Category: food (page 1 of 2)

yeah, whatever day

july 8

 

Today was not good from a physical fitness perspective, but pretty damn fine in terms of self care. I call it a yeah, whatever day. I know I should be doing something else, but yeah whatever. My dad would call it being logey.

My GI tract’s reaction to the grocery store sushi kept me up most of the night, and I spent most of the day on the couch alternating between watching Penny Dreadful and napping. I felt better by dinnertime, so we went and joined BrainMc and his wife Stacie for poutine as a last visit before they moved on in their travels. There were a few more steps than 28; I decided to leave the FitBit at home because, yeah, whatever.

And after the poutine, a stop for an ice cream at Ed’s Real Scoop seemed like a brilliant idea. A much better one than grocery store sushi, that’s for damn sure!

 

Grocery store sushi

Grocery store sushi only sounds like a good idea, until it isn’t.

Honestly, I should know better, but I was at work and could not look at another crappy 5 Guys burger or crappy Tim Horton’s sandwich. The sushi tasted good at the time, but let’s just say that there is not one area of my gastro-intestinal system that is currently happy with my good idea at the time.

The plus side is that I do not feel like my usual late night snacking. There will be NO PROBLEM keeping under my allotted calorie limit today.

Sharp contrast to yesterday when all I really did was snack. Actually, I’m going to use the term graze. It just sounds nicer. Oh, and drank. Brian and Stacie, friends from Atlanta, are in Toronto being tourists so I met up with them in the evening and went through some of the $5 Sunday pint menu at BarHop. I am both sad and happy that I do not live closer to BarHop.

I hit the Toronto Outdoor Art Exhibition at Nathan Phillips Square before meeting them to scope out all the lovely creative pieces I cannot afford. There was the usual same-old-same-old (oh, look, another painting of the Great Canadian Shield done in the style of one of the Group of Seven), but there were some truly spectacular artists that piqued my interest.

One is Becca Wallace who does some great photography with old toys (robots!!). I showed Keith some of her work, and we’re going to commission her to shoot some of our old childhood toys in the same fashion.

Another artist I spoke to for a while was Blair McKean who does scorched wood art – think kid’s woodburning kit all grown up.

But the one exhibitor that really fried my noodle were these wire work sculptures by James Paterson. Words fail to express how full of delight they are.

Yes, I know it’s sideways. Believe when I say it will be easier for you to tilt your head for five seconds than it will be for me to remain seated long enough to find and apply a fix. Someday I will learn to rotate my phone 90 degrees.

It’s pretty nifty though, eh?

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And before I forget, here’s my tracking for the last two days.

Yesterday:

july 6

 

And today:

July 7

 

Now I’m off to bed in the hopes that the Imodium and Gravol I’ve taken start working soon. Fucking grocery store sushi.

Too late?

It’s 10:30 pm, and I’ve had a busy, active day according to my FitBit:

Screen Shot 2014-07-05 at 10.24.55 PM

I have eaten healthy all most of the day according to MyFitnessPal:

Screen Shot 2014-07-05 at 10.26.01 PM

 

So I find myself at home at the end of the day, feet up, watching Netflix and sipping one of the delicious beers I brought back from Quebec in March, looking at the extra calories remaining, and thinking

Is it too late in the evening for a bacon sandwich?

Tuesday

It’s a cold, blustery day out there. I walked to the store for some supplies, but was happy to be back inside again. Now it’s all about writing while listening to the cat snore. Every once in a while, the wind rattles the windows on the twenty-first floor and roars through the valley below, stripping the last of the leaves from the trees and sending them spiralling upward.

IMG_1677

When I’m not writing or knitting and finishing Battlestar Galactica, I’m catching up on my Feedly updates and trying not to be tempted by things I cannot even begin to afford on what I get on EI.

IMG_1673Like this bottle of Samuel Adams’ Utopias. It’s seems hideously expensive at $115/bottle ($150 in the US), but after reading reviews what goes into making this rich sipping beer – hand selected malts and hops, aging in port and rum barrels for years – I was most curious about it. One of the observers at my beer class brought a spent bottle in to last night’s class, and even thought there was nothing left in it, the rich aromas of of caramel, figs and cherries that swirled from its depths cinched it. I can’t afford it now, but know that it’s on my bucket list in my more solvent future.

Or this, this is finally a thing – a throwable panoramic camera. While it would be super cool to have one, it’s not a bucket list item. Especially at $600.

I still want one though.


My Suzy Homemaker moment for the day:

pasta

I made the super simple and elegant Marcella Hazan’s tomato sauce. Three ingredients – one 28oz can of good quality tomatoes (San Marzano is suggested, but I couldn’t find them), five tablespoons of butter and one onion, peeled and halved. Combine them and simmer together for 45 minutes to create something that is definitely more than the sum of it’s parts. So. Good.

FUNemployment, week 1

It’s been just over a week since I walked out of the school for the last time, and so far it feels just like any summer break I’ve taken over the last 12 years.

Well, except for the occasional stomach-dropping, headache-inducing moment of utter panic when I remember that I am an unemployed 51-year-old with no formal education and no real clue about what she wants to be when/if she grows up. But then I talk to Keith or call/text/email a friend who will patiently list my many positives for the umpteenth time until I stop hyperventilating and step away from the ledge.

But other than those moments, it’s been a fun week. School finished on the Thursday, capped by an evening out on a local patio, drinking with my soon-to-be-former colleagues. There were speeches for the staff departing; mine was given by Andy, my fellow beer-loving punk-rocker. It the longest, sweetest, most eloquent and had the added benefit of making the principal who fired me look like she had just taken a bite of an apple only to find half a worm dangling from the core. There were hugs at the end of the night, and promises to keep in touch in varying degrees of sincerity, which will likely not happen now that the only common ground has been removed.

I left the next morning for my writing retreat, feeling only very slightly hung over. I was on the bike, it was a sunny day and I was heading to a cottage on the shores of Georgian Bay to spend a weekend doing some of the things I like the best. It was a great ride along roads I’d not been on before with a stop at the Meaford waterfront park for one of the best burgers I’ve ever had from a chip truck. I arrived at Chris’s family cottage around 2, settled in, and sat on the beach for a while drinking in a view filled with only sky and water. Everyone else arrived, and the day was filled with laughter and workshops.

My sense of peace and equanimity went to shit sometime after breakfast the next day. My period started and I experienced cramps so painful that I couldn’t sit up for the morning workshop (I blame the Super Moon!), and spent the afternoon in bed cuddled up to a hot water bottle and letting the hormone roller coaster take me for a spin out of control. No writing, just crying. It wasn’t pretty. Bad-ass biker chick cover was completely blown. The day was saved by the kindness of the women around me – I can’t describe just how awesome they all were.

I couldn’t really get completely out from under the shadow of Saturday’s melt-down though. I had been looking forward to the weekend for months, and I felt like I’d blown it, wasted my money by not partaking.  I did get a few things written, but not what I’d wanted.

Sigh. File it under Shit Happens, and move on.

The rest of the week was moderately productive. Keith was working the Toronto Jazz Festival all week, so I spent my afternoons knitting and watching Torchwood on Netflix. I finished a pair of socks in 8 days – a new record that only sounds good if you’re a knitter. Otherwise, it’s just kind of sad.

The Headstones played on Thursday, a private event for the fans (like me) who had backed their new album on PledgeMusic.com. As always, it was a great show, but a bit surreal to be back in Lee’s Palace after a decade away. The scene of so many bad decisions  looked both bigger and smaller, vastly different and yet completely the same, proving once again that memory is a tricky thing.

I crossed over to the dark side on Saturday – I bought a Macbook Pro. It’s used and the battery is crap, but it’s got the software I need on it and I can do the programming I need anywhere. I’ve been working on it for three days now. I am still waiting for it to change my life.

Sunday was a lazy day – we went to a friend’s cottage and basically hung out on the deck and chatted about everything and nothing while listening to the wind in the pine trees.

Which brings us to yesterday, Canada Day. We talked about going out and doing something, seeing a movie or going for a walk, but inertia proved stronger than desire. I made strawberry jam for the first time since leaving my parent’s house and Keith made scones and coffee. We feasted on them all day as we watched odd movies like Sushi Girl (think Tarantino wanna-be), and finished them off as we sat at the window and watched fireworks around the city.

 

 

week of April 21

Thinking about doing something every day is not the same thing as actually doing that something. So, today I blog.

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This collage of photos taken around the Grand Canyon on our honeymoon in December of 2003. I mention this because we finalized most of our plans for our tenth anniversary trip to the same area. Flights booked, car rental is booked, 5 of the 8 hotels are booked. We’ll be landing in Vegas on our anniversary, and traveling to the Grand Canyon South Rim, The View Hotel in Monument Valley, Antelope Canyon, a stop at Lone Rock Beach near Page where they filmed the Lake Silencio scenes of Doctor Who, Zion Mountain Ranch, Zion National Park, Yosemite National park (or the parts we can get to in winter), San Jose, Big Sur and the California coast roads down to Santa Maria, over to Death Valley, back to Las Vegas then home.

If you live anywhere near these spots, expect a call closer to December to make arrangements to meet up for dinner!

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We are not that big on birthdays anymore, Keith and I, but we will use them as an excuse to go out to a good restaurant and spend a wad on a tasting menu.

This year, we picked Yours Truly from the Food edition of Toronto Life. We saw very quickly why it was their pick for top restaurant of 2012. We went on Monday when the vibe was pretty laid back (I hear it gets nutty on weekends), and had the Carte Blanche tasting menu, which runs 15-20 courses. I have no idea how many courses we had, but there was not a dud in the bunch. I even liked the oyster, and I don’t really like oysters very much. The East End cocktail was so delicious I had another, and it was a joy to watch a good bartender who knows what he’s doing. We decided somewhere between the garlic knots and the risotto that we would not wait until a special occasion to come back, and by the lemon curd with tobacco-infused cherry dessert, we wanted to come back next week.

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My brother told me about a month ago that the Stranglers were touring North America. Yes, I thought, let’s go!

Then I started waffling. They kind of dropped off my radar once Hugh Cornwell left the band in 1990, and while the old stuff is still in heavy rotation on my Nostalgia Rears It’s Ugly Head playlist, I haven’t listened to anything from them since then. And then I saw the concert poster. They seem so …old. And if they are that old, then that must mean that I am that old, and how can I maintain my youthful delusions if my youthful heros are so obviously no longer youthful?

Best to remember them as I remember them, I thought.

However, sometime around Tuesday this thought bubbled to the surface: if not now, then when? So I went and bought tickets. Now to find someone to go with me.

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The new seat is on the motorcycle, as are the heated handgrips. I’ve ridden to work three times this week, even yesterday when I knew it would be pissing rain for my ride home.

It brings me more joy than I can describe.

*********

It’s been 8 days since I had a molar extracted. Shouldn’t it stop aching sometime soon?

Sundays really are tedious

The list of things I was supposed to accomplish today wasn't that long. I could have gotten through them, or at least some of them. But I didn't.

I did the usual Sunday stuff; did laundry, made soup, got some writing done, practiced guitar. I should have made cookies though since I promised the grade 9's that if I didn't have their marks ready for Monday that I would give them cookies. Their marks are not ready and I guess I need to stop for cookies on the way in to work.

Me and my big mouth.

I did play around with Processing a bit and explored the Media Computation website from Georgia Tech that one of the presenters from yesterday suggested. It has potential, and works with the Python lessons I was planning for second term. So today wasn't a total wash.

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Stepped on the scales today, and the number no longer starts with a 2, which makes me quite happy.

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FIve more days until the NaBloPoMo is over. I've mostly liked this, but after 25 days have come to the conclusion that my life is not nearly interesting enough for daily updates. Maybe not even weekly for that matter.

 

Uneventful

Today was one of those days that kind of flowed along. It didn't seem like I got much accomplished, but looking at my to-do list, I see that I have checked off about 6 things. Doesn't seem like much, but it's more than I've checked off in the previous 5 days combined.

Laundry was done. It was absolutely necessary as I found myself down to one pair of comfy pants that really should not be seen outside of the apartment – they're a size too big now (yay) and the elastic is shot so I have to decide between hitching them up every two steps or just giving up and low ride. One is annoying, the other is not attractive or comfortable at all. I was also down to the early-warning underwear (EWU). Every woman has a pair. Mine used to be a pair of cotton granny panties, but somehow over the last while it's changed to the purple lace tap shorts that look great on, but are not as comfortable under clothing as I would like. Interesting how it's swung from one extreme to the other. I blame my change of life.

I also cooked today. Keith cleaned the freezer, and the turkey from Thanksgiving ended up in the fridge, so soup had to be made. Thank FSM for my slow cooker. I also made a roast beef dinner. It's been so long since I made one, I placed an emergency text to Juliette, my foodie friend. Two seconds after hitting Send, I remembered the Melbourne/Toronto time difference and looked up temperatures and cooking times on teh Interwebs. The beef was good. The roasted vegetables, well, not so much. As Keith remarked, it just meant we had more room for pie. I did not make the pie.

I cleaned my desk. There are a couple of black holes on it, places where odd bits that don't have any real home tend to congregate. The once the odd bits reach a critical state they start to generate a field that attracts other items, things that have homes but somehow appear either by the printer or to the left of the monitor. Hair elastics (which puzzles me as my hair is so short I don't even use them any more), hand cream, tweezers, mittens (yes, it's getting that cold), one double pointed knitting needle, my WFTDA officiating manual, a shawl pin, an apple, a handful of mixed US & Canadian change, a half ball of yarn, a toy robot and a pair of binoculars are now back in their rightful places.

I finished marking the grade 9 tests, the grade 10 photography challenge and created a quiz for the grade 12 computer science class and an assignment for the grade 7 programming unit.

I did a final polish on the copper cup as Keith had offered to put spray a protective coating on the outside. Apparently it wasn't *quite* shiny enough. Keith went to give it a better polish and dropped it, giving it a nice crumpled ding at it's base. Irksome, yes, but it's not like it was perfect to begin with.

I also organized one of my stash drawers. I successfully located the 4 balls of yarn that I put aside last month thinking to exchange them for a different colour but thought I'd lost the receipts but then found them when I cleaned my desk.

I practiced guitar for a bit. The grade 7's are kicking my ass, and I need to catch up. I am not enjoying chord changes.

I knitted some. I started on a scarf for a friend but didn't like the yarn. Frog. Found a better one in my stash, but the needles I used were too big. Frog. Got the right needle size, but realized after knitting about 5″ that angora is not a great yarn for a lace project. Frog. Put it all away to think about it a bit more.

We watched a couple of movies; Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter which was could have been fun but wasn't, and Cockneys vs. Zombies which could have been dreadful but wasn't.

So that's been my day. Yawn. Aren't you glad I blogged this?

 

June 20

Day 20 – Fave photo I’ve ever taken

this is my all time favourite photograph. Everytime I look at it, I remember how tired and sweaty I felt, how hot I was. But most importantly, I remember the night we stayed at the Canyonlands Motel.

**********

Baby Boo and the Canyonlands Motel

You can always tell the people who have never really “ridden off into the sunset”. They’re the ones who still think it’s romantic.

The reality is anything but romantic. The sun is blazing into your eyes, and no matter how you squint, you can’t really see what’s up ahead. You can feel the mother of all headaches begin to take up residence between your temples. You’re hot. You’re tired, and tired of being on the road. You’re hoping that a decent motel will magiclly appear over the horizon, one with air conditioning and a mini bar. And you discover that hell is an empty, westward highway that never ends.

That is where I was late one August day. We’d been riding since the morning, through a desert heat that we were not used to. We were both dehydrated and tired. Monument Valley was visually dramatic in the late afternoon sunshine, but the view was not enough to stop me from wishing I’d forced a stop in Mexican Hat a half hour before. We hadn’t seen another vehicle on the road and I figured we were about halfway between Mexican Hat and Kayenta, quite literally in the middle of nowhere.

I looked in my rear view mirror and saw a view I had to photograph. Keith was ahead of me and I knew he wouldn’t be happy about a delay, but I pulled over anyway. I watched him ride off, taking the camera gear with him. While I waited for him to notice I wasn’t there anymore, I took the water bottle out of my pack and took a long swig of the tepid water that did nothing to wash away the bright metallic taste of the heat and the dust.

The look on Keith’s face as he pulled off his helmet matched the tone of his voice as he said, “What now?”. I gestured back the way that we had came, at what I had seen in the mirror.

“I need to take a photo.”

He looked the view, really looked at the vivid red desert bisected by new blacktop so straight that it seemed like it went through the distant red cliff rather than curve around it. He saw the same thing I did, and handed me the camera. He smiled and said, “Good eye. I’d have missed that one.”

He gave me some hints on composition, and we talked sporadically while I aimed the camera at the scenes around me.

“I’m about done”, he said as I sat in the middle of the road, focusing on the distant hills. I pressed the shutter button twice before I answered.

“Yeah, me too. Where do suppose we are?”

Keith helped me up and took the camera to take some shots of the dusty bikes in that golden sunshine.

“Middle. Of. Nowhere.”

“Literally. What do you figure, we’re about halfway to the next town?””

“The question now, ” he said as he put the camera away, “is do we go on? Or do we go back?”

I remembered the two-story hotel I had seen beside the river in Mexican Hat, the one with the all-important air-conditioning grills under each of the windows that overlooked the San Juan River. I mentioned it to Keith and added, “Plus, we’ll have the sun at our backs for the half hour, rather than it glaring in our eyes”.

“Sold. Let’s go.”The ride back seemed quicker, as it always does when you know that the end is in sight. We pulled into the hotel’s courtyard and smiled at each other in relief as we walked into the office. An older woman with long white hair, wearing a white tshirt over an ankle length red peasant skirt, smiled at us and gently explained that there was no vacancy, hadn’t we seen the sign?

I know I blinked in surprise. No vacancy? WTF does that mean? It took me a second to remember that it meant no room at the inn. In all of our travels over the previous years, we had never encountered No Vacancy in any of the budget or mom and pop motels wh had ever stopped in. There was always room and we had grown complacent.

The wind had been knocked out of my sails, but Keith still had the presence of mind to ask her if she could recommend another hotel in town, someplace clean and cheap.

“Go to the Canyonlands Motel. It’s up the hill on the left, beside the gas station. Don’t even bother with the other ones, they’re crap.”

Off we went, up the hill and turned left into an uneven gravel parking lot. The Canyonlands Motel looked pretty dismal, with cracked stucco around each door and a broken neon sign that now only said “Budget Rat s”.

“Well, this is special.” I muttered to Keith as we headed to the office after making sure that the NO part of NO VACANCY was unlit on both sides of the sign.

“At least it will be cheap,” he replied. He really is a most frugal man.

We opened the door, and I worked to keep my face blank. I’m sure it was a tidy place once, but now it had the look of a place that had slipped quietly by inches. It wasn’t dirty, just messy as hell. People had put stuff just anywhere rather than put it away. Folded linens were piled high on the end of the counter in a tower that had a decided lean to it. A large dented industrial vacuum squatted in the corner in front of red vinyl chairs that had been new a few decades before. One of the chairs had a dirty white plastic bucket on it, filled with cleaning supplies with a pair of used yellow rubber gloves tossed over them. A box of cheap garbage bags sat on the other chair. Magazines and rolls of hotel toilet paper and boxes of thin motel soap were set down anywhere with no attempt at organization.

A teenage girl sat at a computer on the other side of the counter, sitting back in an old office chair with her feet up on the counter. She slowly put her feet down when we asked her if they had any rooms available.

“Sure,” she said, giving us a wide smile through snaggle teeth. It was my turn to get the accommodations so I chatted with her as I filled out the card. She was friendly, if a bit odd. Her hair had been dyed black, but a while ago and her roots were coming in a mousy blond. Frankly, it looked like it had been cut by a lawn mower, choppy and spikey in the most peculiar way. She wore black eyeshadow which only served to highlight how small and porcine her eyes were in that round white face, and the scarlet lipstick had been applied outside the lip line giving her a clownish look. She stood up as I finished filling in the our information, and I saw that her glitter nailpolish had been picked off and chipped halfway down each bitten nail.

The crowning glory of her look had to be her tshirt. It had to be at least 2 sizes too small and covered her ample form like a sausage casing ready to split. A black and red banner design had been airbrushed on it and the words Baby Boo was written in a bilious purple script that warped and distorted as the tshirt stretched over her chest.

“If ya need anythin, just call. I’m ______ and I’ll be happy to help ya.”

We both forgot her name immediately. To us, she would always be just Baby Boo.

A green rental car pulled into the parking lot as we walked out of the office, disgorging two couples that spoke in German to each other. The men talked to each other in that way that said what a great adventure this is and sauntered to the office. The women stayed by the car with slightly shell-shocked expressions and looked silently at the motel buildings. One caught my eye and we exchanged a smile and a slight shrug, silently commiserating with each other that we had ended up here in this dismal spot.

Keith started to unpack his bike while I wrestled with an aged sliding glass door, trying to get into the room. Finally he had to come and help. So much gravel and dust had settled in the tracks that the whole exercise took far longer than it should have, and nothing we did could get them closed again. Frankly that was just as well; the room was stuffy and hot after being closed up all afternoon and the faint breeze was more important than security right then.

The room held no surprises. It was as dejected as the rest of the place. A brown and beige shag carpet filled the room and was matted with more gravel and dust from years of travellers coming in from the parking lot. Both double beds slumped noticeably in the middle and the cheap nylon comforters had pulls and snags distorting the shiny satin-like surface. Everything seemed clean though and the scent of bleach overlaid the smell of heat and dust. I won’t touch anything but the sheets, I thought. AndNO WAY am I walking on that floor in bare feet.

While Keith fiddled with the TV and looked for the air conditioning controls I checked out the bathroom. Clean but dingy pretty much sums it up. While the porcelain and tiles were clean, everything was just a little chipped and shabby. I wondered how I would ever get dry with towels as threadbare as the ones hanging on a pitted chrome rail.

“You’re not gonna believe this,” Keith called from the other room.

“Only one channel?”

“Worse. No air conditioning.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!?”

“There’s this space up near the ceiling, but I don’t know if that’s it.”

I sighed. “Well, let’s go ask on our way to get some food.”

“You going to shower first?”

“No, let’s just go. I’ll just get all sweaty and dusty again. I’ll shower before bed.”

Baby Boo was still in the office, and looked genuinely puzzled when Keith explained that there was no air conditioner in the room.

“Oh there totally is. There’s one in every room. It’s just a little different that what most people are used to.”

That was our introduction to swamp coolers, also known as evaporative coolers. It is not, as Baby Boo claimed, an air conditioner. It is a fan that blows air over water, and cools by adding humidity into the room. She told Keith how to turn it on, and I waited by the road while he went back to the room to get it started.

“You’re not going to like it,” he said to me when he came back.

“Like what?”

We started walking down the road to find a restaurant.

“The room is getting damp, but not cool. I think separate beds tonight”

I sighed. I didn’t like it very much, but we’d learned that a night spent trying not to roll into the dip in the middle of an old bed didn’t make for a good night’s rest.

We passed another hotel as we walked, and we tried to peer into the dim lobby as we passed it.

“How bad does this place have to be, if it’s worse than the Canyonlands?” I asked Keith.

“Maybe the woman at the San Juan Inn gets a kick back.”

“Just how much of a kick back can one expect from a $60 a night room?” I wondered.

Mexican Hat is not a big place, one of those blink-and-you-miss-it towns, so we soon found a sign for the Swingin’ Steakhouse. The smell of barbeque was too good for us to look for another restaurant. We walked around a fence to find ourselves on a partially covered patio. There was a bar at one end, and about 10 old-style melamine tables with mismatched chrome chairs. The flag stones were uneven, and everything wobbled no matter how we shifted our chairs or propped up a table leg with a folded napkin. We turned our chairs so we could see the other end of the patio.

Here was a large firepit, maybe one meter by three meters with a grill hanging from chains suspended over the glowing charcoal fire. It was attended by a young man in a dark cowboy hat with black jeans and tshirt, who drank from a steady supply of long-neck Budweiser bottles as he tended to the orders on the grill and kept it swinging steadily over the flame

“You want chicken or beef,” asked the heavily tanned blond who could have been 30, could have been 50. “There’s nothin’ else.”

We both settled on the beef, and I added a Bud to my order. Keith wondered idly what vegetarians would order.

“There’s salad and beans and bread that comes with,” said our waitress helpfully.

“Guess this isn’t the place to be a vegetarian,” Keith remarked after she left.

“Umm…no,” I said, laughing as I looked at the big slabs of steak on the grill

We sat on the patio and watched the stars come out in a perfectly clear sky as we enjoyed what is possibly the best steak dinner we have ever had. I splurged and followed it up with a piece of home made apple crumble a la mode (“that means it comes with ice cream, ya know”), that was so good it made me sleepy with contentment.

We walked back to the motel hand-in-hand, pleased with the dinner at the Swingin’ Steak. and the night in general. While I waited for the eight daddy-long-leg spiders that had been lingering in the tub to wash down the drain before I stepped in for my shower, I thought about what had been a good day’s ride followed by a good dinner with good company. And as Keith later remarked, even though it wasn’t the best of accommodations, Baby Boo and the Canyonlands Motel made for a good story.

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The next morning, we rode along the same route. It turned out that where we stopped so I could take the photo had actually been much closer to Kayenta than Mexican Hat. If we had carried on another 15 minutes, we would have been in the kind of town you find where two highways intersect, with chain hotels, Denny’s and MacDonalds. Air conditioning a-plenty, but no good stories.

 

44/366

Thought of my mum today. What better way to remember her than to make her favourite recipe, a light and lovely lemon loaf:

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