Friday, March 30, 2012
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
239/365
Apparently, the directionality of your toilet paper is both contentious and insightful (thank you, Wikipedia).
....For the record, I grew up in an under household. I often liked the way the toilet paper rolled over at friend's houses, but never asked if we could switch ours. My parents were clearly set in the ways of under orientation; as a young child, I think I figured there was no point in asking. I think as I got older--if it landed on me to place a new roll on the dispenser--I may have oriented it over every now and then. I don't actually remember it being a conscious decision until I moved away from home. I was an over person for about five years until my cat discovered the joys of this orientation, and shredded rolls when I wasn't looking. I have returned to the being an under person, and the over orientation has lost personal appeal.
Analyze that.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Friday, March 23, 2012
235/365
My nephew decides that watching Little Bear on his mom's iPhone is quality Skype conversation.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Lovely Weather for a Snowshoe AND 229/365
We were spoiled this winter. Temperatures sat around -5C most days, and very little snow. While farmers are already complaining, my snow shovel certainly was not. Still, without any snow, Edmonton lacked any sort of winter aesthetic quality that it could have had. Also, there was no snowshoeing.
Snowshoeing is generally a weekly excursion in the winter--a chance to catch up with friends and be physically active at the same time. Not so much this year. I snowshoed in Edmonton four times. I gained eight pounds.
So, when it was suggested that we go snowshoeing in the mountains, there was actually a fair bit of excitement about the idea. Factor in a great deal on Expedia, and you've got the makings of a good girls' weekend. It seemed like it had been forever since I'd had a girls' weekend. Really, it was only last summer, but we only ventured about an hour and a half from home on that trip, so I guess it didn't really feel like we "got away." A five hour drive to the mountains (complete with awesome 90's music and a Gasoline Alley pit stop)--now that feels more like a getaway!
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We opted to trek along the Chester Lake trail near Canmore. I was actually worried there wouldn't be enough snow--how easily I doubt! We were quite thankful that we didn't have to break trail. There was plenty of the fluffy stuff--everywhere.
Conversation on the trail happened in small doses, in between the uphill climbs requiring a larger lung capacity. I always have the convenient excuse of stopping to take a photograph whenever I want a break. As such, I generally 'bring up the rear', and this hike was no different.
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Up the hill, through the meadow, and down the trail a bit more to reach Chester Lake. ....We didn't actually see the lake, but we're presuming that it's there, under all the snow! We stopped and ate there, regardless. The lunch break was shorter than it would be in the summer. Snow pants are no substitute for the warmth of the sun on bare legs. We all started cooling off fairly quickly, and pretty much started heading back down the mountain after the last bite of sandwich had been swallowed.
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Often throughout the year, but especially when I travel to the mountains, I remember how blessed I am to live in this province. Alberta is so rich in scenery, and the mountains sure hold the upper hand in that respect. I have to admit, the only thing more perfect would have been to see it against the backdrop of a blue sky, but the contrast of green conifers covered in lumps of snow against the white sky was eye-catching, too. Especially the vastness of it all. And the way the mountains seemed to almost hide in the snowy background--not prominent, and yet definitely present. There was a soft, muted quality to the wintry surroundings, and yet, a fresh fragrance akin to the one I breathe deeply each summer.
By the time we reached the bottom, my thighs hurt with every step, and the snow was falling thicker and faster. It was definitely time to head back to the hotel's hot tub. We threw the car into reverse, and it satisfyingly cut through the snow drifts of the parking lot like butter. Considering we had just covered an advertised 4-hour snowshoe hike in roughly 3-hours, I was feeling a similar satisfaction myself.
Snowshoeing is generally a weekly excursion in the winter--a chance to catch up with friends and be physically active at the same time. Not so much this year. I snowshoed in Edmonton four times. I gained eight pounds.
So, when it was suggested that we go snowshoeing in the mountains, there was actually a fair bit of excitement about the idea. Factor in a great deal on Expedia, and you've got the makings of a good girls' weekend. It seemed like it had been forever since I'd had a girls' weekend. Really, it was only last summer, but we only ventured about an hour and a half from home on that trip, so I guess it didn't really feel like we "got away." A five hour drive to the mountains (complete with awesome 90's music and a Gasoline Alley pit stop)--now that feels more like a getaway!
.jpg)
Conversation on the trail happened in small doses, in between the uphill climbs requiring a larger lung capacity. I always have the convenient excuse of stopping to take a photograph whenever I want a break. As such, I generally 'bring up the rear', and this hike was no different.
.jpg)
.jpg)
Often throughout the year, but especially when I travel to the mountains, I remember how blessed I am to live in this province. Alberta is so rich in scenery, and the mountains sure hold the upper hand in that respect. I have to admit, the only thing more perfect would have been to see it against the backdrop of a blue sky, but the contrast of green conifers covered in lumps of snow against the white sky was eye-catching, too. Especially the vastness of it all. And the way the mountains seemed to almost hide in the snowy background--not prominent, and yet definitely present. There was a soft, muted quality to the wintry surroundings, and yet, a fresh fragrance akin to the one I breathe deeply each summer. By the time we reached the bottom, my thighs hurt with every step, and the snow was falling thicker and faster. It was definitely time to head back to the hotel's hot tub. We threw the car into reverse, and it satisfyingly cut through the snow drifts of the parking lot like butter. Considering we had just covered an advertised 4-hour snowshoe hike in roughly 3-hours, I was feeling a similar satisfaction myself.
"Unusual travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God."
-- Kurt Vonnegut
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
225/365
And people wonder why I don't like cooking. The clean-up often takes just as much effort. (And this was just chicken and salad.)
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Friday, March 9, 2012
It's the Little Things OR 221/365
What was lost has once again been found. I could kiss this little black box.
At roughly two inches long, this little electronic has been a huge asset to my photography--both in and outside of my 365 project. It is the remote control for my camera. It allows me to both focus and shoot from up to fifteen feet away. It has an optional 2-second delay, meaning that I can aim it at the camera and still have enough time to drop my hand before the shutter fires. It is responsible for the great self-shots here, here, here, here, and here, JUST to name a few.
It has been a saving grace when even the slightest camera shake is detrimental--allowing me to take photos without having to touch the camera at all. Like here, here, and here.
Needless to say, when it went missing earlier this week, I was annoyed, frustrated, and disappointed all at the same time. The look on my face as I expressed my initial concern was the tipping point between "seriously..." and "seriously?!"
I had been using it all afternoon last Saturday to take photos of old-fashioned cars at the Reynold's Alberta Museum in Wetaskiwin. In between photos, I was consistently putting it into the pocket of my hoodie for safe-keeping. That evening, I stopped to see my kidlets at their grandparents' place where they were staying for the weekend. It was a satisfying Saturday all around.
When I went to take my blog pic the next day, I noticed the remote wasn't around, but didn't think much of it. Probably still in my hoodie pocket. But I didn't really need it for the photo, so I didn't check. The next day, I did want it for my photo, so I checked the pockets of my hoodie. Not there. Hmm... Checked the pocket of the jeans I'd been wearing. Not there, either. Hmmmmmm... Well, I probably tucked it in a "safe place" as I was leaving the museum--so safe I can't remember where (you know you've done it, too). The remote would have been nice, but still not entirely necessary for the photo at hand, so I called off the search for that evening.
The following day, I was rocking a super-cute outfit, and wanted to capture it on film (on pixel?). I tried to take the shot a few times without a remote--substituting in brooms to serve as the focal point while I was pressing the buttons at the camera. But it just. wasn't. working. So, after I took my hand-held photo of frustration instead, I resumed the search. Every pocket of everything I'd worn that day, and all the bags I'd carried. I even emptied the laundry basket in case it had fallen out of the pocket into the greater realm of crumpled clothing. Nothing. All signs indicated that the remote probably fell out on the floor or parking lot of the museum. Great.
Unless........
Could it have fallen out at the grandparents' house? Maybe? As I set down my coat and bags in the front entry? ...Well, worth calling grandma first before I called Wetaskiwin.
Sure enough, it had been found at the house some time after I'd gone. During the conversation, grandma informed me that they'd found it in the living room.
The living room? How would it have gotten over there?
And then I remembered.
I may have put my relatively big hoodie on my relatively tiny nephew and tied the arms around him like a straight jacket. And then tickled him silly on the floor as he tried to escape.
Apparently, remotes can fall out of pockets that way. Who knew?
At roughly two inches long, this little electronic has been a huge asset to my photography--both in and outside of my 365 project. It is the remote control for my camera. It allows me to both focus and shoot from up to fifteen feet away. It has an optional 2-second delay, meaning that I can aim it at the camera and still have enough time to drop my hand before the shutter fires. It is responsible for the great self-shots here, here, here, here, and here, JUST to name a few.
It has been a saving grace when even the slightest camera shake is detrimental--allowing me to take photos without having to touch the camera at all. Like here, here, and here.
Needless to say, when it went missing earlier this week, I was annoyed, frustrated, and disappointed all at the same time. The look on my face as I expressed my initial concern was the tipping point between "seriously..." and "seriously?!"
I had been using it all afternoon last Saturday to take photos of old-fashioned cars at the Reynold's Alberta Museum in Wetaskiwin. In between photos, I was consistently putting it into the pocket of my hoodie for safe-keeping. That evening, I stopped to see my kidlets at their grandparents' place where they were staying for the weekend. It was a satisfying Saturday all around.
When I went to take my blog pic the next day, I noticed the remote wasn't around, but didn't think much of it. Probably still in my hoodie pocket. But I didn't really need it for the photo, so I didn't check. The next day, I did want it for my photo, so I checked the pockets of my hoodie. Not there. Hmm... Checked the pocket of the jeans I'd been wearing. Not there, either. Hmmmmmm... Well, I probably tucked it in a "safe place" as I was leaving the museum--so safe I can't remember where (you know you've done it, too). The remote would have been nice, but still not entirely necessary for the photo at hand, so I called off the search for that evening.
The following day, I was rocking a super-cute outfit, and wanted to capture it on film (on pixel?). I tried to take the shot a few times without a remote--substituting in brooms to serve as the focal point while I was pressing the buttons at the camera. But it just. wasn't. working. So, after I took my hand-held photo of frustration instead, I resumed the search. Every pocket of everything I'd worn that day, and all the bags I'd carried. I even emptied the laundry basket in case it had fallen out of the pocket into the greater realm of crumpled clothing. Nothing. All signs indicated that the remote probably fell out on the floor or parking lot of the museum. Great.
Unless........
Could it have fallen out at the grandparents' house? Maybe? As I set down my coat and bags in the front entry? ...Well, worth calling grandma first before I called Wetaskiwin.
Sure enough, it had been found at the house some time after I'd gone. During the conversation, grandma informed me that they'd found it in the living room.
The living room? How would it have gotten over there?
And then I remembered.
I may have put my relatively big hoodie on my relatively tiny nephew and tied the arms around him like a straight jacket. And then tickled him silly on the floor as he tried to escape.
Apparently, remotes can fall out of pockets that way. Who knew?
220/365
Hello, hot bath. We meet again.*
* Hmm... I just realized as I was posting this that it probably would have been more visually appealing photographically had it been zoomed out a touch to allow space for my book to lay opened on the floor in the bottom left-hand corner. Ah, well. Another point for the learning process.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Friday, March 2, 2012
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