Hammacher Schlemmacher

I just received a copy of the Hammacher Schlemmer catalogue (I like Hammacher Schlem-macher better....it sounds like a deli sandwich). It's subheading says "Offering the Best, the Only and the Unexpected for 161 years". Unexpected, for sure.

Where do they find this stuff? There's always a photo on the cover of some unrecognizable contraption. This time it looks like some kind of two-wheeled cyber-cycle, but is actually a "programmable gaming robot". OK.

Here's a sample of what's being offered this month:

Spring Loaded Walking Shoes. They look like regular walking shoes, but from the description, they seem like just the thing for me. Sounds like they will do all the work for you, once you take that first step and then SPROING!!!!! Off you go. I have dreams like that.

The Tabletop Slot Machine. All I have to say is "mom".

The Personal Oxygen Bar. You plug this into your nose and switch on the "ethereal musical patterns" while you inhale away. I'd rather trot on down to my local oxygen pub in my spring-loaded walking shoes, and have a pint of air with my pals, wouldn't you?

The Animatronic Singing and Talking Elvis. This gruesome looking bust of Elvis changes facial expressions, moves and sings. When you walk past it, he blurts out things like "Bring it on back now". There's also a karaoke feature, so you can sing along with him. Oh, and his lip curls. Does anyone else think this is just a little creepy?

The Only Whole Body Massage Chair. From the photo, this recliner looks like it was designed by a mysogynistic gynecologist. And it's a steal at $6000.

The Better Mousetrap. This mousetrap looks like my dad's old lunch box (which makes it even weirder). The mouse is attracted by it's last meal (peanut butter or bacon bits are suggested...what? No fancy cheese??). Mickey or Minnie walks across three electrically charged plates and ZAP! It will hold TEN mice before it has to be emptied. Ewwwwwwww.

The Indoor Dog Restroom. This one has to be the most disgusting things I have ever heard of. Your pooch pees on the pad, which looks like grass, and it seeps down to the mat/reservoir below. Nice. I have a cousin who has a Bichon and she's been trained to go on piddle pads when she can't get outside (she's a condo pooch). My cousin is diligent at picking up Emma's business. Makes sense. This grassy-hide-the-pee thing, not so much.

Before you think that I'm down on Hammacher Schlemmer , I'm not. There are some really neat things in there that I'm almost tempted to order.

The Lighted Reading Glasses. Very smart idea. I hate to bother my hubby by turning on the light when I want to read in bed. Brilliant!

The Transparent Canoe Kayak. This would be so cool to take on vacation in the Caribbean. I doubt that it would fit in my carry on.

The Five Axis Mechanical Core Muscle Trainer. Yeah sure. Have any of you ever rode one of those electrical bronco things that claim to be an exercise machine. Uh huh. Just like a "personal vibrator" is for a stiff neck. Mine arrives in a week. $2000.

The Best Body Composition Measuring Scale. Sounds extremely accurate. Not ordering it.

Any of their pre-lit fake Christmas trees. In our house we usually have two Christmas trees. A real one in the living room and a fake one in the family room. Someday when we are downsized to our condo, I want to order one of these babies. They look absolutely sparkly and lush. I figure the next generation of these will also smell real and have a bare spot that you have to hide.

Wouldn't it be a blast to have a job as buyer for this company? I guess I'll have to settle for trying to figure out the machine that's on the next cover.

Gotta love Hammacher Schlemmacher <3

Binging and purging

Relax. I'm talking closets. At the moment, mine are bursting at the seams and I'm not just talking about the clothes closets. There's the storage room. There's the cold room. There's the furnace room. There's our girl's rec room. Where to start?

How is it that we accumulate so much stuff over the years and can't let any of it go?? We've been thinking about downsizing in a few years time and at the rate we're going, that's how long it will take to clear the junk out.

My clothes closet is literally packed with stuff....some I wear, some I don't...for various reasons. Clothes that I've hardly worn because they were a bad buy, clothes I'm tired of and clothes that are currently too small, but that I will fit into again sometime soon (as if). And yet, I keep on buying things. Of course, the things that I buy are absolutely perfect, compared to the stuff that is hanging there...oh wait, that stuff was perfect once too.

But the good news is that I feel a purge coming on. Myron wondered aloud yesterday what he was going to do with his time now that he's semi-retired. Do I have a job for him!!

So what's with this accumulation of stuff? A psychological issue? Naw. I just buy too much stuff and never get rid of it. There's no deep-seated reason for this. Although my "seat" may be one of the reasons. Ditto my husband. His waistline, like mine has expanded over the years. Giorgio Armani might want to come shop in HIS closet. We've also accumulated a load of exercise equipment in the process....hmmm....maybe I can hang some of the stuff on my treadmill!

Honestly, with the recession, I have tried to stay away from Winner's and I have. That's a good thing. But stuff has got to go and go it will. It's going to look like an ad for "California Closets". Goodwill and Sally Ann, here I come!

Chicago, Chicago, that toddling town

We've just returned from Chicago where we spent a few days with our friends Ginny & Randy. Randy is a rabid Green Bay Packers fan and for the past two years, we have met in Green Bay, Wisconsin for a weekend of nutso football fans, tailgate parties and of course, the main event. They fly from California and we drive. We always have lots of fun together, and that's really the main reason we meet (at least for Ginny and me!). This year, we begged and pleaded to go somewhere other than Green Bay. Honestly, when you google "fine dining - Green Bay", you get Arby's. So, the guys settled on Chicago. Randy gave up his Packers for our sake. Bless you Randy.

Chicago is a lovely city. It is so much more civilized than New York. I love New York, but Chicago is much less hectic. It's a city that works (are you listening David Miller??). Navy Pier is a wonderful place to spend an afternoon. Every Saturday night until the end of October, there's a fireworks display and it's a wonderful way to end an evening.

I guess one of the reasons I like Chicago is that it is a city of neighbourhoods. That's the one thing that Toronto does have going for it. Having grown up in Bloor West Village, I love the familiarity of a neighbourhood. Torontonians are either West Enders or East Enders and setting foot on the "other" side of Yonge Street is like being in a foreign country.

Chicago has beautiful boulevards with lots of trees and planters. Their lakefront is beautifully developed and we marvelled at the beaches.

Anyway, we walked, explored, ate, shopped and generally hung out. "The Game" was on Sunday at Soldier Field and it was certainly an experience. First of all, the tickets cost us a small fortune ($700 for Myron and me). According to the tickets, Myron suspected we were in the nosebleed section. Not so. We were in the "defibrillator/catheter-under-the- seat section", because once you made it up there, you were in full cardiac arrest and no one in their right mind would drink anything for fear of having to pee. I think the little ants on the field were actually football players, but I'm not sure. There was an amazing fly-past and I could read the "best before" date on the underbelly of the planes. Then, it started to rain. Then, it started to pour. We descended from on high into the dry concession area and Myron stood in a 45 minute line to get us some ponchos. 3 people before him bought the last ones. Some sweet lady surrendered two of hers to Myron (must have been his roguish manner that got to her) and he gallantly gave them to Ginny and me. Oh wait, no we wrenched them out of his hands. We ascended into the clouds once again (you think I'm joking here?) and huddled together, trying to share the ponchos, with no great success. We were soaking wet by the time we got the rain gear, but we sat out the rest of the game, determined to get every last penny's worth out of those tickets.

Our last evening was spent at a blues club called "Blue Chicago". The lady who was singing with the band was a very healthy, gravelly-voiced, black lady who could really belt 'em. The joint was grotty and smelled of beer, but it was a perfect end to our time with Ginny & Randy.

Our consolation at the end of the trip is knowing that we will be meeting up with them again in San Diego in 6 weeks.

And what the hell does "toddling" mean??

For the Love of Dance

Our Girl wants her pointe shoes mailed to her, so she can mount them on her wall. Patrick Swayze has passed away. I received an email today with a movie clip of Fred Astaire and Eleanor Powell. Dance has always been my passion.

Patrick Swayze was an amazing dancer. His acting skills were OK. Certainly entertaining. I loved Ghost and To Woo Fong Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar (where he played a drag queen and did it beautifully!) and of course, there's Dirty Dancing. I know that there are Dirty Dancing parties where people get together and make fun of the dialogue, but for me it was all about the dancing. Remember Flashdance?? Now there's a movie to make fun of.....the dancing was good, but Jennifer Beales didn't take one step on the dance floor....she had a double. So, in my mind, there's no comparison. When "Johnny Castle" took to the dance floor, well, he was sex on legs. I would have loved to have been Jennifer Grey. Dance afficionados will know that Patrick was classically trained and was a member of a ballet company, long before his acting days began. There was substance behind this guy. He knew what he was doing and man, he did it well.

What I most admired about Mr. Swayze though, was his devotion and commitment to his wife. They were married for 34 years and it was a love affair from beginning to end. I don't know anything about their personal lives, but the way she looked at him and the way he looked at her, told it all. I can't imagine what she's feeling today.

I have danced since I was three. What I didn't have was the dedication to do it seriously. I had the luck to study for a few years with a legend. Boris Volkoff (or Boris Karloff, as my grandmother referred to him) was a feisty, little Russian tyrant and he would never have made it in this "you can't speak to my child like that" generation. Boris threw his cane at you if he didn't like what you were doing. He would bounce his cane off your butt to see if you were contracting your gluteous maximus. He would humiliate you, with no concern for your ego. As a result, I learned. And knew exactly when I did something wrong and what to do to fix it, so as to not incur his wrath again. I loved it. He also showed a caring side. One day when I had a bad cold in the middle of winter, he admonished me for going out with no hat on my head. If anyone has seen any Degas paintings, you will have seen Boris. A little, old wizened man, hunched over his cane, who could glide across the floor like a swan when he needed to demonstrate.

I've had season's tickets to the National Ballet of Canada for 35 years now and still get lost in the beauty of Swan Lake or Romeo & Juliet, just like I did the first time I saw it. I've been told that when the company are taking their bows, that my head bobs, as if I'm up there with them. I wish.

My husband and I have been taking ballroom lessons for the last few years and I absolutely love it. Sometimes, for demonstration purposes, our instructor uses me as his partner. It makes my heart sing to be able to dance with someone who KNOWS what they are doing. I love my husband and I love dancing with him, but we do pretty simple stuff. When I dance with our instructor, I perform.

Our girl has danced since she was little and even though she will never be a professional dancer, at 19 she is still dancing, with her Ukrainian dance group and now she's looking into taking ballet classes in Ottawa. Her stage presence is electrifying. She just shines. She's inherited my love of dance.

Oh, and when no one is looking, I still practice pirouettes in my kitchen.

Thank you Mr. Swayze for your talent and your ethics. Dance with the angels.

Peaches

A while back I promised you a peach cake recipe....here it is! My nieces in Winnipeg salivate when I say I'm making this. Thanks to my elementary school buddy for the recipe!!

5 Star Peach Pie (more like 10 Star))

Crust

2 c. all purpose flour

2/3 c sugar

1/2 tsp salt

3/4 c butter

Combine. Pat into buttered pan and bake for 15 minutes at 350 degrees. Watch so that it doesn't brown.

Filling

2 beaten eggs

1/2 tsp almond extract (optional)

1 c sugar

1/4 c flour

3/4 tsp baking powder

1/4 tsp salt

3/4 chopped nuts (optional...I don't use them)

5 c peeled, sliced peaches (freestone work the best)*

Combine filling ingredients and pour over top of partially baked base.

Bake at 35o for 40-45 minutes. Let cool.

** to peel peaches easily, score them, drop into boiling water for a minute or two and then plunge into icewater. Skins slide off!

YUMMY!!!

Can I Return This??

Today was a good day with mom. She's been somewhat testy and that is my cue to spend more time with her. Her walking isn't very good and so our options are limited, but off we went on our usual trek - Walmart and IGA.

Today though, there was a bit of a detour. Mom announced that she wanted to buy a new fridge! Now, you have to understand that when my mother wants to buy something, it has to be HER idea and HER choice. I've brought home numerous blouses, linens, mats, makeup and it always get returned. Always. It seems like anything I get is wrong (damn, I'm just reminded that the box of red wine that I bought her needs to be returned and I forgot to take it with me). About a year ago, Mom decided that she wanted new living room furniture. The furniture she had was fine, albeit a bit dated, but it was good quality and in very good condition. Mom saw an ad in a flyer from The Brick. What marketing genius would call a furniture store The Brick? This set was obviously a mass-produced item, although who the masses were that wanted this stuff is beyond me. My husband wondered why on earth was she even considering it. I told him that Mom wanted to go see it and so, Mom was being taken to see it. As we approached the set, I could see that it wasn't quite up to even The Brick's standards, but Mom seemed enthralled with her choice. So, out with the old couch and in with the new. The homeless shelter that got her old set fared far better than she did.

The whole point of this story is that I have decided it's just easier not to suggest anything, let alone buy it. The frustration isn't worth it.

So, there's a new fridge coming and confidentially, it's a beaut! I'd have picked this one too, but I wouldn't tell Mom that, because then she'd have to return it.

Oh, and the sofa set? Mom knows it was a mistake, but she'll never admit that to me.

September 9, 1950

Today would have been my parent's 59th wedding anniversary. Dad passed away just after their 56th. Three years without him is hard for mom. I remember their last anniversary. Dad had a craving for a special dish that mom used to make. It was too difficult for her to do and so I made it for all of us. We got dad out of bed, wheeled him to the table and he was just too weak to have more than one bite. Miss you daddy.

Bon Appetit

Went to see Julie & Julia with The Kid. Delicious movie. I've been to Chapters umpteen times to snatch up a copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking and all copies are sold out. I've since learned that the book is in it's third printing since the release of the movie. Understandably! It almost felt sacrilegious to sit there, greasy popcorn bag in hand, munching away, while Julie/Julia created masterpiece after masterpiece. Washing down my popcorn with Coke, somehow didn't match the fine burgundy they were having with their boeuf bourgignon. I swear the theatre had "surround-scent", you could smell the aromas.

I am determined to expand my cooking repertoire. We have a friend who is a gourmand and a wonderful chef. Just yesterday, he posted a Facebook photo of some homemade bread and homemade butter. Homemade butter!!! I'm still shaking my head. Isn't that like the most amazing thing you've ever heard of??

Don't get me wrong. I'm not a bad cook. But that's just it. I'm a cook. People like Warren are "chefs". I learned at my mother's elbow....good, tasty food, albeit laced with lots of garlic and grease, a nod to my Ukrainian heritage. I have tried some semi-exotic things with moderate success, but I seem to slide right back to my old standbys. I subscribe to lots of magazines, that are chockful of interesting recipes and sometimes I do venture outside of my box and try new things. I'm especially fond of the little book "Everyday Food". There I go again....everyday food. I need to try extraordinary day food more often, like Reine de Saba or bone a duck, like Julia did.

Oh well, if you ever need a recipe for chicken stew or perogy dough, I'm your girl.

Letting Go

The ties that bind. Cutting the umbilical cord and the apron strings. We've all heard the cliches before, but no one tells you just how much all of these things hurt.

We've just returned from taking The Kid back to university in Ottawa. (I must start calling her something else...she clearly isn't a "kid" anymore). We spent an entire week, putting finishing touches on her townhouse. We painted her room, hung pictures, weeded, painted anything that didn't move, cleaned and made it a home. We had fun! We worked like dogs, but it was filled with joking around, painting silly pictures on the walls before the real work started, painting each other and most importantly, lots of love.

It seems like yesterday that we brought her home from the hospital. No instructions on how to deal with this addition to our family. Trial and error. And we did make some mistakes. Nothing drastic and to her credit, she turned out amazingly well, in spite of what we may have done. When we took her to university last year, I was a mess. Leaving her in a dorm room, in a strange city, just about did me in. I thought this year would be easier. OK, so I only cried for about half an hour as we drove away. Last year it was a couple of days. That's progress, no?

The first day at Tiny Kingdom was easy. She didn't know what she was in for. The second day? Not so much. She clung to my legs and begged me not to go. I gently pried her from my knees and promised that I'd be back when the "big hand and the small hand" on the clock were at the top. When I came back to get her, there she was, sitting on a small stool, in front of the clock, staring up, waiting for those two hands to meet. My heart broke in pieces. It took a few more days, but she stopped waiting for noon to come and me along with it. The first cut.

Her first day at elementary school was much the same. Junior kindergarten would be from 9 to 3:30 and there would be no big-hand/small-hand noon pick up. After the first couple of days, she said to me "I've had enough". This is where backbone comes in. You don't give in and a little bit more of your heart chips away. You feel as guilty as hell and just want to wrap her in your arms and sit down with a copy of "I'll Love You Forever" and to hell with education. After a week of JK, I was once again relegated to second place. The second cut.

Fast forward 10 years to high school. Believe me when I say "fast". Not even a backward glance. The third cut.

Which takes us to last year and her first year at Carleton. As we packed up two cars to head for residence, I had waves of melancholy, but they were usually overpowered by the excitement of what was to come for her. As we drove up to her res, a hoard of second year+ "facils" descended upon our cars, hooting and hollering, "welcome to Carleton", "woo hoo", and then literally moving her in. They all grabbed her stuff and proceeded to leave us empty handed as they transported her things to her dorm room. Exciting and fun. Just a bit of topical anaesthetic to dull what was to come. We spent 3 days there, buying stuff for her room, setting up their kitchen, making her part of the room "hers". Then came the time to leave. Having a heart transplant can't be as bad as what I was feeling. As we drove away from her, we both held it back, she standing in front of her res door with tears in her eyes, me waving with a phony smile on my face. As we rounded the corner, out of her sight, the tears flowed. And flowed. And flowed. For days. Now I am really bleeding. All of the little cuts have turned into a gaping wound.

Now she's in a house with two other, fantastic roomies and they will have a blast. Three young women with so much to experience. Our Girl (that's better), who is now a Frosh Leader, said goodbye to us on the grounds of the university . In that moment, she was not a second year university student, but that little girl at Tiny Kingdom. Tears in her eyes, tremble in her voice, we hugged, kissed, did the phony smile thing and then my husband and I watched as she disappeared from our view. She didn't turn back, but moved forward, as we want her to do. Our wounds are there, but the balm is knowing that we've helped raise an incredible human being.