Stacked Heels

1. I believe in past lives, reincarnation, old souls and all that stuff. More specifically, I believe that in my most recent past life, I was a war widow. I’m almost positive that I lost a husband, someone that would have been the love of my life because any time I come across something that suggests someone’s died in battle and left behind wives/fiancées/children, ooooh, the waterworks just start. It’s almost like I feel the loss acutely again and again, like there’s a wound in my heart that’s not healed. It’s also the only explanation I have for the reaction I have to movies about war, or newscasts about fallen soldiers or commercials for Remembrance Day – I become nearly inconsolable. I’ve tried to control this a bit more since I met and married Homer because I think I’ve been a lot happier since I met him and they don’t have quite the same affect on me, plus it freaks him right the fuck out when I burst into tears over a commercial. But, still…
2. I am an enormous Bruce Springsteen fan. And I almost have to list this one under protest because I find that COMPLETELY NORMAL about myself. But just about everyone I know thinks I’m completely weird about it; even obsessed, some say. Of course, when they say that, I point out that I could be a lot worse – there ARE Springsteen fans out there MORE obsessive than me for sure. I’ve met some of them, okay? I am NOT that bad. Granted, the fact that I’ve been to 13 Springsteen concerts in the last 15 years may sound like a lot – I’ll give you that (BTW, Concert #14 is scheduled for March 30 in Vancouver. Wheee!). And really, my only response is that no two of those concerts were the same, not even two of the 7 I saw on the same tour, swear to God. And part of the appeal of going to numerous concerts of his is that DAMN he has a lot of fun up there! It’s infectious – I leave every concert with no voice and a feeling of complete euphoria, having laughed and cried and sang along all night. So maybe that’s where the weirdness comes in – I do get emotional over Bruce. It’s hard to explain but I know other fans are the same way. Bruce is part of our families; he’s the soundtrack to our lives and loves and hopes and dreams and fears. So recently, when I heard that Danny Federici, one of the original 5 band members, was taking a leave of absence due to illness and the rumor was cancer, well, it brought me to tears. Like it’s happening to a close friend.
3. I think I can cook/bake anything. Which probably doesn’t sound weird, but I frequently have grandiose plans that don’t quite come to fruition (I am a good cook, tho, don’t get me wrong – which is why this blog will one day be part food blog just as soon as I remember to take pictures of what I’m baking/cooking before shoving it down my gullet.). For instance, I recently attempted my first Julia Child dish, Coq au Vin, which actually requires ¼ cup of brandy to be lit on fire in your pot on the stove. Yeah, I’m sure that took a few years off my life, but I didn’t even balk at that when I read the recipe – it was more like, “Flambe??? COOL!” Homer was a little more concerned, but my Coq au Vin was well worth all the work in the end. And I’m sure it had nothing to do with Homer getting the stomach flu later that evening…

Also, my Christmas dilemma has been resolved! Unfortunately my parents won’t be joining us, but they are planning to fly back shortly after Christmas, and once we’ve gotten a few days of snowboarding in, we’ll be heading up to celebrate New Years with them. FUN! I will be hosting Christmas dinner for my husband, my two sisters, one of their boyfriends and the total dog count for about 36 hours over Christmas/Boxing Days will be 3. Sweet! I’m planning a spectacular menu, too, although I’m trying to think of at least one vegetable side dish that’s not gross vegetables cooked beyond recognition into mush. I refuse to have leftovers in my fridge that I won’t eat this year. I think I’m most excited about trying David Leibovitz’s recipe for Salted Butter Caramel ice cream for dessert. I bought his book, The Perfect Scoop, this summer and the ice cream attachment for my KitchenAid and Oh! My! Word! It’s quite possibly the best combination of kitchen supplies in the history of the world! (Unfortunately, his recipe for Salted Butter Caramel ice cream is not in the book, but he posted it on his website here. I’m also wondering if I should serve it with the chocolate truffles mixed in as he suggests or with something else (chocolate cake – not Christmas-y enough? Apple pie or tarte tatin, as suggested at the end of the recipe? Hmm…) or maybe just a big ol’ scoop on its own is just fine.) Anyway, I’m tres excited about the menu, especially now that Homer bought me my birthday present early – voila! My very own cast iron, enamel coated Dutch oven! In bright red! Isn’t it pretty?

I’m so very in the Christmas spirit this year, it’s frightening! I’ve even considered sewing Homer, Tucker and I Christmas stockings – and I’m by no means a sew-er! Scary. I bought some new tree ornaments a month ago at Ikea and since our tree is buried at the back of our storage closet, I decided to just keep them out until we decorate it and every time I look at them, I’m like, “Ooooh, we should put up the tree!” And then I remember it’s not even December yet so that would be a little crazy for me. Usually I leave the tree as an excuse to drink eggnog and booze on my birthday halfway through the month (like you should really need an excuse to drink booze on your birthday, though, seriously!), but I might just get it up this weekend, once it’s finally December!

And my dad came through his double knee replacement beautifully – it’s been just over two weeks and he’s been using his cane instead of a walker for over a week already. I think he’s sleeping a bit better, as well, although he thought he’d be in less pain by now. Nutbar! He just had TWO knees replaced! That shit’s gotta hurt for a while, don’t you think?? My mom sent pictures of his scars the other day but I just can’t bring myself to post that for all those who are a little squeamish about that stuff. Yeesh!

I’ve got so many plans for this weekend, I’m not sure I’ll get everything done. I started an ambitious Christmas baking plan last weekend, shown above, and have 3 more recipes to plow through this weekend to keep on top of it, plus I want to get the tree and outside decorations up and Tucker has a vet appointment for some vaccinations and a consult on when he’s going to get The Big Snip, poor little guy. I also had lunch with my photographer-friend yesterday and she lit a fire under my ass to improve my photography website with iWeb on my iMac at home, so now I’m all anxious to start that, too!!! SHEESH!

Au revoir, Novembre! Seeya next year!

Love,

Diamond Jackie

I was reading all the archives from Smitten Kitchen from before she was in the Kitchen, and something she did really hit home for me: she learned to ski a few years back.

Now, I’m an Alberta girl and there are very few people I grew up with who had never skied before. My first ski trip was when I was just 8, although that is pretty old by the standards these days. My parents packed up my two sisters and me and went to visit my aunt in Canmore. We skied Sunshine Village and I remember being so proud of myself that I managed to ski down from the Strawberry chair 3 times! I also remember snow getting into my mittens and I started to cry because my hands got so cold they hurt. Other interesting tidbits about that trip: my older sister, D, was skiing with my dad (the first and last time I’ve even known him to ski) and he took off through the trees, cackling like a madman the whole time. There was some talk later about the difficult run he ended up on and my sister digging him out of a snow bank or something, but it’s possible that’s just urban legend. D also took my mom up the Standish chairlift to do a run, and ever since that day my mom has declared that mountain was so high, God could hear her, so they made a deal: if he got her off that mountain, she’d never ski again. And she never has.

Some of my favourite ski trips were with friends during school. Since my parents weren’t about to take me skiing all the time, luckily I had some friends whose parents would. I remember skiing with my friend, jeci, and her dad once. We were playing word games on the chairlifts – we’d start counting round-robin style and every 3 or multiple of 3 or number with 3 in it we had to replace with ‘Pouf!’ For example: 1, 2, Pouf!, 4, 5, Pouf!, 7, 8, Pouf!, 10, 11, Pouf!, Pouf!, 14, Pouf!…you get the idea – jeci’s dad was a teacher. Of course, once we were on the hill, if we wiped out at some point, we’d declared we’d had either ‘un grand pouf’ or ‘un petit pouf’ (‘big wipeout’, ‘small wipeout’, right?). Now, jeci is a fantastic skier and would take off like a rocket off the chairlift. I was much more of a scaredy-cat, so I’d follow along behind her and her dad would follow me to make sure I didn’t fall off a cliff or something. We got into the habit of meeting up somewhere in the middle of the run so we could make sure everyone was still together. At one of these stopovers, I caught up the jeci and we stood there chatting for a few minutes waiting for her dad to arrive. Five, then ten minutes passed and he didn’t show, while we were like, “Jeez, where is he?” Finally, we spotted him slowly zigzagging across the hill. He was over 6 feet tall, with a bright orange toque, glasses, and bushy, black beard, but coming toward us at that moment, every inch of him was covered with sticky snow. We stood there in awe by the time he reached us and all he said was, “Un grand pouf. Un grand, grand pouf.” Naturally, jeci and I nearly ‘pouf’ed ourselves laughing so hard (after we asked if he was alright, of course…).

I lost some of my scaredy-cat tendencies after a few more years of skiing, but I was never a really great or fearless skier. I got to the point where, if I used my head (and not the part of me I liked to call ‘the reckless abandon’), I could go a whole day without wiping out at all, so that was definitely progress. However, about 5 years ago in my late 20s, I finally took up snowboarding. And boy did THAT kick my ass.

It’s actually very humbling to have felt so at home doing something for so many years and then trying something similar and having to start over on the bunny hill. Both my sisters and I decided to go snowboarding for the first time together, so at least I wasn’t alone in my humiliation. D and P are both pretty natural athletes, although I had had the most ski experience in recent years, so I thought we’d be on pretty even footing.

You also have to understand that being on a ski hill, ANY ski hill, is a bit of a fashion show. At least it certainly was when I was skiing in the 80s and 90s. So, when we were gearing up for snowboarding and were offered helmets? Uh, hell no.

1^ST TIME SNOWBOARDER LESSON #1: Wear a helmet. You’ll actually be far more inclined to go snowboarding again if your first memory of it is not cracking your head 2 minutes into the day. Just about everyone wears them now, anyway, so the fashion thing is not so important. Of course, my helmet has a flower design on it, but it’s just the shape of the ventilation holes. It CAME that way.

I think what I love most about snowboarding is that it is so different from skiing. It is a far better workout, for one thing. Back in the day, when my friends and I would get off the hill, we’d usually be ready to hit a pub for some drinks and dancing all night. After snowboarding however, my entire body aches because I seem to use a lot more and a lot different muscles than skiing (or anything else, come to think of it!). I think even the muscles in my eyelids are sore. And don’t even get me started on my abs – I feel that for at least 3 days. Of course, it could just be that I’m 31 and not 18 anymore and don’t ‘bounce’ like I used to. But that’s kind of also my point – and Smitten’s as well, actually – that I chose to learn something new and physically demanding at my age, when most of the kids on that hill have been doing it longer and better at half my age. I constantly defy my chiropractor – I told him we were planning to go snowboarding in Whistler for our honeymoon 2 years ago and he just shook his head and said, “All these 30-year-olds, learning how to snowboard!” like it was something bad! He also had the nerve to suggest I wear hockey pants to protect my tailbone. Yeah, remember that fashion thing I was telling you about and how it doesn’t really matter? Well, it totally WOULD if I had to wear hockey pants! I can NOT be a cute snowboarder in hockey pants, no sir.

Of course, I’m by no means a very good snowboarder - in fact, a friend of Homer’s who usually comes with us, J, likes to tell me I have ‘sand in my vagina’ when I’m being such a chicken. Very eloquent, no? I finally got my own gear last year and made it out 2 or 3 times, with small successes gained every time. We’re planning to go out at least 2 or 3 times this year to a different hill, so we’ll see how many ‘grand poufs’ I end up in and if I can get the ’sand out of my vagina’. I can’t wait!

Here’s my gear:

(I thought it was too bad my boots have pink on them. I remember back when I was in the 9th grade and my parents were buying me my first (actually, my only) set of skis - I wanted black skis, but the sales guy was like, “Weellll, all the girls ski boots are white, so they won’t match…” And since I was in the 9th grade, everything had to match so I got the damn white boots and skis…and then coordinated all my skiwear to match too.)

Love DJ