Edna Staebler changed my life. After we moved to Kitchener from Montreal, I had a really hard time fitting in. It was a complete culture shock to go from French to German cultural background, from a small private girls' school where the focus was academic excellence (we wrote an entrance exam and only the top 50 were accepted. 75 was failing.) to a separate, much larger Catholic girls' school that seemed to applaud athletics and student council more than academics. I skipped Grade 9 and started in Grade 10 and had a tough time dealing with the very different atmosphere.
I discovered baking sometime around then. My mom didn't bake much-chocolate chip cookies, muffins, Sheriff lemon pie and boston creme pie out of a box. My mom's claim to fame, though, are her butter tarts. I tried to make them this year and murdered them. What mom made, she made well-I still remember coming home from school to vanilla cupcakes with leftover lemon pie filling in them, but she didn't take joy in the process.
I'm not sure how "Food that Really Schmecks" made it into our house. My mom owns about 3 cookbooks-an old 5 Roses Flour one, an ancient Joy of Cooking and one that my dad picked up in the Maritimes full of squares and cookies. Mom is strictly utilitarian in her approach and only has what she needs, so someone must have gifted her the cookbook.
I started reading it one day when I was home sick (and homesick). Edna Staebler's description of how to cook good, simple food resonated with me, and I started trying some of the recipes. My aunt makes the most amazing buns on the face of the planet, and the recipe in the book was similar, so one day when I was alone in the house I baked bread. I had no idea baking could be therapy until I baked bread for the first time.
Edna Staebler turned me into a bit of a baking snob. I only bake from scratch now, and when I need reassurance or comfort, I bake. When I was an insecure teen and young adult seeking approval, I discovered the ability to bake pie and cookies was a sought after quality. I would make dozens of different kinds of cookies to seek approval from others and feel that I was adequate at something. I once wrote Ms. Staebler a fan letter, and she responded. I still have the note.
My standing mixer has made bread making much faster and simpler, but baking is still therapeutic. I collect cookbooks and I still enjoy baking more than cooking. I still use baking as therapy, although not so much for approval any more. My birth name, I discovered a couple of years ago, was Sara-Lee-coincidence? I don't think so.
My daughter stayed home today with what seems to be a migraine. She certainly gave a very good description of a migraine for someone who has never had one. I dug out my mixer and giant tub of flour. She wandered into the kitchen to see what I was doing, and was very happy to hear I was baking. She knows mommy likes to bake, and was amazed to learn that icing can come out of a can and cakes can come out of a box (not in mommy's kitchen, honey.) She's helped me make cinnamon buns before, and of course, the best part of any baking process is licking the beaters, a job she takes very seriously. She assisted the process by punching down the risen dough and is peeking under the towel periodically to give me status updates on the 2nd rising. Baking is imminent and then the house will smell wonderful.
Sometimes, you just have to bake bread.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Footprints in the snow
When I left to take my daughter to school this morning, I noticed a few shoots poking out of the ground beside the front door. Spring is starting to waken in Ontario, although winter has been more or less non-existent this year. While I will be keeping an eagle eye on the Dairy Queen near my mother's apartment, waiting for it to open to herald spring, my father always watched for the flowers.
Around this time of year, footprints would start appearing in the front garden. My father would start checking for the first sign of crocuses and snowdrops poking their noses out of the ground. My father was a complex man, as I have come to realize with adult insight, but he could be quite childlike in his delight in things like Christmas carols or spring flowers. He would practically dance a Snoopy dance when he spied the first shoots pushing out of the ground. He wanted to be the one to see the first flowers of spring, and then announce it to my mom and I. Footprints in the garden proved his dedication.
I had an interesting discussion on Facebook a few days ago with a bunch of people. An acquaintance and fellow writer lost her husband suddenly, and said she started seeing robins that she felt were sent by her husband to comfort her in this surreal time. That led to admissions from many of us about seeing animals or butterflies or finding pennies after a loved one had died. I always think of my dad when the mourning doves arrive in our backyard, because it was only after his death that I started noticing them. The morning after his sister died, two mourning doves appeared on our deck, and sat on the railing, looking in at my then not quite 2 year old daughter who was having breakfast in her high chair, which looked out on the deck. Birds and kid observed each other for quite awhile, and I'm sure my aunt was telling her brother all about his granddaughter, since she had met the Kid. It was not random.
A couple of years ago, a patch of snowdrops turned up in the lawn. I didn't plant them in the middle of the lawn. I certainly didn't plant them on the slope beside the driveway so they could be lawnmower food. I think they were a gift from my dad to me, since they were his favorite spring flower, and they bloom right beside the spot where the passenger door is located when my husband's car is parked. It's the spot I get in and out of the car.
There may not be any footprints in the snow any more, but there are snowdrops in the lawn and they stir happy memories. While the logical adult in me knows it was probably a random act of squirrel, I choose to believe they were a gift from my dad.
Miss you dad.
Around this time of year, footprints would start appearing in the front garden. My father would start checking for the first sign of crocuses and snowdrops poking their noses out of the ground. My father was a complex man, as I have come to realize with adult insight, but he could be quite childlike in his delight in things like Christmas carols or spring flowers. He would practically dance a Snoopy dance when he spied the first shoots pushing out of the ground. He wanted to be the one to see the first flowers of spring, and then announce it to my mom and I. Footprints in the garden proved his dedication.
I had an interesting discussion on Facebook a few days ago with a bunch of people. An acquaintance and fellow writer lost her husband suddenly, and said she started seeing robins that she felt were sent by her husband to comfort her in this surreal time. That led to admissions from many of us about seeing animals or butterflies or finding pennies after a loved one had died. I always think of my dad when the mourning doves arrive in our backyard, because it was only after his death that I started noticing them. The morning after his sister died, two mourning doves appeared on our deck, and sat on the railing, looking in at my then not quite 2 year old daughter who was having breakfast in her high chair, which looked out on the deck. Birds and kid observed each other for quite awhile, and I'm sure my aunt was telling her brother all about his granddaughter, since she had met the Kid. It was not random.
A couple of years ago, a patch of snowdrops turned up in the lawn. I didn't plant them in the middle of the lawn. I certainly didn't plant them on the slope beside the driveway so they could be lawnmower food. I think they were a gift from my dad to me, since they were his favorite spring flower, and they bloom right beside the spot where the passenger door is located when my husband's car is parked. It's the spot I get in and out of the car.
There may not be any footprints in the snow any more, but there are snowdrops in the lawn and they stir happy memories. While the logical adult in me knows it was probably a random act of squirrel, I choose to believe they were a gift from my dad.
Miss you dad.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Manners
When did rude become the new normal?
Lately I've been struck by how impatient and rude people are. Is it a by-product of the tech world we now live in, where if things aren't delivered instantly it's cause for rude behaviour?
I've spent a lot of time sitting in ER lately with my mother's health crises. Ontario's health care system is broken, and there are certainly people who shouldn't be in the ER. When you go to ER now, you should expect to wait. You should expect to wait hours. Why then, do some people think they are more important than everyone else? It's been my experience that the people who complain the loudest are probably the people who shouldn't be there, and could have waited until the next day. The last time my mom and I went to ER, she was admitted 27 hours later. 27 HOURS. We waited 8 hours in the waiting room, another 2 hours to see a doctor, and then a further 17 before she was admitted. I knew she needed care, and I wasn't leaving until she got it. I could see there was going to be a delay, and I also knew that she would get stellar care when it was her turn. No point in carrying on and raising a fuss, it doesn't make the really sick people any less sick.
The school buses were cancelled today, but the school was open. That meant that there were extra cars dropping off kids this morning on a blustery and slick day. We have a drop-off area where we can pull up, kids jump out and we move on. My daughter was protesting about me parking the car and waiting for her to go into the school every morning because she "wasn't a baby." I now drop her off at the drive-through, but I wait for her to enter the school. She's easily distracted, my little girl, and she's only 7. This morning, people were honking, they were dropping their kids off on the wrong side, and a little girl was almost hit because she was crossing the drive-through traffic because her parent couldn't wait the extra 2 minutes to drop her off properly.
Are we really in such a hurry that those extra two minutes make all the difference? You can honk until the cows come home-I will put my child's safety first and foremost every time, and if that means I wait for an extra minute, I'm going to wait. If it means that I wait for the car in front of me to exit before I let my daughter out of the car, I will wait. When the risk of my falling is gone in the spring, we'll probably walk again. I can't risk falling and hurting myself right now-too many people depend on me.
I think we need a refresher course on manners and common courtesy. We, as a society, seem to have forgotten the "do unto others" rule. Otherwise, why would we need a Random Act of Kindness Day to remind us to be nice?
Lately I've been struck by how impatient and rude people are. Is it a by-product of the tech world we now live in, where if things aren't delivered instantly it's cause for rude behaviour?
I've spent a lot of time sitting in ER lately with my mother's health crises. Ontario's health care system is broken, and there are certainly people who shouldn't be in the ER. When you go to ER now, you should expect to wait. You should expect to wait hours. Why then, do some people think they are more important than everyone else? It's been my experience that the people who complain the loudest are probably the people who shouldn't be there, and could have waited until the next day. The last time my mom and I went to ER, she was admitted 27 hours later. 27 HOURS. We waited 8 hours in the waiting room, another 2 hours to see a doctor, and then a further 17 before she was admitted. I knew she needed care, and I wasn't leaving until she got it. I could see there was going to be a delay, and I also knew that she would get stellar care when it was her turn. No point in carrying on and raising a fuss, it doesn't make the really sick people any less sick.
The school buses were cancelled today, but the school was open. That meant that there were extra cars dropping off kids this morning on a blustery and slick day. We have a drop-off area where we can pull up, kids jump out and we move on. My daughter was protesting about me parking the car and waiting for her to go into the school every morning because she "wasn't a baby." I now drop her off at the drive-through, but I wait for her to enter the school. She's easily distracted, my little girl, and she's only 7. This morning, people were honking, they were dropping their kids off on the wrong side, and a little girl was almost hit because she was crossing the drive-through traffic because her parent couldn't wait the extra 2 minutes to drop her off properly.
Are we really in such a hurry that those extra two minutes make all the difference? You can honk until the cows come home-I will put my child's safety first and foremost every time, and if that means I wait for an extra minute, I'm going to wait. If it means that I wait for the car in front of me to exit before I let my daughter out of the car, I will wait. When the risk of my falling is gone in the spring, we'll probably walk again. I can't risk falling and hurting myself right now-too many people depend on me.
I think we need a refresher course on manners and common courtesy. We, as a society, seem to have forgotten the "do unto others" rule. Otherwise, why would we need a Random Act of Kindness Day to remind us to be nice?
Friday, February 24, 2012
Snow Day
"Is the school closed, mommy? Did we get lots of snow?" My daughter bounded down the stairs this morning, still in her pyjamas, optimism and hope oozing from every pore. Winter in southern Ontario has been MIA this year. Environment Canada had issued a winter storm warning for overnight, and teachers, children and the school custodian were all praying for a snow day. The snow came, but not in sufficient quantity to merit closing the school. School was business as usual.
I grew up in Montreal, and snow days were a part of life in a city where 3 feet of snow could fall over night. I can still remember sitting at the kitchen table to listen for school closures when I was a kid. "Baldwin-Cartier school board" was all I had to hear and I was set for the day. School was closed-time to play outside with my friends.
I remember one winter, either 1972 or 1973, that had so many snow storms that the snowbanks were almost to the roof-line. We were snowed in for 3 days because they couldn't get the plows out. Snow was up to my waist (now granted I was 9-10 but anyway) and people were skiing to get provisions. Now THAT was a snow event. I was surprised when I moved to Kitchener and they closed the schools for a couple of inches of snow. We could still walk, what was the problem?
In Montreal, there were machines that came around to cut back the snowbanks so people could see. We had a little sapling in the front yard, and my mother was a gardener. The force of the snow broke a branch, and I remember her standing in the snowbank with electrical tape, reinforcing the branch before allowing my dad to take her to the hospital with her asthma.
Our school had winter carnival every year, and there was a snow sculpture contest by classroom. Our class beat the whole school one year when we did Snoopy on his dog house, complete with Woodstock. Kids here don't usually have enough snow to do that.
My kid went to school today under protest. She will come home with sopping wet snowpants, mitts and tales of sliding down the hill at recess. It's all good.
I grew up in Montreal, and snow days were a part of life in a city where 3 feet of snow could fall over night. I can still remember sitting at the kitchen table to listen for school closures when I was a kid. "Baldwin-Cartier school board" was all I had to hear and I was set for the day. School was closed-time to play outside with my friends.
I remember one winter, either 1972 or 1973, that had so many snow storms that the snowbanks were almost to the roof-line. We were snowed in for 3 days because they couldn't get the plows out. Snow was up to my waist (now granted I was 9-10 but anyway) and people were skiing to get provisions. Now THAT was a snow event. I was surprised when I moved to Kitchener and they closed the schools for a couple of inches of snow. We could still walk, what was the problem?
In Montreal, there were machines that came around to cut back the snowbanks so people could see. We had a little sapling in the front yard, and my mother was a gardener. The force of the snow broke a branch, and I remember her standing in the snowbank with electrical tape, reinforcing the branch before allowing my dad to take her to the hospital with her asthma.
Our school had winter carnival every year, and there was a snow sculpture contest by classroom. Our class beat the whole school one year when we did Snoopy on his dog house, complete with Woodstock. Kids here don't usually have enough snow to do that.
My kid went to school today under protest. She will come home with sopping wet snowpants, mitts and tales of sliding down the hill at recess. It's all good.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
New Blog "The Sandwich Chronicles"
I've started a new blog to help me deal with my added responsibilities as my mother battles dementia.
Come on over to The Sandwich Chronicles and visit.
I'll still be blogging here as well. I need to vent somewhere!
http://lisa-maccoll.blogspot.com/
Come on over to The Sandwich Chronicles and visit.
I'll still be blogging here as well. I need to vent somewhere!
http://lisa-maccoll.blogspot.com/
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Talking about Teen Suicide
In the Jan-Feb 2012 edition of Backpack Magazine, I have an article about talking to your teens about suicide. It's on p. 25. This article was one of the hardest things I ever wrote, and I'm really proud of it. One of my friends had the courage to tell her story. We were friends when she attempted suicide, and I had no idea she was considering it until she did.
Secondly, when I was 17. I was suicidal myself. I tried swallowing a bunch of pills, but my stomach rebelled. It gets better. It's hard to see that when you're mired in despair, but it gets better.
http://virtual.recorder.ca/doc/Brockville-Recorder-and-Times/jan-feb_backpack2012/2012010601/#0
Secondly, when I was 17. I was suicidal myself. I tried swallowing a bunch of pills, but my stomach rebelled. It gets better. It's hard to see that when you're mired in despair, but it gets better.
http://virtual.recorder.ca/doc/Brockville-Recorder-and-Times/jan-feb_backpack2012/2012010601/#0
Monday, January 9, 2012
Happy New Year!
It's a new year, and time to take stock. Since I just finished reading Gretchen Rubin's "The Happiness Project" (a book I highly recommend), my stock-taking has been inspired by some of the suggestions from Rubin.
Many of Rubin's points resonated with me, but one in particular was implemented at once. "Do anything that takes less than a minute to do." You know, things like file the paper, hang the coat in the closet, put something away in the cupboard instead of leaving it on the counter-all those niggling little jobs that can add up to a big pile of stuff on the kitchen table, the stairs or the counter. It has also proved to be a way of dealing with little annoyances-instead of complaining about leaving something on the counter, we now "Request the 1 minute rule." Recycling now gets placed directly into the blue bin rather than left on the counter, Keurig pods are no longer left on the counter in front of the machine, and junk mail is dealt with immediately. Coats are hung up, mitts are put in the cupboard and cupboard doors and drawers are closed.
I've been taking care of everyone else lately, to the detriment of my own health and well-being. I have now started to fit in joy-writing every day, I'm finding time for things that rejuvenate my spirit, even if it's 10 minutes of knitting and watching junk television while my sub-conscious works away on the next task. I need to read at the end of the day-it turns off my head and relaxes me. If I need to go to bed 20 minutes early to accomplish that, so be it. I'm also going to make sure my Playbook is always fully charged so that I can access Kobo when I'm waiting. My daughter may have to make do with Angry Birds on the iPod. Mommy is reading.
I've started running a laundry list of things I'm grateful for at the end of the day as I'm preparing for bed. Instead of thinking about everything that didn't get done, or needs to be done the next day, I spend a few moments reflecting on the good things in my life, even if it's for something as mundane as books, flannel jammies and a purring cat in a warm house with food and water. Reflecting on the positive helps keep the negative goonies at bay.
Here are some other things I want to be better at in 2012, in no particular order:
Don't be afraid to ask for help. I will help anyone who asks, but I've always taken care of my own problems, thank you. A wise friend of mine once pointed out that by refusing to ask for help, I was depriving people of the opportunity to return the favour. I need to be more aware of that this year.
Sometimes it's okay to be selfish. Moms will get this. Sometimes, you just need to run away and do something completely selfish that is just for you. Earlier this year, I ran away to Stratford for an entire, glorious day and evening. I went to two of my favorite musicals by nyself, took myself out for dinner and came back restored, having fed my soul for a day.
Cut myself the same slack I give others. I'm really demanding of myself. I'm much more forgiving of others' mistakes. I need to cut myself some slack.
The world will not end if I say no to commitments. I juggle a lot of hats and a lot of responsibilities. This year, I need to be more judicious about choosing what I add on to an already full plate. The world will not end if I make rice krispies squares instead of sugar cookies to send with the kid for school. (I am not willing to push the limit so far that I actually BUY something rather than bake something. Not this year, anyway. )
So what are your promises to yourself for 2012?
Many of Rubin's points resonated with me, but one in particular was implemented at once. "Do anything that takes less than a minute to do." You know, things like file the paper, hang the coat in the closet, put something away in the cupboard instead of leaving it on the counter-all those niggling little jobs that can add up to a big pile of stuff on the kitchen table, the stairs or the counter. It has also proved to be a way of dealing with little annoyances-instead of complaining about leaving something on the counter, we now "Request the 1 minute rule." Recycling now gets placed directly into the blue bin rather than left on the counter, Keurig pods are no longer left on the counter in front of the machine, and junk mail is dealt with immediately. Coats are hung up, mitts are put in the cupboard and cupboard doors and drawers are closed.
I've been taking care of everyone else lately, to the detriment of my own health and well-being. I have now started to fit in joy-writing every day, I'm finding time for things that rejuvenate my spirit, even if it's 10 minutes of knitting and watching junk television while my sub-conscious works away on the next task. I need to read at the end of the day-it turns off my head and relaxes me. If I need to go to bed 20 minutes early to accomplish that, so be it. I'm also going to make sure my Playbook is always fully charged so that I can access Kobo when I'm waiting. My daughter may have to make do with Angry Birds on the iPod. Mommy is reading.
I've started running a laundry list of things I'm grateful for at the end of the day as I'm preparing for bed. Instead of thinking about everything that didn't get done, or needs to be done the next day, I spend a few moments reflecting on the good things in my life, even if it's for something as mundane as books, flannel jammies and a purring cat in a warm house with food and water. Reflecting on the positive helps keep the negative goonies at bay.
Here are some other things I want to be better at in 2012, in no particular order:
Don't be afraid to ask for help. I will help anyone who asks, but I've always taken care of my own problems, thank you. A wise friend of mine once pointed out that by refusing to ask for help, I was depriving people of the opportunity to return the favour. I need to be more aware of that this year.
Sometimes it's okay to be selfish. Moms will get this. Sometimes, you just need to run away and do something completely selfish that is just for you. Earlier this year, I ran away to Stratford for an entire, glorious day and evening. I went to two of my favorite musicals by nyself, took myself out for dinner and came back restored, having fed my soul for a day.
Cut myself the same slack I give others. I'm really demanding of myself. I'm much more forgiving of others' mistakes. I need to cut myself some slack.
The world will not end if I say no to commitments. I juggle a lot of hats and a lot of responsibilities. This year, I need to be more judicious about choosing what I add on to an already full plate. The world will not end if I make rice krispies squares instead of sugar cookies to send with the kid for school. (I am not willing to push the limit so far that I actually BUY something rather than bake something. Not this year, anyway. )
So what are your promises to yourself for 2012?
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