Welcome to The Ghetto

Marty and I are approaching our One Year Anniversary: one year of living in a pistachio-green “palace” on the wrong side of the tracks, that is.

Cleaning up Chez Nastiness

Yes, dear readers, last year at this time, we were tidying up our old apartment in posh Oak Bay and preparing to move to a new (to us, but otherwise old and nasty) house in The Sticks. Nary a week after that, we had to move again, because that rental house in the boonies was chock full of black, toxic mould. Mmm… delicious mould!

So we ended up in the local ‘hood out of necessity primarily– smack dab in the heart of Shanty Town and about 8 houses removed from decent civilization. (OK, it’s not that bad, but we’ve definitely lived in nicer and less dangerous communities before. Just sayin’!)

Our complex, though relatively small, seems to attract very… interesting… tenants. Like a magnet! First, there was the Prototypical Gang of Hippies: hula-hoops, hemp pants, late-night singing circles on the lawn, and all. Then there was The Posse– man, am I ever glad they booted it out of Dodge under the cloak of darkness a few, blissful months ago! Now, we seem to be infiltrated with Very Large Families. (Not just large-ish families, either– I’m talking a half-dozen kids per family at the very least.)

A Gigantic Band of new neighbours moved in below us yesterday. It took Marty and I about a fraction of a second to become distressed by this unfortunate turn of events– we had become rather accustomed to living atop a 3-Bedroom Void of Nothingness and Precious Silence. (We had even hoped, not-so-secretly, that the property management company would never find new tenants to occupy the suite. Alas.) Now, there are strange noises in place of silence and never-ending piles of other people’s laundry queued up at the Solitary Communal Laundry Machine.

Please, God– I’m ready to win my Luxurious, Fully-Furnished Waterfront Condo whenever you are (preferably now!)

Yes, please!

Don’t even get me started on a shared laundry room. I detest having my clothes in the same machine as other people’s dirty bed sheets, and I hate hate hate having other people touch my clean laundry (and throw it carelessly onto a disgusting, communal table!) if I happen to come fetch it 1 minute too late. Hell hath no fury…

We didn’t even realize how awful and insufficient the one washing machine was when The Hippies lived here, possibly because they rarely washed their clothes (as only true hippies would). It was only when the Gigantic Families moved in that it dawned on us: we would have to wait a very long time, possibly forever, to get a turn at the Single Washing Machine again. (But why wash your underwear when you can just buy new ones every day?) Seriously. There are baskets and baskets of laundry already waiting beside the machine– clothes, sheets, towels, curtains, rags, and more clothes. Six loads? Eight? Fourteen? Twenty thousand?? Marty is actually convinced that our neighbours own a laundromat and do their customers’ laundry in the One And Only Machine in our complex. That, or “their eighteen million kids pee the beds every night.”

Both are real possibilities.

And this is yet another reason why Marty and I are not parents. Zero tolerance for pee!!

Sigh. Sorry for the rant– I just get cranky when the giant, yawning canyon of discrepancy between where I would love to live and where I actually live now rears its ugly head again. That, and still-dirty clothes can take a real toll on a girl’s psyche. Who wants to wait forever and a day to wash a tank top or two?

Thrift Score Wednesdays: Celebrity Sighting!

Victoria might be a smallish city of 350,000 people on an isolated Canadian island, but it actually plays host to a steady stream of celebrities. Sure, we don’t get *giant* concerts like Madonna or my beloved Depeche Mode on the island, but we do have an “arena” where well-known musical acts perform, and we also get an influx of celebrities from the cruise ships that dock in our ports en route to Alaska. When you live in Victoria like I do, sooner or later there’s bound to be a celebrity sighting. It’s simple math, people: the laws of probability.

Needless to say, I was pretty excited to have my first celebrity encounter today at the Harbour: a woman I did not know or even bribe came up to our booth out of the blue and told me that she reads my blog all the time! Yes, I was the celebrity in this particular sighting!!

I have an awkward history of making real-life friends through people’s blogs. I have actually e-mailed bloggers in Victoria and asked them if they wanted to hang out. On more than one occasion. (<– This sounds a lot creepier than it is. When I first came to Victoria and yearned for my knitting buddies from Calgary, I contacted a local knit-blogger and asked if she wanted to knit with me. Lo and behold, she did! Instant friend! I also met Jabba and Mary through similar circumstances. What can I say? I’m a total nerd and quasi-internet stalker. <– Also less creepy than it sounds.) Anyway, despite this clumsy history of introducing myself to bloggers in real life, I have never been on the receiving end of a Blog Recognition Moment. Until now! Look at me, so famous…

(Aside: I knew I shouldn’t have let my guard down with my Top Secret Disguise. As soon as my Hannibal Lecter mask came off, I was spotted! New nose, new collagen-injected lips, and all!)

Anyway, I was super excited to have Monica come up and introduce herself today (as only a true geek could be). I know that encounters like that hold extreme potential for awkwardness, so that made me appreciate her friendliness and candidness even more! No autographs were signed– now that would have been awkward– but it made my day to meet her and hear that somebody who is not related to me, not a long-lost friend of mine, and not even paid by me reads my blog. Rock on, Monica!

It was mighty chilly* (*read: 8 or 9 degrees Celsius? 45-ish degrees F?) at the Harbour today, so I was bundled up in about 14 layers of clothing, including two jackets, a scarf, and gloves. Give me a break– it was cloudy outside!! What Monica couldn’t see (and what I wisely decided not to show her– that would have been supremely strange and creepy of me) was that I was wearing one of my all-time favourite Thrift Scores ever. Buried underneath my eleventeen sweaters was a garish pink shirt that my awesome sister transformed from Frumpy into Fabulous!

My Ché Guevara shirt started out as a size XXXL top in an awfully bright shade of magenta. (Too bad I don’t have any Before shots– it was GIGANTIC.) It was big, it was boxy, and much like the sun, it was best not to look at the shirt directly, lest your retinas scorch from the intensity of that pink.

Oh, the pain! The suffering! MY RETINAS!!

It needed a lot of work– cutting, ripping seams, sewing, embellishing– but I lived in Calgary at the time and could “borrow” my sister’s superb sewing skillz to do all the work for me help me out with making this into a wearable top.

Wednesday did not disappoint. She ripped out the too-tight collar, leaving an open neckline that flattered my favourite body part on myself: my clavicle. Then she wisely decided to turn the shirt inside-out– permanently– rendering that god-awful Ché portrait on the front, um, not quite as god-awful. She cut off inches and inches of fabric from each side, narrowing the silhouette of the top and even cinching it in with some beautiful green ribbons (which have since been taken out– I wore those ribbons to their ratty deaths.)

The long and narrow silhouette-- pictured here "inside out". I wear it with the intense black image facing in.

Wednesday finished everything off with a “Made for You With Love” patch on the back, as well as some meandering embellishment stitches for added effect.

I love this shirt.

I have had this shirt for about… 10 years now? It is starting to pill a bit, and yes– the ribbons that embellished it for the first 5 or 8 years of its glamorous existence have since been yanked out– but I refuse to give this shirt up. Ever. I love how Wednesday turned what was possibly the World’s Ugliest Ché Guevara Shirt (and believe me, there are a lot of those around) into a wearable work of art. I love how much time, effort and (hopefully!) love she put into this shirt for me, and every time I wear it, it’s like getting a revolutionary snuggle from my absentee sister. That said, I guess it’s only fitting that I was spotted as a quasi-celebrity today, because I was wearing an outfit designed by my *personal stylist*. Oh, fame– how I love thee!

Goodness Gracious– Great Balls of Energy!

Back when I posted about my OCD food prep extravaganza, a lot of readers wanted to know more about those energy, um, balls. Some people asked how kid-friendly the recipes were, others wanted to know about the process of making them, and then there were the readers who just demanded the recipes, already!! It’s high time to revisit those delicious balls, no?

First of all, the recipes I made for our trip to Calgary– Chocolate Blueberry, Banana Walnut, Apple Cinnamon, and Mango Coconut– all came from a book called The Thrive Diet by Brendan Brazier. Brazier is a professional Ironman triathlete who specializes in vegan and raw-foods nutrition, and his book provides recipes that are specifically targeted to athletes who are on (or moving toward) a plant-based diet.

Well. I am an almost-vegan, and I am a highly trained athlete to boot (Zumba class once a week counts, right?), so I am clearly the target audience for this book. Can I get a witness?

Anyway. These recipes have already been published in a bonafide, purchasable book and are not online– free for the whole world to see, so I’m not going to reproduce them here. (That would be stealing, and stealing is bad!) Luckily, Brendan himself has shared something very similar to my favourite recipe online, so I can at least provide the link to the recipe (and instructional video) here. (Full text appears below, with my helpful– and/or irreverent/distracting– hints listed beside each ingredient.)

Chocolate Blueberry Energy Bars

• 1 cup fresh or soaked dried dates (I soak dried dates.)
• 1/4 cup almonds (I am all about almonds, in any shape or form.)
  
• 1/4 cup blueberries
• 1/4 cup roasted carob powder (or cacao to make 100% raw) (I’ve been using cacao lately because it is delicious and chock-full of antioxidants, but carob– or even regular cocoa powder– work just fine. I know this from experience.)
• 1/4 cup ground flaxseed (I practically live on ground flaxseed, So nutty and yummy!)
  
• 1/4 cup hemp protein (It’s possible to eliminate this ingredient if you don’t happen to have hemp protein stocked in your hippie pantry. I use a vanilla chai-flavoured hemp protein in this recipe, but I think it would taste just as yummy without it. If you eliminate this ingredient, I would suggest upping the quantity of another dry ingredient– or ingredients– so that your bars don’t end up sticky and runny like cake batter.)
  
• 1/4 cup unhulled sesame seeds
• 1 tsp fresh lemon juice
• 1/2 tsp lemon zest
• Sea salt to taste
• 1/2 cup frozen blueberries

In a food processor, process all ingredients except frozen blueberries. Remove mixture from processor and put on a clean surface. Lay frozen blueberries on surface and knead mixture into blueberries. Flatten mixture on the clean surface with your hands. Place plastic wrap over top; with a rolling pin, roll mixture to desired bar thickness. Cut mixture into bars. Alternatively, form mixture into a brick; cut as though slicing bread. As the bars dry, they become easier to handle. For added convenience, make extra batches and store in freezer for future snacks.

For more information, visit www.brendanbrazier.com.

——–

These aren't the Chocolate Blueberry Bars-- they're actually Cacao Truffles! Can you tell I have a thing for coconut?

The recipe in the book is very similar, but it also includes some cooked buckwheat to boot. Cacao, blueberries, and buckwheat: what more could a granola girl hope for?

When I make these bars (or, in my case– balls), they definitely do not look as neat and bar-like as they end up looking in the video. Mine end up being rather wet and refuse to take any bar-like form whatsoever. Hence, the balls. It’s way easier, in my humble opinion, to just roll the batter into balls and call it a day. Rolling pins? Plastic wrap? No thank you. Plus, balls trump bars in many other ways: they look cuter, they more closely resemble bear scat (um, in a good way? A delicious way?), and they are decidedly harder to talk about with a straight face. (Because I am twelve. She said balls!!! And coco-NUTS!! Hahaha!!!)

I make a huge batch of these (and other energy-bar recipes) and then freeze them. I wrap them individually (much to Marty’s frustration on the road– they can be a wee difficult to unwrap when you are otherwise occupied riding a bicycle.) Take out of the freezer as needed– they never freeze solid and they taste really great cold.

As far as the kid-friendliness of these bars goes, a lot would depend on your particular children. Kids like my niece would most likely refuse to eat them based on looks alone, but once you get over the sorta-sketchy visual appeal of them, they taste really good. Especially the chocolate blueberry ones– like brownie batter almost. So good. For other children, these balls would be a no-brainer. They’re small, portable, easy to whip up (if you have a food processor or good blender), and you know exactly what’s in them: no preservatives, dyes, artificial sugars, or radioactive ingredients. I think they’d make great snacks for teenagers, too– they really do provide great energy and are fantastic to have on hand during any sort of exercise. Call me nuts, but healthy snacks like these really make me happy! (This is perhaps Reason #897 why I do not have children of my own: Come on, kids! They only *look* like animal dung!)

Ahem. Thank goodness I’m only an aunt and not a real mom…

There’s A Hole In My Bucket List, Dear Liza

I’ve been hit with a serious case of gratitude lately.

I love my life, I love my husband, I love my job, I love my city, I love my body, I love the food we eat, I love the clothes we wear, I love the springtime sunshine, I love the delicate fragrance of cherry blossoms in the air– there’s really not a whole lot I don’t love and feel thankful for these days!

Watch out, dear readers: I’m pretty sure this condition is highly contagious. You’d better be careful, lest you suddenly break into song whilst reading this post at your cubicle. (It’s like a computer virus– you can catch it from the Internet, especially if you’re reading infected posts like this one!) Spontaneous dance routines are also a noted side effect of 3rd-Degree Thankfulness, just so you know. I wouldn’t want you to become alarmed by your involuntary toe-tapping or anything. Don’t worry: The uncontrollable urges to get your groove on can all be explained by Extreme Happiness and an Abundance of Gratitude. Dr. Dana to the rescue! (You’re welcome.)

Strangely, all this thankfulness has got me thinking about pastures lately– you know, those patches of greener-seeming grass on the other side. Hint, hint. It struck me that I am smack-dab in the middle of where I’ve always wanted to be: I have a fabulous partner and neither of us are tethered to a desk in some random, soul-sucking Office Job. We’re both healthy (aside from Marty’s stubborn case of bronchitis and my pesky affliction with gratitude). I get to work out and run errands (or blog!) at times when other people are at work. I can cook all day in my galley kitchen if I so choose. I make excellent food that renders my body fit and happy (sketchy experiments with almond milk aside). We live in the most gorgeous, oceanside city and are blessed to call the amazing country of Canada ‘home‘. In sum, we have the greatest existences and we have already been granted nearly everything we’ve ever asked for!

I can't take credit for actually making these sprout wraps-- a farm on Salt Spring is responsible-- but I CAN take credit for slicing it up like sushi and arranging it so artfully on a plate!

But.

That’s when I came to the unnerving realization that my Bucket (List) is full of holes.

I’ve become so comfortable in this cushy lifestyle of mine that I’ve neglected to keep my canister of dreams and lofty ambitions topped up. My Bucket List has leaked considerably! My plans to travel the world have slipped out of my rusty bucket and have formed a puddle just out of reach. I’ll tend to that puddle when I have more time and money. My dreams of writing a book (or two, or three, or four) have been washed away by my familiar, busy routines. Who needs to write a book when everything is great already? My goals to master entire new languages have all but evaporated out of my bucket, leaving a more modest sediment sloshing around near the bottom: I will learn a handful of new Czech words. If I feel like it or get around to it. Jsem líný. (<– I am lazy.)

Inadvertently stumbling upon a pilgrimage route in the Czech Republic.

How did this happen? When did I resign myself to a Bucket List filled with sludgy, mediocre dreams? Everything is so wonderful in my life right now that I will never need to Dream Big or Have Grand Ambitions ever again. Goodbye, Bucket List– I won’t be needing you anymore!

I don’t think so.

It’s time to amp up my dreams again and fill up Ye Olde Bucket List once more! After all, how horrible would it be to somehow end up back in an Office Job in the future, without having traveled for long stretches of time when I had the chance? And what’s the point of only setting knee-high type goals– the easily, embarrassingly attainable ones– when you can set that proverbial bar way higher? Come on, everyone– let’s fix that hole!

Number One on my new and improved Bucket List is to travel. There is so much to see in this wonderful world of ours, from far-off places like India, New Zealand, and Malaysia to the distant corners of my own country: Newfoundland, Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island, and let’s not forget Quebec. I would love to do a Lighthouse trip and travel around North America in search of beacons, and despite my considerable fear of bears, I would love to visit Alaska again. (This time, we will make it to Mount Denali.)

All this travel will require at least a working knowledge of some other world languages. It embarrasses me that I can only speak my native English, and having to pronounce the few French words I do know out loud is like bludgeoning all ear drums in the vicinity with a dull razor blade. I’m way better at Spanish– No comprende– or even Czech– Nemluvim Česky. My new Bucket List will have a much more international flavour. It will be like the U.N. of Bucket Lists.

Then there’s the issue of Those Books. I love to write. I love to have people reading what I write. I love books. I love bookstores. And I would love love love to write and publish a book (for the bookstore!) Then I’d love to write and publish another book. And possibly even another book after that. So my revised Bucket List will be like the U.N. Library of Bucket Lists.

There are a ton of other things that I can put into my U.N. Library Bucket List. Some of them seem a little far-fetched (like becoming a nutritionist, almost-vegan chef, or having my own, low-budget cooking show); some of them will require some serious work on my part (six pack abs, baby!); and some of them are a wee bit personal to be broadcasting over the World Wide Web. It’s an important realization, though: knowing that it’s possible to be both grateful/comfortable in your current life -AND- hopeful and ambitious for your future. ‘Feeling thankful’ does not preclude ‘Still dreaming’, right? The Bucket List will always have a place!

Oh, travel! How I miss thee!

Is your Bucket List well-maintained, or have you let it develop leaks and holes?

What are you thankful for?

What would you still like to accomplish?