Chocolate cake

My mother-in-law is a stellar baker.  She can bake anything, and she does: sky-high angel food slathered with mountainous peaks of seven minute icing, burnt sugar chiffons that melt in your mouth, overnight buns that are light as a feather, to name just a few.

She recently made her son, my husband, a chocolate chiffon birthday cake, thickly covered in rich chocolate icing.  I'm telling you, it is good.  Maybe it is because I am a tad hormonal, maybe it is because I am on the end of recovering from two nasty viruses where I haven't been able to eat much, or maybe it is just because it is so moist and chocolatey, but I can hardly stand to leave this cake alone.  I can't help but think of Miranda from Sex in the City, who once dumped a chocolate cake that was haunting her into the garbage...then took a fork and ate it straight out of the can.

It's been a challenging time for me and my body lately, and if I really think about it, that beautiful 5" high chocolate cake represents comfort.  As in, when I eat it, I feel comforted, like someone or something is taking care of me.  Which is ridiculous because that is the last thing that chocolate cake does.  It is full of sugar and butter and is definitely not good for me.  "Oh, but it is good for my soul," I tell my inner Miranda Hobbs.

Then the shoulds come.  The "I should know better.  I should be more disciplined.  I should eat an apple.  I should just get one of the kids to hide it up high and not tell me where."  They have to do this with potato chips anyway...oh, what is wrong with me?!

Sigh.  Maybe nothing.  What I have decided is that this is just one day and I am allowed one day of chocolate cake fantasies.  So are we all.  For one day it is okay to ignore the Pinterest postings about getting that bikini body, and the Dr. Oz's warnings about inactivity, and the zillion other messages about food, fat, health, and these messed up ideas about beauty. 

I know one thing for sure.  That chocolate cake is some kind of beautiful. 

wishing you just one slice.  Or maybe two,
hk

Smarties

With an unmistakeable twinkle in his eye, my dad had a playful imagination.  For instance, every time he came to visit us, he would have his coat pocket stocked with small boxes of Smarties, and he would hurry out of the car and attach them to the branches on the tree in our front yard before we would answer the door.  My little girl would toddle out onto the ramp just as he would pretend to pick and hand them to her, his beloved "Sweet Pea." He had her convinced that we actually had a magical Smartie-growing tree right outside our door and keeping up the narrative long after she knew better was important to him.    He believed in adding a pinch of of beauty and magic to every day.

What would I give to feel a bit of that beauty and magic right now.  Three years ago today, my mom called to say that my dad had been hospitalized but was okay.  An hour and a half drive away from them, I hesitated before saying we were on our way.  Dad had been in and out of the hospital with heart issues a few times lately and always ended up at home, happy and healthy.  This was our last weekend together before my husband Darrell left home to start his graduate degree; we were busy packing and organizing things for his trip  However, it was Dad's birthday.  "We are on our way," I said, and then thought to myself, "How many more birthdays will I get with him after all?"

As it turns out, just one.

Dad went in to the hospital three years ago today but died one week later.  It was a long week and three years is a long time.  One would expect that it would not hurt anymore, that I should be able to compartmentalize this day, this week, and get on with daily life, but I can't.  At least not today.  The truth is, not having him around has not become easier, like everyone said it would.  Time has not eased anything.  All that time has done has given me the opportunity to find ways to live with the gap that his absence has left.  Sometimes I live with the gap well.  I am able to pass on the stories of his wisdom and his eccentricities to my children with laughter and joy in my voice. With a smile on my face, I can buy some garlicky olives or stinky blue cheese for Darrell, knowing how much he and Dad would love sharing them.  But sometimes I don't live with the gap well.   I still can't bring myself to read the last Orson Scott Card novel in the Bean series, knowing how much he would have loved that book.  I still long to hear his voice and feel his whiskered cheek against mine.  I still cry over things that don't make a lot of sense.

Then again.  This morning I gave my daughter a little box of Smarties for her lunch.  I had not planned to mark Dad's birthday with Smarties, it was more like a coincidence than anything when I happened to find them in the bottom of my purse.  With an unmistakeable twinkle in her eye, she asked me if they came from the magical Smartie-growing tree outside our front door, and although I paused for a long, long moment, I smiled and answered, "Of course they did, Sweet Pea.  Of course." 

Wishing you beauty, and a magical box of Smarties too,
hk
 

The Beauty of Marathon Runners

In a past life, as they say, I was once a high-performance wheelchair athlete, who made international competition a life priority for many years.  When we traveled as a team, the racers, including the marathoners, were considered to be in a league of their own.  Every sport, including mine, has its own unique intensity and qualities, but what I recall of the marathoners was their deep toughness, the aura of tenacity that was second to none.  In Canada, we have boasted some extraordinary marathoners, like Saskatchewan's Clayton Gerein.  Clayton, who passed away 3 years ago, embodied this mental and physical toughness; there was always something admirable about him and his teammates, making it impossible not to credit them for their perseverance and discipline.

I thought of those wheelchair marathoners yesterday as I, like most of you, watched the horrors unfold in Boston.  I thought about the many marathons, from the ones that are run in my hometown, to the events at the Paralympics and the Olympics.  But the Boston Marathon has its own stamp - it is the world's oldest annual marathon, and ranks as one of the world's best-known road racing events.  It is not a Boston event, nor is it an American event.  It is a race that attracts the whole world; in 2013, 74 nations were represented. Because of its longevity and history, it is a symbol of the perseverance and endurance of the human spirit.  Watching it targeted with a violent act of this magnitude, an event that is about good and healthy competition, where pushing oneself to achieve a great physical and mental feat while families and friends cheer on, is an attack on that spirit.

It is desperately difficult to find beauty in such darkness, but here's the thing about marathon runners - they are the kind of people who know adversity, who embody determination, and who define what it means to be fierce.  From a Canadian perspective, consider this: Terry Fox ran a marathon every day in his Marathon of Hope!  Rick Hansen wheeled the ultimate marathon - 40, 000 km in 26 months!  At the Boston Marathon last year, Canada's Josh Cassidy was the fastest person ever to complete a marathon anywhere in the world, with a time of 1.18.25.  Whoever is responsible for targeting a marathon like Boston may make news headlines, but did nothing significant to exert power or make a statement.  The Boston Marathon and many of its participants will no doubt persevere and come back stronger and more beautiful than before. 

wishing you beauty in the knowledge that: "Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."  Martin Luther King, Jr.

hk

Tyler's Fight Auction

It is a gloomy, grey-skied day on the Prairies.  Morale is low here; everyone is talking about their need for some sunshine to brighten their days and their moods.  I did not expect to write today as I have had a week's worth of medical appointments, sick kids, an over-worked husband, and vehicle breakdowns.   Like many of us, I need a break.

That said, when I checked my messages, I saw one from my friend Colleen who seems to have an intuitive sense about me and has an uncanny ability to make me smile when I have forgotten how.  But there were no inspirational quotes or stories or funny cartoons from her today.  Instead, she sent me an invitation to attend a silent auction, starting tonight, Friday, April 12, 2013 at 6 p.m. CST.  The auction is in support of Tyler Puetz, a five-year-old Regina boy who has terminal brain cancer.  According to the facebook page for the online auction, Tyler has gone through chemotherapy and radiation and is now just managing the pain.  As I understand it, profits from the auction will go to his family in their struggle to pay bills while caring him. 

And if I have learned anything in my time in this life, it is if you want to feel cheered up, cheer someone else up first.  If you want more good in your life, do something good first.  So here is how it all works.

There is approximately $10,000 worth of gift certificates, sports memorabilia, jewelry, bath and body products, clothing, phone, paintings, tools, and gym memberships up for sale. To view the items you have to “Like” the “Tyler’s Fight Auction” FB page and you will receive all the updates.   Each item will be posted as a separate picture and you just bid by making a comment under the corresponding picture.

https://www.facebook.com/TylersFightAuction

Go shopping.  Help a little kid and his family.  

And for a story about Tyler that will make you smile through your tears on this otherwise gloomy, grey-skied Saskatchewan day, go to this link:

http://www.theprovince.com/news/regina/Locks+cream+pies+support+Regina+student/7867690/story.html

Oh, my.  There is so much beauty in this world.  We do not need a sunny blue-skied day to see it.

wishing you beauty where you least expect it,
hk

For the love of God

I wanted this blog to be only about happy things.

But sometimes it is important to look at sadness.  Sometimes it is impossible not to.

Some stories, some people, will always be with me. Rehteah Parsons is one of them.  I see her picture, read her story, listen to her mother, and I cry.  Some people would say that it is unhealthy to watch the news and let it affect me to the point of such sadness.  I say that it is my responsibility as a Canadian citizen to let it affect me, to make me think, to cry, to reflect on how I am raising my children, to just give a damn.  

I don't need to explain what happened, the news is doing that over and over.  Nova Scotia Premier Darrell Dexter has appointed four government departments to look into her death, this young woman who was taken off life support following a suicide attempt after she was allegedly bullied for months.  I don't have an answer other than this:  we owe it to Rehtaeh to give a damn enough to question how we are raising our sons and daughters in this digital age.  I have said it before: the internet is a baby and we are only beginning to figure out how to work with it, but figure it out is what we must do.  And we must talk to our daughters about it, and we must talk to our sons and be examples to them about how to treat women.  Period. 

It is impossible to listen to Rehtaeh's dad and not hear your own heart break.  On what must be the darkest time he will ever know, all he asks is this, “My daughter wasn’t bullied to death, she was disappointed to death,” he wrote. “For the love of god do something.”

wishing for change,
hk

Pink Day!

Have you got your pink on?


Day of Pink is the International Day against Bullying, Discrimination, Homophobia, and Transphobia in schools and communities. The organization invites everyone to celebrate diversity by wearing a pink shirt and by organizing activities in their workplaces, organizations, communities and schools.

All of us in our house are wearing pink today because like so many of you we are against all of the above that Day of Pink is about, but we are also pro:

• fairness

• inclusion

• diversity

• hope

• love

Check out their website: http://www.dayofpink.org/ and like Rick Mercer, who posts a story on the website, if you don't have anything pink, toss a red sock into your white laundry.  :)

wishing you a beautiful pink day,
hk

Pasta e Fagioli

It feels like a cruel joke, but we really did wake up to -18 degrees outside today, this 8th day of April.  To make matters worse, the puppy has forgotten the rules of being housebroken this morning and my little girl has a blazing fever.  Not a great Monday.

However, when I peeked outside I saw that our mail had arrived earlier than usual.  To cheer her up, I handed my daughter some of it, including the bubble-wrapped package amongst the usual bills and flyers.  When she excitedly pulled out The Soup Sisters Cookbook, sent from Sharon Hapton, the Founder of Soup Sisters and Broth Brothers, she said, "Ooooh, what a beautiful book."  She ran her hand over the soft cover that was cool from being outside on this chilly day, and then rested it against her hot face.

Sharon sent the book as a thank you to me for writing about the Soup Sisters charity in this blog a few weeks ago.  Soup Sisters is a non-profit organization dedicated to providing comfort to women and children in need through the making, sharing, and donating of soup to domestic abuse shelters.  They have twelve chapters across Canada, with plans to expand to the United States.  The proceeds from the cookbook go to supporting the efforts of Soup Sisters, but it would also be a lovely addition to the cookbook collection of any cook's kitchen.  Cleverly organized by season, the recipes are simple and diverse, including gluten free and vegetarian options.   

Sitting on the couch wrapped in a quilt, Chelsea paged through the book, stopped on paged 63 and asked if I would make her Pasta e Fagioli on page 63.  Despite that it was 9 a.m., I agreed and took it as a sign she is getting better.  Start to finish, it took 30 minutes to make.  She is currently sipping it from a bowl, but not after repeatedly thanking me for making it.  Like the cookbook says, "Is there anything more comforting, nurturing, or satisfying than a warm bowl of homemade soup?"

Now if only there were recipes to warm it up outside and fix the puppy.

For more information on Soup Sisters and Broth Brothers, how to get involved, or how to hold an event, visit www.soupsisters.org or email info@soupsisters.org.

Wishing you something warm, comforting, and beautiful today,
hk





 

My beautiful wheelchair

I have not written for 2 weeks or so, bad form in the blogging world.  Sometimes though, it is hard to find beauty in an often inaccessible, uncertain, turbulent world, and that is what I promised to write about here.

But it - beauty - is always there.

Last week, I was having one of those inaccessible, uncertain, and turbulent days.  I took my kids to the mall to meet my husband, their dad, for lunch.  Sounds simple enough, except that: there were no wheelchair parking spaces left at the mall, and there were no safe spots by which to park so I could get my lift (that opens on the passenger side of my van) out.  In my effort to squeeze into a spot on the end of a line of vehicles, I scratched my side mirror.  Once out of the van, there were no clean or clear paths through the parking garage to get to the elevator.  Even my sixteen-year-old son who took over pushing me to hurry things up a bit, declared the situation, "ridiculous." Then, once inside the mall, I could not see any places to sit and eat in the food court that a wheelchair could navigate.  Busy getting our stir fries and sushi from Edo, and starting to feel the stress of it all, I barked at my kids to find a spot.  Assuming I had things under control carrying a tray, 3 drinks, and a plate of food on my own, my kids left to do what I had barked at them to do.

I carefully navigated my way through the maze of tables, chairs, janitorial carts, and strollers to where my son was standing.  I had not realized how tense I was until I relaxed and exhaled in that sliver of a moment when time slows down just enough to give you a chance to stop a mistake from occurring, and I watched the top fly off the drink I was holding and spill its contents across the table, onto the floor, and into the aisle right next to who I assume was another mom and her 2 kids. 

Not so beautiful.

Meanwhile, my husband Darrell was on his way to meet us.  The food court was thick with people and he could not see us, so he did what anyone would do - he looked for wheelchairs.  There were a few.  Removing scooters and power-wheelchairs from the scan, he narrowed his search to blond women in TiLite wheelchairs, and he found one in line at the Edo, exactly where he expected he would find me.  Intuitively knowing I would be struggling with navigating the crowd and finding an accessible spot, he sensed my stress and reached around the back of said blond woman in the TiLite chair to give her a loving and reassuring hug.  Except that it wasn't me.

No, I was across the food court tracking down paper towels and a caretaker with a mop.

In that sliver of a moment when time slows down just enough to give you a chance to stop a mistake from occurring, he caught himself and pulled back.  Just in the nick of time.  He eventually found us, and by then the mess was cleaned up.  Embarrassed, and surprised (what are the chances?!), he recounted his story, and I laughed and said, "That story sure flies in the face of everyone who has ever said they don't see the wheelchair, they only see me." 

And I realized that people say this to me because wheelchairs are not supposed to be the thing you notice first.  That would seem rude, right?  With my best interest at heart, they want me to know that my wheelchair is not a problem for them, that it is not a barrier in our relationship.  I get that.  I appreciate that and I love them for it.  But what I want them to know is that I would be literally and figuratively lost without my chair, and although I have only used this TiLite for about 6 months, it fits me in a way that it feels like an extension of my body.  And I want them to know that for all of these reasons, and more, and even though the world is not always designed for wheelchair navigation, to me my wheelchair is beautiful, and I love it very, very much.

wishing you beauty where you least expect to find it,
hk