Stories from my grown-up life

Somehow I imagined that one day I would grow up. I used to look at women who were the same age I am today, or even younger, and imagine that I too would somehow be transformed into a sophisticated competent career women, elegantly dressed, balancing home and work without a ruffle of my carefully lacquered hair.

I thought it would happen without any effort on my part. At some point I would just realize that I had arrived and taken my place in the world of grown ups. Half a century later and I still don't know what that means. Somehow I have become a wife, a mother, a career woman (whatever that means) without ever having grown up. I joke about what I might do with my life when I do finally grow up.

Dom and Amy both talk about feeling grown up when they have had to take responsibility for other peoples lives, even though that meant putting themselves in a place of opposition with their peers. But both of them want to retain that feeling of freedom and exploration, that seems an antithesis to being a 'grown-up".

We said farewell to my research fellow at the end of August, who claimed she was moving on to her grown up life. Good luck with that Allison. Let me know when you've figured out what that is; bottle it and send me some to sprinkle on my muesli.

People or places

It is said that cats are attached to place whereas dogs are attached to people. When we moved from the UK to Canada we sent our two cats on ahead, a couple of weeks before our arrival date. HGs brother picked them up from the airport and looked after them until we arrived. The older cat seemed to cope fine and was not at all bothered at having moved to a new place. The younger cat, Elmo, seemed to be quite depressed and apparently stayed under the bed in the basement until we arrived. Once he had seen the kids again he took on a new lease of life and started running about my brother-in-laws house as though he owned the place.

This past two weeks have seen quite an upheaval at home. First DAG moved out, then ARG returned from Europe, spent a few days with us and left again to return home to Montreal. Both the dog and one of the cats have been quite confused. The dog is clearly looking for DAG or ARG and keeps checking the car or the moving van for them. More unusually, to my mind, is the behaviour of the grey cat. She is refusing to spend time on the main level of the house and keeps wanting to be in the basement (which used to be ARGs room when she lived at home), or in DAGs old bedroom. Often I just find her crying in the downstairs entrance hall.

ARG moved out two years ago, long enough for this house not to be her home anymore, but DAG has only just made the move. I guess we each adjust to change in people and places in different ways. DAG surprised me by appearing to be much more rooted to place than I had expected. ARG on the other hand went back packing in Europe for the summer, but seemed to have had the best time enjoying people, rather than the places that she visited.

Over the years I have been in Canada, I have really missed my friends and family back in the UK. But yet I feel strangely rooted to this place. Leaving Canada, especially in the winter I miss the trees and the snow and only feel at ease when I'm back home to my pine forest.

we are thriving

For my birthday this year ARG gave me a book called about the Thrive Diet. Its a vegan diet developed by a triathalon specialist. The book wasn't a revelation to me, or anything like that. Instead it took me back to when I was ARGs age, just finished a BSc in Physiology and moving on to live in a series of rented dives while studying further. It was those hippyish years when we are all into making our own bread, sprouting lentils, scrounging windfall apples and tomatoes left over from field trials.

The Thrive Diet book took me back to those years of hempseeds and cheesecloth. I particularly remembered our home made lasgne drying on a clothes rack where it was nibbled by cats (and possibly vermin too). Over the past few weeks I've had enormous fun getting back into growing sprouts in glass jars and making a variety of recipes included in the book.

I've not become a convert to veganism overnight, but I have to say that I've not got such a kick over playing with food for a long time.

Married for 50 years

A couple of weeks ago we drove to Brechin, Ontario to celebrate B&As 50th wedding anniversary. Congratulations to B&A, but congratulations too to each of their six kids who arranged the celebrations. There was a church service to reconfirm their vows. All the music, lessons, prayers were by the children and grandchildren. Then there was a party at the legion, with speeches from the eldest son, S, their best man and many of the family members -- this is a family that loves the stage. HG and I had seen the "first draft" of the powerpoint slide & music presentation that the younger siblings had created from old family photographs when we visited N in March. There were few dry eyes in the house. I don't cope with crowds very well, so I hid myself in the back and did face painting for the kids.

50 years though, its really a lifetime. HG and I passed our silver milestone this year, only half of B&As achievement but still it seems an impressive length of time. I'm proud of us, that we have stuck together through rough times, and good times -- here's to you HG, here's to us.

Luma

I'm so far behind in writing on my blog. In my mind I would up date this every few days. It already seems weeks since we visited ARGs friend MDL and her new baby Luma. By now they will have flown back to Peru, to MLDs husband and their new life as a family.

I was happy to have found Fair Trade peruvian cotton, in order to make a little hoodie for Luma. It came out larger than I had expected, but she should be able to wear it by the time she is about a year old. However, I find these days that I'm quite bad at estimating sizes for babies. I knit a sweater to fit a 6-12month old (the size I usually pick when I'm knitting for a new baby), only to visit at 3months and find that it just fit perfectly. I'm convinced that babies are larger these days, or that my old UK patterns do not provide suitable age-size matches for North Americans.

Living in the garden

June 30th, the day before Canada day. If I was a Canadian gardener, the front yard would be ablaze with red geraniums and white shasta daisies. Actually, despite the soggy weather, the front garden is attempting a vague nod to July 1st. That's at street level, where the tubs are full of geraniums and white spider flowers. Further back, the enchantment lilies are an orange sunburst and with the blue campanula, there seems to be a Dutch theme going on. Where did that come from? No connection to us, but I love the opposition of orange and blue.

The lilies have been in the garden for years. So long that I don't remember buying them. But they are a stalwart of the front yard. I look forward to their return every year, and, based on the comments I get from the neighbourly dog walkers, so do many other people who take their morning stroll down our street.

They are such an outrageous colour, (the lilies, not the dog walkers), I often think that they don't really belong in our rock terraces. However, I wouldn't want to be without them. We had a pot of them in the front garden in the UK, and before that they were the one flower that I had to have in my wedding bouquet, and before that they were the first flowers that HG bought for me one dreamy day on Queens Street in Leicester.

This year its been so wet that the slugs and other nasties have taken over the garden. I was horrified to find fornicating red beetles followed by black sludgey beings chewing up the leaves of my precious lilies. I was so upset, and resorted to wiping down the leaves with soapy water for several days running. Fortunately it seems to have paid off. the lilies are shouting as loudly as ever in vibrant orange -- Happy Canada Day.

The things we leave behind

We waved ARG off from the Pierre Elliot Trudeau airport in Montreal last Tuesday. She was off on a big adventure -- backpacking around Europe with a couple of girlfriends for three whole months. We stayed at the airport for a drink, monitoring the line containing our girl until it finally snaked its way through the security screen and we could see her no longer. Then we stayed a bit longer and had something to eat, before finally wending our way through the terminal carparks to find the bright blue car (bbc) on the edge of the furthest most car park. I drove home as HG was tired. It was dusk by the time we left, so it wasn't until the next day that I found the hair elastic abandoned on the passenger seat.

ARG has been a dancer her entire life. Hair elastics are such an integral part of her, that seeing it lying on the car seat almost reduced me to tears. It was not only a hair elastic, it was a thick ouchless hair elastic, seamless so that no hairs get snagged on the metal join. A carefully selected purchase, bought with the experince of many years of inferior elastics. And, it was a lavender blue colour, a colour that I always associate with ARG. There was one year when the entire class of dancers at the School of Dance adopted lavender leotards as their class uniform because ARG had a lavender bodysuit.

Seeing the hair elastic reminded me of a poem by Sharon Olds about finding a drop of crystallized maple syrup on the table after her daughter had left for summer camp. I looked for it on-line and then I found this from High School Senior

"There are creatures whose children float away
at birth, and those who throat-feed their young
for weeks and never see them again. My daughter
is free and she is in me--no, my love
of her is in me, moving in my heart,
changing chambers, like something poured
from hand to hand, to be weighed and then reweighed"

And then I remembered lines from my own work about DAGs First Leaving.

I've been thinking recently about the things we leave behind. It feels attractive to carry little through life, to tread so lightly on the earth that one leaves no trace of oneself, except a brief trail of consciousness like the water vapour stream behind an airplane. For me, at this point in my life, I'm not sure whether it comes from a desire to disappear, or from a real place. For now I litter my office and my home, and write and knit and garden in a way that binds me to others and which seems somehow contrary to this desire.

There's a glut of them

It's that time of year. Babies are popping out all over. A co-worker had her baby on Sunday, a couple of weeks earlier than expected. ARGs first friend in Canada had her baby a few weeks ago. She came home from Peru to give birth in Canada. She had a little girl called Luma and is planning to stay only for a few more weeks before heading back home. Then another co-worker's daughter, is due to have her second baby in October. All this reproductive activity is quite stressful if you knit. I like to knit baby sweaters, they're small and don't take a lot of time to produce. But when there's a line up, the pressure can be a bit much.

I finished the jacket for HG's co-workers new baby last week. Still waiting to take it to her, but I don't think she will have grown out of it yet. My co-worker is more of a problem as I didn't knit anything for the first child, but now feel as though I should overcompensate and knit matching sweaters for the little girl and new baby brother.

Then what to knit for ARGs friend. I don't know what to do for someone who pretty much became a hippie and has little use for material things. You still need baby sweaters though. I've considered rummaging in my stash of old yarn and mixing random colours and textures to make a ragbag sweater, but I don't feel right giving Luma leftovers, when everyone else will receive sweaters made from newly purchased yarn. On the other hand, I love receiving things that have had a previous incarnation, so perhaps it isn't really inappropriate.

While I mull over my baby sweater(s) dilemma, I'm posting a picture of the sweater I knit for HGs co-workers little girl.

I did it

I ran the Ottawa ING half marathon. Its the first half marathon I've ever run, so I'm pleased that I made it to the finish line. I was a bit disappointed by my time 2 hours 14 minutes. I had hoped that I would make it in under 2 hours. In a training run a couple of weeks previously I'd run 18km in 1 hour 42 minutes (according to HG). However, I was jet lagged and had suffered a bout of food poisoning a few days previously. Also, I really wasn't prepared for the heat. It must have been at least 24C, and although in the height of summer that doesn't feel too hot, at this time of year it was baking. After 10K I was feeling dizzy and had to walk for a bit. I was feeling cross with myself, but finally decided that my primary goal was to finish, and so I should just relax and enjoy the experience. After that I started giving all the kids in the crowd high fives, and made sure that I kept taking on water at every station. It was probably wise as I saw at least 3 people collapsed along the way. It was an unbelievable experience to be running with so many people. From the starting line on Elgin street where 9,000 runners sang Oh Canada together, until the finish line along the Rideau canal at the back of Confederation park, the crowd never thinned.

So now I know I can run 21K

Running with 9000

On Sunday I'm running the Ottawa half marathon, with 8,999 other people, if they all show up. Yesterday, I went out for a final training run around the Norwegian countyside. The airport hotel even gave me a map. They have a strong health policy, which includes encouraging their guests to get out and run along the narrow roads. However, the map left a lot to be desired. It was printed from a google satellite map, so although it gave a good indication of buidlings etc, it was very grey and murky and the details (including roads) were hard to make out. I tried to orientate myself from the hotel, and ran in what I thought was the right direction, but never found the old airport buidlings marked on the map and ended up after about two and a half kilometres facing the hotel again. So I set off in another possible direction, but again never found the buidlings marked on the map. This time I kept going, and tried to run in a big loop that I figured should be about 5K. The last leg of this loop took me up a dirt track, and eventually a realsied that it was a farm road and there was no way out. So even though by that time a had run a further 4K or so, I had to retrace my steps and run back the way I came.

Running around the Norwegian countryside by myself, I realised that there is a benefit to running with 8,999 other people. With any luck, none of us will get lost.

That's what friends are for...

Monday night I was still in Dundee. Invited by my colleague to his house for dinner, I didn't want to disappoint. After the afternoon meetings, I went back to my hotel, dumped my bag and rushed to Tesco to buy some suitable plonk. I think it was on the walk back that I started to feel queasy, but I put it down to tiredness caused by jet lag. I got back to my room again and answered emails and worked on some reports, still feeling a bit off, stomach cramping a bit, that sort of thing. Didn't really think much of it, in fact I made myself tea and ate several ginger cookies while I surfed the net.



David picked me up around 7:30pm. I decided that his car had a distinctly funny smell -- nonedescript animal, something between pig and hen, definitely enough to turn ones stomach. he took me the long way to show me the coast and the sand dunes. By the time he reached the house I was feeling a bit green. I was greatful for the offer of a pre-dinner G&T, which I thought might settle my stomach. Instead I found myself unable to pay attention to the subject of discussion -- whether the regulations for human-animal hybridization were the same in Canada as the UK. There was a bill under debate in the House of Commons that evening. My palms were sweating and my stomach was doing hurdles. Finally, I had to admit there was something wrong, and with a hasty -- "where's the bathroom, I feel weird" -- I threw myself at the toilet.



Of course, David's wife would happen to be a microbiologist. She was totally embarrased by the thought that I had been food poisoned by the local fare -- although as David said, it was lucky I threw up before dinner, otherwise she would have been mortified in case it was her cooking. he blamed the pub lunch, and I tend to agree. I don't eat meat, so why I thought that liver and onions was a good idea is beyond me. The nice thing from all that was I realised that over the years working with colleagues, some of them become good friends. Such good friends that it really doesn't matter if you choose to throw up at their house.



This week was supposed to be eating carbohydrates to boost my glycogen levels. I think that was why I ate liver and onions -- for the iron, not the carbs. Instead I threw up until my knees were shaky standing and climbing a flight of stairs at Edinburgh airport was near impossible. Not a great start to pre-half marathon week.

Dundee

Suddenly I find myself in Dundee. That's the nature of my job. I'm not complaining, I neither particularly like to travel, or don't like to travel, its just what happens in my life. So here I am in
Dundee right in the docklands area. I'm staying at the APEX hotel. Turns out that its a spa hotel. David, my colleague who collected me from the airport was telling me that its been built to resemble an old dockside building, complete with weathered wooden siding -- looks just like home. Before last weekend I wouldn't have had a clue what to do with a hotel like this, but thanks to our Saturday at the Nordic, I had no hestitation in donning my bathing suit and submitting to an hour of steam, cold pool, sauna, cold pool, steam, cold pool -- just like an old pro.

It was a great way to unwind after a long weekend with family. Tomorrow I have to be sharp and ready to work with my UK buddies, but for now its another Sunday evening, far from home.

Socks for HG

HG likes socks. He likes knitted socks, but they're just socks, right. Its not that he doesn't care about the amount of effort that went into knitting them, but he expects them to behave as socks. Most importantly, they shouldn't demand any extra care or attention just because they came off a set of dpns, rather than from Sears. The first time I saw my handiwork thrown into the tumble dryer with the rest of HGs laundry I panicked. I expected all manner of disasters, unravellings, shrinkage to child size -- but no. The socks weathered it just fine and came out silky smooth and looking, well, just like regular socks really. Which is what they are.
HG, just like the Yarn Harlot's (http://www.yarnharlot.ca/blog/) Joe doesn't hold any truck with overly patterned or fancy socks. They can't have too much colour or detail either -- definitely nothing girly. So I'm knitting a pair of Earl Grey socks for HG right now, which, because they were designed for Joe are perfect for the sock obsessed HG.

Easter alone

When I found out that HG and I were going to be by ourselves this Easter, I didn't know what to do. Easter usually means baking loads of Ukrainian breads, making Ukrainian Easter eggs, and definitely a special Easter dinner. I never wanted to create family traditions because I've seen people hang on tight to them, and use them as the basis for family arguments. That wasn't going to happen to us!! But, over the years we've accumulated a list of family traditions that each of them hold me to at one time or another.

So this year, even without DAG and ARG at home to nag, I made Ukranian breads and a special dinner. Cashew Nut Roast (ARGs favourite, even tho she wasn't there).

Cashew Nut Roast

-- originated from Sarah Brown: Vegetarian Kitchen

Serves 6-8

Preparation time: 30 mins Cooking time: 60 mins

1 tbsp olive oil 3 medium parsnips, cooked and mashed

1 onion, finely chopped 1 tsp fresh rosemary

2 cloves garlic, crushed 1 tsp fresh thyme

8oz (225g) cashew nuts 1 tsp yeast extract

4oz (110g)fresh breadcrumbs 1/4pt (150ml) hot stock

1egg 1 oz (25g) butter

8oz (225g) mushrooms chopped

Pre-heat oven to 350F

2. Heat oil and fry the onions and garlic until soft. Grind the cashew nuts, then mix with breadcrumbs

3. Beat the egg and add it to the dry ingredients, then mix in mashed parsnips and herbs. Add the fried onions. Dissolve the yeast extract in hot stock and add to other ingredients, season well

4. Melt the butter in a frying pan and sauté the chopped mushrooms. Grease a loaf pan with butter then press in half nut mixture. Cover with a layer of mushrooms and top with the rest of the nut mixture. Then cover with foil and bake for 1 hour.

Cook’s tips:

You could substitute squash for the parsnips, I would if DAG was home -- he hates them. I served the cashew nut roast with apple sauce, brown gravy, and green vegetables

Mime me Happy

When ARG was a little girl she used to go to ballet class on Saturday mornings. I would never have put her in ballet myself, but friends prevailed and of she went with their two girls. Miss Michelle. "C'mon girls, mime me happy". They would jump in the air clapping their hands, or round their shoulders and stare at their ballet slippers for "mime me sad".

This Easter was happy/sad -- the house empty of ARG and DAG, but four days of peace. Outside the first days of spring and the bright sun seemed so cheerful. But the snowbanks are still above my head. This is what home looked like this Easter.