After a really fun fortnight in Toronto, I’m now in Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island with my mum, dad, and nephew. There’s a blessed kind of rest that’s available at my parents’ house that just can’t be had anywhere else — nothing like the complete abnegation of adult responsibility to put one’s mind at ease!

Almost as soon as I got here, we went shopping for food that would satisfy all my weird restrictions. Happily, Charlottetown turns out to be well-supplied with everything I could ask for.

I snapped this picture at one of the local supermegagrocery warehouses — of which Charlottetown now sports at least four, whereas when we moved here there was just one little K-Mart that managed to feed everyone.

Moments after I took a picture of the shop and joined my mum, a manager came up to me to ask why I was taking pictures. Apparently stupid terrorism-think has reached my home town, too. I spun her the story of the tiny little town where I live in the north Highlands of Scotland, blah blah blah… Everyone here on the east coast gets shortbread stars in their eyes as soon as you mention The Old Country.

Today it’s snowing out, which is making everything look nice and festive.

Dad took a break from watching Hitler’s Secret Barber or whatever on the history channel and reading about the Third Reich, and went out to clear the driveway.

(I’m not sure what his obsession is; Adolph Eichmann is more of a fixture here at Christmas than Santa. My nephew’s friends used to visit and remark that they thought Dad was a skinhead. I suspect this all started when Dad began working with Veterans’ Affairs Canada, a big question-mark about humanity he’s never been able to resolve.) Snow-shovelling is an obsession he used to foist on my brother and me. Now I would have gone out and helped if he’d mentioned that he was going to do it. Funny how chores are much more palatable when you’re not asked to do them.

Meanwhile, I baked and baked this afternoon. With my apron on (which was my dad’s, at least), I felt like quite the wee wifey. We won’t get into my excitement about Craig giving me a sewing machine for Christmas. (There’s lots of bookbinding stuff the can be done with one, but now I’m awakening to all the other things I could fix, change, and make.)

Then there was my failed-yet-tasty brownies and successful-if-dry gingersnap cookies:

Happily, I’ve not compromised at all on my food choices. My client’s Toronto office was like a strip-mine in Candyland, with a constant conveyor belt of junk passing by me, yet I didn’t feel the slightest temptation to eat any of it. I guess I’m far too conscious of the after-effect, which is like feeling drugged or concussed for a week afterward.

But that’s not to say I’m being puritan or Spartan: I’ve had lots of food I really enjoyed. It just hasn’t been the default polyhydrogenatedwheatinjectedglucoinvertfructosugar stuff.

~

This trip, I’ve been taking a different tack in being with people — at work and in my social time. Rather than rushing to blurt out all the things I’m excited about, I’ve been pretending I’m interviewing the other person. I listen then ask a follow-up question to something that they said. Sometimes I can’t help interjecting, but for the most part I’ve been trying to listen more closely. As a result, I’ve learned lots of things I wouldn’t have if I’d just barged in when it was my turn.

Funny how people think you’re fascinating when you just listen to them.

So this is the theme while I’m away: I’m here for other people, not myself. I’ll get plenty of me-time when I’m back home.

~

Gosh, I miss my husband. We got married a year ago. A year!

I was out late last night, having dinner with some of the folks from the Movies & Makers show at the old Fox Theatre in The Beaches. It was like doing an acting gig, being geared-up and needing to decompress with other folk who’d been in it.

I met a lot of great folk who really understood and loved what I was doing. And, not to be mercenary about it, it was great to be in front of a crowd who had the money to buy things, too. That more than makes up for the money I’ve spent since being here — much of it on supplies so I could make more “bind your own book” kits when the friends I’m staying with convinced me I should have a lot more of those to display. So I hustled around town several days after work to find the bits then spent Friday night late at work in the Production department cutting up paper. And? They didn’t sell. Still, so much else did that it’s quite alright, and I may still shift a few to people at work who’ve been asking about them.

It’s so hard to decipher what people will like and want, and it’s very different from show to show. I can empathise with my brother-in-law, who’s trying to figure all this out for himself, too, with his woodworking. Do you make a lot of inexpensive things that people will snap up, or do you go deep into your craft and develop things you really care about but have to charge significantly more for?

What was most exciting, though, was talking to people who really understand what I’m doing, and who caught the spark of it themselves. A number of them took the cards I’d made for the podcast, and several bought bookbinding presses (which is a package I’m really happy about — much more tactile and interesting than the book-bits-in-a-bag kits that slide around the table and don’t really suggest what they are, unfortunately). So I’m jazzed to imagine what those people might create, especially after having received so many kind e-mails about the podcast from people showing and telling me the great things they’ve done, which, before, they didn’t realise they a) were allowed to do, or b) were perfectly capable of doing on their own.

So it was a big, exciting day. I admit that life in Wick can be pretty isolating, so it’s nice to balance that with these trips, especially when I get occasions like yesterday to get out in front of likeminded people.

I’ve had the computer off as much as possible this week, ’cause I’ve been working on a new little ‘zine for a craft fair I’m doing (not grandmother crafts, but Toronto hipster crafts!). I did the whole thing by hand — illustration and lettering — and I’m really happy with it. But damn it was a lot of work!

Here’s the initial version, which I’m going to clean up a little (but not get into retouching with the computer too much):

I’ve also been totally engrossed in Stephen King’s latest book, 11/22/63. It was a treat to myself, bought with a birthday gift certificate from the in-laws. It’s bloody wonderful! It’s been so long since I’ve read a good, deep novel, and this thing is a whole world between covers. Normally I read things that I think I’ll learn something from, that will enable me to do something new or better, but this is just pure enjoyment. I’m drunk on the experience.

Even better: I saw a movie trailer this week that utterly gripped me and gave me permission to write about things I’ve been stepping over, which happen to be my life experience. No wonder I’ve been stuck, eh? So between that and enjoying this novel so much, I’ve suddenly found myself excited again by the idea I’d had for my next novel. And I’ve already researched and outlined the whole darned thing!

How to make an even simpler kind of DIY Book Press.

One of our first friends in Caithness passed away last week. It was a long drive down to Inverness and back for the funeral on Monday, but we made it, and the ceremony was actually the most beautiful I’ve been to.

Of course it was difficult, and I feel for the surviving Donald (the couple were both named Donald; quite confusing), but this really was a celebration of the other Donald’s life and impact. Lots of these events claim to be a celebration but end up being either a sad dirge, or an advert for a brand of religion in which the deceased receives an incidental mention. Not so this, which really did powerfully invoke the sense of our friend. We didn’t know him especially well, and I left the service, having heard a number of his (very eloquent) friends speak about him, feeling like I knew him better.

Donald wrote and taught about Celtic spirituality, so the service had a gentle touch of that, leaving room for anyone to believe what they like. By the end, I was intrigued to know more, and at the reception his partner very kindly laid out out copies of Donald’s book Walking the Mist for guests to take. I’ve since had a chance to start reading it, and Donald’s courageously, disarmingly, invitingly imaginative presence comes through loud and clear.

How rare, to have the person you’re missing actually provide you with a context for thinking about losing them.

Wow. Thanks, World.

A triumph! I made cinnamon rolls that feel in the mouth and taste like the real thing.

My hubby said in passing last week that he’d love to have cinnamon rolls. Of course, those would be impossible for me to make, given my dietary restrictions (or freedoms, depending how you’re looking at it).

Still, my brain doesn’t like that word, impossible. I searched about, and there really weren’t any recipes out there that didn’t require wheat flour, yeast, or cups and cups of processed sugar. So I found one recipe that was as close as possible and I improvised from there. (Sometimes that works, sometimes it doesn’t. I’m gradually learning the chemistry and combinations that explain why.)

The original recipe called for:
— All kinds of exotic flours and starches I didn’t want to use. I substituted almond flour, soy flour, and arrowroot powder.
— Buttermilk. We don’t have that here (though I’m pleased that our big supermarket now carries popcorn, agave syrup, and virgin coconut oil!). So I used some of my home made yogurt (since it’s not setting properly yet, and is thus more like buttermilk).
— Lots and lots of processed sugar. I used molasses. Yeah, it’s still a sugar, so these will not be an everyday thing, but at least there are still some minerals left in molasses. I should try honey next time — because I suspect there will be a “next time.”

So here’s my gluten-free, yeast-free cinnamon roll recipe:

Topping:
(Not visible in my photo, ‘cause they were right out of the oven and it would have just melted if I tried to put it on.)
— 1/2 cup of virgin coconut oil
— a few drops of vanilla stevia
— some leftover sugar, salt, and cinnamon that were in the bowl

Filling:
— 3 tsp cinnamon
— 1 cup molasses
— 1/4 tsp salt

Rolls:
2 cups almond flour
2/3 cup soy flour
1/3 cup arrowroot powder
2 tsp xanthan gum
2 tbsp molasses
1 1/4 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 1/4 cups yogurt (thin)
3 tbsp butter, melted and cooled

Directions:
— Preheat oven to 220°C.
— Lay a big sheet of parchment/waxed paper on the counter.
— Mix all the dry ingredients for the rolls, then add in the yogurt and butter.
— Stir into a doughy batter.

— Flatten the dough onto the parchment.
— Sprinkle the filling evenly over the surface of the dough.
— Lift the parchment to separate one edge of the dough, then roll it all up into a log.
— Cut the log into buns and place onto a non-stick tray (I reused my parchment for this).
— Cover with aluminium foil and bake for 12 minutes, then uncover and bake for an additional 12-15 minutes.
— Remove from oven and let cool.
— Flip them over (gooey side up!) and spread on the topping.

~

I’ve really been enjoying baking lately, I think partly because it’s nice to eat solid foods such as breads and get treats. Plus it’s demanded lots of problem-solving and invention, which I like.

Still, I think it’s time to focus on main meals again, and up the amount of greens we’re eating. It’s so easy to ski back down the slippery sugar-slope, but that stuff just makes me feel awful now (even munching on some of the crispy leftovers from the cinnamon rolls has given me a peripheral almost-headache).

This afternoon I’m working on some blank books for a local history centre/museum/craft space here in the far north Highlands. I’m not really sure why, because these things are so much work that there’s no profit motive at all (especially when you remove the consignment commission).

I guess it’s about belonging a bit more to this community, so having visible work here is some tangible proof to point to, rather than nodding at the invisible friend of my copywriting work and past novels.

While waiting for the shower this morning, I found myself (once again) looking at airmail stuff online. What is it about those little red and blue lines that’s so romantic? They just transform any piece of paper they’re on.

Searching around, it seems that no one sells a stamp to make those marks on paper, strangely enough. Good news for my wallet and my creativity: I decided to make my own.

I had a Speedball rubber stamp carving block, so I just cut a length one centimetre deep off one side of that, then made marks every 5 millimetres on one side, then staggered the ruler for the other side and made 5 millimetre marks to fall in-between the other ones. Then I carved out the space between the marks.

The first thing I realised was that the resulting lines were too close together, so I removed every second one. I tested it out, and it made a decent-looking envelope, though a little shabby, because the freehand carving made the lines a bit wobbly.

So I had a second go at it. This time I didn’t use the carving tool, but just shoved my X-Acto knife straight down into the pink rubber between the marks as if I were cutting a piece of cake. Then I used it to plane out the spaces in-between, and I got a much cleaner edge.

Yay! Now I can make my own air mail paraphernalia.

The Guardian sell things on their website (I’ve no idea why; they’re a newspaper). One of them I spotted while reading an article was a gadget for keeping razor blades sharp:

I’m keen on this idea, because I really hate those Gillette contraptions with the big plastic model airplanes around the half-dozen blades that cost £10 a box and may be tested on animals. For a number of years I’ve been using a safety razor, a brush, and shaving soap (versus a tin can filled with a cup of liquid and a bunch of propellant). The blades are simply metal that decomposes, but I still wanted to see if I could make them last longer.

My first attempt was by using an antique glass “razor hone”. You put a little soap on it and rub the blade back and forth (which is somewhat scary, given that your finger is slipping around on top of one of those blades, which are most commonly associated with self-harm in movies). The idea is that it shapes the blade back into sharpness.

Unfortunately, antique gizmos, like modern ones, are divided 50/50 between “clever things that work” and “snake oil”. I fear this accessory, whilst attractive enough in the bathroom, falls into the latter category.

Searching around for information on the modern sharpener, I learned that it’s just a pad of silicone in a plastic shell. Apparently razor blades don’t get dull as quickly as we think, they just get gummed up with skin and stubble. The roughness and resilience of the silicone is meant to rub all that off so you’re just working with blade again.

I had a silicone watch strap I wasn’t using, so I trimmed that and tried it out. (You wipe the razor in the opposite direction in which you shave, just in case you want to try this out yourself.)

Magic! I’ve been using the same blade for about three weeks and it still feels brand new; usually they last about a week and a half.

~

In my search for tasty-yet-healthy things to cook, one of the best sites I’ve discovered is Elena’s Pantry. Yesterday she posted recipes for healthier Hallowe’en candy.

Of course, this is 2011, and all neighbours like me should be considered poisoners, so I had no intention whatsoever of giving these out. These were for us!

I tried two of the recipes: Fudge Babies, which are little fudge-balls made with only cocoa, walnuts, vanilla, and dates; and Peppermint Patties.

The Fudge Babies turned out like dog crap, but when the fella got home from an evening meeting, I tried them out on him, and he really liked them. (I did, too: mildly sweet, but with some food-y complexity to them.)

The Peppermint Patties”¦ not so much. I shall call them Abominable Snowflakes instead. The innards only half-set, as the coconut oil and agave syrup separated, so I couldn’t dip them in the (85%) chocolate, I could only pour it over-top.

In other words, a mess:

And now it’s time to work!

P.S. Three other things occupying my mind:

1) I can’t find the right drawing paper. Either it takes a line well but the watercolours pool on top of it, or it pulls in the paint well but the ink bleeds. Aargh! So far, regular typing paper is working out best, except that it warps when wet.

2) Scanned watercolours look nothing like their real-world counterparts. I’m really loving the look of watercolours, though, so I’m not sure how to work this if I plan to post things online.

3) My internal critic is working overtime lately and just isn’t happy with anything I do. Right now, it looks kind of like this:

It’s trashing everything because I’m not working on a novel, but I’m actually producing a lot of other stuff at the moment, like these two books I finished for the showcase at Caithness Horizons:

Of course, impossible standards can’t be placated because they’re, by definition, impossible — ever shifting. Thankfully, I’ve been listening to a lecture by Pema Chodron, which is reinforcing thoughts from books I’ve read by Cheri Huber, both of which are wonderful, gentle reminders that the voice isn’t true, or reasonable, or something to engage with.

As Chodron says, it’s always an urge to escape the present moment, to not stay. But just recognising that goes a long way to helping me ‘disindentify’ from what it’s saying, so I can simply go, “Oh, yes, that,” and get on with whatever’s in front of me, rather than running for the hills of oblivion until I wake up again, wonder where the time went, and have to walk back to where I was.