Concerning eyeglasses, mortality, and the miracles worked by a George Foreman Grill

George Foreman: boxer, spokesman, quiet champion for immortal truths

I answered the doorbell last Sunday wearing long johns and one of my husband’s giant sweaters. The dapper couple in the doorway looked past my fashion faux-pas and proceeded to expound on ‘why war happens’ and, if that wasn’t helpful enough, ‘where I’m going after I die’ – all with the help of a colourful brochure. The man looked like he’d just stepped off Ed Sullivan’s stage with a 60’s boy band, while his partner, a lovely earnest girl, was dressed in the prerequisite knee-length skirt and ‘sensible’ shoes.

But there was something about her that didn’t quite fit the cliché…

“Awesome glasses,” I said, “those have got to be the coolest frames I’ve ever seen.”

Her face lit up and her demeanor brightened right away. The moment served as further proof that however strong our faith, our souls are still driven to justify themselves within the social/material construct of our physical world. As I writer, I itch for validation and recognition as much as the next biped. My husband, on the other hand, has always been a rebel.

“So how do you deal with the pain of your mortality?” I asked the wise man sitting next to me on the couch.

“We live… we die.” He shrugged and turned back to the TV.

He was right, of course, and – philosophical crisis averted – my body relaxed into the warm beige faux-suede beside him. Though, I do think much of his Zen frame of mind could be attributed to the disturbingly huge slab of juicy grilled beef he’d just devoured. George Foreman may have been beaten by Mohammad Ali in 1974, but yesterday, in Calgary, Canada, the ex-boxer took on mortality itself – and knocked it flat.

(image source)

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.

Grab a biscuit on your way out…

I cut under the entrance awning of the retirement home beside my office building on my way to work this morning. There was an ambulance parked in front, right outside the home’s dining lounge windows. I took a peek at the breakfast crowd as I darted by. I know the drill; an ambulance that early in the morning usually means only one thing: there will be one less tea biscuit on the tray.

There was a smattering of elderly residents in the lounge, some chatting, some alone, all nibbling on delights far more tasty than the frozen peas with cheese that were waiting for me next door (don’t ask). One woman was sitting close to the window, all by herself. She was looking past me absently, chewing on the end of a thick butter coloured biscuit. Her wrists were wire thin, and the dyed reddish curls on top of her head were politely spaced with plenty of breathing room in between each translucent twist.

I couldn’t help but wonder if it was one of her table-mates who wouldn’t be making it down for breakfast. The woman didn’t seem all that concerned about the ambulance, or even all that interested in what she was eating. What did the scene mean to her, if anything? With mortality waiting just outside the window – I kept asking myself – why wasn’t she savouring the darned tea biscuit? There is so much I don’t yet know about life, but I can tell you one thing…

My frozen peas with cheese were absolutely delicious.

The tea biscuit circle of life

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Geologist Trapped In Calgary Tower!

“I would suggest going with Perrier or bottled rather than Calgary tap water,” implored our server, and I do mean ‘implored’.

The revolving restaurant atop the Calgary Tower is a swanky joint, don’t get me wrong, but upselling water? How uncouth! My friend and I were stunned. I would expect that sort of behaviour from a Subway Sandwich Artist (been there, done that lol), but from a debonair, expertly coiffed, professional waiter?

He continued to plead his cause, hand clutching tightly cuffed wrist, to us and to every one of his other tables, with phrases like “overly fluorinated” and “just like sucking on a penny”. We heard him give his well practiced speal a full three times within the space of ten minutes. I suppose I should mention that my lovely friend and I were the only holdouts – Calgary tap water all the way!

Of course, I had to ask about the ice cubes ~wink~

“Distilled water,” he said, and yes, he did use a Brita at home. I began to suspect there was more to our server’s story, especially when he went on to explain why we Calgarians find ourselves using so much lotion after the shower. And no, the conversation wasn’t headed in that direction ; )

Could there be, dare I say it, a “passion” behind his upselling? I’ve always been fascinated by what people chose as their “cause”, that connection to a part of the world that’s wholly theirs and theirs alone. What’s yours?

“I’m sorry for giving you a hard time,” I said, “but you seem to be so…um…passionate about this whole thing. I’m just curious where it comes from.”

He smiled and confessed, rather sheepishly, “I’m actually a geologist.”

Easy chicken veggie pasta with lemony dressing

What are you having for dinner?

Smell and memory (click here for the nitty gritty science of this phenomenon) are directly linked in the brain. This is why I have avoided anything lemony for the better part of ten years…

The Rideau Canal, in Ottawa, Canada, is the largest skating rink in the world, and eating a cinnamon/sugar/lemon juice topped BeaverTail pastry from one of the on ice vending shacks is the perfect mid canal snack. But that lemon juice must be squeezed fresh, from freezing cold lemons, with freezing cold bare hands…my hands! Smelling fresh lemons brings me right back to the nightmare of red bloated fingers that are too numb and swollen to bend, and the absolute agony of thawing them out. But enough is enough! I refuse to let those miserable memories mess with my menu any longer (woah “m” overload lol)

To help reprogram my palate, I created this simple (surprisingly delicious!) recipe…

2 full mugs dry bowtie pasta
1/2 chopped red pepper
1/2 thinly sliced onion
1 (+1/2) handful stir-fry cut chicken (ok, so maybe you don’t want to measure the chicken with your bare hands, but just guesstimate and you’ll be fine lol)
1 handful sliced mushrooms
1 handful snow (or snap) peas
1 handful chunked fresh mozzarella
1 fresh lemon
1 palmful chopped fresh parsley
Canola or olive oil & salt/pepper

1. Cook the chicken (in a large frying pan) and cut up the veggies while the pasta is cooking.
2. Put the cooked chicken aside and lightly saute the veggies in the same pan.
3. Add the (drained) pasta, chicken, cheese, and chopped parsley to the veggie pan.
4. Add a splash of oil and the juice of half (or more if you’re brave) of the lemon.
5. Plate and garnish with a lemon slice and parsley sprig. Salt & pepper to taste. Enjoy!

Save major time and money with this downloadable grocery list template and bonus online flyer trick!

How to save time and stress…

Is this you? You’re standing in the middle of the produce section when your brain suddenly blanks out. Did you want Yukon gold potatoes or red russets? Which ones were supposed to be on sale? Should you go for spinach or broccoli? You try a deep breath, yoga style, to center yourself. But your center’s set on vibrate, and its hungry rumblings aren’t doing a thing to clear your mind! You’re stuck staring helplessly at the string of empty veggie bags coiled in the bottom of your cart. And you haven’t even hit the cereal aisle yet!

Note: Click through to Blank Canvas Living.com for more creative living posts by this author

I’ve always loathed grocery shopping. It’s stressful, time consuming, and expensive. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been overwhelmed by the endless choices (and sensory overload!) of today’s giant stores. After one too many times finding myself standing paralyzed with a bunch of carrots in my hand, I finally decided to do something it.

I applied my training in the design process and creative problem solving to come up with the template you see above. You can download the .doc file below. The list is divided into food categories that jive with most grocery store layouts. Note: the “flavour” section is meant for condiments (I’m always poetic when honey mustard’s involved)

Click here to download Cymbria’s Grocery List Template

You can use your *Meal Map (*This meal planning system will be featured in an upcoming post) to help you fill in the list, or simply write down your most common cooking ingredients and family favourites.

How to save money…

I saved $45 at the checkout the last time I used this trick! Most grocery stores chains now post their weekly specials flyer online. They will usually let you print off a list of the sale items that interest you. Print off this list (or work of the flyer screen) and design your week’s Meal Map around the best deals. If you’re “winging it” instead, write these sale items on your grocery list template before you fill in the rest. With the sale items on the page in front of you, your brain will subconsciously build the remainder of the list around these foods. This trick is also handy for strategizing when to stock up on household items. I guarantee you’ll be as surprised as I was with how much you’ll save!

Follow these handy links to your grocery store’s weekly specials:
Sobeys
Loeb
Safeway
Loblaws

Don’t see yours? Links to other Canadian grocery stores can be found at Smartflyercanada.com. If you still aren’t finding it, try this page, and If you’re looking for links to American stores click here.

Want Joy? Find your Eric Burger

Even if you’re ‘biting off more than you can chew’, you can’t argue with the pure unadulterated joy of leaping straight into your wildest dreams. Just take a piece of advice from Eric “Badlands”, and keep your eyes open!

So you thought you were immortal?

Pop in the plate. Set microwave for 30 seconds – on high. Press start.

You keep your eyes glued to the glass. “It’s only 30 seconds,” you say. “It’ll go by so fast.” And it does. Congratulations, you’ve just spent 30 precious seconds of your life watching infinitesimally small molecules increase their rate of vibration. Way to go. And here you thought TV commercials were wasting your life.

Ah, man. And here I am writing about watching infinitesimally small molecules increase their rate of vibration. But suddenly, I don’t feel so bad. You’re here reading about someone writing about someone watching infinitesimally small….

sucker.

(I jest, I jest, please keep reading)

Dinnerware Drama

I have huge, earth-shattering, news for all you blog readers out there. I know you’re all perched on the edges of your seats in anticipation… I bought a dinnerware set this afternoon! Mind you, we’re not talking Denby here, but all the pieces do match (it’s a rustic blue earthenware style). This all got started when I opened an anniversary card from my mother in law this morning and found a rather stern letter accompanying the check. Not to be bullied, I put it aside and thought long and hard about how to pass off a restaurant and mini-put bill as a lasting domestic investment (where the letter insisted the money should go, and who am I to argue with free money). The receipt could, potentially, still be around next year around this time (knowing my sometimes less than stellar tidying tactics). And plus, wouldn’t the memories last a lifetime? 

I dropped by the bank on my way to work and had to battle with my finger at the ATM to stop from putting the full amount towards the bottomless void of our credit card (don’t worry, we writers are notorious for hyperbole). “No, no, something tangible,” I scolded myself and yanked my finger away. 

Halfway between the bank and my good ol’ retail workplace, something red and velvety caught my eye. Two antique chairs were sitting out in front of a little shop I’d never noticed before. They lured me in. I’m a sucker for anything that red and oooo that velvety. The tiny store was filled to the brim with just about everything a person could never want, old videos, eighties fashions, used exercise equipment (gross). But way in a corner, half buried under bricka-brack, was something that was waiting (for who knows how long) just for me. 

I’d better give a little back story on this…

My mother has a rather dangerous china/dinnerware obsession – she even worked a year at Mackintosh & Watts to feed her addiction! She loves the forms, patterns, and histories in each piece, and would come home with random teacups when we were least expecting it. To break a piece of china brought near the same heartbreak as the time I accidentally squirted ketchup all over one of my fathers paintings (don’t ask). Perhaps as a form of rebellion, I developed an ”unbreakable” indifference to whatever was underneath my food. If it did the job, well, what more could a person ask for.

I didn’t realize how deep my own ”anti-obsession” had become until one fateful family supper gathering in Rideau Ferry. ”Forty-six dollars for a dinner plate!!!” I exclaimed, eyes wide, jaw nearly on the floor. Maybe I got a tad carried away, but anyways, the point was made. Poor tragic Cymbria; what kind of a wife balks at reasonably priced Denby? What if she has company over? Paper plates? (less dishes to do in any case). Well, in case you (and everyone else) haven’t noticed by now, I am not exactly a textbook wife (though I do sew a mean overcast stitch and I challenge anyone to beat my mushroom/beef casserole). I am wild woman grown in the deep woods of Quebec, a risk taker (I married my George didn’t I), and just as stubborn as that feisty Rideau Ferry boy. But all that said, isn’t it the biggest risk to leave one’s habits and prejudices, and give oneself over to a brand new outlook? That’s how we get saved. So why not take the same approach with something a little less magnificent and life changing. Perhaps, say, dinnerware?

One day, when I was very small, my mother brought home a neatly wrapped package and set it on the dinning room table. “Let me show you something,” she said. I watched as she pulled back the tissue paper and took out a beautiful shiny blue milk pitcher. It wasn’t like her usual delicate finds. The pottery was thick earthenware and the joints of the handle were strong. This wasn’t something I had to be afraid of. I could hold it and know that it wasn’t going to break in my hands. I loved that pitcher and its speckled blue glaze. I don’t know what happened to it. It’s probably buried somewhere deep in my mother’s collection, but that same sky colour has always caught my eye. 

In the corner of the dark little shop this afternoon, that same colour stopped me in my tracks. Maybe it wasn’t quite as bright a blue as I remembered, or quite so shiny, but my hands recognized the strength and weight of the pottery instantly. I bought the set on the spot; bowls, salad plates, dinner plates, and 6 matching mugs. It isn’t Denby, and I sure didn’t pay $46 for a plate (not even for the whole set!), but I’m going to love it all the same, probably even more.