Got a man? Go ahead and take advantage of him!

It’s no wonder men have been feeling emasculated and underappreciated. Their value in our culture has been steadily depreciating ever since Rosie picked up her riveter. We women have come to judge our mates’ usefulness in terms of dishes washed or feet massaged, rather than recognizing, and celebrating, their uniquely masculine qualities. Go ahead, take advantage of a husband! We forget how useful they can be when we’re faced with a stubborn pickle jar, or a set of chilly sheets. Sometimes, a gal just needs something solid to lean on whilst she ties her shoes.

***

It was 6am on a Saturday morning when I threw four generations of feminism to the wind and finally called for help. “Geeeorge, can you come to the bathroom for a sec?”

I heard him groan, then sigh, then drag himself out of the cozy bed in the next room - where he’d generously been donating his time to the warming of sheets. The man knew better than to ask me, Why? I’m a writer; the occasional crisis, existential or otherwise, is part of my job description. He came around the corner, my knight in shining… um… um… Anyways, he was as prepared as any less-than-dressed, half asleep man can be when trudging to the rescue.

George is a fellow who takes things in stride. Finding his half-naked wife squatting over the bathroom sink with a broom braced against the far wall didn’t seem to faze him in the slightest. I, on the other hand, was mortified. How, I ask, can one ever regain one’s position as an object of desire after having been caught in such a ridiculously undesirable position? We were suddenly the prehistoric human display at the museum, me with my blue plastic (microfiber tipped) spear and him with his cro-magnon brow furrowing deeper by the second. He kept the disgruntled, glazed look as I explained that there was a GIANT spider under the head of the broom and that I was too scared to check if it was dead.

My brave husband humored me. He took over at the broom handle and waited till I’d scurried down the hall before lifting the head off the wall.

“Is it dead?” I called, from the distant safety of the living room.

“I don’t know,” he answered slowly. ”There’s nothing there.”

He was right. There was no trace of the spider, no stray limbs, no tell tale smear. After a thorough examination, I turned to George and said those magical words: ”Let us never speak of this again.” He nodded, and we both went back to bed, into those lovely pre-warmed sheets. 

Later in the day, I thought I saw the same spider creeping behind the toilet, but I left it alone. Sure, it’s great to take advantage of your man, even healthy for his masculine pride, but it’s my own pride I’m worried about. Ever try sucking in your gut while squatting on a counter wearing ratty granny panties? No? Can’t think why not? My kingdom for a loincloth! Now, let us never speak of this again.

Liven up your fall letters with this quick and easy stationary project

Graphic design secret: Remember to use odd numbers of each leaf

There’s still time to send off a couple of handwritten letters before the Christmas rush.  Not that you don’t have enough on your plate already, especially with that green and red Godzilla of holidays looming dark on the horizon (*), but the effect of a few heartfelt words and some pencil crayons can be just as magical for the sender as for the recipient. Of course, it’s also handy that leaves are a whole lot easier to draw (not to mention show up a lot better) than snowflakes.

Click here for time saving tips for writing and sending your own handwritten letters.

(*)Note: Do I sound a little jaded? You try staying festive (or even fully conscious!) after stocking hundreds of toxic, rubbery plastic ornaments at a Michaels Arts & Craft Store – one fateful October! And don’t even get me started on the Cinnamon scented pinecones that will haunt me till, till… oh the humanity!

One quaint little sentence proves our culture has gone completely off the rails…

“We know plenty of women and men that would wear a $3 million dollar diamond covered bra even if it made them bleed!”

- Perez Hilton www.cocoperez.com

Somewhere out there a Vogue editor is crying…

I woke up to winter in Calgary today. Sure, there were heaps of snow on the ground yesterday, and the bow river was slate grey and seething, but there was still something missing. The season change became official at 7am this morning, when Mother Nature overheard me trying to describe my outfit over the phone:

“Um, ok, so picture me as a Christmas elf at the mall, but all they could find for me was some old man’s wrinkled elf costume from who knows when. Oh, and my lumberjack socks are pulled up over my pants, almost to my knees.”

I’d like to say I went straight back to my room to change, but I didn’t. I tied on my damp sneakers (boots are for sissies, not real Canadians) and trudged out into the wilderness. When the weather works its way this deep into your bones, this early, there’s not a whole lot you can do. Except maybe, and I suppose I’m right on time here, channel it for Halloween?

Portrait of a marriage using the medium of Shepards Pie

Can you guess who is who? Hint: I'm got more curves

We share many things, my husband and I, but a taste for garlic is not one of them. This wasn’t always the case. In our beginnings, we spent countless romantic nights gazing into each other’s eyes over the greasy plastic tablecloths at Shawarma Palace. We planned our brilliant future together while taking turns dipping garlicy potatoes into a small shared bowl of creamy white, ridiculously potent, garlic dipping sauce. Then tragedy struck.

Life happens. People change. A strong marriage must allow for personal evolution, even encourage it. On one of those Shawarma Palace nights I made a mistake, I got carried away in the moment and went too far. I ate an entire bowl myself. The next morning I woke up gagging with the worst garlic hangover of all time. For the next three days all I could smell was garlic, no matter how many times I showered. All I could taste was garlic, no matter how many times I brushed my teeth, frantic and  foaming at the mouth like I’d come home with a bad case of rabies - it sure felt terminal! Even now, just the idea of eating the stuff makes me nauseous. Once you’ve spent three days as a human garlic clove (sorry Robert Pattinson) any notion of it acting as a flavour ‘enhancer’ is long, long gone. 

Ever the gentleman, my husband stayed married to a woman who now loathes his favourite flavour. He’s good that way. I wanted to thank him for all the culinary compromises he’s had to make since then, and what better way than with the fetid plant itself? I ‘whipped’ up the two shepards pies you see above, and tailored them to our specific tastes. Mine was loaded with veggies and sweet potato, while his was all about garlicy mashed Yukon Golds. But how much garlic powder to add? Ah yes, that was the question.

I will make any number of sacrifices for love: time, energy, even the occasional kidney; but testing garlic levels in mashed potatoes isn’t one of them. So instead, I took the logical approach and kept adding garlic until I could smell it. I have been informed by several garlicphiles since then, including my darling husband, that this is not how they do it at The Cordon Bleu.

Once again, tragedy struck.

Apparently I got carried away again, because I added enough garlic to make the thing wholly inedible. And there it sat, on the bottom shelf of our fridge, as a Tupperwared token of misguided, misflavoured love, until Yesterday. It was harder than I thought it would be to throw out, and smellier, but I think there’s a lesson here under all the spoiled ground beef and onion. When you really love someone, and you want to tell them in a language they’ll understand, sometimes you have to be brave enough to taste it for yourself first. I took up golf didn’t I~wink.

Just be thankful your invite got lost in the mail!

If you see this sign... You'd better watch out!

Starts out all innocent...

Then someone invites a friend...

Then the friends start adding up...

And pretty soon you've got a real party!

I came across this charming ‘cow tree’ in New Brunswick last month. There was magic in that warm August air, and I couldn’t resist bringing some back to Calgary to share with all my readers. Of course, the ‘real’ lesson here is that the inherent romance of some settings can even, on the rare occasion, transend species. Oh Newton, how different your future (and all of ours!) might have been if you’d planted yourself under a cow tree on that sunny afternoon in Lincolnshire.

I know I shouldn’t blog about people at work, but…

It has come to my attention that four out of this company’s sixteen employees – a full 25% – are wearing glasses held together by quintessentially nerdist means. I know we are a geophysical data processing firm, but seriously! I mean really, could we get any more cliché:

Culprit 1: Scotch tape (keeping it simple with what’s at hand)

Culprit 2: Plastic shrink-wrap sleeve reinforced with Scotch tape (because I’m – yes, of course I’m on this list too – an all or nothing kind of gal, in my loves, in my dreams, and apparently in my DIY eyewear repairs)

Culprit 3: Electrical tape (for a more discreet look, because one can never sacrifice style)

Culprit 4: An ungainly silver ball of soldering (because one must have style before one can sacrifice it)

I don’t dare rank us in terms of nerdiness, but you’re welcome give it a try. Oh, and sorry #4, but look on the bright side; I’m sure your repair will outlast all of ours. And anyways, there’s something to be said for a touch of asymmetrical nerd bling – Jay-Z would be proud~wink.

How to use Kafka’s “The Metamorphosis” to strengthen your own writing

The story after the exercise

A blazer from Reitmans can never be compared to the timeless beauty of a Dior couture suit. The former is common and disposable, the latter, immortal. But what makes the difference? Honesty.

The skilled and practiced hands of the atelier’s master seamstresses are not enough. They are helpless without true, precise measurements of a client’s body. To create a lasting piece of art one needs technique, yes, but also an open honesty about the human beneath the garment, portrait, or story. Only then can certain aspects be exaggerated and/or minimized according to the will of the artist.

Franz Kafka was a self admitted hypochondriac with Daddy issues, but he was also a genius at writing the human condition. The surrealism of his stories, just like any Jean Paul Gautier gown, is successful because it is structured on honest human underpinnings. In “The Metamorphosis” (man wakes up as bug… trouble ensues) Kafka brings a family of individuals to life through the careful layering of specific physical, psychological, and behavioral details.

It is these details that give his writing strength and universality. For any writer, the question of what to put in versus what to leave out is always daunting. Why not learn from the best? Take a pen and highlighter to your favourite story and note how the characters are built. What do we find out, and when? What flowers are in the window box? How long has it been since J—– washed her hair? This exercise will make you more aware of using detail in your own writing.

But always remember, even if your characters hold the measuring tape loose around their bustlines and pull it tight around their waists and hips, it’s up to you to sneak their true measurements into your text. Of course, the only way to do that is to start being honest about your own.

Stay tuned…SavingCymbria will be back in September!

Fabulous news for writers!

We write, can’t help it, can’t fight it. But who reads?

I hopped the bus to work on a recent rainy morning, and was delighted to find five of my fellow passengers with novels under their noses. How many were busy with their cell phones or Blackberrys? Just one! And, wouldn’t you know it, of all the bleary faces on the bus, hers wore the only frown.

How to toy with your position in the hierarchy of the universe

It was a standoff in the park. The man stood firm, arms crossed, waiting.  His dog sat ten feet away with an orange, freshly fetched Frisbee clamped tight in his jaws. Neither would budge, each waiting for the other to  submit and take that first step forward.

I put my stroll on hold to watch what would happen next. After an incredibly long and awkward ten seconds, the dog made the first move. He crossed the grass and dropped the Frisbee at his master’s feet, then sat back on his haunches and thumped his tail on the ground with what I took to be obvious relief. With his position in the universe reaffirmed, the dog was free to once again relax into his role of loved and dutiful pet.

Here’s a game I play to toy with my own position in the hierarchy of the universe…

As a woman, not to mention a blonde (which has its advantages, don’t get me wrong), I’ve noticed that certain middle aged men, especially those wearing expensive suits, expect me to give them right of way when we’re walking towards each other on the same track lane of sidewalk or hallway. A few years ago I realized I was, unconsciously, nearly always shifting, albeit subtley, to give them room.

Well, not any more. I walk straight and strong without giving an inch. What happens? Most of the time they realize it’s not worth playing chicken with a girl whose gait suddenly has more in common with John Cena than Audry Hepburn. When they do take the risk, and it’s always the ones who (you just know) trim their nose hair at least twice a week, what happens next is inevitable (and oh so gratifying). I lower my shoulder, in classic football style, and drive right through. I never look back; that would imply I was concerned, or even (the horror!),  somewhat apologetic.

I’m fully aware that it’s only a matter of time before this ‘inocent’ game blows up in my face. Is it worth it? Yes! I do it out of solemn responsibility to my sex, to let the world know that times have changed and the old hierarchy is dead. Of course, it’s a whole lot of fun too~wink. Now if only there was a way to break my husband’s monopoly over the remote control. All I can say is never underestimate the power of a healthy bodycheck.

A tender moment… (with a hot pepper kick!)

I was settled snugly in the living room couch, with all I needed for a cozy TV supper ready on my lap. All that was missing was a dash of the spicy sauce my hubby had just discovered in the fridge door.

“Can I try some?” I called from the couch.

“It might be too spicy for you,” he hollered back.

“I’ll just take a bit then!”

He came around the corner on a mission, bottle in hand. Now, about my husband. This is a man who comes alive in the mountains,  a man at home in the wilderness, whose early glory days were spent living happily in a frigid backyard shed at Whistler. This is a man whose Viking legs and beard could send a whole legion of  Le Cirque waiters crying to their mammys.

This very same man bent carefully over my plate, with brows furrowed in quiet concentration, to deposit just the right amount of spicy sauce next to his wife’s mashed potatoes. I watched him with a secret smile as he rocked the bottle gently and kept his eye on the glass mouth, so he could pull back quickly when he had to. This is a man who can drive a golf ball well over 300 yards. And this is a man who can love so plainly… so plainly my nose started tingling well before the hot pepper kick ever touched my tongue.

Suffering for the ’shot’ at Shaganappi

Green in progress at Shaganappi's first hole

I have a new, profound, respect for investigative journalists. As part of my ongoing coverage of the renovations at Calgary’s Shaganappi Golf Course, I needed a shot of the progress being made on the first hole. But when I showed up with my camera, I found that someone had put a fence in the way. No problem. I’m a resourceful gal who doesn’t mind a little bushwhacking, so I dove into the shrubbery to find a better angle.

My backpack got caught and, less than three feet in, I was properly stuck. No problem. I ditched the backpack and pushed forward. My shins and hands got the worst of it. Dozens of prickly branches left dozens of tiny red welts (tiny being relative, of course). I thought of the poor reporters in Vietnam and gritted my teeth, thinking, “you’ve got it easy, girl, and you know it.” Then right in front of me… another fence!

Into the jungle

Oh great, another fence!

No problem. I followed it until a gap opened up in line with the hole. There was a big, wobbly roll of extra chainlink blocking most of the opening, but I climbed up onto it and, perching precariously, took the shot you see above. National Geographic shot of the week, it ain’t. But it did allow me feel a certain kinship with the wild lensemen of yore, those brave souls who brought the trenches to life a hundred years ago, and all those since who’ve weedled their way into far tighter corners than I, for the sake of ‘the shot’.

Perched for the shot

I was ’snapped’ back to reality when I went back to grab my backpack. As I tugged it free, a nasty little twig whipped straight up and hit me on the nose, right on the tender bottom bit. OUCH! It stung like mad! My eyes watered and I struggled, half blind, to get out of the darned jungle. Yes, a kinship indeed. I cursed the fences, and the builders who’d put them there. What on Earth did a plot of scraped up land need protection from anyway? And then it hit me… Oh, I guess from people like me~wink.

Why I don’t ride the bus to work…

I woke up to a grey morning today. The sky was grey, my sweater was grey, and my threadbare brown ‘cozy’ hoodie (because when the weather won’t make the effort, why should I?) has been verging on grey for years. I stepped out the door, already late, into a grey drizzle. It was a bus morning.

The rush hour bus is a grim way to start any day, stopping and starting and stopping and starting, all through downtown gridlock. But today, there was no way around it. I rolled up my torn cuffs as discreetly as I could in a bus full of business suits and shiny shoes, and stood by the back doors to wait for my stop.

I was well on my way to daydreaming myself out of my funk when the bus slowed and settled by the curb. I pushed the doors, but they didn’t budge. I pushed again, and jiggled the long handles… nothing. The bus hissed and I felt the jolt of the flyweel kicking in. Great, just great.

“Back doors,” I called out. The bus jerked forward. “Back doors, please!” I shouted over the crowd, who had all turned their heads to watch.

The bus driver glared at me in his mirror. I shook the doors again and glared back.

His answer came back biting: “Could you at least let me get to the bus stop first.”

This is why I walk to work ~ sigh.

How to capture a personality in a portrait

The two portraits below are of the same subject. The first uses setting, composition, and lighting to convey the subject’s personality. She is a quirky artistic type with hippie, as opposed to hipster, sensibilities and a great, snarky sense of humor. Photography is an excellent medium for portraiture because the subject can be directly involved in communicating how she/he sees herself/himself to the world. However, as in personality testing, this can also be a limitation. Honesty can easily become clouded by preconception.

The second portrait is a drawing of the same subject dancing. It was executed quickly, solely from memory. Both she and I were startled by the resulting resemblance. “Creepy,” she called it. And yes, the attitude and posture was eerily spot on. It’s a big risk to allow yourself to be seen through someone else’s eyes, and the results may surprise you, creepy or not. I invite you to try this exercise with someone you know. In our age of careful personal branding, there is an urgent need for the honesty of a pen, some colouring pencils, and a personal connection only art can prove.

Sometimes a picture can say a thousand words...

...and sometimes a drawing can say so many more

Soap operas and sweet potatoes in the produce aisle

I was in the grocery store the other day, when I happened to overhear an age old human drama play out over the sweet potatoes. One of the two men stocking the vegetables flagged down a passing produce manager to ask her advice on a logistical problem – I’m assuming she was higher up the food chain since she was wearing a classy full-length Safeway smock instead of lowly green apron.

Logistics resolved, the three got to chatting about the ol’ days:

“…Now, Harry,” said the older of the two men, “there was one heck of a produce man.” He spoke wistfully, with respect and an obvious, long kindled awe, the way other men speak of Winston Churchill, or Elvis.

“Oh,” cut in the younger man, turning to the woman, whose androgyny was cut only by a tight blond ponytail, “isn’t that your husband?”

Maybe it was my imagination, but I swear her whole body went tense under that smock. She suddenly had somewhere else to be and took off for the swinging doors behind the prepackaged salads.

“My EX husband,” she called back to the men, before disappearing into the bowels of the building.

I felt for her. How hard it must be to live in the shadow of a legend. Any man who can inspire such awe, such reverence, must pay a terrible cost. In choosing greatness, as Harry, and a hundred before him have done, our heroes must leave so many behind. A pickle any way you slice it.

Perfect picture of Canadian diversity for Canada Day

Three Canadian families enjoying three, equally diverse, families of waterfowl in Calgary's Prince's Island Park- Happy Canada Day from SavingCymbria!

DIY Summer Fashion Series: imagine/sketch/create (part two) – Studies for a blue jersey dress

Cymbria Fashion Sketches - Studies for a blue jersey dress to wear on a romantic dinner in Banff, Alberta

Like to take a peek at part one?

Quick and easy spaghetti sauce doubles as a chili

You’ll need…

- 1 jar of any spaghetti sauce
- 1 can kidney beans (rinsed)
- 1 can chopped tomatoes
- 1 package ground beef (1 pound)
- 1 package sliced mushrooms
- 1 bunch spinach (chopped)
- 4 tomatoes (rough chopped)
- 2 onions (rough chopped)
- splash of ketchup (1/4 cup)
- chili powder/oregano to taste

My husband loves spaghetti, while I’ve never been much of a pasta fan. I came up with this cheap and easy, one pot, recipe (in a Safeway parking lot no less) to satisfy us both. It works brilliantly over noodles or as a stand alone, fresh tasting, chili. You can play with the proportions to vary the consistency, and add some grated cheddar for extra flavour.

To make… Brown ground beef in a large pot, drain, set meat aside. Cook onions and mushrooms over medium heat in same pot until just softened. Add remaining ingredients (plus meat). Bring to boil, then remove from heat. Season to taste. Enjoy!

Note: Be sure to use your largest pot, because this recipe makes a veritable vat of deliciousness.

A ‘Sign’ of our times…

A 'Sign' of our times - as seen on a Monday morning in Calgary

Our Albertan economy is finally feeling the pinch after decades of unchecked growth. Everyone knows someone who has lost a job, or worse. About a month ago on a rush hour city bus, I overheard a conversation between two well dressed business men. One was lamenting over how his high risk investments had virtually vanished.

“Why did you buy into them in the first place?” the other asked.

The man’s answer was spoken matter of fact, with an honesty not often heard on public transit, especially during rush hour…

“Greed.”

He shrugged his shoulders, and quickly changed the subject.

**********

The best way to stay motivated during this time of economic flux, is to push forward with our career plans using creativity to set ourselves apart. Make a list of all your soft skills (ie: social, organizational), to add to your more easily resuméd hard skills (ie: Microsoft Office, masonry). Try to make connections between both sets to expand your general skill set. You’ll be surprised to discover what services you can offer as a uniquely experienced human being, rather than simply a _______ graduate with x number of years working in _______ . Now is the time to market yourself creatively, as a whole person, as… You!

Speaking of marketing…

To my dear SavingCymbria readers, and to those of you just breezing by, I am now available for all your Creative Problem Solving needs. Freelance writing and design (fashion commissions, graphic design, & web applications) are my specialties, along with photography and general creativity consulting for both individuals and businesses. I’d love to hear your thoughts, and thank you all for dropping by!

It's time to get creative with our personal marketing!

More snow in June?

Take a closer look... Achoo!

Calgary weather has a cruel sense of humor. Like the uncle who insists on pinching your cheek in front of your fiancé, it doesn’t knows when to stop the joke. After this little incident, I had to do a double take to make sure what I found this morning was the kind of  fluff that makes you sneeze rather than sniffle. But somehow, this city always gets the last laugh. While I was taking a closer look with my camera, I was just about mowed down by a crazed morning cyclist. Touché, Calgary…touché.

Dancing our way into history at Calgary’s Greek Festival

Edmonton dance troop Kyklos takes the stage

Greek culture is a celebration of tradition and family, with a history rich in art, food, and – as three blonds discovered at Calgary’s Greek Festival – lively dancing. Of our three family trees, mine has come the closest to Grecian soil, but that’s only by way of my step-mother’s ex-husband. Needless to say, we’ve never been invited to any family reunions. We’re always up for a party though, and as we quickly discovered, going Greek guarantees a great time!

This year’s Festival was attended by thousands and took place under a giant white tent in SouthWest Calgary, next to the Hellenic Community Center. The late June air was filled with the wonderful smells of honey drenched pastries and spit roasted lamb. I can still taste the sweet warmth of the Loukoumades on my tongue when I close my eyes – and yes, they’re just as sensational as their name. After a delicious meal, we took our seats third row from the stage, having no idea we were to become stars of the show!

Click Here to read the full, unspeakably embarrassing story of what happened next…

 

A Fathers Day card for the ages

Portrait of a genius (spelling notwithstanding)

Less ear glitter, but no less a genius

When you make your own cards, topping last year’s is always the challenge. My father, a Canadian artist/inventor/philosopher, is the first Jack of all trades (since ol’ Leo) to have mastered them all. For this Fathers Day, I took inspiration from another master, then added a touch of glitter glue and an inside joke. It would take a long essay, for which neither you nor I have the patience for, to explain the layers of meaning in this seemingly (not to give myself too much credit or anything~wink) simplistic artwork. But I will say one thing: notice the eerie similarity in the eyes of the two men, made infinitely more eerie by the fact I only referenced the original at the colouring stage. Soon, the world will recognize my father, but until then, a little glitter glue goes a long way.

Wondering about Mothers Day?

A personal apology to Dorothy…

Coming up to the last tee box of a Saturday morning nine, one of my freshly introduced foursome, dear Dorothy, told us how she had never once hit the short par three’s green in 15 years of playing Shaganappi.

“Today’s the day,” she said, and promptly topped the ball straight into the rough.

The other two women played it safe, as in nowhere near the green. I shot last, taking a chance on my moody 5 hybrid rather than my usual 6 iron. I’ve never hit it so clean, and the ball sailed singing all the way to the very center of the green.   

I’m sorry Dorothy. I really am. But my ego has to say a little thank you, because you set me up for a shot that – with golf’s wicket sense of humor - couldn’t possibly have gone anywhere else.

Making a statement on the golf course…

Design sketch for pink plaid, vintage style, golf pants

I’ve been looking for ways to improve my golf game that don’t involve setting up camp on David Leadbetter’s front lawn. These pants just might do the trick. They should have sufficient flair to take my shot making (or at least my mood in the face of a four putt) to the next level. You wouldn’t believe how much lower I shoot whenever (and my apologizes to Gloria Steinem) I add a skort to my swing routine. These pants could take me all the way to the LPGA!  

But then again, instead, what would happen if I spent all those hours it would take me to create the pattern, source the fabric, and sew everything together, at the driving range? Hmmm, tough choice (I know, Gloria, I know- sigh).

If NASA launched Voyager III today, this would HAVE to be on The Golden Record!

When NASA’s Voyager mission launched its two spacecrafts in 1977, there existed no single image/sound/document that could perfectly encapsulate the human experience. Instead, over one hundred images and dozens of recordings, greetings, and printed messages were gathered together and sent along as the ultimate interplanetary press release. The Golden Record, as a (Grammy worthy) compilation album, was the only way to communicate the complexity of our existence… until now.

This ten second clip (Click Here) changes everything. Finally, we have single, stand alone, snapshot of what it is… “to be”.

Let’s get off the couch and get cooking!

Sitting on the couch last night, nibbling at a stack of stale crackers, I found myself suddenly paralyzed by irony. Literary devices don’t usually pack the punch of neurotoxins, but this was an extreme case. I’d just been nodding in empathy for a woman on the Food Network who was trying her very best to convince Gordon Ramsay that she was simply “too busy to cook”. The woman seemed to have plenty of time to forage for take-out every night, just like I seem to have all the time in the world to sit watching Ramsay, Jamie Oliver, Nigella Lawson, Michael Smith (genius!)… basically anyone other than myself, cook. So what’s the hold up? Energy? Motivation?

Plain ol’ Preparation!

You’ve heard it before (haven’t we all-sigh), but the straight up truth is that without some minimal planning, you’re right, you probably don’t have time to cook. But the good news is that the time/energy cost of basic meal mapping quickly pays for itself. It’s time I go back to practicing what I preach and take another look at SavingCymbria’s most popular post of all time…

Need some more inspiration? Check out Jamie Oliver’s Ministry of Food initiative, Sandi Richard’s show “Fixing Dinner”. Or, if you live in Calgary, visit the Community Kitchen Program for a fantastic way to cook healthy on a limited budget.

The PaperTrail: Redirecting recyclable office paper to downtown daycares

PaperTrail member Michelle Clare makes a delivery to a Calgary daycare - bringing art supplies and smiles!

PaperTrail paper in action!

Recycling your office’s paper is a great idea, but with all the energy and chemicals required, it can seem almost futile. There is a better way, and it skips right over the middle man. Welcome to The PaperTrail, a community outreach program that turns your recycling bin into art supplies for downtown daycares. I founded the program in April 2009 after becoming frustrated by how much perfectly usable paper our company was blue-binning. The community response has been fantastic! We collect the paper during the week and make our deliveries on Friday mornings. From end cuts to pages printed on one side, all is appreciated. 

Children's Calgary mural on PaperTrail paper

The PaperTrail is a simple program to bring to your office. Help your workplace ‘go green’ by joining us in the most environmentally friendly (and kid friendly!) recycling gig around. Not only will you be saving trees and recycling costs to the environment (and pocketbook), you’ll be giving tots the unlimited chance to express their creativity.

Click here to learn more about The PaperTrail
Join us by starting a chapter at your own company!

How much usable paper does your company recycle? It adds up quickly!

Current Blog Serial: Designing a Driving Range Club Carrier (Part Two)

Need to catch up on Part One?

Once you’ve defined your design problem, and listed the criteria for a successful solution, it’s on to the fun part. I like to do some initial brainstoming before following ‘official’ procedure by researching any currently available solutions. This fresh ideation is helpful because it allows the problem to be examined through its basic physical parameters without the interference of preconceptions. I believe this ‘blank canvas’ approach acts as a short-cut to new ideas and creates the best mental environment for originality and creativity. In this case, I wanted to get a feel for the weights and balance points of the ‘top weighted sticks’ in relation to my body before ever thinking of them as golf clubs.

How the 'top weighted sticks' behave when held at their balance point

Basic strap tied at balance (pivot) point to enable testing of various body orientations. Note: Hair elastic (at grips) prevents pivoting

Comfortable and stable with stap over one shoulder and shafts behind, but dangerous for urban settings. Therefore, does not meet criteria.

Equally comfortable and stable with shafts in front and club heads tucked behind arm (pulled forward for clarity in photo). Strap hooked into backpack to test ways to prevent any ’swinging’ while walking. Shafts in front create more manageable urban footprint. Note: Yes, that is tape holding my glasses together (don’t say it! don’t even think it!)

Stay tuned for part three for product research and to find out what happens when this designer gets a little too carried away with the project in Walmart!

How to golf in the snow…

Blizzards in June? That's Calgary for you!

There are swing issues, and then there are swing issues! Snow in June is definitely one of the latter. A frost delay this late in the year is one thing, and don’t even get me started on the time hubby and I got snowed in at Myrtle Beach (no joke!), but a powdery blanket of mother-nature’s-winter-gift-to-golf-widows can make a whole city cranky. So how do you golf in the snow? Thankfully, this time of year, the answer is easy…  Just wait for it to melt!