Atomic dogmA.com

Time for a Facelift ...

2009-04-26T09:25:00.000-07:00

I've moved!

You can now find me at www.atomicdogma.com - join me for a glass of bubbly, I've just popped the cork ...

For Best Results, Defrost for 1-3 Days

2009-03-28T10:55:00.000-07:00

Oh, it's good to be home.

I spent the last three weeks in my Canadian homeland where the banking system is healthy and Mother Nature is on hiatus. I celebrated the first day of Spring with another twelve inches of snow and, if I remember correctly, the ground should stay frozen until May.

Snow and frost aside, my mission was successful. The exam was grueling but, thanks to jet lag, at the end of three hours I was too tired to care. I sold my beloved car (*sniff*) but couldn't be happier with the new owner. He was there in 1993 when the SNAAB arrived so it only seemed fitting that he should be the one to drive it now. And, after an alarmingly stressful flight, I delivered my cat to his new home in Calgary. Eleven years in Vancouver have spoiled him rotten, but it felt good to bring him back to enjoy the big blue skies in Alberta.

I even managed to surprise my father with my new domestic abilities.

"I just can't believe it. If only your mother could see you now - you've become a real Hausfrau."

Okay, let's not push it.

One Step Beyond

2009-03-02T02:36:00.000-08:00

One of my favourite clients owns a customs brokerage and freight logistics company. Whenever I spent time in his Vancouver office I learned about the difficulties of pick up and delivery from a Beyond Point, a location beyond the scope of local delivery.

In the last few weeks I've learned a lot about the difficulties and joys of life in a beyond point. Even the great Google has some difficulty locating us on the map and asking a courier to find us is simply impossible. The nearby cluster of six houses is much tinier than uma cidade (city) and even smaller than uma vila ou aldeia (village). The nearest supermarket is thirty minutes away, so last-minute grocery trips are nearly out of the question and dining out is a bit more complicated than just hailing a cab. This requires much planning, sometimes a treat for the Martha-in-Me and sometimes a freight logistics nightmare for the Control-Freak-in-Me.

Of course living beyond modern conveniences has its challenges, but it also means living beyond the invisible stress of being in the city. It's difficult to describe, but I laugh a lot more when I'm not surrounded by concrete. With a satellite dish, running water and access to the Internet, this lifestyle isn't exactly way off the beaten track. But you definitely need a 4X4 to get here.

In a few days I'll be leaving to spend a few weeks in Vancouver and Calgary. Although I'm looking forward to seeing good friends and family, I'd love nothing more than to stay here; just one step beyond.

Hernandez Days

2009-02-17T04:59:00.000-08:00

A few days ago I celebrated an incredible and surprise-laden birthday (thanks to the thoughtful, handsome and very busy Penfold) and since then I've been celebrating the first signs of Spring. Nothing is quite so uplifting as seeing the first colours of a new season; the replacement of a grey, rain-filled sky with sunshine and a bright blue horizon.

And while Spring emerges my head expansion continues in the classroom. I missed Saturday's Portuguese lesson thanks to a nasty cold (a stubborn reminder of winter) but I am eagerly trying to catch up. An important lesson included learning the difference between Eu estou atrasada ("I am late") and Eu sou atrasada ("I am mentally retarded"). And after a few weeks of shopping for various floors I also discovered a new appreciation for "Está muito caro."

I'm still learning how to play with my nifty new toy (thank you obrigada thank you) but here's a glimpse of February from the backyard (a few more to Flickr through here).

Born to Be Alive just popped up in my iTunes (quite possibly the cheesiest music video ever produced). Oh yes, Patrick, it's good to be alive.

Same as it Ever Was

2009-01-24T05:31:00.000-08:00

In the last few weeks I've been in the blogiverse as often as the letters k, w and y appear in the Portuguese alphabet. This blogging hiatus hasn't been intentional, merely the result of being immersed in another semester of school. This time I'm learning all about efficient securities markets theory (which is just as theoretically dull as it sounds). Given the current global credit crunch, the theoretical irony is hard to miss.

Meanwhile, life in Portugal is unfolding. All around us the orange and lemon trees are bursting with colour. Through the window beside my desk grazing goats appear on a regular basis, always a welcome distraction. The rains have been heavy, but today's sunshine is a reminder that Spring is just around the corner.

I returned home from my weekly Portuguese lesson to find the house filled with squeals of delight as Penfold and Papersurfer Jr. battle each other with virtual surf boards. The satellite dish has stopped co-operating and, although sometimes painful, the break from television is good for us. After all, the world didn't end when we missed watching Coolio getting evicted from Celebrity Big Brother.

So even though I'm struggling like mad to make it through this course and I'm already panicking about the exam and everything else I need to accomplish during my upcoming visit to Canada, right now there's nowhere else on earth I'd rather be. This is my favourite part of living in the mountains of Portugal. Even when the world around us is filled with tiresome complications, life here is simple.

Same as it ever was.

Etapas de Bebê (Baby Steps)

2009-01-08T06:33:00.001-08:00

I'm happy to report that Operation Beige-Free did not conclude with the end of 2008. Yesterday I managed to widen my comfort zone ever so slightly to introduce a few shades of bright azul.

I kicked and screamed from the moment I awoke, focused on the warnings of ice cold fingers and toes, convinced that I would look as stupid as I felt. After the 20 minute drive to Góis, a nearby village (pop. 4,499), I began to loosen up to face my first ever Portuguese lesson. Class began at 9:30AM.

As with any comfort zone expansion, it should be no surprise that I felt great after the first 10 minutes and by 10:00 I was laughing, already looking forward to the next lesson. It was comforting to meet my fellow classmates, a hilarious group of ex-pats of various ages and levels, all willing to learn to communicate in this strange, new language. It's a frustratingly slow process but if yesterday's class was any indication, these baby steps should be quite amusing.

The morning was mostly spent contemplating "to be" (permanent) or not "to be" (temporary) as I struggled to comprehend the unfamiliar sounds. A few hours later I was able to string together my first sentences, complete with happy faces from teacher. I even have homework.

Before yesterday my vocabulary consisted of "yes", "thank you", "café au lait please", "good morning", "good afternoon" and "good night" along with a few smatterings from food labels and road signs.

Now I can say "Eu estou muito frio (I am very cold)", "Eu sou batoteira (I am a cheater)","Eu estou a aprender Portugues (I am learning Portuguese)", "Eu sou malhumorado (I am grumpy)" and the ever useful "Eu estou a usar boné azul (I am wearing a blue hat)."

I think "o meu namorado é muito bonito" will come in handy, too. ;-)

White Tiger Extends the Booker Challenge

2009-01-01T13:04:00.000-08:00

Clearly our illustrious Editor has given us an extension on the Booker Challenge and as she is not one for resolutions her friends, uhm, have to step in every now and then to help her to the finish line*. Six books, eh? Well, here is our third to be reviewed on this site: The White Tiger, by Aravind Adiga (2008 Man Booker winner).

I originally approached this book to be included in a "Top 10 Business Books of 2008" list. What? Non-fiction in a business book category? Hear me out. The narrator, Munna (or "boy"), tells the story of his own rise out of the Darkness of his poverty stricken youth to an entrepreneurial success in the country's high-tech sector in Bangalore. A perfect bed time story for the budding entrepreneur.

Adiga's approach to the classic poor boy succeeds against all odds story is sheer brilliance. The story is told by our narrator, over seven nights, as letters to Premier Wen Jiabao of China with the sole purpose of providing him the truth about Bangalore and how so many Indian entrepreneurs have become so successful - using his own story as an example (bribery, murder, cronyism, changing your name and identity - the usual basic foundations for climbing the corporate ladder).

In Laxmangarh (the "Darkness" as opposed to Bangalore which is in "the Light") he starts life as Munna a poor boy whose parents didn't have the time or will to name him (thus "boy") but on his first day of school the teacher names him Balram and he takes to education quite well - a rarity in this jungle, just like the White Tiger. But in order to pay off a family dowry for a cousin-sister he is plucked from school and forced to work in the local tea shop where he becomes aware of his full name Balram Halwai and gets an education in life through eavesdropping:

it was at the tea shop in this city built by coal, while wiping a table and lingering to overhear a conversation that my life changed.

"Everyone's getting a car these days-and you know how much they pay their drivers? One thousand seven hundred rupees a month!"

Balram becomes a driver for a local family who have become wealthy through the coal business. As a driver he listens, observes, mimics and is corrupted by the ways of the world. After murdering his employer for a bag containing seven hundred thousand rupees he heads to Bangalore and starts a new life and his own successful business now using the name Ashok Sharma.

My favorite quote from the book?

See, when you come to Bangalore, and stop at a traffic light, some boy will run up to your car and knock on your window, while holding up a bootlegged copy of an American business book, with a title like:

TEN SECRETS OF BUSINESS SUCCESS

or

BECOME AN ENTREPRENEUR IN SEVEN EASY DAYS

Don't waste your money on those American books. They're so yesterday.

I am tomorrow.

Hah! I couldn't agree more. We learn so much more through our personal stories.

But, I have to provide a list so on to our next 2008 business book contender: Bringing Nothing to the Party, Confessions of a New Media Whore. Yup, it was a rough year for business books so I'm throwing the net wide.

Happy New Year!

* admit it, tNb, you are surprised! Those of us who do make resolutions always look back to see how far we have come in order to treasure the experiences we have had as we go forward. Susan was in on this plot. Thanks for not taking away my ability to post on your site. Hah!

Resolution Revolution

2009-01-01T07:47:00.000-08:00

I know that I'm not alone in my dislike for New Year's resolutions. Not that I don't respect people who make (and keep them) and admire those who are brave enough to do it publicly - they just don't work for me. I'm a natural-born procrastinator (Mickey and Mallory can just eat my dust ... as soon as I'm ready) so resolving to do anything is just playing with fire.

Last year my good friends documented great plans for 2008, held each other accountable and managed to keep most of their resolutions. So cheers! Let's raise a glass to all those 2008 resolvers who stayed true to their promises! Hurray for your commitment and resolve - I truly envy you for it and wish like hell I could resolve to be more like you.

But before ya'll rush to make new resolutions for 2009, I'm far more interested in the ones you didn't keep for 2008. A year is enough time to gain new perspectives. Did you learn anything new about yourselves that relegated some of your resolutions to the "not applicable" file? Are the same things that were important to you then still important to you now? Do you allow yourself to carry over left-over resolutions?

No matter what your resolution beliefs may be, I hope 2009 brings us all some peace, some giggles and a few unplanned, unexpected surprises just to keep us on our toes.

Happy New Year!

Calendar Girls

2008-12-31T02:45:00.000-08:00

A new year begins tomorrow (in New Zealand it already has). A new day in a new month in a new year. Completely uncharted territory for us all. No one knows what's waiting for us around the corner and I think that's bloody marvelous.

Tomorrow our calendars will change and the promise of new adventures will start. And yet, despite all the newness that lies before us, a few memories from the past will always linger. To this day, I can't watch the calendar change without thinking of two girls.

In 1940 Ingrid and Hannelore were born. Both were born to families in a small town in Northern Bavaria and both families survived the war together. By 1945 both girls were too small to understand why 90% of their town had been bombed, but then again neither yet understood a world without war either. In the years that followed both girls came to understand the meaning of hard work and commitment. As survivors were found and the rubble was cleared both girls came to understand that giving up hope was not an option in the face of the impossible.

Ingrid left the Old World in 1959 and, after a long and uneventful journey by boat, arrived in the New World a few weeks later. She was ready to start her new life, speaking a new language and making new friends. But Ingrid and Hannelore both knew that some friendships are special enough to withstand long distances, in spite of new friends, new husbands, new children and new experiences.

Unlike Ingrid, Hannelore did not embrace crazy ideas or risky new adventures. She married soon after Ingrid left, worked hard alongside her husband and raised two successful and healthy daughters. And every Christmas, without fail, Hannelore sent Ingrid the same gift - a calendar.

The calendar was always the same. Nothing fancy; no drawings, photographs, cartoons or colour other than black and red. Always 4" tall and 2"wide, each thin sheet was just large enough to hold the date on the front and few words of wisdom on the back. Sometimes it was a quotation, sometimes a joke and sometimes a recipe, but it was always a solid, sensible German thought to ponder throughout the day. For forty-five years as the new day began and the old day was torn off, Hannelore and Ingrid spent a few moments together.

The last calendar arrived for Christmas in 2005 but the girls only shared the first fourteen days of the next year together. Just a few weeks ago Hannelore passed away, too. Both girls fought their battles with cancer and neither of them ever gave up hope.

Wherever they may be, I like to think that tomorrow they'll be sharing the first day of the new calendar together.

Helpless

2008-12-30T07:16:00.001-08:00

One of the most frustrating feelings is to be helpless. When you want to do something, but can't. When you want to help, but don't know how. When you need to act, but don't have any answers. Sometimes you don't even know which questions to ask.

Even worse than feeling helpless is watching someone you love suffer and being able to do nothing about it. To be intimately aware of their pain with no idea how to ease it or make it go away. And to be intimately aware that the pain of feeling helpless is only a mere milli-fraction of what they endure every day.

Thankfully, I haven't felt like that in years but lately I've been feeling a bit helpless. And when I feel helpless I feel frustrated. And when I feel frustrated I feel angry.

And when I'm angry I vacuum.

So please send good thoughts, vibes and general happy stuff to dear Penfold. Not only does he have the most stubborn sinuses in the history of Papersurferkind, but he has to put up with a stomping, hoovering lunatic as well.

And he didn't surf today.

What a Difference ...

2008-12-25T07:32:00.000-08:00

... a week makes.

Just a few days ago I was cleaning my empty closets, all the skeletons were packed, boxed, sealed and put into storage. I said goodbye to my home of ten years, my cheeks were stained with tears from many sad farewells. I watched as the Rocky Mountains faded into the distance, waving goodbye to the snow covered peaks and the endless Canadian skies. The Vancouver chapter of my life was over.

What a difference a year makes.

Just twelve months ago I was pretending that Christmas didn't matter. On the outside I was immune to the holiday season, but on the inside I cried every time I heard a bell jingle or a jolly ho ho ho. I ignored the festivities and found ways to pass the time until the last silent night was over and the world finally returned to normal. I tried to forget my Christmas past and believed that this was my Christmas future.

And then, for reasons I still don't understand, I pulled Atomic dogmA out from under the rubble, cleared the cobwebs and started to write. I wrote without regard for stats or subscribers, without regard for pageloads or rankings. I wrote for the sheer pleasure of writing.

And suddenly things began to change.

In the last few days I've baked Christmas cookies, gathered pinecones in the woods, decorated a Christmas tree, filled the house with wood to keep warm during the cold winter nights, and watched as an excited eight-year-old filled the house with Meccano and Bionicles. This year my heart is filled with love and I'm the one singing Christmas carols out of tune.

Sometimes the universe throws us a curve ball and it takes everything we have just to hold on. But sometimes the universe sends us a gift, and if we're paying attention, it can be more magical than anything you'll find under any tree.

Merry Christmas, my friends. I wouldn't be here without you.

What's on Your Fridge?

2008-12-09T21:53:00.000-08:00

It's amazing how much stuff will fit inside a 700 sq ft apartment. Even though I've managed to get most of the "must keep" stuff into storage, what remains is astonishing. It seems ironic that I'm being forced to recognize my shameful consumerism during the season that promotes it the most.

But I'm finally down to the last few boxes and, as I poured myself a well-deserved rum and eggnog, I surveyed the remains of my kitchen. Not surprisingly, the only remaining glimpse of my personality remains on the fridge.

In no particular order:

Printed in large letters on 3-hole-punched paper: "The TV Business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free and good men die like dogs." (Hunter S. Thompson)
I (heart) Alberta Beef magnet (a prairie girl's gotta support her rancher roots)
"Good clothes open all doors" magnet (what I dragged off to charity this week should blow a few doors off something)
Atomic Dogma Clothing Co. magnet (where the name began, so many t-shirts ago ...)
"barn's burnt down ... now i can see the moon." magnet -- sound familiar? ;-)
Cadillac Tramps magnet (still my favourite boys from So Cal after all these years, 'Don't Go' is still in my top 5)

I finished my drink and set down my glass. The eggnog beckoned so I reached into the fridge just as the phone rang. I had my one coffee today so perhaps a little jumpier than usual, I slammed the fridge door shut with a bang.

I smiled as I saw the last magnet drop to the floor. It couldn't be more fitting.

"Everything is sweetened by risk."

Foul Weather Friends

2008-12-05T17:20:00.000-08:00

I'm packing boxes, packing memories and saying goodbyes ... all without coffee. I've been restricted by the good doctor to one cup of life per (get this) week. May not sound terrible, but for someone who averages 4-5 cups per day, this feels a bit drastic. And right in the middle of eggnog latté season. Oh, my friends will have to be very patient in the days ahead.

In the last few years I've learned a lot about friendships and how many different kinds of friends there are. I've also been surprised to discover real acts of friendship from complete strangers. During some of my most difficult experiences, it was the kindness of strangers that got me through. Sadly, it was rarely the kindness of friends.

When the chips are down we're all given the opportunity to discover who our real friends are. Real friends are those who will be there with you when they would rather be somewhere else. I'm lucky to have a few truly kind gems in my circle. Esta*, who is helping me find a new home for my aging kitty, is one of those gems. He may be louder than life sometimes but his feet are always on solid ground and his heart is always in the right place. One of those unconditional kind of friendships that drives you crazy and saves your hide at the same time. It's friends like this who I will miss when I leave this big, bad city in just a few days.

Oh crap ... why is that sealed box ringing?

* The story of Esta is a long, fascinating tale ... the stuff movies are made of (or possibly blogs).

His Beak Blinks Like a Blinkin' Beacon

2008-12-04T01:07:00.000-08:00

Christmas and I have a pretty rocky relationship. In fact, we haven't spoken to each other in over three years. We're still on shaky ground but things are getting warmer between us this year.

However, regardless of my feelings about the holly jolly season, I simply cannot resist this classic. I mean, how can you not love the dentist?

Hermey doesn't like to make toys ...

'Tis the Season

2008-12-03T18:16:00.001-08:00

We are experiencing a global economic crisis and fear for our gloomy financial futures.

India is still reeling from a shocking terrorist crisis in Mumbai.

The Canadian government is having a crisis of confidence (I secretly think the coup is fantastic entertainment).

The incredible and handsome Papersurfer continues to suffer from an endoscopic introspection crisis, despite two rounds with modern medicine.

Jesus and Santa Claus are counting down the shopping days until their annual identity crisis.

And I've only just started to fill boxes, but already I'm having a packing crisis.

The world is in crisis but thankfully, I've found a solution. It's called rum and eggnog.

Cheers. x

The Tango Seven

2008-11-23T19:56:00.000-08:00

Somewhere between Lisbon, Heathrow, SeaTac and Vancouver International Airport I was tagged. Twice.

Somnambulist mistakenly thinks I would write something inspiring and Web-Betty tagged me guilty by association. So here goes nothing:

Seven Things You Wouldn't Care to Know About Tango

(including a few gruesome teenage flashbacks)

I cannot resist disco.
I won my high school air band contest for performing the Meatloaf duet 'Paradise by the Dashboard Light' (still cringing).
English is my second language.
My first boyfriend had green hair (I was sporting a terrific blue-black mohawk).
I have installed software to mimic the sound of a typewriter on my computer.
I used to kiss the Duran Duran posters in my bedroom.
I learned the hard way that Cash is King ... but I still want to believe that Love Conquers All.

So thanks for letting me write a lazy post to break through this blogger's block. The rules are predictable and simple:

Link to your tagger and list these rules on your blog.
Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog - some random, some weird (other variations include teenage facts)
Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blog.
Let them know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

Now for my seven tags (apologies in advance to all those who hate memes, tags and general lazy blog behaviour and/or those who have already done this):

Penfold because I can count on him to be random and weird.
djbeat because she inspires me and has more patience with me than she should.
70's because she understands Boney M.
Frau von Sauertraut because she's getting on my nerves.
The Reverend because I'm curious.
Non-WorkingMonkey because it's so funny from the other side.
Mr. Woppit because it's been too long since his last post.

On Being Beige

2008-11-17T18:14:00.000-08:00

I spent the entire day in a strategic meeting. Strategic slipped into tactical which wound itself into operational and eventually found its way to inspirational. And not one cosmo, if you can believe it.

I'm also happy to report that Operation Beige-Free is well underway. So far 2008 has contained a limited amount of beige and even the brief beige periods have been peppered with humour and hope. But we are indeed strange creatures, because now that I'm facing an incredibly colourful adventure suddenly I'm craving a little beige.

Unfortunately, living beige free does not mean that every other colour is desirable. For example, the task of finding a foster home for my cat is an incredibly ugly shade of orange. It's heartbreaking and it just plain sucks. Purging stilettos is painful and I definitely need ideas on how to make packing more fun (prosecco optional but television unavailable).

If I could just fast-forward a few weeks ...

PS: 'Meh' is now an official word.
...
Meh.

Glimmer of Red

2008-11-14T19:01:00.000-08:00

It's strange to be back in Vancouver. The season of endless rain has begun and the days are dark. The overwhelming task of packing up thirteen years of my life looms overhead along with all the other things that loom.

The dreariness seems inescapable as leaders of the world's top economies drop everything trying to figure out this global economic sh*t show. I canceled my cable TV and the only clear channel I get, aside from the Canadian Parliament sessions, broadcasts the same news every ten minutes.

And then, with a glimmer of pure bliss followed by sheer horror, I remembered that the red cups are out. That plan to lose a few pounds before the season to be jolly? Ha!

I hate you Starbucks, I hate you.

Tipsy Birds

2008-10-31T02:46:00.000-07:00

In late autumn we used to watch the birds get drunk from the fermenting crab apples in our back yard. My sister and I would laugh as the birds got progressively sillier and their ability to fly was progressively impaired.

Soon it would get dark, the birds would stumble off and my dad would arrive home from work. 'Happy Hour' would commence: one caesar for Dad, one glass of red wine for Mum. Sometimes, they would have two.

I have never seen either of my parents drunk. Tipsy, yes. But never drunk. It shouldn't have been a surprise that my sister became an alcoholic when she grew up, but it was. Her addiction was central to our family dynamics but was always beyond our grasp. Quite simply, we failed her.

Because of that, I've struggled with my own concept of "responsible" drinking. Happy Hour comes more naturally to me than breakfast. This says more about my body's internal clock than it does about my alcohol intake, but living with someone who eats breakfast every morning and doesn't really "do" Happy Hour has made it hard to ignore.

I will probably always observe Happy Hour; it's in my blood. But it's definitely more difficult to uphold this Bravo family tradition in a home where it's not a subconscious habit. And finding good, cheap vinho tinto is trickier than it sounds.

I haven't seen a single blue tit loiter around the quince tree in the back yard, either.

Comfortable and Effective?

2008-10-29T01:19:00.000-07:00

The very fabulous Trailer Park Refugee left a comment the other day reminding me of the Meyers-Briggs Type Indicator. According to Wikipedia, the MBTI was developed during WWII to help women entering the workforce for the first time. The test was to help them identify where they would be "most comfortable and effective."

The MBTI is based on Jung's theory of "pshychological type" (published in 1921) and two dichotomous pairs of cognitive functions which are expressed in either an introverted or extraverted form.

the "rational" (judging) functions): Thinking and Feeling; and
the "irrational" (perceiving) functions: Sensing and Intuition.

Meyers-Briggs took it a step further and ended up with 16 different types based on these four dichotomies:

Extraversion | Introversion
Sensing | iNtuition
Thinking | Feeling
Judging | Perceiving

The theory has been expanded into all sorts of new theories (Keirsey Temperaments, the Five Factor Theory) and has received loads of praise and criticism over the years. I wonder if those women in WWII ended up feeling either comfortable or effective ...

It's been years since I originally took the test. Can this leopard can change its spots? Do I perceive the world and make decisions any differently than I did fifteen years ago? Am I still an INFP? (I'm slightly horrified to realize that this must be the worst combination for an accountant ...)

I'm not curious enough to shell out $59.95 to take the test again, but I will shell out a few minutes to answer 72 questions.

So, dear readers, care to share? What's your diagnosis and are you surprised?

The Restoration War

2008-10-26T01:36:00.000-07:00

In the 17th century, the Portuguese Restoration War between Portugal and Spain ended the sixty year period of the Iberian Union.

In the 21st century, restorations continue with hopes of solidifying the Papersurfer Union.

The work is slow but precise and methodical. Glimpses of future grandeur motivate today's progress (a few more glimpses available on Flickr). As a useless observer, I am enthralled by the endless decorating possibilities. I dream of sipping vinho tinto alfresco, watching the sunset and picking lemons from the balcony.

Are we there yet?

Rejected

2008-10-22T03:59:00.000-07:00

Yet another blow to my faltering ego.

It appears that Atomic dogmA.com has been rejected by the World Blog Council. This means that, under no circumstances, am I allowed to display the following certificate on my blog.

By doing so, I am in contravention of WBC Regulation 17.2 (23) Subparagraph (11). I can already hear the quiet but firm ‘tut’ from the approvals department.

Damn ...

It's all Penfold's fault.

Tools and Gadgets

2008-10-18T04:20:00.000-07:00

With a few weeks of cooking school under my belt, I'm starting to learn something important about The Kitchen.

In my mother's home(s) The Kitchen was entirely her domain. It was the only room where her authority was never questioned and where no one was exempt from her rules. Everything had a specific order and, even though the order in the chaos was a little hard to understand, we all respected it. My sister and I were only allowed to enter The Kitchen to set the table, eat (never starting the meal until Dad began eating and never leaving the table until being excused), and clear the table. Loading the dishwasher was added only when we were ready to handle the awesome responsibility. Unloading rights were rarely granted. Uncorking lessons began early and creation of anything on a cracker was madly encouraged.

And yet, even though our partipation was severely limited, somehow we always found the greatest honesty in The Kitchen.

I'll be entering my thirty-teens in a few months but only now am I starting to understand the mystique of The Kitchen. We recently had a woman visitor and I watched with curiosity as she casually surveyed this one room. I suddenly realized how The Kitchen and everything in it says so much about how you live. How you spice your food is a glimpse into the palette of your daily life. Favouritism of certain teas or coffees reveal private lives. Are you eating enough fresh fruit? How many of your appliances do you actually use? And, of course, choice of cereal just says it all.

Alas, I have started to feel a kind of instinctive pull towards all things Kitchen. I now miss my neglected tools and gadgets, rarely used in Vancouver but sorely missed in Portugal.

Just don't even get me started on my feelings for The Laundry ...

Glimpses of Peace

2008-10-16T06:00:00.000-07:00

It's not always easy to capture a feeling in words so I've taken a few odd snaps to help remind me of what it's like here.

Portugal is the seventh most peaceful country in the world* and I am beginning to understand why. Some of these photos might help explain it. I have a feeling I'm going to be homesick when I get home ...

* According to the Global Peace Index

Strictly Between Us ...

2008-10-10T03:22:00.000-07:00

I have now discovered two downsides of living abroad. The first is something I'm not necessarily proud of. At first I thought it was a passing fancy, but now I find it almost impossible to make it through a day without a tiny dose. I'm a bit ashamed to admit it but ... I'm addicted to ... Strictly Come Dancing.

For those of you who aren't familiar, it's a UK show where celebrities are paired with dance professionals and compete every week in a ballroom display of foxtrot, jive, swing, tango and dancey stuff swathed in an array of intriguing (in a garish showgirl kind of way) costumes and encouraged by properly polite (even when they're rude) expert judges. I'm told that the host is as classic as steak and kidney pie. It's so hilariously British compared to the American shows and I love it.

The second downside is what happens with any addiction. A weekend at the beach means a weekend away from Strictly. No satellite TV and the BBC will only broadcast online episodes to residents of the UK. The surf report wasn't very promising (never mind the hangovers) and the Strictly withdrawls grew stronger. The walls were starting to close in ...

Hooray for You Tube and fellow Strictly addicts! We didn't miss a single moment.

PS: My money's on Austin Healy ...