It's a gas!

I hate throwing things out when they're broken, and my first impulse is always to fix the object in question. For instance, my fan is fixed with elastic bands, electrical tape and duct tape. It looks like something someone threw out in 1956, but it works! 

With my shower curtain that I'd had for about four years, I'd repaired the rips with Scotch tape and duct tape, but these fixes weren't holding, due to the propensity of the shower curtain to get wet and compromise the stickiness of the tape, which then hung off it in soggy curlicues. Also, after trying half-heartedly to scrub the grime and slime from the bottom of the shower curtain, I finally decided it was time to buy a new one.

I'd heard about "eco-friendly" shower curtains that didn't "off gas" toxic fumes, so I went out to buy one. After all, who wants endocrine-disrupting gases insinuating themselves into the atmosphere of your home? I suspect my endocrines are already suffering from living in downtown Toronto and breathing in fossil-fuelled transportation devices.

I wasn't happy with the price of the "eco-friendly" shower curtain, but I figured I'd sacrifice money for the sake of not succumbing to phthalate-induced illnesses.

When I got home, I laboriously took down the old, ripped shower curtain and, regretfully, threw it down the garbage chute. Hanging up the new one, I noticed it had a very strong smell that I found highly unpleasant. Still, I expected this smell to diminish after a few hours. 

It didn't. In fact, the awful smell permeated my whole apartment. I could have sworn I smelled it when I got off the elevator in the hallway! Drastic measures needed to be taken.

I pulled the shower curtain down off the rail, letting it fall into the tub, which I then filled with hot water and expensive bubble bath. I left the smelly shower curtain in there for a few hours before rehanging it. After it had dried off, though, it still emitted a very strong chemically odour.

I pulled the shower curtain back down and hung it outside on the balcony, hoping that maybe the "fresh" air would kill the fumes. But no, this didn't work.

That was it: I was forced to throw out the shower curtain -- that was two sent to landfill within one week -- and I bought a new benign-smelling one that had no boasts about being better for the environment. So much for my environmental cred…..

My date with an Italian…..

What's a girl to do on a hot July weekend when Formula 1 racing cars are speeding around a track just a 10-minute walk from your place? She gets outta town. This downtowner decided to take off first thing Saturday morning in a rental car and head for the Uplands backpacking trail in Algonquin Park.

The rental was a Fiat, the kind you see in the TV commercials where all the Fiats drive by themselves from Italy, under the Atlantic, and arrive on North American shores pumping Euro-dance music. Cute, eh? I thought so, not realizing that CUTE is not exactly the attribute you want in a car that needs to take you over a long distance without aggravating you over dumb little details.

The Fiat was another Rubiks cube for me. 

The first sign of trouble was the key. I couldn't locate it on the FOB. When I asked the parking lot attendant where the key was, he pushed a button on the FOB and the key shot out of a slot on the side. 

Mumbling aloud about unnecessary gadgetry, I got into the Fiat and was overwhelmed by the stylish leather seats and slickly designed instrument panel made to look like a Lear jet cockpit. 

Problem was, I couldn't figure out how to do anything. 

Adjusting mirrors, tilting the seat back, locating the flashers, finding the sound system controls -- all became an ordeal that I partially gave up on because I really just wanted to hit the road. Leaving the underground parking lot, I had to feed the parking voucher into a machine. This was awkward because I was unable to figure out how to open the window. Normally you open a car window using buttons on the door… but there were none on the Fiat. A few hours later I discovered the window buttons in the middle of the dashboard! 

Once on the road, the engine kept revving up as if it were on manual transmission. Suspecting this Fiat was a manual/automatic cross like I'd unknowingly rented once before, I checked the owner's manual when I got to my apartment to pick up my bags. No mention of this type of transmission.

I clumsily packed the car. How was I supposed to push the seat back so I could fit my backpack into the minuscule back seat? Where were the levers? Who knows?……I stuck my pack in the tiny trunk instead. 

I blasted up the Don Valley Parkway. As my speed increased, the transmission shifted like it was on manual. Every time it shifted, the car jerked, leaving my eyebrows behind. I couldn't believe how noisy the engine was! I could barely hear 102.1's retro grunge, and I had to turn up the volume. Still the engine screamed like it was being tortured in the Roman catacombs. 

There were even gear numbers showing on the Lear jet instrument panel. In order to make the car slightly less noisy and shift from gear 3 to gear 4 I had to zoom up to 140 kph. But how long could I sustain this speed? If felt like I was driving a go kart on a Formula 1 track-- or driving in one of those dreams where you don't really feel in control.

The gears and screaming engine really annoyed me as I drove non-stop to the West Gate of Algonquin Park. You may wonder why I didn't stop and check the car's manual more carefully during the trip; well, I was timing the drive... It took me exactly three and a half hours from Harbourfront to the west gate up highway 35 to avoid weekend cottage country rush hour on highway 400. 

As soon as I jumped out of the car, I was accosted by a young couple who'd also rented a Fiat and wanted to know how to push the seats back. "No idea!" I said.

Over lunch, I pored through the manual. There was something called the Sport button, to be pushed and used on tight curves. I was irrationally paranoid of trying it, though. What if it put the car totally out of control and I crashed into some Canadian Shield pink rock? 

After lunch I got back into the car and shifted into Drive, then pulled onto highway 60. The car hummed quietly, with no more revving or crazy jerking. I suddenly noticed that the gear shift had a "D" with a "+" and a "-" sign beside it, and that I'd driven all the way from Toronto with it in "+" or overdrive.

But putting cares about the car aside, I changed into my hobo-esque hiking boots with destroyed soles and a melted tongue…It was time to get physical with my backpack and walk into the woods for some solo camping.

Drain Drama: Diary of mad hour in my bathroom

7:24 - Realize bathroom sink is clogged. Water stuck in sink and not moving.

7:25 - Pull out sink plug and notice how covered in slime it is. Realize have not cleaned it for years, maybe ever.

7:27 - Get on hands and knees and awkwardly look in cupboard under sink. Pull out thing-a-ma-jigger that works the sink plug.

7:29 - Attempt to stand up, and bang head. Swear loudly. Notice water still trapped in sink.

7:30 - Remove all crap from inside cupboard. Notice things I didn't know I still owned and for which I've needlessly bought duplicates…(i.e. nail polish remover)

7:37 - Back down on hands and knees. Unscrew some other thingy. Water begins pouring into cupboard. Desperately screw thing back in. 

7:41 - Dump vinegar and baking soda into sink. Watch interesting sizzling. But no movement on water.

7:43 - Dump eco-friendly toilet cleaner into sink. Watch it float around uselessly. Swear some more.

7:45 - Bring out chemical warfare - DRANO - and dump crystals in sink. Go watch Big Bang Theory for a few minutes. 

8:00 - Back to sink. Ugly blue pond of water trapped in sink. No movement.

8:01 - Contort body into unnatural shape again and go back inside cupboard to uplug thingy. 

8:03 - Ugly blue water pours into cupboard and onto arms. Scream like banshee and run to kitchen sink to wash skin.

8:08 - Sulk over chemical burns and hives forming on skin. Rewash with extra soap.

8:11 - Take wire coat hanger and straighten it. Put down into drain and wiggle around. All sorts of hard scum comes back up. 

8:14 - Turn on water. Ugly blue water pours into empty cupboard. 

8:15 - Clean up mess under cupboard. Get bucket and put it under drain. Remove thingy. Water pours into bucket. Genius!

8:22 - Try putting chain down drain. Suddenly lose grip and chain falls down drain! Swear like sailor. Stomp around in circles scaring cat.

8:27 - Using a plier, fashion a small hook on the end of the straightened hanger. Stick down drain and carefully "fish" for chain. Swear and feel like crying and laughing at once.

8:31 - Eventually get hold of chain and bring back up out of drain. Very slimy. 

8:35 - Call male friends asking for help. None available until Sat. Unacceptable!

8:45 - However, hear back from Frank, who offers to bring over "snake" tomorrow. Plumbing appointment set for 12:30 EST.

Epilogue: It took three tries, but Frank's snake finally busted through the giant clog, and water could flow again. If you've never seen what soap and hairs do when they bond together in a drain for years on end, I can tell you it ain't pretty….

Lock up your fruit trees

The urban foraging season is here! I was thrilled to find a big rhubarb plant growing in a yard beside a U of T building this week. Assuming no one was ever going to pick it and it would just go to waste, I stealthily snuck into the yard, and cut a bunch of rhubarb stalks, took them home, and stewed them for dessert. Recipe: Simmer the stalks in a bit of water until they're soft, add sugar, and voila…. sweet/sour deliciousness.

Every spring I'm on a quest for abandoned rhubarb. One year I found a nice big plant growing on Sudbury Street. I pulled out my knife and was about to hack off some stalks when I looked up and realized I was right out in front of Dufflet desserts; very likely it was their rhubarb they were planning to bake into some delectable dessert. As it was 2:00 in the afternoon, I jumped on my bike and got out of there fast before someone inside noticed the rhubarb robber...

In fact, nothing is safe from my predation. If your fruit-bearing tree or bush has branches shooting over your fence onto the public space of a sidewalk, look out -- my highly sensitive fruit-raiding radar will hone in on your fruit and pick and eat it. Plus, I have several secret locations where I usually pick berries.

I was discomfited to see the new configuration of the park at Clarence Square. A section of it has been cordoned off and made into a leash-free dog-run area. This is great for the dogs, but not so great for me, since there's an apple tree now inside the dog area. I used to pick apples from it in the fall by hitting them with a stick so they fell onto the ground… Now? The ground is not looking too sanitary.. So goodbye, Clarence Square apple pies.

If I trusted Lake Ontario, I'd be out fishing at Harbourfront every morning to catch dinner. But how healthy is that environment for fish? According to the Ministry of Natural Resources, mercury, PCB, and dioxin levels have dropped drastically in Lake Ontario fish…. But -- I just can't do it. It's like when I went swimming at Cherry Beach a couple of years ago -- the water was officially clean enough to swim in -- but it just felt wrong, and I did not linger. (Plus, there were tall weeds threatening to wrap themselves around my legs and drown me like in a horror movie.)

I've been goaded further in my foraging frenzy by taking an edible and medicinal foods workshop. Suddenly, after going on a guided walk through a Rosedale ravine and sampling a profusion of edible plants, I'm looking funny at every plant I see growing anywhere in the city. No plant is safe from my herbivorous gaze.

Garlic mustard is everywhere (it's an invasive species, and we can help eradicate it by eating it), and my big love now is gout weed. It's so delicious! I can pick handfuls of it for on-the-spot salad eating. Stinging nettle and burdock are everywhere too. Most exotic are the Japanese knotweed plants, which look like bamboo from another planet. These are also an invasive species and should be devoured. The only proviso is that you need to eat them right away; otherwise the stalks get soggy and lose their flavour.

With all these plants and berries growing all over the city, I may not need to feel so bad about being unable to afford organic farmer's market prices!

Log of the Lost and Broken

I'd been injury-free for a couple of years--a record for me--until a couple of weeks ago when I injured myself two days in a row.

The task was simple: move a shelving unit four feet away from a heating vent so workmen could come in and change the filter. A normal woman would have ascertained that the easiest way to do this would be to remove all the heavy electronics components, DVDs, and books from the unit to make it lighter.

I, however, decided to shove the shelving unit by brute force away from the wall. Leaning down, I grasped the corner and pushed hard. At that moment, I distinctly felt something go "pop!" in the side of my back. And then I felt a sharp pain.

The next night, while walking along Bloor St., I tripped on a clear plastic string that was sticking up from the sidewalk, and fell down hard on the beautiful granite pavement--right knee first, and then my entire right arm took the force of the fall.

The knee pain and back pain went away within days; my arm is slowly getting better, and I was even able to do all the usual shoulder and chest exercises at the gym recently. This is important, as I need to be in top shape for the summer's gonzo canoe trip in the remote Boreal forest.

Though injury-free, the first few months of 2013 have been replete with incidents of breakage and loss. And not being prone to magical thinking, I cannot blame it on the Mayan apocalypse.

The inventory goes something like this:

Lost

• 1 gold earring: Very annoying because to replace it; I have to buy two new earrings, not just one.
• 1 makeup bag: Extremely annoying, since it contained a brand-new expensive lipstick, which I then had to go out and re-buy.
• 2 mittens: One was inside the other (my hands get cold!), which means I lost two from two sets, a double whammy.
• 2 grapefruit spoons! Love those serrated edges.

Broken

• Cellphone screen: Dropped the phone, creating a jaggedy crack that's getting bigger.
• Stapler: I was kind of glad, since it was old and ugly anyway. 
• Silver chain: You'd think since it's real silver it would be sturdier, but no.
• Knapsack zipper: The rest of the bag was fine--but I had to throw it out -- how wasteful!
• Watch: Such a drag that my Swatch just stopped ticking. So much for the Swiss.
• Computer: Yes, I'm still using the old iMac, and it's turquoise. It keeps crashing and making ominous electro-shock noises
• Boot heel: It's come off, and shoe repairers refuse to try to put it back on! Now what?
• Wallet: The zipper broke right off, and the button to close it stopped working, so I threw it out (more waste!) and began using the Fossil wallet I received at a Dean Brody CD release party.
• Mirror: I bought it cheap at Canadian Tire, and the bottom part of the frame has come off, meaning the glass has slipped down, to  reveal the ugly cardboard underneath.
• Hem of living room curtain - ripped! Thanks, kitty...

Lost but found again

• Wallet: I left it at the cash register at Loblaws Queen W., and when I rushed back there in a panic, the cashier had turned it in to customer service. There really are good people in the world.

Confiscated by airport security

• Swiss Army knife: It was a good one too, with all the attachments a girl needs to open bottles and cans in the wilderness.

Easter on the escarpment

It was a perfect day for hawk watching. Beamsville conservation area is known to be a magnet for those superbirds of prey, particularly the special birdwatching platform constructed for avid birders. For a reason I couldn't fathom, the hawks were supposed to do regular fly-bys past the platform, thrilling birders with their aerial acrobatics.

But T. and I were disappointed. No hawks flew over our heads -- just a lot of turkey vultures, drifting high above us over the Niagara escarpment.

We decided to hike down into the river valley and eat our lunch. Mine was a peanut butter sandwich, and I was perturbed to see that half the peanut butter had oozed out through the cracks of the sandwich box and spread all over the interior of my knapsack. Everything--wallet, makeup bag, pens, maps--was coated in a layer of oily peanut butter. T., for her part, had actually forgotten to bring her lunch, which was languishing uneaten back in the truck.

Above us, the vultures circled, getting closer and closer, scoping us out for pillaging purposes.

"They're not getting any of my food," I said, attempting to hide my sandwich from all those eyes in the sky.

By the end of the day, the conservation people had posted hawk sighting numbers on their website. A great number of hawks had been sighted after our departure, along with approximately 740 turkey vultures.

"They must be the same vultures coming back and flying over the same area." I told T. cynically, finding it hard to believe the sky had been darkened with so many vultures, like some kind of biblical plague.

T. and I congratulated ourselves on resisting the temptation to stop at the numerous wineries along the escarpment. Many of them were offering free samples, which would have been a disaster for our livers. Not to mention the possibility of passing out hammered in a field somewhere, and waking up with 740 vultures circling above us.