Just what does he see when he looks at me? (Or, men are strange)

On Friday I went to get my hair done. It's been three months since I had highlights and things were beginning to look tired. I'd gotten into the habit of routinely pinning my hair up with a clip, and because it's my hair (fine, but reasonably thick and very slippery) it was always falling out and lying in straggles about my neck. I'm thinking lank, as a word to describe it.

So I went for a shorter style -- nothing too dramatic -- but at least four inches shorter. A different look for sure.

I arrive home and enter the kitchen. Ian turns from his computer, looks at me, and says:

"It looks darker".

Me: "You always say that. I'm not blonde you know."

Ian: "I know you aren't. [He doesn't really. He thinks his daughter is naturally blonde, too.] It just looks darker that's all."

Me: "It will lighten up after a few washes."

The rest of the evening was uneventful.

The next morning we went out for breakfast as we usually do on Saturday (and often on Sunday, and sometimes on Friday too.) We went to our usual spot, and Jeni, the proprieter, took one look at me and said: "You've got your hair cut. I like it!"

Ian looks quizzically at me: "Is it shorter? Oh. I guess it is."

Men.

At least with Zephyr you know she won't notice. You could come home bald and to her you'd be just the same.

January's reading list

OK. It's January. It's grey outside. Winter's got a long way to go.

Here's what I've read to make myself feel better:

The Omnivore's Dilemma, by Michael Pollan. A fascinating exploration into what we eat and why we eat the way we do. Now I feel guilty about everything I put in my mouth, especially anything that had a face and came from a feedlot....

My Stroke of Insight, by Jill Bolte Taylor. A fascinating read about what it's like to have a massive stroke at the age of 37, and the eight years of recovery following. I'm walking around feeling as if my head is made of eggshells and might explode at any minute.

Still Alice, by Lisa Genova. A fascinating novel about a Harvard professor who comes down with early onset Alzheimers. I'm worrying about everything I'm forgetting.







And last but not least, The Road, by Cormac McCarthy. The granddaddy of depressive literature, but so beautifully written I couldn't put it down.

It's a wonder I can get up in the morning...

Actually, all of these books are a great read. I'm not finished Michael Pollan's book yet, but would recommend it, and all of the above.

Now what do you suggest I read next?

Magic Gate: an update

OK. Perhaps it's me. One string of solar lights is out, kaput, not functioning.

I went down a few days ago to brush snow off the collector. Perhaps I was too aggresssive with the broom?

I checked the "on/off" switch and it was in the "on" position. Just in case I wiggled it back and forth, being careful to check once more that the last wiggle had left it "on".

I'm sad.

In which I swear off Hawkins Cheezies™

It was a Cheezie Christmas. I, wanting to buy local (I'm such an environmentalist!), socked away a couple of bags of my favourite Hawkins™ to have on hand when my children came to visit. My daughter-in-law loves them, but the fact that I usually end up eating the lion's share I conveniently ignored. My sister sent a huge package, containing ten or more smaller bags: she called it "packing material". And they did work just as well as styrofoam beans.

I ate my first Hawkins™ cheezie when I was five, and I've loved them ever since. There was a moratorium on Hawkins™ for quite a number of years after my middle son nearly choked to death on one -- thank goodness for the Heimlich Maneuver! But after he grew up and moved away they would occasionally make their way into the house.

And when I moved here to Ontario and realized they were made just down the road, it seemed to me to be my duty to buy them, if only to support a local business. I now wear a ring of blubber around my waist that I think I can attribute almost entirely to cheezies. Such altruism!

So after Christmas I made all the usual noises about cutting out the junk food and losing 10 pounds etc. etc. But yesterday as I cruised the grocery store I found myself drawn to the chip and cheezie aisle. "Stick to the outside aisles! Stick to the outside aisles!" I heard a small voice cry out to me, but I ignored it and snatched up two bags of Hawkins™.

So half the bag disappeared yesterday evening....and the other half....this morning.

And then I looked at the "nutritional information" on the back of the empty bag. Hmmmm. 270 calories per 50 g. A 210 g bag.....Hmmmmm. That's 1134 calories. Oh. My. God.

I think it's a great testament to my metabolism that I don't weigh 300 pounds!

So that's it. The second bag was opened and the contents ceremoniously dumped into the garbage.

And I found out something interesting this morning. Hawkins Cheezies™ make great firestarters.

Check this out:

http://www.scq.ubc.ca/to-eat-cheezies-or-not-to-a-cheezie-combustion-paper/

If anyone wants to join "Cheezies Anonymous" I'm starting an online chapter.

Christmas here and gone

But the fat remains.

Why can't I get it through my head that my children and their significant others don't eat nearly as much food as I think they will, but I, like some giant, Eastern European factory ship, will scoop up all that's left because: a) I don't want it to go to waste, b) it's really good, and c) once I start it's very difficult to stop?

I guess I'm a Christmas cake, ginger cookie, shortbread, chocolate, cheezie addict. Not to mention nachos, designer crackers, special breads, and cheeses.

When you put all those things together on three lines they look disgusting, but place them out decoratively on nice serving dishes and I'm a gonner.

Oh well.

Back to the lo-carb, portion control drawing board...

I'm an idiot!

So the bus station lights lasted less than a week. They became dimmer and dimmer, and finally one night they refused to come on at all. I hauled the ladder down to the gate, and took them down -- no easy task, as the ladder wobbled on the uneven ground and I, ever the optimist, had asked Ian to string them rather thoroughly through the holes in the gate and roundabout the branches of the vine.

The company I bought them from returned my money, and all I was out was the return postage.

Almost the next day, my friend in Calgary informed me that Canadian Tire had stacks of solar lights for sale. I was excited. That weekend I bought two sets and, as my son and his wife were visiting, I took advantage of his good nature (Ian having decided by this time that he was not going to have any part of the solar light experiment) and asked him to help me set them up. He obliged happily and scrambled like a monkey onto the top of the gate in order to set the little solar panels at the best possible angle. (How to feel your age: watch your 30 year old son do something athetic that you couldn't attempt to do, even if your life depended on it!)

All was well for a couple of weeks. Then one set began to look much dimmer than the other. I checked the connections on both sets (I think perhaps breaking one -- I couldn't be sure: I didn't have my glasses on...). Two nights later the dim set refused to come on.

I was so disappointed.

But I was also determined.

Ah those solar lights. I went though four sets last year. I became embarrassed to walk into Canadian Tire. I was sure the ladies behind the counter were going to call in some officious manager, who would probably be not much older than my youngest son. He would examine my solar-light-returning record, and ask difficult questions, like: "How experienced are you in this technology?" or "Just where have you been hanging these lights?"

As it turned out, the last two sets of lights pooped out in January, and by the time I got them off the yew trees by the back deck (I'd given up on the Magic Gate now -- too difficult to string lights with frozen fingers, while teetering on a ladder in the snow, and I had no faith in their longevity) all the Christmas stock had been taken down and put away for the season. But the lady behind the Returns counter was the soul of helpfulness: "Just hang on to them till next November dear", she said. "They've got a year's guarantee!"

So I did.

Ian groaned when I returned, triumphant, from Canadian Tire this autumn with two brand new sets of lights. I put them up myself, having left the supports for the panels attached to the gate.

And strangely enough, they've worked without a hitch. Some nights they've been beautifully bright, and some nights they've been much dimmer. And on a couple of nights, one set hasn't come on at all. Because the panel was covered in snow....

One thing I've learned.

Solar lights need sunlight to work (Duh!). On cloudy days, they don't get a lot, and they use up whatever they've stored in their batteries quickly. After sunny days, they blaze away for a few hours.

I don't know if last year's lights were really broken, or if my antediluvian brain has taken a whole year to figure out how they work.

But the Magic Gate has its lights, for now at least.

I'm going to put off installing the solar panels on the roof for a few years....