Friday Favourites: Dyson Vacuum

This is a story about a dog, a vacuum, and a toe.

The Damn Brown Dog, Maple, was the first thing Hubby and I ever got together. Before joint bank accounts, before fights over counter space in the bathroom, before major purchases, before kids. Before all that we got a dog. She was my first dog ever, and Hubby's fourth or fifth. We'd been talking about it, but always assumed we'd wait until we lived together.

Her presence in our lives was, in part, motivated by the brazen bottle pickers who would come in our yard, and practically in the house, to score. Living by the University meant a lot of bottles and a lot of bottle pickers. From day one she was a total spaz and a wannabe lap dog. Her ears were the softest things ever and flopped down in defiance to her German Shepherd heritage. She was whipsmart - the smartest dog Hubby ever owned.

For over 13 years she was constantly underfoot, devoted to us. A once proud swimmer, her hips were going. And with that went incontinence, senility, and her sight. After a rough Christmas season we made the tough decision to put her down on New Year's Eve. Between then and now we had vacation and the normal chaos of life. That means we are now starting to feel the effects of her absence.

As any dog (or cat owner) knows, the worst part about them is the blessed hair everywhere. Everywhere. Maple was blessed with a double coat. Which meant I was blessed with the task of vacuuming at least every second day. And if I didn't vacuum we were all blessed with a skim coat of hair on every inch of our existence.

After the dog, our vacuum was one of our first new purchases as a couple. We'd bought a used car, the house we bought was 50 years old, and our furniture was a mishmash of hand-me-downs. I had to go to California for work so Hubby tagged along. We had two free days at the end of the trip. One day we spent surfing. One day we spent driving around the San Diego area looking for a vacuum. We sure know how to rock an vacation.

Dysons weren't available in Canada then. Hubby was sucked in by the design and the story, and the promise of suction. That's why we devoted the expense and the time to seek one out. We eventually found one (everyone was out of stock) at a dingy store in the almost wrong side of town. We were trying to fit it in our rental car and not watch the drug deal going on a few spots over in the parking lot at the same time. But we got it home and it felt like the angels were singing when I swooped it over our hardwood and the hair disappeared. That vacuum has been an almost as faithful companion as Maple.

I'll be totally honest here, since Maple died I've been quite relieved to not have to vacuum three times a week. So relieved that I barely vacuum at all! Just the kitchen and around the table to clean up the crumbs. Good enough, I thought.

Not so much.

The Garbage Truck, A.K.A Baby Boy, is crawling commando style all over the place. With hardwood upstairs we've been keeping him sockless at home so he has better traction. Well, the other night we had a ridiculously rough night with him. Since he's been sleeping through the night for a few months now it was brutal and we couldn't figure out what was wrong. Not teething, no tummy issues, no fever,  nothing. It wasn't until I was getting him dressed in the morning that I noticed it.

It being a toe twice the size it should be and seemingly attached to the one next to it. Close inspection revealed a mass of lint and hair wound tightly around his toes. So tightly that it was like a tourniquet, cutting off circulation and slicing a ring around his toe. I had to soak it and use my small applique scissors to free his toe. And we continue to soak it, keep it wrapped, and clean it constantly as it slowly heals to avoid an infection.

So vacuum, you are becoming my new best friend again. Even without your inspiration, Maple, you are still needed and loved. For the sake of our toes.

Friday Favourites: Tea Towel Calendars

Because the first day of March is the appropriate time to talk about a 2013 calendar.

I am in love with tea towel calendars. I don't collect vintage ones, but I do have my own personal collection and it grows every year. And every year my husband questions why, but then I catch him standing in front of the hanging calendar checking dates at least once a week. It's because they are beautiful and damn handy. All the days of the year in one place. A bit of artwork on an otherwise odd wall of panelling backed cupboards.

Daily pretty.

This year I got my calendar from Jumping Birds. In past years I bought from Michelle Engel Benscko, but with Cloud 9 a booming success she wasn't producing calendars this year. Yay for her, sad (just a teeny bit) for me. But I'm thrilled with this year's version on my cupboard wall. And counting down the days until next year.

Friday Favourites: Q-Snap Frame

A hand quilter by nature I am not. I don't mind it, especially the methodical nature of doing it, but I don't love it.

That being said, I've had this project lingering and it is time to get it done. (Oh, those UFOs!)  Besides, it is winter and there  is some good TV on. Now I feel productive while watching Finding Bigfoot with the family.

I love my Q-Snap frame for hand-quilting. I'm a stabber, as opposed to a rocker, with my hand quilting, so keeping the fabric taut is important. Armed with my frame and my over the shoulder mentor in Barb I am set. This winter I will finish this quilt.

Friday Favourites: Black Books

I cannot live without these two black books. They travel with me (both fit in my purse), they take up precious counter space, they define the days of my life.

Coil Bound Sketchbook 
Over the years I've learned that I am much better if I have only one notebook. At one point I had one for quilt sketches, one for article notes and interviews, one for doodles, and one just for my purse. It became a giant pain in the butt to keep track of their locations at any given time and to search for an idea I had that one time. Now I keep one book only, this one. It holds all my ideas for quilts, articles, books, home renos... All in one place.

Moleskine Weekly Planner
Sure, I've had a smart phone for years. When I worked full-time I lived by my linked phone and Outlook calendar. But to manage the home life, the phone messages, the to-do lists, knowing Hubby's out-of-town schedule, birthdays and more I came to rely more and more on a paper calendar. For the past few years this trusty Moleskine has been the repository of the written details of our lives. I love the weekly planner that has a calendar dates on one side and a blank page for notes facing it. Perfect for capturing everything, including my blog schedule!

Put these two black books together and you have me. I don't keep a journal, but the collection of these two books will tell you more about me than any diary with a key.

Friday Favourites: Hang-It-All and New Boots

Our little old house does not have a front (or back) closet. Oh yeah, we don't really have an entrance either. You just walk into our living room. That means shoes and coats and all the detritus of living in a cold climate are often scattered throughout the room.

In an effort to get the front entrance a bit more organized I bought this long lusted after Eames Hang-It-All. It really is a fun piece and oh so practical. Actually, too practical. It is generally covered in coats. So much so that you can't actually see it. I can't complain though, it is getting used and that certainly helps. I did clean it up for this photo and removed 5 jackets belonging to the girls and one belonging to Hubby. And this was before the snowpants returned.

I also wanted to share my sexy new boots. Vanessa was doing a giveaway the other day and sent so many folks here (Welcome new friends!). In jest she told people to tell me I had great calves. Well thank-you Vanessa and those of you who did just that. I'm pretty happy with my calves these days.

Despite no exercise other than the walks to and from school these days (That leash in the photo doesn't get used because the dog is too old.) I've managed to get back to pre-pregnancy weight plus a little bit. Just with careful eating. That gets me halfway to my goal weight loss. So, a few weeks ago, I decided to treat myself to some new clothes and shoes. And these sexy boots came home with me. Hells yeah!

Friday Favourites: Acapulco Bags

Storage! Funky retro storage!

Or...

Horribly tacky, tourist storage.

I picked these up off the floor of my Mom's garage. She'd had a garage sale a few weeks before and shockingly, shockingly, no one bought them. I do remember them hiding in the closet of my parents' room and I have a vague recollection of the trip to Acapulco where these originated. Obviously they were well loved because my Mom found a bottle of rum from the same trip in the bags.

And now they hold in progress quilt projects. Hubby even kind of likes them. Then again, anything is probably preferable to a plastic bin in the corner. The small one holds my Maple Leaf blocks (more to share on those next week).

Friday Favourites: Pigtails and a Sunny Colour Combo

My Evil Genius is obsessed with her hair. And I must say, it thrills me when she asks for pigtails. She has a slight curl to her hair so they look exactly like their namesake when she wears them. It is impossible not to smile when you see them.

I am also obsessed with this turquoise - green - yellow - and orange colour combo. I've always love the orange/turquoise contrast. My house is dominated by it. Lately, however, I've been adding in the green and yellow. A definite favourite right now.

Friday Favourites: Continuous Bias Binding

Up until a few months ago I was deathly afraid of continuous bias binding. As afraid of it as I am of falling and failure.  Then I had a project that was just begging to be bound with a bias stripe. Begging for it. So I gritted my teeth, consulted the interwebs, and our book (Amanda wrote great instructions for continuous bindings with mitered corners). Then I dove right in.

And it was easy!

Yes, it requires patience. Yes, it requires more fabric if you don't feel like doing any math. But it is so worth it. For the effect it gives, for the feel of the binding. (And, for many, for the wear of the binding.)

Now I feel like I have another tool in my arsenal to make each quilt uniquely mine. Not to mention to fuel for another favourite - custom bias tape - but that is for another time.

Friday Favourites - Sympatico

In my entire quilting career (14 years now) I've only ever purchased an entire quilt line twice. It never so happens that every print, every colour in a line grabs me and makes me excited to create. I've been rather impatiently waiting for Sympatico from Cloud 9 Fabrics to arrive ever since Michelle and Gina posted the previews of the line.

(Interesting side note: the only other line I've gathered in its entirety was another organic line: Shades of Grey from Daisy Janie.)

I waited until I finished a bucketload of work this summer to treat myself to these fabrics. 1/2 yard of each print. I think I need even more of the stripes because they would make such wonderful bindings. Now I impatiently wait for some solids to match so I can get sewing. No hoarding going on here, I'm desperate to cut into those prints!

Not being able to sew myself with the fabric didn't stop me from buying something made from Sympatico. After 10 years with a decent camera I finally picked up a camera strap. It's thick and padded and looks like a little too much for a camera strap, but it is perfect because the girls are constantly borrowing the camera now. This big strap makes me less nervous when they are around. I picked this up from Sew Fantastic. Another Friday Favourite.

Friday Favourites - Japanese Tailors Scissors

There is a guy here in town, the Knife Nerd. He has an unnatural love for Japanese steel, so he opened a knife shop called Knifewear. It's a drool worthy place for anyone who even marginally enjoys cooking. Indeed, Hubby treated me to a great knife for Christmas this past year. One of the perks of the Knife Nerd's job is research and buying trips to Japan.

One of the perks of knowing the Knife Nerd is asking him to buy something for you specifically on one of those trips.

Enter my new favourite scissors. I'm not a collector or anything. For years I've very happily used the Gingher's that technically belong to my husband. But when I started using these Japanese Tailors' Scissors a new level of fabric peace was achieved. So smooth, so sharp, so comfortable.

Perfect for trimming scraps.

Anastasia

My Baba was a diminutive woman who reminded those who just met her of Yoda. Her limited, broken English sounded a lot like the tiny green Jedi's manner of speech. She was also soft, kind, and generous.

If you've ever known a Baba or heard the stereotypes about these Ukrainian grandmothers you can assume you know my Baba. Her world revolved around her enormous garden, making sure people were well fed, worrying about anything and everything, church, and cross stitch. Everyone was too skinny. Hairy legs on a man meant he was going to be rich. Cold drinks made you sick. (My poor grandfather, forced to drink warm beer.)

This pincushion caught my eye at a quilt show a few years back. A little Baba to add to my sewing supplies. Each pincushion was different, and each had a name. As soon as I saw the name on this one, Anastasia, she had to come home with me. Anastasia was my own Baba's name. My own little sewing Yoda.

Now, the girls know the pincushion by name and ask to play with her. And Baba keeps me company when I sew.

(To read more about my Baba and her influence on me, check out the article on page 76 in Delish Mag.)

Happy Faces

Other than fabric stashing, I don't collect much. These mugs are one exception.

My Baba (grandmother) had a few of these hanging on little cup hooks in her only kitchen cabinet. They were pulled out and filled with hot raspberry tea when we arrived at her house in the winter. I looked forward to that tea every time we visited. It was a small pleasure in what was likely to be a crowded, somewhat boring, and filled with starchy fried food visit to a tiny house on the side of the highway in Saskatchewan.

That tea never seemed the same at home. Even though we had Baba's homemade raspberry juice and used the same sweet tea to make it. I concluded long ago that it was the mugs. So when we were packing up Baba and Dido's house as age forced them into care the mugs were the only thing I adamantly claimed. Over the years I broke one, but I've added two.

These happy face mugs are a little bit silly and that's why I love them. On particularly dreary days I can pull it out for my morning tea and I can't help but smile.

They are also very hard to find. So, I'm asking you, my readers, that if you are out on thrifting adventures to keep an eye out for these mugs for me. They are made by Anchor Hocking and the brand is Fire King. There are many gorgeous patterns under the Fire King brand, but I'm only interested in the happy face mugs. If you ever see one, let me know and I'll probably ask you to buy it for me.

Friday Favourites - Channeling Baba

As I learn to embrace my domesticity I find myself clinging to objects that celebrate my Baba. She was the stereotypical Baba - tiny, barely spoke a word of English, a garden the envy of Martha Stewart, and she thought everyone was too skinny. All summer she gardened and put food up for winter. All winter she cross-stitched and cooked. I'll never live up to her gardening, but I can embrace her other domestics arts.

This was her apron, just a cheap, commercial thing probably purchased at the Nu-Way store in tiny Hafford, Saskatchewan. Maybe she made it from material from the store? It's machine stitched, though, so I doubt it. She added her own flare with the extra large cross-stitch. I have two of these and I wear one every day. I would probably wear it all day but it is quite likely that I would forget I had it on when I went to pick up The Monster at preschool.

And the measuring cups are a new addition to the kitchen, purchased by a dear friend to celebrate my recent domesticity. They are such a fun treat in the kitchen and using them does indeed make me think of my Baba. With three dolls in the Matryoshka set I like to think it is three generations cooking together.

Chips and Chopsticks

A few months ago The Monster and I made a special trip to Chinatown.  In addition to paying the taxman we wandered around in search of something very special - kid friendly chopsticks. I couldn't tell you the name of the store we found them in, with me not speaking Cantonese or Mandarin. But we found the pint sized chopsticks and the little black plastic chopsticks training.  I don't know if that's what you call it, but I refer to is as the training wheels for the chopsticks.

And here is the household's favourite use for chopsticks: eating potato chips. Hubby has been doing this for as long as I've known him.  Before you scoff and giggle at this odd habit, think about it for a minute.  Most of us eat chips while watching TV.  If you use chopsticks you do not have the lick your fingers or get the remote greasy.  Ingenious, right?

So Hubby has The Monster trained up.  Now, if only I could get him to stop feeding her chips.

Friday Favourite - Salt

Hubby is addicted to salt.  Seriously.  Almost nothing is salted enough for him, he loves salt and vinegar chips, and actually licks his finger and dips it in the salt pig.  One Christmas I nearly bought him a salt lick as a joke, until I realized that I would be the one stuck finding a real home for it.  In true fatherly generosity he passed this love on to The Monster.

Daddy salts his food, she wants salt on her food.  Mama seasons the sauce, she has to season the sauce.  We've developed the fine art of faking it for her.  She is a wickedly smart girl, but somehow the motion of salting her food satisfies her, even if she doesn't see any salt crystals falling from our fingers.  We're either that tricky or she's only two.

With the past few weeks filled with a lot of sick days we've turned to baking as a way to keep her engaged and away from Yo Gabba Gabba (she is a child obsessed).  When she asked to bake cookies this week I inquired as to what kind.  

"Salt."

Yup, salt cookies.  In a freaky twist of fate, I had pulled out my Cook's Country cookbook and had it open to the cookie table of contents.  Wouldn't you know, they have a recipe for salty thin and crisp oatmeal cookies?  Considering it was a real recipe and all, I figured we had a better chance than last week, when she requested salt muffins.  In case you didn't know, salt as a crunchy topping on a banana muffin is okay, but not something I have a desire to repeat.  Salted oatmeal cookies are another matter entirely.

Crispy, thin, and with just a touch of salty crunch.  These are good cookies for people who don't like sweets.  Such a change from dense and chewy oatmeal cookies.  Equally delicious, and I'm not a big fan of salt.

Salted Oatmeal Cookies

(adapted from Cook's Country)

Makes 2.5-3 dozen cookies

1 cup flour

3/4 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp baking soda

1/4 tsp table or kosher salt

14 tbsp unsalted butter (2 tablespoons less than a cup)

1 cup granulated sugar

1/4 cup packed brown sugar

1 large egg

1 tsp vanilla

2 1/2 cups rolled oats (not quick or instant)

fleur de sel or Maldon salt

1.  Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

2.  In a medium bowl whisk together flour, baking powder, baking soda, and 1/4 tsp salt.  Set aside.

3.  Beat together the butter and sugars  until fluffy.  Scrape down the bowl.  Add the egg and vanilla and beat until fully incorporated.  Slowly add the flour mixture until just blended, then stir in the oats until well mixed.

4.  Roll cookie dough into balls about 1.5 - 2 inches around.  Place them 8 to a cookie sheet and press down with your palm.  Cookies should be about 3/4 inch in thickness.

5.  Sprinkle with fleur de sel or Maldon salt, a generous pinch per cookie.

6.  Bake for 10-12 minutes until the cookies are spread out and lightly golden.  Let them cool completely on the cookie sheet.

It Must be the Ukrainian in Her

There are a million lists that circulate through inboxes that start with, "You know you are X when..." I must admit that I can identify with the ones that refer to children of the 80s, Ukrainians, and quilters. But nowhere on the list about Ukrainians does it mention wanting pickles for breakfast.

Mornings in our house are lazy affairs, what with me on mat leave and Hubby self-employed and not a morning person. The Monster wakes up, steals a few snuggles, aggravates her sister and sits down with a handful of raisins and Zaboomafoo while I nurse Little Miss Sunshine. Once the little one is fed I make myself some tea and try to convince the Monster to eat some breakfast. Like her Dad, she isn't much for eating early in the day.

Well, one day last week she made the particularly unique request for pickles for breakfast.

We had a jar sitting on the counter, waiting for Hubby to open. When my parents make pickles and my dad does up the jars with his beefy construction worker hands a special gravity is enabled, one that holds the lids on with particular force. Of course, old lids don't help and being the frugal Ukrainian that he is, he won't replace the jars. Opening his jars is a two person, hot water, wooden spoon, and damp cloth job.

So that morning Hubby and I tried struggled. We rinsed, we banged, we grunted, we braced ourselves and turned. Nothing was working. Hubby finally felt some movement so tried that extra bit harder. I could hear the crack in the other room. The lid came off - with the top of the jar. Definitely time to replace the jars, Dad.

After the Monster got over the shock of the noise and the short-lived drama of thinking she wasn't going to get any pickles, we opened one of the jars that my mom and I made while our playhouse was being built. The Monster got her breakfast of three little pickles, and a bit of cheese too. Off to daycare a happy little Ukrainian. Well, half Ukrainian with garlic breath.

Mine! Mine! Mine!

There is that moment in time that every parent dreads in the development of their toddler - the Mine! stage. When the fork you are using, when the book you are reading, when the toy the other little girl is playing with, or when the quilt on the bed is always "Mine!" to your kid. It's exhausting to chase them arround attempting to extol the virtues of sharing or explaining that other people need those things to eat, mow their lawn, or move. It's infuriating when they can't grasp it, even though we should know better and realize an 18 month old doesn't necessarily know any better themself. So we follow behind them, chastising them as much as we can and apologizing profusely to the man whose cane she tried to steal or the little boy whose cookie she took.

I will not, however, apologize for my upcoming bit of selfishness. You see, I am painfully addicted to my cherry jam. Rather, to cherry jam with ricotta on toast. I could eat this every day, two or three times a day. The only thing that stops me from doing this is supply.

Sure, you can get cherry jam in the store. Most of it is imported from Europe and is quite chunky and thick. I find it all rather cloying, but it will work in a pinch. This summer I was inspired and decided to make my own. So far I've made three batches and I still worry whether there will be enough to get me to the next cherry season.

Making the jam, while time-consuming - was actually quite easy. I even decided to try it without using the pre-made pectin. I thought I was rather brave, having used Certo my entire life. With a little bit of searching I came across a post by the ice cream guru David Lebovitz. It was all coming together.

Following his basic directions I pitted all my cherries (with my paring knife), cooked them down a little, measured, then added sugar and boiled away. Then I put them in my specially bought jars. (Smart me bought new jars of a different shape for all my cherry jam. That way there can be no mistake between the cherry I love and the strawberry for the Monster and raspberry for Hubby.) A half hour later I realized that the jam was not going to set. So I emptied the jars back into the La Creuset, quartered an apple for some added pectin, and boiled again. Success this time. So I tried again with cherries and peaches. Yesterday I decided that I didn't have enough in the pantry and made another batch of plain cherry.

Instead of rationing my supply, I will enjoy it all. The Monster and Hubby will not. They are not allowed to touch my cherry jam. And yes, I will have a temper tantrum if I see their fingers or spoons even in the vicinity of my cherry jam. Maybe the Monster will shake her finger at me and tell me to share, and maybe I will. Likely I won't. It is all mine, mine mine.

Pick, pick, pick

Lest you think my kid is some kind of glorious foodie that will graciously or voraciously eat what we put in front of her, I must set the record straight. On Wednesday night, all she ate was the above peach brown butter bliss cake. But only the cake, not the peaches. So much for her love affair with peaches. And this was after I made her chickpeas, a near constant favourite. Maybe it was the way I made them - roasted, with garlic and swiss chard - but she's never complained about any of those ingredients before. And last night she wouldn't touch her pierogies and kubasa (garlic sausage for the non-Ukrainians out there). Oh, and she would only eat the peaches, not the cake, after she ate a small bushel of peas instead of her Ukrainian feast.

Kids are fickle, and damn that is frustrating sometimes. We made a commitment early on that we would not make a separate meal for the kids once they were off babyfood. They eat what we eat. If they don't like it, then there is still fruit and anything that might be for dessert. We think that this will lessen any food issues and pickiness. I'm not sure where we got that idea because my parents made me eat everything on my plate and I was picky as anything until I started working in the food industry. On the flipside, Hubby's brother ate nothing and my mother-in-law will still cook separately for him sometimes (and he's in his 30s). Either way, it's what we decided and we're sticking to it.

Sort of.

I find myself caving a little by making sure there is a slice of bread with butter if I think she won't eat her dinner. And we almost never eat bread with dinner. I justify it by putting it on her plate as we sit down and not giving it to her after she's turned her head at the plate or spat out what she tried. She is a full-blown two year old and her attitude is not something I am pleased with. But really, am I surprised?

So we put some bread on her plate, and always a few peas in the pod. She is offered fruit and dessert, but she doesn't always take it. And I've stopped letting her eat after dinner. She has to learn that dinner is it. We hardly eat before 6:30 pm and bedtime is two hours later, she doesn't need a snack... unless we go raspberry picking.

Tonight I needed a break and cooked a guaranteed pleaser. Besides, I was at the dentist this morning and needed soft food. Quesadillas. A.K.A Exotic grilled cheese. Hey, I put diced tomatoes and chili powder in them! And I served them with my dad's famous salsa and the best side dish ever - guacamole. Seriously, I love guacamole almost as much as I love chocolate. Thankfully, the Monster does too.

Here is my recipe for basic guacamole. I have no idea if it would be considered authentic, but it tastes pretty close to what a Mexican friend makes. Personally, I prefer it a bit chunky so I chop half the avacado and add a chopped tomatoe. This recipe is a basic proportion, but it can easily be doubled, tripled, quadrupled...

The Easiest Guacamole
1 clove garlic
1 avocado
1/2 lime, juiced
1/2 tsp chili powder
Hot sauce to taste
Salt and pepper

1. Mince the garlic clove.
2. Mix all ingredients together with a fork, mashing the avocado to your preference.
3. Season with salt and pepper.

Lemon Water

Everyone knows the juice parents. These are the folks who will run across a room, throwing people and furniture aside in a slow-motion exaggerated "N-O-O-O-O-O-O!" if someone offers their kid juice. I have to admit that I used to be one of those moms. Then the Monster starting asking for apple juice. We were confused because we've never given it to her, let alone is it really ever in our house. How did she even know what it is? The joys of daycare. We asked, and sure enough, they often get juice at snacktime. We asked them to stop giving to her and they tried. But daycare isn't as strict as Mama.

Oh well.

Seriously, oh well. Is juice a battle we really want? We control most of what she eats and it's not like she walks around stuffing candy in her face while falling asleep with a sippy cup of pop.

This summer we've introduced her to lemonade or, as she calls it, lemon water. We always have a pitcher in the fridge and she is now allowed a very diluted sippy cup once a day. Come to think of it, we could probably just put some lemon slices in her water and she would be happy. Although, that would take all the fun out of it.

We are lazy lemonade makers. Yes I could squeeze lemons and make sugar syrup. But I have a toddler and a newborn and a need to spend my time on other things, like raspberry picking later today. Lucky for us there is a great local lemonade concentrate, Zora's Lemonade. Yum, yum, yum. It is a liquid concentrate so you can make your drink as sweet as you want. And for grown-up lemon water we find it goes nicely with vodka or gin and a bit of mint.

You can find Zora's at Cookbook Company Cooks or the Millarville Farmer's Market.

Speaking of local, the Calgary Herald's Green Guide has a great article today about the Innisfail Growers and yours truly is quoted in the article. The Monster got her picture in the paper too.

Sources:
Zora's Lemonade 403-246-2046
Millarville Farmers' Market
Cookbook Company Cooks
Green Guide