About Janice Hillmer

Writer, grad student, traveller, accidental humourist and unwitting adventurer.

Adventures in Frenemies

Posted on July 7, 2012 by Janice Hillmer

Meet Esmeralda. She’s been in my life for 3 days now. I’d like to say that we hit it off right away, but I can’t. I can’t even say that we have a love/hate relationship. Instead, it seems as though we’ve settled into some sort of twisted Junior High rendition of “You’re nice an’ all, but I hate you anyway” relationship.

Esmeralda: She’s nice an’ all, but I hate her anyway.

You see, she is really nice. She’s lightweight, smooths out the bumps in the roads, and is very shiny. Sources (i.e. a Google search for ‘what the heck should I look for when buying a bike?’) tell me that she has good brakes, and other fine qualities. I’m sure if we had met under other circumstances, (like if she was someone else’s bike) we would have gotten along famously. In fact, I really liked her when we met – as long as she still belonged to the bike shop. However, just minutes after making the purchase, she reminded me that she was, in fact, a mountain bike.

I hate mountain bikes.

Mountain bikes and I have had our moments. I’ve explored the volcanic Korean island of Jeju on a mountain bike (making up many new curse words along the way). I’ve seen the Cambodian countryside and the splendors of Angkor Wat on a mountain bike (what a delightfully flat country!) More recently (yesterday, in fact) I discovered a friendly northern Thai sausage vendor because I was on my mountain bike. It hasn’t been all bad.

In fact, coming home today, with a bag of recently purchased sour-pork sausages dangling from my handlebars, I came close to reconciling my relationship with Esmeralda. As I glided smoothly along my lane, a super decked-out uber-cyclist came from the opposite direction. He looked completely at home on his mountain bike, while I was still feeling like a bit of a cycling fraud. Apparently, he didn’t realize I wasn’t really a mountain biker, because he rang his little bell and smiled at me, as though we really were fellow travelers in a mountain bike world. A warm glow enveloped me, and I smiled broadly, thinking maybe I really did belong…then I nearly ran myself into a bush.

The trouble is, no matter how much I’d like to think I’m all mountain bike-y and awesome, my dorky little heart belongs to bikes like these:

I wonder what’s become of this sweet ride. Seriously, look at the chain guard. It says ‘sweet’.

So, if anyone wants to take Esmeralda off my hands, and save her from a litany of imaginary curse words in the coming weeks, give me a call. She’s for sale.

Adventures in my Hot and Spicy Kitchen

Posted on June 13, 2012 by Janice Hillmer

*Warning: This post contains pictures of lizards mating, mangoes boiling, and a lazy cat – any of which may be disturbing for some readers.*

My kitchen is tiny. Not as tiny as this one in my former apartment, but still tiny.

“I hope the Blue Faerie will turn me into a real kitchen someday!”

Since it’s so small, not much happens in it. In the morning, coffee gets brewed, an egg gets fried and a slice of bread gets toasted. On a good day, the 3 resulting dirty dishes might get washed. That’s about it. (Unless the cat uses the space to practice some sort of extravagant cabaret show while I’m out…)


Um…yeah, that’s not likely.

Cat shenanigans notwithstanding, my kitchen has seen a lot more action this week than it usually does. And yes, I do mean action. ‘Tis the season when a young lizard’s fancy turns to thoughts of…CPR. I came home the other day and interrupted a Gecko 1st Aid class in progress on my kitchen wall:

“Henri, we have been spotted! Quick, pretend you’re giving me the Heimlich maneuver!”

Not to be outdone by the lizards, I decided to spice things up a bit myself. Uhh..let me re-phrase that. I really started to get things cooking. Hmm, no, that doesn’t sound quite right either. Y’know what? There is just no appropriate Grandma-might-be-reading-this way to transition from taking pictures of lizard ~~sex~~ CPR to making mango chutney. Except maybe to say, “A few days later, I made mango chutney.”

A few days later, I made mango chutney. My neighbour had picked a gazillion mangoes off my tree, and gave me a giant basket full of yumminess. I shared lots of them, but was still left with nearly a dozen delicious, juicy mangoes to use up. In a sudden burst of domestic fervor, I dug out my saucepan, bought some canning jars, Googled a recipe, read for a while, painted my toenails, did some laundry, and eventually set to work. The recipe called for crystallized ginger, and red pepper flakes. Why use those when fresh ginger and fresh chillies abound?

This is a photo of an awesome pot of chutney…with a not-so-awesome caption.

The bright yellow/orange mangoes and the fiery red chilies in a sweet and tangy sauce make the perfect companion to almost any meal in this wet and rainy season.

Uh-oh.

I’ve just made an uncomfortable discovery. I don’t actually make meals in my kitchen. Why on earth did I make a condiment to go with them!? It’s like handing someone a bottle of ketchup and saying, “Here, look at this pretty ketchup, and imagine how good it would taste if you had a burger to put it on.” Drat!

I guess the lizards are going to have to find a new venue for their 1st aid classes, and the cat is going to have to have cabaret practice in the living room. It looks like I’ll be gettin’ busy (Sorry, Grandma!) in my kitchen after all.

Adventures in Ants In My Pants

Posted on May 30, 2012 by Janice Hillmer

When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a thesaurus when I grew up. That dream never came to pass, but today I did get to be an idiom for a little while instead.

The day began like many others. The morning sun peeked through the lingering night-time rain clouds, the birds began choir practice in my trees, a gentle breeze lifted my curtains and brought the scent of mangoes across my typing desk, the cat puked up a wad of half-chewed bamboo leaves on my front stoop… Yes, a day like many others.

I didn’t rush to clean up the cat’s mess. I was still in my PJs, and enjoying my coffee. The cat had wandered off to new adventures; besides, the mess was outside and organic. It could wait.

Eventually, I went out to grab the hose, figuring I might as well wash the whole porch while I was at it. However, instead of a dusty porch and a sad little pile of mushy green bamboo-barf, I saw an over-excited swarm of giant red ants. Apparently, in some ant dialects, “cat vomit” and “buffet” are synonyms. The cat had produced a puddle about 2 inches in diameter, which in less than 20 minutes had become the epicenter of a swarm of ants almost 2 feet across.

These aren’t your everyday “Let’s ruin your picnic” ants. These are the ants that audition for roles in Indiana Jones or National Geographic movies. These are the very ants that got angry with me last winter for trimming their branch bridge – and then tried to re-build it themselves with nothing but sheer determination and acrobatic acumen!


“Bridge? We don’t need no stinkin’ bridge.”

I’m happy to say, I’ve never seen these ants inside my house, but I still wasn’t thrilled about having them turn my porch into an insect party-palace. So, I turned the hose on, and washed them all back onto the lawn. I don’t think any of them were even injured. Sometime in September, aging ants will be telling their grandchildren about how they survived the Great Hosedown of May 30th.

As anyone in a flood would do, some of the ants headed for higher ground. Some of them headed up the hose and onto my arm. Some of them headed up the broom and onto my arm. Some of them took advantage of my distracted arm-slapping and headed up my legs. The leg-climbers were sneaky though. They kept a low profile until the deck was washed, and I was back at my computer. You know how after one bug crawls on you, you imagine all sorts of bugs crawling on you? But then you tell yourself, “Don’t be silly. It’s just a loose thread, hair, crumb or popcorn kernel”? That’s what I was telling myself as I felt little tickles and itches on my legs – until eventually I realized that loose threads, hairs, crumbs and popcorn kernels don’t continue to crawl after you’ve scratched them.

I won’t tell you what happened next, because who knows what ads Google will come up with next to this post if I describe the hasty removal of my attire, or the frenetic dance that accompanied it. In the end, there were really only a couple of ants in my pants…but they were enough to have me twitchily slapping myself for the rest of the day when any loose thread, hair or popcorn kernel accosted me.

All in all, given the choice between pursuing my dream of being a thesaurus, or settling for living the idiomatic dream, I’m gonna keep reaching for those stars/celestial orbs/celebrities/luminaries/headliners.