I just wanted to say- I can't wait.
I just wanted to say that I get giddy inside at the thought of croissants filled with chocolate, un café (sans lait), and me sitting at a café terrace and maybe, just maybe, passing for a parisienne. Too bad I have a tragically thick English accent and that I can`t lie to save my life. Perhaps I will just have to be a mumbler during my sejour in France, perhaps then they wont notice... or perhaps "this is what a québecoise sounds like" will be my line, or perhaps I'll just go with the whole "Canadians are a lovely bunch, don't you just looooooove me?" ohhh the plethora of options!
And I forgot to tell you about my secret identity. For I shall not be named Miss Emma Fox. Because really, how could anyone believe that an Emma Fox doesn't speak English? If only I looked Mexican enough to try pulling off the whole, oh yeah, my dads the president of Mexico thing. Sadly, I think the red hair, freckles and pale pale skin gives me away...
But anyways, while I am in Germany, I will be "I no English speak aber deutsch- ich spreche deutsch!". So I am searching for an alias. A secret identity. So that no one can be fooled. For if they ask were I come from I can say with pride _______. So help me out here people. Who should I become?
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
adios, dear friends
Over the last semester I have been volunteering at The Glebe Centre once a week. So every Monday afternoon I would arrive a little after 1:30 (Fox time, of course) after the long but beautiful walk from my house to the Glebe (a funky area of Ottawa, that can perhaps be equated with The Drive in Vancouver).
The first couple of weeks I was starting to get to know the residents. To say the least, there were a few that I never got to know. On my first day I was told to "bugger off" by a lovely lady, sitting in her wheelchair looking out her window, when I was merely trying to introduce myself and ask if she would like to play bean bags (and yes, you are correct, I did play bean bags... but more on that later). So she was obviously a no go. And then I managed to get into a long conversation with a gentleman that told me about all his aches and pains; the fact that one shoulder was longer than the other, his left foot was 2cm shorter, and that his urination problems explained his close proximity to the toilet at all times. Thus the reason why he wouldn't be able to come out and play. All said in quite the conversational tone, as if I were asking about the weather.
But bean bags, dont let me forget to tell you about the bean bags (because it would truly be your loss if I did...) You see, I wasn't quite sure what I was supposed to be doing, so I followed their advice; Beans bags were supposedly quite the hit on the fourth floor, so bean bags it was. I would wheel the residents (at most 5 would be willing to participate) and there they would sit, half asleep, almost dejected, but when it was their turn they would perk right up. They would then attempt to throw the bean bags into one of the 9 holes. And attempt IS the operative word here.
Over time, I transitioned from bean bags to card games. Despite the seemingly boring and mundane games (which proved to be much harder than I anticipated) I managed to get to know them a bit better, as the same ones would come out each week.
Kay was my favorite. She always had her finger nails painted red, and she was rather nice. As I left today, I noticed a sign right beside the elevators that said "Kay's corner" with a little drawing of sunshine. And I thought, yes, that is very much Kay; The person who would blare classical music in her room, who would remember things, recognise me even, and had the cutest smile. She was a pleasure to get to know.
Then there was Hilda. Quite the English women (But contrary to popular belief she does NOT have sugar in her tea. And she calls herself an Englishwoman, eh?). But today, as if she were a broken record, she repeated over and over again, "I'm not very good at cards. You see, me and my husband used to play games, oh you know, but they were quite simple. I'm going to be the dud of this game". It made me think of all the elderly people in my life, and everything that they are going through. I dont think she realised that she had already told me this merely a minute earlier. It breaks my heart.
And last but not least there was Bob. He was always up for a game of cards despite poor eye sight and bad hand mobility. But today, I must say, I saw the kind of person he must have been many years ago. I was telling Hilda and Bob about school and that I was studying Political Science and Women Studies (although I prefer the wording of gender studies). And then he looked up at me, and he smiled mischievously and said "oh, I always study women" and then he laughed. It was worth it all to hear him laugh, and smile a little bit longer than usual.
So my time at The Glebe Centre has been relatively short, but I got to meet a bunch of wonderful people, full of their own quirks and stories. And although I know that in a few hours or a couple of days they will forget me, and perhaps, if I'm lucky, they will remember that "someone" used to come and play games with them, I can leave knowing that at least for a few hours each week I would put a smile on their face, and be a part of their lives.
So goodbye dear friends- I wish you all the best!
The first couple of weeks I was starting to get to know the residents. To say the least, there were a few that I never got to know. On my first day I was told to "bugger off" by a lovely lady, sitting in her wheelchair looking out her window, when I was merely trying to introduce myself and ask if she would like to play bean bags (and yes, you are correct, I did play bean bags... but more on that later). So she was obviously a no go. And then I managed to get into a long conversation with a gentleman that told me about all his aches and pains; the fact that one shoulder was longer than the other, his left foot was 2cm shorter, and that his urination problems explained his close proximity to the toilet at all times. Thus the reason why he wouldn't be able to come out and play. All said in quite the conversational tone, as if I were asking about the weather.
But bean bags, dont let me forget to tell you about the bean bags (because it would truly be your loss if I did...) You see, I wasn't quite sure what I was supposed to be doing, so I followed their advice; Beans bags were supposedly quite the hit on the fourth floor, so bean bags it was. I would wheel the residents (at most 5 would be willing to participate) and there they would sit, half asleep, almost dejected, but when it was their turn they would perk right up. They would then attempt to throw the bean bags into one of the 9 holes. And attempt IS the operative word here.
Over time, I transitioned from bean bags to card games. Despite the seemingly boring and mundane games (which proved to be much harder than I anticipated) I managed to get to know them a bit better, as the same ones would come out each week.
Kay was my favorite. She always had her finger nails painted red, and she was rather nice. As I left today, I noticed a sign right beside the elevators that said "Kay's corner" with a little drawing of sunshine. And I thought, yes, that is very much Kay; The person who would blare classical music in her room, who would remember things, recognise me even, and had the cutest smile. She was a pleasure to get to know.
Then there was Hilda. Quite the English women (But contrary to popular belief she does NOT have sugar in her tea. And she calls herself an Englishwoman, eh?). But today, as if she were a broken record, she repeated over and over again, "I'm not very good at cards. You see, me and my husband used to play games, oh you know, but they were quite simple. I'm going to be the dud of this game". It made me think of all the elderly people in my life, and everything that they are going through. I dont think she realised that she had already told me this merely a minute earlier. It breaks my heart.
And last but not least there was Bob. He was always up for a game of cards despite poor eye sight and bad hand mobility. But today, I must say, I saw the kind of person he must have been many years ago. I was telling Hilda and Bob about school and that I was studying Political Science and Women Studies (although I prefer the wording of gender studies). And then he looked up at me, and he smiled mischievously and said "oh, I always study women" and then he laughed. It was worth it all to hear him laugh, and smile a little bit longer than usual.
So my time at The Glebe Centre has been relatively short, but I got to meet a bunch of wonderful people, full of their own quirks and stories. And although I know that in a few hours or a couple of days they will forget me, and perhaps, if I'm lucky, they will remember that "someone" used to come and play games with them, I can leave knowing that at least for a few hours each week I would put a smile on their face, and be a part of their lives.
So goodbye dear friends- I wish you all the best!
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Variation on a theme
The making of a scrumptious tortilla is an art. I eat tortilla's on a regular basis, at restaurants and in my own kitchen, always looking for a variation on the same theme. But today as I was trying to decide what to have for lunch I had a brainwave- fresh and simple was what was missing from my traditional tortilla.
So I cut up some fresh tomatoes, grated some aged cheddar(and yes, it does taste better aged), tore some fresh spinach and layer by layer placed it on the tortilla in the already warmed frying pan. And then I lightly (but not too lightly) sprinkled thyme, salt and pepper over the melting cheese. Once it was grilled to perfection I sat out on the deck, in the warm and glorious sun, and devoured my delicious tortilla, now to be my favorite spring (and summer!) quick and easy meal.
I can only imagine what the addition of grilled chicken would do... num num num :)
bon appétit!
So I cut up some fresh tomatoes, grated some aged cheddar(and yes, it does taste better aged), tore some fresh spinach and layer by layer placed it on the tortilla in the already warmed frying pan. And then I lightly (but not too lightly) sprinkled thyme, salt and pepper over the melting cheese. Once it was grilled to perfection I sat out on the deck, in the warm and glorious sun, and devoured my delicious tortilla, now to be my favorite spring (and summer!) quick and easy meal.
I can only imagine what the addition of grilled chicken would do... num num num :)
bon appétit!
Monday, April 13, 2009
And then it started...
Today I had a music moment. a song blaring in my head, I could sing along, and I felt like dancing. The only problem was I was in the middle of a bridge with an extremely large cobalt blue backpack on my shoulders and hips. I felt like shouting out at the cars rushing by:
"hey you!- I'M leaving on a jet plane, don't you wish you were too?"
But I always seemed to catch myself in time. I didn't talk to strangers (my parents taught me well) or make large hand motions pointing at my BIG backpack, followed by awkward attempts at explaining my new found joy to fellow passer-bys or the cars whizzing past. All in all, I think I did quite well at containing my bursting, overflowing, exuberant (insert happy adjective here) excitement at the thought of soon lugging this enormous backpack (with much room for european delights) to le vieux continent. I was already bursting at the seams, so to speak.
So yes, "I'm leaving on a jet plane, my bags are(n't) packed, and I'm ready to go"
bisous, and enjoy the sun
"hey you!- I'M leaving on a jet plane, don't you wish you were too?"
But I always seemed to catch myself in time. I didn't talk to strangers (my parents taught me well) or make large hand motions pointing at my BIG backpack, followed by awkward attempts at explaining my new found joy to fellow passer-bys or the cars whizzing past. All in all, I think I did quite well at containing my bursting, overflowing, exuberant (insert happy adjective here) excitement at the thought of soon lugging this enormous backpack (with much room for european delights) to le vieux continent. I was already bursting at the seams, so to speak.
So yes, "I'm leaving on a jet plane, my bags are(n't) packed, and I'm ready to go"
bisous, and enjoy the sun
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