Hibiscus Bud

Hibiscus Bud Originally uploaded by mellowkitty.

I've begun the Fall chore of bringing in the tender plants that have been blooming in the garden all summer. Although most experts recommend a ruthless cutting back of hibiscus and geraniums before bringing them in, I never have the heart to do this, as they tend to still be full of promise, like this hibiscus here. I usually wait until they're long and stringy before I do that. They don't seem to suffer from the extended blooming period. I would certainly suffer from not having plants in flower to see me through the gardenless Winter months.

This Blog Entry Uses the Word Angel I don't remember which particular boy had put me in a funk, but it was palpable on my face when I sat on the metro that morning. I was probably in University. It was Fall. Or, maybe it was Spring. Anyway, I was wearing a light jacket. Why I remember what I was wearing, I don't know, but I would have remembered wearing something heavy. There was a group of people my age sitting across from me. I noticed the woman in the group immediately, as she had very long light brown hair and was wearing a yellow cotton dress--the old fashioned kind of cotton dress, with a semi-fitted bodice and a gathered skirt. It was an unusual choice for any decade. Her face was quintessential well-scrubbed. No makeup. Just lovely. I kept looking at her, but I don't remember if she noticed. She must have, though, because before she got off at her stop, she looked at me, smiled and said, "Everything's going to be all right." I remember being soothed by her parting gesture. In retrospect, it couldn't have been difficult to ascertain that I was depressed. But, what did it take for her to communicate with a total stranger? Courage? Self-assurance? Drugs? Religious zeal? To this day, I call myself an atheist and think of this woman as an angel. Life is more interesting when it's inconsistent. I thought of this incident yesterday when I noticed a woman smiling at me near the doors of the IGA in my neighbourhood. She wasn't lovely like my metro angel. Quite the opposite, actually. Too thin--possibly anorexic. Sun-damaged sallow skin. Bleached blonde hair. Very bad teeth. Wardrobe from the eighties. She was probably my age, but without my many privileges. I locked the car and walked towards her, deciding whether I should return her smile or not. She asked me if the Beetle was mine. It is, I answered. That's my favourite car; my boyfriend's going to buy me one, she said. Not believing for a second that her boyfriend had the means to buy her one, I simply replied that the the Beetle is fun to drive. "En tout cas, madame, vous etes chanceuse." Lucky me. Lucky me for being able to read the subtext of what she said. What she really said. Everything's going to be all right.

Why I Love the Internet and My Friends So, after my restful afternoon reading and replenishing my dry skin, I turn on the kitchen faucet to wash the few dishes I've dirtied today. The normal woosh I get from any of the faucets in this house is a mere trickle. Fearing the worst, I check for leaks below the sink. Nothing. Good. I try all the other faucets. They provide the same lovely water pressure I've grown to count on. Good. I turn off the stereo and listen for telltale sounds of running water. None. Good. I descend into the crawl space (also known as "Where the Genetically Modified Spider People Live"). No leaks. Good. So...what's the problem? Do I consult the home repair books my father has given me over the years? Nope. Do I Google for "constipated faucet". Nope. I IM one of my pals who is known to be able to diagnose and fix many, many things. After determining that the valves controlling the water supply to the faucet are actually on (this is the equivelent to "Is the computer plugged in?"), he suggests that the filter is clogged. I imagine myself decending into the crawl space again, turning off the water main, and dismantling the whole faucet to find the filter. My friend quickly corrects me: the filter is at the very end of the faucet. Without using any tools, I unscrew the thingy at the end of the faucet. Lo and behold! It's full of black schmutz. I rinse it off, screw it back on, turn on the water and wham! Water pressure. I IM him back with a big thank-you. My relief is quickly replaced with disgust, though--where did the schmutz come from? It came from the Montreal water system, that's where...I'm sticking to drinking red wine exclusively from now on.

Vanity Fair

Vanity Fair Originally uploaded by mellowkitty.

This not-working thing is getting addictive. I spent this morning potting bulbs (for flowers in Winter) and making my own "spa" treatments. I'm suddenly feeling very Victorian-ladyish...when was the last time you sat on a setee, reading a hardcover book with rosewater and glycerin on your face?

Country Living ... pffffffffffffffffft! There are five cords of wood in front of the cottage. It is currently a huge mountain of birch, maple and other hardwoods I can't identify. I've been stacking it in fits and starts throughout the day. I have blisters on my hands and bruises on my arms from trying to carry more than I should. The pile looks as big as when I started this morning. Oh, and the bear knocked over the garbage bin again and there was garbage strewn all over the road, which I had to pick up with my blistered hands.

Berry Good

Berry Good
Originally uploaded by mellowkitty.

I coveted these berries while shopping at the Atwater market on Saturday. Having tried to fill a basket of my own with blackberries growing near the cottage, the $22.00 price tag for the wild blueberries is actually a steal; it took me about twenty minutes to gather just enough to sprinkle over my yoghurt.

Basket case

Basket case
Originally uploaded by mellowkitty.

I have three furry barometers to tell me when the seasons are definitively changing. While they prefer to sleep outside in the garden at night during the summer, I know that cooler weather is prevailing when they start finding and claiming cosier indoor spaces to sleep. In this case, Punkin has decided that the basket beside the TV where I store the remotes and DVDs is the perfect spot to sleep, groom himself and perhaps find some veneration should I decide to light the candles.

Answer to Thursday's Blog Entry It occurred to me last week, while talking about favourite films, that two of mine have a tenuous, but for me visceral, connection: cats. In "Breakfast at Tiffany's", at the end of a film, a cat is abadoned and then found, a hirsute symbol of love lost and regained. In "Alien", the cat is the only other survivor and serves to underline Ripley's humanity as she races to destroy the alien predator. No matter how many times I watch "Alien", my fear is for the cat, temporarily abadoned in its carry-case as Ripley vainly attempts to stop the auto-destruct sequence. In these final scenes, my heart beats "Get the cat! Get the cat!" even though I know the ending will never vary.

Name something that the films "Breakfast at Tiffanys" and "Alien" have in common. Winner gets something from my old office at Softimage. You *must* however try to think like me and give me the answer I am thinking of. Of course, if you come up with something original and surprising, I'll likely reward you with a consolation prize. (Sitting in my living room are two boxes containing the contents of my old office. I gave a lot of stuff away, notably the full-size cutout of Boba Fet and the blow-up pink Princess chair (no one wanted the can of spray cheese). Remaining are lots of mugs, hello kitty things, and a stuffed lemur. I may decide to keep the lemur.)

Lake after rainfall

Lake after rainfall
Originally uploaded by mellowkitty.

At around six in the evening, the sun came out briefly after a heavy rainfall. The lake was covered in a fine mist and the water was calm. Landscapes like this make me almost believe that beauty is an absolute....

(not for the squeamish) A gentle reminder to wear your seatbelt whilst riding in the back seat of a cab.

Smells like ... burnt toast.... Anyone else notice that the whole city smelled liked dog poo today? I noticed it when exiting the Bureau en Gros in Old Montreal. The smell persisted in my neighbourhood. At first, I thought it was the Bug--I once ran over a dead skunk, and *that* smell definitely persisted, but was localized to the left front wheel rim. But, I gave the Bug a good sniff, and didn't inhale anything other than old exhaust. Funnily, I could smell green apples in the car while driving home, yet there were no green apples in the car...though, I did buy some green apple soda (diet) at Loblaw's this weekend. It's like Spring in Summer....Or, I have a brain tumour...

The Mighty Brugmansia

The Mighty Brugmansia
Originally uploaded by mellowkitty.

It's finally in flower in my garden. Worth the wait...

Can You Bake an Apple Pie?

Can You Bake an Apple Pie?
Originally uploaded by mellowkitty.

There's an apple tree beside the cottage that bears small, mealy, but sweet (not tart) fruit. Feeling adventurous, I picked as many as I could and then set out to make a pie.

I've never made a pie before. Quiche, yes. Pie, no. Never. Turning to my dog-eared copy of the Joy of Cooking, I used their recipe to make the filling. The crust was purchased at the Provigo; my mother tried to teach me how to make the perfect pie crust, but I never managed to get the dough to stick together.

The pie was incredibly delicious...I sprinkled raw sugar on the crust before popping it in the oven for that professional bakery touch (as the Joy of Cooking suggested).

I recently took a quiz (What Castaway Personality Are You?) where one of the questions asked what one thing you'd bring with you on a deserted island. I immediately chose "toiletry bag", but after this culinary experience, I think I'll answer "my copy of the Joy of Cooking" -- after all, they have recipes for cooking all kinds of varmints in there as well...Rosie the cat almost caught a chipmunk yesterday...Mmmm, chipmunk.