Things I'm Doing - BlogHer Food in Seattle

I got an email a couple of days ago from a concerned reader (okay, it was my aunt) about whether I might have fallen off the edge of the earth. No, not the edge of the earth.

I'm in Seattle!

Hey, no one's more surprised than me. It feels like it snuck up on me, even though this trip's been in the works for ages. My intrepid blogging pal, Karen, set us up to work with Chevrolet Canada again, and here we are, at BlogHer Food.

I talk more about food on twitter than I do here on my blog, although I've posted a few recipes now and then. I'm playing with the idea of creating a dairy-free recipe section here on Wave the Stick, or starting another blog just to keep track of all the non-dairy recipes I attempt, adapt, and concoct.

(Because I need another place to not post to regularly, clearly.)


Karen and I left Vancouver this morning, crossed the border without incident, and made our way to Seattle. We checked into our hotel room at the Fairmont Pacific, where I approvingly noted the presence of fluffy robes, and less happily glanced at the slightly judgmental scale in the bathroom.

Fluffy robes = gooood.

Stop judging me, scale-that-I'm-attributing-human-qualities-to.

At a food blogging conference? That's just cruel.

We parked our stuff and headed out for a walk around the neighbourhood. (It's what we do, Karen and I, when we end up in strange cities together.) I used to come to Seattle frequently, back in my childless husbandless feckless youth. (That would be the 90s, for anyone who's counting on their fingers at home.)

Ah, the 90s. Memories, I have them. My tattered Doc Martens, not so much.

We made our way to Pike Place and the Market, because, duh. Wandered in to DeLaurenti for a sandwich, had a good look at all the things, and carried out a reconnaissance mission to Sur La Table. On our way back to the hotel, we stopped at the Chocolate Box, because, duh.

This seemed a little extreme. I settled for a non-violent salted almond in dark chocolate instead.

Then we wandered into Paper Hammer, where, by the power of Visa, I barely restrained myself from buying everything in the store all at once so lovely omg. I am a sucker for typography and am utterly powerless against the siren call of a blank hand-bound notebook with an exclamation mark on the cover.

Exclamation mark!

Next up: a late dinner at Matt's in the Market. Will report back. After not stepping on the scale.


For play by play commentary on our misadventures, follow #cruze2seattle on twitter.


Full disclosure:
Chevrolet Canada loaned us a Cruze to drive to Seattle, and is reimbursing us for our BlogHer Food tickets, hotel, and fuel expenses. In exchange we've agreed to put their logo on our blogs, write blog posts, and tweet about our trip. I take full responsibility for any inanity/insanity that results from being away from my family for THREE WHOLE DAYS.

Things That Are Random - Mid-November Edition

So, today - just now, in fact - I did something I've never done before. I wrote an article submission to a print magazine and pressed send.

Whether it gets read or not, whether it's liked or not, I don't care. I sent it. (Of course I care. I care desperately. Shhh. Don't tell anyone.)

Oh, look! Here's me in an evening gown!

And, uh, scrambling for something to distract myself...

Well, this just happened:

Turns out, ice cream is always the answer.

Things That Are True - Burning Down the House

I am having that day; the day when I look around and feel like I'd be better off if I just burned it all down and started over. Picking through the embers and the ashes I'd find that which really matters to me, and just leave everything else behind.

Of course, the landlord might not be keen on me committing arson in or near his property.

It's a concrete building, but still.

A decade ago I was all about acquiring things. New furniture, designer clothes, a cool car; I was a good little consumer and diligently practiced acquisitiveness on a regular basis. Now, I would just as happily throw everything I own out the window (Except maybe my laptop. And one or two books. And the Armani suit I swear I'll fit back into some day.) as ever deal with any of it again. I feel like I'm constantly getting rid of things, and yet there's always too much stuff in my physical (and mental) space. It's like being at a rock concert that's just a little bit too loud (and that's how you know I'm getting old, as if a rock concert could be too loud, for the love of Mike) and not being able to leave.

It exhausts me, this stuff.

I am ever vigilant. The three of us live in 950 square feet. There is no room for excess, and yet it always feels like I'm not quite keeping up with the incoming tide. Toys are passed on the moment they're outgrown, books are read and given away, our clothes closets are purged regularly. I have foisted shoes on my friends, and traded a cast iron frying pan for waterproof cycling gloves. I have quietly divested myself of wedding gifts we don't use, appliances that take up more space than they're worth (how are you liking that juicer, Skot?) and been inching towards minimalism on several levels, but I still always feel like a wave of clutter is about to knock me on my ass.

So here's what I've been doing to strip away the things I don't want to deal with anymore:

• I sold my car. I didn't use it often enough to justify the expense, and when HSWNBN bought a new-to-us car in June, we decided to take the plunge and become a one-car family. I now bicycle everywhere with The Imp towed in a trailer behind me.

• I remove at least three items from my home daily that are never to return - even if it's just taking out the recycling, something leaves my house every day. I've put up photos on flickr and offered things free to the first taker on twitter. I've left stuff in the back alley behind our building - a guaranteed way to make it disappear in less than ten minutes. No way to change my mind and decide to keep things "just in case". 

• Anything new that comes in the house is balanced by something leaving the house. New toy in, old one goes out. New book, furniture, clothing, bedding, towels: same deal. 

Digital clutter: look how tidy!

• I'd been keeping old guitar, cooking, and crochet magazines because I might get to them someday. (Ah, the little lies we tell ourselves!) Instead of giving them valuable apartment real estate, I scanned the articles/projects I liked, and put the magazines down in my building's laundry room where they went on to find new homes. I now have digital clutter instead of physical clutter, but at least it's hidden away in a folder on a hard drive and not taking up space where I can actually see it.

Now I just need to figure out what to do with the detritus that somehow accumulates on flat surfaces. There is not a counter, table top, or cabinet that doesn't at some point fall prey to the migrating piles of paper that infest this house. It's like a plague or something. Or an STD. The piles just get passed from one flat surface to another and never really go away. How can I deal with this stuff? Someboday save me! I'm open to suggestion, people.

My goal, as I get older, is to have less and less physical stuff in my living space. I'd love to reduce what I own every year, so that by the time I die, my house is almost entirely empty except for the stacks of lush Persian carpets to gently break my final fall.

Sigh. A girl can dream.

Things I'm Doing - Traverse Trip: Day 7

In Portland. Karen is tidying up after our last in-room hotel picnic meal. Tomorrow we'll be home.

I did all the driving today: nine hundred and fifty eight kilometres. It's worked out that I've done most of the driving for the entire trip. There've been moments during the day while the others write, read, or nap, that I've looked out at the "...fine white lines, the white lines, on the free freeway" and let my thoughts wander.

I've noticed the long black scars of sudden braking on asphalt, and thought about the near misses they must represent. My eyes have followed the twin tracks of rubber that disappear off the edge of the road into grass, or gravel, or guardrails, and the tragedies they bear silent witness to as they flash by my hundred kilometre per hour windows.

In the quiet moments, with the radio off and the others occupied, I've thought about my own near misses.

Countless moments of stupidity.

Alcoholism.

Abuse at the hands of a man I thought loved me.



And yet, here I am.

Five hundred and four kilometres of scarred asphalt framed in the windshield remain between me and the end of this great adventure.

I miss my boys. I can't wait to be home.



Full disclosure: GM Canada is providing Karen, Nicole, Tracey and I with a Chevrolet Traverse, insurance, gas, and hotels to make the road trip to San Diego and back. I paid for my BlogHer ticket and hotel during the conference myself. The navel gazing is free of charge, and entirely my own.


Also, I'm pretty sure Hejira is my favourite Joni Mitchell album.

Things I'm Doing - Traverse Trip: Day 3

Today there was shopping. Oh yes, my friends, there was shopping.

And I made the mistake of trying on a pair of boots before I actually looked at the price.

I saw them from across the store. It's possible that I actually said, "Helloooo, lover" as I reached to touch them for the first time.

"Doyouhavethisinaneight?" I asked, absentmindedly, as I stroked the soft brown leather.

Seth, the architect of my doom, was very helpful. He brought me the brown boots in a size seven and a size eight. He brought the same boots in black. In fact, he came out of the stock room with five or six pairs of the things, ready for me to try on.

So I did, and it was my undoing.

The boots of my dreams, they were. Soft, buttery leather. The exact right height, a perfect fit below my knees. A low heel, ideal for walking in.

I had to have them. Had to. I justified it in all kinds of ways. I've been looking for precisely these boots for five years. I've always wanted sort-of-riding-boots. They're such great quality I will wear them forever. The colour is exactly right. They fit perfectly - something that's been a challenge since my pregnancy when my feet changed shape.

And they were discounted; I would save four hundred dollars.

Yeah. I know. I have lost my ever-loving mind. Learn from my folly: do not walk into a Ferragamo store. Just don't. Trust me on this.

So I bought them, yes I did.

And then I stumbled out of the store as if out of a dream, and back, blinking, into reality. The conversation with HWSNBN a couple of hours later was interesting. As I explained why it made sense to spend more that I used to pay in rent on a pair of boots, he stopped me. "Lexi," he said, "you are the kind of person they keep in the basement of the White House to come up with reasons for completely horrendous government policy. You can justify anything."

He's not wrong. Still, they are fabulous.

Plus, they're a perfect match for my new cape.

Yes, I bought a cape. Because why not, right?

Full disclosure: GM Canada is providing Karen, Nicole, Tracey and I with a Chevrolet Traverse, insurance, gas, and hotels to make the road trip to San Diego and back. I've paid for my BlogHer ticket and hotel during the conference myself. And my own boots. I paid for those. Although it's possible I may have to wear them every minute until the day I die to amortize their cost over time.

Things I'm Doing - Traverse Trip: Day 1

Five o'clock came way too early this morning.

Four women have rather a lot of luggage, especially when you add in four laptops, four smart phones/ipods, a mifi unit (which I choose to call "mofo" since it's a bit unreliable, connection-wise), cameras, cables, and coolers, oh my. The car, fortunately, has adequate cargo space.

Barely.

After sufficient ingestion of caffeine, we got underway, crossed the border without causing an international incident, and have made our way to our first stopping point, a town with the most romantic and imaginative name of Central Point, Oregon. This is how I summed up our first day on twitter:

But since I have more than 140 characters to play with here on my blog, I'll fill you in on the Rules of the Road, arrived at by general consensus.

1. Requests for pee stops shall be promptly attended to.
2. Requests for Starbucks stops shall be promptly attended to.
3. Requests for chocolate shall be promptly attended to. Fortunately Karen brought home made chocolate chocolate chunk cookies and enough Purdy's to choke a horse, so this one can be accomplished while hurtling down the highway at a hundred kilometres an hour, no stops required.
4. No unflattering photos of Traverse Trip team members shall be posted on these here internets without consent. No bikini shots. (Or in my case, tankini shots - the bikini shots for the over 40 set.)
5. Cheese is to be consumed at every opportunity. As someone who sneaks cheese in the dead of night after The Imp's gone to sleep (he has a dairy allergy) I heartily approve.
6. Potty mouth actively encouraged - nay, expected. Three out of four of us are parents of small children - the freedom to speak like a trucker at will gives us all a heady sense of recklessness.
7. Innuendo: see #6 above.
8. Friends don't let friends tweet tipsy.
9. No Pink Floyd.
10. No, we are not there yet.

So far no one has had to threaten to stop the car. No one has lost any articles of clothing or other personal possessions.

And most importantly, not one chuck was given this day. (Meaning: my motion sickness did not make an appearance.)


If you'd like, you can follow our adventures on twitter, and read posts by my fabulous travelling companions.


Full disclosure: GM Canada is providing Karen, Nicole, Tracey and I with a Chevrolet Traverse, insurance, gas, and hotels to make the road trip to San Diego. I've paid for my BlogHer ticket and hotel during conference myself. And I'm paying for my own cheese.

Things I'm Doing - Packing

I'm packed. Karen is sleeping in the living room as I finish up last minute things before we leave for eight days on our big! adventure! road trip to BlogHer. In more than three years, I've never been away from The Imp for more than 48 hours, and he is not pleased that I am going.

I am very pleased that I am going, for what that's worth.

We have the car, and we have named it George.

We have discussed what to wear.

And we have unlocked the Sparkletoes Achievement.

I'm really not sure what to expect from BlogHer, but I tend to go about my day inclined to have a good time, so I have no doubt that fun will be had. There's no other agenda for me for this trip. If I can meet some like-minded people, learn a little, and hit a party or two, I'll consider it a roaring success.

One thing I am very much looking forward to is hosting the Serenity Suite for a couple of hours during the conference. I saw tweets about it last year, and thought then that if I ever made it to BlogHer myself, I'd volunteer as a host.

So here I am, going to BlogHer, and I'll be hosting at the Serenity Suite on Friday morning between 10:00 and 11:00 am, and Saturday afternoon from 1:00 to 2:00 pm.

Wanna know something cool? The Saturday shift marks, to the hour, the eighteenth anniversary of me waking up one day and deciding not to drink anymore. I can't imagine a place I'd rather spend it.

So if you're at the conference, and you need a quiet moment and a friendly face, please come by and say hello. I give good hugs!

Of course you don't have to hug me. I'm not creepy about it.



Full disclosure: GM Canada is providing Karen, Nicole, Tracey and I with a Chevrolet Traverse, insurance, gas, and hotels to make the road trip to San Diego. I've paid for my BlogHer ticket and hotel during conference myself. And I paid for my own pedicure. Grin. (Just making sure you were still reading!)

Things I've Learned - Holiday Flotsam and Jetsam

Bits and pieces I've picked up along the way:

1) All that fretting about what to do with an almost three year old in Hawaii? For naught.

Our day goes something like this:
7am: wake up. Imp starts demanding we go to the beach.
8am: breakfast
9-10:30am: into the pool, out of the pool, back into the pool, out of the pool
10:30am: snack
10:45-noon: into the ocean, out of the ocean, back into the ocean
12pm: lunch
12:30-3:30pm: into the ocean, out of the ocean, back into the ocean, out of the ocean
3:30pm: ice cream for us/sorbet for The Imp
3:45-5pm: into the pool, out of the pool, back into the pool, out of the pool
5pm: clean up for 5:30pm: dinner
6:30pm: into the ocean, out of the ocean
7:30pm: bath, story
8pm: bed

Weather permitting, all other variables indicate that today, and every day that follows, will be a case of lather, rinse, repeat.

The Imp getting his surf on at Waikiki beach

2) When I was first in Oahu without my parents, over twenty years ago, I had the carefully crafted attitude only a 19 year old can carry off. I didn't want to go to any of the "touristy" spots, like Waikiki Beach. My aunt, who's now lived here over 40 years, told me, "Don't be an idiot. The reason the tourists all go to Waikiki Beach is because it's one of the best beaches on the island." She's totally right. We've had perfect weather every single day. The waves are gentle enough for The Imp to run through, high enough for it to be exciting when they wash over him. There are other spots on Oahu I love too, but we could do a lot worse than to spend every day here.


3) Before we booked our trip, we debated getting a condo vs a hotel room. In the end, we opted for the hotel - and I'm glad we did. The reasons for getting a condo made sense: with The Imp's dairy allergy we could be sure of what he was eating, we'd save some money compared to restaurant meals, we'd have laundry facilities handy. But when I think about all the pros, the big con is this: shopping for groceries, cooking, and doing laundry don't sound much like a holiday. It sounds like being home, but with palm trees and air conditioning. Staying in a hotel makes it a true vacation. Plus they bring you slushy drinks as you lay around the pool. How awesome is that?


4) The problem with shopping after you've been here a few days is that big bold floral prints start to seem like a good idea. See also: ukuleles, surfboards, and Wyland. (Except I'm just kidding about the Wyland thing. That never seems like a good idea.)

New sandals, in dire need of a pedicure

5) Being a non-drinker, I feel totally justified in spending money on shoes. What I've spent on our holiday to date is only about half of what HWSNBN has consumed in mai tais at $11 a pop.

6) If you bring more than one bathing suit, one top, one skirt, and one pair of flip-flops, you've totally overpacked.

7) My favourite lip gloss is $5 cheaper at Macy's in Waikiki than it is at home.

8) Despite the proliferation of Australian, Canadian, and various European accents I hear around me every day on the beach, Hawaiian tourism seems to still have a lot of eggs in the Japanese basket. I wonder what effect the whole radiation/earthquake/tsunami hit to the Japanese economy will have on that.

My boys, kickin' it poolside

9) Seeing The Imp and HWSNBN play together in the pool and on the beach makes my heart sing out loud.

And most importantly:

Robot voice: "It is a biohazard."

10) The cost of a slightly used, slightly peed upon king size hotel duvet is $127 and change.

Things I've Learned - October Review

So October kicked my ass. It knocked me down emotionally and physically. It was a hell of a thirty-one day stretch.

I spent more time than I would've liked doing the angry cry. I wrote and I wrote and I wrote. And I crossed things out and scribbled out entire lines in my notebook. And I hit the delete button on this blog a lot. But what survived the edits is, while respectful of people who might not appreciate our interactions splashed all over my little corner of the internet here, a pretty good distillation of my insights and struggles this month.

So, October then:

I learned about the power of muscle memory. Sadly not in the service of improving my tennis backhand, but in finally recognizing the backhanded way the past can mess with the present. And I learned how the power of that insight has improved my parenting, my patience, and The Imp's reactions to my reactions immeasurably.

I had the plague aka The Cold Virus of Doom That Would Not Die Or Go Away Ever. Or maybe it was just my body's physical interpretation of what was happening emotionally. The fact that neither HWSNBN nor The Imp have gotten sick despite how ridiculously ill I've been for almost three weeks makes me lean toward the latter, frankly. But what I lost in productivity this month, I've gained in quiet introspection and a silent sense of reclaiming my confidence in my decisions.

Photo by Gwendolyn Floyd taken at this year's Northern Voice conference back in May. You know you're at the start of a great friendship when you can ask someone you've met like twice to take a picture of your breasts and it's not weird at all.

I took my forty year old boobs in for a screening mammogram. They may be saggy, shrinking, and occasionally leaky, but they are not harbouring anything that will try and kill me. So that's good.

I missed Blissdom Canada, but I got to host the cookie-bearing Karen Humphrey on her way through Vancouver as she headed to what, by all accounts, was seventeen kinds of awesome. So I ate cookies and watched the Blissdom stream on twitter and tried not to die of envy.

I'm marginally more aware of what to do with pumpkins. We carved jack-o'-lanterns. We roasted pumpkin seeds. We trick-or-treated in our neighbourhood's shops, and The Imp made me proud by saying thank you every time someone dropped something in his bucket. He didn't really get the whole "trick or treat" thing, but he knew all about "thank you." Heart: swell.

I was bowled over by the generosity of my peers. I put out the call for donation items for a BC Cancer Inspiration Gala silent auction, and the call was answered and then some. The Gala was very successful, raising a record $2.69 million for lymphoma research at the BC Cancer Agency. And I'm told by someone who was there that the basket we contributed to the silent auction was a hot item and went for well over its value. I am prouder than I can express to be a part of this amazing community.

And I learned that maybe, just maybe, it would be okay if every now and then I gave myself a little bit more credit. It wasn't until I saw the comments on my blog post about the silent auction basket that it even occurred to me that I had made a valuable contribution too, by pulling it all together. Which correlates with a tendency I have in general to discount my own abilities and achievements. While I don't want to get carried away with how awesome I am, it's probably okay if I stop and recognize my own efforts once in a while.

This post is part of Amber Strocel's monthly review linkup.

Things That Are True: Do It For The Boobies

This has been on my mind, as of late:

 

So even though I am dealing with The Cold That Will Not Die, there was a bright spot in my overall health picture revealed when I received this letter in the mail today. The mammogram I had two weeks ago came back normal. A bright spot, indeed: when I was 26, my doctor found two lumps in my right breast. The weeks between finding the lumps and getting the ultrasound/mammogram appointment were terrifying. I could think of nothing else; my hand would stray, unbidden, to my breast to try and feel if the lumps had somehow grown in the five minutes since I'd last checked. Ultrasound determined that they were nothing to worry about, and consistent monitoring has reassured me on a regular basis since.

Two of my aunts, one on either side of my family, have survived breast cancer. My cousin was recently diagnosed, has just had surgery, and now begins an exhausting course of chemo and radiation.

In BC, once you turn 40, you don't need to be referred for a screening mammogram. You can just call them up and make your own appointment.

Do it.

Things That Are True - Ruminations Upon Turning Forty

Warning: cringe-inducing earnestness ahead. If you're looking for cynicism, click away. You'll not find it here.

My 40th birthday party - photo by HWSNBN

A month ago today, I turned 40.

I had a half a dozen half-written posts in my head at the time, which have grown to a dozen since. Things I've wanted to say: an update on my Fit by Forty mission, discussions of celebrations, birthday cake for the non-dairy set, clever quips about passing life's milestones, and some Significant Ponderings Upon Reaching Adulthood. It's taken a month for all of that to simmer on the back burner of my mental landscape and bubble over into this:

I'm 40. And I don't care anymore.


Let me clarify: this is not "I don't care anymore, nothing matters and what if it did." I have not been tsunami'd by a rogue wave of apathy. The exact opposite, in fact. I am as passionate, as engaged, and possibly more driven than I've ever been. This is "I know what I know, I love what I love, and I no longer give a damn what other people think."

This, friends and relations, is what freedom feels like.

This is a huge deal for someone like me. I have expended a lot of energy - enough kW hours to make a serious dent in the global energy crisis - being consumed with anxiety about not fitting in, worrying about what to wear, what to say, how to act. I have, more than once, allowed my fear to sink me into utter paralysis. I've not done things I desperately, achingly wanted to do - talk to that guy, write that song, go to that event, try that new scary thing - because of my fear of Getting It Wrong. Sheer will pushed me forward on occasion, but more often than not, I feigned aloofness and pretended what I really wanted didn't matter. I opted out.

No more.

An actual photo I took today just before the scribbling began

As I write this, I'm sitting in a cafe that is much cooler than I am. I put my pen down periodically (yes, I still write with pen and paper occasionally - I like the tactile nature of it) and dip in and out of the stream of conversation around me, capturing vignettes of people's public and private lives. I'm surrounded by 20-something hipsters. I admire their easy confidence, their languid coolness, their uninhibited friendships. And I wonder what I looked like at their age to a 40 year old woman sitting scribbling in a notebook nearby. Did I seem so easy and comfortable in my own skin? Or could she tell I was afraid of looking foolish every waking moment of every day? And are these beautiful younger-than-me men and women plagued by the angst (existential and otherwise) that plagued me at their age?

It feels sudden, this I-don't-give-a-damn liberation, but I'm sure, like everything else, that it's not that simple, that it's been creeping up on me far longer than I've been aware. It's just the introspection of watching a major milestone approach and go past that's made it front-and-centre.

I spent my twenties figuring out who I was in the wake of a disastrous and abusive relationship. What other people thought of me was always top of mind. In my thirties, I had a better poker face, but I was still consumed with how I appeared to others. The things that made me happy - designer clothes, extravagant vacations, expensive restaurants - were still tied up in how other people saw me. If I deconstructed every choice I made in the ten years between 27 and 37, what other people thought was the single most important factor every time.

Motherhood - ah motherhood: paradoxically crisis-of-confidence inducing and magnificently empowering all at once. While the mere act of living my life, examining my mistakes, and choosing better the next time has contributed to this new, giddy sense of freedom, it's motherhood that has triggered a quiet revolution in the way I look at the world. I've always been someone who had to know how to do something perfectly before I would even try it - as a result I didn't try a lot of new things. But becoming a parent isn't something I could know how to do before I actually did it. No matter how many books I read or friends I talk to, every person's experience of parenthood is different, and I can't do anything but figure it out as I go.

And Get It Wrong. Boy, do I get it wrong. I angst. I worry. I fret. It's a struggle, and a challenge, and a different game every day - which would have stopped me in my tracks ten years ago. Even five years ago.

But I keep doing it anyway. Aloofness isn't possible. Opting out simply isn't an option.

The getting it wrong and doing it anyway is a monumental change for me. Learning to be a parent has given me the permission to fail, and the courage to try to fail better next time. To just get over myself, to challenge my own assumptions, to reach out, to share my hopes and dreams in this space, and most importantly to believe that my hopes and dreams do matter. Pretty heady stuff.

Web cam photo taken right this minute

Hi. I'm Alexis.

My hair gets frizzy. My teeth are crooked. I make mistakes. I know what I know, I love what I love, and I stand up for what I believe in. I'm 40. And I don't give a damn.

Can I get a booyah?

Things I'm Doing - Mischievous Moms at Sandbar

So, again with the nerves. I always volunteer or jump in at the merest mention of a fun opportunity. "That sounds great," I'll say. "How can I help?" And then as it approaches - currently I'm looking at T-minus 5 1/2 hours - I start to angst.

Yes, I did just use angst as a verb.

freedictionary.com defines the noun angst as:

angst [æŋst (German) aŋst]

n

1. an acute but nonspecific sense of anxiety or remorse

2. (Philosophy) (in Existentialist philosophy) the dread caused by man's awareness that his future is not determined but must be freely chosen

Collins English Dictionary – Complete and Unabridged © HarperCollins Publishers 1991, 1994, 1998, 2000, 2003

My personal definition:

to angst:
v
1. a desperate search through the closet for something to wear to the Impending Event, followed by a rejection of every item of clothing I've ever owned (Too trendy. Not trendy enough. Trying too hard. Too casual. Too dressy. Too "look at me". Too wallflower. Too [insert random adjective here])
2. consumption of several handfuls of chocolate chips
3. a bout self-loathing, for the consumption of chocolate (not Fit By Forty Compliant, that)
4. an extended bout of self-doubt, of the Who Do You Think You Are To Do/Be/Want X variety
5. a sudden need to alphabetize all my recipes/books/expense receipts/fabric samples/twitter friends

In this case, the Impending Event is a meetup of moms and twitter friends at Sandbar on Granville Island this evening. I've been broadcasting my attendance and involvement in this event far and wide for the last several days. I know that I'm a tremendously social person who loves nothing more than being in the thick of the fun. And yet... and yet. Here I sit. Angsting.

I'm looking forward to tonight. I'll get to see some old friends, meet some new ones, and meet Erica Ehm, a woman and mom that I feel like I already know through our interactions on twitter and through her website. Plus, she was in my living room daily when I was a teenager!



And Erica's looking forward to it too - she mentioned it in an interview on Breakfast Television this morning - sadly not an embeddable video, you'll have to click the link. (Ahem, the 4:25 mark gratifies my ego in a big way.) And Erica, if you read this, THANK YOU for pronouncing my last name Hinde rhymes with blind and not Hindie rhymes with indie. Thank you, thank you, thank you. That almost never happens.

Now, since I have this "awareness that [my] future is not determined but must be freely chosen",  I'm pretty sure I've got some stuff that needs alphabetizing. And an outfit decision to make.

Things I'm Doing - Fit By Forty: Week 5

Week 5 (March 29 - April 4):  A Noticeable Difference

Week 5 marked the milestone of a full month of my Fit by Forty efforts. After the stress of Week 4, this week was all about getting back on track; back to the good habits I'd been forming. My husband commented at breakfast one morning as I was standing at the counter in my baggy old underwear making his morning cappucino (because I'm classy like that) that I was getting my figure back; apparently this week my waist decided to make an appearance at last. While I'm doing this for no one but me (and indirectly The Imp, I suppose) I'm not going to pretend that it didn't feel good when my mother in law, who knew nothing of my Fit by Forty mission, asked, "Have you lost weight?" at a family dinner. "Yes! Yes!" I practically shouted. "Nine pounds!!!" My vanity felt intensely gratified, I must say.

My skinny jeans. I am neither long nor lean, but Gap knows good marketing when they see it.

This was also the week that I tried on my "skinny" jeans for the first time since I was newly delivered of child. (Don't do that, by the way. The crying jag that follows takes way too much out of you. New moms need their energy for other stuff, like, oh I don't know, breathing.) I didn't fit into the skinny jeans yet, but I was getting closer. However, the "fat" jeans (we all have skinny and fat jeans, right? Please tell me I'm not alone in this) that I wore well into my fourth month of pregnancy now slipped off my hips without needing to undo the button or fly, so. Picture my happy face and me high fiving myself in front of the bedroom mirror. Which, by the way? Not so graceful. Find someone else to high five you. Trust me. If you do it alone you just look like you can't figure out how to clap properly.

Eating

I managed to get through the Easter weekend without a single taste of chocolate. And it wasn't even that hard. Now, if I'm to venture outside the Fit By Forty-compliant zone, it has to really be worth it. If I want chocolate, I take the time to go to Mink Chocolate and get the best. As far as regular eating goes, I use every trick in the book. Nothing revolutionary here, but some of the healthier habits I've developed include:

• eat vegetables first, then the rest of my meal
• stop eating the second I realize I'm not feeling hungry
• exercise when I'm bored instead of snacking
• make food from scratch instead of convenience foods
• drink water instead of juice or pop
• use smaller plates
• use a smaller pot when reheating leftovers for lunch (we don't have a microwave)
• treats in moderation (can't live without dessert ALL the time!)

Takeway
This week I indulged in my favourite snack food of all time: a small bag of Cheezies. And they didn't even taste that good. I was so disappointed. I guess a month of fresh homemade no-additive food changed my system's definition of yum. Interestingly, after eating a small amount of junk food that I didn't even particularly enjoy, I wanted more. The cravings that set in were almost as strong as my first week of Fit by Forty. For me at least, eating The Bad Food only begets the desire for more; best to avoid it altogether.

Exercise
Week 5 was more of the same as far as exercise goes; second verse, same as the first - lots of bike riding. I added a rule that when I'm not dressed up, carrying stuff, or with The Imp, I must take the stairs instead of the elevator up the 21 floors to our apartment. I don't do it every time, but even once a day makes me feel a sense of accomplishment.

Takeaway
Sneaking in more cardio without thinking about it - the key, for me, to sticking with it. If it's just a part of my daily routine, and not something special that I have to go somewhere else to do, it's far more likely to happen.

And now, for the numbers:
Starting weight: 149 lbs
Week 1 weight loss: 3.5 lbs
Week 2 weight loss: 3 lbs
Week 3 weight loss: 2 lbs
Week 4 weight loss: .5 lbs
Week 5 weight loss: 2.5 lbs
New weight: 137.5 lbs


I'm always looking for ways to keep this process fresh and interesting, so I'm asking for your advice: what are your good eating and exercising habits? Please let me know in the comments what works for you!

Things That Scare Me - Northern Voice

Today and tomorrow I'm attending Northern Voice 2010, a blogging conference. There are a ton of great speakers. Bloggers I've met and a whole bunch of people I've conversed with on twitter are going to be there. People I admire, people who are actually doing the things I aspire to. It's going to be a very cool couple of days.

For reasons unknown, I am terrified. Well, actually, I know the reasons, I just don't know that they're rational.

First, the usual litany of insecurities that plague me:

Who am I to call myself a blogger and attend a conference? A conference for real bloggers?
What if it's all tech-speak geek coolness I don't understand and people find out I don't know what I'm doing? I don't know the first thing about coding.
What if people scorn me because I'm on Blogger and not a self-hosted Wordpress blog?

Then, the fear of the unknown:

What if  I can't find the venue?
What if everybody seems to know each other and I'm standing on the outside of the group looking in? (How delightfully high school of me!)

What if I don't see anyone I know? 
What if I do see people I know and they avoid me?
What if I manage to overcome all this and get there anyway, and then they don't have a record of me paying for tickets and I can't get in?

Then it devolves into the strictly ridiculous:

What if I can't manage the big hill up to UBC on my bike and I get there totally late?
What if I'm all gross and sweaty after bicycling there and no one will talk to me?

And the classic:

What if I look fat in these pants?


Understand, I'm normally an outgoing, welcoming, and wise-cracking people person. I worked and excelled in an extremely competitive industry, meeting new people (some of them famous, some of them undeserving of their giant egos) every day on a movie set. I look forward to new learning experiences every day. I enjoy and excel at connecting with people. So what's the deal with the mind-numbing fear? Why the paralysis ahead of the fact - and this happens every. single. time. Every networking event, every family gathering, every trip to the playground with The Imp. Why? Why, why, why? (stomps feet, shakes fist)

So this morning I'm trying to think less about my specific fears, and philosophize more about the nature of fear itself. How it's just the mind's way of warning you you're trying something new; how fear is healthy and necessary but should never be the sole factor in making a decision.

Fear is ever-present for me, and has played a significant role in my life so far. It's alternated between stopping me from really going for what I want, and galvanizing me into action to reach higher and strive harder. It's a tricky beast, and I've never quite got both reins in hand at the same time.

For the next three hours I'll focus on what I need to do to get past it:
1) acknowledge it - done here for all the world to see,
2) ignore it - trickier, but The Imp will wake soon and more pressing needs will take centre-stage,
3) eat breakfast and put on my game face,
and have the great time I know the next couple of days, (hell, the rest of my life!) are going to be.

What do you do to overcome the doubts that plague you? Or (gulps, looks around nervously) does this just happen to me?

Wordless Wednesday - Riding with the King

My trusty steed, my Fit by Forty champion, my main means of transportation these days. I shall call him King. King shall be his name.

As in "Don't you know you're riding with the King?"

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Self-serving announcement: I've been lucky enough to be included on vancouvermom.ca's Favourite Vancouver Mom Bloggers shortlist, and would be honoured if you would consider voting for me here. You don't need to register to vote, just tick the box next to my name and click submit. You can vote once a day until May 6th. Thanks!

This post is part of A Lot of Loves' Wordless Wednesday linkup. 

Food Revolution Fridays - Leftover Pizza Edition

There are some times when you just can't make stuff from scratch. Today as I was running late picking up The Imp at daycare, I was doing a mental tally of what was in the fridge. What on earth could I feed us - quickly?

Pizza's always a hit, but with a Canucks game on tonight, I imagined our local little pizza joint would be running around with their hair on fire - probably not a good idea to hope for timely delivery. And you do not want to see The Imp when he is low on blood sugar. Calories, stat!

Hmmm.

I didn't want frozen pizza from the grocery store, but now I had pizza on the brain. So I improvised!

I know, you're shocked...

15 Minute Leftover Mini Pizzas
 

Large flour tortilla wraps (I like the flavoured ones - spinach or sundried tomato)
Leftovers from your fridge (I had some ham I cut into small cubes)
Veggies from your fridge (tonight I had zucchini, bell peppers, & mushrooms)
Tomato sauce (leftover spaghetti sauce)
Cheese

Chop up leftovers/veggies
Grate cheese

Spread a thin layer of tomato sauce to cover a flour tortilla to within a 1/2 inch of the edge
Spread chopped veg/leftovers on tomato sauce
Sprinkle sparingly with grated cheese

Place mini pizza on a wire rack on a cookie sheet. The wire rack allows the pizza crust to crisp up around the edges. If you just put it right onto the cookie sheet, it might be kind of soggy. Pop into a hot oven (about 400F) or under the broiler for 10 minutes or until cheese starts to bubble.

Make at least one per person.

Cut each mini pizza into 4 or six slices and serve with panache.

 The Imp goes straight for the mushrooms, as is his wont. And yes, that is a Canucks plate.

And now, for the variations:
Instead of tortillas, you could use a boboli, pita bread, or some other flatbread.
Instead of tomato sauce, you could use chopped tomatoes, or skip the sauce altogether and spread refried beans or your favourite dip.

Gourmet? Maybe not, but healthier and tastier than grocery store freezer pizza. And you use up leftovers, so that's good. And what isn't yummy covered in melted cheese?

And you can skip the wire rack and cookie sheet and just stick the mini pizzas straight onto your oven rack. But you'll probably end up with melted cheese dripping off the pizza onto the bottom of your oven. Since mine is still covered in blueberries, I thought a cookie sheet was prudent.

Go Canucks!

Himself, post-pizza. 

It's never too early to learn about disappointment; we have encouraged The Imp's love of the Canucks.

This post is part of Scattered Mom's Notes From the Cookie Jar Food Revolution Fridays linkup and contest. Head on over there to see what others are up to in their adventures with food!

Food Revolution Fridays - Blueberry Pie Redux

I know it's not Friday, but the blueberry pie post I wrote last week got some enthusiastic response! As such, I thought it deserved an update once the actual pie-making took place. Which happened today.

Hence, this little photo-essay:

First, have your toddler stir together the ingredients.

Make sure he has a beverage handy.

Keep him at it until it looks more or less like this.

Spread waxed paper on a damp surface.

Place pastry dough in the middle of the waxed paper.

Prepare for rolling out.

Unorthodox rolling pin technique or salute to the pastry gods? You be the judge!

Expire of the cuteness.

Remove top sheet of waxed paper,

and transfer rolled out dough to pie plate.

This is what the flour/sugar/lemon juice looked like, proportion wise, this time.

Pour the filling into the pie plate and set aside. Somewhere out of your toddler's reach, preferably, because if you don't...

...this is what happens.

I did mention that I like to overfill my pies, right? And you're not suffering double-vision from the length of this post. We had to make two pies for dinner tonight - 11 people.

Dot with butter. Mmmm, butter.

Not my best lattice top, but it'll do.

Have your toddler tidy up a little while pie's in the oven.

Finished product.

However, the possibility does exist that I may have used one or two (hundred) too many blueberries. You should see the bottom of my oven.

Off for dinner, pies in hand. Happy Sunday, everyone!