Speed Trials

It’s not a secret that Angelo won me over in the summer of 2006 by taking me to his community garden plot on one of our very first dates. The date actually started off on plastic chairs behind the Tang Laundromat, but on a whim he took me walking. We felt his tomatoes (not quite ripe enough for picking), pinched some basil to smell (and which he then stuck behind his ear) and strolled around the neighbouring plots, looking at all the different plants and methods of growing.

We started off by sifting the top layer of soil, to get some of the larger rocks out of the garden.

Then we filled up our plot with topsoil and some compost. We sprinkled half of our Lobster Meal and raked it all up but good.

This is our garden after all the plowing. As you can see, we have a few leftovers from last year’s garden.

This is its third year in existence, and it’s finally bearing fruit. (It spent its first two summers at our garden on Champagne Ave., and was transplanted last fall. We were scared because we didn’t know if it would survive the transplant. Sure looks good to me, though!!)

It was the first real hot day of the year (33*Celsius with the humidex. That’s the way it goes here in Ottawa – in winter you have to worry about the wind chill; in summer, it’s the humidity) but there was a fierce wind that rocked everything, including the pergola we were sitting under…

Last night’s storm seemed to take with it all the angst and frustration that had plagued our little apartment all week. This storm had been brewing for a while, and life at the Wellington Place has been less than ideal.

Let’s face it, it’s been a crap week. I’ve been in some sort of holding pattern, waiting for my appointment tomorrow. It seems like every time I set up a Doctor’s appointment, I put everything else on hold, on the back burner, like I’m in some sort of holding pattern until HE (the almighty DOCTOR) tells me what to do next. It’s weird, because this DOCTOR is really just some dude, some dude who doesn’t know me, doesn’t know my day-to-day, what I eat, how I feel, what sets me off, what keeps me awake at night. And yet, I hinge everything on those fifteen minutes I’m going to spend with HIM tomorrow, hoping to receive some magic key that will unlock the mystery of my stomach.

Though I have gone through the motions of the week, going out, going to work, but in the back of my mind, I’m running through the possibilities.

I went to the Fiftymen show at the Elmdale Tavern…

Sometimes it’s even difficult to pee… Maybe I have some sort of bladder infection, or something…

I celebrated Easter, and belated birthday dinners for my father and step-father…

Could I be allergic to gluten? It would account for the bloated stomach every time I eat.

I went to work as per usual…

Maybe it’s appendicitis. How long can a person go on with a broken appendix before it bursts?

I took Kim out for her first ride on the O-Train… (to attend an opening at Patrick Mikhail Gallery in Ottawa South)

What exactly is a “lazy bowel”? Is it some bullshit symptom of stress? (aside: “Stress” is this century’s “Consumption”. You heard it here first!!)

And then took her out for drinks at the Prescott…

Do I need an MRI? Another colonoscopy? When are these DOCTORS going to take me seriously???

See… How can I blog about my life, let alone sit back and enjoy it, when this is what’s running through my brain…?

Angelo doesn’t like it either. He hasn’t been too pleased with me this week. But as we watched the winds pick up over Hintonburg, and as we hunkered down to watch the rain rasp against our windows, so was all forgiven, if not forgotten, and hopefully the storm inside the apartment has subsided along with the one out there…

The Louis Garneau, THE Louis Garneau, MY Louis Garneau, has been resting on its hook in our hallway for a long time. As you’ll recall, Ange gave it to me last fall, but then the weather turned, and the Louis Garneau stayed holled up in our apartment throughout the winter.

So, after a hearty breakfast of sweet potatoes and veggie Frittata (courtesy of Angelo), I announced that I really wanted to get the Louis Garneau out on the road. Ange was all over that idea, and went to work on the last little tweaks on the bike.

This is Angelo’s workshop. It’s a little messy right now, but he’s hoping to set it up with shelves and better storage soon.

My gear ratio is 19/49, for those of you who are into that sort of thing.

Here is Ange pumping air into my tires.

And my poor green machine, stripped of her front wheel and set aside now that the milder weather is here (don’t worry girl, you’ll always be my first fixie!!!)

I headed down to the Experimental Farm, along the NCC’s bike path.

I love the idea of the experimental farm. Here is this fully functioning farm, with acres of land, a greenhouse, cattle, and fields and fields, right in the Centre of the City. So weird. It makes for nice bike rides.

I kept going west, until the bike path curved northward and I ended up at that Ottawa River.

So pretty. The bike paths got a little crowded in some spots, but then I’d ride through these pockets where there’d be no one, and nothing but trees and shrubs all around.

What a privilege to find this kind of peace in the city itself.

For all you non-Canadians, here are our Canada Geese. I was surprised to see so many out on the water all at once, so early on in the season. But I guess it is that time for them to come on back home for summer. (All good signs, non?)

Finally I made it back to my neck of the woods, near the Lebreton Flats an the War Museum.

I was going to keep on past the Parliament Buildings and carry on along the canal, but ran out of steam a little and decided to call it a day and head out to the Bike Polo Court.

I had a sandwich from DiRienzo’s along with a pop, two of my PB2 cookies, and a plum.

Oh yeah: I made PB2 cookies last night:

They were okay, but turned out like little spongy cookies, rather than your typical melt-in-your-mouth peanut butter cookies. Not bad, but not the success I had hoped for my low-fat PB2…

I’ve been feeling way low lately. Sure there are lots of fun things going on, but just as many shitty things are happening, too, and I’m losing interest in a lot of things… I don’t want to wallow, so I’m not allowing myself to write too much today.

Instead, I’ve got these leftover photos from around. Food stuffs I’ve made, and all that. Here they are, in no particular order:

Vegan Pumpkin muffins. They were very tasty, and definitely the best batch of vegan muffins I’ve ever made. Recipe is here.

Quickie sandwich I made for lunch. Hummus, cukes, cheese, wrap. Pretty simple. But wrapped in wax paper (it makes everything better).

This was made when we were still high on our Mexico trip. These tacos were way good, served with spicy salsa and refried beans.

Here is the goo inside. That’s chicken inside. I ate it.

Very pretty. And really reminded us of Mexico.

Apple crisp I made not too long ago. It has a puff pastry bottom, apples in the middle (four fugi’s) and a brown sugar/oat crumble on top. It fell apart when I served it, but it sure tasted good. I ate it with two slices of hard cheese.

I love apple pie and cheese. So much better than apple pie and ice cream.

This is a huge-ass sandwich from Boko Bakery. It’s a tofu sandwich, and at $3.60, I can’t really complain that it was mostly bread, with very little filling.

I ate half, which was really like one whole sandwich. Ange ate the rest.

And finally, I made these Kale Chips from Kath Eats Real Food. She makes them all the time, and so I bought some kale specially (I don’t really like kale. I know, I know, it’s like the most perfect food in the whole world and all). The chips were good. I set the timer for 12 minutes, and they weren’t quite done, but then I set it again for 3 minutes, and by then they were (slightly) burnt. Too bad. They were still way good, though. I had them with ketchup, and it was a nice salty little side for my sandwich. And way healthier than corn chips or popcorn, which is usually what I chow down on when I’m in a snacky mood.

And also, I’ve been all over drinking my water from a straw. I got that from Kath, too. So in complete homage to her, here is my arial shot of my Kale Chips, complete with pint of water and straw.

Too bad I don’t have any cute placemats… (but maybe that’s a good thing, for fear of crossing over into “Single White Female” territory!!

I had written a post today that was dripping with pity and despair, that raged and seethed in frustration, and that finally heaved in final exasperation. I was all ready to post it, too. After all, it has a better title than this one. But I’m not going to. I’m glad I wrote it all out, but it’s not meant to make it here. In its stead, I think I’ll tell you a little story about my cubicle plant:

It’s a nice little green thing that I got from the supermarket, to “stage” our dining room when we were trying to sell our house. (It’s the last plant to survive from a larger arrangement). I brought it to work several months ago to add a little “humanity” to my boring work environment. My boring, and very hot and arid work environment. My nice little green plant didn’t seem to mind the artificial heat and air that seems to rob skin and soil of moisture at an alarming rate. It even decided to flourish for me, brightening my day, as it is the first thing I see upon turning the corner into my cubicle.

When I went away to Mexico, my co-worker graciously offered to water my little green plant, for which I am forever grateful.

But then, last weekend, it was Easter. And that meant I had four days off in a row. And when I returned to work on Tuesday, at noon, this is what greeted me:

“Oh, no!” my poor little green plant!! I was so scared that this was really it. I stood there looking at my little green plant, so sad and limp and dying (and in pain…). I gave him a bit of water, and yes, I talked to him a little. A short while later, I gave him a little more water, and then a while after that, I watered him again. I felt his soil, and when I was satisfied he’d had enough, I left him alone, hoping for his recovery.

I went to my evening meeting, and when I returned to my desk at 8:30pm, he greeted me with open “arms”: