Coffee Joulies review: first impressions

I was so excited about coffee joulies when Chris told me about them last spring, I immediately signed on to Kickstarter to help the inventors hurry along the manufacturing process. The idea is: put some bean-shaped metal-and-secret-process-type thingies in your hot drink, and they will immediately cool it to a temperature you can drink without burning your lips. Then, the joulies store the heat and slowly release it, keeping your coffee, tea or whatever a perfect temperature.

Perfect! Just what I need! I don’t put milk in my coffee or tea, so it’s always too hot when I first get it. Then, when it cools, I tend to drink it up fast because I hate it when it’s not warm enough. What if I could put some cute little metal coffee “beans” in my drink and have it perfect temperature for hours? Sign me up!

For months I received email updates on the development of the final product (they weren’t readable on my iPhone, which was annoying, but we’ll just leave that aside for now). And I was SO EXCITED to see the package in my mailbox – finally – this past week.

So here is one of my five-pack of “little” magic beans:

Coffee joule in the palm of my hand

THEY’RE HUGE!

(I texted that to Chris, who immediately responded with “That’s what she said.”)

At the time I sent them some seed money through Kickstarter, Coffee Joulies didn’t have a web site, but they do now http://www.joulies.com/ – and when you read carefully, you are warned:

“Each Joulie is about the size (and shape) of half a medium chicken egg.”

And how many chicken eggs do you need in one cup of coffee?

“Using all five Coffee Joulies in a 16oz thermos displaces 3.75oz, leaving enough room for a full tall coffee/cappuccino/latte. Make sure to tell them that at your coffee shop so they don’t charge you for a 16oz coffee.”

So here’s what 5 joules (two and a half chicken eggs) looks like in my 12-oz mug at home (luckily I have one that is clear):

They displace nearly four ounces! Yeesh! Something I thought I could discreetly carry in my bag for my once-or-twice weekly run to Caffe Artigiano is suddenly a weight-bearing exercise. I guess I could keep them at work to put in my tea mug, but gimme a few weeks of upper-body strength training so I can pick it up without busting a bicep.

Bigger may be better though, if they work as advertised. I put four in my 16-oz mug this morning and sure enough, I was able to drink my tea right away, but as soon as the lid was off, my morning beverage started losing heat just as quickly as if there were no joulies added (it was just that much heavier). I’ll give it a week, try them in my insulated mug and see if they work any better, and report back.

 

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Everything’s New

Everything’s new and overwhelming. That’s my excuse.

New home, new city, new routines, truly living alone in my empty nest for the first time. I don’t even know where to begin to write about it all. So I’ll start with today.

Busker outside Granville Island Public Market

Today I finally did it: I shopped for some groceries at the Granville Island Market. I hadn’t been there since February when I took Chris there, both of us visitors, tourists.

I had told myself the first thing I wanted to do as a Vancouver resident was go to Granville Island Market as a local. It took me over a month to finally do it (well, two and a half if you count from when I actually took possession of my home).

Chestnuts roastingI wandered and lingered. I admired hats at Edie’s and notebooks and pens at Paper-Ya. I bought an umbrella, I gave coin to the buskers, I bought a bag of roasted chestnuts and some cheese curds. Then I got some vegetables and local meat, my meals for the coming week.

In my month here I have: given directions to tourists, got embroiled in the Occupy Vancouver controversy, ventured into Richmond for some of the best pho I’ve ever tasted, learned the public transit system and voted for mayor.

It’s probably going to take a little longer for it to really sink in, but I’m a Vancouverite now.

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Occupy Why?

Last week I dropped by Occupy Vancouver encampment at the Vancouver Art Gallery. I wanted to chat with someone there about why they were there and what they hoped to accomplish.

I wanted to go because I was annoyed. Inexplicably annoyed. I say “inexplicably” annoyed because I agree that too much power and wealth is concentrated in the hands of too few people in the world, and because generally yes, we do need a better way of making decisions, keeping those in power accountable and dammit the system of democracy we have just seems to leave so many people out.

A friend had gone there and his report was “What’s the big deal, it’s just a bunch of tents in a small area of a big city, why is everyone so threatened,” and I said “Well, because there are other groups of people who have booked that space and are prevented from using it because a bunch of young people want to camp out and have a party in the park.”

Then I realized I was talking out my ass because I hadn’t found out for myself what it was all about. So I vowed last Tuesday at lunch to go and see/hear for myself.

Walking through the site, I was struck by how neat and clean it seemed, for a campsite. There was no smell of marijuana in the air (which is unusual for the Art Gallery any time of year) and there were people with safety vests saying “medic” walking around. There were people on a stage saying their piece, announcing the next general meeting, etc. There was a children’s area, and information tent, a food tent and a clean-up tent with what looked like a very clean, foodsafe dishwashing area.

As it turned out I was pressed for time because I had a meeting right after lunch and I didn’t get away until late. So I deposited my trail mix with someone at the kitchen who thanked me politely.

I got the impression not of a party, but as a space where people had come together earnestly to make change happen.

“This used to be me,” I thought. I wasn’t totally converted to their cause, but I had a new respect for the (mostly young) people there.

Full disclosure: in my university days I was a social activitst. I helped organize demonstrations of tens of thousands of people. I even got arrested for acts of civil disobedience. Twice. Each time I carefully weighed the pros and cons, arranged legal representation and for my children to be taken care of, and accepted the consequences. When I was arrested I went willingly and nobody yelled, resisted, mouthed off or otherwise exacerbated the situation. We didn’t even passively resist, because did you know this? — You can be charged with obstruction of justice by refusing to actively participate in your own arrest and imprisonment. I chose not to do that, 20-odd years ago. I spent several hours in holding cells each time, and was conditionally discharged each time.

So when I say what I’m about to say I know what-of I speak. I have some street cred, you might say.

I watched yesterday afternoon the Occupy Vancouver LiveStream feed from the provincial courthouse, where some OV protestors decided to relocate after they were kicked off the Art Gallery grounds by a court order.

As far as I can tell, they went to the court house grounds because it is provincial lands, and a new injunction will have to be sought in order to evict them from there rather than city-owned land.

This means that the encampment has become the raison-d’etre of the movement, not the ideals it claims to represent. The courthouse is simply a convenience, because it’s province-owned property rather than city-owned property. The protestors are simply putting off the inevitable.

Plus – they’re blocking access to the courts. The only recourse ordinary people have to civil wrongs done to them. I don’t think these people have any idea what they’re doing. An independent judiciary is a cornerstone of democracy. It is still a well-respected and independent body. This Occupy movement was able to represent itself in this court this past week and state its case eloquently and passionately. I know – I heard one of their representatives speak on CBC radio last Monday. She was articulate and persuasive.

And she lost. The court said their Charter rights to free speech would not be violated by an injunction for them not to camp on the city’s public property.

The Occupy movement (or what’s left of them) is choosing to flaunt that court by moving to another jurisdiction – the province.

Isn’t this exactly the legal weaseling the Occupy movement hates when it comes out of the “One Per Cent?

I was monitoring Twitter at about 2:30 pm when a got a link to a LiveStream site of the courthouse “occupation.” I logged on to ask the protestors: “Why the courthouse?” I never got an answer. I saw a protestor take a swing at an official – a firefighter or something, who did swing back. I saw the protestor get arrested by the city police. I saw a mob taunt and try to provoke the police who were making the arrest. I was amazed at how the police kept their cool and did not arrest anyone else and did not drag the protestor to the van, rather they tried to carry him. I was shocked at the mob that surrounded the police and the arrested man, saying “let him go, let him go.” I imagine the police were probably incredibly nervous. I would have been shitting myself actually, had I really been there.

That was on the verge of being a mob, not a non-violent demonstration.

That’s not the way civil disobedience was done when I did it.

This is not Iran’s Tahrir Square. This is not even Wall Street.

Occupy Vancouver, you lost a potential supporter today. And I think I can safely say from a great many other Vancouverites: “Get off my lawn.”

——–

PS this is my personal blog, not a civic service. I reserve the right to not publish any comments I don’t like. Go somewhere else to carry on the debate, I may join you there.

——-

About those 100 posts:

So – 37 down, 63 to go. Or something like that.

I resumed my blogging yesterday when someone asked me for my delicious Greek Lentil Soup recipe. It was easy to do, so I posted it, thinking “Oh yeah, I have this 100 blog posts in 100 days thing I promised to get back to after I moved to Vancouver.”

With 60+ posts to go, I’m posting anything and everything that comes to mind. After the 100 posts, I’m evaluating where I really want to take my writing, and will re-focus accordingly. For now, I’m just getting it done. I’m “shipping,” as Merlin Mann would say. So – read in that spirit and keep in mind – YMMV (Your Mileage May Vary.)

 

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Greek lentil soup

I was asked for this recipe tonight when I tweeted it. See? People really are interested in what other people eat! (I know I am sometimes, especially when it comes to vegan/vegetarian meals.)

This comes to me from my daughter, @pocketbuddha who herself got it from a cookbook, the name of which I’ve forgotten.

Greek lentil soup

  • 2 cups red lentils
  • 2 Tbsp olive oil
  • 1 onion, diced
  • 1/4 tsp chili flakes
  • 8 cloves garlic (yes 8! I use half that, but go for it if you love garlic)
  • 2 diced carrots
  • 1 Tbsp fresh rosemary
  • 2 Tbsp fresh oregano
  • 2 bay leaves
  • 8 cups vegetable stock
  • 1/2 lemon’s worth of zest
  • 2 lemons’ worth juice

Garnish: fresh rosemary

  1. Rinse and drain lentils
  2. Sautée onion and a pinch of salt until translucent in a stockpot
  3. Add garlic, carrot, pepper, chill, rosemary, oregano, bay leaves, and salt and pepper. Sautée until tender.
  4. Add lentils and stock, boil, then simmer until lentils begin to disintegrate
  5. remove bay leaves and purée part of the soup, leaving the rest for texture
  6. add lemon zest and juice. Salt and pepper to taste.
  7. Top with rosemary for serving*.

* Non-vegans can top with feta cheese.

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What do I do with Grandma’s vintage step chair?

One thing I am not attached to is my STUFF. I have too much of it. I have to pay by the pound to move it, so if I don’t LOVE it, it’s not coming with me. So I’m selling a bunch of items.

However, one thing I am conflicted about is my grandmother’s chair, complete with steps.

Grandma's step-stool/chair

Grandma's stool

When I sat on it and watched her bake cookies when I was a little girl, it was green.

I don’t know how old it is, but I think my mother used to sit on it when she was a little girl in the 1950s.

My grandmother re-upholstered it when I was older, now as you can see it has a rip in it, one that wasn’t there when I took it from her condo after she passed away six years ago.

I don’t really have a space for it, but I can’t give it up. Not yet.

I’m thinking to perhaps clean it up, paint it funky colours, re-upholster it again and use it as a plant stand on my balcony.

What do you think? Keep it? Sell it? Give it away? Let me know in the comments.

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Signed, sealed, stressed

My twitter post this morning:

My app’t to sign, seal & deliver on my condo isn’t for another 2 hours, but I’m ready. This is what happens when I can’t go out for a run.

Running is my stress reliever, my outlet. Many of my most stressful (good or bad) life moments have been alleviated with a memorable run:

  • The morning I got married
  • The day I found out a boyfriend was leaving town (and that was a treadmill run!)
  • The day I came home from lunch to find my lover packing to move out (surprise!)
  • The sunny afternoon run along Dallas Road while on vacation when the overwhelming conviction hit me: “I belong here. I have to move here.”
  • After work the day I got the job offer to move out to the west coast
  • After my daughter died, and I couldn’t run because I was recovering from childbirth, I dreamed of running, and my daughter appeared as a 17-year old running beside me.

So the fact that I can’t run these days* is intensifying the stress of moving. I could have gone to the gym this morning I suppose, but somehow the logistics involved in picking out clothes, packing a bag, walking 15 minutes to the gym on a sore foot, and coming back home to get in my car for the appointment proved too much.

Dammit, I’ve got enough to think about: I’m purging my possessions by about a third, taking care of details like hiring movers, scheduling the move, preparing to paint my new place, changing utilities and informing everyone who counts about my address change, making sure my daughter has her stuff ready for the move to her new life mere days after her 18th birthday….

Don’t ask me to do anything other than to put on my shoes and go out for a goddamn run!

This is way more frustrating than not being able to show up to the two half marathons I signed up for this fall.

*Plantar fasciitis and sacroiliac (SI) joint pain.

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A college professor is fired – for supporting critical thinking?

Last week a college professor at a conservative fundamentalist Christian institution in the United States was fired for having the audacity to encourage the teaching of facts, science, evidence and critical thinking:

Crenshaw’s [that's the professor] comments (which he confirmed to Inside Higher Ed as accurate) include the following: “Science is the litmus test on the validity of the educational enterprise. If a school teaches real science, it’s a pretty safe bet that all other departments are sound. If it teaches bogus science, everything else is suspect…. I want a real college, not one that rejects facts, knowledge, and understanding because they conflict with a narrow religious belief. Any college that lets theology trump fact is not a college; it is an institution of indoctrination. It teaches lies. Colleges do not teach lies. Period.”

Crenshaw had apparently taught there for 35 years, had tenure and is highly regarded by just about everyone except Christian fundamentalists. The college has historically hired professors outside of its faith because the denomination is too small to hire its members only.

I don’t know if this small college receives any public funds, but it certainly would seem that it is accredited by some public body. That is a shame. I would say if your superstitious sect is too small to fill your post-secondary programs with instructors who are members, then you probably have no business offering post-secondary credentials. Give those funds, and that accreditation, to a secular institution that serves everyone, of all faiths, or no faith. One that encourages open debate and instills the critical thinking skills necessary to determine fact from fantasy.

This is a prime example of why religious institutions should not be given any taxpayer funding for education. Nor should they be subsidized by getting tax breaks of any kind.

Here’s the link to the story: News: A Dissenter Is Fired – Inside Higher Ed.

 

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Friends Sunday: Mary

Spread your wings and fly baby girl!

Spread your wings and fly baby girl!

I was incredibly relieved and happy when I found out I was pregnant with Mary over 18 years ago. So was her dad, because we had lost a baby girl, Mary’s older sister, some months before. Some books told us not to get pregnant again right away as a “replacement” but geez – how could we not? We wanted a child together, we wanted to mitigate our loss.

Mary is in no way a “replacement” — I proudly display the fact that I have four children, not three, in tattoo form on my arm.

Mary let us know right from the start she had her own personality. She made her needs known vocally and often, much more than her older brother and sister did when they were babies.

Therefore, I always thought it was a good thing Mary was the third child I raised. I knew better what I was doing. I jumped into mothering my youngest with gusto, knowing she would be my last one. I naturally fell into what is called “attachment parenting” with her. I nursed her for almost three years, didn’t start feeding her solid food until she started grabbing it herself, at about 11-12 months old. She shared our bed and I carried her everywhere. Good thing she was (and is) a little slip of a girl!

But most of all, I treasured every stage of development she was at. I was able to be “in the moment” with her much of the time. I would just look at her and think “Enjoy this right now, because soon she’ll grow up, and she’ll change, and I’ll wonder where the time went.”

I’ll candidly admit Mary and I are very close; closer than I was with my older two children. I love them very much, but I never got the chance to stay home with them for three years like I did with Mary. I think that made a big difference.

In fact, people used to call her “Mini-me.”

This probably isn’t what she had in mind when she asked me to write about her for Friends Sunday. Sorry sweetie – I just go where my pen takes me!

Mary portrait

At graduation this past spring.

Now, my baby is all grown up, finished high school and ready to move out on her own (admittedly with a little financial help from Mom and Dad). Little Mini-me has grown up to be a lovely, gregarious young woman who is a pleasure to be around.

I’m going to miss her so much when I move to Vancouver. Having an empty nest is going to be an awful shock, considering my entire adult life (from age 20) has been largely defined by my motherhood.

But I know such a sweet, wonderful young woman will do just fine, and she knows I’m only a phone call (or text) away.

 

 

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10 things to do on a Saturday night while trying to save $ for the move

  1. Read a book.
  2. Watch Meet Joe Black on Netflix. Drool at Brad Pitt.
  3. Revise your after-moving budget (that you know you’re never gonna stick to) while drinking a Hop Circle IPA from the stash in the fridge.

    It's an article about the beer rather than Phillips itself because, quite frankly, the Phillips Beer web site sucks. It's too cutesy, they seriously need some help in that regard.

  4. Text friend in Ontario whose power is out. It’s his only amusement after all.
  5. Plan meals for next week and make grocery list (that you know you’re never gonna stick to).
  6. Vaguely wonder where your 17-year old daughter is (with the boyfriend again silly!)
  7. Admire the sunset from the balcony.
  8. Ice foot, which is feeling a little painful from a run and a lot of walking around enjoying the sunshine this afternoon.
  9. Catch up on all the ReadItLater articles that have been piling up (most of which you know you’re never gonna get to).
  10. Write something – anything – for a blog post to help fulfill 100 posts in 100 days (which you know you’re never gonna get to).

 

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