Refurnishing Our Furnished Kitchen

Regular readers of my blog will know that I have certain… kitchen issues. For some reason or another, although I never scrutinize the cutlery in restaurants or at other people’s houses, when it comes to my own kitchen– the kitchen I am expected to cook in and eat out of on a daily basis– I prefer to use my own dishes. The special ones. And although I could care less about the bread pans used in local bakeries or whether the cupcake shop uses metal, glass, or plastic mixing bowls to whip up their confections, I’d be hard pressed to bake anything of my own using mixing bowls or baking trays that weren’t mine. You know… the special ones. (Thankfully, this peculiarity of mine extends only to the culinary domain. I am remarkably easy to please when it comes to bathrooms, bedrooms, and living rooms. Is it logical of me to protest drinking out of somebody else’s crockery mug but happily sleep in their bed? Obviously not, but they don’t call it an obsessive compulsive disorder for nothing.)

Anyway.

It goes without saying that, when we moved into our furnished cabin a month ago, I insisted on bringing our own “kitchen things” along. Both the landlords and the previous tenant here raved about how wonderfully stocked the kitchen already was, but I wasn’t convinced. Sure, there was a blender in the cupboard, but was it a Vita-Mix blender? Probably not. And yes, there were pots, pans, baking trays, and even a crock pot at our disposal, but were they dreaded aluminum pots? Were there remnants of other people’s food still crusted onto the baking trays and on the sides of the crock pot? Probably. Hence, I packed up our kitchen “essentials” and assessed the situation for myself upon moving in.

Sorry. Can't do it.

Inefficient use of cupboard space. Sorry. Can't do it.

Obviously, this wonderfully stocked kitchen did not live up to my impossibly stringent standards. (Greasy plates and suspiciously-spotted cups, as a rule, do not make the grade, even in a summer cottage.) I ended up photographing all of the cupboards and drawers as though I were fully documenting a crime scene, carefully removing all of the items from the shelves, lovingly (and thoroughly) cleaning the insides of everything with my special all-natural cleanser… and then putting my own dishes back in. All of the pre-supplied items– piles of plates, bowls, and saucers; extra lightbulbs; enough forks and spoons to last a whole year before washing; a popcorn machine; pyrex measuring cups; ice cube trays; plastic wine goblets; plastic-feeling dish towels; a lifetime’s supply of aluminum foil; aluminum-laden pots; scarily-encrusted baking tins; a sad little blender; barbecue tongs; and way more cheaply made fly swatters than I deemed necessary for the winter, fly-free months– were packed into boxes and tucked away in the deep recesses of the loft. (By the way? LOVE THE LOFT. We have turned one side of it into a gigantic storage area where things go to be forgotten until April. The other, secluded side of the loft has been transformed into a tranquil meditation corner.) When the time comes to move out again, I’ll use my photos as reference and arrange everything in the kitchen as though nothing had ever been moved, used, or even touched. I’m diligent like that.

I made one exception during the purge. Progress is progress, people.

For better or worse, I *MUST* have a hand blender, food processer, and a Vita-Mix blender in the kitchen, but a rice cooker has never appealed to me.

It took me a whole day of scrubbing, packing, cursing, arranging, and generally toiling to get the kitchen into its new order. (To put things in perspective, Marty managed to clean the entire rest of the cabin in the time it took me to get the kitchen up to (my) (ridiculous) par.) Everything was worth it, though. Sure, I don’t enjoy cleaning other people’s stoves and ovens, but it sure feels great cooking on a mostly spotless stove top or pulling a delicious Berry Oat Cake from the now-impeccable oven. Both Marty and I have remarked on a number of occasions how nice it is to be eating off our own plates and spooning soup out of our own bowls. (Perhaps these kitchen issues are contagious? If so, I fear for Marty’s sanity.) Making almond milk every week in our own Vita-Mix blender feels like a blessing. Everything feels right.

The figurative “icing on top” came on the day when I simultaneously discovered a small farm down the street selling free-range eggs (yes!) and a local kitchen scraps composting service (double geeky YES!). Once I get going in the kitchen– which is now– most of the “garbage” we produce is organic waste, so it feels awesome to have the kitchen scraps composted for a ridiculously modest fee ($6 for 48 Litres of kitchen scraps. Cheap!)

It feels like home.

Perhaps I should take some more "after" shots of the kitchen, no?

Merry Ho Ho

Wherever you happen to be, and however you celebrate (or don’t celebrate) the holidays, here’s wishing you a great weekend and a fulfilling and prosperous new year!

(Marty and I will be chilling out at the cabin and awaiting our annual Christmas Eve phone call from the in-laws. Good times! I’ll also be making some mean mushroom gravy tonight in homage to our Eastern European roots. Big plans, I know.)

Best wishes from our home to yours.

xoxo, Dana

Lucky Sevens

Come with me, dear readers, on a trip back through time in the WordPress Exclusive Online Time Travel Machine. We’re not going to go far– we’re just going to head back to the beginning of August, when that bravest of bloggesses, Kathy from Reinventing the Event Horizon, nominated me for the Seven Links Blog Award.

I’ve been grateful to Kathy since August for recognizing my humble blog, but a busy lifestyle and an even busier work schedule prevented me from acknowledging this award until now. I am drawn to this award because, unlike other memes which require bloggers to confess their darkest secrets and do all sorts of other silly things, the Seven Links Award provides the opportunity to highlight some of my favourite posts, including ones that might have been missed or overlooked by newer readers. Plus, with the new year just around the corner, the format of such a retrospective post dovetails perfectly with all those ‘year end countdown’ and ‘top ten of 2011′ lists… which I confess to loving. Call me nostalgic.

In any case, without further adieu, here are the Seven Links I would like to feature:

1. Most Beautiful

“Beautiful” isn’t usually a word I would use to describe my own writing, but if I had to choose my most beautiful-ish post, it would probably be Are You There, Margaret? It’s Me: God. A post about love should never be ugly, right?

2. Most Popular

One would think that my Freshly Pressed Post, Crying (and Cursing) Over Spilled Milk– in which I outlined the trials and tribulations of making almond milk for the first time– would be my most popular. Surprisingly, it is not. Rather, an otherwise nondescript post about ugly Christmas sweaters crushes the entire competition. In Search of the World’s Worst Christmas Sweater has nearly 4 times as many hits as any other post on my blog, including my Freshly Pressed post. Most of the search engine terms that lead people to my blog also have to do with ugly and horrific Christmas sweaters. Go figure.

A bit of sparkle from a gigantic Ugly Christmas Sweater I borrowed from a colleague. Unfortunately, it reeked of Bounce sheets and gave both Marty and I allergies. We couldn't even wear it as a joke.

3. Most Controversial

I have two categories of controversial posts– the first category deals with issues of censorship and the boundaries around what we choose to share online. A Visit from the Overshare Fairy chronicles the fallout of posting a little bit too much information about myself on the internet.

The second category of controversy is controversial only because it contains graphic details about a circumstance which many women face, but few women talk about openly: miscarriage. My This Day In History series– parts One, Two, and Three– address the messy range of emotions that Marty and I faced when we lost a pregnancy back in 2006.

Not me-- this is my sis when she was pregnant with our niece, Lily

4. Most Helpful

In case you haven’t noticed, my primary objective on this blog is not necessarily to be helpful. I write mostly to entertain (or be entertained), but one of my posts inadvertently became helpful to others and continues to generate a lot of ‘thank you’ e-mails. Chlorella: Superfood, My Ass! was originally written as a flippant, eff-you homage to the nutritional supplement that renders me paralyzed with projectile vomit. It’s not an especially well-written post by any means, but lots of people have since discovered it and written me privately to say thank you– either for naming the substance that was causing them severe GI distress or for simply acknowledging that not everyone does well on so-called superfoods. (So in case you were wondering, helpful posts can have the word “Ass” in the title. Who knew?)

5. Most Surprisingly Successful

The post that continues to garner many surprising hits (although not new comments) was written way back in 2008. Talk to the Hand recounts my experience visiting a palm reader at our local mall. If my site stats and search engine terms are any indication, lots and lots of people take to the internet to learn more about mysterious beauty marks on their palms. Hence, if you need to boost traffic to your blog, might I suggest writing about finding the ‘ugly Christmas sweater’ line on your palms? And vomit– lots and lots of projectile vomit.

6. Most Underrated

It must be a Universal Blogging Experience: you write a new post, congratulate yourself for your expert use of prose and scintillating adjectives, and then hit ‘Publish’– fully expecting a tsunami of Online Fandom to come crashing down in your comments section. But it doesn’t. To make matters worse, not only are you not ravaged by a destructive gale-force wind of admiration, but you also don’t even seem to make a ripple in the blogosphere. Maybe one person comments on your post… out of pity. The rest of your readers are already on to the next blogging sensation, and your Fantastic Post dies a quiet death in a lonely corner, all by itself.

Two posts I would like to offer up for your resurrection consideration are Battle of the Ferries, in which I tread the dangerous waters of using the word ‘terrorist’ in a post, and The Most Important Evening of Our Lives, in which I fail miserably as a wife, hairdresser, and a general human being.

At least *my* hair looked good on The Most Important Evening of Our Lives

7. Most Worthy of Pride

It probably seems a little strange, but I’m really proud of a post I wrote about eggs. The Dirty Dozen: My Initiation Into A Life of Crime came together effortlessly and incorporated all three of the essential ingredients in any winning post: hippies, Hollywood, and the Russian mafia. Every time I see this title in my “Your Recent Favourites” sidebar, I foolishly beam with the pride of a mother who has just watched her little Johnny hit a home run in a T-ball game. Other moms might not think my Johnny is a big deal, but I’m proud all the same.

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Recipients of this Seven Links Award are also supposed to direct readers to some other noteworthy blogs. I highly recommend checking out any and all of the blogs in my sidebar, but a few I’d like to showcase here are:

The Good Greatsby: If I had even one post that was written as cleverly as Paul writes his, I would have an ego the size of North America. And Paul churns out instant classics almost every single day. Seriously. The first time I saw his name in my comments section, it felt like I had been paid a personal visit by Depeche Mode. I nearly peed myself. (If you are not a Depeche fan, feel free to sub in the name of The Biggest, Most Famous Superstar You Know Of there.) I would openly hate The Good Greatsby if I wasn’t so desperate for his approval. And there you have it.

Hyperbole and a Half: Allie Brosh has over 100 million hits on her blog right now, and I’m sure she doesn’t really need the extra two or so followers that my link… might… bring. However. It must be said that her posts, although infrequent, provide my best ab workouts. (Eat your heart out, P90X!) I especially love the posts about her dogs. (Check out Dogs Don’t Understand Basic Concepts Like Moving and quite possibly the funniest thing I’ve ever read, Dog.)

Through the Looking Glass: Olive and I have had a virtual friendship for the past five years or so. I discovered an earlier blog of hers through a geeky How to Blog!-type book and have since followed her through her (mis)adventures in medical school and, more recently, getting married. She writes some of the most honest and intelligent words I’ve ever encountered on the internet. Her recent posts about love and marriage have blown me away.

Waste Not Want More: Rose and I are cut from the same cloth and even started off on similar paths in university… until Rose went on to kick law school’s ass, leaving me in my less-prestigious “liberal arts degree” dust. I love how smartly Rose blogs– every word she writes is almost poetic and carries the calculated weight of careful consideration– and nothing pleases me more than to see her blog starting to attract the traffic it deserves. She’s brilliant.

Life In The Bogs: Robin is inspirational to me for a number of reasons. For one thing, she takes absolutely breathtaking photos… on a simple point and shoot camera, which I (the mostly terrible photographer) was flabbergasted to learn. More importantly, Robin undertakes daily “challenges” and writes about her progress online. Last year, she endeavored (and succeeded!) to venture outside every day, and this year, she is focusing on becoming a pescatarian (fish-eating vegetarian) and working through a daily yoga practice. I admire Robin’s commitment to her goals and always look forward to seeing her beautiful images in my inbox.

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If you’ve made it this far into the post– thank you! I hope you enjoy trawling through some older posts of mine and encourage you to visit some new-to-you blogs as well!

What are some of your own favourite posts?

Husha, Husha, We All Fall Down

I took a wee tumble today, if by ‘wee,’ I mean ‘I fell hard enough to wind myself and subsequently wonder if I had broken my hip.’ Yikes!

It all started on the way back home from the post office. I had just dropped off one of Marty’s custom paintings for shipping, and I was enjoying the warmish weather and tree-lined scenery on my route home. As you well know, I have been ultra lazy lately when it comes to my workouts (read: I haven’t done anything even remotely resembling cardiovascular exercise since the end of November). To make up for my embarrassing decline in physical fitness, I was hurrying home at a rather impressive pace when I saw it: a distinctive flash of purple paper.

My American readers might not grasp the significance of purple paper immediately, but my Canadian friends should know well that purple paper can only mean one thing: MONEY!!

Yes– I found 10 whopping dollars lying in a ditch on the side of the road! I picked it up, put it in my pocket, and continued on home at a brisk clip, thrilled at my noteworthy discovery.

I thought to myself how fortunate it was that I had gone to the post office that morning– not Marty. Marty had offered to ride his bike and drop the parcel off, but had he sped by on two wheels, there’s no way he would have seen those ten glorious dollars lying on that dirty embankment. I’m so lucky!, I crowed to myself. Ten dollars richer!!

Then I got to thinking about those retro psych experiments– you know, the ones where they’d leave a wallet lying on the ground and secretly observe and/or film how people would respond. (This was when psychologists weren’t bound by the red tape of University Ethics Boards and could perform whatever “experiments” they wanted, even ones that involved administering fake electric shocks to people or inflicting torture on people who were only pretending to be prisoners.) I pictured myself, skipping down that country lane, beside-myself-thrilled to have those ten extra dollars in my pocket, and I wondered how the psychologists would evaluate my actions.

Ha. I needn’t have worried about what the fake psychologists thought about me finding myself ten dollars richer, because exactly 2 seconds after I had that geeky thought, I caught my boot in a loop of wire that was half buried in the ground. Since I was essentially power walking at the time (my speed bolstered even more so by the discovery of that fateful piece of purple paper), ensnaring my boot in that wire catapulted me forward at a blistering rate and sent my entire body splaying on the concrete at the side of the road. My hair whipped into a Venti Mocha froth, as though I was shooting the latest Beyoncé video in a wind tunnel. Simultaneously, my glasses flew off my face and landed a few feet in front of me.

Dramatic re-enactment of my hair during the fall, filmed safely at the Space Needle in Seattle. (No models or aspiring musicians were harmed during this photo shoot.) Now, imagine my glasses flying off my face, and definitely picture me without that goofy smile. Falling is no laughing matter.

Somehow, I managed to land precisely on my right hip bone, taking absolutely zero advantage of the fact that I happened to be wearing a puffy, highly cushioned down vest at the time– the hiker’s version of an air bag. I’m not sure how my hip got to the ground first (especially before my knees, elbows, and even hands) – it’s like I instinctively drew my body into the not-very-protective pelvic thrust position and let gravity have its way with me. OK, go! Who does their best impression of a rigid plank when they fall? Honestly– who lands on their hip bone??

Of course, my first thought from the dirty ground was not “Is anything broken?”– it was “Did anybody see me?”. (I worried about the state of my skeleton only after I had confirmed that nobody had witnessed my fall from grace.) Realizing that my hip was bruised and cut, but not broken, I caught myself giggling in spite of myself at the thought of how ridiculous I must have looked launching myself onto the ground. (The wire was hard to spot even when I retraced my steps to see what took me down, so there’s no way a passing vehicle– or fake psychologists with secret cameras– would have seen that fateful snare. It would have just looked like I decided to test out my Superman skills in the middle of a power walking jaunt.)

Thankfully, I don’t fall down very often, but apparently I go for the gusto every time it happens– here’s an account of the last time I took a tumble. I would kill to see a video replay of this latest fall. I would also pay good money– say, $10– to have the soundtrack of what I sounded like when I fell. I’m thankful that nobody saw me fall, but I’m even more grateful that nobody heard me. To my mind, I let loose a few slow-motion caveman grunts and hisses before I landed on the ground with a thud. I’m sure I looked and sounded ri-dic-u-lous!!

At least I am $10 richer. The purple of the bill will match the bruises I’m sure to develop.