In two days I'll be off to my favorite place in the world, during my favorite time of year, to spend time with my favorite people on the planet.
Okay. It's a family reunion.
But here's why you, too, should go to Cape Breton:
* Cape Breton Island ranked 1st in 2006 as the Top Island in Continental US and Canada by Travel & Leisure Magazine, and 4th in the world
* Ranked as an Island Paradise in Fodor's Travel News 2008
* March 2004 - Cape Breton rated #2 on National Geographic's Traveler Magazine destinations
* Rated the most beautiful island and amongst the most friendly people in the world by Condé Nast Traveler magazine!
Sorry. Now that I work in the tourism industry... you know.
When I return I'll try to start posting pictures again instead of just writing - but of course that means I have to stop posting at work, haha.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Saturday, July 19, 2008
don't forget the plum sauce
For years I've been meaning to learn to cook.
I LOVE food. Love it. If there's anything that brings me joy it's a luscious cake just coming out of the oven, or a perfectly shaped sugar cookie with a dollop of pink icing, or the smell of yeasty bread rising on the stove top. I love grilled steaks in the summertime and roasted turkeys at Christmas. I love hot cross buns on any and every holiday, but above all, I love when I don't have to do the cooking! Baking I can handle. I'll never forget bringing my first prize winning brownies home proudly from the exhibition, and suddenly having a terrifying flashback to putting plum sauce in them instead of corn syrup. I'll never live that down, even though they still were great! Still, though I can bake, I've never cooked as much as a hot dog. Why? Who knows. I'm a fan of the carb and the dairy - breads and pastries, milk and cheese - when my family is away I dine on pancakes and icecream. So I've had a long history of Not Cooking.
When I was little, my father and I baked together from an Anne of Green Gables cookbook, and proudly displayed our linimint cakes and our ruby tea biscuits. (We're both big fans of Dessert.) The supper table, however, was different. Supremely picky, my brother and I would sit there for hours rather than choke down whatever green and/or healthy thing was on our plate. When my mother decided to cut sugar and white flour out of our diets, that was just the last straw. Finding a candy in a coat pocket was a field day, and to this moment I cannot stand the taste of a whole wheat bagel. (I take my bagels white, with cinnamon and SUGAR please!) Thankfully, this phase didn't last very long, in the scheme of things.
My best friend from high school and I - our memories together - mostly revolve around food. Unhealthy food. We've split so many fries with the works & root beer floats that they all blur together in my mind. Same goes for the Greco pizzas we've consumed, while watching musicals on television, and of course the greasy chinese meals late at night aren't forgettable either. Then there's the chips and pop over a good game of Clue, and the fact that we drank a gallon of milk in a sitting, and are proud of it still. (Why... why?!)
Now in college, if there was anything to complain about it was most certainly the food. There was no robustness to the limp pasta, the fake meat, or the frozen vegetables. There was definitely no health to the soggy french fries, the re-heated pizza, or the grilled cheese sandwiches (some with the plastic wrapper still on the cheese). But that isn't to say that there wasn't a certain delight in complaining about the cafeteria - our lot was so hard - we deserved sympathy & bonded together against the mercenary adults who simply thought we were whiney teenagers. Didn't we know so much better? There was delight, too, in the microwavable pot roast we carved on my friend's dorm room floor. Delight in the peanut butter we ate in spoonfuls for protein, the Swiss Chalet delivery chicken dinners that fortified us through exam time, and the frozen cheesecake that was our only stab at luxurious food. And of course there was a certain desperate hope that this was the last time we would make a trip to the bookstore for chips, pop, and chocolate.
Now I'm moving on to a new stage in my life. The moving-out-of-dorm-into-real-house, almost-time-to-fully-leave-the-nest stage. And it feels... like I'm finally going to learn how to cook. So since my family left me lonely at home while they set off on vacation, it's a prime opportunity for me to practice. Last night I looked up a recipe for fried steak & pulled out an apron. Around ten, the smoke dectector went off - or would've, if the batteries weren't out of it (preparation, you see, is more than key when cooking) - and I was crawling around the floor looking for the fan, cracking the windows, and throwing a blanket over the bird cage so he wouldn't suffocate. The steak sizzled happily and the pasta bubbleth over. If you happened to have driven by, you might have seen a coughing girl in a long brown apron out on the deck, scraping black stuff out of a smoking pan with a spatula. Still - as I slumped messily at the table, with my charred steak & buttered parmesan pasta set before me, cookbooks & papers all around and smoke lingering at eye level - I thought - hey - I CAN cook.
It was a delicious moment.
I LOVE food. Love it. If there's anything that brings me joy it's a luscious cake just coming out of the oven, or a perfectly shaped sugar cookie with a dollop of pink icing, or the smell of yeasty bread rising on the stove top. I love grilled steaks in the summertime and roasted turkeys at Christmas. I love hot cross buns on any and every holiday, but above all, I love when I don't have to do the cooking! Baking I can handle. I'll never forget bringing my first prize winning brownies home proudly from the exhibition, and suddenly having a terrifying flashback to putting plum sauce in them instead of corn syrup. I'll never live that down, even though they still were great! Still, though I can bake, I've never cooked as much as a hot dog. Why? Who knows. I'm a fan of the carb and the dairy - breads and pastries, milk and cheese - when my family is away I dine on pancakes and icecream. So I've had a long history of Not Cooking.
When I was little, my father and I baked together from an Anne of Green Gables cookbook, and proudly displayed our linimint cakes and our ruby tea biscuits. (We're both big fans of Dessert.) The supper table, however, was different. Supremely picky, my brother and I would sit there for hours rather than choke down whatever green and/or healthy thing was on our plate. When my mother decided to cut sugar and white flour out of our diets, that was just the last straw. Finding a candy in a coat pocket was a field day, and to this moment I cannot stand the taste of a whole wheat bagel. (I take my bagels white, with cinnamon and SUGAR please!) Thankfully, this phase didn't last very long, in the scheme of things.
My best friend from high school and I - our memories together - mostly revolve around food. Unhealthy food. We've split so many fries with the works & root beer floats that they all blur together in my mind. Same goes for the Greco pizzas we've consumed, while watching musicals on television, and of course the greasy chinese meals late at night aren't forgettable either. Then there's the chips and pop over a good game of Clue, and the fact that we drank a gallon of milk in a sitting, and are proud of it still. (Why... why?!)
Now in college, if there was anything to complain about it was most certainly the food. There was no robustness to the limp pasta, the fake meat, or the frozen vegetables. There was definitely no health to the soggy french fries, the re-heated pizza, or the grilled cheese sandwiches (some with the plastic wrapper still on the cheese). But that isn't to say that there wasn't a certain delight in complaining about the cafeteria - our lot was so hard - we deserved sympathy & bonded together against the mercenary adults who simply thought we were whiney teenagers. Didn't we know so much better? There was delight, too, in the microwavable pot roast we carved on my friend's dorm room floor. Delight in the peanut butter we ate in spoonfuls for protein, the Swiss Chalet delivery chicken dinners that fortified us through exam time, and the frozen cheesecake that was our only stab at luxurious food. And of course there was a certain desperate hope that this was the last time we would make a trip to the bookstore for chips, pop, and chocolate.
Now I'm moving on to a new stage in my life. The moving-out-of-dorm-into-real-house, almost-time-to-fully-leave-the-nest stage. And it feels... like I'm finally going to learn how to cook. So since my family left me lonely at home while they set off on vacation, it's a prime opportunity for me to practice. Last night I looked up a recipe for fried steak & pulled out an apron. Around ten, the smoke dectector went off - or would've, if the batteries weren't out of it (preparation, you see, is more than key when cooking) - and I was crawling around the floor looking for the fan, cracking the windows, and throwing a blanket over the bird cage so he wouldn't suffocate. The steak sizzled happily and the pasta bubbleth over. If you happened to have driven by, you might have seen a coughing girl in a long brown apron out on the deck, scraping black stuff out of a smoking pan with a spatula. Still - as I slumped messily at the table, with my charred steak & buttered parmesan pasta set before me, cookbooks & papers all around and smoke lingering at eye level - I thought - hey - I CAN cook.
It was a delicious moment.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Re-read. Re-bought
Yesterday we went to the library for their annual book sale, and Luke brought his selections over to Mom.
Mom: 'Luke, we have this book at home.'
Luke: 'No we don't.'
Mom: 'Yes we do.'
Luke: 'NO we DON'T.'
Mom: 'Well this is our book that I gave to the library then!!'
Luke: 'horrified gasp'
And we bought back the book. I guess it's the Morrison way of donating to the library system.
Mom: 'Luke, we have this book at home.'
Luke: 'No we don't.'
Mom: 'Yes we do.'
Luke: 'NO we DON'T.'
Mom: 'Well this is our book that I gave to the library then!!'
Luke: 'horrified gasp'
And we bought back the book. I guess it's the Morrison way of donating to the library system.
Saturday, July 5, 2008
the continuing adventures of the captain
well luke went camping for a week & captain johnny decided to take off as well. giving us all mild cases of heart attack & strokes & impending doom in general.
that precious bird. well on canada day he hid, swinging silently on the door chain so that we locked him in between the two doors. and then when we came home as dusk, all barbequed out, he shot out of the door and burst into the sky, swinging round in long loops, chirping a song of freedom or of fright. we walked with him, from tree to tree, calling & cajoling him with bird cage and favorite treat in hand.
not only is a a frightening thing to have a pet escape and not want to come home - or understand that he needs to come home - but also we had the fear of luke in our hearts... returning from camp and bursting into tears at the news of his beloved bird's disappearence. and a bird isn't like a dog, or cat, that at least is grounded. johnny had all the skies to flee as well.
was it an hour or more later that we gave up, torn apart by mosquitoes and disappointment, leaving johnny in the neighbor's tallest tree? was it all night that we lay awake, praying for the safekeeping of the world's most annoying, chirpy, and viciously nippy budgie? the things we do for love.
our neighbor tried to cheer us up. 'when i was eight or nine,' she said, 'i lost my budgie for a year. then one day i found out it had flown across the river - a mile or so - and was happily residing at the Pridhams. so they returned him to me, that whole year later...'
could the same happen to johnny?
two days later, a lady called us. 'i was at a party in northport,' she said. 'and we saw something fly by the window. a bird landed on the barbeque, and walked right up the hostess' arm. he was starving so she brought him in and fed him a tomato on the counter. someone had a bird cage at home, so they put him in the cage and fed him some bread. and then i went home and was talking to a friend... and they said they saw you outside with a bird cage the other night, so i thought i'd give you a call.' and she gave us the lady's number. and the next day we picked up johnny, and brought him home.
he is not sorry at all that he went.
that precious bird. well on canada day he hid, swinging silently on the door chain so that we locked him in between the two doors. and then when we came home as dusk, all barbequed out, he shot out of the door and burst into the sky, swinging round in long loops, chirping a song of freedom or of fright. we walked with him, from tree to tree, calling & cajoling him with bird cage and favorite treat in hand.
not only is a a frightening thing to have a pet escape and not want to come home - or understand that he needs to come home - but also we had the fear of luke in our hearts... returning from camp and bursting into tears at the news of his beloved bird's disappearence. and a bird isn't like a dog, or cat, that at least is grounded. johnny had all the skies to flee as well.
was it an hour or more later that we gave up, torn apart by mosquitoes and disappointment, leaving johnny in the neighbor's tallest tree? was it all night that we lay awake, praying for the safekeeping of the world's most annoying, chirpy, and viciously nippy budgie? the things we do for love.
our neighbor tried to cheer us up. 'when i was eight or nine,' she said, 'i lost my budgie for a year. then one day i found out it had flown across the river - a mile or so - and was happily residing at the Pridhams. so they returned him to me, that whole year later...'
could the same happen to johnny?
two days later, a lady called us. 'i was at a party in northport,' she said. 'and we saw something fly by the window. a bird landed on the barbeque, and walked right up the hostess' arm. he was starving so she brought him in and fed him a tomato on the counter. someone had a bird cage at home, so they put him in the cage and fed him some bread. and then i went home and was talking to a friend... and they said they saw you outside with a bird cage the other night, so i thought i'd give you a call.' and she gave us the lady's number. and the next day we picked up johnny, and brought him home.
he is not sorry at all that he went.
'glorious & free'
maybe it's a bit late for an 'oh Canada happy birthday' type of post but none the less here one is.
my happiest memories of Canada Day are lying back on the cool grass by the lake in Baddeck, NS, and watching the fireworks burst off the boats, while lots of cousins ran around with glow sticks wrapped around their little bodies, in real danger of tumbling in the water and spending the rest of the evening proudly shivering, wrapped in blankets, imprisoned by unimpressed parents. so large are these long ago fireworks in my mind that the more famed ones in Charlottetown left me cold, a few years ago, and so i don't make the effort to take the trip, instead celebrating with a quiet barbeque in my home town.
but it's somewhat disconcerting that on the day we're supposed to celebrate our beloved nation it's just the celebration i think about - not all the things we're supposed to be celebrating. so i thought - well write down a list of what you like about Canada (inspired by kelley, i must add) and be very, very thankful! but as i began to mull this over, all the things i didn't like about Canada came to mind. this state of mind was aptly illustrated in the newspaper, which read (in paraphrase): 'let's celebrate what unites all of us Canadians... !&%# gas prices!' perhaps complaining does unite us, and i am thankful that we can complain about things like gas prices & the governement without fear of losing our heads!
what do i like about canada?
i love the land, literally - the earth under our feet. i love the way it gets in our blood. it's the first thing and the last that i think of when i think of Canada, when i picture Canada on the map. mountains rising & prairies stretching and the rivers throughout and especially the seasides! for the ocean gets in our blood too.
i love canadian literature. i love the way it knows us so well. the way its tones and cadences reflect us. the land. the ocean. feelings. that we understand but can't put into words. art, too - vivid portrayals that we don't always want to see, but do understand, and must admit so, quietly.
i love the people. and this is not so much in the cities, where i have been afraid to show any signs of reaching out to others, because others are afraid to reach out to you. who knows who you might be. who knows what you could become. but rather i love the people in the country, where a smile at anyone begins a conversation usually starting with your relatives and ending with an invitation to dinner. or freedom to walk someone else's land. or simply someone else to say hello too, and know their name, and their father's name.
i love the food! there is no need to go hungry, or want for variety. the restaurants, the farmers... i love them all.
i love my freedom, as a woman especially.
i love all these things, and more as well. there are a lot of things i don't love, but that's alright. i understand canada and the way it is. it's familiar; it's beautiful; it's home.
my happiest memories of Canada Day are lying back on the cool grass by the lake in Baddeck, NS, and watching the fireworks burst off the boats, while lots of cousins ran around with glow sticks wrapped around their little bodies, in real danger of tumbling in the water and spending the rest of the evening proudly shivering, wrapped in blankets, imprisoned by unimpressed parents. so large are these long ago fireworks in my mind that the more famed ones in Charlottetown left me cold, a few years ago, and so i don't make the effort to take the trip, instead celebrating with a quiet barbeque in my home town.
but it's somewhat disconcerting that on the day we're supposed to celebrate our beloved nation it's just the celebration i think about - not all the things we're supposed to be celebrating. so i thought - well write down a list of what you like about Canada (inspired by kelley, i must add) and be very, very thankful! but as i began to mull this over, all the things i didn't like about Canada came to mind. this state of mind was aptly illustrated in the newspaper, which read (in paraphrase): 'let's celebrate what unites all of us Canadians... !&%# gas prices!' perhaps complaining does unite us, and i am thankful that we can complain about things like gas prices & the governement without fear of losing our heads!
what do i like about canada?
i love the land, literally - the earth under our feet. i love the way it gets in our blood. it's the first thing and the last that i think of when i think of Canada, when i picture Canada on the map. mountains rising & prairies stretching and the rivers throughout and especially the seasides! for the ocean gets in our blood too.
i love canadian literature. i love the way it knows us so well. the way its tones and cadences reflect us. the land. the ocean. feelings. that we understand but can't put into words. art, too - vivid portrayals that we don't always want to see, but do understand, and must admit so, quietly.
i love the people. and this is not so much in the cities, where i have been afraid to show any signs of reaching out to others, because others are afraid to reach out to you. who knows who you might be. who knows what you could become. but rather i love the people in the country, where a smile at anyone begins a conversation usually starting with your relatives and ending with an invitation to dinner. or freedom to walk someone else's land. or simply someone else to say hello too, and know their name, and their father's name.
i love the food! there is no need to go hungry, or want for variety. the restaurants, the farmers... i love them all.
i love my freedom, as a woman especially.
i love all these things, and more as well. there are a lot of things i don't love, but that's alright. i understand canada and the way it is. it's familiar; it's beautiful; it's home.
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