Author: carin

whale, that’s my story and i’m sticking to it

~ carin ~ Leave a comment

Dear Young Niece,

First, may I apologize for bad puns.

Second—I’ve decided not to send you the book, Whales of Canada, which was going to be your latest pocalog prize for successfully naming the largest whale, which, frankly, is hardly a giant feat given the willingness of google to do this kind of work for us. And by us I mean you. (And everyone else in the world. Including me.)

And I say not send… when what I really mean is not send yet… because I do want you to have the book. Eventually. By which I mean in the not too, too distant future. I know you like whales and my hope is that reading about them will appeal to you more than wanting to wave at them from over-crowded tourist boats, that you might choose to curl up, enjoy the book’s photos and recite fun and fascinating whale facts to your family over dinner or while they’re trying to watch Dancing with the Stars.

I’d actually got so far as writing you a note introducing the book; I’d even addressed the envelope into which I was about to slip it when I glanced at the index of twenty kinds of whales, each chapter title being a mini cetacean lesson in itself. (During which time I learned the word ‘cetacean’… and that it includes dolphins and porpoises.) I scanned pages of photos, a cross section of a whale’s head showing how it feeds and a chart showing how a blue whale is twice the size of a Brontosaurus. I flipped through tidily written chapters on diet and range and history and habit that debunk myths and offer up some general commentary on the state of whales and what’s to become of them if we don’t smarten up:

“Perhaps the best thing we could do would be to stay out of their way—with our oil tankers, effluent outpourings, radioactive spills and nuclear tests.”

And as I perused and flipped and scanned, it occurred to me that I couldn’t remember when or where I’d bought the book, or even if I’d ever sat down and read it properly myself.

The point is I suddenly loved it far too much to give away.

I know. It’s hard to hear. But stuff like this happens.

I’m hoping you’ll take some comfort in the fact that you had no idea the book was meant to be your prize. My change of heart, therefore, shouldn’t be too earth shatteringly depressing for you. Not to mention that I’ll be on the hunt for something to replace the book with (because you’re still owed a prize, google search notwithstanding). And given what amounts to more than a soupcon of guilt arising from a twisted sense of selfishness on my part, it should be something good.

But, I hope, for your sake, not too good…

oceans of love,
auntie c.

on today’s menu:

~ carin ~ 6 Comments

Cold asparagus soup with cream
Hot asparagus soup without cream
Pickled asparagus
Cold asparagus with chopped egg vinaigrette
Warm aspargus wrapped in prosciutto
Sauteed asparagus with grilled salmon
Grilled asparagus with anything
Asparagus tart
Raw asparagus spears in green salad
Open face asparagus sandwich on calabrese with thyme infused goat cheese
And the perennial favourite: asparagus and asparagus

Or… you can just have asparagus.
No spam.

botany lesson: what spring smells like

~ carin ~ Leave a comment


Soap. The kind that used to come in a small round metal container with a picture of a tiny bouquet, tied with a white ribbon, on the lid. The soap itself, wrapped in paper, was so fragrant, so creamy and perfect, you never used it except to place it in a sweater drawer. Or pyjama one.

Sundays at the Vineland Experimental Farm, which has changed somewhat. Or maybe we just didn’t know it was part of the U. of Guelph. In any case, to walk the grounds on a Sunday was a destination worthy of my dad wearing a jacket and tie; my mother in matching purse and shoes—there was likely a large hat involved, certainly a dress cinched at the waist, stockings and a girdle. And me in knee socks, white patent leather shoes with a giant buckle, pleated skirt and matching, stiff, faux linen jacket over a sleeveless blouse with frills down the front. All topped off with a pilled, nylon hairband and tiny new brown leather shoulder bag containing pennies and a hankie and worn crosswise over my chest like the hipster I was. I dimly recall someone instructing me to stand still, smell a blossom or something, and for god’s sake smile!

Click.

The resulting photo—black and white but I distinctly remember the outfit was cotton candy pink—is me beside a giant lilac bush yanking on a branch and scowling at the camera. (I would have preferred being left to commune with them alone over a mustard sandwich, but alas, there were more pictures to be taken…)


Hay. Easily one of my favourite things in the garden. Used to flavour wine (surprisingly, I haven’t tried this yet) and to make hay scented sachets and pillows (and mattresses too). So far all I’ve done with it is enjoy its loveliness.

No question. Bubblegum.

all is not lost — i learned a new word

~ carin ~ 2 Comments

This weekend I learned that to engage in small talk is to ‘smalk’. I learned it not by smalking but by reading about it in Shirley MacLaine’s most recent memoir: I’m Over all That.

I know, I know.

But it was advertised on the library Home page and I was weak and in a mad moment I put a hold on it and when that hold came up, yes, I could have not picked up the book but I was weak again, and hungry—it was just before lunch—and I wasn’t thinking straight. True enough, no one held a gun to my head and forced me to read it on a lounge chair in the sun on Saturday afternoon while nibbling on 85% fair trade and swilling peppermint tea. I chose to. And I’m not apologizing. Just a little embarrassed is all. I mean there are so many, dare I say ‘better’, books to read and many of them are in my house in a stack beside my bed.

And yet I choose to read this. In god’s name why?

I’ll tell me why.

It’s because every now and then a little ‘this’ is good for the soul. That’s why detective novels were invented, no?

Anyhoo. Aside from perhaps a bit too much about Hollywood and the fact that she’s been in one sort of relationship or other with most of the men on this planet (and possibly a few others), and aside from her opinion that there are essentially two kinds of people: i) her, and ii) those who have not time-travelled to ancient Egypt… Despite all that she does make some interesting points.

For example, on the subject of increased security at airports (which has caused her to give up travelling) and fear-mongering, generally, she writes:

“I don’t believe that terrorism is the real reason we have become saluting robots. I believe we have neglected to see that terrorism is just a convenient excuse for those in power to gently instruct us to go quietly into that good night of being compliant and unrevolutionary citizens who willingly become subjugated to authority…. Fear is the most powerful weapon of mass destruction.”

She admits America is sorely lacking in world news programming and that Americans, generally, are not global thinkers except to consider how an international event might relate to them. God bless her for that at least.

“When I hear the controversy about sending more troops to Afghanistan, nobody but Christiane Amnapour mentions the value and power of the poppy fields and the opium trade. Who wouldn’t want to control the country where as much as 90 percent of the world’s heroin production is located? Why don’t our newscasters get past the point of imposing democracy on another tribal culture and get to the real point of why we’re there? Follow the money, as the old saying goes.

“Let’s have some deep and probing investigate reporting on why so many people are addicted to drugs.f If we did that I think we’d be into an investigation of the contemporary human spirit, of depression, of pointlessness, of spiritual poverty, and finally the addiction to serving whatever God we’ve been taught to believe in, whether it’s the Christian one, the Islamic one, or any other. We know that more killing has occurred in the name of “God” than anything else. Did the devil make us do it? Let’s investigate who we really are in relation to our beliefs, because if we don’t we are going to be forever manipulated by the real ruling elite in this world–the international banking community. In effect, “they” understand the real polarities governing our lives are not Good versus Evil, but rather Materialism versus Spirit.”

Not a bad little rant.

But I wouldn’t say this book is her best effort. I read her years ago and remember being slightly more impressed (possibly due to youth). Mostly though, I continue to respect her curiousity and the places it takes her, but not always the way she presents her thoughts as gospel. In any case, I’m Over All That is really just an unconnected collection of casual commentary on many and various subjects—from the alchemy of time (which ancient cultures apparently understood and which we are out of sync with), to the importance of living with a dog, the predictions for 2012, hair colour, funerals, rudeness, exercise, world leaders she has known and loved, politics, live theatre vs film, driving at night—you get the idea. I read somewhere that it came about as a result of lunch with her agent, friend, publisher?? Someone. A lunch during which she’d been idly rattling on about all the things she was ‘over’ until friend, agent, publisher allegedly said: make a book!

The way you do.

Overall impression: goes well with lazy afternoon chocolate. Not mind blowing, but a pleasant enough read if you’re in the mood for a rambly one-sided conversation with one of the more interesting people at the party.

Definitely better than smalk.