Far too long!

Far too long since I posted anything-- perhaps a mark of a)getting pregnant, b) having a baby and c)returning to work? I commend all of you out there who manage to work on your writing in the throes of new motherhood. I have really struggled to stay motivated and connected to my novel. But i am learning that the sun always comes up after a bad day or a bad spell, and onwards we go from there!

So to stay committed, here is an excerpt from early on in my novel, which I am happy to say I am back at work on, as Rachel goes to daycare. 

Good to be typing again. Good and scary. More good than scary. 

Sunday morning, I awoke at my usual 7 am. I tiptoed out of bed to the kitchen. I should have been able to sleep in, especially after a night like last night. Ed and I had no plans, so we cooked up a feast—grilled tilapia with a curry sauce, wild rice pilaf, early asparagus and roasted beets. My throbbing head recalls that we went in to the evening planning to sample, though ended up finishing, two bottles of Sancerre. I can vaguely recall the uninhibited temptress in me pawing at Ed on the couch. I blush as I flash back to some of my moves.  As per usual, some little creature in my being never fails to wake me up to enjoy the end of the party on these quiet weekend mornings while Ed unfailingly sleeps in until 9.

                Might as well get my salads ready.  The coffee pot is all set up to brew? I am such a psycho!

                Ed makes fun of me all the time for my tendency to get the kitchen spotless and ready for the morning when I have had a few drinks. I press the ‘on’ switch on the coffee pot and listen to the whirr of the bean grinder, and suck back a large glass of water. I remember reading that a large glass of water first thing in the morning, especially after drinking, is like giving your liver a shower.

                I set up my workspace: salad spinner in the sink, six rectangular glass containers in a row on the counter, cutting board, vegetable peeler, flat hand grater, and sharpened Santoku knife. I give my hands a good wash and set to work. Methodically, I drop the large clamshell container of mixed greens in to the spinner and rinse them off with cold water, turning the greens with my hand to make sure they all get well rinsed. I spin them for a good minute, and take a moment to thank my expensive salad spinner that I spent way too much money on but just love. I evenly divide the greens amongst the containers. I remove the colander of my salad spinner and drop in six carrots, a yellow bell pepper, some broccoli florets, an English cucumber, and a pint of grape tomatoes. I rinse them thoroughly, and shake the colander around to try to remove the excess water.

                Peeling the carrots is a messy part of this routine, and I seem to always find the remnants of carrot peels around our kitchen green waste bucket throughout the week. Carrots peeled and ends removed, I start the process of grating them one by one, each over their own container of greens. Why do they taste so much sweeter grated than chopped? I move on to the yellow pepper, slicing around the core and seeds, trying to get every last piece off the imported yellow beauty that costs so much money but is so worth the taste. I chop up both it and the broccoli florets and sprinkle them evenly over the containers. Lastly, I halve the grape tomatoes and distribute these. From the pantry, I select a can of chick peas and a can of baby corns. Once these are drained and rinsed, I divide them amongst the salads and snap the tight-fitting lids on my containers.

                The coffee maker beeps just as I stack the salads in the fridge, satisfied. I grab my phone, and text Maggie a quick “Hey! You awake?” and just as I finish stirring my extra sweet and extra creamy coffee, she calls.

                “OK, I am officially a loser—I am at my office,” she moans. “What are you doing?”

                “Just poured myself a coffee and am looking for a good gab,” I answer, my voice still pretty croaky. “Why are you a) up so early and b) working on a Sunday morning?”

Visit from an artist

Hi strangers out there,

And I do mean, literally, strangers-- where does time go? The passage of time baffles all of us-- however, that is in itself another post of its own.

Today's topic is a visit from an artist-- a male painter/drawer and pop artist who visited my school and I had the pleasure of listening to. They were enthralled in his words-- but, moreover, I was totally inspired. As he told the class his purpose for being an artist (he want to leave his mark on the world, as well as the mark of what culture was like at the time when he lived 500 years from now....), I was reminded that my existence is time-sensitive. If the time is now, and I want to write (a novel and an in-print column...) where has time gone for my art? And where does it come from?

Please remember what I do daily (French teacher to grades 7 and 8s, pushing around a cart classroom to classroom, standing on my head and making funny voices to entertain their hormone-driven minds out of their crushes and concerns about what they are wearing, to teach them a second language for 40 minutes per day.....) When you teach 13 and 14-year-old people daily, and perhaps with any job-- where does one find the time to carve out time for writing, when you are tired and deflated, want to exercise a bit daily, do a bit of Yoga and spend time with your husband or some friends, read books and see the odd show?

The question continues to puzzle me..... so here are the take-home messages from a true artist, for me, and for any of you out there dreaming of writing a book, acting on a stage, painting something amazing, redecorating your home, arranging flowers, opening a restaurant, baking really good vegan muffins and breads and recording an album:

5. Carve out 15 minutes a day to visit your art-- even by turning off the radio in the car and connecting with it, or journaling about your ideas! Doddle with your coffee. 15 minutes is nothing.
4. Trying to be another artist will not serve you-- only create what is true to your heart. (Sounds like a mantra for life, too, doesn't it?)
3. Make everything an artistic expression-- what accessories you wear, your pen choice, what you put in your salad (plug for the blog title!), what photos or images you have on your bulletin board, etc etc etc
2. Do not give up. Never finish. Just keep going. (Think "Marathon Runner" thoughts....)
1. Truly reflect on the question, What do I want to leave as my mark on this world when I am gone?

Get art-ing and hope to connect with you again sooner than later!!!!
Salad girl xoxoxo

How late is too late?

Remember me?

Wannabe author, salad eater, Yogini and diary-obsessed 34 and-a-half-year old French teacher?

Many moons ago I was somewhat regularly blogging in this, my self-appointed column on life according to me, and TRULY enjoying that I could publish something that someone other than me could read. I have thought about writing a new post many, many times since my last one about Yoga at the Beach -- and here I am at the end of October wondering how time has passed me by without writing a new post?!?!? I love writing-- so what happened? Where are the posts?

Not to say that I have moved away from writing and my other passions-- the summer produced 157 pages of my first novel--- and I'll rejoin that draft now that school is figured out. I am teaching Yoga twice a week to a class of keen beginner students and a class of hard-core athletes and practitioners-- and I love sharing that passion and meeting such amazing folks at the studio. I'm still hooked on journaling, big walks, tea sipping, red wine and healthy but yummy recipe creations. But I am soooo late on blogging that today I ask you the following.

In life, what is most true?
a) 'It's never too late' (a rather kind and forgiving mantra-- granny's words)
b) 'Too little too late' (crantankerous school marm or cynical dumpee's line....)
c) 'Better late than never' (eternal optimist who gets walked all over?)

I ask you, my phantom readers-- when does "I haven't ____ in so long" turn in to "It's too late to ______ now"? When is it too late to send a 'Thank you" card? When is it too late to start planning your finances for retirement? When is too late to start pilates again after surrendering to a jiggly midsection? When is it too late to call your friend Loulou who is expecting a baby soon and whose pregnancy you feel like you just learned about, to say 'hi and how are you'? When is it too late to say 'I'm sorry I was an asshole to you, Bingo, way back when--I was just insecure and stupid-- can you forgive me"? When is it too late to get to know your parents as people, as opposed to only as your parents?

I observe that rethinking of lateness is ubiquitous. Blockbuster Video had to alter their 'no late fees' plan, likely because people's libraries of videos grew while Blockbuster's shelves thinned out. Ages ago, smart workplaces instilled 'flexible work weeks'-- assuming that productivity would increase, but maybe it was just a pain in the butt trying to chase down all of the late employees to slap them on the wrist for being late. You don't have to be on time to watch tv because your PVR will be ready when you are. The economy could be in the state it is for ages because we're so late catching up on things we financed ages ago-- and will get a tax credit for renovating our homes with or without the available funds if we so choose. Why answer the phone when caller i.d. will tell you who to call back later, or not at all?

I have to believe that it's never too late to start again-- and smile today because it's never too late to post a new thought on your blog!

Salad Girl's tip of the post:
Set a timer for five minutes and list all the things you used to love doing but don't now do because it's been ages. Then choose one and do it!

The dangers of writing a novel

Greetings from my back yard office!

I have been delighting in the summer time "schedule" of a teacher. I still make five salads a week and love them so much for my lunch, but have recently discovered that Cumin is a cooling spice in Ayurveda, and my dosha imbalance suggests that I need more of a warming spice. So I have switched up my usual dressing to include turmeric. Oh, the things that can be learned when you have time. I am pondering whether the less than desirable conditions of being a French teacher who pushes a cart around from room to room are worth surviving when you get to have July and August. Today I feel like yes, but ask me in late August, or November, or late May and I'm sure I'll be singing a very different tune. In the meantime, for you non-teachers, don't hate us for having this time off. People like me savor every day, make nice meals for their husband, and love up their projects.

I have been enjoying writing my first novel. It's been in the works in my dreams for a long time, and pressing in my mind more recently. My fingers can't type fast enough, and I am playing fun games to trick myself in to writing with commitment, such as letting my favourite writers write "through" me, racing against a timer, pressing "Shuffle songs" on my iPod to find a hidden message in whatever song comes up, and treating myself to rewards like Soy Chai lattes or a new sparkly jelly roll pen when I reach my goals.

Will you read my book one day? It's light and cute and maybe even a bit inspiring.

Here are my thoughts on the negative side of being a writer:
1. Everything that happens to you gets catalogued, either in writing or in your mind, as a possible event, place or person for your book.
2. There is a constant feeling of “I should be writing…” when you are doing anything—even sleeping.
3. Everything around you becomes incredibly interesting—books, old letters, googling how to make soy yogurt, checking the weather.
4. You know what they say about the best laid plans…… you can plan and plan to write, but your commitment to your plans will be tested unbelievably every time you open your laptop. Your friend who you haven’t talked to in ages calls, a neighbor stops in and talks for half an hour with you, the car “check engine” light comes on, there’s a leak in the kitchen and you need to meet the plumber, Biography is doing a show on someone that fascinates you, etc etc.
5. Your secrets about the way you've always felt about people and their decisions cannot be kept secret any longer—the truth comes out in your words that you write. Will your family and friends forgive you?
6. You are constantly scared that what you are writing has been said already, or is unbelievable or naive.


Salad Girl's tip of the post: Try my new salad dressing concoction, which I have called
"Love Potion Number Nine"
Blend some strawberries (SO deliciously in season and sweet for another week where I live) and frozen orange juice concentrate, and add a bit of ginger root. To this puree, add some balsamic vinegar, some olive oil, and the bizarre combination of black pepper, half a teaspoon of cinnamon and a pinch of cayenne pepper. We ate this over romaine lettuce, and sliced red, orange and yellow peppers... it was so peculiar yet so very yummy. xo

Yoga At the Beach

Dear reader,

Just wanted to share with you something that I am really excited about!

As my title indicates, I have a new project underway: Yoga at the Beach. I decided to put my Yoga teaching career back on track this summer since I have the time and energy, and at the urging of my good friend, Loulou, I am teaching once a week at Centennial Beach in Barrie! She encouraged me to get started and I am so glad. Special shout out to you, Loulou, for kicking my behind and getting my 7am class started.

Basically, I made up a flier and a cost for four sessions, and handed them out where it made sense-- at work, to my ultimate Frisbee teammates, to some neighbours. And I posted them at my chiropractor's office, at the osteopath's, the grocery store and some coffee shops. It's been so much fun getting people's phone calls, and even more fun was going down to the beach yesterday at 6:30 am to meet my students.

I want you to know how beautiful the waterfront is at 6:30 am. It had been a long time since I pulled myself out of bed to go somewhere immediately-- so I started practicing these past few weeks, to prepare for yesterday's Yoga teaching appointment. I never would have known how amazing the beach is at that time if I hadn't been down-- and you won't either if you don't go. The sky is amazing, and the water is so calm. The world feels so quiet and untapped. You have no idea until you get yourself there-- and even if you have already done this, it is different every single time! Trust me.

The people that you see are enough to get you there! In Barrie, and I would imagine anywhere else, the eclectic group of individuals out is the stuff of a great movie or novel: Dedicated dog owners, giving their dogs such joy by the water as they (the human, although maybe also the dog????) mentally prepare for the day ahead. The serene meditators. The Mom and Daughter combos pumping their arms into power walk. The type A business man getting ready for his fall marathon. The deadlocked rock star on his Rollerblades stopping at the lake for a workout and some sunlight before going to bed and then waking up in time for the next night's (or is it day's?) gig. Pairs of friends who are out running, likely having success here at this hour because they promised each other to meet up and who could bail on a friend expecting you at 6:30 in the morning? The widow who can't sleep in anymore because the bed feels strange without him, and coming to the lake has been her new thing.

Anyhow, Yoga at the Beach is underway and it was the BEST thing to be able to say: "As you inhale, bend the knees and step the right foot away from the water". I had grown so used to saying "away from the mirror", which inevitably makes students check themselves out in the mirror for bodily imperfections. As my small class of students lay back in savasana (final relaxation), I felt such glee at what we had done.

Looking forward to next Wednesday. Local folks, hope you will join us! Wednesdays in July and August, 7am-8am, on Centennial Beach-- next to the Lifeguard chair closest to downtown Barrie. Bring your own mat and wear layers.

Namaste!

Salad Girl's tip of the post: You guessed it: Get out of bed and get outside! Next to the water is so powerful, but anywhere-- a forest, a cheerful neighbourhood, even meandering your downtown office building's blocks at an early morning hour can be amazing. You won't regret it.

Lessons from saying goodbye

Hello again!

It has been a while since I blogged, and it's good to be back at the page again. I do write today a bit sadly, however, because in one week, I said goodbye to two good friends.

I didn't really understand what "Larger than Life" was until we moved to Barrie and met my neighbour and good friend, Bingo-- who was truly larger than life! A tall and boisterous man from Florida, who forever was inviting anyone around to have a chat and a beer, died in his sleep at the age of 62 after a cancer surgery while recovering at home.

And anyone who has had a pet knows how much of a role they play in your life-- as loyal friends, family members-- in fact, I could argue, perfect siblings. In the same week that Bingo died, I was with my sister, Loulou, as she put her beloved dog of twelve years down.

It is with much sadness that I was a part of saying goodbye to both of them. As a Yoga teacher, I have come to accept the notion that all things in life are meant to be a teacher to us. As a reader of my blog, it is likely clear to you that I am quite a list maker. So today's post is a list of lessons that both Bingo and Loulou have taught me in my time of knowing them.

Top lessons from Bingo
1. Get to know your neighbours. They have ended up on your street because the universe works in mysterious ways to bring us together-- so get to know them. That's why you're neighbours!
2. Be generous. There is no need to keep everything to yourself. We're here to share.
3. Make others feel beautiful. You make their day when you do so.
4. Politics matter. Take interest, and have an opinion for yourself.
5. No matter how busy you think you are, you always have time to talk to others. So stop and chat a while-- there is so much to be learned from our small chats.
6. Do everything with music that you love on in the background.
7. If you love to eat it, screw whether it is good for you or not-- just enjoy. There must be health in the joy that a certain food brings you that surpasses the nutrional value in it!

Top lessons from Loulou the dog:
1. Wake up each day, excited for what is about to happen.
2. Go with the flow—the details of where you end up don’t matter too much if you have the bare necessities with you.
3. Have all of the daily essentials for self care: lots of sleep, a good walk, just enough to eat, plenty of water, companionship and a good poop.
4. When you see someone you love, let them know it in your body language and on your face.
5. Life is all about the simple things that have cannot be bought—friendships, love, a yummy snack, a long walk in nature, being curious of what is out there around you, a back rub from someone you love.
6. When something gets under your skin, just shake it off.
7. Loyalty is an exemplary character trait. Be loyal to those you love.
8. Just be yourself—and allow yourself to be vulnerable. In taking the risk of being vulnerable, we can truly achieve intimacy, trust and closeness.
9. Don’t follow instructions if they do not align with your truest wishes.
10. Nothing is so awful in the world that it cannot be made much better by taking a nap.

Salad girl's tip of the post: When you have to say goodbye to someone, write them a letter to thank them for all they have taught you. This activity can be done much later than at the time if their death, and can be a repeat activity.

Girl, Interrupted

Oh dear. I was trying to decide what my topic would be this morning, when my topic found me. Something mildly mortifying just happened to me.

I returned last night, quite late, from Quebec City, where I had been a chaperon to the grade eight students from my school for their grad trip. A great week! Excellent 14-year olds' behaviour, fun tour guide, an opportunity to shop a bit at Simon's, night caps with great colleagues and beautiful weather, all of which involved no lesson planning or performance on my part. One point in the tally for teaching vs not teaching!

In any event, I returned home exhausted and welcomed my empty home and some 'me' time all weekend (husband due back from Ireland on Monday-- I miss him so much!). Rose at ten this morning and curled up on the couch with the cats in my jammies and some tea and the PVR'd Bachelorette when..... the doorbell rang. Assuming it was the Jehovahs or the chocolate covered almond people, I ignored it. Another ring. Peering out the window, I saw the car of our good friend from ultimate Frisbee, Bingo.

Bingo on my doorstep induced a mild state of panic, and I must explain why. Bingo is the guy who is just so. Just soooooo--- the nicest. The most athletic. The handiest and most resourceful worker. The hardest working person on the planet, perhaps. The most organized individual I have ever met. Always the winner at Board Games that involve brain skills. When we go to Bingo and his wife's house for dinner, their house is just so. Tidy, well decorated, spotless, fresh smelling, and very homemade with care for detail and love-- the food, the craftsmanship of the handiwork, the garden design, and so on.

Looking around my house, there were cat whiskers and dust bunnies, my unpacked and strewn luggage from last night's arrival on the floor, a sad looking plant that needed watering and likely a musty and cattish scent from having been an empty home with closed windows for five days. Looking at me, though I didn't have time to do so, revealed a bra less girl in her ratty PJ's, sleep-filled eyes, unbrushed teeth, messy hair, and even a hint of crusty leftover eye makeup under the eyes.

It turns out that he was here to borrow tools to build a deck. (A deck that will be just so, to be sure). As I lead him in to the garage and then the basement, two areas of the house that really could appear in one of those TV shows that the experts come and excavate and transform in to a mecca of organization and beauty, my feelings of embarrassment quickly went through shame, inadequacy, anger at my husband for being the garage dweller and user. Bingo politely found the tools, amidst navigating empty beer bottles, a garden hose, and some cat vomit that I swear was not on the carpet when I fed them this morning. s per usual, he was always maintaining great conversation and kind words. And off he went to build his deck, while I returned to my crap TV, slovenly couch set up and caffeinated beverage.

Opening the door and immediately rifling through my apologies and explanations to Bingo as to why I, and the front entrance of my home, was in such a sorry looking state, I had to wonder why I cared so much. Are my feelings about his judgment of me? Or are they about my judgment of myself? Here I am, a 34 year old woman with a fine life, and in this brief visit with Bingo, I felt like an insecure grade eight girl trying to keep up with the other kids on the dance floor Thursday night in Quebec city: awkward, and embarrassed by my appearance, my body, my outfit, my possessions, my place in society.

I would say that I vowed to get cleaning and primping in case another visitor should appear, but the truth is, I watched the end of the Bachelorette and might now dive in to a book that will segue in to a salad and a nap. My confession has made me feel much better, anonymous reader-- so thank you for reading! And Bingo, please see past the outer appearance, to the part of me that is just so-- the intentions, the dreaminess and the longing to be a good girl.

Funny Embarrassing Stories Others have told me (**sources shall remain anonymous for their protection):
1. farting loudly during Yoga class in downward facing dog while the teacher was adjusting you.
2. clogging the toilet at a new boyfriend's family cottage with a big poop and no access to a plunger.
3. playing with the neighbour's kids on their play set and breaking the slide when you tried to go down it.
4. going to your dad's new girlfriend's house for dinner and barfing in your mouth because you were so grossed out by her home and cooking.
5. being drunk at a university party and falling on your way out, chipping your two front teeth.
6. walking back to the dinner table on a first Internet date with the bottom of your skirt tucked in to your underwear

Salad Girl's tip of the post: It's an oldie, but a goodie-- tell others about your most embarrassing moments. I think I may have just peed my pants remembering all of these ones!