supper club

In addition to tango, quilting, amazing friends, fabulous children, a wonderful family, and an appreciation for inutterable beauty, I am ever so pleased to have a Supper Club in my life.

We're a lively group of ten gourmands who get together every couple of months to share a meal the likes of which none of us can afford. The idea is to prepare a sumptuous meal for a fraction of the cost of a five-star restaurant meal. We rotate, in pairs, through a rota where one pair brings appetizers (and a bottle of wine), another pair does mains (and hosts), another pair prepares dessert (and brings a bottle of wine) and the two remaining pairs bring two bottles of wine each. (You can see we're careful to organize things so we have enough wine to lubricate a lengthy night out.) Though we did have a white-trash-Christmas meal once, generally it's all about gourmet cooking.

The pair hosting and preparing the main course decides on the theme for the night. Dreaming up culinary fantasies around the themes is great fun, definitely part of the pleasure of the whole enterprise. Themes can be as sophisticated and precise as they can be silly and broad. Here is the content of the email we came up with to announce the theme for our November meal:

We have set the theme for next month's supper club! To commemorate my (sufficient) recovery from going squirrelly this summer, and to acknowledge that it's probably a bit nuts to attempt to prepare and plate a gourmet dinner for ten within the confines of M's six foot kitchen, the theme for our November 24th Supper Club dining extravaganza is: Going Squirrelly. That's right, we're all going NUTS.

We hasten to remind everyone of Supper Club Rule #1: No internal organs or road kill will be served. In fact, no squirrel will be served, neither in appetizer, main, or dessert courses. Our fantasy boyfriends are deeply chagrined that their hunting expertise will not be called on. They'll get over it.



You may, however, want to check out the University of Waterloo Math Club newsletter (http://www.mathnews.uwaterloo.ca/Issues/mn8700/sql.php) to read up on the hunting and preparing of squirrel-- for information purposes only. Refer also-- again, for information purposes only-- to the Joy of Cooking, page 515. Warning: The Rombauer sisters employ graphics that are, well, pretty graphic-- not for the faint of heart.

You may also want to ask M about the conspiracy for Squirrel World Domination. You laugh?!? See below for photographic evidence of the uncanny abilities of these haute-couture rodents.



Right, well... Back to the subject at hand. You've gathered (ha, ha) by now that the theme is truly nutty. For a complete list of qualifying nuts, go to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_culinary_nuts

M and I have conferred with the experts and agree that pine nuts may also be considered a nutty ingredient for the purposes of culinary genius, in spite of the fact that they are merely nut-like gymnosperm seeds. We mustn't discriminate against the gymnosperm.

See you on the 24th! M will send directions prior to the grand event. Please do keep in mind space restrictions when planning your contribution to this nutty event.

shining interludes

I've had a rough time of it, lately, but there have been some shining moments. I am consistently astounded by how great it feels to dance. Yesterday's emotional and physical challenges would normally have kept me home cocooning for the night-- and I did limit the night's agenda by missing a birthday party-- but I felt I ought to push myself to get on the dance floor. Last night's milonga was a costumed affair, so I put on my rhinestone-studded false eyelashes, draped ridiculous amounts of jewelry around my neck, picked up my dancing shoes and headed out as Rhinestone Barbie.

They say a picture's worth a thousand words. Here are a thousand words on how I feel about tango these days:



I've been encouraged to add another detail from last night's milonga...

I had several short conversations with a Russian gentleman between sets of dancing. After some conversation about his background he asked me what my cultural background is. "I'm first generation Canadian," I said, "Born of Dutch immigrants."

"You don't look Dutch," he replied.

"Well, I might not look Dutch in this," I said, gesturing grandly at my glittery get-up, "But you should see me milk a cow."

I don't know where that came from, but he about fell off his chair laughing.

red socks

When you learn something new, you have to be willing to make mistakes and look ridiculous. It's part of learning, testing the waters, and it requires equal parts bravery and humilty. Take language acquisition, for instance. I can speak French fluently now, but I still recall vividly the dinner party where I was soundly mocked for inadvertently exchanging the word "champignon" for "champion" thereby rendering a compliment about how someone looked like a champion on the tennis courts an unintendended insult by suggesting they looked like a mushroom playing tennis. You get the picture.

Kids have to do this all the time. They learn new skills incessantly. I don't think adults give them the credit they deserve for being so brave, over and over again. If we adults could muster half the courage and persistence of a toddler learning to walk, for instance, for some of the new tasks we face, we'd rock our world off its axis.

Of course, there are kids who are rattled by the demands of learning new things-- these are the kids who want to get everything right immediately, to be perfectly capable, instantaneously. It's rough on them. Especially as there often isn't much modeling going on among the adults in their world around how to cope when learning something new isn't going smoothly. They don't see adults colouring outside the lines in the colouring books, or spilling milk from the jug when they pour, or not making it to the toilet on time. We want our kids to be patient with themselves and laugh off the silly mistakes they make when they're learning, but how many times do they see us do that?

I'm having to be that kind of patient with myself on several fronts. This has been the year of trying new things for me-- making fresh efforts on the dating scene, learning to quilt, and learning to tango. Though I had no intention of taking on anything else new, I'm also having to come up with new ways of dealing with depression and stress. It has not been a comfortable year. It's been a year of applying the slightly cynical motto, "Aim high! Fall hard!" I think I'm managing alright. I'm much better at not taking dating too seriously, for instance, and am reassured by the fact that even a bad date might generate good material for the novel writing project I've got on the back burner. Quilting mistakes are greeted with a sigh, a seam ripper, and a second attempt to get it right. I'm very, very good at not taking myself too seriously with tango...

I danced for three hours this evening, with back-to-back classes. This gave me MUCH more opportunity to lunge, lurch, and stumble about as I work my way toward looking sexy and accomplished on the dance floor. What's more, as my fabulous Fluevog shoes are too sticky for the dance floor, the instructor gave me bright red socks to wear over the front of my shoes so that I could pivot and execute turns more smoothly. My pivots took a dramatic turn for the better, but I looked absurd beyond words. Tango is supposed to look like this:


And this:


Picture, if you dare, these dancers with the toes of their shoes covered in what resembles mini hand-knitted slippers. I had to ask the instructor to tell my dance partner to stop laughing at me. People stared. Never mind that my pivots never looked better and I was finally able to do moves that had been impossible before. Me? I laughed. It was hilarious. It was much easier to make mistakes and laugh wearing those ridiculous red socks than when I looked every bit the part of a "real" dancer. (I laughed without the socks, too, just louder with the socks.)

I had to give the red socks back to the instructor at the end of the night. Tomorrow I plan to buy my own pair of red socks, to put on anytime I'm taking myself too seriously. I will, however, pay a cobbler to glue suede liners to the bottom of my Fluevogs. There are limits.

the graceful execution of productivity

If I'd tried to plan a schedule ahead of time for everything I did today, I would have been stressed. If I'd written a list, I probably wouldn't have slept well last night, anticipating the tension of fitting everything in, meeting deadlines, meeting expectations. On paper, it would have looked impossible, the kind of day only a hyper overachiever could complete. But I did it, gracefully.

I've been making a serious effort these days to walk in grace rather than walk under the weight of expectations. Though I felt the pull of anxiety slightly on a few occasions today (moments when I thought I should be in hyper-productivity mode, like the bad old days) for the most part I think I got the hang of walking in grace. The very cool thing was that I still managed to meet some important expectations (my own and those of others), and while I still have an enormous to-do list, I chipped away at it in a fairly reasonable fashion, rolling from one task to another like someone who knows what they're doing. I'd like to remember today as a day when I managed to get in a pretty good practice run at being sensibly, gracefully productive.

At that, a deep-rooted Fear pipes up with, "Yeah, but you'll never finish your to-do list without putting in a few 18-hour work days, starting yesterday!" It's hard to be okay with the looming lists and the risk of disappointing expectations. My apartment is still in a total tip and I have clients waiting for orders and proofs. I worry that the walking-in-grace thing is going to backfire and my fears will be realized. But the lesson of last week was that my perception of what others expect of me is generally pretty off. So, I'll keep practicing walking in grace and hope that the fear that speaks against this grace will lose its strength. God give me the courage to walk in grace.

passion begets confidence

Today I was given the opportunity to converse about Living Inquiry and the passion I have for visual awareness and expression.
The conversation took the form of a business meeting that became as much a meeting of hearts as a meeting of minds. I did not struggle to find the words to express my passion, nor did I shrink in the certain knowledge that my academic credentials are limited in this field. I spoke about what I know to be true about what happens when individuals are given a nudge in the direction of Awareness and are given the tools they need to creatively express what they learn within that awareness. I felt the fires fanned within me, igniting anew my deep passion for the power of images to communicate. The long and the short of it was a confirmation of an invitation for me to offer a workshop-- in collaboration with UBC and the Vancouver Art Gallery-- to teach teachers, to ignite this passion in them and equip them to equip others. I feel so encouraged.

thankfulness

When you're tired and hungry and know you should eat but don't feel like cooking, it's just so beautiful to have yummy leftovers in the fridge.

When you need a pick-me-up on the night a tango class is offered and you're the only beginner who shows up so you have one-on-one instruction for the whole hour, it's a beautiful thing.

When you paid too much for a bra that turns out to have defective stitching such that it starts to fall apart and you bring it back to the shop where you bought it almost three months after the fact and they give you a brand new replacement bra without any hassle, that is sweet, sweet, sweet.

When you listen to your gut and stop to ask the little old lady you just passed on the sidewalk if she needs help and she says, "Yes, I could use an arm," and you offer your arm and start walking and she says, "I'll ask for the leg later," and you both laugh at the joke as you're walking, it's a good thing.

When you offer a simple compliment to a stranger in the elevator-- "That's a great colour on you"-- and she doesn't just smile and nod but instead replies with, "I was just thinking what a beautiful woman you are," and you get the chance to wonder if she meant that because she thought you were beautiful your compliment to her has more credibility or if by sharing your thoughts out loud you just gave her permission to make your day, either way, it's lovely.

When you're tired and you get to crawl into a warm and comfortable bed and then sleep until you wake up and you don't need to set an alarm for anything, that's unspeakably delicious.

rainy day walk in the woods

I finished my last quilt project for the "Colour From the Heart" class I've been taking. The exercise was to choose an inspiration (or "subject") fabric to serve as the starting point for the colour selection for the principle design. This inspiration fabric would, in turn, serve as a border fabric. The fabric I chose reminded me of a rainy day walk in the woods, specifically in the woods by my childhood home on the St. Lawrence River.

The photos don't do it justice at all, but they give you some idea. While there's a symmetry to the larger design, the smaller details are asymmetric. Typically nine patches use two colours in a checkerboard pattern-- I chose to create nine-patches with seven to nine different fabrics. Moreover, no two nine-patches are alike. I worked very hard on this project and I love it. It has a texture and character that speaks to the quiet earthiness of this very special place, a place that no longer exists except in my heart's memory.



The course instructor commented that the quilt seems, "so full of hope." In the midst of all the subdued earthy colours are little flecks of light which she called, "persistent." So be it.

little things

It's been a rough month-- evidenced by the fact that I posted very, very rarely in September. I believe things are picking up, the veil of grief is lifting, and I'm going to try again to post more regularly.

Even in the midst of the bleakness of the last few months, I have tried to keep an eye to moments of truth and beauty. I've also tried to keep my heart tuned to appreciating the simple, little things that can make a big difference on any given day. I've been working on a list. Everything on the list requires action-- a small, personal investment in making that difference. They're all little things, and the difference they can make in a day is more about paying attention to the gentle contribution to sanity they make than it is about the action itself.

1. Taking out the stinky garbage.
2. Making a cup of tea.
3. Taking a hot bath.
4. Stopping to smell the fresh lavender on the corner of Nicola and Beach.
5. Interrupting my seawall workout to pet the dogs.
6. Filling the fruit basket.
7. Doing the dishes.

It looks pretty mundane, typed up like that. But it's a "to do" list that's made a difference for me. Removing things like taking out the garbage and doing the dishes from the "tedious household tasks" list and putting them on the "self-care and personal nurture" list is a great shift in perspective. And giving myself a mandate to relax and do things that are good for me (tea, lavender, dogs, baths) is important right now. It reminds me of the saying, "Don't hurry, don't worry, and don't forget to smell the roses."