That Day I remembered.

If I had a job, I would stay for the people. If one day my boss came into work and yelled at me for no reason, I would stand there and let him. I would you see because I need this imaginary job and the next day when I would come into work, I would have quietly told my comrades in the back about the ordeal. Dumbfounded, my little Spanish lady would hug me like a mother hugs a child

"Ai ai nooo lady no cry! U-re caikes ar Werry werry dell-icious" she would coo to me. I would hug her back and let her sooth me which feels very nice.

My day would be quiet but busy as I think about everything and nothing in particular. Out of no where a memory pops into my mind...A day that I swore I would never forget and yet haven't thought about in so long. I thought I might write it down just in case.

I was working behind the bar. This isn't a bar bar but a service bar in a family restaurant. Milkshakes, icecream, sundaes - that type of deal.

the night was busy busy and just winding down. I am exsausted, covered head to toe in nearly every flavour of syrup ever created.

I cringe to think what I would taste like if a giant popped me into his mouth...yuck....anyhoo

I slowly start to clean up, putting things away slowly, shuffling my feet to and from the sink and counter. Gawd my hair is going to be a disaster after this...ew what the what is THIS?...Ugh why is everything in my life so stiiiickyyyyyyy.....

the familiar buzz sound goes off and a paper prints out of my little machine. I feel like some kind of Genie, stuck in what looks like a chimney for a lamp, with a hole cut out. just enough space to see your genie sweat and pump out your milkshakes for hours on end.

I pull off my paper from the machine with my new masters wishes printed neatly on it.

Oreo Milkshake and a Strawberry fruit crush to go. Not too bad. I quickly go about whipping up the drinks when they are done, I mark them with there names and little hearts and I bring them out of my chimney to the man waiting on the other side of the wall.

Here you are my friend - I said to him.

Thank you - he replies

excuse me ms? - he says softly before I can return to cleaning,

I just want you to know that this fruit crush is going to a women who is very sick. She has terminal cancer and is in her last stages of life. . . She wont be around much longer and she can barely keep food down anymore. The one thing she asks for is this strawberry fruit crush. It really keeps her going, her face lights up when she has it.

He smiled kindly at me.

I just wanted to say thank you and to let you know that you've made a difference in a very sick person's life.

and with that he walked away.

I stood there numbly, my eyes leaking. Suddenly unaware of my hair or stickiness.

I thought about that day a lot the other day as I stood there not at my work.

People like him and my little spanish lady make me feel like I make a difference and I love them dearly for it.

Kayteamai and the failed pastry cream.

I certainly do NOT have a job but if I did, this is how a day in the life might go -

I look gross. Actually gross might be an understatement. I probably look somethin like what I imagine a modern witch would look like. A mix between ms theron's charcter in 'monster' and well a literal monster. A drunk monster. I for one am not drunk but having been up since 4am, hair (still at 1 pm) looking like I lost a fight with the 80's and in an oversized burgundy flannel shirt, were lookin prrrettttty scary.

I would be staring at the recipe for pastry cream. Understanding it but just so. Not. In. The. Mood.
To all my loving non- food savy friends, pastry cream is a cream used in (hold your breath) -pastry ( tadah!) things like the insides of eclairs or réligieuse and some cakes. Well the basic premise would be to make a boiling cream mixture on the stove, temper some egg yolks in, make the whole batch adjusted, smooth it , cool it onto a sheet pan, scrap it into bowls for later use and voila. Pastry cream.

In theory that is.
If I had a job I might have theoretically gotten frustrated with the one of the Mexican compadres of mine that I definitely don't work with, when I asked him where the large strainer was that he was just using and he would respond with that confused old man look and continue to insesively whistle what sounded like Olivia Newton-John's hit song 'physical' ...
I would have frustratedly scuffled over to the sugar bin and borrowed the one from there as a meager replacement.

Having grossly over-estimated the amount the recipe made, I would likely curse silently to myself while I watched the giant pot struggle to keep up with the gallon + of milk inside if it.
The strainer would have hard time dealing with a half pot of noodles.
Fig newtons this is gonna suck.

Awkwardly I would try and hold the baby strainer as I would pour the eggs and yolks and jazz into the pot to be tempered. ( in retrospect, maybe adding hot cream to the eggs then RE adding them would prove better, faster and less horrible outcomes... I digress)
Only having two hands and a virtually useless baby strainer that I cannot balance on the pot, I would have poured as much eggy mixture into the cream as I dare before violently flinging them aside and whisking like a loon at the bubbling mass infront of me. Worried and anxious as to how the end results would look, I emptied the contents of the eggys into the big belly pot.
I would have whisked and whisked and whisked some more while sweating, fretting and furthering my reputation as a witch as I muttered to my bubbling cauldron of goo.
Though pleased with it's increasing thickness, I would have been doubly discouraged by it's... Um ... Chunkiness...
Friends, what happens when eggs are added to Anything hot and shaken up? Yes scrambles eggs.
I know. *sigh* good thing this story is hypothetical...
With a heavy heart I would empty the contents of my cauldron onto two sheet trays mark them with hearts and let them cool. Though useable, absolutely unsatisfactory. If I had a job anyways.

Gardeners must be Sadists.

Everytime it gets warm out, I always want to become some magical gardener. In my old house downtown, I had avocado plants growing over my balcony, organic lemon seeds, apple seeds, you name it an I wanted to plant it. This time is no different. After a successful experiment where boyfriend brought home a mysterious electric green pepper that he 'got from some guy at work', he picked up a little cayenne pepper plant that is currently exploding with peppers ( about 22 in all stages of growth). I was given a small pepper from a friend at school and once she shriveled up, I popped her into a planter box and there she is still sitting... Making me wait anxiously to see her sprout.( the pepper not the girl)
So last week while at school when I found the mother of all jalapinos just sitting abandoned on the spice rack in class and wilting quickly, I asked if it belonged to anyone and they all replied 'no...' like they wanted to say ' no Wierdo that mostly shriveled up dead pepper is not mine. And why your gazing at it like it's your first born confuses and amuses me.'
I digress.
So yesterday was the day. I set forth to germinate my treasure. I set up a germination station in the kitchen with ziplock bags and moist paper towel, and sliced into my baby.
That sounds wierd. Anyhoo. It wasn't until I was delirious with joy over the completion of my experiment that I remembered that I had a lemon in the trunk of my car :D ( don't ask) so with haste and joy I bolted to my car, grabbed the lemon and hurried back inside to free the seeds from there fleshy cells. It wasn't until ten second later that things started to go wrong... Horribly wrong. While squeezing the lemon halves to get at the seeds, a comically large spurt if lemon juice lept from the lemon, fueled by my sqeeZing, and was heading straight for my face. Befor I could even register what was happening, I was in the midst if a full frontal assault. With lemon juice in my eyes my first instinct was... To rub my eyes. With what prey tell? ... My jalapino hands.

Let's let that thought marinate for a second...

Yeah. So at this juncture I am in tremendous amount of pain, my right eye ball is burning in a citrus Jalapino hell! As I bounce around trying to think of anything that can help that didn't envolve me touching my face, I slammed my hand on the counter. The rush of pain to my fingers prompted me to, yes stick them
In my mouth. Good lord right now I am just a hot mess. Burn and sore and freaking out I sat there helplessly crying with make up streaming out of one eye and waited for the storm to pass.
Stupid burning fire lemon storm. As soon as I could stand and function without looking like a drunk zombie, I thoroughly washes my hands.
I walked outside with my experiments and places them in the sun light. I stood there stairing at them, shooting love beams from my eyes into their bags and then realized what a disaster I was looking like... I was so happy and they are so so cute, I hope the germination works... I this how all gardeners are? Ai carumba

Bring Back the Dinosaurs.

I got a sign today that things are getting better. Not that they were bad but I guess I sort of achieved something. Without realizing it until I came here to write it down...for the first time today...maybe ever. I had one of those moments where you think to your self "Gawh, there is no where else on this earth I want to be right now." ... Its strange because I think I always had some kind of mental block about leaving Home and loving another city in another country but I always hoped that I could learn to love two places, three places, however many homes as you want as long as they hold people to love inside them. there homes.

So small known fact, actually something that I always thought was normal and now am feeling might sound weird writing it down buuuttttt... I enjoy watching Dinosaur movies (jurassic park, Dinosaur planet etc...) while eating pepperoni pizza. I keep my elbows tucked in at my side and make my arms look like t-rex arms. I have been known on occasion root for one dino over another in a one on one battle and comment on the commentary.

I do this alone and rarely. And it happened today!

I dont know how but today I just thought "im gonna grab some pizza" and got back. "mmmmm dinosaur planet yes." Started watching it... and all of a sudden a wash of happiness and love and almost relief just came over me and I realized that I do like it down here. I really do more and more. Its not what im used to and it certainly isn't perfect but I can love as many places as I want. Lets just say I have a crush on California. yes yes yes!!!! <3 <3 <3

Dear Head: get ready for a toque. *Some Golden Advice*

As I sit in the mountains of BC on a quiet morning, I finally feel at peace. I think this is the calmest i've been in months, sharing a comfortable silence with my sisters man ( Who can make one helluva good cup of coffee) as we both tippy tap on our computers. I'm listening to some Ella Fitzgerald and checking some emails before I get back to my knitting.

Yesterday my sister (*The ever talented knitter) set me up to knit a toque. Up until now, I would consider myself a beginner knitter. Now i've known how to knit since I was a little kid actually. . . I might have been the first of the sisters learn actually. . . hmmm maybe... I remember learning in front of the T.V from my mothers mother while we watched her show on tv. "her show" is which ever soap opera was on at the time, generally 'all my children.' classic. I think my dad still has the hourglass shaped "scarf" I made him...

I digress.

well just because you used to be able to knit doesn't make you some expert, similar to ridding bike, once you remember it it isn't hard to pick up again. BUT...if you have forgotten then it becomes increasingly challenging to fix any errors. Yesterday, my 'toque' looked like a cat wretched on some needles. In knots and nice colours to be sure. but still. it was AWEFUL. once my sister got home from work, one look and she was busting a gutt laughing.

Yeah your gonna have to re-start

WHAT?! common this thing is a beauty!

are you kidding.

...yes?...

and with that she yanked on my needles and with a few quick tugs, my hot mess returned from whence it came and resumed its former shape as yarn.

After figuring out that instead of pearling a pearl-like stitch, I was in fact SUPER pearling. (ie- adding stitches every single time as well as the ones that were meant to be there) and actually counting how many of each stitch i was doing, I found myself with the beginin's of a little toque.

Yesterday was spent relaxing after my 11 hour bus ride. Woof.

Of course the bus trip went like most do, very full, too packed, I found by my side a chatty cathy and he and I talked for most of the ride. I shared snacks with the girl behind me. It turns out she was from O town originally, moved to mtl then to Vancity and is headed back to O town for christmas! talk about a loooong ride. We swapped seat partners and giggled and munched and tried and failed at sleeping. We even made playlists of music for eachother, awesome bus ride.

So as I sit here and relax, I will pause and wait until tomorrow to write about vancouver.

I'll leave you with a little nugget of wisdom I got from a guy on the bus.

(When discussing dressing comfortably and general bus life)

"Dont try and impress anyone on a bus. Even if you smell a little funky...You wanna look like the stabber; not the stab-E"

- a gentleman and a scholar.

Greasy cheeseburger stranger love.

It was those dumb brown eyes. looking up at you like "yeah. yeah I did. I took a dump right beside the mat that you specifically laid out for me to use." My room-mates Pug would look up at me and blink in that sort of weird cute pug face that melts your heart. Because everytime he did that it ment that you still had to pick up crap off the floor and clean it and thus to fail, became "shitting beside the mat" IE - "Aw nerds I forgot to pick up beer on the way home! I am just shitting beside the mat right now!"

Anyways - Thursday morning before my flight to Van, I was just shitting beside the mat.

I had a moment, standing on the bathroom floor, about to take a shower, standing still and looking at my reflextion and thinking that one little word that we all go to when we are truely and utterly ----ed. I need to be AT the airport in an hour, im not showered or packed, nor do I have a ride. F^@%.

To my surprise I returned to my room post shower and threw in a few last minute essentials into my case. Luckly it is Friday and I am not noticing anything huge that i've forgotten. Boyfriend is a hero and left work to drive me to the airport which was really wonderful of him and it was a breeze threw the airport security and what not. My dad has told me since I was born that i have some kind of inexplicable luck. or "horseshoes up the arse" he calls it.

Once past secruity, I was looking for a quick place to grab some grub without blowing my already minimal travel budget. turning away from Wolfgang Puck's restaurant I was greeted by Burger King. nethier options that I was particularily willing to entertain. Turning back into look for a menu at wolfgang pucks, I collided with another diner on his way in. We chuckled and apologized and schuffled sideways. "Whatddu think?" he asks me. "Meh, it seems ...okay"... I answered.

we chatted a little and decided that it would be a burger king kind of day. After waiting in line together, I found that my new friend was from Nanaimo BC and had been travelling from south africa through dubai for the past two days. I asked for the time and realized that I had to board in fifteen minutes! My new friend insisted on paying for my cheese burger. I looked at him and said "thank you friend. truly, it was so nice to meet you." and he looked at me and said "K, it was so nice to know you, if only for a minute. Merry Christmas and happy holidays!" and with that I clutched my cheeseburger and we parted ways with two huge smiles. Life feels good.

I told my lady the story when she picked me up from the airport "How do you always find them?! those nice people? they flock to you or something"

I think it might be karma again, last week I bought a stranger at my school a printing card cause he didnt have the cash and needed to print a project. karma is delicious <3

Okay Vancouver, here we are! show us what you got!

Katie Mai; Queen of the gingerbread rodeo

For years decorating gingerbread houses had been a tradition in my family. Every year my mother would go nutts making gingerbread house pieces from a stencil set she made and had the kids of our families and friends come over and make a house.

with an assortement of bon bons in bowls, dishes and cups - our houses looked like a comparable miniture Willy Wonka factories.

Eventually the kids would hit a peak and the delicate balances would tip from excited to sugar high and concentration was brought to a screetching halt once a roof slid off or a cookie broke.

Then it was the parents turn. Mum's took the cookies and laughed as they decorated and dad's suddenly became architechts, using tooth picks as supplies and playing with the consistancy of the icing to acheive better adhision.

times were simpler then.

my class made ginger bread houses for class last week and well just say. . . it wasn't my first rodeo. . .

after the making of the dough, rolling it out, cutting out peices, baking and shaping them to fit better together, we made our royal icing. Right away I knew that I had to play my cards right, these little cookie houses can get the best of you and knock the holly jolly out of some newbies. But I know the tricks.

Slowly I start construction by forming the front of my house to one of the side walls. while being a somewhat easy peice to put together, I took this time to re-enforce it and all its sides. this is to be my foundation. assembling the other side wall and back piece were the next challenges.

ppfffttt challenges for some. I sat patiently holding my four sides of my house while I let the Glue- ICING ... I mean icing ...set.

Rule #1 of gingerbread houses - be. patient.

Around me people were racing to finish first, in the blink of an eye the roofs were up before the walls were dry and just like that. . .

the walls started to fall. without fail, like i knew they would. shrieks and cries of horror and dismay errupted one by one as new home owners and builders begged for the use of an extra hand nearby or for a solution as to why there candycane mansions were all but ruins.

A girl beside me became enraged and slammed her fists into the table and smashed her house. the cookies didnt break but the house was ...well the house was a mound of icing and cookies.

pouting and angry she stared at the house. The house didn't take kindly to death glares and would prove to be a bother until its untimely demise. (*in the end the house was assaulted with fists full of rainbow nerds. If hippies and weirdoes lived in gingerbread houses, this would be the one. One giant candy acid trip with crazy windows with every wall slanted. Holding your breath just looking at it fearing that breathing would knock it down. Later it was infact, knocked down and ultimately thrown with passionate contempt, into the garbage. )

Across from me a young women said "well common now we just have to wait and let it dry" her house was drying fine but she was making one of the oldest mistakes in the book.

LOADING up the roof before it was even on the house. Peppermint bonbons side by side allllll over.

Lemmie tell you why this is a mistake.

1) its hard to keep candies nice when your hands are full of icing pushing all up on 'em.

2) your house cannot support this weight.

3) YOUR HOUSE CANNOT SUPPORT THIS WEIGHT.

sadly I watches as her wall too, collapsed with a sigh under the weight of the candied roof. she laughed in good spirits and I giggled too until I began to put my roof together. Although it wasn't candy heavy, it was. . . well. . . okay lets just say its good im not into archetecture, blue prints or house making of the real variety. . .

My roof fit the sides of my house fine but running ontop my roof, between the two pieces was a gap big enough for about the width of three pieces of licorice. Whats worse was how pourly my chimney was fitting ( or not fitting) on my roof (or pieces of a roof that let in alot of. . .well sky) knowing that this was going to be a big mark losing snafu, I took one of the extra strips i had cut and baked and placed it on top. (* i've learned that baking little ginger bread style band-aids will save your caboose when gingerbread housing) So with the roof sealed up, chimney (*or chimbley as I like to call them) hideously attached but stable, I looked at my house.

Rule #2 about ginger bread houses. - Beauty is always secondary to stability. Once a house is stable and sterdy, you can decorate the living baby cheese out of that tasty abode.

Rule #3 about ginger bread houses - Candy can hide all mistakes.

Looking at the chimney, I patched up the heinous gap where the roof didnt actually meet the chimney (...at all) with a peppermint yumyum and another on the back.

My decorating continued and the rest of my house was (in my opinion) innovative and what I could call "candy chic". this lil baby got me an A. queen of the gingerbread rodeo.