Frecklicious

Small Fry started middle school this year. Over the summer, kids were allowed to select which options they most wanted, but then most option courses were cancelled due to Covid (who could've guessed?) so Small Fry got put in band. Then band was cancelled because they didn't want kids blowing their Covid all over each other (again, completely unpredictable, amirite?), but not really cancelled, the kids just have to learn their instruments online from home in addition to their regularly scheduled classroom time, during which they... I'm not sure what. Blow Covid all over each other, probably.

And now, as I listen to the mournful honks and bleats of Small Fry's new trombone issuing from my basement, all I can think is, "A FUCKING TROMBONE?!?!"

Whoops, that was the inside part. The more acceptable thing I'm thinking is how smart I am for buying a bigger house. Train wrecks I couldn't possibly have anticipated five months ago were averted by buying this house. Train wrecks like someone learning the fucking trombone in a 1,000 sq ft semi-detached home, just as a totally random example. They didn't even ask what the kids' living situations were before assigning instruments, by the way, so if you're out there wondering what kind of horrible people would allow their kid to learn the trumpet in your apartment complex, just know that they're probably dying inside over it way worse than you are.

I would like to take this opportunity to point out that several far more sensible alternatives to sending unwelcome instruments home with kids who never wanted to be in band in the first place spring to mind. I took a 3000-level music appreciation course in university that was basically 100% transferable to Grade 7 if you just made the essays a little shorter, for instance. Or - crazy thought here - are there not positively oodles of instruments that don't necessitate the blowing of the Covid? Or heck, switch everyone into art class and paint rocks** in the gym - as long as they don't send the messy parts home, I don't care. And IMHO, learning the trombone is a decidedly messy part.

Really, my point was less about painting rocks and more about how much smarter I am than everyone else in the world. Oopsie doodle, inside part again! Here's my real point: As salty as I am about the fucking trombone, I'm sure everyone is doing their best to deal with this craziness, so I'm gonna need to chill the F out. When Medium Fry first picked up the violin 13 years ago it was just before Christmastime so she was learning something festive - Jingle Bells, I think - and I remember joking with DH that it sounded like Santa had run over some cats with his sleigh. Now I like nothing better than making her play Christmas tunes for me all month long every December. So who knows where Small Fry will be with his trombone in a few years' time - maybe I'll be looking back fondly on these novice toots and braps while he begrudgingly plays me Christmas songs. (After all, he has often had some tricks up his sleeve at Christmas!) Regardless of where the current hoots and blarts take us in time, I've got the space - floorspace and headspace - to accommodate them now.

And in a real pinch, the garage has a heater.

** I say this as if I ever painted rocks in art class. My university music appreciation course was genuinely ridiculous, but my middle school art classes were awesome - not a painted rock to be found. Thanks, Ms. Ichino and Mr. Thibault!

Wednesday, September 30, 2020

Points System

My field season has wrapped up for the year (I hope), but I still have some field thoughts saved up that I've been meaning to share here. First off: a six-wire fence is excessive and annoying, but fuck right off with your eight-wire fence. It's just ludicrous, and if this intrepid old fatty still managed to get through - well, it's not actually any more effective than a nice, reasonable three-wire, now is it?

Secondly, and not unrelated to my first point: keep your tetanus shots up to date, everyone.

Now on to my most important thought: a field points system. If you've ever done a points-based diet program you may associate points with the relentless drawing-down of your calorie ceiling for the day (i.e., in a generally negative light), but as a seasoned dieter I am SO over that shit so the sky is the limit here - you can collect all the field points you can stuff in in a day, and celebrate every delectable one. Taking back points, yeah! Originally I had envisioned this as field Bingo, but realised my idea to have Achillea millefolium as the free space might not translate well to all field folks. With the points system, we can all share in some commonly encountered outdoor delights while still tailoring the points to suit our respective disciplines. And I say disciplines, but to be clear, outdoorspeople of all stripes are welcome to participate - this is an equal opportunity game!

Common-ground points developed to date are as follows:

- Toss your shovel over a fence and it lands sticking up out of the ground - 2 points

- Step over a barbed-wire fence - under 5', 3 points; 5'0" to 5'6", 2 points; 5'6" to 6', 1 point; over 6', quit showing off, no points for you

- Pretend to wear an antler shed on your head - with audience (including collection of photographic or video evidence), 1 point; without audience, 3 points

- Perfect weather - 4 points

- Find a working pencil, Sharpie, lighter, or other small, useful item on the ground and add it to your kit - 4 points

- Eat a nice snack from nature (e.g., raspberries) - 2 points

- Eat a nice snack from agriculture (e.g., peas) - 2 points

- Eat a not-very-nice snack, any land use (e.g., silage corn, spruce needles) - hey, at least you tried! 3 points

- Eat a potentially dangerous snack from nature (e.g., psilocybes, roadkill) - no points assigned for liability reasons, but I can't wait to hear about your interesting life choices over drinks one day (my treat)

- Find a place that would be *perfect* for outdoor sex - 3 points

- Make an interesting cross-disciplinary discovery or observation (e.g., identify a cool beetle, decide you prefer sandy loam to loam) - 2 points

- Past You saves Current You's ass by stashing exactly the right contingency item for your present situation in your gear somewhere (e.g., non-perishable food item, extra moleskin) - 2 points

- Pay the favour forward to Future You by remembering to restock your field vest when you get back for the day - 2 points

- Nerd completely out over something only you and, like, twelve other people in the world would care about - 5 points

- A well-timed weather day in the middle of a long field stint - 5 points

- Particularly scenic field pee - women, 2 points; men, 1 point (it's too easy for the nozzle-equipped so unfortunately I'm unable to award full points here)

- Particularly robust, relaxing and/or scenic field poop - all genders, 10 points

This is a living list so feel free to share your common-ground points ideas, and definitely don't be shy about developing custom points to suit your own personal or professional experiences. A botanical example: Find a rare plant while peeing - 3 points. You do you!

In the spirit of clearly separating this points system from the dieting world I wanted to keep it super positive so I've avoided negative points - I trust you to know the days when you really deserve a second beer at dinner - but you can add them if you feel the need. I've also considered whether there should be prizes for field points, but some of these things are naturally a bit subjective so the accounting could get tricky. Unless you want to submit your field poops to an oversight committee for official tallying I think we're going to have to settle for the honour system.

Happy counting, field friends! I can't wait to hear about your record-points days - and your second-beer days, too.

Tuesday, August 18, 2020

We All Scream

My fifteenth divine creation is churning away at this very moment. (French vanilla, in case you're wondering.) The ice cream machine has proven very popular with the whole fam, and likely Canadian dairy farmers as well. We've really come together around it - critiquing different recipes, flavours and textures. Ranking and reranking our favourites with every new batch. Complaining that Mom got to pick yet another flavour. Lecturing about being the person who does all the work so you bet your sassy ass I'm picking the flavours.

And there's still more: We've explored the botany of ingredients (tamarind, vanilla, tonka beans), the ethics of dairy, the chemistry of custard. I allow Small Fry to lick the churning paddle, which I feel is akin to a habitat enrichment activity in these self-isolating times. I've even grown attuned to the sounds of the ice cream machine, like a mother with a baby - I can differentiate between its contented liquidy whirrs and its distress cries when the ice cream is ready, from two floors away.

I think it's fair to say we've all bonded with the new ~~baby~~ ice cream machine. (Even DH, who you'll recall was not keen on the idea.) Gotta say, I think we're totally coming out on top of the suckers who only got Covid cats or dogs, and miles ahead of the poor saps who are due to welcome their new Covid humans in the next few months. Just really celebrating my wise life choices right now.

In fact, I'm so pleased with my recent decisions that I went ahead with another one: I purchased a mini in-home hydroponics cabinet. I figure it'll pay for itself in cilantro and arugula in about six months, however, it should be noted that I did this figuring (and purchasing) while DH is away camping and thus unable to object to my study methods. Surprise, dear! Still cheaper than a Covid baby! I think!

I yell, you yell, we all yell for... ba-sel? (Still working on the slogan.) I'll provide an update on my grow op in a few weeks when the herbaceous output projections are more refined. Fingers crossed that this turns out to be my next greatest mistake!

Wednesday, July 29, 2020

Life, the Universe and Everything

I've made loads of exciting mistakes in my life - no need for me to cross-link them here, I'm sure several good examples have already sprung to your mind - but to my recollection none have garnered quite the reaction my latest one has:

"Oh my gawd, dear. What have you done." - DH

"I'm... actually speechless." - Uncle Matt

*enthusiastic screaming* - my kids

That's right, I bought myself an ice cream machine for my birthday, and I think my family's respective reactions really bring home what a fun mistake this is going to be. The new house is just so darn spacious that the "bulky items that formerly lived in the basement" cupboard had room for all those chonky basement-dwellers, plus space for just one... more... thing...

Don't think I made this decision lightly, because I gave it a lot of thought: I thought about living minimally. I thought about my lanky college classmate who got a deep fryer for Christmas and by the end of the next semester resembled a pregnant snake. I thought about how my kitchen may have extra room, but my pants do not. And in the end, I also placed an order for a bunch of premium spices and extracts to make my homemade ice creams extra-special. But I'm 42 now, which has imparted upon me all the wisdoms of life, the universe and everything (that's how it works, right?), so it seemed like a fortuitous time to make some bold choices. YOLO and stuff.

I ordered wallpaper on my birthday as well, which now that I think on it may have elicited the exact same response from DH as the arrival of my ice cream machine... probably just a coincidence. Strangely, I had great confidence in my ability to wallpaper right up until the product actually arrived, at which point I searched my newly-imparted wisdoms and found the wallpapering section rather lacking. An unfortunate omission on someone's part, to be sure, but not mine, 'cause of the 42 thing.

But let's focus on the positives! So far I have churned up seven divine creations: cinnamon, PB & chocolate, minted red fruits sorbet, chai spice, cantaloupe sorbet, mint chocolate, chocolate chai, and haskap berry swirl. (Oh shit, that is eight creations! I should probably slow down - even God took a break after six.)

At this rate, my next big mistake may have to be acquiring a dairy cow - if it comes to that, I'll be sure to post DH's reaction for its certain entertainment value.

P.S. If anyone knows how to hang wallpaper, I can pay for your help with ice cream and sourdough. Please PM me.

P.P.S. OMG there have actually been NINE divine creations - I forgot about the coconut one! Eek!

Friday, June 26, 2020

Mnemorize

DH found a new plant in our garden this week, and although he figured it seemed weedy, he left it in to see if I knew what it was. As soon as I saw it, I knew exactly... that I had walked through a huge, prickly field of it with my field partner and friend - let's call her Long Tall Sally - on an overcast day in July 2015.

Could I remember something useful about the plant, like, say, its name? Nope, I spent five minutes dredging the depths to retrieve that, and even then I could only remember the scientific name and had to Google the English term to tell DH. But the colourful autobiographical memory - no trouble retrieving that! I have this problem all the time: 'Oooh, I remember keying this plant in a wetland in 2007! I was with so-and-so, and we found a duck nest with seven eggs!' But can I just pretty please remember the damn word for the plant? Buy a vowel, hum a bar, anything?

No.

It's as if my brain makes mnemonics even when I am not trying to make mnemonics, but regularly forgets what it was I was trying to remember in the first place. I'm going to name this mnemorizing, and it makes me mnental. It probably takes up ten times the brain space that a direct line to the information would, and lawd knows I could use that extra room on the ol' meat drive. If you've ever felt that I talk too damn much to say anything, then please understand it's honestly just how I'm wired: the train has to pop by all the stations, there is no least-cost routing, and we may make some unplanned side trips along the way. Whee!

Now that I've had this experience with the plant in the garden with DH in 2020 as well as in a field with LTSally in 2015, the next time I need to recall this species I guarantee it will have double the useless memories associated with it - maybe triple, since I'm writing about it here as well. Heaven forbid some poor soul accidentally asks me what it is in future, 'cause they are going to get an absolute earful of unrelated nonsense.

I've heard that brain fluidity decreases with age so maybe I'll get my routes all straightened out eventually. But in the meantime, just for the record:

Hello, future me. It's Galeopsis tetrahit, you high-functioning Hufflepuff. I cannot (but also 100% can) believe it was easier for you to look this up on your blog than it was to just fricking remember those words. So disappointed in ~~you~~ me us.

Wednesday, June 3, 2020

In Like a (Hel)Lion

I have an irrational fear of getting caught in a bear trap. I suppose the fear of bear traps is fairly rational, but the low likelihood of my getting stuck in one is what makes it a bit silly. Regardless, whenever I'm wandering through the forest I always task a spare neuron or two with watching out for traps.

Now just imagine the ruckus a person would make if they caught a leg in a bear trap, and you will have come to understand the amount of fuss Small Fry makes about any given injury: a stubbed toe, for instance, or a neck twinge. He is a massive drama queen. Which you expect to an extent with a toddler, but this kid is twelve years old so at this point I've had approximately ten years too many of his theatrics. Yesterday afternoon he bumped his funny bone and started carrying on in a manner that I feel should be strictly reserved for life-threatening injuries, e.g., getting one's leg caught in a bear trap. Which I told him, and had told him for the previous night's neck twinge drama, and the previous day's whatever drama, and so on and so forth back through the ages. Naturally, he is Officially Butthurt by my largely unsympathetic responses to all the bumped elbows/twinged necks/bad haircuts/etc. that life so often serves up, much as any drama queen worth her/his salt would be expected to be. (I ignore that, too.)

Compare this to Medium Fry, who in retrospect was an incredibly stoic child. She quite peacefully suffered migraines her entire life, damn near cut her Achilles tendon in a bike accident and tried to fix it herself with a band-aid, and suffered menstrual cramps for years without a peep - to the point that I didn't know she experienced them at all. (Needless to say, she was pleased to learn that ibuprofen helps.) Also in retrospect, she was a champion sleeper as a baby, an utter camel when it came to potty training, and a natural-born quiet self-entertainer as a toddler and youngster. Whatever the opposite is of drama queen (Job comes to mind), she is that.

I know, I know - you're not supposed to compare your children. But the respective levels of drama I've gotten out of the two of them honestly begs comparison. I didn't even notice how easy Medium Fry was until Small Fry came along like a... I don't even know what, a very whiny and sleepless hurricane maybe? I say hurricane to be kind - I'm pretty sure he was actually possessed by demons as an infant, and still there are days I'm not convinced we managed to evict them all.

In all likelihood I chalked Medium Fry's myriad successes up to my ah-mazing parenting, when in reality it was just her own peaceable nature shining through. But that, as I now warn all new parents who have "easy" babies, is how they trick you into providing them with younger siblings. Small Fry was crystal clear right from the start that he wanted to be the centre of the universe, forever, and after only six weeks of his demonic existence ex utero, DH obliged by silently walking out the door one day... and coming home with a vasectomy. Under the circumstances I'm glad he came back at all, but Small Fry's er, exit, was also pretty demonic and I wasn't quite ready to relinquish my bag of frozen peas just yet, y'know?

We left Medium Fry to hold down the fort for seven months while the rest of us travelled around Europe this past winter. It wasn't quite "Mom clean" when we got back, but the plants were still alive and things were mostly in order so I'd call the whole adulting experiment a success. Compare this to the other day when DH and I attended an afternoon barbeque, and after only a couple of hours I started getting texts from neighbourhood parents, plural, about the sleepover party Small Fry was apparently planning in our absence. Why yes, what a grand idea - just bring your sleeping bag and your coronavirus when you come! Again: practically begs comparison, don't you think? So there went any foolish notions DH and I ever harboured of leaving Small Fry to take care of the house some day - he's already planning parties the moment we walk out the door, and he's only twelve!

I think I've been secretly clinging to that old saying about March coming in like a lion but going out like a lamb - perhaps my little early-March lion would grow up a bit more lamb-ish himself? Seems time to disabuse myself of that notion as well. After twelve years of very consistent messaging on Small Fry's part, it's high time I realised I'll probably always have to have at least a couple of spare neurons assigned to the task of watching out for his antics.

Frecklicious

Thursday, November 19, 2020

Bog Body

Thursday, October 22, 2020

'Bones of Christmas Future