EMC Editorial - If you've followed my writings for some time, you're probably aware of my incompetence in the kitchen.
Other than select varieties of cookies, cakes and pies, I've historically shied away from having to prepare anything more complicated than green smoothies or bagels with peanut butter and jam. On the few occasions that I have made supper for my family, it's almost always been some sort of breakfast-for-dinner type meal like pancakes, French toast or tofu scramble.
The mere thought of preparing things like vegetables, rice and potatoes stresses me out. Why, you ask? I guess the short answer is that I've simply never figured out basic rules like how long I need to cook things for and at what temperature. A few missteps which yielded unappetizing results like soggy, over-steamed zucchini and pots ruined by grains of reeking, burnt rice stuck to the bottom left me with a discouraged opinion of my abilities.
Thankfully, this has never been a problem because my husband adores cooking, and is extremely amenable to my desire to eat a mostly plant-based diet. The best part is that he's actually quite a good cook, and although I may on occasion be overheard complaining about his habit of using every single pot and pan we own to prepare one meal, or the way he piles all the vegetable scraps and peelings in the sink instead of the compost bin, I am nothing if not grateful for his efforts because I know I am the healthier for them.
If there is anything I find more daunting than having to prepare a proper meal, however, it's the long stretch of maternity leave I have coming up, and it is that which has inspired me to at last make a concerted effort to learn how to cook. I have never in my life not had school or a job to occupy my time for more than a couple of months, and during those stretches I was always at least looking for work - which is a full-time job in itself, to say the least.
I'm not trying to say that being a stay-at-home mom is not a full-time job - because I know that it is - it's just that I worry I will not "be the right fit" for this job because domestic tasks have never been my forte. (I am ashamed to say that my cooking failures are only the tip of the iceberg in this department.)
Now that I finally have a job I actually enjoy, having to simply walk away from it for six months makes the whole situation even more difficult to bear than it ever would have been in the past. What will I do all day if I can't be out in the community interviewing the good people of Kingston and Frontenac County and writing stories about local happenings? I fear the headline will read "fails miserably on the domestic front".
What I'm attempting to get at, in a very round-about way, is that I have made it my personal goal to try and cook at least two dinners per week until April, when my leave will start, at which point I hope to bring it up to four or five. Last week, I managed to throw together a half-decent stir-fry, which was quite encouraging. All the same, I know that some failures will be inevitable, and want to be able to push on in spite of them.
I hope that this goal will not only allow me to develop some much-needed domestic skills, but also present me with a somewhat enjoyable challenge to master while on leave. (Well, other than that whole caring for a newborn baby by myself thing - which terrifies me too much to even think about just yet.)
I suppose I'm telling you all this because nothing motivates me like feeling monitored. So please feel free to ask/text/tweet/Facebook me about how the cooking's going. The prospect that someone might bring it up will hopefully be enough to get me dicing up a carrot or two on a regular basis.
hpratt-campbell@theheritageemc.ca
Friday, January 20, 2012
World's Worst Canadian
EMC Editorial - It's that time of year again. That unpleasant stretch between New Years and the first signs of spring where everything is cold, gray, dark and icy. Where you have to leave your house 15 minutes earlier than normal to scrape inches of snow, ice and frost off your windshield, and where going outside even to simply walk from the house to the car seems like a daunting task due to all the extra clothing that needs to be tracked down and put on.
The general Canadian opinion of the dead of winter is, as a rule, quite reactionary - almost to the degree of distasteful defensiveness. Anyone who dares to complain about the weather is nearly always met with some version of "suck it up, it's Canada" or "maybe if you dressed properly for the winter you wouldn't be so cold."
Even television commercials love to champion "winter proud," jingoist messages, like how no self-respecting Canadian decides to wait for a warmer day to accomplish an outdoor task. I, on the other hand, avoid doing pretty much anything outdoors from late-October until about mid-April.
Other commercials do their best to promote the aesthetic beauty of run-down old arenas at 5 a.m. hockey practices for eight-year-olds. I have never been to a hockey arena at 5 a.m., rundown or otherwise. All the same, I think I can say with a good deal of confidence that to me, there would be absolutely nothing magical or aesthetically pleasing about such a place at such an ungodly hour.
I suppose that makes me the world's worst Canadian.
It is true, though, that there are many out there who do manage to genuinely enjoy winter, and even I have to admit that they can make the season look quite beautiful. A number of my Facebook friends seem to be avid skiers and snowboarders, and regularly post photos of themselves and their friends dressed in colourful, cosy-looking gear, riding gondolas up mountains then posing at the summits, presumably just seconds before gracefully gliding back down to the chalet where some well-deserved hot chocolate and snacks await at the après-ski.
A part of me longs to join their ranks. Then I remember that where there are mountains and snow there are likely also to be biting wind chills and dry, bitterly freezing air that make my nose bleed and the skin on the back of my hands crack and peel. My body, it seems, simply cannot take it.
Ottawa's Rideau Canal also photographs beautifully in the winter (or any other season, for that matter). I lived in Ottawa for four years, and admittedly did enjoy a number of jaunts up and down the world's longest skating rink.
Then on my last two visits, I managed to fall squarely on my left kneecap and tailbone, respectively. The only thing more painful than the first tumble was the second, and I've shied away from the canal ever since like the terrible, wimpy little excuse for a Canadian I am.
Not to mention, there really is no cold like an Ottawa cold, and my notoriously dry skin did a lot of premature aging during the winters I spent there - doing nothing for this vain creature's opinion of the season.
At least I've never been one to pretend that I shouldn't have been born in California or the south of France instead of Ontario. Alas, this seems to be where I've ended up, and likely where I'll stay for the rest of my life. I'll just spend my winters curled up on the couch with a book, or in front of the TV watching the entire series of 30 Rock for nth time, or wistfully viewing your winter-happy photos on Facebook as I sit by my block heater with a big glass of red wine (or this year, a mug of pasteurized hot apple cider). Which has its own, odd sort of beauty, I suppose.
hpratt-campbell@theheritageemc.ca
The general Canadian opinion of the dead of winter is, as a rule, quite reactionary - almost to the degree of distasteful defensiveness. Anyone who dares to complain about the weather is nearly always met with some version of "suck it up, it's Canada" or "maybe if you dressed properly for the winter you wouldn't be so cold."
Even television commercials love to champion "winter proud," jingoist messages, like how no self-respecting Canadian decides to wait for a warmer day to accomplish an outdoor task. I, on the other hand, avoid doing pretty much anything outdoors from late-October until about mid-April.
Other commercials do their best to promote the aesthetic beauty of run-down old arenas at 5 a.m. hockey practices for eight-year-olds. I have never been to a hockey arena at 5 a.m., rundown or otherwise. All the same, I think I can say with a good deal of confidence that to me, there would be absolutely nothing magical or aesthetically pleasing about such a place at such an ungodly hour.
I suppose that makes me the world's worst Canadian.
It is true, though, that there are many out there who do manage to genuinely enjoy winter, and even I have to admit that they can make the season look quite beautiful. A number of my Facebook friends seem to be avid skiers and snowboarders, and regularly post photos of themselves and their friends dressed in colourful, cosy-looking gear, riding gondolas up mountains then posing at the summits, presumably just seconds before gracefully gliding back down to the chalet where some well-deserved hot chocolate and snacks await at the après-ski.
A part of me longs to join their ranks. Then I remember that where there are mountains and snow there are likely also to be biting wind chills and dry, bitterly freezing air that make my nose bleed and the skin on the back of my hands crack and peel. My body, it seems, simply cannot take it.
Ottawa's Rideau Canal also photographs beautifully in the winter (or any other season, for that matter). I lived in Ottawa for four years, and admittedly did enjoy a number of jaunts up and down the world's longest skating rink.
Then on my last two visits, I managed to fall squarely on my left kneecap and tailbone, respectively. The only thing more painful than the first tumble was the second, and I've shied away from the canal ever since like the terrible, wimpy little excuse for a Canadian I am.
Not to mention, there really is no cold like an Ottawa cold, and my notoriously dry skin did a lot of premature aging during the winters I spent there - doing nothing for this vain creature's opinion of the season.
At least I've never been one to pretend that I shouldn't have been born in California or the south of France instead of Ontario. Alas, this seems to be where I've ended up, and likely where I'll stay for the rest of my life. I'll just spend my winters curled up on the couch with a book, or in front of the TV watching the entire series of 30 Rock for nth time, or wistfully viewing your winter-happy photos on Facebook as I sit by my block heater with a big glass of red wine (or this year, a mug of pasteurized hot apple cider). Which has its own, odd sort of beauty, I suppose.
hpratt-campbell@theheritageemc.ca
Saturday, December 10, 2011
It's always 1984 at French language schools
EMC Editorial - With a baby on the way, my mind has been filled lately with thoughts of how my husband Steve and I can raise our daughter so as to give her as many opportunities in life as possible.
One of the first things we decided was that we would like her to grow up bilingual in English and French, and attend French schools from Kindergarten. We hope this will give her a more cultured, well-rounded upbringing, allowing her to connect with her French Canadian background on her father's side and ultimately help her to land a good job as an adult.
Not to mention the fact that I'm probably the biggest Francophile you'll ever meet. I found heaven when I visited Paris for the first time as a teenager, and to this day few things delight me more than delicately designed plates full of colourful macaroons and cheesy artistic renderings of the Eiffel Tower. I'm hoping I might be able to master the language alongside our daughter, and that having her around will finally inspire Steve to speak only in French at a designated times of the day - say over dinner, for example - to help me and baby girl learn it.
But then I read articles like the one that recently appeared in the National Post about all non-French languages being banned during recess at Montreal schools, and it almost makes me want to give up all these aspirations on principle. If a child is heard speaking English - or Spanish, Japanese, etc. - during "free time" on the school yard or in the cafeteria, a designated monitor will come over and ask them to please switch to French.
But that's only in Quebec, right? Where everyone is crazy about language anyway? Wrong. When I showed the article to Steve, he couldn't understand what all the fuss was about. He proceeded to tell me about his French elementary school in the Niagara region.
Every Friday, the school held a "Franco- fête", and only those who were not caught speaking English at recess or lunch by teachers or "god help us all" their own peers over the course of the week were invited. The kids were given bracelets at the start of each week that served as admittance to the fête, and it was the duty of students to police each other and confiscate bracelets if classmates dared to utter a syllable of English. Offenders spent the duration of the Franco- fête in a separate classroom writing lines about French grammar. A little extreme, no?
A quick scan through the comments at the bottom of the article about the Montreal schools reveals that most people seem to be against this sort of policy. A number of H-bombs (i.e. Hitler/Nazi comparisons) were dropped, which I find out of place for a situation like this - or most situations where these comparisons are made, for that matter, but that's another story.
Personally, I think these measures are more ridiculous and annoying than anything. I find such strict monitoring for something so trivial distasteful and a little disrespectful of these students' rights, but mostly I would like to see our teachers focus instead on making sure students receive the best possible education during regular school hours. In Canada, French is an important part of children's education, but let's allow them to relax a little and have fun during their free time.
Will stories like these cause me to change my opinion on sending baby girl to a French school? To be honest, I don't think so. That kind of attitude irks me, but in the end allowing her to have two first languages seems like too good an opportunity to pass up.
But rest assured the school will be made aware of my opinion if I ever catch wind of any playground language police.
hpratt-campbell@theheritageemc.ca
One of the first things we decided was that we would like her to grow up bilingual in English and French, and attend French schools from Kindergarten. We hope this will give her a more cultured, well-rounded upbringing, allowing her to connect with her French Canadian background on her father's side and ultimately help her to land a good job as an adult.
Not to mention the fact that I'm probably the biggest Francophile you'll ever meet. I found heaven when I visited Paris for the first time as a teenager, and to this day few things delight me more than delicately designed plates full of colourful macaroons and cheesy artistic renderings of the Eiffel Tower. I'm hoping I might be able to master the language alongside our daughter, and that having her around will finally inspire Steve to speak only in French at a designated times of the day - say over dinner, for example - to help me and baby girl learn it.
But then I read articles like the one that recently appeared in the National Post about all non-French languages being banned during recess at Montreal schools, and it almost makes me want to give up all these aspirations on principle. If a child is heard speaking English - or Spanish, Japanese, etc. - during "free time" on the school yard or in the cafeteria, a designated monitor will come over and ask them to please switch to French.
But that's only in Quebec, right? Where everyone is crazy about language anyway? Wrong. When I showed the article to Steve, he couldn't understand what all the fuss was about. He proceeded to tell me about his French elementary school in the Niagara region.
Every Friday, the school held a "Franco- fête", and only those who were not caught speaking English at recess or lunch by teachers or "god help us all" their own peers over the course of the week were invited. The kids were given bracelets at the start of each week that served as admittance to the fête, and it was the duty of students to police each other and confiscate bracelets if classmates dared to utter a syllable of English. Offenders spent the duration of the Franco- fête in a separate classroom writing lines about French grammar. A little extreme, no?
A quick scan through the comments at the bottom of the article about the Montreal schools reveals that most people seem to be against this sort of policy. A number of H-bombs (i.e. Hitler/Nazi comparisons) were dropped, which I find out of place for a situation like this - or most situations where these comparisons are made, for that matter, but that's another story.
Personally, I think these measures are more ridiculous and annoying than anything. I find such strict monitoring for something so trivial distasteful and a little disrespectful of these students' rights, but mostly I would like to see our teachers focus instead on making sure students receive the best possible education during regular school hours. In Canada, French is an important part of children's education, but let's allow them to relax a little and have fun during their free time.
Will stories like these cause me to change my opinion on sending baby girl to a French school? To be honest, I don't think so. That kind of attitude irks me, but in the end allowing her to have two first languages seems like too good an opportunity to pass up.
But rest assured the school will be made aware of my opinion if I ever catch wind of any playground language police.
hpratt-campbell@theheritageemc.ca
Arts Curtain Call?
EMC Editorial - I don't usually do too much ranting here, but I desperately need to get a few things off my chest.
I find the recent suspension of Queen's fine arts admissions deeply troubling, as I fear it spells the beginnings of a trend I have dreaded for a very long time now.
Throughout my entire life, I have listened to everyone from political leaders to my parents drone on about how math and science are the most important and useful subjects. Perhaps in an act of rebellion, I completed bachelor and master of arts degrees in English literature.
The kind of people who look down on the fine arts are equally scornful of my educational choices. I stopped caring what these people think of me a long time ago, but I must admit it does bother me when their philosophy starts to sneak its way into the practices of educational institutions.
Lately, even the humanities and social sciences have been getting a bad rap.
Earlier this month, Globe columnist Margaret Wente suggested that the Occupy protesters should blame their own poor choices of what to study in university for the fact that they are now unemployed or underemployed. She lambasted a young woman studying for a master of sociology for her own short-sightedness, claiming that such people need to concentrate less on making the world a better place and more on what employment opportunities are out there.
I guess Wente would prefer if everyone chose their major purely on the basis of in-demand employers, like the companies who run Alberta's tar sands. Let's try that out for a decade, shall we, and see where that lands us. Heaven forbid anyone ever dream of affecting positive change.
But just how much further will a degree in the sciences get you than one in the arts or humanities?
I haven't conducted any formal studies on the topic, but I have watched with interest the career paths of friends and acquaintances my own age who majored in a variety of subjects. Few who graduated in the past decade have jobs "in their field" that are also full-time, permanent and decently gainful. (With the notable exceptions of doctors, nurses and tradespeople.)
A dear friend of mine has a very prestigious, practical degree in environmental sciences. She has worked contracts for the Ministry of Natural Resources for the past five years in well-paying, career-building jobs, but has yet to be given a permanent position.
I know others who have completed engineering degrees and are in similar situations. I hear that many companies require engineer applicants to submit transcripts, and filter candidates out based on university exam writing capabilities. More often than not, a degree is simply not enough to land a good engineering job.
Alas, even the bachelor of education is no longer the ticket it used to be. I can't count the number of new teachers I know who have either sat on supply lists for the better part of a decade waiting to get hired full time or given up on the profession entirely. (Side note: I love running into the many people who quipped "so, you're going to teach" when they found out I was studying English, then rolled their eyes when I answered "no, I'm going to write.")
That's not to say that there aren't just as many underemployed people with arts degrees. It's just that nothing I have witnessed suggests that a bachelor degree in biology, chemistry or even accounting or marketing is truly any more practical than one in art, English or history when it comes to achieving the ultimate goal for most of us: a comfortable, secure life supported by a somewhat interesting or enjoyable job.
I don't claim to have the answer to the economic problems that are clearly the root cause of these issues. But I do believe people should have the right to pursue their interests without judgement and unnecessary roadblocks. How far they go in life will still depend upon who they know, timing and how badly they wish to work in a particular field.
hpratt-campbell@theheritageemc.ca
I find the recent suspension of Queen's fine arts admissions deeply troubling, as I fear it spells the beginnings of a trend I have dreaded for a very long time now.
Throughout my entire life, I have listened to everyone from political leaders to my parents drone on about how math and science are the most important and useful subjects. Perhaps in an act of rebellion, I completed bachelor and master of arts degrees in English literature.
The kind of people who look down on the fine arts are equally scornful of my educational choices. I stopped caring what these people think of me a long time ago, but I must admit it does bother me when their philosophy starts to sneak its way into the practices of educational institutions.
Lately, even the humanities and social sciences have been getting a bad rap.
Earlier this month, Globe columnist Margaret Wente suggested that the Occupy protesters should blame their own poor choices of what to study in university for the fact that they are now unemployed or underemployed. She lambasted a young woman studying for a master of sociology for her own short-sightedness, claiming that such people need to concentrate less on making the world a better place and more on what employment opportunities are out there.
I guess Wente would prefer if everyone chose their major purely on the basis of in-demand employers, like the companies who run Alberta's tar sands. Let's try that out for a decade, shall we, and see where that lands us. Heaven forbid anyone ever dream of affecting positive change.
But just how much further will a degree in the sciences get you than one in the arts or humanities?
I haven't conducted any formal studies on the topic, but I have watched with interest the career paths of friends and acquaintances my own age who majored in a variety of subjects. Few who graduated in the past decade have jobs "in their field" that are also full-time, permanent and decently gainful. (With the notable exceptions of doctors, nurses and tradespeople.)
A dear friend of mine has a very prestigious, practical degree in environmental sciences. She has worked contracts for the Ministry of Natural Resources for the past five years in well-paying, career-building jobs, but has yet to be given a permanent position.
I know others who have completed engineering degrees and are in similar situations. I hear that many companies require engineer applicants to submit transcripts, and filter candidates out based on university exam writing capabilities. More often than not, a degree is simply not enough to land a good engineering job.
Alas, even the bachelor of education is no longer the ticket it used to be. I can't count the number of new teachers I know who have either sat on supply lists for the better part of a decade waiting to get hired full time or given up on the profession entirely. (Side note: I love running into the many people who quipped "so, you're going to teach" when they found out I was studying English, then rolled their eyes when I answered "no, I'm going to write.")
That's not to say that there aren't just as many underemployed people with arts degrees. It's just that nothing I have witnessed suggests that a bachelor degree in biology, chemistry or even accounting or marketing is truly any more practical than one in art, English or history when it comes to achieving the ultimate goal for most of us: a comfortable, secure life supported by a somewhat interesting or enjoyable job.
I don't claim to have the answer to the economic problems that are clearly the root cause of these issues. But I do believe people should have the right to pursue their interests without judgement and unnecessary roadblocks. How far they go in life will still depend upon who they know, timing and how badly they wish to work in a particular field.
hpratt-campbell@theheritageemc.ca
Friday, November 11, 2011
New look
I'm totally in love with these new Warby Parker glasses that arrived on our doorstep yesterday. I must admit I was a little nervous about ordering prescription glasses online, but the idea appealed to me all the same because I'm so sick of being ripped off at local frame/lens stores. Even with Steve's plan, we usually still end up paying close to $200. At $95 for great quality frames AND lenses, these WPs sounded almost too good to be true, and I pondered for a bit whether I wanted to go through with it. The last straw was the rude treatment I received from the receptionist at the optometrist's office, who seemed personally offended that I wasn't getting new glasses from the store next to the doctor. She took it to the point of almost not giving me the full information I needed for my own prescription. I left fuming, determined that there was no way I was going to continue supporting such an operation, and placed my order for these "Huxley in Tennessee Whiskey" glasses as soon as I got home. They told me it would take ten business days for them to arrive. It took two. Hooray!
Steve says they make me look like an intellectual from the 1950s. I say great, I can certainly live with that.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Hoarder of the printed word
EMC Editorial - Last week, I had the pleasure of visiting the Kingston Frontenac Public Library's Central Branch for a story on the fantastic local charity Friends of the Library, and it got me thinking about books. That in itself is not too much of a stretch, I suppose, as I seem to be thinking about books most of the time anyway. Specifically, however, my visit to the library made me realize just how rarely I step foot in that fine institution considering my love of reading.
Make no mistake, I am passionate about what the library stands for and the services it provides. If I were still living in Toronto, I would most certainly be among those fighting tooth and nail to make sure the public libraries do not fall victim to the city's looming budget cuts.
The problem is that I have some pretty serious book hoarding issues, and the idea of having to finish and return books in such a limited amount of time does not fit with my reading habits.
What I prefer - and believe me, I'm not proud of this - is wandering around Chapters or Indigo, feasting my eyes on all the beautiful, pristine novels just itching to be cracked open and read for the first time. Usually, I'll leave with at least one new purchase. I'll get the book home and it will sit in a pile with the others, either beside the bed or on the edge of a bookshelf. When I'm feeling blue, I may take it out and lovingly smell and stroke it, running my fingers delicately over the orderly sentences and paragraphs on the back cover.
The advent of e-readers has given me a whole new way to hoard books. While the shopping experience is nowhere near as aesthetically pleasing as spending time in an actual book store, the idea that you purchase the novels online makes attaining them far too easy for the comfort of my husband, who often comments on the devastating consequences my book buying habit inflicts on our credit card balances. Sure, e-books are cheaper, but they're also much more apt to be purchased impulsively. Thus I am left with two additional, albeit virtual, piles of books to read - one on the Kobo and the other on the iPad.
Eventually I do read all these books, although never in the order in which they were purchased. The trouble is that e-readers are still very new to me, and I can't bring myself to make jump completely. Thus, after years and years of continuous book buying, I am left with more paperbacks and hard covers that I know what to do with. They all won't fit on our bookshelves and god knows nobody wants them.
The point I'm trying to make with all this is that I have been searching for something to do with the many boxes and bags of books that have been making our basement look like crap for the last three years. At last, I believe I have found an outlet that will allow me to rid our house of the excess literature, and feel great about it at the same time: Friends of the Library. They are always looking for people to donate books for their daily sales at the Isabel Turner and Central branches, as well as their major annual sale coming up later this month.
The best part is that all proceeds go toward maintaining excellent local library services and programming - all we need to do is look at the situation in Toronto for an example of why public support for libraries is absolutely critical.
I suppose a large part of my motivation comes from the desire to turn my soon-to-arrive daughter into a library person. I'll be thrilled if she shares my passion for reading, but would like to encourage her to borrow books instead of buying them. With any luck, maybe I can break some of my own bad habits along the way.
Make no mistake, I am passionate about what the library stands for and the services it provides. If I were still living in Toronto, I would most certainly be among those fighting tooth and nail to make sure the public libraries do not fall victim to the city's looming budget cuts.
The problem is that I have some pretty serious book hoarding issues, and the idea of having to finish and return books in such a limited amount of time does not fit with my reading habits.
What I prefer - and believe me, I'm not proud of this - is wandering around Chapters or Indigo, feasting my eyes on all the beautiful, pristine novels just itching to be cracked open and read for the first time. Usually, I'll leave with at least one new purchase. I'll get the book home and it will sit in a pile with the others, either beside the bed or on the edge of a bookshelf. When I'm feeling blue, I may take it out and lovingly smell and stroke it, running my fingers delicately over the orderly sentences and paragraphs on the back cover.
The advent of e-readers has given me a whole new way to hoard books. While the shopping experience is nowhere near as aesthetically pleasing as spending time in an actual book store, the idea that you purchase the novels online makes attaining them far too easy for the comfort of my husband, who often comments on the devastating consequences my book buying habit inflicts on our credit card balances. Sure, e-books are cheaper, but they're also much more apt to be purchased impulsively. Thus I am left with two additional, albeit virtual, piles of books to read - one on the Kobo and the other on the iPad.
Eventually I do read all these books, although never in the order in which they were purchased. The trouble is that e-readers are still very new to me, and I can't bring myself to make jump completely. Thus, after years and years of continuous book buying, I am left with more paperbacks and hard covers that I know what to do with. They all won't fit on our bookshelves and god knows nobody wants them.
The point I'm trying to make with all this is that I have been searching for something to do with the many boxes and bags of books that have been making our basement look like crap for the last three years. At last, I believe I have found an outlet that will allow me to rid our house of the excess literature, and feel great about it at the same time: Friends of the Library. They are always looking for people to donate books for their daily sales at the Isabel Turner and Central branches, as well as their major annual sale coming up later this month.
The best part is that all proceeds go toward maintaining excellent local library services and programming - all we need to do is look at the situation in Toronto for an example of why public support for libraries is absolutely critical.
I suppose a large part of my motivation comes from the desire to turn my soon-to-arrive daughter into a library person. I'll be thrilled if she shares my passion for reading, but would like to encourage her to borrow books instead of buying them. With any luck, maybe I can break some of my own bad habits along the way.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Little Pink Shoes
Yesterday, Steve and I found out we are having a baby girl. To be honest I was completely shocked, as previously whenever I pictured our baby all I could see was a little boy with blue eyes and dimples. And yet, I couldn't be more happy. I love the idea of having a little girl around who will (probably, fingers crossed) share my love of books, shoes and pretty things. Hopefully, she will someday become a friend too - once she is through her teenage years and has ceased to resent me.
To celebrate, I couldn't resist picking up these adorable pink shoes. I know she won't be able to wear them for a while yet, but just looking at them makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
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