Cookies in odd shapes and sizes

As I write this, I'm very tired from baking 200+ cookies over the past 36 hours. I liked baking on Sunday, when R helped me measure and crack the eggs and shower everything with sprinkles and put away the flour and sugar and baking powder when we were done with it. Today, a Monday, I baked alone like an obsessive maniac with a rolling pin. I had my high-efficiency systems and they worked, but my industrial-baker-robot body could sure use a massage right now (with lots of oil).

Tomorrow my 11-year-old girl will sell the autumn themed cookies at her school in an effort to raise money for the Terry Fox Foundation. A cancer survivor herself, R is more inspired than usual this year because of her friend "Lara", the 12-year-old who is living with an aggressive case of osteosarcoma, which Terry Fox had as well.

They say "money can't buy happiness" but I don't think they were talking about RAISING money for charity when they said that. Fundraising for a favourite cause is actually one of life's greatest pleasures and I'm glad my kid likes doing it so much. We're also very lucky to have family and friends who can pitch in - not always a lot, but enough to help R reach her goal and make her feel like she's surrounded by people who care. She is just as thrilled to check her online donation page as she is to open an actual gift meant for her.

We know a Toronto couple who are very wealthy philanthropists. They have hospital and gallery wings named after them, not to mention a high-profile University college that bears their name. They also head a Canadian program that gives money to business startups - kind of like Dragon's Den but without the TV cameras. And without Kevin O'Leary trying to profit from any of it.

At a dinner party with these friends not long ago I watched their eyes light up as they talked about giving a million to this worthy cause and another million to that one. I listened to them recount stories of instances in which they were able to make people's dreams of starting a business come true. People who just needed $5,000 to leave their ordinary lives behind and get moving on something exciting and creative and independent and new. Some of the startup ideas were as simple as opening a bakery. But some, literally, were pursuits that might find cures for diseases in the not-too-distant future.

 "We offered [the entrepreneur] $10,000 to get her idea started", S recalled, "but the woman said 'no, I don't need any more than $5,000, so I won't take a dollar more'." Clearly S was impressed by an individual who, in her own fashion, was handing money away.

Whenever I think of this wealthy couple, I have never envied their big house and their butlers and housekeepers and their horses and exotic trips (wait - maybe I would like to have a few of those things, ha ha). But what I really would love to experience is that Santa-like quality of being able to grant people what they really wish for.

I can tell you FOR SURE that these two people who spend so much time giving money away are the happiest people I have ever met on this earth.

But tomorrow will prove to be pretty exciting and happy for R and me, too. Making and selling cookies to help find a cure for cancer is hard work. But it's worth every minute. And every penny.

The Powerlessness of Positive Thinking: A not-so-odd car buying experience

Today is the 10th. Not an especially odd day, by anyone's standards. You don't need to be a mathematician to see how even the number 10 is, but what the heck. I'll write anyway.

Today I am going to write about cars.

Last year I gave our nice Jetta to my brother because he ended up with a surprise baby at the age of 47 and he was driving a nasty, bumpity old Jimmy truck that no baby should be in. My brother is always stretched-out financially and at that time he prioritized that a new baby needed a house to live in (versus his King West studio with the awesome view and awesomer bar scene). With that new mortgage and all those diapers suddenly upon my brother's shoulders, a car payment was out of the question. So yeah, I gave our nice Jetta to him.

Which left us with my 1998 Honda in the driveway. Again, you don't need to be a human calculator to figure out that that is an old car.

The other day we went to test drive a few different Kia vehicles. We had a vague idea of what we can afford, which, for various reasons isn't much at this time, but we also had an interest in trying out a range of models in order to learn what they feel like. For example, the Kia Sportage, which J tried out of curiosity, was a big hit. We had gone in thinking maybe the Soul, or more likely the less expensive Rio, was for us. I don't think I should even have to explain why a customer would test drive vehicles, but I am, because the salesman could only see one thing in us. A sale.

Even though I know this isn't a remarkable revelation about car salesmen, it was still bizarre. He kept talking - to me, he could tell J would have none of this crap - about positive thinking. He would say "I woke up this morning knowing I'll make 4 sales today. I've sold 3 already, and I know I'm going to make a DEAL with you too."

Another gem. "Do you play cards?" he asked me. Thinking of all the games of Crazy Eights and Old Maid our family has played after dinner on wintry nights - all of us screeching and giggling trying to hoard our eights or get rid of the queen of spades, I said "yes". "What does the word ACE mean to you?" he asked. "Uh, it means number one in the series," I answered. "No," he said. "To me it means A Commitment to Excellence."

Were we speaking the same language?

"I believe in positive thinking, Hun," he said (I was called Hun throughout this experience, while J was called Ron as well as Buddy). "It's all about perception. You know, because perception IS reality."

I was really tired of having to field all this positive thinking spiel but I kept trying to be nice anyway. I made the small talk. I found out the sales rep, Raj, is 28 years old and supports his parents, who are from India.

In the end we couldn't really justify the monthly payments on a Kia Sportage. What a process it was to even find out what the prices would actually be. All the promises that had been made during the test drive fell away as we sat in the little chairs at the man's little desk/cubicle/thingy. The 10 year comprehensive warranty Raj had talked about on the test drive - that's only available if you don't get a discount on the vehicle. Like, you pay sticker price and you get the 10 year warranty that was promised to you. Which is also known as: you're paying thousands for a warranty you hope not to need. The 0% financing? That's only on the model that has no air conditioning. If you get the car with auto and AC - the one you were sitting in when Raj told you there was 0% financing for 84 months - you're looking at a nearly 10,000 buy-back in 5 years at the rates 2019 has in store for us.

When it was apparent that we really were going to leave without "making a deal today" Raj seemed a lot less positive. His language started to become peppered with words like "shit" and "shitty". He said to J - who is a seasoned car enthusiast with a mind like a steel trap - "you really should have done your research before coming here. Most people look at the website and find out about the warranty and the financing and pricing there."

"I did my research" J replied. "The first questions I asked you were about the financing and the warranty. You told us one thing, then later you told us another." I'm summarizing what J actually said, but it was detailed, airtight and razor sharp. I was proud to be his Hun.

When we got home we followed Raj's advice and performed some better car-buying research on the internet. Not that we hadn't before, but this time we paid a more careful eye to the fine print. The research did pay off, too. It turns out we can get everything we want in a car, for the price we can justify paying every month. From Hyundai.

So we'll be test driving a few Hyundais soon. That's my perception, anyway. Let's see what reality brings.

UPDATE: Photo above shows us with our just-purchased Hyundai car from Gyro Hyundai in Leaside. The staff there were so amazing, they actually deserve a blog post of their own.

Odd writings: Blogs from my father

It's an odd day so technically it's my day to write. Not that we observe the rules anymore.

I think I'll write about blogging. Bloggers do that sometimes.

Living several hours apart by car, I don't see my dad very much these days. But he does write to me quite often, by email. And from those emails I am certain that I can easily make the claim that my father is The Worst Speller of the Entire Internet. You need the Rosetta Stone to decipher what it is he is saying, and then in the end it was only a story about how he filled the mini-van gas tank on the way back from the hockey arena.

I guess it's cool that he still plays hockey at the age of 73. He's still pretty good looking, too, actually. A silver fox, Leslie, one of my art director friends, would call him.

But the SPELLING is not hot at all. It's so bad.

Last weekend we were all at my brother's cottage together and I got to have a rare visit with my dad. We barbequed a big dinner for everyone - he being my highly skilled grill man - and in our banter I casually made fun of his spelling and what a terrible writer he is. He said "I have a blog now". I thought he must be joking and I said "ha ha, you are the last person on earth who should have a blog."

When I came back to town he sent me an email containing his little blog that has two posts in it. I read it over and it was absolutely horrible. Really bad. All about his lawn and how he re-seeded the lawn with a friend of his who is also retired.

In that same email he also told me how to google a special blog that he really likes and has been reading loyally for a few years. A blog written by a man named Brian - a grandfather - who lives in a place called Nain Bay Labrador (Canada). My family has longtime connections to Labrador, and my father and brother go there once a year to fish on a glorious lake accessible only by bush plane. The rest of the year my dad thinks about the next time he'll be able to go up there. Thinks out strategies for how he'll pack more lightly. How he'll change the menu plans (he's the main cook among the men who go up there together) to be even more simple yet delicious.

My dad didn't know how to just copy that link and send it to me, so I did google it and I managed to find my dad's favourite blog with no problem.

The first - or most recent - page of the blog was a note from one of the man's relatives who posted that they regret to inform us that Brian had passed away a month ago. Wow, I thought. That SUCKS.

I read through some of Brian's postings about dog sled races, salmon fishing, and his political concerns about living in Canada's far north. I guess the politicians there are just as hopeless as the ones in big cities, if not worse.

Most of the blog posts had no comments at all. There were plenty of clear, beautiful pictures, including some recent ones of the man's son and two grandchildren. His granddaughter, a newborn, was all red and puffy and beautiful. "She's finely here", wrote the proud grandpa, unaware of his delightfully accurate play on words. He went on to mention how the new baby's big brother was "all into her ... for now."

Feeling I had grown to know this man a little better, I went back to read the 15 comments - the largest response by far to anything he'd ever written - that accompanied the most recent blog posting, his death notice. There was a lovely outpouring of appreciation for the blog he had shared. There was sorrow in losing the connection to a faraway yet fascinating place that he had given to people around Canada and around the world. Folks who usually did not reach back out to him, choosing to absorb his shared experiences in silence and anonymity.

One of those comments was from my dad. I saw his little thumbnail photo first. Then saw his name all spelled out, loud and clear, not hiding behind any avatar or pseudonym like the rest of us. My dad's message was spelled out pretty clearly too - no more than one apostrophe appeared to be out of place.

"So sad with Brian's passing he will be missed by Family,Friend's and Bloggers like myself.
I enjoyed his daily updates on what was happening in Nain and particularly enjoyed pictures of meals he created.
So we in the south Kingston,Ont who have been following his Blog will miss the link to the north.
Bob (last name)"

When I found my dad's comment, I read it furtively like someone sneaking a peak into someone else's diary, and instantly I couldn't help but shed a few tears. Even now, seeing it, I'm lumpy-throated and misty-eyed. And even now, while I think I know why I'm having that reaction ... it does surprise me a little.

So I thought I'd write about that experience here, here in my blog. And maybe someone will even read it sometime.

Here's that photo of Brian's granddaughter, Mia. She was born April 6, 2013. I'll never know her, but may the world treat her well.