Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Eggs eggs eggs.

Once upon a time, when I was a child, Easter meant thinking hard on religious themes, being confused about it all and then and going to church for what seemed like a super long time. On Palm Sunday, a week before, I was really excited because that meant that nice lady with a fluffy cardigan gave me a palm branch to make a little woven box with, the meaning of which was completely lost to me. All I was hoping for was that my grandfather would give me his palm branch once it was woven. He was really good at weaving his little box into shape, and I'd try to mimic his moves with great care. (I would not be able to do it today if I had a gun to my temple. Well, I would probably come up with some variation.)

My grandfather had this smile in the left corner of his mouth - I suspect his mind was struggling between being kind of frustrated with me wanting his palm thing (thus not getting the meaning of it all) and finding me cute. I was, after all, the first grandchild in both families. They're always the cutest. He evidently tried to explain the whole thing to me, and I was so impressed about the part where people laid their garments and palm branches on Jesus' path I would think about it every time I walked on anything remotely leaf-like outside. I think I probably got caught once walking on my clothes on the floor in my room. Just kidding.

Nowadays, Easter becomes an excuse to eat chocolate or have a family gathering. To me, it is a great holiday, for now I get four days off to do fun things. This year, we're going to our friends' home for part of the weekend, and the weather is supposed to be lovely. We're talking twenty-two degrees and sunny. Smells like skirts, t-shirts and good music to me. Also sounds an awful lot like little paper umbrellas in drinks and dancing barefoot in the grass. (Although, at this time of year in our neck o'the woods, no grass, alas. It's okay, I'll settle for dancing close to the muck mixed with snow that will one day become grass.) Anyhow, I was talking about Easter. Sorry, I got distracted with this weekend's thing. Back to Easter.

I have been looking for a very cool recipe to make for our weekend feast. I have not found anything that made me go 'wow', so I've changed my mind. Instead, I've decided to make Easter eggs. I told The Man I would be wasting six eggs from the fridge. He smiled and said: "Oh cool when my mom did that when I was a kid it looked like a serious pain in the ass." And so off I went, trotted into the kitchen, opened the fridge, picked the nicest brown eggs from the crate (or whatever it's called), and poked holes top and bottom. Found a bowl, and blew the crap out of them to empty the shells. It was really fun. It brought me back to my childhood, to my kindergarten class, I think.

Tomorrow I will paint the eggs with acrylic, in nice patterns, and coat them with matte medium to make them nice and shiny. I'll make a nice gift basket for my friends and I'll be happy to have made an Easter thing while conjuring so many happy childhood memories.

Right now, there are six eggs drying in my dish rack and I'm working really hard not to stay up till two in the morning to paint them now.

Saturday, March 27, 2010

Growing Old.

Loyaux Fidèles,
Hordes de Lecteurs et Lecteuses adorés,

Voilà une note de Boulet qui se passe de mots...Enjoy!
Cliquer ici pour voir la note.

Psst...en passant...vous aimez le nouveau look printanier?

Friday, March 26, 2010

The Dream Kitchen Counter.

There are times when I think to myself it would be very, very nice to have a different kitchen counter. Like tonight, for instance. If I had a different kitchen counter, I would be there right now, leaning on my elbows on its ceramic top, deciding what to make for dinner, listening to some cool jazz, and looking out into the dining room. Right now, I can't do that, because there are cupboards in the way. White melamine cupboards. If I lean on my elbows, my forehead leans on the overhead cupboards. Not so sexy.

They are fine, really. They are newish. They are clean. They have nice stainless steel handles. They provide storage space. But - and this is what bugs me - they close off the kitchen. Plus, when I stand at my current kitchen counter, using the sink, all anybody sitting at the dining room table will see is, well, my breast area. I try to work around this slight embarrassment by leaning over and pretending I am ordering a chocolate sundae. People sitting in the dining room do not usually get the joke, so I have to explain. I know. Embarrassing. I actually have to look under the cupboards to look towards the table. Enough complaining. At least I have a) a kitchen and b) a dining room table, let alone a dining room. And breasts. I have breasts, too. I'm a lucky gal.

My dream kitchen counter involves a few things (aside from the fact The Man does not know about my dream kitchen counter):
  1. A ceramic top. Did I mention that already? The ceramic is, preferably, terracotta. Or something equally cool (I know, it's very 2005, but I like the look);
  2. Drop-down halogen lighting with nice coloured glass lampshades, preferably elongated hand-blown glass. Red. Or - yellow. Oh no - blue. For a warm look. Not the white, cold neon lighting I have right now.
  3. A built-in sink. And one of those nifty pull-out hose things. To spray people with.
  4. On one end, open shelves that go all the way to the ceiling, to put plants on. And eventually, any other knick-knack The Man decides to leave there. He does that.
  5. On the dining-room side, along three-quarters of the length, a recess so I can have two stools there. For making conversation while making dinner. You know, entertaining. Like this:
    "Oh yeah, listen. Super simple. I marinated these scallops overnight in lime juice and I'm just going to sautee them slightly with these shallots and a bit of Pernod. Oh - pass the anchovy paste-filled olives, please? Thanks. Sorry, I drooled. Haha. Yum. Want some wine? So anyway, I'm thinking of painting this big ass landscape with a very defined Italian slash Mediterranean feel to it, and just having these huge cedar-like trees in it. Can you hold this for a second? Thanks. What? The painting's already been done? By whom? Oh. Modigliani. Right. Haha. I'll stick to Squibbits, then. Can you give me that thing you were holding? No - not that one. The other one. Thanks. Oh! DOWN! GET OFF THE COUNTER! NO! BOO! OFF THE COUNTER - you little %!*&# - sorry. That cat loves olives, go figure. Wait - Honey? Can you bring up some chairs? What? You're killing zombies? It's okay, babe, hit the start button, they'll wait for you! Haha. That man loves his zombies. So...tell me all about being a plant. Do you like being a plant? Is it a quiet, peaceful life? Do you panic when your soil is dried up? I'm sorry, I know I only water you - what - once a week? Yeah. Is that OK?
All I need now is to keep saving up that non-smoking money to make it happen.