Tag Archives: humour

Dark Chocolate Heaven

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I love chocolate.  If it’s Belgian chocolate, 70-72% dark, that’s really great. But if it happens to cover small pieces of dried mangoes or tart cherries with roasted almonds, that’s the absolute best!  Costco is my favourite place for sourcing out any Belgian dark chocolate fruit or biscuit. Their supply seems to change all the time.

The big jars of 70%  Belgian  Dark Chocolate Clusters of Tart Cherries with Roasted Almonds, were available for at least three trips to Costco, before these jars disappeared forever. It was replaced with 70% Belgian Dark Chocolate Dipped Slices of Dried Mangoes and believe me, there was nothing “dried” about the mangoes. The entire chocolate treat was tasty and the fruit was moist enough not to taste like dried shoe leather. But then again, how can anything dipped in dark Belgian chocolate taste awful?

The mangoes simply disappeared one day to be replaced with 70% Belgian Dark Chocolate Almond Bark with almond slices sprinkled generously throughout the thin chocolate slabs. These almond treats were packed as thin pieces inside a sturdy paper bag. Needless to say, these replacement treats were too deadly to ignore. This involved several trips on the highway to replenish the dark Belgian chocolate supply of almond bark, but on that last trip, there was also a 70% Belgian  Dark Chocolate Pumpkin Seed Bark as well. It too was deliciously decadent.

I was at Costco yesterday and the almond bark, as well as the pumpkin seed bark, has disappeared to wherever the cherry almond clusters and the mango slices in dark chocolate retire to. In a prominent place on the aisle, there were bags and bags of—yep, you guessed it–70% Belgian Dark Chocolate Dipped Figs. Figs? Yes, figs. And let me tell you, I’m not especially fond of figs, but in my case, I think you can chocolate dip a lima bean and it would be great—as long as it’s dipped in Belgian 70% Dark Chocolate.  Um-mm, anyone heading to Costco. . . ?

Oreo Thins

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It’s a catastrophe of monumental proportion—Oreo cookies are made thinner.  Thinner?  Yes, that is the horrific announcement in this morning’s paper. Horrific enough to make you grab your cup of caffeine, gulp it down and grab another.

Oreo cookies have always been my favourite to twist apart and eat the chocolate cookie first before eating the side with the white filling. The filling is probably not good for you but heck, that’s all part of the Oreo appeal..  According to the article, these new Oreos are thinner and meant for adults who don’t twist their cookies apart to eat the two halves separately. These adults probably don’t dunk their cookies either.

I have never seen anyone trying to make thinner carrots or broccoli or Brussel sprouts, although there have been plenty of miniature veggies out there.

What’s with this crazy obsession with calories and that F-word? Remember when we were kids? Oreo cookies and chocolate bars were much bigger back then. Come to think of it, everything was much bigger back then except for people. People were too busy building and working and raising their families to worry about being too fat or eating too many calories.  Oops, I said the F-word. Anyway, we were all much more active and any extra calories never lasted long as it was burned off very quickly.

So, what happened? I think we should boycott the idea of thinner Oreo cookies because as soon as it gets thinner, sure as God made little green apples, Oreos will be much smaller. And, don’t fall for that old ploy that smaller is better and there will be more Oreos in the package. I have yet to buy a bag of cookies that are filled to the top. I am definitely not buying smaller or thinner Oreos in a bag that is only 2/3 full.

Mr. Christie–I don’t want thin and I don’t want small. Just leave me my supply of regular-size Oreos ’cause I still love to twist and dunk!

Fitness Queen

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I’m a “gym junkie.”  Bet that caught your eye. In actual fact, I think I’m most motivated in the month of January. You know, all those fabulous eats from December so the “guilt” pops out now. Thanks to my amazing trainer, Tracey, I can step gracefully on and off the treadmill, Stairmaster, stationary bike and elliptical machines without looking like a total klutz. I know where to sit and place my feet on the vertical bench, pec dec, ab machine and seated leg press. Best of all, I don’t sit on anything backwards and I know exactly what to do. I have worked out in both public and private gyms.  From my gym experiences I would like to share my list of observations.

1) Why are there so many young, skinny, spandex-clad females tackling only the treadmills that conveniently face the huge front windows, while their tight, sexy butts face the rest of us poor “shlobs” in our loose tees and baggy pants who are seriously working on the incumbent bikes?

2) Why are the TV sets tuned to the Food channels at the Ladies Fitness Gym and to the Sports channels in the “Guys ‘ Gals” gym?

3) Why am I the lucky one to follow behind a 7-feet, muscle-bound hunk of testosterone who can lift 300 pounds AND leaves the machines set for his body, not mine!

4) The time limit on the popular equipment is 15-minutes and at least half my time is spent is spent adjusting the height of the seat, the length of the pulley and the drop in the weights. For a mechanically-challenged person, this is quite an accomplishment.  It wasn’t my fault that if one of the knobs on that springy thing fell off while I was adjusting the seat to my 5′ height. I still think I should have been compensated at least another 5-minutes.

5) Guys can be so macho when they do that male strut in the bar-bell corner, even though they pretend they don’t see you sneaking peeks–they do love an audience. . .

6) Why do I always feel so great after working my way through the entire circuit, then ruin it by treating myself to a warm, “jammy doughboy” even though I drank a healthy carrot/kale cocktail with it?

7) It’s a know fact that gals can do anything guys can do, especially if they have the advantage of spandex. All that bending and stretching is great eye-candy for the guys and most important of all, is a distraction to allow us serious gym junkies extra time on our favourite machines. Hey, if you’ve got it—by all means, flaunt it. This is hard work. . . .

See you at the gym?

New Year’s Resolutions

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I’ve just discovered something interesting. Just because we have started a New Year, it doesn’t mean a lot of us are stampeding to make positive changes or promises in our lives. I find this interesting because every year, I solemnly make myself a promise to lose weight, get more active, write that book, reconnect with old friends and a myriad of uplifting, optimistic stuff that always sounds great and makes an impressive list. After the month of January flies past and that first successful flush of actually doing some of the list passes, the resolutions goes the way of the dodo bird—extinct, or maybe that’s extinguished.

Thinking about this further, making New Year’s resolutions is a bunch of hoo-hah just so others can feel righteous that they have made a list and plan to carry it through the entire year. Hearing about their intentions is supposed to make you guilty enough to produce a list of your own.  Guess that also makes it dangerous to your health–think of all that stress in sticking with your resolutions.

This year, I’m not falling into the trap of making any New Year’s Resolutions. After all, what’s the point of making a promise to yourself if you don’t keep it? Mulling this over, I have decided not to make any more resolutions–ever.  From now on, if I feel like going to the gym, I will. If I want to indulge in eating chocolates all day, I will.  Realistically. I probably won’t–maybe nibble a few to satisfy that chocolate craving. . .and to ease that chocolate guilt, head for the gym, maybe.

It’s been said that a New Year signifies “New Beginnings.”  I like to think so–it’s a clean page to start anew; but, what about all the unfinished stuff from the Old Year? Because if you think about the projects left unfinished or incomplete, how important were they to begin with?

I find that projects with deadlines or projects that are important to me are definitely tackled first.  Anything else is either filed away for later or “garbage.”  It’s easy to file stuff away, but so difficult later to purge those hard-fought words, the witty repartee, the catchy beginnings and/or the clever endings, the numerous bits and pieces of writing meant for future books or short stories. Filed stuff were meant for something but like barely worn clothes in your closet, if it hasn’t been used in two years, toss it. Just close your eyes ands turf it out. I shred my stuff. After all, if I don’t read it, the recycling man can’t either!

January is just beginning. Did you make any resolutions? Once I purge my files to make room for 2015, I’ll be fine.

Hm-mm, some of these bits and pieces look like it may have possibilities—I’ll just start a new file. After all, some stuff you can’t simply close your eyes and toss. . . .

The Itch

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Have you ever had the itch where you saw something that made you curious enough to want to see more?  Or heard someone singing a haunting melody that you wanted to follow the notes and just listen? You know, that wild impulse that comes out of nowhere, grabs you by the heart-strings and have you throw caution to the winds? That crazy, zingy feeling that has absolutely nothing to do with brain cells, logic or sex?

Good–you have.  Wasn’t it a grand feeling to do something utterly wild and free, for once, forgetting the sensible shoes and common sense? To follow your impulses?  That, my Friend, is the itch.

You don’t have a lot of people following their itches. Most are little kids who love the freedom to explore their world and of course, lack the sensible routine of their parents. Or, they’re usually retirees, who have the leisure time to scratch their itches whenever they have one.

But to so many others, the simple truth is when there are limited hours of the day, we don’t. Even when there is the time, we still don’t. So it’s with a sense of joyful glee when we actually succumb to the itch on stolen time–our stolen time.  And because it’s so impulsive and yet feels so right, we enjoy it all the more. I think we should indulge in our “itches” more often as long as it’s fun and legal.  I have to say that in case any crooks are reading this and nodding their heads thinking they have an itch to rob a bank or something. . . . .

The Look

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I think every family with more than one off-spring has it—you know, The Look. It’s hard to describe as every family has their own version. I know my family has it. The look ranges in various degrees. The mildest is like a warning and the strongest is a “time out.”

I remember growing up as the middle child—that’s having a Big Brother and a Little Sister. Being in the middle sucks big-time. You’re either ranked as “too young” for the privileges of later bedtimes and curfews like Big Brother or “old enough to know better” for not stopping Little Sister from doing something she shouldn’t have.  And, in the midst of this confusing age-thing, earning the parental look.

Reflecting back, I think we all got the look at various times during our childhood. During our playful ruckus and noisy sibling squabbles, one or the other parent would stand in the room, quietly say our names and give that look. It always worked–like a switch had suddenly turned down the noise. Note, I said “turned down” and not “turned off.”

The look worked especially well in a room full of company. At family dinners, if the pushing/shoving/giggling became too much at the table, one of the parents would look over and give the family you-know-what.  I noticed that my aunts and uncles also did this with my cousins. We would all stop except for the feet kicking under the table.

I was thinking about the family look when my cousin glanced over at his two children, noisily wrestling each other over the mini-racing cars in the toybox. He gave his sons the look without uttering a word. The noise level dropped. My sister is a natural teacher and the look was an easy one for her. It must be passed along in the DNA because the kids learn the meaning of a parental look before they can talk.

I never knew I had this ability to give the look until my little granddaughter looked up from happily bashing her wooden blocks on the kitchen floor. For three nano-seconds she stopped her happy squeals, then threw me a big smile and a “luff you PoPo” before resuming her noisy activity. I think I need to practice this look some more, but not right now. . . .

Choices

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Hubby couldn’t believe I was at the grocery store for two hours getting a few things. You know, the usual meal things, a few cleaning supplies and the normal plethora of stuff.

Why did it take me so long? And, I’m not talking cashier lineups. Well, let me tell you–it’s all about choices and there are just too many on those store shelves. The cleaning supplies come in a multitude of scents and types. Do you want powder cleanser, liquid cleanser, gel or spray? Environmental issues move me  along to the Green Products that still come in an array of choices. Whatever happened to Mrs. Murphy’s liquid cleaner that made everything smell like clean soap? My final decision came down to  my clean home smelling like fresh lemons, a pine forest or fresh mint. I couldn’t believe I had just spent 20 minutes agonizing over cleaning supplies. So, this is where my extensive education takes me—to a major decision on cleaning supplies?

Onwards to the dinner question–did I want to cook poultry, beef, pork, lamb or seafood? If poultry, did I want to consider turkey, duck or chicken? Did I want whole, half or parts? What dish would I prepare if I got parts? And, if parts, would it be thighs, wings, breasts or legs? Boneless, skinless or neither? Maybe I should check out the seafood—salmon, halibut, sole, basa, smelts, tiger prawns, local spot prawns or fresh local oysters? The possibilities are endless and why did I forget my list!

When I finally escaped the meat/fish counters, there were veggies to consider. Should I keep it simple and make a huge salad or cook fresh vegetables? The produce looked so inviting:  long English cucumbers or the mini-ones that are just as tasty but cute; Roma tomatoes, cherry tomatoes, hot-house tomatoes or field tomatoes; red, green and orange peppers or a package of mini-ones; mounds of  red and green kale, iceberg lettuce, curly lettuce, butter lettuce, endive, Romaine, spinach, baby bok-choy, tender young gai-lan; slender green beans from California, small green zucchinis; red beets, purple beets and red/white striped beets; purple topped turnips, red potatoes, Yukon gold potatoes, Russet potatoes, sweet potatoes and so much more. The produce aisles with its mountains and masses of colours, textures and smells lure shoppers further into the maze of choosing, of making choices.  I was feeling overwhelmed–or maybe hungry–and I hadn’t even reached the fruit aisles yet!  Heaps of apples, at least 15 varieties, all buffed and polished; piles of bananas, mountains of oranges, 5 kinds of pears, 3 kinds of grapes and berries that are a feast for the eyes–plump blueberries, juicy strawberries. sweet raspberries and more. It seemed too decadent to be faced with so many choices. Yet, in this 21st century, it seems we expect all the varieties of fruits and veggies., locally produced and imported from all over the world. In a blink of an eye, it is possible to buy fresh lichee, jicama, star fruit, mangoes, papayas and pineapples at the local supermarket. Exotic choices for sure.

Indeed, we are very fortunate to be able to access all these wonderful choices in foods and products. I didn’t venture into the toothpaste and shampoo aisles as it would have added another hour of agonizing over frizzy teeth or gingivitis hair. Just make sure you have ample time to shop, consider your menu, carry lots of money and don’t forget your list!