the Blethering Spot

• An estimated 1.9 million Canadians have chronic kidney disease.
• Each day, an average of 14 Canadians learn that their kidneys have failed.
• Untreated kidney failure results in death within days to weeks.
• As of December 2004, there were 4,054 Canadians on the waiting list for a transplant, and 2,872 of these were awaiting a kidney transplant.
• Of the 1,013 kidney transplants performed in 2004, 41% were from living donors.
• 59 children received a kidney transplant in 2004; 36 were from live donors.
• The estimated waiting list for a kidney transplant is 8-10 years.

Here are Ian and I, a couple days post-Op, on a very painful stroll around the hospital room. Note the inability to stand up straight! Thank God for morphine….

“To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived, this is to have succeeded.” (Ralph Waldo Emerson)

Okay, that title is completely absurd.

Over the weekend I made some potato salad which made our tastebuds squeal with glee. If you don’t like potato salad… well, sorry… no glee for you today.

I added one small clove of garlic, along with everything else, and I think that was the secret of my success. The following items starred on the list of ingredients:

• organic red-skinned potatoes
• mayo (full fat, as I believe that you only live once)
• green onions
• plain old French’s mustard (NOT much)
• some lovely free-range eggs from my egg lady
• parsley
• celery seed (as I had no fresh celery hanging around)
• don’t tell my family, but…. one small dill pickle, cut up into such tiny little bits that it’s utterly undetectable
• milk
• paprika

Goodness gracious, I do love potato salad. We had a bonfire in the back yard (in the fire pit, I should point out), some BBQ chicken and the most delectable corn on the cobs you’ll ever meet.

Is it normal to be so obsessed with food?

In other news, the long weekend was divine. We did a ton of yard work, which was sorely needed. I only spent about $150 at Canadian Tire on plants, which is pretty good. I got three tomato plants this year – I’ve put them in containers on the upstairs deck, which gets a lot of sun. This is the first time I’ve tried container tomatoes (except once during our first year of marriage) and I must say I have high hopes for them. We also got quite a few annuals for the upstairs deck, a couple herbs, and the following veggies for our tiny veggie garden:

1. spinach
2. lettuce
3. carrots
4. peas
5. radishes

Very pleased indeed. I feel so Caroline Ingalls when I’m gardening. Hopefully I can remember to water the poor things this year! I also got a shaggy looking hanging basket for the exorbitant price of $25. It looks awful, but I felt so bad for it, sitting shamedly amongst the lush gorgeousness of the more attractive baskets. It looked the way I used to feel in P.E., where I was never chosen to be on anyone’s team until the very end. (“Oh, no, we get Gwen? Awww!”) So I purchased it, and hung it up, lovingly and indulgently. It may not be pretty… but it shall be loved.

I whistle a lot. Most of the time I don’t realize I’m doing it; it just seems to happen on its own. I whistle everything — old movie tunes, hymns, country, a lot of Mozart, and the odd bit of Guns N’ Roses. I whistle melodies and harmonies. I love to whistle.

The other day at work, I was standing there innocently, whistling (very quietly and inoffensively,) filing the day’s Cargo Air Waybills, when one of my co-workers laughed and said, “You whistle like a man!”

I whistle like a man? How can a whistle have a gender? I do not.

One of my ambitions is to get a job in a recording studio as the whistler. Now, my singing voice is very small and apologetic. I can sing on tune, but I can’t sing very loudly at all, without getting warbly and shy. (That doesn’t count at home, where I am fond of belting out show tunes and performing Vaudeville dances with reckless abandon.)

But whistling… ah, it’s my chance to shine. You know those songs where they have somebody whistling a little bit? (Sadly not very often.) Yes, those are the bits I could totally do. If anyone reading this happens to be a recording artist, keep this in mind. You need look no further than the Blethering Place if you ever need a whistler in the studio. Give me a call… we’ll talk.

I pride myself on being a Grand Master of Packing. Too often at work, I am confronted with sad and shameful examples of over packing, and I feel that tonight is the right time to share my expertise. (I’ve just gotten back from Vancouver tonight, and luckily I had the forethought to take this photo while I was packing on Sunday.)

Now, listen. If you fly with Air Canada you are entitled to check two bags, at up to 50 lbs. each, plus a carryon which may not exceed 22 lbs. Now, this is just downright excessive. When I check in a passenger who struggles to heft two gigantic suitcases onto the scale, I know that I am dealing with The Chronically Confused Infrequent Traveller, and I sigh a sigh of displeasure. (Inaudibly, of course, because I am also a Grand Master Customer Service Agent.)

You don’t need 100 lbs of baggage to survive a trip. If you take the aforementioned two 50lb bags, you will be struggling through the airports, sweating your way through security, exhaustedly shlepping monster bags off and on trolley carts, in and out of shuttle buses, etc., AND, you may be the victim of the unfortunate Bulkout Situation… which means that too many people had too much crap, and there just wasn’t enough room on the aircraft for it all.

So here I am, a voice crying in the wilderness, offering solutions for weary travellers:

Grand Master Packing Example, in which the Grand Master Uses Only A Carry On:

• Duration of trip: four days
• Destination: urban city
• Weight of bag: 17 lbs
• Effort expended, carrying this bag onto aircraft and public transit: Almost none.
• Purpose of trip: combined business and pleasure

So you see this was a challenge, as I had to pack not only for a business setting, but also for a shopping expedition and fine dining with my mother. Here’s what I brought:

• jeans (1 pair), black skirt, grey pants
• long-sleeved black shirt
• sparkly sleeveless top (not appropriate business attire)
• white blouse
• sweater
• T shirt to sleep in
• black business shoes
• comfortable but fantastically exciting orange sparkly shoes

And, as a word to the wise, there is no need to bring your Costco-sized 5L shampoo. Quit being so cheap already and go buy yourself some 100mL travel bottles, which you can fill with whatever you need. (You may not carry on more than 100mLs of any single liquid or gel, so this is a very important step.)

I had a cold, so I brought:

• some travel-sized Advil Cold and Flu tablets, just in case it got really bad during work situations
• homeopathic remedies
• ginger and lemon tea bags

So. Bring a book (I try for softcovers, but I admit to frequent failure in this), a decent-sized purse (no need to bring such a huge bag that it counts as a checked piece of luggage) and your passport, and you’re set!

You are now a Grand Master Packer, and you are welcome to check in at my counter.

p.s.: Grand Masters advocate trying on the clothing you are planning to pack… just in case it has been a long winter.

Thanks for the tip, Amy! Elton never, ever sings this song, and I didn’t know he did at the 60th! Wow! Right on!

My daughters seem to have no qualms about making new friends. Whenever they see a new kid riding their bike down the street, they have no qualms about hurrying outside to “make friends.” They seem to look at every group activity as a chance to meet a new friend. And isn’t it funny the way kids do it?

“What’s your name?” (said with a direct stare, no pretending to be cool)
“Jane. What’s your name?”
“Mary. Want to be friends?”
“Okay.”
“I have a neat fort in those trees. Wanna see it?”
“Yeah!”

That’s the way kids make friends. But adults (at least this adult) are completely self-conscious and wary. I would never just go up to somebody and actually say, “Do you want to be friends with me?”

Not in a million years. In fact, I haven’t actually made a new friend for years, not counting my new co-worker, who had no choice in hanging out with me.

So this whole blogging world has been remarkably good for me in terms of friendship expansion. In fact, I have made TWO new friends in blogger land! (That’s you, Jenny and Joni.) Here’s what I think about Making New Blogging Friends:

1. It’s actually surprisingly easy. If someone reads your blog, they already know if they want to be friends with you or not. If they think your blog sucks, and you only write about completely stupid things, they can say to themselves, “This person is an idiot,” and that’s the end of it. No pretending necessary.
2. It’s not based at all on the outward appearance. Like, you don’t think, “Holy cow, this chick has some hot looking bold italic font. I’m all over that.” I think this arena is a great leveller.
3. It’s very unnatural. Blogging is made up largely of insignificant, everyday details about life, but only includes what the author chooses. That is, you may know that Gwen likes to de-clutter, likes to drink tea and likes Elton John, but you don’t have any idea what she fears, or where she was born, or the names of her children. As Meg Ryan’s character stated so savvily, and with such fabulous hair, in You’ve Got Mail (Thanks to Shan’s friend Sandy for the DVD while I was in Vancouver!!!), “we’re much more likely to talk about nothing than something.”
4. It removes some of the angst about what that person might find amusing. I am rarely amusing amongst strangers, just because I don’t know what their sense of humour might be. I remember once saying to an elderly, leader-of-the-church type of man, upon hearing his unsuccessful fishing story, “But did you throw your nets to the other side of the boat and give that a try?” Now, I thought it was funny. But he fixed me with a baleful stare, and said, “No.” See? But if you are speaking with a fellow blogger, you already know if they would find something funny or not. Big advantage.

So anyway, to put an end to this sucky post, I like this whole blogging thing. I’m going to have coffee with Jenny tomorrow night, which seriously gives me a happy feeling inside. And without blogging, we probably would never have met! V. pleased about this new development.

Whew! I really rolled up my sleeves today, so to speak, and de-cluttered not one, but two bits of my house.

Out of this sow’s ear I have created this minimalistic silk purse:

It’s amazing how much I could eliminate just by refilling the flour and sugar containers. Who knew there was so much room in there? Also note the little wire thingee I put up to hold my Save-On bags. I do need some sort of shelf in here, but… Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither was this pantry cupboard. Be patient, little cupboard! Gwen isn’t finished with you yet!

This isn’t nearly as bad as it actually was when I began the de-clutter today. I took this picture in April when I began Operation De-Clutter, and it has been getting steadily worse. But I rented a Backhoe today and cleaned it off. Baskez-Vous in the cleanliness of my computer desk now, O Reader:

And finally, here’s what we did today:

I experienced one of those This Is What Life Is All About moments during the taking of this photograph. Here is my daughter, completely REAL in her red pants, unbrushed hair and pink jacket. She’s just about to swing herself up onto the bike and ride away, utterly carefree, with the cold rainy air on her face. I watched her and thought, “What am I waiting for, anyway?” Life isn’t going to get better than it is right now. Things will never get back to normal. I won’t have more time in September. If I lose 15 lbs and can wear my thin(ner) jeans again, I’m not going to be any more fulfilled than I am now. When my husband finally puts in the baseboards, it’s not going to complete me. This is my life, now, right here.

I can’t really explain how I felt, after all. But I do know that it was a wild, freeing moment. I must live now, and not wait for some distant future day when all the stars are lined up perfectly.

News in Brief:

1. We finally got some new chairs. After being unable to find any that we both liked (for over a year) we found some at last! Check these babies out, there are six of them gracing our home. Now, all we need to do is strip the table and stain it to match:

2. My husband recently went to Vancouver and the Island for a business thing, and look what he brought back for me. Ooh! Some lovely Garam Masala! What a guy. That was certainly the way to my heart, I’d much rather receive cooking stuff than, say, chocolates.

3. Check out this outrageous salad. I can’t stop eating these things, although I keep gobbling up all the candied pecans. (Note the plain ones below.) Yum, yum, yum. Go here to view the candied pecan recipe.

4. Have a gander at these divine napkin rings my Mom sent me a couple weeks ago. Aren’t they just the bee’s knees? My porcelain (which I purchased DIRT CHEAP in the Czech Republic and lugged onto busses, trains and planes, through the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Austria and Germany) has little blue bugs around the edges of it…. sounds awful but it is actually so beautiful. So these little whimsical dragonfly napkin rings were just perfect, ideal. Here they are, for your delectation:

I’ve been teaching Daniel to my children for Bible class. Now, I must say that I’ve been shy of getting too deep into this book with my kids, primarily because my eschatology doesn’t match my husband’s, and so I didn’t really know what to teach. I have avoided anything deeper than the Fiery Furnace and the Lions’ Den! But I’ve realized that it’s not right to just skip out big chunks of the Bible because I don’t know what to tell them…. so I took the plunge.

And, for concerned family members (including Mr Gwen), don’t worry…. I’m teaching it Dispensationalist. (Pause for you all to heave a big sigh of relief.)

So we’ve tackled the book, and I’ve had a couple thoughts, which I am compelled to share with you for no particular reason:

Deep Thought Number One

The king answered and said to the Chaldeans, The thing is gone from me: if ye will not make known unto me the dream, with the interpretation thereof, ye shall be cut in pieces, and your houses shall be made a dunghill. Daniel 2:5

I remember being taught in Sunday School and in Christian School that Nebuchadnezzar had forgotten his dream, and was essentially demanding that the astrologers remember it for him. But I think that his statement, “The thing is gone from me” is referring not to his dream, but to his demand that they interpret the dream for him. ie/ “The command has left my lips, now cough up.” I think he was saying, “Listen, dawgs, I’ve told you to interpret the dream. I’m not wasting my time telling you what it was, just give me the goods, pronto.”

This isn’t really a big deal… just a thought I had.

Deep Thought Number Two

…Children in whom was no blemish, but well favoured, and skilful in all wisdom, and cunning in knowledge, and understanding science, and such as had ability in them to stand in the king’s palace, and whom they might teach the learning and the tongue of the Chaldeans. Daniel 1:4

So I was thinking that these young Hebrew hunks (Daniel, Hananaiah/Shadrach, Mishael/Meshach and Azariah/Abednego) were all that. They were taken into the palace (or some holding place) and kept for three years, being transformed into young Babylonian hunks. I read that, and suddenly had a nasty feeling that a young, handsome guy might suffer some undesirable treatment in the whole Babylonian-integration process. Never thought of that before. Felt v. sad for D, H, M and A.

Deep Thought Number Three

Why does the Scripture start using the Babylonian names for Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, but sticks with Daniel’s Hebrew name the whole way through? The book switches to Aramaic in 2:3, but the young hotties are still referred to by their Hebrew names. In 2:26 it says, “…Daniel, whose name was Belteshazzar…” and then keeps on referring to him as Daniel. Then, right out of the blue, after Daniel interprets the dream, and is promoted to Head Honchoship, in 2:49 it suddenly starts talking about Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. What’s up with that? Throughout the rest of the book, we constantly read, “…Daniel, whose name was Belteshazzar…” but we never see the Hebrew names of the other three again.

I wonder why. I know that every nuance and detail in the Scripture is laden with meaning, so there must be a reason.

Anyway, I’m going to allow Anonymous comments, so that my Dad can comment if he wants!