Cruising

Mozart and I were outside obedience class last week when one of the pupils pulled up in this adorable wicker pet bike carrier. (Hers even had roll bars for added safety.) It looks more comfortable than the bus for everyone involved.

You know what they say...

Are Mozart and I starting to look alike?

Looking for a date?

Wine Gum belly is particularly unpleasant to wake up to. It's like having a sugar hang-over. To minimize my Wine Gum consumption, I sought out a sweet but healthy snack and rediscovered date squares. I combined two recipes (here and here) plus the reader comments to come up with this hybrid recipe.

Combine 2 cups of chopped dates (I used a 375 g package) and 1 cup of water in a small pot. Boil, then simmer and stir for five minutes.

Combine 1 1/2 cups of oats, 1 cup of flour, 1/3 cup of brown sugar, 1/2 tsp of baking soda and 1/4 tsp of salt in a bowl. Add 1/3 a cup of melted butter and 1 beaten egg. Mix.

Pat 3/4 of oat mixture into the bottom of a 9x9-inch baking pan. Top with dates. Sprinkle the remaining oat mixture on top. Bake at 350 degrees for 25 minutes, or until the topping browns. Share to prevent over-consumption and to spread the love.

This Tornado Loves You

My boyfriend has the gift for Finding the Words. The first time we saw Neko Case, he said, "Her voice is a weapon." In addition to that voice, she is beautiful, funny, and she also has The Gift for Words.

We all have our tornado days.

O, Hockeyland!

We really do love hockey that much. I watched the Canada-US game downtown with friends on Sunday, and then we wandered down Granville St. There was much cheering and high-fiving. I even high-fived a policeman.

Ah, the Olympics. The good: gold medalist freestyle skier Alexandre Bilodeau, inspired by his brother Frederic, who has cerebral palsy. Bronze medalist Joannie Rochette, whose mother died the Sunday before her figure skating performance. Dancing in the street. Taking transit to all venues. Two golds in hockey. Curling becomes sexy. The beautiful opening ceremony.

The bad: the tragic death of an athlete. The brilliant official who put the Olympic flame behind chicken wire. Trucking snow up to Cypress Mountain.

The ugly: the closing ceremony. Giant dancing Mounties. Shudder.

You're Dead to Me

The puppy class teacher thought we should put clothes on the dogs to get them used to being handled by vets and groomers. Mozart did not agree. Those socks were off a second later.

Parlez-vous?

Hearing more French: definitely one of the many benefits of having the Olympics in Vancouver. Last night, I ordered a beer in French at Quebec House.

Last week, I went to Men's Snowboard Cross on Cypress Mountain, and the commentary was done by three chill boarders, one of whom was from Quebec. Sometimes it was in English; sometimes it was in French. When the guy from Quebec said something especially funny, one of the others might translate it for the rest of us, but we could understand a lot of what he was saying. ("Le canadien," "rouge," and "premier" being the kinds of basic vocab. necessary.)

O, Canada. Why can't it always be like this?