Category: Life, the Universe and Everything

Coveting a ditigal SLR

For more than a year, Beloved and I have been talking about getting a digital SLR camera. We started talking about it in abstract terms, a “someday” kind of wistfullness. Beloved is a master at overcoming my resistance to the purchase of new home electronics – I was opposed to the DVD player, the laptop, and our current point-and-shoot digital camera, to name just a few of the things I completely opposed in principal and have since come to know and love. But over the last six months, the “someday” wistfullness has crystalized into me searching sites for product reviews, best prices, and feature comparisons.

The problem with the digital SLR is that I really, really want one. I took a couple of photography classes over the years, and I was just getting comfortable using my dad’s 20 year old Canon AE1 hand-me-down when we capitulated to the world of digital point-and-shoot cameras back in 2003. I think I’m a pretty good photographer, and I already know my way around f-stops and focal lengths and aperture, and would really like to have the chance to try out those skills on a digital SLR. I want one, but I can clearly see that we don’t need one.

I do love our little Canon Power Shot (or is it a Sure Shot?) and it’s done us well over the year, but I fear after a scant four years, it’s on its way to meet its maker. They have a bad reputation for the LED screen dying after just a few years, and ours has already lasted longer than some other friends of ours who have the same make and model. At the time, we spent more than $500 including taxes and warranties, so if we’re going to have to get a new camera anyway, it seems reasonable to me to spend the extra and splurge on the digital SLR.

And then my cheap side speaks up and chastises me for coveting something so expensive when we already have a perfectly functioning (so far) camera that takes lovely pictures. And I start thinking that for the price of an entry-level digital SLR (and the taxes, and the warranty, and whatever accessories we absolutely must have) we could replace our ugly, unmatched and quickly deteriorating living room furniture. Or we could do a really good job of turning our partly finished basement into a kick-ass playroom/family room. Or we could replace the ugly sky-blue carpet that I hate so much with at least laminate on the main floor, if not hardwood. Or, you know, we could do the responsible and adult thing and pay down some of our rather outrageous consumer debt. Yah right, as if that’s going to happen.

In my brand and feature comparisons, I’ve narrowed my choices down to a basic Canon Rebel and a Nikon D40. Since we already have a Canon, I understand that the couple of hundred dollars’ worth of memory cards we have would be compatible, which is a definite selling point. Plus, as I said, my dad has a lovely if not antiquated Canon AE1 with some very cool lenses, some of which may (or may not) be compatible with a new theoretical Rebel, should we be able to convince him to donate them to our cause.

I even toyed with the idea of picking one up while we’re down in the States, but Beloved loves his extended warranties, and I’m not sure how well they’d translate cross-border. Besides, with the Canadian dollar creeping towards par, I’m not sure the savings would be huge or worth it.

I’m on the fence, but canted dangerously at an 85 degree angle towards capitulating to my desire. So, whaddya think? Do you have a digital SLR? Do you have any recommendations, tips or thoughts? Go on, convince me. Beloved will thank you for it!

Edited to add: Thanks for all your comments and opinions. You twisted my rubber arm. We are now proud owners of a Nikon D40. I’m in love!

Stalking Stephen King

I was 10 years old when I picked up a copy of Firestarter that my mom left lying on an ottoman. I was fascinated by the story of Charlie McGee, the little girl who could light fires simply by thinking about them, and by the way she was treated as a lab project. I became an instant fan, and went on to read almost all of Stephen Kings books… probably a large part of the reason that I’m almost 38 years old and still prone to being afraid of the dark! But in addition to scaring the pants off me at regular intervals for the past 30 years, I think I’ve also learned a lot about the craft of writing, and of storytelling, from Stephen King. Even after all the novels, I think On Writing remains my favourite of his works, and one of my greatest inspirations as a would-be writer.

So when we were noodling ideas on where to go on our summer vacation and we stumbled on Bar Harbor, and I realized that to get to Bar Harbor we’d have to drive through Bangor, Maine, my fascination with Stephen King helped seal the deal. I was introduced to the idea of Maine through the works of Stephen King: Salem’s Lot, Carrie, Cujo, Pet Semetary, The Tommyknockers, and of course, It. I think It scared me worse than any other book in my life, and it’s actually set in the town of Bangor, masquerading as “Derry.”

I was delighted to find out that the Bangor visitors and convention bureau actually sponsors the Tommyknockers and More Bus Tour of Bangor, a tour of some of the places immortalized in King’s work – and then was crushed to realize we will be missing the first tour of the season by a scant five days.

Reading this article in Maine Today about Stephen King’s Maine, I followed references to Bett’s Bookstore in the heart of Bangor, home of a giant collection of King’s works and memorabilia. I sent a quick e-mail to the owner briefly outlining my fascination with Stephen King, our upcoming vacation and my disappointment at missing the bus tour. He returned my e-mail the same afternoon, saying he’d be glad to give me a copy of the same map they use for the tour if I’d like to stop by the store.

In my ongoing stalking research, I found this Roadside America link with photos and a map to the exact location of Stephen King’s own house, just around the corner from the bookstore. I mean, it’s one thing to take a walking tour of the Barrens *shudder* or to make my way up to the Standpipe, but to actually walk by Stephen King’s house? Way wicked cool!

So, our trip to Maine will be memorable for many, many reasons. There’s a playdate scheduled with an old bloggy friend I can’t wait to meet, and the boys’ first trip to the ocean (and out of the country, for that matter.) There will definitely be my first-ever visit to Target.

But Stephen King? I’ve got shivers just thinking about it.

Talk amongst yourselves

Ugh. Not feeling well today. I’ve been really lucky with my headaches lately, as they are becoming increasingly rare. Unfortunately, right now when I do get one there’s not much to do but pray that the Tylenol works and crawl back into bed.

But now that you’re here, you can’t just wander away. In anticipation of our road trip at the end of the month, tell me the best (or worst, or funniest, or simply most memorable) road trip you ever took. For me, the stupidest one was hitchhiking from London to Sudbury with my boyfriend when I was 17.

The lost post

Some time between midnight and two in the morning, I woke up with a perfectly brilliant idea for a post. I lay awake for a moment, working out the details and crafting the structure. As I stumbled to the bathroom and back to bed, I actually laughed out loud a little bit with delight at the sheer cleverness of it. I pulled the comforter up tight against my chin, making little mnemonic links in my head so I would be able to retrieve at least the kernel of the idea from the foggy recesses of my brain.

So strong was the resonance of that flash of insight that the first thought that traversed the blank expanse of my brain upon waking was one of curiousity. I had an idea, said my sleep-addled brain, a really good idea. Now, where did I put it? And though I spent quite a few minutes sorting through dusty piles of clutter and looking in long-forgotten corners and cupboards in the dark warrens of my brain, it was no use.

There was even one breathtaking moment of near-revelation, when I sensed the impression of the idea standing nearby, waiting for me to quiet my noisy brain long enough to recognize it or follow the breadcrumbs of nearby concepts so the idea could reveal itself to me in all its inspired glory. But no. It’s gone.

Damn. I’m sure it would have been a much better post than this one, too. Any idea what it might have been about?

The Secret, and other thoughts

Jojo dropped off her DVD of The Secret last night, as promised. I’d been hearing a lot about it, and I was curious in a skeptical sort of way. I had mostly dismissed it until some reasonably credible people in my life started singing its praises, and then I heard that the mentoring and coaching program at work was also advocating it.

Beloved and I watched it together, and I have to admit that there were no dramatic epiphanies on either of our parts. The Secret is basically a repackaging of the power of positive thinking mixed in with a bit of theosophy and a little bit of The Force thrown in for good measure… conveniently, the three tenents upon which I’ve already built my own rather esoteric faith system.

The premise is that your thoughts and feelings have a physical power, and that there is a universal “law of attraction” that draws what you think and feel to you. In short, if you send good energy out into the universe, the universe sends good things back to you. I’m completely on board with that philosophy, and have tried to live my life that way for years. Where I am still a little skeptical is the extrapolation from that, where The Secret claims that whatever you want, as minor as a parking spot close to the door at the mall or as major as a multi-million dollar mansion by the beach, you can draw to yourself through three simple steps. First, tell the universe what you want. Second, visualize not only that you actually have what you covet, but allow yourself to experience the positive emotions that you will feel when you have the thing you covet. Third, believe in the power of your thoughts.

Hmmm.

I remember back in the early 1980s when we were growing up, we used to play a lot of cards as a family. My dad, who was in sales at the time, was a hugely strong believer in the power of positive thinking, and he’d slap his hand on the deck of cards and ‘demand’ which card he wanted to pick up. I can’t remember how frequently it would work as a ratio of the number of times he tried it, but damn if it didn’t work at least often enough to leave an impression with me all these years later.

So maybe there is something to this. I mean, I do agree with Shakespeare, who says through Hamlet, “There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”( I,v, 175) And I can’t argue with the underlying premise. I just have trouble with the covetous aspect of this particular philosophy, that you can attract stuff to you by simple virtue of your desire.

I also have a bit of a problem with the idea that you attract everything to yourself, including the bad stuff. You attract cancer and AIDS and poverty through negativity? And the idea that you can cure yourself of something – again, cancer comes to mind, but I’m also thinking of infertility here – by simply willing it away? What really bothers me about this is the implication that if you can’t will it away, you simply aren’t trying hard enough.

Anyway, it was very interesting, and the timing was certainly right. I’ve been making a conscious effort to lead a calmer, less obsessive, more “zen” life since last Wednesday. I’m giving myself over to the universe, placing my faith in fate, and I have to tell you it’s been incredibly liberating.

I’ve decided, for example, not to go for a beta blood test to find out the actual hCG count. This is a huge departure from the girl who kept obsessive results of hormone levels and follicle counts in an excel spreadsheet through four infertility treatments. Those of you who were around last September when I found myself pregnant will remember the great gnashing of teeth and wringing of hands that occurred when the blood test came back at the high end of normal, possibly indicating twins. The great irony, of course, is that high hCG is at least ordinarily an indicator of a strong pregnancy. So, I’ve decided this time to simply be grateful for the positive pregnancy test this time around, and wait patiently for the first ultrasound in two weeks.

Same with the nanny that we interviewed the other day – the same day, in fact, that we found out about the pregnancy. She’s great and I really like her, but I’m not sure we can pay what she needs. So I made our best offer, and she’s been considering it. I could have obsessed and been anxious and fretted for days, but none of that would have made any difference whatsoever. Instead, I’ve given it over to the universe, and know that whatever was meant to be will happen. I’ve done what I can, the rest is up to her.

I’m not sure if I can keep this up, but I’d like to try. I think this is what people who have true faith in God can do – simply turn over their hopes and fears to God, with the faith that God knows best and the Will of God will prevail.

But on the off chance it might help, I think I’ll take a few quiet minutes over the next little while to visualize the new caregiver frolicking happily in the park with my boys, and my round-bellied self waddling up the street to meet them with my heart spilling over with joy. I mean, it can’t hurt, right?

Whaddya think? You buy it?

Thirty years of Star Wars

I’ve been meaning to blog for a few days about the 30th anniversary of the release of Star Wars.

Thirty years.

Thirty!!

Star Wars is, hands down, the single most influential movie in my life. It also happens to remain my all-time favourite movie. My childhood memories are tightly woven into a backdrop of Star Wars movies, toys, books, bubble-gum cards and mythology. On this anniversary weekend, there have been plenty of articles in the media about how seminal Star Wars was, and how it changed the movie landscape forever. From an article in the weekend Citizen:

No wonder the U.S. Library of Congress’ National Film Registry has named Star Wars “a culturally, historically, and aesthetically important” film, or that the American Film Institute placed it 15th on its list of the top 100 films in the 20th century. And then there’s that ubiquitous line from the movie: “May the Force be with you.” The AFI ranks the phrase as the eighth-greatest quote in American film history. In this light, it is no exaggeration to say, as film critic Stephen Greydanus puts it, “the Star Wars universe remains a cultural institution of immense proportions.”

I clearly remember going to see it for the first time. We went with another family, and on the way to the theatre the four adults sat in the front and back seat of our wood-panelled Cutlass Ciera station wagon (it was, after all, 1977) and we kids rolled around like peas in a 10-gallon tub in the back. Return of the Jedi was the first movie my brother and I were allowed to attend without parental supervision; I remember my father dropping us off in front of the downtown cinema – in the days before the mall-based multi-plex – for an 8:30 am showing.

When we got our first VCR in the early 1980s, one of those giant ones with the square buttons you pushed down and held to make them stick and where the lid opened upwards to accept the cassette and the ‘remote’ was attached by a long cord and consisted of an analogue switch with two options ‘pause’ and ‘play’, Star Wars was the first movie we rented and later copied. I lost count of how many times I watched it through high school, but it was in excess of 120 times. (I may have mentioned I didn’t get out much in the earliest years of high school, and by the time I had a pack of friends, they were the kind of good-natured geeks who loved nothing better than to watch Star Wars again and again right along with me after hours spent playing D&D.)

Growing up, my brother had tonnes of Star Wars action figures and playsets. We (note the plural possessive – they may have been gifts for him, but we played with them together) had the ice planet Hoth, the Death Star, and of course, a Millennium Falcon. I had a wicked crush on Luke Skywalker through the first two movies, but as I entered my teen years my tastes strayed from Luke’s clean-cut innocence to the roguish worldliness of Han Solo… because in the end, no matter how good the girl, she always likes the bad boys the best.

All these years later, I will still queue up Star Wars in the DVD player if I have an open stretch of evening and feel for a little cinematic comfort food. I think it’s safe to say that I would personally rank the movies in the descending order they came out, except that I liked Episode III more than Episode I. I’m a purist, though. The new series, the Anakin stories, are good movies in and of themselves, but they don’t hold a candle to the original trilogy.

The Interwebs are full of Star Wars tributes and memes, but these two I couldn’t help but share. Have you seen this this hilarious photo from Flickr? Apparently the US Postal Service decorated mailboxes to look like R2D2 in honour of the movie’s 30th anniversary. The photo is clever, but the comments embedded into it are hilarious. (Note to self: figure out how they did that – very cool!)

And one last treasure to share with you: this clever little plot comparison between Star Wars and Harry Potter from Neat-o-rama. Perhaps this one appealled to me in particular because I’m deep in the heart of the Harry Potter books, currently in the thick of the Goblet of Fire, working my way through the series in anticipation of Deathly Hallows this summer. Funny to think that Harry Potter may be for this generation of kids what Star Wars was for me!

This post is getting unweildy and I still haven’t examined how Star Wars influenced me spiritually, or how Beloved and I still compare and contrast what the movies meant to us growing up. I haven’t had a chance to talk about the quotable Star Wars, and how the language of the movie introduced me to a world of rebel alliances and emperors and bounty hunters and cantinas and smugglers and ambassadors – words I learned for the first time through Star Wars and that coloured forever my understanding of them. I haven’t gotten into how Star Wars made me curious about life on other worlds, and inspired a life-long love of astronomy and fascination with SETI… I could go on for two sets of trilogies!

What does Star Wars mean to you?

A birthday gift for Papa Lou

It’s my Dad’s birthday today. Dad, if you happen to be reading, go away! You can come back tomorrow, but if you read any more you’re going to spoil the surprise of your birthday present.

(I can never tell which of my family members reads the blog with any regularity. I know my Mom reads every day – Hi Mom! – and I’ve set the blog as the default home page on our internet browser, so I know Beloved reads the posts about him and the ones with catchy titles. My sister-in-law in Windsor has said she reads it, but I don’t know how regularly – Hi Belinda! – and while I think my brother mostly ignores it, his wife drops by sporadically. Hi Nat! Where was I going with this? Oh right, I was giving my Dad time to leave the room so we can talk about him.)

My Dad doesn’t ask for much, and he’s difficult to buy for simply because what he wants he immediately goes out and gets. (At least I come by my lack of impulse control honestly!) He has been known to buy stuff for himself on December 23 that someone has already bought and wrapped and tucked under the Christmas tree for him.

So when he mentioned that he would like a cordless drill for his birthday to replace one that wouldn’t hold a charge more than a few minutes, I was thrilled to have an easily obtainable gift that I would love to give, and that he would really need and (hopefully!) would not acquire for himself in the days leading to his birthday.

The only caveat was that he wanted to make sure it had a minimum of XX volts of power. I say XX because within three minutes of the conversation, I was distracted and whatever number fit into that XX slot was lost forever. I think he said 18v, but he might have said 12v; I didn’t want to ask him because that would confirm that I was taking him up on his suggestion and he would know he was getting the drill for his birthday. (Subtle, eh? Almost as subtle as writing on the Internet about it.)

The very next week, Canadian Tire had a nice 12v cordless drill in the flyer for 35% off, and I made a mental note to pick one up and ask my brother if he wanted to share the $50 cost with me. (Hey, we’re Dutch and Scottish; what can I say, we’re cheap.) He didn’t immediately reply to my e-mail, but I wasn’t too worried about it. I saw the flyer on the day before the sale came into effect, and thought every single day of the seven-day sale, “I’ve really got to get over to Canadian Tire and buy that drill.” I finally made it late on the last day of the sale, a good 10 days ahead of my Dad’s birthday. I was a little concerned that he had said he wanted a 18v instead of a 12v, but I figured if he really had his heart set on a 18v, he could just trade up.

Drill safely tucked into my closet, I sent another e-mail to my brother asking if he wanted to go in with me. A few days after that, I saw in a flyer that Zellers had an even nicer 18v cordless drill with two batteries for only $40. More power for less cost? That in itself is a gift my Dad would be all over!! But I promptly forgot through the weekend to get myself over to Zellers to pick one up. So yesterday morning I called Beloved from work and told him his task for the day was to get over to Zellers to buy that drill, and we’d take the other one back to CanTire.

After I called Beloved, I called my brother, who reported that he had in fact received my e-mails, and had found a great deal at Rona on an 18v cordless drill, so he had picked it up. He wasn’t entirely sure how or when he’d get it up to Dad here in Ottawa, but it was still a better deal than the original one I’d bought at CanTire. I told him about the Zellers deal, and he agreed that it was the best deal of all and we would respectively return our other cordless drills to Rona and CanTire.

Are you keeping track? At this point we’ve purchased not one, not two but THREE cordless drills. When we get something into our heads as a family, we really follow through!

Beloved called me late yesterday afternoon to report that he had successfully acquired the third and final drill. He said that while he and the boys were in Zellers, they encountered – of all people – my Dad. I don’t think I’ve ever heard my Dad talk about Zellers before. He likes Winners and WalMart and the dollar store – oh how he loves the dollar store! – but I haven’t ever heard of him haunting Zellers. I was SURE that Beloved would report that they found him with cordless drill in hand, but apparently not. Beloved and the boys had a close call, though, diving into a nearby rack of clothing when they first spotted Papa Lou, and then leaving the drill safely hidden in a pile of clothes while they went over to say hello. Tristan relayed the story to me with great hilarity as I tucked him into bed last night, highly amused that Beloved had to quickly clap his hand over Simon’s mouth as an abrupt end to a sentence that began, “Papa Lou! Guess what? We just bought you a ….”

Okay, so this post is more for me than for you. I’m okay with that if you are. Truth be told, it’s really for my Dad, who is a living example of what a great father and a wonderful grandfather should be. He’d appreciate a story about how his family schemed and planned and leapt behind racks of clothing to avoid him.

Happy birthday, Dad, even if you aren’t allowed to read this post until your birthday is done!

Now, where DID I put the receipt for that first drill?

Doctor doctor

I’ve been feeling like crap all week, and chastising myself for not being able to shake off what seems to be nothing more than a cough, albeit a deep and juicy one. I’ve been sooooooo tired, though, and if I do anything more energetic than, say, lift a coffee cup to my lips, I’ve been left feeling clammy and yucky.

Since Tristan has been on antibiotics for a double ear infection all week, I thought I should cram in a quick visit to the doctor before our camping weekend. Kind of glad I did – turns out I have walking pneumonia. (!) Suddenly I don’t feel so bad about feeling bad! Funny how validating it is to have someone confirm that yes, you are actually sick.

I checked with Dr Google when I got home (a very risky business at the best of times, even post-diagnosis) and lookit that, my doctor with all the fancy degrees is right, the symptoms that have been plaguing me all week do sound like walking pneumonia.

That’s five trips to the doctor in eight days for the four of us – Tristan’s (almost) well-child annual check-up on Wednesday; a double-appointment to the after-hours pediatric clinic on Friday when we noticed discharge coming out of Tristan’s ear (and wanted to get Simon’s chest cough looked at while we were at it); Beloved went to a walk-in clinic for tendon problems in his thumb; plus my visit to my GP. (Sheesh! My last visit to the doctor before this was my d&c follow-up in November; my last visit to my GP was in August.)

Can I get a hallelujah for socialized medicine? The longest any of us waited was 26 hours, for my appointment yesterday. We paid nothing for any of the visits. I’ll get 80% of the drug costs back under my health-care plan at work.

(The boys have no idea what I’m writing about, only that mommy is too busy playing with the computer to pay attention to them. Again. But they’re sitting at my feet playing doctor with Simon’s doctor kit. Way too cute!)

Camping countdown

I’ve been spending a lot of time on the weather website these days. Okay, fair enough, I spend a lot of time over on the weather website to begin with, but I’m spending even more time over there lately. Environment Canada comes out with their updated forecasts around 3:30 each afternoon, so I’ve been clicking over once in the morning and again late in the afternoon to watch the weather trends for our free camping weekend this weekend. Since its been within the 14-day extended forecast, they’ve called for sun, rain, cold temperatures and moderate temperatures. Of course, last year they called for nothing but rain and it turned out to be perfect so why the hell do I bother?

Anyway, speaking of last year, you all gave me the most excellent suggestions on your favourite camping food, which I am continuing to mine this year. But of course, I still need you. We’ve got a three and five year old, plus our two year old nephew, to entertain for two days with no TV and (gasp!) no computer. There is definitely a trip to the dollar store on the agenda for this week, but you can only get so far with disposable crap and colouring books.

What are your favourite camp-type games?

Random thoughts while painting the bathroom

As I’m painting our main-floor two-piece bathroom, I’m blogging the entire thing in my head. I have no idea why I think anyone in the blogosphere needs a scintillating stroke-by-stroke account of me painting the bathroom, but here you go.

  • I like painting. It requires a meticulous mindlessness that is peculiarly calming. Just the right parts of my brain are being engaged in making sure I don’t get excessive paint on the baseboards and ceiling.
  • I like the detailed bits, taping around all the edges and the fixtures, cutting the edges with long strokes, and how just when you think you will never be done – because in a 5 x 5 bathroom with two fixtures it takes five times as long to cut as to roll – you haul out the roller and you go from not even close to done in about seven minutes.
  • We have lived in this house for almost four years, and are just now getting around to painting over the pepto-bismal pink and cream colour of the main-floor bathroom. We tore down the pink and blue flowered wallpaper border more than a year ago. We are, on the whole, fairly lazy about home improvement tasks around here.
  • When we moved in, the whole house was dominated by a pink-and-blue colour scheme, with several variations on a floral wallpaper border. I’m so not a pink-and-blue-with-flowers sort of girl.
  • Five foot eight inches seems to be about the perfect height to be able to reach the ceiling cut line with a handheld roller, without having to stand on tiptoe. Conveniently, I am exactly 5’8″.
  • The people at Home Depot need to take a page from the people at Ikea and provide some sort of diversion for kids if they want to maximize parental spending. Mischevious three year olds do not have much patience for the selection and preparation of paint and primer.
  • It is nearly impossible to paint a 5 x 5 bathroom without getting paint on your ass.
  • Whomever said you shouldn’t fret over choosing a paint colour because you can always just buy another colour and do it over again obviously never painted with a three and five year old in the house.
  • The average preschooler can ask approximately 3,923 questions about paint, colours, masking tape, rollers, brushes, sponges and rocketships in the time it takes to paint a bathroom.
  • There is no easy way to paint behind a toilet, and it is simply impossible to paint behind a toilet without getting paint in your hair. It’s been many years since I spent so much time in such intimate contact with my toilet.
  • If the paint drips into your coffee, it makes your coffee taste very, very bad.
  • Long after both boys are potty trained and we leave the world of diapers behind, I will continue to buy baby wipes. I used them to dust the top of the door frame, wipe paint drips off faucet, get smeared paint off the towel bar and wipe the black ink off my feet from standing on newsprint.
  • Writing a post about painting the bathroom takes up exactly the right amount of time to let the first rolled coat sit before you roll on the second coat.
  • Blogging about painting a bathroom seems like a much better idea when you are painting the bathroom and thinking about blogging than when you are blogging and thinking about painting the bathroom.