Why I have not been blogging much.

So maybe I have been cutting corners by posting comic strips instead of composing thoughts but, I gotta say in my deference, I am living a lot these days. It all revolves around the sorts of thing you don't blog about to the great webby void. I can tell you this, this latest Little Dee comic gave me a small amount of solace. Hope it does for you too.

This is me, seeking joy in the moment.

For those keeping score at home...

I have posted my very first personally designed, available to the public, original knitting pattern. I don't know if anyone but me knows how exciting this feels. This is, so far, second only to getting a prize for my writing on the giddy meter.
...
Carry on.

Witches Gauntlets

This knit pattern is for dual purpose cuffs. They are fingerless gloves in one direction and ruffled gauntlets in the other. As I always imagined witches to be naturally practical people and the wool I used is Zauberball - zauber being German for magic- Witches Gauntlets seemed like a suitable name.

Size: Women's

Materials:
Yarn: Zauberball, (Cranberry Blend)
Needles: 2.75 mm (US 2) DPN

Gauge: 8sts x 10 rows = 1 inch

Directions:

Cast on 240 stitches.
Join stitches to begin working in the round, being careful not to twist.
Round 1: k2tog to end (120sts)
Round 2: k2tog to end (60 sts)
Round 3: *k4, p2* to end
Knit as in round 3 until work measures 3 inches.
At the beginning of the next round turn work and knit back as follows:
Row 1: *p4, k2* to end
turn work and
Row 2: *k4,p2* to end
Repeat rows 1 and 2 for 1.5 inches (or as much space as you wish for the thumb hole)
Now rather than than turning work at the end of row 2 rejoin work in the round. In other words, do not turn - simply continue *k4,p2* in the round until work measures 7.5 inches or as long as you wish the fingerless glove side of the work to be.
Bind off, weave in ends and block gently.
Make another to match.

If you like, you can add some tiny buttons and button loops to the thumb hole edge to close it up when you are wearing them as gauntlets.

Go Boom

Little Dee

A Present for Dr Cockroach

There are days when you have to wake up earlier than you want to...okay, maybe that describes most days. Sometimes, on those days, something really nice happens first thing that makes the whole idea of getting out of bed feel worth it. Maybe your lover wakes you up in a particularly nice way or you get a piece of good news. It may be as simple as the plant on your window sill is finally beginning to bloom. For me, most of the time it is Monkey who does something that makes everything alright that early in the day. Yesterday was no exception.
The perfect breakfast chat.
When recounting these little events to people something is always lost in the retelling. The unrehearsed perfection, the spontaneity and suprise are all a step removed. Not to mention, how could I imitate her tiny, clear voice? Having the luck to record this conversation means nothing but her crystal blue, earnest eyes are left out of the priceless image of the moment.

Red Planet Pancakes

To me, there are few things more fun than messing with assumptions. When it comes to food I never realized just how hard-wired I was to the look I think food should have until a I drank green orange juice. Before you grimace too much it was a St Patrick's Day lark. My friends and I all made a brunch feast and decided that each food had to be green. So, armed with green food dye we made green pancakes, green syrup, green butter (I think) and green orange juice. None of us could drink the orange juice at first but after closing our eyes and taking the leap we successfully re-wired our minds into thinking that green orange juice was just as tasty are the original color. I won't discuss the health issues associated with food coloring here, just move on.

In the endless pursuit for healthy foods that Monkey will eat I have come to possess a cookbook by Jessica Seinfeld, wife of comedian Jerry Seinfeld, which is called Deceptively Delicious. The principle is that each recipe has a hidden ingredient, most commonly a vegetable or two that fussy children want to avoid. For the child whose preferred vegetables are cucumbers, peas and french fries (not just any potatoes, just the fried ones) this book is a VERY good idea.

The first recipe we wanted to try was "Pink Pancakes." This recipe really messes with assumptions. It contains beets so right away you know they are going to be a funny color but just how funny is a wonder. And man, are they tasty! We have decided they will likely be called "Princess Pancakes" or "Pancakes From the Red Planet" around our house but it falls to Monkey to make the final decision. They will become a regular dish, that is certain.

The original recipe called for pancake mix, which I don't use-preferring to make mine from scratch-and only made a small amount compared what we usually eat. So I modified the recipe and am so in love with the result that I don't think Mrs Seinfeld will mind a little free promotion going her way as I share my modified version with you. If you like this recipe and want to try more "sneaky veggies" recipes (they don't have to be just for kids, you know) run out and pick up her book.

Here is my version:

Ingredients:
1 1/4 C milk
      1 C cottage cheese or ricotta
   1/2 C beet puree (best if you puree cooked beets ahead of time)
   1/2 C grated apple
   1/4 C oil
    1 tsp vanilla
         2 eggs
If you want a smoother batter you can put the wet ingredients in the blender but as you can see from the first picture, the "unblendered" version works just fine, if a little lumpy.
1 1/2 C  whole wheat flour
     2 tsp baking powder
  1/2 tsp salt
  1/2 tsp cinnamon (optional)
Mix all ingredients in a big bowl and cook like one does pancakes. If you need help figuring that step out call your mom (or mom equivilant), she probably knows. And voila, red pancakes. Serve with butter and syrup (maple syrup, if you've got it) or omit the vanilla and cinnamon and go savory for lunch or dinner with a spaghetti-like sauce and grated cheese (seriously, try it-remember what I was saying about assumptions). Enjoy!

A Question of Villainy

I have been thinking about heroes and villains. To be more precise, I have been wondering if a villain can ever be the hero of a story.

As the standard myth system goes, a main character usually mirrors the postive attributes of the society. The hero carries the hopes and conqers the fears of those who create the myth. Conversely, the villain embodies the terrors and sins that humanity wishes to overcome.

Our cultutre enjoys a "good" villian, someone acting bad with such style that we love to hate him. We shiver when she gives madness an element of sex appeal.

Stories like Buffy The Vampire Slayer came out of making bad guys look good-that is to say, appealing-and ultimately act good in some way. But that is the crux of my pondering; can a villain be the center of the story without doing the good deeds that heroes are required to perform? Could 101 Dalmations be told from the point of view of Cruella DeVil? And if it was, would the audience need to sympathize with her in order to stay interested or could Cruella remain as greedy, vengeful and insane as she is in the original?

At this point, I don't know of any stories (written, filmed, staged or sung) that explore this idea of the unrepentant or unreformed villain as main character. I think the only way to answer this line of questioning is to write a story from this perspective and see how it is received. Any thoughts?

Awesome at Being Modest

Click to enlarge

My Precious Shoes

Monkey has taken to wearing mismatched socks. I have no idea how this habit started but it is here and it seems to be here to stay. I have no problem with mismatched socks and those proud to wear them. Some of my best friends wear mismatched socks. I have intentionally knit socks that don't match for said person(s) and think this fashion choice shows moxie and individuality. The fact that I match my socks is only due to my preference of uniform texture and size. So when Monkey choose to wear one stripey sock and one spotted sock some time back I went with it, with delight. Judging by the people I know who do not match their socks I would say she is in good company.

We went to buy pants for the Monkey-Monkey pants, you might call them. While Monkey hid behind the jeans rack and called out "Mommy find me!" MyDear and I looked for pants that met our little lady's very strict specifications for clothing. Pants must be elastic, according to Monkey. The waist band on them cannot be too wide. They cannot be black or any dark colour, really, and they should, if at all possible, be pink. It being the season of brotherly love there were many fancy poofy dresses with snowflakes on them and great slouchy knit hats with pompoms at the crown.
Monkey was fondling a pair of little winter boots that looked like foot shaped Tribbles. She was bringing them over to show us, perhaps to ask to buy them (already a consumer at four, mercy) when she spied the most glorious vision of her young life. A pair of sparkly ruby slippers in just her size. She breathed a gasp of awe and her jaw dropped open. She fumbled to put the Tribbles back on the shelf without taking her wide eyes off the jewels before her. Abandoning the fuzzy boots to the floor she rushed over to the shining red shoes and hugged them to her chest.
"My precious shoes!" she exclaimed.
MyDear and I stared at each other in great surprise and amusement. Where did she come up with that phrase? Oh well, it was settled. We had to buy the shoes. Thank goodness they were not expensive. Monkey brought them to the counter, gingerly laid them before the clerk and stared fixedly at them while the transaction was made. I asked the clerk to cut the tags so Monkey could wear them right away and the woman did so with a grin. When they were handed back to her, Monkey breathed words of gratitude and plopped onto the floor to rip off her now inferior boots in order to wear her resplendent, her magnificent, her regal and stupendous, new sparkly shoes.
She has been wearing them daily ever since.

Another article

Eventually this will no longer be news and everyone will want me to stop mentioning it every time...until then, here is my latest article.

Another lit contest

It is the 6th annual Geist Literal Literary Postcard Contest! The nice thing about postcards is the same thing that is nice about haikus-they are short. This means it is a medium well suited to short attention spans, in readers and writers. This limited length is also what makes it challenging. How do you say all you wish to convey economically? Maximum length, 500 words. Give it a shot.
The deadline is January 15th, 2010

"A word is dead when it is said, some say. I say it just begins to live that day."

On October 5th, I performed T-Paul Ste Marie's signature poem, live at a Slam event in Montreal, to commemorate his birthday. He would have been 44 years old.
Here is the clip.
If you want to hear/see T-Paul himself do it much, much better than I, check that out here.

The quote in the title is by Emily Dickinson

A Precious Quiet Morning

Monkey and I woke up slowly today. There was no rushing off to the daycare, no insistence on going up to watch cartoons, nothing but lazing gently in bed, telling stories about the dreams of the night before and playing hide and seek in the blankets. She brushed my hair and asked me the names of things in French.
"Mommy? What is tickle in French?"
"Chatouiller." (pronounced sha-too-ee)
"Mommy? What is mouse in French?"
"Souris." (soo-ree)
I snuggled her as she pretended to be a baby, all curled up and squishy-smile-faced. I woke up slowly and she let me. It was just like in those short-lived old days before school and daycare and this busy, busy life ran the show.
Of course, we were still up by 8:30 but these days that's a luxury.

Another Me-me

Latest article in the Link:

Slamming

I intend to write something here soon. No, really. Perhaps it will even be something thought provoking/funny/interesting etc. Who knows, there may even be pictures.

New Articles

Just to keep you up to speed, if you are interested, here are two new articles I have written for The Link, one of Concordia's papers.

Shall I Compare Thee to a Random Act of Poetry?

D.D.O. Mayor Doesn't Want Competition

How to get over writer's block - according to me.

I am learning that someone who identifies themself as a writer must just write. I have heard it said before and just like other sensible things like "plan ahead" and "wake up early" folks like me don't really get why until we do it.

When writing is what satisfies and fulfills you it is the act that matters more than what it produces. I expect when you are getting a pay check in exchange for the final product the weight of importance shifts some but I think, really, it has to be for the act if it is going to stay satisfying.

It is easy to get caught up in what you want to write, what you think you should write and what others think you should or can write. That, in my opinion, is when writer's block begins - the moment when you are no longer writing to write. At that point you start editing before you even put down the first word. You are choosing what is good and bad before it has even been created.

I did a writer's workshop some time ago with an amazing Canadian writer, Ivan Coyote, and the message was just that - write; just write. Do it often and do it without editing anything until later because the writer's ... what would you call it? Mojo? Muse? It's a muscle that needs to be exercised and the only way to keep it agile is through regular use.

So, how do you fight writer's block? You write. You barf out all the debris that has been clogging the conduit and stretch that scribbler's limb and eventually you get to the place where you are executing wordy triple back flips and if you keep at it maybe someday levitating.

So for anyone out there who wishes they were writing but are not, the answer is very zen; let it all go and just write. The rest will follow.

Fate

Please visit this link.

For John, who dislikes travel and mingling in general.

Mother and Father, Bookends of Me

The branch bends away, always away.

My father is a stilt walker
and his father was a farmer.
My father uses reason as a weapon
and his father used corporal punishment.
My father works in the theater of the heart
and his father's hands were calloused most of his life.

My mother is a healer
and her mother used pills.
My mother meditates
and her mother slept.
My mother knows there is something bigger
and her mother never wondered.

It is stunning where we come from
and what we do with that.

The branch bends away, always away.

Good freinds shine like stars without knowing it

"...The Space Marauder comes in different shapes, sizes and sounds. Sometimes, she's 15 feet tall and walks along the street toward the grocery store to get some trail mix and some toilet paper. She ducks her head to avoid tree branches. You walk next to her and your head comes up to her knees. Residents slowly turn and stop conversations in mid-flow and gape. The Space Marauder smiles, nods to them and greets them with a friendly 'hello'. Her stride isn't too exaggerated but you have to take three steps to her one. After a block, you don't even notice the resident's stares. That's the effect of the Space Marauder. You feel calm and everything is the way it needs to be."

Excerpt from Sept 18th entry of The Age Of Raisin

Making note of ...

According to Monkey milk smells like clouds.