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Top 10 Reasons Why You Should Give Blood This Weekend 5 comments

10. It is probably the only time in your adult life that you'll get to eat Dad's Oatmeal Cookies.

9. The Dad's Oatmeal Cookies come with kinda yummy fake peach juice, in unlimited quantities.

8. When you donate for the first time you get a cool red and white enamel pin.

7. When you donate for the third time, you get an even BETTER cool red and white enamel pin!

6. *Some of the nurses are cute. (*Note qualifier.)

5. With all the fake blood you will see this weekend, it is grounding to spend time around the real stuff.

4. You will learn whether or not your iron levels are up where they should be (esp. women).

3. You can test your poise and composure as the very professional intake nurse asks you some very personal questions. In a very non-sexy, non-flirty way. (Don't flirt with this nurse.)

2. If you, or someone you care about, wind up in an unfortunate way (goddess forbid) and in need of blood products in the near future, you'll be grateful to every single person who donated in advance to help.

And, finally, the most important reason …

1. Canadian Blood Services is running critically low on blood products of almost every description and they need your blood. Now.

Here is a link to a clinic locator.
http://www.bloodservices.ca/centreapps/clinics/InetClinics.nsf/CVSE?OpenForm

Go. It only takes a hour. It only hurts a little. Remember … there are cookies after! 🙂

Pass it on.

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Phew 2 comments

I forgot about the mid-term thing that happens to instructors each semester. In addition to keeping up with class prep and general administrative stuff related to teaching, there is usually a boatload of papers, assignments and mid-term tests that all seem to arrive at the same time. You can try to plan it out differently, but it always seems to happen that there is a time crunch in the middle of term. You can't ask more of students earlier, in terms of major assignments, as they are just getting their feet under them. You really have to get some work in, assessed, graded and returned to them so they know where to improve before the end of term. As of last night, I'm done with the bulk of it. I'm behind on a few things but that will get all caught up by the end of the day today.

I've had several weeks of practically no unstructured time at all. Even my social engagements have been blocked in as has prep time to cook for friends, which I'm always thrilled to do. I love that so much. So, I don't mean to say that "no unstructured time" = "no fun". It has had to be calculated, planned-for fun. And there has been plenty of it, I'm happy to say.

But if I don't get some time to putter around my house, write, stare out the window, sip my coffee, listen to CBC, blog, write some more … I'm going to bust a vessel in some critical place, I swear.

Here is my new favourite lamb curry recipe. I have no idea if it is "low fat" but it doesn't use any coconut milk or other dangerously thigh-busting ingredients. The "rich" taste comes from cooking down apples, raisins, onions and lemons. (I always use more onions than called for, and I always buy the "sweet" onions, even for cooking.) Here is my new "standard" channa masala, which appears to be vegan. I love the vagueness of some of the measurements here – It really does mimic how I cook. I made this Baked Seitan from a recipe right here off Method's Vox blog about vegan cooking, and it totally rocked, although I don't recommend it in a curry. As happens in the blogosphere, I have no idea who this person is, but she takes photographs of vegan food that make this omnivore think twice. And her recipes rock. 

I think I'm going to spend a chunk of this winter learning how to make better curries, although the folks who have sampled the lamb seemed pretty pleased with my efforts. I think I can do better, especially if I can find more "low-fat" recipes.

Because I forgot about the mid-term thing, I booked a bunch of social stuff into these last few weeks. I wouldn't change any of it … might spread it out a little more next time. 🙂 This past weekend was a big "foodie" weekend, as was the weekend previously …

Thursday night, late after class: Shopping for cooking projects. I was the woman staggering out of Bulk Barn at 10:00 p.m. carrying items I only vaguely understood how to use. Like "nutritional yeast". What the hell is that?

Friday: Cooking curries, baked seitan, vegan meat loaf … almost all day.

Friday night: Ethiopian Food with Jan. I really want to book their coffee ceremony sometime. The place smells so invitingly of frankencense and other spices. A really cosy, yummy spot.

Saturday morning: Breakfast with Cate, which is alway a treat. We restricted ourselves to poached eggs and eschewed, rather than chewed, breakfast meats. So well behaved, we were.

(Insert frantic grading and house-cleaning here)

Saturday evening: The long-promised home cooked vegetarian meal for the Woman With Beautiful Arms (WWBA). This followed me being put through my paces at the gym as I too wish to acquire beautiful arms. I hope chick peas have sufficient requisite protein for muscle repair.

Sunday morning: After another frantic cleaning / grading session, I joined a group of dim sum lovers at the Bright Pearl on Spadina for a total dim sum blow-out.

(Insert further grading, final food prep and frantic ironing here.)

Sunday evening: The long promised curry dinner for R and M-A. Freddie was a most excellent hostess and made her guests feel right at home.

Monday morning: Get up at 5:45 a.m. to do some power skating.

Just had to throw that last one in … 🙂

Somehow, after all that food, I managed to weigh in yesterday at my lowest all-time weight since starting to focus on weight loss, and I lost 1.25 inches off my waist in a week, which is a bit shocking.

There isn't a single item I would change or trade in the above itinerary – loved it all. Having so many terrific, amazing and beautiful people in my life is such a blessing and makes me very happy. What I excluded here was discussion of the time commitment to my dog, who has been with me for most of October, and the management of a new client that I took on earlier this month. I think I need a breather. 🙂

(Note to Readers: The Handbasket, i.e. this blog, will shortly be moved to a new home, after two years of cozy comfort here at Vox. The link to the new home will be made available when the switch is all set up, likely within the next few weeks. I hope you will join me there!)

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Anaïs Nin 4 comments

A few weeks ago, I stumbled across an Anaïs Nin quote that I'd forgotten about.

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.

It captured something that I needed to be reminded of in that moment. Remembering this, I did a Google search for Anaïs Nin quotes and found quite the treasure chest. I thought I'd share some of what I found here.

Age does not protect you from love. But love, to some extent, protects you from age.
  
Do not seek the because – in love there is no because, no reason, no explanation, no solutions.

Dreams are necessary to life.

Dreams pass into the reality of action. From the actions stems the dream again; and this interdependence produces the highest form of living.

I postpone death by living, by suffering, by error, by risking, by giving, by losing.

If you do not breathe through writing, if you do not cry out in writing, or sing in writing, then don't write, because our culture has no use for it.

It is the function of art to renew our perception. What we are familiar with we cease to see. The writer shakes up the familiar scene, and, as if by magic, we see a new meaning in it.

Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death.

Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage.

My ideas usually come not at my desk writing but in the midst of living.

People living deeply have no fear of death.

The dream was always running ahead of me. To catch up, to live for a moment in unison with it, that was the miracle.

The only abnormality is the incapacity to love.

The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say.

We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are. 

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Tales of Brand Management 2 comments

"You're a marketer, Venus … it's about personal brand management. Perception vs. reality," said Dry Ice when I told her of some of my most recent challenges. Which got me to thinking …

Tale #1 – The Hero Who Wasn't: When I was about 10, a new family moved to our rural farming community – always a cause for excitement. There were two older sisters who came to our school, and a boy who joined us in our Grade 5/6 class. The family had moved from a large American city to our humble little rural farming community.

The new boy was tough, mouthy, and full of bravado. He, and his sisters, were also the finest athletes any of us had ever seen. Where his social skills were rather rough around the edges, his physical presence was sleek and highly tuned, even at the tender age of 10.  It didn't take long for the new boy to isolate and hone in on the weakest among us. His preferred victim was Johnnie, the mentally and physically challenged 16 year old boy in the seventh grade. Johnnie was a member of one of the farming families in the community, a near permanent fixture in the school and, until the new boy showed up, simply a sweet and endearing presence among us. The new boy decided to make it his mission to pick on Johnnie, his favourite taunt being to grasp Johnnie's nose between his fingers and twist until Johnnie screamed out for mercy.

I clearly remember raging daily to my mother about this horrible new boy and his cruelty to Johnnie. Mom was sympathetic and horrified, too. I told her my plan, which was simply to beat the crap out of the new boy. "We're gonna get him," I can remember plotting and planning. Mom was even more horrified now. "Don't you DARE lay a finger on that boy!" she admonished. We argued for a few days when the subject came up, and there was something in her voice that made me hold back from executing the plan-du-jour. I couldn't understand why Mom was so insistent when, normally, she'd let me barrel on in and learn my lesson the hard way. We just HAD to step in and protect Johnnie, didn't we? Why was no one stepping in? I really didn't understand. Finally, after several days of me raging and railing and practicing my high karate kicks on imaginary new boys everywhere, my terrified mother blurted out, "You stay away from him, do you understand? You cannot beat up the black boy, under any circumstances, do you hear me?"

My mother, the spin doctor. Worried about the optics of the white farm kids (because this would need to have been a group effort) ganging up on the new black kid.  What it was – neutralizing a bully – was irrelevant. What mattered was what it looked like. Perception vs. reality. Wrongly perceived, as it surely would be, and our community brand would be severely damaged.

Tale #2 – The Princess Who Wasn't
: About a million years ago, my first l-t love needed to earn a bit more cash. Being a resourceful sort, she started to clean houses on the side. Being very good at this, she quickly built a substantial word-of-mouth client base. One day, she headed off to meet an acquaintance who was interested in having her come to clean her house which was in a lovely older upper middle class neighbourhood. When I met up with first l-t love after this interview, she recounted the following excerpt of conversation.

First L-T Love: So … this looks very doable, your house. Tell me – where do you keep your bee mop for the floors?

Potential Client: Bee Mop? What's a bee mop? Do I need to get one of those?

First L-T Love told this story with a snort and quite a bit of derision as she inferred, from the Potential Client's response, that PC had never washed a floor in her life since she was completely in the dark about the existence and location of the ubiquitous bee mop. We both had a good laugh over PC's clearly elitist and bourgeois perspective on floor washing.

As luck, fate, or complex small-town circumstances would have it, years later, Potential Client became my second long-term love. (pause to absorb … wall chart to follow)

Eventually, I got around to teasing Second L-T Love about this conversation.

Me: So, what's this with you not ever washing floors?

Second L-T Love: Huh?

Me: Well, you seemed kinda clueless about the Bee Mop thing.

Second L-T Love: Jaysus, Mary and Joseph – until my Aunt died, we couldn't afford mops. I used a bucket and rags, on my hands and knees, like everybody else!

The assumptions we make, based on the tiniest sliver of information, defy the bounds of logic. Potential Client, by virtue of having inherited enough money to buy their family's first "nice" home, also acquired a brand – upper middle class house holder -  the strength of which completely skewed First L-T Love's perception of her responses. So sure was First L-T Love of the accuracy of her perception that she didn't even make a motion towards checking out those assumptions. Perception = reality. Done deal. So trusting was I of First L-T Love's interpretation, so open to believing it as truth, that I shared the joke without question or reserve.

Tale #3 – "Just Go Around": My local Food Basics has great deals, but lacks something in the layout department. There are huge structural support columns in some of the aisles that unintentionally divide the aisle into "just barely cart width" and "not even close to cart width". If someone happens to be standing between a column and the shelves  on the side that IS cart width, you can't get down the aisle with a cart.

Recently, this very thing happened. As I stood with my cart staring at something on a shelf and pausing to consult my list, a woman came up the aisle towards me with a basket, dropped the basket loudly on the floor right beside a column, muttered something, and started to put noodle packages from the bottom shelf in her basket. She looked neat and well-dressed, urban-funky looking, perhaps a bit harried. Maybe in a bad mood. It was hard to say from my perspective as I'd only been paying a fragment of attention as I debated brands of chick peas on the opposite shelf.

After she had about 10 packages of noodles in her basket, the woman just stood upright, just stood there, staring straight down at her basket, muttering. I wondered if she was counting the packages. I waited a few moments, then I smiled my most charming, slightly apologetic smile, and said, in my sweetest voice, "Excuse me, could I just get through here?"

The woman turned slowly to look me up and down, finally leveling a gaze at me that would melt glass. "I'm so fuckin' tired of you women.You want me to move over? You want to get past? Me … move over … for you? You know how much of that I've done in my life? How much of that I've done just TODAY? Stand aside? … you just fuckin' turn and go around the other aisle this time, huh? Just go around … How does that feel? You see how that feels? You like it?"

Clearly, my brand in that moment read as "privileged white woman with a bad haircut" and I experienced poor product location, finding myself in a grocery store that is part of the St. Jamestown neighbourhood. I was perceived as out of place. Sensing the futility of debating the social constructs of race and class in a crowded grocery store aisle with a really pissed off woman, I went around.

=====

Perception. Reality. What it is vs. what it looks like. I'm starting to think that as hard as some of us try to put the clearest, most consistent brand possible out there, the perception of that brand is always going to be skewed by the receiver's own set of assumptions or filters. Thus, one's brand becomes less about who one is and so much more about how one is perceived once filtered through the receiver's assumptions. The more powerful the assumptions we combat, the harder it is to be accurately perceived.

And this troubles me, especially when I have occasion to run into some pretty powerful assumptions in some pretty surprising places. 

Professional marketers place huge value on gaining a deep understanding their audience, identifying and analyzing their behaviours and assumptions. Knowing as much as possible about the receivers of a branding message will help craft that message appropriately. Will help avoid offensive product placement issues, for example. 

I don't think the parallel works so well for interpersonal branding because, in any given day, we each find ourselves in front of a series of demographically fragmented audiences. If we needed to severely adjust our brand for each new audience, we'd get schizophrenic in fairly short order. The essence – the importance and value – of who we are as unique individuals would get lost in the constantly shifting projections of facets of who we are. Yet – we do make shifts for different demographics in our lives, for various excellent and necessary reasons. In family settings. At work. With friends. With intimates. It is the degree of the shifting that needs some review, in my case anyway. Sometimes I need to shift more. Sometimes, less. I am, as always, a work in progress.

Nonetheless, I do find that as I get older, I have less and less patience for other people's misguided assumptions about me / my brand. Well, I have a lot of patience for that woman in the store. I just don't think her anger had anything to do with me, but rather with what I represented to her in that moment. Telling her "you go girl!" in that moment would have really messed her up.  I've also checked in with my own assumptions and discovered that, yes, I would have turned on the charm and said "excuse me" to any person of any race, gender, sexual orientation or religion in that moment. Furthermore, I have examined what this situation would have looked like if the tables were turned and, yes, I would have moved in a heartbeat if she had been the one asking. My request to her was not borne of oppression but of a desire for collaboration. That bit didn't make it through her filter, however.

I do wonder if our assumptions and filters – mine included – have become so rigid that we take our emotional response to incoming information as "truth" without really taking the time to examine for "assumption"?

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No Time For Time Out 1 comment

I feel a little bit like my head is in a vice this week – actually, for the next few weeks. I'd forgotten this part about academia and the dumptruck of stuff that tends to appear, regardless of every good organizational intention, in the mid-term. Exams, assignments, presentations – these need to be prepared, administered, graded. In this particular semester, due to a scheduling bungle, I have an entire class of "exceptions" to manage with regard to their mid-terms, and the usual number of students who forgot to self-identify as "exceptions" and thus need to be each treated as individual "exceptions", one-by-one, ad hoc, as they show up saying "oops". This is the most time-consuming and patience-testing part.

And I have a new client to tend to … and custody of my dog which imposes an unimpeachable rigour. Her needs must be obeyed. And I'm looking after a neighbour's cat. Thank goodness for post-it notes.

No time for gym, which doesn't help at all. I can hear some of you say "oh, make time for it". I've not ever mastered the "making time" concept. I've over-committed socially and that actually helps from a mental health perspective but not from a time management perspective.

The nuts and bolts of my life … I can manage them. It will be a stretch but it will all get done.

What is missing is the white space that one needs in every layout … the empty space to process, think and – for me – write about it all. When this goes missing, I know I get out of some kind of internal balance. I started to feel this a week or so ago … I think it is about to get worse … and I hope I can find a way to come up for air by the end of this month.

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Road Trip, With Indulgences 5 comments

There is something in the blood about autumn in Ontario. The weather turns from hot to nippy pretty quickly. The air gets crisp and demanding in the nose. We rural transplants to urban settings yearn for opportunities to get out to the country where evidence of change is everywhere.

This past weekend offered just such an opportunity as J and I drove north to a special cottage birthday visit with ragdoll’s mom. It was a surprise and the look on RM's face when she got out of the car was worth every moment of the quite long drive north.

But I'm skipping ahead … first came the drive north on a sunny Friday with blue skies, puffy white clouds, still green rolling hills and trees of every colour dotting the wooded landscapes and roadways. The endless rolling countryside of Southern Ontario, in this case north up Highway 6 from Guelph almost all the way to Tobermory, is – for me – a sure-fire way to calm my mind and re-charge my batteries. It is all I can do not to stop the car every 100 metres or so and look at a farm, or admire the view, talk to some sheep, or just take in the landscape. We'd never get there if I had my way.

The small towns along the way are equally picturesque … Fergus … Arthur … Mount Forest … Kenilworth … Chatsworth … some of them have magnificent stone buildings on the main "drag" (as my Mom would have said) and beautiful Southern Ontario brick (both red and yellow) homes on the side streets, with tall maples, pines and cedars surrounding. There is usually water – a river,a creek, a small pond or resevoir – that one drives by, or over. The entry into downtown Guelph, over the bridge from the University, is just about the prettiest "gateway" to a downtown there is. Well, except for the small matter of that strip mall to the east and the muffler shop to the west. And the fact that the intersection is almost ALWAYS torn up in construction … but I digress.

Each of these towns features one or more Chinese food restaurants (Cantonese) which lay at the root of my occasional yearnings for really good, but really bad, Cantonese Chinese food.  Almost every small town in Ontario of a population of more than 500 people will have a Chinese restaurant, including every small town near the farm where I grew up. This Wikipedia entry talks about the phenomenon of the rural Chinese restaurant belonging to Western Canada, but it is totally present in EVERY small town in Ontario, as well.

You can keep your chicken balls, egg rolls and fried rice … all I'm really interested in is any main dish that features bean sprouts. Love 'em. We stopped at one such place for lunch on Friday and I indulged my bean sprout yearnings.


This wasn't really what I had in mind, but it tasted better than it looks. I'm not used to chow mein it looking quite so … red … or having so many egg noodles. The bean sprouts were fresh, crunchy and slightly undercooked, which was perfect.

Also somewhere along Highway 6, I spotted this beauty and felt compelled to swing back to capture her for posterity.


I like how someone has replaced the hub caps with really shiny ones, but hasn't gone any further than that! 🙂


The drive carried on in this rolling, up/down, curvy, picturesque way for 4.5 hours until we found the cottage, near Dyer's Bay. This was our view.


I wrote about this shirt in a blog entry about gender a while back. It is a bit big on me now, but still cosy.

Freddie enjoyed exploring completely new territory and never ever tires of looking for dead fish on the beach – so she can roll in them, of course!

The night sky, around midnight Friday, totally blew us away and is almost impossible to describe. Just as you think your eyes have adjusted to the dark, this band of diamonds, some seemingly closer than others, appears. Then, as your eyes adjust to that reality, you notice that the entire sky is encrusted with twinkling, sparkling light. You just can't take it all in … almost overwhelming.

We went for a walk on Saturday, mid-day, along the shore road and then the "beach". Georgian Bay is not known for its sandy beaches. Instead, it offers miles and miles of rocky, pebbled beaches that have a odd seductive beauty to them. 

Love this patio / fire pit. I can so see sitting out here with guitars, friends, and laughter.

The four of us had a lovely 24 hours together. I brought my mini-guitar and we sang songs together for hours. We ate all the things we weren't supposed to … like bacon, sausage, cheese, bread and ice cream. 🙂 I think I was more indulgent this 24 hours than I was over my birthday! In any case, I think we celebrated ragdoll’s mom's birthday in a special and memorable way, and that was the desired outcome. I just wish we could have stayed longer, but life makes strong demands sometimes.

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