fenella: (Today has been OK)
I was out by the lake tonight, walking with a coffee in hand, when I saw a large crowd of people hurrying towards me along the intersecting street. There were probably about twenty of them, and they were carrying two large, white objects overhead. At first I assumed that they were university students - coming from four years in Toronto, and the rest before that spent in a sheltered, old Ontario farm community - engineers or the like would be the only answer, since twenty below zero and dark is enough to scare away even the most dedicated performance artists.

In the split second that it took for me to process, I realized, startled, that they were in fact all wearing full military fatigue; many of them wielding rifles. And that the white objects, glaringly reflecting the streetlights in the dark, were sheets, on gurneys or stretchers, covering large person sized lumps.

It was a drill, of course. I live a short walk from the Royal Military College, and they were gone, hurrying back over the bridge and down towards their school as quickly as they had arrived. But it was such an anachronistic thing to see in a Canadian city street. I take safety for granted and as a girl, never hesitate to go out alone at night, even in a city with six maximum security prisons (you can debate my levels of self-delusion if you wish, at another time).

I am so lucky to live in Canada. There is so much love in my heart for this country, and also for every single individual in the Canadian military - I admire them more than anyone else on our messed up planet.

While military might, I know in my gut, is not the answer, all I wish for is a night in which everyone - this whole world over - feels safe to go outside and dance in their respective city's streets.
fenella: (antique)
Postcards from New Hope
(Or How To Grow a Woman From the Ground)

Part Three )

Part One Part Two...Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven

Look Up.

Jan. 10th, 2009 04:33 pm
fenella: (antique)
Postcards From New Hope
(Or How to Grow a Woman from the Ground)

Part Deux )

Part One can be found here or if you are wondering... Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven
fenella: (antique)
Tamora Pierce fic written for Piercefic08. This is Part I of quite possibly many. And mostly, this is to get me writing again... so there.

Postcards from New Hope
(or How to Grow a Woman from the Ground)

Part One )

Part Two Part Three
Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven
fenella: (sometimes)
Merry Christmas everyone! I hope that you are all at home, warm and feeling loved.

xoxo Fenella
fenella: (cute!)
Cruella DeVil's car is parked outside my house. She is from Beautiful British Columbia. Who knew.

I object!

Oct. 21st, 2008 12:44 am
fenella: (sometimes)
Ok, so cooking meat is not that hard. My massively awkward Fenella story is already funny. I got this job (!!!) doing laundry and cooking for this 94 year old woman who is pretty much the greatest person in the history of Canada. She is completely mobile and coherent. But man, does she love her meat. Sometime I will possibly tell you about the cornish hens.

Being me, I didn't even clue into the fact that being a vegetarian might be a problem until she and her daughter had already interviewed and decided that they wanted to hire me. Cue massive guilt trip and panic. I hadn't eaten meat in 11 years, what made me think I could cook it?

I should add that I am still closeted at work. I like it that way, awkward meat conversations notwithstanding.

In any case, I have many kind friends - and sisters! - and now receive regular updates on people's meat experiences via email. Eva, the writer friend sent me a Pork Tenderloin recipe a few days ago. A week ago, I wouldn't have been able to tell you if a "Pork Tenderloin" was real or made up.

My gmail has a "meat" label. Please consider the implications of that sentence.

Also, my friends consider it a source of great hilarity. Whatever.

I made Mom's tourtiere the other day. Om nom nom. I mean, no I did not sleep with eat that ground pork. Whatever. I am cool with cooking/handling meat. I just don't want to eat it. Man, does it smell good though :( Tourtiere!

I'm just grateful I didn't have to debone the chicken breasts last week. That would not have ended well.


Oct. 13th, 2008 06:52 pm
fenella: (Default)
Um, so, okay. Like. Okay.

I'm a vegetarian. I haven't eaten meat in roughly 10 years. I have never cooked meat.

It is kind of crucial that I learn to cook meat in a very short amount of time. DO NOT ASK.

So. I would love it if you would share with me your meat cooking expertise. Especially in the areas of CHICKEN and STEAK.

Seriously, I am studying meat cooking like I would for a massive exam. There are Sticky Notes and extensive colour coded note taking involved. I now know that a "7 bone steak" is called that because it looks like the number, not because it has that many bones, usually comes in rectangles, comes from the shoulder area, is also referred to as Chuck, and is good for stew because it is tough. OTHER tough parts are the Round, Plate, Flank and Shank.

I want to know basics, like cooking steak in the oven. Broil? How is this best done? Chicken - if you're cooking this to put in something else, where would you do this? The frying pan? I DO NOT KNOW. Why would I need to know?

Again, don't ask. Someday, no doubt, I will share this massively awkward Fenella story. It will be funny. That day is not now.

fenella: (Default)
I am Thankful for
many things -
my propensity for disaster
is not one of those
many things.

Early in life I learned
that whenever I ask
How hard can it be?
I should probably have
a backup plan
or at least
an exit strategy.

Knowing and doing
are very different things
because today
I should have known better
then to walk
into a lion's den.

fenella: (Today has been OK)
So, okay. There's this big sports arena around the corner from my house. It's currently hosting an international ballroom competition. There are fabulous, sparkly dresses hanging in the glass windows where there are usually hockey jerseys, and there and fabulous, sparkly men walking down the sidewalk, doing unspeakable things with their hips. It is completely absurd and I love it, with all my shriveled little heart.
fenella: (frank)
I have possibly just started/become involved with the coolest project ever. I don't want to say to much yet, in case it doesn't go through, but WOW. Can I state for the record that I love the people in my program so much?

"Let's do amazing, crazy arts things together."
"Okay. How do we make it happen?"
"Like this. Only, I see your amazing and up you extraordinary."
"Right. I know someone who-"
"I know someone else who-"
"Well, I saved Someone Else's firstborn's life. They maybe feel like they owe me."
"I, potentially, know where they keep a warehouse of solid gold bars."
"Cool. We'll talk."

Also, I probably shouldn't drink coffee.
fenella: (cute!)

This site is my favourite new thing. Except when you switch to satellite view, it seems like I'm running through buildings.
fenella: (Default)
Why are people so afraid of making mistakes? Christopher Columbus was looking for India.
fenella: (Default)
Love That Boy
by Walter Dean Myers

Love that boy,
Like a rabbit loves to run.
I said I love that boy,
Like a rabbit loves to run.
Love to call him in the morning.
Love to call him,
“Hey there, son!”

He walk like his Grandpa,
Grins like his Uncle Ben.
I said he walk like his Grandpa,
And grins like his Uncle Ben.
Grins when he’s happy,
When he sad, he grins again.

His mama like to hold him,
Like to feed him cherry pie.
I said his mama like to hold him.
Like to feed him that cherry pie.
She can have him now,
I’ll get him by and by

He got long roads to walk down
Before the setting sun.
I said he got a long, long road to walk down
Before the setting sun.
He’ll be a long stride walker,
And a good man before he done.
fenella: (Default)
Today I went pre-birthday shopping with Mom. The goal was teacher appropriate clothing for this fall.

This is what we came home with: a humidifier, a plastic boot mat, garbage and compost bags, cleaning supplies (lysol, kitchen and bathroom), kleenex, a lamp (plus light-bulb), a medium sized chopping knife, two cutting boards, a temperature gage, oven mitts, a tea towel and dish clothes (three).

I can't decide whether it a) sucks, or is b) awesome to be an almost grownup.

(There also might have been the purchasing of an Oilers baseball cap. Hat love!)
fenella: (Default)
Dear Country,

Happy Birthday to you,
Happy Birthday to you.
Happy Birthday dear Canada--
Happy Birthday to you!

I hope you had a good Canada day. Whether you hugged a beaver, raised a glass of beer, joined the Kevin Lowe Sucks facebook group or laughed at Ben Mulroney's lame, lame Canadian Idol jokes, I hope you did it wearing red and white, with devout Canadian pride in your heart and a chorus of exploding fireworks in the background.

xoxo Fenella
fenella: (Default)
Photobucket. .Photobucket. .Photobucket

So there's this movie, All Hat, about the scrap of the world that I like to call home. It's about pretty boys (Luke Kirby, David Alpay), pretty girls (Lisa Ray, Rachel Leigh Cook), pretty horses (thoroughbreds!), pretty Southern Ontario (give or take some housing developments), pretty Ford pickups (which, you know, we all drive) and lots, and lots of plaid flannel shirts. Did I mention that it's pretty?

22 icons from All Hat under the cut. )

Comments are nice! Credit isn't necessary.


Jun. 20th, 2008 08:02 pm
fenella: (the real show is backstage)
I've decided that the problem with writing Ozorne isn't that he's Ozorne, it's that he wants to be a ghost. As in, refusing to participate in any way, shape or form that isn't incorporeal. It's not that I have anything against ghosts; I love ghosts. Ghost stories are one of my favourite things ever. Especially if a mysterious East Coast ship (rum runners!) is involved. Embarrassingly, I am one of those people that loves to go on haunted walks of the cities that I visit.

See, I attended camp for a number of summers in my teens (largely music related, though none of them properly qualify me to used the phrase 'This one time, at band camp...') and given the number of times I had great roommates, the last summer before university was probably what they call inevitable. Eight girls between thirteen and sixteen, four bunkbeds, three bagpipers (one from New Jersey, one with the emotional maturity of a three year old), two fiddlers, one highland dancer, one harpist, one fire spinner. A profound lack of adult supervision, an obscene amount of unscheduled time (say, uh, nineteen of the twenty-four hours in a day).

The point was, we had an uninvited ninth roommate. A ghost that would scream in the middle of the night. (Coincidentally, it made its first appearance following our traditional graveyard walk. Spooky.) Eight bored girls, two Wiccans, twenty pounds of salt and some serious chanting later (I kid you not) we found ourselves the proud guardians of a ouija board.

The screaming was uncanny; three nights in a row, after everyone had drifted of to sleep in the early hours of the morning, a high, wailing noise came from the empty space between our beds. This was often followed by sobbing. By the time that all of us were awake enough to stumble out of bed and towards the light switch, the screaming had stopped. According to Ouija, Kat the Wiccan from New Jersey told us with great relish, the spirit was the ghost of a young girl.

Kat the Crazy NJ girl: No matter, with my l33t ghost buster skills, I will raise protection shields. She will interrupt our sleep no more.
Wide-eyed Wiccan: Oooh! How can I help?
Kat the CNJG: With the power of your mind.
Highland Dancer: Is... is it safe?
Kat the CNJG: *Pouring Salt* Yes. Just make sure no one enters leaves the room until they've been lowered in the morning.
Seven Girls: *huddled in sleeping bags* ...Why? What will happen?
Lights: *flicker*
Door: *bursts open*
Eight Girls: *scream*
House Mother: What in the name A. WR. MacKenzie are you girls up to?
Eight Girls: *shifty eyes*
House Mother: Are you hiding a boy in here?
Eight Girls: *silence of guilty solidarity*
Highland Dancer: Lindaaaaaa, I don't want you to die!
House Mother: Why would I... wait, what?
Kat the CNJG: *discreet cough*

For the remainder of the two weeks, we totally and utterly convinced that House Mother would meet an untimely end. Ouija assured us that there would be retribution. Who were we to doubt a piece of paper with "Yes", "No" and letters 'A' through 'Z' scrawled in magic marker?

Well, suffice to say House Mother is alive and well. And to this day, despite not knowing whom, or what was causing the screaming, I don't believe in ghosts. So for the sake of Ozorne, make me believe. I want to hear your ghost stories! I am sure they are far less lame than mine! Share, share, share. I don't want to sleep for a week!
fenella: (Today has been OK)
[livejournal.com profile] imelford has been telling me to read Scott Young's Scrubs On Skates books for a while now (there are three of them as far as I know, the second of which seems to be... missing?) and because she's Imo, and I trust her in these things, I finally did. I'm not entirely sure why I hadn't already. I mean, the cupboard they come from is in my bedroom, and I've read virtually everything else in there. The only explanation I can fathom is that in my younger YA reading years, animal stories, young-girl-growing-up (see also: embarrassing sixteen year old girl anecdotes from the 1960's; Cleary, Beverly) stories and Murder in [insert Canadian tourist trap here] stories (i.e. the other genres in that cupboard - without disclosing the fact that our collection of Saddle Club books is too thorough to pass off as insignificant, and yet, somehow, not near thorough enough for some seriously horse crazy tween girls... or their very impressionable baby sister, apparently. Um, what? I said nothing! Stevie and Teddy 4eva! Um, what? I said nothing!) were more appealing than 50's boys hockey teams and team spirit.

Boy was I wrong. (Oh the irony: as I type this, I'm listening to the Penguins vs. Detroit, streamed live. Underdogs everywhere are dancing for joy - Pens 3, Wings 1 FYI. HAH!)

If you made it through all that: Pete is the best hockey player in Winnipeg. And then the town boundaries got redrawn and he got sent to Northwestern. This book is essentially Pete coming to terms with his new, not!shiny team, but mostly with himself. It's a coming of age novel. Like your average animal story. Without the animals.

Anyways, I've only read the first book so far, and these are the reasons I loved it so:

Scrubs on Skates; So Much Greatness, So Little Time. )

In conclusion, totally worth reading. Can not wait to read "A Boy At The Leafs' Camp; The Bill Spunska Show Comes to Ontario".

Oh, btw, Scott Young is Neil Young's daddy. Awesome.
fenella: (sometimes)
I'm applying to a camp job in Algonquin park which is totally I Want to Go Home. Oh, the shame. I'm betraying the Rudy Millers everywhere. (Not that there are Rudy Millers everywhere, though that would be all kinds of awesome.) And I would totally enjoy it, too, which is even worse. I am a willing clone! Though the bit on the website that details all things prohibited fills me with so, so much fear. I haven't gone anywhere without my cell phone in four years... Why yes, I AM a big baby. Why do you ask?

All cats love jam! All boys love camp!


fenella: (Default)

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