A Family Holiday

Delta and I have never been celebrators of Christmas.

Festivus? Yeah, maybe. That's a bit more our kind of thing.

But Christmas? With all the presents and forced family reunions that unearth historical resentments that were hitherto buried for a reason? Slightly more dubious.

But this year, we had a different take on the event. The Gins called us over to spend Christmas with them, their little Peanut, and the rents.

And, although the potato rosti we brought over could have stood for a little less time in the oven (don't think they're meant to brown and tough as pumpernickel?!), the day overall was a wonderful success. Seeing the Gins and their rents was lovely as ever, and little Peanut was in his element.

Every day we're reminded again and again how happy we are to have the Gins as our family around the corner.

 Little Peanut, literally keeling over with excitement at all the presents.

As always, we set up the 'ol tripod and insisted on a group picture. 

Honey number 2

When we returned from our camping trip in Minnesota, we had to dive headfirst into a flurry of cleaning and washing. Delta and I stood side by side, trying to sort through our packing.

"Here, why don't  you take this, unzip the sleeping bags, and load the laundry," Delta told me distractedly, handing me an armful of stuff to sort through.

And then in the next moment, he turned to Queen Jaffa as she strutted past, and his tone melted instantly.

"Hi, honey," he said, his voice caressingly loving, "how's my sweetie pie doing?".

To the cat. I pouted.

"Hey. When did Queen Jaffa become honey, and I'm just the person who helps you with the laundry?!" I demanded, hands on my hips.

Delta gave me the toothy grin of a kid caught with his hands in the cookie jar.

"Oh don't worry, she's just Honey number 2," he tried to reassure me. "You're the real Honey number 1."

"Hmmmph." I was not convinced.

I with a jealous pout as Delta gently picked up Queen Jaffa, gave her a cuddle, and scratched her behind her ear. QJ for her part preened, stretched and yawned, proffering Delta her belly to get tickled. As she rolled over, I caught a glint in her eye.

Yeah, right, she seemed to say. Wouldn't you want to be Honey number 2 like me.

I knows someone famous now

This June, Rohinton played on the Bermuda badminton team for the Island Games 2011. That's right, suckers. I NOW KNOW SOMEONE FAMOUS.

For my American readers - yes, in the rest of the world, Badminton is actually a serious sport. Not just hitting around a birdie in a backyard picnic. I expect that you'll  treat this announcement with the appropriate level of gravity.

So family McDelta, father, mothing, sister, wife, husband, and uncle, all bumbled kit and caboodle to the little known Isle of Wight to cheer for Rohinton.

I dont' blame you if you're scratching your head at the Island Games. I hadn't known what they were before this year, either, before Rohinton's foray into fame. It's basically like the Olympics, or the Asiatics - a large international sports meet that takes place every two years, specifically for island countries. That's right. Not only do those people have all the clean beaches, good weatger and beautiful oceans. They also have their own olympics.

And there he was, our very own Rohinton, representing the country of Bermuda on their badminton team. Delta and I couldn't have been more proud. And so it was that we found ourselves on the flight across the pond to London, the coach to Portsmouth, the ferry to Ryde and the little train to Shanklin, which was to be our home for 4 days while we dove into an intensive international tete a tete in badminton.

A couple of the islands there were decidedly dodgy. Like Aland and Gotland. Delta and I were convinced that some of these were made up - a group of people who had made up an island, flag and national song of their own so they could participate in the Island Games. So we did some nifty googling to confirm the credibility of our oponents. I mean, seriuosly. Aland? Gotland? But as it turned out, they do exist, mere dots on maps though they be.

Family McDelta, taking in some sun at the Island Games parade.

The Island Games parade, not to be underestimated for it's pomp and grandeur.

 Badminton. A real sport, fyi.

A sedentary month

The last few weeks of our lives have been somewhat circulating around Delta's knee. Of course Delta himself, of the busted knee, hasn't been circulating around anything. He's been pretty much restricted to the five steps between the couch and the bathroom.

Although Delta's own frustration at his situation is starkly apparent, Queen Jaffa and I for our part have both adjusted our lives to this new situation with remarkable ease. Having lost my close biking/hiking compatriot, I relishingly embraced the more sedentary life snuggled with Delta on the couch. We doubled our netflix queue, bought a bunch of microwave popcord, and prepped for a month of catching up on all the movies we'd ever talked about. Queen Jaffa, for her part, warmly embraced having a napping buddy to share the couch with all day.

But if all goes well, Family McDelta's life of sloth will shortly be coming to a close. Delta finally had his surgery last week, and his knee has been steadily (if more slowly than he'd like) improving each day. The day is fast approaching when we will have run out of excuses. When once more, we'll pick up our backpacks and head out into the woods.

But until that day is upon us, until we are compelled by a driving force outside of our control, you'll find us quite warm and comfortable with our posteriors parked comfortably on the couch.

A long journey hoome

With Delta's gimpy knee, it was a very long journey back home from India. It was torturous to watch him hobble along slowly, navigating the airport crowds through his pain. I grimaced in sympathy. Not knowing exactly what was wrong, both of us were nervous about where this would lead. Just a bit of recoup? A more serious surgery? I kept a panicky eye on each tentative step.

And then I said (apparently) the most offensive thing any wife could say to their husband. "Delta, do you think you should get a wheelchair? It might be - "
His look cut me off.

From the fact that he gave me the silent treatment for the next few hours of our journey, I gathered that I had threatened his manhood. The infraction was so grave that I might as well have driven the car of our relationship off a cliff.

Speaking of threatened manhood, we, erm, noticed that the security guards in Amsterdam's Schipol airport wear European shoulder bags. Far be it from me to criticise cultural peccadilloes, and gawd knows I have some of my own, but honestly - aren't security guards supposed to look at least somewhat tough-ish? I hate to judge on appearance (and yet I will), but when the security guards sashay around the airport with european shoulder bags, it doesn't quite inspire the confidence it's perhaps meant to.

But I shouldn't criticise them too much. They did serve the purpose of uplifting Delta's mood, what with his sense of masculinity being instantly restored.

Compatriots

After eighteen hours of arduous travel, our flight finally landed in Bombay, exactly on time. It took us about seven minutes to clear immigration and pick up the bottles from duty free that my father had given us explicit instructions to buy. And suddenly we were released out into warm, moist air of the city beyond, to a warmly welcoming set of parent.

For the first couple of days, Delta and I coccooned ourselves on the verandah, enjoying the peaceful oasis while the city bustled, teemed, banged and clanged all around us below. Then on our second afternoon, we decided to shake the inertia and go to the gym for an invigorating workout.

But barely fifteen minutes into the workout, Delta jumped off the speeding treadmill with a yowl. His knee had, all of a sudden, buckled under him. He hopped around the gym in pain while I stared on frozen in horror, not quite sure what to do. His knee had been a bit vulnerable ever since a bad accidental sprain a couple years ago. But nothing like this. He gingerely tried taking a couple steps, but his knee gave way again. And again. We looked at each other in fear, and he grimaced against the pain. There was nothing to be done but to hobble cautiously, tenderly back to the apartment, where he sank onto the bed and popped a couple Alleves gratefully into his mouth.

Since then, we've been back to passing away gentle hours on the verandah, Delta confined to hobbling about with his knee securely bound in a support.

Then this morning, a pigeon landed on the verandah next to our table, as we finished the last dregs of our coffee. It hopped about tentatively, and at first we didn't notice anything unusual, until all of a sudden, I pointed out, "Delta look! It's wounded, the poor thing! There's something wrong with it's leg!". And so it was. The poor bird was nursing an injured leg, and hobbled about slowly by itself in a corner, shunned by the other, fitter pigeons around.

Delta, in his own state of crippled vulnerability, immediately felt a bond for the pigeon. He started throwing small nuts and dried fruit towards it, that it might get some food. They cautiously eyed each other, man and bird, sizing up each others ailments.

In this wild, aggressive city where everyone and everything's fighting for survival, bound by circumstance, this pair of unlikely compatriots.

A note to my Unc

My uncle left me a voicemail the other day, just before Delta and I jumped on our flight to India. In typical uncle fashion, there was no preamble, no wasted time on senseless greetings or terms of endearment. Straight to the point, just like I like it.

"Hey Ficali," it said, "I noticed you haven't been blogging much. If you're out of topics, I think you should write about me. Just sayin'." Click.

And so, Unc, I'll call your blog post exhortation, and raise you a family reunion invite.

We, erm, noticed that we haven't yet heard when this year's family reunion is taking place. Milwaukee? August? I thought as much. Just that Delta and I were a bit surprised that we haven't received the official word yet, that's all.

You know. Just sayin'. :)

A cat to be proud of

Lately, Queen Jaffa had taken to licking the one spot in her body where she really shouldn't. She had mastered the yoga move inolved. In truly ungainly fashion, she would lay on her back and splay her legs in the air, and then do a sudden sit-up and lean forward to bring her head between her back legs, at which point she would start licking her privates assiduously.

Delta and I were, at first, so horrified by the appalling lack of propriety that we forgot to consider her potential ailment. Were we really to be saddled with a bottom-licking kitty?

So yesterday, we took QJ for a dreaded visit to the vet, Dr B.

Now, I always think of QJ as a rather docile kitty, seeing as she spends about 18 hours of the day sleeping, and the remaining 6 either eating or cuddled up in our laps. Not an ounce of hostility in that cat.

Except when we go see Dr B. For whatever reason, the Doc, who I personally find to be rather charming myself, unleashes the wrath of gawd in QJ. She unfurls all her latent feral felineness, puffs out her lungs, and releases a crescendoing opera of hiss and yowl.   

Delta and I just stood back from the cacophany, alternately apologizing to Dr B and trying to pacify an obstreperous QJ.  It was all rather disconcerting, really. The entire time we were there, QJ yowled in the horrific tones of fighting alleycats, although Dr B was barely even touching  her at all. Drama queen.

She created such a racket in fact, that when we opened the door of the exam room to leave, we found we had company: All the other patients in the clinic (a huge great dane, a tiny chihuahua, and five cats), flustered by QJ's yowls, had gathered together in collective alarm behind the closed door of the room, to investigate what all the yelling was about.

There was a moment of awkward pause while we all stared at each other in embarrassment - two comical dogs, five cats, Dr B, QJ, Delta and me. Suddenly realizing that the examination was over, and that she had an audience, QJ brushed us off with a disdainful shake, and jumped into my arms soshe could be carried out with her head held high.

Nothing, if not a cat to be proud of.

Welcome Baby G

Dear Baby G,

Welcome to our world! It ain't the most glorious, and I wish Second Ave wasn't under construction, but all in all it's not too bad a place to be.

You should know, you surprised us all with your early arrival. Just this past Friday, when we met Mommy and Daddy for dinner, all was still well and normal. Your starting line was still 3 weeks away, and Mommy was still walking around with a bit of a waddle, fondly stroking you in her round little belly as we meandered down the street for icecream after dinner.

And then, all of a sudden, the the characteristic way that babies have of deciding their birthdays for themselves, there you were, when we all least expected it!

Mommy and Daddy are of course, over the moon. And Delta and I are besides ourselves with excitement too. We're going to be your cool aunt and uncle around the corner, it's going to all be a boatload of fun. We've already found the little place we want to take you for painting pottery once you've had a couple years under your belt. And all sorts of other fun stuff, just you see, little fella.

Well, go catch a nap, li'l kiddo, and we'll see you this evening. We can hardly wait!

Love and hugs,
Ficali and Delta

Got kayaking out of my system, thank you

For several years now, I'd had my mind set on going kayaking. "Let's go kayaking up in the Boundary Waters!" I'd tell Delta. Or "let's go kayaking up in the Adirondacks!". So when we finally went to visit Rohinton and Jeet in Bermuda a couple weeks ago, I was determined to not let this kayaking opportunity slip through my fingers.

That Saturday in Bermuda dawned on a beautiful day, golden skies stretching generously over bright blue seas. "Let's go kayaking, let's go kayaking!" I insisted, until Rohinton drove us down to a little cove where we could rent kayaks. Once we'd gotten in, Rohinton pointed out to a little distant island on the horizon.

"Let's go out there, there's a small deserted beach on the back that we can lounge at for a while, before we start paddling back." It looked idyllic. The sea was smooth and a bright turquoise, a cool breeze gently caressed at our backs as we started paddling towards the island, barely a dot in the distance. I couldn't think of a more perfect way to spend a day. This was exactly what my kayaking dream had looked like.

The paddling seemed fairly easy going, and before too long, we were half way across the bay already. But then all of a sudden, just when we were about half way across the bay, a freak storm started blowing in. The sky suddenly darkened, blotted out by rolling thunderclouds. The sea suddenly jolted out of it's pristine blue calm, and large, rough waves started battering against our kayaks. The currents picked up, pushing us in the wrong direction: away from home, away from the island.

Rough waves rocked our kayaks dangerously. I cast around for nearby land, but in any direction, it seemed very very far away. I started panicking. All those years I'd been whinging and whining about going kayaking, I'd never really intended to die this way. Delta, seeing us start to panic, shouted loudly over the wind and waves. "Just keep low and keep paddling! Head towards the island, hopefully we'll find shelter there!"

It seemed an impossible task. The rough waves, the gusty wind, the darkening sky and murky ocean all seemed to be closing in on us. My adrenaline was pumping and hearth pounding, as each wave brought with it the renewed possibility of capsize. But we kept our eyes on the little island, kept our mouths closed against the waves crashing on our faces, and just kept paddling doggedly on. Our kayaks swayed and were pushed off course, but eventually, in a roundabout manner like a drunken swagger, we eventually drew close to the island.

"Let's paddle past that outcrop of rocks," Delta shouted, "and we'll be able to shelter from the current there!"

We paddled around the rocks, and huddling in the shelter of the outcrop, and spent a moment gathering ourselves and just marveling in our survival. Now here, clinging to the rocks for safety, we knew we could shelter until the storm blew over. For the first time since the storm started, we knew we'd be safe.

With nothing to do but wait for the storm to pass, we pulled our kayaks onto the rocks, and dove into the ocean for a swim. The waves were still high, but sheltered here in this little cove, it didn't seem dangerous anymore. And so there we stayed, playing in the relatively shallow water of the ocean cove, revelling in our safety and alive-ness, until eventually, about an hour later, the storm finally blew over. Instantly, just as suddenly as they had arrived, the thunderclouds blew swiftly past. The sky cleared up, the waves flattened out, and the ocean returned once again to it's characteristic turquoise shine.

It was almost as though we had imagined the whole thing, as though perhaps nothing had happened all morning. But as we got back into our kayaks to start the journey back home, we felt the strong currents still pushing our kayaks back, and it brought home how real the whole thing had been. Have you ever tried kayaking against a current? Needless to say, there was a lot of treading water without much actual progress. A seemingly endless treadmill of water. And everytime I paused to rest, the current would push my kayak back 15 feet again.

"Keep paddling!" Delta would urge encouragingly. But that's easier said when you don't have toothpicks for arms, mister. Still - there was no choice but to keep persevering, futile though it seemed. And finally - finally - we drew close to home again, and I gazed at the approaching shoreline with a mixture of exhaustion, gratitude and relief.

Needless to say, spectacular though it was, and grateful though I am for the day, I've got kayaking sufficiently out of my system for now, thank you.

A mini-reunion

It's time to dust off the cobwebs, and reopen this pandora's box of jumbled anecdotes.

It's been a crazy month. Delta and I have been away every weekend, indulging in little forays outside the bustling anthill of our city.

A couple weeks ago, we went to Milwaukee to have a little reunion with our family. Not everyone could be there unfortunately, but we still got to meet my aunt and uncle, Rohinton and Jeet, my cousins, their spouses and their kinder. All in all, enough people to cause the commotion that any self-respecting family reunion should have.

Every time I rounded a corner, I was accosted by a whirlwind of chaos.
"Mum, where's my markers!!"
"What's the sleeping arrangements tonight, who's sleeping where?!"
"What's to eat, I'm hungry!"
"Where's my towel gone?!!"
And every once in a while, it was the more inarticulate "WAAAAAAAHHH!!"

It was the quintessential confluence of chaos to make for a fun reunion. We ate (lots), we played tennis, we swam. It was perfect, simply perfect. I hope we do it again next year!

Just like Tuscany

Last weekend, Delta and I headed to Rochester to spend time with the fam. It was a warm and sunny weekend, a pleasant change from our previous wintry trips up north. It was lovely as ever to see his mum, sis and her hubby again.

We headed over to the local Wegmans, where I got to wheel around a cart the size of truck through huge suburban food aisles with fifty types of toilet paper. We waded through unending aisles of food, with me randomly reaching out and pulling things into the cart in my excitement. And we headed home and built ourselves one of the largest lunches I've ever eaten. As Delta heated up the barbecue, the rest of us set up everything outside in the backyard.

As we poured ourselves glasses of wine and settled into our leisurely lunch, the sun dappled lazily through the trees, gently touching everything with a golden caress.

"It's just like Tuscany!" I exclaimed happily, taking a picture of everyone at the table.
And then I paused, and reached over to move the little bowl of mac 'n' cheese out of the view of the picture. "Now let's try that again. Yep. Just like Tuscany."

A non-Rainier weekend

I mentioned a few days ago how I was so disproportionally, disingenuously excited about hiking on Mt Rainier. I showed a picture (courtesy of bing images) of the glorious views I fully expected to greet us.

I failed to take into account, however, as I inevitably always do when I travel to Seattle, that it might rain. That it might downpour steadily, unremorsefully, all day. And that, dear folks, pretty much sums up our Lewis and Clark escapade in the Cascades. It would have all been a lost and futile weekend, had it not been for the cos and her lovely fam.

Super troopers that they are, they decided to join us for the first night of camping down in Longmire, little critter in tow and all. I could barely believe it, but there he was, their little baby, barely a year old, still proudly displaying the dimples in his knees and elbows. And already learning the joys of camping. After a cosy evening warming ourselves around the campfire (my Cos' hubby made curry, and not the freeze-dried kind nuther!), we retired early to our tents, in preparation for the long day of hiking ahead of us.

Delta and I woke early the next morning, but the rain had already got a head start on us. Sipping our steaming mugs of coffee silently, each of us hoped it was just a passing shower typical of the Seattle area. Despite the Cos' exhortations to abandon our hiking plans and return back home with them, we decided to press on. After all, we'd come all the way from New York for this very experience, and here we were on Mt Rainier. We were hardly going to give up at the very onset.

And so we set off, up the mountain. Thirty pounds on the back. Rain, rain, rain. Up, up, up. Pretty soon, the friendly drizzle had turned into an outright deluge, and everything we had with us, including our spirits and souls, were soaked through. Finally, some three hours into the hike, we reached a point when I started shivering uncontrollably, and Delta brought us to a stop.

"We have to turn around," he told me firmly, "we'll die of hypothermia here in the mountains otherwise."

And just as we'd made the decision to turn around, we came upon a forest ranger. "I'm just advising everyone to turn around and leave the mountain," she told us, "there's some pretty large thunderstorms rolling in that could be dangerous."

And that, right there, was the end of our Mt Rainier non-adventure. Soaked through and shivering, miserable and unaccomplished, and without yet so much as a glimpse of the mountain itself. Inevitably, I was disappointed and disheartened as we stomped our way back down the mountain.

But just there at the entrance of the park, we pulled over into a little cafe and had some homemade hot chocolate - and, well, it's remarkable how little it sometimes takes to make things feel all better again.

It might have been a failure mission all around, except that we headed back to the Cos' house in Seattle, to be greeted by a smiling family, hot showers, and a warm hearth. :Make yourself at home," her hubby said after we'd laughingly related our tale, "and we'll order in some thai food for din." Nothing like some nosh to heal the soul.

And so we got to spend the entire weekend with my Cos and her family. And really see how much their little son had grown. How he was about to utter his first words, and walk his first steps. Watched him grip our fingers in his little hands, giggling and babbling in excitement. Crawling speedily behind the dog and cat.

All in all, a wonderful weekend. Far better than a weekend on Rainer after all.

A stroll in the hills

I am absolutely positively beside myself with excitement.

Since I was supposed to go to Seattle for work this week, and since we couldn't make it to Bermuda this weekend (see aforementioned citizenship saga), we decided that Delta would come join me on the West coast instead this weekend and we would dapple in a bit of West coast hiking. Maybe even see ourselves some bears.

So I called my Cos in Seattle this afternoon to tell her about our plans, and somehow managed to convince her to join in for our little camping foray as well! So there you have it - this Friday will find a rather motley crew - Delta, my Cos, her Hubby, their Cherub, Hubby's Mum, their Dog, and me - all pitching tent (and opening a bottle or two of wine) at the base of Mt Rainier.
As much as I would love for a leisurely weekend of wilderness lethargy, our plans have transpired into a rather more active story. Early Saturday morning, Delta and I will set forth on the Wonderland Trail, which encircles Mt Rainier. Here's more or less how it'll go. We'll stagger ten miles along the trail, up and down the mountainside, munching trail mix along the way. We'll try desperately hard not to get eaten by bears or cougars, but no promises there, it might well be out of our control. We'll exhaustedly set up camp at dusk, cook ourselves a meager meal of noodles, comment on how noodles have never tasted better in our lives, and crash into a dead person's sleep. Only to wake up early on Sunday morning and repeat the routine again.

That, my friends, alarming as it might sound, is exactly why I am beside myself with excitement right now.

How can you not love Seattle?

This past week, life took me to Seattle for a spot of work. Now, I normally look upon work travel with a considerable degree of disgruntlement.

For one (and perhaps most importantly), it involves rummaging for (and shaking the dust off) my only pair of work trousers.

For another, the flight creates an environment where I am always, reliably, faced with rebuff and rejection: trying to engage my co-passengers in conversation. I'm of the philosophy that, hey, if I'm going to face six hours chained into a seat next to you, then at least I'm to turn to look at you and say hello. And I expect the same in return. Unfortunately, the rest of the world is of the philosophy that if the person next to you looks over and says hello, the best response is to look away in terror and pretend to fall asleep. Bah. Scrooges.

And then there's Queen Jaffa, who is none too happy about being left with a bowl of water and a pile of dry food for a few days. No sirree. She expects me to be there at her beck and call, and is entirely unforgiving of trite excuses like work travel.

But all the same, grumblings aside, I have to admit I love going to Seattle. How can you not love a city surrounded by snow-capped mountains wherever you look? How can you not love a city where you get to visit your Cos, her hub and their brand new little critter?

Yes, that's right. My Cos now has a son to boast along with the rest of the animal farm. The last time I saw their son, he was a tiny little baby, fresh to the world, and bawling his eyes out. This time, merely months later, he had transformed himself into a giggling cherub with dimples in his elbows and ankles. You see what I mean? How can you not love that?

The favourite part of our home right now is the fridge

And that's not just because of the tostitos bag on top either.

Home again

We stared at the desk agent dumbfounded.

We'd come to spend Christmas with Delta's family in Rochester, and here we we were at Rochester airport, waiting to take our flight back home, and the desk agent had just told us "sorry, but there were no seats available." (At least he was sympathetic, because they're actually nice like that, outside the city.)

No seats available? So what if we had stupidly chosen to travel standby during Christmas weekend. So what if we were too cheap to actually pay for a ticket to visit the fam for Christmas.

I mean, so what. Didn't he realise that this is the new age of generation Y, the Age of Entitlement?

I couldn't believe our crap luck. With unhidden resentment, I watched as all fifty paying passengers boarded the flights and they closed the doors. Why should they get on and not us (I mean, other than the fact that they'd paid for their tickets)?! And for a moment, I felt a sinking feeling in the vortex of my stomach, sucking me in. As though we might just be held in Rochester forever. What a ruinous ending to such a perfect weekend.

But then Delta suddenly exclaimed, "I know! Let's just rent a car and drive down!".

I looked at him dubiously. It was already past 6. Starting the drive now would likely not bring us into the city until 1am. And I had a whole day of work staring me in the face on Monday.

"You think?" I asked, doubtfully.

"Of course. Let's go! No time to lose."

And with that, he was off, striding across the airport to the Avis counter, where the lovely desk agent gave us a Hyundai Elantra to speed us back to the city (much to my excitement, because just before, they'd given us a Chevy HHR for the week, and if you've ever been in an HHR, then you know exactly why I was so excited to be in a Hyundai.)

And so started our little road trip. Got in the car, kicked off our shoes, turned on the radio, and motored across New York state through the late hours of nightfall. Even grabbed a meal in Wendy's, something we hadn't done in more than ten years. Singing along to the radio, we whizzed past Syracuse and Binghamton and the Catskills and Harriman, and suddenly, rather faster than we'd expected, we were back in the city.

As it turned out, not bad at all. As it turned out, through no credit of our own, quite the perfect ending to our Christmas weekend.

A winner week

Yikes, geez. The comments box suddenly got quite a-ruffle, while I was out frolicking. I wouldn't've thunk anything I wrote could have evoked strong emotions akin to love or hate. Maybe a mild giggle or an aversion, at the most. But hatred? Of seahorses? Isn't that like hating unicorns? Eh, it takes all types. In any case, definitely an enjoyable few minutes googling Schrodinger's cat, so all in all quite an educational set of inputs. So thank you *curtsy*.


The past week, Rohinton and Jeet dropped into town for a few days, much to our excitement. Delta and I were a bit nervous about the aerobed holding up, after we had to hold it together with a bike tire patch earlier this summer. But somehow, it pulled through, and I felt a rush of warm love for the faithful old thing. Even Queen Jaffa was on best behaviour, and refrained from trying to sharpen her talons on the inflatable.


The weekend that Rohinton and Jeet spent in town, a snowstorm blew into the city. Typical. A surprisingly warm run-up to winter, and then suddenly, 12" of snow. I would have felt terrible for them, except that they were on their way to that cruise in Antartica, and if you're willing to go to Antarctica, then you have to embrace all such trials and tribulations of weather as a training experience. So snow angels it was, then.


Also quite a constructive week in other manners. Delta and I finally summoned the inner motivation to haul our ever-growing collection of change (which had taken up a life of its own in recent weeks) over to the nearby coinstar and convert it into something usable. Each of us had a chance to hold it in our hands, and bet on a value based on the weight.


I was the first to pick up the bag of coins, and it very nearly dislocated my shoulder. Which doesnt say much of course, because frankly I could dislocate my shoulder with a 3lb weight. But still, this bag was a big'un.

"$87", I wagered.
Delta went next. "$91!" he said confidently.
Rohinton and Jeet each took their turns after that, and turned it into a 'Price is right' kind of deal. "Anything less than 87," they called.
Now that's what I would call risk averse. But you can't hold that against him, Rohinton's an insurance guy.


So with all our bets in place, we wandered down to the coinstar in TD Bank, where the cute little cartoon girl on the ATM screen told us she'd count our coins for us. For a couple minutes, as we poured coins through the slot, numbers whirred past the screen like a Vegas slot machine. And then suddenly, kerplunk!!, it stopped. $122!!!


We couldn't believe our luck. This was the highest we'd ever accumulated in coins. It felt like winning the jackpot. So after converting this to cash, Delta and I, buoyed by the optimism of our winnings, rushed into the camera store next door and bought the new D90 we'd been coveting for months.


Yes, you heard it right. We won $122 and spent $973, all in the span of a couple minutes, for a net earning of -$851. This, right here, is the story of our life.

The tryptophan exculpation

In typical McDelta Thanksgiving fashion, we have committed the fraudulent act of ordering our Thanksgiving meal online. Yes - that's what city people do. An online Thanksgiving. Because the oven's too small, the apartment would smell of brussel sprouts, and we just don't have time. And the Fresh Direct guys, they deliver with a smile.

On the other hand - before you mock - I can assure you that all our guests will be a eating a considerably tastier meal than if I'd cooked it by hand. So there. It's a win-win, no need to turn in your graves, original pilgrims.

As we did last year, Delta and I are cuccooning together all our "orphaned" friends who have no family nearby to visit. It will be a merry affair, resplendent with decadence and tryptophan - our little group of friends who have become our family at home - and both of us await it excitedly.

Of course, the mention of tryptophan had me googling where else one might find it, and per Wikipedia:
It is particularly found in chocolates, oats, durians, mangoes, dried dates, milk, yoghurt, cottage cheese, red meat, eggs, fish, poultry, sesame, chickpeas, sunflower seeds, pumpkin seeds and peanuts.

Basically, tryptophan, which makes me drowsy, is found in everything I eat!

I ask you, Gawd, how am I supposed to make it in life, when tryptophan stands against me? No wonder I can only bring myself to wake up at 8 each morning. I thought it was me being a lazy b*tt. But no, it's the tryptophan in my diet.

From here on out, I am exculpated of all crimes that result from sloth. Just so you know.

A busy September

I guess I should start with an apology for my silence. This blog doesn't have many readers, but for those of you who do read it regularly, I'm sorry for the sudden and complete absence over the last month.

The truth is, for the past few weeks I've been busily running around like a crazy woman. It all started at the end of August, with a trip to Seattle for work. Work trips are always fun anyway, but all the better when you can combine them with meeting the Cos, her hubby, and their pink, asquidgy new squealer.

"Do you want to hold him?" the Cos asked me generously. But I was too scared. I shouldn't even by allowed near anything more fragile than a brick, let alone to hold a baby. Just as well that I declined anyway, because right after that the little critter let out a yowl and a holler, and I'm sure (although they'd never admit it of course) that right then he must have pooped himself.

Of course, as soon as he'd sorted out his own GI tract quibbles, the kiddo started smiling at us beatifically and wiggling his little pink toes, and even me, hardened as my heart is to all things baby-like, I felt myself melting just a little.

And then, when I'd just got back and barely had a chance to catch my breath, began Delta's month of retirement. Yes. A whole month without work. Can you imagine that? It was like a month of heaven, except better because he didn't have to wear white robes or shiny things on his head.

"What are you going to do with all your time?!" I asked him in vicarious excitement, as the month stretched before us like an unending summer vacation. "Imagine! A whole month off!"

"Oh, I have lots of goals," was his peremptory response.

"Like?"

"I want to learn to play the guitar like Bono."

I tried not to visibly fall off my seat, but I couldnt' quite conceal the look of outright surprise.
"Erm. Anything else?"

"And learn to speak Spanish. Fluently."

And I guess I'd say, after the month's over, that he didn't quite master either of those, but we managed to pack in a bundle of goodness anyway.

There was a weekend on the shore at the Cranes', where we got to spend time with the motely crew, the three kids, and their crazy cockerpoodledoodle dogs. And Delta and I got to watch the Labour Day fireworks on the beach, sifting through the silky sand with our toes as the fireworks burst in brilliant splendour across the skies above us.

And then there was a weekend in the Catskills, where Delta and I set up camp for two days, to go hiking through the woods. And every vista, every escarpment (and sometimes just the uphill scramble!) took our breath away.

And of course, there it was a special month for Queen Jaffa too. She learnt that in September, the sun is at exactly the right height for a direct shaft of light to hit a corner of our living room floor, for precisely half an hour each morning - the perfect nap situation for a cat. Only for September though - I wonder if she'll remember it again next year.