What's Playing in my Walkman?

This was the Christmas of electronics. Last year, my kids were satisfied with sleds, dolls, books and board games, but this year they joined a throng of other Canadian kids in asking Santa for various electronic gadgets. Daniel wanted a Ninendo DS. Hedging his bets, he told me that in case Santa couldn't find one, they are about $150.00 and he would be happy to get one after Christmas. Janet wanted an iPod. Santa, through his designated agent, delivered, but not before his agent made a complete fool of herself at the local electronics store.

I'm not easily intimidated, and I like to think that I am reasonably intelligent. When it comes to technology and electronic games, however, my head starts to spin. For one thing, I just do not understand the language of technology. It seems devoid of larger concepts and is instead full of ever-changing terminology that describes minutia. I don't understand the difference between downloading and uploading. I have no idea what "embed" means, nor do I know what an "application" is. Needless to say, this creates challenges when trying to communicate with some 20-something sales associate with (apparently under-treated) ADHD and it is for this reason that I so rarely venture into the world of technology without consulting someone like Megan, who can explain it to me.

"Hi. I'm looking for an iPod" I say, to Zach, the energetic sales guy. I do not realize that I am standing in front of the iPod display. "It's for a 5-year old".

Zach looks at me with a hint of disdain, but then spies my gold card and brightens. "I'd recommend the Shuffle. No screen to break". He hands me a tiny object. I notice that it's purple. Colour is extremely important when shopping for a princess. I also notice that it costs less than I paid for a Sony Walkman in 1988.

"Anything else?" he asks.

I consider my options and then bite the bullet. I have to ask. "What kind of batteries does it take?"

More disdain. "It doesn't take batteries. It charges when you download music".

"Should I buy a cord for that?" I ask. I figure it's a valid question. He obviously doesn't. He simply opens the back of the box and shows me the cord and the earphones. I know he will be talking about me at coffee time. There will be laughter. Maybe I'll avoid the coffee shop for the next month or so . . .

I'm about to let him wrap up the sale , when I spy some other iPod-like gadgets. They are shaped differently. Perhaps they will be harder to lose and better for a small princess.

"What are these?" I ask.

"Those are MP3 players". Now he's speaking to me in a sympathetic tone.

"What is the difference between an MP3 player and an iPod?"

The customer beside me stifles a gasp and shares a look with the sales guy. I imagine them going for coffee together and placing bets on whether I will be back to store to ask when I can download iTunes using a Hewlitt Packard computer.

I hand him my credit card and smile, pretending that I meant to make a joke, and walk out of the store. Yes - I made a bit of a fool out of myself, but I am leaving triumphant, having learned that iPods are a form of MP3 player and that they do not need batteries. Ho ho ho.

Merry Christmas and Peace on Earth

Merry Christmas, all. May peace be with you. Think of the future, but live in the moment and treasure your memories.

Janet's Christmas Concert


Daniel Enjoying Janet's Concert (maybe . . )


Daniel's Concert

Humbug!!

Last year, by this time, on this day, I was beside myself with exhaustion and stress. I had invited a bunch of people - mostly acquaintances - who, I felt, for reasons that are still unclear to me, I had to please and impress to befriend. We were also expecting some family, but later. I set out to impress with (a) my remarkable housekeeping skills; and (b) my cooking skills. I do actually have some ability in the latter category. Sadly, although I am good at cleaning, I don't practice it around the house all that much, so unexpected guests must grapple with something a little short of the Better Homes and Gardens standard that I would like to project, particularly in the bathroom.

So, there I was, yelling at the kids and cursing Arnold under my breath, while madly assembling trays of hors d'oevres, and making dolmates, tortiere, empanadas and bouillabaisse. It was our first Christmas Eve and our first gathering in our newly renovated home, and, dammit, everything had to be perfect. The guests came. The guests nibbled. The guests said gratuities, and then they left, largely without using my bathrooms (which were, of course, cleaned) and without pulling out white gloves to inspect my dusting.

Then the family and old friends came, and I was relaxed. The thing about these folks is that they really didn't care if I slaved in the kitchen for hours or if I opened a bag a chips. Nor did they worry about whether our Christmas tree was held straight with butcher's twine and thumbtacks. More to the point, I didn't care if they cared (although I knew that they didn't care). They just wanted to spend time with us, and us with them.

I took a lesson from that and this year, we have family coming over, and some friends who have become very much like our family - the kind of folks for whom I want to clean my house, but who do not expect me to do so. I made a tortiere, but I bought everything else, and I am also serving chips. It's almost 5:00 p.m. on Christmas Eve, and I'm not stressed. I'm sitting here writing, and thinking about how lucky I am to be blessed with the family and friends that I have. And, I don't care that the gingerbread house I made with the kids this afternoon looks like this:



Merry Christmas, all.

What Did you Learn at School Today, Dear?

I make it a habit to ask the kids, particularly Daniel, what they are working on in school. When it comes to classroom work, however, Daniel is not really specific and the response is usually something like "stuff". I gather a lot of information, however, from eavesdropping on conversations that he has with his buddies, and from the things he tells me when I am tucking him in at night. Here is some of what he appears to have learned between kindergarten and grade 2:

Your guardian angel stays outside your window at night so he won't creep you out.

***

Some people pick their nose when they're alone.

***

Daniel: Maybe your mom will have another baby.
Michael: No, she's on a diet.

***

If you want to hump someone, you have to marry them.

***

Scientists are the smartest. Lawyers just know what the rules are.

***

Moms are more snuggle-ish. Dads are more fun.

***

You shouldn't put your tongue on a battery.

***

People usually start dating when they're 13. But it's okay to go on a date when you're 26.

***

If you like a girl, it's private.

A Most Disturbing Trend

Like many bloggers, I track hits. Mostly, I am interested in what brings people to my posts. As Christmas approaches, I get more and more hits that result from a Google search for this:
This is not the Blob that Ate New York. This is tomato aspic, in its purest form.

Here's an interesting variation, adding avocados and green olives:


In a previous post, I shared my first experience with tomato aspic, or "aspic salad" as they say in certain parts of the prairies. I think I reacted to it with such horror because of the ingredients: lemon Jello, tomato juice, shrimp, peas, carrots and green onions. Mayonnaise is frequently served on the side. The only thing that could make this combination of food more unpalatable would be the addition of ketchup. Yet, in the month of December alone, I have had over thirty hits arising out of Google searches for "tomato aspic". They've come from Kentucky, Kansas, Perth (Australia and Ontario), New York, Vancouver and, most recently, Sao Paulo, Brazil.

This is not food, people. I suspect that we will find out one day that it was some long-dead home-economist's attempt to find a use for lemon Jello under the guise of putting a "prairie spin" on traditional European aspic (which, according to Larousse Gastronomique, involves neither tomato juice, nor lemon Jello). No right-thinking person with taste buds the least bit operational would willingly ingest it. So please, this holiday season, give your guests the gift of good taste and don't put it on your table. No matter how you shape it, tomato aspic is disgusting.

Failed Mommies Club Part II - A Conditional Pass?

Friday was "Pajama Day" at Daniel's school. A note came home announcing that the kids could wear their pajamas and bring a stuffed toy to school. They could also bring a board game to play. Then came the part in the note that requested parents to indicate whether or not they could volunteer to help out with the brunch.

Daniel asks me if I can be one of the moms who helps out. At my workplace, all hell is breaking loose (as it does each year at this time) because Christmas is coming and people need to have things done. I can't really afford to take the morning off, but Daniel is eager to have me there and, having forgotten about his "show and tell" day the week before (because I didn't read the newsletter from the school) and also having neglected, twice in a row, to tender his Scholastic book orders, it seems like I owe him, so I decide to suck it up. I'll work Sunday night instead.

Friday morning, Daniel and I arrive at the school. He has declined to wear his pajamas, because he doesn't have matching tops and bottoms (again, due to my negligence as a mother). Daniel goes to his classroom. I go to the room where we are to make fruit salad and set up the food stations for the brunch. I am the only parent not wearing pajamas.

I spy an empty seat at one of the tables and I sit down to start chopping. To my right is a serene-looking young woman, chopping up a watermelon whilst her baby sleeps peacefully in a sling. She smiles and welcomes me. I smile back, recalling that when I was on maternity leave, I didn't venture out of the house much and if I did, I sure as hell didn't look serene. To my left is a chipper young mom. She baked muffins and is showing up to chop fruit and help out with the brunch. Another mom organizes us - certain fruits go in certain bowls and she also gives us each a job at the food stations. I appreciate this because, frankly, I don't have a clue what I am doing beyond chopping the fruit. I am tempted to write the instructions down.

As I eavesdrop on several conversations, I start to wonder if I am totally inadequate as a mother. These folks are always at the school. They "cut and paste". They supervise field trips. They make crafts. They don't forget their kids' "show and tell" day. I am, well, a bit of a failed mommy.

My buddy Sheila shows up. Like me, she works full-time and she doesn't always get to the school calendar. She, too, has declined to wear pajamas. She is late. I want to hug her.

We man a food station together. Our job is pour cereal, milk and ensure the kids have spoons. Between us we have over 14 years of post-secondary education, but we are still intimidated.

The kids file in for the brunch. I am ready with milk and spoons, and Sheila has the cereal boxes ready to go. I'm nervous. What if I spill the milk and make a kid cry? What if we run out of spoons? What if Daniel is embarrassed that his mom is not wearing pajamas?

Daniel enters the room.

"Hi Mom."

"Hi Daniel", I say. "Cereal?"

"Yes" he says. He takes his cereal and goes to sit by his buddies.

Eventually, the kids finish eating. We organize ourselves for dish duty and the kids wander back to their classrooms to play board games. When the dishes are done, I go down to Daniel's classroom to say good-bye. He gives me a "high-five" and then asks me to lean over so he can whisper something to me.

"You're the best mom ever. I love you".

I skip out to the parking lot, get into my van, and cry. Thanks, buddy. You're more than I deserve. . .

How to Talk About Romance Novels you Haven't Read - Part II

A reader commented that the title to my last post was misleading. While I reviewed Promoted - To Wife! and commented on its predictability, I did not actually provide any guidance on how to discuss it, particularly if one hasn't read it.

The reader is correct. I didn't deliver what the title promised, so I am taking this opportunity to set things right. Given the stage we are at in the Christmas season, I hope that for those of you who are inclined to try and show up your friends and colleagues with your astounding ability to analyze fine literature like this, that there are still many cocktail party opportunities available.

I think it's accepted that most modern-day romance novels follow a standard formula, so you may be able to substitute other titles, such as The Borrowed Groom, A Rich Man's Seduction or Jodie's Mail-Order Man. This is good to know if you're doing the party circuit in a small town, like Name of Town Withheld, just to keep the conversation from getting stale or appearing rehearsed and contrived. Since I have read Promoted - To Wife! however, I will use it as an example.

You can either initiate the conversation, or someone else can. Either way, it will likely open with something like:

"What are you reading these days?"

Take your cue from the context, but here are some sample comments you can make about Promoted - To Wife! while still appearing brilliant and not embarrassing your date too much. Given the title, I would wait to mention it and focus instead on author and theme:

• "I just finished Raye Morgan's latest work. She's an American writer. Have you read anything by her?"

• "You could say it's about a number of things, but in the end, it's a tale of one woman's struggle to balance career and personal issues and really make it in a man's world."

• "It's inspiring, really. A story of one woman's uncompromising desire and drive to have it all and her willingness to do whatever it takes".

• "The main character is surprisingly multi-faceted and and reading it reminded me a great deal of Hilary Clinton's autobiography"

Happy reading . . . And happier sharing.

How to Talk About Romance Novels You Haven't Read

I used to belong to a book club. Actually, I think I still belong to the book club, but we just haven't met for quite awhile. We did not consider ourselves "high brow" and so did not not, thankfully, foist some of the more unbearable reading materials upon each other. That said, we didn't read many books that had been adapted into film, at least at the time of reading, and we didn't read anything by Jacqueline Susann.

Having heard recently a radio piece on Pierre Bayard's How to Talk About Books You Haven't Read, as well as having the opportunity to read Megan's comments about it, I felt it was high time I got back into reading something besides magazines like Woman's Day and Ladies' Home Journal, and law books. The Christmas season is upon us, after all, and I will need something to talk about at cocktail parties besides the kids and books that I haven't actually read.

As luck would have it, my local grocery store has started a book exchange. You can just walk in and pick up a book to read at your leisure and for free. It's better than the library because you can keep the book forever, pass it on to a friend (or, I suppose, give it to someone your don't really like if you feel it is particularly unreadable), or you can throw it away. Whatever you decide, there are no consequences.

There were several interesting choices on the day I was there. As I stood there trying to decide which one to take home, it occurred to me that perhaps the reason people have to learn to talk about books they haven't read is that they are trying to read books that they have no hope of finishing. There could be a variety of reasons for this. The author could be trying to write his or her own version of Margaret Atwood's Surfacing (a common problem among young, female authors from southern Ontario). The subject might be depressing, disturbing or just plain boring. The summary on the back cover might have led the reader to believe that there would be some intriguing plot with interesting characters, when in fact the story is about some middle-aged woman trying to find herself on the shores of Lake Winnipeg one summer. Of course, there is always the possibility that the book is good, but is beyond the capability of the reader, who has undertaken to read it just to keep up with the hoity-toity members of her book club. Indeed, I think that in the age of books clubs, that require us to share what we read, rather than admitting that we curl up and read Mad Magazine or People in our leisure time, this may be the case more often than we think.

That's when I spied Raye Morgan's Promoted - to Wife. It's a Silhouette Romance (part of the Harlequin Romance series, but a little "racier") and, judging by the cover, it promised great, though predictable, things. As early as pages 11 and 12, I learned about the tragic past of the main character, Kyra Symington - the untimely death of her parents and her father's debts (for which, inexplicably, she assumed legal responsibility), her consequent need to drop out of college due to her finances and her grandmother's ailing health. We are treated to insight into the kind of go-forward and hop-to person Kyra Symington, really is:

Luckily, the job had been here at TriTerraCorp, a large real-estate development firm with ongoing projects all over the country. They specialized in resorts along the California coast and in Texas and Florida. The pay wasn't spectacular, but the four-story building was stat-of-the-art, all tinted glass and brushed steel, with carpeted hallways and more individual offices rather than the cubicles prevalent in so many companies. It was a nice place to work in every day. But her work there, along with second job she'd felt she had to take on, left little time for finding men to flirt with . . .

Later, the sparks fly in the lunch room as James Redman, the tall, handsome, successful and highly-paid Vice-President of Special Projects introduces himself to the Kyra and the other administrative support staff. He holds her hand just a little too long as he greets her, and repeats his name to himself - not because he's a stalker, but because he doesn't want to forget it Kyra. After all, it's a four-story building!

Before the end of the day, Kyra, who happens to be thin, blond, smart, twenty-six and beautiful, finds herself being interviewed by Mr. Redman. He wants her to work in Special Projects. Unfortunately, the interview starts to go off the rails when it appears that she might have to give up her second job at the Rusty Scupper to take the promotion. The company can't possibly compensate her enough for that. Things really go awry when James Redman reaches out to brush a loose, blond tendril from her face and his watch strap becomes entangled in her hair. (Come now, don't try and tell me this hasn't happened to you at an interview at least once!) Awkwardness ensues, and our dignified Kyra leaves the interview:

. . . she pictured him back at his desk, probably laughing his head off over the way he'd made her swoon. "I can give you an answer right now, Mr. Redman. I wouldn't work for you, not for anything! Not if I was starving. Not if you gave me the company to do with it what I wanted. Not for anything.

Not even if he actually kissed her. But she couldn't help thinking about it.

But, as luck would have it, they start to see eye to eye and Mr. Redman, being the really smart guy that he is, finds a way to ensure that Kyra can earn the money she needs - she can marry him. He is, after all, filthy rich. It will be a marriage on paper only - a marriage of convenience.

We also learn that Mr. Redman is not such a bad guy. Like Kyra, his parents died in a tragic accident when he was just four (boating) and he was raised by his Aunt Jo (who later becomes Kyra's champion and defender against the exotic wannabe wife, Pica Delay). He has other issues (besides the shit he's gonna get into on account of his company's workplace harassment policy). He can't seem to find a woman he can relate to - someone to match his intellect, yet who can still satisfy his need for Barbie-like physical perfection . . .

Kyra agrees to the deal. Conflict and heartache follow, but fortunately, the two of them admit their love and in the end, decide that the marriage isn't just one of convenience, but of love as well. Let's join them at the end of the book:

"Convinced?" she said breathlessly, amazed at the way her body was responding. "Convinced of what?"

"That I love you."

"But wait . . ."

"What?"

She smiled up at him, tears in her eyes. But this time, they were tears of happiness. "I love you, too," she said, her voice trembling with emotion.

"Then it's official," he said, touching her lips with his finger, his heart so full of joy, he was afraid it might explode. "Goodbye, marriage on paper. Hello, marriage of the of the heart"

I dare you to talk about Promoted - to Wife at your next cocktail party.