Gone writing
Writing this morning. Soccer this evening. Meals and children in between.
If you want to see me, or talk about The Juliet Stories, or blogging, or writing, come to the Waterloo Public Library tomorrow (Wednesday) evening, 7pm. I’ll be there.
Meanwhile, I’ll be here, working with words. Wish me luck.
The week in suppers
trampoline kids at dusk; not food-related …
**Monday’s menu** Noodles in broth. Spinach salad with strawberries and sunflower seeds.
**Last-minute** I was doing a writing week, of sorts, so our babysitter stayed until late, and I had little time to throw something on the table before the girls’ dance class at 6. Leftover noodles went into homemade stock. Admittedly unexciting, even jazzed up with Chinese five-spice. But the salad was a hit.
**Tuesday’s menu** Black bean chili with steamed rice.
**Oops** Again, it was a writing afternoon, and I was late letting our babysitter go (she actually had to knock on the office door because her husband was here to pick her up!). And then I realized supper had to be whipped up from scratch in about twenty minutes. Which is exactly how much time it takes to steam white rice on the stove-top. Leftover black beans were quickly turned into chili, thanks to my home-canned tomatoes, and a bag of last-summer’s frozen corn. This was the evening that we realized we have only one car. Which we do know, but somehow temporarily forgot. That meant six people gobbling supper and racing out the door en masse. AppleApple and I were dropped at the field forty-five minutes before warm-up officially started. But we made lemonade out of these lemons, and had a blast practicing together in the warm sunshine.
**Post-soccer-tableau** Arriving home at nearly 9pm, with tired children in tow, it is not the most thrilling sight to view upon the table: the abandoned meal and accompanying dirty dishes. Sigh.
**Wednesday’s menu** Salmon roasted on the bbq, baked potatoes, steamed broccoli.
**Last-minute, again** I invited my former boss, Noah Richler, to come for supper before his reading in Waterloo, and he accepted, and was kind enough to remind me, when I worried, that he comes from a family of five children and is familiar with kid-induced chaos. It was another writing day, and I decided to ignore the messy state of the house. Before dashing off to the girls’ piano lessons, I scrubbed a bunch of potatoes and put them in the oven. When Albus called my cell to say he and friends were home from school, I instructed him to turn on the oven. This works really well, actually. On the way home from piano, I swung by our local fishmonger and bought 3 pounds of beautiful salmon. Kevin cooked it perfectly. We were again racing against the clock as I’d discovered at around 4pm that CJ had his “congraduation” from nursery school starting at 6pm — and that he really wanted to go (cake and juice had been promised!). But with some good team-work, supper was on the table and we dined with enough time.
**Passable** I would categorize this meal as bland, but fine. The salmon was tasty. Everything else was terribly plain. I put salt and pepper on the table.
**Thursday’s menu** Leftovers: baked potatoes warmed up, with chili and rice.
**Uninspired** But it saved me time.
**Friday’s menu** Hot dogs and buns from Bailey’s pickup. Plus roasted asparagus, and cherry tomatoes.
**Easy-peasy** No rush, no hurry. A late meal, because we had swim lessons first, and then Bailey’s pickup (Bailey’s is our go-to source for much wonderful local food), but the kids snacked on cheese sticks and pretzels and we enjoyed relaxing around the table together. And then we watched Modern Family! A perfect end to a busy week.
**Saturday’s menu** Pad thai with shrimp and tofu; hot and sour soup.
**Because** We had all the ingredients on hand, and I received a burst of energy at the end of the day, when Kevin arrived home from his training class. It cheered me up to cook and feel productive after a lazy, rainy, blustery, quiet, indoors day.
**Leftovers** We ate the leftovers for Sunday’s supper, along with carrots. And that’s the week!
Now, what’s on the menu for this week ….?
Moving the furniture
newly arranged living-room
Saturday. Day of quiet and rain.
Sunday. Day of hopping out of bed early for a long run. Oh, and more rain.
Saturday evening we decided to rearrange the living-room. I’m not sure why, but it always makes me happy to rearrange a room. Baking bread has a similar effect on my spirits. So does going for a run. Life is full of simple cures that are next thing to free for the taking.
practicing for imminent piano recital
The newly arranged living-room changes the focus, upon entering the house, away from the television. (Hurray!) Instead, you’ll see the beautiful painting, as shown in the top photo, by Barry Lorne, which he generously gave us as a wedding gift. You’ll see books, too. Hidden behind the old brown couch is the art section. There is room for a communal computer.
Here is what I am thinking about on this blustery weekend.
This morning it was so easy to go for a run. Yesterday, I felt lethargic, as immovable as stone. Life may be full of cures free for the taking — but I confess that some days it is harder than others to take that first step, to put the best plan into motion. There have been times, lately, when I wonder what I’m doing wrong, wonder why I’m so tired, why I’m dropping the ball as often as not. Maybe I wish I were superwoman, leaping from role to role effortlessly, existing on little sleep, splendidly strong and competent and certain.
Instead, I’m just plain me. Rearranging the furniture, and making pad thai for supper, and falling asleep on the couch with a book.
Why I love doing research
I’ve been doing research recently on the 1920s, particularly here in Canada. To that end, I pulled a few books off the library shelves purely for their photographs. I need to see something to feel like I really know it. (Even better to walk through it, smell, taste and hear it, absorb it; but I haven’t figured out how to time travel yet.)
A few days ago, I opened one of these books of photographs and thumbed through. I was looking to see what children would have worn on their feet in summertime (I’m guessing most went barefoot). And suddenly I was stopped cold and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. For real. I’d turned to a page that showed two photographs. One was of a large family posed around their car, in front of their stone farmhouse. The other was of a group of men working in front of a barn.
I knew that farmhouse. I lived in that farmhouse.
The caption said that George Black, of Ayr, Ontario was a farmer who welcomed technological advances. The caption went on to say that George Black had himself been an inventor who built a windmill on his barn that powered a lathe and a grain separator.
I knew that windmill. I knew that barn.
My family lived in the Black farmhouse from 1987 until 1991. The Black family had died out, and the farm had been bought by the neighbouring farmer who rented the somewhat restored farmhouse to us. We also had use of the barn and some acres surrounding the house. The house and barn were endlessly fascinating to us — filled with odd inventions, and relics from the past. We knew that the Black family name had died out with George’s children, and we knew that the house had last been occupied by two sisters who never married. We gathered clues from the things we found on the farm. My siblings and I made up a lot of things, too, for the purposes of thrilling guests. (It was a good house for ghost stories.)
But the one thing we never saw was a photograph of the family who had cleared the land and built this house and lived in it. And there they were, smiling out of an odd little book of Canadian history, published in 1988, which I just randomly happened to pull off the library shelf. The photo credit says “private collection,” so there’s no tracking it down.
I wonder. Have they come back to me for a reason?
(And I apologize: I don’t have a scanner and can’t illustrate this post with the photo; ghostly face discovered on chalkboard will have to suffice.)
:::
Update: My dad has scanned the photos for me. Here is the family with their car, in front of their beautiful fieldstone farmhouse (which, if I recall correctly, was built in 1874). Wow.
Ominous horoscopes
My horoscope has been full of ominous warnings lately. Do you read your horoscope? I don’t read mine regularly, and I don’t take it seriously. But every once in awhile I take a glance and something rings true. Lately, my horoscope keeps warning me to slow down, to take time, to rest, lest I risk burn-out.
Hm.
As I contemplate the full evenings, tumbling one after another, and the early mornings, and everything sandwiched in between, it can feel not just relentless but insurmountable. An impossible pace. The readings! The soccer! The writing! The meals! The exercise! I am longing for a week away, come August, when we will go to a cottage and do nothing but eat, drink, and swim. And read! (Remember reading? I do it now at bedtime, and it’s a battle between my practical self reminding me to put the book down and go to sleep, and my word-fed self refusing and fighting the lowering eyelids until they literally drop, and the book too.)
Still. Full is good, I tell my horoscope. And there’s room, in full, for relaxed stretches of simple play. For instance, I spent nearly three hours outdoors at a park on Tuesday evening. Sure, it was a poorly planned outing and supper was rushed beyond all reason (this is due to being a one-car family, and forgetting, on occasion, that we are). But when we got to the park, super-early for soccer girl’s game, the two of us had time to walk together, talk together, and practice soccer together. As her teammates trickled in for the game, they joined in our completely informal practice — a practice I wouldn’t have had the confidence to lead without joining that soccer team myself. It was so much fun. We had so much time, and it was so luxurious. When the real practice started, I went for a short run in the cool woods nearby. Then I watched her game; the boys wandered over after Albus’s game to join me. Then we walked over to a nearby field and caught the end of Fooey’s game.
We arrived home to supper still on the table, lunches to be made, laundry to be hung, and tired children to put to bed. And it was already well past bedtime. But would I trade that evening outdoors with my children for a different version? I can’t imagine anything better.
Or more exhausting.
You may be right, horoscope. But I’m hanging on. I’m hanging on for dear life.