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.

The strawberry ice cream test

I have no will power. I am weak and out of control. I need to keep temptation out of my sight and out of my home; otherwise, I completely let myself go....Over the last month I've gained 5 pounds. It started with the opera fundraiser when I baked a batch of chocolate chip cookies and ate 6 of them before they could make it out the door. Next it was the strawberry Hagen Daz ice cream that was on sale for half price--how could I resist? I thought I'd keep it in my freezer as a sort of test to see exactly how long I could go without eating it. The results were dismal:

Night 1 - Slowly eat 2 tablespoons of ice cream. Savour it as it melts deliciously in my mouth. Resolutely put the remaining ice cream back in freezer. Feel smug about self control.

Night 2 - Take 2 more tablespoons of ice cream. So yummy! Put container back in freezer. Think about how a couple more spoonfuls wouldn't hurt. Get out ice cream. Look at calorie and fat listings on container. Put ice cream back. Think about it some more. Pull ice cream out of freezer. Eat 2 tablespoons. Eat 2 more. Suddenly a mindless madness overcomes me and I can't stop.  Eat the whole tub of ice cream, and feel fat.

My food intake is way up, but otherwise my life remains the same. Except that I now have a new kettle. The switch on the old one broke a few months ago, but I rigged it to work by sticking a dull but pointy knife in the hole where the switch had been, twisting the blade, and holding it in position by wedging the handle against a heavy mug to keep the kettle "on." I got overly ambitious, though, and decided to clean out the broken switch pieces, with negative results. The kettle was irredeemably broken.

Two things: Why do all kettles have to have switches on them? And why does no one fix small appliances anymore, meaning you  have to send perfectly good kettles to the garbage when a simple fix would make them functional again?

My Dad, who has no time for old junk and always knows where to find bargains, took me to buy a new kettle. I insisted we go to Canadian Tire, even though he pointed out that kettles would be cheaper at Wal-Mart. I said I'd rather support a Canadian company than an evil American imperialist mega-corporation. All the kettles at Canadian Tire were expensive, though. We then tried Zeller's next door--still no steel kettles that I liked (I'm avoiding further poisoning myself with plastic kettles), and finally walked into Wal-Mart and found what I wanted, at a reasonable price. Obviously I have no true convictions.

This Christmas weekend has been weird as well. On Saturday I was dusting the den for the first time in 2 months when I dropped my Balinese wooden monster head and broke its nose. I pulled out the glue bottle to fix the nose, and discovered that the nozzle of the bottle was impenetrable with hardened glue. Grabbing that same pointed knife, I tried to pierce the hardened glue, but the knife slipped and I stabbed my finger! Blood spurted, and I had to employ first aid skills to stop the bleeding. Question: Why are bottles of glue made to clog up?


On Saturday night the only TV station I could tune in was playing The Sound of Music, which was my favourite movie of all time when I was a kid. This was actually the first time I'd watched it as an adult, and I didn't like it at all! I found Julie Andrews really irritating, the music trite and fluffy, and the acting contrived and dorky. The musical numbers made me cringe. Wow, how I've changed....This was an interesting revelation about how different our adult selves can become from our child selves. I suspect that some people never really make the transition. Are they better off for that? I prefer sophisticated cynicism myself.....

Everyday entropy

As the weather gets colder and more wintery, I have more problems with the relationship of my body to objects in the time/space continuum, especially if there's a full moon. A few days ago when the full moon was shooting beams down onto Earth, I had a particularly ridiculous day.

It started with dropping a glass saucer first thing in the morning. There I was pre-caffeine, faced with a rambunctious cat and shards of glass scattered all over the floor. I had no choice but to get out the vacuum cleaner and suck up the glass, followed by sweeping to make sure there were no shards left.

The vacuum cleaner is a story in itself. Its long handle broke off years ago. I tried duct-taping it back on, but this flimsy repair couldn't withstand the force of the vacuuming motions. So when I vacuum I have to either do it on my knees or stoop over. Now, with broken glass on the floor, I couldn't kneel, so I had to bend over and vacuum.

As I stood up, I whacked my head hard on the cupboard, then dropped the dustpan full of glass. This meant I had to start all over again with the vacuuming and sweeping--before my cup of tea, remember...

The day went surprisingly smoothly after that, except during another job interview when I noticed dried blood stains on one of my portfolio pieces--no mystery, though--I'm constantly cutting my fingers. As well, I hadn't noticed until leaving the interview that moths had eaten an apple-sized chunk out of my colourful pink scarf.

I was a bit nervous going to opera rehearsal that night, as we were getting the choreography for a song and dance number I'm in, and I'm hopelessly inept at learning dance routines. It takes me 10 times longer than the average person to get them. I decided to make a hearty dinner of nachos before I went out to face my dance Gotterdamerung. Only thing is, I forgot to include cheese. This did not bode well.

Naturally, while getting direction on the dance number, I was unable to remember the lyrics and count kicks at the same time. My brain just short circuited. I'm surprised no one saw the smoke coming out of  my ears...Also, I kept kicking on the wrong side, so I ended up kicking the other girls. I wouldn't blame them if they started wearing protective padding to rehearsals to prevent injury from my wayward kicks.

After that expenditure of energy, I sat in the audience watching my colleagues rehearse. I fiddled with my earring and heard it drop onto the filthy auditorium floor. It's big and gold, so you'd think it wouldn't be hard to spot. But I spent 20 minutes crawling around on the floor among the dustballs looking for it. I  had given up when, during the break as I was talking to a guy who claimed not to have noticed me crawling around  on the floor behind him and freaking out, I spotted the earring right by my foot! This saved the whole entropic day, and gave me hope that not all things in my life will be broken and permanently lost.

What not to eat at a job interview

I'm not in a bargaining position when it comes to work. So I didn't feel able to say no to a job interview that started at 12:00 noon. I didn't bother haggling over scheduling and making it sound like eating is my biggest priority in life (it kind of is).  I speculated as to whether the interviewers would provide sandwiches, but I didn't want to ask in case it sounded too greedy and grasping. Since the interview consisted of a 2-hour writing test followed by a 1-hour interview, I knew there was no way I'd make it to 3:00 without fainting. So I made myself a honey and butter sandwich and stashed it in my purse. Yes, a purse. I do own some, which I carry instead of my usual knapsack when I want to look less like someone coming fresh from the Occupy Toronto site.

I put on just a touch of makeup--lipstick and mascara. Problem is, because of cash-flow issues, I can't afford to replace my monthly contact lenses. I'm therefore wearing leftover and mismatched contacts from my old prescription, which don't allow me to see close up very well. I guessed that the mascara looked OK, jamming my face against the bathroom mirror to have a look, but all I could see was a blurred, deranged-looking face.

At the interview venue, I made myself at home in the boardroom,  sitting down at a fancy-looking, big rosewood board table.

At one point I started to cough due to either dust or cleaning chemicals in the room. This devolved quickly into full-blown hacking. I coughed so hard my eyes watered. I worried about people hearing me coughing, because it sounded like I had TB or pneumonia and needed oxygen. With a cough candy in my mouth, I checked my makeup mirror to see if the mascara had run. Again, all I could see was a blurry blob.

By 1:00 I was starting to feel hungry and stupid....I took out my honey sandwich. Crumbs and honey kept dropping onto the rosewood table. A couple of people went by and looked through the window just as I was licking honey off my fingers. I tried to sweep up the crumbs, and they fell onto the carpet. They were quite visible, so I kicked them under the table. I wet my paper towel and wiped the honey off the boardroom table. Then I chewed gum and reapplied lipstick. At 2:00 the interview team came in and grilled me--thankfully, I did not embarrass myself.

Walking home, I looked down and saw that my recently polished boots were marked up with ugly salt stains....And then at home I took out my contacts and verified that the mascara was in fact smeared all over my eyes, making me look like a raccoon or someone with a drinking problem. For today's job interview I am not wearing mascara, and not bringing anything with honey in it. This way I hope to look more professional and less vagabond and demented,,,,

Tips for carefree IKEA construction

1. Don't tell any friends in the Green party you are buying IKEA products. They'll say IKEA is the "McDonald's of furniture" and that as well as contributing particleboard to landfill, it takes jobs away from local carpenters. You'll then have to contend with feelings of enviro-guilt on top of your construction frustrations. (Note to F. -- I have never put any IKEA furniture in the garbage!)

2. Even if numbers aren't your thing because you're totally artsy, measure the space you want to put the new item into. Chances are, the piece that looked small in the photo of the trendy Stockholm loft will be giant in your highrise apartment.

3. Don't try to make sense out of the extra holes and grooves on the pieces of wood you're using to build your item. It's like junk DNA--not there for any particular reason, just kind of left over from other projects or evolutionary stages.

4. Don't expect the diagrams to be all that obvious. IKEA saves money on translation, copywriting (thanks, eh?)  and paper by not putting any copy in the instruction manual. The diagrams are supposed to be multilingual and easy to understand. Many details are missing, however--like the part that should identify the front vs. back of your chest of drawers so you don't nail the back board to the front and end up with ugly nail holes all over the front. (Grrr.)

5. You'll need tools as well, like a toolbox with screwdrivers and a hammer. You'll really be doing these macho tasks such as hammering, screwing in screws, and of course, taking out all the nails and screws you put into the wrong places because you didn't get enough information from the diagrams.

6. If you want to break up with your spouse, building IKEA furniture together is a perfect precipitating event. Men like to ignore the manual and just go with the flow. Women prefer to study those diagrams. Arguments erupt. Relationships end. Do it alone unless there's an agreement to role assignment of boss and minion.

7, Women, don't allow yourself to get too worked up over the fact that the diagrams often only have men in them (unless they're really frumpy-looking women?). At least the IKEA catalogues show men standing over stoves in those stylish kitchens.

8. As for the instructions to attach the piece of furniture to the wall to ensure it won't topple over in the middle of the night, save your energy and ignore them.... It's more fun to live on the edge.