The Griswolds Meet Pieces of April

Somehow the post I wrote about our family Christmas was lost to the binary blinkings of blogger. This displeases me greatly as of course I am quite sure that it was the most delightful post I've ever written (probably not). So now, in its place I will make a quick summary the first (of two) family Christmas dinners.

It started with (what I refer to as) The Griswolds meet Pieces of April Christmas.

We had a major power outage the night before and day of our planned family Christmas feast. In fact, not just our house, but the entire neighborhood. This resulted in my mother and sister kicking into full food preparation RED ALERT. Driving across town to several surrogate ovens and bringing back cooked dishes wrapped in tea towels and hoisted into coolers. Meanwhile my brother in law bought dozens of electronic tea lights, large candles, and industrial flashlights to illuminate the house. We tried to strategically place the various beams (including one shining directly on the darkened Christmas tree).

"Yes, the tree is...er..lovely!"

Buffet by flashlight.

A romantic family Christmas...?!

Gift opening in the dark.

And then there was light!!!

Regardless of the electricity situation, the food was fabulous thanks to the industrious problem solving skills of my sister and the fact that she has a gas stove (no Christmas feast would be right without steaming sour cherry sauce for the pork and hot gravy for everything else). Despite being in the dark things maintained a degree of normalcy, the adults ate too much and the teenagers texted too much. We drank wine, opened presents, and enjoyed having (almost the entire) family together for the first time in ages. I have to admit, being home for Christmas for the first time in 9 years has made me very excited at the prospect of being back in Canada. As much as I love Ireland and all the adventures I've had, there is something to be said about being home, in the dark, with my crazy family.

Forced Silence

It's weird not being able to write about the biggest and most important development in my medical education to date. Tonight I finished the final touches on my CaRMS application (for Canadian residency program). All my documents are uploaded, fees paid (ouch), letters in, and programs selected.

Now all I do is wait.

And attempt to get a good night's sleep.

I'd love to write about all the thoughts I've been having on my future career prospects, what I really hope to match in, where I really want to live and study. But I can't! The truth is, this blog is so easily linked to my name if anyone wanted to do a quick google search on their future resident it'd only take 2 seconds to find a treasure trove of ABB rambles on life and career choices.

So, as part of the game I can't really say where I applied or what I applied to. If you're reading this, dear Program Director, then rest assured yours is the ONLY program I want!

It has been a helluva few months. Between studying for the EE, hospital presentations, the Case Competition, my placenta study, school work, and CaRMS applications I truly have not had 2 days off in a row since I came back here in July. Even when I went for a little getaway weekend trip to Cromane I was working on personal letters most of the time. Now I have less than 2 weeks left in this rotation and then I am back to Canada for 8 weeks! Yep. I haven't been home for Christmas for NINE years. It's going to be unreal. Yes, I will be working on a lit review and doing an elective in general surgery but I will also be getting in some skiing, hot yoga-ing, novel reading, soup making, spinning, visiting, sleeping, studying, and full-on relaxing. And hopefully...residency interviews!!

Ahhh, it's going to be so good.

I will start finding out about possible residency interviews in roughly a month. Will keep the blogosphere posted, so to speak. And also, I hope to finally write about life for the last few months. There have been so many wild ups and downs. I feel like most days I am barely able to process what has happened before the next wave hits. Life moves so fast, in 1.5 weeks I am officially halfway through final year.

Thanks for coming along for the ride!

My current mantra.

Scenes From A (gastronomical) Canadian Winter Holiday

I've been rather unplugged the last few weeks, in the wintery wilds of Québec. My slothful existence has mostly starred red flannel snowflake pajamas, a reading chair, exquisite food and drink, late mornings, a stack of books, my mother, Tobie, his family, strong coffee, a grand piano, and a few brief appearances by friends (that means you, Liz, Lisa, and Not House!)

Other than my uninterrupted, daily rumination on what will I be when I grow up, will I ever get accepted in a Canadian residency, and how can I somehow turn lead into gold to pay next year's tuition...I threw medicine on the back burner and let other areas of my life simmer. It's been great.

Shortly after my arrival in Québec, Tobie and I swept the car off and made our way to Montréal.

When we were car-less, job-less, penny-less and living in residence 2 years ago, we'd sometimes go on imaginary dates in Canada, pretending our purple comforter was a magic blanket that would take us anywhere. We would try to outdo one another with elaborate descriptions of these dream dates. Montréal was a frequent destination when Tobie was choosing the city. We took our magic comforter to go Christmas shopping at Simon's after a crammed lunch at Schwartz's deli. Then we'd walk the dark and snowy streets looking for a quiet place to duck in for some nice wine or sugary treat. After that, it was a chilly ride back across the Atlantic.

Finally, this year we were able to live some of our magic carpet dreams. And probably shorten our lifespans a little in the process. (Apologies for the double photo posting, but until more than 10% of you look at my tumblr account, I won't feel too bad...)

I give you the lean smoked meat sandwich at Schwartz's.

 Belly up, boys! Take a moment to imagine pure deli chaos: the clink of dishware, the holler of orders, scrape of chairs, splash of fries into the oil, murmurs of 'mmm', the ring of the cash register, the smell of spiced and cured meats, salty pickles, and cherry soda. There, you have it now.

I call this photo of Tobie below, "Quintessentially Canadian".  Next to that is Perside, his sister, presenting her Jaime Oliver turkey recipe extravaganza. This was Christmas dinner, when I ate until I developed an upper right quadrant cramp. Similar to a running stitch, only this one was from eating instead.

Below is the classic 'driving home from Christmas dinner' scene. I miss being five years old, falling asleep during the ride home, having mom carrying me (while I pretended to be asleep) into the house, and being put to bed. These days it'd be an improbable feat of superhuman strength for Tobie to haul my somnolent butt out of the car, coat and all, to tuck me in.

Me proving that yoga can indeed be done in yoga jeans. Tobie reading a rag while we were waiting for our table at La Paryse. Seriously, seriously great burgers. The poppy seed bun is well worth the risk of post-meal embarrassment.

Below we are back at Schwartz's for more smoked meat love, this time with my momma-bear. She was fresh off the plane and ready for a week of gastronomical delights, including our own 'food tour' of Montréal. We all should have worn jogging suits for the trip. Not because we were jogging, but because elastic waistbands would have suited our needs a little better. Mind you, we did stand outside in -20 degree Celsius weather for over 20 mins waiting in line and shivering does burn calories. Oh yes it does. Pretty sure my lips were frozen onto my teeth in this photo.

Dinner that night at DNA. OK people, take your bucket lists out now and add, Eat At DNA in Montréal.

No, I am not getting any kickbacks for the endorsement (I wish!) I just need to convey that this was one of the most fabulous nights of dining I can remember. You need to experience this place before you die. Period.

Momma-bear had the lamb (on the left), Tobie and I had the suckling pork loin, slow cooked for 7h and then topped with salsa verde, sweet spaghetti squash, and some pureed goodness that tasted like possibly butternut squash and apple. The photos poorly represent the outstanding presentation, but it was the best I could do.

Tobie tucks in. 

The dessert was no disappointment either. 

Tobie and MB had the lime-tart (I was thinking, lime tart? What, are we eating at a hospital cafeteria in the 1950's??) But the joke was on me because the lime tart should have been called, 11 Minutes of Uninterrupted Eating Bliss involving light and (quite) sharp lime, tempered with soft, fluffy whipped cream, and a crust that would make most pastry chefs weep.

The New York cheesecake was no slouch, topped with their house-made rhubarb jam and a wafer of almond and caramel. And by no slouch I mean that it was the 'Goldilocks and Three Bears' of cheesecake--not too heavy, not too light, not too cheesy, not too bland. Juuuuuuuust right.

Not only was the food brilliant, the decor was very chic in an unpretentious way, as were the house staff. They cure their own meats in the basement and sell house-made pickles, jams, chutneys. All ingredients are locally sourced and seasonal. WIN!

After dinner we cabbed our way over to Pullman wine bar and took in the people watching, deliciously fermented grapes, and their funky atmosphere which included a chandelier of inverted glasses.

Then we returned to the hotel, drank some water, and went to bed.

Just so you don't think we're food snobs, I'd like to direct your attention to the place-setting at the restaurant where we ate dinner the following evening. Let's just also mention that the walls were wood paneled, the waitress was passive-aggressive, no, just straight-up aggressive, and all meals came with white buns and gravy. 'Nuff said.

This is what happens when Tobie chooses the restaurant.

New Year's Eve heralded the invention of a new cocktail (see my recipe posted here), more homemade gourmet feasting (courtesy of Tobie's phenomenal sister), watching fireworks from the living room window, and drinking herbal tea while discussing novels with my mother. It was all very serene. 

Speaking of serene have you ever seen how pretty a preserved hibiscus flower is when it is sitting in a little puddle of gin?  Feast your eyes.

Also, when was the last time you had a drink mixed for you by a blogger in a solar system blouse? Too long ago I bet, too long ago.

And so, another year came to a close. The last few days of my holiday were spent trying to fit into my clothes, packing, and saying goodbye to my near and dear ones. I'm so grateful to have had the opportunity to unwind a little. I know this will be the last long Christmas holiday that I will have for years, which is why only a small dose of daily guilt for my slovenly and sub-academic behavior crept into my awareness.

I'm hoping that 2012 will bring new recipes and races, great reads, light westerly winds, mentorship, adventure, and a few surprises...good surprises. And of course the answer to some of my questions...

Here's to you, 2012, whatever you will be.

Cheers!

The Real Reason, On CBC Today

When I am asked the reason I chose medicine, I almost never tell the truth. I feel a little protective of the real reason and how it might be perceived by others, so I usually reveal some of my less sentimental and more cerebral motivations for becoming a doctor.

But, when given the opportunity to create a small radio piece about my grandad and how he continues to medically inspire me, I happily got to work.

I know it is Christmas Eve, but if you need a half hour break from the chaos, have a listen to a story that is very close to my heart.  Tune into CBC's national radio show, White Coat, Black Art today, or go to the website and stream it at your leisure.

Hope everyone is having a wonderful start to their holiday!

Merry Christmas and happy holidays.  Stay safe, keep warm.

Circular Conversations at Customs

There happened to be a good friend from school on my flight from Newark to Ottawa yesterday. We didn't plan it that way but we were pleased to have some catch-up time throughout the cab-rides and layovers. Naturally we were chatting while waiting in the customs line, until I approached the weedy French Canadian with a friendly, "good afternoon". His blonde hair was shaved to the nub, and he had an expression on his face that said I'd rather be wearing mirrored aviators...

He responded to my greeting with, "who is that you are traveling with?"

Uh, I am traveling alone.

Alone?

Yes, alone.

Who was that guy you were talking to then?

Um, a friend, but we aren't traveling together. [What are you, a jealous boyfriend??]

You are on a flight together but not traveling together, hey?

Yes, I bought my ticket separately, we live in different towns...er...I know him from some classes we took together.  [Confused and now flustered at this strange line of questioning, I think I probably sound like a drug smuggler].

Where do you live then?

I live in Small Town Ireland.

And where do you go to school?

At University in Ireland.

And what are these classes? [Smirking like I am about to say, 'nude sculpting']

Um...medicine classes? [Am I a complete imbecile? When have I ever described my education as 'medicine classes??'] 

What are you studying at University of Ireland?

Oh right, medicine, I am studying medicine. I am a medical student. [The lady doth say 'medicine' too much, methinks...]

And you are in Canada for just 25 days then?

Yes. [Hello, I am a Canadian citizen I can be in Canada for as MANY BLOODY DAYS AS I WANT!!!]

He tosses my passport onto the desk and motions to next person in line. I collect my luggage and walk through gate to see Tobie's smiling face. Until we reach the safe confines of his car my head continues to dart around waiting for customs to taser me or demand a bag / body search.

What is it with these uniformed misanthropists? Is it that their job is so bad that they feel the need to be acrimonious power-trippers? Are they actually not allowed to smile, or be polite, engage in socially acceptable forms of communication? I was so annoyed, wishing I could delete the whole welcome home to Canada experience.

The great part is I am home. Sorta. At least I am in the motherland, where the "hot" and "cold" tap are one, my 'accent' doesn't attract attention, and soy milk comes in more than one brand / flavor.

Oh, Canada...you complete me. [Sighs]

Where Am I Going Again?

As I mentioned on twitter this afternoon, when I pack I am sort of like a dog circling a spot before lying down. Only my ritual seems to involve spinning around for hours. Packing has the tendency to flare up an attention deficit problem and I find myself vacuuming, baking, cleaning my hard drive, flossing, and online shopping while stuffing random articles into my suitcases.

This trip home is exciting and a little unsettling at the same time. I haven't been back to Canada for Christmas since 2008 so naturally I am looking forward to watching some crisp moonlight snowfalls with the Nana Mouskouri Christmas album playing in the background. I can't wait to see my mom, Tobie, his family, my good friend Liz...the Arab grocery store in Montréal that I love.

The unsettling part is that I don't know how long I am going for, and where I'll be for January. It is a little difficult to pack when you don't know if you'll be spending a month in Arizona or Nunavut, a GP office or an O.R. We're talking a lot of variety here. Heels? Hikers? Nylons? Blouses? Scrubs? Sneaks? Not to mention which books I'd bring based on the place / rotation. I am still trying to arrange something but my most recent lead is looking unlikely now as well. I found out this week that I also didn't get any electives at the University of Ottawa for the summer. Have I mentioned that I am tired of feeling like a medical pariah an outcast? Is this blog post turning into a pity party? Maybe...

So now, instead of coming back to Ireland at the end of January it looks like I might be flying straight back after New Years. Sigh. I just want an opportunity to learn, and to get some hands-on experience.  It is really disheartening to constantly feel doors close in my face when I am working hard and putting myself out there. It is true that at every turn medicine asks, how badly do you want this??

OK. That is enough whining. 


On a happier note...the ginger cake that I made today turned out beautifully. I may be turning a corner in this whole baking thing. Yes, yesterday my kitchen did look like I'd had a seizure in it while holding a bag of baking soda and I probably ate 4000 calories of "broken" brownies oh I can't bring the broken ones to the Christmas party...but with each event the baking part gets a little easier and the results get a little more edible. Maybe I should try to get an elective at a pasty school...hmmm...

Ghost of Christmas Past

I was reading through posts about the holiday season on my old blog and I found this one from 3 years ago. It made me realise that it's been a long, long time since I've been home for Christmas. The theme of being away seems to keep coming up, which was a big part of why I started blogging. It was an easy/exhibitionist way of keeping a diary, an account of things.

I will post soon about my most recent Christmas, but in the meantime...a little trip down memory lane.

---

A marker in time. Christmas.

When I was a kid I was allowed to sleep in the living room, next to the tree. I always loved falling asleep to the blinking lights and the sounds of cards and laughter coming through the glass door that separated our living room from the kitchen. Even now, sometimes when I can't sleep I try and imagine myself back in time feeling that sense of anticipation and security as Christmas danced on the horizon and family were every where I turned.

Last Christmas John and I were in Morocco and it was less than ideal, though we did try to make the best of it. It was cold at night and the Riad we were staying at had no central heating (which was the norm) so at night the owners would bring a smoking stove with virtually no ventilation into the common room where we'd oscillate between freezing outside breathing fresh air and smoke inhalation in the warm-ish common room. I was homesick and calling home made it no better, listening to my families enjoyment of their rented cabin in Fernie and freshies on the mountain each day.

Photo booth near Todra Gorge where we were staying.

It reminded me of when I called my father on Boxing Day from the west coast of India in 1999. I felt a million miles away from everything and everyone standing there in the suffocating phone booth, sweating, rings of dirt around my neck. I was crying and he just said, "why the hell don't you come home then?". It makes me laugh now...you can't call your parents crying on the other side of the world and not expect them to say such a thing. But at the time it was as ludicrous a suggestion as "why the hell don't you join the Spice Girls and go on tour with them?"

I searched online for some way to get home from Morocco but of course it was Christmas and it would have been impossible to change flight and go home without losing my money on the return ticket and likely losing my boyfriend in the process. So I stayed and we spent a shivering, coughing, Christmas eating tagine and scrambled eggs with the chain smoking Czechs, the hilarious Germans, and the hospitable Moroccans.

So a year passed and it seems that life again had it's own plans for me this Christmas.

After successfully finishing a semester in Kelowna I was excited to return to Revelstoke to see friends and then be on my merry way to Red Deer to see my brothers, sister, nieces, nephews, brother-in-law, sisters-in-law, mother. It rarely happens that all four of us kids are in the same country at once.

I made smoky sweet potato soup, bought all kinds of organic veggies for a roasted winter vegetable pasta (with fresh pasta from the Italian deli in Kelowna). I had to make several trips to the car to pack the Petit Syrah, the Champagne, the food, the mandolin, clothes, ski gear, and camera.

Got about 50 km down the highway and after being tailgated by an asshole in an SUV on the black ice I decided to turn around.

Now I was trying to negotiate the black ice while sobbing and snotting all over my steering wheel. Okay enough with Christmas and crying I say!!! I unpacked all the food, the drinks, the instrument, the clothes, the books, etc. and put on my snow pants. Tobogganing in the alley with Carlos, Ruby, Polly, Nelson, and Sophie cheered me up.

And thus the Revy Christmas whirlwind began.

Threes?

Today I left the lights on, draining the battery of my friends car.

Then I lost my favorite shirt at the gym.

And then flooded my kitchen/living room by leaving the hot water tap on while I meandered off to vacum.

Post-exam brain? Yep.

Stress level even registering on the Richter? Nope.

I love life.

Happy/Sad

Today I got a little care package from my sister in law (who is this beautiful, athletic, hilarious, thoughtful, supermom/superwife). She sends me these parcels from time to time, and they are always such a treat.

Everyone hates licorice so there is always plenty left for me. 

With the tea she also included a little card from my niece and nephews, which was both delightful and depressing. 

My favorite line is from Aidan, my 10 year old nephew: "hope you have a good Christmas, where ever you are". Totally got a lump in my throat as I read it. I really miss my family, and getting to see the little ones growing up. Everyone is going to be in Australia for Christmas but I am staying here to do a project for school (shadowing ALS paramedics) so that I won't have to do it in June (when I'll need to be studying for the USMLE). 

I know that my travels are abstract in their little worlds, and I've been away for the last eight Christmases (usually working), so this is nothing new to them. It's just that sometimes I hate being the wayward Auntie that is always away. 

Fake Snow and Do-Wop

Yes, it was certainly another non-traditional Christmas in the land of Albinoblackbear. Last night we opened--well we didn't even open--we handed over our pressies.

I think I came out on top with an amazing CBC t-shirt (for my American friends, CBC is the Canadian equivalent of NPR--without the fundraising drives). I have an obsession with CBC. To the point where I even write fan letters to people like Eleanor Wachtel (for the record both her producer and the best interviewer of all time herself--Ms. Wachtel--wrote me back). Needless to say I haven't removed the shirt since it arrived in my hot little hands. Tobie (Manfriend) also gave me some great CD's, Rosanne Cash, the List and Chip Taylor and Carrie Rodriguez's Live Album. Double score. And to round it out, some beautiful jewelry from Tobie's mom and this insane piece of art that she bought for me because she saw it and thought that the woman looked like a 'lady doctor'. His mom is an artist so she finds these quirky things in the strangest places. Anyway, I love it and it's total uniqueness.


We went out to the pub last night to meet up with some of Tobie's friends from the orchestral music scene. I couldn't believe how wildly busy the downtown area and pubs were. People were crammed into doorways, reaching their pints high in the air to walk to a table of friends. Young, old and everyone in between was having a good dose of Christmas cheer. The packs of smokers huddled confined by rickety barriers on the outskirts of the pubs. We had some cider and hit the road back to the apartment. On our way by Arnotts they were pumping fake snow out of vents above the doors. Shoppers were streaming out speckled in large flakes on their peacoats and handbags. I had to laugh, being the to-the-core Canadian at the novelty that is snow at Christmas.

Got home and enjoyed a Christmas Eve feast.

Dessert was the best.

Behold the profiterole. Thanks to Marks and Spencer.

One of the major advantages of being with a Frenchman (well, a Quebecois to be exact). They appreciate (and endorse) the traditionally French dessert. Yum. Must admit that I enjoy it much more than my family's pumpkin pie finish to our Christmas and Easter dinners.

I was thinking about my last two holiday seasons which also were far from my family. Last Christmas I was working my yorkshire puddings off in a string of long shifts in an emergency department on the west coast. The Christmas before I was stranded in the BC interior mountains due to a large pass of black ice stretching between me and my relatives 9 hours away. Had a cozy celebration enveloped in the warm living rooms of my friends in Revelstoke.

My first time away over the holidays was in India when I was 20. I was staying in a rented room on a pig farm on the west coast of Goa. The toilet was an outhouse which had a small hole along side the squat toilet. When the door to the outhouse would open the pigs would squeal and fight their way to have it be their snout in the hole in time for the next delivery. No one believed me so I did manage to get a photo one night, the snout clearly visible between my feet. One of the other people renting a room at the farm knew I was a bit homesick and painted me a Christmas tree, the size of my palm, and stuck it on my door as a piece of cheer. I felt far far away from home.

Again I am far away from home and will be for some time.

But as Tobie always reminds me when I get down about being away--it's not where you are, it's who you are with. And I am loving our chance to enjoy some downtime in this magical city together.