Mmmm artificial flavour

The last of the homemade yogourt got eaten this morning and because of a lack of planning on my part I had to buy yogourt from the grocery store. After reading the labels from the different brands I concluded they all sucked and just grabbed whatever was affordable.

Store bought yogourt ingredients: milk ingredients, peach base (sugar, peaches, water, modified corn starch, natural and artificial flavour, potassium sorbate, colour [contains tartrazine]), water, modified corn starch, modified milk ingredients, gelatin, carrageenan, active bacterial cultures

Homemade yogourt ingredients: milk, active bacterial cultures, fresh fruit (optional)

I'm doing more foods from scratch these days beacause it's shocking what's out there. I was honestly surprised (and disgusted) by the ingredients in the yogourt that I purchased. I expect the foods in the aisles to be riddled with garbage, but in the peripheral I was hoping these more natural foods would remain untainted.

Knowing Samina (part 4)

"We need to find God, and he cannot be found in noise and restlessness. God is the friend of silence. See how nature - trees, flowers, grass- grows in silence; see the stars, the moon and the sun, how they move in silence... We need silence to be able to touch souls." - Mother Teresa

I did not start talking until the final quarter of my third year. According to my mom, I knew how to speak, which I demonstrated at the doctor's by uttering the words 'mamma' when she took me there out of concern for my silence. Yet, for some unknown reason, I just decided I didn't want to be heard. Sometimes I wonder about the reasons for my vocal protest. Was it intential, a carefully thought out plan which enabled me to fully observe this strange world? Was it, as Mother Theresa suggests, my way of finding God, of growing like the trees, of moving like the stars. Or was I just slow?

In my adult life, I certainly wish there were times when I was a child again and capable of being silent. I'm not always the most elequent with my words and have been astonished by the things I mutter. Often, as the words leave me, I'm quite aware that they are inappropriate, incoherent, or completely false, yet I can't stop from saying them.

Fortunately, there are also times when I am quite brilliant with the spoken word and glad that I overcame my vocal shortcomings. In a crowded room, I can find the confidence to coduct a symphony of laughter with quick wit and sharp observations. On a good day, I can flawlessly defend my side of a debate and catch the glimmer of defeat in my opponents eyes. And, when I am fully committed to the fundamentals of Jihad, I can reveal my shortcomings, accept responsibility for poor behviour with heartfelt apologies, and brush aside my pride long enough to admit defeat.

But despite my current state of vocal aptitude, I sometimes feel like that child trying to find her voice. This struggle can be found in the secrets I keep for other people that I know should be revealed. It haunts me when I am silent in the face of socially deviant behaviour. It riddles me when I realize that I am not capable of revealing romantic feelings for anybody. And it is a burden when I review the blog entries that remain in draft mode. I have never published them for fear that they may be critisized as too long, ridiculed as too serious, or rejected for being wierd. Maybe since this was once one of those unpublished blog entries, I am one step closer to understanding the need for silence but also finding my voice.

From the mouths of babes (part 1)

I accidentaly blurted the word 'stupid' in front of my nephews. To prove a point my sister scolded me for saying a bad word and ordered me out of the room for a time out. I was getting up to leave when the oldest rescued me by declaring 'no, I love her'. I was allowed to stay and play if I promised not to say the bad word again.

If only all mistakes could have such wonderful consequences.

The ugliest bowl

Four weeks and many funny shaped bowls later, I'm wrapping up the pottery course I joined with my sister. She is a pottery fanatic who's been messing with the art form for years. I'm a total beginner who thought it would be fun to try something different. It was cool exploring another medium to express myself and I really enjoyed the peaceful meditative feeling of sitting at a pottery wheel.

My sis and I are both quite different in our tastes. She likes symmetry and would spend endless amounts of time creating straight lines and even sides. I'm not as finicky and so I'll pull off my lopsided bowls and cylinders from the pottery wheel and declare them as art. Despite our differences, we both agreed that the ugliest of the bowls was something I created that we didn't think could be used for anything practical. I glazed it anyways, all along thinking it would sit in a storage box. What a surprise when I got a call from Zaman this morning telling me how much he loved the purple bowl and that he was eating his breakfast out of it. Seems he thought the 'ugly' bowl was the prettiest of them all and was so happy when we told him we made it especially for him (yes, a little white lie, but you would understand if you saw the smile on his face).

I don't know what my nephew saw in this oddly shaped bowl that's not really the right size for anything. However, I notice that he has the remarkable ability to see brilliance in most things my brainwashed adult eyes overlook. He marvels at the color in a dry fallen leaf and I can only see dull brown. He picks up rocks that he claims are beautiful and smooth after I've passed them without a glance. He looks with awe and excitement at the simple fort I made out of a blanket and chairs while I stress about how I can improve its structure. What a wonderful gift, to see worth in everything through open minded eyes. I hope he keeps that view forever.

I can't believe

I can't believe the anti gay sentiment from the radio announcer this morning. It is absurd that someone can be so bigoted about something that's as much as a non issue as the color of somebody's skin.

I can't believe somebody left their empty pizza boxes outside the elevator in my apartment building. Where do these uncivilized people originate from and how come I am surrounded by them?

I can't believe that the Calgary Flames got their own private H1N1 vaccination clinic. It's outrageous and unacceptable when the highest risk people like patients in hospitals haven't even recieved it and these over paid and over valued jocks get special treatment.

I can't believe that non high risk, relatively healthy Albertans over burdened the H1N1 vaccination clinics and stole the vaccine from those who needed it most. Now we know who we can't count on during a real crisis situation.

I can't believe what a mess the Alberta government has made of the whole H1N1 vaccination process. Not sure I could've done any better but I hope someone is taking notes and improvements are made for when a real threatening virus hits.

I can't believe that I don't entirely dislike Taylor Swift's new song that's playing on the radio. It's musically unoriginal and obviously cut from the same pattern as other big label hits, but when it's on I feel slightly happy and entertained.

I can't believe I got $10 in overdue fines at the library again. Everytime I tell myself it's not going to happen again, yet I am still paying overdue fines, am I just a completely useless creature of habit?