Sheryl Kirby

Food, Life and the World at Large

Category : Life

Flowers from the Bird Lady

BIRDLADY from FORTNIGHT LINGERIE on Vimeo.

Parkdale, my neighbourhood since 1993, is known for its many characters. People who make the place unique and colourful, people who definitely dance to their own drummer. For 90 some-odd years, one of those characters was Annie Ross. Born in the building that stands on the south-west corner of Queen and Dunn in 1913, she lived there her entire life until her death in 2004. Miss Ross never married, instead running her family’s flower shop at the front of the building, and spending her retirement years in a small apartment at the back where she was known for feeding the local pigeons; thus her nickname, The Bird Lady.

Miss Ross could tell you stories of how Parkdale had changed and grown. She could remember when the lot directly across the street from her on Dunn was a field for horses. She could tell about how the buildings went up along Queen, or how the mansions along Jameson came down to make way for apartment buildings. And she could tell you about books. In a 4-minute short documentary filmed before her death, she talks about how she began keeping track of all the books she read in her lifetime, some 8,600 different titles.

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Loose Ends

I seem to be starting my new year at somewhat loose ends. While 2011 was a very good and productive year in terms of work, and certainly beat 2010 in terms of emotional issues (yay for nobody close to us dying), I was left feeling that I didn’t accomplish very much.

This whole food writing thing, you see, well it was/is somewhat of a diversion. My original goal in “becoming a writer” was to write novels, or lovely descriptive essays. Since 2005 I’ve had a 90,000 word novel sitting in a drawer, waiting for me to get up the nerve to send it off to an agent or publisher. I also have about half a book’s worth of food-related memoirs and essays and a list of other pieces to write…

The food writing thing happened a bit by accident. A friend who had once worked as Margaret Atwood’s assistant told me that to help get publishers interested in my fiction, it would help to have “a name”. A series of events led to job offers at a couple of publications and then Greg and I started TasteTO, and suddenly I had “a name”. (At least it seems so, based on the number of people who Google my name and hit this website.)

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Some Day My Prince Will (Probably Not) Come

If you follow me on Twitter or Facebook, you know that I got tickets to see Prince on Saturday night, totally spur of the moment, outstanding 8th row seats with an amazing view, regularly $200, available day of for $67. Apparently this happens a lot with big shows, where a block of tickets is reserved for guests or promos and isn’t used, so the seats are sold off cheap. This would be good to know for future shows, except that I am fairly certain that I won’t be going to another stadium show any time soon.

Let me remind you, dear readers, of some facts. Sheryl = agoraphobic. Also, misanthropic curmudgeon. I don’t deal with other people very well, and particularly not in large groups. I work from home so as to avoid crowded buses, etc, etc. So with the exception of one very foolish decision to attend Lollapalooza in 1990, I haven’t been to a stadium rock concert since 1987. Literally. The Cult at the Halifax Metro Centre. And I was so stoned that my girl Sharon and I, in an attempt to get to the front of the stage, crawled on our bellies, military-style, under four rows of seats. So there’s not even a real point of comparison.

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The 9/11 Club

Like everybody else in the western world, I remember where I was on the morning of September 11th, 2001. Like everyone else, I spent most of the day glued to the television, crying. Unlike everybody else, I got dressed up and went out to dinner at a local restaurant… to celebrate my birthday.

It’s been an ongoing joke through most of my adult life that my birthdays always suck. They just do. Many of my friends abandon me for the Toronto film festival, and plans have a tendency to not work out – like the time Greg and I planned a day at a museum and a nice restaurant for lunch, only to discover that both were closed. Last year, we were supposed to go see KISS at an outdoor concert the night before, but my allergies kept me trapped at home. So I woke up that morning in 2001 expecting my birthday to suck in some way. I just didn’t realize it was going to suck for the whole world.

Ten years later, I’m still not sure going out was a good idea. But we had a reservation for a dozen people and we didn’t really know what else to do. Being together seemed like a better thing than being alone. A few of us brought cell phones and throughout the sombre meal, phones would ring occasionally with news that another NYC friend was safe. A call from Carla to let us know she was home, but tired after walking to the Bronx from midtown. A shell-shocked Marcus, telling me that he had to walk past body parts on the ground outside his office near the Trade Centre, and hitch a ride back to New Jersey. Erika, who until only a month or so before, had been working at Deutsche Bank in one of the smaller buildings near the Trade Centre that collapsed from the force of the other buildings coming down, sat across from me, quietly shell-shocked.

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Homework

Organizational experts advise clients who have trouble getting things done to always tackle the biggest, most important things first. This is logical for a variety of reasons, one of which is that it’s theoretically easier to deal with the little stuff once the stress of the big project is done.

The problem with this theory, though, is that people with poor organizational skills often have trouble estimating the amount of time a given project should take. So they might get through the big project, but not have the time available to complete the smaller, less important stuff.

Like just about every person in the modern world, I have a list of big “little things” that I never seem to get to. Things that it would be nice to have off my to-do list, but that are not imperative. After I get my daily (work) writing deadlines met, I should move on to these little, less important tasks, but if I leave them to the end of the day, that never seems to happen.

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Chili Willies

I am not normally squicked by bugs. I wear a beetle in resin as a pendant, I’ve had pets that needed to be fed crickets or mealworms. And as a food writer, I’ve even had the opportunity to eat bugs on several occasions. But I’ve done so knowing full well that I was doing so, and of my own conscious choice.

For the past few months we’ve had a moth problem – those little beige moths, known to be fond of devouring precious cashmere sweaters (yes, I’m still bitter!) – but we’d rarely see more than one a day, and we could never figure out where they were coming from.

We’d had moth issues before at another residence (thus the bitterness over the cashmere), and after a particularly disturbing dip into a jar of currants with a cork stopper (the moths had burrowed through the cork and there were thousands of larvae in the bottom of the jar), pretty much all food in our house gets stored in glass jars with metal lids or plastic containers. So the current moth issue had left us frustrated and confused.

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Life’s a Beach

While having dinner at Acadia (50C Clinton Street) recently, I remarked to owner Scott Selland that the amuse of pickled eggs, confit potatoes and bits of greens and okra reminded me of the beach. I don’t think he really got the correlation, and I’m sure I didn’t explain it well, it was just one of those neuron-firing events where something pulled up images of something else within my brain. So I dug up some photos to see if I could explain it visually.

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Hot Enough For Ya?

Do you know what’s even more annoying that people complaining about the weather? People who complain about people who complain about the weather. Over the past few days, since Toronto started its record-breaking heatwave, the number of people online and in mainstream media puffing out their chests, pointing to their own sweat-free foreheads and telling people to “enjoy the glorious weather” has increased exponentially. And to those people I say – Go Fuck Yourself.

Listen, I get that some people dig the hot weather. Good for you. You get on out there and enjoy it.

But some of us don’t like the hot weather. It makes us physically and emotionally sick. I don’t complain about it all that much, I just avoid it as much as I can.

Sadly though, some of the critics don’t get their own hypocrisy. The old “just you wait until winter” threat gets dragged out, along with their own gripes about the cold weather. These same folks who enjoy the sun seem to think it’s perfectly alright to gripe about the cold, but anyone who complains about the heat is a whiny baby.

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The Places We Inhabit

Something happened last week that has weirded me out and I can’t seem to shake it. Greg and I ran into an acquaintance on the streetcar who happens to live in the basement apartment of the house we lived in for 12 years, up until 2006 when, due to the negligence of the landlord, I fell in the front walkway and broke my arm.

Despite eventually moving to a smaller place in a highrise building and no longer having a big old Edwardian mansion (with a huge back yard) to call home, we ended up much happier, if only because we no longer had to deal with said landlord and his utter refusal to fix anything unless absolutely necessary. While the house was cosmetically beautiful, there were rotten joists, no insulation, century-old single-pane windows, squirrels in the attic, and because the landlord converted a cellar to a basement apartment illegally (as in, he never got a building permit, and paid a bunch of illegal immigrants less than minimum wage to do the work that wasn’t up to code… not to mention that he’s never paid property tax on the basement unit), some serious issues with black mold that had spread through the crumbling walls.

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Digging My New Digs

Welcome to the new home of SherylKirby.com, Saveyourfork.com and LeavesandPetals.com

Actually, while the place is new and snazzy and hopefully pretty like a pastry shop, I’m not quite done moving older content from my other two blogs. Once I do, they’ll be shut down, and the domain for Save Your Fork will point here while Leaves and Petals will disappear (there’s actually a garden shop in Georgia called Leaves and Petals who I’m betting would love to have the domain name).

I decided to pull everything together because, while I like things nice and compartmentalized, keeping track of, and updating 3 blogs (besides TasteTO and my gig at Toronto.com) was a bit overwhelming. Instead, I found a nifty template where I can divide my posts into 3 main categories that loosely align with the theme of each of my 3 blogs. So people just here for the food stuff can just read the food stuff. Friends and family can just look at the Life stuff. And probably nobody will read the ranty World At Large section, but I’ll sneak some nice pictures in there occasionally just for fun.

I think we’ve got all the bugs and issues cleaned up (and big thanks to my hubby Greg Clow for all his work) but I’m still sorting through all of the old content to see what’s worth saving – I’m considering starting up the newsy Food For Thought posts again, but the old ones are mostly dead links now so I’m not dragging a year’s worth of them over here – it really is like moving and packing up an actual house.

In any case, there’s still a few small things to do, but please have a look around, read, enjoy, and stay for a visit, I’ll put the kettle on…