It is mid-August and, while we are still in the throes of summer, there are signs of the change coming: night falls more quickly now, the resident geese have stepped up their activity level from simply wandering about pooping all over our golf courses and beaches to routinely practicing their formation flying techniques in anticipation of the journey ahead, and everywhere I look, it's "Back to School"! But still, for a few more weeks at least, it's summer.
And here I am on the eve of my 49th birthday. Tomorrow I begin my 50th year and the one-year countdown to the second half of my live-to-be-a-hundred life. I don't know what the coming year will bring but I'm feeling like it could be one of the most important years of this life; 365 days dedicated to reflection, preparation and transformation. And, of course, laundry.
But even though my days are getting shorter, and signs of what's to come are everywhere, it's still summer where I am right now.
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Bless me Blogger, I have slacked
It has been six months since my last post. And it's not like nothing really compelling has happened in the interim; au contraire. I mean, jobs (and weight) have been lost (and gained), and people (yes, plural) have died. And I had yet another birthday, hurtling me headlong towards 50, or what I am considering the halfway point of my life. Although after all the deaths this year, the majority of them the senseless, unexplainable losses of young people far in advance of what anyone would consider their time...it's probably best to assume nothing about how I might add and divide my days.
Anyway, lots to dissect and reflect upon, and this post - this one right here - totally lacking in any actual content, only hinting at what's to come - this here is where I start.
Anyway, lots to dissect and reflect upon, and this post - this one right here - totally lacking in any actual content, only hinting at what's to come - this here is where I start.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
The Optimistic Gardener
Today I planted things. In egg cartons. In my kitchen.
I'm the optimistic type. Despite my many gardening failures in the past, I will persist. I actually grew beans, chard, tomatoes and zucchini last year and some of it survived to harvest. So this year I'm taking it to the next level and "starting" my own plants. I only spent about $20 on dirt and seeds so it's a small investment compared to the plants I bought last year for significantly more money. And the pre-grown vegetables I also bought.
Three varieties of tomatoes, hot peppers, flowers, zucchini and pumpkin have all been laid to rest in special "starter mix", moistened and covered, and hovered and prayed over. If all goes well, by this time next month I will be ministering tenderly to well over a hundred tiny seedlings in our decrepit greenhouse shed, and be anxiously waiting till the daytime temperature climbs over +20 and I get them outside and let Mother Nature take a greater hand in their care - that chick really knows what it's doing when it comes to plants and junk. Me? I'm merely hopeful.
I'm the optimistic type. Despite my many gardening failures in the past, I will persist. I actually grew beans, chard, tomatoes and zucchini last year and some of it survived to harvest. So this year I'm taking it to the next level and "starting" my own plants. I only spent about $20 on dirt and seeds so it's a small investment compared to the plants I bought last year for significantly more money. And the pre-grown vegetables I also bought.
Three varieties of tomatoes, hot peppers, flowers, zucchini and pumpkin have all been laid to rest in special "starter mix", moistened and covered, and hovered and prayed over. If all goes well, by this time next month I will be ministering tenderly to well over a hundred tiny seedlings in our decrepit greenhouse shed, and be anxiously waiting till the daytime temperature climbs over +20 and I get them outside and let Mother Nature take a greater hand in their care - that chick really knows what it's doing when it comes to plants and junk. Me? I'm merely hopeful.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Transportation Tips for Mini Cupcakes
Yes, yes I know that that we've all moved on from the cupcake craze by now, and it's eye-gougingly tedious to encounter a blog post dealing with something so specific and so domestic when you are looking for insight, inspiration, drama or even just a few yuks, but here it is anyway: a very small piece of information, useful to only a few...
So I've been baking and decorating cupcakes lately - they're cute, portion-controlled, nobody gives a shit if you use a mix, and they're fairly inexpensive to churn out by the dozen for school bake sales, birthdays, work stuff, whatever.
Plus, somehow (much to my mortification) I've found myself the owner of a stacking cupcake caddy complete with carrying handle and reversible interior trays, which lets me transport three-dozen conventional-sized cupcakes. Maybe I'm just weirdly self-conscious, but I find it horribly embarassing to sashay into the school gym with this Tupperware monstrosity, looking every inch the soccer mom - I would seriously rather schlep around a ferret on a leash while wearing a 2-piece bathing suit. But ferrets are not known for their skill or capacity in handling baked goods, so I swallow my wannabe hipster pride and just try to muster a little swagger whenever I'm on bake sale duty.
At Christmas I decided that mini cupcakes are far cuter than the full-sized ones and everyone can buy/eat more. But the cupcake carrier functioned more like a bouncy castle than a safe haven for the little guys and I ended up buying half of my contribution back at the high school concert because they were smooshed (om nom nom - oh well!)
Man, this is a lot of lead-up for a single tip with very limited relevance, so here it is, my very domestic tip for the cupcake-bakers out there:
The safest and easiest way to store and transport mini cupcakes is in styrofoam egg cartons. Yep! Three dozen mini cupcakes (shown below) arrived safely at my workplace yesterday after being carried on the bus along with my laptop, my lunch and all my other daily necessaires. All of them survived the trip in perfect condition and were fairly easy to remove without smearing the icing.
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| Mini cupcakes safe and sound |
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Frugalista Goes Cold Turkey
Like so many people, I fell off the wagon over the holidays. There was temptation everywhere!
And while I certainly could be talking about food and drink, I'm not - I'm referring to my moratorium on clothes shopping for myself and a general commitment to consuming far less overall.
Of course I had to shop - buy gifts and goodies for people - so I was in and out of stores quite frequently before Christmas. I actually made out okay with the Christmas shopping, managing to get my shopping done with only ONE trip to the mall and only about four visits to the dollar store. The rest of my purchases were made in individual stores which somehow makes me feel a little righteous. It helped a lot to make lists and try to stick to them. Also, as a side-boast, we used only cash this Christmas for our shopping - Holla!
No, the trouble came afterwards. Appetite whetted by the pre-Christmas consuming, bargains everywhere and a fat stack in my wallet courtesy of my mother-in-law, I went on a little bit of a shopping bender. Some of the details are a little hazy, but I'm fairly certain I spent the whole holidays going in and out of stores - it's the MIL's preferred pastime, so there is a tendency to overindulge when she visits. And, you know, the holidays and mother-in-law visits are not generally regarded as times of low stress, so some of the retail activity was therapeutic in nature (at least that's what I told myself when I found myself alone and aimlessly wandering the concrete aisles of the local Walmart Supercentre at 10 pm on the 27th, and then again on the 28th, returning my purchases of the previous evening and buying more things.)
I really loved it at first, I mean I REVELLED in the deliciousness of the merchandise, the fondling, the choosing, the purchase, the bringing home of the bags and the ceremonial laying out of the goods. I've really got a problem... I actually leave tags on new clothes just so I can experience the "thrill of the new" when I bring the garment out of my closet to wear for the first time, and remind myself of the great deal I got when I look at the tag and see that red sale price handwritten in. (Sometimes won't even throw them out; I'll keep the tags and receipts on my dresser to look at another time, which is maybe just a little obsessive!) But after a few days, it all began to feel like some painful compulsion, like the cigarette that the addict HAS to have, even when she has strep throat (yes, speaking from personal experience here; don't judge, okay?).
But the holidays ended, the MIL went back to Winnipeg, and life returned to normal. Except the part where I didn't just stop shopping. I squandered three precious hours at the mall last Sunday, and again yesterday I found myself a the dollar store with nothing really critical to buy. I can't afford to be like this, and I hate to waste my time this way.
They say that the first thing you have to do when you have an addiction is admit that you are powerless. I say bullshit! I have all kinds of power and I'm exercising that power by stopping the shopping right now. And I'm not even going to indulge myself by sharing the details of my various (Awesome! Awesome! Awesome! Amazing deals! I can show you the receipts!) Boxing Week purchases.
From now until Easter at least, there will be no clothing purchases, no unplanned household purchases, and no trips to the drugstore or the dollar store without a list. The fat stack's gone now anyway.
And while I certainly could be talking about food and drink, I'm not - I'm referring to my moratorium on clothes shopping for myself and a general commitment to consuming far less overall.
Of course I had to shop - buy gifts and goodies for people - so I was in and out of stores quite frequently before Christmas. I actually made out okay with the Christmas shopping, managing to get my shopping done with only ONE trip to the mall and only about four visits to the dollar store. The rest of my purchases were made in individual stores which somehow makes me feel a little righteous. It helped a lot to make lists and try to stick to them. Also, as a side-boast, we used only cash this Christmas for our shopping - Holla!
No, the trouble came afterwards. Appetite whetted by the pre-Christmas consuming, bargains everywhere and a fat stack in my wallet courtesy of my mother-in-law, I went on a little bit of a shopping bender. Some of the details are a little hazy, but I'm fairly certain I spent the whole holidays going in and out of stores - it's the MIL's preferred pastime, so there is a tendency to overindulge when she visits. And, you know, the holidays and mother-in-law visits are not generally regarded as times of low stress, so some of the retail activity was therapeutic in nature (at least that's what I told myself when I found myself alone and aimlessly wandering the concrete aisles of the local Walmart Supercentre at 10 pm on the 27th, and then again on the 28th, returning my purchases of the previous evening and buying more things.)
I really loved it at first, I mean I REVELLED in the deliciousness of the merchandise, the fondling, the choosing, the purchase, the bringing home of the bags and the ceremonial laying out of the goods. I've really got a problem... I actually leave tags on new clothes just so I can experience the "thrill of the new" when I bring the garment out of my closet to wear for the first time, and remind myself of the great deal I got when I look at the tag and see that red sale price handwritten in. (Sometimes won't even throw them out; I'll keep the tags and receipts on my dresser to look at another time, which is maybe just a little obsessive!) But after a few days, it all began to feel like some painful compulsion, like the cigarette that the addict HAS to have, even when she has strep throat (yes, speaking from personal experience here; don't judge, okay?).
But the holidays ended, the MIL went back to Winnipeg, and life returned to normal. Except the part where I didn't just stop shopping. I squandered three precious hours at the mall last Sunday, and again yesterday I found myself a the dollar store with nothing really critical to buy. I can't afford to be like this, and I hate to waste my time this way.
They say that the first thing you have to do when you have an addiction is admit that you are powerless. I say bullshit! I have all kinds of power and I'm exercising that power by stopping the shopping right now. And I'm not even going to indulge myself by sharing the details of my various (Awesome! Awesome! Awesome! Amazing deals! I can show you the receipts!) Boxing Week purchases.
From now until Easter at least, there will be no clothing purchases, no unplanned household purchases, and no trips to the drugstore or the dollar store without a list. The fat stack's gone now anyway.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Haiku: morning kisses
morning kisses
cheeks against my lips
velvet, rubber memory
lingers the whole day
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Vancougar Island
It's really different here on the little piece of land that fell off the west coast of Canada. Different in a good way, like we can buy vegetables outside all year round and take the dog swimming in the ocean on New Year's Day, and wherever we look we can be pretty much guaranteed to cast our eyes on something breathtaking in the way of scenery. But it's also different in ways that make a mother's guts get all knotty.
I'm not talking about how easy it is to buy high-grade organic marijuana or psychedelic mushrooms here in the world capital of pot and 'shrooms. I think you can actually purchase them at most of our local farmers markets if you know what to ask for (which, for the record, I do not.)
Nor am I referring to the ever-present high alert we're all on for THE BIG ONE, although it was a real eye-opener when I got a note home from school right after we moved here asking me to place some very specific items in a Ziploc bag and send it back with my child to be placed in the earthquake kiosk out in the playground. Oh, the thoughts that went through my head and the horrible feelings I felt, imagining that something geologically devastating would happen and our family would be separated. I think my son's earthquake kit was the last one handed in because I couldn't quite manage to draft the optional "comfort note" without melting down. I mean, what do you say to your child when all he wants and needs is the reassurance of a parent's presence and there's a split-wide-open fault line between you and him? A glib "Keep Calm and Carry On" stuffed into a freezer bag with a McHappy Toy and a granola bar ain't gonna cut it.
No, the churn is to do with wild animals roaming the streets. I did hit this deer one time, on an ordinary weeknight while driving through a residential neighborhood minding my own business - this crazy leaping creature crazily leapt in front of the Impala (ironic, no?) and I nailed him pretty hard in the hindquarters (the last thing I saw before I closed my eyes and hammered the brake pedal).
But it's not about the free-ranging ruminants. It's the cougars roaming the streets of our city - that's what's giving this mom the heebie-jeebies. Five warnings in the last two days, the most recent being at the nearest intersection to the lads' school. They're bold, these urban cougars - wandering across the main highway, hanging out at the high school, loitering in the backyards of ordinary law-abiding citizens, quite possibly bumming cigarettes from some of the kids who hang out by the video store. Just for clarity (because the reference to approaching teenage boys may mislead the reader), I am not talking about big-haired divorced women with salon nails and pants that are a little too tight. I refer to the literal, actual large member of the cat family with massive deadly fangs and claws...
I don't like it one little bit. My only consolation is that the warnings usually caution folks take extra care with their children and pets, and my children are a beefy 6' and a fast-moving 6'4". I did warn them to watch out for their more petite friends though. It doesn't matter where you live: size matters.
Note: the deer lived. He was last seen limping off onto the adjacent golf course where, by the way, people golf every day all year round. Even in January. Even after a couple of big bong hits. Even with the everpresent threat of giant bloodthirsty felines lurking in the rough. I told you it was different here.
I'm not talking about how easy it is to buy high-grade organic marijuana or psychedelic mushrooms here in the world capital of pot and 'shrooms. I think you can actually purchase them at most of our local farmers markets if you know what to ask for (which, for the record, I do not.)
Nor am I referring to the ever-present high alert we're all on for THE BIG ONE, although it was a real eye-opener when I got a note home from school right after we moved here asking me to place some very specific items in a Ziploc bag and send it back with my child to be placed in the earthquake kiosk out in the playground. Oh, the thoughts that went through my head and the horrible feelings I felt, imagining that something geologically devastating would happen and our family would be separated. I think my son's earthquake kit was the last one handed in because I couldn't quite manage to draft the optional "comfort note" without melting down. I mean, what do you say to your child when all he wants and needs is the reassurance of a parent's presence and there's a split-wide-open fault line between you and him? A glib "Keep Calm and Carry On" stuffed into a freezer bag with a McHappy Toy and a granola bar ain't gonna cut it.
No, the churn is to do with wild animals roaming the streets. I did hit this deer one time, on an ordinary weeknight while driving through a residential neighborhood minding my own business - this crazy leaping creature crazily leapt in front of the Impala (ironic, no?) and I nailed him pretty hard in the hindquarters (the last thing I saw before I closed my eyes and hammered the brake pedal).
But it's not about the free-ranging ruminants. It's the cougars roaming the streets of our city - that's what's giving this mom the heebie-jeebies. Five warnings in the last two days, the most recent being at the nearest intersection to the lads' school. They're bold, these urban cougars - wandering across the main highway, hanging out at the high school, loitering in the backyards of ordinary law-abiding citizens, quite possibly bumming cigarettes from some of the kids who hang out by the video store. Just for clarity (because the reference to approaching teenage boys may mislead the reader), I am not talking about big-haired divorced women with salon nails and pants that are a little too tight. I refer to the literal, actual large member of the cat family with massive deadly fangs and claws...
I don't like it one little bit. My only consolation is that the warnings usually caution folks take extra care with their children and pets, and my children are a beefy 6' and a fast-moving 6'4". I did warn them to watch out for their more petite friends though. It doesn't matter where you live: size matters.
Note: the deer lived. He was last seen limping off onto the adjacent golf course where, by the way, people golf every day all year round. Even in January. Even after a couple of big bong hits. Even with the everpresent threat of giant bloodthirsty felines lurking in the rough. I told you it was different here.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Lethargy begets lethargy (or OMG! I WAS POISONED BY STARCH!)
Today was my first day back at work for, like, a week - same with most everyone else I suppose - and the only thing that stopped me from closing my office door and crawling under my desk immediately after arriving at the office this morning was the threat of the office mouse scurrying in and nibbling the sleeve of my new grey cashmere sweater while I drooled onto the carpet.
Too much rest over the holidays. Not enough fresh air. And, even though I didn't officially gain any weight, clearly there were far too many carbohydrates of all kinds consumed.
It's such a tough rut to spin out of, the deep trench of overindulgence and underactivity. It's not even 9:00 pm tonight and I'm already in bed.
Tomorrow I will force myself to bathe in egg whites and flaxseed, and stride briskly through my neighborhood, completely naked, swinging my arms wildly while flogging myself with an evergreen bough liberated from our Christmas tree (never mind that it's an artificial tree, it'll be stimulating to the circulation all the same).
Or maybe I'll just take a salad to work and walk around the block at lunchtime.
Too much rest over the holidays. Not enough fresh air. And, even though I didn't officially gain any weight, clearly there were far too many carbohydrates of all kinds consumed.
It's such a tough rut to spin out of, the deep trench of overindulgence and underactivity. It's not even 9:00 pm tonight and I'm already in bed.
Tomorrow I will force myself to bathe in egg whites and flaxseed, and stride briskly through my neighborhood, completely naked, swinging my arms wildly while flogging myself with an evergreen bough liberated from our Christmas tree (never mind that it's an artificial tree, it'll be stimulating to the circulation all the same).
Or maybe I'll just take a salad to work and walk around the block at lunchtime.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Start the Resolution Without Me...no, wait!
Can't help it; I'm compelled to make resolutions at every socially-mandated opportunity there is to make some sort of positive change. So this year I'm going to write (see yesterday) and read more, watch less TV, keep my floors clean and the laundry caught up. Big change here for me; for once I'm not attempting to reinvent my entire home life - just identifying the trouble spots and taking them on. I'll also continue the progress I've made in easing off on the consuming and the associated de-cluttering/downsizing.
And oh yes, plan to lose about 50 pounds (30 of which I gained in the last year).
The weight loss thing grows so very tiresome, but it has to be done. I'm completely out of pants that fit and refuse to buy more; and my feet and knees are really starting to feel it. Like prescription-strength anti-inflammatories feeling it... I'm too young for that, and I'm too committed to the idea of not buying bigger pants when I have so many decent pairs standing by. I must do this.
I'll share the details of my plan and progress once I get them hammered out and figure out a way to share that won't cause random blog passersby to roll their eyes and/or pass out from the very tedium of it all.
Oh yeah, John T. Meldrum, if you are reading this, know that I also resolve to be kinder to you this year; and to (if you'll forgive the expression) lean in instead of pulling away when things get tough.
And oh yes, plan to lose about 50 pounds (30 of which I gained in the last year).
The weight loss thing grows so very tiresome, but it has to be done. I'm completely out of pants that fit and refuse to buy more; and my feet and knees are really starting to feel it. Like prescription-strength anti-inflammatories feeling it... I'm too young for that, and I'm too committed to the idea of not buying bigger pants when I have so many decent pairs standing by. I must do this.
I'll share the details of my plan and progress once I get them hammered out and figure out a way to share that won't cause random blog passersby to roll their eyes and/or pass out from the very tedium of it all.
Oh yeah, John T. Meldrum, if you are reading this, know that I also resolve to be kinder to you this year; and to (if you'll forgive the expression) lean in instead of pulling away when things get tough.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
A Writer Should Write
I'm a writer by trade - I actually get paid to write. Fairly well in fact. And there's dental. Imagine this: a person will call me or show up at my office door, looking for words. I'll conjure up a few bon mots suitable for the occasion and this person will take them gratefully, glad there's an honest-to-goodness writer on the payroll, on call for any and all wordsmithing emergencies. And that's pretty much what I do Monday to Friday...
But I'm lucky; jobs like mine are very few and very far between. People who write really good, thoughtful, creative and beautiful words often don't get paid at all; they do it for love or because they are compelled. I need to acknowledge and respect that, and wear this awesome, fortunate mantle a little more proudly: take my calling a little more seriously.
So starting today, I'm writing something every day. And no, a 140 character Tweet doesn't count, despite the rigour and discipline required to communicate thoughts and feelings in such small medium - the Tweet is really the haiku of the 21st century. But I'm still not counting it.
But I'm lucky; jobs like mine are very few and very far between. People who write really good, thoughtful, creative and beautiful words often don't get paid at all; they do it for love or because they are compelled. I need to acknowledge and respect that, and wear this awesome, fortunate mantle a little more proudly: take my calling a little more seriously.
So starting today, I'm writing something every day. And no, a 140 character Tweet doesn't count, despite the rigour and discipline required to communicate thoughts and feelings in such small medium - the Tweet is really the haiku of the 21st century. But I'm still not counting it.
Friday, November 4, 2011
The Frugalista Gets (Less) Crafty
There I was in the craft supply superstore with half an hour to spare, mind exploding with project and decorating ideas, not-quite-maxed-out credit card at the ready....
But wait. Hold yer horses! Another problem area for me, the craft supplies. And all the decoupaged and and glitter-glued baggage that goes along with them. The mess, the pressure, the guilt, the clutter... I mean, what happens to 90% of the stuff we buy at the craft supply place? Probably some combination of unused, half used, and tossed in the garbage due to some horrible glue gun or sequin incident. And, whether made into something or still in the package, it's likely collecting dust and taking up precious storage or display space in my own home or someone else's.
Perhaps the biggest burden, though, is the sense of OBLIGATION that these items bring into a person's life. ("What am I doing lying on the couch watching ripped-to-shreds Alex O'Loughlin catching bad guys while wearing nothing but a pair of cargo pants, when I could be spilling my creative juices all over the house? What a sloth I am.")
I probably have enough supplies on hand already (oh yes, I've had ambitions!) to make a thoughtful, handmade gift for everyone I've ever met.
So, last night I grabbed the two dozen candlewicks I needed (well not actually "needed", per se, but I figured if I purchased wicks then I could use the wax I have on hand to make the candles I plan to foist on some unsuspecting acquaintances or strangers this holiday season), plunked them down (along with my COUPON!) and escaped with only six dollars in damages.
But I can't go back; I'm helpless against the siren song of shiny beads, fluffy yarn, fabric glue, pom poms and wicker baskets.
Farewell and happy holidays to you, Michael's the Arts & Crafts Superstore - I won't be back until next spring at the earliest. Not until my craft supply stash is cut at least in half and this season of "Hawaii 5-0" is over.
But wait. Hold yer horses! Another problem area for me, the craft supplies. And all the decoupaged and and glitter-glued baggage that goes along with them. The mess, the pressure, the guilt, the clutter... I mean, what happens to 90% of the stuff we buy at the craft supply place? Probably some combination of unused, half used, and tossed in the garbage due to some horrible glue gun or sequin incident. And, whether made into something or still in the package, it's likely collecting dust and taking up precious storage or display space in my own home or someone else's.
Perhaps the biggest burden, though, is the sense of OBLIGATION that these items bring into a person's life. ("What am I doing lying on the couch watching ripped-to-shreds Alex O'Loughlin catching bad guys while wearing nothing but a pair of cargo pants, when I could be spilling my creative juices all over the house? What a sloth I am.")
I probably have enough supplies on hand already (oh yes, I've had ambitions!) to make a thoughtful, handmade gift for everyone I've ever met.
So, last night I grabbed the two dozen candlewicks I needed (well not actually "needed", per se, but I figured if I purchased wicks then I could use the wax I have on hand to make the candles I plan to foist on some unsuspecting acquaintances or strangers this holiday season), plunked them down (along with my COUPON!) and escaped with only six dollars in damages.
But I can't go back; I'm helpless against the siren song of shiny beads, fluffy yarn, fabric glue, pom poms and wicker baskets.
Farewell and happy holidays to you, Michael's the Arts & Crafts Superstore - I won't be back until next spring at the earliest. Not until my craft supply stash is cut at least in half and this season of "Hawaii 5-0" is over.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Why I'm not dressing up for Halloween this year
I used to always dress up for Halloween at work, but things weren't great around the office last fall, and I really hesitated about showing up in costume. In the end I threw caution to the wind and wore my Lt. Uhura outfit (it's pretty awesome and the skirt is scandalously short). A whole bunch of people joked about how the people in the red tunics were always the ones who didn't make it back from missions.
Less than two weeks later I got laid off.
The thought of having worn that costume, and the things that people had said still sting. Of course they were all just kidding around, and I'm sure most of them were oblivious to the brewing storm, but the memory of those comments just added to the humiliation of losing my job and left me feeling incredibly exposed. And I will never forget that the VP who canned me won the staff costume contest that day, for an admittedly brilliant pumpkin-head get-up, just confirming what a classless ass he was when he happily accepted the prize instead of declining it in favour of someone from the rank-and-file.
This year I have a new job that I really like. And I'm really happy here. Really, really happy. But I don't want to leave myself vulnerable in that way again, at least not in the workplace.
So no work costume for me. However, in the spirit of the season, I will accept any and all candy my coworkers offer, and politely eat it. All vulnerability aside, it would simply be rude not to. Noblesse oblige, right?
Less than two weeks later I got laid off.
The thought of having worn that costume, and the things that people had said still sting. Of course they were all just kidding around, and I'm sure most of them were oblivious to the brewing storm, but the memory of those comments just added to the humiliation of losing my job and left me feeling incredibly exposed. And I will never forget that the VP who canned me won the staff costume contest that day, for an admittedly brilliant pumpkin-head get-up, just confirming what a classless ass he was when he happily accepted the prize instead of declining it in favour of someone from the rank-and-file.
This year I have a new job that I really like. And I'm really happy here. Really, really happy. But I don't want to leave myself vulnerable in that way again, at least not in the workplace.
So no work costume for me. However, in the spirit of the season, I will accept any and all candy my coworkers offer, and politely eat it. All vulnerability aside, it would simply be rude not to. Noblesse oblige, right?
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| The old marketing dept. back in the day |
Monday, October 24, 2011
The Frugalista's Free-Stuff Frenzy
I spent an inordinate amount of time in a store today; just wandering around fondling and sniffing the merchandise, fraternizing with the clerks, coveting everything in sight. It's much easier to be a frugalista when you just stay the hell out of stores. On the plus side, all I needed was a greeting card and I had an ancient gift card in my wallet with a mystery balance (which turned out to be FIVE BUCKS- woot!), so I managed to pay only about three dollars for a seven dollar card (okay seven bucks for a greeting card? Whaaat?) So I'm calling the outing a success.
But I've found a new, dangerous outlet for my consumptive urges: free things. Friends have been moving (another post for another day when I can write about it without dissolving into puddles of self-pitying tears) and they've been giving me things. Big things and small things. Like, furniture. And hair conditioner. And oatmeal. And olives in a great big jar shaped like a curvaceous woman's torso...
In addition to what I'm estimating at well over a hundred dollars worth of partially-used pantry and household items, over the last month we've acquired a queen-sized bed, a double bed, two corner shelves, two dining chairs, two dressers, a book-case, a tv stand and, if you go back another two months, a couch and chair set.... All free from friends. It's stuff I like and I am so grateful for it; and it will always remind me of my three awesome girlfriends. But...well...we didn't really get rid of anything; we just got more possessions. And our house is pretty small. While there are some vague plans being made to discard a lumpy, stinky old bed or two, we really are just one more friend-move away from ending up on "Hoarders".
Damn! Gotta find that balance. The idea of not shopping had as much to do with learning to live with less as it did with not wasting money. And here I am with no new pants (huzzah!) and ten "new" pieces of furniture I probably could have lived without (oops!). But did I mention that we have Ovaltine now? And special Italian cheese that comes with its own built-in grater? And volumizing spray? And it was all FREE?
So blessed. So unclear on the concept.
But I've found a new, dangerous outlet for my consumptive urges: free things. Friends have been moving (another post for another day when I can write about it without dissolving into puddles of self-pitying tears) and they've been giving me things. Big things and small things. Like, furniture. And hair conditioner. And oatmeal. And olives in a great big jar shaped like a curvaceous woman's torso...
In addition to what I'm estimating at well over a hundred dollars worth of partially-used pantry and household items, over the last month we've acquired a queen-sized bed, a double bed, two corner shelves, two dining chairs, two dressers, a book-case, a tv stand and, if you go back another two months, a couch and chair set.... All free from friends. It's stuff I like and I am so grateful for it; and it will always remind me of my three awesome girlfriends. But...well...we didn't really get rid of anything; we just got more possessions. And our house is pretty small. While there are some vague plans being made to discard a lumpy, stinky old bed or two, we really are just one more friend-move away from ending up on "Hoarders".
Damn! Gotta find that balance. The idea of not shopping had as much to do with learning to live with less as it did with not wasting money. And here I am with no new pants (huzzah!) and ten "new" pieces of furniture I probably could have lived without (oops!). But did I mention that we have Ovaltine now? And special Italian cheese that comes with its own built-in grater? And volumizing spray? And it was all FREE?
So blessed. So unclear on the concept.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Frugalista Checks In
So it's been a little over a month since I vowed to forego any clothing purchases for six months. Of course I was helped a little (okay, a lot) by a broken ankle, and a bulky walking cast that made it hard to get down the hall to the photocopier, never mind cruising the mall.
But the cast's been off for a while now, and I'm quite mobile again. And I'm pleased to report that I continue to keep my promise to myself. Yes, I hate all my pants, and no, I don't seem have quite the right top to wear half the time, and my pajamas are literally turning transparent in spots.
But whatever. I'm clean and comfortable (most of the time), and I haven't offended anyone with my wardrobe choices. There have been times over the last five or so weeks that I've felt less than pulled-together, but I'm learning to live with that. I always took so much care to not look like I was trying, so it's doubtful anyone's even noticed that I'm not wearing exactly perfect shoes, or that my purse doesn't match anything else I'm wearing... only me. And I'm learning to live with the imperfection.
But meanwhile....I've had to start fighting (hard!) the urge to buy toiletries and housewares, or stock up on what's on sale at the grocery store. Because clearly the object of this exercise wasn't to replace one vice with another - and oh how easy THAT is to do (says the woman who "accidentally" bought five tubes of toothpaste two weekends ago...) So now my new thing is to really and truly use things up before buying more. And that includes all the tiny hotel bottles and sample packets and 1/4 full jugs of whatever it was I lost interest in last year. And encouraging the menfolk to do the same.
And can we just stop for a moment and discuss shower gel? From time to time I get a hankering to buy a bottle. And my mother-in-law (Avon and Yves Rocher addict) always brings a bunch in her suitcase when she visits. (By "a bunch", I mean usually three or more bottles - and, no, the teenage boys aren't interested in lathering up with "Mandarin Mango Medley" or "Pomegranate and Peach Passion." And then JTM and the lads brought me back the equivalent of a gallon from a recent trip to Portland (I sent a Bath & Bodyworks wish list with them, but forgot to write "or" between the various items - so I scored bottle after bottle of the good stuff...).
Now, I am a large woman, but I'm generally quite clean and I don't like to spend a lot of time hosing off, so I don't use a lot of product when I'm in the shower. I probably go through one bottle of shower gel for every four that everyone else in the household uses. I expect I will be completely through menopause before I need to replenish the lady-wash supply.
But, sidebar over. Back to the "not replacing things till you run out" thing. If you are trying this at home, please note that toilet paper should be an exception: it was more than a little awkward explaining to last Friday's ten dinner guests that, if they needed to wipe anything, they should use the "purse pack" of Kleenex on the bathroom window sill....
But the cast's been off for a while now, and I'm quite mobile again. And I'm pleased to report that I continue to keep my promise to myself. Yes, I hate all my pants, and no, I don't seem have quite the right top to wear half the time, and my pajamas are literally turning transparent in spots.
But whatever. I'm clean and comfortable (most of the time), and I haven't offended anyone with my wardrobe choices. There have been times over the last five or so weeks that I've felt less than pulled-together, but I'm learning to live with that. I always took so much care to not look like I was trying, so it's doubtful anyone's even noticed that I'm not wearing exactly perfect shoes, or that my purse doesn't match anything else I'm wearing... only me. And I'm learning to live with the imperfection.
But meanwhile....I've had to start fighting (hard!) the urge to buy toiletries and housewares, or stock up on what's on sale at the grocery store. Because clearly the object of this exercise wasn't to replace one vice with another - and oh how easy THAT is to do (says the woman who "accidentally" bought five tubes of toothpaste two weekends ago...) So now my new thing is to really and truly use things up before buying more. And that includes all the tiny hotel bottles and sample packets and 1/4 full jugs of whatever it was I lost interest in last year. And encouraging the menfolk to do the same.
And can we just stop for a moment and discuss shower gel? From time to time I get a hankering to buy a bottle. And my mother-in-law (Avon and Yves Rocher addict) always brings a bunch in her suitcase when she visits. (By "a bunch", I mean usually three or more bottles - and, no, the teenage boys aren't interested in lathering up with "Mandarin Mango Medley" or "Pomegranate and Peach Passion." And then JTM and the lads brought me back the equivalent of a gallon from a recent trip to Portland (I sent a Bath & Bodyworks wish list with them, but forgot to write "or" between the various items - so I scored bottle after bottle of the good stuff...).
Now, I am a large woman, but I'm generally quite clean and I don't like to spend a lot of time hosing off, so I don't use a lot of product when I'm in the shower. I probably go through one bottle of shower gel for every four that everyone else in the household uses. I expect I will be completely through menopause before I need to replenish the lady-wash supply.
But, sidebar over. Back to the "not replacing things till you run out" thing. If you are trying this at home, please note that toilet paper should be an exception: it was more than a little awkward explaining to last Friday's ten dinner guests that, if they needed to wipe anything, they should use the "purse pack" of Kleenex on the bathroom window sill....
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Grounded!
Tomorrow it will be three weeks since I broke my ankle, and on Thursday I will finally see my doctor (we ended up doing the whole "you broke your foot" thing via voicemail instead of in person) and find out just what got broken, and where, and how much longer will I have to wear the damn cast for.
Three weeks since I've been for a walk just for its own sake. Three weeks since I've shaved my right leg (okay the cast is removable so that is TOTALLY a choice, but still). Three weeks since I last got behind the wheel of the car. Three weeks since I've been a properly functioning member of my household.
Driving kids around has always been a major way in which I've contributed to running our family, especially evenings and weekends. I'm pretty easygoing about it; I've given up consuming large quantities of wine on the weekend without giving it much thought - and I don't really mind planning a Saturday or Sunday afternoon around drop-offs or pick-ups. But JTM likes to have a little more control over his schedule and, once he's home for the evening he likes to stay home. And that's why I do more of the extracurricular driving.
Or I did, till I ended up in a cast. So now the poor guy has to drive kids to band practice for 7:15 and then come back for the rest of us (at the other end of town) three mornings a week, and pick up as many people as are available for pick-up at the end of the school/work day. Then take people to organized activities, pick people up from unorganized ones, and so on. And that's just the weekdays.
It's all getting to be a bit much for us all as a family, to have to depend on just one person for all that, and it's compounded by the fact that I can't even travel independently; I need someone to take me to all my stuff too!
Apart from the way the cast decides to torture me throughout the night each night with its sweaty, clunky awkwardness, this being grounded business is the absolute worst part of having a broken ankle. And it's affecting everyone. I just want this to be over!
Three weeks since I've been for a walk just for its own sake. Three weeks since I've shaved my right leg (okay the cast is removable so that is TOTALLY a choice, but still). Three weeks since I last got behind the wheel of the car. Three weeks since I've been a properly functioning member of my household.
Driving kids around has always been a major way in which I've contributed to running our family, especially evenings and weekends. I'm pretty easygoing about it; I've given up consuming large quantities of wine on the weekend without giving it much thought - and I don't really mind planning a Saturday or Sunday afternoon around drop-offs or pick-ups. But JTM likes to have a little more control over his schedule and, once he's home for the evening he likes to stay home. And that's why I do more of the extracurricular driving.
Or I did, till I ended up in a cast. So now the poor guy has to drive kids to band practice for 7:15 and then come back for the rest of us (at the other end of town) three mornings a week, and pick up as many people as are available for pick-up at the end of the school/work day. Then take people to organized activities, pick people up from unorganized ones, and so on. And that's just the weekdays.
It's all getting to be a bit much for us all as a family, to have to depend on just one person for all that, and it's compounded by the fact that I can't even travel independently; I need someone to take me to all my stuff too!
Apart from the way the cast decides to torture me throughout the night each night with its sweaty, clunky awkwardness, this being grounded business is the absolute worst part of having a broken ankle. And it's affecting everyone. I just want this to be over!
Saturday, September 10, 2011
How I Broke my Ankle
Because I know people like a good accident/injury story (oh maybe that's just me) I'll share the details of my broken ankle and the recovery process with anyone Googling the keywords "broken ankle", "ankle fracture", "how to avoid passing out or puking on a busy street at lunchtime" or "how to accessorize a hideous grey air cast".
I was out over the lunch hour a week ago last Wednesday, shopping hard for a few articles of clothing (see my las post for more scintillating shopping details). I work downtown, right in the middle of everything, and just a few blocks away from the big downtown shopping mall. I was on my way back to the office, totally proccupied with the purchase I'd made and was wandering mindlessly across the narrow roadway beside the mall and back up onto the sidewalk.
And I just put one foot down on a piece of uneven concrete, rolled my ankle hard, hearing/sensing a sort of popping-snapping sound as I went down - somehow face first- onto the sidewalk. The pain was very nearly unbearable, but as a good Canadian, I would rather suffer total agony than make a big fuss and spectacle of myself in the downtown shopping and tourist district of my nice Canadian city. So I accepted a hand up from a kind stranger, joked that clearly I should be headed back to work and not loitering on the street, and began the excruciating process of attempting to walk.
I took about a dozen steps when I was nearly felled again by a wave of nausea and lightheadedneess, but by that time I was right in the middle of a busy intersection and had no choice but to keep moving forward - just kept telling myself that if I were an injured cavewoman I would have no choice but to get back to the village if I didn't want a cheetah to chase me down and lay me open.
So I did manage to get back to work, where my incredibly kind coworkers brought me ice packs and drinks of water and helped me get ready to go home.
I managed to get the shoe back onto my rapidly swelling foot, and hobbled down to the waiting car (Thanks JTM!). When I got home, I just fell into bed with a couple of pillows under my foot, and a nice big ice pack, and pretty much passed out for the rest of the day and evening.
The next morning, surprisingly, I found that I was able to walk a bit without too much difficulty, although my foot was very swollen and bruised on the outside. I decided to go into work for the day - but there was something about the way it looked and felt that made me wonder if it wasn't something more than just a sprain.
My family doctor couldn't see me that afternoon, so I left work early (thanks again for the ride, JTM!) and hit the neighborhood walk-in clinic. The doc on duty poked and prodded it little and, when I told him I felt pain under and behind my ankle bone, he sent me for an x-ray. He said me that docs follow something called the "Ottawa Ankle Rules" to decide who needs an xray to check for a fracture. Pain behind the ankle bone means "send for x-ray".
So we headed to the radiology place and I got my films done. The radiologist had already left for the day so I needed to wait till morning for the results.
I went to work again the next morning and JTM called me at about 11 to tell me that both the walk-in and my family doc had called. My regular doctor actually left a very detailed message explaining that there was a stable fracture, and that I should go to an orthotics place and get an aircast. I should "weight-bear as tolerated" and use crutches for the first while if I felt I needed them. Cast on for 3-4 weeks. And that was it - okay it wasn't really all that detailed. And his office was closed for the weekend by the time I'd absorbed all the info.
So I found the orthotics place and called them to see if they could get me in (Yes! Phew!), and JTM picked up up and drove me over mid-afternoon. (You will notice a pattern here, of JTM driving me everywhere. I don't want to give the plot away, but I'm sure you can see a pattern beginning to emerge...)
It's important to note here, that this is Canada, land of socialized medicine - where we generally get what we need, sometimes even when we need it - so it felt pretty damn weird to get the diagnosis via voicemail and then have to hand over $200 to get a cast for my broken ankle. I'm sure if I'd gone to the emergency room, they'd have hooked me up no charge, no questions asked. But live and learn- my extended benefits through work will cover most of it (although the insurance company did recommend that I submit an estimate first, by mail, that they could review and hopefully approve, again by mail - yeah, for a broken bone. I'll take my chances and file the claim, thanks.)
I didn't do much over the weekend - the labour day long weekend, as it turned out, and the most beautiful weekend of the summer, sigh. I tried, and then abandoned, crutches, preferring instead to shuffle along; not all that painful actually. But the cast is beyond ugly and awkward as hell; it's so thick and reinforced on the bottom that it makes my cast leg over an inch longer than my good leg, so I look and feel pretty clumsy hobbling along - and my glutes are KILLING me. And I can't drive - I have to be chauffeured EVERYWHERE because I can't manage the walk to the bus either (sorry JTM). And everyone started school last Tuesday, so GAH! It's been a very frustrating time for the whole family.
I was out over the lunch hour a week ago last Wednesday, shopping hard for a few articles of clothing (see my las post for more scintillating shopping details). I work downtown, right in the middle of everything, and just a few blocks away from the big downtown shopping mall. I was on my way back to the office, totally proccupied with the purchase I'd made and was wandering mindlessly across the narrow roadway beside the mall and back up onto the sidewalk.
And I just put one foot down on a piece of uneven concrete, rolled my ankle hard, hearing/sensing a sort of popping-snapping sound as I went down - somehow face first- onto the sidewalk. The pain was very nearly unbearable, but as a good Canadian, I would rather suffer total agony than make a big fuss and spectacle of myself in the downtown shopping and tourist district of my nice Canadian city. So I accepted a hand up from a kind stranger, joked that clearly I should be headed back to work and not loitering on the street, and began the excruciating process of attempting to walk.
I took about a dozen steps when I was nearly felled again by a wave of nausea and lightheadedneess, but by that time I was right in the middle of a busy intersection and had no choice but to keep moving forward - just kept telling myself that if I were an injured cavewoman I would have no choice but to get back to the village if I didn't want a cheetah to chase me down and lay me open.
So I did manage to get back to work, where my incredibly kind coworkers brought me ice packs and drinks of water and helped me get ready to go home.
I managed to get the shoe back onto my rapidly swelling foot, and hobbled down to the waiting car (Thanks JTM!). When I got home, I just fell into bed with a couple of pillows under my foot, and a nice big ice pack, and pretty much passed out for the rest of the day and evening.
The next morning, surprisingly, I found that I was able to walk a bit without too much difficulty, although my foot was very swollen and bruised on the outside. I decided to go into work for the day - but there was something about the way it looked and felt that made me wonder if it wasn't something more than just a sprain.
My family doctor couldn't see me that afternoon, so I left work early (thanks again for the ride, JTM!) and hit the neighborhood walk-in clinic. The doc on duty poked and prodded it little and, when I told him I felt pain under and behind my ankle bone, he sent me for an x-ray. He said me that docs follow something called the "Ottawa Ankle Rules" to decide who needs an xray to check for a fracture. Pain behind the ankle bone means "send for x-ray".
So we headed to the radiology place and I got my films done. The radiologist had already left for the day so I needed to wait till morning for the results.
I went to work again the next morning and JTM called me at about 11 to tell me that both the walk-in and my family doc had called. My regular doctor actually left a very detailed message explaining that there was a stable fracture, and that I should go to an orthotics place and get an aircast. I should "weight-bear as tolerated" and use crutches for the first while if I felt I needed them. Cast on for 3-4 weeks. And that was it - okay it wasn't really all that detailed. And his office was closed for the weekend by the time I'd absorbed all the info.
So I found the orthotics place and called them to see if they could get me in (Yes! Phew!), and JTM picked up up and drove me over mid-afternoon. (You will notice a pattern here, of JTM driving me everywhere. I don't want to give the plot away, but I'm sure you can see a pattern beginning to emerge...)
It's important to note here, that this is Canada, land of socialized medicine - where we generally get what we need, sometimes even when we need it - so it felt pretty damn weird to get the diagnosis via voicemail and then have to hand over $200 to get a cast for my broken ankle. I'm sure if I'd gone to the emergency room, they'd have hooked me up no charge, no questions asked. But live and learn- my extended benefits through work will cover most of it (although the insurance company did recommend that I submit an estimate first, by mail, that they could review and hopefully approve, again by mail - yeah, for a broken bone. I'll take my chances and file the claim, thanks.)
I didn't do much over the weekend - the labour day long weekend, as it turned out, and the most beautiful weekend of the summer, sigh. I tried, and then abandoned, crutches, preferring instead to shuffle along; not all that painful actually. But the cast is beyond ugly and awkward as hell; it's so thick and reinforced on the bottom that it makes my cast leg over an inch longer than my good leg, so I look and feel pretty clumsy hobbling along - and my glutes are KILLING me. And I can't drive - I have to be chauffeured EVERYWHERE because I can't manage the walk to the bus either (sorry JTM). And everyone started school last Tuesday, so GAH! It's been a very frustrating time for the whole family.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
The Frugalista (Quite Literally!) Catches a Break
I got this crazy idea in my head that I could go a whole year, or at least six months without purchasing a single article of clothing for myself. Someone had posed the hypothetical question on a community message board I frequent, and a little more on-line digging found an entire legion of women prepared to engage in a similar experiment over at unclutterer.com.
Here's the thing: for years now I've been buying crappy clothes because we've been on a budget and I've been on a never-ending weight loss adventure. So, apart from a few beautiful, classic items my mom insisted on buying for me, my wardrobe is composed mainly of sleazy junk sewn by children (I love kids, really I do, but they're not exactly whizzes with the old Singer - thanks to Kelly Oxford for that observation). And right now, about half of what I own is about two sizes too small. And I didn't even wear most of it last year because I was too busy lying around in the same pilled fleece pants day after day, eating chips on the couch and crying over reruns of "A Baby Story".
Yes, I'm back to work now (yo - holla!) but the 30 pounds I managed to put on over the last 12 or so months has landed most of my clothes in a Rubbermaid tote in my closet.
I love clothes - I truly LOVE them. I come from a family where our memories of events are not so much focused on what we ate or who we saw, but what we were wearing. Before I started considering this clothes shopping moratorium thing, I'd actually got a new blog set up where I was going to record, every day, what I wore and how I felt about it. Right down to the gonch.
But then I had a change of heart. I thought about people who didn't give a shit about their clothes as long as they were clean, comfortable and relatively appropriate to the setting. People who would rather stick pins in their eyes than shop for a new pair of anything. Was I happier, or more well respected, more popular with the other kids because I spent so much more psychic energy on my appearance? Should I really spend money on new things when so many of my clothes had barely been worn? Were there better things to focus my attention on (like losing the weight, just as one example)? And did I have the self-discipline to just quit clothes shopping cold-turkey?
I decided to do it. Starting September 1, I would not buy a single article of clothing for myself for six months. Not even a pair of socks.
So about a week ago, I hauled out all my clothes, purged a few items (not many, honestly - I actually do this regularly already. I don't really have a tonne of clothes compared to a lot of women; they're just not great quality and kinda tight...) I determined that the only thing I really, really needed was a long-sleeved white top in a decent fabric with some interesting detail, that could go under anything. That and this super-cute blouse that had little butterflies all over it that was working its way through the clearance process at my favourite not-so-cheap clothing store.
I headed out from the office at lunchtime last Wednesday to pick up the blouse (now marked down from $50 to $12.99!) and to begin my quest for the holy grail of white t-shirts.
Well I managed to get the blouse but had no luck on the t-shirt. As it was already the last day of August I was thinking I might have to give myself a day or two extension.
And that was what I was contemplating (along with OMG! How cute were the little butterfly-imprints on the buttons of my new blouse?!) when I tripped on the sidewalk outside the mall, rolled over on my ankle, and hit the pavement.
The ankle is broken. The details of that event can be another story for another day, but right now I'm still deciding if the universe thought it was helping me by making it pretty near impossible to shop for at least a month, or taunting me by forcing me to make one more purchase: a hideous goes-with-absolutely-nothing $200 grey boot cast that that my insurance may or may not cover.
Thank you universe; I really like your...uh...style.
Here's the thing: for years now I've been buying crappy clothes because we've been on a budget and I've been on a never-ending weight loss adventure. So, apart from a few beautiful, classic items my mom insisted on buying for me, my wardrobe is composed mainly of sleazy junk sewn by children (I love kids, really I do, but they're not exactly whizzes with the old Singer - thanks to Kelly Oxford for that observation). And right now, about half of what I own is about two sizes too small. And I didn't even wear most of it last year because I was too busy lying around in the same pilled fleece pants day after day, eating chips on the couch and crying over reruns of "A Baby Story".
Yes, I'm back to work now (yo - holla!) but the 30 pounds I managed to put on over the last 12 or so months has landed most of my clothes in a Rubbermaid tote in my closet.
I love clothes - I truly LOVE them. I come from a family where our memories of events are not so much focused on what we ate or who we saw, but what we were wearing. Before I started considering this clothes shopping moratorium thing, I'd actually got a new blog set up where I was going to record, every day, what I wore and how I felt about it. Right down to the gonch.
But then I had a change of heart. I thought about people who didn't give a shit about their clothes as long as they were clean, comfortable and relatively appropriate to the setting. People who would rather stick pins in their eyes than shop for a new pair of anything. Was I happier, or more well respected, more popular with the other kids because I spent so much more psychic energy on my appearance? Should I really spend money on new things when so many of my clothes had barely been worn? Were there better things to focus my attention on (like losing the weight, just as one example)? And did I have the self-discipline to just quit clothes shopping cold-turkey?
I decided to do it. Starting September 1, I would not buy a single article of clothing for myself for six months. Not even a pair of socks.
So about a week ago, I hauled out all my clothes, purged a few items (not many, honestly - I actually do this regularly already. I don't really have a tonne of clothes compared to a lot of women; they're just not great quality and kinda tight...) I determined that the only thing I really, really needed was a long-sleeved white top in a decent fabric with some interesting detail, that could go under anything. That and this super-cute blouse that had little butterflies all over it that was working its way through the clearance process at my favourite not-so-cheap clothing store.
I headed out from the office at lunchtime last Wednesday to pick up the blouse (now marked down from $50 to $12.99!) and to begin my quest for the holy grail of white t-shirts.
Well I managed to get the blouse but had no luck on the t-shirt. As it was already the last day of August I was thinking I might have to give myself a day or two extension.
And that was what I was contemplating (along with OMG! How cute were the little butterfly-imprints on the buttons of my new blouse?!) when I tripped on the sidewalk outside the mall, rolled over on my ankle, and hit the pavement.
The ankle is broken. The details of that event can be another story for another day, but right now I'm still deciding if the universe thought it was helping me by making it pretty near impossible to shop for at least a month, or taunting me by forcing me to make one more purchase: a hideous goes-with-absolutely-nothing $200 grey boot cast that that my insurance may or may not cover.
Thank you universe; I really like your...uh...style.
Friday, July 1, 2011
Sprouts!
First, a shout-out to my homeboy, Chia Scooby, the inspiration for the whole crazy thang:
I figured that if we could sprout a thousand chia seeds off a terra cotta dog's head, we could probably sprout some actual food for eating, and stop paying the guy at the market big bucks for a few pennies worth of seeds and water. We're really into eating sprouted grains and vegetables because when they're sprouted, the nutritional value increases astronomically (plus they won't break your teeth). You could trust me on this or you could go to the Google and learn more, like find out what actual nutrients and phytonutrients are miraculously generated when you expose seeds to a little water and sunlight.
So we headed down to the local health food store and got a few packages of premixed seeds (expensive), a few hundred grams of various seeds from the bulk bins (cheap), and dug through the pantry at home for some other beans and seeds (free).
And here is the part where it gets very tricky and complicated. Pay close attention to the following instructions and follow them to the letter.
HOW TO SPROUT SEEDS:
The image above shows the contents of the two jars combined: organic chickpeas and regular brown lentils, with A. Vogel prepackaged "Fitness Mix". Next we'll be sprouting chia seeds as an homage to Scooby, broccoli, black mustard (spicy!) and red clover.
Total cost, about $10, and we now have enough seeds to keep us in sprouts well into the fall (John was spending about $5 for two small bags at the market). We would have paid about half that if we'd passed on the prepackaged seeds and just put together our own mix as we did with the lentils and chickpeas. I think by Googling up the sprouting times and nutritional benefits of the various seeds you could easily figure out some good combinations.
Thanks Chia Scooby!
So we headed down to the local health food store and got a few packages of premixed seeds (expensive), a few hundred grams of various seeds from the bulk bins (cheap), and dug through the pantry at home for some other beans and seeds (free).
And here is the part where it gets very tricky and complicated. Pay close attention to the following instructions and follow them to the letter.
HOW TO SPROUT SEEDS:
- Toss the seeds into a couple of Mason jars with cheesecloth or some other fine mesh under the lids.
- Soak them overnight
- Rinse and drain twice daily, keeping them damp
- When they look the way you think they should (after 3-5 days), eat them.
 |
| Here they are after a day |
 |
| and here they are after five days |
 |
| After a final rinse and drain, they are all ready for John's salad |
Total cost, about $10, and we now have enough seeds to keep us in sprouts well into the fall (John was spending about $5 for two small bags at the market). We would have paid about half that if we'd passed on the prepackaged seeds and just put together our own mix as we did with the lentils and chickpeas. I think by Googling up the sprouting times and nutritional benefits of the various seeds you could easily figure out some good combinations.
Thanks Chia Scooby!
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Ms. Moneybags
Turns out one of our local grocery stores has self-serve checkouts where you just toss the coin part of your payment into a little bin, rather than having to feed the coins in. So I've been having fun gathering up all the loose change from here and there around the house, and using it to buy stuff.
Just a little fun thing to do - a little amusing distraction- absolutely nothing to do with my being unemployed for the last five months and our current financial situation. Really!
Today I (well actually "we" but JTM was too mortified to actually participate) thought it would be a bit of a lark to take the contents of the giant penny jar, dump it into a freezer bag and take it to the store to and use buy a turkey for Easter (only .99/pound - one per customer!). So there I was, as discreetly as possible, reaching into my very heavy purse for handful after handful of pennies (and other copper-coloured currency from many lands) to slip surreptitiously into the bin. For what seemed like hours.
After a while the cashier lady who tends to the self-serve lanes decided to get in there with me, saying encouraging things and helping shovel the rejects back into the hopper. Which of course, didn't draw any extra attention to what I was doing at all....
Then about halfway into the $70 transaction, in which I had deposited about $15 in paper money and the rest mostly in pennies, the machine gave a little squeal and started flashing some rather obscene error codes.
A manager was called, the various parts of the machine were opened, and inspected - very similar to the process of clearing a paper jam from the photocopier. A big fuss was made. (Oh God, nothing to see here, people. Really. Just move along now. You too, sir. I mean it!)
Once the machine was all cleared up and ready to go again, I'd lost my enthusiasm for the whole venture and just paid the rest with my debit card.
This battle may be over, but the war is not won. I may have set my sights a little high today trying to score a large piece of meat with my ghetto moneybag, but I am determined to keep spending those pennies, one bottle of pop or can of corn at a time, until they're gone. And until they are, just call me Ms. Moneybags.
Just a little fun thing to do - a little amusing distraction- absolutely nothing to do with my being unemployed for the last five months and our current financial situation. Really!
Today I (well actually "we" but JTM was too mortified to actually participate) thought it would be a bit of a lark to take the contents of the giant penny jar, dump it into a freezer bag and take it to the store to and use buy a turkey for Easter (only .99/pound - one per customer!). So there I was, as discreetly as possible, reaching into my very heavy purse for handful after handful of pennies (and other copper-coloured currency from many lands) to slip surreptitiously into the bin. For what seemed like hours.
After a while the cashier lady who tends to the self-serve lanes decided to get in there with me, saying encouraging things and helping shovel the rejects back into the hopper. Which of course, didn't draw any extra attention to what I was doing at all....
Then about halfway into the $70 transaction, in which I had deposited about $15 in paper money and the rest mostly in pennies, the machine gave a little squeal and started flashing some rather obscene error codes.
A manager was called, the various parts of the machine were opened, and inspected - very similar to the process of clearing a paper jam from the photocopier. A big fuss was made. (Oh God, nothing to see here, people. Really. Just move along now. You too, sir. I mean it!)
Once the machine was all cleared up and ready to go again, I'd lost my enthusiasm for the whole venture and just paid the rest with my debit card.
This battle may be over, but the war is not won. I may have set my sights a little high today trying to score a large piece of meat with my ghetto moneybag, but I am determined to keep spending those pennies, one bottle of pop or can of corn at a time, until they're gone. And until they are, just call me Ms. Moneybags.
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