Making a 'Not-to-do' List

There’s a familiar holiday song that goes something like, “He’s making a list, checkin’ it twice…” etc. Well, first of all I’ve always thought the lyrics should be changed to reflect what really happens during the holiday season: “She’s making a list, checkin’ it thrice (then running ‘round like crazy and NO, it’s not so nice). And then I began to wonder if making a ‘to-do’ list is really the best way to deal with the stress of the holiday season (and life in general) – after all, a list is a tangible reminder that we have way too much to do and no time to do it.

Then last week I discovered there was a far less stressful way to approach things: Turn the concept of the list on its head and start making a ‘not-to-do’ list. How? Well, like me there’s probably stuff on your to-do list you actually don’t need to do, especially during the holiday season. For example, do you really need to head to the malls a gazillion times, fight through crowds of stressed out people, just to buy run-of-the-mill presents and made-in-China stocking stuffers? Or can you move ‘mall visits’ to your ‘not-to-do’ list, and shop at local stores, make your own gifts or, better yet, move all your 'purchase-presents tasks' to your not-to-do list and give a gift of time to your loved one. For example, you could have tea with you Great Aunt Mabel or take your Mom out for dinner or build a gingerbread house with your kids. It's such a wonderful concept, although you may get some resistance from your family, especially if it's your turn to cook the turkey dinner. But, if anyone complains I would just tell them you’ve just double-checked your ‘not-to-do’ list and if they want dessert they’ll have to bring it themselves. Already the weight of the season’s expectations is lifting from my shoulders. Now, I’m actually looking forward to the delights of the holiday season – both the nice and the little bit naughty. 

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Coffee That's Top of the Crop

It’s used as an aphrodisiac, was once hailed by religious scholars for its ability to give them divine insight and today, millions of people around the world don’t feel quite human until they’ve had their first sip of morning java.

It’s quite an achievement for the small cherry-colored berry that was discovered 1,500 years ago in the mountains of Arabia. The story goes something like this: A young goatherd was watching his flock munching obsessively on trees bursting with red berries. He noticed that after their red-berry meal the goats were friskier than usual, so one day he decided to try a few of those berries himself and discovered what dedicated java-junkies around the world know – coffee is the elixir of life.

Since that initial discovery, coffee has established itself in almost every corner of the earth and is the world’s second most-traded commodity (the first being oil.) More recently, it’s started to get kudos from the medical world for its health benefits, with the latest missive declaring it might reduce the risk of skin cancer.

Of course, all coffee is not created equal and being a passionate connoisseur of the beverage, I’ve had my share of the good, the bad and the ugly. Because of that there are a few cafés that have won my undying loyalty as I know that every time I go I’ll be served a coffee that’s sublime (and Fair Trade, Direct Trade and/or organic, too). Here are a few of my favourites:

Mad Rona’s: I may live on Gabriola Island, but unfortunately the only time I get to indulge in Mad Rona’s coffee is on the weekend. When Chris and Lana opened for business they offered a different brand of coffee. In search of perfection, they soon switched things up and today brew Drumroaster Coffee roasted in Cobble Hill, Vancouver Island. Every weekend I bless them for making the switch when I head in for my shot-in-the-dark – a shot of espresso, with a perfect ‘crema’, poured into a dark roast coffee. Yep, my weekends are gooood (Bonus: Lana’s baked goods taste like your mom’s).

Café Artigiano: I first discovered this Italian café on Hornby Street in Vancouver. It was before Mad Rona’s had opened and frankly it had been a long time since I’d tasted a really good cup of coffee. I ordered a latte, cozied into the beautiful Italian décor and took a sip. Tears literally sprang to my eyes as the strong, bittersweet taste of good espresso, perfectly balanced with steamed milk, hit my tastebuds, delighting body, mind and spirit simultaneously. (Bonus: They have a number of different locations including one in Victoria.) 

Elysian Coffee: My first experience of drinking coffee here was after I did the Grouse Grind in the pouring rain, following an 80-year-old man, who sprinted up the trail, leaving me panting with embarrassment and exhaustion behind. I was cold, wet and humiliated when I arrived at Elysian, so I barely registered that the barista was brewing my coffee personally – grinding just the right amount of beans for my cup, carefully heating the water and then deftly combining the two. Too desperate to waste time with milk and sugar I took a sip and – epiphany – it was the first time I realized coffee could be divine just the way it is. (Bonus: Here, you can try rare and limited roasts of coffee)

And one on my “to do” list:

Freakin’ Coffee Shop: I have yet to taste the coffee here but a friend of mine swears it’s the best on Vancouver Island. And apparently the décor lives up to its name, too.

Foodies of all ages, rejoice

According to my husband, our ten year old son has been to more restaurants on Vancouver Island than the most dedicated food critic. While the word exaggeration comes to mind in response to this, it’s true our son has followed in my footsteps and become a dedicated foodie, or at least dedicated to eating the finest fries and most heavenly hamburgers. Fortunately for me, Vancouver Island has become a foodie paradise in the last decade or so and there are a plethora of restaurants up and down the island that cater to both his demands, and my more, um, refined palate.

Last time we were in Victoria we spent a memorable evening at Ferris’ Oyster Bar & Grill, where the specialty is BC oysters. They can be had fresh, barbecued or tucked into a variety of dishes including pasta (and yes, there is an oyster burger on the menu). My son’s favourite part was sitting at the bar (the only seats available) as waiters rushed around us and the personable bartender regaled us throughout dinner with (mostly) age-appropriate tales.

If we don’t make it as far south as Victoria then we head to Merridale Cidery in Cobble Hill. My son spends his time exploring the acres of apple trees, and, when he was a younger, looking for fairy homes (they really are there). I prefer sipping a selection of made-on-the-spot ciders and both of us enjoy indulging in a bistro lunch where even I don’t mind indulging in the burger – the house lamb and rosemary burger that is.

By far my son’s favourite restaurant on Vancouver Island is at the Chemainus Theatre. Yep, you read that right. The staff at this delightful theatre created the perfect day or evening out when they started a pre-show buffet. No need to worry about that glass of wine you just had and forget about watching the time — you’re already at the theatre so you aren’t going to be late. The plays are family-friendly and some of the best I’ve seen on the island, although my son still insists his favourite part of the day is eating the “hash-browny” fries in the restaurant.

If your child is not distracted by the gaggle of goats eating grass on the roof at what the locals refer to as Coombs Market in, well, Coombs, then he or she will get lost in the fantastic toy section inside. Adults can browse shelves that are stuffed with goods from all over the world and then indulge in some of the most delicious baked goods this side of the mainland. And yes, they also have hamburgers and fries.

Where they don’t have burgers and fries is at Hot Chocolates – a chocolate-lovers heavan in Courtenay. My son doesn’t seem to mind his favourite foods are not on menu here, as the hand-made artisan truffles and home-made gelato are enough to make him slow down long enough for me to sip one of their mochas and indulge in my own grown-up chocolate delight.

Shoes, Glorious Shoes

After reading that the US is “mulling” the idea of fencing the Canada-US borderto “help keep out terrorists and other criminals”, I thought, “Crikey, here’s a perfect editorial topic.” Then, I reconsidered. After all, why dwell on how badly Obama has let us down, when we could instead discuss something far more interesting and timely – shoes. Yes, shoes. They are a timely subject, for the seasons are a’ changing and when that happens, almost every woman in the northern hemisphere peers into her closet with one question in mind – how can I justify buying new shoes for the new season? I’ll admit many (though not all) men find the topic of shoes confusing, but there is a fundamental reason women everywhere love shoes: no matter what size or shape we are, all of us look fabulous in a great pair of shoes. Like a good friend, shoes support us, are there for life’s ups and downs, and help us celebrate every occasion. There’s the, “let’s party shoe”, the “I need to be comfortable shoe” and the “I’m a professional, take-me-seriously shoe”. There are even shoes for women who profess to not care about shoes (Birkenstocks anyone?). However, there is one problem with shoes I never thought I’d fall prey to – owning too many. Then a friend wanted to know how many pairs of shoes I had. I said no more than 10, and was quite shocked to discover the number was, ahem, slightly higher. As a result, I’m now on a shoe-buying moratorium, living vicariously through other people. Well, I was, until I looked at my favourite-shoe website, El Naturalista. And suddenly I’m thinking…one more pair can’t hurt, right? After all, I don’t yet own a “jumping across a completely unnecessary border-fence shoe”.

West Coast Summer Nostalgia

Looking at the long weekend weather from the vantage point of Friday morning, it looks like our worst-weather-on-the-west-coast summer might, finally, be shifting. I hope this proves to be true and you’re all reading this with a smile on your sun-kissed faces. If not then read on – this is your reminder of what our summers are usually like and why you don’t need to pack up and move to warmer climes. Because the reason we live where we do is there’s no better place on earth than the west coast during a proper summer. Where else can you…

…catch a Pacific salmon in the afternoon and barbecue it for dinner accompanied by locally brewed beer or a delightful BC vintage

…take a break from the summer heat wandering through rainforests

…buy, beg, borrow or steal a boat and cruise through sheltered waters accompanied by speckled seals, orcas, dolphins, eagles, cormorants etc

…sip a beverage of choice at an ocean side pub and watch the sunset over some of the most spectacular mountains in the world

…spend hours at the beach, discovering purple starfish, limpets, crabs, and tiny fish

…jump, dive, somersault off spectacular sandstone cliffs, or just go for a swim in ocean water warmed by sundrenched sand and rocks

…camp surrounded only by local wildlife

…spend lazy summer evenings at the beach with a picnic dinner.

I could go on but word count restricts me. But maybe, if the summer weather continues to fluctuate madly, we should start a Sounder column about our favourite west coast summer activities. At least that way we can remember why we actually live here…or is that just a painful reminder of what we’re missing out on?

The journey’s the thing

A couple of weeks ago I had the opportunity to fly to Vancouver from Nanaimo. Normally when I make this journey I head to Departure Bay, walk on, catch the 257 Express Bus to downtown and five hours later I’ve arrived. The float plane journey, including the Gabriola ferry ride and the stroll to the terminal and the short wait clocked in at approximately one and half hours -- a savings of three and a half hours. You’d think I’d be overjoyed. But a funny thing happened on the way to the Vancouver Harbour Air terminal … I began to miss the BC Ferries journey. Shocking I know but what I began to realize is that sometimes – sometimes – the best adventures happen on the journey to somewhere. Think of the conversations you’ve had with strangers on an airplane, the great expanses of time on a train when the only thing you could do was devour a book, the discovery of a funky café or shop as you wandered from the ferry terminal to the bus station.

Of course, when one is commuting, or has a limited amount of time, then time is of the essence. But if that isn’t the case then take a deep breath, open your eyes and take in the pleasure of the journey (And if you’re travelling by BC Ferries, especially on the weekend … leave the car behind. The glorious essence of the journey becomes somewhat distilled when one is parked in an enormous line-up of cars for more than a few hours.) Bon voyage!

Where the “wild things” shouldn’t be

When my son and I went to see the movie version of Where the Wild Things Are something unusual happened. My seven-year-old son, who loves every single movie he sees (and watches them repeatedly), whether it’s Scooby-doo and the Monster Menace or The Golden Compass, declared, “That’s one I wouldn’t see again.”

This wasn’t the case of a children’s book being made into an adult movie as sometimes happens, because, strangely, I felt the same way. Often we complain about movies leaving parts of our favourite books out. But this time it was what was added to the movie—Max’s background story, imbuing the Wild Things with distinct personalities and creating conflict between them—that was disappointing. As one reviewer in the Globe and Mail said “[Maurice] Sendak’s poetically concise tale is stretched out into what feels like grief-counselling for Muppets.”

The beauty of Sendak’s book is that it isn’t defined. The reader, young and old, fills in the background details with their imagination, as their feelings see fit, expressing their own anger, their own frustration and their own ideas of what a “wild rumpus” is.

That’s why the book is so loved; what’s not in it is as important as what it is. And sometimes, as this movie proved, the mystery is better left alone.