Molly the Woodle at the Olympic Torch Relay

After a long journey across the country, the 2010 Winter Olympic Games Torch Relay has made its way to British Columbia. On Monday, it came to our town.

I knew that I wanted to go see the flame. I’m not a huge sports fan, and I sometimes feel that the grandeur and significance of the games has been cheapened of late. Between the overwhelming presence of corporate sponsors and the scandals that fly in the face of the sportsmanship and camaraderie the games are meant to exemplify, the Olympics have begun to leave me a little cold.

And yet…there is still something about the torch relay that thrills me. I think it has something to do with the fact that ordinary people, who would never have anything to do with the Olympics otherwise, have an opportunity to carry that flame. In this day of millionaire athletes on a podium meant for amateurs, the tradition and ritual of that flame passing from hand to hand, community to community, makes me understand, if only a little bit, all the fuss over the Olympics.

And that is why Molly the Wonder Dog and I decided to go watch the flame run through town.

We’d been invited to attend the relay with some friends and their dogs. At first I hesitated and considered leaving Molly home. It’s not that she’s a bad dog; it’s just that she has a few habits that can make public outings a bit embarrassing at times.

Molly is a Woodle. And Woodles woodle.

A bit of history is probably necessary here. Molly joined our family about 3 ½ years ago. The phone rang one November morning and I half heard a conversation between my husband and his father. The gist of it was that he knew of a Maltipoo puppy that needed a home. My husband has never been a fan of toy breeds and so he said no. As he was telling me this, something in me tugged. I wanted this dog. After a bit of discussion, we called back and said we’d take the puppy.

About a week later my husband picked her up. He knew from the moment he looked at her that she was nothing resembling a Maltipoo. He took her to his parent’s house, where I was waiting, and placed her on my lap. Bright intelligent eyes looked out of a wolfish little face. Her body was lanky but tall, and she had huge paws.

We settled on Molly as a name. We now had no idea what kind of dog she was, and those giant paws weren’t getting smaller. We bumped into a friend on a walk who, upon seeing us with her, remarked that he didn’t know we’d gotten a wolfhound. A wolfhound? Irish wolfhounds can grow to be over six feet tall on their hind legs and can weigh up to 120 pounds. Some toy dog!

In time, Molly grew up and filled out, although not to the size of a wolfhound. She is about 30 pounds and is a terrier / schnauzer mix (as far as we and our vet can determine). However, one day, while still quite small, something outside caught her attention. She stiffened, made a few sharp barks, and then threw back her head and…woodled.

Molly’s howl (and with sufficient provocation, she loves to howl) is a bizarre noise that sounds like “woodle woodle woooooooooo!” This noise, along with the fact that we had earlier thought she was part poodle, part wolfhound, led to her being known as “The Woodle.”

When she was a puppy, almost anything could set the girl to woodling. As an adult dog, she reserves it for real threats, or real excitement. Meeting new dogs to play with can bring on Woodling. Seeing a person she likes can set her off. And so you can understand why I was hesitant to take her to the torch relay. However, I wanted her to get out and do some more social activities. I had been watching “The Dog Whisperer” and Cesar always says to embrace challenges, and with that in mind I tied her Canada flag bandana around her neck and off we went.

She was quite good on the walk to town, despite the excited crowds lining the sidewalks. Once we arrived at our destination things took a turn for the embarrassing. Upon meeting a few new dogs, she started her woodling which rapidly escalated into her newest noise, reserved for when she’s really excited and happy. This noise is best described as a scream, and you’d swear I was stomping on her feet when she lets loose with it. I could feel my face getting red as I cajoled her and tried to get her to quiet down. Finally, we found ourselves a quiet spot away from the crowd to watch the torch.

As the torch approached, I felt myself relaxing. Molly sat by my feet, calm and happy now. I fed her a cookie. The corporate presence was there; incongruous I thought but ah well. The torch bearer reached the next runner and the flame was passed. Cheers erupted from the crowd. Molly made a little noise but another cookie stifled any further protest. And then it was over, the relay procession going off down the road.

We met up with my husband and we had a good laugh about our dog daughter, who he knew was in attendance; even though he couldn’t see us he could hear the woodling. As we headed home, I was glad that I had attended, and even happier that my girl had attended with me, howls and all.

It Smells Like Home

In the quest for domestic bliss, I have found that often it is prudent to just follow ones’ senses. Whether you are cooking, cleaning, or decorating, following your instinct will more often than not lead you to your destination. Many times it is the quirky vase you picked up in a vintage shop on a whim that becomes the oft-mentioned focal point of your living room. A last minute substitution to a recipe will quite often find its way to becoming a regular ingredient. Our senses guide our taste, and taste is what inevitably puts our mark on our residences, making them our homes.

It’s difficult to say which of my senses has the greatest effect on me. Since I love cooking most would assume I would choose taste, and that could be true. I do know that smell has a significant influence on me and I would say that my sense of scent could weigh a slight bit more heavily on me than even taste.

Scent is at the heart of so many memories. I’ve smelled turkeys roasting at many different times of the year, but the one in the oven on Christmas Eve always smells a little different, better somehow. It smells not only of the feast to come, but of excitement, anticipation, and joy. New pink erasers and freshly sharpened pencils (the yellow ones, made of wood) evoke September and back to school. Barbeque wafting out of someone’s yard and into the neighborhood air, even in the middle of February, makes me feel a little bit warmer.

And then there’s home. Everyone’s home smells different, but distinctive. Homes possess a signature scent that is often only discernable to its residents. Some take years to develop, and some evolve over time, but most people would know the distinctive scent of their home if they smelled it on the moon.

It’s little wonder that we spend so much on scented candles, room sprays, incense, and the like, trying to cultivate the perfectly scented home. I love my scented products but sometimes they fall a little short. It’s great to have a room that smells like fresh cookies, but if there’s nothing in the cookie jar when you need a midnight snack, the scented candle that made you crave them will suddenly lose a bit of charm. And artificial scents rarely generate the same emotional response as the genuine article (again, the Christmas turkey). Homes develop their scents from years of cooking, and cleaning, and life.

And so, if your Monday has been stressful and you are already dreaming of the weekend, consider indulging in some at-home aromatherapy. Whether you bake some cookies, sniff your scrapbook paper, or take a bubble bath, enjoy!

In Praise of Pork & Beans

A topic that seems to be near and dear to everyone’s heart lately is the rising cost of living, in particular, food. After the economic crisis exploded a few years ago, few people remained untouched. Suddenly, everybody was talking economy. Thumb through your favorite magazine and where once before there were recipes for gourmet goodies, there are now articles on how to stretch your grocery dollar. Beans have never been more en vogue! Turn on your television and the commercials are focusing on phrases such as “frugalista” and “fashionomics” (thank you, Winners!) My mother and I had a good giggle a few years ago after reading a list of tips on how to cut back yet still live a rich and fulfilling life in the wake of the economic collapse – all their tips were things Cape Bretoner’s had been doing for years!
Whether out of necessity or a good dose of common sense, more and more people are giving their shopping lists a frank perusal and looking for the places they can cut back. Being budget conscious has become trendy, and frankly, that’s a good thing on a lot of levels. Not only do you save money, but occasionally there are other benefits, such as a healthier diet and lifestyle, and a greener home. In our household alone, we made a decision to stop buying bottled water and to reduce the amount of processed and pre-packaged food we purchased. Two years later, I wonder why we ever purchased bottled water in the first place, and cringe at the thought of all those bottles. Giving up the pre-packaged stuff wasn’t a big deal; we were never that into it anyway, although I did occasionally throw candy and snacks into the cart “just to have on hand.” Inevitably, these goodies got cracked open while I was putting the groceries away. Simply by not allowing them in the door, I’ve eliminated the temptation and saved money!
Making frugality into a challenge and a game is great, but it can be even trickier depending upon where you live. As anyone who’s ever lived “off the beaten path” can attest, the further your provisions have to travel, the more they’re going to cost!!! In particular, if it’s heavy or fresh, you can almost guarantee it’s going to cost a lot more than the national average. This is the case in our neck of the woods. And although we may grumble about it on occasion, it’s just part of the reality of living in the North, and you learn to adjust. For myself and a lot of people I know, that means watching the flyers and stocking up on basics when they are offered at a good price. You can imagine the excitement that ensued last week when our local grocery store announced it was having a CASE LOT SALE!!!
For those of you not familiar, a case lot sale, (or truck load sale as they’re also known), happens when a retailer brings in large quantities of certain items and sells them at a discount for a limited time. Generally, these items are sold in bulk on flats. It’s a great time to stock up on canned and dry goods, such as tomatoes and rice.
Among the items I purchased was a case of beans and pork. I consider beans and pork to be one of the most charmingly retro staples money can buy. They are low-fat, filling, and have stood the test of time. No camping trip is complete without them! And during case-lot week, they were dirt cheap. In our household there is always a debate between tomato and molasses; this time tomato won (in case you were wondering, I prefer molasses!).
Now, while there is nothing wrong with eating the beans “as is,” they can get a little dull. As I was getting ready to heat up a few cans for lunch yesterday, I got to thinking about the ways people jazz up good old pork and beans. My dad likes to put relish on his (regular green will do but my mom makes a zucchini relish that’s unbelievably great!). A friend of mine adds pineapple chunks (this was really delicious!! I’m going to try it some time with a few chunks of leftover ham thrown in as well.) And let’s not forget beans and wieners!!!
Inspired, I decided to try my own interpretation. To two 398 milliliter cans of pork and beans in tomato sauce, I added half a 796 milliliter can of drained, diced tomatoes, a handful of frozen peppers and onions, another handful of frozen corn, a teaspoon of chili powder and a generous squirt of chipotle hot sauce. The result was terrific, Barbeque Baked Beans that I would have no problem serving alongside ribs instead of my regular slow cooked baked beans!
In future posts I’ll be revisiting the concept of using every day, sometimes boring ingredients in new and delicious ways, as well as ways to stretch your grocery budget. If you have a trick or tip, email it to me at buzzbuzzbees@gmail.com .
In the meantime, I’d love to know if you have a creative way of dressing up canned beans! Share in the comments!

Sheep Gave Their Wool For This?

Sheep Gave Their Wool For This?

As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, my family and I recently relocated from the East Coast to the West Coast. As much as we miss home, we love British Columbia and our new town of Kitimat. Kitimat is a small city in BC’s Northwest. It is similar to home in many ways, and its natural beauty charmed us from the moment we drove past the snowflake that lets you know you’ve arrived. Also like home, the citizens of our new town have a good sense of humour about the more remote nature of the city, which is literally at the end of the road. During our first few months we were frequently teased about how long the winter could seem and how were we coping with the lack of activities? Frankly, Kitimat is one of the most active towns I’ve encountered and we have not suffered for lack of fun. Perhaps because of its geographic location, the citizens of this town are good at making their own fun and that enthusiasm passes along to those of us who are temporary residents of Kitimat. When an event is coming to town, whether it’s “Bull--Rama” (a bull riding rodeo event that took place in the summer) or the more recent hockey playoffs, everyone makes sure that everyone is in the loop and has an invitation to attend. Hobbies and pastimes are important too, and everyone is active with fishing, hunting, quading, and snow-showing. Not to mention the crafts! There are some truly talented craftspeople here, which leads to the focus of this post. I was often asked if I knit. When I answered "No," I was told, "You will."

Now, to say that I didn’t knit was technically not true. I could knit, I just couldn’t perl. Or cast off. Or cast on properly (I just knotted the wool onto a needle and gamely started looping stitches on by hand). One of my aunts, a truly talented wool crafter, tried several times to teach me as a child and young adult, and I have many 2 inch long strips of bright acrylic wool clinging to needles to demonstrate these attempts. As an adult, I worked for two summers at the Fortress of Louisbourg National Historic Site and there I learned to knit enough to “fake it” in costume. This time, the strips were a bit longer, and they were homespun wool, but they were still clinging to needles since I didn’t know how to cast off. The truth was, I’ve always wanted to learn to knit properly. I love when someone gives me a hand-made gift, and knit items are a particular favorite. The thought of busily working away on something soft and lovely and then giving it as a gift appealed to me. I’ve had several people offer to teach me over the years, but in my previous life I was always so busy it never worked out. And then I moved here, and discovered that knitting not only passes the time and keeps your hands busy, apparently it also lowers your blood pressure and helps you make friends.

I was invited to a “knitting night” organized to teach beginners how to knit. It was hosted by a very talented knitter (check out her blog, Fibre Rox). We had a choice of two projects, a scarf or a toque. I chose a scarf. Our hostess was busy buzzing around the room, teaching newbies how to cast one, then to knit and perl. Anyone who’s learned how to knit knows how frustrating it is to initially teach your fingers how to do those most basic of stitches. Luckily, our teacher was incredibly patient. I was lucky enough to snag a seat between two experienced knitters who helped me out. By the end of the evening I could (really) cast on, and I now knew (in theory) how to perl. We decided that it might be best for me to abandon (temporarily) the basket weave pattern and instead knit a row, perl a row.

Over the next few days I plowed on, determined to get something finished and off the needles!!!! I decided that I would plow ahead, mistakes and all, no matter what the finished product looked like. I think I started off with 24 stiches and ended with 36. It was a back and forth battle between the knitting and the perling. I would knit a row with ease and be quite happy with it, but by the time I completed the perled row my stitches were so tight they squeaked and the row was always a stitch or two (or three or four) longer. About half way through I had my “Aha!” moment; when I was bringing my wool forward to perl I was somehow wrapping it around the needle instead of just lying it forward. Suddenly it all fell into place. I clicked away to the end and a few nights later learned how to cast off. I held my completed scarf aloft and smiled, all the while silently apologizing to the poor sheep that gave their beautiful wool for this abomination. (As a side note, variegated wool is not the best choice for learning on.) And yet, for all its ugliness, I felt a rush of pride. I could sense my aunt nodding approval. It was several feet long, it was off the needles, it was finished!! I could knit, perl, cast on, cast off, and read a basic pattern.

I was hooked.

Over the next few months knitting evolved past something to check off my bucket list into to a real past time. I would browse through the wool section at our local department store and pick up a few balls for future projects. I bought a huge ball of bright turquoise acrylic and tackled the basket weave scarf. I finished this one very quickly and made a matching toque. Another toque followed and a scarf for my Nana’s Christmas present. Presently I am working on a beautiful Kochoran wool, silk, and angora blend scarf in seed stitch with tapered ends. Next, the coveted socks…

Have you tried a new craft lately? If so, what was it and what were the results? Looking forward to your comments!