The Sum of Meaning

I'm fifteen and leaving my first concert with my best friend. My body is tingling. I am five, swimming in the public pool for my dog tags, with people cheering me on. I'm twenty-five, holding the person I love in my arms. We are a sum of defining moments, perfect in their simplicity, magnificent in their complexity.

The smallest things often end up holding the most meaning. Its not the large 100-person house party that holds significance, but rather, the intimate gathering occurring spontaneously on the night of the brief, great black out. The large, planned out residence formal pales in comparison to the first day of snow, when we took the screen out of the window, and sang Christmas carols.

We are a sum of the moments of our lives, as they reflect our values, desires, sources of pleasure. We choose what has relevance based on our character:

Fifteen years old, clearing the table with my best friend. Under our plates are two tickets to silverchair, which my parents have hidden there. I'm twenty-two, sitting by my window, crying after making the Dean's list. I'm seven, playing mini-golf with my Papa. I'm ten, lying on my back watching the Northern Lights dance across the sky at the cottage. I'm walking across a stage, twenty-three, being handed my degree.

I am the moments of my life, magnificent, and insignificant, summarized and memorized and often forgotten.

I am three, riding on my Daddy's shoulders at the zoo. I'm 23, turning back to see my parents watching me walk through airport security. I see them cry. I am 19 saying goodbye to my sister, not saying a word. I'm 20, leaving a newfound sister, weeping just the same. I am 23, crying on the floor with my dog, preparing to leave my life, and all I know, behind.

I am forever, staring at the stars, on the end of the dock, in the Austrian sky, in the Korean mountains, in Ottawa, in Palmerston. I am the sum of the moments I have lived, a sum of the people I have loved, of the places I've been and the skies I have seen.

I am the moments of my life, in summary.

Exodus

During the summer, on Friday nights, thousands of cars line up on the highway, attempting to impatientienly manoeuver their way up north to their cottages. Horns sound,

cars are cut off; city dwellers already wound tight as a drum from a week of work are further wound on the highway. I, myself, don't drive, but last Thursday I found myself sitting in the back seat of my sister's car while my brother-in-law fought the traffic to our family cottage. Michelle was stressing over whether we'd make it to the cottage in time for sunset, Anthony was mostly just trying to stay mellow in the face of the traffic insanity (he did a pretty good job of it too. Dude is super chill).

Myself, I looked out the window at the scenery passing by. I watched the fields of corn, the swaying of trees, baby animals frolicking with their mothers. I watched as streams cut through fields and bloomed into pools, I saw the beauty of their blue-on-green. I mark the contrast of dilapidated red barns marked against the sky and fields. Soon, rocks could be seen by the side of the road, proud harbingers of Muskoka. I knew we were sitting in stop and go traffic, but I didn't care. I chose to see the beauty, because this entire road is the cottage road, and what's more beautiful than that?

Oh, yeah, actually arriving to this:

I am one of those truly blessed people who was born into a family cottage. More than 70 years ago, my great grandparents decided to build a summer vacation spot for them and their family. My Great Grandfather was a principal at a school, and several teachers bought lots in the same bay. Every summer the families all vacationed their together, with JB leading the way (that's my Great Grandpa. JB Temple).

My cottage was built on the cheap, but it was built by hand. My great grandfather's fingerprints remain on the ceiling from where he laid the boards. His DNA is in the boards that built the cottage, and in me. People who were born to our family, born to the cottage feel like its etched in our bones. My Grandpa, Bud, spent his youth fishing and playing at the cottage. He brought his own six children there every summer. There is a beautiful photo of my mother on the beach in diapers with her curly blonde hair. Many, many years later, there was a photo of me taken in diapers with my curly blonde hair. The continuity is comforting.

The cottage has kept my extended family close. It allowed me to get to know and love my cousins. Every August 1st long weekend we'd have a birthday party for all the summer babies, and this August 1st was no different. In a way, it was a throwback to the long weekends of old, with cousins, aunts and uncles, my Grandmother, and the newest member of our family, my cousin's baby Molly. She's the 5th generation of our family to play in Skeleton lake. This is magical. This place will be in her blood, like it is in her mother's, grandfather's and ancestors.

The sun dips down below the horizon, the sky glows red and purple and orange. The bay is calm and the firey sky is reflected in the waters. We sit and watch the sunset, and for however many we've seen up there, we look at it with new eyes. The beauty never fades. Neither does the love.

Lily is a flower (and also a kick-ass best friend)

Yesterday was my best friend Lily's birthday, and I thought I'd celebrate by writing a blog entry about her and why she's so awesome. Lils and I met through a random act of fate (I suppose most meetings are, yes?) and to this day, I think it is one of the kindest strokes of luck fate has dealt me.


On the first day of my undergrad, I arrived in Ottawa nervous as all hell. I lived my whole life prior to 19 in a tiny town, in the same house that I came home from the hospital to. My parents still live there. Unlike most of the people I knew who chose to go to schools in Guelph, Waterloo, or Toronto, (all less than 3 hours from home) I chose to go to Carleton for the Bachelor of Public Affairs and Policy Management. I knew no one there. In my graduating class of 350, I was the only person to choose Carleton, and one of two to choose Ottawa in general. I had no family there. I was shaking in my boots. Not to mention the daunting prospect of being placed in a shared room with a total stranger. This is what I mean about random acts of fate. Because, as you might have guessed, the total stranger I was placed with was the amazing Miss Lily.

Lily and I became very fast friends, frequently amazed by our eerie similarities. The pic on the left was taken on a random night in res (note this a scanned photo from the days prior to digital! Long time ago now) when we decided we were bored so a bunch of us did random things to our hair. Yep. Sometimes, that was what we did for fun. Lils and I shared many things, our program of study, our horrific capacity to create a mess, our love of musical theatre, disdain of ignorance, love of animals, adoration of planning, the list goes on and on. Once, the night before an econ exam, neither of us could sleep, and we stayed up past four am singing musicals from our separate beds. I can't imagine behaving this way with anyone else on the planet.

First year was a wild ride of stress and tears and laughter and partying. An early bedtime was 2:00am, more common was 3:00am. Once bed time did roll around, Lily and I spent every night talking each other to sleep. One person or the other would eventually fall asleep (it was never consistent who), though there was never offense taken. That was inevitable. For a year, Lily and I became an inseparable unit. There was no, "is Ashley coming to dinner? Is Lily coming to dinner?" It was always "are AshelyandLily coming to dinner?" It was like our name had become one. The last day of res, when I was going to return my keys, Lily followed behind me like a puppy while both of us cried. The idea of going back to falling asleep alone in our parent's houses two and half hours apart was daunting indeed.

Things changed, as things are apt to do. Circumstances and fate nearly worked to tear Lily and I apart entirely, and they almost succeded. I won't delve into that part of the story here, I don't like it very much. But, our friendship was too rare and amazing to not fight for. It survived the end of our undergrad, and an entire year apart when Lily went to teach in Japan, and I went to teach in Korea (yes, these countries are close together, and yes, we could have visited, but fate was working against us then, too).

I went to Queen's to do my Masters, then Lily followed the next year. Lily is such a good friend that she even made sacrifices like going to the football game at homecoming, because she knew that I loved it and was so sad that I missed it the year before. She told me that she couldn't get tickets, then surprised me with tickets when I arrived. She went and cheered happily, despite the fact that it was raining and she didn't like football or rain. See? Awesome friend.

Lily and I haven't lived in the same city for the last several years. Not since we finished our undergrad, in fact. It pains us both that we don't get to hang out all the time, but when we do, nothing has changed. We still share the same (sometimes bizarre) lexicon, we still mock each other with scathing adoration, we have a deeply amusing shared sense of humour that no one around us can possibly understand. We're neurotic planners and both love that the other is the same in that regard (case in point, in the above right picture, Lily is holding a cup. This was at Queen's homecoming. There was no open alcohol allowed past the check point, so in my planning preparations, I brought in my purse a 26er of rum, a litre of coke, two cups and some limes. Planning brings more fun times!)

Most importantly, though, is that between us there is a shared, deep and trusting love. We've seen each other at our very worst, and we're still best friends. We know what its like to lose that friendship, because we did once, and so whenever issues exist between us, we discuss them like grown-ups. I guess because we are, now (welcome to 28 doll!). I've often joked that Lily is the person I'd like on my side in a debate or a knife fight, because in both regards, she'll defend me fiercely. At the end of the day, those are the people you want in your life.

So, in conclusion, I'd just like to say, Happy Birthday Miss Lily! My life has been greatly enriched by the last nine years of friendship, and I look forward to many more years of your scathing wit and creepy ability to read my mind. Get out of my head woman! XXOO

Flavour bomb!

Hello gentle readers. My apologies for my absence this past week but it was a busy one for me. I did, however, take some photos of a thai peanut stir-fry that I made with the intention of doing a blog entry about it, and well, a week later, this is that entry!

So, I'm a big fan of spicy peanut sauce. I've tried a variety, usually along with salad rolls (which are really just amazing. We'll do a salad roll tutorial one day, I promise). I've made many kinds of peanut sauce, but the following is probably my favourite incarnation. For some reason, it always turns out slightly differently (likely because I was not raised in the measurement school of cooking). Please note, pretty much all my recipes are a starting off point. They are not set in stone. Feel free to play with them until they suit your tastes!

The peanut sauce I love is largely adapted by a version made by my friend Ryan. Prior to his introduction to the green garlic peanut sauce, I had always made cooked versions. The lack of necessity of cooking is one of the reasons I like this recipe so much. Ryan's version calls for a lot more garlic then mine. Once, he made it for Rachel and I, and Rachel met up with her boyfriend three hours after dinner, and he said he could smell her from 10 feet away in the middle of a snow storm! Consumers beware! You might want to make this recipe only when you intend to hang out with others who have eaten it. This is NOT a work appropriate recipe. Actually, my version with less garlic is alright.

Ok, recipe time. The stir-fry aspect is pretty much up to you. I started by putting a bit of sesame oil in a pan, then adding a clove of crushed garlic and a teaspoon of grated ginger. To that I added 2 large chicken breasts (about 175 grams each, this meal should serve 4). Once it cooked for a bit, I added a lot of asian stir-fry veggies. But you know, I've done this with tofu, shrimp or beef. I've made a beef and apple salad on greens and tossed my peanut sauce on that. Its all good. Whatever makes you happy, really.

In a blender (or magic bullet, that's what I use, as it makes for easier clean-up) combine:

1/2 tsp sesame oil

1/2 tsp hot chili oil

1/2 cup cilantro

1/4 cup natural peanut butter

1 tbsp maple syrup

1/2 tsp mushroom soya sauce (or to taste)

1/2 cup light coconut milk (my preference, doesn't have to be light)

3-4 cloves garlic

Add the sauce to the pan of veggies, combine and heat through (if you're using as a salad dressing or dipping sauce for salad rolls, no need to heat).

Stick it in a bowl, over brown rice, or noodles or just on its own. Consume happily! There you have an awesome flavour bomb. This is a recipe that is almost always pleasing to guests. Other than the allergic, who doesn't love peanut sauce!!! Plus, easy-peasy!

Twisted (or, how to make a tube scarf in 36 degree heat)

Ok, so I recognize that I can be a little strange from time to time. This entry is proof of that. Actually, this is more than strange. I'd go so far as to call this perverse. Yesterday, despite it being 36 degrees outside, (and 28 degrees inside my apartment), I had the overwhelming urge to do some crocheting. I know. Weird. The other weird part of this, is that it actually happens to me once a summer. So, I find myself creating something pretty that I really like but can't possibly wear for months without looking insane. If anyone out there is crazy like me, and feels the desire to make a tube scarf, I figured I'd give you the how-to (if you don't want to know how to make a tube scarf, sorry, but this entry should be self-deprecating enough to entertain you). I'm gonna just assume if you actually want to try this pattern that you know how to crochet. Mostly because trying to take pictures of my hands doing a single crochet (for the purposes of instruction) seemed rather difficult, in that I needed three hands to make that happen. I only have two. Alas.

Ok, step 1: Find yourself some wicked bad awesome yarn. Actually, I didn't find this yarn. This yarn found me. My sister and I were in Santiago, on the last day of our Chile-Argentina trip, and from across the street, I noticed a Chilean yarn store. I asked K if she minded crossing the street just for a minute. She didn't. I walked up to the window, and pressed my nose against the glass. Longing commenced. I looked at K plaintively... "Is it ok if we go in? Just for a minute?" I had like, $8 left in Chilean pesos (didn't realize until I went to pay that the store accepted Visa), but I knew I could find some yarn in that budget. OH but what to choose? Buying yarn when you have no purpose in mind for said yarn can be a challenge. I went chunky and funky. Oh, and tip for beginners, a smart way to shop for yarn is by putting it against your face. Most of the things you make with yarn will touch your face (hat, scarf, sweater etc). You want it to be soft and lovely. You want your face to WANT to be around that yarn.

Step 2: (Isn't that awesome yarn?) Choose the right program to enjoy while making your tube scarf. I can't quite explain why, but to me, nothing says crochet like Gilmore Girls. Perhaps its because its driven so thoroughly by dialogue, so your eyes don't have to be glued to the screen the whole time. You don't want to watch something that's too visual. For example, in Hush, an episode of BtVS, there is no dialogue at all for about half the ep! This would not be a good choice. If you're a beginner, you may not want to watch TV while you crochet. But, I kind of find that boring.

Step 3: Choose your hook. You may want to put this step up top along with the buying your yarn step. If you're a beginner, or you compulsively lose your hooks like me (sigh), you may need to a buy a new correctly sized hook. Your hook size is always related to the chunkiness of your yarn, and how loose you want the tension to be. For this project, I wanted to create a nice stiff tube scarf. I chose a 6mm hook for that purpose. Another good thing to note is that the bigger your hook and chunkier your yarn, the faster you'll be able to complete your project!

Step 4: (ok, actual pattern time) Chain (ch) 65, or, however many chains it takes you to get to about 26 inches of length (this will vary dependent on your hook size and yarn).

Step 5: single crochet (sc) in each ch across (65 sc). ch 1, turn.

Step 6: sc in each sc across. Ch 1, turn. Repeat this for a long time. Basically, until you're done. I'm not going to tell you when you're done. Sorry, its up to you. People have different lengths of necks. The size of your tube scarf is your call. This pic was taken after the first ep of Gilmore Girls. See? I told you chunky yarn and a big hook makes for fast work!

Step 7: (This isn't really a step so much, as a word to the wise). If you happen to be making a tube scarf in 36 degree heat (because you're crazy), for the love of God, wear something appropriate for the task (for example, I wore a bathing suit cover up). Even if its small, the friction of dealing with yarn is going to make you hot. This becomes more of a problem the further along you get in your project.

Step 8: Take a break and fan yourself off. You'll know when its time for this. Basically, when you start to sweat, its time for the hand fan. When you notice how pretty your hand fan looks with the light streaming through it, take a picture.

Step 9: When you are done the body of your tube scarf (or when you run out of yarn... plan wisely. If you buy yarn in Chile, its going to be extremely hard to get more!) weave in the ends that are sticking out from when you switched balls. (It only took me two episodes of Gilmore Girls to get to this point! I know, I'm a machine!)

Step 10: Fold scarf right sides together (there is a right side, because chances are, even after you've weaved your ends in, there will be some little tiny sticky-out bits. Try to keep those bits to one side of the scarf.) Join the short end of the scarf by running a slip stitch all the way down the side. Weave in the last end of yarn.

Step 11: Hooray! You're done! Bask in the glow of your creation. I really love how this yarn looks like felt.

Step 12: Put on your tube scarf. Realize it doesn't really go well with the bathing suit cover up. At this point, you have two choices. Either a)put away your super cute new tube scarf with the realization that its going to be several months before you can show it off, or b)write a blog about how you are crazy and sometimes like to crochet in the high heat of summer.

Saturday is Market Day! (usually)

Growing up, my Dad used to take me to the grocery store on Saturdays. I loved the grocery store ritual. I loved riding in the cart, especially because my dad is a big kid who would sometimes jump on the cart so that we could both ride it at the same time. He especially would do that in the parking lot when there were hills. It was AWESOME. My very favourite thing, however, would be when we'd go to St. Jacobs Farmer's market (even though there were no carts to ride there).

I feel really fortunate to have grown up in the country. No, really. I may trick you into thinking that I'm a city girl now, but in the city, you never get to see things like this:

I took this on a market Saturday. I not only got to grow up in the country, I grew up in Mennonite country. Horse and buggies were a natural part of my landscape, to such an extent that I didn't realize that there weren't Mennonites everywhere. When my school would have baseball tournaments, the girls from the Mennonite school would always kick everyone's asses, and they'd do it wearing dresses! I guess that's what happens when you don't have TV or computers. You actually have to go outside and PLAY. What a novel idea... St. Jacobs now is more of a tourist zone than actual Mennonite country, but Waterloo county is still the place to be if you want to see a horse drawn plough or a barn raising (which is definitely something you've gotta see).

So anyway, my Dad instilled in me a firm love of markets. Normally, on Saturdays when I'm in the city, St. Lawrence market is my morning ritual. I get up and meander over to peruse the vegetables and buy silly amounts of really exceptional cheese. Today, I am too non functional to do much more than read, watch movies, and write my blog, as a result of my cousin's birthday party, and a rather significant amount of vodka. So I decided, because it pains me to miss market day, to write about how much I love market day. Ironically, this is making me even sadder to be missing it. Alas, really doesn't change my current inability to remain vertical without pain for any significant period of time today. I know, I deserve no sympathy.

People have been known to tease me for the amount of pleasure I get out of going to the farmer's market. I get

so excited about the amazing fresh produce, and talking to the people running the stalls, and planning a menu based on what I impulse buy. And yeah, maybe it is a little silly, but I guess silly is one of the core characteristics of my personality. Fortunately, I also have people that love going to the market almost as much as I do. That's me and my best friend at the market. Don't we look happy? Actually, I'm not sure she actually loves the market as much as me, or if she just knows how much I love it and plays along. It wouldn't surprise me. She's a good friend like that. It could also be that she knows it inspires me to make awesome food, which she then gets to reap the benefit of.

The people that I know for SURE love the market as much as me are my sisters. This morning (oh wait, I think it was afternoon... given I got up at 11:30 it was probably afternoon), my sister Michelle posted on facebook all the awesome things she got in St. Jacobs. My response was immediate envy. Especially of the fresh Ontario peaches. mmm... peaches... That's what she gets for driving a car and living in Waterloo. Sigh... My other sister, Kristen, who is such a foodie as to make me seem like a

complete and total beginner, loves markets so much that when we had half a day in Santiago, Chile, and we both were picking the few things we really wanted to do and see, she chose the fish market. And we couldn't even buy anything because we were flying out that night! It was stinky, but cool. I don't think its a coincidence that both my sisters love going to the market the same way that I do. When grocery shopping and market shopping is made to be an adventure and an exciting outing from the time you are small children, its the obvious end result. Thanks Dad! I think its a good love to have.

Oh, and also, can anyone tell me what these are:

I have no clue. Man, there are some strange things that come out of the ocean.

Mourning Person

Once, while commiserating on our shared hatred of the early am hours, a friend of mine stated "every morning is like a funeral for sleep." I responded "exactly! I'm not a morning person, I'm a mourning person!" Oh the early am hours. Most who know me, know its best not to speak to me when I first wake up. I'm a lovely human being. Unless, of course, it happens to be prior to 8am (or 10 on the weekends). I get grumpy and bitchy. My father used to find this amusing. A prankster in general, he loved to tease me and make jokes in the am. I was not amused.

On occasions when (God Forbid) I am forced to wake before 7am, this is what happens:

No joke. That's me asleep in the grass. That morning I was forced to wake at the ungodly hour of 6am.

The thing about me and mornings is that I *secretly* love mornings. Those occasions I've stayed up til sunrise (cause there's no way I'm going to GET UP to see the sunrise), I've really loved the early morning. Its still, and quiet, and most of the world is fast asleep as logical people would be. It feels like its just yours and yours alone. Or, yours and whomever you happened to stay up until sunrise with...

Once, by accident, I woke up at 5:30. It was the morning of my sister's wedding, I couldn't help it! I wanted to go back to sleep. I tried to go back to sleep, my body was BEGGING me to go back to sleep, but my brain said: NOPE! I'M AWAKE! But you know what? This is what I saw:

It was unbelievably beautiful.

I've always envied morning people. I've been annoyed at their capacity for cheer, jokes and pleasantries when all I could think was: "why am I awake?" But deep down, I always wished that I could be chipper and useful in the am. Well, maybe not chipper.

So, the last couple months, I've been doing the fitness program p90x. Its awesome. Doing it after work is not always so awesome. It gets in the way of my social life, particularly during summer months! Not to mention, at the end of a hot day after walking home, it can be really hard to find the motivation for a seriously intense workout. As a result, I've decided I'm going to try to reinvent myself as a morning person. But sigh... so many fun things happen late at night!

The last two days I've gotten up at 6:30 and worked out. So far... well... so tired. I had to nap both days at lunch time on my desk.

I'm not sure how well this is going to work.