long, boring hours of your life. Every half an hour or so you'd receive a new Fret.

Such as:
1)Google search "how to watch paint dry"
2)Count the number of holes in the ceiling tiles in your office
3)Finally figure out what thread count means and if it's important
4)Think about why it is that when you're driving and looking for an address,you turn the radio down
5)Sort your paper clips by ridges or smooth, not size

Don't worry if you are still wasting time on the old Fret, there will always be time to catch up on doing nothing.

(later)

Ok, despite what I said about Twitter, Jann Arden just started following me. I love Twitter!!!

I've Got a Crush on You

It's been over two weeks since my return from New York and I'm still infatuated. It was like the most amazing date of my life and I'm sitting by the phone waiting for a call. That call. To say it misses me and can't stop thinking about me and when can we see each other again. I keep replaying things we did and things we said to each other. I know it's a busy city and it has other obligations and many admirers, but the date went so well and we parted on such a positive note. I'm not usually so quick to declare my love but sometimes you just know when you've found the one.

By Grand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept

"And in the end all that we can do is to sit at the table over which our hands cross, listening to tunes from the wurlitzer, with love huge and simple between us, and nothing more to be said."

Elizabeth Smart (1913-1086)

As many before us have, we entered Grand Central Station our first night in New York. I was awed, goosebumped and emotional. At that moment I believed New York City was the greatest city on earth and that I would do anything to stay.

Start Spreading the News -- I'm Leaving Today

Well my lovlies, the boyfriend and I are eastern bound. We're getting on the red eye tonight and heading to Ottawa, our beloved capital. Not for the tulip festival, though I'm sure it's all the rage, but to visit the boyfriend's family.

And once our familial responsibilities are done, we are getting on another plane -- to NYC. I've never been to New York. Once, years ago I got as close as Laguardia Airport. Needless to say I have not been to New York. I am finally going, and I may not come back. Summer, Gary, I will look for you in the crowds.

“They say life's what happens when you're busy making other plans. But sometimes in New York, life is what happens when you're waiting for a table.” (Carrie Bradshaw -- Sex and the City)

New Neighbour

I was out on the balcony last night enjoying the feel of summer when I saw a new neighbour moving in. She's nesting under the garage and I'm not telling anyone. I'm waiting to see the babies. OMG -- nothing cuter than baby animals even if they are a wee bit smelly (and let's be realist -- what baby doesn't smell a wee bit?)

I've Met Someone New

I have been working on my certificate in Business Communication and Professional Writing and just finished what I hope is my last course -- Ethics and Legal Issues in Writing and Publishing. It was a four week core course and on the first night 20 of us crammed into a small lecture room. It was very awkward as there weren't enough seats to leave any empty, so we had to actually sit beside each other. Horrors!

We were all pretty well behaved on that first night, though it didn't take long to pick up on some unique personalities. There was the one who had an agenda that had nothing to do with the course. There was the one who kept his head down hoping the teacher wouldn't ask him a question. There was the know-it-all. There was the one with the metal pencil case, with little puppies on it, that held her pen, small ruler, pencil, eraser and correction tape (yes, this was a course for adults). And then there was the one, that after a couple of under-the-breath comments I turned to and said "I think I like you".

Alex and I were separated at birth. Red wine? Check. Savory, not sweet? Check. Love Seattle? Check. Run with a similar crowd? Check. Not suffering fools gladly? Check. We made a point of sitting beside each other in the next class and by the third class we had exchanged emails, PINs (oh yeah, both Blackberry users) and blog info.

I told the boyfriend about Alex and our similarities, but you know boyfriends? Kind of in one ear and out the other (mind you mentioning this during what turned out to be the final game between the Vancouver Canucks and the LA Kings might have been poor timing on my part).

On the last day of class Alex presented me with the beautiful bouquet of tulips above, to thank me for the inspiration to start blogging and I joked that we seemed to be in the midst of a whirlwind romance.

When I walked through the front door that night and greeted the boyfriend the first words out of his mouth were "Where did you get the flowers?"

"Alex gave them to me".

Needless to say his response, said with steely eyes (always wanted to write that) was "Who's Alex?"

"Alex is the one that I met in my class. Tonight was our last night and she wanted to thank me for writing my blog and inspiring her to start one of her own. I think it's sweet."

"Who?"

"Alex. Alexandra. I told you about her."

There comes a point in our lives when we don't make new friends readily. We may meet people that we like and think we should make the effort. But more often than not, that's what it is. Effort. So we never get around to it. We justify this by saying we have enough friends, and besides we're too busy to really put the necessary time into nurturing a new relationship. Next thing you know you are scanning through your Outlook Contacts wondering who the hell Emily is.

Alex and I may not ride off into the sunset together (hmmm -- don't know how she feels about motorbikes yet) but I think we've both decided that this time a new friendship is just what we want -- and it's effortless.

(Oh and by the way for those of you who noticed, the fact that the tulips are in a martini shaker is no reflection on the giver -- just the receiver -- though I think she'd approve.)

Here's Looking at You Rick Mercer

I don't blog about work but today I'm making an exception. We finally moved.

Back in July 2009 we moved from the 13th floor with a view of the mountains and ocean to this lovely space in the CBC Building (Canadian Broadcasting Corp for my non-Canadian readers -- kinda like the BBC but with commercials).







We fondly call it The Bunker. Apparently the floors below street level are lead-lined -- something to do with the Cold War and a mushroom cloud. I guess they thought they would move broadcasting to the basement and continue to bring doom and gloom to any Canadians that were left. There are no windows, the walls are cinder blocks and there is limited cell phone reception. We were supposed to be here until October 2009 when we would move up to the 2nd floor.

As we all know, things move slowly when government corporations are involved (no matter which government, I'm pretty sure they are all the same). Well on April 30th we finally got the word that we could move upstairs.

I have my own office again -- a room with a view:


For those of you who don't know who Rick Mercer is, he's one of the funniest political satirist out there. Certainly on par with the best of the U.S -- Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert, Bill Maher. (Check out his blog.) So while I no longer have a view of the mountains and ocean, I can content myself with the fact that I am greeted every morning with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

I think that pretty much says it all.

Potato Salad Anyone?

I've never been a big fan of potato salad -- at picnics I gravitate towards the macaroni salad. But I think it's important to be flexible. Don't you?

Lavender -- Not Just for Grandma Anymore

"There's a few things I've learned in life: always throw salt over your left shoulder, keep rosemary by your garden gate, plant lavender for good luck, and fall in love whenever you can"
— William Shakespeare



There's this little restaurant in Vancouver called The Italian Kitchen that was one of my favorite places for an awesome meal. And then, one balmy summer evening, the waiter asked if we (the girls and I) would like to see the dessert menu. On a whim we said yes (I don't have a sweet tooth -- at all) and this amazing little dessert caught my eye. Lavender Creme Bruleé. I took a risk (creme bruleé isn't too sweet I reasoned), ordered and have been smitten ever since.

This past winter the girls and I ventured to our spot. When the waiter asked if we'd like to see the dessert menu I said "no need, I'll have the Lavender Creme Bruleé" to which she replied "I'm sorry, we don't carry that anymore." WTF!!! I haven't been back since.

So began my quest for the perfect Lavender Creme Bruleé. And here it is:

1 tbsp lavender flowers (dried)
2 cups heavy cream
3 egg yolks
1/4 cup white sugar
dash of salt
1 tsp vanilla
4 tbsp Grand Marnier (if you want -- gives it a nice hint of orange)
more white sugar for sprinkling on the top to bruleé
4 ramekins

Preheat oven to 300F.

Put alot of water on to boil.

In a saucepan on medium heat, add the lavender to the cream. Bring to a simmer (when you can see steam rising) then remove from the heat. Let it sit so that the cream becomes infused with the lavender scent (you can leave it for quite a while -- in case you forget while you're busy beating the eggs).

In another bowl combine the 3 egg yolks, sugar, salt, vanilla and Grand Marnier.

Now strain the lavender out of the cream and slowly add the hot cream to the egg/sugar mixture. You have to do it slowly (and stir slowly) so that the eggs don't end up curdling. Yuck! Once it's all been combined divide it between the four ramekins.

Place the ramekins in a glass baking dish and place on the middle rack of the oven. Now take the boiling water and slowly pour it into the glass baking dish (you're doing the water bath cooking method -- just like Julia did). Slide the rack back into the oven (good luck with this if your oven is sticky -- water everywhere) and bake for anywhere from 45 to 60 minutes (this will depend on your oven -- mine is closer to 60 minutes). You can tell when they are done if you jiggle one of the ramekins and it seems kind of, well, jiggly.

Remove from the oven and let sit in the water bath until the water cools (so you can stick your finger in it and not have to be rushed to the hospital). Then put them in the fridge to set for at least 4 to 6 hours.

(Sorry, I know this is the painful part, but you really have to do this. The last ones I made I was in too much of a hurry to eat them and only put them in the fridge for about an hour and a half. They came out runny -- they still tasted great -- but they were more like Lavender Creme Bruleé smoothies.)

When chilled enough, sprinkle the top of each with sugar (enough to thoroughly cover the top -- so you can't see the custard) and then get out your blow torch, make sure the smoke detector is working and start bruleéing.



They are amazing! And really quite easy. You will impress you guests. And most importantly, you will impress yourself.

So there Italian Kitchen. Who needs ya?

A Nickel Ain't Worth a Dime Anymore

~Yogi Berra


When I was young my parents tried to instill in me a sense of respect for the almighty dollar (sorry, pun not intended). I opened my first savings account at the tender age of five and deposited my meagre allowance. I got my bank book updated every week and was always disappointed in the paltry amount. My parents kept uttering the mantra "compound interest, compound interest", but my interest was waning, not compounding. When I turned 13 the bank, in its quest to get more of my hard earned cash, offered me a Chargex (that's was Visa was called back in the day).

I happily accepted and never looked back. Compound, schmompound. My money was better spent paying off escalating credit card bills. Talk about compound interest. Chargex's interest rates were anywhere from 15 - 29% -- yes, even back in the 70s. And it was a never ending battle to pay off any of the actual credit card debt. Fortunately my credit limit was $500 so irreparable damage was not done. It was a love/hate thing for years. It still is a bit. It's so easy to just "buy" something and pay for it later. Sometimes much later. And with everything old being new again, the latest gadget (and I am the Gadget Queen) always screams Buy Me!

But my parents did prevail when it came to investing. My longest running job (FedEx from 1986 - 2006) offered a really decent company investment plan. For every dollar I put into an RSP (401k in America), FedEx doubled it. I know! I know! How could I not take advantage of that? Free money. I also thought it might be a good idea to put a little bit away on my own -- just dribs and drabs -- but something.

And then along came the man of my dreams. He was smart, witty, compulsively hedonistic (but in a good way) and kinda adorable. He's a Chartered Accountant and a Certified Senior Advisor. He said he could take my savings and make them do crazy Circe de Soleil things, but with a saftey net. He could help me plan for my future. Freedom 55 and all that. And now as everyone is limping back to the starting line, my portfolio is blossoming like a perennial in spring. He is my Financial Guru. Would you not trust this man with all your money? I know I do.