'Tis the Season

A man I knew—from back when I had a "real" job—came to me for help one day. He ran an impromptu soup kitchen on the front lawn of a mostly-unused, downtown Amoury. He had a court date that night but it was his turn to bring the soup. "Denguy, you cook, can you make a couple of vats of soup tonight for me and drop them off at the Amoury?"
    I was more than happy to oblige. He requested vegetarian dishes made with organic produce where possible. I made a pea soup as well as my super-special chicken chili. (I replaced the chicken with potatoes—mmm-mm yummo!) It didn't take very long to make the two pots of goodness—under two hours and the ingredients didn't cost me more than $25.
    Once stewed-up, I drove the vats down to the make-shift soup kitchen along with as many margarine and yogurt tubs as I could get. I parked in the Amoury's ramp to their underground parking lot to unload and then go back to my warm house. The volunteers who arrived early had set up tables and set out a blanket that had various items of clothing arranged (mostly) by size and gender. They brought loaves of bread and plastic spoons and plenty of enthusiasm. Whoa, I was overwhelmed by the organization. "Are you Denguy?" One of them asked.
    I brought the cauldrons over one at a time and set them on the table, then turned to leave. "Would you like to serve soup or bread or help people with the clothes?" Man, I fully intended on escaping once I unloaded the soup. "We could use an extra hand tonight." A ladle was thrust upon me and I spun around to dish out supper—knees knocking. How many half-drunk/high old bums would I have to serve?
    The answer came directly. The first people who lined up in front of me gave me a scare. They scared me to the quick. I was stunned; I was mortified. My eyes welled up. It was a woman with her three kids—none older than 10. I ladled two margarine tubs of pea soup and two filled with chili. She thanked me too much and I dropped the ladle and headed for my car. I leaned forward on the hood with both hands to catch my breath. This can't be right. There has to be a mistake. What are these people doing out here? Kirstin—a seasoned veteran—came over and calmed me down. "It only gets worse from here," she said. We laughed a bit and, after that, I assisted at the clothing area. Socks. It seems to be all about socks.
    My soups went over well and some folk were even asking to meet the cook. My shyness was evaporating and I spoke, humbled and gratified. We had served food to over a hundred people. I helped ladies try on jackets and picked out shirts for teens. One actually enquired about the price. Free, I said. Everything here is free. Knowing this, people still only took what they needed—some even traded their jackets for another one, leaving theirs for "some one else who might need it." What!? Where was I? The caring was remarkable.
    At closing time, I collected my empty pots and packed my car. There were great big, long hugs all around and my eyes burned again. "See you next week, Denguy."
Absolutely. Absolutely.

He's Just Like Me

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Pencils Contained

We love to do the arty stuff around here, and colouring and drawing is one of our favouritist activities. We have oodles of pencils and other drawing tools and we need access to them regularly—what we required was a convenient way to store them that would allow for easy retrieval.
    Up sprang the ultimate container.

Item list
1 soup can (empty, of course)
painters tape or duct tape
white (or light-coloured) paper
coloured pencils/crayons
scissors

Directions
Once you see the photo below, the assembly becomes obvious. Make sure you tape around the open end of the can first so that the tape overlaps the top and can be folded down over the potentially sharp edge. Cut the paper to fit all the way around the can and tape into place. You child's job will be to draw on the exposed paper to personalize their pencil holder.
    It's fun and functional. Hop to it.

Who Likes Apples?

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Bad Plastic, Bad Bad

We're sitting on a bench waiting for the subway train to take us to Boyo's "art" class (not much of an art class, I must admit, but it mixes him with other kids, albeit 4- and 5-year-olds) and this lady with her horde of plastic bags each barely filled with groceries (I quickly deduce that she could easily fit all the items into less than half the number of bags) keeps smiling at Boyo. Boyo hams it up and she says, "My, he's so cute. Truly adorable."
    "Yes," I say. "It's a good thing, too, otherwise I'd have thrown him out."
    She appears instantly abhorred. She rises and continues her wait near the edge of the platform away from us. (Hmm... whatever.) A woman near us says, "Don't worry, I know what you mean—sometimes I want to deep-six my kids, too!" We laugh about it and Way Too Many Plastic Bags Lady harrumphs on.

And speaking of plastic...
My favourite local health food store—HEALTH FOOD STORE, my droogies— has replaced all of its wooded bins of bulk spices, seeds, pastas, etc. with brand new, shiny plastic ones. Plastic. Plastic. This is a health food store. Health food. He-e-ealth, as in healthy. I mention the new bins to the owner: "New bins, eh?"
    "Yes," he grins. "We really like them."
    Crud. I move on holding my tongue, not buying any bulk. Health food store!? Hello...?

Then, at the hardware store...
I need a better light bulb for my front porch and I'm looking for the outdoor compact fluorescent ones. I really like these new compact fluorescent light bulbs, they last for ages (I haven't changed one of them in years!), but why are they sold in plastic packaging? They boast "energy star ratings" and preach "low environmental impact" and yet they package the blessed things in the evil, non-recyclable type of plastic, dammit. The old-style bulbs were always wrapped in corrugated paper. Honestly, what gives?

And another thing: what's with the DVD packaging? Are they ever going to stop the waste and redesign the case? DVDs are circular and their cases should be square—look at the CD packaging for crying out loud. Of course, CD cases should also be card-stock instead of plastic, but at least they are a better fit to the product contained there-in. I'm aware that the DVD case size is to mimic that of the way-out-dated VHS tapes, but, come on, it's been years. Years! Get on with it already.

I'm not even going to mention the horrific amount of plastic toys on the market. It drives me super wacky nuts, I tell you. Besides, Jen already mentioned it (among other things) in one of her posts. So go read that and all the comments. And stop buying plastic crap.

* * * *

Ooo, late addendum:
Supermom is dramatically ill and her husband had taken the day off work to help out. I called over there to see how things were going and he said things were good and that Supermom was crashed out in the sack. Then, he adds: "My hat is off to her and you and anyone else who is a stay-at-home parent, I can barely handle two days. You guys are amazing and I tell this to everyone at work. Thank christ for you lot."
(Nice, eh? I just wanted to end this post on a high note.)

THE VASE by Boyo

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Oggle Boggle

Their beauty captures me and holds me fast to their form. I'm a school boy raptured by their poise; in awe of their confidence.
    When they walk by I'm lost to the world—seeing, hearing no one but them. I watch as they stroll through the neighbourhood, in and out of shops, pausing and chatting with passersby. Their heads turn, too.
    They are ever-present, there's one with a flesh-tight beige top that details her curves and another with a halter-top that allows her mid-section to breathe easy. The flaming red locks neatly pinned up; the blond strands woven tightly together; the free-flowing light brown hair gently teased by the breeze. They all seem to glow with an air of euphoria.
    Before my wife and I had children, I didn't really notice pregnant women—other than the obvious physical change. I didn't really see anything special about them. The wonder of these women carrying life never occurred to me back then. Now it's at the forefront of my mind and, sometimes, I notice it in expecting mothers before they've made it public knowledge. It's not that I want more children—Crickey Moses! I'm so done, it's just that I feel differently towards pregnant women now—kind of an awe-inspired admiration; completely joyous.

Den on 45

Ah, the 45, sweet memories. I loved heading out to the record shop with my brother or cousin to buy records. Sometimes we would pick up a 45 single for its previously unreleased B-side or because we didn't want the whole album. That was so long ago.
    The 45 is alive and well today—it's just called an MP3 now—there's no B side and it doesn't come on vinyl. Single releases can be purchased via the internet, but it's just not the same. It's not the same as unwrapping that black disc and carefully placing it on the turntable, whiping off the dust with that old, velvet brush. The kids of today don't know what they're missing.
    My children are truly into music. We rock-out to just about anything. Boyo can be heard singing "Rock and Roll All Nite" while playing with his cars. The Bug digs the more contemporary, pop stuff. We let them listen to a wide variety of music and are now having them choose there own. We can purchase single songs from iTunes Store and check out a track before we buy the album. The Bug usually says yes to everything.

For those of you who are old enough, what was the first 45 that you owned—the one that was yours and not just one you liked from your older sibling's (or parent's) collection?
    My big brother had The Archies' "Sugar Sugar" and me, I opted for "Top of the World" by The Carpenters. Back then, I knew every word.

The Grumpoholic

Hello, my name is Denguy and I'm a grumpoholic.
    I have been ungrumpy now for one day—one day and counting. I'd like to apologize to my family for having to put up with the grumpiness for the past week. I would also like to extend them my gratitude for their endurance of my state. It was unfair and mostly unjust (but not entirely). I shall make a better effort to eat properly and to get regular sleep to give myself the best opportunity to remain ungrumpy.
    I want to be better; I want to get over this. I believe, with the support of my family and friends, I can beat this illness, this disease that has plagued me for the past five days or so. I look forward to the challenge of mood improvement and I will tackle each day one at a time.
    Thank-you.

The Bug's Heart

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(my first one)

One of the Guys

The Woo was away on business Saturday and I was left to cart the gang to The Bug's gymnastics class sans motor vehicle—which was no problem, really, 'twas only a 25-minute walk on such a lovely day.
    The Bug rode her bike and I trotted along with a stroller full of Boyo. Construction along Dundas St. made for some slow progress and I worried of our impending tardiness. We made good time and were only a couple of minutes late.
    I sat with the fathers (a rare happening, I must say) and clicked my fingers in the growing silence. "So," I say, "I watched Beowulf & Grendel the other night—the one with Stellan Skarsgård as Hrothgar—I thought he did an excellent job as the the 'broken' king of the Danes. Some of his scenes were quite humorous. However, I didn't feel that Sarah Polley put in much of an effort as the witch."

... Silence ...

And, uh, I found the portrayal of Grendel... uh... to be rather... um....

... Silence ...

One of them says, "Yeah."

... More, ear-splitting silence.

I look at the furtive glances of the fathers mixed with a dash of nonchalant head-turning. Hmm...
    I try a new approach: "Uh, how about those Leafs, eh? Big game tonight against the Habs."
    Spontaneous simultaneous eruptions ensue:
Oh, yeah, they have to win this one.
Man, the Leafs suck this year.
For sure, I'll be at my buddy's house watching it on his wide-screen.
[Insert much ado about hockey here.]

Argh, just when I thought that I was out they pull me back in.
By the way, the Leafs won 3-2.