What's for Lunch?

My first thought on reading the article was the service would not have taken so long if the staff were not all busy passing grade school notes back and forth to each other.
My second thought was assuming a younger, technologically savvy group of workers would be able to operate the computerized billing without such an error coming to light.
My third thought revolved around the dinner party having to pay a 10% service charge to acknowledge the extra service accomplished by the waiter in adding the comments to the bill.
My fourth thought was why the patron complained about how they were spoken to since I’ve yet to hear a talking bill?
My fifth thought - where was Gordon Ramsay when the patrons needed a linguist to retaliate in kind?
My final thought is an eyebrow raised at the prices for the starters, but having endured any number of English cooking shows, even the lowliest of greasy spoons gets to overcharge at will.

‘Journey of the Money’

This one really got by me as the revelation to the world was made on January 28th, but since it has yet to depart on its luxurious, first class jaunt across country, comments, on the ‘Journey of the Torch’, are thus far, not behind the times. One has to be amazed only $31 million dollars have been earmarked for the production and handheld propelling of the torch, replete with iconic emblem, from ‘sea to shining sea’ and as yet venues unknown. As the news release has scant information on the exact route, it would be a shame if the Torch does not visit the shores of the third sea – Arctic Ocean – although maybe this is one of Vanoc’s penny pinching efforts or a lack of hardy volunteers willing to brave the northern icebox. Still, I surmise that organizing committee, together with a couple of well heeled sponsors; have no concern with the costs involved – a mere pittance of $2583 per person or $886 per kilometre – 35,000 kilometres seems overwhelming - to ferry the Olympic flame hither and yon. Before anyone points out the money comes from companies, might I remind everyone who purchases a Coca-Cola product pays for the trip and RBC will reduce the interest on savings to finance their share. And let us not forget, Vanoc’s share gushes straight out of the public purse – the old tax bag.
But alas, this represents only a partial accounting of the true costs involved in staging this world class spectacle: the tab for security was neglected for the initial cost analysis; therefore, add in the expense of innumerable members of the RCMP, provincial and municipal police for the over 100 ‘shining days’. Remember most of the hours involved will be at premium overtime and not even gas is cheap these days, even in Alberta. And don’t forget the politicians, with their retinue of staff, taking time off their rigorous duties to attend the functions as they pass through their individual bailiwicks. Opportunities for ‘photo bites’ do not always fall so easily into one’s grasp; and as such, cost takes precedence over fiscal responsibility. Of course, these additional expenses will not be considered Olympic debt, but simply written off as petty cash charges allotted from countless slush funds. Might I pass along a suggestion to VANOC? Since the torch relay falls into the realm of Olympic business, prevent anyone – under threat of fine or imprisonment – except authorized photographers and cinematographers from capturing the sights, sounds and glory of the pageant; and then, sell these items and memories back to the public under the Olympic banner to provide bonuses for the hard working committee members and blatant handouts to the IOC.

D is for Dates

Neither dates nor figs have been high on my list of must have foods. After a debilitating experience with overeating pounds of dried apricots as a kid, I decided fresh fruit was the only way to go; besides which, gnawing through leathery produce leaves a lot to be desired unless it is your final meal. Mind you, there are outlets now carrying fresh dates and figs, lovely when extremely fresh, as the city becomes more cosmopolitan. In addition some brands of dried dates are exceptionally edible when reconstituted for use in date squares which are exceedingly tastier when made fresh and eaten within a couple of days. Oodles of sugar in this recipe, but a religiously followed running program will melt away any excess pounds.

5/8 cup margarine, softened
5/8 cup brown sugar, packed
1/2 cup whole wheat flour
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
3/4 cup rolled oats
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
3/8 cup sugar plus1 tablespoon sugar
3/4 cup water
7 ounces dried pitted dates, chopped into 3/8” chunks

1. Combine dates, white sugar and water in pan and cook over medium low heat for at least 10 minutes or until thickened sufficiently, consistency of peanut butter, stirring constantly. Set aside to cool.
2. Combine margarine and brown sugar in bowl until fluffy. Add flours, oats and soda. Mix thoroughly together with spoon.
3. Spoon 2/3 of flour mixture into 8"x8" glass baking dish and press down. Add in cooled dates and level out evenly. Spread remaining flour/oat mixture on top and lightly press in to dates.
4. Cook on center shelf of preheated 375' oven for 30 minutes or until nicely browned on top.
5. Remove from oven to cool. Slice into 16 squares while still warm.
6. Store in fridge up to 6 days.

Birthday Greetings

HAPPY 4th BIRTHDAY BRADY

Love Gramps.

Although your birthday is the 13th, party day seems more appropriate.

Is Anybody Up There?

Who would have thought? All those times someone caught me talking to myself, I was actually hard at work growing hair on my head. Having only a rudimentary knowledge of cell biology – I was under the impression cells spend all of their hours either intaking ‘food’ or pushing out ‘waste’ – little did I realize they were in fact conducting periodic information exchanges and gabfests. Sort of like the crows gathering around lunchtime to discuss garbage piles, compare road kill and aggressively caw their heads off. Obviously, for the hair ‘challenged’, nobody up there is carrying on a dialogue resulting in the expansion of a bald pate. Chances are it starts out as a minor disagreement allowing the shedding of only a few stray hairs, but before long settling into a silent war of attrition dooming the follicles to barrenness. Alas, evolution appears to have overlooked the necessity of a ‘Freudian’ gene or cell to mediate internal disputes with a view to equitable resolutions.
As for me, conversation up there must be reasonably amicable. Coverage has barely suffered through any recession, although some minor thinning has occurred – likely a cultivation technique to allow the remaining follicles to grow stronger. Communicative genes may be passed down the generations. Dear old dad, not that I ever knew him that well, left this earth with most of his follicles intact maybe as a consequence of the voices, not only caring for his hair rejuvenation, but also having direct tête-à-têtes with him. Apparently, this was not a medical condition, rather a peculiar choice in light of his preferred lifestyle and choice of residences. But I digress. As an issue of self-interest and taking cues from perusing myriad health articles, I’m off to dose myself with vitamin D and omega-3 fatty acids; thereby treating my head cells to fine dining in hopes of encouraging their continued friendship and talkative nature.

Tillandsia

If you reside in a small apartment or high rise condo, trying to find a couple of living plants to liven up the décor can be difficult. Most choices have a tendency to grow and grow, requiring more of limited space, plus they want a bigger spot for their roots which means the hassle of re-potting. As if storage space wasn’t already a problem, now part of it is taken up by half used bags of potting soil, the older pots (just in case you decide on one more plant to go through the growth cycle) and various small tools apropos to the plant world.
Next time you experience a hankering for a new plant, try one that typically has a limited size, lives on water and air, has no root system of importance and requires no soil so never needs the re-potting drama. Tillandsia, an epiphytic member of the bromeliad family, more commonly referred to as an ‘air plant’ may just be the answer. On a whim, I bought one half dozen specimens – each a different variety – over four years ago and still have five healthy remaining plants. The really, funny velvet to the touch one never quite got its legs, so as to speak and gradually faded out to brown. Both of those in the photograph have more or less doubled in size, so there appears to be little danger of morphing into ‘triffids’, and have seemingly reached their mature size. Although placed fairly close to a window, a north facing one, I doubt there will be adequate natural light to cause them to flower any time soon. The ionantha variety did have ‘pups’ without flowering and the mother plant is still alive two years later although the offspring are now equal in stature.
Finding objects with the right size crevices for the plants to sit in turned out to be trickier than first contemplated. Using a shell as most sites suggest works like a charm, but I figured more than one would reduce my creativity, so I turned to rocks which were plentiful and free. Not that it was necessary; I drilled 3/8 inch holes, about the same in depth with a concrete drill and a bit of oil for coolant, not to push the plant into, but to provide a better holding surface for the adhesive. Best glue I found was ‘shoe goo’, any brand used to repair runners; it doesn’t require too much time to set up (sprinkle fine sawdust, preferably cedar, around the base before it dries for decorative appearances) and does not breakdown from the watering or sunlight. Gluing them to driftwood is another choice; however I’ve been too lazy to pick some up.
Caring for the tillandsia is a breeze. As the air in most living quarters lacks the dust and particles normally used for food, my choice was a liquid fertilizer designed to be weak enough to use every watering without danger of burning. Every second day with a very heavy misting, making sure to also do the undersides of the leaves, accomplished over a sink and then lightly shaken. Twice a year I plop them in the sink and almost cover them with water for an hour or so – that’s where being attached to rocks comes in handy – and it really perks them up. Going away? Fill up the tub with 3 inches of water and leave them in there with the lights left on – I’ve left them up to ten days with no apparent problems. Good site with lots of pictures and information.

Squirrel Saga – Part Five

My initial thought was I’m tired, I’m hearing things, it’s the birds in the trees, it’s an echo from next store or it’s a malfunctioning instrument in the attic I know nothing about. Sure enough, the noise abated quickly and disappeared. I remembered to convince myself there was nothing to cause concern and re-entered my silent realm. And just when I felt it was safe to stop worrying again close to a week later, all my past inconveniences came back with a vengeance. Scratching and clawing could be heard above my head, over in the corner, in the bedroom and high up near a skylight window. Not just in one location at a time, but in at least one other if not two spots as if an entire family had suddenly moved into the attic suite. And we’re hearing goings on very early in the morning and even after dark which leads me to suspect an invasion of Norway rats (why is Norway not protecting their wildlife and recalling them home to Europe?) who are nocturnal. After searching the web for answers – thousands of pages on squirrels, who would have thought they were so popular – I settled on the theory that a mother and two kits (is that the right appellation?) had chosen the vacant quarters as their new abode. Apparently, dad is not welcome at home due to his habit of killing the kids so mom is more amenable to having some fun in the sack. Anyways, since the clattering started to become almost constant as the family rarely went out together, I had no choice but to inform management of my newest pests. Since I had proven the existence of the squirrels due to my excellent subterfuge in capturing one before, they immediately agreed to attack the infestation with vigour and prompt action. Needless-to-say, the old, failed exterminators were out and a brand new team was contracted for the job. Now, according to their card I was in the capable hands of a pest technician, I took that to mean they had handled a trap before and were experienced in setting it up so that it would actually work. To begin ‘my technician’ suggested locating the cage on the flat roof portion, but over the past few days I had inadvertently discovered the true front entrance. Watching from ground level, I realized the squirrels were gaining entry via a small, rotted out portion of the fascia, next to the concrete block firewall, which could not be seen from the deck as it was hidden by a rain gutter. Once this was pointed out to the technician, he simply hung the trap up in this spot advising me to call if the trap was sprung.
Talk about quick action! Now, it ended up as easy as picking cherries. Set the trap in the morning, have a visitor spring the door in the afternoon, and wait for the techie to drop by in the morning, remove the unwanted tenant and reset the trap. Bang. Bang. Bang. The first two days snagged the kits, which were pretty quiet, and the last bagged momma herself who was in a spitting mood, not at all motherly. Don’t ask because I’m not privy to where these varmints end up once gone with the techie and he didn’t seem interested in discussing their fate. Using a small l-shaped piece of metal flashing affixed with a couple of screws permanently sealed off the entryway. At long last, peace came to my condo unit.
Now about the pileated woodpecker who has decided to punch a hole in the cedar siding next to the window searching for bugs!