Monthly Archives: December 2009

Oatmeal to die for.

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Ok, my bad. Totally meant to show you a picture of these oats, but I ate 'em. All. Yep, they're that good.

OK, my man started the following recipe and I’m like, in love with it. In fact, I plan to stay with him an extra 50 yrs just for these oats. Feel this:

-4 apples (your choice) peeled, sliced thin
-cinnamon, good vanilla, agave nectar to taste
-plump raisins

Combine all this crap in a baking dish for like, 40 minutes at 375F (not rocket science, I know) and let it cool. But then you store this batch in the fridge and ADD IT TO YOUR OATMEAL AS THEY COOK in the morning.

Oh. My. God.

*the key here is THIN slices of apple. Drool.

PS, imagine a cook book that had instructions like, “Throw all the crap together in a baking dish…” or “Slice the hell out of those onions” or “Pound that pork like nobody’s business, because dammit, you earned it after a hard day at the office”.

I’d read it.

Just sayin’ is all.

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What started as a little birthday tradition- a List- is no longer just for my diary anymore.

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When this happens, it’s the best.

Every now and again I get a track back, email or heads up that another person, usually a blogger, has created a List of his/her own.

This sends me sailing, just over the moon! More than anything my heart’s desire is to connect with other people.

I’ve been one of the lucky ones to have had the opportunity to connect with others through my many (many!) jobs over the years- the yoga community I’ve taught in since university, the articles I’ve published, the events I’ve helped plan and yes, even the crappy telemarketing stints during the summer of ’01 (those formative years is where I picked up my caffeine habit, which I hold close to my heart now.. true story.) But connecting with other people about the Birthday List (newly dubbed, by the way) has been a totally new experience to share.

And with that, here are a few fabulous others who have their own “Before I Turn… List” going on. Go click and get inspired (I dare you.)

xo
sandyb

skinnydip.ca

symphonicdiscord.blogspot.com

alittleawesome.wordpress.com

supreemthoughts.blogspot.com

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Hey, pay attention to me!

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A picture of: Today, when I thought of you all and this post, this is what I was doing. Just because.

Stuff I Know for Sure #1

What I know: Nobody cares, so get over it
Let’s break it down real quick: This isn’t as negative as it sounds. Although I’ve blown-off my share of idiot people and comments in my short life, the truth is I DO care about what people think, sometimes to a fault. I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that I’m not alone on that truth either. Right? We’re only human, after all, and come pre-packaged with flaws (Yes, even me. Crazy, I know). But I’m learning, more so since embarking on the journey that is my List, that whether it’s wearing what I want, saying what’s really on my mind, taking risks like jumping out of planes or nude beaching it or, in earnest, standing by my decision that pickles and mayo do, in fact, go together, in the end what I think is my own opinion… and really, nobody cares. You know why? Because most people have their own opinions to sort through and are probably paying less attention to my blunders than I realize. In the end, thinking that others are thinking (or judging ) my every move is just ego talking, while insecurity eggs it on- like two Frat Brothers, one who farts over a butane lighter and the other who encourages it. See, nonsense.
Here’s how I figure it: Most people care about what they’re wearing today, their own career, misadventures, problems, troubles and bad examples of “haute cuisine”. So ya, people have their own lives to pontificate. Trust me when I say that when you’re doing your thing, no one is watching, so go for it, balls to the wall. But, and I must insert this caveat: Do “your thing” with confidence, authenticity and kindness and people will notice you, which can be a very great thing, especially when the person noticing you is someone you’re noticing right back. That’s just called being inspired.
The bumper sticker worthy take home message: live, like nobody’s watching.


I have an question AND since everyone has been comments shy lately, I’m hoping you’ll come out to share your answer to this:
If you thought no one was watching, what would YOU do?
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The Universe hates me (or at least thinks it's funnier than me.)

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So we had an anniversary this weekend. Actually, like, three of them.

11 years ago Rob got brave and asked me out on a date.
Good thing, too. Turned out to be the best last first date, ever.

3 years ago Rob got down on one knee and made an honest woman out of me.
He gave me diamonds. Really, really shiny ones.

Then 2 years ago, we dragged 40 of our nearest and dearest to sunny Mexico for a wedding in the sand (truth? they all just wanted a vacation and totally used us, sheesh)
I walked down the aisle to a song Rob wrote for me on the guitar I bought for him as an engagement gift. (I kinda felt like I owed him for the diamonds.)

So, what threads these lovely events together? December 12.
(Or as Rob and I affectionately refer to it, simply, 12.12)

And that’s why we were at the spa yesterday (finally, the point to this post.)

***

Rob had called the spa on Wednesday in a last-ditch (but well efforted) attempt to get us a weekend’s stay at Le Scandanave, a swanky spa near the skiing village of Blue Mountain. Needless to say, they were fully booked and our anniversary plans [that we should have made ages ago] fizzled. Gawd, like, doesn’t everyone make anniversary plans mere hours in advance? Apparently not.

The next day at work I called the spa.
*(actual conversation)

sandyb: “Hi, I’m calling to confirm our reservation?”

la scandinave girl: “OK, what’s your last name…”

*blah blah blah*

sandyb: “What do you mean you don’t have my reservation?! I booked, like three months ago…”

LSG: “We don’t see a reservation here ma’am, I’m sorry.”

(sidenote: You can learn how I feel about being “ma’am’d” here)

sandyb: “Well, I don’t know what to say then. Is there something we can do? I’m very upset about this” [hold breath, 2, 3, 4..]

LSG: “Let me call you right back ma’am.”

*several minutes pass. I actually get around to doing some real work for the day job, grab another cup of coffee and wait for the phone to ring.. because it will.*

sandyb: “Hello? Yes, this is she.”

LSG: “We have a room for you this weekend, so sorry for the confusion.”

sandyb: “Wonderful. You had me panicked.”

perfect.
***

At the spa, after a frantic mad dash to the boonies for a, he-hem, relaxing massage that I totally lied my way into, I realize two things:

1. I left my bikini at home. (We were supposed to bring swimsuits for the outdoor spas, baths, saunas, etc.) I must now pay upwards of $50 for an ugly rendition of a bathing suit last seen on Baywatch. Dammit.

2. I forgot to ask for “female massage therapists, please”- a cardinal rule of mine (and Rob’s) for like, ever. Oddly, both of us feel more comfortable being oiled and rubbed down by chicks. And, no, it’s not a sex thing.

As two dudes round the corner, barefoot and wearing JOGGING PANTS ready to rub us down, I realize the following almost instantly: Although I may be a great liar I am also a big believer in karma, which means a narrowly missed spa appointment, being out fifty bucks for a lopsided bathing suit that I don’t want, like or will ever wear again, and being rubbed down by someone who resembles the Close Talker from Seinfeld is the Universe’s way of giving me the finger.

Point taken, Universe. You win.

This time.

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